Mooooore thououououghts...:
Last time on "Author Notes" : And thus... story was born.
So, the young woman went to her computer and started viciously slashing poor helpless Lance and Pietro. That's all it was going to be. Nothing more, nothing less. And then, Todd entered the scene. Suddenly, the young woman liked Todd as a character. A lot. The story started having to do with him. Then, since we had the other three, it was only sensible that Fred be given a story line as well. And while we were at it, let's see if we could draw in Mystique some, and maybe a little Rogue happening here. Let's see if we could throw in some angst and a terrible, terrible tragedy. Let's put these characters through hell then drag them back out of it.
All this for a little bit of slash.
Is nothing simple these days?
And what's become of the boyfriend?
Well, he thinks the whole thing is very funny. He thinks it's cool that his girlfriend writes slash about everything - can see slash story lines popping up in every genre that ever existed (with the possible exception of PBS kids shows like "Barney and Friends," and "Arthur").
*shudders*
Why does the boyfriend like his girlfriend writing slash? Well that, my friends, is personal. Let's just say everyone is happy all around, okay?
So, the story grew. And grew, and grew, and grew. And now, it no longer classifies as a story but is fast approaching novel-hood. And the boyfriend still thinks it's funny.
*sighs*
"Flip Side"
Chapter Four
By: The Great Immortal, DangerMouse
It was an absolutely beautiful spring day. There wasn't a single cloud in the sky, a light breeze was blowing, and the air was filled with the sweet scent of freshly cut grass and wild flowers. Above him, Lance could hear birds singing in the trees, their gentle melody carrying for miles around. It was the kind of day painters liked to capture on their canvases and poets enjoyed writing about.
Lance thought it was disgustingly inappropriate.
Lance shifted, his rarely worn formal shoes extremely uncomfortable, his dark, long-sleeved outfit too warm for this day. He barely noticed the large group of mourners and was only half listening to the Hebrew being spoken by the Rabbi. Instead, Lance was watching Todd, his friend's expression completely unreadable, his mop of brown hair combed neatly for a change. Todd stood there, completely stoic, not one tear streaming down his face, staring straight ahead at nothing at all. At a nod from the Rabbi, Todd stepped forward. Taking a breath, he began to recite the Kaddish.
"Yisgadal v'yiskadash sh'mei rabbaw."
"Amein," Lance head the rest of the gathered mourners reply.
"B'allmaw dee v'raw chir'usei
"v'yamlich malchusei,b'chayeichon, uv'yomeichon,
"uv'chayei d'chol beis yisroel,
"ba'agawlaw u'vizman kawriv, v'imru: Amein"
"Amein. Y'hei sh'mei rabbaw m'vawrach l'allam u'l'allmei allmayaw."
"Y'hei sh'mei rabbaw m'vawrach l'allam u'l'allmei allmayaw.
"Yis'bawrach, v'yishtabach, v'yispaw'ar, v'yisromam, v'yis'nasei,
"v'yis'hadar, v'yis'aleh, v'yis'halawl sh'mei d'kudshaw b'rich hu"
"b'rich hu."
"L'aylaw min kol birchawsaw v'shirawsaw,
"tush'b'chawsaw v'nechemawsaw, da'ami'rawn b'all'maw, v'imru: Amein"
"Amein"
"Y'hei shlawmaw rabbaw min sh'mayaw,v'chayim
"awleinu v'al kol yisroel, v'imru: Amein."
"Amein."
"Oseh shawlom bim'ro'mawv, hu ya'aseh shawlom
"awleinu v'al kol yisroel v'imru: Amein."
"Amein."
That done, the rest of the ceremony was something of a blur for Lance. The Rabbi tore the right side of Todd's shirt and the plain wooden coffin was lowered into the ground. There was no tombstone - Lance had been told that one would not be erected for at least twelve months after this day. Soon, the ceremony completed, everyone began to drift off. Todd, however, did not move. The Rabbi was standing next to him, speaking to him softly. If Todd was hearing a word that was said, it wasn't showing on his face. Lance felt a hand on his arm and he turned. Freddy was standing next to him and gave him a concerned look.
