Dislcaimer: Marvel's, bitches.
Fandom: X-men. Movie-verse (after X2).
Title: A New Brotherhood: After Everything Else (Part One)
Author: Dorothy
Rating: PG13
Summary: John experiences the other side.
Additional Notes: Feedback is good.
A New Brotherhood
After Everything Else
John checked his watch for the sixteenth time. He hoped it always wouldn't be like this, this constant, never-ending waiting and wondering. But Mystique had basically said that Patience Was A Virtue and considering that he was technically on the same side as she was, he was far too new to argue. So John had waited in the hotel for her, minute after minute, hour after hour, wondering and waiting rather impatiently. And where was Magneto during all this? John didn't know.
The first day of his new life was the most shocking for two reasons. As soon as John heard the hotel door open, he rushed to ask what the heck was going on. Then, he stopped, blinked, and backed away as the hallway maid stared guardedly back at him. What was she doing here? The room didn't need to be made. Then her skin melted away and Mystique stood in her place, silent and watchful. John would never get used to her power, he knew. He never liked Mystique, and he also knew he probably couldn't trust her either. John didn't know what was going on and he had joined because, really, he wanted to know. If it was going to be the same as Xavier's, then what was the point of joining Magneto in the first place?
He flicked his lighter nervously. "So, uh, what's going on?"
She had this way of making him feel anxious. Mystique had swayed her hips as he passed him and headed straight to the liquor bottles, not bothering to answer. He followed her, but kept his distance.
"Where's Magneto?" He asked.
Her yellow eyes slid into focus as she studied him. Her silence made his heart beat slightly faster and made his palms feel slightly moist. She might be better, strong, more experienced, but he wasn't going to be a pussy in front of her either.
But he looked away as she sat, her blue legs folding together nicely.
"Do I have stick around here all day?" He asked her finally. "'Cause I really want to do something." She continued to watch him and he flicked his lighter again, a familiar heat rising up his neck. "Hello? Can you hear me?"
She closed her eyes, as if exasperated. Then she took a sip of her beverage. "We will stay here for a few days until I can get us something better." He bristled, feeling as if he was being spoken to like a child. "Magneto is getting his children."
John came closer, just slightly, and tilted his head. "Magneto has children?"
Her eyes slowly opened. "Yes." She paused, the glass nearly touching her lips. "I will be gone early tomorrow. Do what you will." She stood and headed toward the bedroom, where she slept. "But be back by ten tomorrow evening." She barely glanced at him as she slid the half-empty glass along the counter, closing the door tightly behind her. John glanced at his own makeshift bed – a measly couch with an extra blanket and pillow Mystique had thrown at him late last night. He sighed, flicked his lighter, and shivered as a gust of cold air blew on him.
This, John silently fumed, wasn't what he wanted.
The second day was better, however. Mystique had done what she promised and John had the luxury and the permission to do what he pleased – and he did just that, but best of all: There were no classes. There was no Professor. He blinked. There was no Professor. And then he grinned, widely. He had to admit, though, to himself, that this was rather exciting. This whole freedom thing was awesome. Who cared about school? Who cared about the Professor? He was free, and living with Magneto was going to be his liberating factor. John was going to show him that he was serious - he was serious about being a mutant. He was serious about not hiding anymore. He was serious about his power. He was serious about so many, many things and he couldn't wait to show Magneto.
But first, he had to eat. No one could impress someone else with an empty stomach.
There was no food, and that was what he needed more than anything. He woke up at eleven that morning, which was fairly unusual after a night of tossing and turning, and saw twenty dollars by the television. He took that as a sign and swiped it, glad to know that Mystique had some kind of heart – that, or Magneto had told her to leave him some cash.
"Ah, fuck." He muttered to himself. He wished he brought some clothes. He couldn't wear what he was wearing forever. He looked at the twenty dollar bill. Clothes. What could he buy with twenty dollars?
Underwear was his top priority. John glanced at some snacks displayed beside the television. He could always eat that for dinner and spend money on brunch/lunch and use ten bucks on underwear. McDonalds had that dollar menu, didn't they? John grinned to himself, mentally patting himself on the back.
He set out with that in mind. He made sure to lock the hotel room and kept his lighter clutched tightly in his hand.
First, he went to McDonalds and bought seven dollars worth of food – all from the dollar menu. He paid, sneering when tax was included. He was never good in math and had completely forgotten about tax. He could steal later, if needed to be. He grabbed his package and squinted once he set out into the cold sunlight; would New York ever stop being cold?
His next stop was Wal-Mart. As he stood right in front of the building, he felt his heart become heavy. He hated Wal-Mart… but he couldn't remember why. As he entered, he munched on a cheeseburger, idly passing the lady who was giving children stickers. He couldn't ever remember a time when he was a child getting one of those, but, of course, he was never privileged as a child. Even for a stupid Wal-Mart sticker.
John glanced down the underwear aisle, looking for the cheapest buy. They had washers and dryers at the hotel, didn't they? At this rate, he'd be washing and drying that same pair of underwear he was wearing for fuck who knows how long. He stopped when he saw something on sale and swiped it, wondering if he could possibly hide it in his McDonald paper bag. No. Probably in his jacket, though. He glanced around casually, senses heightened. He didn't see any security cameras. He snorted; Wal-Mart was probably too cheap to get security cameras. Nevertheless, he looked around anxiously and mentally crossed his fingers, hoping for the best.
Slowly, he slipped it into his jacket, securing it with his hand. He waited for the police, the sirens to scream – but none came. Exhaling loudly, John he took the last bite of his hamburger and reached in the McDonald bag for another, letting his eyes wander. He headed for the Men's Clothing section and watched three girls giggle over something in the greeting cards isle. He wondered what his friends were doing right that second.
Friends. Were they still his friends now? Magneto seemed to be in opposition with Xavier. Did that make Bobby and Marie his enemies? The thought clenched his insides, making him grimace. He couldn't imagine either of them as his 'enemies'. He surely hoped that Magneto wasn't picturing him firing fireballs or streams of flames toward either of them or at any of the kids at Xavier's.
He frowned, passing shirts on sale. Without moving to look under the pile, he tried to find a hint of black within the stack. None. Red? None. He scowled at the choices and strolled in the section, hoping that there was something he could wear. As he passed a mirror, his eyes caught hold of his reflection – he did a double take at once, staring at himself in the mirror. He looked exhausted. And, he thought grimly, he had a five o'clock shadow. But not only did he look tired, he felt tired. He sighed, heavily, and tore his gaze away.
John finished his second hamburger and looked inside his McDonald bag for the apple pie; he eyed it critically, but finally took it out and started to nibble on the edge. His eyes caught hold of something, however, and he walked backwards a few steps in order to view it properly.
That shirt would do. He took it, checking the price, and sighed when he realized he couldn't steal this one too – it would be too obvious. But it would do – it would fit his figure nicely, in any case. He returned to the mirror, placed the food bag on the floor, and held it up to his chest. Yeah, he thought tiredly, it would do.
As he headed toward the cash register, his mind wandered to Marie and Bobby. Did they miss him? He paid for the shirt, underwear tightly secured at his side. A nagging weight kept on repeating, No, they didn't. As he left with his heart grave, he finally remembered the reason why he never liked Wal-Mart.
