Last night ...
And trashes his apartment.
Not that it takes a lot, just throwing around the few things he has, knocking over a table, and then kicking the back of the couch so hard his boot rips through the material and he has to tug on his leg to get out and that makes him even more furious. And maybe he sends a fireball or two in the direction of the curtains. He's aware enough that he doesn't let it get out of control, it doesn't smoke or burn bright enough to startle anyone else.
He lets one little flame catch on to it. And he controls it, eating up the cheap material slowly. He makes stupid designs as he sinks to his knees and watches, breathing heavily.
Finally, a piece of the cloth drops to the ground.
He extinguishes the flame and it makes him feel empty. But at least he isn't angry anymore.
("Is he ready?" the man in the long black cloak asks.
The doctor shakes his head. "Almost. It's been hard for him, coming from the facility."
"We let him out of there so he could be recruited," the man says. He sounds annoyed. "And we're no closer now then we were a month ago. My bosses will not wait much longer."
The doctor is calm, not at all intimidated. "It would do you well to know that you can't push John Allerdyce into this. He's got to think it's what he wants."
"Make it what he wants."
"He already does," the doctor says, pushing his glasses up his nose. "He just has to admit it to himself.")
John sits straight on the uncomfortable couch. No matter how many times Dr. Smith tells him to get comfortable, lay out, relax, John refuses to. It's not a guard he'll let drop, the one he let's himself hang on to since he has so few left in this stupid office.
The doctor looks at him over the rim of his glasses. "And then what happened?"
John shrugs. "Nothing. I cleaned everything up and went to bed."
"Why were you angry?"
John sighs. "I don't know. JP keeps asking me to come home. I want to, you know. You keep telling me I can't." He spits out the accusation but he knows it's not the doctor's fault.
So does Dr. Smith. "Now, John, it's not me telling you this. It's you
"I want to go home," John says flatly.
"Then you should tell me about your progress," the doctor suggests. "In controlling your anger. In finding a job. In deciding what you want to do with your life. In dealing with your jealousy over certain things in your life."
John remains silent.
"Ah, see," Dr. Smith says. "It's not me, but you in your own indecision."
John sighs. "I know. But -- there are no jobs for people like me." He'll start there. That one is easy.
"Of course there are," Dr. Smith says. "I daresay, someone with your special -- skill set
, shall we? Is highly sought after."
John snorts. "Ex-terrorist? Oh, yeah. I'm at the top of everyone's list."
"If that's all you see yourself as," Dr. Smith says, "then, you're right, perhaps you won't find a new position somewhere."
John can feel himself start to get angry. "Don't start your psycho-babble with me. This reverse shit isn't going to work."
Dr. Smith looks at him calmly. "I'm not trying to reverse anything. But you need to see all sides of things so you can find your true answer. Find out who you really think, who you really are."
John doesn't say anything. He just looks out the window. "Are we done now?" he asks flatly.
"As a matter of fact, yes. I'll see you Friday?"
John stands up. "Yeah," he says, brushing the other man off. "See you then."
John leaves, but keeps his anger in check, and at least manages a civil goodbye.
("And how was he today?" the man in the coat asks.
Dr. Smith smiles. "Much closer. He's nearly yours."
The other man smiles, finally.)
John walks and walks and walks all morning.
He finds himself ending up at his old training facility. He hasn't been there since being back in the city. His code still works, and it's clean and feels like it's still being used. No one's there right then, but it makes him pleased to think that maybe the kids at the shelter are still using it. Maybe he's still helping some way.
He goes to the room he customized especially for him and his fire. He takes out his lighter, finds that little spark of ignition, and fills it to the brim with licking flames.
He sits in the middle of it, thinking.
He doesn't know why he's nervous -- this is Doug he is going to be seeing. The man he'd move heaven and earth and change everything for, just to be with. His babe.
