Okay, so I don't own X-Men or Yellowcard or anything related to them, it's as simple as that.
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Pyro lay solemnly on the simple metal cot that all of the Brotherhood members, besides Magneto, slept on. One hand lay resting behind his head and the other was strewn lazily across his stomach. It growled loudly, reminding him that he hadn't eaten. Or rather that he hadn't been fed. It was so different in Magneto's Army than it had been with Xavier and with his precious X-Men. Not to say that he did not enjoy his stay with Magneto, he was loyal to him, at any cost, and he had paid the ultimate one. But he wasn't entirely sure if his stint here would turn into an extended stay or not.
No, he was pretty sure that this is where he was meant to be, fighting for the mutant cause. With the X-Men it was all policies and rules, a lifestyle that he would never become accustomed to. It was as simply as that, he would never fit in there.
Yes, that was his story and he was bound and determined to make himself believe it.
Yet there were some things about the mansion that he would definitely miss. Bobby was not one of them; neither was his stupid 'untouchable' girlfriend Rogue. Well the food was one thing. Even if it was tuna noodle casserole, it was hot and there was always a lot to go around. The beds were nice too, soft and warm. The training sucked, as did all of the unnecessary classes. But she was something that he unquestionably miss. The only thing that he stayed up and pondered now was if she missed him? Did she even think about him? Did she loathe him? Did she love him? No, he rolled over on to his side; she didn't care if he was even alive.
At first they never got along and it appeared that the never would, after the countless and relentless pranks that he and Bobby (when they had been friends) played on her. Like that one time in chemistry lab, they poured that glue in her hair and she couldn't move fast enough and get it all out before it stuck permanently. Both he and Bobby had to do her chores for a month as punishment and Storm had to cut her hair short to get the glue out.
He had to admit, she looked rather boyish with the pixie cut that she sported. And well, the oversized tee shirt that she had worn with the cut off sweatpants to training one day hadn't complimented her figure very well either. When he suggested that she borrowed them from her boyfriend, the infamous Russian, she phased his shoelaces through the floor, so he singed her eyebrows. They both received a week's detention.
When Rogue came, over that summer, she hadn't been there; she went home to spend it with her family. She had been lucky, her family actually accepted her abilities, and he ran away from his because of them. Bobby was similar; he couldn't tell his family about his powers, so the two were naturally friends. But when the southern belle came into the picture, Pyro, or John as he was known as back then, abandoned his good-natured jokester ways and chose the bad boy image in hopes of winning Rogue over. So he was slightly surprised when she picked Bobby over him, especially after the company that she had arrived with.
He was even more surprised when she returned. Her hair was no longer shorter than his, but had grown to about the length of her shoulders. And just as he predicted, when she met Rogue the two became fast friends. And when Bobby and Rogue insisted on hanging out as a group, so that they didn't abandon their friends or their new found relationship, they opted to bring their friends together in a group. Now for the sake of their best friends' budding relationship, they decided it would be best to form a truce, they wouldn't pull pranks on each other and even for the sake of their friends they would be civil to each other.
And since most of the time that Bobby and Rogue spent together, even if they were with their friends they were enveloped in a world of their own, therefore the two seemed to have more and more opportunities to talk to each other. And the two were much different than they had originally thought. Yes, he knew that she was smart, but he didn't know she was semi-genius smart. And yes she knew that he loved funny, and pranks were his specialty, but romantic comedies were his favorite past time.
The time that they shared became greater and greater. Therefore, one evening, with the foursome was watching Amityville 2; he was shocked when he felt her hand grab his when a scary part came on. But he was even more stunned when she buried her head into the crook of his neck towards the end of the movie. He chuckled slightly at the time, but when he saw what she was hiding her eyes from, the grotesque face on the television, he jumped and turned his head towards hers.
His nose was firmly pressed to her forehead, until she drew back slightly, and his head fell forward without her face to support it, and their lips collided for an instant before he pulled back and he observed the look on her face: disappointment.
He straightened up and watched the end of the movie with his arm over the back of the couch, and her clinging to a pillow, trying not to touch him.
Afterwards Bobby and Rogue left, him to walk her to her room, therefore, the two friends, in an awkward silence on the couch. Standing he called the movie dumb, and turned and looking at her expectantly, but she sat there and shivered staring through him. He sarcastically offered to walk her to her room and tuck her in if it made her feel better. She looked up dazed and agreed. But they never made it to her room.
