#hidden inside

It was all selfish, John was selfish with both Gus and Sonia, he realizes that, but it doesn’t make the pain of losing them any less jarring. If anything it makes his guilt stronger. He should have tried harder, should have…

The congregation begins to disperse, the mutants walking slowly back to the HQ. In pairs or in groups. John stays until the last one of them has disappeared behind the shrubs. He walks to the dais. He places his bouquet on top of it -- his palm became all sweaty from clutching it and the roots of the plants are thin and withered. He wonders what he could say to Sonia and only comes up with an apology, so he thinks -- he doesn’t even speak out loud -- he thinks, "I’m sorry" and follows everybody else down the aisle between the greenery.

He’s sorry. For what exactly? For not being there sooner? She’d been gone for at least a day, he thinks, when they came with the rescue. He’d have to ask Lauren or Andy or Clarice; he’d only heard the most general facts. He should have been a lot sooner if he wanted to save Sonia and he knows there were other circumstances standing in his way, the logistics, the planning, it just couldn’t be done any better than they did it. They did their best and that is a fact. Why then? Why is he sorry? Because he pushed her away? Because hers feels so much like a sacrifice of a broken heart? No, he can’t think that way, that’s him being selfish again, making it all about him. Sonia, if she really sacrificed herself, did it because of something she believed in. He has to give her credit for that. She fought, because she believed. She fell in love with John, because she believed and he believed as well. She wanted to help people of her kind. She wanted to grant safety to as many as they could. And if the only way to do it was by sacrificing herself, then that’s what she chose to do. Because she was a true hero.

John misses her. He knows he misses her, but he doesn't really grieve for her like she deserves. Maybe that's what he's sorry for, that's why he feels this selfish guilt? Can he really grieve though, can he allow himself this... The Underground needs a strong leader. That's obvious and everybody understands it, so that's the reason he would give, if anyone asked. That's something he repeats to himself over and over again. Deep inside, however... Deep inside he knows that is not all.

Deep inside he knows it's as simple as fear. Dread. Terror of emotions associated with grief. Hollowness. Despair. Dark, tumultuous maelstrom that sucks the very breath from his lungs. Even standing at the edge of it feels like an earthquake. His throat constricted, John stops, looks up at the HQ. He can’t keep it in, he knows he can’t keep it all in, but he can’t let their people see him like this either. He’s their leader, he’s supposed to be the strongest of them all, but he can’t, he can’t… A sob almost escapes him, the urge to cry out and he feels wetness on his cheeks.

Loss.

She's gone.

There's so much he hadn't... he should have...

Sonia.

He misses her terribly but that's no good anymore, that's not gonna help anyone anymore and he can't feel this, he can't be like this, he must contain it. He holds his palm to his face and in this palm he holds all that anguish that he has to hide from the world.

Then he takes in a breath and schools his features.

The Underground needs a strong leader.

He turns, his resolve as steadfast as he can feasibly make it and he sees a shape on the stairs. A person. A glimpse of purple hair.

Clarice.

Of course, he couldn't be so lucky.

Although. Clarice is different than most mutants in the Headquarters. Not because of what he (doesn’t, he doesn’t!) feel for her. She’s the kind of person who isn’t easily intimidated. If at all. She knows what she wants and she’s taking it without waiting for the world to hand it over. She takes no bullshit. John doesn’t know all that she’s been through, but it both hardened her and made her more compassionate, more caring. In a wise way. She will not let herself get hurt, no matter what. That is good. That is what makes him not fear for her safety as much.

He’s not going to show her his weakness though, either. That’s just not something he can do.

Hands in his pockets, John climbs the stairs to stand before her and waits for an inevitable, "How are you?"

"I’m alright," he tries but his voice fails him. Sounds hoarse, unused. Not alright at all. Clarice says something about how Sonia was important to John and loved him and she tries, John knows she wants to console him – probably the only one who actually does, he realizes.

"If there's anything you need," she offers, "just say the word. I wanna help."

He owes her at least an acknowledgment. So, "Things are so--" he starts and swallows, his throat still too dry for words. Then, "confused in there." The truth is he is confused, he cannot decide. "This whole business with Esme, nobody can agree whether what they did was a disaster or a miracle." The fact is -- he can’t. Part of him, the rational, responsible part knows that it was wrong and now, only more bad things will follow. More repressions, more punishment, even less freedom than they have now, however miniscule it is anyway. The other part is glad though. The other part craves vengeance, craves hostility and chaos and death...

Clarice, startlingly, doesn’t seem to notice. She grabs his arm. She hooks her hand over his elbow and stops him, right then and there. Grounds him.

"So what do we do?" she asks like he’s the competent leader he used to be, not a confused wreck.

He pulls back. Touch is... His senses are still too raw to take it, but this thing she does, it makes him change from within, it makes him...

Focus.