But, still. It's feels like he's starting over, starting fresh, starting with a clean slate -- and what if Doug doesn't want this new man? He did fall in love with the bad boy, after all. And John's trying less to not be a bad boy and focus on being a good man, now.
John hopes this is what Doug still wants.
He's dressed simple, as always, in just jeans and a zip-up hoodie over a t-shirt. He follows the directions of Doug's text --
And he burst out laughing when he sees it's just a little diner, but with a huge sign advertising their 'world-class milkshakes.'
John shakes his head and opens the door, going inside.
[ooc: MEEP I meant to post this yesterday. /o\ Pretend it was, yeah?]
It’s been a long week back in city. Back in life.
The first day John was back, he spent it with his husbands. They talked, laughed, and had the most amazing sex. It was like before John was hurting, and it made him feel like it could be like that again.
One of the hardest things he’s ever had to do happened that day. It was to slip out of bed, kiss his sleeping husbands on the forehead, and leave to go back to his bare little apartment. He spent the night alone.
The rest of the week was scattered with nights like that. It only got harder each time, but he saw that as a good sign. Leaving them was hard, and he wanted to get to the place where he never had to. He knew he would.
Resisting going into Saj House – now that was hard too. He wanted to, every day.
But he followed doctor’s orders. Instead, he bought the newspaper and searched online for jobs.
He still had no idea what to do with his life. But, well. He was looking, so at least there was that.
Therapy every day, as well as alcohol tests. Breathalyzers at 9 am were just the weirdest thing. He never thought that would be him. But it was. It was, and he faced it.
The thing he didn’t tell anybody -- not his therapists, not his husbands, not even that cat that was there --
-- there was still a little empty hole, right in the middle of him.
He didn’t know how to fill it.
But he was trying. And he was determined to find out how.
And, anyway, it was only very small.
For being back in his life, he expected it to be a lot more crazy, when really, it was one of the simplest weeks of his life.
But it had been one of the hardest too.
He woke up Monday morning, and actually looked forward to facing the new week.
John thought that was a good sign.
[SET ON SUNDAY, APRIL 17th]
The small suite wasn’t too bad, actually. John had stayed in worse in his time. It wasn’t anything like his homey apartment he had with Doug and Jean-Paul, of course. But he didn’t want it to be. It was just a temporary place to stay.
It was already furnished -- small bed and dresser in the bedroom, small kitchen with a table, old but decent sofa and a television. No pictures, or decorations, or anything like that. Not that John was good with that sort of thing -- it was all JP’s doing, and John didn’t want that here anyway.
So he unpacked the few belongings he had with him, shoved the dufflebag in the closet. He went into the livingroom and stood there, hands on his hips and looked around. It was tempting to just stay there. Turn on the tv and mindlessly watch it, avoiding the outside world.
But, nah. Time to move on, he supposed.
He slipped on a hoodie over his t-shirt, grabbed his keys and shoved them in his pockets, and he went out.
Freedom again. It was -- weird. Kinda nice, but weird.
He walked about, for what could’ve been hours but felt like minutes, weaving in and out of the crowds, passing by familiar places with barely a glance, just trying to keep walking and walking and not thinking.
He lost track of the time but eventually he ended up at Central Park. He found a bench to sit on, took his cell phone out of his pocket, and stared at it. Stared and stared and stared.
And then he sent a text to his husbands.
So. Sitting in Central Park. Where’re you?
John sits in front of the desk. His knee jiggles up and down so much it hits the wood above it, chafing though the thin hospital-scrub type pants they made him wear. (No strings, no belts, all elastic all the way, and they always slide down his slender hips. He hates them.) His fingertips drum against the surface next to the keyboard. He can't help but fidget -- yeah, he gets exercise and everything, they make them do that, but he's not allowed to have his lighters right now and that's the hardest part. His fingernails are chewed down worse than JP's ever get.
It feels like he's in prison. He knows he's not. But there is separation from friends and family, and schedules, and routines, and rules, and therapy, and rooms locked up at night, and people watching him all the fucking time, that it may as well be.
