Everything Is Wonderful
AN: Forgive me if Evan is OOC and I apologize beforehand for the strangeness of the fanfic. All credit for the couple is due to Krissy, whose message about writing a Spyke/Jean fic on her eGroup got me thinking. So, this fanfic was born. This story has nothing whatsoever to do with any of my other fanfiction pieces. I haven't got the energy right now to go and watch my tape of "Speed and Spyke", hoping to learn his parents' names, so pretend they're John and Vivian Daniels-which I believe are their names. Pretend as well that Rogue is close to Scott, like they've obviously portrayed in X-Men: Evolution. (Say, did you know that the next new episode after "Middleverse" is one focusing on SCOTT AND ROGUE…?)
For: Bandit and Krissy, whom I subjected to the torture of beta-reading this. God bless their souls. These two are not only kind with criticism, but two of the most gifted writers on ff.net. (And Krissy…I do suck at writing. Don't make my ego [*cough* George *cough*] grow any more.)
Rating: PG-13, flirting with R. Language, drugs, violence (of the self-inflicted kind), angst, and strong death/suicide at points.
Type: Romance/Drama/AU-ish. (AU is A[lternate] U[niverse]) No WAFF in this one, thank goosh. I mean, goodness. (WAFF is W[arm] A[nd] F[uzzy] F[eeling] just so you know.)
Recommended Reading: Favorite Authors/Stories lists in my bio. That should cover 'em.
~*
I laugh out loud so my friends don't know
When the bell rings I just don't wanna go…
Go to my room and close my eyes
Make believe I have a new life…
I don't wanna hear you say
Everything is wonderful
Now
~*
*
PRELUDE
*
The clock ticked away, slow and sure as thirty-eight eyes and nineteen faces watched it desperately, wishing fervently for the last period of the day to finally, ultimately, end and save them from the torture of Introductory Astronomy-fourth period. For it was a snow day-the kind when the school is closed early in the day, through which the blessed were granted freedom…and the accursed were, too, generally, if the principal abided by the regulatory rules.
However, while his fellow classmates shifted anxiously in their seats, whispering tensely and passing the occasional not, one teenager was bent over a detailed, complex worksheet and whizzing through it, emptying the information crammed into his immortally eager mind. The pencil lead made soft scraping noises as the graphite found itself curled around in the arching loops and delicate corners of Evan Daniels' odd handwriting, a mind-twisting mixture of print and cursive merged into an incomprehensible blur.
Beyond the protective shield of the classroom window, large, fluffy flakes of crystal snow tumbled downwards with anticipation, united with the snowflakes that had fallen before, piling up heedlessly in a thick drift of icy snow.
Without warning, a ringing sound shrilly exploded forth from the speakers and Principal Raven Darkholme's cautious instructions to be careful exiting were lost in the excited yells and "thank God!"s that tore from each throat, including the blonde African-American boy, who quickly folded his homework into a paper airplane and launched it at the dozing teacher, catching him in the forehead sharply.
Evan made a hasty retreat as the man sat up straight and blinked blearily, unfolding the makeshift airplane with a resigned air.
The hallways pulsed with the jostling crowds of teenaged students, dyed hair and glasses part of the variety of bodily decorations. Slipping into a jacket and swinging his bulging backpack over one shoulder, Evan arched his neck up, peering over the crowd as it-as well as him-spilled outside. Where was she….there!
Ororo Munroe, stylishly beautiful even in a bulky winter coat and heavily soled boots, was sitting on the hood of a plain white car, clean and tidy. Her hair was as pure and white as the snow falling around her and the metal of the car beneath her, skin dark and smooth.
To any casual observer, the platinum-haired woman and her gold-haired nephew were obviously related, if only noticed through their unusually colored hair, dark brown eyes and exotic skin, but to those who knew them well, they were close friends, she being his most trusted confidante.
The one person aside from his other family members to know the person he once was.
At this time, though, she did not have the gentle, maternal smile normally held on her perfect lips. Instead, a look of concern and uncertainty flirted dangerously with her face.
Evan felt like his feet were suddenly glued to the snow-coated pavement of Bayville High's parking lot. Unrational fear squeezed his heart and he found himself breathing quickly and shallowly.
"Evan…"
She hesitated, uncharacteristically biting her full lip, then pulling him into a bone crushing hug.
"Oh, Evan, John just called…your mother's in the hospital."
Evan froze, stunned into silence.
His mother.
In the hospital.
*
END PRELUDE
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*
There were so many tears.
So many people he had never met.
It all seemed so distant.
Their sorrow seemed so false, so shallow and fake.
Evan Daniels was silent and stiff, unwilling to let emotions pour forth like the weeping congregation about him. A part of him refused to believe his mother was that cold, deathly still woman in the coffin before him. It couldn't be his mother.
His mother was happy and cheerful. She'd elbow the people to make fun of him at games…she told corny jokes with no punch line…
She wasn't…gone. She couldn't be.
Without a word, he jerked out of his seat, running out of the room, blinded by salty wetness burning his eyes, a dull ache settling into his chest, accenting a deep loneliness and desperation as he pushed through the lobby and out into the front area.
The sun shone brightly, mocking him, piles of dirty New York City snow clumped around the low brick building and dully reflecting the sunshine. Tears broke through the dam; coursing down his cheeks silently as he covered his face, ignoring the curious looks passerby were giving him. Soundless sobs racked his slender frame, ripped from his heart.
