[Fiction] Vixen - Sleepless

[Vixen]

She didn't sleep much anymore.

Usually when she was sleepless she would put it to use, making herself busy with work around the house while her husband slept. But the motivation had left her, and she found herself staring up at the ceiling in the forgotten hours of the morning. Initially Mitch had urged her to go and do something if she was still awake, instead of just lie there - but he relented after the third straight night, realizing what the problem really was, and unable to solve it.

Mitch was the kind of man who preferred problems that could be solved. Change one thing in the right way and the problem went away. Some problems were like that, but this wasn't one of them - if this problem had a solution it wasn't presenting itself. Some problems needed to be managed, to be lived with. And Roxanne slept less nowadays because she's lost her parents, and because she was unable to dorm and therefore required less sleep.

Neither of them wanted to consider the possibility that she was stuck this way. Roxanne, hated the thought - it was a lot easier to go out in public when you could do so without gawkers. So they stayed in - Roxanne had cut herself back to the bare minimum in hours at work, and they didn't go out much. There was an exception that proved the rule, at Club Babylon - everyone there was polite enough, but neither of them could escape the feeling that Mitch was considered an accessory to Roxanne rather than an equal. Every Vixen action figure comes with a free mini-Mitch!

It was scary, where your thoughts went at three in the morning.

Roxanne sighed, and got out of bed, rubbing sleep out of her eyes as she descended the stairs, flicking her tails in mild irritation. Around her, the air currents were disrupted by her passing, their scents tossed into disarray.

She heard Mitch shift in his sleep, and hesitated She felt a lump rise in her throat.

I love you, Mitch.

The thought sat, unsent, in her head as she went downstairs.

* * *

I love you, Roxanne.

There was a time he was unafraid to say that, no matter how big a pansy people would call him. No matter how many jokes he heard at work, how many comments about bestiality he heard - and people learnt fast not to make that joke around him - he wasn't ashamed. Not of her, and not of how he felt for her, and not for an instant.

But somewhere along the way, he'd forgotten how to say it.

He'd woken as she'd gotten up, and hadn't said anything. He'd had his share of sleeplessness lately too. He thought about his own parents, and how devastated they'd have been if the intruder had been just a little more on the ball. And he thought of the first time he'd met Roxanne's parents, just after her eruption, everyone excited and nervous, an electric current in the air. 'Things had changed forever' was the unspoken consensus. Roxanne was up and walking and talking, and when she wanted to she looked like a goddess out of folklore. Things had changed forever, and that was a good thing.

Things had changed forever again. It wasn't a good thing this time, and that wasn't the worst thought. The worst thought was that this was the kind of change they'd see a lot more of.

Rough waters from here on out.

* * *

She poured herself a glass of water, and then hunted around in the cupboard for a box of cereal. She pulled out a box of honey-glazed flakes and pulled a bottle of milk out of the fridge. Despite her fur coat, she shivered from the fridge's cold air.

Some part of her brain spoke up. You forgot to dress.

She ignored it, and sat down at the table, pouring herself a bowl of cereal and filling it with milk. It was her special 'nova bowl' - it held a lot of cereal.

She dug in with a spoon and started in on the cereal. She scratched the top of her head absently with the short, stubby claws on the tips of her fingers. The cereal tasted good - it didn't need sugar. It was the good kind of milk too, with no growth hormones she could taste. It smelled good, too - mixing with the background scents in the room in a subtle chemistry...

She choked back a sob, and set down the spoon. Because there it was.

Scents linger. Not forever, but they linger. And everyone's scent was unique, and that included the scent of her parents, which used to be so strong in this house and was a little less strong every day. And despite that, there it was - their scents, not fully gone, not fully there. Olfactory ghosts.

Half of her wanted the scent to leave her, an to leave her now so she could go on. The other half wanted them to never go, to stay forever. The argument tore her apart inside. It made it hard to breathe.

