Title: When You Wake~ Chapter 3: Autumn
Author: Naisumi
Rating: PG-13 (for this part)
Part: 3/4
Pairings: Lance/Pietro, Pietro/Lance
Disclaimer: You've _got_ to be kidding...^.~
Archive: If you want, but could you tell me at least?
Warnings: Um...angst. Like, MAJOR angst, slash...and I think that's all.
Notes: Scottie and Kurt are in this part! Yippee! Not as a couple, though O.o;;; Anyways, if you read the next part, you'll grow to hate Dr. Brandenbury as much as I do. I was actually going to make him say some other stuff in part 3, but then I'd have an impulsive urge to kill him off. Hm...Lance being a pain in the ass is pretty much enough punishment for the dude, anyway. Anyway, thanks Michiko, for being such a wonderfluous (tm, tm) betareader!!! ^__^
Well, enjoy, and please give C&C!!
"blah." People speak
blah. Mental speak
-- uh...scene switch
--
Pietro felt dizzy, disoriented. He leaned against the lockers, pressing his feverish forehead to the cold metal. It made him feel better, but it was inevitable that his knees were going to give way.
"Hey, what are you doing?!" Distantly, he heard someone yelp defensively. That X-geek, he identified, Summers. They always think the worst of us.
There was a pause, then a tentative hand lighted briefly on his shoulder.
"You okay?" Concern was evident in the voice that had previously been laced with surprise and slight anger.
I'm fine, Pietro thought, wanting to snap at the bespectacled boy, but his voice refused to work with his thoughts. His body had turned traitor and wouldn't allow him to shy away from the helping hands. I don't _want_ your help, He screamed mentally, but instead of pulling away, he shivered and leaned against the offered shoulder.
He felt tired, so tired...and the warmth of human touch was comforting, he wanted to fall into it forever. Pietro's eyes shuttered closed and he was no longer aware of sensation. For that moment, all he knew, was falling.
"Hey--hey! We need to get him to the clinic--fast!"
--
Scott carded a hand through his hair, anxiously peering into the clinic. He could see the slender boy laying limply on one of the beds---if they could be called that--and there was no sign of movement. The nurse gave him a sympathetic look,
"So you're the one who got him here this time?"
This time? Scott was incredulous. If he had been to the clinic prior to the current situation, then that meant...
"Hey, do you know what's wrong with him?"
The nurse shrugged, "Your guess is as good as mine." She squinted at him, "Why are you so concerned? I've never seen you here with him before. Usually it's that dark-haired punk...Alvers, or something like that. If you guys are friends, then how come you haven't ever been here?"
Scott flushed slightly, "Um, well...we're not exactly friends."
The woman nodded and smiled pleasantly, "Anyway, I'm sure Mr. Maximoff will be fine." She paused, then turned to one of the secretaries, holding a quick murmured conversation before returning her attention to the fidgeting teen,
"I'm having them send for that other boy. You can go now, if you'd like. It's already been 10 minutes into class."
Scott nodded slowly, reluctantly, and glanced over his shoulder at the prone form with concern. After a while, he nodded again, this time resignedly,
"Okay. Thanks for all your help," he added out of politeness, and headed for class. For some reason or other, he couldn't shake the ominous feeling that he had of the situation...
--
Lance gripped the wheel tightly, glaring at the bustle of traffic at the intersection. "C'mon, _c'mon_," He muttered impatiently under his breath before glancing anxiously at Pietro's huddled form in the seat next to him.
He reached over and clapped a hand on the younger boy's shoulder, "Hey, it's going to be okay..."
Pietro drew in a shuddering breath and stirred, straightening slightly. He glanced over at his concerned comrade and smiled weakly,
"Yeah..." There was no faith behind his words, for they rang hollow. Lance cringed and watched the normally expressive eyes for a moment before turning his attention to the road once more. One driver was kind enough to let him go, and he gratefully took a left turn.
When they reached the hospital, Pietro fell behind Lance's cautious stride when normally he could energetically keep up. The mahogany-haired boy attributed it to apprehension and the slender boy's ailing condition.
In an uncommonly compassionate gesture, he reached for Pietro's hand, and was startled when the slender fingers readily clasped his. Lance approached the reception desk, and after exchanging a few words with the secretary, headed down the sterile hallways once more.
"I hate it here," Pietro confessed quietly, his voice soft and flat, as if he were afraid the walls would leap at him and tear him to pieces.
"Yeah, me, too," Lance murmured, glancing about in the manner of one whom was anticipating attack. His expression darkened.
"Here's the room."