"You should probably take Pietro to the hospital now," Freddy told Lance, nodding over in Pietro's direction. The white-haired youth looked extremely pale. His eyes were closed and he was leaning against a tree for support. Even as far away as he was, Lance could see the jerky motion of Pietro's chest as it rose and fell, his face contorting with agony at every drawn breath. What had started out yesterday as a simple headache while they were fixing the washing machine had been gradually turning into a health condition that Pietro didn't mind admitting he found terrifying. Lance had actually been reaching for the phone to call 911 when they got the call from Todd's Rabbi saying that his mother had passed away. Pietro refused to go to the hospital after that.
Lance nodded at Fred. "Will you take care of Todd?" he asked.
"Sure," Freddy replied. "That rabbit guy--"
"Rabbi," Lance corrected him.
"Whatever. That guy said we needed to go back to Todd's house and cover all the mirrors or something so that Todd could start sitting Shiva. I think I can do that myself."
"Right," Lance returned with a nod. He started to walk towards Pietro, but paused and looked back at Fred. "Don't tell Todd where we're going, okay? He doesn't need to worry about this right now."
"Sure thing," said Fred. Lance quickly made his way over to Pietro.
* * * * * *
Lance hated hospital waiting rooms.
They were cold and sterile and filled with sick people. The magazines had 'up-to-date' information on the Reagan administration, the newspapers all had holes in them, and the crosswords were finished. The television was tuned to CNN, which meant Lance had seen the same news cast repeat its self almost four times now. That, and he hated waiting.
He was a little pissed off they didn't let him go with Pietro into the examination room. 'Family members only,' they had told him. For God's sake, if he wasn't Pietro's family, he didn't know what was. He started to bounce his leg up and down, completely unaware that the ground started shaking until the person sitting next to him gasped and clutched the armrests of her chair. Lance immediately stopped his nervous movement and turned, smiling wanly at the woman.
"Must have been a truck driving by," he told her, reassuringly. The woman nodded, her eyes wide.
"Mr. Alvers?"
Lance immediately stood up. An African-American woman in a long white coat walked towards him, her face serious. Lance swallowed hard.
"I'm Lance Alvers," he told her, reaching out his hand. She shook it firmly.
"My name is Doctor Jems," she said. "I've been treating Mr. Maximoff. Do you know if he has any family we can contact?"
"I am family," Lance told her, trying to keep the hardness out his voice. She looked at him critically for a moment, then nodded, sudden understanding on her face.
"I see," she replied. She looked down at her chart, an almost imperceptible frown on her face. With a sigh, she looked back at Lance, her expression hardly changing. "I'm not going to lie to you, Mr. Alvers," she began. "Pietro is very, very sick."
"What's up?" he asked her, starting to chew on his lower lip. It was a bad habit of his that Pietro said he found endearing.
"We ran a few standard blood tests and did an MRI," Dr. Jems said, her voice even. "His blood pressure is a little high and he has an extremely rapid heart beat. The MRI showed a gray spot on his brain."
"'Gray spot?'" Lance repeated, feeling very nervous. "A tumor? he asked.
"No," the doctor replied, "not a tumor." Lance started to visibly relax, but she held her hand up. "But it is something that is just as dangerous. Your friend has what we call a sub-dermal hematoma. It's a--"
"A blood-clot," Lance finished for her, his mind running back through a book he had read. The doctor nodded.
"That's correct. It could be caused by a number of things - a genetic pre-disposition not completely out of the question. A blood vessel in Pietro's brain has a weak spot on it that has expanded the artery and is causing some pressure against his brain." The doctor shook her head. "We are actually lucky, in that sense."
"How so?" Lance asked, slightly confused.
"Well," the doctor explained, "if the clot had not been pressing on the brain, Pietro wouldn't have had any symptoms - like the headaches. If this had been the case, we would have had zero warning of his condition and the blood vessel would likely have ruptured. There would have been nothing we could have done at that point."
Lance felt cold. "So, what are our treatment options?" he finally asked, his voice shaking slightly.
"Not many, I'm afraid," she told him. "Given the state of his condition, there is really only one treatment option - direct surgery. We're going to go in and put a metal clip across the neck of the aneurysm, or the place where the blood vessel is weak. We'll repair the damaged vessel and hopefully prevent any bleeding in the future."
Lance nodded, his mind swimming. "When will you do the surgery?"
"We can schedule an operating room for this afternoon," Dr. Jems told him. Her expression grew more serious. "I must tell you of the risks involved with this surgery."
Lance felt his stomach constrict. He didn't like the way she said 'risks.' He merely inclined his head to encourage her to go on, not trusting himself to speak. Dr. Jems took a deep breath.
