Okay, I started out wanting to write about what
Christmas is like here in Australia.  It changed
fairly quickly into something a bit more stressful. 
(So it may well suck, but was interesting to write.) 
Just warning you, if you're looking for seasonal joy
you're in the wrong place.   There are some acts of
kindness, but the general feeling is pretty sad.  Come
on, the man's dying, I can't pretty that up very much.
 Apologies for any gross mischaracterization,  I'm
working with someone I don't know very well.  Just
part of my devotion to villains, I guess. :)

Oh yeah, and there's bad language. F word even.  You
have been warned.

They all belong to Marvel.  No money, no sue.  It's
Christmas, I've got enough problems.  The story and 
the happy feelings I get from finally posting
something are my present to myself, Marvel can't have
'em! :) Byron Bay belongs  to the people who live
there, sorry for mutilating some of the geography.

Feedback can be sent to diamonde_fics@yahoo.com, no
flames please.   Ask before archiving, no MST or
pop-up.

----------------------------------

THE OTHER SIDE
By Diamonde


"Hi Boss."  Pyro was only slightly interrupted by a
deep cough.

"Nice to see you again, Pyro.  You look..." Mystique
paused for a moment as she waved him inside and over
to her couch.  "You look good for a dead man, that's
for sure."

Australia's best known supervillain laughed.  "I look
like shit, I know.  Legacy'll do that to yer."

Raven smiled wryly.  "Fairly shitty, yes.  How do you
feel?"

"Weak, cold, sick of coughin', sick of setting things
on fire by accident, and sick  of..."  He sighed. 
"Hey, ya aren't here to listen to me whinge.  Catch me
up on the news instead."

"You've probably heard most of it."  The last few
weeks had been very busy for mutantkind on both sides
of the moral fence, and details had spread around the
world with impressive speed.

"A few whispers is all."  He shrugged.  "Don't get out
much anymore, and there aren't that many people who
wanna spend much time around me now."

Golden eyes narrowed.  "Bastards."

"They're scared, boss.  Can't say I blame 'em."  He
took a long drink from the wineglass Mystique had just
filled.  Beer only made him cough now.  "Doesn't
matter that much."

"You sure?"

"They gave me a week or two six months ago.  I'm
getting philosophical about it, why should I care if
people are paranoid?"

Mystique nodded and watched her old teammate
thoughtfully.  He'd always been small and slight, but
he seemed to have shrunk even more since she had last
seen him.   Emaciated, skin too hot to touch stretched
tightly over bone.  The quick efficiency of his
movements had faded too, becoming slow and
painstaking.

For all her selfish attitude, Mystique did care about
him.  Pyro had been a loyal follower, an intelligent
ally and a good friend for a long time.  When she'd
tried to protect Graydon he'd calmly put personal
prejudice and sickness aside to help her, trusting her
judgement.  X-Factor hadn't.

"You might be, but I bloodywell am not!  Shut the hell
up."

Mystique started.  "What?"

The radio playing softly in the corner was angrily
pointed at.  "If I hear one more wanker whine about
how he's dreamin' of a White Christmas..."  He sighed
and flopped back against the couch's cushions.  "I
don't like white Christmases.  Give me a hot green one
any day."

Mystique turned the radio off with a flick of the
remote control.  "Homesick?"

A cracked laugh, also not what it used to be.   "They
spray fake snow in shop windows in Australia.  Foam
and cotton wool and stuff that looks like roof
insulation everywhere.  But that's just commercialism,
nothing to do with it really."

"What's it really like?" Mystique asked gently.

Pyro smiled.  "Hot.  All this..." He waved vaguely out
the apartment window at the street below.  "It doesn't
really mean anything to me, it's just what Christmas
is in stupid movies.  In Australia it's all blue skies
and bad television.  And hordes of kids on summer
holidays.  I remember that... you could just see weeks
of nothing stretching out in front of you.  They're
all over the place, all hyperactive...  Especially in
shopping centers - malls to you Americans - 'cause
they're air-conditioned.  That's where everyone's
frantic, I don't like it.  Better off lazing around
near a beach or a pool or on a boat.  A little sweat
never hurt anybody, and there's all those good-looking
women in lycra..."  He sighed. "And the food... prawns
and mangoes and peaches and huge boxes of cherries so
you just eat and eat until you're sick."  Pyro blinked
and smiled apologetically.   "Sorry.  I just feel like
 I'm supposed t' be eating fruit salad with
ice-cream."

Mystique's heart squeezed. The man was dying and he
was apologizing for being homesick?  And he was in New
York because she'd asked him.  _Big softy.  Some
supervillains we are..._  "You feeling up to a little
trip, Pyro m'lad?"

