an echo, a stain

An Echo, a Stain
Series: X-Men Comicverse (AU, since I totally decimated the continuity for Wolvie and Psylocke...not like they don't do it on their own though....)
Rating: Erm, I guess Hard R/NC17 just for naughty bits. It's pretty clean aside from that. O.o;;;
Warnings: Aside from me being inept at romance, the sex-type-thing. Oh and "damn" is used once, for the sensitive. I jump somewhat all over the time-stream here. It’s turned into an AU fic (which, considering the beginning, is not a surprise.) If you don’t know the comics, you may be a bit confused. Set immediately following Betsy‘s transformation by the Hand…and when I say immediately, I mean while they were on the boat headed to Madripoor…

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+one: entropy+

The first time is after Japan, the Hand, and a transformation or twelve.

They're on a boat heading to Madripoor and she is despairing because of the choices she's made. And he is sympathizing, telling her to move ahead and make amends. She feels cold in this sultry Pacific breeze and hugs herself as she waits for it to pass. And then he's holding her, which is a little awkward because of his height but neither of them mind too much.

She eventually calms herself and they start to move apart, but there's a miscalculation or a mistiming or something because lips meet. His eyes widen a little while hers drift closed and he tries to pretend that this doesn't feel so nice, but he's always had that weakness for Asian women and she now qualifies. Like many struggles in life, his proves useless and he falls so far into it, into her, he almost loses himself.

His kiss isn’t like Doug’s naïve ones or Tom’s sweet ones, his are dangerous and powerful. Addicting. Any semblance of control is now ripped to shreds and what was once comfort is now two people seeking to fulfill a basic human drive.

She's on her back now, lying on the ship's deck, and he's lying on her and his stubble doesn't scratch, it's more of a ticklish feeling that's actually rather pleasant. And his hands are all over and she's trying to undo the tie on his pants. Her leotard stops his ministrations for a moment because he has no idea how she gets in and out of it. She guides his hand down and oh it snaps there, that makes sense.

She gasps and arches as he slides his fingers into her. It’s so much more important that the pants. Come. Off. Now. She finally manages to get the damned things just down enough and oh God they’re doing this, they’re really doing this.

And then…

And then he’s in her.

And he’s in heaven, he’s a God, he’s everywhere, and she feels so hot.

Nails are drawing blood on his back and he kisses her again. She makes these not-quite moans that hum down into his being, and this makes him speed up just a little, go deeper just a little, shift the angle just a little.

Oh my…he really is the Best There is at What He Does, now, isn’t he?

Soon, there’s light dancing in her vision and across her soul and before she’s registered it, she’s coming. She screams into his throat which causes him to speed up some more, and after a few more minutes he’s completed too.

When the stars have stopped colliding and the breathing has slowed to something approaching normal, they meet each other’s eyes. He strokes the hair out of her face and asks if she’s all right. She smiles and says she’s fine. And he’s kissing her again, almost shyly, almost chastely.

This is how it begins. Not with a bang, but a sigh and almost too delicate kisses along her jaw.


+two: started with a kiss, now we‘re up to bat+

The dawn is chilly, and a light rain mists the air. The sun quickly loses its battle against the clouds, and the day is inevitably painted in greyscale.

Betsy is wrapped in an over-sized sweater and the cape from the Lady Mandarin armour. This time, she doesn’t feel cold. She’s so preoccupied she can’t feel much of anything but her own thoughts.

Needless to say, she didn’t sleep much.

However, she is not so preoccupied that she can’t sense him before he speaks. Telepathy is entertaining like that.

“Mornin’, Betts.” He stands next to her and lights a cigarette, eyes staying on the water.

“Morning.” Her eyes stay on the water as well. There is, after all, a comfort in not making eye-contact with a…friend? Yes. Friend still, of course, despite everything that has transpired.

He takes a drag and exhales slowly. She pulls the cloak more tightly around her.

“I’m sorry.”

She finally looks at him. “For?”

“You were upset. I took advantage. Wasn’t right, and I’m sorry.”

An eyebrow raises. “I wasn’t exactly fighting you every step of the way.”

He ashes, takes another drag, and exhales. “Don’t matter. Shouldn’t have happened.”

Needless to say, he didn’t sleep much, either.

She is quiet for a moment. “All right, I accept your apology. But only if you accept mine in turn.”

