Glimpses
-Contemplation-
Rain poured from the sky, wave upon wave flooding down the windowpane with such force that they were flattened to transparent nothing at the center, and spilled out in jelly tentacles at the edges, liquid sheets of suppressed motion. It had been raining nearly continuously for almost a week now. The pearl-flecked glass was cool against his forehead as he stared out into the gray, featureless world. These were the days everyone could see the world for what it was. An alive but decaying rubbed raw surface, flat and washed, about as real as the 3-D models made by computers. Long, rough brown fingers clenched into fists, rubbing across the glass, ears deaf to the hum of cafeteria conversation just behind him.
Lance Alvers was officially worried.
It wouldn't even be such a big deal, if the one he was wearing down his nails over didn't happen to be the "hated" traitor. Hated. Right. Like any of the Brotherhood really believed that, in heart or in mind.
They were a fairly loose-knit group; not like the X-Geeks, who seemed to feel the need to post at least two bodyguards per person whenever possible, and especially when the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants was anywhere in the vicinity. Though that might be a slight exaggeration.
"Hey, you guys are really going out?" came a sandy, breathy voice echoing down the hall.
Lance rolled his eyes as he saw Scott Summers coming down the hall, ruby-tinted sunglasses flashing in the pale light falling from the high windows so that one could perceive him out of the corner of the eye immediately as he turned the corner, even at this distance. Exaggeration? Yeah right.
That mental case redhead, Jean Grey, was walking as close as possible to the tall brunette without actually becoming fused to his hip, and at the other shoulder, half a step behind, bounced the fuzzy blue freak, all lankiness, pale and goody-goofy in his holowatch getup that Todd was so jealous of.
Lance sighed a little and rubbed the back of his neck, closing his eyes. No, the Brotherhood was nowhere near as buddy-buddy as them. There was, at most, disinterest most of the time, a sort of independent coexistence in the old, rundown Victorian, each of them to their own corners, lives, secrets. Sometimes, they'd talk. On the sloped roof in the clouded golden sunset, they'd talk of nothing and everything at once, and sometimes they didn't open their mouths at all, and all were satisfied. Sometimes.
Still, there was brotherhood. Lance almost laughed. Yes, brotherhood in the form of a strange strain of loyalty, so light and invisible none of them ever really realized it except when banding together in battle. When one was absent in fighting alongside the others, they felt the emptiness another should have occupied. Maybe that was why they were all so angry at Pietro. What right had he to betray them, to leave them behind to nothing while he climbed on up? What right had anyone? Lance did laugh, this time, but it was a thin laugh, laughter drawn by irony rather than humor.
He, Lance, had himself sought to abandon the group. He did not know why they had welcomed him back. Why they had seemed to harbor so little resentment while now they seethed against Pietro, even as he did, again without truly knowing why. Anger, though, not hatred. It was impossible to hate the speedster, in spite of his endless litany of faults, which included an ego too big for anyone's comfort, especially Lance's. He was one of them, and there was no way of getting around that to the total exclusion of hatred.
Still, Lance could not completely justify his anger at the betrayal. He knew what reason demanded, and it urged overwhelmingly to leave the Brotherhood to anyone with a modicum of sense. He himself had listened to that call, and the allure of a certain pretty freshman had firmed his resolve. So why had he returned? The X-men had a manor, had good food, clothes, resources provided to coddle their mutant powers; basically they lived the good life. The Brotherhood, on the other hand, was a dead end, and all of them knew it. They were, at best, lackeys, at worst, the ignored scum of society, buried in the ashes and decay on the wrong side of the tracks. They could neither go up nor down, nor did they have anywhere else to go, and so they had to go forward. And forth they went, somehow eking out an existence day by day with their meager resources, abandoned, forgotten by everyone, it seemed. But in the end, in the face of all reason, Lance had found it impossible to leave the younger boys alone to that fate. He shook his head. Lance Alvers had a conscience.