"This is a brain surgery," she reminded him. "It is a very delicate operation. Now, our surgeons are very skilled and have done this sort of things many times before. Still, the risk of permanent brain damage is there." She paused as Lance absorbed the news. He felt like he was going to throw up.
"But, if there aren't any complications...," he began.
"Then we expect a full recovery," she said with a smile. "There may be some temporary change in mental function - memory loss, reasoning skills, and emotional stability - but Pietro should recover completely. We don't foresee any complications. Now, you didn't put anything on his form about immediate family. Is there any one else we need to call? Who is Pietro's legal guardian?"
"Uhm, Mystique," Lance half murmured, momentarily distracted, feeling a sudden need to pace. Dr. Jems' eyebrows pulled together in mild confusion.
"'Mystique?'" she repeated, not really believing that was a name.
"Yeah, yeah... No," Lance said, snapping back to the conversation at hand. "Uhm.. Principal Darkholme at Bayville High School." He watched as the doctor began to write down the information. "Her number is 555-7671," he recited. The doctor finished writing and snapped the cap back on her pen.
"Okay. I'm going to go give Ms. Darkholme a call so that we can get permission to perform the surgery."
"Can I go see him?" Lance asked, looking in the direction of Pietro's room. The doctor nodded. Lance immediately walked towards his room.
* * * * * *
Mystique was sitting in her living room in the dark, a hand pressed across her eyes. She hated days like this. The funeral had been terrible - nice, but terrible. Of course, she found all funerals awful. Just bury her in the backyard, that's what she wanted. No time to dwell on her passing, no gravestone to mark her place in this world.
Not that anyone would attend her funeral anyway.
She shook her head to banish those thoughts. Now was not the time to focus on her mortality. She stood up and walked to the kitchen, opening the refrigerator door and looking inside. What did one bring to someone sitting Shiva? She didn't know the first thing about Jewish mourning practices. Her family had been decidedly non-religious and if they had been anything at all, they would have been some branch of Christianity. Mystique sighed and closed the door, deciding she would call Rabbi Goodman and ask him. She walked over to the phone and was just about to pick up the receiver when it rang. With a sigh, she picked up the handset.
"Hello?"
* * * * * *
Lance walked into Pietro's room and tried not to gasp. His friend was buried under a pile of wires. The heart monitor chirped out a steady beat as an IV dripped something into his veins. He looked so pale and cold, Lance was tempted to reach out and shake him. But he restrained himself and instead, went to sit down in a chair next to him. As he sat down, Pietro's eyes fluttered open and he gave Lance a small smile.
"Hey," he said, his voice horse.
"You look like shit," Lance informed him. Pietro gave a small laugh.
"I got that impression when you walked in with a look of horror on your face." He reached out and took Lance's hand into his own.
"The doctor says you're going to need surgery," Lance said quietly, rubbing Pietro's cold hand, bending and flexing the fingers.
"I know. They told me." Pietro let out a small sigh and smiled almost brightly at Lance. "I'm so relieved."
"'Relieved?'" Lance repeated in shock, nearly jumping out of his chair. Pietro nodded.
"This means it wasn't caused by my mutant powers. It's just a normal human problem. I don't know what I'd do if they told me I couldn't use my powers anymore. They aren't the sort that you can just turn off." He closed his eyes and seemed to sink into his pillow. "I'm so tired, Lance."
"They've got you on some pain medication." Pietro nodded, his breathing slowly becoming more regular and deeper. A nurse came in the room and put her hand on Lance's shoulder, motioning with her head towards the door. Lance nodded, standing up, folding Pietro's hand over his chest. He leaned over and gave him a quick kiss on his forehead. "I love you," he whispered.
Pietro smiled slightly in his sleep. "... love... you," he murmured back. Lance quietly walked out of the room, letting his friend rest before his surgery.
* * * * * *
Fred wasn't sure what to do. He had helped the Rabbi cover all the mirrors and light the candles. Todd was sitting on a low stool on the floor, just staring at the wall. A few mourners Fred didn't recognize were sitting around him saying nothing. Fred had made room in the refrigerator for the food they brought, throwing out the alcohol that was still in there. Now, he was standing just off to the side of the living room, not sure at all what to do with him self.
"Mr. Dukes?"
