Warning(s): Items that will be addressed and/or poked fun at: Sappy romances, Mary-Sues, OOC-ness, and pairings. The following characters will be the prominent target of mockery, if not torment: Bobby Drake and Kitty Pryde (possibly a few others). If you are an avid fan of either of those characters, I suggest you refrain from reading further. But be aware that every single character mentioned will be made fun of in some way.
Setting: Post X-Men: The Last Stand.
Chapter 1
It was a bright, sunny day in all of New York. Birds flittered around in pairs, chirping in happy song. The sun itself seemed to beam solely down on Xavier's Institute for Gifted Youngsters, aka Mutant High, aka X-Men Headquarters, etc. All of the students at said institute were littering the halls as they frolicked merrily to their classes, eagerly looking forward to filling their developing craniums with fascinating knowledge and information, half of which they will never use for the rest of their mortal lives. Pleasant greetings were exchanged between each individual. Everyone had such a positive outlook on life, never mind that the rest of the world (cough—humans—cough) wanted them wiped off the face of the earth. Ah, all was well with Xavier's Institute, indeed.
Are you kidding me?
Rain poured down in harsh torrents, rivaling the infamous tropical storms of Florida. The sky was gray and depressing, reflecting the mood of every single mutant taking residence in the mansion. The loss of their leader, Professor Charles Xavier, had severely affected the mental health of some of the X-Men, while others kept all their grief buried inside until they eventually suffered from a nervous breakdown.
Ororo Munroe lifted a shaky hand toward her mouth, four Tums-sized pills rolling around on her palm. She took them with a large gulp of water, vaguely wondering how her daily medication didn't count as overdose. It was four of those pills in the morning, four at night. She had total faith in the prescription and dosage orders by Dr. Moira MacTaggert, however, even though the woman was a brilliant geneticist, not physician. Or psychiatrist, for that matter.
She hastily shoved her three pill bottles under her desk as her students began to pour into the classroom. The increasing noise began to grate on her already fragile nerves as girls blabbered about the latest gossip and boys shoved and elbowed each other in some idiotic form of male bonding. Some faces wore painfully fake smiles and some bothered not with the pretense of happiness and sulked in the back row. Ororo plastered her own strained smile on her face and proceeded to start class by injecting a sickening amount of cheerfulness in her voice.
"Good morning, please take your seats," she said in a deceptively calm tone.
Every student obediently complied and they sat down and gazed up expectantly at their new official leader. She stared back at them in silence for a moment, noting that something was off but unable to put her finger on it. Her mind had quite taken a turn for the worse after her breakdown, and each mutant was careful to make sure they didn't trigger another one, or else it may be her final demise and the popular-but-feared Wolverine would become their next leader (God forbid). Finally, after a solid two minutes of silence and tense eye-darting, the class jumped in their seats with a start when Ororo slammed her fist in her palm, at last realizing the thing that was amiss in her classroom.
"Where is Rogue?"
-x X x-
BUMP. BUMP. BUMP.
The Southern belle was busy lugging her oversized half-ton suitcase down the main stairs. The thing was filled with all her belongings, with a few socks, sleeves, and bra straps hanging out of the sides. Her lips were set in a firm line and her eyes looked straight ahead in determination as she ignored the curious stares the younger mutants threw at her as they passed by.
Screw all of this… I'm sure they'll be happy that the human is leaving the premises.
She reached the foot of the stairs and dropped her suitcase on the floor with a loud thud as she placed her hands on her lower back and arched her torso upwards. A sigh passed her lips as she heard the satisfying popping of her vertebrae. It had been quite a workout dragging her suitcase from her room 0.3 miles away in the girls' dorm wing to the first floor. She was surprised that the noise hadn't brought on any confrontation or questions. But then again, who would want to talk to the traitorous human?
Heaving another sigh, she bent down to pick up her luggage with every intention of leaving without saying good bye to anyone because she wanted her departure to be quiet yet dramatic and have a guilt-driving effect on all those who had wronged her. Even Logan, her long-time protector, friend, and hero, was one of the people she had kindly asked to fuck off earlier that week. The man was so self-absorbed in his grief over the late Jean Grey, the apparent love of his life, that he hadn't been much support to Rogue ever since the last battle at Alcatraz.