Rogue had been part of it, for a little while. She'd broken away, seemingly without a thought, just up, boom, and gone, and left a void that Pietro had filled. Pietro, the little guy along with Todd, who seemed to fill the places of two people at once, and more yet. He was just so there, so real and solid in a washed away world, and in truth he seemed to be everywhere at once, all ecstatic ebullience and willful enthusiasm. The Brotherhood was like that for Lance, a harbor in an endless sea in which he would be lost and drowned in anonymity were it not for their safe albeit dubious anchorage, and he was grateful.
But Pietro… Pietro was just a little more, seemed to possess some internal spark, a zest for life none of them seemed to quite have, and he loved being the center of attention, as he often was, the rest of them too lazy or tired or just plain bored to bother themselves. Now, though, there was only them, him, brooding most of the time, he had to admit, and Todd, squawking at every shadow at night, and of course Freddy, who usually broke at least two to six things per day. Ah, well, the Victorian was too cluttered anyway. Who knew Mystique was such a packrat? Still, now that both Pietro and Boom-Boom had gone, the house was noticeably quieter.
Truth to tell, the boy was just so alive, so terribly alive, it almost frightened Lance, and he could tell he wasn't the only one. When Pietro came ripping into their lives, a whimsical sleight-of-hand of the wind turned flesh, it was as though he'd ruptured something, some smothering barrier, something… sharpened, into clarity. Lance shivered and wrapped his arms around himself. Reality.
He was broken out of his train of thought by the sound of Jean's voice, just behind him. "It really wasn't your fault, Scott. Besides, Mystique will be back."
"Unfortunately." That was the German kid.
Lance rolled his eyes. Those "gifted" Xavier Institute kids. Institute. Jeez, like they were in college already.
And that annoyed Lance. It seriously annoyed him, because he knew that by the end of this year Scott Summers and Jean Grey really would be prancing off to college with their perfect grades and perfect looks and perfect everything, not worrying about a thing except perhaps what to pack and saying a sappy and appropriately tearful myriad of goodbyes. And him?
Kitty kept badgering him about it. Sweet Kitty. She was a good girl, but sometimes she just didn't understand.
"Hey, Lance," she'd say, leaning her cheek on one hand as she was wont to do when she was serious, the gentle-cool blue eyes, like river tide, fastening upon his own and that thoughtful little smile just touching her lips with a hint of curve, "Have you thought about going to college? I mean, I'm only a freshman and my parents are already going on about it day and night." Then she'd chuckle at the officiousness of those adults, and he'd be silent.
She never seemed satisfied with this, and always lifted her eyebrow and looked at him expectantly in his silence. He'd grunt something unintelligible and avert his eyes. Case closed. She never pressed the subject either. Had to give her credit for that. Except for that one time…
"C'mon, Lance, don't your parents, like, get on your case a lot too?" This was on one evening when Kitty had been especially irritable. Something about Kurt being a coward. Well. Lance concurred with her on that one. Except his view encompassed most of the world.
He said nothing. There was nothing to be said. Just stared, trying to bore a hole through her to the wall. Wishing for once she wasn't sitting opposite him in all her delicate prettiness.
She realized her gaffe almost at once. "Oh!" One hand over her mouth, eyes wide. Most would have called it adorable, but in that moment Lance simply found it somewhat strange and… comical, perhaps. In a twisted, twisted sort of way, like the cackle of a clown gone sour. "Oh, Lance, I'm so sorry…"
Normally, Lance would have warmly accepted the concern in her voice. Normally. That day, however, all he heard was the unctuous bubble, with a soft, soft lacing of whine. The voice of a child, needling at his ears. It was never the same after that.
They barely saw each other these days. They never spoke to each other at all. He imagined she was avoiding him, and he didn't mind, really. Actually, he just didn't care. There had been anger at first, an almost palpable self-righteous indignation emanating from the lot of them. It had been amusing, really, if one didn't count having Scott Summers as a quasi-stalker, always a shadow somewhere around the next corner. He had known what they wanted. Retribution, though the stuck-up moralistic héros-du-millénaire would never admit to that. Lance smirked a little at the retreating backs of the trio. They never caught him. He made sure of that.
