Chapter Six: Faster
When his eyes snapped open, he was flying, and fast. But he wasn't above Toronto, and he wasn't in an unnamed province in India. He was…
He could still feel the warmth of someone in his arms. Someone with a spider on her wrist.. purple nails… those horrible… horrible eyes.
He turned around, mid air, looked down. His stomach dropped. Because he could see her, falling. He'd actually, really dropped her. Just as he had in the dream.
And he'd wanted to. He still wanted to.
You're just… like… me.
In a flash, he was gone, and was suddenly underneath her, close to the street. He flew upward now, put his shoulder into her stomach in mid air, so that she bent in half with a cry of pain and surprise, draped over his shoulder. And he sped up, flying straight upward, then toward the east. Faster. Faster. His lungs were aching and his body was so tired… faster.
She fought, at first, kicked at him. Screamed. Pounded into his back. Tried to reach behind her, to his face. And he just went faster.
It only took a moment, for the lack of oxygen at such a high speed to knock her out.
And by that time, he couldn't think at all anymore. He just wanted to collapse into a pile. In fact, he wasn't even certain he would make it back to Bridget, to the van. He just… had nothing left.
And he still wanted her to die.
But he landed by the van, irrationally hoping the touchdown looked as graceful as usual, and put her inside. Watched her fall backwards, still out cold.
Then, he sunk to his knees. Mainly because he wasn't certain he could continue to stand.
Bridget was beside him now, her arm around his shoulders, "God, Jean-Paul. Are you ok? What happened?"
He forced the haze falling over him to clear, to think rationally. "Bind her hands and feet, Bridget. Can you do that for me, please?" He knew he should do it himself. But… he couldn't.
She kissed his cheek, squeezed him, "Yes, Of course," and went to work immediately. And rather roughly, he noticed.
Not that he minded. "Don't let her touch you, whatever you do. Where are the others?" Fighting so hard to stay awake. He couldn't sleep, not until they were back. Not until she was safe.
She was back with him now, pushing his hair out of his face, looking at his eyes carefully through the visor. "Nightcrawler was here, after I told him what happened over the com link. He saw you fly away with her, and he said you could handle it, but to call him if anything went wrong. When… when you dropped her…"
When she trailed off, he didn't say anything. He'd dropped her. He'd wanted to drop her.
She hurt him. And he wanted to kill her.
Did he really anymore though, now that it was over? Now that she was here, helpless, bound and alone. Wasn't she just… sad now?
No… he still wanted to hurt her. But not kill her. No. He wasn't like her.
Suddenly, Bridget's head snapped up, and she was looking behind him, "Shit!"
He tried to turn, to stand and see who it was, what it was. Something threatening, but his body refused to respond to his commands.
Bridget was on her feet in a second, however, and by the time he turned, all he saw was her fist slamming into a purple-haired woman's nose, crushing it and causing a trickle of blood to immediately start out of it. And Bridget, though by far the smaller of the two women, didn't stop there. She hit the staggering woman again, this time swinging with her left, connected with her jaw with a solid, meaty thud, and sent the woman reeling. Straight to the ground.
"Christ!" She breathed, staring at her victim, wide-eyed, and shaking out her left hand. "Oh Christ, that felt good."
In a heartbeat, she was tying the woman up, and had her moved next to Maya, in the van.
And then she was next to him again, pulling him into her arms. He didn't want to go, because he knew she would be warm, and he knew he would want to put his head on her shoulder… yes, like this. And he would want to close his eyes. "My hero," he laughed, sleepily.
She just took off his visor, carefully, and smoothed his hair. This tiny, little girl, who had just utterly destroyed a much bigger, conventionally scarier woman. From wrathful to benevolent in ten seconds flat. That was the goddess. "Now we're even, huh speedy?"
He wanted to laugh again, as he leaned against her. He might have, really. It was hard to tell.
Someone was picking him up, pulling him to his feet. "C'mon JP, let's get you home buddy."
His eyes opened, but just barely, "Bobby…"
The smaller man had maneuvered himself under Jean-Paul's arm, and managed to drag him halfway to the door before his eyes finally managed to come open. "It's ok now, everything's fine. You did good, man. Real good. Just let me get you in here, so you can get some sleep."
