St. John Allerdyce was growing more irritated every passing day.
He had a bug, a small breech eating away at him, simply devouring his sanity. It was a nudge in the back of his mind, the feeling of fingers gently prying. There were times he'd be walking and then suddenly his mind was elsewhere, his body still frozen in his past action, completely in auto-pilot. By the time he'd yanked himself back in his body, he was halfway through pouring milk into cereal, or shrugging on clothes. It was strangely intimate, and not pleasant in the least bit.
He was being infiltrated, his mind sought out by one of the mutant telepaths.
It infuriated him.
John had spent years trying to separate himself from any of them, completely distancing himself from any mutant he even caught whiff of. So to have them forcing themselves back- quite rudely, he may add- was more than just a little irritation. He'd already burnt down half his apartment in a fiery fit of rage, his temper getting the better of him. He was now the proud owner of an already shitty apartment, now made shittier thanks to some mutant god knows where.
He pushed, just like Mystique had taught him once. He'd sat in the middle of his dingy living room, between the moth-eaten loveseat and the broken couch, and pushed. He felt the presence there, like fingers poking into his memories, his thoughts, his feelings. He pushed.
And it recoiled, seemingly shocked at his actions.
John smirked- he hoped that was just as unpleasant for them as it had been for him.
He lit up a cigarette in shaky celebration, cross-legged in the floor of his apartment.
Work was work.
It wasn't a bad job he'd gotten himself into- it paid the bills (barely), but left him time to do things he actually liked to do. Occasionally burning down an abandoned building wasn't a malicious past-time, John assured himself. If anything, it was an amazing form of therapy that kept him from setting customers at work on fire.
That was the not great part of work- the customers. He was a male bartender, which wasn't the best gig overall. It was one of the few times John wished he was a chick, and a hot one at that. It was really a great exercise in self-control, one that John was almost happy to fail, repeatedly.
But hey, there were still the occasional single chicks that would show up and flirt shamelessly with him. He wasn't a bad looking guy by any means, and he kept up a figure. The tips were nice, and much appreciated. He didn't bring them home often, but when he did it was a disappointment, if he were being completely honest with himself. He usually wasn't.
But that was an issue for another time.
Work was work. And John trudged through it, hoping that someday it would all miraculously give him a purpose, something outside of mutantkind and the Brotherhood and the X-Men and whatever new organizations have decided to plague the Earth. He wasn't ever going to give up his powers, he knew that much. It was too much of a drug, too exhilarating and powerful for him to ever be without. But the mutant world and all of their damn sides had given him enough shit for a lifetime.
Work was work, but this time it was something else.
If John would've known how that shift played out, he would never of came. He'd of burnt down his apartment, along with everything in it, and moved across the country. Maybe even the border, he mused afterwards. Any way to escape.
But, unlike some people he'd had the pleasure of meeting, St. John Allerdyce could not see the future.
So he started his shift like it were any other, clocking in exactly eight minutes late just to give the nice old middle finger to his boss. He was forty-something, sleazy, and had some name that screamed druggie. John couldn't even remember.
He started cleaning the counter, which was already a damn mess from the last employee's shift. John sighed, running a hand through his sandy hair- he could already feel how much this shift would suck. The broken glasses just felt like a bad omen.
And sure enough, it all came to a point sometime after 1 AM.
The place was packed, people everywhere. Some loud rap song was playing, the bass practically ripping the headache out of John's head. The lights were low and sultry, and the people were loud and stupid.
John occasionally allowed himself to check out the goods around him- why not? It's not like he'd make a move unless they did first. The chase had become so boring to him in the long run. But sometimes he'd find a girl just what he was looking for- short, petite, long brown locks and golden-brown eyes. It was a disease, really, and half the time he fought with wanting to both screw and strangle that type. He hated that type.
And this type had been no different- she'd caught his eyes from across the club, looking like a dancing, writhing vision. She was in the shortest little black dress, her legs long and pale, yet her body petite and small. Her long, wavy hair swayed behind her as she moved, a pretty brown color, and John squinted his eyes at her. Just his type, a perfect example.
Then she turned, and he felt time stop for a second.
It wasn't just some drunk college girl. It was someone he knew way too painfully well, someone he'd hoped was either dead or amnesiac somewhere, no recollection of the past.
John had seen quite enough of Kitty Pryde in this lifetime.
