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"Revenge, at first though sweet,
Bitter ere long back on itself recoils."
-John Milton
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Chapter Twenty-Seven: En Revanche
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Kurt sighed and rolled out from underneath the covers, careful not to jostle the mattress too much, lest he awaken Nat, who slept soundly in a tiny corner of the bed. He laughed quietly to himself, imaging what the others would think if they walked in at that moment: under their very own roof, the Elf, romantic hopeless-case extraordinaire and object of disdain for a large portion of the available female market, wasn't a virgin anymore.
Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, that wouldn't be quite true. Nat had simply fallen asleep here, with him, and he had delighted in every moment of it. Who knew that one could actually be happy to be kicked in the shins all night? He sighed again, a genuinely contented sound from deep inside his body. He watched her sleep, wondering how long it would take to get tired of watching, and couldn't come up with any definite conclusions. He was intensely grateful to be back in the mansion, where he could lay and think without having to worry about getting up to catch breakfast from the lake.
She looked almost angelic, in a strange, look-at-the-peaceful-girl-with-her-hair-all-messed-up sort of way. He noticed all the things that she seemed to not be impressed by about herself, and wondered why. Her fair skin wasn't pale, but milky, and her hair, although it wasn't the flaming red that she admired on Jean, was a color that seemed to change in the light, all in shades of deep, dark brown. When she slept, he couldn't see her eyes, the sight of which he could practically feast upon, but her eyelids fluttered silently, and he was reminded that she was dreaming.
Kurt wanted to draw her to him, but didn't, out of fear that he would wake her. What were those twitching eyelids hiding? Did she dream about him, or have nightmares about whatever it was that she seemed so intent to bury? He rarely remembered his own dreams, unless they were the best ones, and sometimes the worst. Maybe she dreamed about her fear. It was nothing more, he felt sure, than her self-consciousness sparking up again, the twinges of guilt and shame that everyone feels from time to time about what and who they are. He knew this obscure shame, and hated it, hated the thought that it plagued her, too.
Whatever it was, that distant, rapidly approaching fear, it didn't seem to matter much as he lay there, watching her sleep, and wondering about her dancing, trembling eyelids.
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Beside Pietro, Todd "Toad" Tolensky was drumming his fingers noisily on the dashboard and bobbing his head in time to the stereo. He held a soda in his hand, a massive paper cup from some fast food joint, and sloshed the sugary liquid onto the upholstery as he bounced around in the seat. He leaned forward, his drink spilling onto the floor, and flicked at the knobs of the stereo so the station changed to something loud that blared with bass and a screaming guitar. Pietro glared at him, jaw clenched.
"Could you please stop doing that? You're trashin' my car," he snarled, almost hissing. Toad looked up in surprise, but shrugged and complied. He took a slurp from his cup and smacked his lips around yellowish teeth, grinning as Pietro shot him a vicious glower. Toad replied by burping, loudly and unpleasantly, and taking another swig as if to replenish his supply of stomach gases. Pietro grimaced.
They sat in silence for several minutes until Toad grew tired of the quiet and decided to press Pietro a little more. "So…what's goin' on with you?"
Pietro glanced at him with one colorless eyebrow raised. "Like what?"
Looking wide-eyed and innocent, Toad lifted a defensive hand, his narrow shoulders twisting into a shrug. "I dunno. How about…what's been makin' you act like a world-class jackass these past couple of days?"
Pietro's long fingers curled around the steering wheel, and his lips became a thin line, white and compressed. He whipped around the corner that led into the Bayville High parking lot, coming close to scraping the front bumper against the bike rack. "Ex-cuse me?"
"Oh, you don't know, Mister Sunshine. I ain't seen you this pissy in a while, that's all."
"Maybe I'm tired of having to share every little element of my personal life with you, Tolensky."
Toad snorted, turning away. He hurled the soda cup out the window, and it hit a wall in an explosion of brownish-clear droplets, tumbling to the ground and rolling away forlornly. A passing teacher, splattered by the mess, shouted something unintelligible, but Pietro didn't stop until he had whisked into an empty spot alongside the football field. Toad got out of the car, and stood next the vehicle for a minute or two, waiting for Pietro to follow, but the older boy sat silently in the front seat. He gripped the steering wheel like he was trying to choke it. Toad rapped on the roof of the car with a balled up fist.
"You gonna stay in there all day or somethin'?"
