Disclaimer: I don't own them, I only made up Tris from my own demented imagination - don't sue me, I'm a poor college student. All songs used belong to their writers /or singers
Summery: This chapter was supposed to give a little bit of an inside peek on what Tris is really like, plus her past from her point of view. I figured a bathroom/shower scene ought to will that ticket well, so here you have a detailed report of what a morning with Tris is like. Embrace it; this is how I give character overviews. ;) The explanation about Piotr was needed - why would she stay around in such an abusive relationship? It was too early for her to talk with Warren, and the matter-of-fact explanation she gives Wolverine ties in better with her character than the break-down scene that just begged to be written with Warren. And now that I have totally spoiled the chapter for you, please read on. :D
Chapter Four
I have a tendency to wake all at once. None of that yawn, stretch, think-about-staying-in-bed-for-awhile-longer stuff for me. I'm either dead to the world or wide awake. Unfortunately, my 'dead to the world' is most people's semi-conscious; in other words, I'm a very light sleeper. Being a telepath does little to help me out with that problem. Other light sleepers, you have to open the door to wake them. Me, you just have to think about opening my door.
So when Warren, one door down, turned on the shower at five a.m. I practically jumped out of bed. You see, the water pipes in the mansion are grouped for every three rooms. So my room, the room next to me, and Piotr's old room all shared a common line, enabling a gurgling noise from Warren's shower to wake me. I reflected, as I rolled out of bed, that that had oddly enough never been a problem for me before. The room between Piotr and me had been vacant as long as I had been around, and Piotr never took a shower in his room - he always used the gym showers after working out. Which was a pity, because the professor had given him the room with a giant bathroom. I'm not much of a girly-girl and even I was jealous of that bathroom, so you can imagine what the rest of the, as Remy puts it, 'femmes' felt about the arrangement.
But that is ancient history as of yesterday. Because, if Warren was so kind as to be an unofficial alarm clock, I was going to have a telepathic talk to Xavier about his staying at the mansion. If necessary, I would offer to take him 'under my wing' and show our newest x-man the ropes. That is, if he wanted to be an x-man. I shook my hair down from its usual night-time braid and dug under the bed for my make-up box. It rattled dismally, and when opened revealed that my entire make-up collection consisted of a small tub of herbal lip salve and four colors of eye shadow. I decided on green for today - green would make my mixed palette eyes look green rather than brown or blue or grey or all four together - and would go well with that green tank top of mine.
After searching the orderly dresser for said tank top and finding yesterdays jeans (hey, they were clean right? As long as my nose couldn't pick up any smell, I didn't care what Wolverine's found), I headed for the shower. The scrubbed stall was as bare as the make-up box. A bottle of conditioner and shampoo residing disdainfully next to a white bar of soap were all that graced the white shelf. I switched on the CD player and chose some Simon and Garfunkel off the play list.
::Hmm, I think the Parsley album will do just fine. But first, a favorite::
A Horse with No Name blared out of the speakers almost instantly. I turn on the hot water and climb in, wincing at the temperature. Warren was obviously using cold water, because I certainly had enough hot water to boil an egg under the shower head. I rarely spend much time in the shower, and this morning was no exception. I was out before Patterns had ended, just in time for Scarborough Fair.
"Are you goin' to Scarborough Fair / Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme / Remember me to one who lives there / She once was a true love of mine..."
A knock on the door interrupts my off-key singing. "Come in."
"Darlin', you got to stop listenin' to such depressin' music. I can hear it a floor down."
Now, I'm not modest. A bit conservative (prude, I think, was Jubilee's wording) perhaps, but a year on the streets bathing in public hostels or drainpipes will cure anyone of modesty.
That doesn't mean I'm happy to find Wolverine standing in my bathroom doorway while I'm wearing jeans and a bra. Well, at least my bra is good one. Front-clasps are my favorite, easier to put on and worth losing a little support. As for yesterdays jeans...I think I already mentioned I don't care.