It reminded him of things he didn't want to remember.
The third day, though, was a surprise. He awoke to find Mystique staring at him. He glanced at the digital clock and propped himself up on his elbow, sleep still controlling him. She remained still, eyes never wavering. He shuddered and reached for a new shirt, avoiding her eyes.
"Whassit?" he muttered, yawning. When John glanced up, her yellow eyes narrowed as he ran his hands through his hair, yawning once more.
"Get dressed." She said rather crossly. "We're leaving." Mystique glanced at his pile of clothes, messily piled under yesterday's McDonald bag. "Bring your belongings." She glided past him, standing by the closed door. He stretched, combed back his hair with his fingers, grabbed everything he owned and followed her at a respectable distance.
As they stepped into the elevator, John glanced at her. "Aren't you going to change?"
She tilted his head back some, not bothering to glance at him. "Yes."
He tapped his foot and looked around. John opened his mouth, but he closed it right after he saw her feet start to morph. His heart fluttered violently as her hands followed suit and her hair changed from a bright orange to a lovely, straight blond; the elevator dinged loudly. A plump, short man with a hat came in and ignored John, eying Mystique. He leaned over heavily to press a button, his grunting and largeness making John wince.
John asked weakly, "Where're we going?"
Mystique glanced at him, her bright yellow eyes changing into blue.
"To Magneto's." She purred.
When Pyro first stepped into Magneto's operation room, he felt a rush of cold air against his skin. Why was that always happening to him? He shivered, pulling his leather jacket tighter around his body. Mystique glided swiftly past him, having already changed back to her original, bright blue self and had settled herself on a leather couch. John followed her and sat in the other one, his hands in his pockets. She watched him in silence.
"Ah, Pyro." John glanced over his shoulder as a metal door slid to reveal Magneto clad in that rather ridiculous helmet. John wisely kept his opinion to himself. He stood, feeling it rather rude to sit. He glanced at Mystique as she did the same.
"Please," Magneto began, almost warmly, "Sit." John sat back down, but Mystique remained upright. She crossed over to Magneto quickly and leaned in, whispering something in his ear. He nodded and she changed quickly into Senator Kelly, walking promptly out of the door they entered in. John blinked. Senator Kelly?
John flicked his lighter anxiously, watching Mystique's back.
"Tell me, Pyro," Magneto drawled after a long moment of silence, "Do you regret leaving Xavier's?"
John furrowed his eyebrows. Was that a trick question? "No?" He looked at Magneto. "I mean, why should I?"
Magneto barely nodded. "You remind me of myself when I was younger, you know." John looked at him closely, straining to hear. "A little impulsive." A thoughtful pause. "Quite willing to find yourself…" The older man trailed off and then looked at John, lips pressed together.
"I found myself eventually, with the hindrance of homo-sapiens." John blinked. "And I found out it was a cruel world out there. Mutant Killers, I like to call them – these homo-sapiens – don't take warmly to us, you understand?"
John nodded, agreeing. He opened his mouth but closed it when Magneto continued. "You will find yourself too, I imagine. Probably here."
John shifted in surprised when his lighter floated out of his hands. Magneto outstretched his arm and lightly took the lighter between his thumb and fingers, studying it as if he were studying John himself. John chest swelled with pride when Magneto smiled and flicked the lighter, revealing a bright, strong, glowing flame.
"When did you find out you could control fire?"
John scratched the back of his head. "I don't quite remember when, exactly, but after we moved to the States." He nodded, memories gradually coming back. "Mom was cooking a fire in the back and I sneezed. The trailer next to us caught on fire." He looked up to see Magneto watching him carefully. He looked away, to the ground, anywhere. "There was panic everywhere, but I couldn't help but think how cool it was. I thought it was me at first, it probably was, but I didn't mean it. I was playing with matches the next day when my mom was looking for a job. I just wanted to see if it was me… you know, if I set the vehicle on fire, right? I concentrated and the grass caught on fire. Like-," He moved his hands. "I pointed to the right and fire streamed from the match and burned the grass." He grinned up at Magneto. "That's when I realized I could control fire. I kept matches by my side until I got a lighter – which was like, a month later."
Magneto nodded, his eyes twinkling. John breathed, out of breath, and gladly accepted his lighter back when Magneto gently placed it in his hand. Then the older man turned away, his back slightly tense.
"I apologize for the past few days." Magneto looked over his shoulder. "Mystique is currently trying to find a suitable townhouse that will accommodate us. We will have to pose as a family." Magneto looked out of a wide, black window. "It is a daunting process. Tomorrow, you will meet Pietro and Wanda. There is a room close to the entrance where you will spend the night. The day after tomorrow, we will move."
John nodded, taking this all in. He stood, feeling his right leg falling asleep. He shook it slightly, casually, hoping Magneto wouldn't notice. Magneto slowly turned around and John leaned against the arm of the couch in hopes to stay upright.
"Mystique will come back tonight with a bag of clothes for you. I do apologize for the delay."
John shrugged, feeling the numbness start to dissipate. "Uh, it's fine, you don't have to apologize." He grimaced. "Er." He paused, thinking quickly. "Thanks for taking me in, though." He added, hoping that would make an impression. Magneto nodded, and John felt that it did.
"Your current belongings are in the third room from the entrance. It is the only door that has a handle. You will sleep there for tonight. There is no television, but it's late anyway." John glanced from Magneto's pendulum to the metal clock hanging dangerously in mid-air. When had it become ten thirty?
John flicked his lighter. "Thanks." He cleared his throat, slightly limping to the door. "Uh, night." John glanced around and frowned when Magneto's eyes were fastened on him.
He shivered, but this time, it wasn't from the cold.
When he awoke the next morning, a black bag next to his head caught his eye. He propped himself up on his elbow and took in his surroundings. It was a small room, but the couch was comfier than the hotel's. He yawned, reaching over to see what was in the duffle bag.
Clothes. John sighed gratefully. He pulled out everything and placed them on the coffee table; he separated the underwear, the shirts and the pants – and the socks. He grinned widely when he found out they were all his sizes too. Awesome, he thought. John suddenly felt giddy, which was rare in the last two days.
There was a gentle knock on the door. John, blinking, stood. "Uh, come in?"
A young lady, barely twenty, stepped in. She smiled, which was something John seldom saw these days and brushed her hair away from her face. She wasn't exceptionally pretty, but her features were soft and delicate.
"They sent me to get you." She twined hair around her forefinger. "Do you want some breakfast?"
John felt his insides squirm as she looked at him. He put down his belongings but took his lighter, placing it in his pocket. She looked unsure as he approached, so he cleared his throat and stopped.
"Yeah, so, who're you?"
"Wanda. You're John, right?"
Wanda. His head buzzed. "Yeah. Pyro. Whatever."
She held open the door for him. He waited as she walked by him.
"Aren't you Magneto's kid?" John asked, catching up to her.
"Yes." She smiled demurely. John saw a flash of bright, white teeth and he grinned to himself.
"Yeah, cool. Don't you have a brother or something? Peter?"