She wiped tears from her eyes and gritted her teeth, and once more, she tried to dorm. Dorming would make it easy. She wouldn't be able to smell them any more and she could get on with it - she could stand to leave the house and go out, and be alive.

And just like the last hundred times she'd tried, she failed. She couldn't pull the energy back in.

She thumped the table in frustration, and buried her face in her hands.

What if she never changed back again?

* * *

What if she never changes back again?

He stared up at the ceiling, turning the thought over in his head. Having to say goodbye to that half of her life - or their lives - forever. At least being dormed, she could sort of hide - but undormed, all the time, meant there was nowhere to hide. That she'd be a celebrity by default all over again, a thought neither of them liked. She was a private person, and they respected that psychic linking could only go so far - not that they used the link often any more.

The dreadful thought sat there. Celebrities were famous for many things and one of the main things was how quickly they got divorced. Fame was a monster, and it ate marriages and friendships by the handful.

Another darker thought crept in, that maybe it had already happened.

He pushed it away - or tried to, but it would not leave. It just sat there, looking at him.

You don't really talk any more, do you?

It was tough to think of anything to say. They'd both been attacked, but by a stroke of luck he'd gotten out of it uninjured - by contrast, Roxanne had been shot, as well as her sister Nicole, and both her parents died in a car bomb. He'd liked her parents, but he didn't know them a tenth as well as she did. He didn't know what to do.

Marriages took work - he knew that. His parents had gone through rough times as well, and he remembered nights like this one as a kid, where he'd wrap a pillow around his head so he wouldn't have to listen to arguments about bills piling up. Relationships, period, took work, and he hadn't always been good at that.

Despite the fact that his wife could throw fire and lightning from her hands, and fly and walk through walls and turn invisible, and was telepathic and could create illusions indistinguishable from reality - he'd never felt powerless around her. Intrigued, and curious, and full of awe, sure - but not powerless.

He felt powerless now. Powerless to help her or to save their marriage, and powerless period. He'd prayed so hard at her side in the hospital, watching all the tubes snake in and out of her as they kept her breathing, and then Neil Preston showed up and fixed her in less time than it took to tell.

He knew it was just male ego talking, the fear of loss of control. But it didn't make him feel better.

And then he'd asked Neil what he'd asked.

* * *

He was hiding something.

She didn't want to think of what it could be. Just the knowledge that there was something tucked away inside of him, that he was keeping from her... it got under her skin.

It was just after she'd learnt she couldn't undorm that she started to sense it, and it made her stomach twist in a knot. He'd lived with both sides of her for years, and he'd said that he found her beautiful in either shape... but he'd hardly be the first man to flatter his wife with pleasant falsehoods. At least before, even when she undormed, it wouldn't be too long before she dormed again...

Now she couldn't dorm.

And now suddenly she was hiding something.

She pushed the bowl of cereal away, suddenly not hungry. She sat back in her chair, staring straight up, her tails poking through the hole in the back of the chair and swishing nervously.

He couldn't be that petty.

But then again, she could be. She'd complemented him when he'd decided to get into better shape, buying a weight set and using it. She'd meant it, too - seeing him with that extra healthy glow, that spring in his step...

It wasn't a crime to be physically attracted to someone. And now...

"S'not fair," she muttered. "Others get perfect skin and tits out to France, and I get a muzzle and fur and tails." She slumped forward, covering her eyes with one hand and supporting her chin with the other. "Why did it have to happen this way?"

There it was, again. 'It had to happen this way.'

She though back to the vision she'd shared with Wakinyan, while poking around inside of his head and trying to figure out how to help him. It was her being shot, a day before it happened. At the time, she hadn't put it together, and he'd acted resentful afterwards which wasn't productive so she'd let it go.

And a day later...

"I can still feel it."

* * *

He wanted to feel her.

They'd had intimacy problems since that terrible, black day. They'd tried, but it never seemed to click.