He finally returns her gaze. “Fair enough.” Ash, drag, exhale. “It can’t happen again, you know.” Not a question, purely a statement from him.

Mind-reading isn’t necessary to see that statement coming. “I know.”

“Lines get blurry enough with the lives we lead. We don’t need more complications.”

“I know.” She does, truly.

He nods and discards the remnants of his cig. “Good.”

She nods too and is thinking about things yet to come. Perhaps they will pretend that nothing’s happened. Perhaps she should wipe his memory. Perhaps it should become just another fever-dream.

She shivers involuntarily, the cold finally winning it’s struggle with her troubled mind. Without realizing it, he moves closer to her and puts an arm around her shoulders to share his body heat. And she leans in closer and his arm tightens around her.

This time, when they kiss, it is by design rather than accidental. It is two people seeking confirmation of being whole and alive in an otherwise inconsiderate moment.

They end up with him sitting, his back against the wall surrounding the deck and her straddling his lap. His hands are in her hair and his teeth nip at the pulse in her throat. She braces her hands on either side of his head, palms flat against the wall, and she rolls her hips just so that he groans a little. Her right hand moves down and undoes the fly of his pants and she strokes him even though he‘s already hard.

Their eyes meet once more as he says “This…this can’t happen again….” The words are shallow sounding, like the panting he’s doing.

She hikes the sweater up and repositions herself. A moment later, he’s within her yet again as she kisses his throat this time. “I know.”

This isn’t love. They are not soul mates. They haven’t been harboring a secret devotion for each other. They are merely a pair of damaged goods that have been twisted and battered by outside forces receiving a moment to forget in each other’s arms.

And somehow, that’s enough.


+three: go press that dissonance+

Without saying it or even discussing it telepathically, they agree that this must be kept a secret.

Thusly, the next few days are hard on both of them. Jubilee thankfully doesn't suspect, although she still doesn't quite trust Betsy. They're careful not to let their eyes linger too long or touch each other unnecessarily.

At least, they are when they're not fighting for their lives again.

They're in Genosha at the moment, and they've met up with X-Factor and the New Mutants, as well as Storm, Banshee, Forge, and Gambit. There have been losses and casualties, but that monster Hodge is gone. And finally, the poor Mutates have a chance to truly live.

There's a delay before heading back to the mansion, mostly to take care of the wounded. There isn't much left to do now, but it's been agreed to leave at dawn so everyone can rest. His healing factor had kicked in after Storm had restored it, so now he is just a bit sore. She had been fortunate and not retained any severe injuries at all.

Betsy and Logan do their best to not let body language betray their secret from a few days ago. They act no differently towards each other than is customary, but they are still worried about giving things away.

They're catching up with Ororo and Sean when Betsy glances up and notices Jean watching them. She doesn't make eye contact, but she remains aware of the eyes on them. The way Logan stiffens almost imperceptibly for a moment and then relaxes again means that he too has realized it.

Eventually, her eyes meet the redhead‘s, who looks away after a moment. There's no way to tell if Jean has sensed anything, or if she is just that good at reading people. There's no way to tell if she's just suspicious because she knows Logan that well, or if it's due to her having known Betsy for a while, too.

Whatever the cause, she knows that Jean can tell something is off. He's aware of it as well.

Later, when everyone else is sleeping or off reflecting on Hodge's agenda, the two of them leave at separate times and head in separate directions, only to meet up far enough from camp that they can't be seen or overheard.

He lights a cigarette and sits at the base of a tree. "Think she knows?"

Betsy is still standing as she shrugs. "Who can tell?" She pauses. "I don't believe she's aware of anything but something slightly different about us. She doesn't know specifics, just that
something's changed."

Logan just nods in reply. She finally sits down next to him, but not too close.

"Logan? What do we do?"

"‘Bout?"

"If someone finds out."

He shrugs and puts the out remnant of his cig. "Come clean, I guess. Not much else we can do. We'll just worry 'bout that when and if it happens."

She nods just once and stares ahead into the sequined velvet of the night sky. They sit in not quite comfortable silence for a time, and then it’s about time to go back.

They stand and look at one another for a moment.

He doesn’t feel confusion often, mostly because he doesn’t allow himself to. He’s always been a more follow the instinct type of person, so he doesn’t question things much.

And yet….

