Ma Soleil
Chapter Thirteen: I Was Afraid You'd Say That
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.
And again, to anyone who's managed to read so far and understand what they're reading, I'm looking for a beta. Someone frank, someone unafraid to put a serious opinion into print, someone in between Simon Cowell and Mister Rogers, like Cowell in the sense that they're candid, but like Mister Rogers in the respect that they have SOME tact.
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
Creed clutched Monet's hand tighter as they crossed the street. "This ain't necessary," he griped, annoyed at the noise of the city, the stench surrounding him.
"Of course it is, mon coeur," she whispered. "especially after last night," her husky whisper recalled to him hours of smooth, slick skin and her body straining against his.
"Beautiful. . ."
"I want to do this for you, Victor," she smiled slyly. "Let me pamper you."
"I ain't been pampered in years. . .hell, I ain't been pampered EVER since I've been alive."
"Then all the more reason to allow me to do as I wish with you."
He snorted. "So what DO women classify as relaxation? I've always wondered, 'specially when there are malls involved." She tensed at his side.
"Is that what you think we're going to do? Go to some petty, crowded public recreation area where they vend so called 'fashion' at exorbitant prices to civilia?"
"Is that even a word?"
"Civilia?"
"Yeah."
She thought for a moment, her lips twitching in the most adorable way. Then she laughed. "I'm not sure, really."
He slid an arm around her shoulders and kissed her forehead as they walked. "Yer as cute as a button, Monet."
"Why thank you, mon amour. I've always wanted to be compared to a piece of plastic."
"All's I'm here ta do is make ya happy," Victor shrugged, then brought her to a full stop on the sidewalk, holding her shoulders in his big hands. "So what're we doin' here, darlin'? Why can't we jest go on back ta the mansion?"
"Because, I'm not ready." She laughed. "It's our six-month anniversary. I should have a memento of it, don't you think?"
"Ya've got ridiculously overpriced jewelry that looks stunnin' on ya. What more do ya want?"
"For you to escort me around town without another peep of protest," she batted her eyelashes, shooting him a smile that still made him weak in the knees.
"Yeah, all right, darlin'." He grinned. "So, lissen, who do ya think that l'Rivière fella is?"
"Seriously, Victor, are you still concerned about THAT?" there was a snap of temper behind Monet's controlled scent. Victor, being who he was, ignored it.
"A lil' bit. It's just that Beck. . .seemed ta know him from a while ago, an' that means he could only be a merc'r a Thief."
"A what?"
"She said th' Cajun introduced them."
"Then he must be. . .oh, my!" Monet covered her mouth delicately with one hand. "That was Guillaume l'Rivière, one of THE most eligible bachelors in the world! His mother was some sort of royalty, and his father is rumored to have been a diplomat. His parents died when he was only an infant, and between then and his grandfather's death, when he was nineteen, he was in and out of jail several times, though none of the charges were ever proved. But when he was nineteen, he took over his grandfather's post, you see, in his company."
"Sounds like a major Crime Syndicate ta me."
"Pardon?"
"I said, it sounds like he's the head of a major Crime Syndicate."
"Well, if you're going to look at it THAT way. . ." Monet pouted.
Victor cringed. "I could always be wrong, beautiful."
"Yes, you might. And we're here," she smiled sweetly, but he could detect the tang of annoyance in her scent.
He turned toward where she was looking, and let out an inward groan. Before him stood the Manhattan Sea Spa.
XXX
Scott, there's an incoming call from Nigeria. Nathan alerted his father with a quick postage to his psyche. It's Broker Amman.
Call the X-Men and X-Cell to the War Room.
He did so, and in under five minutes, all fifty plus people were all arranged around the giant video-phone in the War Room. A young man stood within. He was dark-complexioned, with chiseled, handsome features and stunning blue eyes. "Broker," Ororo murmured the moments she set eyes on her nephew. "what have you called for?"
"I'm holding a Mutant Conference here. The meetings are beginning at any moment, and I was told to extend an invitation to the world-famous X-Men. They supposed I had more sway over you because of my relation to you." He grinned at Ororo, showing pearly-white teeth, pointed like those of a jackal.
"We'll get back to you," Scott murmured, "stay on the line. We just need to confer," he put the vid-phone on hold, and turned to both X-Teams, his eyes finally resting on one young woman. "What do you think, Jubilee?"
"I think. . .I think the X-Men should go, and X-Cell should take care of the grounds. It just makes sense. 'Sides, M's still out on her post-anniversary party with Creed." She nodded a couple of times, pursing her lips.
"Think you can handle the boredom without destroying the mansion?" Scott smiled into her eyes, as though she were the only one in the room.
She laughed. "I'll try, Cyke. I'll try."
X-Man stood up. "If I may, Scott,"
"Go ahead."
"I'd like to join the Conference."
"Would you be comfortable with that, Jubilee?"
"Well. . .Jono just got back, an' it's been a while since X-Cell was complete, an'. . .I'd really appreciate it if ya hung around, Nate. But don't lemme get it your way, if ya really wanna go. We'll get on all right without ya."
Nate looked to his father. "It's up to you, Nate." Scott affirmed.
"Jubes?" his voice was pleading.
"Hey, I said don't lemme stop ya, Nate."
"I'd feel guilty knowing I'd let ya down."
"Why don't we take a vote?" she suggested. When several of the senior X-Men grinned, she flashed them stern looks. "For X-Cell members ONLY." Some faces fell, namely those of Wolverine and Gambit, who did not particularly relish the idea of going to a Conference with a bunch of stuffy old politicians, much less with Cyclops' son thinking he was running the show.
"All right." Nate agreed.
