Theology
Wherein Jeanne-Marie ponders the mysteries of the universe
I think that kind of unconditional love is something we should appreciate– Kurt Wagner
Monet.
No. Too... wall-papery. Looked as if it belonged on the wall in someone's bathroom. Pretty, but with nothing to say.
O'Keefe.
Perhaps not. Even if all the talk of feminine undertones was true, they still seemed a little too... hotel decoration.
Bacon.
If she were in the market for paintings to give her nightmares, perhaps.
Picasso.
The Blue Period was nice, if depressing. But she didn't quite have a grip on that whole cubist thing just yet. Maybe she'd save him for later...
Jeanne-Marie sighed and looked over at Wanda, next to her in their first period art class. The assignment was to find an artist and do a three-page write up on his or her life and how it affected their work. Rather a broad topic, but they were expected to speak to the teacher about their choices, and narrow it down based on who they chose to work on. Mr. Howlett insisted they should work on someone who "spoke to" them.
But Wanda was staring at Volume One of the two-volume Encyclopedia of Western Art that Jeanne-Marie held the other half of, looking as if none of the artists were speaking to her anymore than they were to JM. "This sucks," she shook her head and shoved the book away in disgust. "I hate this dead white guy crap. Can't we do some Indian art... or African... or something?"
Mr. Howlett shot her a dangerous look from where he was sitting at his desk reading something ominously thick and dull looking. "Miss Maximoff, your project next semester will be to choose a culture to work on. Should you like to choose South Asia, Russia, or Timbuktu at that time, you'll get no argument from me. Until then, suck it up."
Jeanne-Marie smiled helplessly at her friend, and Wanda rolled her eyes.
"I didn't take this class to write papers, I took it to draw...," the red-clad girl mumbled, so that only Jeanne-Marie could hear.
"What are you looking at?" Jeanne-Marie offered quietly, hoping for a preemptive strike– it was always easier to keep Wanda calm than to calm her down after the fact. And after only a few weeks of school, the girl already had a reputation for irritating her teachers into tossing her out into the hall, and into the principal's office. A few more and she'd be in detention for the rest of her life.
Or make something very bad happen to one of the teachers. Which was probably more likely, considering Wanda's dubious control over her formidable powers.
"Renaissance and Baroque crap," she pointed a finger to the book. "It's nice to look at and all, don't get me wrong. I just don't want to... study it."
Jeanne-Marie leaned over, and her eyes raked across the page quickly. "Who is the artist on this page?"
"Caravaggio," Wanda shrugged. "Good stuff, but..."
Jeanne-Marie, however, didn't hear the rest of what she said.
There. On the page. A dark picture, the background almost totally in shadow. White figures bent impossibly, yet gracefully. A woman at the top of a tight, triangular set of figures, arms raised as if she were wailing to God. Two more women, beside her, sinking into the darkness of the background, silent mourners, their grief that much more powerful for their obvious attempt to hold it back. And three men. Two holding the third, one with arms around his torso, and the other holding his legs, lowering him into a tomb.
The man they held was horizontal, though angled away from the viewpoint, arms and head drooping low, skin marble white, astoundingly real. As if she could reach through the page and touch him, and she would feel the cold of him. His eyes were closed. His visible and foot were pierced. And he had a short gash in his side.
Christ, of course, after they took him off the cross. Being lowered into his tomb.
Her breath caught in her throat and her heart stopped completely as a rush of something familiar swept through her. She couldn't help but keep staring, as the picture before her began to blur.
Something about it. The women crying, perhaps. One so loud, the others so quiet, as if they wanted to be strong, but couldn't manage. The faces of the men as they lowered the body into the ground. One shadowed, intent on Christ's face, as if for one last look. One looking directly through the page. Into her.
She was intruding. Or she was being allowed to see. She wasn't sure which.
And Christ... his body was so limp, so visibly cold, like marble. So unbelievably sad.
Something warm, on her cheek. Wet. Dieu, she'd never before felt so very sad for no reason. Just a picture.
She drug a hand quickly across her face, sniffed, and blinked so that she could read the sidebar.
Caravaggio, Entombment, C. 1603
"This one."
Wanda was staring at her when she looked up, finally, one eyebrow raised. "So you are still with us. You... ok?"
Jeanne-Marie nodded, suddenly realizing that she'd nearly started crying in the middle of class. Her heart was in her throat, even now, and her eyes felt hot and wet. She blinked again, hard, and smiled at her friend. "Oui. I'm ok. I want to do this painter."
The other girl's brow furrowed. "Alright... kinda scared me there, JM..."
"Can I use this book?"
Wanda chewed the inside of her cheek for a moment, considering something. "Of course. But um... what was that about?"
Jeanne-Marie considered the other girl for a moment. Thought about her question.
And found that the only answer she had was, "I don't really know."
"Dude, you have to say something cooler than I have a new sweater."
Jeanne-Marie shook her head at the two boys on the floor in front of her, books and papers spread out everywhere until the three of them seemed to be lost in a sea of homework.
Alex laughed at his roommate, "Like what? Like How are you? We already said that. Like eight times."
Ray looked to Jeanne-Marie pleadingly, scratching the back of his head, "JM...?"
She shook her head again and laughed, "I'm not writing it for you. If Miss Callahan found out I was even in the room with you while you wrote your skit for class she'd hang me up by my toes."
