Ma Soleil
Chapter Eighteen: Molson's, Pool, and Approval
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
Harry's patrons were accustomed to seeing one man draw all the female attention in the bar, but they'd never seen anything like this before. The statuesque blonde woman shooting billiards in the corner table drew everyone's eyes to her with a practiced ease that said worlds about her self-esteem. She looked dangerous in the spike-heeled boots, faded jeans and a men's ribbed A-tank. Her eyes were hooded, but every time she looked up, their color could be identified as the same hue of the sea on a stormy night.
Victor upended his beer, growled under his breath about something or other, and attempted to keep his eyes off his ex-wife. "Damn the woman, she ain't changed a bit. I'm glad ta have gotten rid o' that bear-trap."
"Could've fooled me, Creed," Logan hopped up on a bar stool just beside his old CIA buddy's. "Th' way yer lookin' at her. . .well, let's just hope it never gets back ta Monet."
"Shut it, runt." Victor snarled. "Keep her nose outta my business."
"Difficult ta do when I can smell yer hormones goin' crazy all over th' damn bar." His eyes slid over to rest on Rebecca's backside, as she leant over to line up her shot, though it wasn't long before Sam Guthrie obstructed the tantalizing view, and gave the evil eye to all the bar patrons he didn't know. "Distractin', ain't she?"
"Quit lookin', runt. She ain't yers ta look at."
"She ain't anyone's ta look at, but that ain't stoppin' 'em. Hey, Harry, another Molson's, will ya?" he waved his empty bottle at the barkeep.
"She was yer damn sister-in-law."
"Not that I knew of."
A rumble came from low in Victor's chest. "So what exactly is it between the two o' you?"
"I ain't sure. I'm still gettin' used ta th' fact that she ain't Sinister's lapdog no more. An' Jubes says that they used ta be close, ya know? I haven't quite swallowed that yet."
"So you never took 'er on any dates?"
"I've taken her out ta dinner, but never any dates, no. Look, Creed, it ain't like she's yers ta take care of anymore. Lookit 'er, don't she make a cute couple with Guthrie?" he motioned toward the pool table, where she'd just trounced him, and was tugging a twenty-dollar bill from his reluctant fingers.
"He ain't interested in 'er that way." Victor murmured, as though to reassure himself.
"An' how th' hell do ya know THAT, Creed?" Logan countered. "Look at how close they stand t' each other. They ain't inhibited, they're friends. They've been friends fer th' better part o' sixteen years, an' in my experience, it only takes so long before they realize that they've both grown sizeable libidos by now."
"Don't bait me, runt."
"That's 'brother' ta you, Creed."
Victor snorted. "So that makes you a Creed, too, then, don't it?"
"Nope. That makes you a Logan."
"Says who? I'm th' only one who remembers a full name. . .you only got one. Whether it's yer given or surname, nobody knows."
"I know it's MY name. Fer sure."
Victor rolled his eyes. "Whatever ya say, runt."
"Yer gonna haveta start acceptin' me as family someday, ya know that?"
"I guess." For a moment, the bigger feral seemed plunged in pensive reverie. Then, he looked up, straight into Logan's eyes. "That mean yer gonna be m' best man when I marry Monet?"
"If yer really plannin' ta marry her." Shrugged Logan.
"What was THAT supposed ta mean?"
"Nothin'."
"Ya think I'm playin' fast an' loose with a woman whose biological clock's been tickin' fer six years yet? Hell, how stupid do ya think I am?"
Logan sipped his fresh beer thoughtfully. "Hadn't thought o' that. Ain't she invulnerable an' freakishly strong, too?"
"Yup."
"Dominatrix type, is she?"
"I ain't discussin' Monet an' my sex life with you!"
"So she's got ya whipped, now, has she?" grinned Logan. "That's a conversation I'd like ta have with her, instead o' you." Getting to his feet, the diminutive feral swaggered over to the pool table and slapped a fifty down on the edge. "Hey, Starsmore, wanna play a REAL man?" Sam laughed at the good-humored ribbing in Logan's voice. Unseen by all in the corner, Victor winced when Logan used Rebecca's maiden name, then wondered how he would have felt had he called her "Creed."
