Disclaimer: I am a poor teenager who owns nothing but her laptop and her ideas. And fingers. And okay, hair, too. And possibly her brain, but she thinks that it's possible that aliens are the ones who really own it.
A/N: I'm back! And with the Lovestrong series sequel. If you are reading this without having first read 'Lovestrong' and 'Back', I advise you to read them, because otherwise, all of this AU-ness won't make much sense.
Silence.
It was a form of shelter, Robert Drake decided as he opened the door to his apartment. Silence could keep you safe and it could keep you hidden.
Not that he was hiding, per se. Bobby was just keeping a low profile.
He closed the door behind him and turned on the lights.
A year had passes since his release from SHIELD. After he had left the mansion, Bobby had moved up to Montreal and had quietly slipped off SHIELD's radar. He stopped taking his medication, but he was fine, aside from occasional panic attacks.
Bobby dropped his coat onto the arm of the couch, and went into the kitchen, running a hand through his hair and ruffling it up. He flicked on the kitchen light and opened the refrigerator in search for some dinner.
It was nearly midnight, but Bobby had just returned from work. It had been a long night at the restaurant where he worked.
One might think that he had been downgraded from his previous job. Where he was once an Accountancy teacher in New York, he was now a waiter at a fancy hotel restaurant in Montreal. The two positions had nothing in common, but Bobby really liked the restaurant and waiting on the rich customers there, and the pay was pretty good.
Tomorrow he would meet new people and nothing except the menu would be the same as today.
…
There were two things that Jean-Paul decided he did not like: Sluts, and bisexual boyfriends. He especially did not like bisexual boyfriends who cheated with sluts.
He sighed as he fell back on his bed.
It seemed that his luck with men was horrible. As usual.
There was a knock on his door, even though it was so late.
"I thought I said not to talk to me, Christian!" Jean-Paul snapped without moving to go to the door. There was a silence and then he heard someone say softly, "It's not Christian."
He was at the door in a second.
Jubilee looked up at him as he opened the door. "I heard you guys fighting outside. Christian is a total douchebag." She said.
Jean-Paul snorted in agreement and leaned against the doorway.
"Is there anything I can do?" She wondered.
He shook his head.
"You should take a break." She suggested. "Like, go on vacation and have some fun."
"That actually sounds like a very good idea." He said with a sigh.
"Totally. Think about it, JP. 'Night."
Jean-Paul closed the door and blinked thoughtfully as he went back to bed.
He woke up to someone banging loudly on his door. He checked the alarm clock next to his bed. 4:45 AM.
"Jean-Paul! Come on! Mission –be in the hangar in ten minutes!" someone yelled. It was too early for him to try and place who it was.
He groaned and sat up. Perhaps being taken off the active roster hadn't been that bad. Still, early morning missions weren't that frequent, so it had to be something important.
He was walking into the X-Hangar nine minutes later.
Scott, Kurt, Rogue, Piotr, Hisako, and Gambit were the only people there. They did not make up any roster that he could think of. Jean-Paul frowned, "What is this?"
"We're goin' tah Canada, sugah." Rogue informed him as they walked up the ramp into the Blackbird.
"Why? They have teams, too." Jean-Paul said.
"Foreign relations time."
"What?"
"You're going to be the peace-keeper for once. We have to meet with a few other teams, and Scott wants to make it face-to-face." Hisako explained.
"So he picked X-Men who were more noticeably diverse than the others?" Jean-Paul muttered dryly, "Is this some sort of strategy that will make us look better in front of the others?"
"Eh, probably." The young woman replied with a yawn.
A few hours later, they were landing in Montreal.
"What's the buzz about?" Bobby wondered as he walked into the restaurant before opening time.
Claudine, one of his coworkers told him excitedly in faintly accented English, "We heard that there is going to be superhero teams from all over meeting in the city. Some from America, too!"
"What team?" Bobby froze.