He coughed again.  "Not really... I know what yer
thinking, and don't.  They aren't gonna let me on any
planes like this, and right they are. I don't want to
go down in some flaming box any more than they do."

"Would you just trust me?"

"No man in his right mind would trust you, boss.  Far
too sneaky by half."  He  grinned as he said it, but
didn't pretend that he wasn't absolutely right.

"What have you got to lose?"

"True."  He sighed again and slid even further down so
that he was lying in a reasonably comfortable
position.  "Wake me up when we get there, then."

* * *

In actual fact, Pyro woke up to find immensely strong
and distinctly feminine arms lifting him like a baby. 
"Wha...?"  He  looked up and blinked.  "Rogue?"

"That's me."  She flew slowly out onto the balcony and
began to float upwards.

The cold cut through the blanket someone had wrapped
firmly around him, and Pyro shivered.  "Why're you
here, kid?"

"Momma asked me," she said simply.

"I didn't tell her to.  Her stupid idea, I don't-"

"Pyro?  Shut up and let her do something nice for ya."

He shut up, staying quiet as they slipped through the
bottom hatch of the blackbird and back into warmth. 
Didn't say a word as Mystique and Nightcrawler
appeared, but made a  face at the smell.  _Christ they
look alike,_ he thought privately.

Rogue tucked her old teammate and sometime-enemy into
one of the seats. "Put this on."

Pyro eyed the collar.   "That's Genoshan crap."

"Ah know, but it's safer.  Please?"

He gave up.  What was the point in resisting?  
"Whatever."

Mystique looked around the side  of  the co-pilot's
seat.  "Go back to sleep. Even in this plane the trip
will take a while."

"I'd make some tacky comment about having  plenty of
time to sleep later, but a little nap sounds pretty
good.  Try not to hit any turbulence.  Or the ground."



At the front of the plane, Kurt broke the awkward
silence with a whisper.  "How long?"

"Pyro?  No idea.  He's lasted longer than most people
with legacy, but that's probably because he only
controls the flames instead of creating them.  No
power to eat him  alive, like Maverick." She snorted
softly. "But he looks like a walking corpse, doesn't
he?  Days, maybe a week or two... maybe hours.  None
of the 'experts' know, and less of them care."

"That's not fair, Mystique."

"You're right, it isn't."

The silence came back after that.

* * *

"Yuck, it's raining." Rogue grimaced at the
enthusiastic storm dumping huge loads of water onto
the coastal town.

Pyro grinned and slipped his shoes off.   The air
floating in the hatch was steamy and soothed his
much-abused lungs.  And familiar, so familiar... 
Ducking Rogue's hand,  he climbed down the steps and 
onto the wet sand. "Smell that."   He took a  deep
breath, reveling in it.

"Smell what?" Kurt looked out and grimaced.  He hated
wet.  Didn't like sand much either, but the dunes had
been the best place to set down.

"Don't suppose someone who most likely reeks like a
damp dog when he gets wet would notice, but that's the
smell of summer rain on hot ground, mixed up with the
ocean.   Nothing like it."  Another lungfull of the
rich scent made him feel almost alive again.  "Which
way?"

"About two hundred meters that way."  Mystique pointed
and hurried down to stand beside him, shifting to one
of her more 'normal' looking forms.

"Good."   The two of them set off up the beach,
leaving Rogue and Nightcrawler to fend for themselves.



It took longer than it should have, but soon he was
walking down familiar streets.  The  concrete was hot
and wet under his bare feet, and  quite relaxing.  The
huge wreaths of tinsel and plastic that were hanging
from streetlights looked rather droopy in the rain, a
banner wishing all passers-by a 'Merry Christmas and a
happy New Year!' flapped wetly and dribbled
pink-tinged water down the pub's white walls. 
Skirting that large building as it hulked on the
corner, he led Mystique into a small cafe instead.

It was crowded and a little loud inside, full of other
people nearly as bedraggled as they were taking
shelter from the storm.   There was still a small
table against one wall free, however, and Pyro sat
down with relief.  Even such a short walk was tiring.

"Vegan, vegetarian, kosher..." Mystique raised her
eyebrows at the menu. "Unusual."

"This is Byron Bay.  Place is fulla hippies, ferals
and tourists."  Pyro looked meaningfully at a waitress
in a halter top, cutoff shorts and fake antlers who
wandered over obediently.

"What can I do fer yas?"  Her voice was thickly
accented and friendly.

Mystique quietly ordered a small lasagna and salad, it
seemed to be the house specialty.  Pyro was a bit
pickier.  "Is that fruit salad homemade?"

She smiled.  "Sure is.  Helped do it m'self 'bout two
hours ago."

"What's in it?"

She looked thoughtful, and began counting off
ingredients on her fingers.  "Apple, pawpaw, mango,
banana, cherries, orange, rockmelon, pineapple,
kiwifruit... I think that's it."

