-Observation-
He hesitated at the door of the classroom. The rhythmic ticking of the wall-clock, the faint rustling of paper and the thin scratch of pencil were for once the only sounds in the color-plastered room, much to his chagrin. He poked his head around the doorframe, trying to keep his rangy frame out of sight, and held his breath, waiting for all hell to break loose. Or, in this case, a speed demon.
Please, not this time, P… He frowned and opened his eyes, letting out his breath in a trembling sigh, half of relief and half of surprise. What the hell–
Then he saw Ms. Gardner's sharp green eyes on him. A hush had fallen that seemed to quiet even the constant fluttering of the laminated posters, generated by the little fan on the bureau at the front of the classroom. Shit.
A hint of a smile tugged at her lips, and Lance had to fight down a sigh of relief as he dared a sheepish answering grin and headed as unobtrusively as a six-foot or so senior could to his seat somewhere near the back of the class. The whispers began immediately, following him down the aisle; he scowled darkly and didn't try to hide it.
Ms. Gardner was young, and new at the school, but she was cool, and a really good teacher. Who knew AP Euro could be so fascinating? She actually made the extra effort to dig out first-hand accounts of many events and always had a packet of interesting and obscure facts to complement the endless reading that came with each chapter. She was also one of the few teachers who welcomed mutants in her class instead of sharing conspiratorial stares with the "normal" students. Of course, this also meant she insisted the seating arrangement be kept, and Lance would have much preferred to be seated with one of the other mutants in the class, even one of the X-Geeks.
Lance slumped down in his seat and buried his face in his hands, ignoring his seatmate who was also steadfastly ignoring him. She was a mousy little redhead who'd given him some shy glances now and then, but ever since that day, that day Pietro's stupid, stupid father had exposed mutants, all awareness of his existence seemed to have stopped.
Fat lot of good that that does anyone… Lance sighed and stuck an arm deep into his shapeless lump of a bag, digging around for a piece of pencil that hadn't been used as a cooking or eating utensil and maybe, just maybe a sheet of paper. From the look of the prompt on the board, it was some sort of in-class essay, and those things were murder.
Not that Lance was a bad student. He actually did pretty decent in Euro, and there was a reason Ms. Gardner hadn't gotten on his case for his tardiness. She was nice but extremely strict. This was his first, in this class at least.
Lance sighed and gave up; no paper. It looked like he would have to improvise again. Ms. Gardner had been a little surprised when he'd come up with his arms and legs written through in as small a print as possible, but she'd given him brownie points for originality.
"Lance?" came a soft, timid voice to his right, and his head jerked around in surprise. Amia was actually talking to him?!
"Yeah?" The word came out harsher than he'd intended and she flinched. He softened his tone a bit, though not his bluntness. "What do you want?"
Her eyes were hazel, gold-flecked brown irises ringed with a fringe of startlingly brilliant green. It was probably the first time she'd looked him in the eyes. "Do– do you need some paper?" A feather-light brush on his hand startled him. He looked down to see her trembling hand, tentatively holding out a pristine sheet of lined paper.
"Gee… thanks." He gave her his trademark crooked grin as he accepted the help – what else could he do? She was so unassuming and naïve – caught between puzzlement at her sudden reconciliatory gesture and embarrassment at having apparently misjudged her. Amia was almost notoriously shy; maybe he should have cut her some slack on that account…
"Lance– Lance," she said suddenly in a fierce whisper, leaning forward and looking around nervously, looking terrified about the possibility they might be overheard. "This– This isn't my choice, Lance. It's my father– he–" She quieted suddenly, looking ashamed as a blush swept her cheeks. "I'm sorry. I really am." And she turned away, suddenly cut off by a curtain of brilliant coppery curls.
Lance stared. Then, with a deep sigh, he turned to his own work.
So this is our legacy… Not your Professor's lovely little blind lies, Kitty. This is the world mutants are going to be living in from now on out…
-
Amia started at the sound of a fist slamming down on the desk beside her. Biting her lip, she kept up her nonchalant façade, though the paper before her blurred and her hand shook so she had to take the pen from the paper to avoid a blot. Daddy would disown her if she associated with mutants. He'd said so. And he'd do it, too. After all, hadn't he done it before? So, she couldn't talk to Lance, couldn't even ask what was wrong…
Tears pricked her eyes, and she was hard put to keep them from flooding down her cheeks. It's just all so unfair… so wrong. It's just the same as before! They're people, Daddy. People.
