This is the last part in a series of stories that may never be written. You don't have to have read the first parts to understand this one. They each can be read individually. Each of the stories in this series are based after some small sketch thatI (or a friend) have done and we fit them each into this little series. So there will be things in here thatdon't make a lot of sense to the story and seem pointless, but will be explained whenthe series are complete.This has some Lietro (Lance/Pietro) in it, so if you don't like that sort of thing than don't read. It takes place post the end of "Aftermath." About a year and a few months after to be more precise. Sorry for the awesomely bad title and yes it gets a little mushy, bleh. Enjoy!
"Weather for the Weak--Friday: Rain"
It had rained. Pietro hated the rain. It was the reason why he had to wear one of Lance's over-sized and worn dress shirts rather than a stylish one of his own. And Lance only owned one dress shirt.
But that was beside the point. It had rained. And as Pietro ran, he felt the water fly up and speckle his pants dark flecks of gray. Pietro growled. Yesterday the pouring rain had ruined the last of his good dress shirts for that week, and the lake-sized puddles it had left behind were now ruining his good slacks.
He could've taken the bus. Lance had even suggested that he take the bus instead of running. Just to show everyone they weren't afraid. But Pietro knew that the bus would cost a dollar. Probably a dollar fifty or even five bucks if the bus driver remembered him as a mutant from television. And even if he did take the bus, hypothetically, he would be assaulted by the stares of regular people who would inch away from him as they whispered to one another in hushed voices. Not to mention after Todd had been brutally beaten while taking the bus home Pietro had basically ruled out that option bravery or none.
Also, the city bus stunk.
And there wasn't a city bus that went from Boston to New York quick enough.
Some people would question why Pietro would take up some job in Boston rather than around Bayville or even in New York. Pietro would rule those people out as idiots. If he HAD taken a job in Bayville or New York, hypothetically, then they would more than likely give him less pay than anyone else because he was a mutant, if they would hire him at all. The thing was that he hadn't been shown clearly during the Sentinel attack, which had made national news. He had been in the lime light during the brief period of time the Brotherhood had been heroes. However, that had only made local news. Most people in other states were unaware of who Pietro was by sight. And with a fake name and the right paper work…
But the important thing was that work was over. Finally, minute after agonizing minute and hour after horrifying hour of that work day was over. He could go home and throw off that ugly dress shirt, take a shower, and eat something. Pietro hadn't had anything since breakfast, when he saw Scott Summers.
It wasn't that Pietro ran into Scott Summers every day and it kind of took him by surprise. Especially since Pietro mostly went down to the Boston Corner Deli to get something to eat rather than going to any place close by. The corner deli was nice and cheap and kosher. But that morning, he was already running a bit behind because he'd woken up late and couldn't find a decent tie. And the deli tended to have an early morning rush. It'd be easier if he just went to the supermarket in Bayville for something. So, that's what he did.
Scott Summers was standing in the check out line just ahead of him. He was buying a Time magazine, a one liter plastic bottle of generic milk, and a box of flesh-colored Band-Aids. Pietro wanted to insult him with something cool and searing at the same time. Something to make the hairs on the back of Scott's neck stand on end and his fists to clench and shake with rage. Like old times. But Scott turned around and looked at Pietro. More so, he SMILED at him. And all Pietro could think of was how ridiculous he must've looked standing there in a dress shirt three sizes too big with the ugliest tie he'd ever had on in his life and a blueberry muffin in one hand.
Then Summers bought his magazine, milk, and Band-Aids and he walked to his car.
Pietro figured Scott must've just gotten out of college on a break. Pietro hated the fact that Scott could HAVE a break from college. Lance wanted to go to college. Lance wanted to, but couldn't. He never finished his senior year of high school after all. Now he was stuck in the same old boarding house working the night shift down at the warehouses by the pier. Or, Lance WAS working the night shift at the pier until that morning when he informed the rest of the Brotherhood that he had quit.
Apparently they weren't paying him enough and Lance was hardly ever well anymore. He'd come home with a head cold feeling nauseous and weak. The atmosphere and sanitation down by the docks wasn't the most favorable and Lance tended to catch a lot of whatever was going around when he spent all night working those ten hour shifts. But since Lance had quit, it meant that they were relying on Pietro and his job for the income. And if Pietro was late, they could fire him and the Brotherhood would have NO income.
