Leigh's Fanfiction Archive Stormkeeper's Fanfiction Freedom Chapter 7

Freedom

By Stormkeeper

Chapter 6

I stepped into the gym for my morning training session. We were roughly two weeks into our five week journey to earth. The days had been uneventful. The Professor and Psylocke did not detect FOH lurking around. Hank continued to attempt to discern how they were able to detect our cloak ---to no avail, he informed us ----and we all continued to train for hours every day.

That morning, I reached the gym earlier than most. Jean-Paul, however, already was in the room, working away. Shirtless, he had a sheen of sweat over his torso as he lifted various weights. He was absorbed in it, breathing and lifting. I leaned against a wall and just gazed at him for a while. So beautiful. His arms and shoulders bulged with rippling muscles. Masculine and strong but sensitive and caring underneath. My heart did flip flops and I had such a yearning well up inside of me, both physical and emotional.

I finally made myself snap out of it. What was the use? I could look but not touch, and if I kept looking, I was going to have to make a trip to my room and take care of business before starting the day's workout.

"`Morning, Jean-Paul," I said, walking up towards him and making my presence known.

"Good morning," he said, returning my smile, oblivious to the fact that I'd been watching him. My heart practically melted. Sometimes I wondered if he knew what sort of effect he had on me. And sometimes I wondered if I affected him quite as much. I often thought that I didn't. He still thought of Phillippe a lot and I started to doubt that I could ever compete with this ghost from the past.

So I joined Jean-Paul in working out, and shortly afterwards, others filtered into the gym and Danger Room programs were initiated. Our morning was a flurry of activity and the hours flew by as we X-men battled simulated FOH soldiers and traitor mutants. The imagination of that computer program always kept me guessing.

"You want to have lunch together?" he asked me, after we'd showered and changed. We occasionally had a meal together in one of the conference rooms just so we could have some privacy. Between training and bridge duty shifts that didn't coincide, we didn't always get to spend that much actual time together.

So off we went to a small conference room as soon as we'd grabbed our lunch from the mess hall. The sterile conference room consisted of a table with five chairs surrounding it and nothing more. Someday I vowed to decorate Freedom. Our rec room looked nice, adorned with Colossus's paintings and several plants I put there, but the rest of the ship still looked like a plain military vessel.

"I miss Jeanne-Marie," Jean-Paul said as he sat down and dug into his stir fry.

"It must be so hard for you," I said.

"At least I know she is safe," he sighed. "An'zhina is about as safe a place as you can get."

"It's a good healing place too. So many of the camp survivors are doing way better. Your sister still has some emotional healing to do, I think. Maybe the setting will help her."

"I hope so. And she does need it; you're right, mon ami. It is just hard to get used to. I cannot remember the last time Jeanne-Marie and I were so far apart. It is hard to believe that we're millions of light years away." He paused and took a bite of his meal. "Ah well. We must believe that all will turn out well, right Bobby?"

"Yes," I said. Suddenly, an idea popped into my head. I'd been dragging my feet for almost two months now. I had to tell Jean-Paul. We were alone, he seemed to be in a decent mood…..I decided to just do it. "I have something to tell you, Jean-Paul," I said, trying to not gulp.

His expression immediately turned to one of concern. "What is it? Is something wrong?"

"No. I mean…..well, sort of. Here's what happened," I said, tripping and stumbling over words. I pulled out from memory the words I'd practiced saying to the mirror a dozen times. "When I was held prisoner on Ceti III, I did something I'm not proud of. I had sex with one of the other prisoners."

Jean-Paul's jaw fell open and he set his fork back down. "What?" he asked.

I swallowed. "I wish I hadn't done it. I know it was really stupid of me. But one of the other prisoners kept pursuing me and I went along with it. We had sex a few times."

His expression turned from shock into anger. "I can't believe this. I can't fucking believe this! So what did you and this guy do? Go fuck each other in the bathrooms or something??"