"People?!" She could hear her father's voice in her head, just as clearly as it had been in the kitchen the night before, the broken dish lying between them. "I'll tell you what they are, girl. I'll tell you what they are! They're monsters, and they'll take advantage of you, Amia. So you just stay away from them, or stay away from me! You hear me?!"
"Yes, Daddy, but he– it wasn't– it wasn't his fault, Daddy!" She couldn't let it go without a fight. She knew what would happen, it was always the same; he won, but she couldn't, couldn't let it go so easily. Her heart, and her very nature, however diffident, wouldn't allow it.
"Shut up! Never mention that– that freak under this roof again, by name or otherwise. He no longer has anything to do with us." Deadly calm. "Is that clear?!"
"Yes, Daddy," she'd said, like the good little tame daughter she was, while inside, her thoughts bled from the center of her being, burning all the more searing for their imprisonment within her, never to be released. But he's my brother, Daddy, my little brother… I can't stop caring…
Lance, completely oblivious to the turmoil of the girl beside him, had thrown down his pen in frustration, his paper blank save for his name and the date after a half hour of fruitless efforts to concentrate on his work. Unease prickled his thoughts like thorn, and finally he gave in, more to prove himself wrong than anything else. He stared across the room, and didn't have to look for long before finding the distinctive head of snowy hair.
For a moment, it seemed his heart had stilled in shock. Lance bit his lip, all his earlier disquiet flooding back. Pietro had always been thin, but now he was skeletal, skin drawn tightly over bone. The unnatural paleness of his cheeks was heightened almost to translucence by the fact that he had come into school soaked to the skin that morning, as he did all other mornings, seemingly making no effort to keep himself out of the rain. Lance couldn't help but shiver at the mere remembrance of the icy touch of the fat drops still pouring down outside.
The silvery hair was wilder than Lance had ever seen it, which wasn't saying a lot since the downy locks were usually kept in immaculate order, but Pietro had never neglected his hair no matter what; come rain, blizzard or high water, Pietro's vanity remained intact through it all. Now, however…
And his manner itself spoke volumes. The rock-tumbler's hands curled unconsciously into fists as he stared at his friend in dismay. The speed demon had always radiated an aura of constant, vibrant, never-abating energy; drumming fingers, tapping feet, thumping his neighbors on the back for no apparent reason, jumping onto desks and striking ridiculous poses in the middle of class, the ludicrous list went on and on. Lance knew it was only Pietro's vague interest in the class that had kept him from exploding; sitting still for two hours was no easy feat for one who lived as fast as Pietro did. That, and his quick brilliance that came up so unexpectedly now and then, and Lance could tell Ms. Gardner indulged the speedster on that account.
However, for some time now, there had been no speed, no energy, no nonsensical shenanigans in the middle of a discussion on the failings of the feudal era. In fact, there seemed to be an air of listlessness about the speedster now, like a wilting plant. He never raised his hand in class anymore to comment on the sexual adventures of Henry VIII, and spirited reenactments of the beheading of Lady Jane Grey had been conspicuously absent.
And one of the most glaring signs had been bothering Lance ever since he'd walked into class, late. Pietro hadn't pointed him out, alone in front of the class for all the world to see; hadn't seemed to notice him at all. There was an almost surreal blankness shrouding the younger boy like a curtain of fog, effacing him from the world. Pietro had always been the center of attention, his presence colorful as the fiery paintings of some bold, masterful artist; flamboyant, vivid and intense, passionate to bursting at the seams. Now he seemed just… not there, a specter of that lively youth, a wispy, wistful shadow, and he left a hollow emptiness in his wake.
As he watched, Pietro fidgeted a little, awkwardly stretching his lanky frame that had been scrunched up to try to fit between the chair and the lab table. That familiar indication of restlessness afforded a small, peculiar measure of comfort. Whatever else, it seemed Pietro had not yet lost his love of living fast, and the annoyance with sitting still that came with it.
The blue eyes suddenly flickered, the motion over before it registered, and Lance found himself staring straight into the normally expressive dark orbs. All at once, he was unable to breathe. Pietro bit his lip briefly and smiled– or tried to; it came out as that odd expression between a smirk and a sob that Lance had only glimpsed now and then beneath the fizzling exterior.
