Part Four
Legals: Same
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They got home at about eleven, the house still dark. Pietro's light was on. Lance frowned, looking at Todd, "You said he was sick..."
The younger boy nodded, "He is...Real sick." He disappeared into the house, as if trying to avoid answering any more questions.
Fred shrugged, "Maybe it's the flu or somethin'. A couple of kids in school had it before..."
Lance sighed, "Maybe...I'll try and talk to him in the morning, before school."
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Pietro watched them carefully from a slit in the blinds. Todd hadn't seen anything...If he had...If he had, he would have told Lance. And Lance wouldn't be standing there on the concrete, he'd be running upstairs and demanding what the hell was going on. He'd want to know what was going on...
In all honesty, Pietro wanted to tell Lance. He wanted to to hear the older boy tell him he was an idiot and that no pain in the world was worth it. But he just couldn't... If he did... That whole story.
But Summers knew, or at least, he suspected as much that he knew. And Summers promised not to tell anyone. Not that old Baldie couldn't pick it out of the boy's mind with ease. Hell, he didn't care. The X-men could all know that Pietro Maximoff was a freak, a fairy, a fag. Pick one. He heard them all when he played basketball at the Center. People seemed to think it was funny, shouting the curses out until one of the newer ones ran into the Center, tears streaming down over their faces. He was lucky. That abuse didn't phase him. He was a mutant...Hatred was as natural as speed or breathing.
If he told Lance or Todd or even Fred, would they react the same way Magneto had in that moment of stupidity, that single brash moment when he was so glad to have some one there, some one who had to understand... He remembered the digust burning in Magneto's blue eyes as he turned away, shaking his head. Go, Pietro...Go to Bayville. Now.
He never did know if Magneto forgave him for being...different, wrong. He hoped that he had. He wished that he had... In all reality, he was just kidding himself. The mutant favored him as the leader, treated him like he was the leader. He ignored the fact that Lance had that post with little argument from anyone else. He didn't care about the others because they had no control. And no control made them weak, soft. His powers were, to coin a crappy phrase from Summers, at his mercy. Speed was fully a part of him....Magneto loved it. It only took a few years of training, and he was perfect when he was set back to the streets of New York for high school.
"Couldn't even put me in the shitty machine..." He grumbled, pulling his knees up to his chest. The pillow was on the floor, so close to him. All he had to do was reach in and grab a vial. No more pain...No more anything.
He sighed, lying down on the floor. Maybe tonight he'd just live with the pain and the need of the drugs. He needed to clear his head, and this was the only way...
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"Hey, you gonna get up?" Lance's voice roused him from the fitful sleep. The older boy was half into the room, arms crossed over his chest as he watched Pietro rise up from his spot on the floor, "What's wrong with your bed?"
He shrugged, trying his best to look like he was okay, not in hell, "Just thought I'd like a change. Change is good, you know."
The older boy nodded, watching him grab his clothes out of his dresser and throw the pillow back onto his bed along with the comforter he never bothered using, "Pietro, you sick?"
Blue eyes widened, and he stumbled back a little, "Nope, never better. I'll be ready in ten..."
"All right...We're leaving in about a half an hour?" Lance looked at him, cautious. "You're eating breakfast with us." It wasn't a question or a request, but a firm command. There was no backing down from the gentle voice the older boy used, and it angered Pietro immensely. He wasn't hungry, damnit. He just wasn't...
"Sure....Whatever." Lance nodded, leaving as Pietro grabbed two vials, his last two, from the pillow. Where had it all gone? He looked around frantically, biting his lip. Where was it?
He heard someone coming towards his room, and he forced himself calm. He'd been using far too much recently. It had all been used...Which left him with a grim reality as he walked down to the bathroom. He'd have to call the Center... There was a job for him that night... A job elsewhere.
He shook a little as he slammed the door shut, dropping his clothes on the floor and opening the first vial. He didn't want the job... But he had to have it...
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Lance poked at his lunch with his fork, watching the other tables around him. There was a couple fighting at one table, a pair of jocks showing their bulging muscles at a next. Yes sir, some damn fine grade A entertainment. The only thing he didn't like about lunch, besides the food, was the X-men table. Every so often, one of them would look over and point, then laugh, and go back to their lives. Of course, he ignored them, but it still proceeded to bug Todd and Fred, and usually Pietro.
Today, the entire table kept glancing at them, and only Fred noticed. Todd was too busy moving his lunch around on the tray and watching Pietro. Something had been bothering the frail boy since the night before, since he'd volunteered to go up and get Pietro out of his room. He'd been this same disarming sort of quiet at the pizza place, only talking when a question was directly aimed toward him.
