AN: For the purposes of this fic, I'm doing away with all accents. I did them in Here Comes Trouble cause the entire purpose of the fic was to amuse me, initially. I did a few in Relativity only because they do them in the comics. But this one will be long and drawn out, and reading accents sucks. So no, Sam's accent didn't disappear. But y'all know enough to fill it in yourself. And if you don't... man. You don't know what you're missing!
Chapter Three: Promises and Threats
Sam Guthrie chewed on his pencil eraser without meaning to at all, and stared down at his Spanish homework.
He'd been getting really good grades in Spanish since he'd worked up the nerve to talk to Wanda Maximoff outside of school. Their regular homework sessions seemed to be having a great effect on his ability to comprehend the language.
Not to mention on his sizeable crush on Wanda herself.
But this test that had been handed back today... this made no sense. This should've been right...
"What did you get for number three, Wanda?" He asked, without even looking up. "He marked mine wrong and I can't tell why."
He waited a moment for her response. But as far as he could tell, the beautiful girl sitting across from him made no move. Not even a sound.
He looked up quickly, and saw that her smoky blue eyes were focused on his notebook, as if reading it upside down would somehow reveal the mysteries of life to her.
Wanda, he realized, was zoned out.
"Wanda...?" He ventured again, reaching out and touching her fingers, which were loosely wrapped around a pen, at rest on her own notes.
She looked up at his touch, and blinked, eyelids heavy with the scarlet shadow and thick black eyeliner that set off her face so prettily. Gave her a dark, sharp sort of look. Made her look older than she was, intimidating, but stunning.
He liked her best when she smiled. But really, she was just as beautiful when she looked angry, thoughtful, or anything else. Made his stomach jump, when her eyes caught his. It had been a few weeks, since their first date. A little longer since that drunken hook up at the club in the city. And still, his stomach jumped. Every time.
"What?"
He swallowed. Whatever she'd been thinking about, she obviously didn't feel like sharing. But he'd figured that into his calculations for this. The daughter of Magneto was not someone you expect to be terribly open. Particularly considering her past... "Nothing," he smiled at her, and let his fingers tangle up with hers, just barely, at the fingertips. She always felt so much colder than him, especially her hands. "You sure you don't want to just call it a night? You look awful tired."
And she did. Beautiful, yes, but the darkness under her eyes, and the fact that her eyelids were drooping ever so slightly... someone else might've missed it. But not Sam, who studied her face even more than he did Spanish, these days.
But she shook her head at him, and pushed her short bangs out of her face irritably, "No. We need to go over this now, while it's still fresh in our minds. I can't conjugate for shit." Her eyes fell away from his, almost nervously, and she looked back to the notebook.
No. This wasn't right. She must've been getting sick or something, because she wasn't acting very... Wanda at the moment. And hadn't been for a few days. She just looked... tired. "Maybe tomorrow we'd be better at it, though. I can take you home–,"
"I said," Her eyes met his again, and flashed dangerously, and she pulled her hand away from his, gripping the pen as if for her life, "I'm fine."
That was her Talking-to-Pietro voice. More like a growl, really. He'd heard it once or twice, already, when he'd had the pleasure of being near the Maximoff twins together. But he knew very well that if he let himself be intimidated by her constantly, he would lose her. He didn't need Roberto's bad love advice to tell him that much. So he set his jaw and said, "If you say so, fine. I'll do anything you want, Wanda. You know that. But can you tell me, honestly, that you're not dead tired?"
She glared at him for a moment, through long black eyelashes. And then, all at once, her face softened, her full red lips turned almost pouty, and she sighed briefly.
Again, he smiled at her, feeling tension he hadn't even realized was there drain out of his shoulders. Another thing about a girl like Wanda– always kept him on his toes. But he liked to think on his feet. So that suited him just fine.