What I'm worried about are the still healing bruises on my lower back. From bad injuries such as internal bleeding or broken bones, I heal slightly faster than average. Subcutaneous bleeding on the other hand, will take me much, much longer than average. Piotr hit me three months ago, and his marks are only just now fading to yellow. Wolverine growled behind me.
"I'm fine Logan. They don't hurt at all, they just look bad."
Which is true. The pain disappears in the normal time, just not the marks. Which meant Piotr was usually very careful to leave bruises only in places where they wouldn't be noticeable. He never slapped me - I could hardly hide that for two months - and only bruised my arm once when he grabbed too hard accidentally.
Be grateful for the little things in life, one of my foster parents once told me. I tried to live up to that quote until I realized that my little things were being happy someone wasn't hurting me where everyone could see.
Foster care is a bitch. I've heard the happy ending stories, and I almost had one, but I've lived the horror stories. Don't try to tell me that foster care is good unless you were a foster child who lived in an average of three homes per year, on a good year. At least in an orphanage I would have stayed in one place.
Of course Wolverine knows nothing of this. And I intend to keep it that way.
"I ought ta have taken care of him when he first came 'ere."
I start to brush my hair, tugging roughly through the knots. Beast tells me that my hair is hollow. Other than drying fast, I have yet to find rhyme or reason for this facet of my mutation
"Nobody knew what he was like when he first came here, Logan."
He shifts uneasily, and throws me the tank I have hanging on the wall. My bathroom doesn't have a door - not something I ever had to worry about, so I never asked for one. I catch it without turning. I know that Logan will likely have an attack of over-protectiveness if he sees the state of my still purple midsection. Pulling the shirt over my head, I put on my everyday pair of gold hoop earrings and slip a chain and locket over my head. The locket settles naturally between my breasts, and I can finally turn around to face my father-figure in the doorway.
Others might think it odd or perverted that Wolverine feels perfectly free to wander in and out of my rooms at all times, but the truth is I encourage him. If my door is locked, he knows to go away. Otherwise, he's welcome so long as I'm not actually in the shower and reasonably covered. Thus the knocking.
"Tris..."
I've turned back to the mirror by now to apply the thinnest layer of eye shadow and pull out a toothbrush and some toothpaste. I'm something of a fanatic when it comes to brushing my teeth regularly.
"Mrph?" Speaking when my mouth is full of stinging white foam is difficult. I settled for an inquisitive nonsense sound.
"Why didn't you tell someone? 'Bout Piotr."
I rinse my mouth. I know the answer; I always did know the answer. I might avoid issues, but that doesn't mean I don't know the answers. Self-deception has never been a strong point with me. I can't keep myself from knowing the truth for very long.
"I didn't figure I deserved anything better. It was worth it, to me, to have the rare cuddle even if he belted me later. Those were some of the main reasons. And I figured that once I gave in and had sex with him, he would stop. I thought maybe that was his way of expressing tension or something. Or I made myself pretend that's what I thought because that seemed the right thing to do."
Wolverine was stunned, I could tell even without telepathic peeking or turning around. But I wasn't prepared for his next query.
"Why didn't you then? Why didn't you 'give in' if you thought he woulda quit hurtin' ya?"
"I didn't think it was worth it."
His expression in the mirror was confused. I smile.
"Look, I never said it was simple. A little voice in my head kept saying, 'This is the best thing that's happened to you in a long time. What if you squealing ruins it? You've dealt with worse. Suck it up.' He really never hurt me badly until that last night. It was really just the odd bruise here and there, and they accumulated, with my slow healing and all." I shrug. "Like I said, until that last night he never really hurt me too bad."
"Why'd he hurt you then, and not before?"
I meet his eyes in the mirror. "I told him I wouldn't sleep with him. And he said that the only reason he was going out with me was to 'get some'. He was tired of having to sleep around waiting for me to make up my mind. I got mad, told him I would break up with him then so he could find himself somebody more willing. So he grabbed me, and when I bit him trying to get away, threw me."
Wolverine growls again. I told the professor the particulars after Piotr left, but all Wolvie knew was that I had been badly bruised.
"He was drunk, and.."
