check-in day: love is a burning thing
Dec. 3rd, 2017 07:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
st_ackeddeckEmma's Knight gives her a vision of fire, but the roommate it brings isn't the fire wielder she wants. Twice the hurt, because she's not the Em Jag wants either.
Kitty and Vax'ildan had both been kind and friendly, and Emma really did feel better knowing there were other mutants here, and that this wasn't a California where they'd be thrown into camps. But it was, as they'd both said, a lot to take in all at once, being brought here and not able to get home. She needed to get home. Pyro couldn't take another loss. He was already shattered by grief for Bobby. Her disappearing wouldn't be the same, and he'd mostly been avoiding her anyway, but she had to believe he loved her – not as much as he loved Bobby, but loved a little. She had to get back. She couldn't let him lose her too.
It was too much, and with people in and out of the cafe and lobby, it was a relief when she got the key to her room and could retreat to it. It wasn't anything she could've expected, starting by being a suite instead of just a room, but at least it wasn't draped in cacophonous colors like the more public areas of the inn had been. She probably should've explored before sitting down with her cards to put some order to all the questions still unanswered, but then she saw the stone fireplace, and she knew what she needed first.
She knelt in front of the hearth. Logs were already set up in the fireplace, kindling on top – the upside down arrangement made for a cleaner fire, she remembered Marco telling her years ago – and she picked up a long thin piece to light with... her lighter. She'd pulled it from the bag at her side, but stopped before she flicked it open, thumb tracing over the miniature painting on its side. Her Knight of Wands. Hers. Her gaze went distant and unfocused, image of flames in the shape of a bird in her mind's eye. Could it be? Could she hope?
As if in answer to her question, the door to the suite opened, and a pyrokinetic walked in and immediately stopped, frozen at the sight of her. Sadly, it wasn't the pyrokinetic so heavy in her thoughts, but it was one in whose thoughts she had been heavy. Jag had still been in shock as he sought out his suite, and his heart leapt to his throat when he opened the door to find Emma kneeling by the fireplace.
Suddenly, he knew that everything would be all right.
A fire sprang up in the hearth with a thought, and only once he'd done that was he able to breathe her name, like a thank you, his eyes brimming with tears of relief, "Em..."
The fire flared to life and hope with it. Em turned to look, relief and love growing with the smile on her face, then falling when she saw the stranger. She slumped there, still on her knees by the fire, and blinked away the tears from eyes that held no recognition. What was... Who was... He was in her room.
And he wasn't wasn't wasn't her Pyro.
"I thought you were still..." Jag's excited rush of words trailed off, even as the door he'd pushed blindly closed behind him, and he stopped walking towards Em. "What's wrong, bab?"
Emma pushed to her feet, training sessions with Nina making the move more graceful than she felt, and she sidestepped away from the guy to put more distance between them. "Who are you? What are you doing in my room?"
Jag put his bag down on the floor, barely paying attention to the room. His focus was all on Emma as he spread his hands in a gesture of harmlessness. "Wait, what - Em. Emma. It's me. It's Jag." But even as he refused to accept that she didn't know him, he was beginning to notice that her hair was slightly different, and - well, the look of alarm in her eyes, that was a huge bloody hint. She'd never looked at him like that, no matter how much of a twat he'd been, she'd never been afraid of him. Seeing it now, that fear in her eyes, directed at him - it caught his heart in a vice, and squeezed.
Jag. Her eyes darted to the fire and back to him, and she mostly held back and sound that was caught between a sob and a laugh. He was Jag, and he knew her. Or a her. If Emma hadn't met a Kitty who was older and more reserved than the hyper teenager she knew, she might have been slower to make the connection. "Alternate realities suck. I'm sorry. You know m- uh... you know another me?" Of course he did. She didn't need to read his tells, when it was written like flashing neon all over him and the heartbreak in his eyes.
She glanced down and away, her eyes then going to the fire again. "I'm sorry," she whispered.
"No," Jag said, his throat tight, not wanting to hear it, not wanting to believe it. "No. You've got to -" He cut himself off abruptly, because he didn't want to raise his voice, or start crying, or both. The fire burned bright in his lungs, but he could barely feel it as cold seeped into him. He'd just been torn out of his world and brought here, and here was Em, but she didn't know him? "You said this was your room, too?" he asked, his voice so quiet, like too much would show in it if he spoke any louder.