He half-expected his father to run out after him, both dressed in the fancy clothing Mom would never have wanted to see Evan in.
Minutes passed and Evan, realizing with an emotionless spark that John Daniels wasn't coming out of the funeral home anytime soon, wandered off into the streets of New York City.
Windows changed from clean and gleaming to grimy and seedy-looking as he walked further, unconsciously taking turns on a route he hadn't used in three years at most. At last, his feet stopped moving, coming to a stop before a small, dirty brick building with no decorations or banners. A casual glance would leave someone thinking it was closed or vacated due to safety problems, but it was open.
Evan wanted fervently for it to be so.
The empty feeling grew as he walked inside and, after a few minutes, walked back out, hand tightly wrapped around a small package in his pocket.
*
"Look, I told you, I'm not coming back."
Evan stubbornly jutted his jaw out as Xavier and Jean shared troubled looks, eyebrows twisted sympathetically.
"Evan, all we wa-"
The door was quite literally slammed in their faces.
"Maybe we should go," Ororo interjected, breaking the uncomfortable silence with her accented voice.
John nodded hesitantly.
"Yes, I…I guess you should. I'm sure he'll feel differently in a few weeks."
*
ONE YEAR LATER
*
"God, man, can you believe my dad? He says he trusts me and the moment he thinks I've brought a cig home, he cracks down on me."
Lighting the cigarette in his mouth, Evan nodded, signifying his attention as he inhaled the smoke, absently blowing it back out with practiced ease. With a year's growth after his mother's death, the seventeen-year old was rapidly approaching six foot-three and had gotten himself a bad reputation in both the streets and the home.
Brown eyes half-lidded he watched as Kelsy--small, slim, gorgeous, and a drug-dealer on the side--paced before him and the group of five, ranting about her father's inability to trust her. A cold smirk fluttered across his lips and he stretched, amused as one of the girls watched his corded brown arms with definite interest.
"I've gotta turn in, guys. Pops'll kill me if I'm late."
"Bummer, man."
"Hey, you bring the pack next time, 'kay, Tall Stuff?"
"Yeah, sure, whatever," Evan dismissed with a wave of his hand, covered with a glove--fingers of it torn off--and he dropped the cigarette from his mouth, crushing it beneath his booted heel and then turned on that heel, confidence in his gait.
Kelsy grinned lopsidedly.
"Damn, that boy is fine," she smirked before pulling a briefcase from behind a long empty dumpster and opening it, various illegal drugs contained within.
"Who wants 'em?"
*
Dropping the carton of cigarettes he carried behind the rosebush in front of his house and placing a patch of artificial grass over it, Evan whistled a bitter tune, twirling the house key around his index finger.
Sliding the key into the lock, he turned the small shaped piece of metal and an audible click resounded as he pushed the door open with his shoulder, versed in the many ways to open the faulty front door without using the brass doorknob. Stuffing his hands in the pockets of his baggy jeans, he called out. "Yo, Pops, you home?" There was no reply and, shrugging whilst smiling coldly, he jogged up the stairs and turning to his room, stripped of all the decorations once put there. The Star Wars posters were gone, his collection of sports equipment remained, and the photos that had resided on his bedside table were gone, long since burned or thrown out during a particularly violent period following his mother's funeral.
Hesitating for a moment, he slid open the dresser's one, small drawer.
The perfect size for one photo.
His Prom Night. A flash of memory trickled into his mind as tears clouded his eyes, throat painfully contracting as he choked down a sorrowful sigh. His mother, beautiful with her short black hair and dark brown skin, had an arm interlocked with his father, both smiling and enjoying their picture moment. A redhead with lovely, intoxicating blue eyes was standing beside Evan, the two teenagers obviously going as friends instead of lovers.
A solitary tear slipped past his shields, tracing the gentle curve of his cheek and splashing onto the worn photo, already stained with tears and lined from being folded many times over.
"Okay, now, who's going with me to the prom?" Jean sounded expectant and she watched Scott critically as he nervously fumbled with the golden ring he wore, a Christmas gift from Rogue.
Smirking, Jean tossed her head. "Since Scott's taken…"
He flushed bright red- -cheeks, ears, and neck, scoring a perfect blush- -and glowered, though his normal rage was diminished. Clearly, Scott didn't mind the teasing as much as normal.
"Kurt?" The German looked up from the game of Scrabble, yellow eyes unblinking as he defeated Kitty with a three-letter word involving 'x'--which involuntarily got him and the gaping brunette into a lecture about teen pregnancy and sexual urges from Ororo (which then resulted in both being mortified for a week until Kurt accidentally made a joke about the 'x-word' and they received another lecture)--and he shook his head no.
"Then who're you going with?" Jean challenged.
Kurt thought for a moment.
"Hey, Kitty, mind going to the prom with me?"
Kitty grinned. "What the heck," she replied flippantly, "I'll go." Kurt smiled indifferently, incisors glinting.
Rolling her blue eyes, Jean scanned the room until she found the one--legally appropriate for her to ask-- male in the room that was left unclaimed.
Evan Daniels, having undergone a sudden growth spurt, had become a bit gangly and clumsy. All 5'7" of him was focused on repairing a damaged video recorder, tongue barely jutting out of his mouth as he twisted the screwdriver a few notches and fiddled with the buttons on the camcorder.
"Oh, Eeee~eeevaaaaa~aaan," she sang and his head shot up, eyes wide and short, electric blonde hair perfect in its unusual style.
"Yeah, Jean?"