Don't get her wrong, she was totally sympathetic to his heartbreak and pain, yadda, yadda, yadda… But the day he denied her request to gut the two-timing bastard Bobby Drake was the day he lost her favor and adoration.
Just as she reached the front doors, they flung open (by themselves, no less), and a bright light poured inside, illuminating the foyer and momentarily blinding her. Squinting, she focused on the silhouette standing in the middle of the radiance. The image looked very much like a scene from a sappy drama or soap opera, with the silhouette serving as some sort of angel and answer to her prayers (even though she stopped praying a long time ago). She even thought she heard a chorus of sopranos singing "Hallelujah" in the background.
Suddenly, the light vanished and the silhouette became the figure of none other than John Allerdyce, or Pyro, as he anally liked to be called. He stood there soaking wet from the downpour with a duffel bag slung behind one shoulder, wearing his signature smirk and I-rule-the-fucking-world look. She gaped at him once her sight returned.
"What the hell are you doing here?" were her words of welcome to the pyromaniac.
He glared at her, because in most Ryros, John has to sneer and snarl and be a complete ass to her at first in order for their future happiness to work out.
"Miss me, Roguey?" he asked her derisively, not sure why he called her that since he couldn't recall ever addressing her by that nickname since he'd known her.
Oh well. It seemed to fit, giving the readers the impression that he and Rogue had been friends close enough to give each other such original nicknames in the past, and perhaps there was more to their relationship than any of the three films had let on. Gasp!
"You wish, Johnny," said Rogue, following suit and filling her role as the one who was constantly in denial. "But what are you doing back here?"
John paused for a second, not sure which story to go with. Usually he would've been forced back to the institute against his will or thrown in jail or hanging around in a bar trying to detach his lips from a beer mug or something. This time, though, he had apparently returned—unscathed—by himself even though Iceman had knocked him out at Alcatraz and left his fate to the assumptions of the viewers who had watched the last film.
Stumped at trying to come up with a good reason for his arrival, he told her, "I woke up in a hospital after the last battle. Magneto's down and out so this is the only other place I could go."
Ah… the plot thickens.
…Or not. That was, by far, the most mundane and worst possible explanation for his return to the institute. But hey, it works for this storyline.
"And what makes you think you're welcome back here, after everything you did?" Rogue demanded, being the scornful realist she was.
"Welcome back, John!" an overly enthusiastic voice exclaimed from behind her.
Whirling around, she came face to face with Hank McCoy, who was grinning rather maniacally in all his blue furry goodness. The poor man had been another who had suffered terribly after Charles Xavier's untimely death, and he was now a bit unwell in the head, seeming to have inherited Xavier's unending patience and kindness… only in a twisted, creepy sort of way. He now possessed a lifelong cheery disposition, similar to those of absent minded salesmen who never took "no" for an answer and walked around with permanent eerie smiles. That and he gave off the vibe that he was going to eat one of the younger students at any given minute.
Rogue stepped to the side uneasily as Hank lumbered forward, grabbed the entire front of John's shirt with one paw, and yanked the teenager inside. He then wrapped the drenched boy in a mighty bear hug, patting him heavily on the back as John struggled to breathe.
"Don't worry, my boy, we forgive you for all your wrongdoings," Hank said, probably trying to sound kindly but only coming off as some sort of pedophile. "We'll just have Rogue here show you to your room. Have a good day, now!"
He released John as he caught sight of one stray student sneaking across the hall leading to the recreation room and he went off in pursuit of the hooky-playing mutant. Rogue's heart went out to the poor young soul, as he would no doubt be running from the half insane Beast in approximately thirty seconds.
John was scowling as he rotated his left shoulder, hoping that it wasn't dislocated. "What the fuck is up with him?"
"Well, ever since the Professor died, no one here has been the same, especially the adults," Rogue snapped in an accusing tone, clearly throwing the blame at him even though Jean Grey had been the one who had killed Xavier, not the Brotherhood.
