Disclaimer: I own nothing. I am to a spiritual level beyond material possessions. Therefore, I must borrow everyone else's.

NOVEMBER RAIN: Chapter Twenty-five: I Can't Stop It

It wasn't sunlight piercing through the window or pleasant birdsongs that woke him up. It wasn't even an over-protective egomaniac. It was the realization that he was choking. Propping himself on his elbows, John coughed up a mouthful of black hair. As he pulled a loose hair from his mouth, he wondered about its origin until something beside him groaned.

Wanda reached out and grabbed the hotel alarm clock. Throwing it back on the nightstand, she mumbled, "Too early." She drew the covers from John and encased herself.

Now St. John was fully awake. Hazy memories of the previous night started to return to him. Despite a growing headache, he smiled and laid down on his side, one arm propping up his head. With his free hand, he slowly peeled the comforter down and blew in her ear.

"Knock it off," she mumbled and threw a wild hex bolt. It hit the lamp behind John's head and turned the shade inside out.

Unfazed, he tapped her shoulder. "Knock what off?"

"If you keep this up, I'll start with your hand."

"No, you're doing it all wrong. The first thing I loose is my feet below the ankles, then my hands at the wrists (1)."

Wanda buried her head further into the pillow. "Whatever you want, just let me sleep."

St. John rolled over on his back. He glanced at the wrecked lamp shade, the wrinkled white sheet covering him, then at Wanda. He yanked the comforter from his girlfriend, rolling her along with it.

"Let me sleep. This is your last warning." She yawned and made a pillow of his chest.

Her breath tickled across his chest, but John didn't laugh. He lightly brushed a lock of Wanda's hair that was dangerously close to his mouth. A few more strands were out of place, so he combed them down as well.

"That's nice," Wanda mumbled.

"What did you say? Lice? No. Mice? No. Ladies and gents, I think it was 'nice'!" John teased.

"Shut up, you blabbering idiot," she muttered.

The Aussie did not heed her warning. A hex bolt hit him in the jaw, silencing him.

With nothing else to do, John continued to stroke Wanda's hair. It wasn't long before her breathing evened out, and John could finally move his mouth again. He considered waking her up to have someone to talk to, but she looked too peaceful.

John tried sleeping, counting sheep, and making his tongue touch his nose. He spied the hotel matches on the nightstand next to the broken lamp. Stretching his arm to the limit, he managed to grab the pack. John smiled when his nose was filled with the familiar smell of burnt potassium. He let the fire grow and tossed the ball around the room.

For the first time in a month, everything felt right. Life was good. He had Wanda and fire and that was all he needed. A smoke would have been a nice addition to the moment, but he could pretend he was Cary Grant in bed with his feisty, love-hate girl without a cigarette. Although usually Cary Grant was sharing quick, witty lines with his girl instead of staring at the ceiling.

"I'll make a fire movie," John exclaimed in the silent room. He covered his mouth with his hand and looked down. Wanda was fast asleep. He sighed and removed his hand.

His fire had gone out when he covered his mouth, so he lit another match. He twisted and split his new friend around until he picked a movie to act out with fire creatures.

Wanda shifted. John held his breath for a second, hoping she was waking up, but no such luck. He sighed and focused his attention back on his fire movie. That's when the idea hit him. What better story to animate than his and Wanda's? He went back to the very beginning: He was duct taped to the ceiling, and she was seeking only revenge.

When he got to the night Magneto returned, he stopped smiling. The characters were paused, waiting for their director to continue with the scene. John waved his hand and extinguished his actors. As long ago as that happened, John hadn't put it behind him. How could he when days later, Magneto took it all away? Worst yet, Magneto manipulated him to unknowingly help.

St. John's eyes widened. What if it happened again? When they get back to Bayville, what would stop Magneto from erasing Wanda's memories? Could John stop it this time? And if he did, would he even survive? Would she? A lump formed in his throat. What if I can't stop it?

John slid out from under Wanda and sat on the edge of the bed, head in his hands.

He couldn't live through the pain of losing Wanda again, not now. He barely survived the first time. If it wasn't for Remy and BBC America, he would have completely lost it. Some would argue that he had. If Magneto was a reasonable man, John might have begged him to do the same mindwiping to him. At least that way he wouldn't have to deal with the loss.

