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Author's Note:
Greetings.
Read, review, and enjoy. :) Pretty please. Comments on reviews are at the bottom as usual.
Don't read the footnotes if you find religious opinions other than your own to be offensive.
Cheers.
Jack
------
Well, I lied.
I didn't out us at dinner the next night. Nor the night after. Nor, in fact, did I say a single word for the next three weeks either. I hate to say it, but I chickened out - big time. And if you call me a wuss, I'll sic Hank on you.
I made excuses, of course. Heavy schoolwork, fatigue, the usual garbage, but it didn't fool anyone. By the last week of September, I was getting disapproving looks from every adult in the place as well as Summers and Jean. Kurt was too self-conscious to speak up without me, so both of us were uncomfortable for most of that month. I kept waiting and waiting for Ororo or Uncle Charles or someone to speak up, but they didn't. Logan, however, did.
I'd been having a fairly erotic dream involving Kurt, Rahne, and half the cast of Baywatch. I don't think it's necessary to go into detail, but I'm sure you can let your imagination run wild. Let's just say I was really getting into it, shall we?
Anyway, just before the dream really got underway I knew someone was in my room. This set off my mental alarm. I woke up, of course, and the dream slipped through the fingers of my mind. I lay still, though, and listened carefully. Nothing.
It had to be Logan.
Sure enough when I opened my eyes the big guy was slouched in the chair by my bed, doing his usual imitation of a Mafia hit man. I could see the moonlight glinting off his eyeballs and knew he was watching me. I glanced at the clock. Thank God it was a Friday night.
"Good morning, Logan," I said, smothering both a yawn and a mild irritation that he'd managed to wake me. "I thought you just made rounds at night. Didn't realize you played mother hen, too."
He snorted. The sound was loud and vulgar, and the last shreds of my dream fell away. Darn it. I saw his shadowy bulk stand up and reach across to the nightstand and had barely a moment to avoid being blinded by the lamp he switched on.
A substantial weight settled on the edge of my bed. It hadn't occurred to me until just then that Logan's metal skeleton had to weigh a lot more than just a bone one. It felt like Hank was sitting next to me, but when my eyes adjusted to the sudden light, it was only Logan.
Only. As if he wasn't enough to handle at any one time.
"Mornin'," he grunted as I scooted into a sitting position. Just when I'd gotten comfortable, he threw back my covers and scooped me out of the bed. "We gotta talk, bub."
The tone of his voice would have scared wild dogs away.
He deposited me rather abruptly in the wheelchair and pushed me out into the hall. I hissed softly. Someone had either cranked the air up out here or left a window open. I'd snuggled under my covers wearing a ratty old t-shirt and a pair of silk boxers (courtesy of Structure, by way of Uncle Charles' Carte Blanche) and had been quite warm under the heaps of blankets I preferred to sleep with. I could feel the hair rising on my neck and arms.
"What?" I grumped as I tried to keep my teeth from chattering. "We couldn't talk back in my bedroom?"
"No." As usual, Logan left very little room for argument.
We made it to the top of the stairs and I felt his arms tense. Logan had carried me, wheelchair and all, up and down the main staircase any number of times, but it never failed to impress me. Yeah, I know I weighed less than 150 pounds (including the chair), but it was still a remarkable feat to me. I mean, the balance alone, well...
I'm getting off track.
Just as he was about to hoist me up, there was a muffled crash from down the hallway through which we'd just passed. Logan set me carefully down, let fly with a few impressive (but quiet) oaths, and stalked down the hall toward what sounded like Bobby's room. I winced inwardly. My friend was about to be torn a new one. And I was going to miss it, to my annoyance.
I had bigger problems, however, because while I was leaning toward the boy's hall, trying my best to listen to the familiar tones of Logan cussing out one of the students, the wheelchair started to roll forward. I looked down in alarm.
In case no one ever mentioned it, Xavier's mansion isn't a new building. I won't go into detail here, but from what I've learned it's actually one of the oldest buildings on Long Island. Quite understandable, then, that there would be certain areas that aren't quite on a proper level with the rest of the place. The second-floor foyer, at the top of the staircase, was mostly level except for the one unlucky spot where Logan had parked my sorry behind.
"Oh, crap," I muttered, groping for the brakes. I realized, belatedly, that leaning forward to look for the levers - while moving forward - was probably not the best way to arrest my movement. It didn't even occur to me to just grab the wheels and stop them with my hands. I'd torn enough skin off my palms to know better than to grab a rubber tire while it's in motion. Instead, I looked around for something to grab. Just my luck that Uncle Charles subscribed to a style of interior décor that was a combination of, say, Spartan and ascetic. Sort of a 'less is more' philosophy taken to the illogical extreme.
In other words, I was probably going to go down the stairs like a character in a badly written comedy.
I panicked for a brief instant, eyes darting around at hyper-speed trying to find any sort of handhold, however slight. I couldn't even tip the chair over, if that gives you any idea how little I weighed at the time. No matter what happened, I wouldn't embarrass myself by yelling for help...or screaming like a girl again.
Salvation! There: the topmost banister on the right. If I timed this right, I could shove off and grab hold of it just before the chair went over the first step. It would be a gamble, but probably a worthwhile one. The choice was between risking my dignity and risking a broken neck.
Not much of a choice, hmm?
I waited as long as possible before acting. With a final glance down the hall (Logan, alas, was nowhere in sight) I gathered as much of myself as could move and shoved off hard. The chair jogged slightly to the left, as I'd intended, letting the right front wheel to tumble down to the first step before the left one. This movement caused the chair to topple to the right, which gave me a little more clearance over the arm of the darn thing.
