Pyromane

(French for pyromaniac)

Remy makes observations about his fellow teammate.

Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men: Evolution, specifically Remy, John, or Piotr.

AN: Yay! I got reviews! I'm glad people appreciate my non-romance Acolyte fic. I love 'em and all, but gah! Too much Romy! (I agree with ya, ___) It's the new Kurtty. Also, if anyone reads this far and decides they don't like it, flame away! It will make Pyro very happy.

The Bagel Story Continued

(a.k.a. it was the microwave's time)

He'd wanted to toast the damn thing, but they'd been in the freezer and were hard as rocks. He couldn't break it apart to fit into the slots. I told him to defrost it in the microwave, he asked me how. I told him—a couple minutes on (obviously) defrost. I have since gathered he doesn't have the best grasp of 'couple'.

I was still sitting at the kitchen table for the beginning of his endeavor. I could hear him muttering to himself. "Okay, 2 minutes…" He gave the knob a sharp twist—it was an older model that had a dial rather than buttons—I could tell he wasn't really paying attention to it. I knew he didn't notice the 1 before the 2. He also ignored my warnings for what he should put it on. I watched as he set the thing on high. I wish now I'd mentioned it, but I figured at the time that he couldn't do that much damage. It would teach him a lesson. Still, a tiny voice in the back of my head told me I should leave the room.

I obliged the instinct and went into the next room to watch TV. Surprisingly, I could still hear him.

"This is the longest two minutes ever…" I couldn't hear the rest of what he said. I glanced at the clock. It had been almost ten minutes. Was the kid really that thick? I doubted it, guessing he was just acting that way to amuse himself (that's my theory on why he does most of what he does… It's fun for him to act stupid.). I looked at the clock again. Eleven minutes. Why did I have such a sense of foreboding. I watched it. 30 seconds… Maybe I should go stop him? 20 seconds… Why am I afriad? 15… Too late now, unless… 10… No, I'm not Quicksilver, can't run that fast… 5… Wait! Shouting! 4… But would he listen? 3… Shit. 2… He's gonna kill himself somehow, I know it. 1… Too late now.

BOOM!

A loud explosion erupted from the kitchen. It was followed by an equally loud shriek. I jumped up from my position on the sofa and went to see what exactly he'd done. The hallway was filled with black smoke. Going into the kitchen, I saw that room was coated in black as well. Soot clung to everything that wasn't charred anyway. Shrapnel littered the floor. John was standing in the middle of the room, looking at where the microwave had been. He, too, was black with soot, and some pieces of the door reflected the overhead light in his hair.

"So that's what all that shaking meant…" he said to himself.

"Mon Dieu!" I couldn't help but yell at him. "What the hell d'you do?"

"It was taking too long," he said matter-of-factly. "I turned on the oven settings too." It was a microwave oven after all.

"Homme, it was taking so long 'cause you put it on 12 minutes!"

"Ooh…" He suddenly got a look on his blackened face of complete understanding.

I knew it was futile to continue ranting on to him. Besides, he'd known it was coming. The table had been turned on its side like a shield.

"Clean this up," I found myself pinching the bridge of my nose. I felt a headache coming on. Stress plus thick, ominous black smoke were most likely the causes. I started to leave the room, but I stepped on one of the larger pieces of shrapnel. It made a soft 'Ding!' sound as I removed my foot from it. Behind me, I heard John chuckling.

"Guess my bagel's done."

Like I said, he's incapable. Still, when he's not being so manic, he can make you think. He's okay to talk to sometimes. In conversation, he'll bring up some obscure point that actually is tied to the topic. It gets shrugged off during the converation as just a fleeting point, but hours later I've found myself about to go to sleep when it suddenly pops back into my head. It's always something that makes you think. John just has that talent. No matter what he does it makes you think. It's either about some point he made, or trying to figure out how the hell he can pass hours staring at a single spot on the ceiling. Weird kid.

Something just chimed. The microwave we currently have is newer and digital, but for some reason, the done chime sounds like a strangled mouse, a deranged sort of squeak. My food's done. I get up and take it out, shifting it from hand to hand as I walk the few steps back to the table. It's rather hot to the touch. I take one bite, and suddenly I realize just how hungry I am. I down everything quickly and get back up to raid the pantry. I don't feel like anything that takes preparation right now. Especially something that needs heating. I'm currently convinced that I burned my thumb on the plate minutes ago. The most promising thing I pull out is a bag of chips. Luckily, it's still unopened, meaning it hasn't gone stale like some of the other snacks present before me.

Special thanks to all who reviewed (so far):

faeryeyes

Pyromaniac (I'm a huge fan)

keika

Niteflite

Scurvy Kat

Street Wise Girl

Dreams of Magic