a call to arms { xavier/joan ; blitz }

xavier clarke.

tap, tap, tap-

so quiet, you almost didn't hear it.

but you heard her take her last breath. you heard the girl she slaughtered hit the ground. you heard her scream from a thousand miles away.

and you also heard her laugh. heard her heartbeat - healthy, stubborn, full of life and promise - thud against her ribcage. against yours.

(you swear you heard it stop.)

your own heart still hurts. it creaks and whines and protests at every thought and movement and whisper of a memory. it cannot be ignored no matter how you try, so you take to staring up at the ceiling instead and wait for death to swallow you whole.

(even though hers already did.)

tap, tap, tap-

it demands to be heard.

all of your efforts are summoned to rise from the bed you've made at the bottom of the deepest, darkest, blackest hole you could find. everything hurts. everything hurts but you still rise anyway, because it's what she would have wanted. 

(right?)

a tiny voice you'd almost forgotten calls through the front door of your home and your throat closes up at the sound of your name.

"xavier?"

oh god.

"joan" you smile as the door swings open for the little girl on your porch steps - tiny, quiet, wonderful joan, who might just believe the curve of your lips and welcoming eyes. "what brings you here?"