Wanda giggled. "Pietro. Yes, he's asleep. When he runs out of energy, he sleeps to recharge. He'll get groggy if he doesn't recharge fully, and that's never good."
Recharge? John frowned. Pietro sounded like a battery. But he shook the thought away from his head and he tilted it upwards, smelling food. Wanda seemed to notice his behavior and giggled again, placing a hand over her mouth as if to hide it. He chuckled quietly.
"So, you're a mutant then?" Nice, John.
"Well, I try to be," came her soft reply. Before John could ask what she meant, they stepped into another room. He let her enter first, however, and was surprised to see that no one else was around. Where were Magneto and Mystique? Wanda seemed to sense his inquiry and spoke. "Magneto is busy and Mystique always leaves early in the morning… do you want some toast? Or eggs?"
He faced her. "Uh, whatever, toast is fine."
As he sat down on a metal stool, he watched her.
"What did you mean that you try to be? So you're not or what?"
The toaster clattered on the counter. John thought he heard her curse, but that could've just been his imagination. He watched her move clumsily before he finally stood up, moving around the island counter to help her.
"I am a mutant." Wanda said. Then she looked at him as he began getting his breakfast ware set up. He moved closer to her, and he thought he felt her shiver. "But my power…" she whispered when he was close enough, "It's just hard to control."
He watched her duck head, placing bread into the toaster. Then she rubbed her arms as a stream of air blew against them.
John never had that problem, so he couldn't exactly say he understood. Instead, he cleared his throat and slipped off his jacket. "Here. You look cold." Which she did, in any case, and besides – she was cute and this would definitely get him brownie points. He grinned when she seemed surprised.
"Thanks." She whispered. Their eyes locked for a moment. Then he helped her put the jacket on and when the toaster popped, he spoke.
"So, tell me about yourself." He began casually, "Considering that we're going to be living together for who knows how long." He glanced at her, watching her lips part to speak.
"Wanda."
John watched Wanda stiffen.
When he turned around, he blinked in surprise as a boy, probably a little younger than himself, stared back at him with identical eyes as Magneto. And the face – John had to look away to cease from staring. He took a considerable step back and nodded his greeting.
"Pyro. John. Whatever. You're Pie-Pietro, is it?" John raised an eyebrow. Beside him, Wanda quickly moved to another counter, preparing, what he hoped, was his breakfast.
"Yeah. Pietro." Pietro glanced at Wanda and frowned, deeply. "What the hell are you wearing?" John turned to look, but then blinked when he realized Pietro was talking about his jacket.
"I'm wearing John's jacket. It's cold in here." John strained to hear, taking a step in between them. Then he felt Pietro's eyes boring into his head. John took one last look at Wanda's back and then slowly began to walk away, watching Pietro curiously. The boy had moved onto watching his sister.
"That jacket won't do." John refrained from rolling his eyes and instead, turned around so that neither of them could see his face. Then he felt a rush of wind and by the time he turned back, Pietro was holding a bigger and heavier jacket. John turned around, hearing the door shut.
"Hey, how'd you do that?" Where'd that jacket come from?
"Wouldn't you like to know." Pietro replied, sending John a smug look. John watched as Wanda looked between them, until finally, she shed John's jacket and slipped into Pietro's. Without looking at John, she nodded at Pietro and turned back to fixing his breakfast.
Seeming satisfied, Pietro held out John's jacket. "Here. She doesn't need it."
John inhaled deeply, a deep frown forming on his features. And he thought that HE was a jerk. "Yeah." He paused, rolling his eyes. "Thanks."
Wanda turned around and scooped two already made eggs onto John's plate. John watched Pietro eyeing it critically before the other boy took a seat next to him. He suppressed the urge to throw the food in his face.
"So." John looked up to see Pietro staring at him. "Who're you?"
"Call me John or Pyro, I already told you that before." He started to cut up his eggs and picked up some toast. John looked up and nodded, though, when Wanda placed some orange juice in front of him.
Pietro made an impatient sound beside him and waved his hands. "That's not what I meant – I mean, what's your power? Pyro sounds gay."
"Pietro!" Wanda stared. She looked at John apologetically. "And he's just asking that because he wants to show off his." Beside him, Pietro grinned.
"Fire. I can control fire." Never mind that he couldn't start it, but hey, manipulating it was probably the next best thing; if only he was immune to it – then he'd be a walking disaster. Wanda smiled as she made another breakfast plate, probably for herself.
"That's really cool." She said, but once again, Pietro scoffed. John felt a wave of agitation every time he looked at the other boy – the only thing that wasn't stopping him from burning his head was the fact that these two were Magneto's children. And if he had to live with them, well, then he would try his best to get along… even if that meant he had to spend one second with Pietro.
John spoke before looking at Pietro. "Yeah? And what's yours, then? Being a jerk-off?"
Pietro laughed. Loudly. John glanced at Wanda and his brows furrowed when he saw her look away. If he didn't know better –
But his thoughts ripped away once he consciously realized that his fingers were gripping nothing but thin air. He glanced around for his toast – but his gaze stationed at Pietro's fingers. But the boy was across the kitchen, leaning against another counter. The Magneto-look-a-like took a bite of John's toast, shaking it tauntingly in the air.
"Good toast, Wanda. How about making your favorite person some?"
Wanda put a plate on the table, which supported three eggs and three pieces of toast for her brother. She, with a napkin, took one of Pietro's toasts and passed it to John. "I just did." When John glanced at her, she smiled at him. But the smile was gone as she turned around, cleaning the counters.
John fumed silently, but took the bread without comment. He glared at the other boy. "So, you're a teleporter?" John remembered the blue guy on the plane – Kurt? - and shook the thought of the X-Men away from his head.
Pietro was already at his seat before John had a chance to blink. The boy shook his head and passed a piece of toast to his sister. She smiled and took it.
"Nah, faster than that. Dude, I'm the fucking fastest person on this earth, that's what." Pietro took a bite of toast. His sister moved to sit beside John, but, curiously enough, Pietro had something else in mind. John watched as Pietro stood and steered his sister to sit beside him – but Wanda didn't seem to mind. In fact, it seemed as if she was used to it. But John looked away when Pietro caught him staring.
There was a silence. Finally, with the last bite of his eggs, John cleared his throat. "So." He looked at Wanda instead of Pietro. "What's your power again?"
"Breaking things." Pietro said, laughing when Wanda shoved him playfully. "Making things explode, you know, the usual." Wanda blushed scarlet. For some reason or another, it made John's heart race.
"I… um. It's kind of difficult to explain…"
John grinned, leaning forward to see her better. "It's not as if I have anywhere else to go." Was he flirting? Pietro exhaled loudly beside him.
"I like to say it increases the chances of things happening..." Wanda trailed off, scrunching her nose. "It's kind of like… if I was cooking and I wanted to make the eggs cook faster – I'd make the plate hotter…" she trailed off again, looking at Pietro for support.
Her brother nodded, and then grinned widely at her. "It's a lame power, but I still love her." She rolled her eyes, but John noticed that a faint flush came to her pale cheeks.
Damn, he thought. This girl is cute.
