Chapter Two: Make-ups and Money
Kurt Wagner was running.
Well, running might have been a bit of a stretch. Really, it was more... galloping? Nein, that wasn't right either. Propelling himself forward at an accelerated rate through the use of all four extremities? No, that sounded like something Dr. McCoy would say.
Anyhow, he was moving really fast, straight for a gigantic pile of leaves that Ray and Bobby had just created in the middle of the expansive backyard of the Xavier Institute. He took a flying leap, let out a whoop of pure joy, and landed in the pile hard, sending a spray of orange, brown, and yellow up in the air as he sunk in.
"Kurt!" Bobby squeaked. "We just finished that!"
Kurt pulled the leaves off of his face where they were sticking to his fur, and stuck his tongue out at the younger mutant playfully. "No, I just finished it!"
Bobby growled at him, and launched himself head first into the pile of leaves, catching Kurt by the shoulders and taking him down with him by sheer force of inertia.
Kurt was laughing maniacally by that time and rolled backward expertly, bringing up his long, two-toed feet to catch Iceman's midsection, sending him flying over Kurt's head into the next pile of leaves over.
"Aw, dammit Bobby, now look what you did!" Ray laughed, as he took a swan dive on top of his former partner in yard work. The two began a loud, expletive-laden leaf fight almost immediately, wrestling for a few moments as Ray stuffed mass quantities of the brittle dead leaves down Bobby's jacket front, and Bobby howled for vengeance, shaking his fist at Kurt.
Kurt simply leaned back in his own bed of leaves and pillowed his head on his hands, preparing to watch the show. It was a beautiful day– and Kurt had always enjoyed fall the most of all the seasons. At home, of course, that had a lot to do with Oktoberfest. But here it was almost as nice, and all the nicer for the company he was in these days. Sure, the whole experience here wasn't peaches and cream... but it was nice to be... accepted.
His parents had always accepted him, of course. And in the circus, he was accepted... but there he was a novelty. Here, they loved him for him. They might get annoyed by his jokes, by his–
Kurt looked up, his entire train of thought crashing in a fiery explosion as the warm sun coming down on him was suddenly blocked out. His face turned upward just in time to see a thick rain of leaves falling straight on his head. He considered teleporting out of the way, instinctively, but by the time the thought was clear, he was unceremoniously covered in a blanket of new, slightly damp autumn from somewhere above.
And the laugh that followed, sweet and familiar, made it all too clear who the culprit was.
"Ach! This is war, Jeanne-Marie!" Kurt shook his head, causing leaves to fly in every direction, and grinned at the raven-haired girl standing before him in a warm-up suit, smiling innocently.
"Is that a promise?" she laughed.
He stood up to lunge at her, with an armful of leaves tucked close to him, but was immediately knocked back into the pile by a flying Berserker, who was letting out an ear-shattering war-whoop that sounded amazingly like "Yiyiyiyiyiyi!"
He went down with a thud and a round of hysterics as he tried to impale his leaves on the orange spikes of Ray's hair, and crush them into the rest of it, and the two grappled for a few moments, laughing and pushing and ending up with mouthfuls of maple and oak leaves. As far as Kurt could tell, Jeanne-Marie and Bobby were engaged in a similar activity, for no apparent reason. But in the end, the four mutants were left in one large pile of well-shredded leaves, that was spread out over a great deal more of the yard than it had been initially, panting and laughing and pink-faced (or, in Kurt's case, a nice healthy purple under his fur, if anyone could've seen it.)
"Dammit, Kurt," Ray laughed and threw one last half-hearted handful of leaves in his direction, only two of which actually reached him, and which fell harmlessly onto his stomach, "now we gotta do this all over again!"
"Never fear, meine Freunde, I will help you this time! We'll be done before you know it!"
"JM," Bobby whined, pushing himself up to standing somewhat laboriously, "I think you got some leaves down my throat..."
Jeanne-Marie gave him a well-placed kick in the rear as he stuck his backside up in the air trying to stand straight, and he went face-first into the leaves again, laughing helplessly.
But soon enough they had the yard back in order, and began picking leaves out of one another's hair and clothing, grinning hugely.
Kurt felt that his work was done here. Yard work was so much more entertaining when a good leaf-fight was involved.
He looked up, hearing someone crunching out of the woods nearby with his sensitive ears, and caught sight of Jean-Paul near the tree line, moving in the direction of the house. Not toward them, but toward the far end of the house. The long way.
Kurt sighed. Now that was one guy he wasn't going to risk a leaf-battle with. Not this week. Jean-Paul had been the proverbial little black rain cloud around the house since Jeanne-Marie had stopped talking to him. He was impossible in the Danger Room, since he couldn't seem to bring himself to acknowledge his sister's presence and the two normally worked seamlessly as a team, and he his infamous short fuse had gotten that much shorter over everything. The only people he was civil to anymore were Rogue and Pietro.
Rogue he could understand. Pietro... well, that was another story. Maximoff was barely civil to anyone, so Kurt really couldn't see how he deserved preferential treatment, no matter what the two of them did behind closed doors. But hell, to each his own.
Jean-Paul looked over at them, after he'd come a little closer, and Kurt waved cheerfully in his direction. But the Canadian X-Man simply looked away, stuffed his hands into the pockets of his expensively beat-up jean jacket, and kept walking toward the mansion.
Again, Kurt sighed. "Jeanne-Marie, I think you should talk to your brother."
She came up beside him, and he knew her gaze followed his, to where JP was. She didn't say anything, just looked at him.
