Disclaimer: The X-Men characters, and all other recognizable characters are copyright to Marvel Entertainment Group. This work of FanFiction is not meant to infringe on that copyright or defame Marvel Comics or the X-Men and related characters in any way.
Copyright: This work of FanFiction and the original characters described within are the intellectual property of K-NICE and her IRL persona. No copying, distributing or editing of this material is permitted without the express permission of the creator, K-Nice, under United States copyright law. Relax, I won't sue you. I'll just ask my Cousin Tony to choke you with his dreds.
Thanks to Redhawk for his menu assistance! :)
© K-Nice 1999
There is a man in the store.
He is a good looking man, even behind his strange eye glasses. The cashier's eyes follow him as he shops.
He is tall and solidly built, though he seems to crouch a bit and touches his stomach with a pained look once or twice.
He takes a hand-basket and swiftly fills it. Two filet mignon, two asparagus hearts, two large potatoes and one bottle of red wine.
He pays in cash with exact change and smiles at the checkout girl as he leaves.
There is a man in the house.
He sets his packages in the kitchen and walks into the living room.
His wife, with her stunning red hair glowing in the half light of the early Alaskan evening, sits on the couch, her face blank and blissful.
She was like that when he left an hour ago.
She was like that when he woke up this morning.
She was like that before she died on the moon.
He doesn't like to see her like this. And he has a plan for fixing everything.
There is a man in the kitchen.
He seasons the meat with pepper and salt and that little something extra he knows she deserves. He sprinkles a little on the asparagus as he blanches it, and waits for the potatoes to cook.
He wants this meal to be special. He wants to make her understand that he will never leave her and he will never lose her.
He sits at the table and watches the oven.
There is another wife he once cooked this meal for, a very long time ago.
Just before he had to leave her.
This is the woman he wanted. The other had just been a substitute. That is what he had convinced himself, that is what they all say is the case.
So why does Maddie haunt his dreams? How can her scent linger on his skin for so long?
Why isn't he happy with Jean?
He checks the oven and is rewarded with a heavenly aroma. He continues his preparations
He can tick off on his fingers the women he has lost.
His mother, with her long flame red hair, had been taken from him when he was just a little thing and she had never come back. He had jumped out of the plane and then she was gone.
His first wife, with her long flame-red hair, sold herself to demons to get revenge for his abandonment. She had not survived. He has never seen her again, never looking at her image, lest his soul stir yet again.
His true love, with her long flame-red hair, had died and died and then died again. On the moon, in outer space, But she always came back to him. Always.
There is a man in the living room.
He crouches before her, urging her to eat. His heart soars as she steps out of her reverie and into his arms. He kisses her gently and leads her to the table, like a shepherd and his lamb.
He focuses on the here and now and the little words she hardly listens to. But she doesn't have to listen to his professions of devotion or his vows of everlasting love. He doesn't mind that she ignores him for the sake of the splendid meal before them. He will let the meal speak for him.
No, she doesn't want to talk, she wants to rest. She's tired. "It must be the potatoes, Scott. I'm feeling a little sleepy. We'll talk in the morning, I promise."
That's okay. But she mustn't sleep just yet. For the evening to be complete, he wants to get her heart racing.
He takes her hand, his eyes forever hidden from her behind ruby quartz. He opens most of his mind to her and pulls her into an embrace that rivals the Phoenix in its heat. They slow dance toward their bedroom, giggling madly all the way.
There is a man on the bed.
He hovers over the prone form of beautiful woman.
He watches her rest, his hands still gripping her hips. She had given a cry and fallen back on the mattress, her crimson hair spreading out behind her like a corona of flame reaching out to devour her.
Her deep green eyes are closed and he can not even see her chest move. He smiles through his panting breaths.
"Happy Valentines Day, Jeannie."
He slips out of bed, careful not to disturb her. Dressing quickly, he pulls on his winter boots and walks to the door. He turns to look at her once more before he goes.
Her nude body is pale in the moon beams coming in through the skylight. She seems to glow from within with a celestial inferno.
His breath catches at her beauty, visions flashing through his mind. She might wake and lure him back into her arms.
And she might not.
There is a man in the woods.
He has trudged into the frozen wild from the warmth of his two story chalet. If he were to look back, he would not be able to see the things he has left behind.
He is a civilized man from a civilized world stuck in the middle of nowhere with nothing to do. He is an ordinary man with a not so ordinary past with extraordinary burdens on his shoulders.
He has a rifle and he might hunt deer with it.
And he might not.
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