Happy Birthday
Wherein Wanda and Jeanne-Marie have a plan.
Telltale Quote: You and me, we're like the Seven-Eleven.–Pietro Maximoff
"No way, I'm not going over there to hang out with the X-Geeks. Forget it."
Wanda rolled her eyes at her pouting sibling, resisting an urge to smack him around and snap him out of this sulk. She'd tried everything, but he'd barely left the house in the past few days, claiming boredom was responsible for his mood, but refusing to do anything about it.
And he would not, under any circumstances, talk about Jean-Paul Beaubier. The minute his name came up, Pietro left the room. Even Freddy had noticed.
Never a good sign.
She honestly wasn't sure why she cared, aside from the fact that he was just hanging around making her miserable all the time. And he was really good at making her miserable. Whining, pouting, monopolizing the television… he excelled at being irritating. At least when he had someone to hang out with, someone who could tolerate him, some of the burden was lifted off his housemates. Someone who could keep him entertained for more than fifteen minutes.
Not that she needed to see him happy. Pietro was a jerk, and probably didn't deserve to be happy, or to have friends.
Right?
Well… whatever. Anyhow, he was making her crazy, and she wanted him out of the house.
"Look, it's going to be lame, but at least it'll get you out of the house. And Jesus, it's Kitty's birthday. And the Beaubiers'."
He ignored her, and continued watching the TV.
"Pietro."
Again, he ignored her.
"Pietro!"
"Jesus, Wanda, what?" He finally turned to look at her, grinding his teeth and glaring.
She just stared at him for a moment, at a loss, having forgotten what she wanted his attention for in the first place, other than to make certain he was still breathing. "At least let me take the present to him."
Pietro's eyes narrowed, "To who?"
She shook her head, frustrated. She'd promised Jeanne-Marie that she would try to get Pietro to come, so they could find a way to make their brothers speak again. A difficult task, since they refused to stay in the same building, let alone the same room, for more than two minutes at a time. But at this rate, she knew it was hardly going to happen. The best she could do would be to give Jean-Paul whatever the hell the mysterious present was that Pietro had been so proud of before their fight.
She didn't know why she should care. It wasn't like they were at all like the Beaubiers, who took care of each other. She didn't even like Pietro…
But look at him. He looked angry, but she was too smart to fall for it. Pietro was too much a baby not to miss the attention he had been getting from Jean-Paul. He was depressed, not angry.
And ok, yeah… she felt bad for him.
She missed Jean-Paul anyhow. Things were so quiet without him around.
"To Jean-Paul Beaubier, your once upon a time best friend," she finally informed him. "You were so excited about the present you got, might as well give it to him, right?"
He just looked at her for a minute, expressionless. Breathing.
She was about to ask him if he was alright, it was so out of character for him to remain so silent, when he finally said, "Yeah, whatever. NotlikeIwantit."
She furrowed her brow at him, bit her lip for just a second. "Pietro…,"
"Wanda," he raised his eyebrows, expectantly. Almost as if he… wanted her to say something that'd make it better.
She couldn't, of course.
But for a moment, she really wished she could. "If you change your mind, we'll be there all evening."
Again, he just looked at her for a moment.
She knew him fairly well. He was pretty easy to read. But sometimes, she had no idea what he was thinking.
"It's on the nightstand."
For a moment, she had no idea what he was talking about. But then, she remembered, "Oh, the present."
He nodded, "It's wrapped. Don't tell him it's from me."
She cocked her head at him, eyed him carefully. But he was still utterly expressionless. "Why don't you want him to know?"
He shrugged, and looked back to the TV. "He'll know. Once he opens it. He won't open it if he knows it's from me though."
"How do you know that?"
"I know, Wanda."
Again, she eyed him. But he wasn't giving away a thing. He just looked… determined, really. "Ok… whatever you say. Like I said—,"
"You'll be there all night, I know." But this time, it wasn't particularly rude. Really, it was almost soft.
He still hadn't admitted to her, or to anyone, as far as she knew, what the little fight with JP had been over. She only knew because JM had told her. One major difference between Jean-Paul and Pietro was that JP actually had other friends. Pietro pretty much had… well, JP. And her, but she was more like… an uneasy ally, at the best of times. Obviously not close enough to confide in about something like this.
Which, for some reason, bothered her. It seemed to her that they had been close, once. But she couldn't really think of when, or how. Or why, for that matter, since he was such an insufferable brat all the time.