But she did look awfully... sad, or something. Maybe it was just the tired thing, but really, that expression on her face was so unfamiliar. It could've been something bordering on depression, or concern, or maybe even anger in some strange form. Sam had always been good at reading people. But one thing he'd learned in his sixteen years on Earth was that when in doubt, it's best to ask. Because assuming you know what someone else is feeling will only get you into trouble. "Look, I know we're not exactly... close. But you can trust me. Are you sick? Is something wrong? You've been acting funny for a few days now."
A short, heavy breath, not quite a sigh, escaped her, and she leaned one elbow on the table, and used that hand to support her head, under her chin. "No, Sam," She finally spoke. "I'm ok. I'm just... I can't sleep sometimes. I have... it's... complicated."
He wanted to take her hand again, instinctively feeling that touching her would somehow help her to feel safer, somehow make things better. But he'd been brave enough with her for one day. He was getting better but... well hell, she still scared him. So he settled for putting his hand on the table, not far from hers, and hoping that she would take the invitation. "Are you thinking too much about something? My mother always says that's why our Paige can't sleep at night, sometimes. She's either worrying over something, or wishing for something."
She actually seemed to consider this, for a moment, chewing the inside of her cheek thoughtfully as she usually did when she was thinking. "Something like that. I keep thinking of the past... and these dreams keep coming. They wake me up and I can't fall back to asleep."
"Nightmares?"
"Sort of," she seemed reluctant, eyed him for a moment. And then pulled her eyes away from his, and focused on his hand on the table, tracing lines up and down his fingers with her own index finger, almost as if she didn't realize what she was doing. Like she just wanted something to focus on, really. "I don't know, Sam. It's just... confusing. And every time I try and think of the past, to figure out where it's coming from... my head just...," her brow creased now, in obvious irritation, and her eyes narrowed.
He stopped her hand from toying with his by taking it, finally. Cold. Always so cold.
She looked up at him sharply. And bit at her lower lip.
Jesus. Something really was wrong with her. She was never this quiet... never this... uncertain.
"It's ok. I'm sorry if you didn't want to talk about it. Maybe you should see the Professor. Didn't he used to...," He winced as he trailed off there. Because first off, when The Professor worked with Wanda, she was locked up in an asylum, and had been for at least eight years. A fact she probably didn't need to be reminded of. And second, Sam wasn't even sure that Wanda remembered anything much about those years. In fact, she never talked about anything before last year, as far as he could tell, aside from a vague mention of early childhood here and there. And he had some kind of recollection of Kurt saying her head had been screwed with by her father...
Oh man. Dumb hick, just keep your mouth shut...
But Wanda only looked confused, now. She blinked once, and shook her head slightly, absently stabbing herself in the lip with the fingernail on her pinkie. "I don't... I have no idea how I know the Professor, Sam."
So... she did know him... somehow...
Just... Jesus.
It was just too big for him. All that mattered to him, in the whole mess, was her. So all he could do was smile at her again, and squeeze the surprisingly small, soft hand in his. "If it wakes you up tonight... call me."
Instantly, she sat up straight and shook her head harder this time, "It's nothing, I just got confused for a minute."
But Sam wasn't buying it. When he was little, probably only six or seven, his brother Josh, the one just younger than him, used to have nightmares. They shared a room growing up, and when it would happen, Josh would sit up screaming, and wake Sam up. He could still remember what it had been like, how his little brother's eyes were so wild, how he was so pale, his voice so hoarse. Like a different person. And the two boys would bunk down in the same bed, after that– Josh scared of his nightmares, his big brother scared for him, and talk until they fell back asleep. Josh always said it was a good thing Sam had been there.
But no one was there for Wanda. And yeah, she was a grown woman, really. Eighteen and more independent than anyone else he knew.
But she was human, under there. And obviously, she was worried– if not full on scared.
"Call me," he said again, quieter this time, "Please?"
She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Instead, she closed it again, examined him closely, as she did at fairly regular intervals, in that way she had that made his ears burn. And then, after a moment, finally said, "Ok. Just... call the Institute?"