Whoever said, "It is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all," was a masochistic whore (2). It is the worse to lose, because the pain is always there. Every time John tried to remember the "good times", he was tortured with the thought that he was the only one who knew. Since Wanda didn't remember those times, it was like they didn't happen. There was no verification that, yes, at that point in their lives they were happy together. It might as well have been a dream. At least if were a dream he could've brought up Rover the Rex to eat Magneto while he was on vacation. Maybe the beaver, Abe, and the S.C.U.B.A. diver man would get in on it, too (3).

Something soft whipped his back. It exploded into hundreds of little feathers upon contact. "Too early," Wanda scolded. She pulled the blankets tighter around herself.

John grabbed a feather mid-fall. "Were these feather pillows last night?"

With her eyes closed, the witch grinned. "Feather pillows are more fun."

Normally John would have agreed and laughed, but all that came out was a snort. He stood up and rummaged around the room for his clothes.

"Come back to bed," Wanda whined and rolled over.

John glanced at her as she patted the mattress. Shaking his head, he pulled up his pants. "Go back to sleep, luv." The Aussie hurried over and kissed her forehead. As he pulled his face away, he let his hand linger on her cheek. When she opened her bright blue eyes, John couldn't resist kissing her.

Wanda tried to maneuver him back into bed, but John stayed standing. He pulled away and let out a deep sigh, touching his forehead to hers. "Get some beauty sleep," he said, then forced a grin. "You really need it."

Her eyes narrowed. "Get bent," she hexed him against the wall. A print of a trite meadow fell down on his head.

Rubbing his noggin, John stood up and grabbed his shirt. "Too early for jokes, I see."

"Only bad ones," she mumbled and closed her eyes. When the dead bolt on the adjoining door slipped, Wanda's eyes shot open. "How long you going to be?"

She didn't ask what he was doing or where he was going; the questions he was prepared for. She asked how long it was before he would be back in her arms. He leaned on the door handle, thinking. After plastering a fake smile on his face, he turned and replied, "One smoke."

"One smoking building or one cigarette?"

He shrugged. "Whichever comes first."

Suspecting nothing about his dodgy answers, she turned over. "Get me some coffee while you're up, will you?"

John nodded and closed the doors behind him.

The stench of cigarette smoke hit Lance first when he opened the door to his room. The second thing was the room service binder. Lance dropped the two bags in his arms. They splattered on the floor, and fruity filling seeped into the paper.

John took a drag on his dwindling cigarette. "Paybacks a bitch, eh?"

Lance grumbled and picked the bags up off the floor. "This is a non-smoking room."

"I bet it was a non-ripping-off-the-bathroom-door room too."

He set the bags of doughnuts and breakfast foods on the table and crossed his arms. "You owe me, fire-freak."

"Is this about leaving you to clean up after Fred and Todd by yourself? 'Cause I plead a fifth."

"No, but you owe me for that too. I'm talking about taking care of Pietro."

John perked up. "Do you need help moving the body? I know we're not that good of friends, but you can trust me to help me take care of Norma's rotting corpse."

"He's not dead. He's down in the other set of rooms. He wasn't going to stop until he got into the room last night. I had to tell him you and Wanda left hours ago, and I hadn't seen you."

John squinted at him. "Why'd you do that?"

Lance shrugged. "I figured neither of you would like it if Pietro got in."

The pyromaniac faced the blank TV and took one last drag. "Wanda hexed it. No worries there."

"And if he stalked the room until you came out?"

John shrugged and flicked his cigarette in to a glass. Standing up, he lifted his backpack containing his flamethrowers and flung his duffle bag over his shoulder. "Might have left a few durries earlier."

"Where are you going? The shuttle for the train doesn't leave until this afternoon."

"I'm not taking the train." John reached over and picked up a piece of the broken bathroom door. He had burned the words "Cocoa-Mo" in it.

"Hold up. You and Wanda are hitchhiking to an island you can't even spell?"

The Aussie shook his head. "Just me." John brushed past Lance to the door.

Lance turned and shoved him into the wall. "You asshole! Does she even know?" Lance looked him up and down. "No, she doesn't. If she did, you'd have more wounds."