"Sure," she laughed, and pulled out two twenties and a ten, half of her winnings that evening, and cast a glance round the bar, confirmed that Chris and Jean-Paul were sitting in a booth quietly getting to know one another. Replacing her cue and choosing another, she chalked up the end as Logan arranged the balls on the table. "Straight up billiards, winner takes all."
"Sounds good ta me." Logan grinned, and selected his own cue. "I'll break."
"Fair enough," Rebecca raised a brow, winked at Victor, sitting alone at the bar. He seemed to ignore her, and turned back to his drink with a snarl. Disregarding the pang of constant remorse that suddenly flared to life beneath Victor's gaze, she watched Logan tug his cue back, and sink two balls neatly into the pockets. "Very nice," she brushed against him as he walked by to line up his next shot, "But we'll see how long you can keep this up."
XXX
Logan sunk the eight-ball squarely, a gleam in his eye, and turned around, resting his cue on his boot-toe. "So that's what, fifty dollars ya owe me, Starsmore?"
Rebecca cocked a hip, pouted. "All right, all right. You've kept up your machismo in front of all your drinking buddies, and you're never going to see me naked." The onlookers laughed.
"Aw, darlin', that's all right. Money's sweeter'n. . .wait, I must be goin' insane. I demand a re-match."
"You won, why would you want a re-match?" Rebecca shot him a sultry smile.
"So's I can give ya yer money back. I'm a gentleman, darlin'."
"Well then, gentleman, why don't you quit yappin' and buy me a drink instead of forfeiting your hard-earned cash."
"That I can do, darlin'. Hey, Harry!" he bellowed. "What'll ya have, Starsmore?"
"Whatever you're drinking," she smiled.
"Two Molson's over here, Harry!" he called in the general direction of the bar, scowled when Gambit sidled up and caught Rebecca by the waist.
"Hey, chère, y' look like y' need some cheerin' up. Let Remy help, eh?"
"Hey, LeBeau, get yer mitts off her. She's with me fer th' evenin'."
"I don' b'lieve y' understand de situation. Mademoiselle Starsmore, she be mon soeur. Now if y' 'ave any. . .intentions t'ward 'er, I suggest y' eider cancel dem or step outside, cause Remy be obligated t' royally kick yo' ass on behalf o' mon soeur's honor."
"Oh, give it a rest, LeBeau!" she rolled her eyes, and slid her gaze toward the booth at which Warden and Jean-Paul had been sitting. It was unsurprisingly enough empty. When her beer came around, she took a healthy swallow, sighed, noticed Victor at the bar, still pouting. Vic? You bored?
What th'. . .stay the hell outta my mind, Becca.
She rolled her eyes and took four long strides over to where he sat brooding over an empty shot glass and a half-full bottle of whiskey. "What're you trying to do, get pissed off your arse? It's not going to work. As I recall, it takes about five bottles to get you going."
"Yep. Sounds about right." He murmured, "Why're ya still here, Becca?"
"Because." She rolled her eyes. "I need to speak with Xavier."
"Yer bluffin'."
"You think I'm such a glutton for self-punishment that I'm staying for YOU? My God, Vic, how bigheaded ARE you?" she sighed, sipped her beer again. "Look, Xavier offered me a commission in the X-Men via Scott."
"I didn't know Summers liked mercs joinin' his crew."
"He doesn't. Xavier asked him to make me a pitch, but he made it abundantly clear that he didn't support the move."
"So what does this mean? That yer stayin' fer good?"
"I declined, Vic. Not because I'm afraid of wanting to be near you, not because I'm just feeling contrary. Hell, Xavier's fees are giant! He's a fucking billionaire!"
"So why'd ya decline?"
"Because. I have a business with Warden. He's a good partner, and I can't leave him."
"Leave him in the business way, or leave him in th' personal way?"