With as mighty a heave as I could muster, I thrust myself over the arm of the chair and groped desperately for the banister. And prayed. Mustn't forget the prayers.
The chair, already unbalanced, was pulled forward by its own weight and went tumbling down to the lobby with an appallingly loud crash. Had I rode it all the way down, I'd have been caught underneath and probably have ended up chewing aspirin like candy for the next several weeks.
I was a little surprised and disappointed that the racket didn't wake any more people than it did. There's a part of me that felt rather proud of the sheer amount of noise I'd managed to create. It's a guy thing.
Jean woke up, since hers was the room closest to the staircase down the girl's wing. Amara, who had the room across the hall, followed Red out to check out my mess. Sam and Lance also wandered out, rubbing their eyes and cursing vigorously in my direction. It sounded quite funny, actually, to hear Lance's Chicago accent competing with Sam's southern drawl as they bitched at me for waking them up. I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing as I leaned against the balustrade.
Not laughing was probably a smart move in more ways that one. If I'd laughed I'd have probably been smacked or fallen down the stairs, straight odds either way. I was unsteady on my feet; shaking in laughter would have been enough to tip me over the edge. Still, I was grinning quite openly when Logan came down the hall trailed by Bobby, who was doing his best to be quiet about it.
Logan stopped about five feet away and just stared at me. A hush fell over the little crowd of gawkers as he ran his eyes over me. He'd produced a cigar from somewhere and was gnawing on it, unlit. Every once in a while he'd scratch at his throat. The sound of it was that of sandpaper on glass; it sounded as though his stubble could rasp wood. Logan's pretty much an all-around menace; it's not just his claws you have to worry about.
After perhaps three or four minutes of this, I started tiring out and swaying back and forth. The reactions were immediate: Sam, Bobby, and Lance all stepped forward when they saw me falter and Jean steadied me without moving, her mind holding me in place. Rahne didn't budge an inch, which was probably for the best. Too many cooks, as they say. Logan just stood there, cocking an eyebrow at Red and looking at me with an unfathomable expression.
"All right, kiddies, back to bed," he growled. Sam and Rahne obeyed immediately, but Logan had to glare at Bobby before my friend would go back down the hall to his bed. The Iceman gave me a jaunty salute before he headed off to sleep.
Lance caught my eye. "Stay awake after you go back to your room," he muttered so softly I almost didn't hear him. "You've got to tell me what's going on." He squeezed my shoulder and disappeared down the hall past Logan.
That left me alone with Red and the big guy. Yippee. I could think of better ways to spend my night than by getting lectured on the value of Institute equipment and I was fully prepared to say so.
Jean, continuing her hold on me, moved around to stand next to Logan, who'd resumed his cigar-chomping vigil for some reason. I've never been able to read his face, but Jean was clearly impressed by something she saw in or on me. And for once she wasn't broadcasting it into my mind. Wonder of wonders.
That got a frown out of her as I expected it would. Hooray for me. She still hadn't given up on the habit of listening in on my thoughts.
'If you're done being rude,' she thought at me, 'why don't you look down so you can see why we're surprised?'
I did as I was told and very nearly lost my grip on the balustrade. That would have sort of defeated the purpose of throwing myself from a moving wheelchair, so I grabbed on again and just stared.
I was standing on my own two feet. What's more, I could feel myself making each and every one of the hundreds of tiny little movements involved in keeping balance. Shifting my weight, moving my legs slightly, working my knees - all of it. I was tired and weak, but darn if I wasn't standing unaided.
Looking back, I now realize that if Jean had let go of me at that moment, I'd probably have fainted. As it was, I could feel her in my mind, blocking that sensation. We exchanged startled looks and I'm sure she could feel my elation as well as my weariness. It was difficult, but I managed to rein in my feelings and shoot a grin in her direction.
With careful movements I took a couple steps toward her and Logan, feeling a sudden urge to hug someone. Had I considered the situation, I'd have stayed where I was until Logan could pick up and carry me either downstairs or back to bed. Had I been fully awake, I might have asked Jean to see if she could figure out how much control I'd have over my appendages. Had I given even the slightest thought to my condition, I'd have stayed put and let someone come to me. Instead, I acted without thought, giving myself over to my feelings. I was whole! I could walk again! Soon I'd be able to run!
Soon, but not yet.
Instead, I fell flat on my face.
"Damn, Pietro, you look pretty bad," Lance told me the next morning at breakfast.
I rolled my eyes, stifling a snort along the way. I'd learned the hard way that snorting through a broken nose hurt like hell and wasn't looking forward to doing it a second time. Even breathing was an irritation. Shish-ka-bobbed by my father, beaten to a bloody pulp by Duncan, and now this. I couldn't remember a day in the past two months in which I hadn't been in pain of one sort or another. It was getting depressing, really.
Jean told me (after I went sprawling, which did me absolutely no good whatsoever) that if I was going to fall on the marble tile of the hallways or foyer again, I might want to make more of an effort to protect my face. I'd tried to sneer at her, but pain shot across my face and I had to settle for muttering something evil about her mother's carnal habits instead.
Still, I'd woken up to the feel of heavy blankets across my body: my entire body. That fact alone had put me into a pretty good mood from the start. I'll be the first to admit that I'm not a morning person, but I couldn't help but smile right out of bed. I hadn't imagined it; I really could feel and move my legs again.
Summers had charge of me this morning and had woken me up a little past ten. He'd been delighted at the sudden improvement in my health. I'm not making that up. He actually bubbled. If he hadn't shut up after the first few minutes of gushing, I'd have had to help him. I'd actually had to restrain myself from reaching for a shoe, or a lamp, or maybe that copy of Les Misérables I was supposed to be reading for English.