John heard the door open and all three of them turned to look. A blond, much older woman stared back at them. Pietro whistled loudly – and John couldn't blame him – the woman was good looking. Tall. Blonde. Blue-eyed. And a lot of cleavage – just what he liked.
"Lookin' good." Pietro smirked. "And what do we owe the plea-,"
"Get ready. We're leaving." The blonde woman suddenly morphed into a blue monster with orange hair. "We have to go now." The soft, seductive voice faded into Mystique's raspy one. John suppressed a grimace.
Pietro tilted his head and chewed slowly. He had a lot of nerve. "Why?"
"Use your brain." Mystique changed back into her previous skin, eying her boss' son critically. Then she turned on her heel and exited the room. John's insides clenched.
"Damn." Pietro whistled again. Then he stood and popped the last bit of toast in his mouth. "Wanda, go and pack your things. Mine'll be finished by the time you get to your room." Wanda took a bite of toast and wiped her mouth with her napkin, glancing at John. She smiled before taking off, casting a look at Pietro that John couldn't quite decipher. He looked at the younger boy, and then stood.
But Pietro was already in front of him. Blinking and taking a step back, John stepped off to the side but Pietro just followed him steadily.
"I've seen the way you look at my sister, dude." John raised an eyebrow. "Don't even think about it. She's not going to waste her time on someone like you."
He rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Move, will you?"
Pietro stepped to the side, eying John intensely. He felt the hairs at the back of his neck stand, and he stood at the door, scowling at Pietro. The boy hardly was something to worry about. And with that last thought in mind, John turned on his heel and went to pack for what hopefully was the last time.
John woke up, sweating profusely. His hair stuck to his face and his boxers stuck to his legs. He swallowed heavily before propping himself up on his elbow, trying to breathe evenly. The room spun around him; the bed soaked up his sweat. He blinked and glanced at his watch, trying to figure out the time. Eight Twenty.
He knew it wouldn't be long until he had a nightmare. Groaning because he knew he couldn't go back to sleep, he slowly swung his legs over the bed and raked a hand through his wet hair, exhaling.
He had to stop thinking of Bobby and Marie. He had to stop dreaming of Xavier's. It was madness to continue and it wasn't like he wasn't feeling guilty because really, a part of him really, really was.
John sighed. His throat felt dry.
He stood, stretching. He walked out of his room quietly, mindful of the stairs that led to the first floor. When he entered the kitchen, he walked to the fridge and took out some bottled water they had purchased earlier that day.
"Hello."
He turned around and blinked. Waiting by the door was Wanda – John's eyes bulged – in a rather skimpy nightdress. Where did she come from? He didn't even hear her. John turned away, though, so he couldn't be caught staring. He nodded his greeting and started to rummage through the fridge.
Wanda's body squeezed behind him. When he looked out from the corner of his eye, he saw that Wanda was leaning against the wall, her brown eyes trained on his body. He swallowed when she moved closer and touched his hip with the tip of her fingers.
"You're rather undressed." She said. His breath hitched when she stroked his hipbone. Nodding, he took a step back to watch her take another step towards him.
"Yeah, so are you. Uh." John asked breathily. She stood in front of him, biting her lower lip. "What are you doing?"
"I'm seducing you, of course." And before John had a chance to protest, her lips were pressed against his jaw. The nearness of her body was astounding. He reached behind him and fumbled to put the water bottle on a solid surface, a hand on her shoulder. Her body pressed against his and he shifted to where he was sure she could feel exactly how well she was doing with the seducing bit.
She giggled before her lips attached to the corner of his mouth. Both of his hands found her shoulders, but before he could gently push her away, her scarlet lips were pressed insistently against his. His senses doubled, tripled even. John closed his eyes and before he knew it, his hands were in her hair – twining and tugging and petting –
He pulled away violently, breathing hard. She stared back at him, ready to run – or strike, John he didn't know. He straightened and grabbed his water bottle, taking quick steps backward. His chest was slick with sweat once again, his lips throbbing from her kiss.
"Uh, this is a bit weird." He cleared his throat. She smiled, though, and walked towards him with a slight sway in her hips. John knew what he had to do. He stopped her with his hand, a frown on his features.
"Look, I barely know you and I'm sure we're going to be living here for a while and uh, although you're really good looking, uh, this is just a little weird for me." His mind drifted to Pietro and he shook his head, forcing the boy out of his thoughts. He took another step back, his hand still outstretched.
"It's just going to be a one night thing. I'll pretend it didn't even happen. We never have to tell anyone," She whispered. The strap of her nightdress started to slip from her shoulders and he simply watched it, swallowing.
Then he recomposed himself. John frowned. This surely wasn't the shy girl he was talking to days previous. It couldn't be. It just couldn't –
"Look, no, all right?" John gestured the distance between them with his hand, still quite breathless. She didn't speak. He stood there, watching her closely. Wanda seemed to be watching him.
Then, after a moment, she straightened, finally seeming to understand that he was serious, and that he wasn't going to budge. She didn't seem happy. He nodded, gave her one last look over, then turned on his heel and ran to his room, locking the door loudly.
He avoided getting out of his room for the rest of the day. A few times, someone knocked on his door but he simply didn't answer it. John peeked out once, though, just to see if the coast was clear, and it was, at the time he looked, but that wasn't enough to make him get out of there. But he knew he had to have something to eat and soon – because, really, the last thing he wanted to do was die by starvation.
John avoided looking at anyone when he walked down the stairs, fully clothed this time. He went into the kitchen and only glanced up when something on his right jerked; he looked up, coming face to face with Pietro. The boy smirked.
"Where were you all day? I already searched this pathetic community and its fucking dogs."
John glanced around. When he didn't see Wanda, he didn't say anything. "I was sleeping. Felt sick."
He sat at the table. Pietro watched him.
"Huh." Pietro glanced at the clock. "Fuck, where is she?"
"Who?" John muttered. He reached for the paper, pretending to be interested in it. What would Pietro say if he knew his sister had tried to seduce him earlier? He didn't want to think about it – it unsettled him heavily.
"Wanda, you dumbass." Pietro blew some hair out of his eyes, glancing at the door. "I'm starving. Mystique told her to go shopping today but she's taking too long." Pietro started to pace around the kitchen, glancing at the clock every few seconds. John watched from over his paper.
They both turned when the main door clicked. Pyro glanced to where Pietro was but the boy wasn't there. Frowning, John stood, but Pietro had returned with brown bags and had started to go through all the groceries.
"Every mutant for himself." John heard Pietro mutter. John walked over, but glanced at Wanda when she entered the kitchen. She smiled at him, brushing some hair behind her ear. Whatever feelings he had for her a few days ago – they were gone, thanks to that morning. He returned her silent greeting with a short nod of his head and moved away, letting Pietro be the man in the middle.
"I knocked on your door earlier," Wanda spoke, looking at John, "to see, you know, if you wanted to come with me to the groceries."
Pietro's head immediately shot up. "Why the hell didn't you ask me?"
"Because you weren't here." She frowned, and then turned her gaze back to John. Wanda moved closer, her smile getting bigger. "You didn't leave a list, so I just got something I thought you might like."
