Ma Soleil
Chapter One: Coming Home
Disclaimer: All Marvel Characters are the property of Marvel. This is a work of fanfiction, not an attempt to infringe on Stan Lee's personal arsenal of hotties. I can wish all I like, but Sabes is never gonna show up to collect me, and that's that. Oh, yeah, I'm making zero profit off this and if you want Beck, just ask. X-Cell is my own invention, and it includes the members of the former Generation X (e.g. Husk, M, Skin, Jubilee, Chamber, Leech, and Artie Maddocks, now known as Vision) and is headed by Jubilation Lee and X-Man.
As always, the lifeblood of the fanfiction author is reviews. I will respect constructive criticism, but flames are sincerely unappreciated. My e-mail address is seraph_taurus@thekeyz.com. Thanks for your time and God bless.
XXX
For once in her life, Rebecca Starsmore-Creed was at a loss. She didn't know what to do, except stare her husband in the eye and tighten her insides for a brawl.
"Hey, there, Becca." Victor Creed murmured, his low, sinuous voice sending shivers through the woman's gut.
"Hey, Vic." She made sure to keep her voice even, calm. Pulling her apartment door closed, she locked it securely and tugged her coat off, hanging on a peg behind the door.
"Haven't seen ya in a while, frail." Though his voice was casual, his movements were dangerously controlled, almost stiff.
"I've been around. You could have if you'd have wished." She lifted her shoulders in a shrug.
"But you know I didn't."
"Of course not. You don't like head-muckers." She retorted, referring to her substantial psionic mutation, shoving both hands through her long hair.
"Yeah. Ya know me better than I usually give ya credit for."
"I've known you for over thirty years, after all."
"That's right, darlin'." He managed a grin.
"Don't call me that." She nearly snarled, losing for a moment her accustomed composure.
He shoved a sheaf of papers into her hands.
"What the fuck are these, Victor?"
"Divorce papers. I don't wanna be married ta you anymore."
"That's fine by me."
"Good. Sign an' I'll get out o' yer hair."
"Who is she?"
"Ya don't need ta know."
She asked, "Do you love her, Vic?"
"I ain't discussin' this with you."
"Why not? I deserve an explanation, don't you think?"
"Not after the way you ran out on me."
"And then nearly imploded your skull," she murmured complacently.
"Don't give me that smile, Becca."
"I will if I want. So, do you love her?"
Silence.
"Yeah."
"Good. Here, all signed up and ready to go. Have a nice life, amante."
"Don't call me that."
"Of course." She gave him a spectral smile and took a few steps backward. She knew better than to turn her back on someone like him.
"I ain't watchin' ya leave me again." The tone of his voice was very nearly resentful.
"And why is that, Vic? I doubt it's because it's breaking your heart."
"Damn straight. It's because the last two times ya've left me, ya hot-wired my bike. Ain't happenin' this time."
"All right. You go first. I'll watch you leave just this once."
"Ain't lettin' ya out o' my sight yet, girl."
"I'm touched. Come on, Victor, we're adults here. Just because you've known me since I was what? Three? Four? I'm thirty-three now, ready to take control of my life."
"Damn. Has it been that long? Ya walked out on me the first time when you were eighteen, right?" his scratched his skull, struggling to recollect the events of years long past.
"Something like that. And when you came after me, you gave me this," she touched her bare leg, where a long strip of scar-tissue bubbled up from her skin.
"That's right. An' the next time, ya were twenty-three. I marked ya mine that time."
"Of course." She could never forget the V-shaped scar inscribed on the top of her left shoulder.
"Well, I'd better be going." He backed into the door.
"Am I invited to the wedding?" her smile was wry, her tone mildly sarcastic.
"There ain't no weddin'. We're just tagether yet."
"I want to meet her." Her dainty brows drew together, just a little.
"No."
"I'll say I'm your cousin."
"I ain't worried about her gettin' jealous. I'm worried about you tryin' ta take her out."
"You're so modest. It's not like you're the love of my life, Vic. Don't worry about it. But that doesn't mean that I don't still care. I want to meet her."
"Fine. Ya know the White Queen?"
"Emma Frost?! You're not joking?"
"Frost? No way! I wouldn't get anywhere near a bitch like that. An' rumor says that she ain't as good in bed as she pretends, either. No, she used ta run a school in the Berkshires."