As we quickly found out, not everything was back to normal. I had feeling in my legs, but almost no strength to use them. Standing wasn't too much of a problem as long as I had something to hold onto. If I tried really hard, I could even take a few steps forward. But it was exhausting, if not actually impossible.
In addition, though it hadn't been noticeable the night before, but there was a slight numbness to my right leg; apparently not all the damage had healed.
Still, it was an improvement.
After walking from the bed to the dresser and back (a mistake on my part) I was wiped out. It's no exaggeration to say that the sweat was dripping off me. Still, I was walking again. Even if I was having to lean on Summers to do so. My body overrode my pride in the end. I clenched my teeth and submitted to being returned to the wheelchair that had defined the last six weeks of my life.
I'd woken up late and expected the breakfast buffet to be picked over since most of my classmates were earlier risers than I was. I was wrong, as it turned out. In fact, I was quite surprised to find that the dining room was full. The adults were nowhere to be seen, but every last one of us kids was in there. I should have been suspicious at that point; getting all of us in one place for anything other than an emergency was an exercise in despair most of the time.
But my paranoia didn't rear its ugly head at all and so I found myself digging into a bowl of Rice Chex and raspberries (topped with a dozen sugar packets) without a second thought. We've already established that I have a bottomless pit for a stomach. My first move that morning, as on any other, was to quiet its persistent gurgling; if I didn't, I'd never hear the end of it. No pun intended.
I caught a glimpse of Kurt a few seats away from me; that got me thinking about my dilemma. Logan was right, as much as I hated to admit to it. All the adults knew the score. As far as I knew, only Summers, Jean, Lance, and Rahne were aware of the relationship between Kurt and me. The problem was everyone else. See, the prolonged secrecy was translating into stress for both Kurt and myself. One of us had to say something or the pressure would eat us alive.
Trouble is, I didn't think I had the sack to stand up in front of the household and just out the two of us.
For all I knew, they'd treat us like lepers or something. I realized at that moment just how accustomed to living at the Institute I'd gotten. I was actually afraid of being the mansion's bogeyman just because Kurt and I happened to be queers or fairies or fags or whatever the current popular term was.
A glass shattered, bringing me out of my thoughts. I looked up to find everyone, and I do mean every single person, staring at me with very wide eyes. I raised an eyebrow and quickly checked my reflection in my spoon. Aside from a really ugly splint and crossed bandages over the bridge of my nose, there wasn't anything out of the ordinary. I don't know what I expected to find, though an image of the word DORK tattooed on my forehead came to mind.
Sam, who'd dropped his orange juice, was pale; his jaw worked a couple times, but nothing came out. After a moment, he squatted down and started picking up the broken pieces of his glass. Nobody bothered to so much as glance at him.
I looked down the table and caught Jean's eye. It was a little hard to do and I admit that I ended up snapping my fingers in her direction. Rude, perhaps, but any road in a storm, as they say.
"What?" I asked around a mouthful of cereal. It came out more along the lines of "Whuff?"
Fear my articulacy!
There was a collective intake of breath. I swear the air pressure in the room must have dropped a couple of percentage points. Then it was my turn to look shocked. I'd clearly heard that thought broadcast to the entire room - audibly. I swallowed hard and glanced at Kurt, who was doing his best to feign invisibility.
"Oh, God, Jean," I whispered hoarsely. My voice was loud in the room. "Tell me you didn't just do that."
I looked down the table. She didn't even bother meeting my eye. Both Summers and Red had the decency to look embarrassed at the Mental Marvel's bone-headed act. Too bad it was too late to do anything about it. Best I - we - could hope for would be to minimize the damage.
So I looked at everyone in turn, looking into each of their for a couple seconds before moving on. From Lance, to my left, down past Jean and Summers at the far end, up to Wanda on my right, with a slight detour for Sam, who was still picking shards of glass off the floor. No one blinked.
I cleared my throat to speak, but Sam interrupted me.
"You shall not lie with a man as you would a woman: it is an abomination."
Everyone's head swiveled to Sam, who had stood up and was looking at me with a curious expression.
"Excuse me?" I snapped. I couldn't have heard that.
"Leviticus. Chapter 18, Verse 22," [1] he replied, meeting my gaze with hooded eyes. It wasn't terribly visible, but he was undoubtedly upset with me or Kurt or both of us. "You shall not lie with a man as you would- "
"I heard you, I heard you," I sighed. Just my luck there was a fundamentalist Christian in the room. I had a list of reasons as long as my arm for not following any religion. The unreasonable attitude of most Christians toward people like Kurt and myself was somewhere near the top.
I considered coming back with the fact that Kurt and I hadn't actually done the deed, but it's a rare guy that will admit to being a virgin. Eons of bragging of our prowess will do that to a gender. My mouth almost got the better of me anyway; I was on the verge of saying something smart (actually, downright crass; I had very little liking for Bible-thumpers) when Kurt beat me to it. Heads swiveled in his direction, like some kind of outlandish tennis match.
"Is that not in the same part of the Book that says: you shall not vear clothing made of two different materials? Or plant a garden with more than one type of seed? Or trim your beard?" he asked into the hush. "You shave, don't you Sam? Let's see, Leviticus also discriminates against the blind, the lame, the injured; against short people and ugly people; against widows and divorcées; and pretty much anyone who isn't considered beautiful." [2] I didn't remember that part of the Bible, but the contempt dripping from Kurt's voice was unmistakable. That was a new sound for me. Up until now, I'd never have believed that Kurt would ever use such a tone of voice.
Everyone looked back at Sam for his rejoinder, including me. He said not a word, but set the plate of broken glass on the table and left the room grumbling something under his breath. I could tell he was going to be a problem, but didn't think it was anything I couldn't handle.
