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Fics- "Wisp" & "Wisp's Sequel"

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  • rodlox
    ~~~ title: Wisps. author: rodlox. spoilers: X1, X2, hinting at Marie/Bobby, Marie/Kurt, Logan Instinct, POV: Marie. dedication: to Beth_D, who sent me the
    Message 1 of 1 , Mar 28, 2004
      title: Wisps.

      author: rodlox.

      spoilers: X1, X2,

      hinting at Marie/Bobby, Marie/Kurt, Logan\Instinct,

      POV: Marie.

      dedication: to Beth_D, who sent me the lyrics.

      category: songfic.

      rating: PG-13(?).

      summary: "Seek and ye shall find." Marie searches, after the
      second X-Men movie, and finds...

      note: IMHO, Marie's just a fun character to write. At least, I'm
      reasonably sure it's Marie. :)

      Yesterday we returned from hell. No, we returned from Stryker's
      compound at Alkali Lake. Hell was a camp in German-occupied

      I press the heel of one hand to my forehead. I don't need these
      memories, I don't want them, I -

      Am stuck with them.

      After we'd talked with the President, I talked with Professor
      Xavier. And he refused to excise the memories from me.

      Some arse once said that we are the sum of our memories. So what
      does that make me?

      As I remove my gloves, those interfaces between myself and the rest
      of the universe, I notice that some of my arm hair is stretching,
      elongating to connect my arm with my glove. I peer, looking closer.
      Almost doesn't look like hair -- too ethereal in appearance. Too
      wispy, even for hair.

      Then it vanishes, and I blink.

      Cool. If I can figure out how I did that, I'll never need to shave
      my legs again.

      I shake my head, and sigh; then I finish getting ready for bed. Go
      to sleep, precious, go to -

      I dream...

      ~I am falling, through the sky. X-jet increasingly far away. Little
      blackish clouds dotting the sky.

      ~A cloud next to me, resolving into Kurt. He draws me into a cloud.

      ~My eyes hurt, even in memory. Space here, if it is space, makes no

      ~Abruptly back on the X-jet. Kurt doesn't let go of me, holding me

      ~Looking into his eyes, cool yellow eyes. What have they seen?

      What do they see in me?

      ~A tiny feeling on one arm, barely noticeable. I hadn't noticed it.
      His face didn't get drawn and full of lines, so I didn't think
      anything of -

      ~A hair that reaches from my arm to my glove tonight.

      I awake. What the hell?

      "Patience, calm," I tell myself. Sighing, I delve into
      memories...not all of them mine...

      `Mankind has evolved since then,' Charles tells me.

      `Stay away from my girl,' One-Eye tells me.

      `I'm Bobby,' I'm told.

      `That's the point,' I'm told by me.

      `What are these?' Storm asks me, pointing to my scarification tattoos.

      Wait! I don't have tattoos. Certainly no scars. I may not be
      Logan, but I still don't have scars.

      Who have I found here?

      Who is that? And why didn't I notice touching them?

      Damn, sure as hell not gonna get any sleep tonight.

      So now, midnight, I'm roaming the halls. I'm not pacing, I tell
      myself, because I'm not turning around and walking back and forth
      over the same ground.

      Downstairs, I run into Logan. Not literally running into, since
      between the two of us, we can hear each other approaching.

      "Hey," I say.

      "Hey," he says back.

      Silence. We just stand there.

      "Logan?" I ask.

      "Yeah?" he says.

      "Those times you saved me. . ." what's the right words? "It was just
      personal, wasn't it?"

      He looks at me. Probably looking inside himself.

      Maybe its the Erik in me, or maybe I was always like this, but I find
      I don't mind the slow passage of time. Or maybe its the Logan in me.

      "Yeah." One word. One word from him.

      It wasn't love. It wasn't altruism.

      It was self-preservation. Doing all in his power to keep all of
      Logan\Wolverine alive -- even those parts that weren't in his body
      any more.