"You don' need to make 'scuses for him any more darlin'."
"Thanks."
Wolverine stands there for a few moments longer, then turns and leaves. I'm not fussed with the fast withdrawal - it's my guardian's way of leaving. No good-byes, just a view of the back of his head.
I got over my broken heart a while ago, about the same time my broken nose healed, before Piotr and I broke up. I did love Piotr at one point, in a superior/inferior fashion. But love for me has never been deeper than my skin. I never felt like I could hold onto anything after my family died, so I never expected anyone to hold on back.
Until now. I feel something for Warren that makes the rest of my pitiful relationships feel shallow. A kinship. Both of us unable to blend. Both of us ashamed of our mutations.
'Sides, he is awfully cute.
I think it's about time to have that talk with Xavier. He's always up early.
Warren finished blow-drying his wings and gave them one last pat. The wings looked better groomed than they had in ages, what with the washings last night and this morning and not being strapped down for the past twelve hours. The window outside his room was just starting to pale with sunlight, and he walked over and threw the double doors to a balcony open. The balcony was just large enough for him to take off of he decided after a quick glance. Just in case he needed a fast get away.
::Warren, old buddy, this is a safe place. You don't have to worry about that any more. Relax::
He walked out on the little concrete shelf, his wings tucked back to avoid hitting the doorframe. He inhaled the cool morning air outside, pleased to be free of the damp stuffiness inside his room.
"Hey. You sleep okay?"
Tris was out on her balcony one door over from him. Her double doors were thrown as wide as his, and a small chair was currently occupied by a wet Tris with her brush. The dark hair showed red highlights in the morning sun, the wavy strands fighting with each other as a snaggle-toothed comb was ripped brutally through a knot.
"Yeah. Thanks for asking. You?"
She shrugged. "Pretty well."
Tris turned her back, watching the sunrise. The soft light filtered through her dark hair. Warren remembered the unkempt state of his own hair and swiftly ran his fingers down the side of his blond thatch. "You have a comb I could borrow?" he called over to Tris, thinking that if he stayed here he was going to have to send home for his things.
"Yeah, sure. Here."
A black comb floated out of the door behind her and zoomed straight for Warren, stopping directly in front of him.
"Ah, um, thanks."
"No problem. Never told you, I'm a teke too." She turned around on the stool. "Talked to Xavier a few minutes ago. He said you could stay, if you like. Join the team too if Wolverine thinks you're ready."
Warren felt stunned. The still morning air permitted him to hear every word clearly, though she wasn't raising her voice at all.
"Thanks, I would, I mean... it would be great to stay. I hope Wolverine is a little kinder to me than he was last night."
::Brilliant, Warren. This is practically her father you're talking about::
Tris looked up from a particularly stubborn knot. Her hair seemed already dry even though they had hardly been talking for three minutes. "Logan paid you a visit? Thought he might." She grinned over at him. "He give you the 'if you hurt my little girl I'll kill you' speech or the 'your days are limited' speech?"
Warren thought back to the night before. "I think it was the little girl one. Although he did pretty well tell me my days are limited as well."
Tris laughed, a true laugh. Her slitted eyes smiled at him. "He must really like you. He only gives the paws off speech to people he doesn't want to have to kill. Otherwise he ambushes you and takes care of things without a warning." She wrinkled her nose, then turned her head sideways as if listening to something he couldn't hear. "Professor says breakfast is ready, and to bring you down. I do hope you're not a vegetarian?"
Warren shook his head. "No. Why do you ask?"
"Because Wolverine is cooking today. And that means that eggs are the closest thing you'll get to a vegetable."
When Warren found himself sitting down at a table next to Tris and somebody called Rogue he decided things couldn't really be much better.
Until Tris plopped what looked to be an entire pig in various shapes down on his plate.
He noticed that she only took a single sausage before passing the serving plate to Rogue over his lap. "You on a diet or something?" He hoped not. He had a theory that hot chicks always thought they were fat and fat chicks always thought they were hot. It would be nice to find an exception to the rule.
