can anybody fly this thing?
before my head explodes,
or my head starts to ring.
we've been living life inside a bubble,
we've been living life inside a bubble.
confidence in you,
is confidence in me,
is confidence in high speed.
can anybody stop this thing?
before my head explodes,
or my head starts to ring.
we've been living life inside a bubble,
we've been living life inside a bubble.
confidence in you,
is confidence in me,
is confidence in high speed.
in high speed,
high speed…
-Coldplay, "High Speed"
Chapter Five: Downward Spiral
"Jean-Paul… hey, Jean-Paul."
His face was buried in the sheets, and his legs were hopelessly twisted in the bedclothes. At the sound of his name, he pushed himself up, just enough to look up and notice that he was at the wrong end of the bed, and breathing very heavily.
And oh god, the ache. Why that voice? Why right now, at this moment, was he hearing that voice?
A hand, on his back, cold. "God man, are you ok?"
Oh god, those hands. His arms gave out, and he fell back to his stomach, burying his face again. No. He could not look him in the eye. Not now. No. Oh god, it was so wrong… what she had done to him. To show him such things… things he would never have. To make it so completely wrong.
Pressure on the bed, near him. He felt it shift under him as Bobby sat down, not too far from him. "Jean-Paul… I'm sorry… the Professor said to come and find you, and… and the door was hanging open a little. You were… thrashing. Seriously man—holy shit, is that blood?"
It echoed in his head. You're bleeding, mon amour.
God. That pain. Crushing, in his chest. It made him want to hurt something… someone.
A hand jerked at the sheets under his head, and he picked it up again to let him have them, not having the strength to fight.
His hands all over him. Her legs around his waist.
He wanted to hit something. Hard. He tried to control it while the other man was there, tried not to start shaking.
"What did you do to yourself? Look at me, let me see, is your nose bleeding?"
He sucked on his lower lip, and the taste of it filled his mouth. Blood. Metallic and salty and thick. "Non, Bobby. It's just my lip. I'm fine. Please, go away." But he was starting to shake now. In rage. In fear. In abject horror of what had been done to him, even if it was only in dreams.
It didn't matter if it wasn't real. It was real in his mind. He could feel it. And Jesus Christ, it hurt.
"Fuck you man, look at me," and Bobby dropped off the bed to kneel at the foot of it, so that if Jean-Paul were to raise his head even slightly, he'd be looking him in the eye.
And he did not want to look Bobby Drake in the eye. Not right now. Not after that.
"Please, just… go away."
A pause. Lying there, head pillowed on his arms, eyes burning. Horrified and enraged. After a moment he was tempted to look up, just to see what the other man was doing. But he had not heard him move. Not for at least a minute. He was there. Breathing. And the quiet hung heavily, oppressively over them. Jean-Paul could feel it.
Somehow, he knew Bobby could too.
"The Professor told me to come find you," he finally said, after the long, terrible silence. "He said it's safe to sleep now. For a few hours. He said… she disappeared when he caught her link to you, and he can't find her now. But he doesn't think she'll be back for awhile, so it's safe to sleep," quiet again, for a moment. Then, "I think that's it."
Able to resist no longer, he raised his head. Brow furrowed, eyes narrowed, jaw set firmly, Bobby stared at him for a minute, eyes drifting down to his lip, then back up. God, his heart.
"I don't know what that means, but I'll assume it has to do with why you look like hell all the time. And why your lip is bleeding. Did you bite yourself?" He said it quietly, flatly. As if insulted by being kept out of the loop.
But that was the last thing on Jean-Paul's mind, at the moment. "He sent you?" What a perverted sense of humor that man had. Of course, he would have seen it…
Bobby shook his head, "He just said he needed someone to go. Said he would've told you telepathically, but he was afraid it would… hurt you or something. I was next to the stairs so… I offered."
That… would never… he his.
He was so angry he thought it would rip him apart. Burn him up, from the inside out.