But she had too many problems of her own to think she could fix her brother's in so short a time anyhow.Particularly when they were his own goddamn fault.
Jeanne-Marie stared, wide-eyed, at the cake Jean had placed in front of her and Jean-Paul. Her brother was covering his face and laughing, albeit quietly, and she could feel her own face flushing pink. Kitty was grinning at her stupidly, clapping her hands over her own cake.
The culprit was obvious—Kitty had told. Jeanne-Marie and Jean-Paul had agreed that they did not want a big show made over their birthday, but Kitty had found her out. She had agreed to keep it quiet…
But JM should've known how well that secret would stay hidden. She shook her head at her friend, laughing over the cake, decorated with a huge blue and white star like a flash of light, and the words Happy Birthday Jeanne-Marie and Jean-Paul. Kitty winked and smiled hugely.
"Marde," her brother swore beside her, "who did you tell?"
"Kitty," she laughed at the pink flush in his pointed ears. Jean-Paul was rarely shy, but he had been adamant that no one should make in issue of their 18th.
Still, he laughed. "Figures."
As it turned out, people had bought them presents. Roberto had given her the most beautiful sketch pad, with a watercolor pad to match, along with boxes of charcoals and brushes. He knew how excited she was to start art classes in the fall at their high school. Jean gave her a scarf, silken soft, that would match her nice "going out" clothes, and Kitty a new charm for her bracelet (that made a letter "A," a star, an "X," and a Quebec flag thus far, plus the new one, a quill pen, from Kit.) Bobby made her an ice sculpture and put it by her place at the table, a beautiful little cluster of stars that reflected the light so prettily, and Wanda brought her a funky tin of four sparkling lip glosses, tinted from dark red to clear. Jean-Paul got a new black leather belt from Scott, fit for a rock star, which had made her brother shake his head and laugh, and a DVD of Pirates of the Caribbean from Rogue, due to their shared love of Johnny Depp. Todd, Fred, Lance and Wanda jointly presented him with a bag full of junk food and caffeinated pop that made all of the X-Men groan.
Everyone was laughing, eating cake, and talking about the gifts, both theirs and the ones Kitty had received (JM had given her a charm for her own bracelet, one of a black cat), when Jeanne-Marie suddenly felt a weight in her lap. She looked up, quickly, and Wanda was at her ear, whispering in that low, husky tone she had. "From Pietro, for JP. Don't tell him who, just give it to him."
She nodded, somewhat relieved. She'd been busy today since everyone had found out it was her birthday as well as Kitty's. But despite all the pool games, dancing, running, jumping, and playing, it would've been difficult not to notice the oppressive lack of Pietro Maximoff. Everyone had noticed, most likely. The rest of the Brotherhood had come, after all. And in the past weeks, Pietro had become such a fixture at Jean-Paul's side, it was difficult not to feel his absence.
But Jean-Paul had managed a few smiles today, despite his recent bout of extreme sourness. And perhaps this present from Pietro, whatever it was, would somehow make up for the fact that he hadn't come himself. She'd really been hoping Wanda could convince him to come, so they could find a way to get them talking again…
Oh well. Some things were not to be. So she slid the package Wanda had placed in her lap, wrapped in plain brown paper with only the letters "JP" on the side, in front of her brother. "One last present."
He looked over at her, from where he had been talking with Alex, who was complaining about his foul smelling chlorine removal shampoo (amazing how green Havok's blond hair could get, after he'd been in the pool a few days, really). "What's this?"
She shrugged, knowing she looked innocent, but that he would see through it. "Not from me. Has your name on it, though."
He furrowed his brow and fingered the string tied around the package dubiously. "Sure it's mine?"
Alex laughed at this, "Dude, it says JP. Who else would it be for?"
Jean-Paul shrugged, and pulled off the string, then ripped the paper down the center.
And stopped dead. Just froze, staring at the thing under the wrapping.
Jeanne-Marie, curious now, leaned in, and looked at the gift. It was a red leather-bound book, with a golden embossed cover. Le Morte D'Arthur. She read the title aloud, and felt her stomach drop.
Only, it wasn't her stomach that was dropping. It was Jean-Paul's. And she could feel it coming from him, his reaction to the book was so strong.
She looked over at him again, concerned, and caught him taking a deep breath, trying to regain composure from something or other.
Whatever this book was, it was obviously important to him. And somehow, Pietro had known.