"All in favor of Nate's leaving, raise your hands." Jubilee said. Angelo, Leech, and Jono raised their hands quickly. Jubilee shrugged. "All in favor of him staying, raise your hands." She, Paige, and Artie, raised theirs. "Well, hell. That only leaves M. Never thought she'd have the tippin' vote," she shrugged, and reached out with her telepathy. After a few moments, she was able to reach her teammate. Monet, you there?
WHAT?! Oh, it is you, Jubilation. What do you want now?
This is the sittyation, she began, and explained. So basically, I need ta know whether you want Nate to leave or stay.
I would prefer it if he remained. X-Cell hasn't been complete for the past few weeks while Jonothon was off gallivanting in Japan.
Thought ya'd say that. All right. See ya later, M.
Good bye, she replied, and instantly shut down the link.
Jubilee turned to X-Man. "Sorry, Nate, looks like M wants ya here as much as I do." She grinned. Angelo and Leech rolled their eyes.
"That's fine with me, I guess."
Scott turned the video-phone back one. "Broker? We'll be there in a few."
XXX
Jonothon Starsmore walked slowly down to Breakstone Lake. He'd just gotten off the phone with his manager, and the record sales were looking good. The hype from the tour had been just what was needed to boost international sales. So his professional life was looking good; a part-time gig with one of the foremost superhero groups in the world and a nice little Ace in the hole with his music, just as a back-up. He was still dragging on the coat-tails of the bed-hopping stage imposed on him by the five-month-old break-up with Jubilee, and that meant lots and lots of tail, which meant going out and painting the town almost every night by himself or with Angelo, or some other unsuspecting victim.
And then there was Rebecca. How did she fit into the "new body, new life" strategy he'd been celebrating for nearly a year now? She was his sister. So what? She hadn't bothered to give him so much as a damn "hello" for sixteen years! The last time he'd seen her, he'd been what? Eighteen? And she hadn't even shown up to their parent's funeral the next year! How cold did you get? But. . .there was something about her now, something she hadn't had then, or perhaps he'd just not noticed it. . .something behind her eyes. . .where once there had been anger and a vicious tugging at the leash, there was sorrow, a resigned quality. Where once she had been an implacable teenager, she was now an angsty, resigned woman. A woman. Of course. She was all grown up now, he remembered. But how ironic that when he was a teenager, he was been the resigned one and she had been the spirited one, and now that he had new hope in his life, she was letting go of hers.
It had to have something to do with Creed. He was half of a mind to ask her, but he knew that it was too soon for that. They would have to ease into each other's lives, to take stock and assess what they were getting into. It wouldn't do to demand her confidence immediately and decide later that she wasn't the sister he wanted. He couldn't do that to her. It wasn't likely that he'd decide that he didn't want her, though. He needed someone concrete to hold on to, and even though their relationship scarcely extended past a shared name, there was something to be said for having the same genetic material in you.
He was in sight of Breakstone now. She was sitting on the little pier, dipping her toes into the water, her hair billowing around her in the wind, a plaid shirt clutched tightly around her slim, muscular shoulders. She looked like a forsaken lover waiting indefatigably for the return of her lost husband. There was a wistfulness in her pose. . .
Jonothon shook himself, and quickly closed the distance between them with long, rapid strides. Hey, there, Rebecca.
"Hello, Jonothon."
Call me Jono. When yer say me whole name, I ferget who yer talkin' to. he sent a little psionic chuckle.
"All right then. And call me Beck. Only. . .certain people use Rebecca anymore. Everyone calls me Beck."
So I remember.
"So you said that you can talk, then?"
Jono cleared his throat and stammered, "Y. . .yeah, I can. Still a bit difficult, b. . .but I manage."
"How much do you usually. . ."
"I've b. . .been talkin' a lot since I've been on tour. Can't shout psionically ter all th' fans. Might c. . .cause an FoH rally, Japan-style."
"And they do things on such a big scale. . ." Rebecca sighed. "Couldn't have that, I suppose?"
"N. . .no. Listen, B. . .Beck, d'yer wanna go down ter Harry's an' get somethin' ter eat? It's lunchtime, an' I'll take any excuse ter put somethin' in me mouth."
"Sure, I'd love that." She gave him a hesitant smile.
"Brilliant," he offered her his hand, and she slipped hers into it easily. As they walked down toward the garage, he murmured, "Yer know, I m. . .meant wot I said that n. . .night we talked on th' phone."
"Pardon?"
"Th. . .that I love yer."
"Oh." Her smile grew wider, more genuine, and softened her ice-chip blue eyes marvelously. "I meant it, too, Jono."
"Good. M. . .mebbe we can rescue our 'orrid sibling relationship t. . .track record so far."
"Maybe." She sighed a little, and tightened her fingers around his. "So, my car or yours?"
XXX
They lay side by side in the grass, occasionally managing a few shreds of conversation, but mostly just reveling in one another's company. All the small talk and food that had filled the past three hours had helped them getting to know each other again. For example, she had noticed that he couldn't eat fast enough, shoveling his food down in big mouthfuls and downing them with pulls of beer that would have made even Wolverine's eyes widen. And he noted that she didn't do more than pick at her food, slicing her steak so thin that you could see the light shining through the strips of almost-raw meat, and in the time he'd taken to eat six burgers, she'd scarcely eaten half her order.
And then there were the little facial expressions that helped so much to humanize them to each other. The way she wrinkled her nose as she laughed, the way he scarcely formed his lips into a smile, but often crinkled up his eyes at the corners, the way he had for the seventeen years in between not having anything but psionic fire between his nose and abdomen.
It seemed as though all the years in between they had been readying themselves for one another, preparing to have a family again. They were both astonished at how well they. . .fit. They both enjoyed much the same things, though the adrenaline rushes Jono indulged in on stage, Rebecca fulfilled in being a mercenary.
They hadn't only small-talked. There were also intense discussions on life, philosophy, significant experiences they had both gone through, and the things that had formed their character. To summarize, they had delved into one another's souls and come out with shards of diamond within five hours.