As soon as he left the room, the eyes turned back to me. The best thing to do, I reasoned, was to just act normal. It's not like Kurt or I had actually changed. I mean, our secret was out but that was all.
Let me interrupt here and explain that I mean secret in the most basic sense of the word. I know it seems to have negative connotations, but I can't help that. Kurt and I had kept our relationship from the other students not because we felt guilty (heck, anything but), but because we feared their reaction when they finally perceived us as being 'different.' It's not like we'd actually changed, though. Kurt was still the little fur- ball they'd come to know and love. I hadn't changed either. So what was the big deal?
To that end I pointedly picked up my spoon and crunched loudly into my cereal, which hadn't gone soggy at all. Gotta love Chex. I nudged Lance, who blinked a couple times before focusing on me.
"Mind passing the funny pages my way?" I asked in as normal a tone as I could muster. Someone snickered (I don't know who) and suddenly things were all right.
Conversation broke out along the table and life, for the moment, returned to normal. Every once in a while, I looked up to find one or another of my peers watching me but not out of malice or misguided religious beliefs. Just curiosity. Amara wouldn't meet my gaze and Ray shifted his chair every so slightly away from Kurt, but neither of them were hostile. Uncomfortable, granted, but not hostile. But most of them, in fact, actually smiled at me. Doug went so far as to give me a thumbs- up, to which I responded with a mock-lecherous leering smirk.
All right, so I was flirting. So what?
After a few minutes, people started breaking away. Rogue leaned over and kissed Kurt's on the top of his head as she wandered out. That was a good sign. She whispered something in his ear before disappearing out the door. Roberto and Wanda both congratulated the two of us loudly, with pointed glances at Amara and Ray. The latter two were mortified and I was inwardly smirking at their discomfort.
Inwardly or not, though, Jean still shot me a reproving look before she and Summers left. I don't know how he managed to survive that relationship. If I was in his shoes, Jean'd probably have killed me the first time I so much as glanced at another girl. I mean, really, did he hide his thoughts from her all the time or, and this was disconcerting, was I the only mind she monitored constantly?
'Right the second time,' her voice sounded in my head. My eyes narrowed. That was getting seriously annoying.
After maybe twenty minutes or so, the dining room was more or less empty; only Kurt and myself remained in the room.
"Well," I said, chasing the last raspberry around the bottom of my bowl. "Wow." I hadn't thought that would go over as easily as it did.
Kurt cleared his throat.
"Ja, vow." He grinned suddenly. "That vent vell, I think."
I snorted in laughter, wincing as my nose protested the sudden movement. "Whose idea was it to project my thoughts to the room?"
"Jean's, but it vas Logan who suggested it to her."
That reminded me of Logan's aborted conversation of the night before. He'd said we needed to talk and we hadn't gotten around to it. I'd make a point of asking him about it later on.
"Guess he was getting tired of my stalling," I noted. I pushed the wheelchair away from the table and stood. Kurt's eyes went wide; I guess no one had mentioned this to him.
It took a while, but I managed to walk over to stand behind him. What an effort! The guy was five feet away from me and it took no less than five minutes to move over to him. You do the math. I was downright pooped by the time I was done, too, and took the liberty of wrapping my arms around him from behind to steady myself. Half-balancing, half- hugging.
I nuzzled his fur gently, mindful of my broken nose, and closed my eyes as I hugged him. After a moment, his tail snaked around me and squeezed back.
"The future, meinen Weisslichspatz [3], is looking a little brighter this morning, ja?"
"Mmm," I mumbled. He'd changed his body wash again and the smell of sandalwood was distracting the heck out of me. "You might say that."
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To Be Continued.
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[1]: The Bible has a lot of rules about sex in this particular chapter, almost all of which involve heterosexual relationships. That seems to indicate that straights need a lot more supervision, doesn't it?
[2]: Leviticus 19:19 - my favourite rejoinder for the Leviticus argument - contains the line about clothing. If gay people are condemned to hell, at least they'll be in well-dressed company.
All the rest of the restrictions and discriminations can be found in Leviticus 18-21. There's a bunch of stuff like that in there and it's a real hoot to read. Maybe it's just me, but it's hard to explain. Just read it, out loud if possible, and see how far you get without laughing.
[3]: "my pale sparrow," a reference to Pietro's albino colouration and his delicate bone structure. An adaptation of the popular German pet name Spatzi (little sparrow...sort of.).
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To My Reviewers:
Storm-Pietro: :)
Erica: Sorry about the 'soon.' The Pietro/Wolverine after midnight chats are a staple of this fic. The Kurt/Pietro thing will heat up a bit in a chapter or two.
Ultramatt17: I'm a font of useless pop culture information. Thanks, in regards to the Wanda/Pietro convo. Wasn't sure how that would come out. "There's an old saying at the Xavier Institute: Logan doesn't get mad. He gets even." Bonus points if you can tell me the name of the character (and the movie) I've just paraphrased. Regarding the stunted Magneto/Pietro convo: that was a goof on my part. Doh. I don't actually read my own materiel after I've ready it, so I forgot that I waxed Freddy and vanished St. John and Todd in my previous fic. Whoops. Good news is that you might get some of the answers you seek in upcoming chapters.
Mizzan: :) Thanks.
Tsuki no Tenchi: Damn, girl. Settle down before you have a spontaneous orgasm. It's a good story, but jeez. :p Glad you're enjoying it, though.
Daybreak-chan: Obsessive? Is that the term for it? Glad you like it and hey - if you find any more Pietro/Kurt fics, let me know, ok? ("Ahh, and I'm going to have to ask you to come in on Sunday, too...mmm-kay? Thaaaaaanks...")