That's why Pietro didn't slash Scott's tires that morning.
But it wasn't morning anymore, it was a dim, blackening evening and Pietro was finally mounting the steps of the Brotherhood boarding house. Finally home.
He flung open the door and immediately began loosening the choking striped tie that hung itself around his neck. Pietro looked to see Todd in the living room, staring at the television and then craned his head the other direction to see Freddy had left the ramen on the stove.
Again, they were having ramen.
Pietro shook his head. He honestly didn't care. He just wanted to eat SOMETHING.
He didn't make a remark to Todd; he didn't want to remember that he had to speak to the Brotherhood with the same voice he used to speak to all those uptight windbags at his work. Most of them treated him like a child even though his resume stated he was twenty-one, even if he was, in reality, only seventeen.
All of his co-workers spent their time rambling off to him about how wonderful working in the field of journalism would be once he graduated college. Pietro hated writing with all of his soul and he wasn't even going to college and probably never would. His work paid horribly and he spent more time getting coffee than actually doing any intern work, but he was lucky he was getting paid at all.
And the Brotherhood needed that money for more ramen and such.
Pietro began to undress in his room. His shirt smelt like cigar smoke, hazelnut coffee, and dampness. His slacks were dotted with rain, the cuffs were soaked black. Pietro slid off his sneakers which he changed into to run home and began to take off his socks.
He realized that at this time, years and years and years ago, he and his family would be getting ready to go to synagogue. Pietro would be sliding on the pair of ironed gray slacks then sliding off soaking ones. He remembered trying to drag Todd and Lance and Freddy to synagogue a few times. But of course they wouldn't go. There was no use now anyway. Not after one of the groups of mutant haters had beaten that Wagner kid in a cathedral just outside of town. Yep, apparently blue boy didn't even hear them he was so wrapped up in his prayers. Maybe that's why Summers had come back.
"Long day?"
Pietro froze a moment; he'd left the door open. Pietro threw his soaking gray slacks to one side of the room not bothering to turn and face Lance.
"Yeah. They all are." He responded loosening his tie a bit more.
"They all are what?" Lance asked. Pietro heard him stifle a horse cough. Pietro choked a little.
"All the…all the days. All the days are long." He nodded as he said it, as if realizing the truth of his own words. "How's your…um…how's your cold?" Pietro stuttered dumbly. He didn't even know what to say to him anymore. Usually Lance was getting ready to leave at this time. He was supposed to be gone, out of the way, NOT invading his personal space like this.
Anger gripped him suddenly. Why was Lance even there, asking him about things he didn't know of anymore. He was parading his ailment around like Pietro was supposed to feel pity. Ha. Pity for him? He who couldn't stand a couple of colds and a few late hours? Pietro had to work from nine till five and late on Mondays so that the four of them could continue to eat the same congealing noodles out of the same dirty plastic containers. He had to run into uptight, fortunate pricks during breakfast, deal with idiots all day, and wear the ugliest tie he'd ever seen in his life all so that he could come home, soaking wet after a WASTED eternity in the most boring go-get-this job on the planet, to this sick little bastard asking him how his "day" went.
"Todd's doing a lot better today." Lance spoke the words ignoring the question. Pietro stopped but didn't turn to look at Lance, his train of thought derailed.
"Really." His voice was cold.
"Yeah. It was pretty bad, you know, from Monday. But he's been trying to move around a bit more and his ribs seem to be healing okay. He won't be able to work the streets for a little bit. I figure we'll get by though." He partly mumbled the last of his sentence. Pietro felt his cheeks heat in irritation and swung around to look at Lance.
"I don't really care, okay? Can you just LEA—what is that?" Pietro began but was quickly distracted by a hint of black on Lance's arm. Lance was wearing a wife beater and the house was freezing, but Lance didn't seem cold. He was leaning against the doorframe resting the side of his head against his forearm and giving a crooked, little smile toward Pietro.
"What's what?" Lance's smile became playful and Pietro sneered a little and shook his head.
"That!" He ran over and pulled Lance's arm from its resting place against the door. Lance jolted forward and laughed a little as Pietro twisted the extremity slightly and looked.
It was a tattoo. It was just a black design that twisted around Lance's bicep and broke off toward the front. One part of the tattoo pointed up Lance's arm in a small, sharp point while the other end mirrored the same tip but faced downward. There were little parts that jutted off sporadically around the thick, curving, black line. It looked like brambles or barbed wire.
