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Fic -- Unquenchable
Rogues
dillonmania
Title: Unquenchable
Rating: T for Teen
Word Count: 492
Characters: Heat Wave
Summary: Mick remembers a troubling event.
Warnings: Some disturbing imagery.



I torched my family to death when I was nine. I’ve burned dozens of people since then, some fatally and some not, but that night will be forever imprinted in my mind. The screaming. My father’s face. The…smell.

There’s nothing quite like the stench of searing human flesh. Pig flesh is kinda similar, but burning human skin and fat have a very unique scent, one I’m now extremely familiar with. I don’t like it, actually -- it’s better to concentrate on the fire itself, not what the flames are doing to a person. Still, there’s a beauty to it all: to watch the fire consume something, to dance upon it and reduce it to ashes. Have you ever really watched it, seen how primal it all is? You should, there’s truly nothing else like it.

But I’ve spent years hating myself for setting that fire, for not getting them help when I had the chance. I didn’t want them to die, not for a moment. Lots of other Rogues had crappy or indifferent parents, but mine were great and I still killed them anyway. And it eats away at you, no matter how much counseling you’ve had or how much you drink to forget. Whenever you feel happy, the voice inside whispers about what you did and that you’d probably do it again if given a second chance. Even after all this, I still can’t help setting fires; sometimes I can resist it for a while, but the urge always comes back and soon I’m doing it again.

I dream about that night a lot. I daydream about it too, always imagining myself being strong this time and saving them before they get hurt. They all hug me and call me a hero. I’ve always wanted to be a hero, but maybe a guy like me -- a guy with serious problems -- is destined to be a villain. I guess that’s why I always relapse when I attempt to go straight or stop setting fires. I try, but the sickness is too much for me. I just can’t help it.

I miss them. I want to tell them I love them and didn’t mean to kill them, that it was never done out of malice. Some people say we’ll be reunited with our loved ones when we die, but I’ve been dead and never once saw them. So in their honour I try not to hurt innocent people, and always remember them on the anniversary of that night. Today’s the anniversary, which I guess is why I’m talking about this. I asked Len to hold on to my heat gun, and he took away all the lighters and matches that he knows of. He doesn’t know about my secret stashes, but it’s the thought that counts.

So tonight I remember them and drink a lot, and try not to think about the matches hidden in the bathroom. I’m trying real hard.

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Heatwave is a tragic character. I remember reading his backstory Geoff wrote and the imagery with the words were quite powerful. You do a fantastic job tapping into that angst as always my sweet ;) Another awesome fic! :D

Thank you very much! I did try to ensure my fic was in line with what Johns wrote while (hopefully) not making it too similar to his work. Johns did do a very good job with that story, even if it was full of retcons.

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