"Ah… I am not sure," She turned to Emilie, another waitress, "Emilie, ce qui est equipe de superheros recontre avec Alpha Flight?" she called.
Bobby's breath hitched in his throat and he began to feel queasy.
"Je pense… uh, Avengers?" The petite brunette replied.
"What she said." Claudine told Bobby, "the Avengers."
He let out a small sigh of relief. Then he nodded enthusiastically, "Cool! Who's your favorite Avenger?"
The day began to progress as normal. By lunch, the restaurant was really beginning to fill up. Bobby was just on his way to the kitchen with an order when a waiter named Robbie rushed into the kitchen. "There's a superhero here!" He announced breathlessly.
The staff went into a frenzy; French, English, and Franglish were being shouted all about. The manager suddenly appeared in the doorway and yelled for everyone to be quiet and to remain calm. "This is not the first time we have had a celebrity among us." He reminded them as he ordered them all to get back to work.
"Who is it, Robbie?" a waitress named Nathalie inquired.
"An X-Men, I think. He was wearing the 'X' on his belt." He replied.
Cold dread flooded through Bobby. Then the shortness of breath came.
Someone shook his shoulder. It was Claudine. She frowned, her eyebrows knitting together. "Are you feeling alright, Bobby?" she asked. "We are required to help outside."
"No," he choked out, "I think I'm gonna be sick."
"Rogue," Jean-Paul hissed across the table, "Stop glaring at the staff."
"Welcome," The manager of the restaurant, a short man with a receding hairline had come to greet them himself.
"Wine." Jean-Paul interrupted him as he launched into a speech. "In the bottle. It does not matter which brand."
The man's face fell, but then he smiled. "Of course, Mr. Beaubier." He turned toward a young blonde waitress who had just scurried out of the kitchens and had her bring their finest. Then, he let them alone in the private room they had ordered.
"Screw Summers." Rogue said, downing her first glass in two gulps. "I hate these super-hero conventions."
"Dey aren't dat bad," Gambit said.
"Says you. There's a bunch o' ladies in skin-tight costumes walkin' around with their" –Jean-Paul coughed loudly – "practically hangin' out an' askin' tah be"
"-Aw, cheri, you know you da only one fo' me," Gambit said.
"Oh yeah, sugah?" She challenged. "Then what about that dumb blonde from-?"
Jean-Paul's cell phone rang shrilly from his pocket. He checked the screen and stood up. "I'll be back," His comment was lost over the sound of Gambit and Rogue arguing on what counted as checking someone out.
He took the call in the alley behind the restaurant. It turned out to be Scott, wanting to know when he, Rogue, and Gambit were. (They had snuck out of the meeting when the others were shaking hands with other teams)
After assuring Scott that they would hurry back (but not disclosing a location in case Kurt was sent for them), Jean-Paul closed his cellphone and stowed it back in his pocket. He turned to go back into the building just as the kitchen door opened.
An employee stepped out, telling someone inside, "Yeah, thanks." The door closed and he turned around.
Bobby and Jean-Paul stared at each other for a long time, eyes wide.
Then the hyperventilating started. Bobby leaned against the wall, trying to catch his breath. "Oh my God. Oh my fucking God." He said.
"Robert? Are you alright?"
"I'm fine, asshole, just freaking out –Oh God." And then he fainted.
…
"Gah!" Bobby sat straight up with a gasp. He looked around and began to panic before recognizing the living room of his three-room apartment. He sat up slowly and peered around the unlit room. How did he get there? Who brought him-?
"Jean-Paul?" He whispered.
There was no answer, so he stood up and walked through the entire place. No one there. He was alone.
Bobby crept through the apartment once more, checking drawers, opening closets, all the while not quite sure what he was looking for.
The bathroom ended up providing answers; stuck to the mirror was a piece of paper which read 'CALL THE X-MEN IF YOU NEED HELP'.
Yeah right, he'd call. As if.
Bobby snorted and dropped the paper in the toilet, flushing it away.