Chapter 24

"I'm going to go get laid."

John did not need to know that.

"That's real mature, Remy," John frowned as they sat in a bar, his friend using a conveniently fake ID to get them beers.

"Hey, I haven't gotten any in over a year," he said pointedly, though in a whispered voice, "and if Rogue would rather have her 'socially conscious' and 'politically active' Mr-Lensherr-look-alike then she can have him."

"He doesn't really look all that like Mr Lensherr," John tried to say but his friend kept mumbling.

"I don't need her to be happy," Remy took a swig of his beer.

"That's true," he started to say.

"Now a blonde with really…" he put his hands up as if he was mimicking touching a pair of boobs, "shapely legs… yeah… that would make me happy."

"I think you've had too much to drink, mate," John shook his head, "the's line 'huge tracks of land'."

Remy gave that serious thought, "What would I do with land?"

Sighing, he let the man get it out of his system, random mumbling and all. Eventually John was able to get his friend out of the bar and down the street to John's apartment. By the time they made it through the door, Remy was almost passed out.

Foggy looked up from where he was using the kitchen table as a desk, "I hope he's a quiet drunk."

"Lay off him," John half-dragged his friend towards his room, "he just hit the realization that the love of his life doesn't need him."

"Ouch," his roommate frowned.

"Now, if only he can realize he doesn't need her," he pulled Remy through the door and tossed him onto the bed, "then maybe they can get back together."

Slipping off Remy's boots and sunglasses, John left him snoozing. Taking a pillow and blanket into the living room, he told his roommate, "Gonna crash on the sofa, let him sleep it off on the bed."

"He going to be okay?" the man asked.

"Alcohol wise? Yeah, he didn't drink that much, I think most of that is more emotional than anything," John made himself up a nice spot to sleep.

"Good, cause if he makes a mess—"

"I'm cleaning it up," he chuckled.

…

John had already eaten breakfast and was working on a homework assignment when Remy came stumbling out of the bedroom. "You're alive."

"Apparently," he staggered towards the coffee, John being sure to have a batch made up.

Letting his friend wake up, John went back to his work, typing what he had originally written by hand. Eventually Remy flopped down on the sofa beside him, still looking a little ragged but there was color in his face. "Thanks for the use of your bed."

"Just don't make a habit out of it," he continued to type away at a hundred and fifteen words a minute, "this sofa is like a rock."

Remy chuckled then looked around, "It's Saturday, mon ami, shouldn't you be off to see Wanda?"

"She has a debate tournament or something," he frowned, "and I have a pile of homework. Trying for next weekend."

His friend was silent before saying, "Gotta be rough man."

"Has its moments," he replied quietly.

"Any, ah, movement…" Remy spoke awkwardly, "you two… um."

John stopped typing and gave his friend a funny look, "What is your obsession with me and Wanda's physical relationship?"

"It's not an obsession," he quickly defended, "it's just, well, I really don't understand it," the man winced at his words.

"What is there to understand?" John shook his head. "We kiss, we touch-ish, that's it."

"But why?" he held up his hand to let him continue before John could reply, "Let me explain, I first had sex when I was 13, maybe 14, depends on when my real birthday actually is."

"13?" John blinked, the concept making him a little uncomfortable.

"Long story, involved the girl I was arranged to be married to," he waved him off, "anyway, you know me, I've had a lot of not-girlfriends, slept with several of them, but most I never got that far with because of the whole not-girlfriend thing. Now that, I understand. As much as I wanted Rogue, I couldn't fault that she didn't want to get physically involved with someone who couldn't commit."

"How enlightened of you," John said wryly.

"My point is," Remy ignored him, "is that relationships, whatever their form, have always been physical to me. It's hard for me to understand how you and Wanda, two people who really dig each other, who have no relationship barriers, do not have any moralistic views against pre-marital sex, and who obviously have some pent up passion cause I've seen the way you two kiss, can't 'get it on'. I just… I can't wrap my head around that."

"It's me, alright," John almost shouted through gritted teeth, "just drop it."

Remy stared at him for a second, "You're way too young to suffer from impotence."

"Seriously?" John threw his hands up in an 'oh my god' fashion. "The world does not revolve around sex, Remy."

"Yes, it does," his friend wasn't fazed, "you're going to be a journalist, right, sex sells, remember? Our main reason for existing is to copulate and procreate."

John buried his face in his hands, mumbling.

"Sorry, didn't catch that," Remy said.

With a sigh, he lifted his head and faced the music, "For you, touch is all about the pleasure. Be it holding hands or going all the way. For me, touch…" he sighed again, shaking his head, "touch has always been about pain. The only time my dad physically touched me it left bruises," the words just started to spill out of his mouth, "no one was ever there to comfort me, to hold my hand, to hug me and tell me everything was going to be okay. My brain doesn't seem to be able to process touch as anything but a prelude to pain and I hate it. Hate it, hate it. I hate not being able to control something so basic."

By the time he was done with his rant he was breathing heavy, his face surely red with anger, though at exactly what he wasn't completely sure.