He wanted to kill her. Slowly.
"Is that all?"
Again, Bobby just looked at him. "Yeah… yeah I guess."
"Then goodnight."
The other man blinked at him.
And he put his head back down, and closed his eyes before the burning in them turned to tears.
Three hours.
That's all the sleep he'd gotten, before someone else woke him. This time, it was Warren.
"Jean-Paul… Xavier sent me. Said he needs to talk with you."
His eyes were open, of course. Looking at the clock. Three hours of sleep.
He didn't think he could move.
"Merci," he made himself reply, attempting to push himself up to a sitting position. He'd passed out just like that, head on his arms, face halfway in the sheets.
He heard footsteps, as Warren moved into his room a little further, "Are you bleeding?"
He sucked at his lip, knowing full well the cut should be healed. Only… it wasn't quite. It wasn't bleeding, per se. But he could still feel the puncture there, still taste metal in the wound. "No, I'm fine. Thank you, Worthington, I'll be down in a moment," he forced himself not to sound groggy, to sound businesslike. He would not show weakness in front of daddy's little boy. Not a chance. He sat up straight now, and hung his feet over the edge of the bed, lower body still wrapped in the sheets, and stared out the window blankly, into the moonlit night. He didn't even look at the other man.
Archangel hesitated, as if deciding whether he should listen or not. And finally turned, and shut the door behind him quietly.
Elbows on his knees, head in his hands. Jean-Paul raked his hands through his hair, pulled at it, and tried very, very hard not to scream.
The three hours of sleep had not made him less angry, as it turned out. Or less utterly disturbed by what it was his last dream had shown him, its affect on him, or the idea of… him turning into… her. While straddling his stomach, at that.
Naturally, he could remember exactly how it felt. He could still feel it, all of it. His lips, his hands, his tongue.
And he wouldn't be surprised if Xavier remembered as well.
"I'm sorry to intrude upon you, Northstar," his tone was so businesslike, it made Jean-Paul want to put his fist through a wall. Repeatedly, and very fast. "But I was watching you carefully the entire day. The moment I noticed you were asleep, I noticed her presence. At first, I couldn't find her, couldn't pinpoint where she was, or how she was doing it. It is not a normal link, the one she's formed with you, and I think there is also something going the other way, something from you to her."
So many things about this were so hopelessly fucked up, he couldn't even think. "You felt me fall asleep," he repeated.
"Yes," Xavier nodded, "and as per your request, I stayed out of the dream. I simply began to probe the link, when it appeared. And when she felt me, she pulled out, immediately. I couldn't quite get a fix on her, but it's enough to know that she isn't far away."
"You didn't see the dream." It was meant to be a question. But it sounded utterly flat. Perhaps it was his lack of belief in the subject.
He shook his bald head, "No. I was sorry to wake you, when I sent Archangel to you, but the only way for me to catch her is for her to actually enter your thoughts. By that time, the dreams would have begun, and whatever she's taking from you, she would already have taken. I can stay awake, and guard you as you sleep. But I don't think I will notice her until her activities have begun. Not unless I am sleeping with you."
He ignored that last sentence, for the sake of his own sanity, and latched on to the earlier part of the statement. "What is she… taking from me?"
A long breath out, almost a sigh, "I don't know, Jean-Paul. But judging from your physical state, I'd say she's some sort of… psychic vampire."
Jean-Paul actually laughed at that. A horrible, chilling laugh, totally devoid of mirth. Oh, wasn't that just brilliant? "Merveilleux ! Magnifique!" he covered his face with one hand and let the sarcasm spill freely. "You mean to tell me… that not only is she in my head when I sleep… and only when I sleep… but she's also draining my… my…?"
"Your psychic energy, and apparently your physical energy," Xavier filled in the blank, his once utterly flat tone now suddenly warm. Understanding. Apologetic.