He knows he agreed to this. It's just really hard. It really sucks. And he really wants out.
But he knows he's not ready. They know he's not ready. And he's not getting out as soon as he thought he would.
At least he's allowed to send an email now.
And he'd better fucking hurry up, before he loses his time and privilege. He's stared at the computer screen for too fucking long.
He just doesn't know what to say. How does he tell his husbands? How does he tell them he's fucked up far more than any of them thought? That it's not as easily fixable as he thought it be, even with all the profession help in the world? How does he ask them whether or not they've decided to wait for him, or if they've forgotten him, or worse, if they've found someone else to be with now. (It's his greatest fear, that his absence has made them realise he's not the man for either of them, that they get along just fine -- better, even -- without him. That he's not worth waiting for. He's almost expecting it.)
He hears a warning called out, "Five minutes, Allerdyce."
"Yeah, yeah!" he answers back.
He sighs to himself, clicks the mouse, and places his fingertips ever so lightly against the keyboard.
And he finally begins typing.
To: Ramsey, Doug; Beaubier, Jean-Paul
From: Allerdyce, John
So, I get to send an email on this approved account. I think they read it before it makes it to you. Your replies probably will be too. Just saying.
So. Yeah. I have no fucking idea what to say. Things are going all right, I guess. Prob not as good as they should be by this point. I don't know when I'll get to come home. But, I'm trying, okay? Please remember that. I'll make it home to you as fast as I can. I'm talking about the things they want me to talk about, I'm doing the exercises they want me to do, I'm doing it all by the book. I'm hoping it all works. It fucking better, and soon.
How're you guys? Everything okay with work? The shelter? The university? All the hot sex you get to have without me?
I don't really know what's going on out there. I hope you're safe, I hope you're doing well. You're both always on my mind.
Gotta go. But, please know: miss you, and love you.
He clicks send and knows it won't get to them right away. Hopefully by morning. Hopefully someone informed them it was really him, or they might not believe it was. Who knew. He just wanted to hear something back from them, even if he wasn't sure when he'd be able to check for responses, or when he would be able to reply. Maybe this whole thing would pass by with no incident and he'd just have to go back to trying to get better.
He just didn't know, nothing about anything right now, but he wished he did.
John gets drunk.
There used to be a time when John didn't drink. Refused to. Said it made him weak.
He laughs at that thought. He was weak before he started drinking, clearly, in a time that feels like forever ago. And it's just another stupid ideal he used to have he's decided to let go of. It's not like that's his life anymore.
And Toad is funny. A funny funny guy who is ridiculous, even when John isn't drinking -- but even more so when he is. They sit at the pub, drink some beers, have a couple shots, play some pool.
John likes feeling this way, as if the weight of the world is lifted from his shoulders. Like it doesn't matter who he was, what he's done, how much of a failure he is at everything
. He knows it'll hit him in the stomach in the morning, that it'll all be back, but sometimes it's nice to escape.
John thought there might be some trouble, going to a mutant bar -- it's a dive, a hole in the wall, in a bad part of town. No humans around, because they wouldn't be welcome, and John thought he wouldn't be welcome either. Betrayer to their species and all.
But he's with Toad so it seems to not be a problem. And John isn't even recognised.
Not even recognised. Pyro really is good and dead.
And John drinks more.
He gets a cab home, and makes his way up the stairs to his and his husband's apartment. He tries to be quiet, to not wake them. It's pretty fucking late and even though he's had a few drinks (but he can still walk on his own!), he knows to be quiet and tries not to be too loud when he comes in the door. He bolts the lock behind him, toes off his shoes, and goes into the kitchen and downs back two full glasses of water.
To avoid waking his husbands, John just pulls off his hoodie and t-shirt, shoves off his jeans, and flops himself down onto the couch for the night. They don't need to deal with him like this.