Silently, she hoped it was important in a good way. Because if it was, there was still hope of her brother coming out of his sulk (as much as he ever did, anyhow), and agreeing to enter into the same room with Pietro Maximoff.
If it was bad, however…
Well, she didn't much want to think about what that would mean, if it was bad.
From the look of Jean-Paul, however, who was now swallowing hard, and trying to right shoulders that seemed to want to slump against his will, it was not bad at all. In fact, he felt… upset, but in a good way. Almost kind of… warm. "What is it?" She whispered to him, leaning on one shoulder to watch as he opened the book and flipped through gently.
"Just a book I used to love."
"Do you know who it's from?" She asked, although she had a feeling he must.
"Yes," he replied, light eyes rising to find Wanda across the table.
Jeanne-Marie watched her brother's lips form the word, Pietro.
And she saw Wanda nod.
Jean-Paul's jaw twitched, and his nostrils flared just for a moment. And then he was composed again.
"Whatcha got, JP?" Rogue was coming up behind them, leaning on his shoulder now.
But Jeanne-Marie had seen enough. Whatever it was about this book, it definitely meant something to her brother, and knowing that Pietro had thought to give it to him had both pleased him and upset him greatly.
For her part, she was impressed. She would not have thought Pietro had the sense, or the depth of character or feeling, to do something like that.
She slipped away to find Wanda to discover whether it would be for better or for worse.
Honestly, he'd thought he was done with Pietro Maximoff. After all, they had never gotten very close. They just hung out and raised hell. Not as if they knew anything about each other. Not as if his crush had ever been more than some kind of lustful teenage fantasy. He'd always known that, from the beginning. They screwed around together, and that was it. Caused trouble. Pietro never cared about what was going on in his head. He could've cared what was going on in Pietro's, of course, if he was being honest with himself, but he would never have asked. Why bother, when the interest would never be reciprocated? It wasn't a real friendship, like he had with Rogue, or even with Jeanne-Marie. Hell, even with Scott, sometimes. A friendship where they were actually interested in each other, personally. No, Pietro was just a "functional friend"—someone to hang out with, but never to actually talk to. And now he'd gone too far, and they were friends no more. End of story.
Jean-Paul sighed, staring at the book on the table in front of him.
The book that blew his "not a real friend" theory out of the water. Not that he'd believed it in the first place, but at least before he hadn't had material evidence.
It was just a little thing, of course. Stupid to put so much weight on a thing like a book. But something shifted inside of him uncomfortably, every time he looked at it, Some expression wanted to appear on his face, something in his eyes, something in his throat.
But so stupid. Pietro had no idea what it meant, or what he'd been going through the first time he read it. Had no idea that it made him think of home, of happier times. Of a time when he'd still had an imagination to speak of. Still been something of a child, if he ever really had been one at all.
But it did prove one thing. And he'd never truly believed, before, that Pietro had listened to a word he'd said.
It had been a month ago, at least, when they'd been at the book store, and he'd been looking at the book. From Rogue, from his sister, he would've expected something like this.
Not from self-absorbed, obnoxious, hyperactive, impatient, snot-nosed, narcissistic Pietro Maximoff.
Whom he happened to miss an awful lot.
Fuck if he'd admit it to anyone, of course. But sitting there, the entire Institute buzzing with people; the X-Men, the Brotherhood, family and friends, everyone but him, he had to admit it was hard to concentrate. At least, hard to concentrate on anything but the fact that he was missing. Jean-Paul didn't want to be sitting here, with everyone staring at him, telling him happy birthday. He felt like flying away, fast. Too fast for any of them to see or follow. He felt like running. Just running away.
He told himself the urge to run away, to get free, was because he didn't want to give Pietro a second chance. But really, it was because he did.
Someone leaned down, over his shoulder, put lips to his ear. "What did he give you, tiger?"
Wanda.
He pointed, toward the book on the table. People were clearing out, watching Bobby do his pool tricks now. Only Jeanne-Marie and Roberto were still nearby, smiling at each other sickeningly, holding hands and whispering.
Wanda leaned over and picked the book up, then sat in Jeanne-Marie's chair next to him. Startlingly close.
Must have been something about the Maximoffs.
She flipped through it slowly for a moment, as he watched her punk-pretty face grow thoughtful. She chewed the inside of her cheek as she considered. He'd never noticed that about her before, that she did that. When she reached the end of the book, she looked up at him. "What's it mean?"
