TITLE: Here Comes Trouble
AUTHOR: Beaubier
AUTHOR'S E-MAIL: xbeaubier@hotmail.com
PERMISSION TO ARCHIVE: Yeah, lemme know
CATEGORY: General/Humor
RATINGS/WARNINGS: Rated R for drugs, sex, and rock n roll. Not to mention
language.
SUMMARY: The further adventures of Aurora and Northstar at the Xavier
Institute. Featuring Shadowcat, Scarlet Witch, Sunspot, Quicksilver, Rogue,
Berserker, Avalanche, and… loads of other mutants. Sequel to Relativity.
DISCLAIMER: I didn't invent the X-Men, and I have nothing to do with Evolution.
I'm sure that's been made abundantly clear by this time.
NOTES: The sequel to Relativity—a self-indulgent excuse for me to release the
plot bunnies that were dying to run amok while I was writing it. Mostly silly,
sometimes sad, generally just a fluffy bit of fun. No overreaching plot here,
just a few stories of mischief. Thanks
to Sue Penkivech for Beta reading this horrific fluff! And SilverCaladan for
putting up with my drunken arse. Much love.
Caffeine Injection
Wherein Jean-Paul and Pietro can't seem to slow down
Telltale quote: Who gave them coffee? –Lance Alvers
Jean-Paul lifted the book reverently from the shelf, and ran his fingers over the embossed cover. He remembered trying to read it, when he was twelve. The year before he won his first national championship. Raymonde had let him borrow it, while he was staying at one of the resorts to keep him busy. He'd been a bit hyperactive, even before his powers manifested, and his instructor and mentor had often commented that only books could really get him to hold still for any extended period of time. And a select few books, at that.
He'd been too young to understand this particular book, really. The translation was old, and the language was thick, particularly for one who'd grown up speaking joual French, no matter how good his English was. But he'd loved the feeling of it. Loved the drama of it; romance, betrayal, blood, knights, castles, magic. The kind of shit you weren't supposed to believe in. The kind of shit he never really could've, not even when he was a child. Maybe that was why he loved it, though. Something beautiful, something unreal. His entire life had been just the opposite. Ugly. Too real. Not without its good moments… but generally just too real.
Maybe he should buy it, read it again. Maybe he'd understand now. He was almost eighteen, after all…
"That some French book?" Pietro was suddenly at his elbow, peering curiously at the red leather-bound volume cradled in his hands.
Jean-Paul rolled his eyes, the bout of nostalgia gone. "No. It's British. The author wrote in Norman French. Didn't you ever have to read Le Morte D'Arthur in school?"
"Nope. Looksheavy."
He shook his head, mildly amused, as usual when around his fast-living friend. "You know, Pietro, you have one of the fastest minds on the planet. You could be a genius. If you could just hold still long enough to read a damn book."
"Icanreadfasttoo!" The other speedster insisted, picking at some book or another disinterestedly. "I just don't like reading. What's it about?"
Jean-Paul was impressed. It was a rare thing when Pietro took interest in something not directly related to him. "A lot of things. Mostly King Arthur."
"The original superhero huh? That's why you like it."
He smiled to himself. A superhero, Jean-Paul was not. But really, that wasn't so far off from the truth, for a reason to love the book. "Something like that. I just remember it making me happy, once."
Pietro looked at him, sideways. Almost thoughtfully, really.
Jean-Paul avoided his eyes, suddenly extremely uncomfortable with the way Pietro was looking at him. Like he was about to ask something serious. He was not entirely convinced that he was ready to relate to his silver-haired friend on that level. Or that he ever would be, for that matter. He flipped through the journal he'd picked out as a gift for Jeanne-Marie, as if the blank pages held something he were very interested in. "Weren't you buying me coffee?"
"Oh yeah, that's what we're doing here," Pietro's mind returned to the business at hand with its usual alacrity. "Don'tgoanywherewithoutme."
As he disappeared, Jean-Paul found himself sighing. He hoped the coffee would pick him up in mind as well as in body. He wasn't supposed to have it, of course, anymore than Quicksilver was. Caffeine and Northstar tended to make an explosive combination. But they were bored. And two bored speedsters was even more painful than one. And he was feeling nostalgic lately. Maybe a little homesick. He'd been in Bayville for well over a month now, and still wasn't quite comfortable.
