Writer: Rowland Wells
Disclaimer: I am in no way any part of Marvel Comics or any affiliation of their enterprise. I do not own the X-Men or any Marvel Characters.
Alternate
X-Men
#15
"safety in numbers"
Professor Xavier was not best pleased with Piotr's abrupt departure. He had left nothing to indicate his destination, and cleared out all the belongings in the dormitory room. From what he had said to Tessa right before he left, she got the impression that he was returning to either his relatives or immediate family in Moscow. Using her advanced senses she had been able to delve into his open mind somewhat, and it was abundantly clear of his strong emotions toward the family situation. What he was involved in exactly was unclear, as Piotr had left when Tessa was reading his surface thoughts, but she relayed the information to Charles once he came back from the plaza. The next day he chose to look at the files on the Mansion computer, hoping that some suggestion as to why would crop up. After a small session in the office with Tessa, the two ascertained that he must have been heading back to Moscow to meet with his cousin's relatives.
Piotr had been propositioned by Xavier when his cousin, Andreyev attempted an exchange in an abandoned New Jersey airstrip. The Russian arms dealers group had been ambushed by the Arab businessmen, and only Piotr was left standing while his entire team was killed. Andreyev had been prepared to sell a non-commissioned nuclear bomb to the Arabs, but they double-crossed them, and left with the merchandise. Then what Ahmed did with the weapon, Piotr never found out. In the end, the Russian survived the tragedy to his family and his pride by joining the X-Men. This unexpected exodus was infuriating to say the least, as none of them knew wholly why, but Charles was going to find the reason. Even though enough circumstances were rising with Erik's memory here in New York, the Professor understood that he must maintain the family. Having Piotr leave would not only damage Charles's faith in him, but also unbalance the student body. He felt that if Piotr had explained to him the reasons, then perhaps he wouldn't have to investigate himself.
As he was staying in the Mansion that day, Charles called a meeting among the people. It seemed strange not to have the tallest member standing at the back, and so he felt even more impelled. 'You know that Piotr left yesterday afternoon, and without his presence the team is going to suffer; but I believe that we can persevere even without his assistance.'
'What about him as a person?' Kitty asked, sitting at the front of the group in Charles's large office.
'Well, yes – that's why I'm asking the two senior members to spare some time in locating him. I assume that by now Piotr is already somewhere in Moscow, and if we have any chance of finding him unscathed from internal affairs, then we must act quickly. Scott, Jean – I'm asking the two of you if you might help us.'
The two nodded, but Kitty interjected their little understanding. 'Let me go too, Professor. Piotr needs me there as a friend.'
Charles shook his head solemnly, and settled her. 'I can only allow for those two to go, because the rest of you need to maintain training and education standards. Tessa has to stay here with myself and Hank – you have to persist with your training.'
'What about me?' Warren asked, sitting at the back of the group. Betsy slapped his arm grinning. 'You've already had a holiday if you don't remember…'
Charles waved his hand at the group sincerely. 'I'm sorry that any of you have to be involved in this – I'm not happy with Piotr's actions at all.' He surveyed the expressions on the student's faces, and then dismissed them. Watching Kitty just briefly before she exited, Charles noted her unhappiness and the defeated quality weighing on both shoulders. Affirming his preference, he called his two investigators over. Jean plucked the file from his offering hands, and flipped it open. 'I can't believe he would just vanish for no reason.' She said reading over the notes.
'There is an explanation – he's either visiting Moscow or returning due to family problems. Once you two get there, I'm hoping you, Jean, can locate his unique brainwaves through telepathic capabilities and then track him down. Whatever he describes to you, lay the concept on the ground: he doesn't have to be a part of our lives anymore if he doesn't want to, but if we can assist in any way, then do.' Charles turned his chair around to face the world outside his window. 'Make sure he understands that he's welcome back again.'
The two students looked at each other quickly. 'How do we get there?' Scott enquired.
'Get packing – I've called a taxi, and you're on your way to the airport in several hours. Hopefully there should be a hotel in the city that you can stay at if anything else occurs – get Tessa to issue some money from our travel expenses prior to leaving.'