Somehow, it didn't help him to feel any better. In fact, it seemed to scrape against the grain of him. He just laughed, however. Because there was nothing else he could do, at the moment. He was completely, utterly powerless. And he simply could not think straight.
"I felt an exchange of energy flowing back from you, Jean-Paul, and it's obvious that your body is not working as it should be. That cut, on your lip—"
"I realize what the cut on my lip means," he snapped, shooting a look at the Professor that should have been lethal. "It means I'm not healing properly, as well as not adjusting to the lack of sleep."
Quiet now, for just a moment, as he rubbed at his temples slowly, trying to calm his pounding heart, his flaring temper. Xavier was here to help him. He hadn't seen the dream, he didn't know what had happened to him in it, and he wasn't going to invade his mind like… her. Calme. Relax, Beaubier. Think.
"You're the most powerful psychic in the world…," he began, but trailed off. Already it had come out wrong. Accusatory.
But Xavier knew, even if he had stopped himself. "And still, I cannot stop her. No, not until she's already started. Something about her link, something about when she touched you. I could stop her perhaps, if I were entirely in your mind, as I said, sleeping with you. But that would require…"
"That I let you into my head," now Jean-Paul finished.
The Professor only nodded.
"Are you certain she wouldn't be able to touch me, if you were there?"
A moment's hesitation.
And it was all he needed. "Forget it, Xavier. I'll take my chances, if you don't mind."
"Northstar… Jean-Paul… you need to sleep."
"I slept. Now, I wait."
Honestly, he was surprised Xavier hadn't simply forced his way into his mind and put him to sleep.
But he hadn't. Jean-Paul assumed this was because he didn't really believe he could stay awake much longer.
Jean-Paul, for his part, was determined to prove him wrong. It was 7am Monday morning, and he was staring at his lesson plan, preparing for his nine o'clock class. Or, rather, attempting to. He honestly couldn't gather enough of a thought together to be considered preparing or planning for much of anything.
All night, he'd watched TV. Just to have some noise, some companionship. Something other than the weight on him that bore such a striking similarity to madness. Alone. The house had been silent as the grave, and he'd stayed awake. On his own. And he was very, very alone.
He'd never really been the sort to crave company. It was always the company of someone in particular he'd desired, if it happened at all. He'd grown up lonely, after all. It was nothing new to him, finding his own way in life. There had been a few years in his life, when he'd been happy with the company that surrounded him. In France, with the circus, oddly enough. With Cell Combattre. Sometimes, with Belmonde.
But he was no circus performer anymore, nor an unwitting terrorist. And Belmonde and most of his friends from the FLQ were dead. And Jeanne-Marie was gone. And Joanna…
Christ. They were all gone. And some things, he would never have.
A knock. Quiet.
"It's open," he called, rubbing at his burning eyes quickly. God, what had he been doing again…?
A blonde head, the most heroic face he'd ever seen. Worthington, of course. "Jean-Paul, I… the Professor asked me to take your class today."
He felt his jaw clench, involuntarily, and he looked back down at the notebook opened before him on his desk. "And why, may I inquire, did he ask such a thing of you?"
"There was no insult intended, Northstar," he stepped inside completely now, shut the door behind him. All six feet, and twelve foot wingspan of him. "He just thought you could use the break. And I agree. I just wanted to talk to you about it first, see what you needed me to do."
"I don't need a substitute, Warren."
"No… but you could use one. You have a mission to get ready for."
He looked back, at the other man's face. And saw nothing but honest concern there. No patronizing grin, no amusement in his blue eyes. Just worry.
And he was speechless, for just a moment. This man, this angel, was not his friend. In fact, he'd been nothing if not irritated with him, of late.
Literally and figuratively, an angel. Michelangelo never painted one so lovely.
"You have a lesson plan?"
Again, he looked down at the notebook, "Yes… yes of course. I was just… going over it."
Warren came to him now, leaned over the back of his chair, looked down over his shoulder. "Show me what you need me to do."