Now, in the comfortable silence ensuing, like the eye of the storm, they basked in the sun and one another's presence. And then a shadow fell over them.
"Chamber, Jubilee is requesting X-Cell to assemble in the Rec-Room. She seems to have something of importance to relate to us."
Be right there, M. he crinkled his eyes, and rolled over on his elbows, brown eyes searching his sister's. Guess I'll be goin', then, Beck.
"Yeah. Guess I'll see you."
"Y. . .yeh." he got to his knees, then pushed himself to his feet slowly, with the reluctance of an eight-year-old boy to go to school. He turned toward Monet, noted her rigid silence and the way her features were strained as though she had just eaten something distasteful. She walked away without once looking at Rebecca, and Jono followed with several glances over his shoulder at his sister, who seemed perfectly content to remain where she was, stretched out spread-eagle on the grass, effectively staining her khaki shorts.
Monet, he touched his teammate and friend on the shoulder before they entered the Mansion.
"What is it, Jonothon?"
Wot d'yer think Jubilee wants with us?
"It may have something to do with the fact that Sinister just dropped in."
Wot?!
"Sinister. He hasn't yet posed any sort of threat, but as the X-Men just jetted off to Nigeria to that Mutant Summit headed by Broker Amman, I believe we should exercise some caution."
Oh. An' why 'aven't yer called me sister?
Monet sneered as he brought up THAT subject, and referred to Rebecca as being related to him. "Because, he wasn't asking for her, he was asking for X-Cell, namely you. Besides, you're one of the only ones who can take him and you have to admit, for someone who was one of his labrats, Soleil Étoile is rather well-dispositioned toward our enemy, don't you think?"
Woteva, he replied, casting another look over his shoulder, but Rebecca had disappeared.
As they entered the Rec-Room, the first thing Jonothon saw was Sinister, dressed, no longer in his imposing regalia of body-armor and that high-collared cape, but a stylish, Italian-made suit of black silk. His shirt was white, and his tie was blood-red, describing a perfect line down the center of his broad chest. He was sitting in an armchair, sipping tea, with a small buttered scone in his hand. Jubilee was sitting across from him, her ankles crossed, one hand in Leech's, who appeared visibly shaken at the appearance of the Morlock's murderer. Artie was also comforting his friend, and Nate Grey sat beside Paige and Angelo, his steely blue eyes fixed grimly on Sinister.
Jonothon took the liberty of lowering himself into a loveseat beside Monet, his eyes narrowing as he felt her psionic signature tense up at the sight of Sinister. He took her hand reassuringly, and when her eyes turned to him, they did not hold the usual annoyance they would have at such a gesture from him.
"Good afternoon, X-Cell." Sinister began, setting down his tea and scone, "You must be wondering why I'm here?"
"I figure you're here to see Soleil," Jubilee said, taking control of the situation before Nate could deliver some sarcastic rejoinder.
"The thought most certainly crossed my mind, but why should I commit literal suicide when I could so easily arrange an interview outside of this. . .death-house."
"Is that what you think this is?" demanded Nate, sitting straighter in his seat.
"Why no, my dear boy," Sinister smiled condescendingly. "Not for you, anyhow. But, as you know, I'm not the most popular of tea-guests, and I don't blame you for assuming the worst when I dropped in. However, my intentions today are entirely benign. I just wanted to drop off some information and bid you all a very fond good day."
"What're ya askin' in return for this information, Sinny?" Jubilee stood up, hands planted on her hips.
"However do you mean?"
"I mean that we're not quite as stupid as you think. We have brains, and we've tangled with you before. You're not one to give something without extracting a hefty price in return." She replied, her crystal blue eyes signaling everyone else to remain silent.
"I only wish that you will not regard me with such suspicion as I have hitherto been tendered. I have finally abandoned my obsessive geneticism, and am looking into retirement."
"P. . .pardon?" Jonothon let out a chuckle, his eyes crinkling. "You, M. . . Mr. Sinister, tormentor o' th' Summ. . . m. . .mers family. . .retirin'?"
"Yes, indeed, my dear boy. And you owe this considerable transformation in no small part to your sister."
"Soleil?" Monet's interest was finally piqued. "How so?"
"Well, she has advised me time and again over the years to abandon my plotting, and I have finally done the intelligent thing and followed her advice."
Jubilee's foot tapped a rapid beat on the floor. "Explain," she said, sitting back down and crossing her arms in front of her. Artie frowned and pulled Leech closer into a hug.
"In layman's terms, I got bored," he sighed, huge shoulders lifting and falling with the slight breath. "Besides, my Marauders got out of hand. They committed mutiny and I fear for my research."
"Lies the wind in that corner?" muttered Nate, under his breath, quoting a line from some literary piece or other.
"Indeed it does. You know I've been looking for a cure for the Legacy ever since YOUR brother was asinine enough to corrupt our deal and release the Virus into the world?"
Nate glared harder. Jubilee rolled her eyes at him. "Why'd yer Marauders turn on ya? Low wages?"
"To the contrary. I threatened to release my experiments into the world, and they protested, saying I should release them, as well. I said I would consider it, and they decided I had gone soft, but instead of merely attempting to escape, they attempted to murder me, that they should no longer be beneath my shadow."
"So you got what's been comin' to ya fer years now, huh?"
"I suppose you could say that," the mad scientist nodded. "However, I believe that you, in return for my inactivity in such matters as we used to have such delightful little tiffs about, would be interested in my research material. I have, as you know, reams of it."
"We'll have to wait for an okay from the big boys, but for now, you're welcome here so long as you inform us that you'll be coming. Any instance in which you do not, we will do our utmost to kill you, no matter what you may say in defense."
