God Loves, Man Kills (PART 3!!)
Posted: Mon Dec 29, 2003 2:53 am
God Loves, Man Kills
Part 3
A/N: OMFG, how long was it until this was done…?! *punishes self strictly* Anyway…last chapter, don't ask for anymore. So there. :p
*****
There she is, a single human being standing against the tidal wave threatening to consume us in its horrible rage. Even from the jet I can see her power, a bright flame blazing around her. A light in the darkness.
And suddenly…she's gone.
Swept away by the water.
That is all Wolverine can say, over and over like a horrible song: "She's gone, she's gone." This other man, Scott, rages and hits him but with only half strength; his despair has drained it all away.
The children say nothing, stunned by their teacher's sudden and noble sacrifice. A girl turns her head to hide silent tears from the adults crying openly.
Storm is in shock, I can see that, not wanting to believe in her best friend's death. She is struggling not to sob herself. I myself cannot believe it. I have known her for such a short time but she had become a friend…how can she be gone so soon?
Unsure what to do, among these strangers and their strange ways, I turn to the one familiar thing left to me.
"The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of the death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me…"
*****
The X-Mansion, the school of these X-Men. I can hardly believe the sheer size of it, though a great deal has been destroyed from the attack on it and its students. So unlike my colorful wagons, old vans, and giant circus tents.
Scott walks about in a daze through the Blackbird's hangar and to some other room in this underground base of chrome and silver., still in shock. I cannot see his eyes through that visor on his face, but I can imagine the pain and horror that I would see if I could. The professor and his students go up to look for the other missing students, leaving Scott to his grief. Logan is quiet, not the kind of quiet that comes from his voluntary solitude. He seems so very alone now. I wish I could approach him somehow.
But I was no friend of Jean Grey. I was there only because of fate, not because I chose to. They needed to know things and I had what they needed. I was there to be…used.
Then why, Lord, do I grieve her death if she was nothing important to me, and visa versa?
"That was nice, what you said."
Stirred from my deep thought, I turn. It's Storm. I catch my breath as I see the horrible sorrow in her every move, in her voice, in her eyes. "What?"
"That prayer you said…it was very beautiful. I just wanted to say thank you."
"Oh…well, I felt it was appropriate for someone who had…" I cannot finish the sentence but she knows what it would have been.
"Yes…but…"
"Yes?"
"Why did you say it in English? Before, you were praying in German."
I honestly don't know why. But she needs an answer. And…a friend. "I don't know. I suppose I just felt that I should say it in her language."
"Okay."
And suddenly, it all comes out, all these feelings that I've been holding back from the very beginning: "This was all my fault."
"What?" she asks, head snapping up to look at me, but I cannot face the friend of a woman I have killed.
"All of this; Stryker, the attack…Jean…I did all of this." The break in my voice is unwelcome but I cannot hold this back any longer or I feel they will kill me. "If I hadn't left Germany and come here…" I feel the circular scar resting on my neck, the ultimate mark of my shame. "If I hadn't let Stryker do this to me…none of this would have happened."
Her silence is so hurtful. I wish she would yell at me, hit me, do something. Anything but this horrible quiet. Please, I beg silently to her, don't do this to me. I can't bear it.
Out of the blue, I feel her hands reach up to stroke my scarred cheek, almost exactly as I had caressed her face just the day before. I look up and she is suddenly so close. I can feel her breath on my face and surely she can feel mine.
"You're wrong," she tells me in that strong, matter-of-fact voice I've grown so fond of. "If you hadn't attacked the President, we wouldn't have gone looking for you in that church, Kurt. We wouldn't have known what Stryker was doing…and we'd probably all be dead. Even Jean."
"But—"
"Shh." She rests a slender finger on my lips, silencing me with a simple gesture. "Someone so beautiful should not be so angry at himself."
I am taken aback by her words. I have never been spoken to like this, by anyone. Ever. "I'm not beautiful," I murmur in an embarrassed whisper.
To my surprise, she smiles. Oh, what an exquisite smile this woman has, able to bring light to the darkest days! "That's what you think."
And suddenly, she, too, loses her grip. The tears begin to fall from her perfect blue eyes onto her slender face. "She's gone," she sobs in a cracked voice, taking me by the shoulders to keep her standing. "Oh dear God, Kurt, she's gone!"
She begins to collapse and I kneel with her onto the floor. Her sobs are ragged and violent, pouring out all of her withheld anguish. Her fingers are digging into me and they are painful but I cannot feel anything but pity for this woman drowning in her pain.
"Hold me, Kurt," she whispers in my ear through the tears. "Just hold me."