* * *
Swiftly driving from the Mansion and then flying over the airport in New York, the two students barely had time to pack everything. Their flight had been relatively long, as both were used to the rather more rapid Blackbird, but in-flight movies and snacks aboard had helped to pass the time. Many people had been travelling to Moscow – American holiday-goers, businessmen and women, Russian visitors to New York returning, and so on. Once the airplane came to a bumpy touchdown that nearly dislodged the overhead compartments in its unevenness, everyone got off, and Scott and Jean collected their small amount of luggage. Standing awkwardly outside the huge building, unique in its new-age economy construction with hundreds of people darting in and out among the Russian summer winds, Scott asked the redhead whether she could already detect Piotr's presence near. Of course she expected not to be able to; telepathy was the ability to read other people's surface thoughts, impressions and feelings, but only within a certain short-range space. Jean contrasted the ability to that of Scott's hearing. If Piotr were within shouting distance then she could feel his mind open to the world around him, but especially his mind on a much more powerful frequency than everyone else in the same locale, because Jean was familiar with his particular brainwave pattern. What neither of them expected though, was for Jean to actually sense him near. Moscow was one of the biggest cities in the world, and Piotr could have been anywhere in it.
Fortunately, the two were so stirred with the reception, that Jean quickly tugged a bewildered Scott after her as she paced in the direction of his signal. 'What are the odds?' She wondered excitedly.
* * *
When they got to where Jean had sensed him last, Piotr had disappeared. They stood now in a large bank on the rich main street near the airport. Businessmen, economists and bankers patrolled the marbled floors swept so meticulously clean; Scott could see his bespectacled reflection in them. Feeling at a loss suddenly, Jean's body slumped, and she sighed. 'I guess we've lost him.' She turned to Scott, who was scratching his short hair. 'Not entirely…' He said staring up at the cameras embedded in the fine architecture of this grand building. Still holding his one stocky suitcase, he dragged Jean to the desk clerk sitting behind a glass panel. 'Do you speak English?' He asked the woman.
'A little.'
'Can you ask everyone behind those counters if they've just talked to a man looking like this?' Scott held aloft a passport sized photograph of Piotr for her to see, and then passed it under the counter. He turned back to Jean, smiling. 'I think we're already on a lead here.' She raised an eyebrow, still slightly unsure as to their progress.
The woman behind the glass panel replied enthusiastically. 'Yes – he was here now. He has gone, sir.'
'What did he want exactly?' Jean pulled herself in close to the counter, trying to influence the woman's thoughts.
'I not allowed to say – so sorry.'
'You are allowed to tell us. We're family.' Jean stated again, enforcing the idea in the woman's mind once again. What she was doing was unethical, and not always what she believed in. Usually, Jean would ask if she could read a person's thoughts, but they might not have had too much time to spend if Piotr was getting away. The woman perked up immediately, and then spoke in fluent English to them. 'He arrived to withdraw the entire deposit of eleven thousand roubles in his family-named account. Then he left seventeen minutes ago.'
Jean relinquished her hold on the woman, and the two students walked out of the bank. Holding up the picture of Piotr once again, they flashed it to several of the men and women milling about the bank entrance. Finally settling on a grizzly old man selling food through a vending stall to the side of the building, Jean walked up to him and gave him a once over. 'He must have seen what happened – he's been standing there for ages. I'll do the talking.' She indicated.
After obtaining the vague information from the street seller through Jean's telepathy once more, the two decided to take a taxi to the outskirts of Moscow and sleep in a cheap hotel for the night. From the details the man had given, it was clear that Piotr had headed for a town in between the capital and Podolsk, a smaller city just south south-west of Moscow's enormous perimeter. Placing the small luggage in the car boot, they got in and specified for the driver their required hotel. Tired, hungry, and desperate to escape the alien nation of unseasonable cold and damp, they walked up to the newly acquired room for some rest.
* * *
Placing room keys on a bedside table separating the two areas, Scott fished about in his suitcase for night clothes. Although it was a relatively early evening for both teenagers, their flight had got in at four o'clock, and they had spent the first two hours escaping the main city structure. After depositing luggage and belongings in the hotel room, food was on the menu, so they looked for a small restaurant near the hotel and ate before taking a stroll amid the twinkling night lights of suburban Moscow. The cold was penetrating to their sun-kissed American skin, but added to the ambience of a romantic north Asian atmosphere, it managed to create quite a subtle freedom. Paper bags, leaves and lost rubbish jangled and rustled in the creeping wind while a new moon illuminated their path with startling intimacy. They walked arm in arm for a while, making it once over the bridge that crossed the extended southern river until exhaustion dawned, and they decided to call it a night.