Fred nearly jumped when someone quietly said his name. Nobody ever called him 'Mr. Dukes.' It was just creepy. He turned and saw Rabbi Goodman standing behind him.
"Yeah?" he replied, not at all intelligently. The Rabbi nodded his head towards the kitchen and Fred followed him in.
"Are you all right, Mr. Dukes?" the Rabbi asked him. Fred shook his head.
"Just call me Fred, or Freddy, okay? Mr. Dukes is way too formal for me." The Rabbi nodded. Fred took a deep breath. "What do I do now?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, what do I do now?" Fred repeated, feeling a little upset. "Todd's completely out of it. I don't have anything ta' say to him or anything I can do for him ta' make him feel better. He's real upset."
"I know," the Rabbi said sadly. "There really is nothing we can do to help Todd through this grief other than being here and being supportive for him when he does want to talk. Weren't there two other friends of his at the funeral?"
"Yeah," Fred replied, shaking his head again. "But one of 'em, Pietro, was real sick. He has been for a few days. Lance took 'im to the hospital."
"Oh dear," the Rabbi said, looking worried. "I hope he's alright."
"Me, too." Suddenly, the phone rang, startling them both. Rabbi Goodman went and picked up the phone before it could ring again.
"Hello?" he said into the receiver. He listened for a few seconds, then handed the phone to Fred. "It's for you," he said simply. "It's your friend Lance." Fred swallowed hard and took the handset from the Rabbi.
"Fred, here."
* * * * * *
Rogue sat on her bed, her hands folded behind her head as she stared at the ceiling. After getting the call from Lance last night telling her about Todd's mother's death, she had retreated to her bedroom and not left since. She rolled over on her side, wrapping the pillow around her head, trying not to cry.
She and Todd had bonded a bit when she was living with the Brotherhood. They weren't the best of friends, but he always listened to her when she complained and vice versa. Todd told her about his mother, how sick she was, how worried he was about her. She knew Todd didn't really want to be in the Brotherhood, but Mystique was giving him a small allowance for doing it, not to mention practically having forced him to help her the first time. Before the Brotherhood, Todd pretty much relied on stealing to cover costs such as the mortgage payments on his mother's house, booze, food, clothing, and whatever else his small family needed.
Todd was one of the reasons she had been so hesitant to join the X-Men. They had attacked him for real. Todd told her when he first approached Scott Summers about his mutant powers, he had been invited to Xavier's Mansion. Before he took two steps on the grounds, he was assaulted by Storm, who claimed she was 'testing' him to see if he had any mutant powers. Well, duh, he had mutant powers! There were other ways to test for the X gene - a blood test, or a mouth swab, or something. It's not like the Professor sicked Wolverine on Kitty or Cyclops on Spyke to test them.
No wonder Todd had run. In his situation, she would have done the same thing. Come to think of it, she had. The Professor never wanted Todd to be part of the Team for one reason or the other. That callousness on his part frightened her a little.
Still, she felt a little safer here then with the Brotherhood, if only because she feared the X-Men more.
She had debated going to the funeral and finally decided against it. She wasn't a member of the Brotherhood any more and wasn't sure if she would be really welcome. Still, it had been a long, sleepless night, not to mention a difficult morning. Her stomach growled at her angrily. As much as she wanted to continue lying here, it was almost lunchtime and she hadn't eaten in almost an entire day, having missed dinner last night and breakfast this morning. With a sigh that seemed to come from her toes, she threw off the pillow and slid out of bed. Patting her hair down flat and changing into a clean set of clothes, she made her way downstairs.
Everyone was already sitting at the table, eating lunch. No one else knew what was bothering her, but she assumed the Professor had told them all to leave her be. Sometimes, knowing a psychic wasn't so bad.
"Auch, look who finally decided to join us," Kurt said with a grin, his accent thick. Rogue took a seat next to him, shooting him a glare.
"Stuff it, blue boy. I ain't in the mood," she told him sharply.
"Oo, touchy, touchy," he replied, making little warding motions with his hands, still grinning. Rogue bit back another sigh. Instead she reached across the table and snatched a sandwich off the large pile. She chewed it slowly, not really hungry. For some reason, it tasted like sand in her mouth.
Scott was about to say something to her when the phone hanging on the wall let out a shrill ring. Jean levitated it off the hook and into her hand.
"Xavier residence," she said cheerfully. She paused for a minute, listening to whoever was on the other line. "Uh, huh," she finally said, "and may I ask who's calling?" Her expression turned to one of irritation. Rogue watched this and before Jean could say any more, she reached over and snatched the phone out of her hand.