Author's Note:
Greetings.
Read, review, and enjoy. :) Pretty please. Comments on reviews are at the bottom as usual.
Don't read the footnotes if you find religious opinions other than your own to be offensive.
Cheers.
Jack
------
Well, I lied.
I didn't out us at dinner the next night. Nor the night after. Nor, in fact, did I say a single word for the next three weeks either. I hate to say it, but I chickened out - big time. And if you call me a wuss, I'll sic Hank on you.
I made excuses, of course. Heavy schoolwork, fatigue, the usual garbage, but it didn't fool anyone. By the last week of September, I was getting disapproving looks from every adult in the place as well as Summers and Jean. Kurt was too self-conscious to speak up without me, so both of us were uncomfortable for most of that month. I kept waiting and waiting for Ororo or Uncle Charles or someone to speak up, but they didn't. Logan, however, did.
I'd been having a fairly erotic dream involving Kurt, Rahne, and half the cast of Baywatch. I don't think it's necessary to go into detail, but I'm sure you can let your imagination run wild. Let's just say I was really getting into it, shall we?
Anyway, just before the dream really got underway I knew someone was in my room. This set off my mental alarm. I woke up, of course, and the dream slipped through the fingers of my mind. I lay still, though, and listened carefully. Nothing.
It had to be Logan.
Sure enough when I opened my eyes the big guy was slouched in the chair by my bed, doing his usual imitation of a Mafia hit man. I could see the moonlight glinting off his eyeballs and knew he was watching me. I glanced at the clock. Thank God it was a Friday night.
"Good morning, Logan," I said, smothering both a yawn and a mild irritation that he'd managed to wake me. "I thought you just made rounds at night. Didn't realize you played mother hen, too."
He snorted. The sound was loud and vulgar, and the last shreds of my dream fell away. Darn it. I saw his shadowy bulk stand up and reach across to the nightstand and had barely a moment to avoid being blinded by the lamp he switched on.
A substantial weight settled on the edge of my bed. It hadn't occurred to me until just then that Logan's metal skeleton had to weigh a lot more than just a bone one. It felt like Hank was sitting next to me, but when my eyes adjusted to the sudden light, it was only Logan.
Only. As if he wasn't enough to handle at any one time.
"Mornin'," he grunted as I scooted into a sitting position. Just when I'd gotten comfortable, he threw back my covers and scooped me out of the bed. "We gotta talk, bub."
The tone of his voice would have scared wild dogs away.
He deposited me rather abruptly in the wheelchair and pushed me out into the hall. I hissed softly. Someone had either cranked the air up out here or left a window open. I'd snuggled under my covers wearing a ratty old t-shirt and a pair of silk boxers (courtesy of Structure, by way of Uncle Charles' Carte Blanche) and had been quite warm under the heaps of blankets I preferred to sleep with. I could feel the hair rising on my neck and arms.
"What?" I grumped as I tried to keep my teeth from chattering. "We couldn't talk back in my bedroom?"
"No." As usual, Logan left very little room for argument.
We made it to the top of the stairs and I felt his arms tense. Logan had carried me, wheelchair and all, up and down the main staircase any number of times, but it never failed to impress me. Yeah, I know I weighed less than 150 pounds (including the chair), but it was still a remarkable feat to me. I mean, the balance alone, well...
I'm getting off track.
Just as he was about to hoist me up, there was a muffled crash from down the hallway through which we'd just passed. Logan set me carefully down, let fly with a few impressive (but quiet) oaths, and stalked down the hall toward what sounded like Bobby's room. I winced inwardly. My friend was about to be torn a new one. And I was going to miss it, to my annoyance.
I had bigger problems, however, because while I was leaning toward the boy's hall, trying my best to listen to the familiar tones of Logan cussing out one of the students, the wheelchair started to roll forward. I looked down in alarm.
In case no one ever mentioned it, Xavier's mansion isn't a new building. I won't go into detail here, but from what I've learned it's actually one of the oldest buildings on Long Island. Quite understandable, then, that there would be certain areas that aren't quite on a proper level with the rest of the place. The second-floor foyer, at the top of the staircase, was mostly level except for the one unlucky spot where Logan had parked my sorry behind.
"Oh, crap," I muttered, groping for the brakes. I realized, belatedly, that leaning forward to look for the levers - while moving forward - was probably not the best way to arrest my movement. It didn't even occur to me to just grab the wheels and stop them with my hands. I'd torn enough skin off my palms to know better than to grab a rubber tire while it's in motion. Instead, I looked around for something to grab. Just my luck that Uncle Charles subscribed to a style of interior décor that was a combination of, say, Spartan and ascetic. Sort of a 'less is more' philosophy taken to the illogical extreme.
In other words, I was probably going to go down the stairs like a character in a badly written comedy.
I panicked for a brief instant, eyes darting around at hyper-speed trying to find any sort of handhold, however slight. I couldn't even tip the chair over, if that gives you any idea how little I weighed at the time. No matter what happened, I wouldn't embarrass myself by yelling for help...or screaming like a girl again.
Salvation! There: the topmost banister on the right. If I timed this right, I could shove off and grab hold of it just before the chair went over the first step. It would be a gamble, but probably a worthwhile one. The choice was between risking my dignity and risking a broken neck.
Not much of a choice, hmm?
I waited as long as possible before acting. With a final glance down the hall (Logan, alas, was nowhere in sight) I gathered as much of myself as could move and shoved off hard. The chair jogged slightly to the left, as I'd intended, letting the right front wheel to tumble down to the first step before the left one. This movement caused the chair to topple to the right, which gave me a little more clearance over the arm of the darn thing.
