Subject: [OTL]: (Illyana Rasputin) We Can Work it Out 1/1 Date: Mon, 21 Oct 2002 03:00:19 +0000 From: Magik ! Disclaimer: All characters belong to Marvel Comics and are being used for entertainment purposes only. The story belongs to me. We Can Work it Out Magik It's been years since she's sat in this room with these people staring at her like she had formed from the very air but she refuses to leave without hearing a word. She refuses to back out the door and close it and walk away. She refuses to fulfill their wishes and become everything that they've always said that she is. They won't look at her now, won't raise their righteous eyes from the plates and glasses in front of them, won't face her and know her again. But they will. They will look at her and she can wait. She can wait forever because it's over now. It's all over. *** There was war for years, endless fighting and hiding, blood on her hands and scars on her pale limbs. The fight for something beyond what she could see, the endless trek through dead bodies that thronged the ground like fallen leaves. The small regiment behind her, those ready to die for something that she may or may not be able to give them; herself. She had never given that easily. It wasn't like her to make presents of the only thing she had ever been able to hold close even in the darkest times of despair. But they followed anyway and she loved them in her silent way for believing in untrustworthy sources. *** She wants them to rise from their chairs and demand questions of her, not just sit there blankly, looking at their cooling food. If only one person would ask, "Why are you here?" then everything that came after could begin and she would no longer be the shadow in the doorway, she would be acknowledged. The first steps toward acceptance would be able to be taken. But someone has to start. It can't be her. *** "So we meet again," he said, looking down at her, a lost child in the throng of inhuman bodies. And she looked up, not stepping down, not hesitating, unwilling to fold. "I have come for what I won before," she said and he could feel the difference. Once he had broken her, reached into her heart and pulled the power from her, locked her up and left her for dead. Once he had beaten her down into submission and watched her clumsily regain her feet, tottering away, unable to voice the words pounding in her throat. The child he had punished, scorned, stomped beneath his foot and demanded to acquiesce was gone. No one remained to be broken. For she had collected the pieces and made something new from them, something that was covered in a sheath of iron and blood and conviction. It was odd. She had never had conviction before, always shuddered under the touch of her hand, and always folded. This was different, new. He would enjoy finding the crack through which he would hurt her all over again. "Fool. Not yours. Never yours. Mine always." He challenged, expecting something harsh and bold. Expecting the flash of her sword and the start of a teleportation disc that would land her in his waiting hands, ready to be cut and smoothed and polished, a rock for him to shine and possess. A girl statue of marble and bronze with no breath left in her to protest. "Well, then. I'll have to win it for the first time, Belasco. I'll have to win for good." Illyana Rasputin said with a small shake of her head. "But this time, no mercy." And it wasn't revenge in her voice it was acceptance. The child was gone. He laughed and drew his sword from its sheath. "By all means, my dear. I'm waiting." The woman turned and walked away, smiling. *** She steps into the room, her eyes still on them and their unmoving bodies. It wasn't supposed to be like this but she will bow down for them. She will crawl on hands and knees if that's what it takes to make them see her again. She will give everything she never had if they will only speak her name. "I came home. I came back," she pauses, waiting for a response. "I'm here." *** She dreamed of fire and the sword and everything smashing her down once she had managed to rise again. She dreamed of their eyes upon her, dark and accusatory. "Who do you think you are to come back here? We buried you. You're gone." She dreamed of verbal lashing and the feeling that nothing she did would ever allow them to hold her or hear her again. The war was nothing, an irritating fly buzzing around her ear. Something small that meant nothing, whose reward was nothing in comparison to what she wanted. She wanted to go home even though she was afraid of their eyes and their hatred, their accusations. She dreamed of walking through the doorway and holding her hands out, palms open, coming before them bearing nothing, holding nothing back. She dreamed of smiling slightly and saying, "I'm home. I'm sorry." *** No one looks at her and she's stopped breathing. She stands with her hands held out, palms open. Something in her vainly wishes that she could find the words to pray and that, conversely, she still held a belief in something to pray to. But she's been a demon and a goddess and the savior of a race that never learned that word and called her "freedom" instead. She's traveled between realms and held a dozen lives in her hands, crushed black hearts and fought with rusty swords. There were times that she picked the wrong side, killed the valiant and defended the evil. She still cries about that, wakes up with the tears streaming down her face, dream forgotten and horror renewed. They don't turn and she sinks to her knees on the carpet. We had a Christmas tree in here one year, she thinks. I danced with Professor Xavier. *** "You've come back," Belasco said, red lips curving into a contemptuous snarl. "Always," Illyana said and looked at him. Not her master now. She killed that, tracked down the last vestiges of fear at the sight of his horned head and stamped them out one at a time, grinding them under her heel and shrieking at the pleasure of being free. He pulled a sword from the depths of his cloak and looked at her. "Ready?" The blonde shook her hair and languidly waved a hand through the air. Belasco's body began to dissipate, becoming smoke. It started with its feet and worked its way up his legs. "I don't fear you. You have no power now. Not with me." The red eyes fixed on her for a long moment, the cat's eyes rolling in their sockets. "I trained you. I kept you safe. I saved you from the terrors of Limbo!" "No, you didn't. You made me one of them." Illyana turned from his dying scream and walked away. The sun was shining. She wasn't sure if Limbo had ever had a true sun before. *** Two days ago, camping in the woods around the mansion, she'd had a dream, a vision of Rahne, Dani, 'Berto, and Sam. They looked at her from a distance, peered at her as though they were afraid to come any nearer. She held out her hands, palms open, showing that she held nothing, that she came bearing no anger or pain. Dani stepped forward, her dark hair glowing and her eyes warm. "You have gotten past the pain?" "I have," Illyana answered, her eyes clear. "You have vanquished the demon?" Sam asked. He was grown, no longer the scrawny, unsure individual but strong and confidant. There were tears in his eyes, the reflections of long ago memories. "Dead." Rahne stepped forward, her hands still and her figure tall. Menace and fear had fled from her posture. "You have given up the evil." "Yes." And then it was 'Berto. Beautiful 'Berto who had never wanted anything to do with her and her dark ruin of a heart. "You have freed your soul?" "I am free." They smiled, the four of them and faded away, leaving Illyana waking from the dream in a sweat, her eyes searching for their forgotten forms. *** "I'm here," she repeats and watches their heads lift, smile at her. "We know," they say and invite her to the table. And she knows as she settles down between her brother and Kitty that this isn't real and that she's dead. In a box. In the ground. Dead. But it feels so good to smile at them and convince herself that they've forgiven her after all. And whatever plane she's stumbled into, whatever magical daydream, she wants to stay until the world ends, until Death has kissed everyone's forehead and locked the door on reality forever. End