Title: Doubts and Confusion
Author: Cassandra West
Rating: PG-13 for language and sexual references
Fandom: X-men Pairing: Jono/Remy, past Jono/Gayle

Word Count: 2394
Dates: Originally written July 2002, edited and cleaned up 21 August, 2004
Notes: Part of a series called Insights that looks at particular moments in the character's lives. Originally written as part of an X-men slash RPG Main character listing: Jono Summary: Jono has a dream that brings into question some of his assumptions about his manifestation.
Author Notes:This is the dream referred to in the Coda to Fire of Justice. Occurs after 'Who am I?' and shortly before 'Fire of Justice' Jono has his face, and is involved with Remy. The relationship with Remy is far more significant to this fic than it was to the others in this series.
Acknowledgements: Thank you to my dear friend and adoptive brother, Star for the advice on the story and corrections on punctuation and grammar.
Disclaimer:Jono, Rogue, Remy, and all things X-men belong to Marvel, but the story herein is mine alone. I make no money from this.

Jono settled into Remy's arms and drifted deeper into sleep on the comfort of having a warm body curled close to him. He began to dream.

Images flitted through his mind, each disappearing as soon as he identified it to be replaced by another. Remy looking at him like he was the only thing that existed in the entire world. Gayle slamming her bedroom door in anger during one of their fights, leaving him to sleep on the sofa. Paige leaning in to kiss him when she'd been drunk that time. Gayle insisting that the bedroom door be closed so she could sleep. Rana spinning lightly to kiss him where his mouth would be, then skipping off before he could react. The boathouse with Remy. Photographs of Gayle's flat, lounge room destroyed, other rooms somewhat protected by the walls and doors. The gazebo last night. Gayle. Paige. Rana. The shower with Remy. Paige. Rana. Gayle. Tonight in his bed. The photo of the hall, just showing Gayle's bedroom, damage ending before it reached that door. This morning in Remy's room. Paige. Rana. Paige. Rana skipping off, a part of him yelling to go after her and throw his arms around her. Gayle. Groping Angelo in his basement room at the Academy, before he'd put a stop to it, rather than use his best friend. Gayle. Backing away from Paige, but moving just a little too slow to prevent the kiss. Gayle. Rana. Gayle yelling. Paige. Pushing Gayle away just firmly enough to put space between them, when she tried to use sex to get what she wanted. Rana. Gayle. Gayle. Gayle. Gayle.

Then he was there again. Gayle's flat. That night. He knew it immediately, even before he registered what this argument was about.

Jono moaned softly in his sleep, curling in on himself against Remy to get away from the scene playing out in his dream.

"They want us, Gayle. All of us... it's all or nothing. If they wanted me, or wanted the band without me, that would have been the offer. This is what I've wanted since I were fifteen, and even if it wasn't, I'm not taking the chance away from Vic, Charlie, and Andy. We're signing on Monday. I'm not selfish enough to make them work and slave and plug away for another eighteen months or more in the hopes of another chance; especially as offers will be harder to come by because they'll have rejected the first one."

Gayle glared, "But going off for months with two faggots you used to sleep with isn't at all selfish? To cities where no one knows you to spread tales back. Leaving your girlfriend and their socially acceptable little accessories behind. Forgive me for saying that it's not exactly a confidence inspiring scenario. It sounds more like planning a tryst."

"The word is bisexual, Gayle, as in interested in both men and women. And I used to sleep with them. Past tense. And all three of us are involved with other people now. Vic and Gavin ain't gonna fuck up their relationships just to get a piece of me arse. They ain't gonna fuck up my relationship with you for that, either. They wouldn't do that any more than I would. And think about who you're talking about, Gayle. Vic, the guy with no discernible sense of propriety, the one who outed me to me old man because he was sick of hearing Ethan rant about everything not white, heterosexual, and Church of England; the bloke what seems to actively try to have his whole life as socially unacceptable as possible." He turned away, trying to avoid getting as angry as he wanted to. "And Gavin... In case you've forgotten, he quite publicly has both a fiancee and a boyfriend, and has no problem at all with admitting to the whole world that Mary Elizabeth and Marcus are involved with each other as well as him. And not as if he's gonna be with us the whole time as he's just the manager. Neither of them are gonna be looking for sex with me."