"I understand." He smiled quietly, and opened a tesseract, turning back and nodding solemnly to the members of X-Cell. "I certainly hope I didn't unduly frighten any of you, barging in like that. It WAS terribly rude of me, and I apologize." With those words, he was gone.
XXX
Victor Creed watched Rebecca from downwind, and just out of range of the spatial telepathy barrier she liked to keep up around herself, so she knew what was going on around her. She was sprawled out on the grass, gazing vacantly up into the sky, and he wondered what she could be thinking of. He didn't particularly want to confront her, but then, he'd always prided himself in cutting to the chase. He ambled toward her, making certain his shields were tight up, and that his only surface thoughts were entirely benign. As he approached, he expected her to turn her head toward him, but she ignored him, keeping her eyes trained on the cottony stratus clouds above her.
"Becca," he murmured her name, and she closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again, not so much blinking as acknowledging his presence. He nearly growled, knowing that she was deliberately baiting him. She knew he hated being disregarded. 'We need ta talk."
"What about?" she murmured, her smooth, low voice dipping and gliding over the words.
"Last night."
"What about it?"
"Ya said ya loved me. On my anniversary with another woman, no less. Don't ya think that merits something?"
She sighed, a peaceful smiling coming to her lips. "You must have misunderstood me. What I meant was that regardless of your romantic affiliation with Monet, I still care about you, and that this trip was not only made for Jonothon."
He said, "Is that really all, Beck?" His voice was a shade more demanding than it had hitherto been, raised only a fraction above a whisper.
"Yes, that's all, I may have been slightly unreasonable last night; I'd been drinking, and it had been a bit of a shock to see Guillaume that morning. I was stressed from running about all day, trying to get ready."
"Ya still gonna see him?"
"Yes, he's invited me to a housewarming party."
"So the Cajun introduced ya?" he eased himself onto the ground beside her, in a half-reclining position.
"I don't see how this is relevant to you," she replied, but because she was comfortable with his edging away from their heated discussion of the previous night, she continued. "Yes, Gambit introduced us."
"How long ago?"
"Why?"
"Because I wanna know."
She sighed, and closed her eyes, computing numbers in her head. "Thirteen years ago."
"Did ya date?"
"He was with Rachel Summers at that time," she shrugged. "but then she got sucked into the time-stream and we just happened."
"Under my nose, then, eh?" he grinned ferally. "I should pull his intestines out through his throat."
Rebecca sighed. "I love that trick."
"Damned if I ain't taught ya more'n ya should know, darlin'." He pursed his lips a little.
"Damned if I haven't hurt you more than I should have, Vic." She replied quickly. He sat up a little straighter. "I mean. . .I shouldn't have busted your arse as much as I did. . .running away so much while you were only trying to protect me. I'm glad you're with someone who can appreciate you now."
"What're ya sayin', Beck?"
"Can I be completely honest with you?"
"I wish ya would be. When ya talk in circles, ya take my head with ya."
"Well, when you asked me to sign the divorce papers, it was as though someone had yanked a carpet out from beneath me. I know, I had just left you (yet again) not a year before, but I was contemplating going back to you, as I always do. And then you showed up and asked me to end it forever." She laughed a little, in a quiet, mildly disturbing way she'd had about her ever since she was just a child. "To tell you the truth, I'd always envisioned doing the same to you, tossing them into your face with a little flourish, watching your jaw drop open and your eyes widen. . .I wanted to get back at you for all those years you kept me under your thumb. I've always been mesmerized by you, and I wanted to let you know that I was my own woman, finally. So when YOU showed up wanting to be rid of me, it made me think. It frightened me that you didn't need me as much as I knew I needed you."
Victor grunted. "Coulda fooled me. Hell, ya gave me every reason ta believe I was an unwanted complication in yer life."
"But I felt as though I undid every angry word I said to you when we made love," her tone was casual, even vacant, but there was a telltale hitch in her voice that alerted Victor to her inner conflict.
"Listen, Becca. . . "
"I didn't come here to win you back, Vic." She rolled her eyes. "I just wanted you to know that I was lying when I said that you weren't the love of my life." Her lashes lifted, and her blue, blue eyes stabbed into his. He quickly turned his head away.
"I think you should leave, Beck." He said, very quietly, his voice still a whispery vestige of what it usually was. He was a soft-spoken man, in the moments when his rage was just running weakly to his brain like a gentle stream. Now, he could scarcely feel the anger; his inner beast was no longer worrying at the chain he had only just learnt to tug around its neck.
She nodded, tried to catch his eyes again, but he refused to meet her gaze. Finally, she shrugged. "I was afraid you'd say that." She rose silently. "I'm going to leave an address and a phone number with Jonothon, if you don't mind."
"Got nothin' against that," he murmured. "What is it?"
"I'd rather not leave it with you."
"Why's that? Don't ya trust me?" he avoided using her name.
"No. I just don't want you to think that half of the reason I'm leaving it is for you." She got up, and headed for the mansion.
XXX
By the time Jonothon Starsmore found the letter in his room, his sister was gone. There were raised bumps on the surface of the page, denoting drops of water had spilled on it and dried, but some of the words were blurred and unreadable. The note read:
"Dear Jono,
"I'm sorry I had to leave on such short notice, but my partner called me. He found us the op of a lifetime; it pays (unintelligible word) better than I can afford to pass up. It was beyond wonderful seeing you again, and I hope you can find time out of your schedule to call or visit me.
"I feel like a complete wanker leaving like this, but there's nothing to be done about it (unintelligible phrase). The mercenary world must run on wheels and I'm an integral cog, so to speak. Please contact me at the following address and/or phone number, and inform the X-Men that I am open to any communication they wish to have.
"Once again, I apologize. I'll miss you very much, and I hope you don't wait sixteen years to ring me.
"All my love, Your Sister,
"Rebecca Starsmore
"E-Mail: yorkster_blind@aol.com
"Phone Number: (212) 809-9247"
XXX
Chapter Thirteen: I Was Afraid You'd Say That
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.