Of course, he couldn't remember the last time he was entirely comfortable. It really shouldn't have been much of a surprise.
So he needed a little pick up. Even if it meant subjecting the world to himself and Pietro with coffee for blood.
Johnny the Homicidal Maniac, collectors edition. Or Harry Potter.
Decisions, decisions.
Wanda Maximoff sighed, shifting from foot to foot, impatient with herself, blocking an entire aisle in the Bayville Barnes and Noble. Like she owned the place.
She didn't think of it like that really. She was just standing there.
But she heard whispers beside her, and it suddenly came to her attention that there were three boys, in their BHS letter jackets, staring at her.
Waiting for her to move.
She dropped her arms to her side, and turned to stare at them, blue eyes flashing.
The boys stared back. But not at her eyes. Mainly at her midriff, which was bared by the scarlet top she wore.
And that pissed her off. Stupid fucking jock male chauvinistic pigs. Like she'd move for them. "Problem?"
One of them, a large red head, leered at her. "No, no problem sweetheart."
Sweetheart? God, she'd love to hex them. She considered it, and was starting to think it was a pretty good idea…
"Something wrong, sis?" Pietro was suddenly at her ear, out of nowhere.
The boys looked at Pietro, then back at her. And seemed to balk marginally. But not that much. After all, he was awfully skinny. And they were… hulking.
"Because if something's wrong, I'd be pretty upset." Jean-Paul was suddenly behind the pack of them. Less skinny, just as cocky.
She rolled her eyes. Partners in crime, those two.
She'd thought having one speedster around all the time was annoying. Ah, to only have one. Having two around was damn near intolerable, at times. "Nothing's wrong," she snarled through gritted teeth.
Jean-Paul pushed through the pack of boys, and came to her, blocking their view. He smiled at her sweetly. Which always looked sarcastic on his face, for some reason. It didn't make much sense. He was incredibly pretty, really, in a sort of ethereal way, yet he always managed to look like he'd just bitten into a lemon. "Good, then let's go."
She shrugged him off. "I don't have my book."
The three boys were muttering now, getting restless.
Pietro stared them down, "Maybe you should leave now, huh guys?"
Again, she rolled her eyes. "Jesus Christ Pietro, I can handle myself. Why don't you two go annoy someone else."
"Sounds like you two are the problem," The dark haired jock took a step forward.
She glared at him, "They're not the problem. Why don't you go find another aisle to patrol, big boy."
He took another step forward, eyes narrowed.
Jean-Paul put his arm around her again, and suddenly kissed her hard, on the mouth.
Her stomach jumped. She meant to fight him off. She wanted to. She really did. But for some reason, she couldn't.
Pietro snickered evilly behind her, and JP pulled away, fairly quickly, and winked at her. Then he turned his attention to the other boys. "As if I would ever be a problem for ma chere."
The large hulking mass of idiot stopped and stared again.
Jean-Paul took the books from her hands and started guiding her out of the aisle. "Come, love, time to check out."
Pietro followed, still snickering, and flipped the three jocks the bird. Fast. But not so fast they wouldn't catch it.
Wanda, still stunned, and a little senseless from the pressure of his lips on hers, let herself be led to the checkout, watched Jean-Paul buy both the books she'd been considering, as well as some journal he was carrying around, and followed the boys outside.
And then, finally, she got angry.
"You assholes, what am I, some little defenseless girl who can't take care of herself?! I should hex you both into oblivion right now!"
Jean-Paul handed her the bag of books, and accepted a Styrofoam cup from Pietro, then sipped at it thoughtfully. "It wasn't you we were worried about."
She considered this.
Well, she had been pretty annoyed with those guys for staring at her like that…
"Yeah, Wanda, if you start throwing jocks around bookstores, we're all fucked, right?" Her brother piped up.
She stared at the two of them, staring at her, side by side. Two damn GQ boys. Only Pietro looked like a brat. Jean-Paul looked like a cover model.
They had a point. "You do it again, I kill you."
They grinned at each other. And she got the distinct feeling they hadn't been worried about her, or those boys. They just thought it would be funny.