With as mighty a heave as I could muster, I thrust myself over the arm of the chair and groped desperately for the banister. And prayed. Mustn't forget the prayers.
The chair, already unbalanced, was pulled forward by its own weight and went tumbling down to the lobby with an appallingly loud crash. Had I rode it all the way down, I'd have been caught underneath and probably have ended up chewing aspirin like candy for the next several weeks.
I was a little surprised and disappointed that the racket didn't wake any more people than it did. There's a part of me that felt rather proud of the sheer amount of noise I'd managed to create. It's a guy thing.
Jean woke up, since hers was the room closest to the staircase down the girl's wing. Amara, who had the room across the hall, followed Red out to check out my mess. Sam and Lance also wandered out, rubbing their eyes and cursing vigorously in my direction. It sounded quite funny, actually, to hear Lance's Chicago accent competing with Sam's southern drawl as they bitched at me for waking them up. I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing as I leaned against the balustrade.
Not laughing was probably a smart move in more ways that one. If I'd laughed I'd have probably been smacked or fallen down the stairs, straight odds either way. I was unsteady on my feet; shaking in laughter would have been enough to tip me over the edge. Still, I was grinning quite openly when Logan came down the hall trailed by Bobby, who was doing his best to be quiet about it.
Logan stopped about five feet away and just stared at me. A hush fell over the little crowd of gawkers as he ran his eyes over me. He'd produced a cigar from somewhere and was gnawing on it, unlit. Every once in a while he'd scratch at his throat. The sound of it was that of sandpaper on glass; it sounded as though his stubble could rasp wood. Logan's pretty much an all-around menace; it's not just his claws you have to worry about.
After perhaps three or four minutes of this, I started tiring out and swaying back and forth. The reactions were immediate: Sam, Bobby, and Lance all stepped forward when they saw me falter and Jean steadied me without moving, her mind holding me in place. Rahne didn't budge an inch, which was probably for the best. Too many cooks, as they say. Logan just stood there, cocking an eyebrow at Red and looking at me with an unfathomable expression.
"All right, kiddies, back to bed," he growled. Sam and Rahne obeyed immediately, but Logan had to glare at Bobby before my friend would go back down the hall to his bed. The Iceman gave me a jaunty salute before he headed off to sleep.
Lance caught my eye. "Stay awake after you go back to your room," he muttered so softly I almost didn't hear him. "You've got to tell me what's going on." He squeezed my shoulder and disappeared down the hall past Logan.
That left me alone with Red and the big guy. Yippee. I could think of better ways to spend my night than by getting lectured on the value of Institute equipment and I was fully prepared to say so.
Jean, continuing her hold on me, moved around to stand next to Logan, who'd resumed his cigar-chomping vigil for some reason. I've never been able to read his face, but Jean was clearly impressed by something she saw in or on me. And for once she wasn't broadcasting it into my mind. Wonder of wonders.
That got a frown out of her as I expected it would. Hooray for me. She still hadn't given up on the habit of listening in on my thoughts.
'If you're done being rude,' she thought at me, 'why don't you look down so you can see why we're surprised?'
I did as I was told and very nearly lost my grip on the balustrade. That would have sort of defeated the purpose of throwing myself from a moving wheelchair, so I grabbed on again and just stared.
I was standing on my own two feet. What's more, I could feel myself making each and every one of the hundreds of tiny little movements involved in keeping balance. Shifting my weight, moving my legs slightly, working my knees - all of it. I was tired and weak, but darn if I wasn't standing unaided.
Looking back, I now realize that if Jean had let go of me at that moment, I'd probably have fainted. As it was, I could feel her in my mind, blocking that sensation. We exchanged startled looks and I'm sure she could feel my elation as well as my weariness. It was difficult, but I managed to rein in my feelings and shoot a grin in her direction.
With careful movements I took a couple steps toward her and Logan, feeling a sudden urge to hug someone. Had I considered the situation, I'd have stayed where I was until Logan could pick up and carry me either downstairs or back to bed. Had I been fully awake, I might have asked Jean to see if she could figure out how much control I'd have over my appendages. Had I given even the slightest thought to my condition, I'd have stayed put and let someone come to me. Instead, I acted without thought, giving myself over to my feelings. I was whole! I could walk again! Soon I'd be able to run!
Soon, but not yet.
Instead, I fell flat on my face.
"Damn, Pietro, you look pretty bad," Lance told me the next morning at breakfast.
I rolled my eyes, stifling a snort along the way. I'd learned the hard way that snorting through a broken nose hurt like hell and wasn't looking forward to doing it a second time. Even breathing was an irritation. Shish-ka-bobbed by my father, beaten to a bloody pulp by Duncan, and now this. I couldn't remember a day in the past two months in which I hadn't been in pain of one sort or another. It was getting depressing, really.
Jean told me (after I went sprawling, which did me absolutely no good whatsoever) that if I was going to fall on the marble tile of the hallways or foyer again, I might want to make more of an effort to protect my face. I'd tried to sneer at her, but pain shot across my face and I had to settle for muttering something evil about her mother's carnal habits instead.
Still, I'd woken up to the feel of heavy blankets across my body: my entire body. That fact alone had put me into a pretty good mood from the start. I'll be the first to admit that I'm not a morning person, but I couldn't help but smile right out of bed. I hadn't imagined it; I really could feel and move my legs again.
Summers had charge of me this morning and had woken me up a little past ten. He'd been delighted at the sudden improvement in my health. I'm not making that up. He actually bubbled. If he hadn't shut up after the first few minutes of gushing, I'd have had to help him. I'd actually had to restrain myself from reaching for a shoe, or a lamp, or maybe that copy of Les Misérables I was supposed to be reading for English.
