a fire of unknown origin

by Alestar

death comes driving
death comes creeping
death comes
I can't do nothing
death goes
there must be something
that remains

I lift my hand over the water of the lake. Its reflection ripples and bounces. Feel like a shaman.

I'm not a shaman. I'm not Wolverine. I'm not Death.

All I am is crouchin' here, with my hand over water.

Time moves in ripples, like this lake. Years an' years ago, I ran wild with wild company. It was a simple time. Then, change came and I became a soldier. I learned what direction was; havin' a goal and reaching it. Change came again, and I was a machine. There was nothin' good whatsoever about that, except not havin' to think. Then I was wild again. I got found in the wild by heroes. I learned a place of servin' something bigger than myself, an' it was the best thing I'd ever known.

Then a monster came. En Sabah Nur pegged me as a good horseman to ride in the Apocalypse. So he just . . took me. It was that simple. He took me, and gave me my metal back, and said, "Call me Master," and I just did. An' it was that simple.

Now I'm here again, among heroes, watchin' the reflection of my hand over water. I'm not Death anymore, even though I'm still wearin' the togs. Goddamn armour, and a torn red cape. A fuckin' cape. But it doesn't matter anymore, 'cause it happened, and I can't change it, and I'm not Death anymore.

But I'm not Wolverine neither. I'm still in this clown outfit because I don't have anything to change into. Can't put on the old uniform, an' I certainly can't put on civilian clothes. Hell, I can't even bring myself to go into my room. The kitchen is as far as I've been able t'get. Been sleepin' on the roof. The Cajun must feel all put out.

The gentle beating of mighty wings clues me off to his presence. The Archangel's, that is, not the Cajun's. Behind me, lowering to the ground. Warren Worthington the Third. Formerly, Death. Just like me.

He walks up beside me and lowers himself t'the ground. He doesn't say anythin', and I glance at him outta the corner of my eye. He's studyin' the reflection of my hand, in the water. Just like me. It was a few years ago, I imagine, that he crouched in this same place and tried t'make some sense outta his own hand.

Goddamn, but I hate this. This not knowin' where t'go. Normally, when somethin' happens, I can leave and find a place for myself in anonymity, some nameless old guy in some nameless town. But now-- anonymity is my poison, except now it ain't just the natives who don't know who I am.

Anonymity is my poison. That's a weird thing for me t'say. I guess not anymore, though. Suprisin', the changes that religion will arouse in a man.

I'm not Wolverine.

The others, inside the house, they think it's all over. They think-- Logan got kidnapped an' brainwashed, but he's back and un-whammied, and we beat the bad guy, and everythin's back t'normal. What they don't realize is-- yeah, sure, the Skrull took me while I was unconsious, but I didn't fight even after I woke up. I talked big, but I walked down that hall, an' I battled Vic for the right to be Death, an' I let him put that metal in me. And I sure as hell wasn't brainwashed.

I look over at Warren, and he looks up at me. I wonder if it was the same for him. My hand, still hovering above the water, turns palm up, an' he brings his hand t'rest there, fingers interlocking with mine, an' I figure, yeah, it probably was.

I look out across the still, glassy lake, and speak.

"I spent most o' the life I can remember . . fightin' with myself. Tryin' to control myself, to fit myself into some pattern I can recognize an' deal with. An' I've had my share of losses, but it's a battle I understand, I know all the rules and contestants . . . but this . . goddamn, warren . . I never expected this."

His hand tightens around mine, but he doesn't say anything. We sit, looking out over the water, an' after a few minutes I continue.

"I never expected it. Ya spend yer life beatin' down yer wild side, and ya . . yer not prepared for a second front. For an attack from a third party. For . . "

I stop, because there's no way explain what I'm feelin'. But there's no need, either. The warm body beside me knows.

There's a place in the human heart that's meant t'serve. It's biological; without it the human race woulda never developed th'community skills necessary t'survive. That place in the heart wants to be possessed entirely, t'be owned and used as a tool, so there aren't any decisions t'be made, or mistakes, or culpability. To submit. To be free of all doubt, to have all questions answered. To feel divine.