But there were more people around now, X-Men and others. He caught a glimpse of white, iridescent wings, not far off. And Paige's blond hair. And… so many others. He stopped moving in the direction Bobby was steering him and turned around, pulling his arm out of the other man's grip and taking a few shaky steps toward the cluster of people surrounding the other van—which had apparently arrived while he slept, on the ground, on Bridget's shoulder.
"Jean-Paul, don't, man, really," Bobby was saying, renewing his grip on his arm.
But Jean-Paul didn't reply. Something was wrong, and he knew it. He could feel it. "Where's Maya?" He continued moving toward the knot of people, effectively taking Bobby with him, since the man did not seem to want to let go of him.
"She's already being taken back to the Institute. Drugged up. She's probably being put into a cell as we speak. Jean-Paul, listen man, don't. Just come with me, you need to sleep…"
But he wasn't listening anymore. Because he saw who was in the van. Three men, all handsome, young. But one of them couldn't wake up. And one of them was shaking uncontrollably. And one of them just stared, an expression of perfect, mask-like horror on his delicate, almost feminine features. Dirty. Thin. Badly used.
Warren was with them, trying to say something to one of them. But it was the starer. And he wasn't responding. Not at all.
He felt his knees give out, knew he was going to end up on the concrete again.
But Bobby caught him, from behind. "Oh no you don't. Jesus, man, I told you not to. Why the fuck can't you just listen," and he kept talking softly, as he dragged him back to the first van, the one he'd come in.
"I dropped her," he whispered, as Bobby commanded him to lie down properly on the seat.
"Yeah well, can't say I blame you. That's one sick little girl you've been dealing with this week. I would've let her fall."
He forced his eyes to stay open, to look at his friend for just a minute longer. So familiar, that face, even when it was twisted up in anger as it was now. "She did that to them." He knew he wasn't making sense. But the things he'd seen didn't make sense either. Those men…
Bobby nodded, "Yeah. Now that you've seen them I guess you might as well know. She had them locked up, in a room. Feeding off them. The one guy, who can't wake up… we figure he's about done in, mentally. But maybe the Professor can…"
He shivered, violently.
"God, I'm sorry. What the fuck is wrong with me, talking like this. Look, man it's over. You ended it, it's over," Bobby was now kneeling by the seat, resting one hand on Jean-Paul's chest reassuringly, his eyes scrunched up in that beguilingly sincere look he was so good at.
"It would've been me, if I hadn't, non?"
Bobby nodded, "Yeah, Jean-Paul. But it wasn't. And it's not gonna be. So go to sleep. Sleep for days. No one's gonna fuck with you, or wake you up. They'll have to go through all of us first."
Jean-Paul, too tired, too drained to even construct a sentence at the moment, patted Bobby's arm and tried to smile. "Merci beaucoup."
If Bobby said anything else, he didn't hear it.
He was in bed, in his underwear, and it was light outside.
He had no idea what time it was, but he was in his own room, door shut, lights off, curtains drawn. And he felt like he'd been asleep for a year.
And it felt good.
He sat up and rubbed his eyes, then his face. He hadn't been so scruffy when he'd… what was the last thing he'd done…
Fallen asleep. In the van.
How the fuck did he end up here?
Whoever had done it, he silently thanked them as he pushed himself out of bed, and toward the bathroom in search of a toothbrush. His teeth felt… horrible.
As he went through his usual morning routine, for the first time in what felt like a long time, things started to slide into place in his mind. It took longer than usual to wake up—not that he was a morning person, but once he was awake, his mind was usually as sharp as ever. Brushing his teeth, he realized that he'd gone with the others to find Maya. Stepping into the shower, he realized that his stupidity, his unwillingness to talk to the rest of the team about what she had been doing to him (he suppressed a shiver at that, despite the hot water pouring over him.) Rinsing the soap out of his hair, he realized that he'd drifted off, and she'd found him. Drying his hair with a towel, he realized that he'd been caught by her, remembered the dreams she'd given him, and how he'd been able to resist this time.
Shaving, he realized that he'd almost murdered her.
And he froze.
You're just like me.
Jeanne-Marie… the trolls… Joanna… him… Cell Combattre… a little girl in India.. .
He'd dropped her, above the city. Almost let her die.