And again, to anyone who's managed to read so far and understand what they're reading, I'm looking for a beta. Someone frank, someone unafraid to put a serious opinion into print, someone in between Simon Cowell and Mister Rogers, like Cowell in the sense that they're candid, but like Mister Rogers in the respect that they have SOME tact.
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
Creed clutched Monet's hand tighter as they crossed the street. "This ain't necessary," he griped, annoyed at the noise of the city, the stench surrounding him.
"Of course it is, mon coeur," she whispered. "especially after last night," her husky whisper recalled to him hours of smooth, slick skin and her body straining against his.
"Beautiful. . ."
"I want to do this for you, Victor," she smiled slyly. "Let me pamper you."
"I ain't been pampered in years. . .hell, I ain't been pampered EVER since I've been alive."
"Then all the more reason to allow me to do as I wish with you."
He snorted. "So what DO women classify as relaxation? I've always wondered, 'specially when there are malls involved." She tensed at his side.
"Is that what you think we're going to do? Go to some petty, crowded public recreation area where they vend so called 'fashion' at exorbitant prices to civilia?"
"Is that even a word?"
"Civilia?"
"Yeah."
She thought for a moment, her lips twitching in the most adorable way. Then she laughed. "I'm not sure, really."
He slid an arm around her shoulders and kissed her forehead as they walked. "Yer as cute as a button, Monet."
"Why thank you, mon amour. I've always wanted to be compared to a piece of plastic."
"All's I'm here ta do is make ya happy," Victor shrugged, then brought her to a full stop on the sidewalk, holding her shoulders in his big hands. "So what're we doin' here, darlin'? Why can't we jest go on back ta the mansion?"
"Because, I'm not ready." She laughed. "It's our six-month anniversary. I should have a memento of it, don't you think?"
"Ya've got ridiculously overpriced jewelry that looks stunnin' on ya. What more do ya want?"
"For you to escort me around town without another peep of protest," she batted her eyelashes, shooting him a smile that still made him weak in the knees.
"Yeah, all right, darlin'." He grinned. "So, lissen, who do ya think that l'Rivière fella is?"
"Seriously, Victor, are you still concerned about THAT?" there was a snap of temper behind Monet's controlled scent. Victor, being who he was, ignored it.
"A lil' bit. It's just that Beck. . .seemed ta know him from a while ago, an' that means he could only be a merc'r a Thief."
"A what?"
"She said th' Cajun introduced them."
"Then he must be. . .oh, my!" Monet covered her mouth delicately with one hand. "That was Guillaume l'Rivière, one of THE most eligible bachelors in the world! His mother was some sort of royalty, and his father is rumored to have been a diplomat. His parents died when he was only an infant, and between then and his grandfather's death, when he was nineteen, he was in and out of jail several times, though none of the charges were ever proved. But when he was nineteen, he took over his grandfather's post, you see, in his company."
"Sounds like a major Crime Syndicate ta me."
"Pardon?"
"I said, it sounds like he's the head of a major Crime Syndicate."
"Well, if you're going to look at it THAT way. . ." Monet pouted.
Victor cringed. "I could always be wrong, beautiful."
"Yes, you might. And we're here," she smiled sweetly, but he could detect the tang of annoyance in her scent.
He turned toward where she was looking, and let out an inward groan. Before him stood the Manhattan Sea Spa.
XXX
Scott, there's an incoming call from Nigeria. Nathan alerted his father with a quick postage to his psyche. It's Broker Amman.
Call the X-Men and X-Cell to the War Room.
He did so, and in under five minutes, all fifty plus people were all arranged around the giant video-phone in the War Room. A young man stood within. He was dark-complexioned, with chiseled, handsome features and stunning blue eyes. "Broker," Ororo murmured the moments she set eyes on her nephew. "what have you called for?"
"I'm holding a Mutant Conference here. The meetings are beginning at any moment, and I was told to extend an invitation to the world-famous X-Men. They supposed I had more sway over you because of my relation to you." He grinned at Ororo, showing pearly-white teeth, pointed like those of a jackal.
"We'll get back to you," Scott murmured, "stay on the line. We just need to confer," he put the vid-phone on hold, and turned to both X-Teams, his eyes finally resting on one young woman. "What do you think, Jubilee?"
"I think. . .I think the X-Men should go, and X-Cell should take care of the grounds. It just makes sense. 'Sides, M's still out on her post-anniversary party with Creed." She nodded a couple of times, pursing her lips.
"Think you can handle the boredom without destroying the mansion?" Scott smiled into her eyes, as though she were the only one in the room.
She laughed. "I'll try, Cyke. I'll try."
X-Man stood up. "If I may, Scott,"
"Go ahead."
"I'd like to join the Conference."
"Would you be comfortable with that, Jubilee?"
"Well. . .Jono just got back, an' it's been a while since X-Cell was complete, an'. . .I'd really appreciate it if ya hung around, Nate. But don't lemme get it your way, if ya really wanna go. We'll get on all right without ya."
Nate looked to his father. "It's up to you, Nate." Scott affirmed.
"Jubes?" his voice was pleading.
"Hey, I said don't lemme stop ya, Nate."
"I'd feel guilty knowing I'd let ya down."
"Why don't we take a vote?" she suggested. When several of the senior X-Men grinned, she flashed them stern looks. "For X-Cell members ONLY." Some faces fell, namely those of Wolverine and Gambit, who did not particularly relish the idea of going to a Conference with a bunch of stuffy old politicians, much less with Cyclops' son thinking he was running the show.
"All right." Nate agreed.
