Skintones
by Lise Williams

This character is Marvel's. :)
This is not slash. :)
This is non-profit. :)
This is up for archiving :)
This post was spur of the moment. :)



He hated the way that people would look at him if he didn't have the image
inducer on. There wasn't anything else in the world more awful than knowing
people didn't accept what you looked like. He was a playboy. He was a star. He
was desired. He was... he was...
The procedure was simple enough, after all. Just a routine procedure. Routine--
the word was so alluring. He wished he had a routine day today. He wished that
something, anything, was routine.
He liked routine.
He liked procedure.
Superheros didn't get routine often enough. Neither did billionaires. Both of
those things had been who he was. How he defined himself. He liked routine,
liked procedure.
Follow both... follow them to... to...
But then the doctor came in, with a pleasant smile, and he smiled back. Pleasant
and reassuring, that's what doctors should be. Nothing wrong here, everything
a-ok. The doctor-- it was a woman doctor, how politically correct-- she ushered
him in, and he tried to use that charm of old. She smiled back, obviously trying
to be professional, but he saw through her, saw her coy little flirtations. He
doubled his efforts to be charming.
His father had always taught him to be polite.
It was easy to be polite to beautiful women.
She asked him kindly to turn off the image inducer, so she could begin. He
hesitated. That wasn't routine. That wasn't... wasn't... but she was really very
nice, and so he did it. She raised an eyebrow, and he frowned back. This wasn't
comfortable any longer.
She wanted to know why he didn't like blue.
He blinked. He did. The sky was blue, the ocean was blue. Sometimes, in certain
lights, Betsy's eyes were blue. A little bit. Sapphires were blue.
He was blue.
But blue meant unhappy. Blue meant, meant... he couldn't go outside anymore, and
he hated the image inducer. He jokingly told her his theory that it was giving
him cancer. Radiation, and all you see.
You see.
She nodded, and began to outline exactly what she was going to do. He didn't
listen-- he'd had cosmetic surgery before. She got him to sign some forms, fill
out some other ones, making sure he could pay for it, no doubt.
He had no doubt. Just put it on a credit card. Credit cards didn't doubt. Banks
didn't doubt him. No one really doubted him -- he looked like someone who never
doubted.
She doubted him. She asked if he wanted to think about it some more... if he was
really ready for this. He nodded. He wasn't listening, just thinking about the
blue sky, and the blue world, and the blueness he was giving up for peach, tan,
brown, sunburnt...
She said that the new skin would have trouble getting tanned-- it would go
slower than the rest. And eventually it would fade, and he'd have to get it
redone. He nodded again. Fine. Whatever.
She began the routine procedure. He smiled. He would be able to go outside as
himself again.
* * * * * * *
"Warren, oh mah gawd! That's real?" He looked at Rogue, who was standing with
her mouth open in the doorway. That was rude, and he said so. She managed to
school her face into a less shocked expression, and answered, "But... but...
why?"
He was a little hurt. More than anyone, Rogue should understand... Most of the
others had gathered behind her, and he could hear the whispers. He ignored them.
They were jealous probably, shocked perhaps, and didn't understand. He didn't
care. He could go outside again. He hadn't done anything that was against... it
was how he was supposed to...
He was happy with it. He said it firmly.
A pause, then he added, "You know, I think I'll go into town. And by the way,
Hank, thanks for the inducer, but I don't think I'll need it anymore." He gave
it to the blue, furry doctor, and immediately felt better. No more hiding who he
was.
He started whistling, he was so happy, and he got into his car. Before starting
the car, he looked down at his hands. They were peach again. Not blue. He looked
in the rearview mirror, and saw a perfectly normal face again.
Not blue.
He was happy.
Not blue.
He started the car, and drove off down the street, and if the whistling was a
little off-key, who was to blame?