Ma Soleil
Chapter Seventeen: How to Correctly Turn Down a Proposition
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
Jubilee keyed in the landing codes for the foreign aircraft, and watched as the small private jet lowered onto the empty runway. Its engines never shut off, but a set of steps was lowered and down them walked a tall, handsome man in his late thirties, blond-haired and blue-eyed. Rebecca rushed up to him, took a fistful of his collar, and decked him, hard. He fell to the ground, holding her securely round her middle, and they wrestled on the ground for a few moments before she struggled back to her feet and pulled him up behind her with a telekinetic hand. As they came abreast of her, Rebecca introduced them.
"Jubilee, this is Chris Warden, my partner. Chris, Jubilation Lee of X-Cell."
"Wow," he muttered. "You have all the latest gadgets from the Maker, Soleil tells me."
"Yeah, he's the leader of X-Factor; he still ships us the newest designs for his inventions."
"I'm jealous." Warden grinned and winked. Jubilee nodded back, shook his hand so firmly he winced.
"Look, Jubilee, Warden got himself kidnapped, and I don't want it to happen again. Would you mind if I keyed his masked psionic signature into Cerebro?"
"Of course not. Hey, listen, the Professor is arriving tomorrow morning. Would you like to meet him?'
"The great Charles Francis Xavier. . .messiah of mutant-kind and crippled hero of the world. . .who wouldn't?" Chris gushed.
"Great. He can have the room across from yours, Beck. Look, M and Sabes aren't exactly thrilled about your staying here. I can knock some sense into M, she's my subordinate, but Creed will be Creed will be Creed; I learned that the hard way after twenty years of fighting him. But I can have Wolvie hit him a couple of times and that might do the trick."
Rebecca finally laughed. "Might also piss him off enough to do some damage to Warden here. He wasn't wowed with my choice of mercenary partners, tech support or not. Maybe we should just stay out of his way."
"That might be a good idea," Chris turned a delicate shade of green.
"Then I guess I'll see you later. I have a Danger Room drill in five minutes, and I still have to suit up and program the damn Sims."
"All right, catch you later." Rebecca and Warden said their goodbyes, and headed up toward the dormitories. They waited for the elevator to take them up to surface level, and as they stepped out, Warden nudged her in the ribs. "What is it now? Are you STILL worried about that nitro?"
"No, I'm not. I didn't know that your husband doesn't approve of me."
"EX-husband. And no, as I recall, he described you as a quote, 'ball-less arsehole.' Or some-such ridiculous emasculating slur."
"I certainly hope you defended my manhood."
"I did. I told Vic that he only thought you were green because he's so ancient."
Warden knit his brow. "I don't see how that helps me. You should have told him that I was most certainly NOT ball-less, and that you knew through experience."
"You're gay."
"But he doesn't have to know that."
"Would you rather be ball-less figuratively or ball-less literally? Because even though we're divorced, I'm sure he wouldn't blink at castrating you. He might even do it cheerfully."
Warden paled again. "You think?"
"Yes," she opened a door and shoved him inside. "This is your new room for the next few days. I'm just across the hall if you need me, but I'm going to take a shower and do some katas, so don't bother me."
"My, you're nurturing. Two and a half hours after my ransom is paid in blood to a major Crime-lord and you're already abandoning me."
"You're a grown man, Chris. Take care of yourself." She growled. "Oh, and I want that forty mill locked down in our accounts before dinner. Make sure it's good and safe, and build a decent firewall around it, will you? I don't even want the bank to know how much cash we have in there, you understand? Oh, and you might even distribute it round to our other accounts."
"All right, all right. Damn women. THIS is why I've forsworn you, you know? "
"Oh, so now it's MY fault you're gay?"
"Absolutely!"
"Oh, stow it and get to work, you happy little pansy." She hissed, pecked him on the cheek, and stormed off to her room.
XXX
Rebecca centered herself and brought her hands to her stomach, palms flat against her abdominal muscles, feeling the hollow between her ribcage and pelvis, connecting with her inner peace. . .
*KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!*
"Who's there?" she inquired coolly, bringing her left knee to her chest, arching her back and dipping her torso beneath her leg, supporting herself with her fingertips.
"Monet!"
"Come in," she called, lowering herself to the ground and allowing her leg to rest against the back of her neck, extending both arms to her sides. The door opened and closed. Rebecca's eyes remained closed, but her spatial telepathy had keyed her in to Monet's presence long before she had knocked on the door. "Good afternoon, Ms. St. Croix. How has your day been so far?"
"What are you doing here?"
"Even mercenaries need sanctuary."
"Victor told me he'd gotten rid of you."
"Victor doesn't order me around, Monet," Rebecca's tone turned from unperturbed halcyon to icy granite. "I came here to ensure my partner's safety. And to see Jonothon. You can be assured that I no longer have any interest in Victor. To put it crudely, he's all yours."
"He told me what you told him."
"I've told him a lot of things. What did he tell you I said?"
"That you loved him."
"I also told him that I wasn't here to 'get him back.' Unless I'm very much mistaken, the divorce was highly amicable and entirely mutual."
"He served you first."