Jean-Paul slowly, carefully, finished shaving. Stomach rumbling threateningly, he pulled on the first shirt he found, and a neatly pressed pair of khakis from his closet.
And wished, just for a moment, that he was still too tired to think.
"You're up."
A voice he did not want to hear, standing in the kitchen, his head in the refrigerator.
It was five o'clock. On what day, he couldn't imagine. But he had a feeling it was Tuesday, somehow. He'd clearly slept through the rest of Monday.
And he did not want to hear that voice. Not now, and not any time soon.
So, he ignored it, and continued moving around leftovers in search of something decent. His stomach was killing him.
"Jean-Paul, don't pretend you don't hear me. Look, let's not act like kids. I got out of line—,"
"Not now, Alex," he snapped. "I've been asleep for god knows how long, after 80something hours of being awake and tormented. If you don't mind, I'd like to eat in peace."
"Yeah, back off man."
That voice, he was a little happier about. If it had to be someone's…
"Bobby—," Alex began, dangerously.
"Let it go," Bobby's voice was coming closer now, toward him. "Man's had a rough week, ok?"
"I just wanted to…,"
"Save it," Bobby told him, now standing behind Jean-Paul.
The sound of retreating footsteps told him that Havok had wisely taken Iceman's advice. And he realized that he'd been holding his breath.
"The guy has no respect for anyone, I swear to god. Thinks we should all bow down. He's worse than Scott. What a dick."
Finally, Jean-Paul forced himself to stand up straight, and closed the door, turning to face Bobby.
He wondered if he would ever forget what it felt like. Touching him like that.
Part of him hoped he would. And part of him knew he didn't really want to.
"I thought you didn't hate him."
Bobby grinned, "That's only when I'm drunk, Jean-Paul. How are you?"
"Hungry."
"Yeah, not surprising. I went up to check on you, but you were gone, so I figured this would be the most likely place to find you."
"My hero."
Bobby nodded, still grinning, "Just returning the favor."
Miraculously, Jean-Paul felt himself smile. "I'm ok. I didn't need checking on."
"Warren and I decided you did," he informed him. "Was nice, to see people concerned for someone other than themselves for once. So we took turns."
He tried not to look surprised. He tried not to stutter, as he pushed out, "Thank you."
But the other man just shrugged, "No big deal. You want some Taco Bell? I'm about to head out, and Hank needs to see you. I could pick you up something, and be back by the time you're done."
Taco Bell… he could not honestly remember ever having eaten Taco Bell. But at the moment, anything sounded good. His stomach was slowly eating itself, from the inside out. "Thank you," he said again.
"What you want?"
A pause. "… What do they have?"
Bobby actually laughed at that. "How about if I surprise you?"
He nodded, "That might be best."
"Can you make it down to Hank on your own, or do I need to carry you?"
Those hands… those lips. He forced a smile. It would have been clever, if not for that dream.
"I'm fine, thank you."
Laughing again, "Alright, just take it easy. I'll be back with the Bell in a few. I swear, it makes everything better."
A clean bill of health from Hank and a seven layer burrito later, he was sitting at the table digging into his second. It wasn't bad, really. It certainly wasn't good, but…
"Jesus Bobby, this is drunk food," Warren laughed, taking a drink of his Coke. "What the hell compelled you to make a Taco Bell run?"
Paige grinned around a mouthful of chalupa at him.
Jubilee laughed, "It is not drunk food, wings! I've never even been drunk and I love it!"
"So it's your fault!" Warren announced, taking a triumphant bite of his own unrecognizable tortilla product.
"If you don't love Taco Bell, you're an old man, Worthington," Bobby nodded sagely, squeezing out more fire sauce onto his nachos. "Don't tell me you're an old man."
Paige shook her head, finally having swallowed. "Not yet!"
Jean-Paul, for his part, remained silent. He was glad for the company, really. Glad that he didn't have to be perpetually thinking of it. Of how those men had looked when they'd been taken from her apartment. Vegetative, unresponsive, sick. Of how he'd almost murdered someone.
He'd wanted to kill people before, yes. People who'd hurt him, his friends, people he loved.
But he'd never come so close to letting it happen. It would have been so easy. To just… not save her.
"Alright, flyboy?" Jubilee asked him, with an elbow in his side.