When he voiced this fact, sounding quite self-righteous with anger, she glowered at him but didn't initiate further argument for fear that she would eventually find his cynical attitude and angry mannerisms somewhat attractive. Nope, there was no way she was going to succumb to his bad boy appeal. Not this early, anyway.
John, however, had always secretly been in love with her—or attracted to her, at least—and he always chose the least opportune moments to bring up his opinion of her and Bobby.
"So where is your little ice prick boy toy? I have a score to settle with him." At her stiffening, he smirked again and said mockingly, "Aww, I get it. Did Bobby-bear not come around even after you took the cure? How sad…"
Now at this point, Rogue usually had three options.
Option 1: She could break down and cry about how cruel and heartless he was for saying such a thing and adding to her anguish, i.e. "John, how could you? Don't you see how heartbroken I am that Bobby has been cheating on me with that little angel-faced bitch Kitty Pryde? You are such an obnoxious, narcissistic asshole!" Sob, sob, weep…
Option 2: She could laugh humorlessly and inform him of how much she hated Bobby Drake and how she would have been better off with John. Then she could shove him against the wall and make out with him right there, at which of course he would not protest.
Option 3: She could rear back a fist and beat the everlasting shit out of him.
She chose Option 3.
"OW! Shit! What the hell is your problem—OW! Stop it!" he yelled as her punches rained down on him. She had always been one of the best hand-to-hand combat fighters during Danger Room training, so it took a considerable amount of time to capture her wrists and hold her still. "Damn it, woman! Get a grip!"
Okay. Yanking her arms free, she did get a grip—around his neck. She was in the process of attempting to strangle him when a new voice interrupted them over their loud swearing and struggling.
"Rogue! What are you doing? With Allerdyce?" Bobby Drake shrieked, making his convenient entrance to the story… which shockingly happened to be when they had their hands on each other. "Why are you here? I thought you were dead!"
Rogue stopped trying to block off John's air supply as she snapped her head around to gaze at the object of her sorrow. There he stood with his perfect demeanor, perfect voice, perfect hair, body, face, teeth, eyeballs…
So fucking perfect on the outside that it made her sick!
"Piss off and mind your own business, Bobby," she growled, pinning him with the most malicious look her pretty face could manage. "You have nothing to do with this." Even though he was the reason she had attacked John in the first place.
"I won't p… pi… I won't just mind my own business when I know that Pyro is here!" Bobby retorted, very much unable to speak any swear, curse, or vulgar words since his mouth was just too perfect to lower itself to forming such scandalous syllables.
John took that as his cue to curl his lip into a sneer. It was a requirement that he sneer at least once every fifteen minutes. "Sorry, Iceman, didn't mean to break your heart by surviving. But hey, I'll actually give you another chance to try and get rid of me. Let's pick up where we left off."
He reached into his pocket for his—yep, you guessed it—precious Zippo. He loved that thing more than he loved breathing. When he didn't feel it, he checked his other pocket. Not there, either. Frowning, he took several seconds to dig around the other seven pockets in his cargo pants, plus the three secret ones near the hem. Finally, he found it inside the pocket of one of the pockets (that's right… his pockets had pockets) and took it out with a triumphant smirk.
Rogue rolled her eyes.
"We can't fight here, Allerdyce. People might get hurt," Bobby the Great told him. He glanced briefly at Rogue's ginormous suitcase sitting on the floor. In a moment of A.D.D., he asked her, "Are you going somewhere, Rogue?"
The boy may have been physically and temperamentally flawless, but he certainly wasn't very bright.
"Way to notice the obvious, Bobby," she said condescendingly. "Yeah, I was hoping to leave without making a scene, but that kind of distracted me." She pointed at "that," which was John. He moved to bite her finger.
"What? Why?" Bobby asked, giving Rogue the impression that his IQ was deteriorating every passing minute. "You can't leave! Where would you go?"
She pried her finger from in between John's teeth and glared at her former boyfriend. "Don't act like you give a damn about me, Bobby Drake. Just go scurry back to Kitty and don't even worry about it."
"But—"
"Or why don't you stop stalling and take me up on my offer?" John cut in, wanting to feel important by participating in the conversation. He had flicked the lighter open and was now manipulating the flame to form into a hand that flipped off the other male mutant.