As we quickly found out, not everything was back to normal. I had feeling in my legs, but almost no strength to use them. Standing wasn't too much of a problem as long as I had something to hold onto. If I tried really hard, I could even take a few steps forward. But it was exhausting, if not actually impossible.
In addition, though it hadn't been noticeable the night before, but there was a slight numbness to my right leg; apparently not all the damage had healed.
Still, it was an improvement.
After walking from the bed to the dresser and back (a mistake on my part) I was wiped out. It's no exaggeration to say that the sweat was dripping off me. Still, I was walking again. Even if I was having to lean on Summers to do so. My body overrode my pride in the end. I clenched my teeth and submitted to being returned to the wheelchair that had defined the last six weeks of my life.
I'd woken up late and expected the breakfast buffet to be picked over since most of my classmates were earlier risers than I was. I was wrong, as it turned out. In fact, I was quite surprised to find that the dining room was full. The adults were nowhere to be seen, but every last one of us kids was in there. I should have been suspicious at that point; getting all of us in one place for anything other than an emergency was an exercise in despair most of the time.
But my paranoia didn't rear its ugly head at all and so I found myself digging into a bowl of Rice Chex and raspberries (topped with a dozen sugar packets) without a second thought. We've already established that I have a bottomless pit for a stomach. My first move that morning, as on any other, was to quiet its persistent gurgling; if I didn't, I'd never hear the end of it. No pun intended.
I caught a glimpse of Kurt a few seats away from me; that got me thinking about my dilemma. Logan was right, as much as I hated to admit to it. All the adults knew the score. As far as I knew, only Summers, Jean, Lance, and Rahne were aware of the relationship between Kurt and me. The problem was everyone else. See, the prolonged secrecy was translating into stress for both Kurt and myself. One of us had to say something or the pressure would eat us alive.
Trouble is, I didn't think I had the sack to stand up in front of the household and just out the two of us.
For all I knew, they'd treat us like lepers or something. I realized at that moment just how accustomed to living at the Institute I'd gotten. I was actually afraid of being the mansion's bogeyman just because Kurt and I happened to be queers or fairies or fags or whatever the current popular term was.
A glass shattered, bringing me out of my thoughts. I looked up to find everyone, and I do mean every single person, staring at me with very wide eyes. I raised an eyebrow and quickly checked my reflection in my spoon. Aside from a really ugly splint and crossed bandages over the bridge of my nose, there wasn't anything out of the ordinary. I don't know what I expected to find, though an image of the word DORK tattooed on my forehead came to mind.
Sam, who'd dropped his orange juice, was pale; his jaw worked a couple times, but nothing came out. After a moment, he squatted down and started picking up the broken pieces of his glass. Nobody bothered to so much as glance at him.
I looked down the table and caught Jean's eye. It was a little hard to do and I admit that I ended up snapping my fingers in her direction. Rude, perhaps, but any road in a storm, as they say.
"What?" I asked around a mouthful of cereal. It came out more along the lines of "Whuff?"
Fear my articulacy!
There was a collective intake of breath. I swear the air pressure in the room must have dropped a couple of percentage points. Then it was my turn to look shocked. I'd clearly heard that thought broadcast to the entire room - audibly. I swallowed hard and glanced at Kurt, who was doing his best to feign invisibility.
"Oh, God, Jean," I whispered hoarsely. My voice was loud in the room. "Tell me you didn't just do that."
I looked down the table. She didn't even bother meeting my eye. Both Summers and Red had the decency to look embarrassed at the Mental Marvel's bone-headed act. Too bad it was too late to do anything about it. Best I - we - could hope for would be to minimize the damage.
So I looked at everyone in turn, looking into each of their for a couple seconds before moving on. From Lance, to my left, down past Jean and Summers at the far end, up to Wanda on my right, with a slight detour for Sam, who was still picking shards of glass off the floor. No one blinked.
I cleared my throat to speak, but Sam interrupted me.
"You shall not lie with a man as you would a woman: it is an abomination."
Everyone's head swiveled to Sam, who had stood up and was looking at me with a curious expression.
"Excuse me?" I snapped. I couldn't have heard that.
"Leviticus. Chapter 18, Verse 22," [1] he replied, meeting my gaze with hooded eyes. It wasn't terribly visible, but he was undoubtedly upset with me or Kurt or both of us. "You shall not lie with a man as you would- "
"I heard you, I heard you," I sighed. Just my luck there was a fundamentalist Christian in the room. I had a list of reasons as long as my arm for not following any religion. The unreasonable attitude of most Christians toward people like Kurt and myself was somewhere near the top.
I considered coming back with the fact that Kurt and I hadn't actually done the deed, but it's a rare guy that will admit to being a virgin. Eons of bragging of our prowess will do that to a gender. My mouth almost got the better of me anyway; I was on the verge of saying something smart (actually, downright crass; I had very little liking for Bible-thumpers) when Kurt beat me to it. Heads swiveled in his direction, like some kind of outlandish tennis match.
"Is that not in the same part of the Book that says: you shall not vear clothing made of two different materials? Or plant a garden with more than one type of seed? Or trim your beard?" he asked into the hush. "You shave, don't you Sam? Let's see, Leviticus also discriminates against the blind, the lame, the injured; against short people and ugly people; against widows and divorcées; and pretty much anyone who isn't considered beautiful." [2] I didn't remember that part of the Bible, but the contempt dripping from Kurt's voice was unmistakable. That was a new sound for me. Up until now, I'd never have believed that Kurt would ever use such a tone of voice.
Everyone looked back at Sam for his rejoinder, including me. He said not a word, but set the plate of broken glass on the table and left the room grumbling something under his breath. I could tell he was going to be a problem, but didn't think it was anything I couldn't handle.