John's face turned red. "It's none of your business!"

Lance shook his head. "I should have let Pietro in." John tried to leave again, but Lance rammed his shoulder into the wall. "You can't leave her! Not like this."

His eyes narrowed. "You gonna stop me, Rocky?"

Lance pushed him against the wall again. "You got the girl! You got what you wanted. Now you're leaving? You are one fu - "

John dropped his duffel bag and grabbed the sides of his head. "I can't do it again!"

Lance took one step backward. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Gesturing wildly, John said, "What do you think is going to happen if me and Wanda get off that train, arm-in-arm?"

"Pigs fly?"

"No! Her crazy dad's going to screw her all up again! And I can't live through it a second time. I can't handle being forgotten twice."

Lance shook his head. "You don't know that."

"Oh, really? You've dealt with Magneto long enough to know what he's like."

"So, you're giving up instead? To save yourself, you're going to royally fuck her up more than her father ever could!"

John swung his bag back on his shoulder. "But this way 'we'll always have Paris (4)'." He made it all the way to the doorway.

"Wanda's not going to have very fond memories of 'Paris'," Lance called after him.

He looked over her shoulder. "But at least she'll have them."

"Selfish asshole," he grumbled. Lance went to slam the door behind him, but John's arm stopped him.

John worked himself back into the room. "I'm the selfish one? I'm letting her go so she doesn't get her brains scrambled again, and I'm the selfish one?"

He shook his head. "Bullshit. If that's what you wanted to do, then you shouldn't have slept with her!"

"I was drunk!"

Lance snorted. "I'm sure she'll be glad to hear that you think it was a drunken mistake."

John pointed at him. "I never said it was a mistake! Don't tell her that!"

"I won't have to. She'll know when she wakes up alone."

John studied the mutant before him. "Why do you care, anyway?"

Lance hesitated a little too long. "It's Wanda. I live with her. When she's unhappy, the entire house is unhappy."

The firebug cocked his head. "No, that's not it."

Lance's face grew red. "What? Are you psychic now?"

"Yes, and you have a thing for her."

"I do not!"

John nodded. "You do."

Frustrated at the turn of the conversation, Lance blurted, "You promised her you wouldn't leave her, and that's exactly what you're doing!"

John's voice was low and threatening. "How'd you know about that?"

Lance didn't answer, but it didn't matter. John was able to put the pieces together. "You were there. You bloody peeping Tom. Well, Tom, thanks for the reminder. I'll be going now. I know you'll take good care of her." John slammed the door to their room.

After a few stunned seconds, Lance opened the door and cussed like a sailor down the hallway.

The clock alarm in her room went off. Wanda's head popped up from the blankets and pillows. She groaned and knocked it off the nightstand with a hex bolt. The stubborn alarm continued to beep. Pulling a pillow over her head, Wanda tried to ignore it, but the alarm got progressively louder. Throwing the covers off, Wanda crawled, half-conscious to the side of the bed. She leaned over the edge, but the clock was out of arm's reach. Wanda repositioned herself to extend her reach.

Wanda fell headfirst off the bed. "Ooph. Damn alarm clock." She yanked the clock from the wall and threw it.

The witch rubbed her eyes and surveyed the room. "John?" she called. Wanda grabbed her shirt off the floor and slipped it on. On the way to the bathroom, Wanda picked up more of her clothes. She pushed open the door to the bathroom and called, "Hey, moron." No one called back.

Feeling very exposed, Wanda finished dressing quickly. There was an ache creeping into her stomach. The kind that was trying to warn you that something was deeply wrong.

Wanda rushed into John and Lance's room calling John's name. The only other person in the room was Lance, who was mindlessly flipping through the channels.

With a fixed scowl on his face, Lance said, "I went down early to the hotel breakfast and brought some stuff back. It's on the table if you want any."

Wanda glanced at the bags, then back at Lance. "Where's John?"

He ground his teeth for a few seconds before shrugging. His eyes never left the television.

With a wave of a glowing hand, Wanda animated the nightstand to attack Lance. "What did you do with him!"

His eyes shot daggers at Wanda. "I didn't do anything. He left all on his own."