He's alert enough to know he doesn't want
them to have to deal with him like this.[OPEN to speed_of_snark and/or doug_ramsey]
[OOC: doug_ramsey and speed_of_snark reference with love (even if John is a big emo muffin.) And morty_toad is mine so I give myself permission to write him. :) I'm trying to get John back into play again so hopefully this helps a bit.]When the phone in his office rang, John was pulled out of his thoughts. He quickly stashed the silver flask back in the bottom drawer, as if someone over the phone would’ve been able to see it, and the guilt settled in his stomach even having to do so. Then, he dutifully picked up the receiver.
“John Allerdyce here."
“Hullo, Pyro! How’s it going?” a familiar voice cried out cheerily.
John paused, body frozen. He blinked once, and then answered, “Hi, Toad. How’d you get this number?” He realised too late he didn’t even correct his name.
“Not all the difficult. I’m in town, thought I’d give you a ring, see if you’d like to go down to the pub.”
“Are you shitting me?”
“Always a way with words!” Toad laughed. Something in John’s stomach twisted; he remembered that laugh, and how he used to join in. Toad said, “I’m serious! Come on, mate, I’d like to catch up.”
“Don’t believe that for a fucking second.”
“I’m over the revenge bit, I told you that last year! Let bygones be bygones and all that rubbish.”
“Hmm,” John hummed under his breath. “And that whole thing where you lost a bit of your soul to open up limbo or whatever?”
“Oh, that was crazy Mike, not you!” Toad said, laughing. “Besides, it’s not like I had much of a soul to lose, yeah? I got out of that whole spot of trouble, nearly unharmed too!”
“Why did you call me?”
“I told you! Let’s go for a drink.”
John couldn’t even lie that he didn’t drink, though it wasn’t exactly something he didn’t publicly, or around other people (or mutants) all that much. But, really, that shouldn't be what he was worried about. “Still don’t think it’s a good idea. Could be a trap, you know. You Brotherhood types are kind of sketchy.” John was surprised to find his lips had curled into a teasing smirk.
“Didn’t you hear? We’re disbanded! I’m a free agent now. Exploring the world, finding my place, all that.”
“I don’t think it’s a very good idea for me.”
Toad scoffed, “Don’t tell me you’re such a loser now, Pyro. Have you lost all your fun? Do you have something else better planned, then?”
John closed his eyes, and his mind flashed to the thoughts he’d just been having moments before Toad had called him.
**( John Pyro Allerdyce was a loser, in so many ways.Collapse )
Been a busy summer. Working a lot, trying to get out to the farmhouse, out to Genosha. Oh, and I'm a married man now so there's that. But life's good
except when it's not but then we fix it.
I'll try to be around more often. So. Yeah. Hey, everyone.
Took some of the teens from the shelter to my wearhouse building, all remodeled into a gym and powers practice area. It's no Cerebro, but it works. And there's this one guy who is convinced he's going to be a famous photographer someday. He reminds me of my sister Sally.
Anyway, he insisted I show this. Don't know about the dude in the picture but it's a decent photo.( Oh, yeah, that dude is me.Collapse )
Hope everyone is having a good summer. Drop me a line, let me know how you're doing.(ooc: Mun can't help it when there's finally new promo pics of Aaron Stanford. Anyone else plan on watching CWs remake of Nikita this fall? I SURE AM. HI, AARON, HI. Also, hi to John's flist. John!mun has had a busy summer writing but I'm hoping to be around with John more. ♥
- ficlet written by john_movinon
, and speed_of_snark
- OPEN RP
. Hey, if you're a friend of John, Doug, or Jean-Paul's, please feel free to have your muse stop by - everyone has been invited! (Or, well, let's pretend they have been, yeah?)(OOC NOTE: Also, John!mun has had a CRAZY two months with relocating/work, so apologies for him not being around much. Or, like, at all. But things are settled and though I'm still busy most days, I'll try to have him around a bit more. :))