I never expected it.

An' when Apocalypse appealed t'that hidden, unexpected part of me, I wasn't prepared to resist. I musta made some primal, frightened sound, maybe my eyes went wide for a split-second, an' then it was done. I was His. I was Death. Finally complete. Completely dark.

Aw, hell.

"I don't know what t'do, Warren."

He sighs softly. "Like I said, Logan. We take things one day at a time." He withdraws his hand from mine and spreads his arms wide. "Come here."

I give a short laugh. Talk about unexpected . . But he's right. There's a need born in me so forceful it bruises. And the old rules don't apply anymore. I'm not Wolverine.

I lean back into the embrace and long, warm arms wrap around me. The blue of his skin contrasts sharply with the blue of Apocalype's armour against me. I let out a deep breath and let my head fall back against his shoulder. Suprisin'ly enough, this doesn't bother me at all. The body against me is warm with the fire of life. It's an affirmation that I would only accept from him, 'cause he's the only who could understand the need.

I bring my hand up behind me against the pulsepoint of his neck and feel the blood pumpin' there. Steady, unhindered. Turning in his arms a bit, I press my head to his chest over his beatin' heart, listenin' to the flow of flame. Pump, pump, pump. Pure. And yet, him just like me.

My hands flutter over his body, falling here an' there. Pulsepoints, places of breath, centers of chi. His neck, his throat, his mouth, his chest, his lap. Finally, there, with my hand nestled against that life-givin' part of him, I look up at his face. Little bit unsettled, little bit aroused. Mostly, though, it's understanding. He nods, an' leans back on his elbows, stretchin' himself out. Go figure. I laugh again, an' he smiles.

I pop open the button of his jeans an' slide down the zipper. I follow the blue skin and dustin' of blond hair down past the line of his briefs to wrap my hand around the hot skin there. His eyes fall shut and he hums happily. I flash a quick grin before lowering my mouth to take 'im in.

This ain't wholly sexual, for the most part. It will be, later, when I come back t'myself a little, but right now . . what it is, is the opposite of what Apocalypse did t'me. This is service of life, of light. This is submission to trust and mercy.

An' guess what? I still feel divine.

I move around a little, gettin' a feel for the slide of heated velvet in my mouth. Once I'm where I wanna be, I begin a steady motion, a steady drawing-out. He sighs soft, and thrusts up, into my mouth. It's a simple, beautiful rhythm between us.

His words from yesterday fill my mind.

//"We're given choices in our struggle . . . we can embrace hope or despair. I chose hope, but what you choose is up to you. You have to decide if you can trust others, if you ever want to be free of what Apocalypse has done to you . . . . We take things one day at a time."//

The motions between us speed up slightly, almost imperceptively, an' I can feel the life boiling up in him. His wings're flexin' behind him. He's close to pure flame. And then he's there.

He pumps his hips, exploding into my mouth, an' I see a burst of that fire in the corners of my eyes. Pump, pump, pump. Pure. I take every drop of what he has to give me. Understanding. Company. The promise of life.

We can embrace hope.

When he's spent, I tuck 'im back into his pants an' zip him up with a little pat. He laughs gently and sinks back onto the ground. I sit up and look back at the water.

My reflection bobs and ripples there. Not Death. Not Wolverine. It's okay. Time moves in ripples, and it's one day at a time.

I lower myself to the ground beside Warren an' look up at the sky.

//"Funny. Even after all o' this, I feel like something's missin' . . . like I don't know what t'do next."//

//"You're just not used to happy endings."//

you're displeased
maybe I should just stop
being you

a fire of unknown origin
took [him] away
a fire of unknown origin
took [him] away

swept [him] up and off
my wave length
swallowed [him] up like the ocean
in a fire thick and gray

death comes driving
death comes creeping
death comes
I can't do nothing
death goes
there must be something
that remains
death it made me sick and crazy
'cause that fire
it took [him]
away

[he] left me everything
[he] left me all [his] things

~ patti smith
"a fire of unknown origin"

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