And yet as she leans in and kisses him, he can’t help but wonder. As they sink to the grass and start their dance all over again, he manages to find his voice and finally just asks---

“Why?”

She pulls his shirt off as she considers. “Because…it’s needed.”

And as he returns the favour and kisses her behind the ear, he manages a whispered “By you or me?”

She smiles at that. “Why don’t you tell me?”

He doesn’t have to. Because they both already know.


+four: she‘s in over my head+

It’s been a week since they returned to Westchester and they’re back with the other X-Men, getting to know some again, and others for the first time.

Things get more difficult for them, as they’re now around the others twenty-four-seven. All pretenses of claiming that each time is the last have been dropped at this point, and when they can they go off to the boathouse or the security room or just far away on the grounds.

At first, they don’t talk much before or after. Their affair is more about feeling a moment than it is a connection.

At first.

But people grow and things change and the world goes on turning.

It doesn’t seem odd to her when she starts telling him about funny not-real arguments she heard between Gambit and Storm or the phone conversations she has with Brian. It’s not odd to him that he starts relating his adventures with Jubilee or his exploits with Sean at the local bars.

It’s never once occurred to her to use her powers to read his thoughts concerning her, and that too doesn’t seem strange. Nor is it strange to him that he doesn’t wonder why.

And the night where she first has nightmares about Matsu’o and Lady Mandarin and her memories being peeled away like the skin of an onion, it doesn’t seem odd to her that she runs to his room without even stopping to think.

And it’s certainly not odd that he wipes away her tears and soothes her until they both just fall asleep. And that, while holding each other and dreaming, there’s no Hand or Weapon X and they finally can just…rest.

And when she does the same the next night, and the night after that, and so forth, it’s still not peculiar to them.

They are at calm with one another, just two lost souls swimming in a fish-bowl and towards something. Not questioning why these quiet evenings feel so much like a homecoming for both of them.

It is gradual and it is unnoticeable and it is arguably the easiest thing either of them have ever done.


+five: the truth is plain to see+

Everyone has their ways of sorting out their thoughts. When Betsy is stressed, and now that she is able, she runs complicated Danger Room scenarios. The higher the skill level that she uses, the more she needs to think.

Today’s simulation is set to Lethal.

He watches her from the observation booth, both because Chuck always had that rule about not being in the room alone and because he worries about her when she gets like this.

And he worries about when he started caring so damn much, and he’s wondering when exactly the line went from blurry to non-existent between them.

And yes, he’s also worried about whether she wonders about these things, too.

He’s not so preoccupied that he can’t smell the Cajun coming or hear his footsteps when he enters.

“Ah, dere you are. Stormy sent me after you, she wants us all for Danger Room practice, but it looks like le papillon got a head start, non?”

His eyes don‘t leave her as she takes down another opponent made of smoke, mirrors, and steel. “Seems that way.”

Remy looks at Logan, his eyes a little more serious than they should be, and with an eyebrow raised. He’s seen Logan at his worst, so he’s careful about what he says next.

“When you plannin’ on sayin‘ somethin‘?”

“About?”

Again, he chooses the words wisely and carefully. “’Bout you two bein’ involved.”

He’s startled, not because someone knows, but because of who that someone is. Gambit is startled because he’s prepared to be punched or injured for his query.

Instead----

Logan just looks him in the eye and replies with “How?”

Gambit shrugs. “I’m good at readin’ people, mon ami. Have to be, where I come from. Dere’ve been little signs here or dere wit’ you two. Was only guessin‘, ‘til I saw Betts leavin’ your room couple mornin’s ago.”

“Anyone else know?”

“No, I don’ think so.”

He folds his arms across his chest. “They gonna know?”

Remy shakes his head. “Not my story t’ tell.”

He nods. “Make sure it stays that way.”

“Wonderin’ though, homme…why it so important dat no one know?” Funny how he knows the answer, but has to ask anyways.

There are various and sundry ways to answer this. One is that it’s not anyone’s business but theirs. Another is not feeling like hearing about it, not getting teased like Scott and Jean used to. Not wanting to worry the others about being logical in battle, not having to worry about making the tough choices publicly. Not getting useless sympathy if something went wrong.

The reality is that by telling people, they’ll be asked what exactly they are to each other. Which will in turn make them have to think about it. Which makes the ghosts of feelings and the specters of affection become tangible.