Trying not to sigh with relief, he nodded, "I'll have the phone with me. No one will mind. Bobby and Berto both snore so loud, I'll have to listen hard just to hear it ringing anyhow."
She graced him with a genuine, if half-baked, smile.
And really, that was all he wanted. He didn't really think that she'd call him, as much as he'd like her to. He wasn't even sure if he could call her a girlfriend or not– they'd been out on a few dates, hung out at her house, and spent more time doing Spanish homework than necessary. But he did like being with her, because she made him think. She looked at the world from the opposite end of things– urban, sophisticated, powerful, and cool.
Why she gave a damn about him, he couldn't figure.
But he sure as hell wasn't going to complain.
He just wanted to hold up his end of the deal. And he wanted to make her life easier. Better. Wanted to see her smile. And a few three AM phone calls would be a small price to pay.
For him. He realized that such a thing would exact a much larger price from Wanda. It was probably a little too close to asking for help, for the girl who could probably single-handedly defeat Magneto.
But he knew damn well he'd take the phone to bed with him every night, until she didn't look tired anymore, just the same.
* * *
Bobby Drake looked around the rec room at the Institute after school, and propped his feet up on the coffee table recklessly, giggling with glee at the prospect of having the TV all to himself. Usually Kurt put up a fight to watch anime, or Sam wanted to watch CMT, or something else dumb. But now, it was all his! And he was about to–
"Hey, snow-boy."
Bobby jumped at the unexpected intrusion, and spun in his seat to see who owned that voice.
And saw Angel leaning in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, a slight smile on his face.
Bobby rolled his eyes and turned back around, sinking back into the couch. "It's Iceman, Wings. Get it right."
With a low chuckle, Warren came to sit near him, leaning forward on the couch to avoid crushing his wings, and resting his elbows on his knees. Bobby moved over to give him more room, and clicked on the TV. Time for–
"Sure, Bobby. Hey, listen...," the winged wonder beside him started talking again. "You're friends with Jeanne-Marie, right?"
"Yeah," he answered, eyeing Warren sideways. The older boy was looking down at the floor, with that weird intensity Bobby had seen in him, during the few times he'd been in his presence. He guessed that he knew Angel slightly better than most, but not as well as Scott, Rogue, or Jean. And if he was going to be asking questions about Jeanne-Marie, he should probably ask her ex-roommate. But hell, maybe he was embarrassed or something, too embarrassed to ask a girl. The guy was hella quiet, really.
Damn you and your lingo, Alex Summers.
"We hang out a lot," he continued. It was pretty obvious that Warren had something serious to ask about her, and he was sure he knew what it was. He'd seen the two of them talking in the hallway just the other day, like old friends, and JM's trademark charm was most definitely having its effect on him. But just to be obtuse, he said, "But if this is about the ice in Scott's underwear, we didn't do it!"
The blonde boy's head snapped around to face him, and he raised one golden eyebrow. "...Right."
Bobby just smiled at him, happily. He liked Worthington, actually. The guy was a little too old to be that much fun, probably, almost four whole years older than Bobby himself. But he was an alright guy. And JM would definitely go for that type. Strong, silent, and really handsome. But he wasn't going to offer up information on a silver platter. The guy had to ask for it, at least!
"No," Warren finally started again, a distinct crease forming on his forehead as he obviously considered what he wanted to say. "I... I was just wondering if she... well, I heard that she just broke it off with someone–,"
"Yeah," he interrupted, getting impatient with cool guy's stuttering. Jesus, spit it out, wings. "Berto. He's suite-mates with me and Sam. Has the little sectioned off part of our room."
Warren nodded, but looked mildly irritated.
Bobby kept grinning. Feeding Warren useless information was pretty fun, really.
"So... do you think she'd... well, I know it's soon, but–,"
"Oh yeah, it's only been a few weeks. You know man, Roberto was so busted up about it too," Bobby chattered on, joyfully messing with the older boy's head. "Seriously, I think he cried himself to sleep that night. He doesn't anymore, but man did he lose big time on that one."
