Title: A Place
Author: Sandra
Email: ArcThalia@aol.com

Status: Completed
Category: R, L, S, J, X, M...aw, hell, everyone, okay? Not in that way. Ick.
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Angst = not a happy ending. Warned you. Carry on.
Summary: There's a place...
Disclaimer: Perhaps I do own a few of them -- we'll just have to wait and see how my shady stock investment goes.
Author's Notes: I was in the mood for social mush and no, I will not, simply cannot stay away from Scott. And I do apologize if this vignette makes little to no sense -- I had a hell of a time trying to write in English after playing Little Translator Girl all weekend.
Archive: Water it, expose it to sun, and give me visitation rights.
Feedback: Well, duh.
Dedication: To Mikey, who made it sound like the world is full of happy places and managed to keep a straight face. Oh, and my Cro bunch for making me listen to Croatian music (homesick much?) when I really didn't wanna. That song is just...thank you.
"I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity." Edgar Allan Poe

~oOo~

There's a place.

A place where an old man's voice isn't whispering tenderly when she quietly grieves. Where she can run and the voices aren't shouting after her, in her, telling her there are starved, scared wolves lurking in those dark, hushed forests.

Wolves, child, and they'll get you and they won't even wince when they take everything away. And some may even look you in the eye, but don't be mistaken, little girl, they will hunt you down. But don't you run, never run, Marie, because they won't let you, they'll lie to you and coo to you until you feel safe, but the others will come for you, my dear, and they will make you suffer, and you'll hate Charles for cutting off your legs, like I hate him for leaving me mine.

A place where she's able to hate the man who almost killed her. Where she doesn't cry at night, doesn't run on instinct, on pure, primal rage and fear. Where she doesn't stop at the bottom of the stairs in calm awe, doesn't walk slowly as the plants grow thicker and the air fresher. Where she doesn't stand alone in the lush arboretum.

Where she doesn't crumple to the floor, hugging her own knees with faint sobs because she's surrounded by life.> Where not everything is meaningless and scary and wrong and she forgets the way dozens of colorless corpses look naked and thin and almost glued to one another and the nausea doesn't come and she doesn't curl up childishly, hidden by green plants.And someone else's nightmares don't sing to her as she rocks herself because no one else can.

Hush, little baby, don't say a word, papa's gonna buy you a mocking bird. And if that mocking bird don't sing, papa's gonna buy you a diamond ring... And if I don't sing, papa? If my voice is gone because I've learned singing and screaming doesn't help? If my voice betrays me and I sing the wrong song and, papa, what if my song hurts them?

...And if that diamond ring turns brass, papa's gonna buy you a looking glass...

And if I don't want a looking glass, papa? If I don't wanna see? If everything I see scares me and, papa, there's a man who can't see and one who won't. And they both need me to sing for them, but what if my voice is gone?

...And if that looking glass gets broke, papa's gonna buy you a billy goat...

And if they break me, papa? If they break me so hard I never heal? What if they break me like you did, papa? If everything breaks, will you buy me a new world, papa?

...And if that billy goat won't pull, papa's gonna buy you a cart and bull...

And if I can't pull anymore, papa? If I'm a Trojan horse, and no one wants to play with me? If I have nothing left to pull?

...And if that cart and bull fall down, you'll still be the sweetest little baby in town...

And, papa, what if I'm the only baby left, what then? If everyone wants to hear me sing, if they want something I don't have anymore, if I've lost it and I'm not sweet and I've seen hell and I know that you were right, if I'm a monster, papa?

There is a place where she, Marie, Rogue, stops crying when the lullaby drifts further back into the forest. Where she smiles because she can imagine he's sitting next to her, his brutish forearm and knee pressed to hers, as they huddle, pressed together at safe points, at warm, protective points, where he nudges her with an uncharacteristic smile and speaks only two words.

I promise.

Where he promises to take her to Anchorage, to all the places she's never been, and says he won't stop until she sees everything and she'll never see everything, so he'll never stop and she can love him forever. Where she's sure no one can stand in their way.

A place where she doesn't know that only Eric can help her, them. Where she doesn't know that he can't give her a happy ending, but an ending nonetheless, where she doesn't have to sing at all.

Where it doesn't rain in the arboretum.

~oOo~

There's a place.

A little area of his bedroom where the light glistens and sparkles in all the colors he doesn't remember. Where the red blends into green and blue, and the black outlines have more detail and more purpose. In this little place, he sees.