And then there was Pietro. He hadn't even bothered getting a lunch, just sort of sitting there, looking shaky, spazzed out. His hands were shoved into his pockets, legs kicking back and forth at an almost unhumanly possible rate. There was no real emotion on the boy's tight, drawn features. Blue paintchips, flat and dull, stared out from his skin. He definetly looked sick.
Lance stood, tossing his tray in the trash and grabbing onto Pietro's arm. The lightness of the arm, the thin and bony appendage with no muscle, no anything, shocked him. "We need to talk."
The white-haired boy pulled back, "There's nothing to talk about." And he ran off, leaving rush of air behind him. The older boy frowne, looking at the place where his friend had stood only moments earlier. Of all the nutjobs in the world, he picked Pietro Maximoff to have weird yearnings for.
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He sunk the ball into the basket once, twice, three times with ease. This was easy, distracting, almost fun. If he could only get body to give up the cravings for more, he'd be on top of his game. That would be good and dandy, perfect. He could even go on being a normal member of the Brotherhood, stop lying and hiding from them anymore. In time...Maybe even come out to them...or maybe not.
The rest of the school day had been fun. Great. Nothing he enjoyed more than being on constant surveillance for Lance. He didn't want the conversation that he knew was coming. Why was he so thin? Why was he sickly looking? Why why why? That wasn't the only thing he was avoiding though.
Todd knew.
The night before, he must have seen something. He had to of. That morning, at the table, he'd looked at Pietro and told him point blank that he needed to pull his sleeves down. His arms were disgusting. Coming from Toad, that was bad... Not that he was lying. They were really, really terrible. Sickening to look at, even for him.
"Hey...What are you doing here, man? I thought you gave this up." Pietro turned, staring into the face of his former friend. There wasn't any animosity in Daniels' face, just concern. That was beginning to disgust the boy. Yes, he looked like hell, but why was every one looking at him like he was made of glass.
But a smile was forced onto his features, "Nah... Just the varsity scene. Doesn't quite seem so important now to me. You, of course, are the coach's little lap-dog, I'm sure. As always."
Evan rolled his eyes, grabbing the ball on a rebound, "Whatever man..." He sunk the ball easily.
There was a moment, "There some reason you came and decided to talk to me, Daniels?" Bue eyes glared at his friend, bouncing the ball a little. He waited for the younger boy to come and take it before breezing past him, utilizing a play that had been ground into him for the past two months, launching the ball into the hoop quickly and efficiently. "Or do you like me wiping the floor with your sorry ass?"
The boy stopped, "Where'd you learn that move?"
"What move?"
"The thing...With the arms and the hips..." Evan tried demonstrating, looking like an utter fool in the process.
Pietro snorted, shrugging, "Picked it up at the center, where I work."
The younger boy looked at him, deadpanned, "You work at a community center? Which one?"
He shifted a little on his feet, "The Jewish Community Center. Downtown."
Realization slowly found Evan's dark eyes before he nodded, "The one up the street from the Fairy Palace."
"What 'Fairy Palace'?" A pit began to form in his stomach, not liking the all too familiar turn this conversation was taking. A pit of dread and a flare of anger for Evan talking the way he did. What did he know about anything?
Daniels' grinned, "You know. Gay and Lesbian Community Center. Don't tell me that you haven't seen that place. It's a true work of fruit right there. Doesn't it bother you to work so close to them?"
He ground his teeth together, "Well, aren't you the picture of an X-man..."
"What do you mean?" The younger boy just stood there, blinking at his counterpart. Of course. Why would he know what the boy was talking about?
"I thought you X-men were all accepting. The people at that center are people none the less, and if you really want my opinion, Evan, I think you're afraid of them."
That caught him, his eyes flashing back and forth between digust and horror, "What do you mean, man? There's nothing to be afraid of. They're all harmless as harmless comes."
Pietro smirked, "But I'm right. You're afraid of them. That's a very human instinct you have. Hate what you fear...Much the way the rest of the world looks at us. You want to know why you're afraid of them?"
"I already told you, Maximoff, I'm not afraid of them."
The smirk grew, "No. That's not true. You're worried that you could turn out like one of them. That you are one of them."
"Pietro, get out of here. You don't know what you're talking about."
The white haired boy grabbed his bag and ball, looking off into the sunset for a moment, then turned to his old friend, stepping very close. "Yeah. I do." He brushed his lips against Evan's, winked, and then took off like a bat out of hell.