"I won't lie to you, Monet," Rebecca disentangled herself from the complicated yoga pose she had assumed, and stood up calmly. "That still bothers me, but for the sole reason that the name 'Creed' promoted me in the eyes of the mercenary community."
"That's what he says, as well."
"You can be assured, Monet, that I won't be going after Victor any time soon. Did I say that I was IN love with him? No. I said that I loved him." She paused, to allow Monet to interject her own opinion, but when the Monocan aristocrat remained silent, she continued. "I'll put it this way. Say your father gave you a puppy for your birthday. That puppy grew into a dog, and protected your every waking moment, and even when he was not with you, troublemakers skirted you for fear of his retaliation. You would grow to love the creature, would you not?"
"Are you comparing your own ex-husband to an animal?"
"He IS an animal, Monet. That you cannot change, and you most certainly cannot ignore it." Rebecca stared into the older woman's eyes, her expression neutral. "I'm not here for Victor. In fact, he is one of the reasons it was a toss-up between the X-Men and S.H.I.E.L.D.; because I didn't want to have to confront either him or you. Look," she ran a hand through her damp hair, glistening in the dim, sconce light. "I don't want to argue with either of you. I just want to live. I'll be gone the day after tomorrow. I'm merely here to consolidate ties, to check my partner's psi-signature into Cerebro, have a nice chat with Xavier, and I'll be off to a safe-house first thing."
"What was it between you and Guillaume l'Rivière?"
Momentarily taken aback by Monet's forthrightness, Rebecca raised a brow. "What precisely are the ramifications posed by telling you that we were once casual lovers?"
"Once?"
"Tell me how far this is going to go."
"Not past the walls of my mind. I promise not to tell anyone."
"It isn't as though everyone doesn't already know," Rebecca rolled her eyes. "I'm surprised you didn't."
"So?"
"Sit down," Rebecca assumed the lotus position on her bed, and Monet fell onto the mattress beside her. "When Guillaume and I first began seeing one another, I was a rebound. So was he. I was having trouble with my. . .marriage, if it could have been called that, and the love of his life had just been sucked into a temporal black hole to save her team leader's life."
"Phoenix II?" Monet's eyes grew wide.
"Yes, Phoenix II. We've never been very serious. We've slept together on and off over the years."
"That's all?"
"Yes, that's all. And why do you bring him up at this time?"
"Jubilee told me that he's the first one you went to when you realized your partner had been kidnapped."
Rebecca was about to set her straight, but thought better of it. If Jubilee hadn't told Monet what had happened, it was because that was the extent to which she trusted her. "Yes, he was the first person I went to, but only because he was the last person to see Warden."
"Is he here?"
"Who, Guillaume?"
"No, Chris Warden."
"Yes, he's actually. . .would you like to meet him?"
"To tell you the truth, I've been rather curious about him. . .Victor trashes his abilities at every chance he gets."
"He WOULD." Rebecca rolled her eyes. "You should consider having him take those pills that lower testosterone," to her surprise, Monet giggled, covering her mouth with a slim, perfectly-manicured hand. "I wasn't making a joke, I was serious."
"Yes, I know. That's what makes it so. . .humorous."
"So about Warden. . .he's had a bit of a rough time of things, but I could probably get him up."
"Are you two. . ."
"Sleeping together? No, we're partners. I don't ruin business relationships that way," replied the mercenary tactfully, as Warden was not officially out of the closet quite yet. "All right, then. I'll get him. If you'd just wait here," Standing up, she went across the hall and burst into Warden's room. "Get up, Chris. I need to introduce you to Monet St. Croix. Act like you're slobbering all over her, will you?"
"Jesus, Becky! Don't you ever fucking knock?" Chris demanded, searching frantically for his boxers and coming up with a soggy towel, which he promptly wrapped around his waist.
"Get dressed. And it's not like you do, either. This way I don't have to cut your throat for literally jumping in on me in the shower."
"What? I like it when the bathroom is already steamy. And you need someone to wash your back." Chris knit his brow. "Besides, you said. . ."
"Never mind that. Just drool over her, all right?"
"All right." Chris rolled his eyes, dropped the towel without so much as a flicker, and, reaching into his open duffel bag, he pulled out a pair of faded LEVIs and tugged them on.
"You're not wearing underwear?"
"Nah. I still remember how to pick up chicks, Becky."
"Don't call me Becky, Warden."
"Fine. Do you want them to think I'm fucking you?" he reached behind her, shoved the door open as he pulled on a threadbare gray wifebeater.
"Not unless she starts going on and on about Creed. And it's just St. Croix."
"Not anymore." Chris grinned, and waved to Nightcrawler. Rebecca rolled her eyes.
"Oh, bollocks. A Catholic and a gay man." She sighed. "At least he isn't a homophobe," she grabbed Chris by the forearm and dragged him into her room.
"So this is the famous Chris Warden, mercenary par excellence?" Monet raised a brow, evidently evaluating the "goods." Warden pasted on his best "stud" look and shoved a hand out.
"Monet St. Croix?"
"Charmed," murmured the aristocrat.