"You don't have to write it for us," Alex smiled at her sweetly, leaning back and letting his arms prop him up, hands behind him on the floor, "Just, you know, give us some ideas."
"Looking at me like that with those big brown eyes will get you almost everywhere, Alex Summers," she smiled. "But it won't get me to do your French homework."
He looked back to his roommate and shrugged helplessly. "I tried! Your turn again."
Ray simply fell backwards, sighing in obvious defeat, onto a pile of papers behind him. He lay there, as if utterly beaten down, arms out to his sides, legs still crossed Indian-style. "I hate school!"
At that moment the door burst open and Bobby Drake leapt into the room, wielding a rifle made of ice, as he had been all week, which he aimed straight at Alex. "Lady!" He announced, striking a dramatic pose, feet wide apart, a huge grin on his face. "I'm gonna have to ask you to leave the store!"
Alex threw his hands up in mock horror, "Who the hell are you?!"
Bobby grinned at him and replied, "Name's Ash!" He then fired off a fake shot, and mimed cocking the rifle again while Alex grabbed at his chest and fell over. "Housewares!"
Jeanne-Marie shook her head, "How many times have you watched that movie this week?"
"Every night but tonight," Ray sat up now, hi-fiving his quickly recovered roommate over their pile of homework. "Bruce Campbell is the man."
Jeanne-Marie did not agree. She'd been subjected to their latest obsession, Army of Darkness, three times in the past two weeks, and was still unimpressed. She just shook her head and laughed as Bobby came to her side and dug through the pile of books until he found the Algebra II text. "Ready to do this?"
She nodded at him. "Yes. But we'll stay in here, I promised Alex and Ray I'd keep them company while they pretend to speak French."
Ray winked at her and Alex made a face, but after a few moments, things were back to normal. Sam, Roberto, and Amara, and Kitty wandered in at intervals, until the entire floor of Ray and Alex's room was covered in notebooks, pencils, pens, and mutants trying to finish their homework. Alex and Ray kept interrupting with horrible invented sentences that they wanted Jeanne-Marie to translate into French, but other than that, the work moved quickly.
And anyhow, she honestly didn't know how to translate eat my shorts or what's your fucking problem today into French. She certainly could've given them the Québécois equivalent, but they'd probably be dangerous with such information, so she ultimately thought better of it.
She and Bobby were just finishing their last problem when she noticed Alex singing along with the words of the song playing in the background, coming softly from his computer speakers. Heavy, fuzzy bass under scratching guitars, and an echoing voice that she could barely hear over the surfer-boy's soft singing. "Jesus when you comin' back, Jesus never comin' back, Jesus won't take me back, Jesus never comin' home... Jesus seems to steal my soul, he'll never let me go, Jesus gonna make me pay, never shoulda' run away... I wanna go home..."
She looked up at him, quickly, and watched him nodding his head to the music, long hair falling over his eyes as he carefully colored the space in between the lines of his notebook paper.
And she thought of the picture, from earlier in the day, the Caravaggio.
It had been on her mind all day, on and off. At first, she thought it was just because the painting was so beautiful, in a sad way. She'd told Mr. Howlett about her choice in painters, and he'd said it was a good one, then spouted a list of terms like chiaroscuro and tenebrism that she needed to look up. And he asked her why she chose Caravaggio.
She'd answered him, but not very well. All she could think to say was, "I understand him."
That was enough for Mr. Howlett, apparently, who had let her go after that.
But the sdaness behind the picture had haunted her all day. And the song wasn't helping. It hit something in her.
"Jesus when you goin' to come back, Jesus when you goin' to come back... Jesus I dare ya to come back..."
"What are we listening to?"
Alex looked up at her, golden hair falling over his eyes. He furrowed his brow in irritation, blew upwards, and the hair went flying up and out of his way, landing neatly to the side. "Black Rebel Motorcycle Club. Want me to change it?"
She shook her head. "No. Just asking."
"This album is the shit, man. Put on the new one next," Ray was nodding, across from Alex, whose own paper was covered with doodles now.
She raised an eyebrow at them, "What are you two doing?"
Two guilty sets of eyes looked first at each other, then at her, in unison.
"Um...," Alex attempted, "Looking for inspiration?"
"Your skit is written?"
They looked back at each other now. "Dude... we just got busted," Alex told his roommate.
"Big time," Ray agreed.
And they went back to drawing and singing along to the music immediately.
Something had been missing, she had to admit.
Jeanne-Marie was raised in a Catholic institution. And since she'd come to Xavier's... she hadn't once thought about God, or Christ, or prayer...
Not a single thought.
No one here seemed to think of it, really. In fact, she had no idea what her fellow students and X-Men felt about the entire Issue of God.
She had to admit, she felt guilty, now that it had been brought to her attention again. She hadn't really thought about it, this morning, why that painting would affect her so deeply. Of course, it was because she knew the story. The story of the Son of God taking on the sins of the world, being crucified for the sake of anyone who would love him and accept his sacrifice, a symbol of the Creator's love for his creations, for humanity.
She could remember how it felt, sitting at mass. She'd always liked it. No matter what kind of trouble she was in, no matter what the Soeurs said about her being a demon, no matter how many meals had been withheld or how much she'd been beaten... for that hour of the day, she was alone.
Not alone, really. She was with Him.
She'd never been all that certain, honestly, what that meant– Him. She'd just always thought of it like that. She'd sat and stood and kneeled with the motions, said the prayers and kept quiet otherwise. But she'd also thought. Watched the stained glass windows, the beautiful windows she loved so much. The center one was always her favorite. The one with the archangel.