Pietro nodded, acknowledging the taut sentence. Of mutual consent, their hands fell limply to their respective sides. An orderly glanced up at their entrance, smiling detachedly,
"Hello. Dr. Brandenbury will be with you in a moment. You may take a seat and wait for him to come in."
She left, and both boys sat warily. Pietro automatically turned to gaze out the window, hoping the beauty of nature could help him cope with the situation. Lance scowled at the floor.
After a moment, Pietro turned, whispering softly, "Lance?"
"Yeah?"
"Can I tell you something?"
"What is it?"
The slender boy worried his lower lip with pearly teeth,
"Promise not to hate me?"
Lance eyed him, as if silently measuring whether or not that would be a daunting task.
"Sure."
Pietro frowned and insisted, "Promise."
The dark-haired boy was reflectively quiet for a few seconds, then he nodded,
"I promise."
Pietro bowed his head, nervously twiddling his thumbs.
"Lance...this friendship we have..."
Lance stiffened, staring incredulously at the willowy boy before him,
"It's not enough."
The silence was deafening. Pietro closed his eyes, trying to ignore the burning sensation behind his eyelids. He hates me, he mourned, feeling desperation stab through him just as easily as the needle jabbed into his vein so many countless times. Just as easily as his life smoldered and vanished under volleys of endless rain, rain made of burning charcoal and blazing flames.
Then, quietly, he heard Lance ask tersely,
"How do you know?"
Pietro opened his eyes slowly, and counted the tiles on the floor.
"I do. I've thought about it enough to know."
The silence settled about them again. A child walked by outside the closed door, her joyful chatter coming and passing abruptly with her mother's hastened pace. Pietro lifted his steel-blue eyes to stare at the door, hoping that it would open and end the miserable conversation. Then, he felt a warmth on one of his hands. He glanced to it, and saw Lance's fingers, intertwined with his. His breath hitched.
"What if I told you," Lance murmured almost conversationally,
"that it really _wasn't_ enough?"
Pietro turned to look at him, eyes wide, bright, hopeful.
"I'd tell you that I thought you were joking."
"What if I told you that I wasn't?"
A smile tugged at his lips, and the slender boy quivered, watching Lance's face searchingly,
"I'd want you to tell me what you were saying."
Lance grinned slowly and leaned closer, whispering into Pietro's ear,
"Then I'd tell you that what I'm saying...is that we've lost so much time already."
The warm wetness of tears threatened to course down pale cheeks once more, but Pietro held them in check, just as he held his breath, waiting for the next words that he hoped would make everything all right, even for just a little bit.
"I would tell you...that I loved you."
Pietro smiled shakily, his eyes closed. He reached out tentative fingers and pressed them to Lance's jaw before sliding them up into the soft chestnut strands. He opened his eyes, and stared up into the warm sienna. Abruptly, his mind recalled his earlier thoughts from days past,
Masks, He thought as their lips drew closer, They don't see him the way I do. They see a brash angry rebel, willing to pound anyone's face in just because he wanted to. But that's not him. This is him.
Their lips met, soft and gentle as the caress of a tender morning breeze, a sweet lullaby, lilting and quiet in the stillness of dawn. It was how a first kiss should be, tender and loving, yet infused with underlying passion. But this kiss...this gesture held too much caution. Just as young hearts held too much pain, too much wisdom of the world.
This is us, When the kiss ended, Pietro stared with hopeful brilliance into Lance's face, eyes scouring for any sign of regret.
"Okay, then."
Pietro frowned, feeling a surge of hurt rise within him as the older boy pulled away, speaking nonchalantly. Before he could open his mouth and say any scathing words, however, the sound of someone clearing their throat invaded his senses. He flushed and looked away from Lance, turning to face the doctor, whom had just entered.
Dr. Brandenbury was middle-aged and bearded, his face open and honest. Lance slumped down in his chair slightly, staring at him with all the attitude of a bored teenager.
"So, doc...we gonna get this show on the road or what?"
The doctor managed to smile tightly at the dark-haired boy before turning to Lance's pale counterpart.
"Well, since your friend over here seems so anxious to get on with the examination, Mr. Maximoff, let's take a look at your stats here."
Pietro nodded mutely, idly flexing his fingers as the doctor ruffled through his portfolio.
"It seems that aside from your condition, you're relatively healthy with the exception of weight fluctuations..."
"He has a high metabolism," Lance interrupted, eyes rolled up at the ceiling, the absolute picture of boredom. Pietro almost smirked when the doctor glanced irritably at the dark-haired boy.
"I can see that," Dr. Brandenbury consented after a moment, and turned fully towards Pietro, placing all attention on the slender boy.
