Pyromane

(French for Pyromaniac)

DISCLAIMER: I sadly do not own X-Men: Evolution, especially Remy, John, or Piotr.

AN: I'm truly sorry this took so long. I had writer's block and tense issues… Part 5 should be up soon. It's done, I just need to proofread. Also, the next three chapters or so will be less humorous and more serious. It gets better though, so don't fret or hate me. Please?

Remy observes one of his fellow teammates.

Chapter 4

Why He Does What He Does…

(a.k.a. The Slip)

The drive back to base was definitely more enlightening than the drive to the store. I knew I'd turn John white in the face again, bringing it up, but I asked anyway.

"Why d'you burn dat building?"

He slowly closed the lid to his new lighter before he even looked at me. He'd been fiddling with it nervously for the entire ride. He still wore a rather worried look. I can understand why.

Ol' Mags had threatened to deport him the last time John had destroyed anything outside of a mission or training. And after all the threatening was done, John had to go through the worst training session of his life—one on one against the boss. Magneto justified it as teaching Pyro self control: John was given his flamethrowers, but wasn't allowed to use them. He'd gone up against a barrage of spheres, ranging from the size of blanks to bowling balls, with varying sections of pipe thrown in for good measure. There was nowhere for John to hide, all he could do was run. John got hit a lot, leaving him plenty bruised and battered. Magneto still wasn't through with him. The metal hail got to be too much, and John had to defend himself, blasting the majority of it clear out of the air. Magneto bellowed something about how without self-control, there are "unpleasant" consequences. All the remaining ammunition swirled in midair for a moment before taking aim. John knew he couldn't outrun or dodge it, he just dropped to the ground and covered his head as everything came crashing down on him. He was okay, but it still wasn't right by any interpretation.

"I don't know," He had taken his time to answer while I had been thinking.

"C'mon, homme. It's not like it was an accident."

"Well…" John seemed like he had something to say, but he was reluctant. Or maybe unsure. He lowered his head into his hands.

"God, Remy, I don't know why I do half the things I do. We hardly ever get out of that place, it's like a prison practically. I just wanted some air and I saw it walking." He stopped watching the road and looked at me. "It was like good kindling. Dry and condemned, in the middle of nowhere. Hell, it was even scheduled for destruction already. It was perfect."

He suddenly had a look of pride on his face.

"It's an art, you know."

"What is?"

"I found just the right conditions. I just knew it'd give me a clear blaze. Nothing big and ugly, but close burning, conditions of the wood giving off different colors. It walked up to it, and I lit the door first. It just went up from there, like I'd imagined it. And that was before I'd even touched it. It was beautiful. It just begged me to use it. So I did, I…" he trailed off. He seemed to be blushing slightly, embarrassed at what he'd just said.

"I conducted it. I channeled all the fury of it into something truly great, Rem."

I realized something just them.

"That's what it feels like, isn't it?"

It seemed like John's speech had made him realize something himself.

"It's why I do what I do. Makes life worthwhile." He shrugged. I notice he has a smile already starting to play at the corner of his lips. I feel more at ease going on a lighter path of conversation.

"Just make sure you don't do what you do anymore. Stick to people's sheds. Boss don' mind you buggin' humans. He just don' want you to blow our cover wit da big stuff."

We pull into the garage at the base. I shut the car off and we both get out.

"Hey, Rem."

"Oui?"

"I'll make sure to write to you from Australia."

John and I both head toward the kitchen. Out of things to talk about, we're both silent. Piotr is already in there, surprisingly. He's pulling my move from earlier—raiding the fridge. I notice he has the beginnings of a sandwich already on the counter.

"Evenin', Pete." John greets him before moving over to the table. The papers were right where I'd left them earlier.

Piotr's head appeared over the top of the refrigerator door.

"Where have you two been?"

"The store," I reply, raising the plastic bag in my hand as proof.

"It has been a long time,"

I shrug.

"Been wanderin'. Maniac needed a new lighter."

Piotr furrowed his brow.

"What happened to the last?"

"Left it at a crime scene."

The Russian still looked confused. He glanced over at John, then stood up fully and turned to him.

"What have you done this time?"

John merely grinned before holding up the front page of the paper.

"Do you realize how angry Magneto will be if he finds—?"

John cut him off.

"Oh, he won't," The new lighter was in John's hand. His eyes suddenly were gleaming, he was excited. He set the corner of the paper alight. To show off, he tossed the thing in the air. He squinted at it, laughing to himself. By mid-fall, the paper was consumed.

"See—no evidence." John was practically giddy. He must be recovered from his worry.

"Da, except for all this." Piotr was the first to notice that ash was now raining throughout the kitchen.

"And here I thought we were all used to it by now." John was still laughing during his reply. As long as something gets destroyed, he's happy.

Piotr is a bit of a neat freak from what I've seen. He seems quite annoyed by the fact the kitchen's beginning to look like Pompeii. John picked up on the hint and got up from the table in search of the broom. This wouldn't have been the first time Piotr bugged him about making a mess out of… Well, John's done this at least once to every room in the base.