Too. Not just her room, but his too, and that was just cruel. Whoever had brought them here, that was bad enough. But then putting them in the same room. Her with another pyrokinetic, and maybe Roma from the name. Him with another version of someone he obviously cared about. A lot. The tears that still burned in Emma's eyes turned hot and bitter with anger. She stepped closer, wanting to comfort him in their shared misery, wanting to apologize, again, for being her. "I could..." she started, trailing off when she had no idea how to finish the thought.
"Um... I could... go? I don't know... somewhere?" She didn't want to go back to the main building, too busy, too crowded, when what she most wanted to do was curl up and cry until there weren't any tears left. But she could only imagine what it must be like for him. With her standing there, with her face, and no idea who he was.
"No, I -" The tears brimmed in his eyes whether he wanted them to or not, and the cold that had been seeping through him was washed away by a hot rush of emotion. So much like the Emma he knew, volunteering to help when she didn't even know him. She didn't know him. "You were here first, I'll - you stay. Enjoy the -" His eyes cut tot he fire, and he looked back at her, blinking away the tears so she wouldn't look as blurry. "Is that fire for Pyro?" His throat felt like it was being stabbed into repeatedly, for how much he was holding the tears back, but he got the words out before he could think any better of it.
He knew Pyro. Enough to ask the question. Em looked, not at the fire, but the lighter still in her hand. "It was," she had to swallow around the hurt, "for me. Fire... fire's good. It helps." Maybe he knew that feeling, even if, for her, it helped because of Pyro. Her thumb drawing a slow circle on the zippo case, she added softly, "Is the bird yours?"
"How..." He didn't bother finishing the question he'd answered immediately, on his own, and he simply nodded, both to her question and his. "The tarot." A couple of tears ran down his cheek, and he wiped them away hastily. "I - I'll go." It was telling that he forgot to grab his bag as he turned away. Never forget your shit was a hard-learned lesson, but it was the last thing on his mind just then.
Never forget your stuff was a lesson Em had learned a long time ago, but Jag turned and left, and she didn't even notice he'd forgotten his bag. Damn it. She was... She should've done something more. Not basically run him out of a room that was as much his as hers. She just stared at the door for a long while after it closed behind him, then shook herself off and sat in front of the fire again, her knees pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped around her legs while she shuffled the cards. Maybe she'd find some kind of answer there. If she could see, through the tears that ran in never-ending streams down her cheeks.
Kitty and Vax'ildan had both been kind and friendly, and Emma really did feel better knowing there were other mutants here, and that this wasn't a California where they'd be thrown into camps. But it was, as they'd both said, a lot to take in all at once, being brought here and not able to get home. She needed to get home. Pyro couldn't take another loss. He was already shattered by grief for Bobby. Her disappearing wouldn't be the same, and he'd mostly been avoiding her anyway, but she had to believe he loved her – not as much as he loved Bobby, but loved a little. She had to get back. She couldn't let him lose her too.
It was too much, and with people in and out of the cafe and lobby, it was a relief when she got the key to her room and could retreat to it. It wasn't anything she could've expected, starting by being a suite instead of just a room, but at least it wasn't draped in cacophonous colors like the more public areas of the inn had been. She probably should've explored before sitting down with her cards to put some order to all the questions still unanswered, but then she saw the stone fireplace, and she knew what she needed first.
She knelt in front of the hearth. Logs were already set up in the fireplace, kindling on top – the upside down arrangement made for a cleaner fire, she remembered Marco telling her years ago – and she picked up a long thin piece to light with... her lighter. She'd pulled it from the bag at her side, but stopped before she flicked it open, thumb tracing over the miniature painting on its side. Her Knight of Wands. Hers. Her gaze went distant and unfocused, image of flames in the shape of a bird in her mind's eye. Could it be? Could she hope?
As if in answer to her question, the door to the suite opened, and a pyrokinetic walked in and immediately stopped, frozen at the sight of her. Sadly, it wasn't the pyrokinetic so heavy in her thoughts, but it was one in whose thoughts she had been heavy. Jag had still been in shock as he sought out his suite, and his heart leapt to his throat when he opened the door to find Emma kneeling by the fireplace.
Suddenly, he knew that everything would be all right.
A fire sprang up in the hearth with a thought, and only once he'd done that was he able to breathe her name, like a thank you, his eyes brimming with tears of relief, "Em..."
The fire flared to life and hope with it. Em turned to look, relief and love growing with the smile on her face, then falling when she saw the stranger. She slumped there, still on her knees by the fire, and blinked away the tears from eyes that held no recognition. What was... Who was... He was in her room.