Pietro ignored him and stared straight ahead, as if there was something very interesting stuck to the windshield directly in front of his face. Toad rolled his bulging eyes and stuck his head through the open window, saying, "I ain't coverin' for your ass if you miss bio—" just as it slipped shut.
Pietro yawned and tried to think. It seemed like that's all he'd been doing for three days now. He'd had a nagging headache ever since he last saw Nat, a few days earlier, and he was worn out, ready to sleep dreamlessly for a week or two. The best alternative that he could find was to run, play basketball, go swimming…anything physical and tiring to get his mind off of his annoyance and his rattling headache. Not to mention the sting of rejection, possible the harshest blow possible to a somewhat inflated ego.
He sat mutely, biting his tongue. By his wristwatch, Pietro guessed that Nat was just arriving, probably getting a ride from that hairy blue freak and setting off for her first period of the day, which he knew to be history. He grunted, still seizing the steering wheel in a death grip. In the seventy-two hours since Pietro got as furious as he ever had in his life, he'd not only not gotten over it, but had steadily become more and more irritated. By that morning, he was practically seething, but didn't say a word to anyone about it.
Nat didn't have to react the way she did. She could have screamed, slapped him across the face, or kicked him in the crotch. She could have done a lot of things besides kiss him in return, but she didn't. As if he had been imagining it, she'd responded by returning the gesture, eagerly and gleefully, despite her obvious exasperation with him. If that Wolverine guy hadn't interrupted, who knows what might have happened.
If that had been the end of it, Pietro wouldn't be angry right now. In fact, he would have been on cloud nine. He could look forward to seeing her at school again, to his next chance to sneak a kiss in private. Of course, that hadn't been the end of it. Not only had Nat simply stood there, looking ashamed, when Logan confronted them, she hadn't said a word to defend him. It probably looked like he'd been taking advantage, or, even worse, forcing himself on her. Had she not kissed back, it would have ended there, and he would have been no closer to a rapist than he had ever been. Pietro was a lot of things, including brash and insensitive, but he didn't need that snotty little brat making him look bad. In addition, he knew that she was beginning to appreciate his efforts to "recruit" her, a goal that was becoming more and more his own, losing sight of Magneto's original intentions. She didn't trust him yet, and she avoided trying to think that maybe he was right, but he knew that she was possibly coming around. Her damn stubbornness was the only thing keeping her away, he figured. If he could only convince her that it was in her best interests to leave Xavier and the X-men behind...
Natalie Fairbanks, the first girl in a long time that he might have really been interested in, had led him on by kissing him back, had pretended to be something that she wasn't really up to being. Well, what had he expected? After all, she was pretending to be an X-Man, when she was really just a criminal who never took responsibility, a fugitive of life itself. Had he really thought that she would kiss him, and mean it? A strange battle of rage, fueled by this troublesome desire for some sort of retaliation, was warring in his chest.
The most annoying thing, the worst part of all, was that he hated her because he liked her, and vice-God-damned-versa. He was never really one for subtlety; if Pietro Maximoff hated you, you knew it, but the same was seldom true for those few people that he actually liked. Unfortunately, he wasn't quite as skilled in the art of polite conversation as some others were, that little German freak, for instance, and those that he liked, or even perhaps cared about, almost always thought he was either out to get them or just wanted to get into their pants.
Of course, he could have approached her differently. There was no reason that he had so blatantly insulted the people that she considered to be her friends, and threatened their worthless ideology. Maybe, just maybe, she was staying away from him simply because he hadn't been as friendly as he could have been. Or maybe she really was better off with the X-Men.
No no no no, he told himself. Lately, his mind went faster than usual, a blur that even he could hardly follow, but one thing about Pietro's perception of himself rarely changed: when he was right, he was right, and he most certainly knew he was right about the X-Men. What I said to her is completely true. They just want her around as another figurehead of their hollow little promises, their game of envoy between oppressor and oppressed. One more subdued mutant dolly, one less dangerous mutant criminal.
He gnashed his teeth, fuming.
There are many things that you can do to steer clear of trouble. If you always wear sunscreen when you're in the sun, you might avoid skin cancer. If you visit the zoo, you can help see to it that the tigers won't attack by not sticking your arm in their cage. When you cross the street, look both ways and wait your turn, and you probably won't get hit by a Winnebago.