"Mind going to the prom with me?"
"Huh? Aren't you going with Duncan?" He looked confused.
"No, he's going to be out of town."
"Ah." Evan seemed to consider her question for a second, then shrugged. "Yeah, sure, okay. Fine by me."
Hands trembling, the picture tumbled from his grip, slowly fluttering toward the ground.
He wept himself to sleep.
*
Laughter awoke him around 11:38 PM and he groggily slipped off his bed, creeping across the floor, paying no mind to the sounds of the floor sighing beneath his bare feet. 'What in…?'
Peering from around the corner, down at the base of the stairs, where the front door lay, open.
His father and some woman were talking and laughing.
Evan's heart hammered and his eyes widened, then narrowed with a dark rage. Cursing softly beneath his breath, he crept back to his bed and lay awake, hands trembling again, though not with sadness.
They were trembling with barely contained fury.
How could his father forget Mom?
Knitting his hands into the fabric of his bed, he slitted his eyes, a vicious snarl edging its way from between his lips, pressed tightly together, white lines around his mouth.
Feeling under his mattress, he pulled out a cigarette and a lighter, studying both with emotionless, dead eyes, his mindless anger ebbing away. Softly, he got up from his bed and went to the door, closing it carefully.
In the darkness of his soulless haven, he flicked the lighter on and, cupping the flame with one hand, lifted it to the object dangling lifelessly from his lips, lighting it.
Clouds of foul-smelling smoke drifted up from it, escaping out the window he'd left open. Sitting on the edge of his bed, he stared emptily out into the quietly-lit blackness, a lonely feeling of isolation pervading throughout his body.
He didn't care anymore.
His mother was dead, his father was dating, he had no true friends, the girl he needed to feel accepted wouldn't give a damn.
Nobody cared.
Evan thought for a moment before crushing the cigarette in-between his index and middle finger, ignoring the quick flash of pain.
Nobody cared.
He didn't care.
So what was there to live for?
Flicking the lighter on again, he scooped the photo off the polished wood floor and touched the flame to it.
A sickening smell rose from it as it curled inward, a new flame eating through it as he cast it on a metal stool, waiting for his father to retreat to the master bedroom.
*
The moonlight and lights of the city reflected from the bright surface of the harsh, unfeeling blade in the spotlessly clean kitchen.
Holding it in his hands, Evan studied it with dull eyes, mind tempted strongly. It was so easy…just two slashes…nobody would care if he was gone anyway.
Quickly, before his mind could change, he brought the sharp edge down across one wrist, watching detachedly as red blood spilled from it. Before any doubts could bear down on him, he repeated the procedure on the other wrist, both arteries slashed.
He hadn't known it would hurt so.
Finally, he felt happy, but in a bittersweet way.
The blade slipped from his unfurled fingers, clattering on the tiled kitchen floor with a sharp sound, sliding across the surface through a puddle of blood.
The light switch was flipped up.
John stared, horrified, at his son, face down in a pool of his own blood, wrists slashed neatly.
"EVAN!" The teenager's eyes fluttered open and he smiled weakly.
"Hi, Pops," he said quietly as his father grabbed the telephone and frenziedly dialed 911.
"Evan…"
"I'm going to see Mom," Evan continued, voice chillingly quiet. "You've forgotten Mom."
The only son John had fell into a state of unconsciousness, deaf to the sirens wailing anxiously.
*
The doctors had him bandaged and hooked up to an IV, relaying any information that was positive…or negative.
Reading a hastily scrawled note the nurse had found in his blood-spattered jeans, John blinked quickly.
|Dad, if you're reading this, it means I'm either dead or you've found me and I'm in the hospital. I'm guessing it'll be the latter. Anyway, call Xavier for me. I want you to ask for Jean Grey to come to the hospital. ONLY JEAN GREY and only if I'm still alive. If I'm…dead…tell her something for me. She's the most wonderful girl I ever had the chance to meet and I'm sorry for so many things. Thanks. Evan.|
*
Ororo was startled by the shrill sound of the phone by the sofa she was sharing with Logan. Placing her novel down and avoiding Logan's intense glance, she lifted the receiver.
"Hello?" her rich accent filled the phone and Logan half-smiled before subtly lifting her book and reading the back, eyebrows lifting higher. 'She *reads* this smutty crap?' he thought with amusement.
"Evan?!"
She was obviously shocked.
"My God, John!…Jean? Only Jean?"
There was a pause and she reluctantly nodded slowly.
"Yes, John. All right. I won't come."
She hung the phone up as slow as she had nodded and turned to answer the questions Logan no doubt had for her.
Judging by the warning look on his face, she was right.
*
"I need you to sign here."
Jean shouldered her purse and rapidly signed her name on the guest list, wanting desperately for the bored--and boring--woman behind the desk to let her go to Evan's room.
"Okay, Miss…Jean Grey, you can go to Room 365. Remember the rules, they'll be posted on the room's door."
'Miss Jean Grey' didn't need any other persuasion. By the time the woman finished saying 'Room 365', she was gone, racing to an elevator.
Hopping back and forth from one foot to the other, nervously kneading the soft cloth of her purse, Jean waited impatiently for the elevator to stop at the third floor, the few seconds seeming like an eternity to her.
"Finally!"
Cheerfully 'dinging', the doors slid open, letting her out. She broke into a run through the halls, counting the numbers until she reached 365.
Lifting one suddenly shy hand, she quietly turned the handle, and pushed the door open.