Kurt sat in that alarmingly animal position he seemed to enjoy, like Spider-Man crouched on a rooftop. It gave him the appearance of a gargoyle, really, with his pointed ears and thrashing spaded tail. Something terrifyingly graceful. "Where is Bridget?" came the fuzzy elf's muffled voice from the distance.
Bobby came bounding around the corner, sunglasses firmly in place, "On her way, Kurt. Five minutes for the lady, huh?"
Baring his fangs in that alarmingly enchanting smile of his, Kurt only nodded, "Of course. We have time. A half hour, to be precise. What are you so early for?"
Bobby laughed and continued a conversation with his fuzzy blue friend, sitting next to him on the stone wall near the driveway to wait for the others.
Northstar stood back, nearer to the front door, and watched. And tried not to hurt quite so much, thinking about everything that had happened. No, none if it had really happened. But he'd felt it all. And he'd spent all day pretending he couldn't still feel his hands on him, couldn't still hear him breathing his name in his ear.
In a way, it was a shame Warren had taken the class. At least he would've had something else to think about.
Only, he knew damn well he would not have been able to think at all. He still couldn't. And the proximity of one Robert Drake was not making it any easier.
Not to mention the dirty looks from Alex, who was presently staring a hole through the back of his head. And had been since he'd come outside to try and think, and to wait. He had nothing to do, of course. Everyone had seen to that—at least, everyone who knew something was wrong with him. He could feel them all, tip-toeing around him. And it made him want to scream.
But soon, he'd have his chance. He could feel it, somehow. In his stomach. In his chest. He'd have his chance to get free. A chance to end it.
End her.
And take back what she'd taken from him.
Any sense of peace he might have made, with his losses, with his life, she'd done her best to ruin it, wreck it from the inside out. And for what? For what? Because he'd stopped her from killing a girl? Because he was a man? For what reason would she do this to him?
Because I can.
A shiver ran down his spine, as he heard the words in his head again. As if she was there, speaking them.
"Cold, Northstar?" A rather sarcastic voice inquired.
Slowly, calmly, Jean-Paul turned his head to look at the man who had intruded upon his brooding. Almost everyone knew something was wrong, that much was entirely clear. They'd all noticed, and those who had not had no doubt been warned. Only one person, one man, would be speaking to him in such a tone of voice right now.
Alex Summers.
It was quite ironic really. It was not a Summers trait to excel at sarcasm. Americans in general were not the best with it, really, and it didn't get a whole lot more straight up gosh darn honest to god American than a Summers. From the heroic jaw-lines to the brooding good-boy-forced-to-be-a-rebel attitudes.
It failed to impress him, needless to say.
"Did you want something, Havok?" Not that he cared. He really wasn't even curious anymore, as to why he'd been getting dirty looks since roughly this time yesterday. He was tired, pissed off, used, depressed, aching, and suspecting that he might be showing a few signs of sleep-deprived insanity. Alex Summers and his dirty looks were near the bottom of his list of issues to deal with at the moment.
"Yeah, I did," the blonde man stood next to him now, speaking in a hushed tone so that Kurt and Bobby, facing the opposite direction and involved in their own conversation, wouldn't hear. "You might say I have a bone to pick with you, in fact."
"Well, right now may not be the most opportune time for that, mon ami. We're leaving soon, and I've got other things on my mind. So if you would—"
"This will only take a minute of your busy day, I promise you that."
Jean-Paul arched an eyebrow dangerously at his teammate. Calm. Think. Use your head, Beaubier. "I suppose this is about the looks."
Alex's lips bunched up, his eyebrows moved together in an almost comedic expression of confusion.
"The looks," he elaborated, with a long-suffering expression, "the horrible ones you've been shooting me since yesterday?"
He wasn't absolutely certain… but it really did seem that Alex's ears were going a bit pink. The muscles in his jaw worked for a moment, and his eyes flashed. Not quite anger… but definitely concern. He was trying his best to look stalwart, at least. "What did you say to Annie?"