His anger shocked me and sent a bolt of fear to my heart. I mean, I knew he wasn't going to be happy about it. But the look in his eyes was absolutely furious. I was so stunned I couldn't reply for a few seconds. "Look, Jean-Paul….I'm really sorry. I know it was a dumb thing to do. It's just that------"

"Just what? Did you forget about me? Did you---" he stopped himself. "Forget it," he said, shoving his chair away from the table and getting up. He didn't even look at me as he turned and headed for the door. His plate of food was left sitting on the table.

I sat there, my appetite totally vanquished. I was too shocked to start crying. I was afraid too----I'd never seen such rage on Jean-Paul's face before.

Maybe this will sound completely naïve of me, but I really hadn't expected him to be so angry. I'm not the first man---gay or straight---to do something like this. And compared to a lot of gay guys I knew, I can hardly be called promiscuous. When I lived in San Francisco, I knew guys who had (or, who said they had) slept with literally hundreds of men. I certainly had sowed my wild oats in my lifetime but never to that extent. And at the time I was on Ceti III, Jean-Paul and I had definitely been in the process of starting something, but we hadn't sworn each other undying love or made a real commitment yet. Part of me had really thought that Jean-Paul would have been understanding of what I was going through at the time.

I didn't chase after Jean-Paul once he left the room. I didn't want to face his anger and the look on his face had really frightened me. So I sat in the conference room, playing with my food and staring at the white walls.

I had bridge duty next. Angel and I were scheduled together and we sat in five hours of complete silence, looking at our monitors, each wrapped up in his own sadness.

The next day I sat in the rec room in the late morning. I was done training for the day and hadn't done particularly well after a night spent tossing and turning in bed. We had a computer in the rec room and I was half-heartedly playing a game on it when Jubilee, Aurora, and Wolverine entered the room. We said hi to each other and mostly Jubilee and Wolverine talked for a while and played with her baby.

The door to the rec room slid aside and Jean-Paul walked through. Jubilee turned her head and greeted him, but as soon as he saw me, he promptly stopped in his tracks and stepped back out of the room without saying anything to anyone.

"What was that all about?" Jubilee asked, looking in my direction.

I took a deep breath. I really had no desire to discuss this with anyone. "He's mad at me," I said.

"Why? What's wrong?" she asked, giving me a sympathetic look.

"A lovers' spat," I said, trying to make my tone flip. I then said, more seriously, "I'd rather not talk about this Jubes, okay?"

She nodded. "How bad is it? Are you and he going to get back together?" she asked.

"I don't know. I hope so." I turned back to my computer game, indicating that our conversation was over. Jubilee and Wolverine went back to whatever they were talking about and shortly, other people entered the rec room too.

I wondered if Wolverine knew. Sometimes you forget how hyper his senses were, but sitting in the rec room that day, I remembered that he had turbo hearing, smelling----everything. I recalled the day, so long ago, when we'd succeeded in imprisoning all the FOH soldiers who had survived the battle for control of this ship. Wolverine and I were there, throwing the last of the soldiers into the brig. Many were unconscious or disabled from our fighting. I then turned my head and saw Wolverine go up to virtually each man and sniff. Afterwards, he had a berserker fit which included destroying several walls and being forcibly restrained by Colossus. I later learned that Wolverine's sense of smell had told him which soldier had raped which woman how many times. So Wolverine had to have known about my affair on Ceti III. I'm sure he could've smelled it. He never said anything about it though.

Well, word travels fast on a starship with just two dozen people on it. Usually, Jean-Paul and I either sat together during meals or we took our food and ate together in a conference room. That day we sat as far as possible from each other in the mess hall for lunch and dinner. Rogue and Gambit, separately, went up to me and asked if everything was alright at some point during that day. I tried to keep my answers as vague as possible.

I berated myself for even telling Jean-Paul. I originally wasn't going to. I had wanted to forget the whole incident but my conscience got the best of me and reminded me that I'd better get tested for diseases. Then Hank had asked me about telling Jean-Paul and it snowballed from there. Now I wished I'd just done what I was originally going to do and not say a word to anyone.