Which archangel, she couldn't really recall. Gabriel... Michael maybe? She didn't know. But he seemed so strong, so heroic, yet so gentle. His eyes were kind.
But part of her was terrified of him, of his sword. She knew that if she was truly a demon, as they told her she must be, this angel would not look on her kindly. If and when they came face to face, he would judge her. Powerful enough to see right into her, into the wickedness of the demon inside of her–
"Ok JM?"
She looked over at Bobby, who was walking next to her as they headed downstairs for dinner. He looked like he wanted to ask her something else, or at least, looked like he was asking something with those puppy dog eyes of his. Looked concerned.
She tried to return to reality, pulling herself out of her thoughts, and nodded at him, "I'm ok. Bobby... can I ask you something? It's a little silly, so if you don't want to answer, it's ok."
"Sure, ask anything. I have no secrets. Well, not yet," he winked at her, grinning.
She gave a small laugh, and took him by the arm, "Do you believe... in God?"
Bobby raised an eyebrow at her, and slowed his pace. "Hell... I dunno. Guess I never thought about it that much."
"You never thought about why we're here and how we got here?"
He shook his head, "Not really. I mean, I'm here, so I figure that's about all that matters, right? I have enough trouble with my homework, I don't think the question of God is something I can really handle."
"So... you don't believe in Him?"
"Not exactly... I guess I just don't know. My parents made me go to church for a few years, when my mom got on a religious kick once. But it was just kinda fun for me, since I was real young. I passed notes with my friends in the pews, ate a lot of junk food in Sunday School. But it never really made much difference to me, I guess."
"Then you... do believe?"
He laughed, as they stepped into the dining room, "I don't know, is all. I never thought about it. But if I do, I'll let you know."
She let go of his arm and smiled at him, "That sounds fair. Thank you, Bobby."
"Thanks for nothing, you mean. A lot of help I am."
Jeanne-Marie looked up when the knock came at her door. She knew before she even told him to come in that it was her brother, she could feel him well enough, but she'd been so interested in the page she had found on the internet that she hadn't noticed him coming. "Come in, Jean-Paul."
He opened the door and slid inside, leaving it slightly open as he came to her. ::Good evening, sister,:: he greeted her, kissing the top of her head before he sat down and made himself comfortable on the bed, just next to her chair. ::What are you playing at?::
Sometimes, he did this. Just came to her room, when she was having a rare anti-social evening. She knew he was checking on her, in a way. But she also knew that he liked having the chance to talk with her, away from the others. And she loved it. She'd do it more often to him, in fact, if he could ever be found. Jean-Paul was ridiculously hard to keep track of. ::I am researching something for school. About a painter.::
He leaned forward, resting his chin on her shoulder so that he could see the screen of her laptop more clearly. ::This painter?::
::Yes, Caravaggio. We were allowed to choose who we wanted to write our papers on, and I chose him.::
::It's dreadful, Jeanne-Marie.::
She laughed at him, and turned to look him in the eye, forcing him to sit up straight. ::Why would you think that? It's beautiful!::
He grinned at her, shaking his head, ::It's damn depressing, is what it is. And ugly. The people are so... awful. Christ looks like some common criminal, and St. John needs a bath.::
She raised her eyebrow at her brother, ::But Christ was treated as a common criminal, and he was born a common man. And St. John probably did need a bath.::
He chuckled at that, ::I suppose. Forgive me if I like my art to be a little prettier.::
::It's beautiful,:: She insisted, looking back to the screen, letting her eyes pass over the composition again.
::Beautiful, perhaps. But not pretty.::
She considered, then nodded. Yes, there was a difference between something that was truly, deeply beautiful, and something that simply looked nice, as the other word implied. ::You're right. It's too real to be pretty. You prefer Hollywood painting?::
::I do. Everyone wearing white smiles and Versace clothes.::
She looked back over at him, and he was grinning. ::That makes you sound shallow, brother.::
He shrugged, his usual flippant expression plastered all over his wicked face. ::Do you think I am?::
::I know you're not.::
::Then I will be honest with you, and say I like pretty art, if you don't mind.::
That made her laugh. ::You would be honest with me even if I did think you were shallow.:: She knew very well that her twin couldn't give a damn what anyone thought of him.
::True.::
She shook her head at him a moment longer, as he reached in front of her for the mouse pad and clicked over to the next image, with his usual blatant disregard for whether or not she (or, usually, anyone else) still needed whatever it was he was messing up, and then asked, ::Jean-Paul, do you believe in God?::
He stopped reading what was on the screen, and stared at her blankly for a moment. Then gave a short laugh, sounding almost bewildered, ::Why would you ask such a thing?::
She turned her chair around to face him now, and leaned back, so that she could watch his face, concentrate on his reaction. She had no idea why she felt compelled to get the opinion of others on the subject... she only knew that she felt something was missing today. And all signs seemed to be pointing her in this direction, both within and without. ::I was just thinking, is all.::
::Sounds dangerous.::
She rolled her eyes and gave him a quick smack on the knee. ::Answer the question.::
He sighed, ice blue eyes rolling upward in a long-suffering sort of expression, then focused on her once again. ::Yes, I suppose I do.::
::Why?::
Again, the bewildered half-laugh escaped him. ::My god, Jeanne-Marie, I don't know. I just think there's something more than humanity, how's that? Fuck the Church–,::
She gasped, involuntarily. ::Jean-Paul!::
But he continued as if she hadn't spoken at all, ::–but I guess God is an alright concept. Easier than trying to sort it out for ourselves, anyhow, so sure, I believe in God. The Christian ideal, which I know is what you're talking about, isn't the only one there is. I believe in something, though. Not some guy with a beard, pushing little buttons to tell us all where to go next, but perhaps as some sort of cosmic energy that makes things work, or laid down the foundations of reality for the universe, or... I don't know. Something like that, yes.::
::But God and his Church–,:: It wasn't that she wasn't listening to what he'd said after his distressing fuck the Church announcement. It was just that her heart had stopped when he'd said it, and was only just starting back up again for some reason. And surely he hadn't meant such a thing...