"What IS that thing?" Pietro wrinkled his nose in disgust with it and Lance laughed.
"Surprise." Lance smiled. "It's a tattoo, I got it about a week ago." He coughed a little.
"How come I didn't see this?" Pietro flicked it a little and Lance pulled his arm away.
"Ow! Watch it, it's still kinda sensitive." Lance rubbed his arm a bit before continuing, "I wore sleeved shirts. It's so high up on my arm that the shirt covered the bandages and stuff." Lance looked Pietro in the eye, "And…you know…we've been so busy, it was much easier to hide it from you till I could take the bandages off."
Pietro snarled a little and turned away. He couldn't help but feel slightly embarrassed at his obliviousness, "And just HOW much of the money I'M earning on my OWN did you have to SPEND on that?"
Lance looked at him with confusion.
"Um, it didn't cost me anything. A friend of mine at the docks did it."
Pietro scoffed, griping his fully loosened tie in his hand and pulling it off feeling it slip off his neck. "That's just what we need. That doesn't sound sanitary; you'll probably get even sicker. And nothing is free, Lance, he'll ask you for some kind of favor or something. Just wait." He kept his eyes down.
At first Lance didn't say anything. Pietro began to unbutton the top few buttons of the dress shirt. Slowly, Lance's arms wrapped around the unsuspecting speedster. Pietro tensed, the embrace felt foreign to him, he wasn't used to Lance's touch again. He twisted his head upward to look back at Lance and tell him to just let go and go away or help Todd or do SOMETHING that didn't involve him; then Lance leaned down to kiss him softly on the lips.
He pushed away from Lance's grip.
Pietro growled in frustration, "I JUST want to take a shower, eat something and be ALONE, why are you making this so much more DIFFICULT for me? Why don't you just go away?"
"What is WRONG with you?" Lance exploded with anger suddenly. Finally, anger was something Pietro could work with.
"ME? As I recall YOU'RE the one who quit his job when we obviously NEED the money! We're BARELY getting by, Todd's probably going to need to go to a hospital if things get worse, and I SAW the letter this morning! The bus company's trying to sue us for damages! How are we supposed to pay all that when I'M the only one working?" He shot back feeling the excitement and thrill of letting his caged emotions spill from him. "What's wrong with me? I'm the only one SUPPORTING us right now. What's wrong with YOU?!"
Lance barred his fist and his face flushed with anger. Pietro's breath caught in his throat as he watched the passion fill inside of Lance. And he wanted it.
"What do you THINK is wrong with me? Huh? What do you THINK?"
"Oh I just think you're an IDIOT. That's what I think, Lance."
Lance opened his mouth to say something hateful but just grit his teeth, rushing hand through his hair. "Don't make me do this Pietro, Don't MAKE me do this."
Pietro's eyes glimmered, "Oh come on, Lance, make you do what, huh?"
"No, no!" Lance's volume increased, his voice scratchy, as he stared at Pietro. "You know what? Forget it, you want to be left alone, I'll leave you alone." He began to head towards the door shaking his head and stifling back a cough.
"Oh that's it, go on! 'Cause now you're just WAY too mature to get in a fight with me, right?" Pietro called after in a mix of challenging anger and annoyance.
"Shut up, Pietro! Just shut up!"
"Go to hell! I just wanted you to leave me ALONE!"
"I just wanted to TALK to you for once!" Lance was screaming at him now, and no one in the house would dare tell him to quiet down. "I've barely seen you all week, is it too much to ask for a simple conversation?!"
Pietro jerked up toward the shaking older mutant, "Fine, sure, what do you want to talk about? That STUPID tattoo you got? Or maybe how you're suffocating here--you know what? No, no...I don't want to talk. I don't. Want. To. Talk." He turned away shaking his head in frustration and reworking the buttons of his shirt.
"Well maybe I do." The comment was half-snapped, half-sighed.
"I don't care." Pietro responded low and swiftly, "I had a...I had a rough day. I don't want to deal with this." His fingers fumbled with the buttons as he really wasn't concentrating. He kept his eyes down.