It wasn't because of how she looked. God, how could it be? He didn't care what anyone else said or the jokes anyone else made - to him, she was as beautiful as a sunrise. The deep, luminous color of her eyes, the way her hair spilled down her head, the way she walked to counterbalance her tails, the way he could tell how she felt just by how they moved, the sensation of her fur running through his fingers...

No, it wasn't the fact she was stuck this way physically. It was just that it was so hard to love someone when the two of you were hurt.

So after a while they didn't push it, figuring that when the time came, it would come back to them. Of that, the future was certain.

Except it wasn't certain. The future was more in doubt than ever.

He'd pictured it in his mind. Holding a hand over Roxanne's stomach, feeling their child kick. Or, if they never managed to sort out Roxanne's problems, adopting a child, and then maybe another. Trading in his car for a minivan. Christmas with kids breathless with anticipation. Sharing a closet, a house, a life. Growing old together and being there for one another, all the way until the end, and to hell with anyone who said they couldn't do it.

But everyone who said they couldn't do it were going to get the last laugh.

I should get up.

He could. He was wide awake. He could walk down the stairs and sit next to Roxanne and hold her tight and say he was sorry, sorry for feeling so weak and helpless and shutting her out when she needed him. He could tell her just how beautiful she was and how much she meant to him, and how he wanted to weather any storm the world threw their way.

But he was a little tired. And he'd just gotten comfortable. And... maybe she wanted to be alone. She'd gotten out of bed first, after all. He should respect that. He -

He heard the thump of the chair falling over.

He was out of bed like a shot.

* * *

She held her hand over her ribcage.

Neil Preston had done a good job - there was no scar. No signs on the outside, but the outside wasn't where her head was.

She felt the bullet smashing through her body and into Nicole's, and watched all the color drain out of her sister's face. She felt things shift around inside of her, and then she coughed up a sticky wad of blood.

Some thought flickered inside of her head, unheard. She imagined the bullet, swirling through the air, each tiny current mixing with the olfactory landscape. She imagined all the events that led the gunman into that building, into the Church of the Michael Archangel, into an extremist sect that believed that merely being near a nova could infect you with evil, and that was why you had to kill not just the nova, but any unfortunate souls caught near them before the evil damned their souls for all eternity...

She pictured the gunman in prison, when the knife had slid into his ribcage - right where the bullet had shattered hers, actually. It turned out she'd had a fan on the inside - and while some formal questions had been asked about telepathic coercion, and while the local division of the Church of the Michael Archangel had accused her of bewitchment, in the end the incident had gone away.

She hadn't felt anything when she'd learnt that the man who'd shot her and Nicole was dead.

It was as inevitable as the bullet. As inevitable as everything that had led to the bullet, and as inevitable as the warning she'd gotten. She looked and looked, and couldn't find her free will in all of that, and without that, where were you?

Sitting in your dining room, naked and alone, with a husband you couldn't talk to sleeping upstairs, with a half-eaten bowl of cereal in front of you and dark, dark thoughts in your head.

And the smell of ghosts all around you...

She sniffed, and frowned, and sniffed again. All the scents were still there, but there was something new... something familiar, yet new...

She lifted up the tablecloth, and gasped.

A small fox with two tails and light orange fur stared up at her. It winked, and it bolted through her legs and out the door.

She whipped around, and went after it, passing through the door like a ghost, and into the Forest that they had in the backyard, the air smelling of heat and ash from the volcano in the distance. It bounded across the clearing and into the trees, and she was in hot pursuit.

She followed the scent, and dodged the branches and trunks of the trees in the forest. The air grew less hot and the smell of ash faded, blending into the smell of a forest in full spring bloom, rich with sap and pollen. She sneezed, despite herself.

She burst out into a clearing, and watched the fox slow to a trot. The fox's fur had lightened to a light brown - no, not a light brown, but gold. The fox had grown more tails - it was up to five. And it stood upright as it proceeded, transforming into a feminine humanoid form, with stark white head hair.