And whenever he saw Kitty Pryde now, Pietro's words rang in his head, spoken one evening in the living room just before the Sadie Hawkins dance, in a sudden spate of anger seemingly out of nowhere, "Shit, Lance, give it up already! No, I'm serious. Look, she'll never get it. She can't, 'cuz she's never been in our shoes, ya know?" His belligerent voice, mocking and serious all at once, had risen with every word, accelerated with each breath, till it was very difficult to understand him at all, a stream of liquid syllables seeming to issue from his mouth like the rain outside as he flung his words almost savagely in Lance's startled face. "You've been to the mansion and everything, sure. It ain't hard to see where they come from with those fuckedupnoseoverbrain attitudes. But 'cuzofthat, they'llnevergetus. Neverevereverevereverinamillionyears. Andyouknowwhy?! You know why, Alvers?! They don't want to, goddammit, 'cuzweain'tworthit, Lance. We aren't fucking worth it." And then he was gone, leaving only a wind behind to buffet the other off his feet.
Lance shook his head in the wonder he still felt; even after all this time of knowing Pietro, the silver-haired speed demon never ceased to surprise. Pietro was cocky, whiny, childish at times, and always, always competitive almost to the point of life-or-death equals win-or-lose. In short, he was shallow as could be. Not. Lance shrugged to himself; who knew? One minute the kid was giggling like a five-year-old, running around smashing windows with his tailwind, the next he came onto you like a bull on a charge and barraged you with so much depth at once you couldn't take it all in even after you'd sorted out all the strung-together words.
He shook his head again, running his hand through his dark hair, grimacing at the tangled mess his fingers encountered. This stuff was becoming a mop. Pietro seemed to have the only comb in the house, either that or his speed.
Dammit, what the hell is wrong with you, P? he wondered at the sky. Why the hell d'you leave us like that? Fuck.
He didn't want to think about Pietro anymore. That only brought more worry, and he had enough things to worry about, more immediate things. More than enough things. He shouldn't think about the damn speedster anymore. Images welled in his mind, unbidden. Scarlet on concrete, steeped in scarlet, swirling with black like some vampiric nightmare, black-scarlet, scarlet-black, swirling, swirling… He clutched his head and shook it once more, fiercely, till his ears rang.
No. That was a world away, a lifetime away. Priorities. Priorities. It was too close yet.
That kid was in so much trouble when he came back. If he ever came back… Lance refused to think about that. He was tired of thinking, and his head hurt, in a strangely dull sort of way that wouldn't be rubbed away. Dammit, he was tired, period. Tired of being picked up, used, tossed away, betrayed. Tired of having everything turn over and pound them into the ground. He banged his head against the glass, a muffled, almost inaudible sound despite all the force put futilely into it. A raindrop coursed outside, against his cheek. Something in the hallway reflected faintly on the glass caught his eye. A shadowy, squat form, slumped against a locker, almost lost in the slanted darkness far in the corner. He suddenly became aware how long he'd been standing there. The utter silence told him all he needed to know.
Fuck.
His eyes slid back to the drooping form at the end of the long, metal-lined hallway. They slid shut then, squeezed tight. His fingernails dug into his palm.
Fuck.
--
Info: Um… Yes, you're reading the same story. Glimpses. At this point I should probably explain that the two episodes after Day of Reckoning Part II happened the same way, mostly. I'll work it out in future chapters.
A/N: Erm, shoot. *smacks self on head* I have no clue where all this came from. I planned this part to be shorter and this chap longer, but Lance had to have his say. -_- Hey, at least it's readable, right? Unlike the other two chaps, I know. _ Believe me, I know.
