Molotov Heart {Alex Summers | X-Men}

4. kenopsia.

kids are still d e p r e s s e d when you dress them up
and s y r u p is still s y r u p in a sippy cup

Walking the halls of the Xavier Mansion is like exploring a ghost town, the silence pressing in on her, filling her lungs until she can barely breathe. Aoibheal can't stand the sight of her own room, the blue walls that had once represented beauty now a mocking reminder of the things she'd lost. All the other rooms had been stripped bare, and in some ironic twist of fate, she finds herself staying in her brother's old room, staring at blank, white walls. Her days are spent in that room begging for dreamless sleep, eventually succumbing to few fitful hours of sleep, to wake as the sun is setting. At night, she flits between Hank's lab and the bunker, training, testing her powers and testing her limits.

Each clone she creates is an exact duplicate of Aoibheal herself, right down to the curl of her hair and the clothes on her body, able to interact with the world around them with ease and under her control. Describing the exact way in which she controls them is difficult, but if she were to fathom a guess, she would call it a hive mind, extensions of herself, able to experience everything that happens to her clones, yet able to control them as if they were a separate entity. It takes time, learning to split her focus between clones, but eventually it feels as though she can command a small army with relative ease, though she's yet to find an actual limit to how many she can create; controlling just one clone becomes second nature. Weeks of training blur into months, and she finds herself holding a conversation with both Hank and Charles at opposite ends of the house simultaneously without a second thought.

Creating the clones is the easy part, she can even do it by accident if surprised or nervous, it's making them disappear that takes work. Aoibheal can feel every explosion as it tears her clones apart from the inside out, leaving nothing behind but a scorch mark. She's yet to find a limit on the size of the explosion, though the biggest, the ones that dented the bunker and shook the very foundations of the school, those were the worst, and Hank's found her passed out from the pain on numerous occasions. So she starts small, builds up a tolerance to the pain until she can detonate as many clones as she pleases with the force of a hand grenade without even flinching.

"I'm sorry for leaving." It takes a week to build up the courage to face the Professor, Hank giving her vague warnings about how things had gotten worse, without getting into any specifics.

"You shouldn't be here." Charles isn't looking at her. He's staring out at the garden, slouched in an armchair, voice slow and sad. Perched on the wicker chair beside Charles, Aoibheal takes a moment to really look at him, to watch his hazy gaze and slight frown. He's unkempt, dishevelled and drunk, fingers idly picking at a patch of fraying cotton on his seat. Aoibheal's eyes ghost over the half empty bottle of scotch on the tiny table between them before Charles's head shifts and she drags her gaze up to meet his. Frown lines crease his forehead as he analyses her too; she finds herself fidgeting despite herself, gaze dropping as she takes in his words.

"I had nowhere else to go." Is all she says, voice cracking on the last word, willing herself not to cry. Blinking slowly, Charles takes a moment to straighten in his seat and consider the girl before him, quietly startled at how transparent he finds her thoughts to be, even without his mutation, bitter about her brother's death and so scared to leave, all written on her face. It's with slow deliberate movements that Charles reaches to the table and pours two glasses of amber liquid, offering one to Aoibheal without thinking. Regarding the glass carefully, she hesitates before her first sip, face scrunching in disgust at the bitter, smoky taste, yet she downs the whole glass without another moment of hesitation.

She spends time with Charles when he can stand the company, reading or watching television; they don't talk often, but when they do, it's of Sean and Raven and Erik. Those are the nights that end in tears, or panic attacks, more often than not, and Aoibheal hates how helpless she feels; even mutated, she feels like a child. They drink together, never more than a half a glass for Aoibheal, but it's enough to make the world blurry and golden. Pretending to be asleep, she sometimes hears Hank and Charles arguing, even when they're both on the same side, Aoibheal shouldn't be doing this, shouldn't be like this, but neither can bring themselves to make her stop; they blame each other. It's maddening to her, the thought that they can't simply blame the evil that was responsible for her brother's death, but then again, irritated seems to almost be her constant state of being nowadays.

Constantly on edge, she jumps at the sound of every car coming down the driveway, however remote. Irrationally, she's fearful that if the 'doctors' had survived, they could track her down and neither Charles nor Hank would protect her. Lashing out in moments of weakness, she spends a week getting sullen glares from Charles after one of her clones destroys a sizable patch of garden. Before she knows it, he reaches his breaking point, hollering about his 'goddamn petunias Raven planted as a child', and Aoibheal snarls that the petunias were dead. Charles looks pale and blank faced for only a moment before he informs her that the back garden was her responsibility from then on, and that it was to be impeccable by the end of the week.

