Post by Pyro on Nov 3, 2006 15:10:47 GMT -5
"Do you fancy going for a walk?"
Pyro had been lying on the bed in their room, having fallen into a light doze for a while after a fairly heavy lunch - unusual for him to say the least. "I mean, this is my old stamping ground. Maybe I could show you a few of the - y'know. Sights."
Mystique had lived in New York for many years. There were so many memories, ghosts practically followed her about. But she'd never seen John's New York, and anyone who'd lived there knew you'd never see the same city twice.
Stepping out of the bathroom, she crawled over to him and smiled. "I'd love that." Kissing him, she lowered herself slowly beside him and draped a long arm over his chest.
He smiled sleepily at her. "I ate too much," he observed. He'd eaten an entire plate of pasta and so much bread that it was a wonder he wasn't six stone heavier. She couldn't remember a time when she'd seen him with so much appetite. The young man snuggled up to her for a few minutes, an affectionate gesture on his part. "I always," he said, his tone comically serious, "wanted to go up the Empire State."
"Mmmm..." She murmured, her eyes having been closed the last few minutes and a little sleepiness taking over. "How romantic of you, Herr Zauber.." she murmured, chuckling to herself.
"I would like that. While we still have the time. I'm so glad you came with us."
"Can you imagine?" he said. "Eighteen years give or take I lived in New York City and I never once went up the Empire State Building. There's...a couple of other places I'd like to show you, too. Just so you know more about me." He tipped his head on one side, almost shyly. "I want you to know more about me."
He kissed the tip of her nose.
"I'm surprisingly romantic," he said, with a grin. "I like making you say things like that."
She laughed, leaning up on one elbow.
So he was finally ready to tell her about himself. This was good. She feared the time he'd ask her to do the same... but that would come. He had to know the woman had so many secrets, layered on top of secrets... releasing one would make the rest unravel. But she'd do it, if he asked her to. After all, he hadn't the luxury of decades Erik and she had been given.
"I look forward to seeing this side of you," she said, kissing his nose back and chuckling. "And learning about the old side."
Standing, she shifted into a sleek white sundress and sandals, leaning over to the mirror to straighten her hair.
"You have no idea how jealous I am of you at times," he grumbled, swinging his legs round and pulling on the suit trousers and shirt that made up Herr Zauber. His formerly neatly combed hair was a complete mess and he tugged at it with the comb forcing it to lay flat again. He left the three-quarter topcoat hanging up - it was too warm outside to wear it.
Smiling at her, he held out an arm. "Are you ready for the guided tour of John Allerdyce's life so far?"
Mystique kissed his shoulder as she took his arm. "I believe I am."
Down on the street the summer air was thick but tall buildings shaded them, keeping it from being intolerable. She took a deep breath as they hit the sidewalk, smiling to herself.
"I love this city..." she whispered, then looked to him. "Where to first?"
He walked with an amazing amount of confidence for a young man who was well aware of his wanted status. It was good. It aided the disguise. "Shall we do the less salubrious bits first?" he suggested. "I could show you where my mother lived, where I was for the first four years of my life."
Brushing a bit of lint off his shoulder rather maternally, she nodded. "Yes. Let's see whatever you wish to. It may be a while until we can get back."
She hoped that wasn't the case, but it likely was. John likely didn't have the same luxury of years she had enjoyed. She could wait five, eight years to return to New York. He'd be an entirely different man by then.
It was a swift (for New York) cab ride out to the area of the Bronx where he had grown up. The cab driver had spotted their fine clothing and suggested, not exactly subtly, that it wasn't a part of the city they should be visiting, but the young German man had reassured him, in broken English that he had lived here once.
Even though he knew that he didn't really need to, he kept a tight hold of Mystique as they walked three blocks or so.
"This is the apartment block," he said, softly as he drew to a halt at the foot of a run-down, graffiti'd building. "My mom lived here with her boyfriend and me until I was four." He stared up at the tower.
She slipped behind him, letting him be partially alone with his memories. Putting her arms around his waist, she looked up at the building with him.
Oh, how well she knew these kinds of memories.
"Do you remember your life here?" She spoke softly, hardly breaking into his thoughts.
"They're like ghosts," he said, staring up at the tower. Flashes of memory reached to his soul and brought back the shimmering, ghostly form of the twenty-year old Rachel Collins, who on the day her son had been taken from her had been unable to do anything except sit on the floor of a roach-ridden, filthy kitchen and stare blankly at the social worker holding her little boy.
"When she wasn't stoned or high on something, she cared for me, I know that. He didn't, though. He didn't care about either of us."
Look at the bruises on his body. Did your mom's boyfriend ever smack you, John?
