Whose side are you on? What side is this anyway? [AU & RW]
Aurora hated waiting more than anything else in the world. Time had always been a fluid concept to the Beaubiers: what most people saw as fast was normal for Aurora, and the longer periods of hours or days that were tolerable to most people could stretch agonizingly long for her. The fact that their thinning numbers were beginning to seem inevitable and the only thing they could do at this point was wait -- wait for their turn, wait for a solution to present itself, wait for everything to become clear -- was simply unacceptable to Aurora, because it was taking forever. It had been ages since she'd seen her twin, too long since she'd been able to go out and have fun, countless hours and days and weeks since her life had been disrupted by these ridiculously mysterious disappearances, and the idea of spending god knows how much longer cooped up inside the Danger Room was beyond her comprehension. At some point, she knew she just wouldn't be able to take it anymore. And Aurora was not known for her patience.

So far, however, she thought she'd been bearing this imposed confinement quite admirably. She hadn't lost her temper with anyone yet, hadn't sneaked above ground to escape the oppressing boundaries of the subbasements, and hadn't misbehaved in any way since what felt like forever. Her self-control was impressive by her standards. Whenever she felt likely to bite off someone's head, she'd taken to zipping around the ceiling where no one could catch her, or slipping away to the locker rooms adjoining the Danger Room for a brief respite of privacy. Speedster or not, there were a few simple pleasures in life that Aurora did not like to rush, and one of them was the enjoyment of a long, hot shower. It was a luxury that she hadn't been denied despite being in lockdown, thanks to the team showers, and that evening when students started yawning and eying their cots thoughtfully, Aurora excused herself. Of course, the buddy system meant that the nosy nurse Madelyne had stood up to follow her out, but Aurora paid no attention to her uninvited tail. She'd never had trouble closing her eyes and blocking everyone else out.

Standing under the spray was a blessed relief. Her long black hair slicked down her shoulderblades, and she let the water run over her face for a long time, enjoying the steady bombardment of droplets on her cheeks and forehead. This was one of the only times she was able to let the seconds trickle by unnoticed. It wasn't a race, there was no pressure for her to rush anywhere or hurry up. She didn't care if her staff buddy was ready to leave yet or if she was still lingering around, keeping a subtle eye on Aurora to make sure she didn't disappear into thin air. It wasn't a perfect moment, but it was close. The only thing that would make this better would be if large hands wrapped around her waist, if she could lean back and feel his strong chest cradling her close -- or if Jean-Paul threw a washcloth at her, if he was here and shaking his head at the obscene amount of pleasure she seemed to take in the simple act of standing under a showerhead. If everything was normal again. Sometimes she wondered how her life had gotten so off-course. Was it the Olympics, Jean-Paul's ambition that had pulled her away from Alpha Flight and their upwards ascent? Or had it started before then, was she so ready to leave because her old life had gotten tiring and easy? She couldn't pinpoint the moment. It has simply seemed as though she'd been moving forward naturally, one event after another, until suddenly she was standing here realizing that she'd gotten lost somewhere along the way. It was frustrating to her. Ironic, even. Aurora was always so confident in herself. Naturally so -- the northern lights were something to guide oneself by, as constant as they were changing, and fickle or not, she rarely hesitated either. Rarely doubted herself. She had always considered it one of her strengths, but now...she wasn't sure. She truly, honestly wasn't sure.

Either way, standing there wasn't going to solve anything, and Aurora lowered her head and wiped the water from her face with both hands. She shut off the spray, stepped back, and spun a quick circle -- the water on her body flew violently in all directions, her vibrations fast enough to propel them from her skin, and she felt a vindictive little surge of satisfaction at hearing Madelyne's sharp sound of displeasure from across the room. Gotcha. When she was dry, she padded across the tiles to find her towel, wrapping it around her torso as she moved into the locker room again. Her clean clothes were waiting for her in her locker and she slipped into them before heading into the bathroom to freshen up, hairbrush in hand and towel hanging over her arm.

She bent down over the sink to rise her face with cool water briefly. The heat had flushed her cheeks and she felt better as she straightened up, staring at her reflection for a long moment. She did look stunning as always, silvery eyes glittering in the fluorescent light, coal-dark hair damply hanging like wings around her face. Aurora smiled at herself.

Her reflection did not smile back.

"LET ME OUT!" Hands flung up to pound against the glass, blurring violently in their trapped fury. Her eyes burned with an intense cold light and those full lips of hers were twisted in a vicious snarl. "You selfish waste of space -- you took my body! You RUINED MY LIFE! You stole everything from me! You're nothing but an animal, Aurora! No -- you are nothing at all, and I WILL DESTROY YOU!"

Frozen where she was in shock, Aurora had not even half an instant to pull away from the fists that suddenly shot out of the mirror. She wasn't just seeing things, this was real -- and her reflection's grip was tight around her neck, thumbs crushing her windpipe and rendering her suddenly helpless. Adrenaline spiked through her like lightning as she slammed her palms against the glass, but she couldn't reach Jeanne-Marie's face, couldn't do anything but dig her nails into the wrists in front of her. As soon as she did, pain shot through her arms and her hands fell away, weakened -- she could just barely see the blood dripping down her own wrists -- but the grip on her throat didn't falter, didn't loosen. The mirror was coming quickly closer to her, and she tried to cry out in terror and fear for her own skin, but the impact never happened. The only thing that came was darkness and a deep, freezing cold that sank into her bones as she slipped through the mirror, pulled inch over inch by the unflinching grasp of her own alter-ego.

She woke up in an unfamiliar place. It was difficult to move at first, like her entire body was made of wet sand rather than skin and bones, and the unwelcome sound of voices and a quick beeping began to pound at her eardrums. Stirring, she grimaced unhappily, taking a moment to let her gaze focused as she swept the room. It was full of strangers. There were people in beds, people in white coats moving among them, and people simply standing about watching. Tubes flowed from her arms and there was a wire stretching from her chest into the beeping machine. There was something so deeply unsettling about the whole scene, so horrifying, that she didn't even know how to begin to accept it.

Jeanne-Marie had no idea where she was, but she knew already that she didn't want to stay.

Weak or not, she had something stronger than her own energy resources to power her: fear. She was on her feet in a blur, hospital gown hanging around her body and bleeding freely from the tubes that ripped free from their various bags and machines, and the motion attracted the attention of the people nearest to her, who turned to stare. "Stay away from me!" she cried at them in French, stumbling back a step, but she was only there for an instant more before she flew from the room, papers flipping wildly through the air in her wake. Down the silver hallways, she saw a door sliding open accompanied by the unmistakable sound of an elevator's ding, and she zoomed past the emerging person without hesitation. Jeanne-Marie's hand shot out to hit the ground floor button, and the doors closed in the person's face as they turned around, face a perfect picture of shock.

She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered, tubes dangling at her sides, as the quiet hum of the elevator enclosed her in temporary peace.

As soon as the doors opened, however, Jeanne-Marie flew towards freedom. Towards sanctuary.

Towards Canada.
[ NARRATIVE ]