"You can't just lash out like that." Hank is on Charles's side, surprisingly enough, handing her a key to the garden shed. Begrudgingly, she tidies the garden, replants the petunias, and vows to head for the bunker when things get bad. Charles holds her tightly, murmuring his thanks, promising that she'd always be protected and welcome in his home. They cherish each other, but can't quite say it out loud.

They become her family, the three of them broken beyond belief, but still somehow functioning. Sean had listed Charles as Aoibheal's next of kin, so part of Aoibheal isn't surprised when a pair of government agents came to the house to inform Charles that both siblings had been killed in a freak explosion in Texas several months ago, but had only just been able to be identified. It doesn't stop her nausea, the aggressive beating on her heart as she curled up at the top of the stairs, spots appearing in her vision as she was forced back into the memory of her brother's death. Waiting it out is easier said than done, but once Hank had bid the agents farewell, he's leaping to the stairs and carrying her to her room with ease, staying by her side as she endures a night of horrific flashbacks. Charles doesn't leave the house anymore, but Aoibheal and Hank go grocery shopping when Aoibheal learns to stop panicking in crowds, and he's the closest thing she has to a brother anymore. They take care of each other; Hank does most of the shopping and fends off nosy intruders, Charles surprisingly takes to cleaning when he's bored, while Aoibheal keeps her promise about the garden, and learns to cooks dinner, that is, when she remembers to eat.

It's quite by accident that she discovers her immunity to temperature, not that it was a sudden development, it had just never occurred what it was until Hank saw her reach into a pot of boiling water to check some pasta and cried out in shock. The pot went crashing to the ground in Aoibheal's surprise, splattering the girl with boiling water and dropping the metal pot onto her foot. Hank was panicking while Aoibheal clutched her foot in agony.

"What was that for?!" Yelping, she massaged her sore toes as Hank reached down to pick up the pot. He flinched away from it suddenly, as if it had burned him and Aoibheal bent to pick it up instead, easily hefting it back onto the stove, wearing a look of irritation.

"Are you okay?!" Hank's brow knitted in concern and Aoibheal glared down at her sopping wet clothes, and the pasta sadly splattered on the floor, turning her bitterly exasperated look upon her friend. "Why did you stick your hand in boiling water?" He spluttered, and Aoibheal, realising that he wasn't going to help her, squatted down to begin picking up the wet noodles off the floor.

"To check to see if they were cooked correctly." As if it were the most obvious thing in the world. She flings one of the noodles at him and it sticks to his hand, Hank scrubs it off quickly, blue fur erupting over his skin at the burning hot contact. "They were, by the way." Is all she says, paying him little attention.

"Didn't it... hurt?" More curious than concerned, Hank steps forward, offering the bin when she straightens up. Aoibheal responds with a shrug and a shake of her head, but it has Hank's mind reeling. "Is that why you always come back from the bunker in your underwear covered in ash?" Voice incredulous, he analyses the ginger, and she shifts, uncomfortable under his scrutinising gaze. "I mean, I always just assumed you were immune to your own blasts." He mused for a moment, before his focus drifted to the pot on the stove, an impulsive thought shooting through his mind. "Have you ever touched the stove flames?" Aoibheal followed his gaze, nodding and now curious rather than irritated. "Maybe you're immune to temperature." A smile lifted the corner of Hank's lips, "It would explain your perpetually cold hands."

So Aoibheal made herself a nest in Hank's lab, listening as he explained in minute detail what tests he wanted to perform, never even thinking approaching her with anything sharp after the first time when she burst into tears. Sometimes amidst their idle chatter, Hank remembers just how little school she had attended, especially when she's confronted with basic math, unable to do simple times tables. So when the experiments finish, the tutoring begins. He teaches her math and English, gets Charles to teach her history when he can manage it. She learns biology quite by accident from Hank, simply being around him in his lab so often that she's all but his assistant, well versed in the method for his various experiments, able to help him complete his reports if need be.

Routine is what it becomes, and she thrives in it, she's still not okay, still worries about 'what ifs', still can't sleep at night without night terrors waking her at any given hour. She learns and she grows and she survives. It's a few months after her fifteenth birthday that her world is ripped out from under her, and it starts with the sound of Hank - Beast - roaring.

For the first time in what feels like a year, she sees Charles descending the stairs to the foyer ahead of her, having left his study to reprimand hand and the man whom he was fighting with, judging by the way Hank's usually pale skin is now blue, and the newcomer finds himself bitterly lying across a table.

"This is private property," a very drunk, probably high Charles Xavier sits himself down at the bottom of the stairs, glowering at the intruder; a bitter looking man with unfortunate sideburns, "I'm going to have to ask him," holding a glass and pointing to Hank with the same hand, he doesn't take his eyes off the man, "to ask you to leave." His hand swoops to point at the door, and Aoibheal watches through narrowed eyes as the man clambered off the marble table he had be lying upon.

