Disclaimer: The characters in the following fic are property of Marvel and are used without permission for the purpose of entertainment, not profit. Stan Lee stole my best bra.

Author's Notes: This falls in the Mutatis Mutandis timeline, which is now officially A/U. This chapter takes place at least 24 hours after the previous chapter. Stories are archived at www.originofspecies.cjb.net. Death threats can be sent to decadentmazohyst@yahoo.ca

Conversations (In the Dark)
Chapter Three
By N

There was such a thing as 'anger management'. Unfortunately, Lance Alvers had never heard of it.

"FUCK!" he shouted, slamming his fist against ageing plaster. The entire house shook, not from the force of the blow, which did leave a nice hole in the wall, but from the earthquake caused by Lance's mutant powers. For as long as he could remember he'd had a lousy temper; when he was a little kid he would sometimes get so mad that it seemed he would shake the world apart with his anger.

Well, now he could.

Lance withdrew his fist, panting, and put his bleeding knuckles to his mouth. The tremors rocking the house subsided as he sucked meditatively on the wounds, his eyes dark and distant. He wanted to bring the rotting boarding house down on top of everyone inside. Earlier he might have thought to spare Kitty, but the way she was acting… fuck her. Fuck everyone. Lance removed his hand from his mouth and glared at the hole in the wall. The only thing really keeping him from attempting to knock the house down was Mystique - not because he respected her but because he knew that she'd beat the living snot out of him if he succeeded. Lance was scared of Mystique. But then, all of the Brotherhood Boys were.

"Ow," Lance muttered sulkily. Stupid wall.

Living in close proximity with the X-Men was definitely taking a toll on Lance's peace of mind. At first it had been almost enjoyable - they were ill at ease and obviously not used to such 'inferior' living conditions. But after a while Lance got tired of it. Their discreet sneers of contempt no longer brought him satisfaction but rather infuriated him. 'We are above you,' they seemed to say. 'Who would call this a home? Poor white trash, that's who.' God, how he hated them.

Also, Lance was nervous. Mystique showed no sign of shipping them all off someplace safe yet - and that worried Lance a great deal. It made him wonder if maybe Mystique didn't really have a plan, if maybe she was as disoriented as he was. And they certainly couldn't stay in the boarding house much longer… eventually the police would check the address.

And what then?

"Bury 'em," he muttered, but without conviction. He thought of Toad, perched on the kitchen counter the previous night when he'd gone down to get a snack. It had been Toad who had pointed out that their address was on file at Bayville High and it was only a matter of time before somebody ratted them out. Lance had shrugged. "So?" he'd said. "We could take 'em."

Toad had regarded him with solemn eyes. "Can't dodge a bullet, yo," he'd replied.

Lance was startled out of his reverie by a knock on his door. "Go away," he hollered. There was a pause, then the door creaked open and Lance found himself looking at the absolute last person he wanted to see in his present mood.

"Hey rock-tumbler, you wanna knock that off? This place doesn't look all that sturdy, you know."

Scott Summers.

"Get the fuck out of my room, four-eyes, or I'll show you how sturdy that wall is by knocking it on your head."

Scott tensed. "Look, all I'm saying-"

Lance turned his back on the other boy. "Fuck off. In case you forgot, this is OUR house, not yours. I ain't listening to a word you say."

"Oh yeah? I bet your boss would be real pleased if you shook the house down."

Lance felt his hands curl into fists. "Watch it, Summers."

"Actually, that's the real reason I came up here." Scott took another step into Lance's room, causing the dark-haired boy to spin around, glaring.

"What?"

Scott regarded Lance evenly. "As much as I don't like you personally, you might have information. So." Scott shrugged. "All I want to know is: does Mystique plan to move us anytime soon? Because we're sitting ducks here."

Lance stared for a second, then shook his head irritably. "I don't know."

"You're kidding."

"No I'm not," Lance replied through clenched teeth. "Probably. I mean, she'd better."

Scott made an exasperated gesture with his hands. "Great."

"What, you think we're happy about it? Fuck, I wanna be anywhere but here right now." Lance ran a hand through his hair, nerves singing high opera.

"So why aren't you?"

"Huh?"

Scott leaned against the wall, not far from the hole Lance had just punched into it. "I don't get it. We're here because she has leverage over us - she has the Professor. But you guys…" He shook his head.

"She's in charge," Lance explained, suddenly uncomfortable. "I mean, yeah, she's a bitch but…" He stopped. But what? "We owe her," he finished lamely.

Scott actually smiled. It wasn't a pleasant expression. "You know she was going to leave you behind back at that compound."

"No," Lance replied immediately. He felt uneasy - the other boy was hinting at thoughts too close to some that had been lurking below the surface of Lance's own mind and he didn't like the implications.

"Yes. Her exact words were, 'They're expendable.'" Scott moved away from the wall towards the doorway. "Thought maybe you should know."

"Fuckin' liar," Lance whispered.

"Ask Toad. She wasn't going to wait for you." Scott left the room quietly.

Expendable.

Lance stared after Scott long after he'd left. Maybe, he decided, it was time to talk to the Brotherhood. Just in case.