He'd simply stared at the doctors. He'd refused to speak for over a year. Yes, his mom's boyfriend had smacked him, but only once or twice. Most of the bruises were from a little boy's tumbles and normal hurts. Rachel's chosen 'beau' hadn't been a particularly violent man. Just a bad one, who had sunk her so far into the pit of drugs that she'd never get out.
"She died," he said, softly. "Just around three years back now. Drugs overdose. She died on the street. Thirty two years old. After they took me from her, I never saw her again."
Mystique held him a bit tighter, kissing his hair just over his ear.
"Then she rests now. No more torment and no more sadness. I am sure she missed you... more than you'll ever know."
Oh yes, she knew these kinds of memories. Did they all have to come from sadness and grief? Is that what gave them the strength to fight with all their hearts?
"Once I left here, I went to a few different foster homes. Never really settled. Then when I was eleven, they found Pat and Mike."
It was another cab ride, this time to Brooklyn. Another apartment block, this one much nicer. "They don't live here any more," he said. "They divorced. Then I got taken to Green Meadows. That's still standing."
Pat and Mike Powell. He'd loved them. They'd loved him - but they hadn't loved each other. Not enough to stay together. He'd been thirteen when they'd split.
He took her a short walk, maybe five blocks or so. The sign was in quite a state. "Green Meadows Children's Home," he introduced, then smiled briefly. "Never was there a more wretched hive of scum and villainy."
"I've no doubt of that." She'd put a lot of money into keeping Graydon out of a place like this. That John had spent even a few years of his young adolescent life here explained a lot.
Walking with his hand in hers up towards the door, she looked back at him. "Do you want to go in?"
Did he want to go in? Did he want to go back to where he'd spent two years being so badly bullied just for being quiet and studious that he'd eventually run away? "No," he said, eventually. "No. What I want is to raze the place to the ground so nobody ever has to go through what I went through. I ran away in the end."
He sounded so ashamed. "I know it was a cowardly thing to do, but still, it was better than staying."
Mystique smirked, looking in the windows and squeezing his hand. "If it's not one place it's another," she said. "And you are not a coward. You took your life into your own hands." Looking back at him, he could see the conviction in her face. "That makes you strong."
"If you ever wanted to come back here," she let that implication say it all, "We will come. You and I, in the night. Alright?"
He nodded and entwined his fingers with hers. He looked up proudly at her words. "Two years I lived on the streets, apart from three weeks when they brought me back here. Two years during which time I killed more than one person, totally destroyed a Chinese restaurant..."
All these things he told her as they walked. "Then I met Charlotte. A police officer. She gave me Xavier's number. And the rest is history, as they say."
"Charlotte? Was she a mutant?"
Her thumb ran over his as they walked. It was oddly thrilling to hear him talk like this, to open and speak about himself without awkwardness or fear. That was such a rare thing for people like them.
"No, she wasn't. But...she was good to me when I needed it. You know. One of those people in the right place at the right time sort of thing."
He leaned into her and kissed her cheek, softly. "That's my life in a nutshell," he said, quietly. "It's only in the past couple of months, since you've been with me that I'm starting to figure out who I am."
Stopping at a bench near a bus stop, she sat them down and took his hand in both of hers.
"You've come a very long way in a short time. But don't get too comfortable." She looked at him, and then away again, smiling to herself. "Something always changes."
So too would they, she figured. Soon enough he'd no longer need her. Part of her would be relieved. But she was still dreading it, somehow.
"I'm glad you're sharing it with me," he said, and once again, there was that shy, awkward look in his eyes. "You're such an incredible woman. If I offered you...shall we say, my job right now, you could take it and do so much more than I could - yet. What is it that you see in me, why is it that you believe in me so much?"
He stroked her hair back from her face and looked up at her. "I'm not complaining, I just need to understand myself."
She looked back at him.
"Because I have to." The answer was more honest than she wanted it to be, but they were beyond the sort of wordy pep talks she'd given him in the beginning.
Because we need you. I need you.
Something crossed her face, something unsure and wide open and a little hurt. Just as soon as it came it was gone. She whispered. "Because I have to."
I love you.
He studied her for a moment or two, then nodded. He cupped her hand in his face and kissed her softly.
"I have to, too," he said, his voice barely above a whisper and it seemed to her that he'd understood what she couldn't say - because he couldn't say it either.
Kissing him back, she closed her eyes to cut through the intensity of the moment, thanking him silently for not pushing her any farther than she was able to go.
They were creatures of have to's, not want to's. It was how they survived.
Breaking the kiss and standing, she took a deep, slow breath.
"I believe there's a tall building and an elevator ride you promised me." She smirked, her eyes sparkling.
"You're damn right," he said, looping his arm through hers and guiding her to the road. "Tall building, elevator ride and look over the skyscape coming up."