Jean-Paul looked at her for a moment, somehow tempted. He liked Wanda a lot. She was funny, sarcastic, loyal and intelligent. Pretty much his pre-requisites for close friends. Not that he'd had many of those, in his life, but the two or three had all been those, before all other things. But after a moment of consideration, he just shrugged, "I don't even think he knows what it means to me. He just knew it was important."
She nodded, thoughtful expression still in place, "Now that's unexpected."
"No shit."
"He's lonely."
Jean-Paul raised his eyebrows at her. Since when did Wanda concern herself with Pietro's emotional well-being? Physically, he knew she was fiercely protective of her brother—he'd seen that much when Pietro and Jeanne-Marie had been kidnapped by Sinister. But this was something new.
Another reason to like Wanda Maximoff. She was full of surprises. And Jean-Paul always liked a little mystery in his friends, as well.
But the good points of his sister hardly excused the idiocy of Pietro. "Then maybe he should apologize."
Wanda rolled her eyes, formerly soft, raspy voice now turned outright sarcastic. "Right, because you would."
"I wouldn't have said… the things he said," Jean-Paul looked away from her now, not really wanting to think about it any more. It shouldn't have upset him as much as it had. He'd been called much worse, been put through the wringer on more fronts than he'd care to remember in his short life. But, for some reason, hearing it from Pietro had… pissed him the fuck off.
Wanda wasn't having it, however. Not that he'd expected her to, really. She shook her head, angrily, "You two deserve each other. You're both so fucking hard-headed, you'll be miserable before you sacrifice your precious pride. Someone has to go first."
She was right, of course. But he just stared at the table, stonily, unwilling to admit to it. Wishing he could stand up, walk away and not care.
But he couldn't. And the reason why was sitting right there in front of him, in red leather, on the table.
"Look, he did want you to have it," her tone was softer now, "he just couldn't come. You understand that, right?"
Of course he did. He wouldn't have come either, if he'd been such a horrible prick. He would've done exactly the thing Pietro was doing now, avoiding him entirely. "I do. But maybe we're better off this way."
Wanda whacked him in the arm, hard, and stood up. "Yeah, maybe you are. Later, JP. Happy Birthday."
He looked up at her, rubbing his arm. That had hurt, really.
And her face suddenly softened. "I miss you."
He sighed, and stopped rubbing at his arm. But what could he say, how could he explain? She wouldn't understand, and he didn't particularly want her to. Hell, he wasn't even sure he understood. "Wanda…,"
She rolled her eyes, in another sudden mood swing. "Forget it. Come on, asshole, let's go get in the pool, it's hot as hell out here." She extended a hand to him.
He managed a half-smile and accepted, letting her pull him up, and keeping hold of her hand as they walked together toward the sound of splashing and yelling. Small, delicate hand. Felt odd, as if it shouldn't belong to someone with Wanda's immense personality. Gentle grip. Cool and dry, but soft. Seemed as if her hand should be rough, hot. Like her temper.
He looked over at her, and her dark blue eyes, not so different from her impossible brother's, caught his. "I miss you too," he admitted.
"I know," she shrugged.
And he did miss her. Hanging around, bugging her. She didn't have many friends, and neither did he. At least, he really hadn't, before he'd come here, met Rogue, Pietro, Wanda.
"Maybe we can talk about it later, huh? I mean, maybe we can go hang out? Tomorrow?" She offered, surprising him entirely. Wanda rarely made such openly friendly gestures. In fact, he couldn't really remember her making one like this since he'd known her.
And he appreciated it. "Yes, of course," he squeezed her hand gently, still wrapped in his. And they walked a few moments in a comfortable sort of silence.
"I don't get why it's such a big deal," she told him, as they reached the poolside and started stripping off outer layers of clothing, down to their bathing suits "I mean, so you had a fight. Big fucking deal right? You're friends, you make up, you move on. It's not the end of the world."
Her back was turned to him as she unbuttoned her shirt, but he thought he caught something in her voice. "Don't know," he answered, noncommittally, throwing his own shirt on to one of the lawn loungers nearby. "Guess he just stepped over the line."