She made eye-contact with him, pursing her lips despite herself, and John could feel the disgust from across the room.
Good, he thought.
He gave the widest shit-eat grin from across the room, hoping it was like a neon middle finger, right in her face.
"Can I get a water, please?"
His back was to her, facing the wall of perfectly-displayed glasses, and he rolled his eyes, his mouth agape despite himself. Kitty Pryde would order a water at a bar, of course. Such a brilliant contradiction, she was- so seemingly in charge of her life, when in fact it was a mess.
"You're in a bar." John growled, not even making eye-contact with her, and especially not looking at the way the low-cut dress displayed her assets. Definitely not looking there. He would never.
"I have self-control." Kitty shot back seamlessly, clearly insinuating that John lacked that attribute. John laughed loudly, cruelly.
"We both know that's not true." John chuckled, waiting for her flawless features to turn an appeasing shade of pink, the perfect image of youthful innocence. He'd seen that image so many times it was burned into his brain.
But she didn't; her face remained clear and unreadable.
"I'd like to talk to you, Pyro." Kitty said calmly, folding her hands in front of her, fixing him cooly with her golden eyes, just like a cat stalking her prey.
"That's not my name." John replied.
"I'll call you by your name when you give me reason to." She said, and he hated the fact that it stung, hitting him hard. He wasn't Pyro, never would be again. That was a different person, from a different life.
"Leave me alone." John said, his voice barely more than a growl, leaning across the counter to address her closely. A few customers around them looked around nervously, unsure of whether to intervene or not. Kitty stared him down cooly, not flinching or moving an inch, standing her ground.
"Are you not curious? I wouldn't see you again unless it were on dire circumstances, you know that."
She had a point, and he hated thinking that she was right. He hated when she was right.
John bit the inside of his cheek, thinking hard; he could leave, right now. He could leave this bar without even quitting, just pack up and move somewhere else. He knew Kitty wouldn't follow him- her distaste for him was apparent even now, and he knew that her pride was strong. She wouldn't give him a second chance.
And with how they'd been left off last time- let's just say that it's a damn miracle anyone could ever convince her to see him face to face again.
He left the bar a few minutes later, without a second word to his coworkers or boss. He didn't care about them, and he sure as hell didn't care about the bar. He was going to burn his apartment down until it couldn't be traced to him, and then he'd find a new place to live. He was thinking Phoenix this time, some place hot and sweltering and someplace Kitty would absolutely hate.
But first he had to listen to her, because the curiosity would destroy him if he didn't.
John found her in a little alleyway, the dingy one separating the bar from the seedy motel next door. She was leaning against the wall, lean and agile as a cat, her head resting against the brick wall, her eyes closed.
She'd changed so much seen he'd last seen her.
It hadn't been forever ago- just five or so years. But it was enough for her to change from a teenager to a young woman, and change it was. She'd been beautiful before, but now she was simply stunning, slender but curvy in all the places John couldn't help but take extensive note of. Her face was more slanted and womanly. John would've been lying if he said he hadn't read a few of the shitty tabloids that followed the X-Men like a hawk; and they'd been right when they praised Kitty's model-like looks. He hated her, especially for how perfect she seemed. She was not perfect, he knew, and he wanted her to know that, as well.
Kitty barely even cracked an eye as he approached, seemingly at complete ease.
"Speak, then." John said, scowling at her. He'd let his hair grow a little longer, letting the shaggy blonde ends cover part of his face, shade some of his vision. In times like this, when he felt stupidly vulnerable, it helped.
Kitty wasted no time.
"There's an opening on the team, and we need it filled. We can't afford to not have a full team with all that's going on." Kitty said, narrowing his eyes at him while she talked, daring him. "We have an assistant professor position open, too- English Literature and English Language."
John was surprised, to say the least; he couldn't help but give a brutish laugh, his eyebrows raised. He was flabbergasted.
"You want me on the team?" John asked incredulously, laughing in her face. Kitty was not amused; she pushed herself off the wall, a glare still on her pretty features.
"It's not about what I want, obviously." Kitty shot back, a biting voice. Her eyes were on fire, lit with disgust. John loved it- he fed off of it, the hatred others had for him. It was just another factor pushing him to poke and prod, to cause trouble. It was a problem, really, but entirely too fun.