His wrists were bandaged and swollen, eyes closed and an IV tube sewn into his arm, blood swishing in the package beside his bedside, replacing the lost with the donated.
Cautiously, she crept forward, pulling a chair behind her and scooting close to his bed.
"Are you going to ask why I did it?"
She was reasonably startled by his not being asleep and the bitter tone tinging his voice harshly.
He had grown even taller, still slender and athletic in appearance, electric blonde hair cut in the same style she remembered it being in.
"Don't," he added, voice softening and he opened his eyes, the chocolate brown eyes as deep and enveloping as they had been, only…they were…sad. Empty. Lonely.
A silence descended upon the two, swallowing her mind whole. It pained her to see him, motionless and silent instead of vibrant and sardonic, blocked off instead of happily welcoming.
"I wanted to see my mom again," he said abruptly and she looked up at his face, saw the tears hovering at the rims of his eyelids. "Do you know what it's like? I can't have what I want. I want my mom back. I thought…that if I died…I could see her again. Y'know?"
He stared carefully at her.
"You don't," Evan stated calmly, closing his eyes again, tired and worn. "She's gone and she'll never come back. I can't turn to my mom and ask for help when I'm playing sports. Did you know my mom won a basketball championship in college?" He laughed, a short, self-spiteful laugh. "And now she won't."
There was another lengthy silence.
"It was so easy. Cutting my wrists. I guess nobody told you…I used to be in a gang."
Jean started. The strange, tingling feeling in her chest was almost dwarfed by her shock.
He nodded distantly. "I smoked, fought, detention, you know. I got As in school all the time, so nobody thought I was in trouble. Nobody except for Mom. She found out, got me a psychiatrist…told me, and I quote, 'you don't need that bullshit to do good in life, Evan.' "
To add to her surprise, Evan fell apart before her eyes, crying and bawling. When she tried to touch his hand, the warm, burning-tingling feel that came when she touched his skin was destroyed when he jerked away, crying even harder.
Between tears, he cried, "Go away!"
Silently, she obliged.
He knew she would come back.
*
TWO WEEKS AFTER
*
Evan was still eating his breakfast of bland scrambled eggs when the door burst open, revealing Jean with a large red photo album clutched in her arms. Rolling her eyes and closing the door with her foot, wobbling as she tried to keep her balance, she collapsed into a chair, a blissful look of relief on her face.
At the strange look he was giving her, she grinned brightly.
She'd been visiting him for several days, each visit making him progressively better. The nicotine patch on his bare shoulder was half-off. His cigarette habit, which the doctors accidentally discovered, was being broken.
"I want you to meet some friends," she smiled, leaning closer, noting the darkening of his cheeks as he felt her body heat.
"And where are they?" he quizzed.
She patted the photo album. "They're here. The guy's named Evan Daniels and the girl's name is Jean Grey."
He raised an eyebrow.
"You'll see."
She flipped through the laminated pages with rapid ease, humming softly. With an "a-HA!" she settled herself more comfortably into the hard chair and she turned the book around so he could see.
Under a fancy script that read "Prom Night", Evan saw multiple pictures of him and Jean. Gingerly, he moved one arm and brushed his fingertips across the surface of one.
The prom had ended and his parents, having come to Bayville to visit, had snapped a photo of Evan smashing cake into Jean's face, mere seconds before she dropped the punch bowl's contents on him.
To his resigned sense of humor, he noticed Jean had a copy of the punch incident as well.
She cleared her throat and he switched his attention to her.
"This was a very important night for both of them. See, they were friends and they went to the prom together so as to not be dateless. Evan and Jean had a wonderful time that night and both promised to tell each other everything."
He watched her, wondering where the story was going as she shut the album gently, leaning closer to him, face inches from his.
"Evan lost someone he loved," she pushed on, voice dropping softly, "and he never told Jean. Then one night Evan tried to kill himself by cutting his wrists. He wanted Jean to come to the hospital and she did. He began telling her how he felt and, in return, Jean kept his secrets safe and secure."
Blinking back a mist developing in her eyes, she smiled sadly.
"Evan, I know you miss your mother…but she's always with you as long as you love."
He stared at her, expression incomprehensible.
"Jean…," he whispered. "Did they…"
She smiled enigmatically. "They haven't found out yet," she murmured, moving closer to him, eyes starting to close.
"Looks like they are," he quipped, the laugh dying in his throat as his own eyelids began closing, black eyelashes lowering.
Lips touched lips and time froze for those few precious seconds, granting them reality and eternity in the same instant.
*
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EPILOGUE
*
Van kicked his tiny legs, a lighter brown than his father's. He was strapped into his toddler's car seat, his mother waiting for his father to return from the hill's other side.
"Mama, where's Daddy?" questioned the five-year old, large brown eyes innocent and curious. The wind breezing through the open windows tousled his startling shock of bright blonde-streaked red hair.
She smiled at her little son, a bundle of energy and excitement. "He's saying good-bye to someone he loves," she explained, tickling his cheek and he pressed his shoulder up against his cheek, mouth splitting into a giggling laugh, eyes crinkling.
"Like us, Mama?"
"Yes, baby, like us."
On top of the hill that overlooked a cemetery on the other side, the tall, slim form of Evan Daniels began walking to the car, where Jean Daniels and Van Daniels waited, patiently, with the love only a family has.
***OWARI***
***END***
***FIN***
End AN: This is a horrible fanfic. *blinks while sighing* How horrible it is.
