'Her lips trembled. His green eyes followed every move. What was she going to say? "Lord D'Alain," she began, eyes downcast, hands twisting in her lap.'
Dom looked up from the book as St. John burst back into their room, slamming the door open and burning with energy. "Dom! Get up. We're going out drinking."
He put the book down, sighing. At this rate, he'd never get through this sappy story. "Okay. Why?"
The man bounced onto his bed, punching his arm lightly. His hand trembled a little and behind St. John's manic blue eyes and wide grin, he saw a desperate plea for help. "Oh, Misty said we should get to know each other informally. What's more informal than drinking?"
"St. John? What's wrong?" He got up and the blond man leaped off the bed to paw through a drawer.
"Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Ah!" He held up a wallet in triumph. "I'll gather the troops. You find a vehicle suitable for our night out. After all, you're designated driver."
"Hey!" The blond man turned at his cry. He was willing to help Py out, sure, but this was going above and beyond.
"Don't worry. I'm D.D. next time." St. John kept pushing the wallet at his side, looking confused. "Pockets. Pockets. Ah!" He slid the wallet into a waist pouch and waved energetically. "Good luck, Dom. See you at the motor pool."
Great. He was stuck being the responsible one again, waiting for his friend to get sloshed enough to talk about what was bothering him. He shook his head and gave himself a once-over in the mirror. At least he was good at it, he thought, running a comb through his wayward hair. "You should have known better," he told his sober reflection's brown eyes. He straightened his turtleneck and shook his head. "You should never have gotten involved."
His reflection did not answer, but his expression lightened as he turned away. St. John didn't have a bad idea, at that, even though it left him high and dry. He picked up his keys and walked out of the room to find Charles Xavier.
St. John sped down the hallway of the men's dormitory wing, then stopped. Why go ask the girls first when he was already here? Smiling, he turned and knocked on the first door.
The tousled brown head of Scott Summers peered out, then the door opened fully. "St. John? Do you need something?"
"No, no, no, no, no. YOU need something. You need a good stiff drink. Come with me and I'll see you get it." He walked away but stopped when he noticed that the other man had not budged from the doorway.
"Sorry. I have plans tonight." Scott sighed, scratching his head. "Thanks, though. Why don't you ask Kurt? He's the one who really needs time out."
"Kurt?" Kurt. Oh, yes. Misty's son. Perfect! He went to the man's room, not listening as Scott's door quietly closed and his and Dom's opened.
He knocked three times in rapid succession. No one answered, but he heard a shuffling noise.
"Are you all right in there?" He waited, fingers nervously tapping on the doorframe. There was a soft popping sound from behind his back and he whirled to see clouds of brimstone surrounding his quarry.
"Hello. Ready to …"
The blue man raised an eyebrow. "What are you doing outside my room?"
He backed up a step or two, smiling. "Asking you to come out drinking with us? Come on, mate, don't be sore. It'll be fun."
The blue man fingered his black and red uniform but relaxed. "Drinking. With you." He laughed shortly. "Who else are you asking?"
Pyro grinned. "Everybody. Well, other than a few fellas, I guess. By the way, which is Northstar's room?"
Kurt blinked, perplexed. "Over there. But why …" Pyro was already heading toward Northstar's door, calling back, "See you at the motor pool!"
He happily knocked on Northstar's door, then waited. No one answered. He knocked again, harder. No one answered again. He knocked harder and louder.
The door flew open with a bang and he had to leap backward to avoid knocking ON the man himself, whose blue eyes snapped with nearly palpable anger. Jean-Paul towered over him, looking far from the delicate, elfin figure in his skiing pictures. "Do you know what you have done?" he said in a barely controlled tone.
"Yeah. Asked you to come out drinking tonight." He backed up a few more steps. "Fellow author and all, thought you'd like it."
Confusion replaced anger. "Fellow author?" The tall, slender, elegant man crossed his arms across his chest, neatly avoiding creasing his soft navy blue sweater as his eyes focussed on the shorter man.
"Oh, yes!" Pyro grinned. "Just got back from my ninth book tour."
Jean-Paul relaxed against the door frame. "How awful was it?"
"About as awful as it could be. The fans, the places, the constant travel, the missed flights…Come on. Let's talk about it over a tall frosty beer or two."
It ended up being six of them together going out to a local bar. Pyro had convinced Kitty and Rogue to come along, as well as Northstar and Kurt.
