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It was a wonderful night.
The Genosha-Krakon Union was bustling with traffic in and out, all for one event–The Hellfire Gala. Every street was decorated with lights, streamers, and a heavy littering of mutants from across the globe. Ness being one of them.
Ness was dressed his ‘finest’, (though he definitely could’ve looked more acceptable, he just chose not to), in dark brown boot-cut dress pants and a white button up with the top two buttons open with a brown blazer that matched the pants’ color other than faint stripes running up it. A thin and dainty black scarf encircled his neck, almost like a tie, and his ‘good’ combat boots squeaked with their freshly-cleaned shine as he roamed the Gala’s center. He’d talked to his father briefly when he was in between songs, convincing him to play something pretty later when the time was right, before Amari had stolen Lyric away for a quick kiss and chat. Then Ness had mingled, chatting with whoever was around. He spoke with Poppy about how her life in their nation was going, and there was a sparkle within her eyes she’d lost in college. He spoke to Isla about her life as a meteorologist–all pointless banter, really, until Trevor pulled him aside with a hint of playfulness in his many eyes.
“What are you so antsy for?”
Trevor said, looking down at him knowingly. He’d cracked the code. Ness had been practically bouncing on his heels for weeks, and it was no shock Trevor had taken notice. Trevor brushed the flowing silky fabric of his skirt away from two of the eyes on his leg.
“Wouldn’t you like to know.”
Ness replied with a smile, crossing his arms. He glanced away briefly, and Trevor caught it–a certain boy with pink hair running around in a suit and drinking like it was the last night of his life.
“It’s something with Quentin, isn’t it? Y’gonna propose or something?”
Ness tensed up a little, which Trevor noticed but didn’t comment on. Ness giggled, smiling with faux-sarcasm.
“That’d be crazy. Even for me. But I did leave something back at HQ, and I really need to go get it. See you later?”
Trevor rolled his many eyes with a grin, shrugging softly.
“See you later. Be back soon, we’re gonna get pictures of the team together.”
Ness walked away politely, then immediately rushed out and practically ran back to the X-Factor Headquarters. Truth is, Trevor was not only right, but he’d made the absolute worst mistake possible. Leaving the ring in his room. Ness had practically sweat the makeup right off of his face when he’d realized. It’s the one thing you don’t forget for a proposal. So he ran through the streets and grass of the Genosha-Krakoan union, trying to make it all the way to the other side of the island as fast as he could.
When he finally got back, he rushed up the many stairs getting himself so out of breath he had to collapse on his bed for a moment. He then grabbed the little box from the top drawer of his dresser, opening it to be sure the ring was still in there. The oval-cut rhodochrosite ring lay in its notch in the little black velvet box, shimmering softly in the light of the lamp. He picked it up with a smile, pocketing it, when a sound echoed through the room–the islands–and shook the tower.
Ness immediately ran down the stairs as fast as he could, almost tripping a few times, as the ground shook. Once on a lower floor, he looked out the window to see a sentinel. One bigger than any sentinel he’d ever seen or had a nightmare about. He ran down to the basement like a coward, curling up in a ball on the nearest semi-soft object, and waited until the crashes and booming and screaming stopped. It was hours, maybe days before it stopped. Ness wept. He’d spent so much planning. He’d built a telepathic dampener that censored his thoughts so Quentin wouldn’t know. He’d planned–and yet being oh-so-very clumsy saved his life.
When the sounds stopped, he got up, feeling the tear tracks of makeup sticky on his face. He climbed the stairs. Being on the outskirts of Genosha-Krakoa, the headquarters were fine. When he looked outside, the sentinel had been grounded. It was three-headed and grotesque, he could see that from here. He walked up the stairs, not even noticing the steps. At least he was alive. He could always be dead. His legs ached, and yet he didn’t notice a thing. He got to his room and immediately started filling bags with his stuff. His jacket, two shirts, a hoodie he’d stolen from Trevor, some jeans, and a pair of tennis shoes. His boots would do for now. He packed as much as he could into all the bags he had, and it reminded him of how little he really had. He Got his guitar in its case and begun bringing all of it downstairs, lugging it with effort. Eventually, he got it to the garage and loaded it in the van Lyric had given him when he went on tour with his band for the first time. His beautiful baby. He loaded all his shit into the back, heading back into the house to grab some water and snacks. God knew how long this drive was going to be. He loaded some water into the first-aid bag he brought on missions, and got in the van. He started it up and the engine muttered its soft growl. It grounded him in the moment. He pulled out of the X-Factor Investigations Headquarters and headed for the site of the Gala.
On his way he passed leveled neighborhoods he’d once walked in, businesses turned to dusty slabs. Burnt. Crushed. It made him uncomfortable, like driving through a town post-tornado. He didn’t see many people, and least not many that were alive. He checked. By god, he checked. There were literal bits of mutant on the streets here and there. He hit an arm and had to stop to sob. After a while, he made it near the site and had to stop his van and get out because the rubble was too thick to drive through. He got out his messenger bag and got to work.
Death. That was the first sensory input. He could see it, smell it, taste it, feel it. He heard it in the silence. Like nobody was there. If he was a telepath–Quentin.
It was a selfish thought to look for his boyfriend first. It really was. He knew that. But it mattered. He didn’t know he wouldn’t find him. He had a layout of the Gala in his mind, and looked around for those he may know. He upturned rubble, finding acquaintances and friends alike. He found Aria wrapped around Kiki. Kiki’s leg had been crushed under rubble and mangled. Aria stayed until the end, her end, when a matching chunk of the collapsing ceiling broke her skull open, revealing its contents. Ness vomited. He eventually got the courage to look near the musicians, and he found his parents, he did.
Lyrics jacket stuck out. Ness saw it and his stomach turned, eyes prickling with tears that felt like acid burning from his tear ducts down his throat and into his heart. He was surprised it didn't just fall out. Fall out like Arias bra- He shoved rubble, adrenaline hitting him hard and he sobbed. He knew. He rolled Lyric over and he was gone. He was over Amari, who too was just another lifeless mutant corpse in a sea of thousands. He’d died protecting her. His guitar lie mostly untouched next to them, lucky under an air pocket in the rubble. Why couldn’t they have been so lucky? He choked back a sob, and knew he needed to leave hastily, but he also knew he needed something to remember them with. Their rings. He gently pulled Lyrics tungsten wedding band off, heavy and engraved with music notes. He slipped it in his pocket. He couldn’t bare look at it. Amari’s diamond ring was next, its large shimmering centerpiece lightly scuffed from scraping concrete. He closed their eyes and kept walking. He saw limbs and gore galore and eventually grew a bit desensitized. Not one living soul. He eventually found someone he wasn't expecting to find. Beckett. It reminded him. Heath was back in Oklahoma. A living relative. He took his rectangle-cut sodalite ring and shut his eyes, as he had his parents, weeping softly. He walked aimlessly. He’d decided to leave when he saw an arm poking out of the rubble, lifeless and covered in eyes. He couldn’t go over there. He couldn’t do it. He walked back to his van and drove off to the Krakoan gate back to America.
When he got there it was surprisingly open. He drove out to California with no troubles. He drove non-stop for twenty one hours back to Grove, Oklahoma where he knocked on the door to an abandoned factory-turned home, and when an older Heath answered he collapsed into his arms sobbing. Heath didn’t get it. He had to tell him. He couldn’t find the words. He held out Beckett’s wedding ring, and Heath knew his husband was gone. Everyone was gone. They were starting over.
Four rings without hands to be placed upon.