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Entry tags:
Ficlet: "Bomb Shelter"
Fandom: X-Men: Evolution
Characters: Tabitha and Amara
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, and I do not profit from their use.
Summary: Maybe Tabitha isn't out of chances.
Words: 300
Notes: Set early in the third season. Written for the “redemption” prompt at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
comicdrabbles.
Bomb Shelter
“Are you going to stay with us?”
In the dark, with Amara whispering from the next bed, Tabitha can almost pretend that nothing has changed: that they’re sharing their old room instead of a steel bunker underneath what’s left of the Xavier Institute; that they haven’t spent the last few days as wanted fugitives. Tabitha’s got no problem with a little bit of mayhem, but for the first time in weeks, her life is close to quiet, and that’s not bad, either. “I don’t know,” she says.
“I guess you’ll do what you want. But I missed you, even before –“ Amara’s voice falters. “Before all of this. It wasn’t the same here, after you left.”
“Yeah, well.” Tabitha grins at the ceiling. “There’s only one Boom-Boom, girlfriend, and don’t you forget it.” She turns toward the wall. “You should get some sleep. Promise I won’t sneak out on you.” After a few minutes, she whispers, “Amara?” and is a little bit relieved when the only reply is slow, peaceful breathing. Otherwise, Tabitha would’ve said something like I missed you, too, or I’m glad you’re not dead, and she wouldn’t have been able to take it back.
She still can’t entirely believe how recently she was driving away in a “borrowed” car. She’d flipped the middle finger – and a small bomb – at the Now Leaving Bayville sign before she even thought about the trouble that she was probably leaving Amara and Kurt, and Professor Xavier, and all the others, in. Even with their missions and rules and sadistic training schedule, they looked out for each other; they’d given Tabitha a chance to be something besides a thief, a troublemaker, her father’s pet freak.
Maybe she’s not out of chances.
The whole world is different now. Maybe she can be different, too.
Characters: Tabitha and Amara
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, and I do not profit from their use.
Summary: Maybe Tabitha isn't out of chances.
Words: 300
Notes: Set early in the third season. Written for the “redemption” prompt at
comicdrabbles.Bomb Shelter
“Are you going to stay with us?”
In the dark, with Amara whispering from the next bed, Tabitha can almost pretend that nothing has changed: that they’re sharing their old room instead of a steel bunker underneath what’s left of the Xavier Institute; that they haven’t spent the last few days as wanted fugitives. Tabitha’s got no problem with a little bit of mayhem, but for the first time in weeks, her life is close to quiet, and that’s not bad, either. “I don’t know,” she says.
“I guess you’ll do what you want. But I missed you, even before –“ Amara’s voice falters. “Before all of this. It wasn’t the same here, after you left.”
“Yeah, well.” Tabitha grins at the ceiling. “There’s only one Boom-Boom, girlfriend, and don’t you forget it.” She turns toward the wall. “You should get some sleep. Promise I won’t sneak out on you.” After a few minutes, she whispers, “Amara?” and is a little bit relieved when the only reply is slow, peaceful breathing. Otherwise, Tabitha would’ve said something like I missed you, too, or I’m glad you’re not dead, and she wouldn’t have been able to take it back.
She still can’t entirely believe how recently she was driving away in a “borrowed” car. She’d flipped the middle finger – and a small bomb – at the Now Leaving Bayville sign before she even thought about the trouble that she was probably leaving Amara and Kurt, and Professor Xavier, and all the others, in. Even with their missions and rules and sadistic training schedule, they looked out for each other; they’d given Tabitha a chance to be something besides a thief, a troublemaker, her father’s pet freak.
Maybe she’s not out of chances.
The whole world is different now. Maybe she can be different, too.