The witch returned the nightstand to its proper place and studied Lance out of the corner of her eye. "What do you mean 'he left'? Where'd he go?"

"I don't know. Away."

Anger swelled in the witch. The lights flickered, random pieces of furniture elevated, and one of the paintings on the wall flew at Lance's head. "LIAR!"

The rock tumbler dove between the bed and the wall. His head peeked up after the painting shattered against the wall. "Why would I lie?"

Wanda's mind went wild. "You're covering for my brother! Pietro never liked us being together, and he did something to him!"

"I wouldn't cover for Pietro! Not to you!"

The bed providing Lance shelter flipped over. "Where's John?" she screamed once more.

Lance slid up the wall and stood in the corner. "He took off and went hitchhiking. Look around. Do you see his stuff anywhere?"

"Pietro must have it!"

Lance repeated himself as calming as possible. "John left on his own. I tried to stop him, but he left anyway."

Shaking her head violently, Wanda drew a sliver of the bathroom door to Lance's neck. She approached him, stopping inches from his face. "Liar," she whispered. "He wouldn't leave. He promised."

Lance returned her stare. "Then he must be the liar, 'cause he's gone."

Everything but the shard of door dropped. With her mouth drawn tight, the witch glowered at Lance, unblinking. He never flinched. When she accepted that Lance was telling the truth, her lower lip began to quiver. Wanda broke contact and took a good look at her dirty socks. She balled her fists. "Leave."

Lance took a step toward her. He moved to put his hand on her shoulder but dropped it instead. "I'm still here, Wanda."

Wanda continued to stare at her feet. "LEAVE!"

Lance hesitated then sighed. He snatched his bag and breakfast. In the doorway, Lance pivoted and took one step back in the room. "My toothbrush." He halted when he saw Wanda's expression; she growled and finally looked at him out of the corner of her eye. On second thought, Lance abandoned his toothbrush.

As soon as the door slammed, Wanda called upon all the power within herself. She had to get back to the Nexus. She had to fix her world that was crumbling yet again. The witch closed her eyes and released her energy. When she opened them, she did not see the dark space with the beacons of light she expected; she was still in the hotel room. She tried again, but without success.

"AGATHA!" Wanda waited a minute for her mentor to arrive. No one came. She called again with the same results. Remembering her teachings, Wanda tried creating a scrying globe with a spell. She thought she had done everything right, but the old hag's face never appeared in the sphere. Finally, she fell to her knees and pleaded. "I need you! Please, Agatha! Show me how to get to the Nexus. I have to fix things!"

Every time Wanda built up enough energy, she expended it trying to get to the Nexus. While she was resting, she'd call for Agatha. Soon the old hag's name turned into someone else's. "Come back. . . Please come back. . I need you, John. . . " Wanda tried once more to summon herself to that strange place outside of the world but failed. She lowered her body to the floor, and the carpet soaked up her tears. "Come back. . . You promised."

The apprentice witch did not know how many minutes passes as she laid on the hotel room floor, but a soft knock on the door awoke her. She lifted her head from the floor and instantly regretted it. A deep pain pulsed in her head and spread through her body. The knock came again. She groaned and crawled over to open the door. Wanda shielded her eyes to the bright hallway, but managed to make out a man-shaped shadow. Her heart picked up, until she realized it wasn't whom she hoped. "What do you want?" she snapped.

"Hotel shuttle's leaving soon. You ready?" Lance asked. He stepped into the room and was amazed at its condition. The bathroom door was intact and in place; there was only one bed and it was made perfectly; all the hotel amenities, some that he didn't remember ever being there, were neatly laid out around the room. "What happened here?"

Wanda didn't answer. Little did she know that her tantrum would make the room a beacon of paranormal phenomenon for many years to come. In the future, there would be many theories developed about what went on in room ten that day, but none would be close to the truth (5).

Using the chair, Wanda pulled herself from the floor. She massaged her forehead with her hand. "Is there any food left?"

Lance circled the room, amazed at its condition. "Freddy got to it."

"Figures."

"I can get you something from vending machine, if you want."

"No." She removed her hand and stood up straight. "I'm not that hungry," she lied. "I have to get my stuff."

Lance handed her boots to her. "Pietro's already got it. Your hex on the other room wore off."