"Hello?" Rogue said, ignoring Jean's indignant 'Hey!' at her actions.
//Hey, Rogue.// Lance's voice came clearly over the line.
"Hey, Lance, what's up?" she asked him, not leaving the kitchen. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw some of the members of her team exchange concerned looks. She ignored them. "I'm sorry I couldn't make it this morning. I just didn't think it would be a good idea..."
//Hey, hey, that's alright. Todd was so out of it, I don't think he noticed that anybody was there. That really isn't the reason I called anyway.// There was a short pause over the line that made Rogue suddenly feel very nervous.
"Lance, what's wrong?" she asked him, her voice filling with panic. This was only the second time Lance had called her since she joined the X-Men. The first time was, of course, last night, when he informed her of Todd's mother's death.
//I'm at the Bayville Memorial Hospital. Pietro.... Pietro's sick.//
"Sick? Sick how?"
//He has an aneurysm in his brain.// Lance started talking very quickly. Rogue could almost hear him breaking down piece by piece. The worry in his voice was extremely evident. //It didn't bleed, but it's causing him some real problems. He's going into surgery in about a half an hour. They called Mystique and she's on her way. I called Freddy and he's gonna stay with Todd. We didn't tell Todd anything. We didn't think that he should have to worry about this now. I know you're not with us anymore and you didn't get to know Pietro very well, but I thought you should know anyway, since we were kinda friends, and I could really use a friend because I don't have anyone to talk to. I thought I could handle all of this myself, but he looks so pale and weak, and he's in so much pain... Oh, God, Rogue, what am I gonna do? I don't know what to do anymore!//
"Breathe Lance, breathe!" she said, trying to keep her own frantic worry out of her voice. She obviously wasn't very successful because Kitty and a few of the others were now standing up and moving towards her. "I'm gonna come down there. Don't leave the hospital, okay?"
//Yeah, I'm not going anywhere. I have to stay with him, Rogue, I have to. What if something goes wrong? What am I going to do if something goes wrong?!//
"Everything's gonna be fine, you hear me?" she said, trying to reassure him. "I'm leavin' the house right now, got it? Don't leave, don't try to go anywhere, don't try to -drive- anywhere, okay?"
//Right. Okay. I'll see you soon, then. Bye.// His voice was strangely small.
"Bye," Rogue replied and waited until she heard him hang up before she did the same. She dropped the phone on the table and started to make a beeline for her bedroom, ignoring all the questions thrown at her by the other X-Men. Kitty ran after her and got to the room just in time to see Rogue throwing on a different pair of shoes.
"Hey, Rogue, like, what's going on?" she asked slightly out of breath. Rogue could move fast when she had to.
"Nothin' you need to worry about, Valley Girl," Rogue snapped, reaching under her bed and pulling out her helmet. She hoped Jean wouldn't mind if she took her mo-ped. She started to charge out of the bedroom but Kitty grabbed her arm. "Let. Go. Of. Me," she told her, her eye's narrowing.
"Hey, I know you're all like, lone wolf, and stuff, but we are, like, a team now, right?" Kitty said, not backing down in the least. "You can't, like, go running off at the drop of a hat, especially if -those- guys are involved, you know?" The rest of the X-Men were gathering outside their door, looking on, varying degrees of worry and interest on their faces.
"What I know is that you better remove that hand of yours before you lose it," she said through clenched teeth. Kitty did not let go.
"Not until you tell us what is, like, going on."
"Yeah, Rogue, we're a family," Spyke said, taking a step forward. Rogue wrenched her arm out of Kitty's grip.
"Family? she asked incredulously. "Family we may be, but this ain't about this family! This is about my other one and it don't involve none of you!" She angrily pushed her way through the group. Scott made a move to catch her arm and hold her back, but Professor Xavier's voice in his head stilled him.
~No, Scott. Let her go.~
~But Professor--, ~ Scott protested, watching her take off down the stairs.
~She has to make her own choices, Scott. We all have to trust that her judgment is sound enough to handle these types of things on her own.~ He rolled forward his chair just as the sound of the front door slamming reached their ears.
"Trust," Xavier continued, out loud, "is what this group is built on."
"I hope you're right, Professor," Scott said, not really convinced or consoled. "I hope you're right."
