Title: A Series Of Observations
Author: furygrrl
Archive: Just ask first
Rating: T - rated for language and hints of sexuality
Disclaimer: Evo, Penthouse, and Jerry Springer are not mine. Big surprise...
Part Five: Dark Discoveries
After her third tour of the house yielded no sign of Duncan, Jean was ready to give up.
He'd better have one hell of an excuse, she fumed silently, stalking through the kitchen and out onto the back deck again. Ditching his guests - ditching me...I can't believe he'd be so rude!
"Hey, Jean! You still looking for that boyfriend of yours?"
Jean paused before starting down the steps into the small yard, and looked over her shoulder, seeing her friend Linda waving from the other side of the deck. "I'm not sure," the redhead called back, making her way over to the porch swing Linda was sharing with two other girls. "The idea of him staying lost has kinda started to grow on me."
Linda laughed at Jean's sardonic tone, but the pair of females sitting next to her - cheerleaders and fanatical members of the Duncan Matthews' Fan Club both - gave the redhead identical looks of outraged shock, like she'd said something blasphemous.
Airheads worshipping at the altar of the Idiot King, how appropriate, Jean thought, rolling her eyes heavenward, inwardly hoping that she'd never behaved so ridiculously when she'd first been besotted with the jock.
"Well," Linda's amused voice sounded again. "In case a return to the single life hasn't won you over yet, you should head for the beach. I heard some of the guys saying Duncan's got a bonfire going down there, so that's probably where he's at."
So nice of him to fill me in, Jean grated wordlessly. Aloud, she thanked Linda, and, after a few more minutes of convivial conversation, struck off for the path that would take her to the beach.
Carefully making her way down the interlocking stones in her heels, alone save for the irritated voice grumbling in her head, she'd just passed the small utility shed that marked the midway point between house and lake, when a rustling from the foliage behind her snapped her to attention. Preparing her telekinesis in case it was something more than drunken teens coming her way, Jean was startled to see Lance stumble through the darkness of the trees, falling to his knees when he tripped over the stones that edged the walkway.
Jean stared at him for several heartbeats, waiting for him to get up and dust himself off, but when he didn't, she instinctively moved towards him, supposed enmity forgotten. But Lance's head jerked up at the sound of her approach, and the sight of his stricken face halted her a few steps shy of her destination.
Even though the shadows were dense, even though she could barely make out his features in the inky gloom, the scant light that managed to filter down through the overhead tree branches revealed a pair of eyes that burned with stunned disbelief. Twin tracks of moisture were seeping from them, shining wetly as they trailed down his cheeks.
Jean didn't know what was wrong with him, but she instantly surmised that something terrible must have happened; in all the years she'd known and battled against Avalanche, she had never seen him show weakness, had never seen him cry. The thought that she was witnessing him do just that jolted her out of the surprise that gripped her, prompting her to close the gap between them, one hand reaching out to touch his shoulder tentatively while the other offered to help him up.
Lance flinched at the gentle contact, shaking her off as he staggered to his feet on his own, his fingers brushing away all traces of tears from his bowed head. Not bothering to explain, he simply stuffed his hands into his vest pockets and strode away, leaving Jean to watch after his retreating form, concern furrowing her brow.
"What on earth could have -" Her murmured question to herself was interrupted by more movement coming from the bushes – only this time, two figures stepped free of the underbrush, the sight of them sparking sudden understanding to flare in Jean's mind.
Kurt was helping Kitty find solid footing in the dark, his hands carefully bracing her shoulders to prevent her from stumbling on the uneven pathway, softly spoken German issuing from between his lips as they touched. Kitty, once free of the forest, slowly leaned into her boyfriend, her arms wrapping around his waist as their faces met in a languid kiss.
Jean chose that opportunity to duck behind the nearby shed, not wanting to intrude on her teammate's private moment. Her placement, however, didn't impede her from hearing what they said to each other next.
"I love you, Katzchen," Kurt murmured, his words thick with emotion.
"I love you too," Kitty replied, her voice muffled as if her face pressed against his chest. "I'm glad that I finally had the chance to show you just how much."
Jean bit her lip, her suspicions about what Lance had most assuredly stumbled across proven by Kitty's quiet statement. The pair's footsteps were heard moments later as they departed from the area, their intimate, shared laughter fading to indistinctness as they returned to the revelry of the house.
Feeling dazed, Jean rounded the shed's exterior and resumed her trek down the path, her thoughts spinning as she tried to make sense of what had just happened.