(Continues in Part Two)
Pyro had been lying on the bed in their room, having fallen into a light doze for a while after a fairly heavy lunch - unusual for him to say the least. "I mean, this is my old stamping ground. Maybe I could show you a few of the - y'know. Sights."
Mystique had lived in New York for many years. There were so many memories, ghosts practically followed her about. But she'd never seen John's New York, and anyone who'd lived there knew you'd never see the same city twice.
Stepping out of the bathroom, she crawled over to him and smiled. "I'd love that." Kissing him, she lowered herself slowly beside him and draped a long arm over his chest.
He smiled sleepily at her. "I ate too much," he observed. He'd eaten an entire plate of pasta and so much bread that it was a wonder he wasn't six stone heavier. She couldn't remember a time when she'd seen him with so much appetite. The young man snuggled up to her for a few minutes, an affectionate gesture on his part. "I always," he said, his tone comically serious, "wanted to go up the Empire State."
"Mmmm..." She murmured, her eyes having been closed the last few minutes and a little sleepiness taking over. "How romantic of you, Herr Zauber.." she murmured, chuckling to herself.
"I would like that. While we still have the time. I'm so glad you came with us."
"Can you imagine?" he said. "Eighteen years give or take I lived in New York City and I never once went up the Empire State Building. There's...a couple of other places I'd like to show you, too. Just so you know more about me." He tipped his head on one side, almost shyly. "I want you to know more about me."
He kissed the tip of her nose.
"I'm surprisingly romantic," he said, with a grin. "I like making you say things like that."
She laughed, leaning up on one elbow.
So he was finally ready to tell her about himself. This was good. She feared the time he'd ask her to do the same... but that would come. He had to know the woman had so many secrets, layered on top of secrets... releasing one would make the rest unravel. But she'd do it, if he asked her to. After all, he hadn't the luxury of decades Erik and she had been given.
"I look forward to seeing this side of you," she said, kissing his nose back and chuckling. "And learning about the old side."
Standing, she shifted into a sleek white sundress and sandals, leaning over to the mirror to straighten her hair.
"You have no idea how jealous I am of you at times," he grumbled, swinging his legs round and pulling on the suit trousers and shirt that made up Herr Zauber. His formerly neatly combed hair was a complete mess and he tugged at it with the comb forcing it to lay flat again. He left the three-quarter topcoat hanging up - it was too warm outside to wear it.
Smiling at her, he held out an arm. "Are you ready for the guided tour of John Allerdyce's life so far?"
Mystique kissed his shoulder as she took his arm. "I believe I am."
Down on the street the summer air was thick but tall buildings shaded them, keeping it from being intolerable. She took a deep breath as they hit the sidewalk, smiling to herself.
"I love this city..." she whispered, then looked to him. "Where to first?"
He walked with an amazing amount of confidence for a young man who was well aware of his wanted status. It was good. It aided the disguise. "Shall we do the less salubrious bits first?" he suggested. "I could show you where my mother lived, where I was for the first four years of my life."
Brushing a bit of lint off his shoulder rather maternally, she nodded. "Yes. Let's see whatever you wish to. It may be a while until we can get back."
She hoped that wasn't the case, but it likely was. John likely didn't have the same luxury of years she had enjoyed. She could wait five, eight years to return to New York. He'd be an entirely different man by then.
It was a swift (for New York) cab ride out to the area of the Bronx where he had grown up. The cab driver had spotted their fine clothing and suggested, not exactly subtly, that it wasn't a part of the city they should be visiting, but the young German man had reassured him, in broken English that he had lived here once.
Even though he knew that he didn't really need to, he kept a tight hold of Mystique as they walked three blocks or so.
"This is the apartment block," he said, softly as he drew to a halt at the foot of a run-down, graffiti'd building. "My mom lived here with her boyfriend and me until I was four." He stared up at the tower.
She slipped behind him, letting him be partially alone with his memories. Putting her arms around his waist, she looked up at the building with him.
Oh, how well she knew these kinds of memories.
"Do you remember your life here?" She spoke softly, hardly breaking into his thoughts.
"They're like ghosts," he said, staring up at the tower. Flashes of memory reached to his soul and brought back the shimmering, ghostly form of the twenty-year old Rachel Collins, who on the day her son had been taken from her had been unable to do anything except sit on the floor of a roach-ridden, filthy kitchen and stare blankly at the social worker holding her little boy.
"When she wasn't stoned or high on something, she cared for me, I know that. He didn't, though. He didn't care about either of us."
Look at the bruises on his body. Did your mom's boyfriend ever smack you, John?