She turned to face him, sliding out of her black flared pants, leaving her standing in a stunning dark crimson bikini that exposed more skin than he'd expected she would be comfortable with. He found himself admiring her long, powerful arms and legs, the rise and fall of substantial cleavage, and an expanse of pale, curving stomach. Nothing scrawny or meek about the girl; it was a body that could easily hurt any of the boys floating in the pool, in fact. Jean-Paul may not have been terribly interested in women, but that didn't mean he couldn't see, or appreciate, when one was drop-dead gorgeous. Like a work of art, really. Nice to look at, but nothing he was terribly interested in touching.
"Guess so," she shrugged, utterly unconscious of the stares her little red suit was eliciting from the crowd of hyper-hormonal teenage boys nearby.
Suddenly, he experienced a flash of the strong fraternal protective instinct he'd discovered since he'd met Jeanne-Marie. "Mon dieu, Wanda, hurry and get in the water, or get a towel."
She cocked her head at him, still totally unaware of the effect her exposed curves were having on her audience. "What?"
Somewhere in the pool, he could have sworn he heard Todd Tolansky choking to death.
"Wait, wait," Pietro shook his head. "You came to say thank you?"
Jeanne-Marie nodded at him, and took him by the hand. He let her, but gave her a suspicious sideways glare before locking his fingers into hers. "You know my brother, he is too stubborn. But he was so happy, when he saw that you sent him the book."
Pietro swallowed, hard. It had been days since he'd blown up at Jean-Paul over absolutely fucking nothing. Over some stupid nameless fear in the pit of his stomach. But he still felt like a real prick.
Which was saying quite a bit. He hadn't even known that the feeling he was experiencing was guilt until Wanda pointed out to him that he looked guilty. It was not a feeling he was familiar with. At all. But it would explain why he'd actually wanted to sit and wallow in his horrible memories for a few days, torturing himself.
And looking at Jeanne-Marie Beaubier didn't help the guilt at all. Jesus, she looked like her brother. Just more delicate. High cheekbones, sharp eyes, full lips, all of that was there. But Jeanne-Marie's face was just a little rounder, her eyelashes a little longer, her lips more curved, her bones thinner. Just the female version of his once-best-friend's face, really.
And it disturbed him just a little that he would've preferred to see the male version, at the moment.
But then, that's what this whole fucking mess was about. Jean-Paul disturbed him for a lot of reasons, really.
But yeah. Pietro missed him.
He missed him, but he wasn't about to sound like a fucking pussy about it. "Whatever. I bought it before, and I figured he might as well have it. Wanda asked me if she could take it, I told her yeah."
Jeanne-Marie squeezed his hand lightly, and pulled him further down the road, toward the park. She'd insisted that they come out on a walk, even though it was hot as hell outside again today. "Did he tell you why he loves that book?"
Pietro shrugged, "No. Just saw the look on his face. And he said he loved it, so I figured… whatever, JM. Just let it go, ok? I'mtiredofthinkingaboutit."
She glanced over at him.
And he didn't much care for the look on her face. Something like sympathy. And he didn't fucking need sympathy. God, people were acting like someone had died, since he and JP stopped talking. Big fucking deal already.
"Where are we going?" He asked her, knowing he sounded impatient.
"I want ice cream," She shrugged. "You didn't come to my birthday party, so I thought you could buy me some."
He raised an eyebrow at her. They weren't friends, not really. But they did share… something. They'd been held captive together, by Sinister. It was only for a day, before their friends had come for them, but in that time… they'd both been through some shit. And no one understood but what that was like but him and JM. He'd seen her flip in and out of personalities more than most people change underwear. Seen her scared, shaking, crying. Seen her in charge, businesslike, a real fucking superhero. Felt her hands holding him up, as his body was wracked with electric pain from Sinister's machine. Caught her when they threw her in the cell after she received the same treatment.
So yeah, he could at least buy her some goddamn ice cream, after they'd been through all that together. He had fuck all to do at home, anyhow. Sitting around waiting for someone to bother, then deciding he didn't even have the heart to annoy them. Waiting for Wanda to ask the right questions.
Waiting for their father to show up and carry them away again so he could prove himself?
Fuck that. Never again.
God, god, he hated being bored. Stop thinking, Maximoff!
"Yeah, ok, let's get ice cream then."
She managed to keep him talking the entire way to the park, about a twenty minute walk, as slow as she made him go. When they reached the ice cream vendor by the lake there, she happily ordered a chocolate ice cream cone. He went for strawberry, in a cup. The usual.