Pyro sighed a sigh of deep contentment.  "Give me a
huge bowl of that.  With ice-cream.   And a seafood
platter."  Another coughing fit hit, making him dizzy.

"Okay."   The waitress looked down at him for a
moment, then leaned forward  conspiratorially.  If she
knew she was giving Pyro an almost indecent view of
her cleavage she didn't care.   "You look like  you've
really been hanging  out for this.  Tell you what,
I'll pop down to the gourmet ice-cream shop at the end
 of the block  and grab you some _real_ ice-cream for 
that fruit  salad.  Trust me, it's the best you'll
ever taste."

"Thank you."  He couldn't say much more as he was
still wheezing painfully.

"No problem."  She headed back to the kitchen,
sun-bleached hair swinging.

"That was... nice of her."  Mystique  frowned across
the table.

Pyro laughed.  "Don't worry,  I still look like death
warmed over and she doesn't recognize me from any of
my old books.  This town's biggest industry is drugs
disguised as tourism, she knows a dying man when she
sees one.  Probably thinks I've got AIDS or
something."

"Oh."  Raven poured herself a glass of water and
looked into it thoughtfully.  "Glad you came?"

"Depends if the fruit salad's any good," he joked.
Then he looked back out at the street,  through a
window with snowflakes stenciled on it.   The rain had
stopped and the sun was back out, making everything
glisten and look clean.  People wearing everything
from wetsuits to tie-dyed dresses and dreadlocks were
back on the streets, enjoying the slight drop in
temperature.   "Yeah, I'm glad.  Thanks, boss.  A
present I actually wanted, that's gotta be breaking a
rule somewhere...."

She grinned back at him.   "I think this would be an
appropriate time call me Raven."

"What else do I get?  Remember, I deserve lots of
pity..."   He gave a very good attempt at puppy-dog
eyes, somewhat devalued by the joking leer.

"Don't even think it."

"Hey, thinking's about all I can manage now.  Don't
spoil that for me too.  Jeez, I'm DYING and I'm still
not allowed to be lecherous..."

They both laughed at that.  Outside the bitumen
steamed, mocking the little snow-bound Santa who waved
an electric candle amid piles of shoes.   A horde of
drunk  teenagers stumbled past, laughing  with the
sincere joy-terror of people who have just struggled
out of five years of high school to see real life
barreling down on them like a semi-trailer.

* * *

After they'd finished lunch, the two
sometime-supervillains ended up on an almost empty
beach, watching hordes of seagulls hustle the few
remaining tourists with loud professionalism.

"What do you want for Christmas, boss?"

"Dreams or realism?"

"Dreams.  You know, if ya could sit on Santa's lap and
ask him for anything.  Something selfish."

Mystique grinned.   "A space station."

There was a soft thump as Pyro slid off his rock to
laugh helplessly on the sand.   "A space station?!"

"Yeah, a space station.  Come on, it's not that silly.
Cable had one, Magneto had two and  I'm jealous.  It's
 about time a woman got one anyway." She sat down next
 to Pyro and looked out to sea as she daydreamed.  "I
want a big silver one with huge guns so that everyone
would have to be polite to me... and I could just sit
up there in neutral territory and metaphorically moon
anyone who wanted to arrest me or make me work for
their stupid government."

"Sounds nice. But have you been a good girl this
year?"

"No.  Whoops."

"That's the problem.   Us villains never get a
break... except for Magneto, for some reason."

"Guilt.  The man could guilt-trip GOD.  And frequently
tries." She picked up a handful of sand, watching it
slip through her fingers like wasted minutes.  "What
about you, St. John Allerdyce?  Been a good boy this
year?"

"Nope.  If I had the energy I'd rob another bank just
to flip Santa the finger one more time."

"So if you could go back and do it all again you'd
still choose a life of crime?"

"Hell no," he said softly.  "Not the way I did,
anyway.  Maybe a few smart crimes, set myself up.  Do
a Freedom Force maybe, we had some good times then. 
Try to avoid getting this fucking virus, obviously.
Then I would have written all those things I never got
around to.  I'm a good writer, or I could have been. 
Wrote trash because that's where the steady money
was... and now that's all I'll be remembered for." 
Such a long speech was too much of a strain, he
started coughing again.  Worse this time, shaking his
whole body until Mystique had to hold him  up and he
spat blood onto the sand.

Her voice was a little huskier than normal, not that
Mystique would ever admit  to repressed tears.  "For
what it's worth, John... I'm sorry."

"Yeah," Pyro gasped.  "Me too."


Sometimes Christmas causes pain because of what we
regret never having.  Sometimes it reminds us of what
we've lost.  Sometimes life just hurts.


FIN



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