It will make the fact that they‘ve gone simply from comfort sex into something less simplistic more factual and less pretended.

He doesn’t explain this, though.

Instead---

Instead he just says “I don’t know.”

And inwardly, Gambit congratulates himself on being right.


+six: the insecurity is the thing that won‘t get lost+

The whole team has gathered in the Danger Room now and Storm is explaining the day’s exercise.

“All right, you all shall split into pairs. Gambit versus Jubilee. Forge versus Banshee. Psylocke versus Wolverine. Think of this as the game of ‘Tag.’ If you take down your opponent, you win the exercise. I will be observing in the booth.” And Storm then makes her exit.

And as the group divide into their pairs, he ignores the look Gambit gives them. He’s facing her now, and she has a slightly amused look on her face.

He smirks a little. “Gonna go easy on me, darlin’?”

She raises an eyebrow. “Not a chance. After all, I know better than almost anyone how fond you are of all things…physical.” And then she winks at him, and that annoyingly playful little smile gets bigger.

He stops at this. Not just because this comment is made in public, but because it’s made at all. It is odd to him that the one thing they’ve never done is flirt, so that she chooses to break that rule here is unsettling.

It doesn’t help that it turns him on a little, either.

It’s only a moment that this passes through his mind. Then he’s over it, because really, moments are all this is to them…right?

Ororo’s voice over the intercom derails that dangerous train of thought. *Ready?*

They bow to each other.

*Begin!*

She naturally strikes first. Or tries to anyways, as he’s too fast and blocks it. Their match is different from the others around them because there is a silent “no powers” agreement. Their fight is purely about the battle hymn and the death song, a purely physical release of tension.

Any tension. All tension.

They’re sparring within arm’s reach of each other now, so there is no need for shouting back and forth to each other.

So he can lower his voice and comment that “Gumbo’s on to us.”

Her eyes widen a bit. “What?”

“The Cajun knows, apparently has for a while.” He goes for a punch to her solar plexus that she dodges.

“Has he said anything to anyone?” She counters and he blocks it easily.

“Nope. Ain’t gonna either.” Again, she anticipates his moves and responds accordingly.

“Good,” is all she manages when she regroups.

Physically, he doesn’t react at all. Mentally, he gives pause again. “Maybe we should just tell ‘em.”

She startles at this, which allows him to get a kick to her stomach in and she goes flying a few feet. He moves automatically, not to help her up but to finish the job as it were. Years of battle conditioning and being a walking killing machine and all of that.

She sweeps his feet out from under him and he barely avoids eating the floor. “Why? Why should we tell them? It’s not…” She shakes her head and he manages to surprise her again by returning the favour of her foot sweep.

“Not what? Not like we’re in a real relationship? Not like this actually means anything?” He’s getting angry now, although much of that anger is to mask the sudden fear. Fear of this not being real. Fear that he thought he might have found something sane to cling to, but turning out to be wrong again.

Fear that maybe….

Maybe she doesn’t love him back.

She tries to grab him for a throw but he escapes it. “Could you say that any louder?” she hisses.

You see, Betsy is also afraid of the same things. It’s why she wants it kept secret. Why they’ve never had this conversation before. It’s the reason why she won’t use her powers on him.

Living the truth is simply more frightening than living the lie.

“Sorry. Wouldn’t want anyone to know, would we?” His tone is harsh, biting, and does not mask his pain in the least. He succeeds in throwing her, only it’s through the equiment room door on the side. He quickly follows after her, shutting it behind him.

And she quickly lunges and knocks him to the ground, taking cans of oil and cleaning supplies down with them. For a split second, he wonders if the others think they’re killing each other. He decides he doesn’t care.

“What are you doing?! Do you want to give us away?!” She spits out while straddling his chest, her arm across his throat. He tosses her off, only to watch her catch herself gracefully.

“Stop playin’ dumb, you know what I’m doin’. I asked a question, you didn’t answer right. I’m tryin’ to find out why.”

“It’s…it’s not their business.” She throws a punch and he grabs her wrist.

“Betts, if Remy’s any indication, it’s gonna be their business soon.”

She mistimes this punch as well, and he catches this one as well. “I…this doesn‘t mean…it‘s…it‘s not….”

And he tilts his head to the side, pulls her in further, and kisses her, which shocks both of them. What shocks them more is that she moves even closer and gives into it with a violence that neither of them knew she had.