No. I did the right thing. I'm not a petulant 18 year old who doesn't have to think about the consequences of his actions anymore.

So I brainstormed by myself on the best way to handle this. I knew I didn't want to approach Jean-Paul that day. He needed cooling off time. But I tried to figure out what to do next, how to make it better. Unfortunately, I had no idea how to go about this.

The next morning I was on bridge duty with Storm. She asked me how I was doing and was basically offering to play therapist with me (without saying it in so many words.) I thanked her and told her I was fine and didn't want to talk about "it." We both knew what the "it" was.

"Chere, you know dat it's the right t'ing to do. It will make you feel better."

"You're right, Remy. You always are."

Gambit pulled Rogue towards him for an embrace. He held her for many long moments. He wanted to kiss her again but had to remind himself that her collar was off for the day.

Rogue was getting ready to go talk to the Professor about the disturbing memories she'd been having. She spoke with him yesterday and he seemed very pleased that she'd asked to talk to him about it. So they arranged to meet for a few hours this morning. Rogue had been getting cold feet, but Gambit encouraged her to go.

She and the Professor had decided yesterday to meet in his room. They had the least chance of any interruptions in there. Rogue had never really felt awkward around the Professor, at least not for many years, but that day, she felt as if she'd been called to the principal's office or something along those lines. The Professor and Rogue both set their communicators on "emergency stand-by", which meant that they would only be disturbed in the event of an emergency. He asked her to sit in a chair across from him, and they began.

Wolverine walked down the hall, returning to his room. It was quite late at night (actually, very early in the morning) and he had bridge duty in six hours. No matter. His particular abilities made him less reliant on sleep than most; he would be fine with just a few hours that night, as long as he didn't make a habit out of such a schedule.

He peeled off his clothing and settled into the empty bed. He still had the aroma of Storm all over him. He would shower in the morning but for now, he wanted to enjoy her scent as he drifted off to sleep. The scratches she'd marked his back with had long since healed. As he fell into a contented state, he smiled as his mind replayed some of his lovemaking with Storm that evening. She'd had at least three---maybe four---orgasms. Two of her orgasms had been particularly intense, he could smell. Logan thought he himself had had four. It was easy to lose count. Logan had suggested one new thing that evening which she'd enjoyed so much that she'd actually screamed. Storm usually moaned and even cried out but she generally wasn't a screamer. Logan had grunted with satisfaction at himself. Storm was amazing. A more sensual woman, he'd never known.

He fell asleep and his mind turned away from those thoughts of making love with Storm. Wolverine's sleep was plagued by images, as it so often was. He experienced such visions so often that he had no idea if they were remnants of his hidden past or random images his mind conjured up on a whim. He never knew whether the pictures that came to him in his sleep held hidden meanings and it had been going on for so long, he wasn't about to waste his time trying to figure it all out.

That particular night, he envisioned the woman who had been in his dreams several times before. He didn't "see" her as often as he experienced some of the other images that came to him, but he still had seen her many times before. He kept reaching for her, trying to get his arms around her but he failed every time. He couldn't even see her face or discern her features. He knew very little about her and had no idea where that smattering of knowledge came from. All he knew was that she was a petite Asian woman and she was his wife. He didn't know whether he loved her or not but he thought he at least cared for her a great deal. In the images that ran through his mind, Logan would try to make love to her. She cowered and trembled, hating everything about the act but submitting to it as her duty. Logan tried everything to make it enjoyable, or even tolerable, for her but she lay there like a tense wire. If he tried to touch her, she squeezed her eyes together tightly and endured. If he tried to lick her, she pleaded with him to stop. If he held her tenderly and told her that he loved her, she relaxed a little bit but still hoped and prayed it would end soon.

Logan didn't remember anything else about her, except that she died soon after they were married. From that point on, the images (memories? visions?) got hazy and the woman was gone from his mind.