AN: Forgive me if Evan is OOC and I apologize beforehand for the strangeness of the fanfic. All credit for the couple is due to Krissy, whose message about writing a Spyke/Jean fic on her eGroup got me thinking. So, this fanfic was born. This story has nothing whatsoever to do with any of my other fanfiction pieces. I haven't got the energy right now to go and watch my tape of "Speed and Spyke", hoping to learn his parents' names, so pretend they're John and Vivian Daniels-which I believe are their names. Pretend as well that Rogue is close to Scott, like they've obviously portrayed in X-Men: Evolution. (Say, did you know that the next new episode after "Middleverse" is one focusing on SCOTT AND ROGUE…?)
For: Bandit and Krissy, whom I subjected to the torture of beta-reading this. God bless their souls. These two are not only kind with criticism, but two of the most gifted writers on ff.net. (And Krissy…I do suck at writing. Don't make my ego [*cough* George *cough*] grow any more.)
Rating: PG-13, flirting with R. Language, drugs, violence (of the self-inflicted kind), angst, and strong death/suicide at points.
Type: Romance/Drama/AU-ish. (AU is A[lternate] U[niverse]) No WAFF in this one, thank goosh. I mean, goodness. (WAFF is W[arm] A[nd] F[uzzy] F[eeling] just so you know.)
Recommended Reading: Favorite Authors/Stories lists in my bio. That should cover 'em.
~*
I laugh out loud so my friends don't know
When the bell rings I just don't wanna go…
Go to my room and close my eyes
Make believe I have a new life…
I don't wanna hear you say
Everything is wonderful
Now
~*
*
PRELUDE
*
The clock ticked away, slow and sure as thirty-eight eyes and nineteen faces watched it desperately, wishing fervently for the last period of the day to finally, ultimately, end and save them from the torture of Introductory Astronomy-fourth period. For it was a snow day-the kind when the school is closed early in the day, through which the blessed were granted freedom…and the accursed were, too, generally, if the principal abided by the regulatory rules.
However, while his fellow classmates shifted anxiously in their seats, whispering tensely and passing the occasional not, one teenager was bent over a detailed, complex worksheet and whizzing through it, emptying the information crammed into his immortally eager mind. The pencil lead made soft scraping noises as the graphite found itself curled around in the arching loops and delicate corners of Evan Daniels' odd handwriting, a mind-twisting mixture of print and cursive merged into an incomprehensible blur.
Beyond the protective shield of the classroom window, large, fluffy flakes of crystal snow tumbled downwards with anticipation, united with the snowflakes that had fallen before, piling up heedlessly in a thick drift of icy snow.
Without warning, a ringing sound shrilly exploded forth from the speakers and Principal Raven Darkholme's cautious instructions to be careful exiting were lost in the excited yells and "thank God!"s that tore from each throat, including the blonde African-American boy, who quickly folded his homework into a paper airplane and launched it at the dozing teacher, catching him in the forehead sharply.
Evan made a hasty retreat as the man sat up straight and blinked blearily, unfolding the makeshift airplane with a resigned air.
The hallways pulsed with the jostling crowds of teenaged students, dyed hair and glasses part of the variety of bodily decorations. Slipping into a jacket and swinging his bulging backpack over one shoulder, Evan arched his neck up, peering over the crowd as it-as well as him-spilled outside. Where was she….there!
Ororo Munroe, stylishly beautiful even in a bulky winter coat and heavily soled boots, was sitting on the hood of a plain white car, clean and tidy. Her hair was as pure and white as the snow falling around her and the metal of the car beneath her, skin dark and smooth.
To any casual observer, the platinum-haired woman and her gold-haired nephew were obviously related, if only noticed through their unusually colored hair, dark brown eyes and exotic skin, but to those who knew them well, they were close friends, she being his most trusted confidante.
The one person aside from his other family members to know the person he once was.
At this time, though, she did not have the gentle, maternal smile normally held on her perfect lips. Instead, a look of concern and uncertainty flirted dangerously with her face.
Evan felt like his feet were suddenly glued to the snow-coated pavement of Bayville High's parking lot. Unrational fear squeezed his heart and he found himself breathing quickly and shallowly.
"Evan…"
She hesitated, uncharacteristically biting her full lip, then pulling him into a bone crushing hug.
"Oh, Evan, John just called…your mother's in the hospital."
Evan froze, stunned into silence.
His mother.
In the hospital.
*
END PRELUDE
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There were so many tears.
So many people he had never met.
It all seemed so distant.
Their sorrow seemed so false, so shallow and fake.
Evan Daniels was silent and stiff, unwilling to let emotions pour forth like the weeping congregation about him. A part of him refused to believe his mother was that cold, deathly still woman in the coffin before him. It couldn't be his mother.
His mother was happy and cheerful. She'd elbow the people to make fun of him at games…she told corny jokes with no punch line…
She wasn't…gone. She couldn't be.
Without a word, he jerked out of his seat, running out of the room, blinded by salty wetness burning his eyes, a dull ache settling into his chest, accenting a deep loneliness and desperation as he pushed through the lobby and out into the front area.
The sun shone brightly, mocking him, piles of dirty New York City snow clumped around the low brick building and dully reflecting the sunshine. Tears broke through the dam; coursing down his cheeks silently as he covered his face, ignoring the curious looks passerby were giving him. Soundless sobs racked his slender frame, ripped from his heart.