::Sister, the Church, if anything, pollutes Christianity. Protestants aside, as they're an entire dissertation on their own, the Catholic Church picks and chooses what it will allow its followers to know about the Bible, about Jesus Christ, about the history of the Church itself. It's an institution that was built on the idea that people weren't smart enough to understand God for themselves, so they needed to be told in a way which they could understand– which, at the time, was about what a five-year-old could understand, apparently. No one but monks could read, so everyone else had to be told. Times are different now, and the Church is not.::
::It has changed...,:: she tried to defend it, although she wasn't really sure why.
::It's foundationally unsuited to our time,:: he shrugged, sounding aggravated, but not as if he were about to fly into a rage over the subject. ::It's spoon feeding. Not to mention that a lot of those changes consist of adding in saints and miracles and promises after the fact, all to dumb their precious "word of God" down, make it more "accessible." And look at how they choose to follow some of their old laws, and discard others. The Church hates me for being homosexual, it condemns me to burn in hell, whatever that is. But think of the thousand other "laws" laid down in the Bible for living life that it completely ignores, as an institution. Love your neighbor, and how many wars has the Church stood behind? Or poverty! Have you seen pictures of the Vatican?::
She felt her ears getting a little pink as he carried on, but she couldn't think of a convincing argument against anything he was saying, at the moment. He recited his little speech as if he'd practiced it in his head over and over, and she was totally unprepared for it. ::Those are gifts offered to God by the devoted. The Pope does not buy himself those things.::
::No, but he certainly doesn't mind keeping them, does he? Mother Teresa, now there is a Catholic I can respect. But the Church itself is a contradiction in too many ways, too caught up in the stuff of it. You said it yourself– Jesus, the guy they're all crazy for, was a common man. Accepting and forgiving.::
::The Church offers the chance for absolution, Jean-Paul,:: she furrowed her brow at him, not quite understanding his sudden rush of hostility. She'd only asked a simple question, after all.
He raised one eyebrow at her, slowly. And she felt him pulling back from her, psychically, just a little, since she was so attuned to him at the moment. ::And do you think I am in need of absolution, my sister?::
::Of course not,:: she said quickly, not wanting their conversation to deteriorate into a fight. Particularly not over that. ::I only mean that if it's true that no one can come to the Father but through Christ, then the Church allows free access to that path for all, no matter how they've sinned in the past.::
Jean-Paul only shrugged, relaxing back into their former state of closeness,. ::I still say fuck them. On a grand scale, more people have died because of organized religion than because of any disease or natural disaster in the history of the world. And on a personal level, I was condemned from birth, solely for being what I am. And if there is a God, as I feel there must be since I have no better explanation for how things came to be, then that God made me this way. But no loving, caring deity would do such a thing to one of his own, make them inherently flawed, force them to spend their lives fighting against it. And therefore, I can't help but think that it isn't a flaw at all. The Church is the thing that is flawed, not me, and not God.::
She considered this point carefully, a point she had not considered previously when thinking of her twin's... lifestyle choices. Perhaps he was right, though. Perhaps he really didn't have a choice at all.
::Some have condemned you, in the Church, for being what you are. Surely you can understand,:: he suggested, his voice growing softer as he made reference to her trials at Madame's.
::Yes,:: she agreed, saying the words aloud as they came to her mind, slowly. ::But blaming the acts of a few on the larger whole is faulty logic. It would be like... blaming every mutant in the world for something Magneto did.::
Jean-Paul's eyebrows shot up, and she felt a wave of something like appreciation coming from him. Very strong, and very pleased. ::An excellent point. But you cannot deny that the larger whole, in this case the Church, does condemn me for being who I am.::
::Yes, brother. And... perhaps they are wrong.::
He arched an eyebrow, and stood up to go. He was calm, but she caught a definite hint of... dissatisfaction with her answer coming from him. ::Perhaps. And if not, I'm not concerned. I'm positive that I'll see them all in hell, and I can apologize there for being so very wrong.::
The Issue of God, as of the next morning, had turned into an all out crusade for Jeanne-Marie. She planned to ask everyone she had a chance to talk to today– everyone she was close enough to, anyhow– what they thought about the existence of God. Talking to Bobby had made her realize that not everyone cared one way or the other, and talking to Jean-Paul had caused it to dawn on her that her own preconceived notion of the entity she thought of as God, or Him, really, in her head, was only one of many options. She felt certain that He was still there, even though she had not been in His presence in a long time, it seemed. But she wanted to know if anyone else felt the same. Wanted to know if this was mere childish fantasy, or something real, something she could hold onto safely, as she had all those years at Madame's.