"Xavier's. I thought you were through with that lot."
"I was. An' then I met Monet St. Croix."
"Wait. I know her. She works with my brother, Jonothon."
"Yes, she does."
"That's silly. She's a bitch, and she's in love with a man named Everett."
"Was."
"Everett's dead? They couldn't have broken up!" she insisted, stepping toward the door and unlocking it quickly.
"Seriously, Beck, when was the last time ya caught up with yer brother?"
"A couple years." She sniffed indifferently, backing away from the door, giving him ample room to leave.
"Sixteen years, Beck." His voice was a paragon of gravity.
"That is untrue!"
"No, it ain't."
"Fine. It isn't. I haven't seen my brother since I was seventeen, but why is that an issue?" she frowned more deeply this time, scrubbing a hand across her face.
"Because Monet's a fine frail, an' I love her, an' we're gonna live tagether."
"I never thought she'd stoop so far."
"As far as I remember you weren't too unhappy 'stooping' either."
"No, I mean that she's. . .stuck up. That's all."
"Oh. Yeah, she's gotten over that."
"You have a thing for women who can mind-fuck, don't you?"
"Oh, yeah. That's the only thing I like 'bout 'paths."
"She's not that much better than me, is she?" her voice dropped suggestively.
"Nope, not at all."
"Wow. Then you do love her."
"Why the hell would I give you up if I didn't?"
"What was that supposed to mean?"
"Nothin'. It's just that…yer well-known in the merc world as a hot commodity."
"Am I, then?"
"Yeah. The fact that yer gettin' old ain't never entered the picture."
"That's good. Now, off with you. I'll be up to New York in a month."
"Ya promise?"
"Of course I do. As long as you can restrain yourself from ripping your brother's head off for that long?"
"Huh?"
"Oh, yes. I saw Natty a couple weeks ago. . ."
"How can ya call him that? He's Sinister, fer cryin' out loud!"
"He raised me, Vic. Would you prefer that I call him father? Anyhow, I saw him a few weeks ago and he said he'd tested positive for you and Wolverine being related, and it's almost certain that you share at least one parent."
"That so?"
She nodded triumphantly.
"That'll get a rise out o' the runt. Hey, Beck?"
"Yes, Victor?"
"Ya promise ta come?"
"Yes. I promise. And you know that as long as it isn't wedding-vows, my promises are good."
"I know. Hey, ya didn't sleep with Ritzy, did ya?"
"Ritz Spencer? Most certainly not. Did he say I had?"
"Yeah. He's been braggin' about it fer a while, sayin' he had proof."
"Spencer is insane. If you'd like to do me a favor, you could maim him for lying."
"I'd like that, darlin'."
"Oh, and Vic?"
"Yep."
"Don't call me that."
"Sure thing, darlin'." He shot her one last grin before backing out of the door and disappearing down the hall.
XXX
"I don't want to see her!" the stunning woman in a white silk negligee pouted at Victor Creed.
"Monet. . ."
"Don't 'Monet' me, Creed!" she hissed.
"Quit callin' me that, beautiful. . ."
"No!"
"She's just hoppin' over ta see her brother, an' I'll give her a copy of the divorce papers when she comes. You ain't gonna deprive Sparks o' his family, are ya?"
"Victor, it's just that…you were married to this woman, and for twelve years! One does not forget half a lifetime in a few months with another!"
"So what if we were married fer that long! I mean. . .she was only there about half the time. One month I'd see her, then she'd come back, stay a week, leave, come back. . .that wasn't a marriage, beautiful, it wasn't even a relationship."
"Absence makes the heart grow fonder."
"But I'm with you. Don't ya think I'd be with her if I wanted her?"
"She's practically immortal, Victor, much like yourself. I am not. I will grow old. My hair will turn gray. My complexion will deteriorate. I will not be your 'beautiful' forever!"
"I don't want beautiful. I want whatever you can give me!"
"When will she arrive?"
"Huh?"
"When will she arrive?"
"Tomorrow. 'Bout noonish."
"No, she's going to drive in at sunset."
Victor's eyes snapped up to his girlfriend's. "How did ya know that?"
"She never arrives anywhere until sunset."
"Yeah, but how did ya know that?"