Roxanne watched, transfixed, as the other kitsune walked through the field, towards a man sitting cross legged, wearing a simple kimono. There were kanji on the kimono that she couldn't make out. The man stood, and smiled, as the other kitsune approached.

They embraced, and kissed. for a long moment.

When the moment ended, the golden-furred kitsune turned away, and looked up at Roxanne. Roxanne felt words form in her mind.

It's worth it.

The world tilted backwards suddenly, and the Forest fell away, replaced by her house, and the ceiling. She cried out in sudden pain as the back of her chair hit the floor, and she felt a tail bend awkwardly.

She heard footsteps down the steps as she struggled to her feet. Mitch flicked the lights on, clad in his boxers. "Rox?"

"M'fine... ow..." She winced, and stared at the tail that she'd hurt. It moved limply, twitching.

Mitch crossed the room to her side, and helped her up. "Fell out of your chair?"

"Yeah. Ow. Yeah."

"Do you want me to look at it?"

"No, doesn't feel broken. Just stings."

"Are you sure? I can - "

"I'm fine! Jesus, leave me alone."

She said it more harshly than she meant, and regretted it the instant it left her lips. Mitch's face broke, and he sagged slightly.

"Okay," was all her said as he let her go.

She looked him in the eyes, and felt a lump rise in her throat. No. No. I'm not okay. Say something.

"Mitch - "

"It's okay." He nodded. "Long as you're not hurt."

"Why can't we talk any more?"

Mitch looked surprised. He looked Roxanne in the face, in those big green eyes he could lose himself in, and noticed how puffy and swollen they were.

"I - I don't - "

"You've been holding something back. Every since I found out I couldn't undorm, you've been keeping quiet about something. We used to be so good for that. Why can't we talk?"

Mitch froze. "What? I - ever since you - "

"If you don't like me like... like this, just tell me, and we can deal with it - "

"No! No, God, Roxy, no, it's not that. I - " He sucked in a deep breath. "I talked with Neil about something."

"About what?"

"I looked him up. He can manipulate biological processes... hormones, chemical imbalances, DNA sequences, blood types. And I'd been doing a little reading, about latency. I asked him if he could..."

Mitch let the ending of the sentence hag in the air. Roxanne's eyes widened. "... wait, you asked him if he could make you a... a latent nova?"

"I asked. He said he couldn't."

Roxanne looked at the floor, and slowly picked up the chair. She sat in it. "That's it?"

"I swear. Please believe me. That's it."

She looked up at him, and felt her heart flutter. She did believe him.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"Because I'm an idiot, Roxanne. I've been the biggest idiot on Earth. I just didn't know how to make things better and that's all I wanted to do...! I didn't want to... to..."

He reached over and pulled out a seat, and sat down next to her. His eyes were wrapped in tears.

Roxanne gingerly took his hand in hers. "Go on."

"I saw how miserable you were and I didn't know what to do. I just - I thought, 'how much worse would it be if you died on her?'"

"... and you thought, that if you were a latent nova..."

He nodded. "I know you got hurt worse than me, but they were in our house, Roxanne! Right here! He was armed and he could have killed me. And yeah, I admit it. Powers like what you've got would be nice. But he said no. And I felt ashamed for even asking, like I was less of a man. Like I was lying to myself about wanting to do it for you when really, maybe all I wanted was to be a nova. But honest, Roxanne - that's all it is. I just was afraid of leaving you all alone."

"Afraid..."

He's the one who's afraid? They only came for him because he's close to me and they thought they were saving his soul! The thought of them doing that again...

They came for me. They shot me.

I was dormed, and they shot me.

She squeezed his hand. "I know... exactly what you mean... when you say you're afraid of dying on me."

Mitch let out a shuddering breath. "Oh thank God. I was afraid you wouldn't understand."