But sometimes he doesn't let the light come into his room, he barricades it with dark, heavy curtains because there are just some things that are better seen in a half light or no light at all. Things that are supposed to be lost and unremembered, like the muddy puddles of Babylon, like fear and ignorance and intolerance.

But these unwanted emotions predate language and there's a place where he can look beyond that.

Where he can protect everyone.

Where his red lenses represent a strength, not a weakness.

Where fathers and brothers can keep the girls and boys safe in their warm little beds, where he can show passion befitting his red power. Where he can lose himself in love and life, where struggles don't exist and he can afford to be selfish.

A place where he hears singing and knows all is well, where enemies aren't many, where they don't repeat mistakes until there is nothing left. Where living isn't a risk, and songs are sung by everyone, not just the innocent. A place where dying and failure don't come hand in hand, where they don't come at all. Where despair is buried at the bottom of Pandora's box, and she never opens it.

There's a difference between a cause and an obsession, Scott.

No, there's a difference between failure and defeat.

Is there?

Has to be.

And there's a place where he never feels inadequate and the light doesn't scare him. Where green eyes register as green eyes and the love he finds there is absolute and complete and unconditional.

Where he returns home and finds innocence and freedom, and his life matters and its impact on the world is great and satisfaction is only second to happiness, and the mixture is intoxicating.

A place where he can love a doctor and protect a child and make a professor proud. Where everyone reads Camus, where no one walks in front or behind, where everyone walks beside each other.

And where he goes into the forest and everything is quiet, the innocent and the corrupt and the ones in between don't break each other's toys.

Where it doesn't rain in his bedroom.

~oOo~

There's a place.

A place in his mind and his mind isn't a quiet place, but this place is soundless and safe and peaceful and the walls aren't hidden or needed, and secrets don't exist. Where the deserts all have water, and understanding is universal and unconditional and he doesn't have bloodstained claws. Where there are no white streaks in her hair.

A place where the snowy locks don't build up barriers for him, hurdles and obstacles not even the best athlete can jump over because they are innocence and purity and virtue and chastity and morality stripped, made basic.

Where secret places hold hope even for the lost, and salvation is only a touch away. Where a caress isn't fatal, where it doesn't offer purification and release, where he laughs without appearing the fool.

Where he takes her wherever she wants to go, where he reaches out and is loved in return. Where it doesn't hurt every time.

Where he remembers who he is.

Where he doesn't outlive happiness, and involvement doesn't negate the freedom.

There's a place where he can walk up the stairs and open the door and take her hand. Where she's half asleep with a peaceful smile on her face, and he doesn't feel guilty for being in her head. Where she wakes up and sings for him, where she doesn't care that innocence doesn't, can never mix with sin, with bloodshed.

Running again?

No, no more running.

You promise?

I promise.

Where her voice brings salvation because he knows he can make her that promise, he can protect her forever. A place where he can keep his promise, where the night isn't so long and decisions so scarce.

Where her voice promises to return to him a peace he knows exists, where roses remain roses, when there are never shiny, cold blades cutting off the thorns, leaving her defenseless.

Where wolves don't stand in his way.

Where it doesn't rain in the living room.

~oOo~

There's a place.

A place where Erik doesn't escape from his plastic prison. Where Rogue and he can't justify and defend him. Where they can't agree with the enemy. A place where they can't forgive him for everything. Where they can resent him for trying again, and a place where they can stop him from succeeding the second time.

A place where humans rediscover fire.

Where, after conquering bigotry and fear, repentance comes like a rite of passage, and humanity evolves.

Where he's not just The Professor, but a father and a brother and a son and friends don't break his heart and he doesn't break theirs.

Where his children don't have to run from wolves, where they don't have to hide from their gifts, where his precious family finds where home is. Where the girl who sings can appease a friend, a lover, a brother, a father. Where the favorite one isn't so much like the father, where her red hair doesn't blind the son.

A place where the son doesn't have to be the leader, because the father can walk and take care of all his children. Where the calm, powerful one doesn't stay in the shadow, out of sight, a place where she walks protected from the world because, she too, needs protection.

He escaped, Charles.

I know.

What will he do?

What he thinks is right.

Where he can lean on his hopes, where he's right about humanity, a place where Erik is wrong.

A place where it doesn't rain in the library.

~oOo~

There's a place.