Next, she decided to ask Wanda her opinion, in first period as they took class time to research their respective painters in the library. Wanda was glaring at a book about Roy Liechtenstein and chewing on the inside of her cheek thoughtfully when Jeanne-Marie finally got up the nerve to interrupt her.
Not that she was afraid of Wanda. She knew that most people were, but she'd always gotten along fine with the other girl. But it was a strange question to ask, she realized, and Wanda was hardly the type she thought would appreciate such a thing. "Wanda... can I ask you a question?"
Dark blue eyes snapped up to catch Jeanne-Marie's own and Wanda raised one eyebrow. "Sure. Anything to get me out of this book.
Jeanne-Marie smiled ruefully, covering her own thick text with her arms as she leaned over the table toward the other girl. "What do you think of God?"
"As in, The God? The One God of the Jews, Christians, and Muslims?"
"Yes, that one."
"The same thing I think of all the other gods. The ones invented by the ancient Greeks, the Egyptians, the Celts, the Romans, the Hindus, the Shinto, and every other religion that has deities of any kind," she shrugged. "Gods are a nice explanation for things we don't understand. And humans, feeling the need to understand everything, because it makes us feel more in control of our destinies and our selves, create the gods to make ourselves feel better."
Jeanne-Marie cocked her head at Wanda, a bit surprised at the matter-of-fact tone with which the girl had disavowed everything she'd ever been taught. "What makes you feel that way?"
Wanda seemed to consider her for a moment, looking her over with those dark, calculating eyes, the only part of her that reminded Jeanne-Marie of her twin Pietro, and finally started speaking again. "What makes you feel it's not that way? What proof is there of a god who actually exists, who actually made things or controls things or gives a flying fuck?"
"You just... feel it."
The other girl shrugged again, "Never felt it, I guess. So what about all the other gods?"
"They're... not the same."
"I read this quote once, somewhere online I think," Wanda leaned forward now, crossing her arms on the table in front of her and leaning on her elbows, blue eyes still latched onto Jeanne-Marie's. "It was something like, I contend that we are both atheists. I just believe in one fewer god than you do. When you understand why you dismiss all the other possible gods, you will understand why I dismiss yours."
Slowly, Jeanne-Marie nodded.
"Get it?"
"I get it," she said, still nodding. "It seems... lonely, though. And how can you explain the universe?"
"I don't have to explain it. I'm not some egotistical scientist who needs to think she has all the answers. I can accept that humanity isn't as advanced as it wants to be, and science can't answer all the questions of the universe yet. The Big Bang and a thousand other theories and ideas that we'll never know the truth about, at least not in my lifetime. Evolution and a thousand other theories that are so obviously fact, and some people still refuse to accept them. I don't need to know," Wanda shook her head, face now angling down, so that she was looking up at Jeanne-Marie through heavy black eyelashes. "All I need is the search. Ego created god, the ego of humanity, the ego that hates to think it's just an accident. And I don't need that ego either."
Jeanne-Marie was appalled, really.
But she couldn't fault her friend for being honest. If she didn't feel it, it would be an insult to the religion and its followers to pretend that she did. But still... "Wanda, it's just that... if it's all an accident... it's such a huge coincidence."
"Sure. And if one small thing had been different, so would we. We'd all be fuzzy like Kurt, or we'd be plants, or we'd be some other form of life that is entirely different, not carbon-based, no respiratory system, something like that. And then we'd be sitting here going, 'Gee, isn't it uncanny how we just ended up being fuzzy and living off nutrients we absorb through our feet?' instead of thinking of how special we are for having hair on our heads or breathing oxygen. Or, we might not exist at all. One little difference.
"But big fucking deal. It's not a coincidence, really, JM. It can't be a coincidence unless it's in agreement of some sort with a... a past occurrence. There is nothing coincidental about us. All it is, is the way things happened. It wasn't meant to be, anymore than Mars was meant to be red, or I was meant to be at Bayville High on a Friday while suffering from the worst PMS in the history of the world. That's just the way things came together."
She smiled at Wanda's turn of phrase, and even gave a small laugh. Perhaps the other girl had a point or two. But something deep inside of Jeanne-Marie rebelled at the idea. Maybe it was her ego. But it felt like something... deeper. Something at her very core. Like her soul. "You weren't raised religiously?"
At that, Wanda's eyes dropped to her book and started to chew the inside of her cheek again. She was silent for a long time, smooth white brow slowly becoming more and more furrowed. After a minute, at least, she finally opened her mouth and whispered, "You know, JM... I'm not really sure. I don't think so, though."
For a moment, Jeanne-Marie was afraid she'd brought up a sore subject. She knew that neither of the Maximoffs had heard from their father in months, and that before their last parting, he had promised to come for them soon. And she had no idea who their mother was, or if they even knew her. "I'm sorry if I–,"
"No," Wanda shook her head, as if trying to clear it, blinking hard and looking back up at her again. "It's ok. Just sometimes when I think about being a kid... it fucks with my head a little. It's nothing. Anyhow, no, no religious upbringing for me and Pietro."
For some reason, that didn't surprise Jeanne-Marie. But she was relieved that she hadn't upset Wanda, and not just because an angry Scarlet Witch was a bad thing. Jeanne-Marie truly liked Wanda, and had come to consider her a friend in the past months. She was different from any of her other friends, rougher, a bit of a tomboy. Not to mention in possession of a temper that could flatten both Jeanne-Marie's and her own hot-headed twin's combined.