"My medicine - "

"He grabbed that too."

Wanda nodded. Lance waited while she tied her boots. The witch stood up and fell into step beside Lance as they walked toward the hotel lobby.

She'd failed. She wasn't powerful. She wasn't important. She wasn't special. She couldn't even convince one hormonal boy to stay with her.

"Sorry," Lance blurted, looking at his shoes.

"I said I wasn't hungry."

"No." Lance paused. "I mean, I'm sorry I couldn't stop him."

Wanda was not going to let John's abandonment get to her. She was stronger than that. If she didn't exist for him, that he wouldn't exist for her. "Who? Freddy? I don't think a nuclear explosion could stand between him and anything remotely edible. Remember the vanilla lotion incident?"

Lance was confused. "No, John. I'm sorry I couldn't stop John. I know how much you - "

"Oh, him." While Lance abruptly stopped walking, Wanda continued to rant and walk. "Don't be sorry. I'm not. He's a pain, and he dragged the team down by constantly arguing with Pietro. I'm glad he's . . ."

The witch finally noticed Lance was no longer at her side. She followed his unblinking stare out the glass lobby doors. A familiar face sat on the hood of the hotel shuttle smoking a cigarette. She gasped, but froze. She didn't know what to do. Should she run and jump him or beat him to near death?

Both sets of doors flew open, and Wanda stomped through them. Her jaw was set and didn't waver when John smiled at her. He held a styrofoam cup out for her, but she didn't take it. Taking a firm grip on the collar of his shirt, she made the Aussie eat asphalt. Wanda rolled his groaning body over with her foot and pressed her combat book into his chest.

"It was two creams, not three, wasn't it?"

"You left," she spat.

John glared at Lance exiting the hotel. "Not for long."

She worked her boot further into his chest. "You promised you wouldn't leave."

"I came back!"

Wanda's hands began to glow. "Not good enough."

John was not intimidated. "Then you better turn around and fix your affections on someone else!"

Her attention remained on the Aussie beneath her boot. When he was there, no one else existed in her world. It was absurd to believe that she could care about anyone else like she cared for St. John. Despite what she had said, his return did make her heart swell. Maybe she was enough. Her eyes softened, but she kept her foot on his chest. "Why'd you come back?"

"I made a promise. Didn't you want me to come back?"

She felt John hold his breath, waiting for her answer. "Maybe."

John shook his head. "There's no maybes anymore. We came too far to have maybes. So what is it?"

The witch scrutinized him. He had hurt her when he had left, even if it was for only a little while. Would he do it again? Could she take that chance? She was fully invested in their relationship, but did he feel the same? Or was he only hanging on to her out of obligation? That drunken promise she forced him to make. Or worse, because there was something about her reminded him of the girl that came before?

Wanda tried to read the answer in his face but failed. He was holding his breath again. She wondered if he would turn blue soon. Chuckling in her head, she knew that she had forgiven him for his momentary abandonment. The only question left was whether their relationship was worth the risk of her getting hurt again.

"Yes," she answered and forced air out of his lungs.

John coughed, then grinned. "Then why am I still under your boot?"

She leaned over her leg, shifting her weight. "I thought you liked it when I took command."

"Not when I have a soda can jamming me in the back."

Wanda lifted her foot and helped him up. Once he was upright she kissed him. All her worries went away until John broke it off and pulled her behind a nearby hedge. He parted a few branches to scope out the scene.

"I don't think they saw us," he whispered.

"Who? Cops?" Instantly nervous, Wanda leaned over his shoulder and followed his gaze. "It's just Pietro and Todd." She made a move upward but was pulled back down.

John brought her inches from his fear-filled face. "They can't know we're together."

"Huh?"

"They can't know we're together," he repeated.

She raised an eyebrow. "They may both be idiots, but I think they've noticed."

"Bugger, that's right." He ruffled his hair while he thought. "Oh! I've got it: We have to pretend we had a fight. Then they'll think we've broken up, but really, we're still together, only secret."

Wanda, contemplating his scheme, blinked hard. "Just when I think I've learned how to follow your psychotic ramblings, you prove me wrong."

"What's not to understand?"

"How about the point? You want to play some sort of stupid mind game on them?"