Ah. Of course. Annie. They certainly had nothing else in common to talk about. Lovely. So this strapping young alpha-male needed to piss a line around his territory, apparently, even when he knew damn well that the prospect of the "other man" being interested in stealing his mate were absolutely zero. He knew Alex wasn't the quickest of cats, but he really hadn't expected stupidity of this magnitude from him. "Well, don't waste time with pleasantries, by all means, just come right out and—"
"Enough of your bullshit, Jean-Paul," the other man cut in sharply, and out of the corner of his eye, Northstar saw both Bobby and Kurt shoot glances in his direction, then move off a little further, as if to look at Bobby's car. But they weren't moving too quickly. "She was fine yesterday before she talked to you. Then, you two were out in the yard, talking, and she was a wreck all day. She refused to talk to me about it last night, and she's still depressed. Whatever you said to her… you hurt her."
This made him stop, for just a moment. Wade through the haze of confusion he was having trouble keeping track of, think of everything he'd said to her. Yes, he'd asked her to leave… but he'd been certain she understood. Sarcastic façade dropping for a moment, he only said, "I didn't say anything… nothing that would have hurt her."
A noise halfway between a snort and a laugh escaped the blonde man, and he shook his head as if in disgust. "I'm serious about this. I saw her face, when she was coming inside. She was upset. Whatever you said, you'd better make it right, because she's—"
"Did it ever occur to you that perhaps she's simply concerned for my health?"
He could feel the shaking beginning. Inside of him. It started in his stomach, a sick, vibrating sort of sensation. And it moved out through his limbs from that center, ending in his fingers, his toes. He had to fight not to curl his hands up into fists.
Because what the fuck did Alex Summers know about what was happening to him?
And who the fuck was he to confront him about anything that was said between him and Annie?
"Don't fuck around, Jean-Paul. It was more than that—"
"No," he said, quietly, but dangerously enough to stop the other man mid-sentence.
They just stared at each other for a moment. Tension so heavy it was painful, physically excruciating.
And then, Jean-Paul let fly everything he'd needed to since the whole thing had begun. His voice remained cold, but in a terrible, frostbitten way. And his eyes never let go of the other man's, not for a moment.
"No, you don't know a thing about what's happening here. What did I say to Annie? I told her about my step-mother, my adopted mother. I told her about my nightmares, my insomnia. I told her about a ghost that is haunting me, stealing my breath, my sleep, my soul. That is what I said to Annie," he took a step closer now, purposely pushing into the larger man's space, willing him to start a fight so that he could hurt someone, anyone, right now. "And here comes her knight on a white horse, here to save her from the one thing we all crave, friendship. I told her what I told her because I trust her. She wants me to trust her, and I don't want anything from her but that, her trust. Of all the people in this house to get jealous of, Summers, you have chosen the wrong fucking man.
"Why does she talk to me? Why does she care? I have nothing here, and she came here for you. I can appreciate that. Do you appreciate it? Do you understand the depth of commitment involved in what she did for you? Walking into the middle of a thing she doesn't understand, a thing she fears, all for some dreams and a totally intangible concept called love? Oh, of course you do, excuse me," he started to sneer now, feeling his lip curling up, hearing his voice drop even lower, almost to a hiss. "You're the great Alex Summers! I've seen how you appreciate your loved ones. Waiting until the wedding day to leave Lorna at the altar, very manly of you, mon ami. Did you talk to her? Tell me Alex, did she trust you? Does Annie? What happens when the next woman comes along?"
If looks could kill, he knew he would be dead by now. In fact, he might deserve it, as small part of his mind pointed out. Was it really so bad for Alex to inform him that he'd upset Annie somehow? To tell him he wanted him to make it right? Perhaps he could've gone about it a little more intelligently…
But he told that part of his himself to shut the fuck up, while the rest of him ranted. God, he needed this.