He half-expected his father to run out after him, both dressed in the fancy clothing Mom would never have wanted to see Evan in.
Minutes passed and Evan, realizing with an emotionless spark that John Daniels wasn't coming out of the funeral home anytime soon, wandered off into the streets of New York City.
Windows changed from clean and gleaming to grimy and seedy-looking as he walked further, unconsciously taking turns on a route he hadn't used in three years at most. At last, his feet stopped moving, coming to a stop before a small, dirty brick building with no decorations or banners. A casual glance would leave someone thinking it was closed or vacated due to safety problems, but it was open.
Evan wanted fervently for it to be so.
The empty feeling grew as he walked inside and, after a few minutes, walked back out, hand tightly wrapped around a small package in his pocket.
*
"Look, I told you, I'm not coming back."
Evan stubbornly jutted his jaw out as Xavier and Jean shared troubled looks, eyebrows twisted sympathetically.
"Evan, all we wa-"
The door was quite literally slammed in their faces.
"Maybe we should go," Ororo interjected, breaking the uncomfortable silence with her accented voice.
John nodded hesitantly.
"Yes, I…I guess you should. I'm sure he'll feel differently in a few weeks."
*
ONE YEAR LATER
*
"God, man, can you believe my dad? He says he trusts me and the moment he thinks I've brought a cig home, he cracks down on me."
Lighting the cigarette in his mouth, Evan nodded, signifying his attention as he inhaled the smoke, absently blowing it back out with practiced ease. With a year's growth after his mother's death, the seventeen-year old was rapidly approaching six foot-three and had gotten himself a bad reputation in both the streets and the home.
Brown eyes half-lidded he watched as Kelsy--small, slim, gorgeous, and a drug-dealer on the side--paced before him and the group of five, ranting about her father's inability to trust her. A cold smirk fluttered across his lips and he stretched, amused as one of the girls watched his corded brown arms with definite interest.
"I've gotta turn in, guys. Pops'll kill me if I'm late."
"Bummer, man."
"Hey, you bring the pack next time, 'kay, Tall Stuff?"
"Yeah, sure, whatever," Evan dismissed with a wave of his hand, covered with a glove--fingers of it torn off--and he dropped the cigarette from his mouth, crushing it beneath his booted heel and then turned on that heel, confidence in his gait.
Kelsy grinned lopsidedly.
"Damn, that boy is fine," she smirked before pulling a briefcase from behind a long empty dumpster and opening it, various illegal drugs contained within.
"Who wants 'em?"
*
Dropping the carton of cigarettes he carried behind the rosebush in front of his house and placing a patch of artificial grass over it, Evan whistled a bitter tune, twirling the house key around his index finger.
Sliding the key into the lock, he turned the small shaped piece of metal and an audible click resounded as he pushed the door open with his shoulder, versed in the many ways to open the faulty front door without using the brass doorknob. Stuffing his hands in the pockets of his baggy jeans, he called out. "Yo, Pops, you home?" There was no reply and, shrugging whilst smiling coldly, he jogged up the stairs and turning to his room, stripped of all the decorations once put there. The Star Wars posters were gone, his collection of sports equipment remained, and the photos that had resided on his bedside table were gone, long since burned or thrown out during a particularly violent period following his mother's funeral.
Hesitating for a moment, he slid open the dresser's one, small drawer.
The perfect size for one photo.
His Prom Night. A flash of memory trickled into his mind as tears clouded his eyes, throat painfully contracting as he choked down a sorrowful sigh. His mother, beautiful with her short black hair and dark brown skin, had an arm interlocked with his father, both smiling and enjoying their picture moment. A redhead with lovely, intoxicating blue eyes was standing beside Evan, the two teenagers obviously going as friends instead of lovers.
A solitary tear slipped past his shields, tracing the gentle curve of his cheek and splashing onto the worn photo, already stained with tears and lined from being folded many times over.
"Okay, now, who's going with me to the prom?" Jean sounded expectant and she watched Scott critically as he nervously fumbled with the golden ring he wore, a Christmas gift from Rogue.
Smirking, Jean tossed her head. "Since Scott's taken…"
He flushed bright red- -cheeks, ears, and neck, scoring a perfect blush- -and glowered, though his normal rage was diminished. Clearly, Scott didn't mind the teasing as much as normal.
"Kurt?" The German looked up from the game of Scrabble, yellow eyes unblinking as he defeated Kitty with a three-letter word involving 'x'--which involuntarily got him and the gaping brunette into a lecture about teen pregnancy and sexual urges from Ororo (which then resulted in both being mortified for a week until Kurt accidentally made a joke about the 'x-word' and they received another lecture)--and he shook his head no.
"Then who're you going with?" Jean challenged.
Kurt thought for a moment.
"Hey, Kitty, mind going to the prom with me?"
Kitty grinned. "What the heck," she replied flippantly, "I'll go." Kurt smiled indifferently, incisors glinting.
Rolling her blue eyes, Jean scanned the room until she found the one--legally appropriate for her to ask-- male in the room that was left unclaimed.
Evan Daniels, having undergone a sudden growth spurt, had become a bit gangly and clumsy. All 5'7" of him was focused on repairing a damaged video recorder, tongue barely jutting out of his mouth as he twisted the screwdriver a few notches and fiddled with the buttons on the camcorder.
"Oh, Eeee~eeevaaaaa~aaan," she sang and his head shot up, eyes wide and short, electric blonde hair perfect in its unusual style.
"Yeah, Jean?"