"And you didn't have to kiss me."
Jean-Paul shrugged, "You looked like you needed it."
Pietro made her angry. But Jean-Paul always ended up disarming her completely. The guy was just so… goofy sometimes. And really, he shouldn't be. He was a snobby prick, in fact. But it was like he had this inner hell-child, and Pietro brought it out in him.
Only it was cute, when Jean-Paul did it.
He hit the button on his keychain, and started walking to the car.
And she rolled her eyes. She'd get them both back. Some day.
As she climbed into the front of his BMW, something else suddenly occurred to her. Those cups they had… "Tell me you two aren't drinking coffee."
"We're not," Pietro told her, from the back seat, almost dutifully.
Jean-Paul nodded.
"You're lying."
"We are."
Jean-Paul nodded.
"You are not hanging out at our house," she groaned.
"We are," came again from the back seat.
"I hate you, Pietro."
"I know."
"You too, JP."
"Love you too. Why did you think I agreed to drive to the bookstore? To make you happy? Oh, how you disappoint, Wanda. I thought you knew me better than that."
"You can't throw water balloons in the house!"
Ah, but they were. Jean-Paul Beaubier and Pietro Maximoff were engaged in a very scientific experiment, at the moment, to decipher who could throw faster, and why, and if one could outrun the other's balloon in time to catch it before it splattered against the wall.
Which had led to a lot of very colorful rubber bits all over the living room, an alarming number of puddles on the floor, the warping of the wallpaper at one end of the living room, and two slightly bruised, very wet mutant boys.
She watched as Jean-Paul reached down into the laundry basket, which was full of the dreaded things, pulled back, and his arm became a blur. Her brother, standing beside him at the time of release, became a streak of silver even as the blue balloon JP had released became a blue one. She blinked, and Pietro was against the wall, and he had blue rubber bits sticking out of his silver hair and water dripping down his face. "Aw fuck. Icandobetter!"
Jean-Paul reached down again, grinning maniacally, and picked up a pink specimen, particularly large this time, and hefted it repeatedly in his hand. Pietro became a streak again and appeared next to him, bouncing up and down inhumanly fast, no longer dripping, but with a still partially-soaked shirt.
"Lance is going to flip when he sees this. We just wallpapered the place," she groused, crossing her arms over her chest, knowing it was entirely futile. Nothing short of hexing them would stop their adventure, and in order to hex them, she'd have to get them to hold still.
And, if she was being honest… it was actually kind of amusing. If hopelessly juvenile and destructive and… well, Pietro.
"Lance can stuff it," Her brother was still bouncing. "Ready JP?"
"Better run," he repeated his pulling back, then arm blurring action. This time, Pietro reappeared at the other end of the silver and pink streak that was him and the balloon, slammed into the wall hard, leaving a dent in it. But he had the thing in his hands, quivering like it was about to explode. He made a horribly irritated face at his friend, screwing his expression up like a little boy. "Youthrewthattoofast!"
"You said you wanted it fast."
"That hurt!"
"Mon dieu, stop the whining."
This time, Pietro's arm became a flash, the balloon turned into a pink streak so quickly she barely even caught it, and Jean-Paul was standing there, dripping, pink bits attached to his sopping grey t-shirt.
The X-Man's piercing blue eyes flashed, a predatory grin lit up his face, and he dove for the laundry basket.
Wanda wasn't entirely sure what happened next. It was a lot of Canadian blur and silver streak and more than a few water balloons missing their mark and soaking every piece of furniture, equipment, and inch of the wall of the living room. She took cover in the doorway and watched the flurry, feigning disgust, but actually mildly amused.
The door slammed, and slow, heavy footsteps were coming in their direction. Lance.
Wanda rolled her eyes. This should be interesting.
He clomped up behind her, following the sound of wild laughter and splashes rather than heading straight upstairs, and stopped cold behind her.
"What the fuck?"
All movement stopped in the living room stopped, suddenly. Jean-Paul was standing over her brother, hand poised to smash an orange water balloon onto the top of his head, legs splayed wide, as if he'd been caught in mid-stride. JP's shirt was ripped from the collar down a few inches, and Pietro's arm was inside of the shirt, a large bulge at the chest indicating that he held a water balloon and was about to break it against him so its contents would run down him into the most uncomfortable areas possible. Both of them, wide eyed, breathless, completely soaked and grinning like little kids. Frozen.