"Come on, Kitty-cat." John said, a wolfish smirk on his face as he took a step towards her, hoping to intimidate her. Kitty didn't budge, except to bristle slightly at the nickname; she was so small compared to him, her chin not even quite reaching the top of his shoulders. But she still stood as if she were seven feet tall, towering over John.
"Are you absolutely sure you don't want me there?" He teased, but the grin had left his features. Their eyes were locked, a challenge shared between them. Neither moved away from each other, just a few inches apart. She stared him down, quite a ferocious look.
"It must get a little lonely." John poked, letting his hand rest on her hip, amazed she didn't punch him or move away. She didn't even budge, not even batting an eye. Oh, her challenging gaze was simply infectious.
"Empty bed and whatnot…" He pressed on, his voice barely above a whisper. His hand had slid down, touching bare, soft leg. It burned him, a shock to his body, but he continued, pushing up above the edge of her dress, waiting for her reaction. Kitty simply stared back at him, but he swore he saw her mouth part slightly, subconsciously telling him not to stop.
Instead, he got a completely different reaction.
A fiery shard of energy shot past him, narrowly missing his nose; his hand shot back to his body, his face an humorous expression of complete confusion.
"What the-"
"Pleasure to meet you, St. John Allerdyce." A voice said, belonging to a tall man that appeared seemingly from thin air. He was about John's height, but dressed impeccably in a dark suit; he had a pair of dark sunglasses on, but his handsome features were still apparent, down to the sharp lines of his face. He seemed to be the owner of the hot flash that had almost flayed John, if his fiery fingertips were any indication.
But John noticed the protective arm he had around Kitty, his normal hand stroking absentmindedly at the bare skin of her collarbone. He looked away immediately, feeling his stomach burn.
"I'm Pete Wisdom, one of the new professors at the school." He said, his face holding a strained, fake smile. And god, his voice- it was so British, so haughty, it made John want to rip out his own eardrums, and then shove it down this asshole's throat. He scowled instead, much more civil than his previous option.
"Of course you are." John responded.
"We'd best get going, Kitty." Wisdom said, pulling the woman towards him. She kept her eyes locked on John, the disgust still present- but the corner of her mouth curved upwards. She thought this was funny, John realized with a shock of anger.
"We both have 8 am lectures tomorrow, after all." Wisdom said cheekily. He glared back at John, matching his angry look with one just as irritated.
"It was wonderful meeting you, John." Wisdom told him, his voice suggesting quite the opposite. "But we must get going."
"Of course." John said through gritted teeth, his fists clenching and unclenching. He hated this- he knew Kitty and Wisdom both wanted that response, that anger from him, but he couldn't help him. She brought out the worst in him.
And Wisdom led her off, his arm still around her, some pompous jackass move of claiming his territory.
John seethed.
"I don't like him, and I think he would be the worst possible choice for the team."
Pete Wisdom didn't have to repeat his sentiment- hell, he barely had to actually say it outloud. It was obvious that his passenger thought the same exact thing, if not even more than him.
Kitty Pryde was on fire, her teeth still gritted and grinding, her nails creating little half crescents into her palms. She was so upset she'd even phased through the door of Pete's expensive car. He'd thrown a mini fit.
"You could've ruined it, Kit!" He complained; she suspected he was just taking out his rage on the John situation out on her, and she didn't blame him.
She hadn't seen John in so long. He was so different now- taller, more muscular, his features more chiseled and his hair longer. He still had that damn boyish quality, that devilish look in his eyes. But oh, did he despise her, just as much as she did him.
And the skin where he'd touched her, his large hand sliding up her thigh- it burned still, the places where his finger tips grazed. She could feel it still, and it set her even more on fire.
"Pete," Kitty said, low and husky, and she reached out a hand to lightly cup his jawline. He hesitated in his driving, moving slightly to graze his lips over her open palm lovingly.
"You looked gorgeous tonight, Kit." He said, a grin on his lips as he parked the vehicle. He took the dark sunglasses off his eyes, revealing the bright blue they were hiding. Kitty grinned back despite herself, even though she still felt bothered deep down, her thigh still burning from another mutant's touch.
"Looked? I haven't changed." Kitty pouted, gracefully moving from her seat to straddle her boyfriend's lap, pursing her bottom lip. He followed her moves like a hawk.
"I love you." Pete said with a fiendish grin before she captured his lips, wasting little time. She moaned back in approval, her hands tangling in his inky hair. His hand slipped to her back, pushing, arching her into him. It slid further down, taking the same path John had attempted earlier.