"Mind going to the prom with me?"
"Huh? Aren't you going with Duncan?" He looked confused.
"No, he's going to be out of town."
"Ah." Evan seemed to consider her question for a second, then shrugged. "Yeah, sure, okay. Fine by me."
Hands trembling, the picture tumbled from his grip, slowly fluttering toward the ground.
He wept himself to sleep.
*
Laughter awoke him around 11:38 PM and he groggily slipped off his bed, creeping across the floor, paying no mind to the sounds of the floor sighing beneath his bare feet. 'What in…?'
Peering from around the corner, down at the base of the stairs, where the front door lay, open.
His father and some woman were talking and laughing.
Evan's heart hammered and his eyes widened, then narrowed with a dark rage. Cursing softly beneath his breath, he crept back to his bed and lay awake, hands trembling again, though not with sadness.
They were trembling with barely contained fury.
How could his father forget Mom?
Knitting his hands into the fabric of his bed, he slitted his eyes, a vicious snarl edging its way from between his lips, pressed tightly together, white lines around his mouth.
Feeling under his mattress, he pulled out a cigarette and a lighter, studying both with emotionless, dead eyes, his mindless anger ebbing away. Softly, he got up from his bed and went to the door, closing it carefully.
In the darkness of his soulless haven, he flicked the lighter on and, cupping the flame with one hand, lifted it to the object dangling lifelessly from his lips, lighting it.
Clouds of foul-smelling smoke drifted up from it, escaping out the window he'd left open. Sitting on the edge of his bed, he stared emptily out into the quietly-lit blackness, a lonely feeling of isolation pervading throughout his body.
He didn't care anymore.
His mother was dead, his father was dating, he had no true friends, the girl he needed to feel accepted wouldn't give a damn.
Nobody cared.
Evan thought for a moment before crushing the cigarette in-between his index and middle finger, ignoring the quick flash of pain.
Nobody cared.
He didn't care.
So what was there to live for?
Flicking the lighter on again, he scooped the photo off the polished wood floor and touched the flame to it.
A sickening smell rose from it as it curled inward, a new flame eating through it as he cast it on a metal stool, waiting for his father to retreat to the master bedroom.
*
The moonlight and lights of the city reflected from the bright surface of the harsh, unfeeling blade in the spotlessly clean kitchen.
Holding it in his hands, Evan studied it with dull eyes, mind tempted strongly. It was so easy…just two slashes…nobody would care if he was gone anyway.
Quickly, before his mind could change, he brought the sharp edge down across one wrist, watching detachedly as red blood spilled from it. Before any doubts could bear down on him, he repeated the procedure on the other wrist, both arteries slashed.
He hadn't known it would hurt so.
Finally, he felt happy, but in a bittersweet way.
The blade slipped from his unfurled fingers, clattering on the tiled kitchen floor with a sharp sound, sliding across the surface through a puddle of blood.
The light switch was flipped up.
John stared, horrified, at his son, face down in a pool of his own blood, wrists slashed neatly.
"EVAN!" The teenager's eyes fluttered open and he smiled weakly.
"Hi, Pops," he said quietly as his father grabbed the telephone and frenziedly dialed 911.
"Evan…"
"I'm going to see Mom," Evan continued, voice chillingly quiet. "You've forgotten Mom."
The only son John had fell into a state of unconsciousness, deaf to the sirens wailing anxiously.
*
The doctors had him bandaged and hooked up to an IV, relaying any information that was positive…or negative.
Reading a hastily scrawled note the nurse had found in his blood-spattered jeans, John blinked quickly.
|Dad, if you're reading this, it means I'm either dead or you've found me and I'm in the hospital. I'm guessing it'll be the latter. Anyway, call Xavier for me. I want you to ask for Jean Grey to come to the hospital. ONLY JEAN GREY and only if I'm still alive. If I'm…dead…tell her something for me. She's the most wonderful girl I ever had the chance to meet and I'm sorry for so many things. Thanks. Evan.|
*
Ororo was startled by the shrill sound of the phone by the sofa she was sharing with Logan. Placing her novel down and avoiding Logan's intense glance, she lifted the receiver.
"Hello?" her rich accent filled the phone and Logan half-smiled before subtly lifting her book and reading the back, eyebrows lifting higher. 'She *reads* this smutty crap?' he thought with amusement.
"Evan?!"
She was obviously shocked.
"My God, John!…Jean? Only Jean?"
There was a pause and she reluctantly nodded slowly.
"Yes, John. All right. I won't come."
She hung the phone up as slow as she had nodded and turned to answer the questions Logan no doubt had for her.
Judging by the warning look on his face, she was right.
*
"I need you to sign here."
Jean shouldered her purse and rapidly signed her name on the guest list, wanting desperately for the bored--and boring--woman behind the desk to let her go to Evan's room.
"Okay, Miss…Jean Grey, you can go to Room 365. Remember the rules, they'll be posted on the room's door."
'Miss Jean Grey' didn't need any other persuasion. By the time the woman finished saying 'Room 365', she was gone, racing to an elevator.
Hopping back and forth from one foot to the other, nervously kneading the soft cloth of her purse, Jean waited impatiently for the elevator to stop at the third floor, the few seconds seeming like an eternity to her.
"Finally!"
Cheerfully 'dinging', the doors slid open, letting her out. She broke into a run through the halls, counting the numbers until she reached 365.
Lifting one suddenly shy hand, she quietly turned the handle, and pushed the door open.