Wanda turned to the bags, rummaging through them. John was just hungry enough to take a step closer. She was acting like nothing had happened.
"I was… sleeping." He said, by way of explanation. Pietro, previously on his right, had moved to the table and was working on finishing three sandwiches. John returned his gaze to Wanda, his attention on her face.
She didn't act like there was something going on – to her, probably there wasn't. Wanda was acting like nothing happened at all. John's brows furrowed. But, of course, maybe she could just be a great actress. Well, whatever it was, he was going to lock his door at night and wear whatever he could around the house.
"I got pizza." She started placing things in the fridge. John watched her move, but moved when she squeezed to retrieve more things. "And – well, fruits. Milk. Um. Butter. Bread. Ham?" She looked at him.
John nodded in approval. He moved around her, finally starting to make his sandwich. Pietro, the bastard, had already been through the ham. When he glanced at the other boy, though, John watched him.
Pietro was watching his sister. John looked away before either of them caught him. This, he figured, was something he probably didn't want to know about.
The rest of the day passed by in a blur – mostly thanks to Pietro. The boy had pestered both Wanda and John to join him on his never-ending search for entertainment and John, although he'd rather sleep, had grudgingly agreed to come along. He kept his distance from Wanda, however, but pretended not to acknowledge anything out of the ordinary. Wanda, though, seemed to be doing the same.
Her indifference confused John, for a while, but he decided not to dwell on it.
That night, however, he locked his door and the one that was adjoining into the bathroom. John breathed. He had made sure to get some bottle water too, just in case he was awoken by another horrible dream.
He started thinking.
Was it really worth coming here? Living like this? Living with these people? Would it be worth it all? Would it be worth it in a year? In ten? Decades from now?
John didn't know.
But he would give his new life a chance.
For the next few months, John had learned to be observant. There wasn't anything else to do, but John slowly had started to notice things.
January. He had always lived a certain way and now, to be living with Mystique, Magneto, Pietro and Wanda, he suddenly felt … like he was part of a group that actually agreed with each other. He didn't want to take his chances saying it, but, it felt like a family. The actual unity of dedication was foreign to him. There were no immature kids running around. There was no one asking him questions. And, really, Magneto, John noticed, seemed to care. Magneto asked him how he was doing, what he was thinking - Magneto never talked much about his plans in front of Pietro and Wanda, but John realized that his mouth had become loose whenever John walked in the room whether it was on accident, or purposely.
Magneto had always smiled, too.
February. John hated February for a lot of reasons that he never spoke of. There were too many hearts and too many red and pinks and whites that he hated. Valentines was over-commercialized and exaggerated. But on the 14th of February, Wanda had made everyone a Valentine's card – Pietro's, of course, being the biggest and reddest. Pietro had stuffed his in his pocket and John kept his card taped on his closet door and looked at it every morning before he dragged himself out from bed. It, truthfully, actually made his mornings a little nicer.
John also noticed that no one called him John any longer. Pyro. That was his name now.
And he started to take it on as an endearment.
March. Pyro loved the fact that no one bothered him. He loved the fact that he was the oldest out of his peers. He now had time to think of things he wanted to. He now had time to do whatever he pleased. Wanda listened to him and Pietro challenged him respectfully – that is, as respectfully as Pietro could get.
"Where're you going?" Pyro looked up from the morning paper. The passing blur stopped and Pietro raised his eyebrow, looking at him.
"My grocery duty today dickface," Pietro rolled his eyes, "I'll be back soon."
Pyro heard the door bang and the keys turning the lock. He returned to what he was reading. Pyro turned the page of his paper and his eyes caught the word mutants. Senator Kelly was on the third page speaking of Mutant Rights and America's Promise of Peace and Equality.
Pyro's brows furrowed. When was the last time he saw Mystique? She was never around anymore, and Mystique and Magneto had always returned back to the townhouse at horrific hours in the morning. Pyro never questioned either individual when he passed them some coffee and they never said anything when they took it.
There were civil disturbances all around the country. Was that what Mystique and Magneto were taking care of?
John cleared his mind when Wanda's red shirt caught his attention. He folded the paper and watched her.
She asked, "Where's Pietro?"
"Groceries." He replied shortly.
"It was my duty today." Wanda's brow creased and Pyro stood. Flicking his zippo, he headed to the fridge to see the list of who-does-what-on-what-days and searched for Pietro's name. But it was Wanda's day to do the groceries.
"Well, let him get it." He looked at her, "Gives him something to do."
Her eyes dropped and Pyro felt a peach pit of sympathy, for one reason or another. She really did depend on her brother, he had noticed. He shrugged, flicking his lighter again. "Want to play Mario Kart?" Wanda's eyes shot up and a smile spread across her face. Pyro had to bite his lower lip from laughing.
"Okay." She said, already heading toward the television. Pyro followed her and glanced at the clock. Fifteen minutes had passed, but there was no sign of Pietro.
April. Pyro didn't smoke that much but when he did, it was usually only one cigarette a day. A week, maybe, if things were looking up. But that day, he had smoked five. He could practically feel his lungs filling up with that black stuff you saw on the television, but he couldn't quite put his stick down.
He hated remembering but he did it anyway.
It was April and April was always one of his favorite months beside August (which was when his birthday was) and Christmas (which was, well, when he got presents and got to eat turkey and cranberry and all those delicious other things).
April was officially his definition of spring.
In April, that's when you first saw the green sprouting out from the earth. April was when everyone else was coughing and hacking because they had allergies and he didn't and he got to watch them, snickering behind his hand. April was when the trees started to bloom and when the weather was on the cool. He didn't like the cold, but April he could tolerate. April was when he didn't have to wear his old jacket and when he could stare outside his window at the morning showers.
April was the first time when Bobby and Marie urged him to swim in the pool, assuring him that they'd save him if he started drowning.
But Bobby and Marie weren't there anymore. When Pyro thought about it, he guessed they were swimming in the pool right now, or, Marie would be lounging on the chair with Jubilee and Kitty and Bobby would be looking at her in that small bikini that Pyro always thought looked far too revealing on her. She was far too dangerous to be showing so much appealing skin for Bobby. And the suit was ugly, but he wasn't going to remember that or the way Bobby thought it was perfect.
Pyro hated remembering, but he wasn't going to blame April for it.
May. It was hot and heavy and with all those bodies grinding against him and lips against his ear, he didn't know how people managed to stay on the dance floor and not to fuck each other senseless. How long had it been since he had been so aroused?
He couldn't remember because it never happened like this.
Magneto and Mystique weren't going to be there for the week. Pietro and Wanda had said they were going to the movies that night and when Wanda had asked him to come, Pietro's gaze of doom was enough to tell him that it wasn't going to be worth it. He simply wasn't patient enough for Pietro. He had declined politely and told them he had better things to do – like that girl who was bending over in front of him with her ass against his crotch and that guy (was it a guy?) behind him that was breathing heavily into his ear.
He closed his eyes and listened to the music, happy to know that he could do anything – anything – he wanted to do. Fire danced above his head and he suddenly felt worshipped.