Most of all, never make someone mad if he has at his disposal the ingredients for revenge.
In the quiet isolation of his car, Pietro was planning his.
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Chattering happily about a perfect score on her latest math test, Kitty dropped some quarters into the slot and took the bottle of water that the machine gave in return, putting it into her backpack for later. Doug Ramsey was laughing at something said by a passerby, his light eyes shining, but Kitty went on unabated.
"I mean, I knew the material pretty well, but I totally didn't expect to get, like, every problem right! Even the extra credit ones, you know? I'm so happy…now I can get as low as a twelve percent on the final and keep my A!"
Doug snickered. "As if you have to worry about the final."
"Well, this just makes sure that I don't." She beamed, and a note of recognition lit her face as she caught sight of someone down the hall. Rogue was struggling with the combination on her stubborn locker, cursing under her breath and banging on the metal door with her palms. Kitty rolled her eyes, and gestured to Doug that she would see him later. He nodded and took off toward the cafeteria, waving over his shoulder.
Preparing herself for a blast of infuriation from the pissed off goth with the unruly locker, Kitty sauntered over, clasping her hands daintily in front of herself. She stood beside her distracted comrade for a good two minutes before she took it upon herself to make her presence known.
"Need some help?"
Surprised, Rogue looked up, embarrassment etched on her pale features. She smiled obliquely. "Yeah…it's kinda…I dunno, stuck." Kitty stepped forward, but Rogue looked dubious. "Knock yourself out. Ah've been tryin' for ten minutes, and it ain't gonna budge."
Kitty smiled charmingly, and glanced around for a moment, making sure that no one was close enough to see. Looking pleased with herself, she phased her hand through the door, deftly unhooking the jammed latch from the inside and swinging it open triumphantly. Rogue jerked her head in a twisty little motion that was supposed to be one of thanks, and hauled out her things, neglecting to retrieve the wealth of unnoticed textbooks from the bottom of the locker. She tossed her bag over her shoulder, and the two girls, chattering intermittently, headed for the parking lot where Rogue's car was patiently waiting.
Rogue opened the hatch to put their backpacks in, Kitty's a petite little satchel of white leather, Rogue's a leopard print monstrosity with Slipknot patches and random safety pins adorning the flaps. They shoved aside the ancient tire pump in the trunk, and dropped their things inside. When the hatch shut with a sharp snap, a lean gray shadow passed over the car's glossy surface, and both girls spun quickly around.
A few yards away, slightly elevated on a cement ledge at the perimeter of the courtyard, stood Pietro. He looked customarily self-assured, his thumbs slung through his belt loops. He smirked slightly, but there was a light in his eye that neither Kitty nor Rogue had ever noticed before. He wasn't there for an argument, or even to toss around a few long-winded insults. This time, Pietro had a higher purpose.
"What are ya doin' here, Maximoff?" Rogue demanded, lurching forward. Her heavily outlined eyes flashed, and her pale hands tightened into fists.
He ignored her at first, and hopped down from the ledge. He kicked at the curb and scuffed the toes of his sneakers on the pavement as he approached, his long legs sticking out in front of him as he walked in almost a swagger. "Same thing as you, Sweetie. Just looking for my car."
Rogue's eyes narrowed again at the use of the demeaning term of endearment, and she nodded toward a vehicle parked not far away. "If Ah'm not mistaken, ain't it that dorky green thing over there?"
Pietro snorted, but said nothing. Kitty sighed and reached for Rogue's arm, but Rogue pulled back angrily.
Kitty eyed her warily, warningly, her pearlized mouth going thin. "Come on, Rogue. He's just trying to, like, upset you. Don't let him."
Her gloved hands splayed on her hipbones, Rogue glared at Kitty, virtually ignoring their visitor. "Ah'm not upset! Ah just wanna know why he's followin' me to mah car!"
Bare inches from Rogue's impending rampage, Pietro took his chances and leaned against her car with one hand, as if he were examining it, caressing it for imperfections in the paint. Rogue repressed the urge to leap on him and slap him around a little, her hesitation mostly for the benefit of Kitty, who was looking irritated but nonviolent.
"I'm not following you. Not really."
Kitty sighed distantly, but Rogue wouldn't let him get away with anything, not even some vague remark. Her teeth clenched between darkly painted lips. "What the hell does that mean, Fast Boy?"
He shrugged, looking intentionally ambiguous. "Nothin'."