"I cannot fucking believe this!" Lance roared. "How old are you two anyhow?"
"Seventeen." From Jean-Paul, delivered simultaneously with Pietro's "Eighteen!"
The floor started to shake.
Wanda looked over at Lance in alarm, but he was already heaving a huge breath, to try and calm himself.
Pietro let go of his balloon, and Wanda watched as it dropped out of Jean-Paul's shirt with a wet splat onto his feet.
The two boys fell to the ground in a pile of giggles instantly, pushing and pulling at each other like a couple of little girls.
"Who gave them coffee?" Lance growled.
She shook her head, "They bought it themselves."
"Couldn't you have stopped this?"
She gave him her patented Look of Death. "No."
He sighed, suddenly deflated. "Clean it up, you two."
"Fuck off."
But they did clean it up. Not as if it took them long. The wallpaper was still a wreck, of course, and the Pietro-sized dent in the wall wasn't going anywhere. But as the two boys looked around at their handiwork, they couldn't help but feel a little proud.
"Ok, lets go outside and try it, so we can throw faster! The balloons will pop mid-air, we can time it!" Pietro was bouncing again, caffeine causing his systems to run at alarming speeds, even for him. And he really didn't care to control them. He could, if he tried. But why bother? That was probably the best thing about hanging out with JP—he could keep up with him.
That, and he liked to annoy Wanda almost as much as Pietro did.
Jean-Paul shrugged, as usual far more controlled, even when caffeinated. His power didn't work at all like Pietro's—it wasn't so much a control of super fast systems in his body, more an ability to speed the molecules in him at will. He could cause a vibration in himself, if he wanted. Pietro had to move really fast to do that. Jean-Paul did it on a cellular level. It meant that his mind didn't work quite as fast, but it was fast enough when he needed it to be.
But it didn't matter. As long as Pietro was faster, which he was, he and JP were ok. Best of friends for the past few weeks, in fact.
"No, no, let's find Todd and hit him with a few of these."
And, the guy had a tendency to be heartlessly evil, of course. Which also made him fun. "I love the way you think, JP!" Pietro was already picking up the basket, containing the few remaining balloons. After that last all out war, there were only eight or nine left. "The frog could use a bath."
"Or!" Jean-Paul suddenly held up a hand, "We could go find Scott and torment him with them! He'd never see us, he's so slow."
Pietro dropped the balloons in his excitement over this idea, and they splattered at his feet with a magnificent "sploosh" sound. "Whoops," he raised his eyes to meet his friend's, feeling a bit sheepish.
"Or maybe no more balloons."
"Yeah, something new!"
"I need a new shirt. You nearly ripped it off."
"Don't act like you didn't like it."
"This is my favorite shirt, Pietro."
"Fine, no more ripping your clothes."
"Well, I didn't say that."
Pietro just shook his head, amazed at how the guy could throw banter back and forth at an acceptable speed. He couldn't even be bothered to care that they were bantering about the fact that Jean-Paul was, without question, gay, and probably hung out with him, at least partially, because he liked looking at him.
In fact, Pietro kinda liked it, not being one to turn down any kind of ego boost. One more to the nearly endless list of those who had fallen for his stunning good looks and winning charm. "Alright, new shirt, then we party."
Jean-Paul nodded, blurred, and was off toward the Xavier Institute in a flash.
"Hey, let's go skiing!" Pietro was eyeing the pictures Jean-Paul kept on his desk, one in particular of him with a large, Nordic looking man in an oppressive looking parka, holding his gold medals.
It was also pretty cool that JP was famous. Or had been. Made him a little jealous, but what the hell. Famous by association, right?
JP rolled his eyes and continued digging furiously through his drawers, pulling out shirt after shirt, refolding it when he found it unacceptable, putting it back, and pulling out another on fast forward. "No way, forget it. I don't ski anymore."
"Aw, c'mon, you could fly us there, we'll be back before dinner!"