Mildly startled, he looked over at her while the conversation between the other three carried on. He knew he owed her an apology. But she was grinning, and the others were having a good time arguing about the pros and cons of horrible pseudo-Mexican fast food, and he couldn't bear to bring them all down with him. Not after how they'd taken care of him.
He wasn't used to being taken care of. He wasn't certain how to react.
"Oui, Jubilee. I'm fine. Just confused, still."
"No damn wonder," she snorted. "We had no idea just how fucked up that little operation was. You're a real trooper, you know that?"
He managed a smile at her, for that. She really was rather adorable, in that mall-dwelling American teenage way. "Well, I'm alive, anyhow."
He stood next to Annie, in the infirmary. Looking at three sleeping men. All totally different in looks, other than the fact that they were all undeniably handsome. All three in different states of shock, from what she'd done to them.
"How long did she have them, Annie?"
He felt, more than saw her shake her head. "We don't know yet. She's not talking, and the others claim not to know. They're lying, of course, but the Professor is wary of pushing things too much."
"Will they be alright?"
"James here, he'll be fine," she moved to stand next to the bed of the dark man he'd seen in the van, the one who'd been shaking. "He actually woke up not long ago, for a few moments. He was scared, but I talked him down, and gave him a mild sedative, to let him sleep some more." She then nodded at the next man over, with vaguely Asian features and that delicate bone structure that made him appear so girlish. The starer. "Kip… he will come out of it. The Professor can help him, he says. But Angelo…," she trailed off, as her eyes fell on the third man, the blonde who had been asleep the first time he'd seen them. "There isn't much left of him, Jean-Paul. She…"
"Sucked the life out of him. Like she did to her parents. And god knows who else," He suddenly felt as if his bones had gone liquid, and collapsed into the nearest chair, staring at the man who would probably never open his eyes again. In a way, he was lucky. Lucky he wouldn't have to remember what it was she did to him. If he'd been through enough to make him comatose, it had to be far worse than anything Jean-Paul had experienced. And he knew she was capable of much worse. She was only just beginning to fuck with him, when she'd been bested.
Annie came to him now, pulled up a chair in front of him, so that their knees were touching. Laid a hand on his leg, searching his face. "How do you know… about her parents?"
He sighed. But he didn't have the energy to fight it, this time. He was awake, yes, he didn't feel tired. But this was a different kind of energy. It was the energy to pretend that he didn't mind doing it on his own. Because he bloody well did. "She showed me. Her father… he used her when she was a child, when her powers manifested. Made their family famous. They had a little goddess in the family, she could "heal" the sick and possessed. And then… they moved to America. Maybe Canada, I don't know. And now that he had what he wanted from her, he treated her like she was nothing, then like she was less than nothing. I don't think he… beat her, or her mother. But it was… more subtle. A sort of emotional… superiority issue. As if they didn't deserve a thought from him. I don't know, Annie…she showed me, though. Showed me why she did what she did."
"I wonder why she would do that…"
"She did it because she thought I would understand. She thought I was like her."
Silence, as Annie just stared at him. He found that he did not want to meet her eyes. Not at all.
"Why… why would she think that, Jean-Paul? You're nothing like her…"
"In a way. She… she knew my past, I told you. Showed me things, twisted things up in the most painful way possible. The last thing she tried to show me… did you know I was a sepratiste, Annie?"
She shook her head, "I don't know what you mean."
So, he spilled out the entire story of his past with the FLQ to her, there in the infirmary. His time with Cell Combattre, his attempt to rescue them, years later, from a plot. How he was used to track them down, how he watched three more of them die after his friend Jacques, the first man to ever give him something to believe in.
And when he was done, she was sitting there, hand at her throat, tears in her eyes. "Oh God, Jean-Paul, I had no idea…"
"I almost killed the man who did it to them, the one who called himself Scourge," he was whispering now, remembering the red rage in which he'd pounded through the man's body armor, bloodied both the man's face and his own hands until Heather and the others managed to pull him off, forced him to stop. "And you see, Annie, she knew all of this. In fact, she tried to make me dream that it had happened differently. Probably, she would have shown me the last two of them dying, if I had not thrown up some sort of shield just before she touched me. That's the sort of thing she liked to make me dream about. She knew that I had once been a party to underground activities, for a cause I believed in. She knew I could understand oppression. She knew how I loved the people I'd worked with, then, how they were as a family to me. How I'd almost murdered in cold blood for revenge."
