Subject: [OTL]: Colossus: The Crosses We Bear Date: Mon, 7 Dec 1998 20:22:34 -0800 (PST) From: Erik Larson This one popped into my head during the drive home from school, and wouldn't leave for love or money. #include (std_disclaimer.h) If I've already given you permission to archive, go ahead. All others, please ask. !MST_OK, POP_OK -- Piotr sighed as he walked out of the Mansion, the festive sounds of a raucous Christmas party dimming to nothing as the thick wodden door closed behind him. Walking aimlessly, he trudged his way towards the forested area surrounding the Mansion, his mind awhirl. Inside his head, behind every mindshield he knew how to construct, a curious litany of thoughts broiled. "Do the X-Men really need me?" As the Professor had trained him to do, he tried to analyze the situation logically as his body walked. Surely it wasn't his power they needed. With Rogue on the team, as unstable as she was, they don't need anyone with Colossus's raw power. Rogue's raw tonnage potential was lower than his, true, but her other gifts more than made up for the lack. Flight, seventh sense, body-armor, and of course her absorption ability. He could only go from flesh to armored and back again. No, they had only needed Colossus's power in the beginning. Now, Colossus was redundant. He had been thus for most of his career with the X-Men. But he didn't begrudge Rogue her place in the sun, oh no. It is only fitting that the better person won, after all. Was it him as a person the X-Men needed? In a fit of brutal honesty, he decided that couldn't be it either. As a person Piotr was a follower, and always had been. He preferred his life simple, clear-cut, and without distractions. All around him, chaos reigned. Ororo, the Wind-Rider, didn't need him. Her time was spent trying to hold the X-Men together, and to keep the vicious little Morlock known as Marrow in check. The Morlocks. One of his greatest failures. He couldn't protect the Morlocks, those who needed his protection the most of all. He had shed his life's blood, paralyzing and nearly killing himself to help save that colony of degraded wretches. He had even killed for them. Worse, he had enjoyed it. When the lavender-haired Marauder's neck snapped like a twig in my grasp, I enjoyed it. There was no thought of pity, or remorse, or respect. Only a grim satisfaction in murder. Not that this was the first time I'd killed, oh no. That honor goes to poor Moira's only son, the boy Kevin McTaggert. Proteus. When Moira needed me, I was there for her. I held her as she cried, it was my hand that scattered her son to the four winds, my hand that saved us all. When I needed Moira, I was given platitudes, and regrets. When my sister lay dying, alone, tied to alien machines to make her existance prolonged, I was in Scotland, babysitting a deranged lunatic who wanted to make amends with Jean. Her needs before mine. When my sister lay dying, her DNA unravelling before our eyes, I was in France, fighting Magneto's Acolytes. Did Magneto need me? I thought so once. His way was so simple, so direct. Just sdo as you're told. Don't ask questions, don't argue, just do as you are told. Balm to my soul, that blustery day when my beloved sister died. When Magneto came, to offer us all Haven. I accepted his offer, of my own free will. His way seemed to be a brighter path. Charles had failed me, failed my sister. Magnus's way promised strength, unity. I was wrong. I see that now. While the way is good, the people he had chosen, his Acolytes, twisted it for their own power-plays, their own egos. Such a shame. Does Katya need me? Katya. Poor, poor Kitty. She's grown up so wonderfully. She doesn't need me anymore. And, in my darker days, I wonder if she ever did. I was so much older than she, but it was I who depended on her. My weakness, borne for so long by her, replayed in betrayal and blood. I nearly killed her lover. I would have, if I hadn't been stopped. I think of that day often. How I felt when I saw her in his arms. How the cold rage just spread, blocking all my thoughts, all my dreams, and let me beat a man almost to death. Inside, I heard the sound of a heart breaking. I know she wasn't mine anymore, that she'd moved on, gotten over me. But my heart, it doesn't listen. To me, she was my last, best hope for love. She was all that I had left, of those simple, quiet times before everything had gone wrong. Rory Campbell helped me understand that. But Rory had to go, he had more important things to do. I should understand this. There's always something more important than I. I had happiness, once. I was Peter Nichols, artist. I gave life to the canvas, brought beauty to the masses. I could create, I could paint everything around me, in all the colors of Life itself. But Charles, Gospodin Xavier, took that away from me. He murdered Peter Nichols, in cold blood, non corpos mentis. He needed Colossus, you see, to stand against his old foe, the Shadow King. Exactly what good a powerhouse is against the world's premier dark psionic entity was never truly explained to me. Ours is not to question why, Piotr, ours is but to die and die. Just like my brother Mikhail. Is that the fate that awaits me? The blood of millions on my hand, power at my fingertips, and no way to stop the screams at night? I can hear them now, you see. The screams of a little fair-haired girl, violated body and soul by black sorcery. The sounds of a young Cosmonaut, screaming as thousands are cut down where they stood because of a slip in concentration. I hear the screams and cries for help, as murderers laugh and slay. But this is Christmas. Everyone's celebrating the brith of their Savior, their God. I have no God to celebrate. I was raised as a son of the Rodina, and Gods were a detriment to the Party line. I remember all the betrayals I've committed, through the years. Arcade, the weaselly little assassin, ahd me convinced that I was dead weight, useless, superfluous. Unneeded. He turned me into the Proletariat, guardian and defender of a country that needed my efforts. It chills me, sometimes, to think that he may have been right. Why am I still with the X-Men? I have no ties, not anymore. I am not needed for my power, I am not needed for my person. I look up, suddenly, as I come to the edge of the woods. -- Erik Larson "Pardon me, but who is this God person you are erik_larson@hotmail.com referring to?