For his part, Remy simply stared at him passively until John calmed down, which at that point he said, "Now, doesn't it feel better to finally say that out loud?"

Upon consideration, it kinda did, and so John said, "I hate you."

Remy grinned and tapped him lightly on the shoulder, "Good, means I'm doing my job," and he stood up.

"And what job is that?" John asked as Remy made his way back to the coffee pot.

"Why, of being your best friend, mon ami," Remy winked and poured himself another cup.

John grumbled and leaned back into the sofa… having to admit that finally saying those words to someone did have a bit of a cathartic effect… not enough to cure him of his issues, but it was a start.

…

"Hey, nice job," Jubliee told her as they girls got ready for gym class, "I heard you really put people in their place during the debate tournament, won the school a trophy."

"Not my fault if they failed to shore up their argument properly," Wanda shrugged, slipping inside her cubicle.

"I heard that you won on a pro-death penalty stance," Kitty said from her cubicle, "and got to the final round on a pro-abortion stance, you can't really believe in those things?"

Wanda sighed, tugging off her clothes, "It doesn't matter what I believe, it only matters that I win."

"So you play Devil's Advocate then?" Jubilee asked.

"No," she grabbed her shorts and pulled them on, "that denotes that on some level you think your side is wrong. You want to win at a debate, or in a court of law, then you don't make your side to be anything but the right side, this is the way it is, the other side is advocating the devil," she paused for a second as she put on her shirt, "unless you're employing irony, which is a legitimate strategy."

"Now I know why I never joined debate," Kitty frowned as she exited her cubicle at the same time Wanda did, "I could never detach myself like that."

"It's not about detaching either," she told the girl plainly, "a judge and jury will see right through someone without conviction."

"So what is it then?" the X-Girl crossed her arms.

"It's about…" Wanda paused, not even sure why she was defending herself to the bubbly blonde but she couldn't stop now, "it's about seeing things through. If you are given the argument to make then you make it, with every fiber of your being you defend yourself and strike out at your attackers. Sometimes you're given a choice of a side, sometimes you aren't, the point is, you either win or you quit, you don't do anything half-assed."

"This is why I like computers," Kitty frowned, "they only do what they're told, they don't argue unless you've programmed them to."

A shout from outside reminded them they better hurry and the conversation was dropped. Wanda did have to give the girl some props, it would be nice if people were like computers… and could be programmed, or in John's case re-programmed, with ease, but then that wasn't her call to make.

…

"Wanda," a voice called out to her in the hall and she looked over to see Miss Munroe, "a minute, would you?"

Her last class of the day was over so she shrugged and headed over to the woman's classroom.

"You're putting your application into Harvard," Miss Munroe started the conversation.

"Yeah," she said cautiously.

"Charles is quite proud of you," the teacher smiled, "but he's afraid he won't be able to give your application process as much attention as he'd like and wanted me offer my help, should you need it."

"Oh," she had to think of what to say, "thanks, I've, uh, got a lot of it together already. A fresh pair of eyes would probably be a good thing though."

"And that I can give you," she nodded.

"I'll bring everything tomorrow then," Wanda told her, "and you can take your time, I still have weeks before I can even submit anything."

"Of course," Miss Munroe smiled, "I'll do my due-diligence."

"Ah, thanks, Miss Munroe," she offered the woman a small smile.

"My pleasure," the teacher said, "you've come a long way from the girl who tried to flunk out just so she could be sent back to Romania."

Wanda groaned and dropped her head, she was never going to be able to live that down.

"We already talked about that," Miss Munroe assured her, "you were still recovering from your mother's sudden death and being moved to another country, it was understandable that you would lash out."

"And almost ruined my chances to get into someplace like Harvard," she shook her head in disgust, "I wasn't thinking long term."

"Not everything in life can be planned out and mapped," the older woman pointed out.

"Still have to think ahead," Wanda countered, "can't just hope for the best."

"True, but you're still young, you should enjoy the adventure while it's still there," she smiled and then quickly changed subjects, "I see you're still with Saint-John."

"Yeah," she awkwardly answered, "when he can make it down here."

"That's understandable, long distance relationships can be hard," Miss Munroe nodded. "I know you had my sex ed class awhile back, I just wanted to reiterate that if you need someone to talk to about… personal feminine issues, I respect all my students privacy."

Wanda frowned and tilted her head to the side, "Are you reminding me of this because I don't have a mother? Did father put you up to this?"

The teacher blinked, quickly gathering herself, "I assure you, I do not speak to my student's parents about such things, it would be a violation of their trust."

Taking a moment to judge the woman, Wanda could at least believe that her father had no hand in this, still, "Your class was very thorough, thank you, I don't need any further mothering from you or anyone else."

With those words she turned on her heels and headed out of the classroom. Part of her knew that the woman only meant well, trying to reach out and be there for her… but Miss Munroe was sadly mistaken if she believe Wanda needed her, or anyone.

Wanda was quite capable of taking care of herself, thank you very much.