"No, I'm completely serious - "

"Since when?"

"Had to start sometime?"

"Pick another time! You're being completely psycho. There's no reason we should be hiding behind this bush." Wanda tried to stand again without success.

"They can't know. No one can know."

Her eyes narrowed. "What do mean, 'no one'?"

"No one, no one. We've got to keep quiet. Stay below the radar. Except for Remy; he can keep a secret. Rogue's okay too. Hell, you could probably tell every X-Men. As long as word doesn't get back to Magneto, she'll be apples."

"Why? You want us to tell my father together or something?"

John began to panic. "No! Your father can't know! Not ever!"

"What's the problem? Is there something in your contract about dating the boss's daughter?"

"No. . . not yet, anyway. . . " John shifted his eyes, pondering something. "He just can't know."

This entire conversation baffled Wanda. She didn't know where he was coming from or what had worked him up into such a frenzy. Keeping their relationship a secret was the dumbest idea that ever came out of left field. She didn't want to keep it a secret. She wanted to tell the whole world and damn anyone in her way. That was how she worked. Secrets took thought and energy served much better on other things. Not to mention that neither of them were good actors; they would be found out right away.

Why didn't John want anyone to know? Was he ashamed of her? She knew she wasn't pretty like other girls, but he never seemed to care. Wanda gulped as another theory formed in her head:Maybe he wanted to keep the options open in case Amnesia Girl woke up. Wanda would only be a toy until the other girl remembered. But if that was the case, why was it so important her father didn't know? She sighed. There were too many possibilities, and John was not giving her any answers. "What game are you playing with me?"

He shook his head. "It's no game. It's survival."

"I'll make Magneto understand us. Beneath the bucket he's a father like any other. Don't worry."

John shook her shoulders gently. "No, he doesn't understand! He never will. Hell, I don't understand us half the time." He brushed a stray hair behind Wanda's ear and smiled. "It'll be better for everyone if we keep this hush-hush. The more people that know, the more dangerous it'll be for us."

"For us or for you?"

"Both."

Wanda considered it for a second, but shook her head. "I'm not playing this game, John. I don't see what's the problem with the entire world knowing we're together." She looked out at the rest of the Brotherhood waiting for them in the parking lot. "Unless," she whispered, "you're ashamed of me."

"No! Where'd you get an idea like that? That's crazy, luv. If things were different, I'd burn it on every tree we passed, but they aren't. No one can know."

Her eyes burned through his head. If he was telling the truth, she'd only had one theory left. "'If things were different'? What things?" She successfully stood up this time. "If your ex didn't have amnesia, you mean! You're still holding onto the chance that she might remember you!"

"No!" John said, but she could tell he was lying.

Wanda narrowed her eyes. "I'm sick of your bullshit." The witch hexed him out of the bushes and into the side of the shuttle van. She towered over him as he rolled on the ground. Pietro's words spoke in her head (6): "You're a rebound. He likes you because you remind him of his ex. Once he's figured out that you aren't the same person, he'll leave, you'll be hurt, and I'll have to say I told you so." Her brother's words on the train sounded completely ridiculous at the time. Little did she know that he was right: John never truly cared. I can't believe I changed the course of the world for him.

"I'm not her! And I'll never be enough for you." She saw the shocked faces of the other boys and chuckled. "Looks like we don't have to pretend to fight."

John got to his knees and opened his mouth, but Wanda hexed him. "Don't talk to me, don't look at me, and don't breathe around me, and we'll coexist until New York." She kicked John down, stepped over his body, and opened the passenger side door. After throwing Todd from the van, she sat down and resisted the urge to cry.

John had become a leper, and he had no clue as to why. He sat in the front of a virtually empty train car while the Brotherhood congregated in the back. How had his and Wanda's conversation had gotten out of hand? His plan sounded perfect while he stood out in the sun on the side of the road. He even found a banana scone to go with Wanda's coffee. He had eaten it before she came out, but that wasn't his fault. The squirrel was eyeing him funny. That scone was either going to be John's food or squirrel food.

He sighed. Maybe it was for the better. His promise was null and void now: He could leave this circus without any regret or what ifs running thought his head. John and Wanda didn't work, no matter how much he wished it wasn't true.