The writing style is… drastically changed. I'm aware. Do you see any way I could've written this chapter in the same style as the other two? Maybe. But frick, I need a break from mysteriousness. I'm writing a .hack//SIGN fic, for dot's sake.
Just as an aside, this may well turn out a Pietrance. Then again, it has an equal chance of not doing so. The story will see. Not me. Oh no. Who writes this thing, then?! O_O *peeks into closet*
FYI: Well, boys and girls, since Mistress of Dragons, along with others, have expressed their understandable confusion, I have decided that an explanation for the previous two chaps is finally in order.
IntrospectionYou'll understand this one later. I'll try. Really.
RetrospectionOkay, here we go, peeps.
The first italicized section was about the Sentinel's attack, of course.
In the subsequent sections, for those of you who watched the episode, you probably got them, but for those of you who didn't, here goes: In Day of Reckoning II, several of the mutants got, er, frozen inside large blobs of green jelly, courtesy of the big pseudo-Iron Giant. Kitty and Rogue were both blobbed (as I like to call it). Kitty climbed out using her powers, but Rogue stayed trapped. Now, this is where things whirl off course.
In the episode, it seemed, Nightcrawler and Toad simply sat in the back and ran around dodging a bit. Now would good teamwork-driven X-Men do such a thing? I think not! 'Course, it's just me. *shrug*
So, Kurt knocked Rogue out of the way of her jelly, and in the subsequent tumble Rogue lost her glove. You all know what that means, so, moving on, Kurt was badly hurt (jeez…) when they finally came to a stop. Rogue, in shock, promptly got blobbed. -_- An exercise in futility, wasn't it? Ah, I'm so cruel to poor Kurt. *hugglez him*
Anyway, that's that, and now we go to the rooftops, where one line from the episode pops up. Basically, Wanda attacks Magneto, Sentinel attacks Magneto, "Xavier" attacks the Sentinel, poor Magneto, anyway, Wanda attacks "Xavier", the Sentinel attacks Magneto again, Magneto counterattacks and the Sentinel falls onto the rooftop and onto Magneto, but Pietro rescues him, blahblah, you all know this, or most of you. I'm not here to make an episode summary.
Now we finally get to the part. Got your attention?
I've always been amazed at how Wanda was standing about a meter away from a gigantic exploding robot, and never got hit by anything, though she got knocked off the roof, apparently from the force of the explosions. Maybe it had something to do with her powers, but, well, my plot. Anyway, she still falls off the rooftop, but no Nightcrawler! *gasp* Pietro to the rescue! Bleh. I think the rest is pretty much self-explanatory.
The string of bold words dropping down in the middle of everything was just there to clear up what the hell was happening to your lovely episode, and to provide a little background.
Mistress of Dragons, I would suggest reading the episode summaries for Day of Reckoning on Rosiel's page, Brotherly Love. I'll provide the link when I get around to getting it myself. _ I operate on Favorites. Yes, I am abominably lazy.
Hope that pretty much clears it up. Any more questions, anyone?
Dedication: To jade, Mistress of Dragons, and Absolute Alcohol for their interesting reviews. ^-~ Keep 'em coming, folks! And to Naisumi for her feedback, yay!
Tribute: To batE, her website Thin Lines, and her amazing Evietro fic, Admirer, which really deserves some magnificent award my poor brain can't begin to fathom. It's excelente, folks, and so much more. I'm not quite an Evietro fan, not yet at any rate, but I read it. I loved it. Read it! That's a command. Thin Lines has opened up a whole new world for me, especially through that awesome Links section. ^-^ Ahhh, the bliss of the stacks upon stacks of fanfics piled out there, waiting to be discovered as I bleed FF.net dry of its own little stash. ^-^ I'm in heaven! And it's all thanks to you, batE! *bowbow* Thank you!
Ending Note: The next chapters will be in much the same style. I've got a sort-of plot going, but I really can't guarantee I quite know where I'm going. *shrug* Come what may!
Next Installment: Should be Circumspection, but these things have a mind of their own. -_-