Dom stared morosely over the crowd. It had all gone far too well up to this point. Xavier hadn't given him any trouble at all when he said he and Py wanted a night out, just waved a hand and told him to have fun. Now Py was drinking heavily, showing off for the girls and Jean-Paul on the dance floor, as Kurt in his image-induced form talked seriously with a young woman along the wall. He was just waiting for it all to come crashing down, though. Py always did after a couple hours.
He sighed. He put the remains of his orange juice down on a small, round table and slowly moved toward the happy, laughing, bright face of St. John. A voice murmured in his ear, "Your friend is very unhappy, no?"
He nearly jumped at the sudden sound, but pulled himself together and turned to face Jean-Paul Beaubier. He seemed larger in person, and his face was kind. He shrugged. "What makes you say that?" he asked, unwilling to betray his friend's secrets.
Jean-Paul spread his hands wide. "Look at him." He pointed to the dance floor, where Pyro was dancing furiously, the same manic smile he'd had since he left still firmly in place. "He is trying too hard."
Dom nodded. "Yeah."
"You are going to help him now, though." His eyes bored into Dom's, his face full of intense concentration.
"If he's drunk enough to let me. Sure." He paused. "Could you … ?" he asked, gesturing for Jean-Paul to get out of his way.
The man bowed and gracefully moved. "I could not let a fellow author destroy himself for no reason."
Dom snorted before he could help it at the idea of St. John being an "author," then coughed to hide it. "Yeah. Well, thanks."
He'd timed it pretty well. St. John was nearly falling over himself, his eyes brightening with unshed tears, by the time he reached the man. Rogue was trying to persuade him to sit down as he protested that he was perfectly all right. He caught her gaze and shook his head. "Hey, Py. Let's get a pitcher and sit down together, okay?"
"Av!" He started to fall just as Rogue moved away, so Dom steadied his friend. "Finally joining the party?" His hysterical, desperate feelings were breaking through his humorous mask, in the clutching hands that held him close and the relieved look at the mention of going and sitting down.
"Yeah. Let's go over here." He led St. John back toward a darker corner of the bar and sat him down firmly. "And now that we're here, let's talk about why you threw this party to begin with."
"Oh, you know. No reason." His thin hands trembled on the table, nervously tapping as he looked around the bar.
"Py. What's wrong?" He tipped his old friend's face up so that his light blue eyes had to fix on his brown ones. "I know something's wrong. Tell me. Was it something about Misty?"
Pyro's face crumpled. His lips trembled, his eyes closed, and suddenly he burst out crying. Dom let go of his face, pulling his hands back, but Py caught them before he could bring them back to his sides.
Wow. He really didn't know what to do. He let the man keep his hands as he sobbed, bent over the table, head nearly touching a drink stain. He cleared his throat. "It … it's okay, St. John. It's okay."
The man's head moved and he muttered something, wetly, into the table as he clutched at Dom's hands. He repeated it again, looking around to see if anyone had noticed that the life of the party had collapsed. "It's okay." Kurt had rejoined the group, Kitty was looking up at him, and Jean-Paul was near them, but was looking over at him and St. John.
"No."
He looked over at Py as the man squeezed his hands, then let them go. "No, what?"
"It's not okay."
He returned his attention fully to Pyro, who was sniffling into his sleeve and staring at him defiantly. He nodded. "All right. What's not okay?"
Pyro twitched a little. "Her. Him. Oh, God, Av … she's with him."
Dom was getting an uneasy feeling about this. "This is about Misty, right?"
Py blinked back some tears, then hit the table with his open right palm. "I … I'm sorry. I just hoped … I always hoped."
"What are you talking about?"
"It's her, mate. It's always been her." A tear started a path down from the corner of his left eye as he talked, a quiver in his voice. "Misty's just beautiful, you know? I had to leave because I thought we couldn't … and now she's with that stranger … I can't take it!"
Dom's eyes wandered aimlessly as he considered this. "So you're in love with Misty and now she's with someone else … this Logan guy?"
Py didn't answer, staring off into space, tears glistening down his cheeks, murmuring, "I'd always hoped … oh, what have I done?"
Dom sighed. He held his friend's hand as Jean-Paul casually made his way over to their table, Rogue did the same, and the others got the car ready. He nearly carried Pyro out and got him back to their room safely, but he still didn't know what to do for his pain. Thankfully, Py passed out on the ride home.
He grinned. Maybe he should try to find a nice girl for Py. It'd serve him right for trying to set him up all these years.