But with Wanda Maximoff, it seemed that those were things that only made her more fun– definitely not strikes against her.
"Alright," she smiled across the table at her friend, glad that even though she hadn't got the answer she'd expected, she'd gotten an honest, intelligent one. That was really the purpose of asking, after all. "Thank you for humoring me."
"What makes you ask something like that anyhow? I take it you do believe in god?"
Jeanne-Marie nodded, "I do. But I'm not certain how, or why. And I was looking at that painting the other day, and it meant so much to me...," but she trailed off, knowing it would sound silly to someone like Wanda Maximoff. Someone who was probably never lonely, never weak. Wanda may have been unstable, but she wasn't like Jeanne-Marie. She didn't have that scared thing inside of her, didn't need people the way JM did.
At least, that was what Jeanne-Marie figured.
So she finished quickly, "I just wondered what everyone else thought, is all."
Wanda nodded, and shrugged, "I can respect that, don't get me wrong. It's just not my thing."
Jeanne-Marie smiled at her, swallowing the rest of what she wanted to say, needed to say, to work out the confusion in her head. In her heart.
Roberto was Catholic, so he claimed. But he had refused her request to get up early with her and go to mass, so she could familiarize herself with the local church. He said he'd never been there himself, and that she was crazy to want to get up for eight o'clock mass on one of their few days to sleep past that hour.
So, Jeanne-Marie decided to wake up and go for a walk instead, to consider the Issue of God further. And possibly, to pray. She hadn't talked to God in a long time.
But before she got too far, she heard the front door of the house closing, and turned to see a familiar, blue-haired boy ambling toward her, hands stuffed deep in his pockets and a huge smile on his sweet face.
"Guten Morgen, Jeanne-Marie," Kurt said, once he caught up to her, still smiling happily. "What brings you out so early?"
She smiled, and started walking beside him, up the drive, "Just walking. What about you?"
"Mass," he shrugged, his image inducer unable to hide the natural grace with which he executed every single movement.
She'd decided a long time ago that was the best thing about Kurt– the way he moved. The way he smiled, too. But more importantly, at the moment, was his declaration that he was heading to the very place she'd been hoping to go this morning... but was too afraid to go to alone. "To the little church, just near the grocery?"
He nodded, "Ja, St. Francis. You've been there?"
She shook her head, and felt her ears flush pink. She'd never known that he got up for mass... she hadn't even know that he was Catholic, in fact. Was it a private thing for him? He never talked about it. Would he mind if she invited herself along?
But he was looking at her now, one eyebrow raised in that playful manner that became him so well. "Would you like to come with me? Not that I think you need to, but since you're up..."
She sighed, relieved, and smiled again. "I wanted to ask you, but I didn't know if you'd mind."
He laughed aloud and threw an arm over her shoulders, "Of course not. It'll be nice to have some company, for once!"
"You go every Sunday?"
"Always," he nodded. "Well, when we're not off fighting some insane super-villain bent on destroying humanity or mutants or... well you know. X-Men stuff."
She laughed with him, and slid an arm around his waist as they walked. It was a chilly morning, and they both had their fall coats on, but it wasn't uncomfortable. And it smelled nice, like wood smoke and fallen leaves. Something about the whole scene, the two of them walking, the feeling of autumn, suddenly lifted a huge weight off of her heart, and she realized that she'd been brooding for the past day or two, over this whole Issue of God. But now, here... it really didn't feel like there was much of an Issue at all. It was, in fact, perfectly clear. "So X-Men come first?"
"I can only hope that God, in His eternal forgiveness, will let me off the hook for saving my friends' butts on occasion," he grinned at her.
"I didn't know you were religious, Kurt."
"Ach, I don't know that I'm religious. I just... I believe in God, and I like going to mass."
"Isn't that what being religious is?" She laughed at him.
"I guess so, ja," he nodded, still grinning.
"So, what do you think then? About God?"
He seemed to consider this for a moment. And then he said, "I think we're lucky He hasn't deserted us, after all we've done to screw up all the good things we've been given. And I think that kind of unconditional love is something we should appreciate."
"So, you believe He created us?"
"Naturlich."
"And that He still watches over us?"
"If he didn't, Liebiling, I'm sure I wouldn't have made it this far. A circus freak with blue fur, yellow eyes, fangs and a tail? Not to mention...,"
She looked over at him sharply and saw him watching his shoes with great intensity, as they stepped out onto the main road, in the direction of the nearby church. And he was wearing a totally unfamiliar expression on his sweet, if simulated, face– she couldn't decide if it was guilt, fear, or anger. "What is it, Kurt?"
"You know... about Mystique, and all of that?"
She nodded. She'd heard the story from Jean-Paul once, who had been told by Rogue. She had never met Mystique, personally, but she'd heard enough stories of her exploits to know that she was fairly awful. "Yes, I have heard some of the story."
"Well, then you know what a miracle it is that I've made it this far. I mean, being fished out of a river is pretty miraculous."
"Oh Kurt," she squeezed him tight with the arm she had around his waist, and planted a quick kiss on his cheek. Funny how she could feel the slight fuzz there, even though she couldn't see it. "You do have someone watching over you, though. Look at you now, how well you've grown up. How could God not have a hand in it?"