"Because she just. . .doesn't. I speak from experience, from back when she used to visit Jonothon regularly."
"Yer still worried we might have feelin's fer each other, M?"
"Yes, I am."
"Fine. I'll tell ya what happened when I went ta see her, then."
"To get the papers signed?"
"Yeah."
"Okay."
"I got inta her apartment early, cause the only time she's off guard is when she's just comin' in. The second she shuts a door she's hyped. So I broke in early, cornered her before she locked up. Handed her the papers easy as ya please, an' she asked me what the hell they were. So I told her. I said, 'I don't want ta be with you anymore.' An' she said, 'Fine by me. Who's she?'"
"Who's who?"
"You. The girl I was dumpin' her for."
"Why would you remain in wedlock with a woman you knew undid her oaths to you regularly?" a single ebony brow slid up.
"Beautiful, Beck ain't like that. Fer all her bluster an' charm, she don't get laid that often. That's why everyone says they've done her. She don't say nothin' about it, an' everyone's happy. Now me, if I heard somethin' like that back in the day, I'd track the man down an' ask him about it. If he bragged about it, I'd smell whether he was tellin' the truth, an' if he was, I'd castrate him an' tear his guts out."
"And if he wasn't?"
"Jus' castrate him."
"Oh. So much better."
"Nah, not really." His giant, bowed shoulders lifted, dropped.
"Victor?" Monet's eyes sought his, caught them, held them.
"Yeah."
"How come you've never. . .mentioned marriage?"
"I thought ya said ya weren't interested in a serious commitment yet."
"You got divorced for me, Victor. That sounds pretty serious."
"Monet. . .do ya want ta get married? I mean, ya said ya didn't because all it meant ta most women was a ring an' a party, but you weren't like that. 'S what ya said, an' I believed ya."
"When did I say that?"
"Our unofficial first date."
"What? I didn't say that on our first date!"
"Nah, not the one in Spain. The one in the burnin' buildin', when I dragged yer sweet little ass out o' the fire."
"The one where I. . .kissed you?"
"Yeah. Although 'kissed' is a bit of a strong word fer stickin' yer tongue down my throat durin' mouth-ta-mouth resuscitation." Monet giggled at the smirk on Victor's face, and bent over to bite his lower lip. "Hey, darlin', that may work with other men, but I know the tricks of the trade."
"Oh, yeah? Show me."
XXX
The sun was just sinking below the horizon, dying the underbellies of the clouds magnificent shades of fire-flecked ultramarine. The ice-blue Jaguar Convertible pulled through the wrought-iron gates of the Xavier Institute and screeched to a halt just in front of the walkway which led to the veranda. The young woman within opened her door and slid out in a single, sinuous motion. She was tall, just a few inches shy of six feet, and so slender and wiry that if she had wanted a career in modeling, she had it cut out for her. Her eyes were shaded by mirrored sunglasses, with dark green frames. Her long, sleek hair of spun gold was let down to flow around her white shoulders like a maelstrom tempest.
She wore a long, dark brown leather duster over a forest green tube top and a pair of faded blue jeans. On her feet were brown stiletto-heeled boots, and she wore a silver belt slung around her narrow hips. Around her forehead, keeping her hair from her face was a strap of cotton the precise hue of the sky on a stormy day, tied around, with two tassels mingling with her hair.
The moment she got to the door, there was someone there to open it for her. Her smile was, surprisingly enough, genuine. "Hello, Sam."
"Welcome home, Soleil." Sam Guthrie's warm, lopsided grin and familiar Kentucky drawl immediately stimulated feelings of safety.
"Not home, Sam. I'm just here to visit."
"Well, it's nahce ta see ya anyhow. Wanna come in?"
"Sure." She stepped inside, and shed her duster into his strong hands. "So, is my brother home?"
"Not rahght now, Ah'm afraid," when he smiled, there were pencil-thin lines at the corners of his eyes. Rebecca blinked, and shook her head. "What's wrong?"
"It's just. . .you look so much more. . .mature. How old are you now, Sammy? I think I missed your last birthday."
"Don'cha know that's a rude question tah ask after a body turns thirty?"
"I'm asking anyhow," she pouted.
He grinned. "Ah'm pushin' thirty-eight now. What do ya think?" he lifted his arms and gave her a flirty look.