Instead, Bobby walked in on them making out in John's bed. She tried to leave, but Bobby said it was cool, and laughed it off as she scrambled to find her top, throwing it on over her head as she ran through the wall and towards her own room.
Bobby had given him a look, and a speech, but John had cut him off. "I care about her," he said. "I don't want to see her get hurt, and I'm sure as hell not going to hurt her," e swore to his best friend, who left it at that.
The next morning, when she walked to breakfast in her pajamas, he recognized that it was his tee shirt she was wearing.
---
It had been a ridiculous situation to begin with. If Magneto wanted something done he should have sent one of his pawns, not his right hand lieutenant. "But the pawns cannot be trusted with such important information Pyro," he had told him. "Only you I trust with this mission."
It was simple, reconnaissance. Easy, spy on Worthington labs that had been overrun by the government. Sneak around; get some information about this "mutant virus" that they were developing. It was in San Francisco, an easy accomplishment. An easy mission. That was until he saw her with him.
---
"This is ridiculous, Peter," Kitty Pryde said as she walked with her friend into the airport. "Why couldn't they have just let us burrow the Blackbird for a couple of hours, fly you to Russia, leave you with a Comm, that way when you're ready to come back we can come get you in a day tops. Not make me drive across the country in Mr. Summer's car and take you to the airport in San Francisco and make you buy a plane ticket with a set date for you to return! I mean what if your sister needs you or something! It could be important!" she argued to herself while her burly friend listened on.
"It is no problem, Katya. I will be home in a month and a half," he smiled down at her near the security checkpoint.
Flick, Swick, Snap.
The sound to her was so familiar, that as soon as she heard it, it sent chills up and down her spine, causing goose bumps to show up on her arms, which were luckily covered in a light sweater.
"I will miss you Katya," Peter said bending down to kiss her.
But Kitty was already looking for him in the crowd and Peter luckily caught her cheek instead of her lips, disappointed at missing his mark. It wasn't like her and Peter were dating, he knew full well that they weren't. He had made sure to it at one point. But even Kitty was a little upset that he would even try anything so forward with her when he knew specifically where her heart lie.
Peter did, however, envelop his smaller friend in a bear hug, crushing her to his chest, as she hung their limply like a rag doll. "St. John," she whispered sadly, still frantically searching for her lost lover with her eyes.
In the distance, he heard her, and he cringed. He moved from the balcony where he watched them and exited the San Francisco airport.
---
Kitty was driving the back interstates that Mr. Summers had meticulously told her to drive. They were empty, and held barren land on either side of the road for miles. She had been driving straight for about two days and she had just found herself nearing the end of Nevada and its vast desert. She was fueling herself off of a grandé Starbucks chocolate chip latte, which kept her wired as she cruised the highway, listening to a Yellowcard cd and thinking of him.
A motorcyclist came up in her rear view mirror and she noticed it but didn't pay much attention as the song changed. Another mellow one on the cd entitled "Space Travel". She thought it was sad and wondered what he thought about mostly these days.
She certainly hoped that he didn't think that she didn't care. Not that she though that even though about her, but she did care, very much but her loyalties lay in Xavier and his in Magneto. It was as simple as that. But after all of these years, because it had been about two since they last kissed, three since they dated and five since they met, she was still in love with him, undeniably. When she heard his lighter in the airport she froze, and she knew instantly that it was his silver Zippo with the shark painted on it, and she knew he was there but she didn't know where. And that angered her. She went through stages about how she felt about him. It was all just too confusing for her.
The motorcyclist had past her as she began singing along aloud to the music on the stereo. "Did I get lost while I was gone? I traveled space for much too long. But there's a planet I have found, and you are far away."
Sudden as the motorcyclist had gotten enough distance between them it spun to a stop, sideways on the road, in the middle, she'd have to go off the road to not hit him. But she slowed.
The motorcyclist stood, still straddling his bike, helmet clearly decaled with red flames.
Tears formed in her eyes as she slowed down, arms fully extended on the wheel, as she stopped about seven feet from the motorcyclist. She already knows who it is hiding behind the helmet; it was Pyro, their enemy who tried to kill them at Alcatraz.
But no, when he removed his helmet, lighter visibly outlined in his front right pocket, his hair is still short and spiked and dyed blonde instead of his natural dirty blonde that she used to love running her fingers through, it's St. John.
It's St. John standing there, his bad ass shell stripped before her, holding the helmet in his hands, staring at her through the windshield as she cries, her knuckles turning white from clutching the steering wheel so tightly.