Hands touched him and sweat slid down his back and his hair clung to his face; someone touched his hip and he wondered if his thinking was going to far because if he didn't know any better, those hands felt like ice and no, they couldn't belong to Bobby.
He inhaled and managed to glance over his shoulder. It wasn't even a boy. The woman kissed him and he exhaled, bringing her closer.
This, he decided, simply couldn't get better.
June. July. August. Pyro never spoke to Mystique willingly and she didn't engage in conversation with him either. Pietro and Wanda, on the other hand, seemed indifferent of her constant presence. If Pyro didn't know any better, then he thought Mystique – well – that Mystique was lonely.
But that couldn't be the case because Mystique could technically get along with everybody because she had a million identities and at least one of them was something she could make good use of.
He never talked to her and he also had never seen Pietro or Wanda speak to her either. Magneto, of course, was out of the picture because he was always busy for reasons he didn't discuss and with Magneto always absent, Mystique had to talk to someone, didn't she? Pyro took a step back from that challenge.
The next day, Pyro had lifted an eyebrow when he saw Mystique waiting for them by the door with a blue towel to match her scales. Pietro, Wanda and Pyro had gone there every day since the weather had turned out for the good; Pyro knew he was going to get a great tan and that even Pietro couldn't say no to the coolness of the water or the skimpy bikinis everyone seemed to wear in the summer months. Mystique had watched them leave the first day, but on the second and third and fourth and every single day after that, she had morphed into a pretty young thing, twenty, twenty-one, and had looked Pietro up and down with a raised eyebrow when he practically drooled on her huge assets.
Pyro laughed and saw a twinkle in Mystique's blue eyes when she turned to him. She shrunk them, though, much to Pietro's dismay.
Pyro settled back against the white lounge chair under the shade. Mystique had moved to the other end of the pool area, away from the three of them and Pyro laughed, again, when several men nearly tripped over their own two feet when she swayed her hips or turned to lie on her stomach. Maybe there was more to Mystique than Pyro thought.
He turned when he heard Pietro's loud laugh and Wanda's screams of mirth. He watched them silently. How old were they? Eighteen? Nineteen? Somewhere along those lines – he forgot.
Wanda turned in his direction and squirmed in her brother's grasp. They were on the edge of the pool and the lifeguard wasn't paying attention. Typical. Pyro narrowed his eyes, though, when Pietro's hand moved against her thigh and against her stomach – Pyro turned away, swallowing. No, they couldn't be – could they? He had never had any brothers or sisters, but weren't their actions a little… incestuous?
He turned back to watch them. Pietro had his mouth against her ear and was whispering something. Wanda laughed, throwing her hair back, before shoving him away and therefore falling into the pool. Pietro laughed triumphantly with both hands on his hips, water dripping down his body.
Pyro watched him. He watched them.
The hairs on the back of his neck stood and he felt eyes on his face.
When he looked around, Mystique's blue eyes were gone and her yellow eyes shifted between Pietro and Wanda and then back at him. Then they were blue again and Pyro didn't quite know what happened.
September. Pyro trudged down the stairs at eleven that night, feeling the lazy September evening settle on his shoulders. Like the last few months, Magneto had arrived at ungodly hours in the morning and the twins, more specifically, Pietro, had been … absent. Wanda asked Pyro every day where Pietro was and Pyro was getting a little tired of playing Mario Kart with her while they waited for him. He suspected Wanda was getting tired as well. They got along well, however. Wanda liked the fact that Pyro had a good sense of what colors to coordinate and the fact that he took care of his laundry.
He stopped thinking, though, when he heard a noise in the kitchen. He peeked around the door and saw Pietro fixing some food at normal speed. Pyro frowned.
"Wanda's sleeping -,"
"I know." Pietro turned to face him and Pyro's frown deepened. There was a slow, lagging feeling to Pietro's movements, but Pyro hated to point that out because that meant he was being observant and therefore, paying attention to the jerk.
"Right then." He opened the fridge bent to steal a water bottle, aware that Pietro crept behind him. When he straightened, he felt the other boy near his back.
"I didn't know you swung this way, man." Pietro smelled like something Pyro couldn't quite pinpoint. He smelled like fire. Ah, wait –
Pyro turned to face him. "What the hell are you talking about?"
Pietro simply leaned against the island counter, his gray eyes fastened on Pyro's brown ones. "What do you think I'm talking about, dickface?" He drawled. Pietro didn't drawl.
But before Pyro knew it, a hand was creeping up his stomach. He looked down to see Pietro's hand touching him, sliding up, pausing by his collarbone, and then, finally, touching the hair at the back of his neck. He was so close. Pyro watched him soundlessly and Pietro didn't seem like he wanted to stop. There was a glint in the boy's eyes that John had never, ever seen before.
"Get your fucking hands off me, man."
Pietro paused. A smirk. "Or what?" The boy stepped closer.
Pyro grasped his wrist, digging his nails into it. Then he pulled Pietro forward sharply, and kissed him.
Pietro's lips were cold and demanding and Pyro's hand ran through his hair, gripping the back of his head. He arched against him and then made sure his hip was rubbing against the boy's pelvis.
Pyro had it planned out perfectly, actually. In a moment, he would shove the boy away. He would sneer, hiss, and then lean forward so that his mouth was pressed against Pietro's ear. Then, he would say, 'Or I'll kill you.' And he had every intention of following that through.
What he didn't expect, though, was the sound of keys clinking noisily in the area of the front door. Pietro jerked away from him.
But it wasn't Pietro.
It was Mystique. Her blue scales were radiant in the dim light and Pyro was staring at her – he was staring at her obvious womanly curves and her red hair and her scales. He was staring at Mystique. She morphed her wrist so that it was small enough to escape his grasp and took several steps back, assuming a casual position against the counter. Pyro exhaled loudly, the kiss still on his lips, and leaned back shakily against the counter for support.
Magneto appeared; his white hair and light eyes eyed Pyro warily but without negativity. He turned to Mystique and smiled.
"My dear," he said, taking a step forward, "I believe that all our hard work is finally going to pay off." He took her scaly, reptilian hand and bent, kissing it. She smiled and rose to him; Magneto gently received her. They whispered something to each other and Pyro looked away.
"Hopefully Mystique wasn't keeping you up all night." There was a smile on Magneto's lips when Pyro glanced up.
Pyroglanced at her. She was smiling, the stupid bitch. "Oh, trust me," he drawled, forcing a smirk to his lips, "She wasn't."
Her smile was gone in the next moment. Magneto looked between them, but otherwise, didn't comment. It took him a moment to respond, as if he were calculating something. He nodded his head, his eyes glancing back at Pyro. His lips quirked. "Get some sleep." There was a long, long pause. "We'll see you tomorrow, I suppose." Another long pause. "Have a good night."
He tilted his head, and then walked away magnificently.
Mystique was still looking at Pyro. Magneto called for her.
And then, she followed.
October. Pyro thought it was Magneto who put her up to it, but then he figured that it was just Mystique by her lonesome. Magneto liked his games, but Pyro doubted he cared about this. Pyro knew that because of all the months that he lived with him.