He'd simply stared at the doctors. He'd refused to speak for over a year. Yes, his mom's boyfriend had smacked him, but only once or twice. Most of the bruises were from a little boy's tumbles and normal hurts. Rachel's chosen 'beau' hadn't been a particularly violent man. Just a bad one, who had sunk her so far into the pit of drugs that she'd never get out.
"She died," he said, softly. "Just around three years back now. Drugs overdose. She died on the street. Thirty two years old. After they took me from her, I never saw her again."
Mystique held him a bit tighter, kissing his hair just over his ear.
"Then she rests now. No more torment and no more sadness. I am sure she missed you... more than you'll ever know."
Oh yes, she knew these kinds of memories. Did they all have to come from sadness and grief? Is that what gave them the strength to fight with all their hearts?
"Once I left here, I went to a few different foster homes. Never really settled. Then when I was eleven, they found Pat and Mike."
It was another cab ride, this time to Brooklyn. Another apartment block, this one much nicer. "They don't live here any more," he said. "They divorced. Then I got taken to Green Meadows. That's still standing."
Pat and Mike Powell. He'd loved them. They'd loved him - but they hadn't loved each other. Not enough to stay together. He'd been thirteen when they'd split.
He took her a short walk, maybe five blocks or so. The sign was in quite a state. "Green Meadows Children's Home," he introduced, then smiled briefly. "Never was there a more wretched hive of scum and villainy."
"I've no doubt of that." She'd put a lot of money into keeping Graydon out of a place like this. That John had spent even a few years of his young adolescent life here explained a lot.
Walking with his hand in hers up towards the door, she looked back at him. "Do you want to go in?"
Did he want to go in? Did he want to go back to where he'd spent two years being so badly bullied just for being quiet and studious that he'd eventually run away? "No," he said, eventually. "No. What I want is to raze the place to the ground so nobody ever has to go through what I went through. I ran away in the end."
He sounded so ashamed. "I know it was a cowardly thing to do, but still, it was better than staying."
Mystique smirked, looking in the windows and squeezing his hand. "If it's not one place it's another," she said. "And you are not a coward. You took your life into your own hands." Looking back at him, he could see the conviction in her face. "That makes you strong."
"If you ever wanted to come back here," she let that implication say it all, "We will come. You and I, in the night. Alright?"
He nodded and entwined his fingers with hers. He looked up proudly at her words. "Two years I lived on the streets, apart from three weeks when they brought me back here. Two years during which time I killed more than one person, totally destroyed a Chinese restaurant..."
All these things he told her as they walked. "Then I met Charlotte. A police officer. She gave me Xavier's number. And the rest is history, as they say."
"Charlotte? Was she a mutant?"
Her thumb ran over his as they walked. It was oddly thrilling to hear him talk like this, to open and speak about himself without awkwardness or fear. That was such a rare thing for people like them.
"No, she wasn't. But...she was good to me when I needed it. You know. One of those people in the right place at the right time sort of thing."
He leaned into her and kissed her cheek, softly. "That's my life in a nutshell," he said, quietly. "It's only in the past couple of months, since you've been with me that I'm starting to figure out who I am."
Stopping at a bench near a bus stop, she sat them down and took his hand in both of hers.
"You've come a very long way in a short time. But don't get too comfortable." She looked at him, and then away again, smiling to herself. "Something always changes."
So too would they, she figured. Soon enough he'd no longer need her. Part of her would be relieved. But she was still dreading it, somehow.
"I'm glad you're sharing it with me," he said, and once again, there was that shy, awkward look in his eyes. "You're such an incredible woman. If I offered you...shall we say, my job right now, you could take it and do so much more than I could - yet. What is it that you see in me, why is it that you believe in me so much?"
He stroked her hair back from her face and looked up at her. "I'm not complaining, I just need to understand myself."
She looked back at him.
"Because I have to." The answer was more honest than she wanted it to be, but they were beyond the sort of wordy pep talks she'd given him in the beginning.
Because we need you. I need you.
Something crossed her face, something unsure and wide open and a little hurt. Just as soon as it came it was gone. She whispered. "Because I have to."
I love you.
He studied her for a moment or two, then nodded. He cupped her hand in his face and kissed her softly.
"I have to, too," he said, his voice barely above a whisper and it seemed to her that he'd understood what she couldn't say - because he couldn't say it either.
Kissing him back, she closed her eyes to cut through the intensity of the moment, thanking him silently for not pushing her any farther than she was able to go.
They were creatures of have to's, not want to's. It was how they survived.
Breaking the kiss and standing, she took a deep, slow breath.
"I believe there's a tall building and an elevator ride you promised me." She smirked, her eyes sparkling.
"You're damn right," he said, looping his arm through hers and guiding her to the road. "Tall building, elevator ride and look over the skyscape coming up."
(Continues in Part Two)