He was hardly listening to her, but he was surprised to realize that he actually was happy to have the company. It actually made his mind stop turning over the past. And it was nice to leave the house, really. In fact, he was feeling a little better already. Sitting here on a bench, watching people feed geese, slowing himself down to the lazy slow motion of late August. Almost made him remember what it was he liked about going outside, aside from the fact that he had room to run. That was a given.
"I guess this is nice," he said aloud, after a few moments of happy silence between them. "Maybe Wanda's right, that I've been sulking."
JM nodded wisely at him, her dark hair falling into her face. She carefully moved it out of the way of her ice cream cone, and took a bite before replying, "Yes, she is. Your sister is always right, Pietro. Sisters know these things."
He rolled his eyes, "Suresure."
She looked up, behind him suddenly, and blinked. Like something had caught her attention. "Ah, Pietro, I have to go for a moment. I'll be back, ok?"
He began to look behind him, wondering what had grabbed her interest so quickly, but his own attention was grabbed by her speeding up and taking off toward the ice cream vendor again…
And stopping right beside her brother, only yards from where Pietro sat, who was holding ice cream for himself and someone else as well.
Pietro closed his eyes and groaned inwardly. A fucking set-up. She'd been blocking his view before, so he hadn't seen Jean-Paul coming, but it was so perfectly clear now. And he had a sneaking suspicion that if he turned around, he'd see Wanda waiting for JP to bring her ice cream.
A fucking set-up.
He knew Wanda had been concerned, but he really wouldn't have pegged her for this kind of cheesy stunt. Seemed like something she'd heartlessly ridicule, really.
She must've been really desperate to get him out of the house.
When he opened his eyes again, JM was gone, along with half of the ice cream JP had been holding. Something told him the girls were long gone. And he was staring at Jean-Paul, stony-faced in his usual GQ summer wear. Fitted black T-Shirt and strategically faded two-hundred dollar jeans from the Diesel store he made his monthly pilgrimage to in the city.
There was a moment where Pietro panicked. A moment where all he could think of was turning around and running away. The irrational something in him was afraid again.
But Jean-Paul's face suddenly softened. And he smiled, wryly.
Purely on accident, Pietro smiled back, and shook his head helplessly.
Jean-Paul seemed to sigh a little, his broad shoulders slumped. He took the ten or so steps needed to come to the bench quickly, and sat down next to Pietro, shaking his head and looking out at the pond. An obvious diversion, just so he didn't have to look at Pietro. But, at least it was something. "Looks like we've been tricked."
Pietro gave a little half-laugh, half-sigh. "Yeah."
Quiet, for a minute. Jean-Paul watching the geese, licking at his ice cream cone ponderously. Pietro glancing around, stomach nervous, pretending not to be watching the other boy. Trying to think of what to say. What did he even want to say? His mind was racing, too hard to slow it down to explain anything. Angry. Confused. Smiling. Content. Touching. Laughing. Trouble. Fire. Friend. Nine trains of thought, that ended up wrecking within a second. Nothing worth saying, nothing worth thinking for longer than that.
And he sure as fuck didn't want to say he was sorry.
"It was nice of you," Jean-Paul was saying, suddenly, very quiet but still intelligible. "The book. I was surprised you remembered."
"I'm not always a dickhead," Pietro replied, faster than anyone else could've understood.
Jean-Paul laughed at that, and looked over at him again. Sharp, icy gaze mercilessly holding his own. Like he'd never let him break free. "No, I guess you're not."
Felt good, sitting there. Every train of thought ended at that. Didn't matter why, didn't matter how. Just felt good. Fuck it. Fuck it all. "Gonna make me say it, or what?"
The darker boy considered this, taking another thoughtful lick of his suspiciously green ice cream. "Would you mean it?"
Pietro pulled his eyes away now, and started watching the geese intently. He wasn't sure if he'd say it, even if JP wanted him to. Sure, he was sorry he'd done it. But feeling it was one thing. Saying it was another entirely. But he did feel it… so, "Yeah, I would."
"Don't say it," was the immediate answer. "I wouldn't want to say it."
"True," Pietro took another bite of his own ice cream. He should've known that JP would understand. He understood a lot of things, without Pietro needing to tell him.
They sat for a few more minutes, eating in silence. But this time, it wasn't so uncomfortable. The panic was gone. A bit uneasy, perhaps. The sounds of kids playing around them. The feeling that they'd been set up. The definite weight of that something between them that had made Pietro flip out on his friend in the first place. Something tugging at his stomach. Something disturbingly comfortable. Something like standing on top of a very high cliff, and feeling gravity calling to you to jump off, pulling you down and in. Made his knees weak, his head dizzy, his stomach flip.