"Is it really necessary to do this? If you have some problem, why don't you talk to him? You two can work anything out, you're family!" He tried to sound encouraging. The thing about the Beaubiers was, however, that they had only known family for a few months. Before then, they'd both existed in their own, lonely worlds. Jeanne-Marie in her frighteningly sterile orphanage, Jean-Paul in the streets and then in front of the camera, almost without a transition between the two.
Sure, Kurt's "family" had issues. Serious issues. But with those two around, he almost felt like he could deal with his problems. At least he and Rogue didn't fight like cats and dogs...
"I'll go to him," she said, finally, sounding reluctant.
He looked over at her, to see her eyes closed, her eyebrows drawn down, and her lips pressed thin. Her normally composed, delicate face suddenly the picture of worry. And he put a hand on her shoulder, to shore her up. She could handle Jean-Paul like no one else, but she was still unhappy with him for his reaction to her and Roberto. She'd told him as much only a few days ago. And really, he couldn't blame her.
But she was miserable too, being apart from her brother, when she couldn't find a way to amuse herself. And he didn't like seeing that. It was unnatural for her, in his mind. Jeanne-Marie should be smiling. She just looked natural when she was smiling.
"Don't worry, JM. He loves you. In a few minutes you'll both be laughing like nothing ever happened."
She opened her eyes and looked over at him, obviously forcing a smile, and nodded. "You're right, Kurt. Merci."
He nodded in return, and watched her go for a minute, walking straight-backed and tall toward her brother. Jean-Paul stopped, already halfway to the house, and looked up at her, as if he knew she was coming.
Of course, he probably did. They had that psi thing... right.
But Kurt's train of thought was once again de-railed as he was suddenly assaulted by a flying pile of leaves. "That's it, Vahg-ner!" Bobby giggled as he tackled the fuzzy elf, "Time for retribution!"
* * *
"Were you going to try and speak to me, or just wait forever until I finally came to you?"
Jean-Paul simply stared at her, hands shoved into his pockets, shoulders somewhat hunched. It was an unfamiliar posture for him. He usually stood so tall, looked so defiant all the time. It bothered her, somehow. Made her sad, to see him like that. But after a moment, he finally responded, voice low and with an unavoidable sharp edge to it. "I did try. You've been avoiding me for two weeks, Jeanne-Marie. I hardly think it's my duty to appeal to you daily until you change your mind. Particularly when you're so obviously not bothered by our estrangement."
She sighed at her brother, and shook her head. "You know it bothers me."
"I don't know anything about you, ma soeur," Jean-Paul narrowed his eyes menacingly. "Not only have we not spoken in quite a long time, but you also shield yourself from me lately. What would I know of you?"
That made her wince. She had purposely been blocking him out, psychically, lately. The constant reminder of his every day activities, of his perpetual frustration and anger with her, of how it hurt him to be ignored by her, only made things harder for her. And she could not take care of both of them. Not the way things were at the moment.
She had to take care of herself, or him. If he were willing to take care of her in return, as he had so often promised to do, she would be able to handle him. But he had more than proven that her feelings about her recent break up meant nothing to him, and had immediately started shamelessly radiating an almost childish glee when he'd spoken to her immediately following.
And yes, it had hurt. But she took care of herself by herself. Without him.
But oh, she'd wished that he could have just been... nice, for once. Because she really could've used his shoulder to cry on. "You hurt me, Jean-Paul."
He blinked at her once, then took a step closer, suddenly standing a little taller, eyes no longer narrowed. "What are you talking about?"
She swallowed, then cleared her throat, not certain why a lump had formed there. "I was very upset about Roberto. I knew what I had to do, and I did it, but it upset me so much... and all you could say was good riddance." And suddenly, she felt a flash of anger, remembering the moment that he'd turned on her, smiled, and said that she was better off without that narcissistic prick. "You're starting to treat me like Pietro treats Wanda, like I'm nothing but trouble to you."
His dark brows drew down low, and he shook his head, obviously annoyed by a stray wisp of silver hair from the white locks in the middle of his black hair, that would not blow away from his eyes. But he still would not withdraw his hands from his pockets to move it. "Don't be ridiculous, Jeanne-Marie. I don't think that and you know it. I'm not the one who refused to speak for two weeks–,"
Oh no, she was not going to let him turn this around. "I'm not the one who started a fight! I was upset! I felt...," but just as suddenly as she'd gotten angry, she now felt as if the air had been let out of her fury, and grew sad immediately, thinking of it, and her eyes dropped to the ground. She'd had to do it, of course. But that didn't mean it hadn't hurt. "I felt horrible. You didn't see him, brother, he was so sad. And because of me. And all you could say was–,"
"I know what I said," he cut in, but softly.
She looked back up at him, and saw that he was biting his lip. Thoughtfully.
"I did ask if you were alright first."
She sighed and shook her head at her stubborn ass of a brother. As much as she loved him... sometimes she'd really like to kick him. "And then you started gloating immediately."
Jean-Paul's icy eyes narrowed once again, "Jeanne-Marie, he–,"
"Stop," she held up one hand now, unwilling to listen to his usual laundry list of complaints against her once upon a time boyfriend. Yes, Roberto had his faults. But so did she. And it was not Jean-Paul's place to remind her of them, anyhow. He was supposed to love her, not treat her like an idiot child. "This is why I didn't want to talk to you, Jean-Paul. Every time, you start this again. I swear, the more you're with Pietro–,"
"Yes, sister," his voice was suddenly as cold as his eyes, and he seemed to somehow shrink within himself at the second mention of Pietro Maximoff. "You've made your disapproval of my choice in bed-mates perfectly clear, thank you. Must you blame him for everything?"
How could he not see the irony in his own words? God, but he was infuriating! "Must you always blame Roberto?"
