(no subject)
I am alone.
It is rather late Saturday when Ellen finally bites the bullet and chooses to seek out Mystique. She comes quietly, dressed neat and business-like and without her labcoat, in shades of blue and grey.
As afternoon draws into night Mystique's activity stills. Her work draws slower, interrupted by ever-increasing distraction, and eventually she moves to her bed where she sits, cross-legged, and waits. It is in this manner that Ellen finds her, with the door cracked open and Styx lost to the batting of a ball in the middle of her floor.
"Mystique," Ellen says quietly from the doorway, peeping inside through the crack of the door with one pale eye.
"Ellen." Mystique's voice matches Ellen's for softness. "Come in."
Ellen comes in. Once inside, she stands there a little awkwardly and lets her hands clasp loosely behind her back. She ducks her head in a nod.
Mystique's gaze remains even, and there is, for a moment, a short catch of her breath in her throat, a moment when breathing ceases before it resumes again. "You have made your decision?"
Ellen lifts her gaze towards Mystique and hesitates before she presents a verbal response. She swallows. Then she quails and looks away. "I--" Her voice stops in her throat and she must start again. "I have no certainty, Mystique. I have lost my way. This has been my home. This Brotherhood has been my family."
"Yes," Mystique answers simply, and golden eyes darken in something like understanding and other emotion as she watches Ellen.
"But when they spoke out last week, I hated them," Ellen says. She lifts her chin, head raised like a standard with the flare of her nostrils. "They were lost and afraid and they wanted their leader as much as I did, and I wanted to kill them all."
"No one has been happy about the recent turn of events," Mystique answers, and her gaze goes blank again in response to the flare.
Ellen lifts a hand away from the loose clasp behind her. One flattens against the sleek drape of dark trousers over her thigh. The other lifts into the air and curls into a fist. "I wanted their deaths," she says.
Mystique remains silent in the wake of this, without response. She simply waits, and there is something tense about the straight rigidity of her posture.
Ellen bows her head into the silence, her hair falling forward about her face and neck. "I do not know that I can stay and heal," she says. "I am lost, and full of hatred."
Silence stretches onward, uncomfortable and tense before Mystique stirs to speak. She moves from her bed in the same swift motion, gaze turned away from Ellen as she rises. "I do not know how to help you."
"I have done this to all of us," Ellen says after a moment, to the back of Mystique's head. "I permitted him to leave."
Mystique's head turns toward Ellen with swift surprise, and her gaze remains fixed there for a moment before her lips curl up in an unpleasant smile. "You did not, Ellen. He has wished to leave for some time. You are not the reason he went."
"I told him he could go," Ellen insists, with a child's stubbornness, clinging to the responsibility and guilt that she has carved out for herself.
"And I told him many other things," Mystique answers quietly. "You may have eased his guilt. But you are not the reason he went."
Ellen has nothing to say to that. After a moment, she yields up her guilt with the inclination of her head. She looks at the floor. "I have killed before where I should love," she says. "I killed Lillianne. I felt the life seeping from her broken body. I killed the brother of my flesh. I killed the woman who bore me. I cannot stay and heal where I have hated. I am not -- not normal, Mystique. I know that you know that. He -- he," she stammers through a ragged breath and then pushes onwards, as childlike as a woman grown can be. "He made me safe."
"We are the Brotherhood of Mutants," Mystique answers, and her tone has gone dry as a desert. "We are none of us normal." Her head whips toward Ellen again and she fixes on her with deadened eyes. "He made you nothing. And he cared nothing for you."
Ellen's gaze goes sharper, harder: the softer lines go out of her, all child's pleading bleeding away to nothing, as though it has never been. She holds herself as stiffly as a blade. "I am not nothing," she says gravely. Her hands are fists at her sides, white-knuckled with the fierceness of her certainty on this, if only this, point. "I am a Valkyrie. I am death. I serve death." And her head lifts again, drawn up with pride as hard as diamond. "He cares for me as he cares for all of us. We are his people. We are his cause. He told me that."
"He lied." Mystique's voice cuts across the space between them.