The kiss ends and she punches him and he crashes into a wall. And she’s grabbed the front of his uniform and she’s kissing him again, shoving him against the metal so hard it shakes. For the sake of their “audience,” he pulls a set of shelves down so it sounds like they are still fighting.

Before he’s even aware she’s doing it, his belt’s hitting the floor and she’s untucking the shirt and running her hands over his stomach and down into his pants. And then she‘s down on her knees and he‘s in her mouth and he bites his lip so he doesn‘t scream from this sacrament.

After a few moments, she stands up and he’s kissing her again, and this time he doesn’t need to be shown how the uniform comes off, because he’s removed it so many times it’s as if it belonged to him. So he undoes the snaps quickly and his fingers are inside and he’s trying to get them deeper, trying to decide how to touch her next. He bites her throat and there are two oh now three fingers in her and she’s needed this since they started sparring almost as much as he has.

They end up against a different wall with her back to it and him pressed to her. She pleads with her eyes and that’s all he needs. He grabs her left thigh and places it on his hip and just as he drives into her, she throws down another set of shelves to cover up her yell. He growls as he takes her quickly and ruthlessly and retains enough sense to pull down the last set of shelves to cover their screams as they come.

She sags against him, flushed and panting and not steady at all. He withdraws from her and he tilts his head again as he looks at her.

“Satisfied, Betts?” He’s trying to hide both how taken aback he is that she let things go so far and how unnerved he is that he let them get so out of control himself.

He’s not prepared for her face to go pale. For her to finish straightening her uniform and to look up with a tempest of emotions in her eyes. She’s scared and sad and angry and there’s something else there he doesn’t quite recognize.

“No. No, I don’t believe I am.” And she bolts out the room.

He swears for a few seconds and kicks over a cart. He straightens himself up and leaves the storage room as well. At some point, Storm had descended from the booth and is with the others.

And he’s being stared at.

“Dude, Wolvie…what happened?” Jubilee’s eyes are wide. He focuses on her so he doesn’t have to meet anyone else’s gaze.

He shrugs. “I tagged her.” And he leaves the room without another word.


+seven: tearing me apart like a new emotion+

She spends the rest of the day avoiding everyone by sitting on the docks at the cove. She’d go work out in the Danger Room but she’s seen enough of it for one day, now hasn’t she?

For the first time since Japan, she feels like a lost little girl.

She’s known him for a while now, and it’s true he’s always watched out for her, always been there for her since she gave Sabretooth the whammy for cracking her ribs.

He’s given her armour, he’s helped her fight, he’s been her support and her salvation. He is one of her best friends, a valued teammate and there is no one she’d rather have watching her back during a fight.

At the end of the day, when all is said and done, he’d die for her and she for him, and that used to be all that mattered.

His words during their scrap in the Danger Room come back, somehow stinging just as much the second time around. Her reaction to them, her despiration to hold on to him frightened her more than anything else she’s ever faced.

It is getting dark now and she starts walking back to the mansion, still deep in thought. If she had told anyone that this was the first time one of their liaisons had been rough, most people would probably be surprised. The first time they had rushed? No. The first time it was rough? Yes. The truth is Logan is a very considerate and gentle lover, passionate but a man who generally likes to take his time, which is fine because that is how she likes it herself.

That she managed to push him into his behaviour earlier, not that it wasn’t good because it was and she has that agreeable soreness that will possibly last a day or two because of it, but she is surprised that he lost his control that quickly.

As it is the first time that she has provoked such a strong reaction, she‘s entitled to the bewilderment.

She knows why she dodged his questions and why she doesn’t use her powers to tap into his thoughts. She knows why her feelings have been in turmoil for however long. All of this can, after all, only mean one thing.

The problem is that she feels she has no right to ask for anything from him. He’s always been independent and has come and gone as he pleased so for her to say to him…. No. It’s not right. She won’t hold him back. She does not wish for him to feel like he owes her something and then grow to resent her for it.

Having him partially seems better than not having him at all.

Another reason is that she’s angry at herself. For her loss of control during practice, on the boat to Madripoor, and everywhere in between. For needing him so much after she finally received the ability to be the unrestrained woman she’s always wanted. For being scared and for caring for him too much to just read his mind without asking so she‘d have her answers and this would just. Be. Over. Already.