"Yes!" He said, finally removing his hands from his pockets and gesturing emphatically with both of them at once. "It's not the same–,"
"No, Jean-Paul, it's not." She made her voice just as cold as his now, and leveled a glare just as powerful as his back at him. And knew that her meaning would be clear, even with their empathic link totally closed off, as it had been all week. "You're absolutely right. It's not the same."
Because what I was doing with Roberto was a trial. A test of our friendship and devotion, to see if it could become more. You and Pietro are in this for the long run, whether you admit to it or not, and he will break your heart. And I will have to watch.
Of course, she didn't say any of it. No matter what an ass he was being, she couldn't bring herself to put Pietro down like that, knowing how her brother felt. Because she did know, she thought, even if he didn't know himself. And it scared her, because she did not trust Pietro Maximoff. Not one little bit.
He took a deep breath, and met her gaze fearlessly, "And what is that supposed to mean?"
She closed her eyes, and sighed once more. She didn't want to fight with him. She just wanted... things to be better. Like they were before. "You know what I mean, brother."
When she opened her eyes again, he was watching her, with the strange, calculating curiosity of a cat. But when he finally spoke, his voice registered a mix of disbelief, and something like pain. As close as Jean-Paul could get, anyhow. "You don't care at all, do you? You really don't mind being apart from me."
Those words were like an electric shock to her, painful and unexpected. Jeanne-Marie felt something hot in her eyes, something closing in around her stomach. And could see nothing else to do, but to open herself up to him, and throw herself into his arms.
He caught her, stiffly at first, but eventually relaxed into a hug, putting his arms around her shoulders and smoothing her hair down her back. Silently.
But she could feel him now, and it felt so much...
Better.
And yes, he was hurt. He wasn't even bothering to hide it from her, in fact. He was just... hurt. And Jean-Paul did not let himself be hurt. Jean-Paul got angry. But this time, she'd done it.
"How can you say those things to me?" She asked, into his shoulder, "If I didn't care... I wouldn't...,"
But her words nearly choked her, and she just kept silent, after that. He understood now, and she knew it. At least, he understood that she cared, that it had, indeed, bothered the living hell out of her, this past week.
"Perhaps we should–," he began.
"Let it go?" She finished for him. "I agree."
They pulled apart now, and he took her by the hand, and looked into her eyes. She blinked hard, to keep the salt water out of them, and saw him clenching his jaw– his obvious reaction to any emotion he did not wish to deal with. "I'd like my sister back, Jeanne-Marie."
"It was lonely without you," she confessed now. The dam had broken, after all. "But I was afraid of what you'd say... I just knew it would be terrible and then I would have to deal with it all over again..."
"I will... try harder," he offered, squeezing her hand.
And for Jean-Paul, that was as close to I'm sorry as it got. But she already knew that he was sorry. He still meant what he'd said, of course, and he was still happy that she was no longer involved with Berto. But he was sorry that he had hurt her. And that was all she needed, really. "I shouldn't have said that," she told him. "About Pietro, I mean."
He shook his head and dropped her hand now, waving it off, "Forget it, just let it go. The whole thing is too complicated to sort out right now."
She nodded, and smiled at him softly. Just a small one. "Everything feels that way, lately."
He appeared to be about to speak, but they heard car doors slam, and both looked to the driveway automatically. Jean was there, along with a tall, good looking blonde man, who was taking off his coat...
To reveal the most beautiful pair of pure white wings Jeanne-Marie had ever seen. And they were... real.
She only stared for a moment, totally fascinated by the beauty of what she was seeing, and felt the same from Jean-Paul as well. When she looked over at him, his eyebrows were raised, and he was making that "not bad," face he often made when he thought someone was looking good.
It made her smile, genuinely. That was the Jean-Paul she knew and loved.
"That must be Angel," she said, taking him by the arm, "Mon dieu, brother, can you believe those beautiful wings?"
"Impressive," he shrugged. He was back to being cool, calm Jean-Paul after his first look, of course.
She shot him a grin, and then turned to wave to Jean, who waved back, rather happily. "Oh, come on, let's go meet him!"
Her brother rolled his eyes, but she grabbed him by the arm and dragged him to the drive to meet with the pair waiting for them to catch up there.
Upon closer examination, it turned out that the iridescent white feathers of his wings were not the only beautiful attributes that Warren Worthington (she knew that was his name, Jean had told her about him last week when she visited) possessed. Golden hair, a well-cut, not quite square jaw line, bright blue eyes that scrunched up adorably when he smiled, as he was right then, and... well, not that she could tell much at the moment, but judging from the way that shirt hung off of him–
"Um, Warren Worthington, Angel," Jean's voice interrupted her train of thought, and she realized that she'd just been standing there smiling at the newcomer like an idiot. "Meet Jeanne-Marie and Jean-Paul Beaubier, Aurora and Northstar."
She let go of her brother, noticing the slight scowl on his face, and felt a twitch of irritation from him, but ignored it almost entirely. Smiling brightly, she reached out her hand to Angel, and said, "Lovely to meet you. I've heard so much about you."
Warren, who was smiling faintly down at her, suddenly blinked and reached out to take the hand she'd offered.
Lovely hands. Very soft, but not weak. Gentle, though. That's what it was. He seemed very gentle.
His voice, when he spoke, backed up that idea. It was low and quiet, but very sweet. He must not be much older than she, even though at first glance he seemed a few years older. It was the way he carried himself, she decided. Or the strange air of... otherworldliness... or something… that the wings lent him. "Um, yes, so have I. About you, that is. Not about me."
