Pyromane

(French for pyromaniac)

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

AN: I know that parts 4, 5, and 6 came in pretty quick succession compared to some other parts, but I can't always keep up the pace. I had writer's block for a while, about halfway through part 4, and then one night had massive inspiration and stayed up 'til 5 a.m. writing all three… 4 was good, so I posted it, and I just needed to tweak a few details in 5 and 6. Right now, though, I'm not so epiphany-having as where I'm going to take this, so there will probable be a wait for 7. Sorry…

AN 2: If anyone is an avid fan of this and wants to know when I update (if they don't have author alert or whatever that is…) just let me know at the end of your review with your e-mail. I'll try and keep track of it all and alert you myself. Oh, and I'm seadragon64@aol.com so you won't thinks it's random junk mail and delete it. Lastly, I plan on sending the e-mails the same time I post the story, so the new chapter might now show up immediately. Try using [ Find ], it might work that way…

Remy observes one of his fellow teammates

Chapter 6

Piotr's Thoughts on the Matter

(a.k.a. The Not-So-Pyrocentric-Chapter)

It's only when I'm injured that the med. ward seems far away. Especially with a leg injury that made it a pain to walk. John is right side dominant, and since we were face to face, he ended up kicking me hard in the left knee. Thankfully, Piotr was supporting about half my weight, most importantly to me the left half. My arm was slung over his shoulders, and he half-dragged me along that way.

We entered the Medical Ward and he dropped me on the edge of one of the many cots in the room. I'm not sure how to split massaging the areas of pain. I'm torn between my very-sore, most-likely-bruised chest and the even-sorer possible concussion on the back of my skull. I ignore both for a moment, wiping more blood away from my eye. I very lightly touch the area I think is bleeding. My suspicions are right—the edge of my eyebrow is now split open. I pause to wipe the blood that trickled down my chin away too. The first hit opened a cut on the inside of my cheek when the flesh was smashed into my cheek. Every hit after only made it worse.

Piotr must have seen my pathetic attempt at cleaning the blood off as he was on the far side of the room. He's coming back from the supply cabinet, a box of supplies under his arm.

"Here," he said quickly before throwing a cloth at me.

"Uh, thanks." I say. "For everyt'ing. Especially keepin' him from killin' me."

Piotr says nothing to me. He still is looking at me with the same semi-disgusted expression.

"Right den," The silence is rather awkward. Piotr has dumped the contents of the box on the cot next to me. He's sitting down, rummaging around the supplies looking for something. I really have no idea what.

While he's searching, I quickly do a satisfactory job of cleaning off the blood. With it gone from my chin, I hold the cloth over my eye to try and stop the flow that's still emanating from it. Nothing more to do, and lacking anything to say, I stare at the floor.

"Gambit." I bolt my head upright. Piotr has a small pen-size flashlight in his hand.

"Put pressure on that," He directs me quickly. I do as told and press harder over my eye. He clicks the penlight on.

"Look at this." I follow the light side to side as he moves it. He moves back to the other cot and consulted a small first aid book.

"How does your head feel?"

"Pained,"

"Vision?"

"Blurry. Some seeing double."

He ponders the information for a moment.

"You might have a concussion. Minor, at worst." He says finally.

"Great," I say with mock-enthusiasm.

Piotr didn't look at me as I spoke. He was reading the label of one of those instant ice packs. After a moment, he crushed it between his palms to activate it as the instructions said. He is staring intently at a crease in the white sheet of the cot as he kneads it. The look of disgust is finally gone from his face. He looks very unsure. I can tell he's thinking about something important. I guarantee it relates to everything that just happened. Maybe he's ready to forgive me. Then again, I should probably consider he isn't looking at me. I highly doubt there's anything about the sheet that could offend him.

I can tell he's getting deep into his thoughts. His hands are slowing down.

"Piotr?" He snaps out of his thoughts and looks over at me. The uncomfortable, torn expression that he gave the sheet still adorns his face. At least he doesn't think I'm still the vilest thing on Earth as I'm sure John does.

Once again, Piotr doesn't reply. He stood up and pushed the icepack against the back of my head. I quickly reach my free hand back to hold it. He sat back down opposite me. This time, though, he isn't rummaging around the supplies. He's facing me. It's clear he's got something to say…eventually. He is looking down and to the side. I watch him, waiting for him to say anything. I'm hoping this is one of those moments where he provides the few words of wisdom I need to make everything all right again. He's been known to do it before.