He stopped, then turned back to her shaking his head. "Except this ain't about them, is it? Least it's only part about the fact that you think I'd take any chance to be with them again, damn the consequences. It's about the fact that I used to sleep with blokes, ain't it? You think that I'm doing the social acceptability thing, that I fuck you because opposite sex patronage don't raise eyebrows like same sex ones do."

"Can you blame me Jonothan? You walk around constantly proclaiming you're his. Wearing his coat, his watch..." she kept talking through his attempted protest, "and don't tell me that you've slept with as many, or more, women as you have men. Am I supposed to believe it's coincidence, that the only actual relationships before me were with males? Tell me why I should believe that I'm not just a cover for the two of you! What the upper class does among themselves is their own business, just like it is for the lower class. But there are fucking rules for crossing class lines."

He'd finally had a bit too much for one night; tired, slightly high, more than a little drunk, he didn't want to be having this conversation. Didn't want to deal with those doubts so carefully maintained, so that he could lie to himself that he hadn't broken the rules of cross class relationships long ago by falling in love. He lit up a fag, not particularly caring that Gayle would have fits about him smoking inside.

"Fuck! Gayle, we both know that the first rule is that it's never permanent, never official. Sow your wild oats, then grow up and be responsible and respectable. Never fall in love. Never make it legal. Give the little chippy a job as your housemaid; lie about the paternity of her bastard children. Let people think she's a slag. Oh, if you're a noble type, leave them a nice little maintenance in your will and expect them to be grateful that you bothered to acknowledge their existence. Or, if you're a woman, you give him a job as the stable-hand, go off into the country to give birth to his bastards, then fob them off on relatives who won't ask questions, preferably ones who live abroad. Or keep him around after you marry some useless rich git and lie about who the baby's father is. Me lack of membership in the Ethan Starsmore bastard brigade taught me that much. But you never marry them. You never admit that it's happening. The fact that Gavin's marrying Eliza should be enough to tell you that he doesn't hide who he's fucking, just to preserve appearances."

He slumped onto the sofa and closed his eyes. "I'm neither his lover nor his property, Gayle. Don't ever call that coat or watch a mark of ownership again. Wear them both because they were given me by a mate, and because I'm a Cockney bastard used to making everything last long as possible. Heaven forbid that I value things that were given out of friendship because I needed them more'n I do the attempts to replace them to soothe your ego. Not now and never was Gavin's doxie, gender implications notwithstanding. Never thought I was yours either, but if you keep me from taking the best opportunity I've ever had, that's all I am and will ever be."

"You ungrateful little tosser! You always talk about wanting to get out of Muswell Hill more than anything else in your life! I got you out of there!"

Jono dropped his cigarette into a water glass on the end table and surged to his feet, positively bristling with Cockney pride. "You left off the last half of that threat, ducks. You're supposed to tell me you can drop me back there any time you choose. Do it then! I'd rather go back there and have to claw me way out by meself, than be some pet musician on a leash. Always wanted to get out on me own merits. Won't be your lapdog or your whore just to get out of there."

Gayle went white with rage. Quick reflexes allowed Jono to catch her hand, as she tried to slap him. Holding it tightly, he spoke, "You don't want to do that, ducks. Never hit you. Been tempted a time or two, but never have because I refuse to be the sorry excuse for a man that Ethan Starsmore is. But you hit me, I'll hit you back. And be sure I would hit harder. So I'd think before you hit me." He let go of her hand and waited.

