Spectrum ⇒ Avengers [ 1 ]

Aere Perennius

"Do you ever think about the future?"
The sunlight creates kaleidoscope patterns through the branches and leaves of the trees, creating triangles on my skin as I lie on my stomach, pulling up grass between my fingers. Jake sits away, cast in the shade, the light unable to touch his skin from his position.
"The future?" He laughs. "No. I take each day as it comes."
"But we can't do this forever." I protest, leaning on my elbows and watching him. "What will we doctor the rest of today, and tomorrow, and for the rest of our lives?"
"We'll survive." Jake says with a conviction that surprises me. "We'll get by, me and you. We'll hitch rides, scrounge money. Just like now." He reaches his hand out to me, but I don't take it.
"I don't want to survive, Jake. I want to live." I say softly, grass fluttering from between my fingers. "I don't want to end up like the others, the drug addicts, the people under the bridges."
"You won't." He says, his hand falling to the ground. "Did I ever tell you about the time I went to France?" He asks suddenly.
"No." I cup my hands under my chin and watch him through my eyelashes, the sunlight making the whole scene almost dreamlike as the colours of the day run into each other. "Tell me."
"It was unbearable, mostly. My mother, you know." He sighs. "But there was one day- we were in this tiny town, and she left me alone, she left me alone all day." He smiles crookedly. "And I just explored. You'd love it. Tiny cobbled streets and endless blue skies, girls with arms full of flowers and tiny little patisseries down alleyways. And then there were fields, fields full of corn that went on forever." He falls silent. "I swear I'll take you there, one day."
"It's a deal." I murmur as he reaches out his hand for me again. I pull myself up and extend my hand to his, our fingers almost touching, like the ceiling of the Sistine chapel-

"Brynn? Brynn, please, please wake up, please." I swim through the haze of the blue voice, my eyes firmly closed. It's cold, it's so cold, and I want to sink back into unconsciousness. Where did Jake go? Where did he go?
"Jake?" I whisper through cracked lips, hissing as they crack open.
"No, he's not here." The blue voice murmurs, breaking in the middle of the sentence as I'm cradled close to something warm, something comforting. "Oh god, Brynn."
I open my eyes.

The first thing I see is light, as bright as a fallen star, dancing patterns against my pupils and forcing me to blink the dazzling spots away from my vision. I stare at it in incomprehension, but it eventually reveals itself to be a single light, high above me, attached to the pointed front of a building. I'm laid in a circle of light, but I'm not alone. There's two arms around me, holding me close to a chest, and I breathe in, leaning into familiar red-and blue.

My lungs are full of mucus, or so it feels like, and I choke up a mouthful of scummy water. Letting it dribble through my lips. I'm soaked to the skin, to the bone, and I'm so cold that I automatically have to curl up to the nearest source of warmth.

"It's okay, it's okay." He's shaking, and I tilt my head back and meet his eyes. Peter, Peter, why are you crying? I want to ask but the words don't come, can't come. I can do nothing but breathe and choke and gutter in his arms, stuck in a form of waking sleep.
I can still feel the sunlight on my skin from that day so long ago. He said he'd take me to France, he said he'd take me to see the girls with flowers and the tiny streets and the fields that last forever. And I want to be there, I want to be there with him. I can see his smile, his eternal smile, a face painted and sculpted by the artists of history, his hand outstretched to me.
Did my hand meet his? Does it really matter?

"He promised." Water trickles from the corner of my mouth. "He said we'd go to France."
"Yeah?" Peter whispers, pulling me closer. "You can go to France if you want. I'll take you anywhere in the damn world, just stay awake, please stay awake for me."
"You're crying." I whisper. "I've never seen you cry before."
His hand touches my forehead, warm against the dampness that soaks my face, and then he kisses it, kisses my forehead. Before I can even register it, he tenses up, and my head lolls to one side to see Matt, walking towards us.
"She's gone." He says, pulling his mask in what seems to be irritation.
"Gone?" Peter echoes, his shoulders pulling back. His mask lies next to us, discarded, and I can feel the tension in his arms.
"I think she's somewhere in the docks. Brynn, how are you feeling?"