Getting into the hotel room, Jean asked to use the tiny porcelain bathtub before anything else, so Scott made to organise himself for their departure tomorrow. He pulled on a shirt and some tracksuit trousers, definitely attentive to the inherent cold surrounding the country. Sounds from the bathroom awoke his consideration, and Scott lay down on the thick covers, thinking of his relationship with the girl just ten feet away. He took off his ruby glasses and rubbed closed eyes.
Jean lay in the cramped bath, oblivious to the small crunching ache such a stance was putting her in. She took the soap in hand and ran it over her perfect skin, just scratching at bumps and cuts embedded from previous excursions into the world of the X-Men. She sank lower into the tub, and placed her head under the water's plane. Rising once more, the dripping water cascaded over her short cut red hair and dribbled over her naked body. She then picked up her sponge and proceeded to lather it fully. The rough-surfaced material rubbed over her arms and legs; but she did it all unconsciously. Jean was dwelling on the nineteen year old in the next room getting ready for their trip the day after. Her relationship with Scott had started when they met on Xavier's first introductory tour of the Mansion grounds. The only other mutant he had associated at that time was Tessa, and Jean was recruited once her powers had started to thrash out of her control. Her abilities had first manifested at age eleven, and distraught parents aimed for Xavier's advice on their growing daughter's problem. At that time Charles was able to dampen the telepathic flares throwing the girl off-balance, but after watching a close friend die in a car crash at age fifteen, nothing could stop the evolving process. Since that time, Jean had been able to keep from the public eye, even trying so hard as to dissuade her parents from questioning if anything was the matter anymore. After several freak accidents, the last of which she had no means of explaining, her parents came into contact with the Professor once again. Charles quickly snapped up the chance to gain another student, and then in the snowballing process, received Scott, Warren and finally Hank.
Scott had come to the institution through a series of distressing events, finally allowing himself to return to a state of relative stability. In his younger age, a proud father took his family out in an airplane trip over the Pacific Ocean's waters. During a freak and unprecedented storm, the plane was caught up in a haze of pouring rain and lightening. Once hit, his father gave the only parachute on board to his oldest son Scott, and made sure he was to keep hold of Alex, his brother. While Alex touched down perfectly, the older brother was left with minor injuries that eventually impacted on his brain. Because the results of the damage did not immediately affect him, Scott was soon introduced into an orphanage and the brothers were split up. Although Jean knew that Scott saw Alex at times, she wished that they would get together a lot more, as the school was the only family he really had now. She already understood that she had great feelings for him, because they had been through so much together. He felt the same way, but it was up to him to make the first move within their relationship, as Jean sensed her acting on it might scare him off after what had happened with Logan. Scott was a sensitive person for his age, and having been through so much, Jean could identify with that more than any girl; but she was about to pick flower petals off wondering whether or not he loved her. Personally, Jean was content in the fact that he at least stood by her, and cared for her. As long as he existed with her, she wasn't about to force them into anything. She knew that Scott loved her, but their companionship was enough – and even if he didn't believe that, she would be comfortable with anything else. Scott had been there for her through their experiences at Weapon X, and she could tell by the way he was protective of her – defensive of her – jealous of what she had with Logan that he wanted her, and needed her to be a part of the institution. She had to exist to be a part of him; otherwise he would not be himself.
From the beginning, everyone knew a heightened bond existed between the two. Warren courted her before Scott made any apparent moves, but the winged millionaire lost out due to a blatant attraction for his friendly rival. Bowing out, Warren simply waited along with the others for something to happen. They had of course kissed many times, but only with the emotion of the situation – never in such passion as to warrant the flicker of romance. Jean was well aware of the whole situation, but unlike Scott, she was happy to let it stand until his first attempt. As soon as he should ask, she would say yes; the only problem was that she thought he was not likely to ask in the near future.
A turn of the bathroom door handle clicked against the frame, and it opened casually. Shaken from her daydreaming idleness, Jean floundered in the water and leant over to conceal herself. 'Scott! What're you doing?' She shouted, embarrassed.
The door wavered suddenly, and he stepped outside. 'Damn, sorry – you were just so long, and I couldn't hear anything so I forgot – my fault!' He nearly shut the door.
'Hang on –' she called, stopping the entrance with her mind 'are you wearing your glasses?'
He wondered if that really mattered, thinking that she should have asked him what he wanted instead. 'No.' He said, still leaning against the door.