She smiled and gave a small laugh. Cute. Of course, it would be irritating if he was always so scatterbrained, but it made for a rather adorable first impression. Jean was right, he was something to look at, most definitely. She made a mental note to commend her friend on her eye, once she got her alone. Very boy next door all-American. If you got rid of the wings, of course. Which just made him... amazing.
But Angel suddenly let go of her hand, and turned to Jean-Paul, who was standing with his eyebrow raised, still mildly irritated, but far from being out and out angry. "And your brother, of course. Nice to meet you Northstar," he held out his hand to Jean-Paul and offered him a rather brave smile.
A bit sourly, Jean-Paul smiled back. "The pleasure is mine, mon ami."
Jean, Jeanne-Marie noticed now, was shifting impatiently at Warren's side. "Well, we have business inside..."
Warren blinked again, and let go of Jean-Paul's hand, catching her eyes again with those lovely baby blues he had. "Yes, I need to speak to Xavier, he said he'd be in."
"Oh, I just left him in the library," she informed them. She'd been upstairs reading with him, before she'd seen the beginnings of Kurt's leaf battle and decided to join in for the sake of fresh air and a good laugh. Anything involving those boys was bound to be a good laugh, after all. "I'll take you to him."
With that, she slid her arm through Warren's and started to lead their little party inside. The blonde man looked over at her, and offered up a perfectly straight smile, and laid his hand over hers, where it rested on her arm.
She smiled back, and decided she'd like to know just what it was about Warren Worthington that was so interesting. Because already, she was definitely interested in what he was thinking. Mainly because no man that good looking, in her experience, had ever seemed so uncertain of himself. Good looking boys knew they were good looking, and acted like they were good looking.
She wondered if it was because he didn't know, or if it was just some kind of game he played. Either way, the best way to find out would probably be to ask.
"I knew that they called you Angel," she started, as he opened the front door for her, "But I had no idea that your wings were actually so... angelic. They're lovely, you must show me how you fly with them. I do love to fly."
That made his smile light up even further. Oh yes. Very all-American. Look at those pearly whites. "You fly on your own as well, right?"
She nodded, leading him through the foyer, to the upstairs library. "Yes, both my brother and I can fly."
"And... Scott mentioned speed?"
Pleased that he'd done his homework on the X-Men, even the ones he didn't know, she nodded once more. "Well, Jean-Paul is faster than me," she gestured to her brother, who was now beside her on the stairs, hands stuffed back into his pockets.
He winked at her, and offered a small half-smile, but she could still feel some sort of vague annoyance biting at him. She realized, of course, that it had to do with her "flirting" with Angel, as he'd call it. He was suppressing the irritation, she assumed, because he truly had missed her, and the thought of losing her again was still a little too difficult for him.
Perhaps he'd learned something after all. So, for his sake, she would behave. For a little while, anyhow.
"But we both have it, yes. Tell me, Angel–,"
"Warren. Please. My name is Warren."
* * *
Jean-Paul fought the urge to scream in frustration as he strode purposefully down the upstairs corridor, after depositing his sister, Jean, and the pretty bird-man with the Professor in the library.
Here she goes again, was pretty much all he could think.
But he held it back, and tried to stay cool. They'd just fought, and badly, after all. No need to jump to conclusions. Jeanne-Marie flirted with everyone, every man, anyhow, within a hundred mile radius.
But no. She was his sister and he loved her. And Warren Worthington, though obviously a spoiled little rich boy (God, those shoes! Where the hell had the guy managed to get a hold of those shoes, anyhow!?), he was, so Jean-Paul had heard, a decent sort. Which would be a step up from DaCosta. Who was not, in his opinion, decent. Not that he was horrible... but not good enough for Jeanne-Marie.
Not that Worthington would prove to be. But...
Right. She was only flirting.
Still... it was irritating. He was irritated enough, at the moment, with Pietro obviously turning into a basket case over something involving a fucked up sleeping pattern. And he was emotional right now, which was always dangerous. He'd thought he was going to cry there for a moment, with Jeanne-Marie, and that never happened...
Well, couldn't hurt to check Angel out. If anyone would know about this Worthington pretty-boy, it would be Scott. Who, come to think of it, had pretty much been avoiding him all week. Not that it was anything, necessarily, just that it was odd that when Jean-Paul came into the room, the Fearless Leader usually seemed to have some other place to be. Small things like that. He'd been meaning to ask him about it, really, but just hadn't gotten the chance. Probably nothing, but Scott was a strange creature, so it was hard to say. He'd just have to track Summers down and–
Jean-Paul came around the corner, a little too fast, and almost ran headlong into a Summers. Only, it wasn't the one he'd been after.
Alex stopped dead in his tracks to avoid a collision, and grinned at him, "Whoa there JP, what's up?"
"Nothing," he said, distractedly. He did like Alex quite a bit, the kid was clever, and had a strange sort of beach bum charm that Jean-Paul was utterly unfamiliar with, and therefore disarmed by. But at the moment, he was on a mission. "By the way, is your brother avoiding me? I need to ask him about this Angel fellow."
Alex simply raised his eyebrows once and gave a rueful, crooked smile. "You too, huh?"
Jean-Paul looked the younger boy in the eyes, lovely big brown eyes, in fact, and suddenly noticed that the usually jovial surfer-dude wasn't looking so very jovial, right then. Actually, it reminded Jean-Paul of the night Alex had first come to talk to him, for advice on...
Oh. Right. "You told him, did you?"
The blonde boy shrugged, and leaned against the wall casually, "Been two weeks ago, now. We haven't really had much conversation since."