Rogue on his other side laughed before Tris had a chance to answer. She turned brilliant emerald eyes on him and brushed a streak of white hair out of her face. Her voice answered his question with just a hint of southern accent.
"Tris doesn't much lak meat, so she eats ah small breakfast on Wolverine's cook days an' then raids the pantry later. Normally she eats enough in one meal to feed a small country." She smiled teasingly at the younger x-woman. Just then another man came down the stairs and joined the fast-growing crowd at the table. His long red hair was tied back under a black headband, and his red on black eyes regarded Warren suspiciously.
"Is de angel makin' a move on Remy's chere?"
"Remy, it's so nice to see you - finally. Look, Wolvie made your favorite; spicy sausages. Tris, where'd those go?" Tris, on his right, sighed but obligingly levitated a pan out of the young blonde's hands at the end of the table. The pan, after dodging an attempt to reclaim it, landed in Remy's lap with a slight clunk.
"Sugah, are you wearin' that armor at the table again?" Rogue's eyes flamed as her voice turned dangerously soft. Warren looked over the trench coat similar to the one he was currently wearing and wondered what this mutant was hiding under there besides armor.
"No, Gambit promise his chere he no more do dat!" Remy swung his arms wide, accidentally hitting a stunning woman with white hair who had been trying to squeeze between the table and the wall.
"Remy! Oh god, Storm ah am so sorry!"
"Don't worry about it dear. Hello Tris. How is your side?" Tris shrugged, her mouth full of the single sausage
The goddess walked by only to have her seat stolen by what looked like a blue demon who appeared out of nowhere.
Tris leaned over and giggled softly in his ear. "Sorry about the mess. Breakfast here has a tendency to be somewhat.."
What breakfast was Warren never had a chance to find out, because at that moment a miniature snowstorm appeared above them. "Oh, sorry Bobby." Tris snagged the pan out of the gobbling Gambit's hands and telekinetically threw it back to the opposite end of the table. A brown-haired girl next to the blond man took the pan away from him, screeching, "Bobby! Let us get some before you freeze the pan solid!" The blond rolled his eyes and stole a piece of bacon from Storm's plate, who had chosen the seat next to him. The white-haired woman was involved in talking with the blue demon and missed the theft of her food.
Warren brushed a snowflake out of his hair and looked over to see a snowy wet Tris next to him. She shrugged. "Bobby can create ice from the air moisture around him. I forgot to return the sausages." Saying this in a matter-of-fact voice, she turned to the Asian girl on her other side and asked her what she had gotten on her last Danger Room session. They started to roundly abuse someone called Scott about how he made the 'sessions' far too unrealistic to be of any use.
Warren, feeling out of his depth, decided to concentrate on his food. He was doggedly eating his way through the last of his eggs when Wolverine appeared from the kitchen carrying several pieces of what looked to be very rare steak stacked on a plate. He hooked a chair with his spare hand and dragged it over to the empty chair by the blue demon, slapping two of the steaks down on a second plate. Sliding the plate in front of the empty seat, he started to cut and eat his own remaining slabs of meat. Warren was just starting to wonder whether that was some sort of x-men custom, feeding the empty chair, when a huge furry blue man with sharp canines in a white lab coat turned the corner into the kitchen. He walked towards the chair and sat down as if he knew it had been reserved for him - which appeared to be true, as Wolverine simply gave a small grunt at his appearance. The demon turned and looked at the furry blue man, as if expecting something.
"Guten tag Hank."
The furry man nodded through a mouthful of steak. Wolverine finished chewing his last piece of bloody meat, and turned as well.
"How's things, Blue?"
"Considering the current state of my exhausting research I would say they are as well as can be expected."
The demon looked at Logan.
"He says things are good."
The demon looked happy, and snuck a piece of toast from Storm's plate, who was now talking to Bobby on her other side. Warren reflected that at that rate those two were stealing, the goddess wouldn't have any food left by the time she actually got around to eating.
Remy had finally gotten ahold of the spicy sausages again, and was eating directly from the slightly frosted pan. Warren turned to see him feeding Rogue a bit of sausage off his fork.