And I do.
Part 3
A/N: OMFG, how long was it until this was done…?! *punishes self strictly* Anyway…last chapter, don't ask for anymore. So there. :p
*****
There she is, a single human being standing against the tidal wave threatening to consume us in its horrible rage. Even from the jet I can see her power, a bright flame blazing around her. A light in the darkness.
And suddenly…she's gone.
Swept away by the water.
That is all Wolverine can say, over and over like a horrible song: "She's gone, she's gone." This other man, Scott, rages and hits him but with only half strength; his despair has drained it all away.
The children say nothing, stunned by their teacher's sudden and noble sacrifice. A girl turns her head to hide silent tears from the adults crying openly.
Storm is in shock, I can see that, not wanting to believe in her best friend's death. She is struggling not to sob herself. I myself cannot believe it. I have known her for such a short time but she had become a friend…how can she be gone so soon?
Unsure what to do, among these strangers and their strange ways, I turn to the one familiar thing left to me.
"The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of the death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me…"
*****
The X-Mansion, the school of these X-Men. I can hardly believe the sheer size of it, though a great deal has been destroyed from the attack on it and its students. So unlike my colorful wagons, old vans, and giant circus tents.
Scott walks about in a daze through the Blackbird's hangar and to some other room in this underground base of chrome and silver., still in shock. I cannot see his eyes through that visor on his face, but I can imagine the pain and horror that I would see if I could. The professor and his students go up to look for the other missing students, leaving Scott to his grief. Logan is quiet, not the kind of quiet that comes from his voluntary solitude. He seems so very alone now. I wish I could approach him somehow.
But I was no friend of Jean Grey. I was there only because of fate, not because I chose to. They needed to know things and I had what they needed. I was there to be…used.
Then why, Lord, do I grieve her death if she was nothing important to me, and visa versa?
"That was nice, what you said."
Stirred from my deep thought, I turn. It's Storm. I catch my breath as I see the horrible sorrow in her every move, in her voice, in her eyes. "What?"
"That prayer you said…it was very beautiful. I just wanted to say thank you."
"Oh…well, I felt it was appropriate for someone who had…" I cannot finish the sentence but she knows what it would have been.
"Yes…but…"
"Yes?"
"Why did you say it in English? Before, you were praying in German."
I honestly don't know why. But she needs an answer. And…a friend. "I don't know. I suppose I just felt that I should say it in her language."
"Okay."
And suddenly, it all comes out, all these feelings that I've been holding back from the very beginning: "This was all my fault."
"What?" she asks, head snapping up to look at me, but I cannot face the friend of a woman I have killed.
"All of this; Stryker, the attack…Jean…I did all of this." The break in my voice is unwelcome but I cannot hold this back any longer or I feel they will kill me. "If I hadn't left Germany and come here…" I feel the circular scar resting on my neck, the ultimate mark of my shame. "If I hadn't let Stryker do this to me…none of this would have happened."
Her silence is so hurtful. I wish she would yell at me, hit me, do something. Anything but this horrible quiet. Please, I beg silently to her, don't do this to me. I can't bear it.
Out of the blue, I feel her hands reach up to stroke my scarred cheek, almost exactly as I had caressed her face just the day before. I look up and she is suddenly so close. I can feel her breath on my face and surely she can feel mine.
"You're wrong," she tells me in that strong, matter-of-fact voice I've grown so fond of. "If you hadn't attacked the President, we wouldn't have gone looking for you in that church, Kurt. We wouldn't have known what Stryker was doing…and we'd probably all be dead. Even Jean."
"But—"
"Shh." She rests a slender finger on my lips, silencing me with a simple gesture. "Someone so beautiful should not be so angry at himself."
I am taken aback by her words. I have never been spoken to like this, by anyone. Ever. "I'm not beautiful," I murmur in an embarrassed whisper.
To my surprise, she smiles. Oh, what an exquisite smile this woman has, able to bring light to the darkest days! "That's what you think."
And suddenly, she, too, loses her grip. The tears begin to fall from her perfect blue eyes onto her slender face. "She's gone," she sobs in a cracked voice, taking me by the shoulders to keep her standing. "Oh dear God, Kurt, she's gone!"
She begins to collapse and I kneel with her onto the floor. Her sobs are ragged and violent, pouring out all of her withheld anguish. Her fingers are digging into me and they are painful but I cannot feel anything but pity for this woman drowning in her pain.
"Hold me, Kurt," she whispers in my ear through the tears. "Just hold me."
And I do.
)
I loved it! *applauds*