"And this is Kurt Wagner, or Nightcrawler, a teleporter," Rebecca motioned Chris toward Kurt.
"Pleased to meet you," to her relief, Chris strained out every last streak of innuendo from his voice.
"Same to you, Herr Warden." Kurt bared his fangs, slipped an arm around Rebecca's waist. "How have you been, liebling? I worried."
"Don't. I'm fine. Warden's been taking good care of me."
"I sure have. Don't you worry about her." Grinned Chris.
"So, tell me, Monsieur Warden," Monet purred, stroking his hand. "What is it like working so closely with one of the X-Men's best?"
"Pardon? You worked with the X-Men, Becca?"
"For a few months," she shrugged nonchalantly. "I thought I'd told you."
"You told me your brother worked with the X-Men. Nearly had a heart-attack when ya told me he was Jonothon Starsmore, THE breakthrough punk/metal artist of the decade!" Rebecca cringed at the whining tone creeping into his voice.
"Get over it," she shrugged, and turned toward Kurt. "Were you looking for me?"
"As a matter of fact, I was. Ah. . .Cyclops wanted to talk with you. He's in the Professor's library." Kurt lowered his eyes from Warden's. "Would you like me to escort you?"
"Please. Oh, and Monet, I'm sure you won't begrudge leading Warden to the kitchen? He's starving; hasn't had anything to eat in the past thirty-eight hours or so."
Monet smiled thinly, delighted that Rebecca would so naïvely leave her alone with Chris. "Of course. Shall we?" she extended her arm to Warden, and led him out into the hall, toward the elevator.
"He doesn't seem gay," Kurt reflected as the two left ear-shot.
"One of the nicest things about him is that he doesn't throw it in people's faces."
"Like Jean-Paul?"
"No, Jean-Paul is openly gay, but he's masculine. He's not pretending to be a woman or anything." She rolled her eyes. "Which is nice, because he doesn't mind it when women admire him. Because he IS rather sexy, you know?"
Kurt sighed. "Let's go," he wrapped an arm around her waist and teleported across the mansion to Xavier's library. They ended up in a beautiful wing-backed chair, with Rebecca sprawled across his lap. As they arrived, Scott turned and lifted a brow. Kurt teleported away.
"Good evening, Soleil."
"How's th' wife, Summers?" she smiled brashly, and Scott's eyebrows drew together slightly. However, when he realized she was genuinely interested and not making either conversation or a snide observation.
"She's due back with the Professor tomorrow." He confirmed. "She says she hasn't caught any intergalactic flus quite yet."
"That's nice. As I recall, those Shi'ar cure-alls are really rather nasty."
"Indeed they are."
"So what was it that you wanted to talk with me about?"
"I just wanted to ask about. . .ah. . ." he sighed, and sat down, not in the Professor's chair behind the wide oak desk, but on a small leather stool beside her wing-back. "We've known each other, albeit from a reasonable distance, for over fifteen years, haven't we?"
"I believe it's safe to say that."
"I can be straight with you without worrying that you'll take it the wrong way?"
"If this is about Creed, I can assure you that I'm not here to start anything up. He's happy, I'm doing what he'd never let me, we're divorced, and that's all."
"That's good to know, and I'm glad we've covered that early on, but that's not exactly what I wanted to ask you."
"What is it, then?"
"I'm just going to go ahead and say it. No fancy speeches and long roads leading up to the point. I'm going to. . ."
"Then do, Summers." She smirked. "You're doing that deputy leader thing that everyone hates you for. It's actually rather endearing."
Scott cleared his throat. "Look, when the Professor heard you were here, he asked me to give you a sales pitch."
"A what?"
"He wants you to join the X-Men."
Rebecca pursed her lips. "You know I've just begun to build myself up a reputable name and I'm finally getting good business. . .I'm well-known enough that I can pick and choose my jobs. . .no more Black Ops scape-goating for Warden and I."
"I understand that, and even though the Professor seems to be hell-bent on acquiring your. . .expertise, I wouldn't have asked you if he hadn't ordered me to."
She raised a brow. "Human, after all, are we?"
"Don't be snide." He muttered, "I just can't see you in a uniform. Look, I don't have anything against you as a person, and I think you're probably worth two or three of myself. . .you've seen a lot of action, you've gotten a lot of training. Your life hasn't been a bed of roses, but that usually contributes to a healthy understanding of violence and how it's not going to solve anything. As far as I hear, you're the one doing the hits in your. . .partnership with Warden, and while I don't have any problem with that. . ."
"I'm a killer, and you're afraid that I don't take life seriously enough to be an X-Man."
"Exactly."
She snorted. "You're probably right. But I wouldn't take the job, even if I were qualified."
"You ARE qualified!" Scott hastened to add, "even more than some of the present X-Men are. I'm just afraid that down the line, our interests will collide."
"I'm not a Utopian, Scott. I don't know if I ever could be," she shrugged, laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Neither of our pasts have been pretty, but you X-Men have always shown me a home. . .a real one, not like the ostentatious, perfection-driven clashes I've had with Nath. . .Sinister, but true acceptance. I hope that turning this job offer down won't take away any brownie points I may have won in the past, and I'm always open to helping the X-Men if that's what you need, but I have a career, and if I were to join you, where would Warden be? He'd have to go back to being a professional assassin, and I'm the only mercenary in the world, possibly, who'd give him tech-support as a primary."