Mystique was constantly by Pyro's side; for someone that looked so cold blooded, every time she had stood so near, he could practically feel her body heat. Thankfully, Wanda had refused to leave Pyro by himself (mostly because Pietro was never around) and in that, Mystique had kept her distance. Pyro was thankful that she at least had limits when it came to Magneto's children – whether it was for her own blue skin or personal preference.
Now that Pyro thought about it, it was probably Mystique who had advanced at him as Wanda. He frowned.
There were subtle hints here and there too. Mystique, one morning, whether teasingly or for Magneto's purposes, had morphed into a rather attractive blond gentleman in a gray business suit. Pyro had kept a considerable amount of space between them, making coffee as far away from her as possible. He could feel her eyes watching him over the morning paper.
When he turned around, they stared at each other for a long time, silent. He would not let his guard down. He sipped his coffee and she turned the pages. Then Magneto came, watched them without a word, and cleared his throat with one silver eyebrow raised. Then both of them were gone, leaving Pyro glancing at the back of the blond gentleman's head. And his back.
It was a fact, and probably an obvious one, that Pyro had never liked the blue-morphing monster. Magneto never made any comment but it was also obvious that it amused him. For Pyro, she was too evil and the thought of her messing with his mind made him uneasy. So he avoided her when possible and locked his door at night.
But the day before Halloween, Pyro smoked a little more, woke up too early and ate too little. Watching little kids run up and down the streets with masks and capes and swords and weapons made Pyro realize that he actually knew people who had to wear figurative masks and had weapons that were built in their bodies.
Maybe Magneto was right.
Maybe Magneto and John were actually very similar.
The older man had looked at his daughter with narrowed eyes when she asked to place a pumpkin outside of their townhouse. Pyro watched as Magneto shook his head curtly and Wanda never asked again.
On Halloween, Mystique was in her reptilian form when Pyro had entered the living room that late afternoon. Outside the window, little kids ran past with their parents trailing after them and Pyro turned to Mystique when she smiled wickedly at him.
He raised an eyebrow, honestly undisturbed. Someone made a noise behind him, and Pyro turned to see Wanda. Pyro watched, wordlessly, as Mystique stood and then changed into a child, perhaps ten or eleven, with poorly drawn blue scales wrapping around her arms and legs. Mystique's costume was ironically herself. She was clothed, thankfully, and was holding a plastic pumpkin, seemingly for treats.
Wanda giggled and held out her hand for the child. Mystique passed him and took it, yellow eyes shifting into the brightest blue Pyro had ever seen.
And for a second, they reminded him of a boy he once knew back at Xavier's. His chest tightened as John closed his eyes.
Wanda spoke. Her voice cleared his thoughts. "Mystique and I are going to get some candy, we'll be back later. Pietro's waiting for us outside. D'you want to come?" She smoothed down her jeans and Mystique tilted her head up.
Pyro looked at the child. He looked at Wanda.
"No thanks." He waved his hand and then moved toward the couch. "I have better things to do." He slid into the seat and his hands felt around for the remote, willing them away silently.
"We'll be back later, then. We'll bring you back something to eat." Pyro nodded as they started to move away. The door behind him closed and keys turned, but Pyro was staring at the black screen, sullen. He flicked his lighter.
There was something about Halloween that made Pyro disheartened. He looked to the side where they exited, remembering the way Mystique held onto Wanda's hand. Or was it the way Wanda held onto Mystique's?
Maybe Mystique had something Pyro didn't quite see. Maybe only Wanda saw it and sometimes, maybe even Pietro. Maybe Magneto saw it, which was why she smiled at him the way she did, or slid stealthily and quietly into his room at night.
Pyro didn't like Mystique.
But he had learned something this Halloween.
November. Pyro didn't know how long he stared at Bobby, Marie and Jubilee. It was the day after Thanksgiving and Wanda had somehow convinced Mystique to brave the crowds at the mall, and somehow, had gotten Pyro to come along.
At that moment, Pyro was rooted to the spot, hands clenching Wanda's bag. They were there, backs turned, but Pyro could never forget Marie's white bangs and Bobby's shaped back.
"Who's that?" Wanda took her bags from Pyro's hand, fingers lightly brushing his knuckles. He looked at her for a moment before he looked around for Mystique – and then he realized that maybe, just maybe, that was Mystique. She was Wanda's twin brother for the day, after all, since Pietro had better things to do. The boy had a lot of better things to do these days.
Pyro cleared his throat. "It's not important, is it?"
"You've been staring at them for three minutes." Pyro looked back down at her. Wanda's eyes flashed yellow, and Pyro looked back toward them.
"Where's Wanda?" He asked.
"Bathroom." Mystique glanced toward the small group and then back at Pyro. "What are you thinking?"
"Nothing." He sneered. But he was still looking at them.
Jubilee had cut her hair. It was a small bob that shaped her face; it suited her height and Pyro couldn't help but admire the job. She was wearing that yellow jacket that John always hated because it made everything seem far too perky and he hated that kind of perky, especially since Jubilee always seemed to be perky in the morning.
Marie had stayed the same for the most part. The white part of her hair was still noticeable from a distance and there were black gloves that were covering her dangerous hands. She seemed different, but Pyro couldn't exactly place his finger on it.
And lastly, Bobby… he hadn't changed at all. He looked older, maybe, but maybe it was just an optical illusion because Pyro hadn't seen him in a long, long time. Or maybe it was his mind playing tricks on him. Bobby's hair was the same length. His shoulders were still broad. Pyro's eyes traveled downward, fully aware of Mystique's eyes on his face. Bobby was smiling slightly, and John missed that.
How long had it been? How long had he stared? Pyro didn't know. His chest felt tight, and he had to look away.
"I think that's enough shopping for today." Mystique said when Wanda returned. She had stayed by his side during the whole scene. John turned around to face them so that his back was facing the people he once knew. He didn't know them anymore, after all.
"Yeah." He said. Pyro flicked his lighter – once, twice, three times.
Took one last look at Bobby.
Stood up a little straighter.
And walked away a little mightier.
December. Pyro never liked the cold or anything to do with it, and that included Mystique too. Perhaps he had said it too often. Perhaps he had expressed his animosity too loudly. Regardless, the week before Christmas, she was there. In his room. Watching him enter.
He closed the door to prove his indifference. Damn it, why was she looking at him like that?
"Can I help you?" He asked her, studying his nails.
"I wanted to talk, actually."
Talk? Pyro didn't glance up and focused on his cuticles. She shifted on his bed and crossed her legs, looking at him.
"He thinks very highly of you, you realize." Mystique said in her low, raspy voice. "He has told me on several occasions that he's glad you joined us in your quest to find yourself." Her yellow eyes were blank as she looked at him.
Pyro took out his lighter. "Tell him I appreciate the sentiments."
When Pyro finally looked at her, he couldn't help but feel a little uneasy at the fact that she was there, in his room, on his bed – being 'civil'. Her blueness reminded him of the depressing, cold weather outside that he never liked to indulge in. But maybe it was just her, and not her appearance.
"Do you know what we are?"
Pyro gave her a look. "Mutant terrorists." Mystique opened her mouth to speak and Pyro stopped her with his hand. "And you're asking me that nearly a year after I've lived with you guys? You have to give me more credit, man."