      Like me.

      "Thanks," I tell him genuinely. I needed to know.

      "No problem." He looks at me, his stance indicating he's getting a
      little uncomfortable.

      Maybe its the Logan in me, maybe not, but I'm feeling the same
      way. "Well, thanks. G'night."

      "Night," he says, and ventures into the kitchen.

      I stay in the hallway, watching the motionless shadows cast by
      objects intersecting the night lights spaced along the corridor. And
      I try not to let them provoke memories, mine or otherwise.

      Noon now. Professor Monro allowed me to take off class today,
      provided I do the paperwork, the class- and homework. Not a problem,
      I'd assured her, drawing on Erik's formality rather than Logan's self-
      assurance that people take for arrogance.

      Like me now, Kurt has a room to himself. I can only wonder what
      Professor Xavier's reasoning is.

      Several crucifixes line the table. One of them has two crossbars;
      same as another, though this one has one crossbar canted at an angle.

      Not much stuff here. Then again, I don't collect much either.
      Probably from the severity of our mutations, or maybe he just never
      felt it neccessary to have worldly possessions.

      Ahh, a notebook. A journal. A leather-bound gathering of graph

      I open it. Hm, so that's what his handwriting looks like. Part of
      me'd wondered, after seeing his hands, his feet.

      Feeling fairly guilty, I assure myself that, since I have some of his
      memories - technically, I'm reading my own diary. Probably wouldn't
      hold up in court, but I ain't in no court. And a double-negative? I
      hush myselves up. I swear, those two...

      I don't know who in me's reading more of the German scrawls - Erik or

      = `I exist in the world.

      = `I have a form.

      = `Yet I have no form.

      = `I exist in the void.

      = `For the Earth itself was once without form and void.' =

      I skip past a few pages of philisophical poetry.

      = `I was genuine when I told her not to worry about it, not to
      mention it.

      = `Saving her was an honor.

      = `Her smile, proof that I am real.

      = `Proof that I can do good.

      = `I want to do more, more good, help in all things, all ways.

      = `What noble deed could I do?

      = `How might I impress her?

      = `For the first time in mine life, I desire more than God.' =

      I stop reading, closing the diary, my eyes wide.

      Oh. My. G-

      I put the diary back, careful to hide evidence of my being here.
      Then I head for the door. I open it, and find -

      Bobby standing there, one hand raised and about to knock. Now his
      eyes go wide. "Marie?" he asks. Definately startled.

      "I should go," I say, trying to slide by, to squeeze past between
      Bobby and the wall.

      He looks like he's about to say something; though I don't know what
      he was going to tell Kurt. "What were you going to say?" I ask
      Bobby. "To `Stay away from your girl'?" I ask, passably quoting One-

      Bobby looks like the thought only now occurred to him. Dammit,
      Marie, think before you shred the curtains!

      But before he can say anything, *BAMF*.

      Kurt's back. In his room. Looking at us. "Hello," he says in
      delicious German accent.

      Shut up, Erik, I don't want to hear it.

      I sense a confrontation coming. And I'm ground zero. I'm patient
      zero. I am the epicenter of this quake, this storm.

      Bobby was filling a vacuum. Nobody else wanted to even talk to me
      when I was new here. Nobody dared to be my friend...except for
      Bobby. But touching Bobby hurts him. He pretends it doesn't, but I
      see into his mind when I draw from him. It hurts. And hurting him
      hurts me. It hurts.

      I touched Kurt, just as long as I touched Bobby, if not unnoticed
      longer. And nothing happened. I had one hair of his mutation, and a
      particle of memory. Kurt lives, even if only partly, in a vacuum.

      Kurt is safer.

      I'm standing on the edge. One way is Kurt. Another way is Bobby.