It felt like ice on her skin.
He was in the process of walking home, burning every little thing he found in his path.
John rarely took out the emergency Zippo he took to work, but today was different. Everything was different now. Nothing of this old life mattered.
It was time to make a new one. And it was going to be even hotter than Phoenix, he had decided. It was going to be Mexico, Panama, Ecuador. Someplace sweltering. Someplace Kitty would absolutely despise.
Just like him.
He was almost to his apartment when he felt it again, those fingers in his mind.
Not now, he thought angrily, but his mind was a mess, his emotions just a messy, fiery accident. He couldn't compose himself enough to fight.
My, my. You're angry.
John stopped in his tracks, his blood going cold.
It never talked before. And the feminine, icy voice was impossible not to place.
I see Kitty couldn't accomplish a simple task yet again.
Emma Frost.
John was screwed, monumentally so.
I suppose she didn't tell you I work with them now, the group Xavier started. Before he died, obviously.
God, John thought, was anything sacred anymore? The mutant world had gone completely to hell since he'd left it. What was next? Wolverine screwing Magneto? Squirrel-girl beating Storm? Xavier actually being able to walk?
Ha. The last one was actually humorous.
Glad you thought so, bitch.
The position Kitty informed you on is still open, and graciously extended to you.
Rot in hell.
They're looking for you, John.
He stopped in his warpath, bristling despite the calmness in her tone.
The Brotherhood, specifically. But also those with more cruel purposes. You're one of a kind, John, and you know that. If they could harness your power, take it from you, it would be a shame.
I can hold my own, he thought, though he felt the doubt in there, and he knew she saw it, fed off of it.
Not against these people, John.
He didn't respond, thoughts running through his mind.
Our offer still stands, John. You're smarter than you seem, and you know this is the wisest decision. We offer safety and a future beyond running.
Pete grumbled out a lazy welcome to his bedmate, pulling her form closer to him, kissing the back of her neck. She squirmed, giggling and moving out of his grasp despite her urges to stay in bed. It was getting dangerously close to her first class, and the sun had already infiltrated the room they shared.
"I don't want to teach today." Kitty complained, wrapping her blanket around her form as she rolled out of bed, a little shred of modesty still there. "God, I look like I've been hit by the X-plane."
"Nonsense. Though I do think the blanket is unnecessary. Nothing I have seen in great detail, I might add." Pete said cheekily, his accent shining through the faux-gentleman act he loved to adopt.
"Oh, shut it." Kitty said, grinning despite herself. It was going to be a good day, she assured herself- last night had been a trainwreck, reopening wounds she hoped to let heal forever. But it was the past, and she had gladly failed that assignment.
"Yes, technically you could attempt to 'scramble'-as you so kindly put it Jonas- the interface, but it would likely have no changes on the overall-" Kitty explained, before something caught her eye in across the small classroom. It was an intimate class, only ten or so advanced students who showed interest in accelerated technologies. There was a small fireplace in the corner, which had caught Kitty's eye. If she looked closely, she was sure she saw a cat painted by flames.
She shook her head, clearing her mind. She didn't get much sleep last night with Pete, of course. It must've just been that.
"-in the overall program, of course. But if you were to theoretically-"
There. It was definitely a cat. Kitty stopped talking altogether, her mouth agape.
"Oh, is this a bad time?" A familiar, cocky voice said from her doorway. And there was St. John Allerdyce, leaning against the doorframe of her classroom, a wolfish grin on his face. He had swapped his clothes for a dark red dress shirt and black tie, a leather jacket thrown over it- he wasn't going to make some change to a hard-ass professor any time soon.
"Yes, actually, it is." Kitty said stiffly, standing up to her full height instead of casually leaning on her desk as she had been. What an asshole, she thought.
"My bad, kitty-cat." He said, and Kitty heard one of her students gasp. She whipped her head around, pinning the young girl with a traitorous glare. She could've groaned out loud- all of her students were openly watching the exchange like a juicy drama, some even whispering madly between each other.
She could already hear the rumors now.
"I'll come find you when you're alone." John said, winking at her, innuendos dripping off his lips. And with that, his grin doubled, turning around and walking himself down the gorgeous hallways of Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, seemingly not a care on his mind.
It was time to turn himself in.