"He does not lie to me!" Ellen shakes her head with fierce vehemence. Her gaze is cold and fearless upon Mystique's eyes. "He speaks the truth to me because I am simple!"
"Then tell me, Ellen." Mystique turns to face her, and there is emptiness in Mystique's gaze where there is the fire of emotion in Ellen's. "Why is he no longer here?"
Ellen says, as simply as she claims to be, "I told him he could go."
"You are simple," Mystique determines, and she turns away again, busying herself with a long-legged stride toward her desk. "Why did he wish to go?"
"He was unhappy here," is Ellen's reply. She gets confused partway through it, her eyes darting around the room, hunting for something to settle on that will somehow make everything fit together like a puzzle. "He was frustrated and unhappy. His command structure -- his relationships. I do not know. He wanted to leave. I did not wish for him to be unhappy."
Mystique stops, straight-backed, in front of the desk. "I am sending a car into the city tomorrow, for those who wish to go. Will you be in it?"
Ellen is silent for a long moment rather than answering. Her eyes are wet: involuntary physical response to overwhelming emotional stimuli. She blinks and stares at the wall.
Mystique does not move, not to turn, not to bend to her computer. She simply remains, and waits.
"I cannot stay," Ellen says finally, "and heal where I have hated. I am not safe."
"Of course," Mystique answers, and there is again a controlled evenness to her voice.
There is a moment wherein Ellen does nothing at all but stand very still. Then, in barely more than a whisper, she says, "Good-bye."
Mystique's jaw clenches, and there is a moment's silence before she brings herself to turn toward Ellen and dip her head in a controlled nod. "Good luck, Ellen."
"Good luck, Mystique. My blessing goes with you, and my prayers with your Brothers." Then Ellen turns and walks unseeingly, jaggedly out of the room.
As Ellen leaves, Mystique steps forward and, for the first time in a week, closes the door to her room with a hard push of fingers against metal. She leans heavily into it, forehead pressed against its cool surface, and remains there for quite some time.
Ellen leaves the Brotherhood.
It is rather late Saturday when Ellen finally bites the bullet and chooses to seek out Mystique. She comes quietly, dressed neat and business-like and without her labcoat, in shades of blue and grey.
As afternoon draws into night Mystique's activity stills. Her work draws slower, interrupted by ever-increasing distraction, and eventually she moves to her bed where she sits, cross-legged, and waits. It is in this manner that Ellen finds her, with the door cracked open and Styx lost to the batting of a ball in the middle of her floor.
"Mystique," Ellen says quietly from the doorway, peeping inside through the crack of the door with one pale eye.
"Ellen." Mystique's voice matches Ellen's for softness. "Come in."
Ellen comes in. Once inside, she stands there a little awkwardly and lets her hands clasp loosely behind her back. She ducks her head in a nod.
Mystique's gaze remains even, and there is, for a moment, a short catch of her breath in her throat, a moment when breathing ceases before it resumes again. "You have made your decision?"
Ellen lifts her gaze towards Mystique and hesitates before she presents a verbal response. She swallows. Then she quails and looks away. "I--" Her voice stops in her throat and she must start again. "I have no certainty, Mystique. I have lost my way. This has been my home. This Brotherhood has been my family."
"Yes," Mystique answers simply, and golden eyes darken in something like understanding and other emotion as she watches Ellen.
"But when they spoke out last week, I hated them," Ellen says. She lifts her chin, head raised like a standard with the flare of her nostrils. "They were lost and afraid and they wanted their leader as much as I did, and I wanted to kill them all."
"No one has been happy about the recent turn of events," Mystique answers, and her gaze goes blank again in response to the flare.
Ellen lifts a hand away from the loose clasp behind her. One flattens against the sleek drape of dark trousers over her thigh. The other lifts into the air and curls into a fist. "I wanted their deaths," she says.
Mystique remains silent in the wake of this, without response. She simply waits, and there is something tense about the straight rigidity of her posture.
Ellen bows her head into the silence, her hair falling forward about her face and neck. "I do not know that I can stay and heal," she says. "I am lost, and full of hatred."