"So I hear."
"I don't know how to tell Xavier," she shrugged, her eyes avoiding the red slash in his visor.
"I'll tell him, Rebecca," Scott covered her hand in his. She looked down at it, and realized she'd never quite looked at his hands before. . .they were so capable, so strong, yet his fingers tapered sensitively like those of an artist.
"No, I should face him myself. You shouldn't have to be the one to disappoint him."
He chuckled. "So you hate that look, too?"
"Pardon?"
"That look he gets, when you've just told him something that breaks his heart, and he's not angry with you, just wrestling with himself. . ."
"And the weight of the world." She added, quietly.
"Huh. Seems like we have more in common than I figured."
"Yeah. So this is all right, then?"
"Water under the bridge."
"Thanks, Summers."
"Quit that," he remonstrated. "It's Scott, and you've never once called me by my first name."
"I figured we weren't at that stage yet."
"Fifteen years, Rebecca."
"Well, you've just proved me wrong, now, haven't you?"
"Yeah, I guess."
"So, Scott. Thanks for your time, and the chat. Hey, you want to grab lunch tomorrow?"
"I can't, Jean'll be home, and I don't want her. . .you remember that whole fiasco with Emma Frost. . ." he was suddenly uncomfortable, and stammered.
"God, Scott, that was over. . .what, twelve years ago? And she STILL holds that against you?" he shrugged.
"Nah, I'd just rather not take any chances of her getting suspicious. I really do love her still, you know."
"Hey, hey," she held both her hands up. "Don't shrink to me. I'm the cold-blooded killer, remember?" she murmured. "Besides, it makes me uncomfortable when you open up. You're an intimidating man, Scott. Or did you need a shoulder to cry on?"
"Don't worry about it. Just as long as you're not looking for a place on my team," he joked. "It's all good."
"All right. I'd better get to sleep. . .it's getting late."
"It's barely ten o'clock. What, the big, bad mercenary lady needs to get her beauty rest?"
"What're you suggesting?" she grinned.
"Some of the guys are going down to Harry's to grab some beers. I wasn't going to go, but if you want to bring Warden, I could drive you."
"What in?" she quirked a brow. "Not your old-lady Beamer, I hope?"
"Nah, I was thinking more vintage '69 Mustang."
"I love you Summerses. Your ideas of big gestures are so crap. All right, give me fifteen minutes to find Warden, and I'll meet you in the driveway."
"Great." He grinned, and, as she stood up, he pulled her into a hard, one-armed hug. "It's good to have you home, Rebecca, even if you're leaving soon."
"It's good to BE home. I'm indebted to Warden for getting himself kidnapped." She grinned. "I'm glad you're loosening up. Who knows, that carrot might fall out of your arse yet." She winked and closed the library door behind her.
XXX
"Warden, come on!"
"No, I'm enjoying pretending to be heterosexual."
"If you want to convince them of your manliness, you're going to have to accompany me to Harry's Hardcase."
"But, Becky. . ." Warden was silenced when he felt a sharp stinging sensation in his head. "You're not giving me a telepathic lobotomy, are you?"
"I'm prepping for one. Get your arse into the driveway, NOW!" she huffed, then walked into the next room, where Monet was waiting for Warden to return. "Monet, I'm afraid I'm going to have to steal Chris away for a few hours. . .Scott's insisting that we bond with the remainder of the team over some beers, and I can't go without a chaperon."
"Of course, I understand."
"All right, then, I'll see you later." Monet smiled and left the room. Rebecca pursed her lips in surprise. "Well, look at that, that was quite nearly civil." She paced back to Chris and grabbed his arm. "You ready?"
"Of course," he straightened his tight black turtleneck, and slipped an arm around her waist. "Mmm, you smell lovely. What are you wearing?"
"Nothing. It's the Xavier conditioner. Come on, let's get out of here, Scott's offered to take us in his vintage baby."
"Ooh, does that mean you won't be driving? That we might just arrive with some of our limbs still attached and our vital organs in one piece?" his big, blue eyes were snidely eager.
"You ARE such a wanker, you know." She sighed, and dragged him out to the front of the mansion, where Scott was leaning against the cherry-red convertible (which presently had it's roof up), his arms crossed over his chest. Rebecca swallowed. He looked. . .edible, in a pair of faded, pressed jeans, sitting just tight and low enough that she could see the line of his pelvic bone, a white t-shirt, and a brown leather jacket. She laughed as she slid into the passenger's seat of the car. "You look like James Dean, Scott," when Warden hovered nauseatingly, she snapped a telepathic order to him to get into the back and quit pouting.
Scott revved the little car up, and they sped through the gates and down Greymalkin Lane. Five minutes (and several broken speed-limits) later, they pulled up at Harry's, where a coven of Harleys and racing bikes were lined up against the sidewalk. Rebecca stepped out, and, with Scott on one arm and Warden on the other, they stepped into the little pub.