"All in favor of Nate's leaving, raise your hands." Jubilee said. Angelo, Leech, and Jono raised their hands quickly. Jubilee shrugged. "All in favor of him staying, raise your hands." She, Paige, and Artie, raised theirs. "Well, hell. That only leaves M. Never thought she'd have the tippin' vote," she shrugged, and reached out with her telepathy. After a few moments, she was able to reach her teammate. Monet, you there?
WHAT?! Oh, it is you, Jubilation. What do you want now?
This is the sittyation, she began, and explained. So basically, I need ta know whether you want Nate to leave or stay.
I would prefer it if he remained. X-Cell hasn't been complete for the past few weeks while Jonothon was off gallivanting in Japan.
Thought ya'd say that. All right. See ya later, M.
Good bye, she replied, and instantly shut down the link.
Jubilee turned to X-Man. "Sorry, Nate, looks like M wants ya here as much as I do." She grinned. Angelo and Leech rolled their eyes.
"That's fine with me, I guess."
Scott turned the video-phone back one. "Broker? We'll be there in a few."
XXX
Jonothon Starsmore walked slowly down to Breakstone Lake. He'd just gotten off the phone with his manager, and the record sales were looking good. The hype from the tour had been just what was needed to boost international sales. So his professional life was looking good; a part-time gig with one of the foremost superhero groups in the world and a nice little Ace in the hole with his music, just as a back-up. He was still dragging on the coat-tails of the bed-hopping stage imposed on him by the five-month-old break-up with Jubilee, and that meant lots and lots of tail, which meant going out and painting the town almost every night by himself or with Angelo, or some other unsuspecting victim.
And then there was Rebecca. How did she fit into the "new body, new life" strategy he'd been celebrating for nearly a year now? She was his sister. So what? She hadn't bothered to give him so much as a damn "hello" for sixteen years! The last time he'd seen her, he'd been what? Eighteen? And she hadn't even shown up to their parent's funeral the next year! How cold did you get? But. . .there was something about her now, something she hadn't had then, or perhaps he'd just not noticed it. . .something behind her eyes. . .where once there had been anger and a vicious tugging at the leash, there was sorrow, a resigned quality. Where once she had been an implacable teenager, she was now an angsty, resigned woman. A woman. Of course. She was all grown up now, he remembered. But how ironic that when he was a teenager, he was been the resigned one and she had been the spirited one, and now that he had new hope in his life, she was letting go of hers.
It had to have something to do with Creed. He was half of a mind to ask her, but he knew that it was too soon for that. They would have to ease into each other's lives, to take stock and assess what they were getting into. It wouldn't do to demand her confidence immediately and decide later that she wasn't the sister he wanted. He couldn't do that to her. It wasn't likely that he'd decide that he didn't want her, though. He needed someone concrete to hold on to, and even though their relationship scarcely extended past a shared name, there was something to be said for having the same genetic material in you.
He was in sight of Breakstone now. She was sitting on the little pier, dipping her toes into the water, her hair billowing around her in the wind, a plaid shirt clutched tightly around her slim, muscular shoulders. She looked like a forsaken lover waiting indefatigably for the return of her lost husband. There was a wistfulness in her pose. . .
Jonothon shook himself, and quickly closed the distance between them with long, rapid strides. Hey, there, Rebecca.
"Hello, Jonothon."
Call me Jono. When yer say me whole name, I ferget who yer talkin' to. he sent a little psionic chuckle.
"All right then. And call me Beck. Only. . .certain people use Rebecca anymore. Everyone calls me Beck."
So I remember.
"So you said that you can talk, then?"
Jono cleared his throat and stammered, "Y. . .yeah, I can. Still a bit difficult, b. . .but I manage."
"How much do you usually. . ."
"I've b. . .been talkin' a lot since I've been on tour. Can't shout psionically ter all th' fans. Might c. . .cause an FoH rally, Japan-style."
"And they do things on such a big scale. . ." Rebecca sighed. "Couldn't have that, I suppose?"
"N. . .no. Listen, B. . .Beck, d'yer wanna go down ter Harry's an' get somethin' ter eat? It's lunchtime, an' I'll take any excuse ter put somethin' in me mouth."
"Sure, I'd love that." She gave him a hesitant smile.
"Brilliant," he offered her his hand, and she slipped hers into it easily. As they walked down toward the garage, he murmured, "Yer know, I m. . .meant wot I said that n. . .night we talked on th' phone."
"Pardon?"
"Th. . .that I love yer."
"Oh." Her smile grew wider, more genuine, and softened her ice-chip blue eyes marvelously. "I meant it, too, Jono."
"Good. M. . .mebbe we can rescue our 'orrid sibling relationship t. . .track record so far."
"Maybe." She sighed a little, and tightened her fingers around his. "So, my car or yours?"
XXX
They lay side by side in the grass, occasionally managing a few shreds of conversation, but mostly just reveling in one another's company. All the small talk and food that had filled the past three hours had helped them getting to know each other again. For example, she had noticed that he couldn't eat fast enough, shoveling his food down in big mouthfuls and downing them with pulls of beer that would have made even Wolverine's eyes widen. And he noted that she didn't do more than pick at her food, slicing her steak so thin that you could see the light shining through the strips of almost-raw meat, and in the time he'd taken to eat six burgers, she'd scarcely eaten half her order.
And then there were the little facial expressions that helped so much to humanize them to each other. The way she wrinkled her nose as she laughed, the way he scarcely formed his lips into a smile, but often crinkled up his eyes at the corners, the way he had for the seventeen years in between not having anything but psionic fire between his nose and abdomen.
It seemed as though all the years in between they had been readying themselves for one another, preparing to have a family again. They were both astonished at how well they. . .fit. They both enjoyed much the same things, though the adrenaline rushes Jono indulged in on stage, Rebecca fulfilled in being a mercenary.
They hadn't only small-talked. There were also intense discussions on life, philosophy, significant experiences they had both gone through, and the things that had formed their character. To summarize, they had delved into one another's souls and come out with shards of diamond within five hours.