"Both." He snarled, couldn't stop himself. "We're not romantically involved, Vic. He's my friend. My partner. He's saved my life three times already, and I've saved his at least as many times. He has a penchant for getting into really bad situations."
"Like th' one ya just got him out of?"
"He got himself out of it." She shrugged. "Look, Vic, all I want from you is. . .damn. I can't believe I'm saying this. Look, all my life, I've wanted someone, just once, to tell me I've done something right. I didn't exactly have a model childhood, and the closest Natty ever came to praise was 'what a brilliant specimen you are, child.' Then you came into my life. . .again, and it seemed to me that you. . .cared, at least a little. That's when I transferred everything I had in me to you. I've worked all these years, I've given my blood and sweat and tears just to hear you say that you're proud of me. That I was doing something right. You never have, and I've given up hope that you ever will!" she finished in an angry whisper, downed the rest of her beer, and slammed the bottle onto the bar. "Damn it, Vic. Good night." She sighed, and rushed toward Sam, hooking her arm into his.
"Hey, Rebecca," he drawled. "Ah've been waitin' foah ya ta finish that pool game."
"Drive me home, Sammy?"
"Anythang foah th' lady." He laughed, and put his arm around her waist, when a hand closed around his wrist.
"I'll drive ya home, Beck." Victor growled. "It's th' least I can do."
She cocked a brow. "For what?" Sam slid out from between them, certain the blood would soon be flowing.
"Fer insultin' ya. I had no place sayin'. . ." though he wasn't precisely sure what he was apologizing for, Creed was certain there was was SOMETHING to atone for. ". . .anythin'. Fergive me?"
"Frankly, Vic, I don't think there's anything TO forgive. You've behaved reproachlessly, and if you drive me home, Monet will undoubtedly fly into a jealous rage. I'll just. . ." she shrugged. "I'll take myself home, Sammy," she called loudly. "I need some air, anyhow. Clear my mind." She grinned and waved at Logan and Gambit, and left the bar. Victor frowned when Scott followed her out, but she was none of his business anymore, and she would indubitably remind him of the fact if he interfered.
XXX
Chapter Eighteen: Molson's, Pool, and Approval
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
Harry's patrons were accustomed to seeing one man draw all the female attention in the bar, but they'd never seen anything like this before. The statuesque blonde woman shooting billiards in the corner table drew everyone's eyes to her with a practiced ease that said worlds about her self-esteem. She looked dangerous in the spike-heeled boots, faded jeans and a men's ribbed A-tank. Her eyes were hooded, but every time she looked up, their color could be identified as the same hue of the sea on a stormy night.
Victor upended his beer, growled under his breath about something or other, and attempted to keep his eyes off his ex-wife. "Damn the woman, she ain't changed a bit. I'm glad ta have gotten rid o' that bear-trap."
"Could've fooled me, Creed," Logan hopped up on a bar stool just beside his old CIA buddy's. "Th' way yer lookin' at her. . .well, let's just hope it never gets back ta Monet."
"Shut it, runt." Victor snarled. "Keep her nose outta my business."
"Difficult ta do when I can smell yer hormones goin' crazy all over th' damn bar." His eyes slid over to rest on Rebecca's backside, as she leant over to line up her shot, though it wasn't long before Sam Guthrie obstructed the tantalizing view, and gave the evil eye to all the bar patrons he didn't know. "Distractin', ain't she?"
"Quit lookin', runt. She ain't yers ta look at."
"She ain't anyone's ta look at, but that ain't stoppin' 'em. Hey, Harry, another Molson's, will ya?" he waved his empty bottle at the barkeep.
"She was yer damn sister-in-law."
"Not that I knew of."
A rumble came from low in Victor's chest. "So what exactly is it between the two o' you?"
"I ain't sure. I'm still gettin' used ta th' fact that she ain't Sinister's lapdog no more. An' Jubes says that they used ta be close, ya know? I haven't quite swallowed that yet."
"So you never took 'er on any dates?"