Funny, how he could feel both surprise and instant acceptance, hearing that. Scott was his friend, and had never shown any indication of homophobia, or even slightly un-politically correct leanings on the subject of homosexuals. Sure, he was uptight, and when Jean-Paul flirted with him (jokingly, of course, God forbid...), he got a little flustered. But he always laughed it off, and half the time he gave it back.
Yet... he was uptight. And his world view was astoundingly rigid. And something like this was just the sort of thing that Scott would fuck up, thanks to his goddamn Fearless Leader tunnel vision.
Which honestly pissed Jean-Paul off a bit. Because whatever had happened, Alex was now a little scared. And Jean-Paul, in the one philanthropic effort he'd ever been a part of in his life, had worked very hard to make certain that Alex Summers felt good about himself. "What did he say to you?"
Again, the younger boy shrugged, and avoided his eyes entirely. "He was cool, JP. Don't get mad."
"Too late," Jean-Paul informed him, "I'm already in a bit of a mood. Tell me what he said."
"Nothing man, he was just a little weirded out."
Jean-Paul laughed, realizing that it sounded quite bitter. But yes, leave it to Shades to fuck this up. Oh, wasn't that just fucking perfect. Just like that tight ass... "And he hasn't talked to you in two weeks?"
"No, man, it's not like that. It wasn't bad. I just, I mean, we haven't really talked...," but his explanation was failing, and Alex finally looked back up at the older boy, this time through a shield of golden blonde bangs. "Look, forget it, ok? He's having a rough time with Jean–,"
"Fuck that," Jean-Paul scoffed. "Where is he?"
"Dude," Alex shook his head, now looking mildly concerned. "Seriously. It's cool."
"It's not," he insisted, clapping Alex on the shoulder once, now more resolved than ever to have a little chat with his friend Scott Summers. "Never mind, I'll find him myself. Don't worry, I won't hurt him. I have some things to talk to him about anyhow."
* * *
Scott Summers nearly jumped out of his skin when his door burst open and banged against the wall. He turned, quickly, in his chair, to see one very irritated looking Jean-Paul Beaubier staring at him from his doorway, arms crossed over his chest, fire in his light eyes.
And he immediately knew that he'd been, as the New Mutants so often said, busted.
"Don't you knock?" he groused, hoping that Jean-Paul couldn't hear his heartbeat. He could've sworn that between the scare of his door flying open and the knowledge that he was in some kind of trouble, it was about to thud right through his chest.
Normally, JP didn't intimidate him at all. Not only were they friends, but Scott simply didn't have it in him to be easily intimidated– which was how Jean-Paul held up his reign of terror over some of the younger kids, totally without meaning to.
But this time, Scott knew he was wrong. And he didn't much care for the role-reversal, really.
"I checked," the Canadian boy shot him a cocky glare, then closed the door behind him and came to sit on a nearby chair. "This is posted office hours. So if you're in here jerking off to internet porn, you really picked a bad time."
Scott just raised an eyebrow, still trying to remain calm, and pretend he didn't know why Jean-Paul was here. He'd been expecting this all week, since he'd been avoiding his friend, after all. It was only a matter of time before he talked to Alex and/or noticed the avoidance... Scott was surprised it had taken this long, really.
Surprised, but he still wished it could've taken a little longer. But he just couldn't make himself go talk things out with Alex yet...
He just felt so... stupid.
"You're in a mood," was all he said, deciding to stick with the obvious. JP was not pleased, that much was clear. He could play dumb for awhile and try to figure out what to say to this madman in front of him. Jean-Paul was perfectly capable of hauling off and decking him, if he didn't like what Scott had to say, so he'd have to be careful if he wanted to avoid a big fight.
Why were they friends again...?
"What did you say to Alex?"
Well. At least he doesn't waste any time.
Scott opened his mouth to reply... but found that no words were ready to come out. He just looked at the sour-faced boy in front of him, blankly.
And felt like a real idiot.
Jesus, he hadn't meant to take it out on JP. But by avoiding him for so long, he technically had. And he just didn't know what he could say to Alex that would make it better instead of worse and he was so afraid to fuck things up worse than he already had. He thought he ought to just stay quiet and let things get better on their own and Jean barely even talked to him anymore–
"Don't fuck around, Summers," Jean-Paul warned him, leaning forward in his chair, elbows on his thighs, but never taking his eyes from Scott's. Even though he couldn't see that shocking blue everyone talked about, he still couldn't deny that when the guy wanted to hold your attention with his eyes, he couldn't possibly fail. He was just... intense. "He's been a wreck all week, and you're avoiding me. I didn't talk to him until just now–,"
An uncharacteristic flash of anger ran through him, and he found himself snorting, "Well, there's a first."
Jean-Paul's dark eyebrows drew together, "Is that a bit of thinly-veiled jealousy and bitterness I'm sensing there?"
Alright. He felt bad about the things he'd said, the things he hadn't said. But seriously, what the hell did the guy expect? Alex was his brother, and he'd gone to Jean-Paul first! Sure, Scott had been angsting but... dammit, Alex was his brother. And now that he thought about it again, it really did upset him. He'd managed to avoid that, well almost, by avoiding JP... but him coming in here, upbraiding Scott for this... it was insulting, really. "It's none of your business what happens between me and my brother."
But JP only shrugged, unaffected. "It is if one of you makes it my business. I really expected better of you, Scott. Whatever happened, you've undone half the work I did. And I had no idea that you took issue with homosexuality at all–,"
"Christ, Jean-Paul," Scott just sighed now, and drug his hand through his hair in irritation. Impotent irritation. "You know I don't, come on, man."
"I'm not the one you need to tell. You're not my brother."
Scott blinked, for just a moment. He couldn't think of anything to say to that, at first, because it was actually... untrue. In a way. And really, it was stupid and childish of him to blame Jean-Paul for any of this...
