Fervent Feelings

X3 Chapter 17 - Don't They Know...

TW- brief mentions of suicide/suicidal thoughts,

I rise from my seat at SFO strolling over to the large windows, stretching out the stiffness in my limbs after the long first half of the flight flight. The low hum of the airport buzzes around me, the surrounding feelings are a mix of calm and chaos, soothing in its own way—far more relaxing than everything I left behind back home. The wires of my headphones dangle lazily from my ears, swaying with each stretch. David Bowie's 'Heroes' is the next song to play, the melody weaving through one ear and out the other, momentarily offering a distraction.

My gaze drifts toward the runway, watching the planes ascend and descend against the backdrop of a setting sun. The golden light bathes the tarmac, making the commercial jets gleam like polished metal. For a split second, I swear one of them looks like the Blackbird, the sleek design triggering memories of missions past. I blink hard, shaking off the thought, and it morphs back into an ordinary commercial plane.

"We can be heroes, just for one day..." The lyrics echo in my ears.

I drop my arms from my stretch and exhale, murmuring under my breath. "Shit..." The weight of everything I've been running from hangs in the air, settling back onto my shoulders.

Suddenly, shouts and gasps ripple through the terminal, fear spiking. My head snaps toward the commotion, and I immediately lock eyes with Remy, who's sitting on a nearby bench, looking bored out of his mind. We don't need to exchange words. Instinct kicks in, and we grab our bags, darting through the sea of people toward the growing crowd near the TV screens.

The live news broadcast shows footage of Alcatraz Island—and a now broken Golden Gate Bridge before the feed cuts off. A live alert scrolls across the screen: Mutant Attack in Progress. All flights will be halted for sure... The grip on my bag tightens as my pulse quickens. I can feel the weight of it, heavier now, and the images on the screen send a cold shiver down my spine.

Without another thought, I dash toward the nearest bathroom. The 'family' restroom with its private lock feels like a sanctuary compared to the bustling women's restroom with its endless stalls. I push through the door, hurriedly turning the lock behind me.

"Sorry, moms who need to breastfeed..." I whisper under my breath, already unzipping my duffle bag.

Inside, I find it—the old, worn suit, tattered from countless battles but sewn back together like a patchwork of memories. I pull it out, the leather rough beneath my fingers, the smell of it still familiar. "Why Erik let me keep you, I'll never know..." I mutter with a bittersweet smile.

I struggle against the stubborn zippers, and clips refusing to cooperate as I fight to get the suit on. The leather creaks and resists, as if it's as tired as I am. But with determination, I force it to close up, piece by piece. The mirror reflects someone I barely recognize—a relic of the past, but still standing, still fighting.

The bathroom door slams open as I rush out, my boots hitting the tile with a sharp echo. Remy stands just outside, casually leaning against a nearby wall, a deck of cards flipping between his fingers like he's got all the time in the world. His eyes flick up and down, taking in my get-up—a knowing smirk tugging at his lips.

"An' here I thought we were done with those friends o' yours," he drawls, his thick accent dripping with amusement.

"Yeah, yeah," I mutter, gripping my duffle bag tighter. I break into a jog through the bustling concourse, dodging travelers left and right. "Come on, let's go!" I call over my shoulder.

For a second, he just stands there, smugly flipping the cards between his fingers. "Come on, let's go!" I shout again, my voice sharp with urgency.

Finally, Gambit pushes himself off the wall, striding after me. "Y'know," he says, catching up to me with that effortless grace he always has, "I ever told you I know how to fly a helicopter?"