A reluctant grin was returning to her friend's face now, even if his voice was still a little softer than she was used to. Normally he was loud and bouncing and... cheerful. This was an interesting new side to him. Sad, but somehow strong. Hopeful, even after everything he'd been through, after the way he'd grown up being so very different. How he managed, she couldn't imagine. "That's what my parents say, and I don't know how else to explain it. And how else could you find Jean-Paul, in such a huge world, after so many years being apart. How would we all be brought together like this, how would we have fought something as powerful as Apocalypse? Humans... we don't have that power in us. Something helps us, along the way. And all of those things... they make me certain that God is there when we need Him most."
Jeanne-Marie smiled, and felt like her heart was soaring. Finally, someone understood. Someone had just articulated that thing inside of her, that thing that knew. She had known what she felt, but to hear another person say it... that was beautiful.
From the Diary of Jeanne-Marie Beaubier, October 1
Dear Diary,
The stained glass windows in St. Francis are just as beautiful as the ones from Madame's, if not more so. The walls on both sides of the sanctuary are lined with them, individual gothic arched windows, pointed delicately at the top, glowing like fire from the deep colored glass. Each of them has a different saint, with a small dedication below, each completely separate from the others, yet still one of the set. I watched them through the entire service, almost, as the sun climbed higher outside, as they lit up and made colorful patterns on the floor, and eventually across Kurt and me. The familiar sounds of the mass, the smell of incense, the angel in the window– this time a beautiful woman with a harp– all made me feel at home. And I felt full of something. I remembered what it was I had been missing.
The best part was that this time, I felt no fear. I knew that when it was over, I would still be with Kurt, and we would go have breakfast at the small diner nearby, and then we would come home to the Institute. Nothing to fear, nothing to hide from, as there was for so many years. Mass was my respite from the fear, but it was always pushing in on me, at the edge of my thoughts. This time, it wasn't. And it still feels like a respite, as it turns out. From my past. From Kurt's past. From every day problems and pain. From fighting with my brother, from pleasing my teachers, from every little thing.
Perhaps God only intervenes in big things, as some people say. Maybe He truly doesn't have time for the small ones.
But I can't believe that, after this morning at St. Francis. We had no big problem. No Sinister, no Apocalypse, no Magneto. And still, we felt alive, felt safe, in that church.
Kurt was right when he told me that this kind of love deserves to be appreciated. It's such a small thing, getting up and going to mass. But that's what it is, an act of appreciation. I will be going with him every week. That is, when we aren't out saving our friends' butts, as he puts it.
What all the others think of God, it doesn't really matter. Bobby, my sweet friend, who isn't bothered with Him at all, doesn't see the need to even think of Him. Jean-Paul who is bitter toward Him and His Church, yet seems to want to believe. Wanda, whose mind cannot reconcile the mystery of faith with the hard facts of science. Even Kurt, who is as thankful as I, who speaks the words right out of my own soul as I cannot. What matters is that I feel Him. And He has helped me to survive all these troubles, and brought me to this place, a place where I have friends, even family. Luxuries I never understood, but always dreamed of.
I was feeling a little guilty for forgetting Him, as I sat in church. But I looked over, to the angel in the window. She is so much sweeter than the archangel from Madame's. Smiling and gentle, no giant sword, no flame, no judgment. Just her harp, and a smile. And somehow, looking at her, I knew it was ok. I left with a smile on my face, and Kurt's hand in mine.
I know that I am not the most pious girl. I do like boys, I like to have fun, I like to dance. But none of these things are bad, or wrong, as far as the Church is concerned. Music, love, enjoying the gifts we're given, all of these are good things. And from now on, I will make sure to appreciate them.
I have given more thought to what my brother says, however, about the Church judging him for his sexual attitudes. I suppose it's true, and there is a basis for that judgment, in the Bible. As far as I understand, it is not even the idea of homosexuality, in particular, these days, but the idea of sex out of wedlock. In a way, this is unfair, since my brother can never marry someone he loves, in the Church. But in another way... is he right? Was he made this way? And if so, doesn't that mean that he is as he was intended to be? It is not unheard of that the Church has made a bad decision, and while their mandates are inspired, they are also given by humans in the end.
Something about it still does not sit right with me... but I do love my brother. More than life. And I know that I do not have all the answers. I will try harder to understand him, and his choices. Or maybe not his choices... maybe just the way he is.
Anyhow, it bears thinking about.
Right now, however, I must go find Jean-Paul and remind him to write his History paper. He has a habit of forgetting such things, and God knows I don't want to see him kicked out of class for talking back. Particularly when he is at fault. He is so hard-headed some days, I don't know what to do with him. Anyhow, I will write more soon. In the meantime, all I can say is that it feels good to feel safe. It feels good to be home. I think I'm finally starting to understand what that word means.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
AN: The atheist quote is something Stephen Roberts said, I can't take credit for that!
First off, let me say that I don't mean to offend anyone in writing this chapter-- not atheists, not Christians, not hardcore Catholics. Jeanne-Marie wanted some attention, since Aurora got so much on her last chapter, and I gave in. Talk about switching gears... think I ripped the clutch out on this chapter! And watch me do it again next time...
Sorry this one took me so long to pump out, my life is in a huge state of upheaval atm. But things are calming down, and we've only got a few more stories to go. Then I will start on the requested ones, including the shopping trip, a few dates, and random otherness. Those will go in a different story altogether, since they won't be in chronological order if I put em in here, but I'll be sure and let you know where they go and how, if anyone decides to read those too! However, we've got three or four more before Here Comes Trouble comes to a close, so in the meantime...