"You didn't kill anyone," she stated firmly.
He shook his head, "No, of course not. I never believed in violence as a way to achieve our goals. Then we would be no better than the government who rolled over countless innocents—,"
"You're not like her, Jean-Paul. Not at all. It's not the same thing."
He swallowed, hard. "I almost killed her too."
Her eyes grew wide, but her bottom lip was quivering. She didn't look shocked, not really. She just looked… sad. "I would have."
Now he felt his own eyes grow wide in reply. "No, you would not have. You are a nurse, at heart. You would never—,"
"I would," she shook her head, cutting him off again. "I've wanted to before. But something like that… that might be enough to make me do it. Showing you such things, twisting your memories, stealing your life, your sleep, your…,"
"My soul," he finished for her. He meant it in the purely figurative sense, of course. Jean-Paul did not really believe in such a thing as the eternal soul. But there was no other word he could think of, for what she'd been taking from him. Himself.
She nodded, "That's all we have, in the world."
"I dropped her," he stated flatly, before he could stop himself. "I dropped her, from very high in the air. Just… let her go. I was dreaming, she'd touched me while I was trying to fly away with her, get her away from Bridget. And in the dream, I dropped her. When I opened my eyes—,"
"You caught her."
"I didn't want to… but…"
"You're not like her, Jean-Paul."
He just looked at her for a moment. This amazing woman. The strength to follow her heart into the thing she feared most. To raise a son like Carter. To put up with a son of a bitch like Alex. And to tell him what he needed to hear most, in all the world. And to mean it. How did she do it?
"We all want to hurt people, sometimes. But some of us choose not to. And that's what separates us from the animals. Animals like Maya. Without that choice, we're nothing but animals."
Jean-Paul closed his eyes, thankful now for his days worth of sleep not so long ago. Without it, he never would have been able to hold himself together, hearing her say things like that.
After a few minutes, she leaned back, took her hand from his leg, and he opened his eyes to see her smiling at him. "Alex told me what he said to you."
From warm inside to hot. He felt his lip curling up in the most wicked sneer he was possessed of, uncalled for. He made a valiant effort to stop it, but he was not so collected as to be that in control of his emotions. "Did I hurt you? Tell me the truth. Did I say something to you that was hurtful?"
She shook her head vehemently, "No, not at all. It was… it was what you said about your adopted mother. It just… I'm a mother. It made me so sad, to think of Carter… to think of you, small like him, and so alone. You looked… you looked so young when you said it. I've never heard you talk like that, about the past. I… didn't know. It just made me think, is all. And I couldn't tell him about it. It's not my story to tell."
He nodded, "I'm sorry if it caused you any trouble with him. He was only trying to make things right. I overreacted."
"I'm a big girl. And believe me, he's not going to forget it again any time soon."
He laughed at the expression on her face now, and it came as a huge relief. Seemed to make tension in his shoulders he hadn't realized was there bleed out. One eyebrow raised, jaw set firmly, she was not a woman he'd want to cross twice, let alone once. "He tried to apologize to me earlier," he admitted. "But I was hungry and didn't want to hear it. I was rude to him. And Bobby saved me."
Her eyebrow stayed raised, and arched a little higher at that.
"He brought me Taco Bell."
Her nose wrinkled up at that. "Carter loves Taco Bell."
"So does Jubilee, apparently."
"I wanted to apologize to you, Kurt."
It was the first thing he said, when he found the man outside, basking in the sunset behind the house. Kurt looked up from the bench, and smiled at him. "Sit with me, it's going to be a beautiful night."
He obeyed the man's request, and looked into the west with him. Soon, the days would grow shorter. The trees were already red and yellow and orange on top, and the evening was growing chill rapidly. He had on his pea coat, himself, unbuttoned, and Kurt wore a light spring jacket with a red X logo on the chest. "I'm sorry," he said after a moment. "I didn't realize… I didn't think it through. I should not have been in on the plans, and I should not have come along."