"I think. . ." she gave him a slow once-over, "that you've still got it."
"Got what?"
"That fresh-off-the-farm naïveté that gets you babes in the first place."
"Now that's not fair!"
"It is, Sammy, and you know it. So, how're things going with Sarah?"
"Oh. . ." his face fell.
"What?"
"She's. . .she's goin' out with Gambit now."
"Oh. I shouldn't have asked."
"Well, they'ah on an off month, but they'll get back tagethah, Ah know. Ah'm a free agent now."
"All right. Sounds good."
"It is. Come on, everyone's in the livin' room, watchin' the film of Bobby's latest prankscapade."
"Oh, my God! More prankscapades! I hope you haven't told him where my bed is, otherwise I think I'll find a layer of mustard on my mattress."
"No, Ah don't think he knows. . ."
"Soleil Étoile! Mein Gott!" a puff of magenta smoke and the heady, distinctly unpleasant scent of brimstone filled the air.
"Hey, Kurt."
The indigo-furred mutant grabbed her around the waist and twirled her around. "You look as beautiful as ever!"
"Thank you, and may I say, that the hair is very sexy? I love the goatee, too." She tugged on it lightly, and threaded her fingers through his curly, shoulder-length hair.
"Thank you, liebling." He grinned, displaying his ivory fangs, and accepting the quick peck on the mouth the young woman offered him. "I am afraid, however, that I am going gray."
"What?"
"Yes, you see, I am getting up there and not all of us can find our brand of dye anymore."
Upon closer inspection, Rebecca realized that he was, indeed, graying slightly at the temples. "Don't worry, Kurt. I think it just makes you look that much more distinguished and even, may I say, more desirable." She flashed a seductive smile.
"Ach, you are too much. But thank you anyhow."
"Seriously, Kurt. You still look lovely."
"Danke schoen. Would you like to see Wolverine with red hair?"
"RED?"
"Indubitably. Robert hypothesized that since our diminutive indigenous feral is so exorbitantly enthralled by estrogen-carriers with the analogous hair pigmentation, that he would not demur having his own so stained."
"Henry!"
"Soleil!"
"So is it still red? I would adore seeing my erstwhile brother-in-law so discomfited."
"Unfortunately, Jubilation negated the mutilation of her beloved educationalists distinctive mane and purchased a box of black dye."
"And he actually USED it?"
"To the contrary. He believed it was all part of an intricate conspiratorial game to coerce him to dye his hair twice. He shaved his head."
"Oh! Noooo!!!
"Oh! Yessss!!! However, owing to his healing factor, it has all grown out by now, quite as it formerly was."
"What a shame."
"Not really. We have it all videotaped. With stills."
"Ooohh, in the shower and all?"
Hank blushed furiously. "Unfortunately, Bobby also hypothesized that Logan overtly masculine comportment is a side-effect of certain key anatomical details being undersized."
"And was he wrong?"
"Hysterically." Hank caught her up in a bear-hug.
"So you still have the tapes?"
"Ah, the wench is desperate!"
"Don't call me that!"
"Fine."
"I want to see the prankscapade."
"Let's see if yah can sneak past the rest of yoah adorin' fans." Sam Guthrie nudged her shoulder. Give him a day, and it would be back to punching.
"How much?"
"Two hundred."
"Make it two fifty and you're on."
"All rahght. But Ah should warn ya, Logan an' Kyle're in theah. They'll smell ya first thang, an' ya cain't use yoah powahs."
"All right. I'll just stand. . .downwind."
"Ah don't think yah can do it. Tell ya what, double or nothin'."
"You're on."
XXX
"Fork it over, Mister Yah Cain't use Yoah Powahs! Not even the telepaths sensed my presence!"
"Yah got in and out without sendin' up a ruckus? How'd ya. . ."
"Let's go in and do the greetings for real, Sammy." She lowered her eyes. "I've been apart from a lot of them much longer than I've been apart from you. Hell, I saw the X-Men and the New Mutants six months ago. I just. . .it's just X-Cell I haven't dealt with in a long time. Years."
"Sixteen yeahs."
"Yep."
"Long tahme."
"Yep."
"Would ya like me ta come in with ya?"
"Yes, please. That would be. . .wonderful."
"Come on then, babe." He tucked her under one muscular arm and they strode into the TV room together.