His wrists were bandaged and swollen, eyes closed and an IV tube sewn into his arm, blood swishing in the package beside his bedside, replacing the lost with the donated.
Cautiously, she crept forward, pulling a chair behind her and scooting close to his bed.
"Are you going to ask why I did it?"
She was reasonably startled by his not being asleep and the bitter tone tinging his voice harshly.
He had grown even taller, still slender and athletic in appearance, electric blonde hair cut in the same style she remembered it being in.
"Don't," he added, voice softening and he opened his eyes, the chocolate brown eyes as deep and enveloping as they had been, only…they were…sad. Empty. Lonely.
A silence descended upon the two, swallowing her mind whole. It pained her to see him, motionless and silent instead of vibrant and sardonic, blocked off instead of happily welcoming.
"I wanted to see my mom again," he said abruptly and she looked up at his face, saw the tears hovering at the rims of his eyelids. "Do you know what it's like? I can't have what I want. I want my mom back. I thought…that if I died…I could see her again. Y'know?"
He stared carefully at her.
"You don't," Evan stated calmly, closing his eyes again, tired and worn. "She's gone and she'll never come back. I can't turn to my mom and ask for help when I'm playing sports. Did you know my mom won a basketball championship in college?" He laughed, a short, self-spiteful laugh. "And now she won't."
There was another lengthy silence.
"It was so easy. Cutting my wrists. I guess nobody told you…I used to be in a gang."
Jean started. The strange, tingling feeling in her chest was almost dwarfed by her shock.
He nodded distantly. "I smoked, fought, detention, you know. I got As in school all the time, so nobody thought I was in trouble. Nobody except for Mom. She found out, got me a psychiatrist…told me, and I quote, 'you don't need that bullshit to do good in life, Evan.' "
To add to her surprise, Evan fell apart before her eyes, crying and bawling. When she tried to touch his hand, the warm, burning-tingling feel that came when she touched his skin was destroyed when he jerked away, crying even harder.
Between tears, he cried, "Go away!"
Silently, she obliged.
He knew she would come back.
*
TWO WEEKS AFTER
*
Evan was still eating his breakfast of bland scrambled eggs when the door burst open, revealing Jean with a large red photo album clutched in her arms. Rolling her eyes and closing the door with her foot, wobbling as she tried to keep her balance, she collapsed into a chair, a blissful look of relief on her face.
At the strange look he was giving her, she grinned brightly.
She'd been visiting him for several days, each visit making him progressively better. The nicotine patch on his bare shoulder was half-off. His cigarette habit, which the doctors accidentally discovered, was being broken.
"I want you to meet some friends," she smiled, leaning closer, noting the darkening of his cheeks as he felt her body heat.
"And where are they?" he quizzed.
She patted the photo album. "They're here. The guy's named Evan Daniels and the girl's name is Jean Grey."
He raised an eyebrow.
"You'll see."
She flipped through the laminated pages with rapid ease, humming softly. With an "a-HA!" she settled herself more comfortably into the hard chair and she turned the book around so he could see.
Under a fancy script that read "Prom Night", Evan saw multiple pictures of him and Jean. Gingerly, he moved one arm and brushed his fingertips across the surface of one.
The prom had ended and his parents, having come to Bayville to visit, had snapped a photo of Evan smashing cake into Jean's face, mere seconds before she dropped the punch bowl's contents on him.
To his resigned sense of humor, he noticed Jean had a copy of the punch incident as well.
She cleared her throat and he switched his attention to her.
"This was a very important night for both of them. See, they were friends and they went to the prom together so as to not be dateless. Evan and Jean had a wonderful time that night and both promised to tell each other everything."
He watched her, wondering where the story was going as she shut the album gently, leaning closer to him, face inches from his.
"Evan lost someone he loved," she pushed on, voice dropping softly, "and he never told Jean. Then one night Evan tried to kill himself by cutting his wrists. He wanted Jean to come to the hospital and she did. He began telling her how he felt and, in return, Jean kept his secrets safe and secure."
Blinking back a mist developing in her eyes, she smiled sadly.
"Evan, I know you miss your mother…but she's always with you as long as you love."
He stared at her, expression incomprehensible.
"Jean…," he whispered. "Did they…"
She smiled enigmatically. "They haven't found out yet," she murmured, moving closer to him, eyes starting to close.
"Looks like they are," he quipped, the laugh dying in his throat as his own eyelids began closing, black eyelashes lowering.
Lips touched lips and time froze for those few precious seconds, granting them reality and eternity in the same instant.
*
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EPILOGUE
*
Van kicked his tiny legs, a lighter brown than his father's. He was strapped into his toddler's car seat, his mother waiting for his father to return from the hill's other side.
"Mama, where's Daddy?" questioned the five-year old, large brown eyes innocent and curious. The wind breezing through the open windows tousled his startling shock of bright blonde-streaked red hair.
She smiled at her little son, a bundle of energy and excitement. "He's saying good-bye to someone he loves," she explained, tickling his cheek and he pressed his shoulder up against his cheek, mouth splitting into a giggling laugh, eyes crinkling.
"Like us, Mama?"
"Yes, baby, like us."
On top of the hill that overlooked a cemetery on the other side, the tall, slim form of Evan Daniels began walking to the car, where Jean Daniels and Van Daniels waited, patiently, with the love only a family has.
***OWARI***
***END***
***FIN***
End AN: This is a horrible fanfic. *blinks while sighing* How horrible it is.