Logan woke from his sleep. As much as he tried to not let it affect him, he was disturbed. He briefly considered telling Storm about these images but as always, he chased the idea out of his mind.

The X-men continued on towards their troubled home world. With roughly two and a half weeks now to go on their voyage, they were at the half-way point between earth and Endaria. There was eerie silence from FOH. Neither the Professor nor Psylocke sensed any other starships within range, and the sensors, of course, picked up nothing. The X-men continued on, bracing themselves for anything.

Back on earth, a young FOH soldier by the name of Mark went about his daily routine. He kept watch at the Mutant Containment Center he was assigned to, working a seven hour shift. During part of his shift, he sat in a tower and kept a visual watch of the area. Mid-way through his shift, he switched to the control center of the camp and watched several monitors which would detect disturbances both in this area and any problems with other Containment Centers. They kept in constant contact with FOH headquarters in Washington DC and with the nine other Mutant Containment Centers.

After his work for the day was over, he joined his buddies for dinner in the mess hall. The men relaxed once their shift for the day was through. They all drank heavily. Some of them, Mark noted, seemed to be forcing themselves to down as much alcohol as possible. Mark did the same thing himself often. Somehow it was all easier that way. Loud boasting, bragging and arguing ensued. And then, as usual, a group wanted to go to the women's barracks and avail themselves of the female prisoners. "You comin', Mark?" one of them asked. Mark had come up with good reasons to decline going along with the group several times over the last few years. But he risked being ostracized, mocked, or even---worst of all----being called a queer if he didn't go along with it every now and then. So off he went.

There were over 20 women in this particular barrack they entered. The lines were long so Mark scanned for the shortest line and plodded his way over to it. He closed his eyes, wishing he could block out all of his senses----the sounds and the smells in particular. His turn came after perhaps a fifteen minute wait. He went up to the cot and took a hold of the bottle of pills that was placed next to the cot. After just seconds, the pill provided an instant erection and Mark unzipped his pants.

She was not new to the camp, Mark guessed, but she likely hadn't been there since the camp opened either. You could tell the ones who had been around for a while and she didn't look quite as vacant as the veterans---though she was getting there. One of her eyes was swollen and she bled from her lips. She wasn't tied to the bed; she lay there like a limp noodle. She was filthy, so he pointed to the showers on the side of the room. Wordlessly she got up and washed off. The woman then trudged back to the bed and lay there on her back. She closed her eyes and spread her legs.

Mark shut his eyes too and climbed on top of her for the painful duty. Like all the women here, she was dry as dust. The lubricated condom he wore made it tolerable, at least. The soldiers were reminded to wear condoms each time for their own protection as you never knew how many diseases the promiscuous mutant women carried. Mark shut his eyes and fantasized, pretending he was anywhere but here…..with someone else, anyone else.

He missed his girlfriend. He'd broken it off with her because he could no longer look her in the eyes. Finally, at long last, he ejaculated and got off of the mutant woman.

Later, the nineteen year old soldier joined some of the other soldiers in watching television. After putting in a few hours of that, Mark retreated to his quarters for the night. He shared a room with three other men. Mark climbed to the top bunk bed and tried to sleep.

He missed his brother.

His older brother, Mike, had joined FOH first. The brothers grew up in the Midwest. The steel mill where their grandfather, father, and uncles all had worked for decades was long since shut down by the time Mike was in high school. As the recession got worse and worse, unemployment skyrocketed and the family couldn't pay their bills any longer. Their father got very sick but none of the part time jobs he or his wife worked at provided health insurance benefits. So Mike joined FOH as soon as he turned 18, and Mark followed his brother a few years later. They were paid reasonable wages and given a full benefits package. Their parents were now doing alright and able to start making a dent in their medical bills.