Bobby frowned indignantly at the rude gesture. "We're not fighting here and that's final. I'm going to inform Storm about your presence here. We'll figure out from there what to do with you." And making himself out to be the bigger man, he turned and started to walk away.
John picked up a nearby vase and chucked it at Bobby's head. It hit him with a BONK but amazingly didn't shatter until it fell to the ground.
"Ow!"
To both John's and Rogue's disappointment, Bobby didn't hit the ground, either. He just whirled back around and raised an eyebrow at John, rubbing the back of his head. Rogue could almost see his IQ's numeral digit taking a plunge.
Ororo then walked in, having lost her way during her search for Rogue that had begun almost an hour ago.
"There you are!" she called, spotting her teaching assistant. "Rogue, where have you been? I had to cancel class today because you weren't there."
The reluctant teaching assistant silently wondered whether Storm had lost the ability to teach, among other things.
"Ms. Munroe, we have a situation," Rogue stated in a business-like voice, hoping to divert the attention away from her.
Ororo shifted her gaze to John, whom she then stared at blankly as if she had no idea who he was. Then her eyes widened. "John Allerdyce?"
John scowled at Rogue as if she'd just tattled on him.
Not wanting him to be too angry with her, she quickly relayed his story to Ororo for the sake of her happy ending with him (should the author of the story decide on it, that is). The new leader of the X-Men seemed to be listening only half-heartedly, her eyes occasionally dropping to the pill bottles she held in her hands.
"Okay," she said once Rogue had finished a thorough evaluation of John's circumstances. "John, you may stay here. As long as you hand over that lighter."
He looked at her as if she'd just asked him to donate his heart, brain, liver, and both testicles. "NEVER!"
"John, just give her the damn thing," Rogue snapped tiredly.
"Fine," he relented right away, revealing himself to be a whipped sap who obeyed the Southern belle's every command. But he would never admit it, and he'd deny any such accusation by cranking up his badass attitude. He placed his beloved Zippo in Ororo's outstretched hand like a good little pyromaniac, although he felt like crying for the first time in his life.
"Thank you. Bobby," Ororo turned to address the neglected mutant who had been standing several feet away without saying anything because he was way too polite to butt into their dialogue, "I want you to take John to his old room and help him settle in."
Bobby's jaw dropped in shock. He didn't know what astounded him more: her asking him to actually help John settle in or her asking him to take him to his old room because…
"But Ms. Munroe!" he sputtered. "He used to share a room with me!"
"Excellent. Then you two can catch up and bond just like old times," Ororo smiled, completely forgetting that the two had hated each other for… oh, say… almost a year now. She ignored his further sputtering as she once again spoke to Rogue. "We have a class later this afternoon. I expect you will be there?"
To her horror, Rogue found herself nodding.
"Good, good. Now, if you will excuse me, I have matters to attend to," the weather witch said, gripping her pill bottles a bit more tightly as she gave them one last smile before leaving.
John, who had remained amazingly quiet this entire time, still didn't say a word. He was looking longingly toward the direction Ororo had gone, obviously distraught over the loss of his lighter.
Bobby sighed heavily and approached him with all the enthusiasm of a prisoner kneeling at the guillotine. "Come on, Allerdyce. Guess we'd better put you somewhere."
That snapped John out of his trance and he sneered at his longtime rival (he estimated fifteen minutes had passed since his last sneer). "Just lead the way then, Iceman. But know that this isn't over."
Bobby only shook his head and started heading toward the staircase leading to the boys' dorm wing. John picked up his duffel bag and hesitated as he regarded Rogue with a strange twinkle in his eye.
"Don't run off just yet. Things are going to get interesting here," he told her. "In fact, you may just fall for me yet." He winked at her before following Bobby, hoping against hope that she actually did stay. In every Ryro or Robby, she was notorious for running away from the men at least once.
"Yeah, when hell freezes over," came her sardonic reply, even though he was out of ear shot.
She glanced down at the abandoned suitcase lying near her feet. Then she looked at the still open doors that presented her with a nice view of the stormy atmosphere outside.
"Fuck it."