"Maybe that's why..."

Mitch looked at her. "Why what?"

You're afraid of being shot again, aren't you, Roxanne? Once bitten, twice shy, as the saying goes. And maybe you're afraid of letting their scent go. And maybe you're afraid of dying on Mitch.

And maybe you have all the good reasons for being afraid in the world, but it's killing you and everything good in your life. Fear is the mind killer. You have to let it go.

Roxanne took a deep breath, forcing herself calm. She thought of the sensation of the bullet shooting through her, and contrasted it with the sensation of air passing through her lungs. She smelt all the smells in the air, her mother and her father, a little bit less of them every day, but Mitch was right here in front of her, his scent a rich mixture of emotion.

"I'll always love you," she said, to everyone.

Then she let go.

She felt the sting in her injured tail vanish, and the room grew colder, and the sounds and smells faded away to merely normal levels. She squeezed Mitch's hand, feeling her nails against his flesh instead of her claws.

"Roxanne! You - "

She opened her eyes, staring down a normal human nose instead of a muzzle. Things in the room were a little duller, a little less rich, a little less colorful... except for him.

She smiled. "I was afraid. That was all."

He smiled back, and pulled her closer, kissing her on the lips. She gasped at the sensation of his bare chest pressed against hers. "Oh...!"

"I knew you could do it, Roxy."

"God, how long's it been?"

"Too long. You're beautiful." He stood, pulling her up wth him.

"You - mmm - you want me to stay this way while we, you know?"

"Do you want to?"

"Yeah. I missed this a lot. So yeah."

"Want me to carry you upstairs?"

She grinned devilishly. "Save your strength."

* * *

Morning came. Phone numbers were dialed. Excuses were made. And a different kind of sleeplessness stole over them.

The sunlight crept through the shades and across their bed, as he cradled her foxy form gently. She'd undormed a few hours ago, because intimacy could get a lot more interesting when you added psychic illusion and perception control to the mix.

Besides doing the obvious, they'd talked. They shed tears and had a laugh or two. Strained laughter, sure, but it was laughter nonetheless. In the morning, the scents of her parents seemed less present.

The psychic link was back. So to the observer, they seemed perfectly silent, faint smiles on their faces. To those who could look a little deeper, they appeared to be sitting on the floor, a low table between them, in the middle of a cabin in the middle of a Forest.

Both sipped imaginary tea. To Mitch it tasted like the Kool-Aid his dad would make for him on a hot summer day. To Roxanne it tasted like the wine they'd had at their wedding.

"So your Dad's already made fun of my radio stations and how I pull out of a parking space, and as soon as I'm out on the road he's telling me I'm not going fast enough. I point out I'm doing the limit - "

"And he's looking at it from an angle?"

"No, I point this out and he tells me that if I do the limit I should put a ramp on the back of my car so all the other cars can drive right over me. Your dad loved his cars."

"Driving was his life. He knew all those shortcuts. One time he took me to this hidden little spot out behind the airport's landing strip and the planes would sail overhead. It was huge - it felt about as far overhead as you are from me."

"That close, hmm?" Outside the Forest, he held her a little closer, brushing his fingers through her fur. She smiled gently at the sensation.

"Not... quite that close."

"Thanks for letting me back in here, Roxanne."

"I should have months ago. I wanted to, but - I mean - "

"I know. I should have told you what I was hiding, too. It's just that male thing - that need to measure up."

"Measure up to who? To guys who laugh off a gun? Who could outrace the bullet or watch it bounce off them or melt the guy's hands off with a foul glance? if your male ego needs any soothing, well - you took on a guy with a gun, armed with a dumbbell. And you won. So go ahead. You can say it."

Mitch lowered his voice. "I'm Batman."

She laughed, and leaned across the table. "You're a bat, bat man, all right..."

The world fell away, and they went on with life.

Because it was worth it.