      Either way, someone gets hurt. I don't like hurting people.
      the end?

      title: A Sequel To Wisps.

      author: rodlox.

      spoilers: X1, X2,

      hinting at Marie/Bobby, Marie/Kurt,

      POV: Marie.

      dedication: Jonas Thorell, who, like I, believes that Marie has
      been changed by those she touches.

      category: sequel.

      rating: PG-13(?).


      note: IMHO, Marie's just a fun character to write. At least, I'm
      reasonably sure it's Marie. :)

      "Hello?" Kurt repeats.

      "Hey," Bobby says.

      I don't say anything. Something rises up in my throat. Oi vey, not
      now, not now!

      Kurt steps closer. Probably sees the look on my face. I didn't see
      any trash cans in his room, and there aren't any buckets in the hall.

      Coming through!

      I bend over, gagging and it exits: Plasma fireballs and ice pellets,
      trailing smoke that's blacker than black.

      It never hits the floor.


      I turn and run, escaping from Bobby's proximity. Down the hall.
      Almost at the stairs. Just a little more now, and -


      *bamf* and he re-appears in front of me. I look at him, he looks at
      me; and I can't stand it. Not now, Kurt. Another time, perhaps.
      Just - not - now -

      I bolt, shoving past him and thundering down the stairs.

      ==your old room is ready when you are== I hear the voice in my head.
      Xavier's voice, the Prof's voice, Wheels' voice.

      I nod and hurry for my padded cell. The place where I hid for a week
      after being rescued from the Statue of Liberty. My hands are numb,
      shaking already, and I can feel myself sweating up a fever.

      Nobody even passes me during my desperate run. Thanks Prof.

      The door's already open, and I dive inside. I slam the door behind
      me -- still enough Logan strength and Erik gift to do that -- and
      I fall to my knees on the mattress, then drop to one side, curling up
      my body, and closing my eyes. I watched what'd happened last time,
      and had nightmares for weeks. I'll just let it happen this time...no
      way to stop it, no way to prevent it.

      My entire body seizes up, wracked with cold sweats, dry heats, and
      the feeling of infinity. As they say in the movies, it has begun.

      I keep my eyelids closed.

      Last time, I'd touched Josh, my former boyfriend; and Logan; and
      Erik. I'd grown older thereafter. Physically.

      My white stripe of hair was only the initial, the onset, the most
      outwardly visible aspect.

      This time, I've touched Bobby, John, and Kurt. I have no idea what
      will become of me now. Hot and cold and the abyss.

      No, that's not true. I am the abyss. I am that which men fall into
      and do not return from. I am...what was in that adventure movie?
      Yes, I am the Eater of Souls: Ammitt.

      My skin is all frosty now.

      My innards feel like they're the focus of a barbeque.

      And, through it all, parts of me -- are they really vanishing and
      returning in seconds -- or am I imagining it all?

      Oh man, oh man oh man oh man...

      John? Not Bobby. Kurt?

      I am the inner secrets. I am the outer mask. I am the dreams and
      the goals and the thwarted desires of those I touch.

      Who, though, am I? Beyond my mutation, what is there for me?

      Where do I end? Begin?

      "Who am I?"

      What will I be after this adjustment? Who will I be?

      I can't hear Erik, Logan, and Josh now. No, don't go . . . and don't
      let the door stop you. I'm used to them now, yet I know I'll never
      be alone as long as they're with me. Even if I want to be alone.
      Even if I've no choice but to be alone.

      I suppose I should be thankful. I'd rather not become a
      wastepaperbasket full of mutations and memories, lives and thoughts.
      Give and take. Filling empties.

      In the back of my mind, I hear a soft German prayer being whispered.
      Not Erik now.

      The shakes settle down. I stay curled up. Waiting it out. Just in
      case there's any more on the way.

      Maybe I should just stay in here. Ask Professor X to send my meals
      down here.

      I don't want to hurt anyone, and I don't like the pain of these
      transitions. And I don't want to know what I might do in the future.

      `I Am whom I Am' sayeth the Bible. And I am...?
      the end?
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