"If I flew you anywhere that fast, your clothes would fall apart and the friction burns would leave you hideously scarred for the rest of your life. We'd have to go to the fucking Himalayas, it's the middle of July." He had folded four shirts by the time he finished the sentence.
Someone knocked at the door before Pietro started to comment on that, and he ran to see who it was.
Scott Summers stuck his head in, since it was already open, and jerked his head in shock when Quicksilver appeared beside him.
"Afternoon, fearless leader," Jean-Paul said, dryly, his slow speech alarmingly at odds with the speed at which his hands were moving. "How can we help you?"
He watched Jean-Paul's little folding act in wonder for a moment, shaking his head. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Looking for a shirt. I ripped it," Pietro answered, quickly.
Scott raised an eyebrow. "Right. So I guess you don't want to play mutant ball?"
"We're going skiing."
"We are not," Jean-Paul insisted, finally pulling out a shirt that looked exactly like the one he already had on. "There, that's better." He blurred, a grey bundle flew through the air, and when he was visible again, he had the new shirt on.
The old one had landed on Pietro's head, while his back was turned.
Quicksilver sighed. What a shit.
"And Pietro is a cheater, so he's not allowed to play mutant ball."
He pulled the shirt off his head and threw it back, so fast it looked like a grey blur between the two of them. "Idont'cheat."
Scott looked from one to the other, suspiciously. "Someone gave you guys coffee, didn't they?"
They nodded, simultaneously.
He shook his head, and left immediately. "Don't make a mess!"
"I wouldn't get friction burns, you idiot, I'm faster than you anyhow, my body is just as tough. And my costume is made of the same unstable molecules yours is." Pietro suddenly jumped back to where they had been, and began fiddling with Jean-Paul's closet, looking for something to wear on his dates tonight. JP was a little bigger in the chest and arms, but their shoulders were just about the same. And he had great clothes.
"You're forcing me to tell you no, Pietro."
"Yes."
"I tried to give you an out, but now I have to just come out and say it. No."
"Yes."
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
This went on, repeated roughly twenty times in a very condensed period of time.
"Fine no skiing," Pietro finally sighed. "Can I borrow this?"
"Last time you borrowed my clothes, you destroyed them."
"Not my fault she spilled beer on me. Anyhow, who the hell has dry clean only clothes?"
"Fine, take it, but if it comes back smelling like alcohol I'll destroy you."
"I'm shaking in my boots, JP. Ok, ok what are we doing now?"
Honestly, after that, he did feel a little better.
When he was busy being ridiculous with Pietro, Jean-Paul preferred to be at the Brotherhood house. It was usually a mess, but the lack of scowling adults there made it much easier for them to unleash their pent up energy.
And to make a mess.
And to irritate the shit out of people.
Jean-Paul was usually a very sober guy. All of his teammates were shocked when they saw the way he behaved around the other speedster. Everyone but Jeanne-Marie and Rogue, who both knew not only of his tendency toward wicked humor, but also of his minor crush on the other boy. He didn't plan on acting on it, of course. Pietro was hopelessly obsessed with women, after all.
Correction—he liked to pretend he hopelessly obsessed with women. Jean-Paul had his own theories on his friend's sexuality. Either way, if Pietro wasn't straight, he obviously had no idea, or was in heavy denial. And Jean-Paul wasn't about to deal with that mess, just because he thought the guy was hot. He had other priorities. Mainly, himself and his sister, and not necessarily in that order.
Besides, he'd probably have to hurt Pietro if he was actually obligated to hang out with him by some kind of relationship issue. Pietro could lay on a guilt trip like nobody's business—he'd seen him hand a few classic ones to Wanda. And anyone who could guilt Wanda Maximoff into giving them her way, against her initial will, had to be pretty damn good. Jean-Paul definitely didn't need that kind of baggage.
No, he'd much rather fuck around, and look at him. That's pretty much what Pietro was good at, after all. Fucking around and looking good.
And he was very good at both, so Jean-Paul had nothing to complain about.