Kitty and Kurt...making love in the woods...and Lance saw them... kept repeating in her mind as she walked. But how did he find them? It's not like they picked an obvious place to do - to do that...
An image of Lance, anxiously keeping watch for someone earlier in the evening, suddenly rolled through Jean's head, making her heart catch sympathetically.
He'd been looking for Kitty...
Heels unexpectedly sinking into sand, and nearly serving to unbalance her, brought Jean's musings to an abrupt end. Discovering that she'd arrived at the beach, she darted a look down the stretch of shoreline and was gratified to see the orange glow of a fire a short distance away - though one that would prove considerably arduous with her current footwear.
These will have to come off, she decided with a glance at her shoes, irritated all over again as the hunt for her boyfriend continued to make life difficult.
Wondering anew why she was even bothering, Jean hobbled across the sand towards an outcropping of rock, figuring she'd be less likely to break her neck if she removed her shoes while seated. She gingerly sat down, hoping there were no spiders lurking in the boulders' blackened fissures, and started to unclasp the straps that fastened around her slim ankles, her ears picking up on several loud voices coming from the direction of the bonfire as she did so.
Rick Claybourne, Josh Miller, Tony Russo, Sandy and Taryn... Jean absently identified each laugh and echoing comment members of the nearby group made, finally hearing Duncan's braying howls of amusement surge loudly above them all.
"It's about time," she muttered, tapping the tenaciously clinging grit from the shoes in her hand.
She rose to her feet and started to move towards the circle of light a few paces away, only to hear something that stopped her before a second step could be taken.
Duncan, her two best friends, and half the football team, were in the midst of a conversation about sex - but that unsurprising topic alone wasn't what kept Jean from announcing her presence.
The fact she was the main point of the discussion, was.
After stumbling around in the dark for a few minutes, looking for a place to collect his racing thoughts, Lance found himself at the top of the small cliff that bordered Duncan's property and overlooked the lake. Hearing sounds of distant partying, but seeing no one nearby, he moved close to the edge of the precipice and crumpled to his knees again, wrapping his arms around his midsection, wondering how it was possible for his insides to ache when he felt so utterly empty.
He looked out over the inky water, silently watching as clouds darker than the night sky scudded in from the west, beginning to overtake the wanly shining moon and its harem of stars.
"Why, Kitty?" eventually whispered from his lips, his tone choked with defeat. "Why him and not me?"
His eyes burned at the question, warning that another bout of tears was imminent, and he hastily composed himself, suddenly feeling like the world's biggest wuss.
"At least I'm alone this time," he muttered, recalling with no small measure of embarrassment that his earlier breakdown had been witnessed - and by Jean Grey of all people. "Bitch probably thought it was pretty funny, too," he added, willing himself to anger, wanting something - anything - to replace the hurt in his heart.
But the tactic didn't work - not in the way he'd expected.
The muddled state inflicted by seeing Kitty in Kurt's arms had dissipated enough so that he was able to focus on his evening's second run-in with the redhead with a clearer mind. He replayed the event, trying to pick up on Jean's reaction, sure that she'd smirked, or that her eyes had sparkled with amusement to see him brought so low, or that she'd made some snide comment about the situation as he'd passed her...
Only she didn't, Lance's inner voice whispered.
She didn't laugh at you...didn't gloat...didn't turn and walk away like you were less than nothing...
The slow realization stirred confusion and forced a frown.
She went to you - her enemy - and offered you her hand, the voice continued, pulling a remembered image of how the telepath had looked standing in front of him, her arm outstretched, her expression one of concern.
Lance scowled at the memory, the muscles in his shoulder twitching when he recalled her feather-light touch. "She felt sorry for me," he told his inner self, finally angry, but at the thought he might be pitied by anyone - especially Jean.
The subconscious voice seemed disinclined to agree - Lance could have sworn he heard a sigh of exasperation slither through his skull - but it quieted all the same, leaving the brooding youth alone with his convictions.
"Whatever," Lance muttered, suddenly weary and more than ready to head back to Bayville. He climbed to his feet and started to unzip his pants. "This whole fucking night has been nothing but a big waste of time."
Taking the last step needed to get to the cliff's edge, about to relieve himself over the side before the long drive ahead of him, Lance stilled at discovering, not ten feet below, the true source of the 'distant' party noises.
A huge bonfire, roaring in sandy pit ringed by rocks and logs, surrounded by a number of laughing, drinking, seemingly happy people.