Mike was dead now. After two years of outstanding service in FOH, Mike had been one of the chosen few selected to go on the infamous raid against the X-men. It had all seemed to be going so well. From the starship The Defender, Mike had emailed his brother, letting him know that they captured most of the X-men and were en route to the planet where the mutant renegades would all be executed. But then something happened. FOH headquarters lost all contact with the Defender. Weeks went by with no word whatsoever. Then, another FOH craft had been attempting to dispose of members of Alpha Flight when the Defender attacked. Since then, the Defender, now in the hands of the X-men, had made two trips to earth. So Mark knew his brother had to be dead. Mark remembered all the fun times they'd had growing up together and he wished for his brother back.

The next day at the camp, FOH executed one of the male mutants for using profanity with a guard. The mutant had been brought to the middle of the camp's square, and all the prisoners and FOH soldiers had to stand around as he was tortured and then killed. Mark tried to focus his eyes on the clouds in the distance or the birds flying by. He blocked out the man's screams by mentally replaying his favorite pop tunes.

Mark knew he had to find a way to end this.

Somehow I let five days slip by. Whenever Jean-Paul and I passed each other in the hall, he looked away and I looked down. During meals, we sat at opposite ends of the table. We managed to be in the Danger Room at different times. He kept to himself and rarely made an appearance in the rec room. One morning I woke up and realized that five whole days had passed since our fight.

On the fifth day, fortunately Gambit and I were scheduled for bridge duty together. And he didn't waste much time before getting down to business. "What are you doing, Bobby? You an' Northstar just gonna ignore each other forever?"

I sighed. Up to that point, I had resisted attempts made by anyone to get me to talk about it. But I was so down and I missed Northstar so much, I decided to indulge Gambit. "I just don't know what to do, Remy," I said. I didn't look at Gambit, keeping my gaze towards my monitor. We were sitting side by side in the captain's and first officer's chairs.

"He be mad at you, right?" Gambit asked. I nodded, and he continued, "Gambit not trying to be nosy an' I won't ask you for the details. But Bobby….if he's mad at you, den you gotta make the first move to get him back!"

"I know," I said, looking at my hands. I was a bit relieved. Gambit likely wasn't going to ask me **why** Jean-Paul was angry. "But what do I do?"

"You care 'bout him?" Gambit asked. I could tell he was looking intently at me though I'd turned my view back to my console.

"Of course. I think I might even be in love with him."

"Den what the hell you waiting for? If he's mad at you, the next step is yours. You gotta make amends."

"I don't know what else to do. I mean, I told him I was sorry. That didn't seem to help."

"Den tell him again!" Gambit insisted. "Do whatever it takes. Write him a letter and tell him how sorry you are."

"You know, Remy….that's a good idea. Maybe a letter would do it."

"Whatever you do, make it fast. You two been avoiding each other for days. You don't wanna wait too much longer. T'ings not gonna get better on deir own."

"I know," I said quietly. I think subconsciously I'd been hoping they would, hoping Jean-Paul would approach me and want to talk. But I was starting to realize what a pipe dream that was.

"What making you drag your feet like dis?"

"I don't know…." I let my voice trail off. "He was so angry," I said finally. "I just hate to see that kind of anger again." It was true. Both my Mom and Dad were always mad about something and I hated it. I don't handle other people's anger well, especially when it's directed at me.

"Well, we be at earth soon. Who know what will happen? This mission will have to be better den the last one, but if it ain't….you gonna regret not patchin' t'ings up wit' him. Maybe you just gotta deal with him bein' mad. Rogue an' I talk about dis sort of t'ing together an' we say sometimes you have to face the t'ing you afraid of."

I turned towards Gambit and smiled. "I think you're right. You know….I just realized that you and I were having this conversation a few years ago. But it was about Rogue and she was all upset, and **I** advised **you** to write her a letter."

I hadn't meant to bring the mood down but Gambit's unique eyes turned somber. I assumed he was thinking back to those dark days. Nice one, Bobby. "You right," he said. "Took Gambit some time but I won her back."