"We stay focused," he says, because this word is his mantra. It’s like magic, like self fulfilling prophecy. "We take down the Hound program."

"Do we have a game plan?"

"Not yet."

But we will, he thinks. Somehow. He will make that plan, because she tells him to, she expects him to, because she believes that he still can.

"All I know is I can’t lose any more friends," the words stumble out of his mouth.

He wasn't going to say them. He didn't even know he was thinking something like this but it's true and what's worse – she is among those friends now. He can't lose her.

He turns away from her and marches inside the HQ before he breaks down again, but, startlingly, he does not break down. He does not, because while she's found her way into his closest circle, he knows he's part of her world now as well. She wouldn't have come out to speak with him otherwise, she wouldn't have been so on point with her comfort attempts.

Clarice is different than the rest of the mutants in the Headquarters. She will never let herself get hurt. But if she considers someone a part of her pack, she won't let them get hurt either.

John knows he really is lucky to have found her.

.end

The telepathic Triplets had vanished before the team even got to the gates. Sentinel soldiers lie around, incapacitated – killed mostly. Trask people are coming, but still at some distance. Nevertheless, the mutants have to hurry, they have to get away from here, they have to run.

But John searched for Sonia's sad face and Clarice saw that and she probably thought she owed him an explanation.

"I wish I could have done something."

She couldn't.

She can't.

The emptiness in his stomach, the vacuum that opened after he heard those words and didn't want to understand their implication, now turns to fire, along with the realization that she's not here. Sonia is not here and she never will be. She's not coming back from that building, she's gone, she's...

The Strucker girl says something but John doesn't hear anything beside bitterness and self loathing and he doesn't even know if it's hers or his own. His body becomes a stone, then lava. His vision shrinks into a tunnel, like looking through the tube of a reverse telescope. Far, far at the end of that tube he sees – Clarice. She reaches out to touch him.

He takes a hasty step back.

"Stay away!" he chokes and her face curls inward, like he slapped her.

Like he blames her for what happened but he doesn't, it's nothing like that!

How is he supposed to explain it to her? How? His throat is constricted to the point of physical pain, his fists balled with the overwhelming desire to punch and hit and tear the world into shreds. He can barely contain it, much less speak up. With the last simmer of control that he still holds onto somewhere deep inside, he only shakes his head and takes another step back.

He collides with something.

Someone.

“We gotta move!” Marcos hisses right into his ear, meets his eyes and jumps away, all in a split second. His eyes are wide, hands alight. He recognizes the warning.

“Where is Sonia?” Lorna asks almost simultaneously.

“We have to go,” Marcos repeats barely above the whisper, not taking his eyes off John for even a blink. He pulls Lorna behind him, puts himself between John and the rest of the group they’ve just liberated. “We shouldn't fight now,” he pleads, “not like this.”

Lorna sees the danger just as Marcos does. She ushers the band of escapees through the broken fence and up the slope toward their parked cars, turning back to check on the situation every few heartbeats. Marcos follows behind her, walks backwards, his eyes still on John. Shatter flanks their retreat.

Do they want to tame John, fight him maybe? Thunderbird? Do they think they can protect anyone from him?

They can't.

Eclipse’s photon beam will cause him pain, but no real harm, while Shatter's crystalline skin can only protect the man so far. Thunderbird could rip him to pieces if he took to it.

He is the ultimate war machine. He's strong, resilient, durable. He has the ability to hide from the enemy forces, or sneak up on them undetected. He has the training to match his physical strength when in direct confrontation. He's fast.

But it's neither of those abilities that made the X-men believe they could trust him with managing the mutant underground. No, it's something else. It's something that didn't come by itself, awoken by a mutation; quite on the contrary. It is a trait that John had to work on for a very long time, he had to struggle to find the strength in him and to keep it. Perfect it. Make it his way of life. It is his ability to control all his X-gene imposed gifts – it is his discipline.

No one can tame Thunderbird, but Thunderbird himself.

His heart is still racing, his muscles still tense, but his mind is back in the right place. His vision returns to normal, he can hear the boots approaching, orders to take position being issued. Marcos and Shatter are up the slope, almost under the cover of trees, John is in front of the fence.

He breathes in, closes his eyes and tenses all muscles in his face, pulls his chin to his chests, then on a count to three, he exhales and relaxes them, repeats the same with his shoulders, hands, torso, and finally legs. Doesn't have the time for a deeper meditation – Trask security is about to open fire, good thing he's bulletproof – but he's so familiar with those movements by now, his body simply obeys.

As the bullets start flying around him, John squeezes through the torn fence and dashes up and between the trees. On the other side he's greeted by Marcos and Shatter.

"I'm good." He lifts both his palms in a placating gesture.

"You're not driving," Marcos says and John nods.

When he opens the door on the passenger side, though, they break off at the hinges.

Thank you for reading.