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She appeared on the doorstep without meaning, without a phone call, standing there with a nervous expression on her pale face. She pulled on the thick leather gloves, biting her lip, "Lance....ah need to talk ta ya...It's important."
The boy shook his head, "Not if it's about Pietro. I don't want to hear any more about Pietro and my problem. I have enough problems with the shit in my own head, let alone you babbling on about what you think you saw and what you think it means." His brown-black eyes closed a little, frustrated with this discussion, this topic.
"Ah..." She sighed, shaking her head a little. "Ah know ya don't want mah help. Ah think ya can handle that part of things on yer own. Ah've been in that dark, lonely head of yers... Ah know what's going on here, with us."
"You're breaking up with me?" He blinked. That was sudden...Not that it mattered. They'd still go shopping on Saturday. And they'd still fight over stupid things. They'd be friends again...and maybe he could stop feeling so guilty about his eyes trying to trick him every time he caught a glimpse of her white bangs, drifting into a hepped up fantasy that it wasn't the traitor girl next to him...It was the smart alec mutant with cockroad bangs and one hell of a cute ass. Then she would talk, and the fantasy ended. Maybe he could even tell Pietro...No. Not tell Pietro. Just get over Pietro.
To his surprise, and dismay, she shook her head, "Ah want you, Lance Alvers , ta be the one ta call it quits. And ah won't accept anything better until ya'll have gotten that ass of yours back on track and after Pietro's...Ah also wanted to know if ya wouldn't mind takin' me to Borders Saturday..."
He nodded, leaning against the doorframe, "That sounds...great." He was fucked. How could he get rid of Rogue by chasing after Pietro and nailing his ass? Lance frowned again, shaking his head back and forth. "Rogue, how am I supposed to get rid of you?"
"Ya'll ain't nevah gonna get rid a little ol'me..." She drawled in the thickest accent possible, flicking a bang away from his eyes. A darkness settled over her face, "If ya want to make it into his life, ya better move fast..."
He blinked, a suddent panic striking him,"He doesn't..."
"He does, he does..." She smiled a little before shaking her head, clearing it, "It ain't about that...Just talk to him, tell him how ya feel. You need to get to him soon, Lance..."
The boy watched her for a long moment, then drew his eyes closed to take this all in. His girlfriend, or psuedo-girlfriend depending on how you looked at it, was pushing him to go to another relationship. Not only anothet relationship, but with another guy... He suspected that Rogue wasn't really doing this for the sake of their friendship. She didn't care when Lance made his move with Pietro...Something had to be wrong with the other boy, something that Rogue couldn't tell him.
When he opened his eyes,she was gone, the polished van across the street disappeared. Lance had figured as much. Rogue hated memories of any kind and shape; she hated sharing them more. Whatever was wrong with Pietro, it had to be life threatening. Was he really sick? He remembered the dark shadows and sunken cheeks of the younger boy, the pits forming around the once snapping blue eyes. Vaguely, he remembered how heavy Pietro had been to carry up to his room after Asteriod M. He'd been awake, barely, by then, making little snide comments about Evan. He'd been lighter than he expected. Much lighter...
Compared to now, that Pietro was a fat slob. The normally tight clothes hung off of his frame like drapes. They had the same feel as well, that there was a secrete there waitingt to be uncovered. He'd slowed down, something that was deemed impossible by Magneto. He couldn't just slow down. Speed and Pietro were two parts to the same hole... To cut one out, you just had...
Pietro. The kid behind the fast, sarcastic mouth and lightening feet. The kid that Lance had brought out in their times alone together, playing video games or some other pointless activity. The kid that's eyes were dark in hidden pain for an instant before Speed came back online...The kid that should have been there now that he wasn't moving quite up to par...But now, all he got was the husk. The moving doll that had begun to look nothing like Pietro. Nothing at all...
He shuddered a little, hanging his head as some one opened the screen door, "Lance..."
The older boy looked up, "Yeah, Todd? What is it?" He sounded so tired and drained at that moment, his voice caught in that almost languid and dreamy tone.
Todd ran a hand through his dirty blonde hair, "It's nothin', 'yo...Nothin'..."
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The nothing had a price that niether boy really cared to think about...A grim reality that was being faced quickly as the blonde man wound his hand through stark white locks, mumbling something incoherently, forcing the boy's head further down, not seeming to notice as the youth gagged on the length just a moment before setting back to work, his mind only on the money he would get for this. It was the only thing he could let himself think on...Anythig else, and he might just let himself choke to death.
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I wasn't planning on ending it here, but any continuation of the story from here just doesn't seem to work. So I bid you adieu, and, well, R/R.