Tris nudged his ribs. "You done?" He nodded and took one last gulp of orange juice; he wasn't sure if it was Rogue's glass or his - at this table it didn't seem to matter anyway. Standing, he saw that though the x-men appeared to be totally involved in their own conversations and food, they all eyed him as he stood. The Asian girl next to Tris actually gaped, and he frowned trying to remember where he had seen her before. She looked very familiar.
Tris pulled on his sleeve and he followed her out of the kitchen and into a small sunny courtyard. She released his sleeve, and then she was off running across the grass and out another gate.
"Warren! Come on."
Warren, unsure of what this was about but willing to listen, trotted after the slim figure in front of him.
Xavier had told me that the first test on Warren would be with Wolverine talking to him and me, to see if we were acceptable as team (I'm the only one without a partner since Piotr left), then we would have a Danger Room session. I figured to get him out of the mansion before Logan finished breakfast and explain the situation. I stopped when we reached the trees on the outskirts of the huge forest surrounding the mansion. "Here, we can stop here until Logan arrives."
He was quick. "My first test?"
I nod and pull myself up on a low branch. My hide-away isn't far from here.
When I first came to the mansion, I built a small shelter in a giant old oak tree. It really isn't much more than a blind built in the naturally flat bole of the tree, but I still go there occasionally.
"Wolverine is going to decide where you will be placed on the team. I'm the only one without a partner right now, but if you want to switch later you can." I answer his question and the strange expression he exhibits with one breath.
"No, I mean, if you want to switch, I mean... I didn't know the x-men had partners. I thought you were just one big team."
I shrug, and reflect absently that I seem to be doing that an awful lot lately. "We are one big team, but within the team we divide up. Usually it's male/female partners - Gambit and Rogue, Wolverine and Storm, Shadowcat and Iceman, and Cyclops and Phoenix. That's the senior team, we do the dangerous stuff and missions. The junior team is in charge is routine stuff; picking up new students, the groceries, things like that." I smile so he knows it's a joke. "They have a couple of threesomes. I know Jubilee, she was the one sitting next to me, has a threesome pairing with Multiple and Monet. The only one besides me to be alone is Leech, and that's because he can't work with anyone."
"Why would you split the team up like that?"
"Training purposes mostly. Besides, that way the team essentially has pairs of specially trained personnel. I'm stealth, high places - everyone else has a serious to mild problem with heights, even Storm and Wolverine, although they won't admit it. But I can hear them." I tap the side of my head and carefully watch his expression.
I try not to listen in to everyone at the mansion for courtesy's sake, so right now I'm shielded. I mean, who wants to know Scott's fantasies and Kitty's grade problems anyway? That stuff is personal, and I don't want to have all their shit on top of my own. Most people who are here haven't had the best of lives. The one time I opened up around Remy, I almost passed out - his past has been horrible. I really don't want to know what it was like to be... well, I just don't want to have that kind of information floating around in my head. I get enough of that when I'm scanning enemies from the Brotherhood.
Warren's reaction to the reminder of my telepathic powers is unusually laid-back, even for another mutant. He doesn't even flinch away from my gaze. "So as your partner, we would train together in what?"
"Well, the height and stealth stuff obviously - can you carry somebody else, or was that just you being a gentleman last night?"
I have the bad habit of being totally and absolutely honest with my thoughts. Consider it a side effect of living with two powerful telepaths.
Subtlety and me - not good bed-fellows.
Warren answers glibly. "I can carry someone so long as they weigh less than me. Over 120 pounds and I can't take off."
He weighs a hundred and twenty pounds? He must have hollow bones or something. Yes, that would make sense. I can hear Wolverine coming up the trail. I almost warn Warren, then decide to watch his reaction.
This ought to be interesting. Round two of Warren and Logan, coming right up.
So there you have it. They have breakfast, Tris explains a bit more about the x-men the way I think they should be run, and Warren is about to have the stuffing scared out of him by Logan. Sorry about the swearing by Tris, but this is how she turned out - I really don't write my characters, they evolve into themselves using me as a choreographer. R&R please.