"Well, I'm afraid I can't do that, 'cos, uh..." The man doesn't look as though he's enjoying himself, clearing his throat awkwardly, "I was sent here for you." With a frown, Aoibheal decides to make her entrance, descending the staircase to stand beside the seated Charles, gently carding her fingers through his hair as he rested his head against her hip.

"Well tell whoever it was that I'm..." Charles's brow wrinkled in thought, though the effort wasn't worth it. "Busy." He finished, lamely. Despite her eye rolling at Charles's expense, she still didn't trust the interloper.

"That's gonna be a little tricky..." The man said, as though his words meant to trigger something in Charles that they clearly didn't, "because the person who sent me was you." The following silence was met with exasperation, Hank rolling his eyes and Aoibheal shaking her head.

"What?" Scoffed Charles, confused.

"About fifty years from now." The man's explanation asked more questions than it answered, though Aoibheal was happy to let Charles do the talking.

"Fifty years from now, like in the future?" And though the Professor was amused, there was heavy scepticism in his voice. So the man seems to be delusional, Hank and Aoibheal share an exasperated look, however the intruder barrels on, his information getting terrifyingly specific; the room goes cold. Charles sits up straight, eyes cold, while Aoibheal cocks her hip, arms crossed as she glared at the intruder.

"Alright," Charles says, shocked and wary in equal measure, "you've piqued my interest, what do you want?" The answer he received was not the answer he was expecting.

"We have to stop Raven." From the look on everyone's faces, it's clear that his words open old, unhealed wounds. Rocking back on his heels, Hank looks winded while Aoibheal creates a clone, the two of them wearing matching looks of shock before the clone vanishes in a puff of smoke and Aoibheal's shock turns into a deep frown. She receives a startled look, though it's Charles who recaptures everyone's attention, getting to his feet, muttering something darkly that Aoibheal doesn't catch as he stalks into his study.

The man calls himself Logan, a fact they all learn as they follow the Professor into his study. The future he tells them about chills the ginger to her very core, making her shiver despite herself from where she's perched on the windowsill. They're all captivated, listening as he tells them of the mutant-human war, the ever-present fear. As he speaks, Charles moves around the room automatically, pouring a drink for himself and for Aoibheal, which she thanks him for, nursing her glass and occasionally taking a sip. Charles slouches down into the faded sofa that hadn't been changed in over a decade - Aoibheal's mind briefly notes that she watched Erik's trial from that sofa, and wonders if Charles thinks of it when he sits there - losing himself in thoughts and feelings and memories of Raven giving herself to Erik, leaving Charles behind.

Standing abruptly, Logan turned on Charles, expression determined. "That's why we're going to need Magneto too." He proposes, as if were the simplest thing in the world. At the mere mention of his name, both Aoibheal and Hank visibly recoil, while Charles merely snickers.

"Erik?" Hank tried to confirm. "You do know where he is, right?" Everyone knew where Erik was, and it wouldn't be easy getting him out. Though Logan looks confused, Charles chuckled darkly as he stood, sauntering over to the intruder, his voice a low snarl.

"He's where he belongs." Charles looks frankly murderous as he stalks from the room, the other three watching, with Aoibheal's hand curled into a fist, knuckles white as if aching for a fight.

"You're just going to walk out?" Logan called after him, to which Charles spun on his heel, bitter smirk on his lips. Aoibheal and Hank share another exasperated look behind the intruder's back.

"Ooh, top marks." The Professor's snide reply is scathing. "Like I said, you are perceptive." And with that he swans across the foyer to the stairs.

"The Professor I know would never turn his back on someone who'd lost their path." Logan's words cause everyone to freeze, Aoibheal swallowing thickly. "Especially someone he loved." Stopping mid-step, Charles turns slowly to face them, eyes focused only on Logan, his lips curling into a snarl.

"You know..." His forcibly casual tone causes every hair to rise on the back of Aoibheal's neck. "I think I do remember you now. Yeah. We came to you a long time ago seeking your help." Vaguely, Aoibheal knows what he's refering to, knows the way they cornered Sean, knows there must have been others who didn't want to help, but Sean had accepted, refused to let Aoibheal go, and all of a sudden her breathing as growing short. It had been a better time. Like a panther, stalking his prey, the Professor's movements are slow and dark as he approaches Logan. "And I'm gonna say to you what you said to us then;" Words deliberate, his voice is quiet and bitter. "Fuck off."