XXX
Chapter One: Coming Home
Disclaimer: All Marvel Characters are the property of Marvel. This is a work of fanfiction, not an attempt to infringe on Stan Lee's personal arsenal of hotties. I can wish all I like, but Sabes is never gonna show up to collect me, and that's that. Oh, yeah, I'm making zero profit off this and if you want Beck, just ask. X-Cell is my own invention, and it includes the members of the former Generation X (e.g. Husk, M, Skin, Jubilee, Chamber, Leech, and Artie Maddocks, now known as Vision) and is headed by Jubilation Lee and X-Man.
As always, the lifeblood of the fanfiction author is reviews. I will respect constructive criticism, but flames are sincerely unappreciated. My e-mail address is seraph_taurus@thekeyz.com. Thanks for your time and God bless.
XXX
For once in her life, Rebecca Starsmore-Creed was at a loss. She didn't know what to do, except stare her husband in the eye and tighten her insides for a brawl.
"Hey, there, Becca." Victor Creed murmured, his low, sinuous voice sending shivers through the woman's gut.
"Hey, Vic." She made sure to keep her voice even, calm. Pulling her apartment door closed, she locked it securely and tugged her coat off, hanging on a peg behind the door.
"Haven't seen ya in a while, frail." Though his voice was casual, his movements were dangerously controlled, almost stiff.
"I've been around. You could have if you'd have wished." She lifted her shoulders in a shrug.
"But you know I didn't."
"Of course not. You don't like head-muckers." She retorted, referring to her substantial psionic mutation, shoving both hands through her long hair.
"Yeah. Ya know me better than I usually give ya credit for."
"I've known you for over thirty years, after all."
"That's right, darlin'." He managed a grin.
"Don't call me that." She nearly snarled, losing for a moment her accustomed composure.
He shoved a sheaf of papers into her hands.
"What the fuck are these, Victor?"
"Divorce papers. I don't wanna be married ta you anymore."
"That's fine by me."
"Good. Sign an' I'll get out o' yer hair."
"Who is she?"
"Ya don't need ta know."
She asked, "Do you love her, Vic?"
"I ain't discussin' this with you."
"Why not? I deserve an explanation, don't you think?"
"Not after the way you ran out on me."
"And then nearly imploded your skull," she murmured complacently.
"Don't give me that smile, Becca."
"I will if I want. So, do you love her?"
Silence.
"Yeah."
"Good. Here, all signed up and ready to go. Have a nice life, amante."
"Don't call me that."
"Of course." She gave him a spectral smile and took a few steps backward. She knew better than to turn her back on someone like him.
"I ain't watchin' ya leave me again." The tone of his voice was very nearly resentful.
"And why is that, Vic? I doubt it's because it's breaking your heart."
"Damn straight. It's because the last two times ya've left me, ya hot-wired my bike. Ain't happenin' this time."
"All right. You go first. I'll watch you leave just this once."
"Ain't lettin' ya out o' my sight yet, girl."
"I'm touched. Come on, Victor, we're adults here. Just because you've known me since I was what? Three? Four? I'm thirty-three now, ready to take control of my life."
"Damn. Has it been that long? Ya walked out on me the first time when you were eighteen, right?" his scratched his skull, struggling to recollect the events of years long past.
"Something like that. And when you came after me, you gave me this," she touched her bare leg, where a long strip of scar-tissue bubbled up from her skin.
"That's right. An' the next time, ya were twenty-three. I marked ya mine that time."
"Of course." She could never forget the V-shaped scar inscribed on the top of her left shoulder.
"Well, I'd better be going." He backed into the door.
"Am I invited to the wedding?" her smile was wry, her tone mildly sarcastic.
"There ain't no weddin'. We're just tagether yet."
"I want to meet her." Her dainty brows drew together, just a little.
"No."
"I'll say I'm your cousin."
"I ain't worried about her gettin' jealous. I'm worried about you tryin' ta take her out."
"You're so modest. It's not like you're the love of my life, Vic. Don't worry about it. But that doesn't mean that I don't still care. I want to meet her."
"Fine. Ya know the White Queen?"
"Emma Frost?! You're not joking?"
"Frost? No way! I wouldn't get anywhere near a bitch like that. An' rumor says that she ain't as good in bed as she pretends, either. No, she used ta run a school in the Berkshires."