As soon as he left the room, the eyes turned back to me. The best thing to do, I reasoned, was to just act normal. It's not like Kurt or I had actually changed. I mean, our secret was out but that was all.
Let me interrupt here and explain that I mean secret in the most basic sense of the word. I know it seems to have negative connotations, but I can't help that. Kurt and I had kept our relationship from the other students not because we felt guilty (heck, anything but), but because we feared their reaction when they finally perceived us as being 'different.' It's not like we'd actually changed, though. Kurt was still the little fur- ball they'd come to know and love. I hadn't changed either. So what was the big deal?
To that end I pointedly picked up my spoon and crunched loudly into my cereal, which hadn't gone soggy at all. Gotta love Chex. I nudged Lance, who blinked a couple times before focusing on me.
"Mind passing the funny pages my way?" I asked in as normal a tone as I could muster. Someone snickered (I don't know who) and suddenly things were all right.
Conversation broke out along the table and life, for the moment, returned to normal. Every once in a while, I looked up to find one or another of my peers watching me but not out of malice or misguided religious beliefs. Just curiosity. Amara wouldn't meet my gaze and Ray shifted his chair every so slightly away from Kurt, but neither of them were hostile. Uncomfortable, granted, but not hostile. But most of them, in fact, actually smiled at me. Doug went so far as to give me a thumbs- up, to which I responded with a mock-lecherous leering smirk.
All right, so I was flirting. So what?
After a few minutes, people started breaking away. Rogue leaned over and kissed Kurt's on the top of his head as she wandered out. That was a good sign. She whispered something in his ear before disappearing out the door. Roberto and Wanda both congratulated the two of us loudly, with pointed glances at Amara and Ray. The latter two were mortified and I was inwardly smirking at their discomfort.
Inwardly or not, though, Jean still shot me a reproving look before she and Summers left. I don't know how he managed to survive that relationship. If I was in his shoes, Jean'd probably have killed me the first time I so much as glanced at another girl. I mean, really, did he hide his thoughts from her all the time or, and this was disconcerting, was I the only mind she monitored constantly?
'Right the second time,' her voice sounded in my head. My eyes narrowed. That was getting seriously annoying.
After maybe twenty minutes or so, the dining room was more or less empty; only Kurt and myself remained in the room.
"Well," I said, chasing the last raspberry around the bottom of my bowl. "Wow." I hadn't thought that would go over as easily as it did.
Kurt cleared his throat.
"Ja, vow." He grinned suddenly. "That vent vell, I think."
I snorted in laughter, wincing as my nose protested the sudden movement. "Whose idea was it to project my thoughts to the room?"
"Jean's, but it vas Logan who suggested it to her."
That reminded me of Logan's aborted conversation of the night before. He'd said we needed to talk and we hadn't gotten around to it. I'd make a point of asking him about it later on.
"Guess he was getting tired of my stalling," I noted. I pushed the wheelchair away from the table and stood. Kurt's eyes went wide; I guess no one had mentioned this to him.
It took a while, but I managed to walk over to stand behind him. What an effort! The guy was five feet away from me and it took no less than five minutes to move over to him. You do the math. I was downright pooped by the time I was done, too, and took the liberty of wrapping my arms around him from behind to steady myself. Half-balancing, half- hugging.
I nuzzled his fur gently, mindful of my broken nose, and closed my eyes as I hugged him. After a moment, his tail snaked around me and squeezed back.
"The future, meinen Weisslichspatz [3], is looking a little brighter this morning, ja?"
"Mmm," I mumbled. He'd changed his body wash again and the smell of sandalwood was distracting the heck out of me. "You might say that."
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To Be Continued.
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[1]: The Bible has a lot of rules about sex in this particular chapter, almost all of which involve heterosexual relationships. That seems to indicate that straights need a lot more supervision, doesn't it?
[2]: Leviticus 19:19 - my favourite rejoinder for the Leviticus argument - contains the line about clothing. If gay people are condemned to hell, at least they'll be in well-dressed company.
All the rest of the restrictions and discriminations can be found in Leviticus 18-21. There's a bunch of stuff like that in there and it's a real hoot to read. Maybe it's just me, but it's hard to explain. Just read it, out loud if possible, and see how far you get without laughing.
[3]: "my pale sparrow," a reference to Pietro's albino colouration and his delicate bone structure. An adaptation of the popular German pet name Spatzi (little sparrow...sort of.).
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To My Reviewers:
Storm-Pietro: :)
Erica: Sorry about the 'soon.' The Pietro/Wolverine after midnight chats are a staple of this fic. The Kurt/Pietro thing will heat up a bit in a chapter or two.
Ultramatt17: I'm a font of useless pop culture information. Thanks, in regards to the Wanda/Pietro convo. Wasn't sure how that would come out. "There's an old saying at the Xavier Institute: Logan doesn't get mad. He gets even." Bonus points if you can tell me the name of the character (and the movie) I've just paraphrased. Regarding the stunted Magneto/Pietro convo: that was a goof on my part. Doh. I don't actually read my own materiel after I've ready it, so I forgot that I waxed Freddy and vanished St. John and Todd in my previous fic. Whoops. Good news is that you might get some of the answers you seek in upcoming chapters.
Mizzan: :) Thanks.
Tsuki no Tenchi: Damn, girl. Settle down before you have a spontaneous orgasm. It's a good story, but jeez. :p Glad you're enjoying it, though.
Daybreak-chan: Obsessive? Is that the term for it? Glad you like it and hey - if you find any more Pietro/Kurt fics, let me know, ok? ("Ahh, and I'm going to have to ask you to come in on Sunday, too...mmm-kay? Thaaaaaanks...")