But all in all, not so bad. Better than before, anyhow. "I've been really fucking bored," he admitted, finally, when his ice cream was done in.
Jean-Paul was taking the last bites of his cone now, watching some kids play near the pond now. "Yeah, me too. Rogue won't let me have coffee, and Scott makes me order decaf."
Pietro snickered at that. "Thought we were skipping the coffee next time."
Jean-Paul shot him a sideways glance, "Oh, we will. What are you doing Friday?"
"Whatdidyouhaveinmind?" Pietro fought the urge to bounce in excitement. Holy fuck, he needed to get out, do something, run around, have some fun. Trapped in the house, going out to run periodically, bored, bored, bored.
His friend shrugged, "I can think of a way to slow you down for a bit. But not tomorrow. I'm taking Jeanne-Marie and Rogue shopping."
Pietro grinned, "Good enough for me."
And they looked at each other for just a moment. A million things were flying through Pietro's head; some good, some bad, some he had no fucking clue about. "So we're back in business?" he finally asked.
Jean-Paul nodded, "Yeah."
Pietro thought, for a moment, and decided that some sort of gesture was needed here. So he held out his hand. "Friends?"
The other boy looked at his hand, and then took it in his own, and shook it, "Yeah. We are."
They let go quickly, once they shook on it, and both stood. Pietro glanced around quickly, but there was no sign of either of their sisters in the area. "The girls got out of here fast, looks like."
Jean-Paul rolled his eyes, "I'm sure they're very proud of themselves."
"Whatever. Sometimes we need to be kicked in the ass. Since we're back in business, they'll be sorry soon enough."
"Pietro, it's funny," Jean-Paul started walking back toward the path that would take them home again, since they'd obviously been left to their own devices in the park. "But somehow I feel like we were never really finished. I was just… angry for a while."
Pietro considered this for a moment, following. He'd honestly thought he'd done it, ruined their friendship entirely. But as much as some perverse, frightened part of him had wanted that… really, all he wanted was his friend back. Didn't matter about all that other stuff. It was stupid anyhow. No, JP was right. It was a temporary hiatus, maybe, but never a real threat. They hadn't been together, but he'd sure as fuck missed him. And to hell with what that might mean. The two of them, they were pretty much unstoppable. "You know, JP, you're right. You and me, we're like the Seven-Eleven. We're not always doing business, but we're always open."
Wanda sighed, then smiled.
"Not so bad, non?"
She turned to face Jeanne-Marie and nodded. "Not bad. They'll be tearing through the house like a natural disaster in no time."
The other girl then surprised the shit out of her by throwing her arms around her and hugging her. Tight. "Jean-Paul will be so much happier now. Thank you Wanda, we make a good pair."
Stunned, Wanda looked around quickly, then put her arms around JM lightly and patted her on the back awkwardly. "Um… right. I'm just glad Pietro is off the fucking couch."
Jeanne-Marie laughed, a sweet, silvery sound, and pulled away almost as quickly as she'd thrown herself at her. "Listen, my brother is taking Rogue and me to the mall tomorrow, to look for school clothes. Do you want to come with us?"
Wanda shifted her weight from one foot to the other, and furrowed her brow. Jeanne-Marie was a nice girl and all… but they'd never really hung out. Still… she could use some clothes. And if JP was taking his sister and Rogue, it was a pretty good opportunity, really. "Yeah, ok."
"Good, you can show me where you found those pants," Jeanne-Marie took her arm now, sliding her own slender one around Wanda's, and pulled her in the direction of home.
AN: So I spent today moving. I'm about to drop dead. And I wrote this nice long AN a minute ago, individually answering each and every review, from TKD, the Rogue Witch, Peanut, Shaman Dani, SilverCaladan, Guidi, and Fata Morgana...
And I just lost it. I'm ready to drop... I'll do it next time, how's that sound? In the mean time, I love you all. A lot. Thank you for the encouragement, and the help along the way. You too, Sue. *Tackle*
If you want to see what I figure the kids look like, check out my little character sketches for the Beaubiers--
Thanks to SilverCaladan for pointing the place out to me! Next time around, we're done with this sappy shit. Time for hardcore... well ok, not hardcore anything.
Not yet anyhow. But we're getting closer!