Mystique's lips quirked, "Making sure. I told Magneto that you saw your old … friends last month. He has asked me to make sure you understand what we are doing. What we stand for. If there are any regrets."
Pyro laughed. He flicked his lighter and a fire emerged. He summoned it to his other palm, letting a ball of flame dance inches above his hand. "There are none." None at all, he added silently. He looked at her when she shifted again.
"There is one more thing." She looked at him under her lashes.
"Shoot." Pyro flicked his lighter.
"Do not think I did those things for you." Pyro tilted his head upwards; the way she said it made him realize what, exactly, she was talking about. The seductions. He laughed in spite of himself and shrugged his shoulders.
"I didn't think so."
"I can be anyone you want me to be, however."
Was that a come-on? It certainly wasn't begging – that would be far too low for her and it was illogical. She could have anyone she wanted, really. Pyro laughed again and offered her a genuine smile, which she returned, seemingly sincere as well.
"I know. I have particular tastes, however."
After those words escaped his mouth, she stood slowly, her blue legs stretching out gracefully. She, slowly from head to toe, transformed into Pietro and put a beautiful smile on his face. It was a smile Pyro seldom saw, mostly because Pietro rarely smiled at all. Pyro nodded appraisingly, but otherwise, was silent.
"I don't want that." He couldn't help but smirk.
"Who would?" Pietro's eyes, controlled by Mystique, glanced in the general direction of the wall. Pyro thought of Wanda, but his mind went back to Mystique as she took another step closer, changing into Pyro himself.
"I don't look that bad, actually." He admired himself, tilting his head. His other self smirked, but that smirk was quickly changed into Jubilee's smirk. He blinked.
"No – no way in hell, man."
"Figured." Mystique purred. She, then, changed into Marie. She walked towards him now and parted her lips and Pyro's chest tightened when she stood beside him. He could – he could feel her body heat. Pyro had always had sensitivity to heat because it was part of the package deal.
"You can touch this, you know." she whispered. It sounded like Marie. He swallowed, because it definitely looked like her. Mystique only moved closer and pressed her face into John's jaw at an excruciating slow speed. Was this what Marie was supposed to feel like? John had to close his eyes so that he wouldn't look at her. He was too afraid that Mystique would change into someone else without his readiness.
But he knew what he wanted. And it wasn't Marie.
Just one name – that's all he had to say. But he couldn't. His lips parted to speak, but his throat was too dry. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, and his eyes remained closed.
Mystique, in Marie's body, moved closer and pressed her front against his front. Oh god. She was nuzzling his face and he swallowed one last time.
"I don't want that either." He gradually opened his eyes. Her nose touched his jaw, and he kept his face close to her cheek. He whispered in her ear. His whole body felt on fire and he knew what fire was, of course, and he didn't know why, but, he said it. "Try again."
He didn't close her eyes as Marie disappeared. He was so close to the other person that his eyes moved upward. His hands were grasping the lighter with such force that he knew it would leave a dent in his palm.
Bobby looked at him. His eyes were that remarkable blue that John had always liked. His hair was short and his lips were parted and his shoulders and his proximity –
"Yeah." Pyro laughed despite the unfunny circumstances. He grinned.
Bobby – Mystique – was still looking at him. Pyro felt Bobby's hand on his shoulder and he was just so near and so – so – so Bobby that Pyro had to look away. It wasn't Bobby. It was Mystique. But this was far too real.
"It's been a while, John."
Pyro looked at Bobby sharply. "No." Bobby blinked. "If you want something, Mystique-," he said very slowly and very quietly because the walls were very, very thin, "-then you're not going to fucking mess with my head, is that clear?"
Bobby's lips quirked and his hand returned to his side. He didn't move back, though. "Acceptable." It was Mystique's voice.
Pyro nodded and reached behind him, locking the door. Once wouldn't hurt. He was stronger than people gave him credit for. As long as he knew it was Mystique all along.
He leaned forward.
Just as long as he knew it was Mystique.
He pressed his lips against Bobby's.
Just as long as he knew it was Mystique.
And kissed him.
Just as long as he knew it was Mystique.
Pyro had to give Mystique credit for making Bobby's lips so very, very soft. He expected Bobby to be warm, truthfully, but this Bobby's lips were cold. And perfect. Pyro felt arms wrap around him and cold hands slipping into his shirt, sliding up his chest, palms pressing against his nipples and Bobby's tongue sliding slickly against his own. He was on fire.
It seemed as if gravity had relocated itself. He felt his body move toward the bed.
And forgot all about Mystique.
Pyro watched Mystique on Christmas morning. It had been a week since he had seen her. Her legs were crossed under the kitchen table and she was sipping her coffee leisurely, eyes trained on the paper. He wasn't surprised that Magneto wasn't around – well, actually, he was considering it was Christmas, but Christmas had hit Pyro. Hard.
There were no kids running around. Powers were in control. It was very, very quiet.
And the lack of mass spirit boggled him.
Mystique looked up at him, catching him looking at her. Before he could turn away to look at something else, he blinked at what she did. She raised an eyebrow, but there was a smile on her lips which Pyro had never seen before. It was a smug smile. And it was directed at him.
Pyro heard a noise and jerked his eyes away from her. He looked in the direction of the stairs when Wanda came bounding down it. As she passed him, she pressed a chaste kiss to his forehead before heading to the kitchen. Pietro followed quickly after her, scowling at him.
The three mutants were talking about something or other. Mystique laughed jovially, whether it was because of Christmas or because Pietro had said something hilarious (which Pyro doubted), and Pyro frowned deeply.
Her smug smile was still in Pyro's mind. What was she playing at? To make him feel inferior, like he had lost? Pyro fumed silently, watching as her lips moved to speak and moved to frown and moved to laugh. Pyro had lost, hadn't he? No. He directed his gaze somewhere else, fixing it on the television set.
He should have known Mystique was in it for something else. And that something else, no matter how much he was grateful for it at the time, was something he was always going to regret.
He had gotten a new lighter that morning, most likely in the courtesy of Magneto. Late Christmas gift, he suspected. He bounded up to his room before stealthily slipping in, eying his new specimen with incredible care. It was a nice piece, he told himself. Someone went through a lot of trouble to get him this.
He shivered a bit, unable to control the goose bumps spreading along his arms. He eyed the vent, but there was no air coming out of it. So he flicked his lighter, watching the flame dance in front of his eyes.
"Shouldn't play with fire, John." The flame was blown out by a gust composed of an icy cold pressure.
John fumbled with the lighter, dropping it to the ground. He quickly glanced up.
Bobby was looking at him, a curious expression on his face. John's heart raced at how Mystique made him look so real.
"Get the fuck outta here. I told you, it isn't that funny anymore." He straightened, sneering. Did Mystique think she could just ask for his company so intimately again? Did she just think she could waltz right in there? John gritted his teeth. "It was funny the first time," he hissed, "but now it's just downright pathetic."
But then he stopped. Mystique could only change her appearance and her voice.
His fire had been blown out by a cold, icy breath.
It wasn't Mystique he was facing. Her magic could only go so far.
And then, realization hit.