"It worked out, in the end, and no one was the worse for it." his golden eyes stared straight ahead, into the distance, over the treetops. "In fact, I'm certain Logan was happy for an out and out fight. He never did much care for subversion. And I cannot honestly blame you. There was no way to know that she was stealing such information from your head, in your sleep."
"There was," he insisted, looking at the ground. "She was digging through my memories… through my hopes. She knew everything. I didn't even think about it. And I didn't tell anyone how bad it was. If I had, someone would have seen it. I allowed myself to become distracted, emotional, and I endangered everyone."
A three-fingered hand fell onto his shoulder, as Kurt stretched his arm over the back of the bench. "Jean-Paul, my friend, no one blames you. I've had my share of nightmares, in this life. And my share of dreams. And there are very few of them I could handle being dug up, now that I've made my peace with them. And some of them I'm still making my peace with."
Something in him knew that he didn't deserve this treatment. He didn't deserve to know a woman like Annie, who could look him in the eye and make him believe that he was not a monster, even if it was only for a moment. And he didn't deserve to know a man like Kurt, who could forgive the cardinal sin of the business so quickly, and make him believe that he truly understood. "But, I am sorry, mon ami, nevertheless."
The hand left his shoulder, and now hung lazily over the back of the bench, and Kurt crossed his legs, shifting comfortably. "Are you better now? You slept well? Warren and Bobby told me you were sleeping like a baby, so I assumed you were taken care of—,"
"Yes, it's over now."
"Some things are hard to forget," Kurt spoke again, slowly. "Some things… might not feel better for a long time. But they will be, eventually. You must have faith in that, that things will feel better, eventually. The peace will return. Sometimes, it takes longer than others. But always, it returns."
He sat there in silence after that, next to his teammate, Errol Flynn, the priest. Until the sun set. When Kurt made no move to leave, he looked over at him again, and saw him still staring off, into the west, eyes eerily aglow.
Finally, he asked, "What… what were they doing, Kurt?"
Nightcrawler shook his head, displacing some of his unruly dark mop of hair, and pushed it back absently. A boyish, guarded sort of gesture, out of place in a man with such poise, such natural elegance. Yet, endearing. Things like that were what made the man approachable. That and his million dollar grin, of course. "It was worse than we'd imagined. Aside from kidnapping random men, for her own personal uses, they were systematically taking out anyone they deemed an enemy to their cause of… utter insanity, as far as I can tell. And to make matters more complicated, they were an all mutant group, which is why they rejected Bridget in the first place. I'm convinced that she knew nothing of their violent methods, but was attracted to the strength of their reputation alone. If they managed to be intelligent enough about their activities to avoid notice from the authorities, there's no reason a college student would have known about them," and he sighed at that, taking a short break to shake his head sadly. "It is lucky we discovered this when we did. They were expanding, planning to begin a larger campaign, recruit more mutants to their cause, and damage the reputation of respectable feminists, not to mention mutants, all over the planet."
"Yes. Well," Jean-Paul tried not to sound quite so shocked at the implications of what the man had just told him. He had no idea it had been so serious, thought of Maya as a little girl playing at terror. But no… she was serious. And if they hadn't taken her seriously, if they had underestimated her instead of over planning for their meeting with her… things might have gone very differently. "I suppose she wouldn't be the first to damage the reputation of either, really."
He laughed a little, quietly, and shook his head again, "Nein, I don't believe she would be."
For a moment, Jean-Paul just watched him. He looked so solemn, at times, this man. Solemn, but rarely outright sad. Yet, something seemed off. "And how are you, Kurt?"
The other man grinned, and turned his handsome face toward Jean-Paul. "Viel besser, now that I see you up and about. And as for myself… there is nothing wrong, so I must feel right."
"Difficult to fault your logic."
Kurt laughed at this, and then stood, with that incredible grace that came so easily to him, that Jean-Paul had to fight for. "Things weigh heavier on my soul, the older I get. And tonight, I feel old."
He nodded, getting the distinct impression that the things he spoke of were not things he wished to let out. Not tonight. So he stood, and started back toward the house with him. "Well," he returned his words of only a few days ago to him now, "if you need me…"
"I know where to find you," Kurt finished, still smiling.
Jean-Paul had never been very good at offering to be the bearer of someone else's concerns and cares, and he knew it. He was selfish. But today, he thought he would like nothing more.
