Disclaimer: I don't own the X-Men.

Author's Note:Inspired by "Gravity" by Sara Bareilles (which I don't own).

Some Form of Harmony

It was raining heavily tonight, but he didn't care, he had to get some air. She had shied away from him. There was only one person she could touch, someone who could do for her what he couldn't. But he knew the one giving her the touch she craved, didn't really care. He knew what the swamp rat was like. The rain was beating down on him, weighing down his hair, making it flatten out unnaturally. His shirt and his jeans were soaked through, making the light blue look near navy, and the white even more transparent; metal-fused bones starting to cool, making him ache. She belonged to no one, she was her own person. But he felt like someone had cut the legs from underneath of him. Only difference is, he could at least heal from that without a scar.

"You leaving?" The small voice asked him. Her scent was normally something subtle, that he long ago quit associating with anything else. But now she smelt of him; the thick smell of spices hung in the air between them and it clinged to her in such an unnatural way. It was nothing like the way her scent melted into his, blending together and composing a strangely soothing lullaby, even for him.


"Mon chere. I understand you have a problem. And I have a solution I am willing to give." Her eyes lit up at the idea, and that was the last thing he saw before he drifted back to his room, hoping the distance was enough for him not to hear anything. The sounds were muffled, but he was aware. The scent was worse. Sounds he could excuse, but the scents mixed together…his mind couldn't take it and his body was nauseated. A new experience occurred when the contents of his stomach were spilled into the white porcelain. He couldn't take being under the same roof, but he could not leave this place. He knew someone would have to be here to pick up the pieces. Whether it would be of her or of him, he still did not know.

He came and he went. But he made his intentions known. He'd give her one night of touch, but she had to understand it was just one night. At the time she didn't care. Someone offered a key to her chains, a chance to be able to move her arms and know what it was like to not have the heavy iron bind you, even if it was temporary. But everything looks different the next day when you're waking up feeling more alone in your empty bed than you ever did before. The iron feels heavier the second time than it did the first.

The rain started to wash away some of the scent and he couldn't tell how much of the mascara running down her face was from her tears or the water. He didn't even know why she wore it in the first place. She did not need it, and the red and black eyes which had looked her over probably didn't even stop and glance at the way her thick brown lashes framed her beautiful green eyes. Why did he even come here? He was a drifter, just like them, but who shows up to a place like this, and takes what isn't his? He probably heard a story of an untouchable woman and was determined to change that, add that trophy to his bedpost.

He didn't know how much of her slight hunkered down stance was from the cold of the rain and how much was from how filthy she felt.

She felt dirty and abandoned. She felt she had a first class ticket on the train to hell. How could she just agree to something like that? She didn't enjoy any of it. Her thoughts wondered to the man who now stood before her, and even though she wasn't his, she felt like it, and her actions were treachery in her eyes. She wasn't sure how she could even look at the man before her now, much less question his actions.

"No, I'm not leaving. For once I'm staying. Because in all this crazy mixed up world, you're the one thing that makes sense to me. I don't care that I can't touch you, even when he could and has had you, or that you're barely 18 and I'm much older than that. I don't care about the looks they give us or the names they call me. All I care about is you. I don't know how you did what you did, but you somehow made me realize there was more to life than beer, cigars, fights, and cheap thrills. You weren't afraid of me and cared for me from the beginning."

"What does it matter, you can't touch me?" She had her heart broken yet again. The idea of touch was still just as foreign to her.

"I could spend a 100 years just looking at you, another 100 just talking."

"Then what about in 200 years from now? I know I won't live that long, but what about it."

"Then I'd spend another 100 holding your hand, 100 years more holding you clothed in my arms and 100 years after that kissing your hair and inhaling your scent. Should I go on?"

"No. I should get going."

"Wait, answer me one thing. Would you rather spend the rest of your life with him, knowing he could do the things to you that I will never be able to, or the rest of your life with me, just letting me hold you."

"A lifetime with you."

"Good." He told her as she ran to him and wrapped his arms around her soaking wet form. "Could you do me a favor though?"


"Could you take a nice long shower before I go and kill him?"

"As long as you'll help me to burn my sheets and these clothes."


"I'm sorry."

"You just wanted to know what it was like. It's only natural." He just wished it had been him.

"I do know something. Nothing any other man could do to me would feel as amazin' as it is when you hold me like this." They smiled. Her stomach was turning. Her momentary lapse of reason mixed with the promise of something she never thought she could have had left her feeling dirty, used, and unworthy. She felt she could no longer be his after what had happened. She knew he wasn't perfect, but the numerous women in his past were so much different than what was present a few hours ago. "I didn't mean to hurt you like I did. I wasn't thinking. I didn't mean to make you leave me."

"Darlin', nothing could make me leave you as long as you want me here. You're stuck with me and you better get used to it. I just needed some fresh air." He kept holding her as the rain continued to pour down. It wasn't long before the scent of spice was replaced with the scent of leather and cigars and melded with hers, lulling them both into some form of harmony.