Now, in the comfortable silence ensuing, like the eye of the storm, they basked in the sun and one another's presence. And then a shadow fell over them.
"Chamber, Jubilee is requesting X-Cell to assemble in the Rec-Room. She seems to have something of importance to relate to us."
Be right there, M. he crinkled his eyes, and rolled over on his elbows, brown eyes searching his sister's. Guess I'll be goin', then, Beck.
"Yeah. Guess I'll see you."
"Y. . .yeh." he got to his knees, then pushed himself to his feet slowly, with the reluctance of an eight-year-old boy to go to school. He turned toward Monet, noted her rigid silence and the way her features were strained as though she had just eaten something distasteful. She walked away without once looking at Rebecca, and Jono followed with several glances over his shoulder at his sister, who seemed perfectly content to remain where she was, stretched out spread-eagle on the grass, effectively staining her khaki shorts.
Monet, he touched his teammate and friend on the shoulder before they entered the Mansion.
"What is it, Jonothon?"
Wot d'yer think Jubilee wants with us?
"It may have something to do with the fact that Sinister just dropped in."
Wot?!
"Sinister. He hasn't yet posed any sort of threat, but as the X-Men just jetted off to Nigeria to that Mutant Summit headed by Broker Amman, I believe we should exercise some caution."
Oh. An' why 'aven't yer called me sister?
Monet sneered as he brought up THAT subject, and referred to Rebecca as being related to him. "Because, he wasn't asking for her, he was asking for X-Cell, namely you. Besides, you're one of the only ones who can take him and you have to admit, for someone who was one of his labrats, Soleil Étoile is rather well-dispositioned toward our enemy, don't you think?"
Woteva, he replied, casting another look over his shoulder, but Rebecca had disappeared.
As they entered the Rec-Room, the first thing Jonothon saw was Sinister, dressed, no longer in his imposing regalia of body-armor and that high-collared cape, but a stylish, Italian-made suit of black silk. His shirt was white, and his tie was blood-red, describing a perfect line down the center of his broad chest. He was sitting in an armchair, sipping tea, with a small buttered scone in his hand. Jubilee was sitting across from him, her ankles crossed, one hand in Leech's, who appeared visibly shaken at the appearance of the Morlock's murderer. Artie was also comforting his friend, and Nate Grey sat beside Paige and Angelo, his steely blue eyes fixed grimly on Sinister.
Jonothon took the liberty of lowering himself into a loveseat beside Monet, his eyes narrowing as he felt her psionic signature tense up at the sight of Sinister. He took her hand reassuringly, and when her eyes turned to him, they did not hold the usual annoyance they would have at such a gesture from him.
"Good afternoon, X-Cell." Sinister began, setting down his tea and scone, "You must be wondering why I'm here?"
"I figure you're here to see Soleil," Jubilee said, taking control of the situation before Nate could deliver some sarcastic rejoinder.
"The thought most certainly crossed my mind, but why should I commit literal suicide when I could so easily arrange an interview outside of this. . .death-house."
"Is that what you think this is?" demanded Nate, sitting straighter in his seat.
"Why no, my dear boy," Sinister smiled condescendingly. "Not for you, anyhow. But, as you know, I'm not the most popular of tea-guests, and I don't blame you for assuming the worst when I dropped in. However, my intentions today are entirely benign. I just wanted to drop off some information and bid you all a very fond good day."
"What're ya askin' in return for this information, Sinny?" Jubilee stood up, hands planted on her hips.
"However do you mean?"
"I mean that we're not quite as stupid as you think. We have brains, and we've tangled with you before. You're not one to give something without extracting a hefty price in return." She replied, her crystal blue eyes signaling everyone else to remain silent.
"I only wish that you will not regard me with such suspicion as I have hitherto been tendered. I have finally abandoned my obsessive geneticism, and am looking into retirement."
"P. . .pardon?" Jonothon let out a chuckle, his eyes crinkling. "You, M. . . Mr. Sinister, tormentor o' th' Summ. . . m. . .mers family. . .retirin'?"
"Yes, indeed, my dear boy. And you owe this considerable transformation in no small part to your sister."
"Soleil?" Monet's interest was finally piqued. "How so?"
"Well, she has advised me time and again over the years to abandon my plotting, and I have finally done the intelligent thing and followed her advice."
Jubilee's foot tapped a rapid beat on the floor. "Explain," she said, sitting back down and crossing her arms in front of her. Artie frowned and pulled Leech closer into a hug.
"In layman's terms, I got bored," he sighed, huge shoulders lifting and falling with the slight breath. "Besides, my Marauders got out of hand. They committed mutiny and I fear for my research."
"Lies the wind in that corner?" muttered Nate, under his breath, quoting a line from some literary piece or other.
"Indeed it does. You know I've been looking for a cure for the Legacy ever since YOUR brother was asinine enough to corrupt our deal and release the Virus into the world?"
Nate glared harder. Jubilee rolled her eyes at him. "Why'd yer Marauders turn on ya? Low wages?"
"To the contrary. I threatened to release my experiments into the world, and they protested, saying I should release them, as well. I said I would consider it, and they decided I had gone soft, but instead of merely attempting to escape, they attempted to murder me, that they should no longer be beneath my shadow."
"So you got what's been comin' to ya fer years now, huh?"
"I suppose you could say that," the mad scientist nodded. "However, I believe that you, in return for my inactivity in such matters as we used to have such delightful little tiffs about, would be interested in my research material. I have, as you know, reams of it."
"We'll have to wait for an okay from the big boys, but for now, you're welcome here so long as you inform us that you'll be coming. Any instance in which you do not, we will do our utmost to kill you, no matter what you may say in defense."
"I understand." He smiled quietly, and opened a tesseract, turning back and nodding solemnly to the members of X-Cell. "I certainly hope I didn't unduly frighten any of you, barging in like that. It WAS terribly rude of me, and I apologize." With those words, he was gone.