XXX
Chapter Seventeen: How to Correctly Turn Down a Proposition
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
Jubilee keyed in the landing codes for the foreign aircraft, and watched as the small private jet lowered onto the empty runway. Its engines never shut off, but a set of steps was lowered and down them walked a tall, handsome man in his late thirties, blond-haired and blue-eyed. Rebecca rushed up to him, took a fistful of his collar, and decked him, hard. He fell to the ground, holding her securely round her middle, and they wrestled on the ground for a few moments before she struggled back to her feet and pulled him up behind her with a telekinetic hand. As they came abreast of her, Rebecca introduced them.
"Jubilee, this is Chris Warden, my partner. Chris, Jubilation Lee of X-Cell."
"Wow," he muttered. "You have all the latest gadgets from the Maker, Soleil tells me."
"Yeah, he's the leader of X-Factor; he still ships us the newest designs for his inventions."
"I'm jealous." Warden grinned and winked. Jubilee nodded back, shook his hand so firmly he winced.
"Look, Jubilee, Warden got himself kidnapped, and I don't want it to happen again. Would you mind if I keyed his masked psionic signature into Cerebro?"
"Of course not. Hey, listen, the Professor is arriving tomorrow morning. Would you like to meet him?'
"The great Charles Francis Xavier. . .messiah of mutant-kind and crippled hero of the world. . .who wouldn't?" Chris gushed.
"Great. He can have the room across from yours, Beck. Look, M and Sabes aren't exactly thrilled about your staying here. I can knock some sense into M, she's my subordinate, but Creed will be Creed will be Creed; I learned that the hard way after twenty years of fighting him. But I can have Wolvie hit him a couple of times and that might do the trick."
Rebecca finally laughed. "Might also piss him off enough to do some damage to Warden here. He wasn't wowed with my choice of mercenary partners, tech support or not. Maybe we should just stay out of his way."
"That might be a good idea," Chris turned a delicate shade of green.
"Then I guess I'll see you later. I have a Danger Room drill in five minutes, and I still have to suit up and program the damn Sims."
"All right, catch you later." Rebecca and Warden said their goodbyes, and headed up toward the dormitories. They waited for the elevator to take them up to surface level, and as they stepped out, Warden nudged her in the ribs. "What is it now? Are you STILL worried about that nitro?"
"No, I'm not. I didn't know that your husband doesn't approve of me."
"EX-husband. And no, as I recall, he described you as a quote, 'ball-less arsehole.' Or some-such ridiculous emasculating slur."
"I certainly hope you defended my manhood."
"I did. I told Vic that he only thought you were green because he's so ancient."
Warden knit his brow. "I don't see how that helps me. You should have told him that I was most certainly NOT ball-less, and that you knew through experience."
"You're gay."
"But he doesn't have to know that."
"Would you rather be ball-less figuratively or ball-less literally? Because even though we're divorced, I'm sure he wouldn't blink at castrating you. He might even do it cheerfully."
Warden paled again. "You think?"
"Yes," she opened a door and shoved him inside. "This is your new room for the next few days. I'm just across the hall if you need me, but I'm going to take a shower and do some katas, so don't bother me."
"My, you're nurturing. Two and a half hours after my ransom is paid in blood to a major Crime-lord and you're already abandoning me."
"You're a grown man, Chris. Take care of yourself." She growled. "Oh, and I want that forty mill locked down in our accounts before dinner. Make sure it's good and safe, and build a decent firewall around it, will you? I don't even want the bank to know how much cash we have in there, you understand? Oh, and you might even distribute it round to our other accounts."
"All right, all right. Damn women. THIS is why I've forsworn you, you know? "
"Oh, so now it's MY fault you're gay?"
"Absolutely!"
"Oh, stow it and get to work, you happy little pansy." She hissed, pecked him on the cheek, and stormed off to her room.
XXX
Rebecca centered herself and brought her hands to her stomach, palms flat against her abdominal muscles, feeling the hollow between her ribcage and pelvis, connecting with her inner peace. . .
*KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!*
"Who's there?" she inquired coolly, bringing her left knee to her chest, arching her back and dipping her torso beneath her leg, supporting herself with her fingertips.
"Monet!"
"Come in," she called, lowering herself to the ground and allowing her leg to rest against the back of her neck, extending both arms to her sides. The door opened and closed. Rebecca's eyes remained closed, but her spatial telepathy had keyed her in to Monet's presence long before she had knocked on the door. "Good afternoon, Ms. St. Croix. How has your day been so far?"
"What are you doing here?"
"Even mercenaries need sanctuary."
"Victor told me he'd gotten rid of you."
"Victor doesn't order me around, Monet," Rebecca's tone turned from unperturbed halcyon to icy granite. "I came here to ensure my partner's safety. And to see Jonothon. You can be assured that I no longer have any interest in Victor. To put it crudely, he's all yours."
"He told me what you told him."
"I've told him a lot of things. What did he tell you I said?"
"That you loved him."
"I also told him that I wasn't here to 'get him back.' Unless I'm very much mistaken, the divorce was highly amicable and entirely mutual."
"He served you first."