Lance was silent and Pietro hoped he had just left quietly. He could still hear Lance's very soft breathing though as the buzz of the television downstairs was drifting through the old floor boards and the wind brushed against the house. Pietro heard the sound of the television change channels and volumes as the rain began to pelt against the house more. He could hear Lance shift his weight against the floorboards and another harsh cough emit from his throat. Why wouldn't he leave?
At first, Pietro tried to ignore the grumbling, grave cough. If even for a minute. But he muttered quietly, "You sound awful."
There was silence again and Pietro wondered if Lance even heard him. The wind beat the rain mercilessly against the roof. There were leaks somewhere in the house no doubt.
"...caught something at the docks, I think." Lance responded finally.
Pietro scoffed, "Should've expected that."
"Look, Pietro." Lance's voice was sudden and sore, obviously the bouts of yelling wore his throat raw. "I don't want to fight. This is the first time we've had a decent conversation in weeks. Maybe even months. I'm sorry about my job. I'm sorry about Todd. I just miss you. I just...I'm tired of missing you." Pietro let his shoulders drop a little and began fiddling with the tie in his hands, staring blankly downward. "And..." Lance began again, "and we're both here now. I don't want to just fight. I just...I want to talk to you."
"Lance...why do you have to make this so hard?"
"Pietro..."
Pietro turned to Lance with finality, "This day has just been never-ending, okay? Lance..." He didn't finish as he covered his eyes with a hand breathing hard, trying to wash away the aggravation.
This time he heard plates clanking against the hard wooden surface of the table downstairs. The rain was still loud and maddening, and it reminded him of his long run home.
Lance's arms were around Pietro's shoulders in a strong embrace. This time Pietro accepted it leaning heavily against Lance's chest, his legs beginning to shake slightly. He turned his face into Lance's wife beater feeling the warmth emanate off of him as Lance's hands began to rub softly across his back. Moments like this had once been as frequent and common as blinking. Now, now they were strange and unfamiliar and oddly comforting. Almost unwanted but needed in a child-like insecurity. Now, now they were…
"Lance..." Pietro breathed, slowly moving his head against Lance's chest. The world wasn't quiet though, not even for that moment. The movement downstairs was loud as a buzzer went off and the voices murmured. There was a clunk, something fell, something shattered and there was a faint yelling that died down quickly. Pietro's fingers tightened on Lance's shirt. "Idon'twanttolivelikethisanymore."
"What?"
Pietro bit his lip, wondering whether he should continue. But words left him soft and slow, "I'm tired, Lance." There was a pause.
Lance didn't say anything as he lead the two of them over to the bed they shared. He sat up against the headboard and leaned forward a little. Pietro knelt above his lap already feeling the warmth echo between them. Lance placed his right hand along Pietro's back guiding him closer and wrinkling the dress shirt a little more than it already had been. His other hand slid up Pietro's back as well till it rested on the base of his head. Lance's eyes were so gentle and filled with a soft hum of contentment Pietro was sure he'd once remembered. Pietro draped his arms over Lance's shoulder's letting the tie, still in his hand, hang lazily behind Lance's back.
"Lie with me." Lance murmured and Pietro lied his body down against Lance's chest, letting the tie drop and fall behind the bed. His hands clutched and unclenched on the wife beater as he thought.
Todd's cracked ribs. His screams. Lance trying to bandage them himself. The cold sleepless look in his eyes. The newspaper article the next day. The shame. The anger. Wagner praying at the altar. Sacrificed. Fear. Lance quit his job. Fear. Anger. Scott. Co-workers discussing attacks on mutant. They deserved it. They deserved it. Running through the rain. Through the thoughts. Running home cold an empty. Assaulted with questions. Lance coughing. Anger. Fear. Anger. Fear.
The drumming sound of the rain was seemingly overpowering. The house creaked against the wind.
"Lance?" He whispered feeling suddenly small.
"Yeah?"
"Do you feel…safe…anymore?" Pietro asked in a small voice a lot quieter than he intended. It didn't sound like him and for a moment, Pietro pretended it hadn't been him that had said it at all.
The rain was falling softly and the TV reception began to fade with a sharp buzz downstairs. Lance's fingers made a bare whisper of a sound treading over the drying folds of the dress shirt.
"I do now." Lance whispered back.
Pietro paused for a moment and then smiled dully. He curled against Lance's warm chest. He sighed closing his eyes contentedly letting that day slip from him. He let all the uncertainties melt away leaving only the suggestion that maybe, they had something to do with the rain…