As to why Pietro hung around with him so much, Jean-Paul figured there were a few good reasons. For one, his vanity. Upon first meeting him, he'd made it perfectly clear that he thought the silver-haired boy was attractive. It would've been hard for Pietro to miss, what with him coming right out and kissing him. Granted, it was a bit of a joke, engineered to make the Brotherhood speedster panic, a sort of head game, really. But Pietro's lack of protestation, and lately his outright flirtatious behavior, on occasion, proved that the move had ended up scoring Jean-Paul ego booster points.
The second thing was he was rich, famous, and good-looking. Pietro loved all three of those qualities in people, and wanted them for himself.
The third thing was Jean-Paul could tolerate the boy. Most people spending time around Quicksilver were worn out within a half hour. It was draining, to say the least. He rarely held still for as much as an hour at a time, and if he managed that, it was likely because he was watching television, and his mind was racing.
But the constant motion and speed of Pietro's life did not bother Jean-Paul in the least. For one, he had the capability to see things that were too fast for most others—things like Pietro. While he couldn't think nearly as fast as the older boy, he was much faster than the average human, or mutant for that matter. He had to be, or the speeds at which he could move himself would surely have been the death of him. His reaction time was not nearly that of Quicksilver's, but it was fast enough that it kept his friend entertained.
And that was really what it was, he figured—Pietro found him entertaining. After all, he was always complaining about no one being able to keep up with him. And Jean-Paul most definitely could.
It also helped Jean-Paul's affection for the other boy, however, that he could go home fully worn out at the end of a day with him, and sleep. Sometimes, his body wasn't ready, it got so hyped up. He was good at making himself look calm on the outside, when it happened. But spending a few hours with Pietro tended to take the edge off of it, and leave him sleeping like a baby.
At the moment, however, Pietro was anything but fast. He was sprawled out on the couch, legs stretched over Jean-Paul's lap with his usual blatant disregard for personal space, having come down from their caffeine high about five minutes ago. Jean-Paul, for his part, was slumped down into the cushions, staring at the TV without really seeing it at all. After the water balloons and his quick change of clothes, they'd proceeded to attempt a few other experiments. Most notably, one that had to do with the speed of fire along a thin track of oil, and one attempting to discover if one swipe of air from one of them running past could extinguish a large pool of burning engine oil.
Pietro had ended up needing a change too, after that one. His pants had caught fire.
Of course, as soon as he noticed, he sped up and put the flame out instantly, but it was, alas, too late for his fine pair of khakis. A shame too. He looked good in that pair, really.
And now… "Man, we just crashed hard."
Jean-Paul nodded his assent, "That we did, mon ami."
"This is my favorite thing about coffee, I think. The like… hour after where I don't have to be in control."
Jean-Paul turned to look at the other boy, who was staring up at the ceiling, blinking lazily.
Well, lazily for Pietro.
"I didn't know it was hard for you."
"It's not," Pietro said, quickly. "Not really, I mean. It gets hard after awhile I guess. Sometimes I just wish I could get tired."
He nodded, "Know the feeling." But not really. Must've been that much harder for Pietro. Jean-Paul could turn his powers on, and didn't need to turn them off. Pietro's systems were constantly trying to go faster, and he was always having to slow them down. Quite a difference, really.
No matter what Quicksilver said, Northstar would take his own powers, any day.
"I'm hungry," Pietro whined suddenly.
"I'm always hungry." Oh the joys of the fast metabolism.
"Let's go eat."
Jean-Paul looked at the clock on the wall. "You have fifteen minutes before you're supposed to pick up Ashley."
Pietro made a face. "Oh man… I finally calm down, and I gotta go do this."
The dark haired boy rolled his eyes, "Don't be ridiculous. Maybe you can settle for one girl tonight, this way?"
"We should do this more often," Pietro sat up, at a speed that was startlingly human, and pushed himself off the couch.
"Maybe next time, we skip the caffeine and go straight to the crash."
Pietro seemed to be considering this. "How's that work?"
"I have my sources."
"Sounds good," he shrugged.
Jean-Paul stood, "Later, Pietro."
"Bye, JP."
He neared the door, and Pietro turned to go up the stairs. "Good night Wanda!"
"I hate you, Jean-Paul!" Came from upstairs.
"Love you too, cheri!" Then he looked at Pietro, who had stopped halfway up the stairs to snicker evilly. "She loves me, you know."
"Oh definitely."
