Disclaimer: All characters belong to Marvel comics and affiliates. I own nothing.
It came in the mail, slipped in a nondescript square brown envelope. Just my name and address adorned the front of the envelope. There was no return address.
I turned it over cautiously in my hands. I didn't get mail. The rest of the envelope was blank. My fingers slid it open slowly. I could feel my heart beating harder in my chest, the blood pumping faster.
I stood in the entrance way of my apartment staring at the envelope that I'd just unsealed. The light morning sunlight was filtering through the small kitchen window, spilling into the hall. But it was dark in the entrance way.
I turned over the envelope and it slid out, right into my palm. The steel was cold as it fell into my hand, conforming as if it was meant for it. The corners were smooth and felt cool against my fingers.
My heart gave a twist as I stared at object in my hands.
Three years. It had been three years since I'd seen something that meant what this did.
When I first came to the mansion, I was young, only thirteen. The professor had found me on the streets scavenging for food. When he'd come upon me, I'd been terrified. My instinct had been to flee.
I can still feel the blood coursing through my veins and the quickened pulse as I considered running away from the well-dressed man in a wheelchair. I'd felt the grip of fear on my heart as I stared at him. I'd been afraid.
But I'd gone with him. I'd gone to the mansion; a huge house, the like of which I'd never even imagined. Everything was so clean and big. I got my own room with a shower, a bed, and quiet, blissful quiet.
I would spend Saturday mornings sitting on my desk staring out the window, still trying to convince myself that it was all real. I saved up money and bought my first real lighter. It wasn't some cheap plastic thing. It was heavy metal, cold steel that sent a tingle down my spine whenever I held it.
It was only cold the first time I ever held it, though. After that, it was always warm from my hands or my pocket. I was never without it. I kept it with me at all times.
For a year and a half, I was alone in my room. There was always a second bed, but no one said anything about a roommate. I liked it that way. I could do whatever I wanted in my room; mess with my lighter, sleep all day, incinerate the curtains, and no one cared.
But then… he came. He showed up looking nervous and scared, his well-kept suitcases in hand and his shirt buttoned up all nice and neat. He came with Scott, his eyes darting all over the place.
I'd given him a calculating eyebrow raise and watched closely as he set his things down. Scott tried to introduce us but all he got to was, "John, this is Bobby," before I tuned him out.
As I looked over the boy, I wondered what he could do and why they were sticking him with me. Surely, there were other rooms available. He looked like he was scared to death and wanted to run home to mommy as fast as he could. The thought made me sick. I didn't want him as my roommate. If I was going to have a roommate, I'd rather have had someone who knew what they were doing, who wasn't ashamed of themselves.
Scott had left us alone and an awkward silence had ensued. I hate awkward silences. My lighter came out and I'd flicked it open and shut. It always annoyed the hell out of Kitty and I figured this new kid would be no different.
He didn't say anything as I leaned against the wall, clicking the lighter. He glanced at me once, but only for a second. It seemed like he was trying to concentrate as much as possible on organizing his sock drawer.
After what seemed like forever, I couldn't take the silence anymore. It was pressing in on my ears. I snapped the lighter shut definitively, and he glanced at me for a second before looking away, as though ashamed.
"What can you do?" I asked. It was blunt, but I didn't care. I wanted to know.
The kid, Bobby, had paused in folding his millionth polo shirt and turned to me. His eyes were the clearest blue I could ever remember seeing. I just remember staring into them for a moment before shaking myself out of it.
I waited impatiently for his answer and watched as he walked over to my bedside table where there was a half-drunk glass of water. He pressed a finger to the side and I watched as the water turned to ice before my very eyes.
He looked up at me, his crystal blue eyes apprehensive; as if afraid I would reject him for his power.
I held his gaze for a second, then flipped open my lighter, stealing the flame away and sending it to the water, melting it in seconds.
He'd looked impressed, but more than that, almost relieved. He gave me a tentative smile and returned to unpacking, the silence now a little less awkward.
My birthday was just a month after that. I'd had a shitty day, with stupid professors preaching control. I didn't want to control my power. I wanted to release it.
When I got back to my room, I'd thrown my bag on my bed in a huff. I wanted to set it on fire but knew that wouldn't be the best idea. Instead, I kicked the bed post and settled for collapsing angrily on it, sprawled on my back.
I didn't look up when the door opened and he came in. He was still cautious around me, as if being too loud might make me change my mind about liking him. In my state of unrest, this just made me angrier.
"What the fuck, Drake?" I asked, not raising my head. "Just fucking open the door and come in. I'm not going to attack you."
I could almost feel his embarrassment as he shut the door behind him without a word. I rolled my eyes and pushed myself up, intending to give him a piece of my overworked mind.