"I won't lie to you, Monet," Rebecca disentangled herself from the complicated yoga pose she had assumed, and stood up calmly. "That still bothers me, but for the sole reason that the name 'Creed' promoted me in the eyes of the mercenary community."
"That's what he says, as well."
"You can be assured, Monet, that I won't be going after Victor any time soon. Did I say that I was IN love with him? No. I said that I loved him." She paused, to allow Monet to interject her own opinion, but when the Monocan aristocrat remained silent, she continued. "I'll put it this way. Say your father gave you a puppy for your birthday. That puppy grew into a dog, and protected your every waking moment, and even when he was not with you, troublemakers skirted you for fear of his retaliation. You would grow to love the creature, would you not?"
"Are you comparing your own ex-husband to an animal?"
"He IS an animal, Monet. That you cannot change, and you most certainly cannot ignore it." Rebecca stared into the older woman's eyes, her expression neutral. "I'm not here for Victor. In fact, he is one of the reasons it was a toss-up between the X-Men and S.H.I.E.L.D.; because I didn't want to have to confront either him or you. Look," she ran a hand through her damp hair, glistening in the dim, sconce light. "I don't want to argue with either of you. I just want to live. I'll be gone the day after tomorrow. I'm merely here to consolidate ties, to check my partner's psi-signature into Cerebro, have a nice chat with Xavier, and I'll be off to a safe-house first thing."
"What was it between you and Guillaume l'Rivière?"
Momentarily taken aback by Monet's forthrightness, Rebecca raised a brow. "What precisely are the ramifications posed by telling you that we were once casual lovers?"
"Once?"
"Tell me how far this is going to go."
"Not past the walls of my mind. I promise not to tell anyone."
"It isn't as though everyone doesn't already know," Rebecca rolled her eyes. "I'm surprised you didn't."
"So?"
"Sit down," Rebecca assumed the lotus position on her bed, and Monet fell onto the mattress beside her. "When Guillaume and I first began seeing one another, I was a rebound. So was he. I was having trouble with my. . .marriage, if it could have been called that, and the love of his life had just been sucked into a temporal black hole to save her team leader's life."
"Phoenix II?" Monet's eyes grew wide.
"Yes, Phoenix II. We've never been very serious. We've slept together on and off over the years."
"That's all?"
"Yes, that's all. And why do you bring him up at this time?"
"Jubilee told me that he's the first one you went to when you realized your partner had been kidnapped."
Rebecca was about to set her straight, but thought better of it. If Jubilee hadn't told Monet what had happened, it was because that was the extent to which she trusted her. "Yes, he was the first person I went to, but only because he was the last person to see Warden."
"Is he here?"
"Who, Guillaume?"
"No, Chris Warden."
"Yes, he's actually. . .would you like to meet him?"
"To tell you the truth, I've been rather curious about him. . .Victor trashes his abilities at every chance he gets."
"He WOULD." Rebecca rolled her eyes. "You should consider having him take those pills that lower testosterone," to her surprise, Monet giggled, covering her mouth with a slim, perfectly-manicured hand. "I wasn't making a joke, I was serious."
"Yes, I know. That's what makes it so. . .humorous."
"So about Warden. . .he's had a bit of a rough time of things, but I could probably get him up."
"Are you two. . ."
"Sleeping together? No, we're partners. I don't ruin business relationships that way," replied the mercenary tactfully, as Warden was not officially out of the closet quite yet. "All right, then. I'll get him. If you'd just wait here," Standing up, she went across the hall and burst into Warden's room. "Get up, Chris. I need to introduce you to Monet St. Croix. Act like you're slobbering all over her, will you?"
"Jesus, Becky! Don't you ever fucking knock?" Chris demanded, searching frantically for his boxers and coming up with a soggy towel, which he promptly wrapped around his waist.
"Get dressed. And it's not like you do, either. This way I don't have to cut your throat for literally jumping in on me in the shower."
"What? I like it when the bathroom is already steamy. And you need someone to wash your back." Chris knit his brow. "Besides, you said. . ."
"Never mind that. Just drool over her, all right?"
"All right." Chris rolled his eyes, dropped the towel without so much as a flicker, and, reaching into his open duffel bag, he pulled out a pair of faded LEVIs and tugged them on.
"You're not wearing underwear?"
"Nah. I still remember how to pick up chicks, Becky."
"Don't call me Becky, Warden."
"Fine. Do you want them to think I'm fucking you?" he reached behind her, shoved the door open as he pulled on a threadbare gray wifebeater.
"Not unless she starts going on and on about Creed. And it's just St. Croix."
"Not anymore." Chris grinned, and waved to Nightcrawler. Rebecca rolled her eyes.
"Oh, bollocks. A Catholic and a gay man." She sighed. "At least he isn't a homophobe," she grabbed Chris by the forearm and dragged him into her room.
"So this is the famous Chris Warden, mercenary par excellence?" Monet raised a brow, evidently evaluating the "goods." Warden pasted on his best "stud" look and shoved a hand out.
"Monet St. Croix?"
"Charmed," murmured the aristocrat.