A place where she can tend to birds with young wings that never get broken. Where bridges don't burn and everything can be rebuilt. Where sense and reason fight for the right side, and the right side always wins.

Where winning doesn't silence the song, and innocence doesn't bleed. Where she can't control her powers and everyone wants her to sing for their kind instead, where she bears the burden alone, where she feels like a leader. Where she doesn't hear the song in the arboretum and where she doesn't risk loss by simply listening.

A place where she can honestly say she doesn't see the wolves lurking, stalking in the shadows, where she can comfort a child and a sister. Where the garden doesn't have a view of the arboretum, where she doesn't see into the living room, where the library isn't illuminated by candles.

Ororo, keep the children away from the front gate.

What is the matter?

Magneto succeeded.

Where she can perhaps ignore passion and desire and anger, and she doesn't feel helplessness.

There's a place where her family comes for her, where the childhood dreams come true, where deep needs guide her to a place where no one has to ask why, where her head is held high all the time.

A place where it's not too much to ask that even she, a goddess, be offered a road not traveled. Where memories mean more than fear and differences can be overcome.

Are they afraid of us now, Miss Munroe?

Perhaps, child. Now, take Billy's hand and follow Rudy.

Where the wolves aren't hungry, where they don't travel in pack, and fathers have a way to feed the hungry ones.

Where it doesn't rain in the garden.

~oOo~

There's a place.

A place where pain isn't inevitable, where talking isn't a waste of breath, and the frail balance between desperation and fear and violence stays intact. Where there are no wolves leaving a blemish on the mankind, where violence doesn't solve everything.

Where friendship is as comfortable as cotton, where her desire belongs to only one man, and she can be sure which. Where devotion prepares her for futility.

Where she can leave her office and check on the forest, where she doesn't have to pray the song didn't stop, and the woods didn't grow dim.

What will happen, Jean?

I don't know.

All mutants, right?

Yes.

A place where she can be sure the one sharing her bed sees beyond the red. Where she finds enough strength to accept she's not a child anymore, where she can be sheltered again, where she can convince the wolves they're just as starved. Where she forgets what she saw, where she forgets what flooded an innocent mind, and what haunts another.

Go ahead, take a look, Jeannie.

There's a place where she doesn't look, where she doesn't morbidly like what she sees, where she doesn't understand what's happening.

Where it doesn't rain in the infirmary.

~oOo~

There's a place.

Where it doesn't rain wolves.

A place where there's laughter and singing and simple tears can cure everything and anything. A place where hope always offers salvation. A place where crystal skies never break like glass droplets, spilling silence as a sign that redemption is dead, gone, never coming back. Where someone remembers that beneath the bitterness and hate and fear, there grow dreams and chances that with seasons become tall, dark trees. Tall, dark trees that never foster wolves in their shadows.

There's a place where a girl with innocence lost doesn't lie in the rising sun among shattered glass, amid consuming flames, surrounded by the dark forest and a glass prison created by a winnerless war, where she is protected. There's a place where a human beast whose nights were always too lonely, and the road always too long, doesn't want to enjoy killing the humans who took away his hope, where his hope never sung her last melody, where he didn't hear her die, where he finds out who he really is.

There's a place where a man who never learned how to live gets the chance. Where his ruby red lenses don't lay broken, resting in pieces on the moist green carpet, where he doesn't blame himself for not seeing it, not wanting to see it.

There's a place where a professor can think of only himself when his eyes close and the blood bubbles up, where he doesn't die worrying about his children and giving unsolicited forgiveness to his hunters as the candles flicker out.

There's a place where a goddess doesn't regret using her powers to defend herself, where her long, ivory hair and deep, passionate eyes aren't invisible anymore, where she leads all the children into safety through the garden.

There's a place where a telepath doesn't understand the historical inevitability, and where her light eyes don't fill with shimmering moisture as she feels their hopeless fear, where she doesn't want to tend to her enemies' wounds as she, herself, bleeds against a sterile wall.

There's a place where a man who bends metal can exorcise the boy who seeks revenge, where he can live long enough to get closure after triumph, where he can feel satisfied he proved his point. Where he doesn't willingly step in front of a human weapon to stop the boy from hurting anew, where he's not stuck in a vicious circle. Where what he had done is worth it.

There's a place where nightmares belong only to the sleeping, and the waking ache goes away with time.

Where worlds don't die when humanity does.

So, yes, there's a place.

But this isn't it.

~oOo~ eGroups Sponsor