John's bag was dumped out of the seat next to him and replaced with a white-haired speed demon. "Thought I'd pop in and say a few words. I don't know what happened between you and Wanda, but it gives me warm tingles inside."

The Aussie bent over collected his bag. Pulling out his yellow legal pad, he said, "I'm not going out with you, Norma. Do the world a favor and go play with a stingray (7)."

The uninvited guest feigned hurt. "I came up here to thank you for dropping this whole Wanda memory thing, and you go and insult me! No wonder she dumped you."

Pietro's condensing tone made John twitch. "What makes you think I dropped it?" he said.

"Please, you can't possibly think that you can recover from this. If there's one thing Wanda can do, it's hold a grudge. Believe me, I know."

John smirked and glanced at the speed demon. "If there's one thing I learned from hanging out with your sister is that anything's possible."

"You're pathetic." Pietro's laugh had a twinge of nervousness to it. "What was your plan to win her back? It has to be something to win her back in what, two days before you leave? Wait, let me guess. . .it involved bananas."

In the mood for more mind games, John asked, "Who said I was leaving?"

That sobered the speed demon. "Your contract is up. You had eight going away parties last week."

"My contract's not up for three more months. Magneto said he'd consider renegotiating it after this mission, but I'm thinking I might tell him to forget it. The past week I've had a chance to reevaluate my position. The benefits suck, but I get room and board and vegemite. Not to mention all the mutant atrocities we stop. We're heroes. And what other job will pay me to light stuff on fire?"

Pietro's mouth grew thin and tight. "You are a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of my shoe. You need to leave. There's no reason for you to stay."

John remained relaxed. "That's between me and me boss."

Grabbing the Aussie's shirt, Pietro whispered harshly. "I'll tell him. I'll tell him everything that went on and how you and Remy are trying to get Wanda's memories back because you're hand is getting tired. He'll encase you in a monument to display in his office so that people will think twice about crossing him."

Unfazed, John laughed. "And how do you think Wanda would react to that? It'll prove that I was right all along."

His eyes narrowed. "You'd be a martyr just to spite me?"

John shrugged. "I'd rather be a martyr than leave Wanda to be eaten by pythons." He leaned back and put his hands behind his head. "Yep. Sooner or later Maggie will show her his true colors. I plan to be around to see it."

Pietro let go of John's shirt but could not hide his desperation. "What do you want? Money? I'll get some for you. What do I have to do to get you to leave my sister alone?"

The firebug shook his head and grinned. "I can't think of one thing."

Pietro shrugged, trying to play down his freak out. "Don't expect me to come to your funeral. I know one guest might be nice, seem less pathetic, but I have plans to watch Freddy down an entire live chicken that day." He stood up and a half-second later was long gone.

John smiled at winning the battle. Then he realized he said he was sticking around that hellhole until the end. More torture of working for a manipulative ass and watching the girl of his dreams hate him to the core. He dropped his unsmiling face into his hand. "Mouth! What did you go and do now?"

(1) In The Princess Bride, Westley explains that he will torture Prince Humperdinck by first cutting off his feet, then hands, nose, tongue, and eyes.
(2) It was Alfred Lord Tennyson, English Victorian poet, and, from what I've read, is very much not a whore.
(3) In the TV Rozerem commercials, an insomniac is visited by common characters of his dreams: Abraham Lincoln, an old-time S.C.U.B.A. diver, and a beaver (whom I argued forever was really a groundhog and everything in his dreams had to deal with February. Later I admitted defeat).
(4) One of the famous lines from Casablanca. Despite it making the top three of AFI's greatest movies, I found it one of the worse I've ever not slept through. Definitely NOT a required viewing.
(5) Allusion to the sci-fi mini-series Lost Room. Recommended viewing, but not required.
(6) See November Rain: Chapter 16 - It's Not an Act.
(7) Steve Irwin, the Crocodile Hunter, died as a result of a freak accident with a stingray.
A/N: I hope you enjoyed the Jonda, 'cause we won't see them again until the epilogue. Oh, and my new Apple computer is across the state getting shiny new software from my brother, so I should be keeping up with my regular severely delayed updates.
Next up: We go back in time to see how Remy's Saturday night went.