Grabbing Charles's collar forcefully, the two men are nose to nose, Logan glowering into the Professor's eyes. Aoibheal sprung to her feet, clone by her side out of shock, though she kept it there, look of concern on both of their faces. "Listen to me, you little shit." Voice barely more than a growl, Logan's hands were shaking. "I've come a long way, and I've watched a lot of people die. Good people." Something in his jaw tightened. "Friends. If you're gonna wallow in self-pity and do nothing, then you're gonna watch the same thing, you understand?" Charles had a lazy, bitter grin plastered on his face, too drunk to care even as he was shoved away.

"We all have to die sometime." He offered, before sauntering from the room. Aoibheal could feel her whole body tense up, gut beginning to build with that white-hot feeling that she got when things got bad. Something about Logan's threat had struck home with her, and despite the phantom of Charles's voice in the back of her head, warning her about the petunias, the clone took her chances, running for the bunker. If Logan was telling the truth, these could be the people responsible for the torture she and her brother had endured. These could be the people who killed Sean. Everything seemed to have already gone to Hell, but apparently they didn't even know the half of it.

"Vell, make sure he's okay." Hank nodded his head in Charles's direction and Aoibheal scurried off obligingly, grabbing the half-empty bottle of scotch on her way out. Syringe in hand is how she finds Charles, having only stopped for a moment to allow her clone to explode without sending her toppling down the stairs in pain, and the Professor doesn't acknowledge her when she comes in. She pours herself another drink, taking the barest sip before leaving it on the table, kneeling beside Charles instead, taking the needle from his shaking hands.

"You shouldn't be drinking." Voice suddenly weak, he allows her to help him roll up his sleeve anyway, tying it off with a piece of fabric that he kept around for just such an occasion.

"And you should be going after Raven." She can't bring herself to look him in the eyes, focusing on his arm instead, tensed and ready, worried for a moment that he might yell at her, or send her away. Out of the few things Aoibheal can handle well, yelling still isn't one of them, though the cause of that is much older than her brother's demise.

"You think that he's telling the truth;" Charles doesn't sound happy about it, but it's his next assumption that catches Aoibheal off guard, "you think these might be the people responsible for Sean." Though he says it offhandedly, he notices Aoibheal's surprised expression and caresses her cheek with his free hand. "You're very transparent, dear, I don't need my powers to know what you're thinking."

"Charles..." His name comes out as an exasperated sigh, her gaze dropping as she injects him, her hands barely shaking. After so many times, Charles doesn't wince, relaxing against his headboard as Aoibheal unties the cord around his arm. "Just think about it." Charles watches through hazy eyes as she takes both the needle and the scotch, leaving to sit in the Professor's study and drink alone. It's a short while later when she's joined by both Hank and Logan, and Aoibheal gets to her feet, wrapping her arms around her friend as she heaved a heavy sigh.

"I told him to think about it." Voice quiet, she can feel Hank shift to pull her into a one-armed hug of acknowledgement. They stand like that for a moment before there's a loud throat clearing behind them.

"Who are you, anyway?" It's Logan, and Aoibheal steps away from Hank, looking the interloper in the eye, squaring her shoulders and jutting out her chin in defiance; Hank almost laughs, it's been years since he's seen her do that, but it hurts just a little to remember.

"Aoibheal." Voice clear and unwavering, it's as if she's five years old again, looking up at Erik Lehnsherr and refusing to flinch under his gaze. She doesn't think about that, doesn't think about Erik or Raven or Alex or Darwin or Sean. Logan gives her an appraising look, his gaze flitting to Hank.

"Vell McCoy?" Sceptical, he looks between the two, and Aoibheal raised her eyebrows.

"Excuse you?" Crossing her arms over her chest, Aoibheal cocks her hip. It's a look Logan's seen many times, but on a woman far older. Once more his gaze drifts between the two, before he's shaking his head in disbelief.

"I never would have picked you two as siblings." He snorted. Aoibheal began to splutter out a protest, Hank simply frowning, deep in thought.

"I'll help you get Raven." It's the Professor himself who interrupts them, allowing Aoibheal to breathe a sigh of relief. "Not for any of your future shite, but for her."

"Fair enough-" Logan agreed easily, though Charles's expression was unusually determined.

"But I'll tell you this." The Professor spat, glowering at Logan. "You don't know Erik. That man is a monster. A murderer." Face smoothing out for a moment, his eyes remain hard and cold. Aoibheal's stomach churns at the thought of what few memories she has of Erik. "You think you can convince Raven to change? To come home? That's splendid." His expression contorted into one of pure hatred, a look that had goosebumps rise on Aoibheal's arms. "But what makes you think you can change him?" A long silence followed, but Logan broke it, unflinching under Charles's scrutiny.

"Because you and Erik sent me back here together."