'Well then I guess you can come on in…' She said, drawing a leg up to soap it as she lay back. Scott stepped in, very aware of the cold tiles beneath his bare feet. The air hung heavy with heated moisture; it clung damply to his forehead and exposed chest, but he assumed that was partly due to nervous perspiration. Without his ruby quartz glasses on to protect against the hazard from his eyes, he had to close them, and was therefore blind. He trusted his other four senses to make up for the lack, and navigated his way around the extremely cramped bathroom.
Jean watched him bend over for the fumbled toothbrush and opened her mind up to his. Although concealing her presence from his, it was quite obvious what he was thinking. She was to blame as well, partly because she knew full well he was in the mood. Deciding to flash a split-second image of what she herself could see into his mind, she grinned as Scott fumbled the toothbrush and mug into the sink. 'Are you having trouble concentrating?' She asked, sounding perfectly sincere in his ears.
'No – I just lost my grip on it for a second. I'll be out of here in a minute.' He started his ablutions while she rinsed the soap off her body, and then rose to step out. Grasping the towel tightly around herself; she stepped onto the cold tiles and the sensation made her spring off the floor. Jean steadied herself with two wet hands on Scott's back, and he straightened after finishing in the sink. She giggled slightly and rubbed the warm, damp impressions off his skin with the palm of her hand. 'Let me get those.'
He shivered almost imperceptibly and then turned to face her, his eyes still closed. Jean gazed into his face, studying closely the fine-shaven stubble inching its way back, the defined jaw and short hair. There was a silence in the room louder than either of them had ever heard before. After a moment, Scott turned his head away and held a hand out for the door. Sensing a great disappointment, she bowed her head and shut the door behind him. Dropping the towel around her back with only one hand to support it, she reached for her underwear. The door blustered open and she turned her head. Scott now looked at her with his glasses, half naked in front of him. Jean opened her mouth to speak, but he made the distance between them and took her in a kiss. Taken aback with his sudden and unexpected actions, she stopped after the first embrace and recoiled. 'What did you just do to me?' She asked, not quite hearing her own words.
He leant in again and captured her soft red lips once more. Succumbing finally to the intense passion flaring out of him, she dropped the clothes in one hand to wrap it around his neck. Standing on tiptoes, she then let go of the towel and placed the other arm around too.
He backed them both against the cold wall and she squirmed against the loss of heat, moaning into his open mouth abruptly. Scott grasped her back in between furious kisses, snaking his hands further down until she felt supported enough to entwine her long legs behind his waist.
* * *
By the morning, the towel was thoroughly soaked through with cloudy bathwater and neither felt like cleaning up in there. Climbing out from under the thick covers of Scott's bed, Jean brushed herself down; running a hand through her short hair and rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She stretched, and quickly pulled on some scattered clothes. Deciding to avoid the bathroom altogether, she closed the door and proceeded to tidy the dirty carpet. Even though her body felt lifted from stress, a weight hung heavy on her mind. She had broken a barrier that perhaps they had both not been ready to cross and Jean only hoped that they could recover without any awkwardness. Placing the discarded clothes in her suitcase, she sat on her untouched bed and stared across at him, lying half-asleep with only a contented smile on his body. I hope he still feels the same way when he wakes up, she thought neurotically. He was more than a close friend now, and the fact that he had been so intimate had not perturbed her, she was just a little scared by how readily he had broken down the walls. Scott had made more than an effort, and Jean was surprised that he was so eager and so prepared to be a part of that aspect of their relationship. As she stared at him, he finally stirred and rolled over. Instinctively he knew she was watching him. 'Hi.' He smiled. This was what I wanted, she thought.
The warmth in his voice enlivened her, and she kneeled by his bedside. 'Did we do the right thing?' She asked, needing his conformation to feel comfortable with their bold actions.
'Damn straight.' Scott confirmed. He pulled on his ruby-red glasses and looked down at her beautiful face. 'Are you okay with that?'
It took her a little time to consider what they were letting themselves in for. It wasn't as if either of them were heading anywhere – after everything they had been through, they were now closer than ever. 'Yes I am.' Jean stroked his cheek lovingly, and leant in to kiss him. He laughed quietly as her hot breath tickled his lips, but soon kissed back. Tugging on her shoulder slightly, he pulled her towards him, indicating his desire. 'We need to get off to a start…' Her voice trailed off as she straddled his body under the covers and then proceeded to undress herself once more.