"How's she doing nowadays?" I asked. I knew that Rogue was working with the Professor on something. No one could keep a secret around here but I didn't know any of the details.

"She's good. She an' Xavier workin' on trying to look at her memories, see what from her past is buggin' her."

"Has she been depressed lately?"

"Not really. She's been a little down but she okay."

"Is the Professor helping her?"

"It be slow-going. But dat okay. Dey'll figure it out. She's one tough woman."

And so, I took Gambit's advice. I waited until bridge duty was over because we really were supposed to devote our full attention to it. But as I stared at my monitor, I tried to organize my thoughts. I kept going over what to say and playing around with the order. I never got it quite to my satisfaction but, as soon as my shift was over, decided to just sit down and write it even if it wasn't going to be perfect.

Jean-Paul Beaubier returned to his room after another training session. He glimpsed something peeking out from under the door. When the door slide aside, he grabbed and then unfolded the piece of paper. It read:

"Dear Jean-Paul,

I am writing this letter to you because I miss you. I care about you very, very much and these last few days with you mad at me have been really hard.

I am sorry about what I did on Ceti III. It was really stupid of me and I regret it. I've done some stupid things in my lifetime but I think I regret this the most since it's made you mad at me. I never meant to hurt you.

I'm not trying to make excuses but I thought I'd write a bit about what our lives were like in the mines and what led to me do what I did. Each day, it was hard to get out of bed. We never went outside or were allowed to see any natural light. We spent all day at physically demanding work. Guards watched over us all the time and would use the collar on us if we did anything they didn't like---including talking too much or resting for too long. If we got any injuries, they wouldn't do anything to help us unless it was severe. The whole time we had all sorts of injuries and sore muscles which ached constantly but nothing could be done about. At the end of the workday, there was nothing to do except go to sleep. Our lives really were miserable. They served us three meals a day but whatever the food was, it was terrible. It always tasted either bland or sour and sometimes I couldn't choke it down. There wasn't ever any happiness or pleasure in our lives there. So this one guy kept pursuing me, and I finally went along with him. I wasn't thinking. I was just desperate at that point for a few moments of fun, a few moments to take my mind off how miserable everything else was.

I want to say again how sorry I am about this. I feel awful that what I did has hurt you. If I was thinking at the time, I never would have done it. Is there ever any chance we could talk about this or any chance we might get back together? I miss you so much.

Bobby"

I left the note for Jean-Paul an hour or two before I retired to my quarters for the evening. I hadn't been fully happy with the letter but I'd re-written it so many times that my hand was sore and I finally reached a point where I decided the letter was as good as it was going to get. I then spent at least an hour sitting in bed, re-reading the same few paragraphs of a book over and over again and watching my door out of the corner of my eye. After a few hours or watching, hoping and waiting, no one called me on my communicator or came to my door. I finally fell asleep with the lights on.

When I woke up, the first thing I did was look under my door. Nothing. I showered and went to the mess hall for breakfast. Jean-Paul wasn't there; he didn't always eat with the group. Most of my morning was spent, as usual, in training. Jean-Paul was in the gym for part of it but, as with the last six days, we didn't interact at all. I tried to make eye contact with him but he didn't return any of my looks.

When I got back from lunch, I walked down the hall to my room. My heart sank when I spotted my doorway and saw nothing underneath it. I went inside anyway and….there was a note on the floor! It apparently had slid all the way under.

My hands shook and I forced myself to sit down before reading the letter.

"Dear Bobby,

English is not my first language and I speak much better than I write, so if I make any grammer mistakes in this letter, please excuse. I am angry at you. What you did was stupid for one thing, and I am so mad that you didn't think of me or how I would be hurt from it. These last few days I been thinking about why I am so angry and I think I know what it is. All my life I been fighting against these stereotypes that straight people have about homosexuals. I tell people all my life that the sterotypes are wrong, and then you go out and fulfil one. Maybe I would do the same thing if I been back there too but I think and hope I would not. And I feel also that I lost almost everyone in my life who I loved. I lost Phillippe, my parents, my Uncle Raymonde, most of my Alpha Flight family and now my nephew has been brainwashed and it is like he is gone to. Sometimes I think I don't ever want to care about anyone ever again. But I do still care about you and I miss you even though I am angry with you too. I want to make it work with you but it scares me a bit. When you get this letter, come to see me and we should talk. Jean-Paul"

When I finished I wanted to shout with happiness. He was willing to give me another chance!