They instantly disgusted Lance in his current mood - no one deserved to be so joyful when he was feeling like shit - and he debated if he should piss on them anyway, 'rain on their parade', so to speak, when he heard something that made his ears prick up with interest.
"Whaddaya mean, I don't get any? Jean's wild in bed!"
It was Duncan's voice, slurred and obnoxiously loud.
"Yeah right, Dunk. You just keep telling yourself that," one of his chuckling football buddies countered.
"No, I'm serious," Duncan insisted. "She's fucking insatiable, like a goddamned nympho or something. I even had to give her the room next to mine for the weekend just so I could get some sleep!"
A giggling female piped up, her tone more archly biting than amused. "I always wondered if a slut was hiding behind the goody-two shoes act. Like, why else would Duncan date a brown-noser like her for so long if she wasn't - all the stimulating conversation?"
"Conversation?" the jock scoffed. "Jean's got better things to do with that mouth of hers." He did a credible imitation of a vacuum, much to the delight of his audience.
People were laughing again, Duncan was strutting like a peacock, and Lance watched all from his vantage point above, completely stunned by what he was hearing.
"So what else does she do, Dunk?" someone hollered.
"Is she kinky?" another asked.
Duncan fielded their questions with nonchalant smugness, and then went on to embellish certain aspects of his replies, sounding as lewd as a letter straight from the pages of Penthouse - and in Lance's opinion, completely full of crap.
"What an asshole," he grated, surprised to feel an angry tension singing through his arms, a precursor usually reserved for quakes or violence - or both. He flexed his hands experimentally, wondering at his sudden desire to smash Duncan's teeth in.
Like I even need a reason to teach that stupid fuck some manners, he thought contemptuously, pushing away the notion that the sudden urge stemmed from hearing Jean spoken about with such disrespect. He didn't care about the redhead, let alone what people thought of her, so it was just too ridiculous to be a factor. But despite his vehement denial, the idea of sending a rockslide onto Duncan's head was mulled over anyway - an idea that never came to fruition, as Jean chose that moment to reveal herself, stepping into the circle of firelight, her mocking expression plain even at a distance.
Lance crowded close to the cliff's edge on hands and knees, his earlier misery forgotten at the sight of the redhead, and the instant hush her appearance had elicited from her so-called friends.
"Hey babe," Duncan was saying good-naturedly as he staggered to his feet, moving towards her as if for a kiss. "We were just talking about you."
Jean held out a hand, warning him away. "So I heard," she said simply as she stared hard at the assembled students. "Please, continue. Don't let my being here ruin the conversation, not when it was just starting to get interesting."
Guilty faces, shame-filled eyes, and the snapping of the fire were the only replies; no one said a word.
Jean looked disappointed. "What's the matter, out of gossip already?" she queried, turning a scornful smile on her boyfriend. "Or is it just harder to lie about someone when they're standing right in front of you?"
Duncan let out a little laugh, a nervous sound to Lance's ears, and tried to diffuse the situation. "C'mon, Jean, we were just having some fun -"
"At my expense?" the telepath cut in sharply. "By making me out to be some kind of whore from one of your perverted fantasies? Sounds real fun, Duncan. I'm glad everyone found your filthy imagination so entertaining, because I certainly didn't."
"Jeannie -"
"Save it for your next girlfriend, Duncan," Jean interrupted coolly, turning from the group, head held high as she walked away. "You and I are through."
Duncan stared after her as if not fully understanding what she'd just said, before a look of shock flashed across his features. "Jean, wait!" he cried a second later, tossing his bottle of beer into the fire, his bare feet kicking up sand as he charged down the beach.
Lance followed unthinkingly, traversing the edge of the cliff until he was once again afforded a clear view of the couple. Duncan had overtaken Jean, and was now pulling at her arm; his pleading words lost on Lance as they babbled from the inebriated jock's mouth. But where Duncan was close to incoherent, Jean's voice was like a whip crack.
"I said let go."
The jock murmured something in reply.
"I don't care how much you've had to drink, and I don't care if you're sorry. Let me go right now."
Lance was surprised anew to hear her sound so commanding, so sure of herself, so unlike the whiny, spoiled princess he'd always believed her to be. He could feel an urge to intervene welling up inside him, but he ignored it, even going so far as to smirk at the thought. "She won't need any help dealing with that piece of shit," he murmured, knowing exactly how the scene below was going to play out - which for all intents and purposes, it did.