"Xavier's. I thought you were through with that lot."
"I was. An' then I met Monet St. Croix."
"Wait. I know her. She works with my brother, Jonothon."
"Yes, she does."
"That's silly. She's a bitch, and she's in love with a man named Everett."
"Was."
"Everett's dead? They couldn't have broken up!" she insisted, stepping toward the door and unlocking it quickly.
"Seriously, Beck, when was the last time ya caught up with yer brother?"
"A couple years." She sniffed indifferently, backing away from the door, giving him ample room to leave.
"Sixteen years, Beck." His voice was a paragon of gravity.
"That is untrue!"
"No, it ain't."
"Fine. It isn't. I haven't seen my brother since I was seventeen, but why is that an issue?" she frowned more deeply this time, scrubbing a hand across her face.
"Because Monet's a fine frail, an' I love her, an' we're gonna live tagether."
"I never thought she'd stoop so far."
"As far as I remember you weren't too unhappy 'stooping' either."
"No, I mean that she's. . .stuck up. That's all."
"Oh. Yeah, she's gotten over that."
"You have a thing for women who can mind-fuck, don't you?"
"Oh, yeah. That's the only thing I like 'bout 'paths."
"She's not that much better than me, is she?" her voice dropped suggestively.
"Nope, not at all."
"Wow. Then you do love her."
"Why the hell would I give you up if I didn't?"
"What was that supposed to mean?"
"Nothin'. It's just that…yer well-known in the merc world as a hot commodity."
"Am I, then?"
"Yeah. The fact that yer gettin' old ain't never entered the picture."
"That's good. Now, off with you. I'll be up to New York in a month."
"Ya promise?"
"Of course I do. As long as you can restrain yourself from ripping your brother's head off for that long?"
"Huh?"
"Oh, yes. I saw Natty a couple weeks ago. . ."
"How can ya call him that? He's Sinister, fer cryin' out loud!"
"He raised me, Vic. Would you prefer that I call him father? Anyhow, I saw him a few weeks ago and he said he'd tested positive for you and Wolverine being related, and it's almost certain that you share at least one parent."
"That so?"
She nodded triumphantly.
"That'll get a rise out o' the runt. Hey, Beck?"
"Yes, Victor?"
"Ya promise ta come?"
"Yes. I promise. And you know that as long as it isn't wedding-vows, my promises are good."
"I know. Hey, ya didn't sleep with Ritzy, did ya?"
"Ritz Spencer? Most certainly not. Did he say I had?"
"Yeah. He's been braggin' about it fer a while, sayin' he had proof."
"Spencer is insane. If you'd like to do me a favor, you could maim him for lying."
"I'd like that, darlin'."
"Oh, and Vic?"
"Yep."
"Don't call me that."
"Sure thing, darlin'." He shot her one last grin before backing out of the door and disappearing down the hall.
XXX
"I don't want to see her!" the stunning woman in a white silk negligee pouted at Victor Creed.
"Monet. . ."
"Don't 'Monet' me, Creed!" she hissed.
"Quit callin' me that, beautiful. . ."
"No!"
"She's just hoppin' over ta see her brother, an' I'll give her a copy of the divorce papers when she comes. You ain't gonna deprive Sparks o' his family, are ya?"
"Victor, it's just that…you were married to this woman, and for twelve years! One does not forget half a lifetime in a few months with another!"
"So what if we were married fer that long! I mean. . .she was only there about half the time. One month I'd see her, then she'd come back, stay a week, leave, come back. . .that wasn't a marriage, beautiful, it wasn't even a relationship."
"Absence makes the heart grow fonder."
"But I'm with you. Don't ya think I'd be with her if I wanted her?"
"She's practically immortal, Victor, much like yourself. I am not. I will grow old. My hair will turn gray. My complexion will deteriorate. I will not be your 'beautiful' forever!"
"I don't want beautiful. I want whatever you can give me!"
"When will she arrive?"
"Huh?"
"When will she arrive?"
"Tomorrow. 'Bout noonish."
"No, she's going to drive in at sunset."
Victor's eyes snapped up to his girlfriend's. "How did ya know that?"
"She never arrives anywhere until sunset."
"Yeah, but how did ya know that?"