My happiness turned into a twinge of fear. He did say he was angry. I took a deep breath and reminded myself of what I talked about with Gambit. If Jean-Paul was angry, I was going to have to face it. There was no going forward if I didn't go **through** it.

So I walked down the hall to Jean-Paul's quarters and knocked. No answer. I then used my communicator to signal him. "Northstar," he said, answering the page.

"It's Bobby," I said. "I, uh, got your note." A very awkward pause. He and I then both started to say something at the same time and accidentally cut each other off. Then we each told the other to go first. We bumbled around like this for a bit, but then I said, "I'm glad you sent me the note and that you want to talk."

"I'm in the gym now. Where are you? Your room?"

"Yes. Er---well, I'm in the hall now."

"I'll come to your room as soon as I'm changed, okay?"

So I returned to my quarters and waited. This was one of the more agonizing waits I could recall. I didn't know what to do so I paced around like an expectant father. Every now and then I picked up the book I'd attempted to immerse myself in the previous evening but failed to read more than a paragraph or two.

After what seemed like forever, Jean-Paul knocked on my door and I opened it. We awkwardly greeted each other and then I gestured for him to sit on the chair. I sat on the bed, facing him.

"How odd," Jean-Paul said, surveying the room, "this is the first time I've been in your quarters."

"And I have never been inside yours either. On An'zhina or on here."

"Looks just like mine."

I smiled. "Don't you hate that? These rooms are so bland and there's nothing to decorate them with. I've thought of begging Colossus to paint me a picture for this room but I know he spends all this time now painting for Elena. Not that I can blame him. I'm so glad for him that he's found someone." I stopped, looked down at my hands, and then looked back at Jean-Paul. He sat across from me, his expression placid. I didn't see the anger that I knew he felt. "Um, look…Jean-Paul, I just wanted to say again that I am really sorry for what I did. I'm sorry about it and I feel terrible that you are hurt. I hope that maybe someday you can forgive me."

Jean-Paul nodded. "I will try, Bobby," he said, quietly. "I'm still angry but I want to try to make this work. But Bobby….if we go on from here, there can be no misunderstanding. If we're a couple, then we're to be faithful to each other. No more one night stands, no matter what the circumstances are."

"Yes," I said. "Of course."

"I realized I am less angry with you than I would be had we been together longer. We were only just getting to know each other at that point. If that had not been the case I would really be furious. But at that time, our relationship was not….defined. I guess we hadn't ever said we were committed to each other, though I just assumed…." he let his voice trail off.

"I know," I said. "But from now on, then, we don't need to assume. We'll be---I mean if you want, of course---we'll be….sheesh, when I was growing up, they called it `going steady.'" He and I both shared a laugh over that. "What would we call it?"

"There are no good terms for any of this stuff," he said. His tone was light and he looked calm and all. "There are no good names for what we are to each other or what to call our relationship. I always referred to Phillippe as my partner, but I hated that term. I thought it made it sound like we sell real estate together." We laughed together over that too.

"When Michael and I were together," I offered, "we just referred to each other as `my boyfriend.' Of course that term is more appropriate for teenagers and not two men in their thirties."

"Well, whatever we call it," Jean-Paul began, on a serious note again, "At this point, I think we either make a real commitment to each other, to be together or….or we break it off."

"I don't want to break it off."

"Neither do I," he said. Then he paused. "Even though….." he let his voice trail off and looked down.

"Even though what?" I prompted gently.