Perhaps all he ever really needed was a little sleep.
He didn't know what sort of perverse streak in him had compelled him to come here, to see her. But he wasn't tired yet, despite the fact that it was near to his usual lights out at midnight. And he couldn't stop thinking about it all.
After his talk with Kurt, he'd retreated to his room. He'd wanted to apologize to Jubilee for his thoughtlessness, to thank Warren for taking his classes, for watching over him. But he simply couldn't endure any more tonight.
He wasn't sorry that he'd told Annie the things he had. She'd known just what to say. Hell, he hadn't even known what he'd wanted to hear, until the words fell from her lips. And he was glad he'd talked to Kurt as well. The man's presence was calming and disarming, even when he didn't speak. But he simply couldn't take anymore emotion.
At least, that's what he'd thought. And then he'd ended up down here. Outside the holding cells.
With one swift movement, he opened the door, and walked into the room. And saw her sitting there, against the wall on the bed, her knees drawn up, arms clasped around them. Purple nails digging into her black sleeves.
She smiled, when she saw him. It was, quite possibly, the most unpleasant smile he'd ever seen.
"I was wondering when you'd come to see me."
He just looked at her.
And found that he couldn't even be angry anymore. Had she taken that from him too?
"No hello for me?"
He continued just looking at her.
And he felt nothing. Not anger, not fear, not pain. Just… cold. It was cold in here, wasn't it?
The smile slid off her face, slowly, as he stared. "What the fuck do you want, Jean-Paul?"
He took a deep breath, suddenly very uncomfortable with his name coming from her mouth. "I came to tell you something."
"Oh, I thought you'd come to taunt me, to prove that you were now the dominant one."
"No," he shook his head slightly. "I just came to tell you, you were wrong about me."
She laughed, and it was like nails scraping over a chalkboard to his ears. "I know you, asshole. You know I know you. I know who you love, I know what you want, I know every man you've ever slept with, every villain you've ever fought, and every insult you've ever hurled at another human being. I seriously doubt that I am wrong about you."
"I'm not like you."
Again, the laugh. "Oh please. Not like me because you belong to the X-Men instead of Deviyaa? Give me a fucking break, Monsieur Sepratiste. Don't act like you've never wanted to kill for what you believe in, or to protect yourself, your friends. I know you. I know."
He took a few steps closer, wondering why this wasn't making him angry. Why he was so calm. Why he could feel himself breathing slowly in and out, as if her words were bouncing right off of him. His voice low, and utterly composed, he told her the one thing that had saved him. That had proven just how wrong she was. "I've never tortured anyone. I've never destroyed anyone. And if you need any further proof, remember this—you're still alive."
She narrowed those terrible violet eyes at him. "What the fuck are you talking about?"
"If I were like you, you'd be dead right now."
And for that, she had no answer.
"Good night, Maya," he told her, quietly, turning to leave now that he'd said what he needed to say.
"Don't you walk away," venom dripped freely from her voice, now that she'd found it. "You know you wanted me dead!"
"Sweet dreams, Maya."
And he closed the door behind him with a soft click.
He knew he would not forget again soon. Kurt had said it, and he had known it. He would not forget what it was like to hold his dying sister in his arms. He would check his stomach for the wound from the whirring blade of the Asgardian trolls once in awhile. He would feel tears come to his eyes, when he thought of the comforting weight, the warmth of Joanna in his arms. And he would look at Bobby Drake, and know exactly what he was missing.
But at least he still had his soul.
i'll die before i get to sleep
when screaming shadows haunt my dreams
i'm cold and soaking wet when daylight shows its face
this fear will always get in your way
and i can hear so much that i miss it everyday
it finds me deep in love and deeper down the lane
i don't know too much but i know what i want to say
i just need myself
-Ocean Colour Scene, "I Just Need Myself"
A/N: The name Maya is a Sanskrit name, meaning "Illusion." It is the term generally used by Buddhists to describe the untruth of the material world, the illusion we create around us every day. It is all impermanent, a construct of the human mind, of the human ego. Attachment to and belief in this Maya feeds the ego, and blocks the path to enlightenment, to true understanding of the nature of existence. Or, as it were, non-existence.