"Because she just. . .doesn't. I speak from experience, from back when she used to visit Jonothon regularly."
"Yer still worried we might have feelin's fer each other, M?"
"Yes, I am."
"Fine. I'll tell ya what happened when I went ta see her, then."
"To get the papers signed?"
"Yeah."
"Okay."
"I got inta her apartment early, cause the only time she's off guard is when she's just comin' in. The second she shuts a door she's hyped. So I broke in early, cornered her before she locked up. Handed her the papers easy as ya please, an' she asked me what the hell they were. So I told her. I said, 'I don't want ta be with you anymore.' An' she said, 'Fine by me. Who's she?'"
"Who's who?"
"You. The girl I was dumpin' her for."
"Why would you remain in wedlock with a woman you knew undid her oaths to you regularly?" a single ebony brow slid up.
"Beautiful, Beck ain't like that. Fer all her bluster an' charm, she don't get laid that often. That's why everyone says they've done her. She don't say nothin' about it, an' everyone's happy. Now me, if I heard somethin' like that back in the day, I'd track the man down an' ask him about it. If he bragged about it, I'd smell whether he was tellin' the truth, an' if he was, I'd castrate him an' tear his guts out."
"And if he wasn't?"
"Jus' castrate him."
"Oh. So much better."
"Nah, not really." His giant, bowed shoulders lifted, dropped.
"Victor?" Monet's eyes sought his, caught them, held them.
"Yeah."
"How come you've never. . .mentioned marriage?"
"I thought ya said ya weren't interested in a serious commitment yet."
"You got divorced for me, Victor. That sounds pretty serious."
"Monet. . .do ya want ta get married? I mean, ya said ya didn't because all it meant ta most women was a ring an' a party, but you weren't like that. 'S what ya said, an' I believed ya."
"When did I say that?"
"Our unofficial first date."
"What? I didn't say that on our first date!"
"Nah, not the one in Spain. The one in the burnin' buildin', when I dragged yer sweet little ass out o' the fire."
"The one where I. . .kissed you?"
"Yeah. Although 'kissed' is a bit of a strong word fer stickin' yer tongue down my throat durin' mouth-ta-mouth resuscitation." Monet giggled at the smirk on Victor's face, and bent over to bite his lower lip. "Hey, darlin', that may work with other men, but I know the tricks of the trade."
"Oh, yeah? Show me."
XXX
The sun was just sinking below the horizon, dying the underbellies of the clouds magnificent shades of fire-flecked ultramarine. The ice-blue Jaguar Convertible pulled through the wrought-iron gates of the Xavier Institute and screeched to a halt just in front of the walkway which led to the veranda. The young woman within opened her door and slid out in a single, sinuous motion. She was tall, just a few inches shy of six feet, and so slender and wiry that if she had wanted a career in modeling, she had it cut out for her. Her eyes were shaded by mirrored sunglasses, with dark green frames. Her long, sleek hair of spun gold was let down to flow around her white shoulders like a maelstrom tempest.
She wore a long, dark brown leather duster over a forest green tube top and a pair of faded blue jeans. On her feet were brown stiletto-heeled boots, and she wore a silver belt slung around her narrow hips. Around her forehead, keeping her hair from her face was a strap of cotton the precise hue of the sky on a stormy day, tied around, with two tassels mingling with her hair.
The moment she got to the door, there was someone there to open it for her. Her smile was, surprisingly enough, genuine. "Hello, Sam."
"Welcome home, Soleil." Sam Guthrie's warm, lopsided grin and familiar Kentucky drawl immediately stimulated feelings of safety.
"Not home, Sam. I'm just here to visit."
"Well, it's nahce ta see ya anyhow. Wanna come in?"
"Sure." She stepped inside, and shed her duster into his strong hands. "So, is my brother home?"
"Not rahght now, Ah'm afraid," when he smiled, there were pencil-thin lines at the corners of his eyes. Rebecca blinked, and shook her head. "What's wrong?"
"It's just. . .you look so much more. . .mature. How old are you now, Sammy? I think I missed your last birthday."
"Don'cha know that's a rude question tah ask after a body turns thirty?"
"I'm asking anyhow," she pouted.
He grinned. "Ah'm pushin' thirty-eight now. What do ya think?" he lifted his arms and gave her a flirty look.