But knowing that didn't make it stop hurting.
God, what was wrong with him lately?
"You sort of... are, though. It's just... I never think of it with you. It's no big deal. Alex just took me by surprise, you know?"
Jean-Paul leaned back now, and crossed his arms over his chest again, eyeing Scott appraisingly. "I don't know, because I've never had to tell any family of mine, or had anyone that had to tell me. I didn't grow up with a family. But if I really thought it was that shitty of you, and completely inexcusable, I wouldn't be talking to you at all. I would probably have just walked in and hit you."
"True," Scott conceded, feeling a wry smile creep onto his face now, in spite of himself.
"So why haven't you explained things to him, if you really don't care about him being gay?"
Ah. Now that was the thing that he was ashamed of... "Because... I feel like a dick. I'm...,"
"Embarrassed about your reaction," Jean-Paul finished, nodding, the usual sarcastic sneer back in position on his lips. But he didn't look angry any more. Not at all. "Understandable. And anyhow, you are a dick. Of course, so am I..."
"JM talking to you yet?" Scott asked, cocking his head. Really, the Beaubiers almost made him feel like he was the world's greatest brother sometimes. Between JM's fits and JP's overbearing nature, they were about as dysfunctional as possible, for only knowing each other for six months.
"As of a half hour ago, and just barely," he answered, with an expression of clear discomfort. He'd been a mess all week too, and if Scott hadn't been so busy avoiding him, he normally would've talked to him about it...
Damn. He was just all kinds of inadequate lately, really.
"You need to tell Alex that you're a dick, Scott," JP cut into his thoughts again. "I'd do it myself, but I think it'd mean more coming from you."
Scott looked at the floor, "He'd probably appreciate it more from you, at this point."
"...more bitterness?"
He looked back up, and gave a small, defeated laugh. Because, yeah, he was still a little bitter about Alex talking to JP so much, and first. Not that he could blame the kid... "I was never very good with subtlety."
"That's why your passive-aggressive behavior is less effective, Scott," Jean-Paul informed him, now grinning, "It's irritating for its clumsiness, rather than for the actual pain it inflicts."
Scott shook his head, and flipped Jean-Paul off. Only half-joking, really.
"There you go, see, coming right out with it just feels better."
Scott sighed, still shaking his head. "You can't blame me. He did come to you first. It sucks. You know what I mean."
JP nodded, "Yes, I know how I would feel. But you were angsting. And have been for the past month. Is Jean's perpetual PMS finally getting old?"
Against his will, Scott actually smiled. "Don't make me kick your ass."
Jean-Paul laughed, and it was a rather pleasant sound, utterly devoid of sarcasm. Threats and abuse often disarmed the younger boy, for some reason, as Scott had discovered long ago. Useful when trying to get him to talk. "I'd be doing you a favor if I gave you a fight, Summers. You need either a good fight, or a good lay. And knowing Jean–,"
"Shut up," Scott held up his hand, trying to stop the onslaught of JP patented inappropriateness he could feel coming on.
"Don't be angry about Alex," Jean-Paul performed one of his sudden topic and/or personality shifts, and went back to it, "He was scared. I'm gay, therefore the least threatening man in the house, which is a first, I'll admit, but still understandable. He knew I wouldn't judge him. And honestly... it's a good thing he came to me first."
Again, Scott looked down. If Alex had come to him first... Jesus. The kid would probably be on a plane back to Hawaii by now. "You're right."
"Of course I am, mon ami."
Laughing now, he looked his friend in the eye again, and shook his head. Typical. If it were anyone else being so impossibly arrogant, he'd hate them for it. But, for some reason, he couldn't hate Jean-Paul Beaubier.
Maybe that was why they were friends, really. As stubborn and as many flaws as they both had, they never really hated each other for them. In fact... he got a kick out of JP's arrogance just like JP seemed to enjoy his... what did they call it? Boy-scout-ish-ness?
"Ok, ok, I'll talk to him," he sighed, now completely back to feeling stupid for his initial reaction to Alex... not to mention the way he'd been treating Jean-Paul. "God, I'm an ass. Listen, Jean-Paul, I'm really sorry."
The dark-haired boy cocked an eyebrow at him, in that super-cool way he had, and asked, "For avoiding me all week, for avoiding Alex, or for being passive-aggressive?"
Scott smiled, and wondered just how sheepish it made him look. He sure as hell felt it, at the moment. "All three."
"Forget it," was the immediate response. But after just a moment, Jean-Paul suddenly shook his head, and started again, "Just... Scott, you're a mutant. You know what it's like to be...," but he trailed off, as if he didn't want to finish, and looked away from Scott's eyes for the first time since he'd come in.
"Scared," he instinctively knew what it was that JP wouldn't want to admit to understanding. He could appreciate that. "Yeah. I know."
"Alex has twice as much to fear. Not really, of course, but in his head, he does."
Scott furrowed his brow and examined his friend closely. He actually sounded... sympathetic. Low-voiced for just a moment, face softening from its usual sarcastic bastard grin into something much kinder.
Wow. Weird. Who knew he had it in him? Alex really had made a good choice, perhaps, going to Jean-Paul. "You're a real asshole, JP," he shook his head in disbelief. "But you know, when you're good, you're the best."
His expression changed immediately, and he raised both eyebrows, suggestively, and began to smirk, "So I've been told."
Scott put a hand to his forehead, and laughed just a little. "Moving on..." Jesus. That guy.