"Well, then. Let's talk about treatment options for the cancer."
tbc
Author: Naisumi
Rating: PG-13 (for this part)
Part: 3/4
Pairings: Lance/Pietro, Pietro/Lance
Disclaimer: You've _got_ to be kidding...^.~
Archive: If you want, but could you tell me at least?
Warnings: Um...angst. Like, MAJOR angst, slash...and I think that's all.
Notes: Scottie and Kurt are in this part! Yippee! Not as a couple, though O.o;;; Anyways, if you read the next part, you'll grow to hate Dr. Brandenbury as much as I do. I was actually going to make him say some other stuff in part 3, but then I'd have an impulsive urge to kill him off. Hm...Lance being a pain in the ass is pretty much enough punishment for the dude, anyway. Anyway, thanks Michiko, for being such a wonderfluous (tm, tm) betareader!!! ^__^
Well, enjoy, and please give C&C!!
"blah." People speak
blah. Mental speak
-- uh...scene switch
--
Pietro felt dizzy, disoriented. He leaned against the lockers, pressing his feverish forehead to the cold metal. It made him feel better, but it was inevitable that his knees were going to give way.
"Hey, what are you doing?!" Distantly, he heard someone yelp defensively. That X-geek, he identified, Summers. They always think the worst of us.
There was a pause, then a tentative hand lighted briefly on his shoulder.
"You okay?" Concern was evident in the voice that had previously been laced with surprise and slight anger.
I'm fine, Pietro thought, wanting to snap at the bespectacled boy, but his voice refused to work with his thoughts. His body had turned traitor and wouldn't allow him to shy away from the helping hands. I don't _want_ your help, He screamed mentally, but instead of pulling away, he shivered and leaned against the offered shoulder.
He felt tired, so tired...and the warmth of human touch was comforting, he wanted to fall into it forever. Pietro's eyes shuttered closed and he was no longer aware of sensation. For that moment, all he knew, was falling.
"Hey--hey! We need to get him to the clinic--fast!"
--
Scott carded a hand through his hair, anxiously peering into the clinic. He could see the slender boy laying limply on one of the beds---if they could be called that--and there was no sign of movement. The nurse gave him a sympathetic look,
"So you're the one who got him here this time?"
This time? Scott was incredulous. If he had been to the clinic prior to the current situation, then that meant...
"Hey, do you know what's wrong with him?"
The nurse shrugged, "Your guess is as good as mine." She squinted at him, "Why are you so concerned? I've never seen you here with him before. Usually it's that dark-haired punk...Alvers, or something like that. If you guys are friends, then how come you haven't ever been here?"
Scott flushed slightly, "Um, well...we're not exactly friends."
The woman nodded and smiled pleasantly, "Anyway, I'm sure Mr. Maximoff will be fine." She paused, then turned to one of the secretaries, holding a quick murmured conversation before returning her attention to the fidgeting teen,
"I'm having them send for that other boy. You can go now, if you'd like. It's already been 10 minutes into class."
Scott nodded slowly, reluctantly, and glanced over his shoulder at the prone form with concern. After a while, he nodded again, this time resignedly,
"Okay. Thanks for all your help," he added out of politeness, and headed for class. For some reason or other, he couldn't shake the ominous feeling that he had of the situation...
--
Lance gripped the wheel tightly, glaring at the bustle of traffic at the intersection. "C'mon, _c'mon_," He muttered impatiently under his breath before glancing anxiously at Pietro's huddled form in the seat next to him.
He reached over and clapped a hand on the younger boy's shoulder, "Hey, it's going to be okay..."
Pietro drew in a shuddering breath and stirred, straightening slightly. He glanced over at his concerned comrade and smiled weakly,
"Yeah..." There was no faith behind his words, for they rang hollow. Lance cringed and watched the normally expressive eyes for a moment before turning his attention to the road once more. One driver was kind enough to let him go, and he gratefully took a left turn.
When they reached the hospital, Pietro fell behind Lance's cautious stride when normally he could energetically keep up. The mahogany-haired boy attributed it to apprehension and the slender boy's ailing condition.
In an uncommonly compassionate gesture, he reached for Pietro's hand, and was startled when the slender fingers readily clasped his. Lance approached the reception desk, and after exchanging a few words with the secretary, headed down the sterile hallways once more.
"I hate it here," Pietro confessed quietly, his voice soft and flat, as if he were afraid the walls would leap at him and tear him to pieces.
"Yeah, me, too," Lance murmured, glancing about in the manner of one whom was anticipating attack. His expression darkened.
"Here's the room."