He still wasn't certain he wouldn't end up dead, however. Alex had a vein throbbing in his forehead that looked rather threatening, at the moment, and his eyes were burning hot and livid into Jean-Paul's own. He didn't back down an inch, held his ground, and even used the small height advantage he had over his Canadian teammate to look down on him. And he whispered, his voice dripping with venom the other man had never heard from him before, "Don't you ever talk about Lorna to me. And don't you ever talk about Annie, either. I would never hurt her."
"I'm not the one with the dreadful track record, when it comes to women," Jean-Paul stated, flatly now, all emotion drained from his voice now that he'd finally been able to lash out."Or men, for that matter. I suggest you find another way to prove your alpha male status than trying to take out Annie's male friends. It only makes you look pathetic, you realize."
"This isn't about jealousy, this is about the look on her face! You're twisting my words, I'm not trying to prove anything here! I'm just worried about her! You have a wicked fucking tongue, Jean-Paul, and you know it! I've heard what you can do to people, reduce them to nothing with a few words! If you said something to her, I want you to make it better." He suddenly raised his voice again, and the far off conversation between Kurt and Bobby suddenly ceased as they both turned concerned sideways glances at them.
"Get over yourself, Summers," Jean-Paul just shook his head, utterly finished with the conversation. "You sound like some high school kid trying to prove himself worthy of the pretty girl. I didn't say anything hurtful to her, and if you bothered to talk to her instead of for her, you might have known that. Did you ask her if it was something I'd said?"
Alex took a deep breath, and his mouth opened, as if he'd speak. His ears were most definitely pink, now. His hands were balled up into fists.
"Non, of course you didn't."
"She wouldn't talk to me about it. She said it wasn't… something she was at liberty to say. But I swear to god, Jean-Paul, if I ever have to see that look on her face again…" he let it trail off, leaving the threat open.
Jean-Paul, for his part, laughed aloud. He couldn't resist. "I wish you would hit me. You have no idea how I've been dying to lay into someone today," he leaned closer now, whispering the words, taunting the other man with a smile. "Just give me the chance." The last four words were a growl, more than actual spoken words. Low, rumbling, and hanging over both of their heads like a black cloud.
"Northstar!" Bobby was yelling for him, suddenly, somewhere in the direction of the driveway. "Hey, Northstar! You ready man?"
Unflinchingly staring Havok down, he did not bother to reply to Bobby, but continued on the roll he'd been on. "And Annie had better not find out about this. If she ever thought you'd taken it upon yourself to protect her, or whatever this ridiculous display here is about, she'd end you faster than I could. And believe me, Summers. I'm fast."
And then, he turned to go.
But he felt a hand on his shoulder.
And froze. Oh god. God, he wanted to hurt him. His insides were shaking with anger, his stomach roiling.
"Wait. Wait, I… this happened all wrong. I didn't mean for it to sound… like that. I just… I just wanted you to make it better, whatever it was."
He didn't bother turning around. He could hear it, in Alex's voice. Regret.
He was familiar with the emotion.
And he knew damn well that he had twisted the other man's words up. As an excuse. Blown it out of proportion, made it into something it didn't have to be, just so he could rage at something… someone.
But all the same, he couldn't bring himself to give a fuck. "You should've thought of that before you started beating your chest at me, then, don't you think?"
And he started walking again, towards the staring figures of Nightcrawler, Iceman, and now Bridget.
"Jean-Paul, I didn't mean it like that!"
But Jean-Paul wasn't listening anymore.
To her credit, Jubilee had been right about looking at least eighteen. Despite her youth, the proper application of certain quantities of make-up, combined with a long stretch of time in rollers and under Paige's hairdryer, had left her looking… just about right.
She fidgeted like a pre-teen, however.
"Calm down, child," Jean-Paul was unable to keep silent anymore, sitting beside her in the van. "You're supposed to be an empowered feminine goddess, not an adolescent mall rat for the love of god."