The Rogue Witch: I hope that was a good squeak!
Guidi: For one, I'm glad that you approve of the Alex issue. Some seemed upset that it didn't stick with canon, but nooot me. I do like Alex, honestly, but it's nice to get ahold of someone in Evo that you can do what you like with. And yes, in AF2 those "eh"s from Judd were about the funniest things ever. Also, Flex and Radius were cute. But beyond that... and yes, boys are disgusting. As far as I know, sex is the main thing on their minds, particularly at that age. I've always lived with boys and... yeah. Ugh. Glad you think it suits them. As for why they have to be comics... guh. It's sad innit? Also happy that the smut was good for you. It was good for me too, baby. Er... yeah. ;) Sorry Mexico wasn't that fun but hell... you get to go to Mexico!
bucki hulk: I'm debating over making another smut chapter after the next one... but I dunno, we shall see. In the meantime, I hope the bits and pieces I drop will be enough to satisfy the JP/Pietro cravings. I know how bad they can get!
Fata Morgana: Funny you should think Gina is so god awful (not that she isn't) but I based everyone in the high school sequences off of someone I knew in school, all those years ago! The JP/Pietro relationship is not something I want to get romantic-- I honestly can't see either of them, particularly as teenagers, being terribly interested in the, as JP said, "moonlit stroll" aspect of their relationship. Probably more of a "dude, I need to get off... ok let's go light some fires..." sort of thing. The romance of it would probably happen while they weren't paying attention, because I can't imagine either of them knowing romance if it came up and knocked them on the side of the head. As for the empathic projection, being in the Brotherhood house would definitely have him out of range... but yeah, I'm thinking he shuts himself down for his romps with Pietro ;) Let's hope. JM is scarred enough as is... and you're right. Pietro is a twit. Thanks for the reviews, sugah!
Gir, aka Day: Girl, if you made it this far, that means you made it through the Sex. I hope you aren't too scarred! I love you!
Regret: How long did it take me to think what up? Pietro and JP in bed? About two seconds, if you want the truth, cause I'm sick. ;) As for you requests... Hank, more Jamie, Jubes, Rahne, more Alex, and a sequel I am definitely planning on. Tabby, Dani, and JP and Pietro getting married and having an adopted love child really weren't in the plan... but hell, there;s always the franchise idea! Seriously though, the next one will be a sequel and will focus on both the Beaubiers and the Maximoffs, seperately and together. I have a month or so before I probably start it, but I definitely have plot bunnies nibbling at my ears at the moment, and am setting things up with this fic, most definitely.
Shaman Dani: I really think it was you that I saw with Alex/Ray first. I mentioned that in some AN somewhere, to someone... Jesus I dunno. Anyhow, its a cute pair and I thank you for the inspiration! I'm glad you thought the smut was yum. I admit, I was worried about offending my audience... but I suppose it's worked out ok, thus far. Thanks so much for the reviews.
Risty: I'm glad you approve of the tone used for Pietro, using himself to get himself out of trouble with JP. It was difficult, when dealing with smut, to get just the right kind of reaction for Pietro-- I didn't think he'd be self conscious about it, at first, but he would definitely have to notice things after. How it felt. Of course, it will have changed more than he wants to think, but I tried to carefully measure his reaction. And yay! You love Samosas too!?
Akuma no Tsubasa: Magneto's reaction may be dealt with in future installments, but not in this fic. In the sequel it is a distinct possibility... if the boys can hold it together for long enough ;) And yes, I'm pretty sure that Bobby (along with Remy, Jono, Rogue, and Jubilee) could easily be bi. He's straight, in this one, because if not my beta reader, the Amazing Sue Penkivech, will lynch me. But come on... it's so obvious. (I'm going to get lynched for saying that...) But yeah, sick of Bobby getting the shaft because of Alex. So I took him out of the game! Mwahaha! As for Pietro swearing while he gets off... he seems the type, doesn't he? And no, I definitely am not about to end this fic with sex. I put it in because it furthers their relationship, and therefore my plot. Character development. Relationship development. I still have lots more to do, you're right. And I hope you enjoy it! Thanks so much for the reviews, you're a darling!
S-Star: Glad you loved it, and I probably love you too ;)
Peanutbaby: Yes... yes we are all happy now that JP FINALLY got laid. That poor man. No wonder he's such a bitch. He has never, in the history of Marvel comics, gotten any! And about making Alex gay... yes... that is what happens when I'm left to my own devices! Still waiting for more of the epic! 3
Caliente: Well, sometimes I update fast... *ahem.* Anyhow, I'm glad that you don't rate this fic with all the other slash stuff. To be honest, I'm not so into most of it myself. I definitely have my favorite scenarios, how I like to see things done, that sort of thing. I'm sorry I made your ears burn, but having gay male friends I'm sure it's nothing new to you. I still remember the first time my best friend talked to me about such things... wooo I was pretending not to be embarassed but oh good god... ;) I know it was graphic... but I was going for intensity (certainly not romance...) I hope it carried off alright. And yes, oh good god Jean, please effing DIE! I'd like to pick up NXM myself, as well as New Mutants, but I just don't have the money at the moment. And Sam... it's coming... next chapter! Thanks for the reviews! You are so sweet, to give such compliments. Much love!