Lance held the gaze, unable to tear himself from those empty eyes, though he wanted more than anything to look away, and for the first time he knew his one true fear.
It was sitting just across the room.
--
Dedication
To LostAngel, Chris, Ellen, Chiru and Mistress of Dragons. 17! Awesomeness, yo! ^-^v Bring 'em on!
Info: … Okay, Amia was not supposed to do that. 0.o Let's just say she was a passing OC who somehow acquired a background and a role in the story. Her brother is a character on the show, though. ^-~ Betcha can't guess… or maybe you can. *mutters* Rats. There goes my new side plot. But Amia shouldn't play a huge role; she isn't taking over or anything, so don't worry 'bout that. ^-^
A/N: Um, as you can see, the story… evolved. 0.o I've got a semblance of a plot running around now, so I suppose I'll keep writing. *shrug* I would anyway, just for the heck of it. And the reviews. ^-~ Hehe. In any case… Our first hints of Lance/Pietro interaction, kinda sorta. Next chap will prob'ly be all Rogue, though. Hey, blame the southern gal!
I suppose since I'm bringing Rogue into this and… stuff the X-Men will have some kinda role in this story. They shouldn't be too hard to write. I adore Nightcrawler, and Jamie! ^-~v *sings* Angst, angst, angst, I love angst!
Um, this is definitely starting to show Pietrance tendencies. . I'll see what I can do about that. Maybe I won't do anything at all. XD
Review Responses:
LostAngel – Welcome aboard Glimpses, where the creature in the closet presides over the plot and I'm just the poor pair of hands that gets to type it. ^-^ Pietro isn't cute… He's adorable! *glomp*
Pietro: Ehhh… . You can get off me now.
'E's just a big schweetie. *hugz*
This chapter provides you with some actual Pietro to look at… ^-~
Chris – ^_^ Kewl! Look y'all, I just made somebody speechless! Nice, concise (lookie, a rhyme. 0.o), just the way I like it! ^-~v Thankee much!
Ellen – Glad you liked Todd's big chapter, dunno when the next one'll be though. Pietro will be all right, eventually… *evil laughter*
Pietro: *cowers*
Yes, pitiful, pathetic, beautiful, gorgeous, divine – but I digress, in any case, mortal, fear me. 8D
0.o You reviewed two times? Kewl! ^_^ Wanda… O_O Um… Look down and ye shall see. O_O
Chiru – ^-^! Thanks for all the nicely structured compliments. *feels all warm and fluffy inside* O.o Me compared to Naisumi… Wow. That is a compliment of compliments, yo. ^-~
This won't be a Rietro, though me am somewhat of a Rietro fan. Pietro/anybody is for me. But don't worry about that. I dunno which way the pairings will go yet, but I am getting weird vibes of Rogue/Lance for the next chapter… Then who would I pair Pietro with?! 0.o But Lance isn't even in the next chapter… x.x If I bring Rogue into the equation it'll probably turn into Rogue = Lance = Pietro, with two oblivious people running around so… .
Mistress of Dragons – I just love my reviewers so much. ^-~ Rogue stuck in my head isn't all that bad; I mean, it's not like I dislike her character or anything, it just delays the plot again. . Anyway, your fic is coming along rather well, I can't wait to see more of it! ^-~v
***IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT***
Er, this might come as a shock to some of you… But… *gets out armor and shields* WANDA IS DEAD. Um, yes. There. I said it, loud and clear. . I hate doing that… *runs from angry Wanda-fans*
Recommendation of the Chapter:
You guys've gotta read "My What?!" by, um, I'll get back to you on that. ^-^' It's Evietro, and it's schweet! Basically a little accident occurs thanks to Evan that lands Pietro in the hospital, and Evan feels guilty, and… I think we all know what comes after that. ^-~ I found it in the fanfics section of batE's website Thin Lines. She has the link on her profile. You just gotta check it out! And read "Admirer" while you're at it. ^-~
Ending Note: Um. -_- Not much more to say, I think. Next chapter's all Rogue's, o' course, though I might find some way to sneak some Amia-mysterious-little-brother hints in. Who knows? *confers with closet*
Constructive crit! More, yo! More, I say!
Next Installment: Motivation