* * *
'This is far enough – I have other people.' The Russian taxi driver exclaimed annoyingly from the front of the vehicle. He ushered the two teenagers out of the back seats, and accepted the sum delivered. 'Can you at least tell us where he's likely to be?' Scott asked, leaning in the window.
'How I supposed to know?' The driver replied, stepping on the accelerator.
As the taxi sped off into the distance, Jean and Scott found themselves in the centre of the small town. Buildings glimmered with morning dew, still present for the irrational cold even though the radiant sun shone through the clouds. Birds twittered and chased each other high above the tree tops of the surrounding forest canopy. They were still in Russian territory, but the town seemed so much more idyllic for the rustic character shining out than Moscow's post-industrial lingering grey gloom. Cars passed them by on the small roads displaying just the perfect level of a metropolis association without dwelling on the claustrophobic, musty and cold nature than satisfied Moscow residents. The two gazed about the town, ready to lose themselves in even its minimal structure, when Piotr completed their task by presenting himself. Surprised as he was to see them, the burly Russian invited both back to his address before any explanation came out.
* * *
'I got a call from my family here;' Piotr started, boiling the kettle on the stove while he presented Scott and Jean with some small offerings of homemade soup 'they described how after my cousin, Andreyev, died at the airstrip in New Jersey without receiving any money for his arms trade, the boss in charge of the operations came to see this family.' Piotr took the kettle off and poured some tea, then handed it out to the other two. They sat in the kitchen of his aunt's house with a low wooden roof over their heads. Near to lunch time, they attempted to eat, but with little in the house at the moment Piotr had nothing substantial. 'Andreyev was a man guided by an officer in one of the Moscow mob groups – they dealt in many different areas of black-market goods such as illegal alcohol, cigarettes, drugs, especially heroin, guns and even larger arms.' He raised his arms justifying his speech. 'I'm not proud of what I was – working for Andreyev, it was nothing special, but it helped me gain a little extra money on the side of my job.'
'What exactly happened?' Jean asked him.
'When the boss called down the line for an old armament we had in stock for many months to be delivered, Andreyev was put in charge. I was part of his group, yet none of them new of my mutation – I was simply the brawn of the business.'
'You're quite intelligent though man.' Scott said.
'I know,' Piotr admitted, chuckling 'but they didn't. During the delivery, this backstabbing Arab trader double-crossed us, and killed everyone there. They took the weapon, and left nothing but paper for money. Too scared to return for fear of the mob, I joined with Xavier and arrived in New York. What I did was cowardly – I admit that; but to ask my cousin's family if they will reimburse the gangsters for money now lost on buying the weapon in the first place? That's wrong. I took out all the roubles I had left in my account – over eleven thousand and I will give them that. If any more is required, then I will work off the debt. My last kind gesture to my foolish cousin – [it will be this].'
Scott cleared his throat awkwardly then finished his tea. 'I hate to rain on your parade, but a nuclear weapon [as I take it] costs a lot more than a simple eleven thousand.'
'It's all I have! There's no way I am allowing those bastards to take it out on an innocent family.' Piotr replied angrily.
'You cannot work off a debt like that – you'd never come back into our lives. It's ridiculous…' Jean stated, noticing his stoic condition.
'The process is easy – I work for them by being a mutant. They can never take advantage of me, and all that then happens is that I accumulate enough money. Once they realise I only did it to relieve the pressure on my family, they can let me go. These men are not idiots.'
'Yeah but they are criminals – if they think they can exploit you, Piotr, then they will; to the very end.' Scott responded, not quite comprehending the Russian's sense of the situation.
'If not that,' Piotr stood up and banged their empty mugs into the sink, frustrated 'then what do you suggest?'
'Take that money and use it to relocate your family to somewhere else; the U.S for instance.'
'I cannot do that; they will not want to leave.' He replied flatly, head in hands.
'How do you know? Have you asked them?' Scott said.
'They don't want to leave!' Piotr exploded, smacking his hand on the porcelain sink exterior. 'Look, just get out the both of you… I don't know what you thought you could achieve by visiting me, but it won't work. I have more important things to worry about besides gallivanting off to some foreign land and waging war with something that shouldn't concern me!'
'What the hell are you on about – we came to ask you back!' Scott retorted.
'Leave, dammit! I cannot waste my time battling against impossible odds for people who can never be grateful for the outcome… It's not worth my effort anymore!'