And he wasn't wasn't wasn't her Pyro.
"I thought you were still..." Jag's excited rush of words trailed off, even as the door he'd pushed blindly closed behind him, and he stopped walking towards Em. "What's wrong, bab?"
Emma pushed to her feet, training sessions with Nina making the move more graceful than she felt, and she sidestepped away from the guy to put more distance between them. "Who are you? What are you doing in my room?"
Jag put his bag down on the floor, barely paying attention to the room. His focus was all on Emma as he spread his hands in a gesture of harmlessness. "Wait, what - Em. Emma. It's me. It's Jag." But even as he refused to accept that she didn't know him, he was beginning to notice that her hair was slightly different, and - well, the look of alarm in her eyes, that was a huge bloody hint. She'd never looked at him like that, no matter how much of a twat he'd been, she'd never been afraid of him. Seeing it now, that fear in her eyes, directed at him - it caught his heart in a vice, and squeezed.
Jag. Her eyes darted to the fire and back to him, and she mostly held back and sound that was caught between a sob and a laugh. He was Jag, and he knew her. Or a her. If Emma hadn't met a Kitty who was older and more reserved than the hyper teenager she knew, she might have been slower to make the connection. "Alternate realities suck. I'm sorry. You know m- uh... you know another me?" Of course he did. She didn't need to read his tells, when it was written like flashing neon all over him and the heartbreak in his eyes.
She glanced down and away, her eyes then going to the fire again. "I'm sorry," she whispered.
"No," Jag said, his throat tight, not wanting to hear it, not wanting to believe it. "No. You've got to -" He cut himself off abruptly, because he didn't want to raise his voice, or start crying, or both. The fire burned bright in his lungs, but he could barely feel it as cold seeped into him. He'd just been torn out of his world and brought here, and here was Em, but she didn't know him? "You said this was your room, too?" he asked, his voice so quiet, like too much would show in it if he spoke any louder.
Too. Not just her room, but his too, and that was just cruel. Whoever had brought them here, that was bad enough. But then putting them in the same room. Her with another pyrokinetic, and maybe Roma from the name. Him with another version of someone he obviously cared about. A lot. The tears that still burned in Emma's eyes turned hot and bitter with anger. She stepped closer, wanting to comfort him in their shared misery, wanting to apologize, again, for being her. "I could..." she started, trailing off when she had no idea how to finish the thought.
"Um... I could... go? I don't know... somewhere?" She didn't want to go back to the main building, too busy, too crowded, when what she most wanted to do was curl up and cry until there weren't any tears left. But she could only imagine what it must be like for him. With her standing there, with her face, and no idea who he was.
"No, I -" The tears brimmed in his eyes whether he wanted them to or not, and the cold that had been seeping through him was washed away by a hot rush of emotion. So much like the Emma he knew, volunteering to help when she didn't even know him. She didn't know him. "You were here first, I'll - you stay. Enjoy the -" His eyes cut tot he fire, and he looked back at her, blinking away the tears so she wouldn't look as blurry. "Is that fire for Pyro?" His throat felt like it was being stabbed into repeatedly, for how much he was holding the tears back, but he got the words out before he could think any better of it.
He knew Pyro. Enough to ask the question. Em looked, not at the fire, but the lighter still in her hand. "It was," she had to swallow around the hurt, "for me. Fire... fire's good. It helps." Maybe he knew that feeling, even if, for her, it helped because of Pyro. Her thumb drawing a slow circle on the zippo case, she added softly, "Is the bird yours?"
"How..." He didn't bother finishing the question he'd answered immediately, on his own, and he simply nodded, both to her question and his. "The tarot." A couple of tears ran down his cheek, and he wiped them away hastily. "I - I'll go." It was telling that he forgot to grab his bag as he turned away. Never forget your shit was a hard-learned lesson, but it was the last thing on his mind just then.
Never forget your stuff was a lesson Em had learned a long time ago, but Jag turned and left, and she didn't even notice he'd forgotten his bag. Damn it. She was... She should've done something more. Not basically run him out of a room that was as much his as hers. She just stared at the door for a long while after it closed behind him, then shook herself off and sat in front of the fire again, her knees pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped around her legs while she shuffled the cards. Maybe she'd find some kind of answer there. If she could see, through the tears that ran in never-ending streams down her cheeks.