"I've taken her out ta dinner, but never any dates, no. Look, Creed, it ain't like she's yers ta take care of anymore. Lookit 'er, don't she make a cute couple with Guthrie?" he motioned toward the pool table, where she'd just trounced him, and was tugging a twenty-dollar bill from his reluctant fingers.
"He ain't interested in 'er that way." Victor murmured, as though to reassure himself.
"An' how th' hell do ya know THAT, Creed?" Logan countered. "Look at how close they stand t' each other. They ain't inhibited, they're friends. They've been friends fer th' better part o' sixteen years, an' in my experience, it only takes so long before they realize that they've both grown sizeable libidos by now."
"Don't bait me, runt."
"That's 'brother' ta you, Creed."
Victor snorted. "So that makes you a Creed, too, then, don't it?"
"Nope. That makes you a Logan."
"Says who? I'm th' only one who remembers a full name. . .you only got one. Whether it's yer given or surname, nobody knows."
"I know it's MY name. Fer sure."
Victor rolled his eyes. "Whatever ya say, runt."
"Yer gonna haveta start acceptin' me as family someday, ya know that?"
"I guess." For a moment, the bigger feral seemed plunged in pensive reverie. Then, he looked up, straight into Logan's eyes. "That mean yer gonna be m' best man when I marry Monet?"
"If yer really plannin' ta marry her." Shrugged Logan.
"What was THAT supposed ta mean?"
"Nothin'."
"Ya think I'm playin' fast an' loose with a woman whose biological clock's been tickin' fer six years yet? Hell, how stupid do ya think I am?"
Logan sipped his fresh beer thoughtfully. "Hadn't thought o' that. Ain't she invulnerable an' freakishly strong, too?"
"Yup."
"Dominatrix type, is she?"
"I ain't discussin' Monet an' my sex life with you!"
"So she's got ya whipped, now, has she?" grinned Logan. "That's a conversation I'd like ta have with her, instead o' you." Getting to his feet, the diminutive feral swaggered over to the pool table and slapped a fifty down on the edge. "Hey, Starsmore, wanna play a REAL man?" Sam laughed at the good-humored ribbing in Logan's voice. Unseen by all in the corner, Victor winced when Logan used Rebecca's maiden name, then wondered how he would have felt had he called her "Creed."
"Sure," she laughed, and pulled out two twenties and a ten, half of her winnings that evening, and cast a glance round the bar, confirmed that Chris and Jean-Paul were sitting in a booth quietly getting to know one another. Replacing her cue and choosing another, she chalked up the end as Logan arranged the balls on the table. "Straight up billiards, winner takes all."
"Sounds good ta me." Logan grinned, and selected his own cue. "I'll break."
"Fair enough," Rebecca raised a brow, winked at Victor, sitting alone at the bar. He seemed to ignore her, and turned back to his drink with a snarl. Disregarding the pang of constant remorse that suddenly flared to life beneath Victor's gaze, she watched Logan tug his cue back, and sink two balls neatly into the pockets. "Very nice," she brushed against him as he walked by to line up his next shot, "But we'll see how long you can keep this up."
XXX
Logan sunk the eight-ball squarely, a gleam in his eye, and turned around, resting his cue on his boot-toe. "So that's what, fifty dollars ya owe me, Starsmore?"
Rebecca cocked a hip, pouted. "All right, all right. You've kept up your machismo in front of all your drinking buddies, and you're never going to see me naked." The onlookers laughed.
"Aw, darlin', that's all right. Money's sweeter'n. . .wait, I must be goin' insane. I demand a re-match."
"You won, why would you want a re-match?" Rebecca shot him a sultry smile.
"So's I can give ya yer money back. I'm a gentleman, darlin'."
"Well then, gentleman, why don't you quit yappin' and buy me a drink instead of forfeiting your hard-earned cash."
"That I can do, darlin'. Hey, Harry!" he bellowed. "What'll ya have, Starsmore?"
"Whatever you're drinking," she smiled.
"Two Molson's over here, Harry!" he called in the general direction of the bar, scowled when Gambit sidled up and caught Rebecca by the waist.
"Hey, chère, y' look like y' need some cheerin' up. Let Remy help, eh?"