"Right," Jean-Paul crossed one leg over the other at the knee, and leaned one elbow on the arm of his chair, slouching down to support his head with his hand. It was a position that Scott never could've pulled off, and he knew it. Something that would've made him look either hopelessly rigid and ridiculous, or pathetically effeminate. Which, of course, was the main thing he envied about his friend Jean-Paul– how at ease he was in his own skin. JP could do or say almost anything, and still manage to look his usual intimidating, in control self, because he performed every action as if he had the blessing and directive of God Almighty behind him. "Angel. What's his story?"
Seeing his opening for some retribution, now that Jean-Paul had made him laugh and relaxed him just a little, he started, "I thought you and Pietro–,"
"Fuck you, Summers," He laughed, pointing at him dangerously, but still maintaining his relaxed posture. "It's not for me. Jeanne-Marie is all over him."
Scott bit back his immediate reaction, which was entirely unfair, and something along the lines of imagine that. Not that he didn't love JM, she was great as a friend and a teammate. But the girl was boy-crazy, and no one could deny that. "When did they meet?"
"Just now, he's in the library with the Professor and Jean."
"Jean's here?" That was weird. He knew they hadn't been talking as much, but she usually told him when she was coming... or at least stopped up when she got in...
Jean-Paul raised an eyebrow again. "Just a few minutes ago, they turned up."
"Oh," he tried to pretend not to find it odd, but since it was too late anyhow, just changed the subject back. It wasn't that he was irritated with her for not saying hello or telling him, really. It was just...
Damn. They really needed to have a talk.
"Er, he's a rich boy, lonely," he started in on his description of Warren, whom he happened to get along with rather well. He was glad that Angel had been spending more time with the X-Men, even if it was mostly only when he needed something– he'd helped them the one time they'd asked as well. And it was a huge help, against Apocalypse. This kind of family was just the sort of thing that could really bring out the best in a guy like him. Just needed to get over the freak complex... well, as much as any of them could, anyhow. "Really good guy. Rogue and I met him first, when he was playing superhero all alone. He has a good soul, you know? And any time we've hooked up with him he's been a great addition to the team–,"
"I don't really want to know about his usefulness to the X-Men, Scott, although I appreciate that you're trying to be thorough," his friend smiled a bit ruefully. "What about with girls? What do you know?"
"Nothing," he admitted. He knew Warren well enough day to day, but didn't know a huge amount about his personal life. Just what he'd gleaned from their couple of conversations, and what Jean had said after that weekend with him and the Professor. "Like I said, he just seems lonely. He's hidden his mutation from everyone, even his family, since it manifested, Jean said, so I doubt he's... you know... been around, or whatever."
JP spared a short laugh for his discomfort on the subject, but nodded anyhow. "I suppose that makes sense. He's just ridiculously gorgeous, so I assumed... but if you say so."
Scott raised an eyebrow again, "Ridiculously gorgeous, huh?"
"Even you can't be that blind," Jean-Paul rolled his eyes. "He looks like the poster boy for pretty Americans. And Christ, Scott, he has wings."
Actually... Warren was kind of poster-boy-ish. So he admitted defeat, and shrugged, "True."
But JP was standing now, obviously having gotten what he came for. "Alright, I feel a little better. The idea of her with yet another playboy wanna-be makes me want to scream. But just... one more thing," his expression turned thoughtful again, rather suddenly. "How does one hide wings large enough to support a man his size, anyhow?"
"Well, his bones are hollow–," Scott began to explain the physicality of the whole thing.
But Jean-Paul rolled his eyes at him and cut him off, "Are you trying to piss me off today?"
Right. Wrong question. But man, JP was in a bitchy mood today. "Jesus, sorry. Anyhow, he has this harness. It's pretty crazy, really, when he has it on you'd seriously never guess."
Jean-Paul's forehead became creased now, as if the idea troubled him greatly. "Mon dieu... doesn't it hurt him?"
Hell. Actually... Scott had never really thought about it before, because Warren had never actually said anything about it one way or another. But now that he mentioned it, it almost had to be uncomfortable... really damn uncomfortable. "Shit... I don't know. But it must. A lot."
Looking a little stunned, Jean-Paul just nodded. "Oui, I would think. Anyhow, thanks, and all that. If you need a good fight after Jean leaves this weekend and you still haven't gotten laid–,"
This succeeded in lightening the moods instantly, and Scott found himself laughing again. "Get the hell out of here. And don't give JM shit about Warren, if something happens."
Jean-Paul rolled his eyes once more, as if for good measure, and turned to go. "I'm sending Alex up."
Scott's heart leapt into his throat. "Dude–,"
"Night, Summers," JP was at the door now. "I'd better see that kid smiling tomorrow morning, or I will kick your ass. Jean or no Jean."
* * *
Lance Alvers was not looking forward to this.
Pietro had been in a shitty mood all damn week, and Wanda had been worse. But he didn't have any kind of choice in the matter, really. Freddy was too stupid to get things done, Todd was too irresponsible, Wanda was too nuts, and Pietro only wanted to be the leader when it meant getting everyone else to do what he wanted, not when it meant responsibilities.
Lance was, effectively, the leader again. And Jesus. He really didn't want bare cupboards again. And even if he was a bastard hood kid... he still wanted to finish school.
So he knocked on Maximoff's door, and waited for the invitation to enter, which came almost immediately.
Pietro was digging through his closet, in search of something that had clearly proven too elusive– half the contents of it were now on the floor, or on his bed. "What do you want, Lance?"
Lance shook his head in disgust. They were almost out of money and here was Pietro with the wardrobe of a goddamn Austrian princess. Typical. "Pietro, have you looked at the account book lately?" He waved the little green book from the bank, where they tried to keep track of the money Magneto had left them with almost six months ago.