"And this is Kurt Wagner, or Nightcrawler, a teleporter," Rebecca motioned Chris toward Kurt.
"Pleased to meet you," to her relief, Chris strained out every last streak of innuendo from his voice.
"Same to you, Herr Warden." Kurt bared his fangs, slipped an arm around Rebecca's waist. "How have you been, liebling? I worried."
"Don't. I'm fine. Warden's been taking good care of me."
"I sure have. Don't you worry about her." Grinned Chris.
"So, tell me, Monsieur Warden," Monet purred, stroking his hand. "What is it like working so closely with one of the X-Men's best?"
"Pardon? You worked with the X-Men, Becca?"
"For a few months," she shrugged nonchalantly. "I thought I'd told you."
"You told me your brother worked with the X-Men. Nearly had a heart-attack when ya told me he was Jonothon Starsmore, THE breakthrough punk/metal artist of the decade!" Rebecca cringed at the whining tone creeping into his voice.
"Get over it," she shrugged, and turned toward Kurt. "Were you looking for me?"
"As a matter of fact, I was. Ah. . .Cyclops wanted to talk with you. He's in the Professor's library." Kurt lowered his eyes from Warden's. "Would you like me to escort you?"
"Please. Oh, and Monet, I'm sure you won't begrudge leading Warden to the kitchen? He's starving; hasn't had anything to eat in the past thirty-eight hours or so."
Monet smiled thinly, delighted that Rebecca would so naïvely leave her alone with Chris. "Of course. Shall we?" she extended her arm to Warden, and led him out into the hall, toward the elevator.
"He doesn't seem gay," Kurt reflected as the two left ear-shot.
"One of the nicest things about him is that he doesn't throw it in people's faces."
"Like Jean-Paul?"
"No, Jean-Paul is openly gay, but he's masculine. He's not pretending to be a woman or anything." She rolled her eyes. "Which is nice, because he doesn't mind it when women admire him. Because he IS rather sexy, you know?"
Kurt sighed. "Let's go," he wrapped an arm around her waist and teleported across the mansion to Xavier's library. They ended up in a beautiful wing-backed chair, with Rebecca sprawled across his lap. As they arrived, Scott turned and lifted a brow. Kurt teleported away.
"Good evening, Soleil."
"How's th' wife, Summers?" she smiled brashly, and Scott's eyebrows drew together slightly. However, when he realized she was genuinely interested and not making either conversation or a snide observation.
"She's due back with the Professor tomorrow." He confirmed. "She says she hasn't caught any intergalactic flus quite yet."
"That's nice. As I recall, those Shi'ar cure-alls are really rather nasty."
"Indeed they are."
"So what was it that you wanted to talk with me about?"
"I just wanted to ask about. . .ah. . ." he sighed, and sat down, not in the Professor's chair behind the wide oak desk, but on a small leather stool beside her wing-back. "We've known each other, albeit from a reasonable distance, for over fifteen years, haven't we?"
"I believe it's safe to say that."
"I can be straight with you without worrying that you'll take it the wrong way?"
"If this is about Creed, I can assure you that I'm not here to start anything up. He's happy, I'm doing what he'd never let me, we're divorced, and that's all."
"That's good to know, and I'm glad we've covered that early on, but that's not exactly what I wanted to ask you."
"What is it, then?"
"I'm just going to go ahead and say it. No fancy speeches and long roads leading up to the point. I'm going to. . ."
"Then do, Summers." She smirked. "You're doing that deputy leader thing that everyone hates you for. It's actually rather endearing."
Scott cleared his throat. "Look, when the Professor heard you were here, he asked me to give you a sales pitch."
"A what?"
"He wants you to join the X-Men."
Rebecca pursed her lips. "You know I've just begun to build myself up a reputable name and I'm finally getting good business. . .I'm well-known enough that I can pick and choose my jobs. . .no more Black Ops scape-goating for Warden and I."
"I understand that, and even though the Professor seems to be hell-bent on acquiring your. . .expertise, I wouldn't have asked you if he hadn't ordered me to."
She raised a brow. "Human, after all, are we?"
"Don't be snide." He muttered, "I just can't see you in a uniform. Look, I don't have anything against you as a person, and I think you're probably worth two or three of myself. . .you've seen a lot of action, you've gotten a lot of training. Your life hasn't been a bed of roses, but that usually contributes to a healthy understanding of violence and how it's not going to solve anything. As far as I hear, you're the one doing the hits in your. . .partnership with Warden, and while I don't have any problem with that. . ."
"I'm a killer, and you're afraid that I don't take life seriously enough to be an X-Man."
"Exactly."
She snorted. "You're probably right. But I wouldn't take the job, even if I were qualified."
"You ARE qualified!" Scott hastened to add, "even more than some of the present X-Men are. I'm just afraid that down the line, our interests will collide."
"I'm not a Utopian, Scott. I don't know if I ever could be," she shrugged, laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Neither of our pasts have been pretty, but you X-Men have always shown me a home. . .a real one, not like the ostentatious, perfection-driven clashes I've had with Nath. . .Sinister, but true acceptance. I hope that turning this job offer down won't take away any brownie points I may have won in the past, and I'm always open to helping the X-Men if that's what you need, but I have a career, and if I were to join you, where would Warden be? He'd have to go back to being a professional assassin, and I'm the only mercenary in the world, possibly, who'd give him tech-support as a primary."