"I think. . ." she gave him a slow once-over, "that you've still got it."
"Got what?"
"That fresh-off-the-farm naïveté that gets you babes in the first place."
"Now that's not fair!"
"It is, Sammy, and you know it. So, how're things going with Sarah?"
"Oh. . ." his face fell.
"What?"
"She's. . .she's goin' out with Gambit now."
"Oh. I shouldn't have asked."
"Well, they'ah on an off month, but they'll get back tagethah, Ah know. Ah'm a free agent now."
"All right. Sounds good."
"It is. Come on, everyone's in the livin' room, watchin' the film of Bobby's latest prankscapade."
"Oh, my God! More prankscapades! I hope you haven't told him where my bed is, otherwise I think I'll find a layer of mustard on my mattress."
"No, Ah don't think he knows. . ."
"Soleil Étoile! Mein Gott!" a puff of magenta smoke and the heady, distinctly unpleasant scent of brimstone filled the air.
"Hey, Kurt."
The indigo-furred mutant grabbed her around the waist and twirled her around. "You look as beautiful as ever!"
"Thank you, and may I say, that the hair is very sexy? I love the goatee, too." She tugged on it lightly, and threaded her fingers through his curly, shoulder-length hair.
"Thank you, liebling." He grinned, displaying his ivory fangs, and accepting the quick peck on the mouth the young woman offered him. "I am afraid, however, that I am going gray."
"What?"
"Yes, you see, I am getting up there and not all of us can find our brand of dye anymore."
Upon closer inspection, Rebecca realized that he was, indeed, graying slightly at the temples. "Don't worry, Kurt. I think it just makes you look that much more distinguished and even, may I say, more desirable." She flashed a seductive smile.
"Ach, you are too much. But thank you anyhow."
"Seriously, Kurt. You still look lovely."
"Danke schoen. Would you like to see Wolverine with red hair?"
"RED?"
"Indubitably. Robert hypothesized that since our diminutive indigenous feral is so exorbitantly enthralled by estrogen-carriers with the analogous hair pigmentation, that he would not demur having his own so stained."
"Henry!"
"Soleil!"
"So is it still red? I would adore seeing my erstwhile brother-in-law so discomfited."
"Unfortunately, Jubilation negated the mutilation of her beloved educationalists distinctive mane and purchased a box of black dye."
"And he actually USED it?"
"To the contrary. He believed it was all part of an intricate conspiratorial game to coerce him to dye his hair twice. He shaved his head."
"Oh! Noooo!!!
"Oh! Yessss!!! However, owing to his healing factor, it has all grown out by now, quite as it formerly was."
"What a shame."
"Not really. We have it all videotaped. With stills."
"Ooohh, in the shower and all?"
Hank blushed furiously. "Unfortunately, Bobby also hypothesized that Logan overtly masculine comportment is a side-effect of certain key anatomical details being undersized."
"And was he wrong?"
"Hysterically." Hank caught her up in a bear-hug.
"So you still have the tapes?"
"Ah, the wench is desperate!"
"Don't call me that!"
"Fine."
"I want to see the prankscapade."
"Let's see if yah can sneak past the rest of yoah adorin' fans." Sam Guthrie nudged her shoulder. Give him a day, and it would be back to punching.
"How much?"
"Two hundred."
"Make it two fifty and you're on."
"All rahght. But Ah should warn ya, Logan an' Kyle're in theah. They'll smell ya first thang, an' ya cain't use yoah powahs."
"All right. I'll just stand. . .downwind."
"Ah don't think yah can do it. Tell ya what, double or nothin'."
"You're on."
XXX
"Fork it over, Mister Yah Cain't use Yoah Powahs! Not even the telepaths sensed my presence!"
"Yah got in and out without sendin' up a ruckus? How'd ya. . ."
"Let's go in and do the greetings for real, Sammy." She lowered her eyes. "I've been apart from a lot of them much longer than I've been apart from you. Hell, I saw the X-Men and the New Mutants six months ago. I just. . .it's just X-Cell I haven't dealt with in a long time. Years."
"Sixteen yeahs."
"Yep."
"Long tahme."
"Yep."
"Would ya like me ta come in with ya?"
"Yes, please. That would be. . .wonderful."
"Come on then, babe." He tucked her under one muscular arm and they strode into the TV room together.
XXX