Exasperated, Rogue rolled her eyes and shoved him out of her way, much to Kitty's disgust, disregarding him and clambering into the car in a flurry. Kitty piled in next to her, looking tired but faintly annoyed, her small hands folded in her lap as she sat rigidly in the shotgun seat. Rogue revved the engine a few times, which gave Pietro just enough time to stick his head through Kitty's open window and ask, "Where's Nat today? I haven't seen her."
Surprised, Rogue's hand fell from the steering wheel, and she stared at him, too infuriated to say anything. Kitty frowned, and took the initiative. "Haven't you, like, done enough for Nat lately, Pietro?"
His eyes narrowed, his unbreakable cool unexpectedly shot. "Why? What'd she say about me?"
Kitty smirked, pleased that she had somehow been able to ruffle Pietro's feathers. "Nothing. Nothing at all. But I know you've been bugging her or something, or she wouldn't have gotten so totally freaked out when you tried to talk to her on the road the other day."
Pietro's upper lip twitched, jerked a bit, and Kitty felt faintly nervous. Rogue was silent, watching Pietro and listening to his conversation with Kitty.
He sneered, angry. "There's a lot about Nat that might make her a little jumpy."
"What are ya talkin' about, Maximoff? Quit standin' there like a deer caught in the damn headlights and say what ya gotta say so we can get outta here sometime today!"
"I don't know if I should say...but what exactly do you think it is about Nat that makes her so tense? I know you've noticed; you'd have to be even stupider than I think you are not to pick up on it."
"Dammit, Maximoff!"
"Okay, okay!" He held up his palms as if to shield himself, but the expression on his face didn't look particularly threatened. "I just think you ought to know some things about Nat Fairbanks that I don't think she's been too eager to share with you." Kitty and Rogue stared, waiting, and he continued with a patronizing sigh. "You ever wonder why she's so sensitive about discussin' her past? Well, what you probably don't know is that she's got more of a past than you think she does."
Rogue shook her head as if to knock away his words. "Look, if Nat wants us tah know stuff about her…'past', Ah think she can tell us herself, thank ya very much."
He shook his head. "I don't know about that."
Kitty's brow was puckered, her hands twining together nervously. "I don't know, Rogue. Maybe we should…hear him out before we abandon what he has to say."
Angry, Rogue twisted in her seat to face the younger girl, hissing, "Look, Ah don't really care about Nat's secrets. Ain't we all allowed tah have a few?"
Unwilling to let himself be shunted from the conversation, Pietro continued. "In this case, I think not. She's more dangerous than either of you assume. And you'd better not piss her off, or you'll be in the same state as her last 'schoolmates.'"
There was a long pause. "What?"
"I'm not trying to say too much, but she's been involved in a couple of pretty tragic…ah, incidents…with her fire. Her old school burned to the ground, and there were several casualties. Including one girl who's got irreparable burns to the entire top half of her body. Then, she tried to hide it, and she's been lying to all of you about herself for weeks. Pretending to be your friend." He tsk-tsk-ed and shrugged. "But if you don't want to know…"
Kitty twitched. "You can't possibly be serious. Are you?"
Rogue snorted, a bitter sound, and glanced at Kitty. "'Course he ain't. Ya ever known that boy tah do a single nice thing for us?" She turned on Pietro. "Why would ya tell us, when ya stumbled across this info?"
"Look, you don't have to believe me. Still, consider the options. You trust me, or you trust her. So we're not exactly friends. Who cares? What makes you think that anything that girl has told you has been true?"
Her voice high-pitched with panic, Kitty cried, "'Cause she's our friend, you dumbass!"
"Just what would I have to gain from telling you a bunch of lies about her?" Pietro shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets and beginning to make his way slowly from the car and back toward the school. "Whatever. Take what I said and do whatever you want with it. I'm not too concerned. I know you can handle yourselves." He walked away, an eerie spring in his step.
They were silent for several minutes, digesting their new knowledge, wondering and pondering over its authenticity, considering the source.
"Well…what are we supposed tah do now?"
Kitty sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose as if her sinuses were throbbing. "I…I don't know. All I know for sure right now is that I can't think clearly sitting in the parking lot. Let's go home for a while. We need to talk to Jean."
Tires squealing on the blacktop, Rogue whipped the car out of the little painted rectangle on the ground, and they headed for the mansion.