"Like I say in the letter I sent you. I have lost so many people in my life. I tell you, Bobby, part of me wants to run in the opposite direction from this. Part of me just wants to stay mad at you and forget the whole thing."

"I understand that feeling. And I don't think I can ever fully understand all the losses you have been through. For me, almost all of the people who made a major impact on my life are on board this ship. Or on An'zhina. My whole family is here, alive and safe. I am floored at all the losses in your life."

"When you told me about this affair, part of me thought `How great! This is my chance to get out of this and never get hurt again.' But I've thought about it the last few days and that's not what I want," Jean-Paul said.

"I totally understand. But I think we should open ourselves to….to being a couple, to being in love even though there is the possibility we might get hurt. It's better to risk getting hurt again than to close yourself off to love. My therapist and I used to talk about intimacy and how difficult it is to really open yourself up to getting intimate." I had mentioned my years in therapy to Jean-Paul more than once, so it was alright to refer to my therapist. "She said---and I agree----that it's better to risk the pain that can come with love rather than closing yourself off. We're mutants and we lead difficult lives. We have to face the possibility that one of us could die in battle. So we have to realize that….but I still want to be with you, Jean-Paul."

Jean-Paul was quiet for a moment and then began somberly, "During my years in Alpha Flight, I met more than one person who was that way---hurt too many times, closed off to love and to life. A hard shell. It is a miserable way to live and I know I don't want that." He closed his eyes for a second and paused. He then looked straight back at me and my heart nearly melted at the look in his face. "So where do we go from here? I forgive you for what you did, Bobby. Are we ready to commit to each other?"

"I am," I said, meeting his gaze.

"I am too," he said. "I love you, Bobby."

His declaration of love surprised me just a bit, but I didn't even wait a second to return it, "I love you too, Jean-Paul."

He then held out his arms to me. I got up and fell into his arms. The chair he was sitting in, however, wasn't really ample enough for the two of us. So we stood up and faced each other. We wrapped our arms around each other and started kissing.

It started like any of our other kisses, but this time, when I asked for more, Jean-Paul obliged. He returned all of my kisses, more passionately and fervently then ever before. His tongue was touching my tongue as one of his hands stroked the back of my neck. All of my senses were going crazy. His powerful chest pressed against my own and I adored the feel of his shoulders and back as my hands touched them. I gasped when he removed his mouth from mine and started nibbling on one of my earlobes. I thought my heart was beating so loudly that I could hear it. Jean-Paul was always quiet during kissing but I unabashedly let a moan or two out. That seemed to encourage him even more. I tilted my head back and he kissed the hollow of my throat. He then slipped his hands underneath my shirt. I was embarrassed at the perspiration there but I was so excited that my body was going haywire. My legs were shaky.

Jean-Paul broke off the kiss. For a second, my heart sank until I realized that he was taking a glance at the bed and then a very pointed look at me. "Your knees are shaking, amour," he observed. The look in his eyes was one I hadn't quite seen before. I saw naked lust.

"I'm excited," I breathed.

"Me too." He turned his head towards the bed. "Shall we?"

I had to refrain from literally jumping for joy. And for a moment, I didn't know what to do. It had been so long since I made love with someone I felt love for that I nearly panicked. Jean-Paul sat on the bed and then pulled me down towards him. I perched on top of him as he reclined against the bed board, and we resumed kissing. I plunged my tongue into his mouth and then lapped it against his lips. I ran my fingers through his hair, wondering what he would be like and incredulous that I was finally about to find out. Would he go slowly and sensuously or fast and furious? I wondered what his cock would look and feel like. My hands were shaking with anticipation. He noticed, and reached for and kissed them. Jean-Paul then started tugging at my uniform----when the red alert siren went off.

I literally screamed. Jean-Paul and I both immediately stopped what we were doing and looked at each other.

"Everyone report to your stations at once!" Storm's voice boomed over the intercom. Our romantic moment was over, and my feelings in a matter of seconds had gone from love and arousal to base fear.

Chapter 5

Chapter 7