XXX
Victor Creed watched Rebecca from downwind, and just out of range of the spatial telepathy barrier she liked to keep up around herself, so she knew what was going on around her. She was sprawled out on the grass, gazing vacantly up into the sky, and he wondered what she could be thinking of. He didn't particularly want to confront her, but then, he'd always prided himself in cutting to the chase. He ambled toward her, making certain his shields were tight up, and that his only surface thoughts were entirely benign. As he approached, he expected her to turn her head toward him, but she ignored him, keeping her eyes trained on the cottony stratus clouds above her.
"Becca," he murmured her name, and she closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again, not so much blinking as acknowledging his presence. He nearly growled, knowing that she was deliberately baiting him. She knew he hated being disregarded. 'We need ta talk."
"What about?" she murmured, her smooth, low voice dipping and gliding over the words.
"Last night."
"What about it?"
"Ya said ya loved me. On my anniversary with another woman, no less. Don't ya think that merits something?"
She sighed, a peaceful smiling coming to her lips. "You must have misunderstood me. What I meant was that regardless of your romantic affiliation with Monet, I still care about you, and that this trip was not only made for Jonothon."
He said, "Is that really all, Beck?" His voice was a shade more demanding than it had hitherto been, raised only a fraction above a whisper.
"Yes, that's all, I may have been slightly unreasonable last night; I'd been drinking, and it had been a bit of a shock to see Guillaume that morning. I was stressed from running about all day, trying to get ready."
"Ya still gonna see him?"
"Yes, he's invited me to a housewarming party."
"So the Cajun introduced ya?" he eased himself onto the ground beside her, in a half-reclining position.
"I don't see how this is relevant to you," she replied, but because she was comfortable with his edging away from their heated discussion of the previous night, she continued. "Yes, Gambit introduced us."
"How long ago?"
"Why?"
"Because I wanna know."
She sighed, and closed her eyes, computing numbers in her head. "Thirteen years ago."
"Did ya date?"
"He was with Rachel Summers at that time," she shrugged. "but then she got sucked into the time-stream and we just happened."
"Under my nose, then, eh?" he grinned ferally. "I should pull his intestines out through his throat."
Rebecca sighed. "I love that trick."
"Damned if I ain't taught ya more'n ya should know, darlin'." He pursed his lips a little.
"Damned if I haven't hurt you more than I should have, Vic." She replied quickly. He sat up a little straighter. "I mean. . .I shouldn't have busted your arse as much as I did. . .running away so much while you were only trying to protect me. I'm glad you're with someone who can appreciate you now."
"What're ya sayin', Beck?"
"Can I be completely honest with you?"
"I wish ya would be. When ya talk in circles, ya take my head with ya."
"Well, when you asked me to sign the divorce papers, it was as though someone had yanked a carpet out from beneath me. I know, I had just left you (yet again) not a year before, but I was contemplating going back to you, as I always do. And then you showed up and asked me to end it forever." She laughed a little, in a quiet, mildly disturbing way she'd had about her ever since she was just a child. "To tell you the truth, I'd always envisioned doing the same to you, tossing them into your face with a little flourish, watching your jaw drop open and your eyes widen. . .I wanted to get back at you for all those years you kept me under your thumb. I've always been mesmerized by you, and I wanted to let you know that I was my own woman, finally. So when YOU showed up wanting to be rid of me, it made me think. It frightened me that you didn't need me as much as I knew I needed you."
Victor grunted. "Coulda fooled me. Hell, ya gave me every reason ta believe I was an unwanted complication in yer life."
"But I felt as though I undid every angry word I said to you when we made love," her tone was casual, even vacant, but there was a telltale hitch in her voice that alerted Victor to her inner conflict.
"Listen, Becca. . . "
"I didn't come here to win you back, Vic." She rolled her eyes. "I just wanted you to know that I was lying when I said that you weren't the love of my life." Her lashes lifted, and her blue, blue eyes stabbed into his. He quickly turned his head away.
"I think you should leave, Beck." He said, very quietly, his voice still a whispery vestige of what it usually was. He was a soft-spoken man, in the moments when his rage was just running weakly to his brain like a gentle stream. Now, he could scarcely feel the anger; his inner beast was no longer worrying at the chain he had only just learnt to tug around its neck.
She nodded, tried to catch his eyes again, but he refused to meet her gaze. Finally, she shrugged. "I was afraid you'd say that." She rose silently. "I'm going to leave an address and a phone number with Jonothon, if you don't mind."
"Got nothin' against that," he murmured. "What is it?"
"I'd rather not leave it with you."
"Why's that? Don't ya trust me?" he avoided using her name.
"No. I just don't want you to think that half of the reason I'm leaving it is for you." She got up, and headed for the mansion.
XXX
By the time Jonothon Starsmore found the letter in his room, his sister was gone. There were raised bumps on the surface of the page, denoting drops of water had spilled on it and dried, but some of the words were blurred and unreadable. The note read:
"Dear Jono,
"I'm sorry I had to leave on such short notice, but my partner called me. He found us the op of a lifetime; it pays (unintelligible word) better than I can afford to pass up. It was beyond wonderful seeing you again, and I hope you can find time out of your schedule to call or visit me.
"I feel like a complete wanker leaving like this, but there's nothing to be done about it (unintelligible phrase). The mercenary world must run on wheels and I'm an integral cog, so to speak. Please contact me at the following address and/or phone number, and inform the X-Men that I am open to any communication they wish to have.
"Once again, I apologize. I'll miss you very much, and I hope you don't wait sixteen years to ring me.
"All my love, Your Sister,
"Rebecca Starsmore
"E-Mail: yorkster_blind@aol.com
"Phone Number: (212) 809-9247"
XXX