Finally, he looks me in the eye.

"I think…John is right."

I don't know what to say immediately. It wasn't exactly what I was hoping for. Then again, he's preaching to the choir. I knew it wasn't my business to begin with, but I read Saint-boy's work anyway.

"I know," I say after a moment. "I think so too."

"Why?"

"You wanna hear the whole story?"

He nodded.

I told him. Everything. I found his notebook that one morning. John always left the finished material under his bed, the current between the mattress and the headboard. I told him I read it once and kept going back for more. It was enthralling. I told Piotr what I thought of it all.

"He's good." I say finally. "Only wonder why he doesn't try an' get it published."

"It was still not your business,"

"I know, but… It's compelling. If he ever cools down, ask him about it. Deep down, we both know he loves to brag."

Piotr nodded. He looks more comfortable now that he's heard my side of the story.

"You do realize why he is angry, yes?"

"Yeah," I lower the hand holding the cloth and slump forward. This sent a ripple of pain through my chest, and I wince.

Piotr seems to remember that I'm still untreated. God knows, if it were just me I'd just fall asleep bloody. But Piotr is the responsible, reasonable one. He won't leave me alone until he's sure there's no serious damage.

He looks back down at the supplies at hand.

Piotr grabs a small single dose bag of I don't know what. He tears open the paper and foil package and dumps a vial out onto his other hand . It's one of the small swabs attached to vials of medication that is used by breaking the small glass tube inside it. I recognize the red-hued liquid as iodine. I know what's coming.

"This will sting."

"I know," I toss the cloth onto the nightstand and grab hard the edge of the cot. He quickly went over the split in my brow and closed it. This was the degrading part for me; I hate being fussed over in any extension of the word.

"It should heal fully."

"Thanks,"

He looked me over again quickly.

"Take off your shirt,"

I obliged, pulling off my coat and T-shirt. I'm surprised at how bruised I am. Where John caught me with his knee—right at the bottom of where my ribs still join—was a deep hue of purple. Piotr inadvertently let me know how bad my back looks. He had gotten up again and walked around behind me to assess the severity of it all, and upon sight didn't completely stifle a gasp. I'm sure getting slammed into the refrigerator door, handle-first, was no better for my back than John's knee was for my ribs.

"How well are you breathing?"

"Fine, only hurts when I move."

Piotr nods again. He goes back to the other cot and consults the book for the thousandth time. I end up with an Ace bandage wrapped around my chest. I was finally done being treated when my knee was wrapped and I had an icepack on it, too.

I lay down on the cot while Piotr disappears back to the supply cabinet. He put back any excess supplies and returned with a dose of painkillers in one hand and a cup of water.

"Here," I sit back up as he hands me the two pills and hands me the water. I take it graciously from him, hoping that they're fast acting. My head kills. Piotr doesn't stop to talk anymore. He moves straight for the door. He pauses before opening it.

"Be careful around him. You betrayed his trust, and he has all rights to be angry."

I nod in Piotr's direction.

"Stay here tonight. John is most likely playing his stereo loud again."

I sit up to thank Piotr one more time, but he has already left the room. I guess he doesn't have to worry about John's music, his rooms on the other side of the base. My room is right across the hall from John.

So here I am, bruised and battered and laying in the med. ward. After everything that has happened in the past few hours, I can only think one thing: What a day.

I only hope now that as I fall asleep here, I'll wake up again to learn this was all just a weird, painful dream.

To be continued…

Special thanks to:

Etwa- Merci.

X-Girl- I beginning to think I have a huge fan. I grin!

Cat- I think your review appeared twice. Does this mean I have only 50?

faeryeyes- the Acolytes are the best. They are the three best guys in Evo, and they are conveniently all on the same team so we don't have to say three names every time… Also, had someone read your secret stuff, or did you beat up a close friend/teammate/surrogate(pseudo-?) older sibling? I am curious…

Faith- I think your in closest competition with X-Girl. John's take on things? Good things will come to those who wait… In either part 7, 8, or at the worst 9. Probably 8. I don't know, part 7's only half done. Hm.

Sabrin- I like details. Huge gaping holes could be tripped in. God knows, I'm clumsy enough…

Dragon Master Lytore- Well, no chairs, but I did consistently include the refrigerator…

Pyromaniac- What is shibby? Also, would you like a heads up when I update? See author's note.

Dark-English-Rose- You're welcome.