And she doesn’t just ask because, well, then he’d know her insecurities, now wouldn’t he?

She looks up when she gets back inside the mansion and she sees that she has unconsciously made it to his door. She hesitates, then knocks on it.

The door opens slowly and he’s standing there, and he raises an eyebrow as he leans on the door frame.

She bites her lip. “About this afternoon…I am sorry.”

He straightens and his expression changes from slightly annoyed to somewhat surprised.

She looks away and down, then her eyes meet his again. She is trying to ask to come in when he opens the door all the way and offers his hand.

She accepts without hesitation and he leads her in. And there are no more words between them.


+eight: it‘s much easier with you along+

Time, as always, passes. Days to a few weeks later, there are two X-Men teams in the mansion now, and Xavier is back and in a wheelchair once more. Jean, Scott, Warren, Bobby, Piotr, Rogue, and Hank have come home and Forge and Sean have left again.

Some things remain constant, like her spending the nights in his arms. She doesn’t leave so early anymore, though. And last week, when Jubilee came in taking breakfast orders, she didn’t even bat an eye at seeing them together, just said something about owing Gambit money.

They both still find that amusing. They find the others’ attempts at trying to catch them doing something that couples do even more amusing.

Yet, she still won’t read his thoughts or project hers, and neither of them will say those particular words.

So, in a way, everything’s come full circle, and yet in a way, nothing‘s changed.

Particularly when Magnus returns and dies again in so short a period of time. Their team has been tampered with and altered by his anger, but they are free now and heading home on the Blackbird.

She is more upset than she would care to admit, having just been manipulated and brainwashed again. Her conditioning from the Hand is just a little too fresh for that. He knows this and he watches her in her chair, looking for all intents and purposes as though the weight of the world was on her shoulders alone, and he can’t take it so he moves to where she‘s sitting.

“This seat taken, darlin’?”

She glances up, surprised. “No, Logan. Have a seat.”

They sit in companionable silence for a while, and he just waits for her to be ready.

She finally sighs and says “Does it ever get easier?”

He considers his answer for a moment. “The truth?”

She pauses. How does she want him to answer? “Lie to me.”

“Then, yeah. Gets easier all the time. Soon it won’t even bug ya’ that some joker with too much free time and not enough moral fiber’s messin’ with your head. You won’t have any problems sleepin’ at night or anything. It‘ll just be par for the course.”

She half smiles. “Thank you.”

He returns the half smile. “Hey, you know I’m here for you, Betts.”

And she does, truly.

They sit again in companionable silence, for a longer stretch this time. And he does something he’s never done in front of others before. He puts his arm around her shoulders and he draws her a little closer. She doesn’t resist, instead she rests her head on his shoulder and closes her eyes.

And at this moment, the fear subsides, the insecurities fade, and things suddenly become more clear. To both of them.

She opens her eyes and starts reading his. She finds what she’s looking for, but she reaches out with her mind to be sure and she feels it and she makes sure to send her feelings back to him.

And it’s as though both of them are coming home after being away for a long, sad time.

And perhaps, while it wasn’t, it now is love. And perhaps now they are soul mates. And perhaps their devotion to each other is no longer secret. They are still a pair of damaged goods, true, but this pair have managed to change their moments of forgetting into a lifetime of wonder.

And that is more than enough.

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Entropy: Scientific term referring to how when things are left alone long enough in the universe, they go straight from order to chaos.
Started with a kiss, now we’re up to bat: “The Game of Love,” Santana and Michelle Branch
Go press that dissonance: “Breathe In,” Frou Frou
She’s in over my head: “Easy Tonight,” Five for Fighting
The truth is plain to see: “A Whiter Shade of Pale,” Procul Harem
The insecurity is the thing that won’t get lost: “No One is to Blame,” Howard Jones
Tearing me apart like a new emotion: “Here Comes the Rain Again,” The Eurythmics
It’s much easier with you along: “Happy Endings,” Better than Ezra

Remy calling Betsy “le papillon” or “the butterfly” is a direct reference to X-Men 31-32, in which we saw that Matsu’o’s nickname for Kwannon was “little butterfly.” And when I started this fic, I had no clue how much of Marvel’s continuity for these two I was going to destroy. O.o;;

Apologies to K’s Choice and Pink Floyd, for where I “borrowed” their lyrics.