Pietro nodded, acknowledging the taut sentence. Of mutual consent, their hands fell limply to their respective sides. An orderly glanced up at their entrance, smiling detachedly,
"Hello. Dr. Brandenbury will be with you in a moment. You may take a seat and wait for him to come in."
She left, and both boys sat warily. Pietro automatically turned to gaze out the window, hoping the beauty of nature could help him cope with the situation. Lance scowled at the floor.
After a moment, Pietro turned, whispering softly, "Lance?"
"Yeah?"
"Can I tell you something?"
"What is it?"
The slender boy worried his lower lip with pearly teeth,
"Promise not to hate me?"
Lance eyed him, as if silently measuring whether or not that would be a daunting task.
"Sure."
Pietro frowned and insisted, "Promise."
The dark-haired boy was reflectively quiet for a few seconds, then he nodded,
"I promise."
Pietro bowed his head, nervously twiddling his thumbs.
"Lance...this friendship we have..."
Lance stiffened, staring incredulously at the willowy boy before him,
"It's not enough."
The silence was deafening. Pietro closed his eyes, trying to ignore the burning sensation behind his eyelids. He hates me, he mourned, feeling desperation stab through him just as easily as the needle jabbed into his vein so many countless times. Just as easily as his life smoldered and vanished under volleys of endless rain, rain made of burning charcoal and blazing flames.
Then, quietly, he heard Lance ask tersely,
"How do you know?"
Pietro opened his eyes slowly, and counted the tiles on the floor.
"I do. I've thought about it enough to know."
The silence settled about them again. A child walked by outside the closed door, her joyful chatter coming and passing abruptly with her mother's hastened pace. Pietro lifted his steel-blue eyes to stare at the door, hoping that it would open and end the miserable conversation. Then, he felt a warmth on one of his hands. He glanced to it, and saw Lance's fingers, intertwined with his. His breath hitched.
"What if I told you," Lance murmured almost conversationally,
"that it really _wasn't_ enough?"
Pietro turned to look at him, eyes wide, bright, hopeful.
"I'd tell you that I thought you were joking."
"What if I told you that I wasn't?"
A smile tugged at his lips, and the slender boy quivered, watching Lance's face searchingly,
"I'd want you to tell me what you were saying."
Lance grinned slowly and leaned closer, whispering into Pietro's ear,
"Then I'd tell you that what I'm saying...is that we've lost so much time already."
The warm wetness of tears threatened to course down pale cheeks once more, but Pietro held them in check, just as he held his breath, waiting for the next words that he hoped would make everything all right, even for just a little bit.
"I would tell you...that I loved you."
Pietro smiled shakily, his eyes closed. He reached out tentative fingers and pressed them to Lance's jaw before sliding them up into the soft chestnut strands. He opened his eyes, and stared up into the warm sienna. Abruptly, his mind recalled his earlier thoughts from days past,
Masks, He thought as their lips drew closer, They don't see him the way I do. They see a brash angry rebel, willing to pound anyone's face in just because he wanted to. But that's not him. This is him.
Their lips met, soft and gentle as the caress of a tender morning breeze, a sweet lullaby, lilting and quiet in the stillness of dawn. It was how a first kiss should be, tender and loving, yet infused with underlying passion. But this kiss...this gesture held too much caution. Just as young hearts held too much pain, too much wisdom of the world.
This is us, When the kiss ended, Pietro stared with hopeful brilliance into Lance's face, eyes scouring for any sign of regret.
"Okay, then."
Pietro frowned, feeling a surge of hurt rise within him as the older boy pulled away, speaking nonchalantly. Before he could open his mouth and say any scathing words, however, the sound of someone clearing their throat invaded his senses. He flushed and looked away from Lance, turning to face the doctor, whom had just entered.
Dr. Brandenbury was middle-aged and bearded, his face open and honest. Lance slumped down in his chair slightly, staring at him with all the attitude of a bored teenager.
"So, doc...we gonna get this show on the road or what?"
The doctor managed to smile tightly at the dark-haired boy before turning to Lance's pale counterpart.
"Well, since your friend over here seems so anxious to get on with the examination, Mr. Maximoff, let's take a look at your stats here."
Pietro nodded mutely, idly flexing his fingers as the doctor ruffled through his portfolio.
"It seems that aside from your condition, you're relatively healthy with the exception of weight fluctuations..."
"He has a high metabolism," Lance interrupted, eyes rolled up at the ceiling, the absolute picture of boredom. Pietro almost smirked when the doctor glanced irritably at the dark-haired boy.
"I can see that," Dr. Brandenbury consented after a moment, and turned fully towards Pietro, placing all attention on the slender boy.
"Well, then. Let's talk about treatment options for the cancer."
tbc