He could see her fighting not to stick her tongue out at him.
"You look great, Jubes," Bobby grinned from the other side of her, patting her on the leg. "Don't sweat it, just take it easy like the flyboy here tells you, and it'll all go great."
Quickly forgetting any anger she may have felt toward Northstar, she shook her head and ran a hand through her dark mass of hair self-consciously. "I know, I know, I'm just getting pre-show jitters. I'll be fine once I'm on stage."
Wolverine growled from behind them, "Sure you will, darlin'. Just stick to the plan, and we'll be right here waitin' for ya when ya come out."
She nodded, and was clearly attempting a smile as they pulled up near the building. Her building.
Tired. Sick. Still shaking inside. He could barely follow the conversation.
Jubilee climbed over Bobby, and moved into the back with Wolverine for a last-minute pep talk. Kurt and Bridget started making their way back from the front as well.
And Jean-Paul just stared out the window.
Bobby politely moved his legs so the others could get by, then watched them head into the back. When they were gone, busy discussing something about the wire tap on Jubilee, he turned to Northstar. "What did he say to you?"
"Who?" Of course, he knew who. But he was feeling difficult. After over 72 hours, he was entitled to be a little difficult.
"Don't be a dick," Bobby frowned at him, "Alex. He's been looking pissed off all day, and Annie's been looking irritated or something too."
Jean-Paul shrugged, unwilling to think about it. "Sounds like some sort of sexual inadequacy issue to me, none of my business really."
Bobby snickered at him now, "Probably has to do with living in Scott's shadow his whole career as a superhero or something."
Actually, that almost made him smile. Until he looked the other man directly in the eye. Until he felt that ache in him, of having something, and feeling it pulled away from you. Feeling something you've wanted, needed, for so long turn into something you hate. The one thing you hate.
"Look, fuck it, right? We're here for Jubes, huh?"
Jean-Paul managed a nod at his teammate's encouraging grin.
And sucked at the metallic wound on his bottom lip a little more.
It occurred to Northstar, as Jubilee entered their little clubhouse, that if he fell asleep, the game would be up. Because she would enter his head, and she would know what he was up to.
And then, at the very moment the door closed behind her, with Kurt, Bobby, Logan, and Bridget all watching the feed from the pin on her coat, listening to the wire tap… he realized that she probably already knew.
"Get her out."
They all turned to look at him, in varied states of shock.
Christ. Stupid. How had he been so incredibly fucking stupid? If she knew about Jeanne-Marie, Asgard, Joanna, and Bobby, why the fuck wouldn't she know about this?
"She's been in my head. Maya has been in my head."
Kurt, of course, was the only one who really knew what that meant. And his glowing eyes widened in recognition of the problem. "Scheisse. She knows?"
Northstar shook his head, "I don't know for certain… but she might."
"What are you talkin' about?" Logan growled, looking up from his seat, dangerously, at Jean-Paul.
"She's a psy-vampire, who works through dreams, nightmares…" Jean-Paul tried to remain calm, knowing damn well that this was nothing they didn't know. But perhaps they hadn't put it together just yet. The circles under his eyes. The times he'd been awakened in the past few days by other X-Men, thrashing and screaming.
Bobby's mouth turned into a perfect pink "o," and Logan shook his head. Bridget just stared, as if comatose.
"Holy shit, Jean-Paul you're kidding. She's been fucking with you… with your head?" This from Bobby, who looked utterly terrified at the prospect.
"Get her out," was all he said.
Jean-Paul stared at his charge, utterly, hopelessly wrecked.
If anything happened to Jubilee… if anything happened to Bridget…
She smiled at him encouragingly, "Don't let it worry you, Northstar. Even Kurt said they were going to have to go in after her, eventually. This just sort of… sped things up."