I was hit with a surprise as I saw him standing next to my head, shifting back and forth nervously on his feet. In his hand was a small package wrapped in red wrapping paper. It looked like Christmas paper, even though it was nowhere near Christmas.
"What's that?" I asked accusingly.
He looked sheepish as he held it out slowly, almost afraid I might take it. I did take it and I saw him wince. That made me suspicious.
I opened it slowly, my fingers fumbling over the paper. No one gave me gifts on my birthday. The only one who'd ever tried was Kitty. She gave me some ugly flowers once, the ashes of which were scattered under my window mere minutes later.
Since then, she gave up. She even learned to discourage others to give me gifts, knowing their fates.
Bobby must not have listened. My fingers were trembling slightly as the paper fell away, fluttering to the ground, and a small but heavy lighter fell into my hand. It was silver and had red teeth painted into it.
I stared at it for a second and then looked up at him. He had an anxious look on his face, as if trying to figure out what I thought and if it had been a good idea.
"I just… Kitty said today was your birthday and I… I wanted to get you something."
I didn't know what to say. Normally, I would have shoved it back at him, sneering something about birthdays are for saps and I don't need any presents. But something about it stopped me. Instead, my mouth quirked into a small smile as I watched him fidget.
"Yeah, it is my birthday."
That was all. He looked relieved and then grabbed his books to do homework in the library. When he'd gone, I'd fallen back on my bed, turning the new lighter over in my hand, feeling the cold metal warm up. I knew it wouldn't be cold again.
I reached into my pocket and slid out my other lighter. I reached over and opened the bottom drawer of my bedside cabinet. Inside was a small leather bag. I put my old lighter in it and shoved it down deep.
The next year, the same thing happened, but this time Bobby wasn't as hesitant about it. Instead, he practically bounded in the room, a big smile on his face. He'd frozen the ring of fire I'd been manipulating.
I was too slow and it shattered as it hit the floor. He didn't even bother to frown at the thought of melting water on his things, but instead came up to me, holding out another small package.
It was another lighter, this one black with a red palm tree painted on the side. I had to admit that it was pretty cool. That year, I'd actually managed to get a "thank" out before he cut me off.
"Happy birthday, John."
I was happy. For once in my life, I had a friend who cared about me, someone who didn't see me as a means to an end. Bobby was my best friend in the mansion. He put up with all my annoying habits, knew when to put a stop to it and when to let it go.
My feelings were developing quickly and the flushed kiss behind the gardening shed was enough to prove that. He'd stared at me, almost as if I'd grown an extra head immediately after.
But even so, it didn't stop me from doing it again. He'd sort of fallen into the kiss, letting his body take over for his brain. I liked it. It felt good, right.
A year later, she showed up. He gave her an ice rose and it was all downhill from there. He stopped hanging out with me. He hardly responded to my goading, my teasing, everything I did for his attention. I didn't matter anymore.
The kisses turned into stolen pecks before class in our room, they turned into meaningless touches in the shower. Eventually, they stopped altogether. My birthday came and went, another lighter added to the pile.
This one was small, white with a single silver circle on the side. I could tell it wasn't thought out. It was an empty gift. I considered throwing it away, but the thought twisted my heart painfully.
Instead, it had gone in the bag with the rest, shoved in my bottom drawer. Looking at the bag made me hurt so I stopped. I still sat in my room on Saturday mornings, staring out the window at the green trees gilded with gold as the sun rose.
I thought the same thing, is this real? But it was different. It was, is this real, Bobby doesn't care anymore?
I felt lost again, like I had those years ago when Xavier had found me. I felt the irrepressible urge to run again.
Then they'd raided the mansion. We ran, Bobby, Rogue, and I. He wanted to stay for her, endanger his life for her, not me. God, I was dying on the inside.
We got out, took the car, and went to his house. His parents came home and things just kept getting worse.
As he sat opposite his mom, he looked like the same scared little boy I'd first met at the mansion. He looked so young and innocent. Showing her his power, I could tell he was scared.
He's always wanted to be accepted, by his parents, his friends, even the other mutants. He doesn't realize that he can't fit in with everyone. It's just not an option.
His brother was a dick and called the cops. So much for accepting families, right?
I still remember the last words I said to him before I left. He and Rogue were all comfortable, huddled together in the jet. Watching them made me feel sick. They tried to stop me, or half-tried. A word or two was all I merited. I turned to them, my eyes trained on Bobby.
"You always do what you're told?"
And then I was gone.
The war came and gone, my birthday along with it. For my birthday, I got to face the boy I secretly harbored deeper feelings than he ever knew. I got to stand before him, attempting to burn him to a crisp.
I didn't even have a lighter by that point. I had some device Magneto made me. It was simple, easy.
I lost. He finally learned to accept his power, use it to its full potential. He finally learned that the power didn't make him, he made the power. I wish he'd figured this out so many years ago.