"So I hear."
"I don't know how to tell Xavier," she shrugged, her eyes avoiding the red slash in his visor.
"I'll tell him, Rebecca," Scott covered her hand in his. She looked down at it, and realized she'd never quite looked at his hands before. . .they were so capable, so strong, yet his fingers tapered sensitively like those of an artist.
"No, I should face him myself. You shouldn't have to be the one to disappoint him."
He chuckled. "So you hate that look, too?"
"Pardon?"
"That look he gets, when you've just told him something that breaks his heart, and he's not angry with you, just wrestling with himself. . ."
"And the weight of the world." She added, quietly.
"Huh. Seems like we have more in common than I figured."
"Yeah. So this is all right, then?"
"Water under the bridge."
"Thanks, Summers."
"Quit that," he remonstrated. "It's Scott, and you've never once called me by my first name."
"I figured we weren't at that stage yet."
"Fifteen years, Rebecca."
"Well, you've just proved me wrong, now, haven't you?"
"Yeah, I guess."
"So, Scott. Thanks for your time, and the chat. Hey, you want to grab lunch tomorrow?"
"I can't, Jean'll be home, and I don't want her. . .you remember that whole fiasco with Emma Frost. . ." he was suddenly uncomfortable, and stammered.
"God, Scott, that was over. . .what, twelve years ago? And she STILL holds that against you?" he shrugged.
"Nah, I'd just rather not take any chances of her getting suspicious. I really do love her still, you know."
"Hey, hey," she held both her hands up. "Don't shrink to me. I'm the cold-blooded killer, remember?" she murmured. "Besides, it makes me uncomfortable when you open up. You're an intimidating man, Scott. Or did you need a shoulder to cry on?"
"Don't worry about it. Just as long as you're not looking for a place on my team," he joked. "It's all good."
"All right. I'd better get to sleep. . .it's getting late."
"It's barely ten o'clock. What, the big, bad mercenary lady needs to get her beauty rest?"
"What're you suggesting?" she grinned.
"Some of the guys are going down to Harry's to grab some beers. I wasn't going to go, but if you want to bring Warden, I could drive you."
"What in?" she quirked a brow. "Not your old-lady Beamer, I hope?"
"Nah, I was thinking more vintage '69 Mustang."
"I love you Summerses. Your ideas of big gestures are so crap. All right, give me fifteen minutes to find Warden, and I'll meet you in the driveway."
"Great." He grinned, and, as she stood up, he pulled her into a hard, one-armed hug. "It's good to have you home, Rebecca, even if you're leaving soon."
"It's good to BE home. I'm indebted to Warden for getting himself kidnapped." She grinned. "I'm glad you're loosening up. Who knows, that carrot might fall out of your arse yet." She winked and closed the library door behind her.
XXX
"Warden, come on!"
"No, I'm enjoying pretending to be heterosexual."
"If you want to convince them of your manliness, you're going to have to accompany me to Harry's Hardcase."
"But, Becky. . ." Warden was silenced when he felt a sharp stinging sensation in his head. "You're not giving me a telepathic lobotomy, are you?"
"I'm prepping for one. Get your arse into the driveway, NOW!" she huffed, then walked into the next room, where Monet was waiting for Warden to return. "Monet, I'm afraid I'm going to have to steal Chris away for a few hours. . .Scott's insisting that we bond with the remainder of the team over some beers, and I can't go without a chaperon."
"Of course, I understand."
"All right, then, I'll see you later." Monet smiled and left the room. Rebecca pursed her lips in surprise. "Well, look at that, that was quite nearly civil." She paced back to Chris and grabbed his arm. "You ready?"
"Of course," he straightened his tight black turtleneck, and slipped an arm around her waist. "Mmm, you smell lovely. What are you wearing?"
"Nothing. It's the Xavier conditioner. Come on, let's get out of here, Scott's offered to take us in his vintage baby."
"Ooh, does that mean you won't be driving? That we might just arrive with some of our limbs still attached and our vital organs in one piece?" his big, blue eyes were snidely eager.
"You ARE such a wanker, you know." She sighed, and dragged him out to the front of the mansion, where Scott was leaning against the cherry-red convertible (which presently had it's roof up), his arms crossed over his chest. Rebecca swallowed. He looked. . .edible, in a pair of faded, pressed jeans, sitting just tight and low enough that she could see the line of his pelvic bone, a white t-shirt, and a brown leather jacket. She laughed as she slid into the passenger's seat of the car. "You look like James Dean, Scott," when Warden hovered nauseatingly, she snapped a telepathic order to him to get into the back and quit pouting.
Scott revved the little car up, and they sped through the gates and down Greymalkin Lane. Five minutes (and several broken speed-limits) later, they pulled up at Harry's, where a coven of Harleys and racing bikes were lined up against the sidewalk. Rebecca stepped out, and, with Scott on one arm and Warden on the other, they stepped into the little pub.
XXX