They were gone, and from the sound of Jubilee's wire tap, they had their hands full. Jubilee, he was happy to see, was fighting admirably, and, as she would've put it, "kicking some ass."
But it was his fault. Kurt had wanted him out, and he'd refused. And now it was blown all to hell. Of course, they'd been ready for Jubilee. Closed the door and immediately tried to restrain her. Kurt had thrown off a quick, "Stay with Bridget, just in case," in his direction before teleporting to her side. Logan had shot out the door, and Bobby had already begun his ice-slide by the time he'd looked up.
Tired. Tired, and foolish. There was no excuse for this. None at all.
Of course, he hadn't known she was taking anything from him, not really. Not until talking with Xavier in the wee hours… He'd thought… he'd thought…
No, there was no excuse. She knew everything about him. And it was his responsibility to inform the team of that, of the risk he posed by being included. Xavier wouldn't have known, he had no idea the extent to which Maya knew what was in his head. No. No one knew, not really.
Except him.
And he had failed. Failed Bridget, failed Jubilee, failed his teammates.
And fucked himself over royally, in the process, of course. But it seemed of little importance, really, considering the mutant meltdown occurring on the fifth floor of the student apartment building the van was parked next to.
He scrubbed at his face, then put his head in his hands for a moment, elbows on his knees.
Fuck. Just… fuck.
She put a small hand on his shoulder, and ducked next to him. "It's ok, Jean-Paul. They'll be fine."
They would, of course. There was no reason four X-Men couldn't take out seven college kids. No reason at all, even if one of them was likely to be her.
But they had meant to do this with minimal damage. And they had meant to do it quietly. Discreetly.
Lucky they'd planned for the worst, really. With him there for bad luck.
He blinked… heavily…
And when he opened his eyes again… she was there.
Only this time, it was for real.
He looked around, quickly, spotted Bridget hiding in the corner, behind the open door of the van, staring at him, wide-eyed. She must've walked right in, while he was sitting there…
Before he could think, he was on his feet, and had her by the neck, slammed against the van door, slamming every mental shield he had into place.
And she smiled at him, with dark red lips, held up a hand slowly.
With lightning fast speed, he took her wrist and slammed it against the door as well. Painfully hard, and without giving any quarter. He hoped it hurt. Badly.
And saw a spider crawl out from under his hand, where it connected with her skin, and run up his arm with alarming quickness.
"Marde!" He pulled his hand back quickly, and saw it there. A tattoo on the inside of her wrist. Of a spider. Small, black, and somehow absolutely terrifying.
Mesmerizing.
So… tired.
He felt her touch, just as he launched his shoulder into her, pushed the door open with her under him. He meant to start to fly, carry her away. Fast. To knock her out. To get her away from Bridget. Nothing was making any sense, but he knew he had to protect Bridget.
The shields in his mind this time helped… but the blackout was, most likely, inevitable.
AN: Thanks for sticking it out guys! Almost there now! This entire story is the product of my own insomnia, and I need to take this public opportunity to thank Sue for slogging through this chapter, full of all the angst of my sleepless Thanksgiving. You should get a medal for this, you know ;)
The M: Your approval of the last dream means so much to me. I know how dedicated you are to the cause (Bobby + JP = hot, and we both know it,) so I'm blown away that you enjoyed it so much. You're a darling.
Beenieweenie: Really glad you've continued reading. I hope the next dream holds up to the standard I set before hand, with vividness. Feel free to let me know if I fail you!
Akuma no Tsubasa: I'm happy you're interested, and happy you adore JP as well ;) Hope you're still out there reading, and thanks so much for the feedback.
Jander: Thank you for the sweet comments, and I hope you're doing well on your search for more JP info. And yeah, Jono is amazing. We DO seem to have similar taste in mutants!
TKD: If you made it this far, congratulations! I wish I could say there was a prize for it, alas, just angst. That's all we have round these parts, of late. Glad you're back, and looking forward to more of your lovely Kurtness!