After Alcatraz, I disappeared, lost all contact with the Brotherhood. I moved far away. I wanted to get away from it all, away from Magneto's crazy ideas of mutant superiority and human ignorance. I needed to get out on my own and try to live.
I moved and got a job. I made a living, slipped into normal society without so much as a firework. I bought a lighter again and tried to remember what it was like to be normal.
Three years later, it came in the mail. I stood in my dark entrance way as the hall behind me flooded with bright early morning sun. It had slipped through my mail slot with a small clunk on the mat.
I didn't know whether to laugh or cry or what. My heart felt like it was being wrenched out.
In my hand was a comfortably heavy silver lighter. An embossed phoenix adorned the side, wisps of red accenting the edges. I could feel the lump in my throat rising and hot tears pricking at my eyes.
It was my 22nd birthday. I'd almost forgotten. It'd been so long since I even acknowledged the day. But there I was with a fourth lighter fitting into my hand.
I wondered if the phoenix was a subtle reference to the war or if it meant something else.
I don't know how long I stared at the silver lighter. Maybe I thought that if I looked long enough it might disappear.
I was jolted out of my staring contest when there was a knock on the door. My heart jumped into my throat and I looked up to stare at the door instead. I never had visitors.
I didn't bother pocketing the lighter, instead, just reached out automatically and opened the door.
It swung open and he was standing there. His hands were in his pockets and his head was downcast for a second.
I stared at him, my mouth falling open for the briefest moment. I felt something then that I hadn't felt in a very long time, not since the professor had found me rooting through garbage cans. It was that gripping fear that takes hold of your heart, squeezing it until you can feel every pump of blood that rushes through, fighting desperately to keep you alive.
I wanted to run, to slam the door shut and pretend I'd never seen him. But then he looked up at me and I was stuck.
His blue eyes held my gaze and didn't let go for several minutes. A long silence filled the air, stretching on forever as he looked at me. I didn't know what he was thinking.
Then he broke the connection, his eyes flitting to my hand that still held the lighter. I was gripping it tightly, my hand clenched around it as though it were a safety blanket.
"Happy birthday."
Those words had some kind of effect on me and I felt myself crumbling from the inside out. I took a stumbling step backwards, attempting to keep some control on myself.
"Get out," I said, hoping to force him to leave before I broke completely.
He didn't leave. He took a step forward instead, coming inside.
"John, just—"
"No," I interrupted him. "It's my birthday and I want you out."
Bobby's face was sad as he took another step toward me. My hand was clenched so hard around the lighter my knuckles had turned white.
"Stop," I said, and he did.
He looked at me for a minute, a heartbreaking expression flitting across it before he turned around.
I watched almost hopelessly as he walked back to the door. A voice inside my head was screaming at me, but between the blood pounding in my ears and the look on Bobby's face, I couldn't hear a thing.
He gave me a last, sad look as he stopped at the door, then slipped out. I leapt over to the door, having half the intention of going out after him. Yes, I'd told him to get out, but I didn't want that.
"You always do what you're told?" I whispered to the door, falling against it.
I felt weak and defeated again, just like Alcatraz. I couldn't help the single tear that rolled down my cheek.
"No."
I moved away from the door as if it had burned me when Bobby's voice came through it. I stared at it in utter shock as it was pushed open and he slid back through.
He was looking at me, his eyes locking onto mine. "John, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for what happened during school. I shouldn't have let Rogue come between us, but I was scared. I just wanted to be accepted."
The sarcastic part of me wanted to laugh derisively and tell him he was right. He's always wanted acceptance from the wrong people. I could have told him that. But at that moment, I was far too emotionally unstable to jeopardize whatever fragile relationship he was trying to rebuild.
"I still want to be accepted, but for something different this time." I didn't know what he was getting at, but an idea was forming in my mind.
I looked down at the lighter in my hand. It wasn't cold anymore. It was warm from being turned over and over in my hand. I ran my thumb over the outline of the phoenix again and my eyes moved back to his.
"Accepted for what?"
"With you."
I could have sworn he practiced these sappy lines ahead of time, but damn it if they didn't work. I felt my resolve crumbling and he could tell. He took a step toward me and leaned in slowly, his cold lips brushing against mine.
I should have walked away, I knew. I should have told him to leave and never give me another birthday gift. I didn't, though. Instead, I pulled him to me, pressing a harder kiss to his lips, my hand sliding into his soft hair.
He submitted willingly, raking his fingers through my hair, opening his mouth to mine and sliding his tongue against mine. I couldn't remember the last time I kissed him and it felt brand new all over again.
When we pulled away, he was panting slightly and my heart was beating faster than normal, but this time, it wasn't fear that caused it. I knew it would be difficult to start again, but if he was willing, all I could do was follow.
A/N: Please review!