Title: Blue
Author: Tempest
Disclaimer: No mutants were harmed in the making of this fic. They will be returned to sender in a timely fashion. Marvel owns everything. I don't own the song "Blue" either. It belongs to A Perfect Circle, their record company, and so forth. No money is made off these works. No copyright infringement intended.
Author's Notes: The song "Blue" (among other APC songs) and the 15minuteficlet community on livejournal inspired this. I found Ororo's changing disposition in X-treme interesting, so I wanted to write a little something about that. Other than that, this really follows no real continuity. The narrator's name isn't mentioned purposely. Thanks Anna for reading over this, and thanks Stephanie for putting up with my raving!

- - -

Call an optimist, she's turning blue
Such a perfect color for your eyes
Call an optimist, she's turning blue
Such a lovely color for you
Call an optimist, she's turning blue
While I just sit and stare at you
Blue by A Perfect Circle

- - -

Ororo sat across from him at the kitchen table, clutching a mug. Blue eyes grazed over his face, then moved back to her coffee. She didn't greet him with a good morning. Outside of the missions, she didn't say much of anything to him. He had never verbally expressed his growing dislike of her new attitude, but he knew she felt it just the same. She blew the steam from her coffee, pensively, while he stared at her.

He remembered the first time he looked in her eyes years ago. She had eyes so blue you could drown in them, but they were warm, amiable, accepting. He thought her eyes were lovely, beautiful pools of blue that could soothe the soul after a hard mission. Not anymore, though. They were still lovely, but now, her eyes were just cool, indifferent slivers of ice that cut straight through to the heart. Her eyes betrayed nothing but her anger.

Something was missing. Something had been taken from her. He didn't know what. He didn't even know when it happened. One day she was giving him advice on his problems and the next she was a stranger who would barely speak to him – even on her good days.

She used to be an inspiration to him. She was always so calm, so collected. When everyone else gave up the hope, when they believed there was nothing left to believe, she kept the dream alive. She always knew the right thing to say to comfort someone. She demanded excellence in them when they thought it wasn't worth it.

She had always been their stronghold, the housemother who scolded them when they did something wrong. She was the nurturer, the friend who never thought your problems were insignificant. She was the demure beauty who didn't make people uncomfortable by flaunting her sexuality. Sometimes she acted as if she was untouchable, but that was who she was.

When did everything change? When did she become this person he hardly recognized? Was he so blind he hadn't seen her morphing right in front of him? When he realized that she was different, it was like a blow to the head. He was still reeling from it. Not Ororo. Anyone else, but not her. She was supposed to be the one constant in his life. This was what he had come to expect from her.

Then, suddenly, she was different. It was as if someone peeled away her skin and exposed a new disguise. A perpetual scowl stained her face, and she was doing things he'd never expect. Sometimes, he would squint his eyes just to see if he could see some of the old Ororo. Maybe he could see her better if he just closed his eyes altogether when he looked at her. He didn't like this new Ororo.

It couldn't have been a sudden change, though. When the glass cracked, maybe he didn't notice. Maybe he refused to see. It was easier not to see it than to acknowledge that something was wrong. It hurt to think that he watched this happen to her, and he didn't try to help her. What kind of friend did that make him? She was always there when he needed her, but when she needed him, he refused to see.

Now he was scared to look at her, sometimes. She worried him many days, like the day before when they were training together in the danger room. A scream of pure frustration and rage ripped from her soul, as she punched one of the robots until her knuckles were bloody. She didn't stop then. She wouldn't have stopped if he hadn't grabbed her arm, which resulted in her turning her rage on him.

She beat on his chest until the tears started. It hurt, too, and he had a barrage of bruises on his chest to attest to that. But when he tried to comfort her, she ran, leaving him bewildered. They didn't speak at dinner, they didn't speak before bed, and they weren't speaking now. In fact, he was convinced this wasn't Ororo sitting in front of him. He wanted to jump from his chair, shake this alien's shoulder, and demand her to bring the real Ororo back.

"What?" she finally asked, looking at him over her cup.

"Nothing," he said.

"Figures." Blue eyes rolled at him, another disregard. He hated all the animosity that poured from her. Everything he said to her was met with a sarcastic reply, and apparently, she thought there was nothing going on in his head.

"You fucking disappoint me," he said, glaring at her. He hadn't meant to say that, but it was out now. That's how he felt. He was disappointed in her. He felt she let him down. He should have known better.

He half-expected her to slap him. That's what the new Ororo would do. She would slap him until her hands were raw and red from connecting with flesh. She would scream at him that everything she did was for the team. Then, she would curl her lip at him and walk away disgusted. These were the things that he came to expect from her now.

She didn't strike him. She didn't scream at him. She didn't walk away from him with disgust plastered on her face. She closed her eyes and let out a resigned sigh, placing her cup on the table. "I am sick of all the opinions of me. I never asked for them. I never asked everyone to expect so much from me. I am only human. Everyone disregards that. I am flawed, but I am trying. I love. I hate. I rage. I rage. I RAGE!" She beat a fist against her chest.

He opened his mouth to respond, but he closed it again. What could he say in response to that, though? He was unwilling to back down to her, to tell her that he was sorry. He knew she was human, and he never expected her to be perfect. Yeah, sometimes, he expected too much from her, but that's because she always set high standards for herself. She always tried to be better, faster, stronger than she really was.

She held her emotions like a puppet, waved away their empathy. They put her on a pedestal, and she hadn't done much to change that. She smiled through her rage; she laughed through her sadness. She did this. She kept up the act because she wanted to. They didn't ask her to. She said it was because she had to. She couldn't lose control, but she was losing control now.

I don't know about you, he said silently. "I just want to help you." His tone softened. A flicker of emotion sparked in her blue eyes, and he held his breath for a second. Then, her eyes went blank again.

"No," she said, standing from her seat. Blue eyes burned into his skin, as she said, "This may sound a little frightening, but things are better off this way, my friend. Love me or hate me, I get things done."

"No?" he repeated after her retreating back. She was giving him permission to sit back and watch her self-destruct. He wouldn't do it. This time he wouldn't be so blind.