Jean took Scott by the arm, and led him to the door. Before closing it on them, Piotr grudgingly accepted a card with the Mansion's contact details. 'Just think about it, will you?' She said softly as Scott stood angrily outside in the sunshine.
She let the door shut, and rubbed his shoulders. 'He's under a lot of stress.'
'Well… aren't we all. We're supposed to look out for one another, not be at each other's throats all the time!'
'Come on,' she started, a new idea sparking 'I've got one thing that could work.'
* * *
A dank, sleazy place was the terrestrial home of the Moscow mafia officers. They preferred to spend time conducting ill-fitting affairs in the stately rooms of a strip-club than rather own a collective warehouse to communicate in. Their main headquarters existed further in the city where frequent trips to protection racketed businesses and private organisations could be made. Here, in the dark air of smouldering cigar smoke and cheap exported alcohol, the officers of the mob resided. It was a dangerous move on their part, Jean and Scott affirming their precarious lives by visiting some of the most unpredictable men in the city for a simple blackmailing discussion. The idea was to use a little telepathic trickery on the men in charge of Piotr's bondage, but without telling the proud Russian. He may have been a farmhand once, but elevating himself to the pride and pretentiousness of a famous district artist left its mark on his sensitive skin. Unfortunately Piotr disappeared from that world a long time ago, and now an alternate bad history led him down a different path. Jean was sure of herself, and all they really required was a little collaboration with the officers to make this work.
The two students entered the building, which was open for business among afternoon hours. Focussing on the task in hand instead of the display parading over the stage in meagre garments, Scott strode to the man at the bar and got them to see the manager. Upon realising he was the person at the highest position in the area as well as that, and therefore in custody of their Russian X-Man, Jean let loose with her influence. The stereotyped mob man sat in an easy chair half-engaged in a sports event displayed on his pathetically worn-our tv screen. He chewed on long sandwich held between greasy fingers and dumbly registered what Jean was saying. 'I understand very little English from you Americans.' He interrupted after sustaining enough meaningless blackmail from them. 'I don't listen to what you just say – I not listen now. Get out; I have more important things to do.'
Scott's rising anger at this irascible overweight criminal outweighed his sensibilities. Assuming it must have been the foreign atmosphere, or the stabbing cold temperature, he flicked his glasses half off the bridge of his nose and unleashed a narrow beam that split the man's lunch in half. A quick call brought a tumult of more petulant Russian mafia typecasts into the room, and Jean worked hard to maintain a level of calm with her powerful mind. Acting as if nothing was wrong, the men dispersed and Jean focussed on their leader's weak brain. Navigating involuntary defences, she reorganised his thoughts and let him believe that Piotr was free from punishment for the accident. 'Why are you asking him to repay you for the lost weapon? It wasn't his fault.' She said grinning to Scott.
'I know it wasn't Piotr's fault – I can't understand why my men ask for reimbursement.' The man replied in perfect English. Something about the immediate invasion usually brought on a burst of language comprehension from the victim, and in its own way, the performance looked disturbing.
'If you try to prosecute him like you've been doing, your boss won't appreciate it. Although he never talks about it, he doesn't want you touching or communicating with the Rasputin family or any of its derivatives. Got it?' She enquired just testing her own level of competency with his mind.
The man nodded encouragingly, and Jean congratulated herself. Hopefully in due course, Piotr would accept his rightful place among Xavier's ranks. More mafia men snooping outside the office door straightened as Jean started to leave. She concentrated on alleviating them of any fear from the situation, and managed to leave with Scott before they became too suspicious.
* * *
Night was falling once more and the two teenager's flight would be tomorrow at roughly ten o'clock in the morning. Their hotel room was still reserved, so one last night would be spent there before jetting off from Russia and landing safely back in New York. The sun would be drying, the air would be musty and laden with exhaust fumes, and there might be no drops of rain for the next week, but at least it the temperature would conform to the time of year. Summer didn't seem to have any relevance for Moscow residents; apart from school children enjoying free time, warm weather was non existent. Perhaps they had journeyed to Russia in a particularly bad week, but neither wanted to come back to find out if the weather ever improved. It might be an idea, they presumed, to take Ororo with them next time.
The plan now was to stay one last time in the hotel, and then wake early for a long flight the next day. Returning empty-handed would be a disappointment to some extent but Charles would understand why. If either of the two students had any empathy and sense, they could realise that Piotr would come back, but only in a little time. Unknown to them, he was busy still even without the threat of his duty.