"Hey, LeBeau, get yer mitts off her. She's with me fer th' evenin'."
"I don' b'lieve y' understand de situation. Mademoiselle Starsmore, she be mon soeur. Now if y' 'ave any. . .intentions t'ward 'er, I suggest y' eider cancel dem or step outside, cause Remy be obligated t' royally kick yo' ass on behalf o' mon soeur's honor."
"Oh, give it a rest, LeBeau!" she rolled her eyes, and slid her gaze toward the booth at which Warden and Jean-Paul had been sitting. It was unsurprisingly enough empty. When her beer came around, she took a healthy swallow, sighed, noticed Victor at the bar, still pouting. Vic? You bored?
What th'. . .stay the hell outta my mind, Becca.
She rolled her eyes and took four long strides over to where he sat brooding over an empty shot glass and a half-full bottle of whiskey. "What're you trying to do, get pissed off your arse? It's not going to work. As I recall, it takes about five bottles to get you going."
"Yep. Sounds about right." He murmured, "Why're ya still here, Becca?"
"Because." She rolled her eyes. "I need to speak with Xavier."
"Yer bluffin'."
"You think I'm such a glutton for self-punishment that I'm staying for YOU? My God, Vic, how bigheaded ARE you?" she sighed, sipped her beer again. "Look, Xavier offered me a commission in the X-Men via Scott."
"I didn't know Summers liked mercs joinin' his crew."
"He doesn't. Xavier asked him to make me a pitch, but he made it abundantly clear that he didn't support the move."
"So what does this mean? That yer stayin' fer good?"
"I declined, Vic. Not because I'm afraid of wanting to be near you, not because I'm just feeling contrary. Hell, Xavier's fees are giant! He's a fucking billionaire!"
"So why'd ya decline?"
"Because. I have a business with Warden. He's a good partner, and I can't leave him."
"Leave him in the business way, or leave him in th' personal way?"
"Both." He snarled, couldn't stop himself. "We're not romantically involved, Vic. He's my friend. My partner. He's saved my life three times already, and I've saved his at least as many times. He has a penchant for getting into really bad situations."
"Like th' one ya just got him out of?"
"He got himself out of it." She shrugged. "Look, Vic, all I want from you is. . .damn. I can't believe I'm saying this. Look, all my life, I've wanted someone, just once, to tell me I've done something right. I didn't exactly have a model childhood, and the closest Natty ever came to praise was 'what a brilliant specimen you are, child.' Then you came into my life. . .again, and it seemed to me that you. . .cared, at least a little. That's when I transferred everything I had in me to you. I've worked all these years, I've given my blood and sweat and tears just to hear you say that you're proud of me. That I was doing something right. You never have, and I've given up hope that you ever will!" she finished in an angry whisper, downed the rest of her beer, and slammed the bottle onto the bar. "Damn it, Vic. Good night." She sighed, and rushed toward Sam, hooking her arm into his.
"Hey, Rebecca," he drawled. "Ah've been waitin' foah ya ta finish that pool game."
"Drive me home, Sammy?"
"Anythang foah th' lady." He laughed, and put his arm around her waist, when a hand closed around his wrist.
"I'll drive ya home, Beck." Victor growled. "It's th' least I can do."
She cocked a brow. "For what?" Sam slid out from between them, certain the blood would soon be flowing.
"Fer insultin' ya. I had no place sayin'. . ." though he wasn't precisely sure what he was apologizing for, Creed was certain there was was SOMETHING to atone for. ". . .anythin'. Fergive me?"
"Frankly, Vic, I don't think there's anything TO forgive. You've behaved reproachlessly, and if you drive me home, Monet will undoubtedly fly into a jealous rage. I'll just. . ." she shrugged. "I'll take myself home, Sammy," she called loudly. "I need some air, anyhow. Clear my mind." She grinned and waved at Logan and Gambit, and left the bar. Victor frowned when Scott followed her out, but she was none of his business anymore, and she would indubitably remind him of the fact if he interfered.
XXX