I sit down next to the seat John just vacated. Across the room, Piotr went back to making his sandwich. It was rather amusing when he had to pick up one of the slices of bread and actually knock the ash off before he continued.

John has finally found the broom—it had fallen over behind the fridge at some point—and he can't fit his arm behind to reach it. He's got half his forearm behind. I've got a feeling if he'll get stuck any moment now. Colossus to the rescue. I catch the glint of metal before I realize what Piotr's even doing. He's gone metal and reached over to the corner of the fridge. Effortlessly, he pulled it foreword. He hadn't even looked up from making his sandwich on the counter. John almost fell over behind it when it was moved. He grabbed it quickly and reemerged so Piotr could let go.

John was already busy clearing up the ash as Piotr finished making his dinner. The Russian joined me at the table.

Piotr picked up the remaining, non-incinerated paper from the table. His normally blank expression became one of displeasure as he read the headline article. I know that Piotr, being as non-verbal as he is, wouldn't mention anything.

"Heinous, isn't it?"

"Da," He barely replied, instead opting to take a bite of his sandwich. That reminds me. I have the bounty I stole for him still in my coat. I grab the two items destined for him and toss them across the table.

The pencils hit the bottom of the newspaper, grabbing his attention. He looks down at the items then at me over the edge of the paper.

"What's this?" He asks me quietly.

"For de comrade, o' course." I grin and try to make myself somewhat innocent-looking. Piotr's got another nickname beside Colossus. He's also known as Petey Pureheart. He's definitely big on the righteousness, and he definitely does not approve of my thieving ways. Thank god he's already given up on trying to make me change.

"Stolen?"

I falter in my grin. "Remy admits his guilt."

Mr. Reticent doesn't say anything, but he gives me his usual face of disapproval. Then again, I get it about five times a day. He knows it's pointless.

"Hm, thank you." He's definitely reluctant to give me any kind of appreciation for the stealing, but he's polite anyway.

I get up from the table. I still have my soda from the store, and I'm really not thirsty. I put it away in the fridge. I move to lean against the counter.

"Nyet!" John and I both froze at Piotr's exclamation.

"What's wrong?" John was the quickest to ask.

Piotr is looking frantically to me and John. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it quickly, a look of rapid concentration on his face. He always got that expression when he could only think in Russian. He is still learning English, and sometimes, like whenever he was emotional, he had to stop and translate before he spoke.

"Have you read this?" Concern was evident in his baritone voice.

John didn't, but I already knew the secondary article. About the suicide.

Piotr is looking at me. I don't know what to say, so I just shrug slightly, a somber look on my face.

John leaned the broom against the wall and walked over to where Piotr sat. From where I stand, I can see his eyes flashing over the article. By the end, his face was noticeably paler, and he had a sickened expression on his face.

"Bloody…hell. Who could say that…? Remy, have you read this?" John spoke very slowly. It was obvious he was in mild shock.

I nod to him.

"Exécrable." I quickly correct myself in English. "Awful."

"Who could be that desperate?"

"Like Zane…" I spaced for a moment on where I'd heard the name. Right after I'd said it, I remembered. John is giving me a suspicious look. I stare at him before I clap my hand over my mouth. I don't believe I just did that. My reaction seemed to confirm John's suspicion.

Piotr is suddenly confused, looking back and forth between John and I. He's still sitting at the table, the paper in hand.

John, who had been hunched over the table looking at the newspaper with Piotr, stood up slowly. His face is now set with a look of pure hatred, fixed on me. John is completely rigid, his hands balled into shaking fists.

I look around quickly. I knew this day would come, I'd slip. Why did it have to be now?

"You… You read…" John is livid. His voice is a growl coming from clenched teeth. "You bloody traitor…"

A small part of my brain was expecting this, but the rest of me was honestly surprised.

He launched himself at me.

To be continued…

A cliffhanger… Details of the fight coming soon.

Special thanks to:

dReAm sPrItE- Keep in mind, he still had matches and a flamethrower…

Faeryeyes- Yay! Now I'm on two people's fav author lists (it says so in my stats)

Dark-English- Rose- Look! It happened again!

The Dark Vixen- I don't even remember where I heard that John was a writer, but thanks. As you can see, it really quite important for the story.

Pyromaniac- That's a different review.

Pyro-iz-hot- I don't know how to respond to that.

epona

Snitter in Rivendell- this is the most wonderful review I think I've ever received. Thank you!

ChaosCat- We all do fangirl squeals at some point or another. I never had any intention of accenting the whole thing. For one: it would lose the first-person perspecctive, and 2: that would be so hard to write or read…

Link and Luigi- You should get your own ff.net account. Get an extra free email name if you don't already have one at Yahoo or somewhere and use it to open your own penname here.

Niteflite- I never really thought about it like that before, but you really just summed up the relationship well. Hm… This I must ponder further.