Tidying the room out of guilt for its state the previous night, Jean took time out of filing socks and shirts to dwell further on their relationship. Her back to him, she wondered whether their intimate tryst might have evolved if Charles had not suggested their search for Piotr. The time spent in Moscow had certainly been eventful and she was grateful for their experience, but had they not spent time in close quarters and away from everyone else, Jean wondered if sex would have become a part of their relationship so quickly otherwise. 'Did you enjoy our stay?' She asked, starting to pack again.
'Of course – I was waiting for the circumstances to arrive, and it just happened that Piotr's disappearance catalysed them.' It was obvious he loved her.
'It was not a one-time thing, Scott.'
'No way; I kind of want to do it again you know.' He responded, staring into her beautiful green eyes. They in turn explored his unyielding glass gaze, and he held her.
'I expected it to happen soon too.' She said by way of explanation. 'I wanted it to happen.'
'Since I first saw you Jean, it was nothing but love at first sight. I couldn't believe what went down last night.' He stated.
'I'm pretty sure it was you…'
'I mean it.' Scott said. 'Everything makes sense between us now – no nervousness, no awkward moments or misjudged moves – it all works out.'
'I love you too.' Jean kissed his mouth, and hugged him tightly. With her hands wrapped about his, she could feel his pulse quicken with every touch – his heartbeat skip suddenly as she breathed into his neck while his chest rose and fell. Suddenly it was clear to her, and even through all the doubt and self-questioning, he was still standing beside her. Standing in the moment; something that no-one could separate from two distinct people that were so much an aspect of each other. She fit him uniquely and perfectly; since their meeting and sparking of friendship they had been together. Now she would exist for him, because of him, and finally with him.
* * *
He owed a lot to Jean and Scott's intervention and he understood that his place among the mob had disappeared, but along with his gratitude came wounded pride. The duty was gone and now Piotr felt like he had failed his cousin's obligation – even if it was to criminals. He was a man of honour, and though the Moscow mafia had soon forgotten, he still had to show his appreciation through other means. Searching for an outlet the day after Scott and Jean left Russia, he chanced upon an enquiry into Andreyev's family finances. Realising that part of the reason the arms deal was so important was because of the great yield profited from it, Piotr set about retrieving the money he was originally going to pay off the mobsters with. His noble offer of eleven thousand roubles was thankfully accepted by the family, and he could finally let Andreyev's unlawful business die quietly. Concluding his affairs in the town, Piotr bid farewell, and headed for the Siberian farming collective near Lake Baikal where his parents lived.
It was good to see them again, and he felt a great swell of happiness and caring when their doors opened. His mother and father were still organisers in the farming community, and living out an adequate life among the cold snow and peaceful comfort of a backwater impoverished Russia. His sister Illyana was ecstatic to see him once again, just turning sixteen. Their relationship had suffered considerably since his commitment to Andreyev's organised group, but he was glad that they could at least interact in a short stay at home. Mikhail, the older brother was thankfully not present, having gone off travelling for a time, but to avoid any disagreement or conflict, Piotr made sure that his visit tied in to his sibling's absence.
At home, it all felt different. The way he would talk to his family, especially his sister – it wasn't easy anymore as Piotr had been away for too long. His association with Andreyev had deprived him of family union, and Mikhail's fragile, fiery nature insured their particular connection was difficult at the best of times. Perhaps he belonged somewhere else now; he had a higher cause to tend to, but whatever the reason, he found he could not stay for long. Time had a habit of catching up on him, and Piotr was becoming a different man because of it.
On the last day, he was sitting alone in his old room when Illyana walked in, wanting to know of the world outside Russia. From what Piotr had seen and experienced, it was challenging to relay the way in which he felt about it all. The Xavier institute was a favourite subject for the both of them before Piotr left, but everything that had happened culminated in creating him as a person. Every experience in the mob, his conflict with Magneto and the X-Men; it all included to change his perspective on life. No longer could he be content with being a farmer's son. Piotr had his place out in the world that hated and feared mutants – he was part of another organisation in his life, and even if that never came to anything, his existence in the wintry wastelands of Siberia had come to an end. In the end he told Illyana that he was simply a dedicated drifter, tied down by nothing anymore save his will to survive. Her lasting words of: 'let me be a part of your life once more' remained with him for a long time afterwards. He was to leave Russia now, and choose a different path for his destiny.