Silence stretches onward, uncomfortable and tense before Mystique stirs to speak. She moves from her bed in the same swift motion, gaze turned away from Ellen as she rises. "I do not know how to help you."
"I have done this to all of us," Ellen says after a moment, to the back of Mystique's head. "I permitted him to leave."
Mystique's head turns toward Ellen with swift surprise, and her gaze remains fixed there for a moment before her lips curl up in an unpleasant smile. "You did not, Ellen. He has wished to leave for some time. You are not the reason he went."
"I told him he could go," Ellen insists, with a child's stubbornness, clinging to the responsibility and guilt that she has carved out for herself.
"And I told him many other things," Mystique answers quietly. "You may have eased his guilt. But you are not the reason he went."
Ellen has nothing to say to that. After a moment, she yields up her guilt with the inclination of her head. She looks at the floor. "I have killed before where I should love," she says. "I killed Lillianne. I felt the life seeping from her broken body. I killed the brother of my flesh. I killed the woman who bore me. I cannot stay and heal where I have hated. I am not -- not normal, Mystique. I know that you know that. He -- he," she stammers through a ragged breath and then pushes onwards, as childlike as a woman grown can be. "He made me safe."
"We are the Brotherhood of Mutants," Mystique answers, and her tone has gone dry as a desert. "We are none of us normal." Her head whips toward Ellen again and she fixes on her with deadened eyes. "He made you nothing. And he cared nothing for you."
Ellen's gaze goes sharper, harder: the softer lines go out of her, all child's pleading bleeding away to nothing, as though it has never been. She holds herself as stiffly as a blade. "I am not nothing," she says gravely. Her hands are fists at her sides, white-knuckled with the fierceness of her certainty on this, if only this, point. "I am a Valkyrie. I am death. I serve death." And her head lifts again, drawn up with pride as hard as diamond. "He cares for me as he cares for all of us. We are his people. We are his cause. He told me that."
"He lied." Mystique's voice cuts across the space between them.
"He does not lie to me!" Ellen shakes her head with fierce vehemence. Her gaze is cold and fearless upon Mystique's eyes. "He speaks the truth to me because I am simple!"
"Then tell me, Ellen." Mystique turns to face her, and there is emptiness in Mystique's gaze where there is the fire of emotion in Ellen's. "Why is he no longer here?"
Ellen says, as simply as she claims to be, "I told him he could go."
"You are simple," Mystique determines, and she turns away again, busying herself with a long-legged stride toward her desk. "Why did he wish to go?"
"He was unhappy here," is Ellen's reply. She gets confused partway through it, her eyes darting around the room, hunting for something to settle on that will somehow make everything fit together like a puzzle. "He was frustrated and unhappy. His command structure -- his relationships. I do not know. He wanted to leave. I did not wish for him to be unhappy."
Mystique stops, straight-backed, in front of the desk. "I am sending a car into the city tomorrow, for those who wish to go. Will you be in it?"
Ellen is silent for a long moment rather than answering. Her eyes are wet: involuntary physical response to overwhelming emotional stimuli. She blinks and stares at the wall.
Mystique does not move, not to turn, not to bend to her computer. She simply remains, and waits.
"I cannot stay," Ellen says finally, "and heal where I have hated. I am not safe."
"Of course," Mystique answers, and there is again a controlled evenness to her voice.
There is a moment wherein Ellen does nothing at all but stand very still. Then, in barely more than a whisper, she says, "Good-bye."
Mystique's jaw clenches, and there is a moment's silence before she brings herself to turn toward Ellen and dip her head in a controlled nod. "Good luck, Ellen."
"Good luck, Mystique. My blessing goes with you, and my prayers with your Brothers." Then Ellen turns and walks unseeingly, jaggedly out of the room.
As Ellen leaves, Mystique steps forward and, for the first time in a week, closes the door to her room with a hard push of fingers against metal. She leans heavily into it, forehead pressed against its cool surface, and remains there for quite some time.
Ellen leaves the Brotherhood.