Pietro stopped digging immediately, and suddenly appeared in front of Lance, eyes narrowed. Whether in concern or in anger, Avalanche didn't know or care. He was just happy he'd managed to get the speedster's attention, for once. "No."
"Look," he handed the book to the other boy and scratched at the back of his head, suddenly feeling pretty embarrassed about even bringing this up. But not like he had a fucking choice, right? "I know it's not exactly your favorite subject, but with Mystique gone, we're kinda fucked if Magneto doesn't come through..."
Pietro's eyes were scanning the last page in the book, over and over, so quickly it almost made Lance's own eyes hurt to watch him. "What do you want me to do about it, Alvers?"
Jesus. Pietro had sure had no trouble getting a hold of his asshole father when he thought it would get him into his better graces– he'd better not even play stupid now. Not that Lance wanted to get their money from Magneto– he could care less about that bucket head and his freaky crew. While he agreed that mutants needed to fight for their place in the world, Magneto was just like every other adult, in his book. Used them when he needed them, and then conveniently forgot that they existed.
He was a hood, not a fucking idiot. He could see the patterns.
"Can't you call him or something?"
Pietro suddenly threw the book to the side, onto his clothes-covered bed, and raised a platinum eyebrow high. "I could only call him before because he set up a number for me to call. Because he wanted me to be able to find him. The rest of the time, he finds me. And he hasn't found me in... oh let's see," he pretended to be thinking hard, furrowing his brow and looking up at the ceiling, "six fucking months. Since we saved his pathetic life, in fact."
Lance just shook his head, defeated. Pietro wasn't lying, like he usually was. In fact, he was pretty surprised at Pietro's attitude toward his father lately. Usually, the little errand boy did whatever daddy wanted. But lately he'd been writing the old bugger off.
But Pietro and Wanda both were being weird lately. And he looked tired, which was really strange for Maximoff. The kid always had more energy than he knew what to do with, on a normal day.
"We got another month left," Lance told him. "We could make it two, but not with the way you and Freddy eat. Look, you're supposed to be the leader, aren't you? Sure as fuck bossed us around enough back when daddy was in the picture–,"
Pietro's dark blue eyes flashed suddenly, and he took a step closer, so that Lance could feel him breathing, could see his upper lip twitching in irritation. "Don'tpushme. Do not fucking push me on this one."
But Lance really didn't care anymore. Because... hell. He was eighteen years old! How the fuck was he supposed to feed five people? "Funny how now that he's gone, now that there's no one to back you up, now that there are only bills left for the one in charge, you don't want any part of it."
Pietro's lip twitched again, and he jabbed a long, thin finger into Lance's chest menacingly. "Seriously Alvers, don't fucking–,"
No. He just didn't care. "What are you gonna do, Pietro? You know I'm right!"
The two boys just looked at each other for a moment, jaws clenching. And then, almost simultaneously, they both relaxed, and shoulders slumped.
Lance sighed, "Look, you know that even though I think you're a traitor and a rat bastard... we've all survived this far together. If your father isn't going to make good on his word to you two, fine, fuck it. Won't be the first time we've been screwed. And to be honest, man, I'm sick of being jerked around by whoever is paying our bills."
Pietro looked at him a moment longer, as if calculating something, then nodded once. "Me too. Sick of being jerked around in general."
"Then for once, we agree," The darker boy admitted, hardly able to believe it himself. But like it or not, these guys, their ramshackle Brotherhood... this was all he had in the world. And it had been a fucked up ride so far, but... hell. Gotta have something in life, right? "But we gotta do something, Pietro. Before we start starving again, preferably. Cause I don't think Mags is coming back."
Again, another silent moment. Then Pietro said, "No... no he's not. Not until he wants us for something."
Lance nodded again, in agreement, and clamped down on one of the other boy's shoulders with a rough hand. He'd never known his own father. But it had to suck even worse, having one like Magneto. He'd never really thought much about it before, but... yeah. Sucks to be a Maximoff.
"He gave me and Wanda extra, for random stuff. That'll give us till the New Year, I'll bet."
Wait.
Had Pietro Maximoff just said what Lance thought he'd just said?
He narrowed his eyes at the other boy suspiciously, "Um... thanks."
Pietro turned away now, and stuck his head back into the closet, moving with astounding slowness, for once. Very deliberate. "Don't mention it, or I might change my mind."
Man, he was being weird lately. "... I can always quit school. Get a job. I'm a good mechanic, and I suck at school–,"
"Shut the fuck up, Lance," Came the reply from the closet. "You're not quitting with a few months to go, don't be an asshole."
Lance just stared as clothes began flying out of the closet once again, burying the bank book under a new mountain. "You ok lately, man?"
Pietro stopped, and looked back out at him, a surprisingly thoughtful expression on his face. "Yeah. Just having a rare bout of conscience. Don't expect them regularly."
"I wouldn't dream of it.
AN:
Normally I would write big long messages to y'all here. Is this something I should continue? Should I just email you? Is it tacky? Do I care? Not so much, as it turns out. But since I've had a hell of a week and I have some drama to deal with tonight, you'll all be getting emails from me soon about your reviews instead. Next chapter, I will do the shout outs.
But let me publicly thank the beta reader of the century, **SUE PENKIVECH.**
And the fabulous people who've reviewed the first chapter already– Fata Morgana, Taineyah, Drunk on Tang, The Rogue Witch, Relwar, crazyspaceystracey, S-Star, Caliente, HoneyBug17, Akuma no Tsubasa, Risty, TKD, and Ima Super Mute Ant. Expect emails soon, if I know your address ;)
I realize this chapter was not all that exciting, but it gets better (I hope) very soon! Much love -Beaubier-