Tired of listening to the football player's sniveling, Jean wrenched her arm from his grip with one quick movement and shoved him away with her free hand at the same time. Off balance and unsuspecting, Duncan toppled backwards, landing in the sand with an audible thump.
"Don't ever touch me again," Jean snapped. "I meant what I said, we're finished."
"Oh yeah?" Duncan yelled, brushing himself off as he scrambled upright. "Without me, you'll be the one who's finished! Without me, you're nothing! All I have to do is say the word and you'll be persona non grata at Bayville!"
"Is that so?" Jean asked lightly.
"Don't push me, Jean. You know I can do that and a hell of a lot more," Duncan warned, very unwisely reaching out and taking the redhead's upper arms in either of his hands. "Now, you're gonna drop the attitude, come back to the fire with me, tell everyone you're sorry for overreacting, and be nothing but nice for the rest of the weekend, understood?"
"And if I don't?"
"Then I'll finally get to see what you look like on your hands and knees - when you come crawling back to me!" Duncan barked out a nasty laugh. "Just make sure you know what to do while you're down there, 'cause I won't even think about taking you back without one hell of a performance."
It was too dark to see Jean's reaction to the crude ultimatum, but the resounding slap she delivered to Duncan's face after she jerked out of his grasp wasn't.
"Go to hell, you stupid, arrogant, son of a bitch," Lance heard her say with acidic sweetness.
Duncan, obviously shocked by the rebuff, stammered unintelligibly - about what, Lance never knew. One minute the blond was swaying unsteadily in the sand, blubbering his outrage, the next, he was flung by an invisible force into the depths of the icy lake behind him, his panicked shrieks echoing shrilly when he managed to claw his way to the surface. Jean didn't bother to stick around to ensure Duncan was fished out of the drink by some of his buddies, either. Lance saw one of her arms, pale against the darkness, move as if she were throwing something at her former boyfriend - a big rock, he hoped - and then she was retreating back the way she'd come, vanishing into the night without another word.
Losing sight of her, Lance sat back on his heels and scrubbed a hand through his hair. "That was some dysfunctional Jerry Springer shit right there," he said, exhaling heavily, not even sure why he'd lingered to witness such a soap opera in the first place.
Better than dealing with my problems, he decided with a tired shrug, the depression over losing Kitty once again looming in the back of his head like a threatening cloud just waiting to burst.
As if the analogy had been a summons, several cold pellets of water pattered down from the dark sky above, slapping against his exposed skin and jolting him from his musings with a muttered curse.
"Great, this is all I need," he grumbled, stalking back towards the glow of Duncan's cottage.
He'd just made the edge of the makeshift parking lot when the rain began in earnest, a growl of thunder preceding several bright flashes of lightning, announcing the onset of a late-season storm. Darting through the haphazard rows of cars, one hand held up to shield his eyes from the downpour, Lance tried unsuccessfully to remember where he'd left his jeep, now thankful that he'd been too lazy to take the reinforced canvas top off.
"Left the damned windows down, though," he recalled with annoyance, irritation that was compounded when the hem of his sodden vest caught on the side mirror of the vehicle he'd been rushing past. He paused to tug the fabric free, immediately identifying the familiar blue convertible - currently filling with rain - as Duncan's.
"What a moron," Lance snorted, seeing that the jock hadn't put up the retractable roof, thereby leaving the expensive leather interior exposed to the elements.
Puddles had already started to form in the gentle depressions of each bucket seat, soaking the CDs and letterman's jacket that had been carelessly left behind, when Lance - now dripping wet and thoroughly aggravated - finally managed to disentangle himself from the mirror's clutches.
"Stupid fucking car," he groused, wishing he could kick the car's owner as soundly as he did the nearest tire, just as another, decidedly malicious idea formed in his head. He shot a quick look around, ensuring that the weather had driven all the outside partygoers to seek shelter, and then hurriedly unbuttoned his jeans.
"Thanks for inviting me to your suck-ass shin dig, Matthews," Lance laughed derisively, getting into position. "I forgot it was a 'bring your own' affair, so it's only right that I give you back the beer I had."
A second stream of liquid joined the efforts of the rain, spraying into the car and onto the seats, along the dashboard and against the steering wheel, eventually dying off as Lance's bladder emptied, though not before the satin lining of Duncan's jacket was given a very special bath.
The petty act of revenge complete, Lance refastened his pants and continued on to his jeep, feeling better than he had all night.