Gayle stared at him for a moment, hand still raised to strike, then spun on her heel and stormed out of the room. A few seconds later, Jono heard the bedroom door slam. He knew from experience that he'd be better off sleeping on the sofa, rather than going anywhere near the bedroom. Nearly getting his head taken off by a flying book, had convinced him on that score. He hated arguing about it, hated that what he'd said had hurt Gayle... but it was true or at least felt true. He had to take this chance. More than that, he wanted to take it. Wanted to show that he wasn't just like every other Starsmore male in living memory. Finally, he sighed and settled down to sleep. Maybe things would look better in the morning.

In the bed, Jono squeezed himself into an even tighter little ball, pulling away from Remy as his dream-self fell asleep. He'd been over this in his mind a million times. He knew what came next. He'd woken up to the devastation in the flat. Gayle crippled, and every dream he'd ever had taken by his manifestation.

But that's not where the dream was going...

He was mostly asleep. Something... something had woken him. Hands running over his chest and the front of his pants, kisses and nips on his neck, a female voice whispering how good she could make him feel... Gayle. Even only barely awake, he could recognise this scenario. Every time they fought, and they fought a lot, Gayle would initiate sex, if she felt they didn't make up soon enough. Sometimes it was an apology, sometimes an attempt to make him think with his cock instead of his head, but always a way of resolving the argument without actually resolving anything. He never knew what she'd decided the sex meant until afterward, when she would either act as though nothing had happened because she'd 'apologised', or insist that the sex had been his agreement with her side of the argument. No matter how randy he was, he was always better off saying no at those times.

He was still hurt and angry enough, as well as tired and drunk enough, not to want to deal with this. All he wanted now was sleep. Sex, whether Gayle was being manipulative or just trying to apologise, wouldn't help anything. He thrashed a little, seeking a more comfortable position, muttering sleepy nonsense, trying to slip into a deeper sleep again. And Gayle kept it up. He kept sinking as far into the sofa as possible, seeking only sleep, but Gayle kept trying to wake him. Trying to push her away, tell her he wasn't interested without waking up enough to co-ordinate his actions. He just wanted her to leave him alone for a while, let him sleep off as much of it as could be slept off.

The flash of heat that had woken him that night also woke him from the dream. He sat up in panic, whimpering softly from the nightmare. It only took a few seconds to determine where he was, that it had just been a nightmare and not a very surprising one at that, given recent occurrences. Remy rolled closer and reached for him as his weight shifted on the bed. Leaning against the headboard, he gasped out heaving breaths, until he started to relax. He knew that sleep was out of the question. He also realised that he could feel the solid form of his face and chest fading, and the psi-fire returning to its usual state. "Hrtzgbl?" Remy questioned in his sleep, settling a questing arm around Jono's waist.

Jono slithered out from under Remy's arm and grabbed the bandages off the headboard before getting up to avoid waking Remy. He kissed the other man's forehead lightly, prompting a "bsfkts?" from the sleeping thief. "Go back to sleep, luv. I'll be back later, swear it. Just need to sort the dream I had out in me head so's I can sleep," he whispered. He stayed beside the bed, watching his lover, as Remy settled back into sleep following his reassuance. Then he quietly donned a sweatshirt and pants, and snagged his guitar and journal. We can see where your priorities lie, Starsmore, and these are the only things you've bothered to unpack so far. Music or writing or mindless drivel on the television at this hour would provide enough distraction that he could just let his mind churn over the dream, until he could sleep again. Managing the items with the ease of experience, he slipped out into the hall, trying to decide between the television in the Rec Room and an out of the way corner to write or play.

Jono headed down to the Rec Room and turned on the television, sprawling onto one of the couches to tune his guitar. Only damn thing tea was ever good for, thinking time while brewing it and usually have some peace of mind by the time you finish the cup... or pot. Looking at his journal then the guitar, he considered what he wanted to do. Hell, might as well do it while I have the chance... if I still have the chance. He leaned his guitar against one of the endtables and headed to the kitchen. He went in and groaned to himself: Why does this place have to have a kitchen bigger than me bloody bedroom, the one at the Academy at that? How's a bloke supposed to find anything in this barn?