Warren shifted uncomfortably, and his wings ruffled slightly. "Oh. Yes, I suppose..."
"But whatever, right? I mean, JM will be fine, I mean, every guy here would give his left nut to go out with her."
"Yes... ah, I could imagine...," he was stuttering now, and turning a faint shade of pink.
Bobby fought very hard not to giggle, at the sight of the perfect superhero in such a state of ultimate discomfort. "I mean, even Scott can't help himself around her."
"Scott?" Warren's brow furrowed. "I didn't... I thought..."
Oh god... he couldn't help it any more. He started laughing now, suddenly, and leaned back in the chair, well amused with himself. "Dude, I'm fucking with you! Scott doesn't want her, she's getting to be like a sister to all of us! Oh man, your face is pink."
Much to Bobby's continued amusement, Warren's heroic face seemed caught somewhere between embarassment, anger, and relief. He opened his mouth, as if to speak, but was obviously bested by the same confusion that was showing on his face. Instead, he just shook his head, and let a slow smile creep onto his face.
Jesus. He couldn't take this anymore. Bobby stopped laughing, after another moment, and finally answered, breathlessly, "She'd go out with you."
The older boy's blue eyes widened in surprise, and he suddenly seemed to forget that he had just been messed with, hardcore.
Oh right, like it took a fucking psychic to tell that he was into JM. Who wasn't into JM, when they first met her? She was smart, funny, easy to talk to, sweet, and looked amazing in her costume. Christ. "That's what you're asking me, isn't it, bird-brain?"
The bird-brain crack seemed to bring Warren out of it, as he sat up a little straighter, and cocked an eyebrow again. "Yes. It is."
Bobby shrugged, now totally back to being serious, "Go for it. She's ok about Berto. I think she was more upset about JP's reaction to the break-up than the break-up itself."
Again, Warren nodded, considering. "I see."
"You're her type anyhow," he looked back to the TV and began clicking his way up the channels.
But this had apparently piqued the winged dude's interest, and he asked, "I am?"
Bobby rolled his eyes. "I figured you'd be smoother, Worthington. Yes, trust me, she'll say yes."
Damn. Rich, good looking guys were supposed to act like Jean-Paul and get whoever they wanted weren't they? Jesus, Bobby figured he was probably smoother than Mister Pretty-boy over here...
"Right," Angel said, obviously satisfied now. "Thanks, Drake."
"Any time."
Warren stood to go, but Bobby had another thought, before he even reached the door. "Oh, Angel... one more thing," he turned around and sat backwards, looking over the back of the couch now.
The other boy stopped and turned to look at him, cocking his head curiously.
"If you are serious about JM– and I hope to god you don't screw around with her, because you will be in a world of pain, and she'd have first dibs, then give you to me– you might want to think about making nice with Jean-Paul."
"Why is that?"
Bobby grinned, thinking of Roberto's face the last time he and Jean-Paul had one of their little run-ins. He'd never seen Sunspot quite so pale, or quite so wide-eyed, as on that day. "He made Berto miserable. And if he doesn't think you're treating Jeanne-Marie right, he'll do the same for you."
Warren pulled a very clear "yeah right" expression, and turned to go.
"No, seriously. I like you Warren, I really don't want you to die."
Warren stopped, and looked over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised inquisitively.
Ah, that got his attention. "Jean-Paul is like a volcano. He's quiet for awhile, and just a little scary. But when he explodes, you don't wanna be anywhere near it. Because that is some seriously fast molten lava, man, and you can't outfly it. I promise."
At that, the older boy smiled, and nodded, "I could see that, actually. I'll keep it in mind."
Bobby gave him a thumbs up, and turned back to his TV. Dude was in for an interesting ride, that much was for sure. Silently, he wished him luck. And called him crazy.
Ah well, at least it had been a laugh. Maybe Worthington wasn't so boring after all. At least, not boring to make fun of.
And finally, he could watch Passions in peace!
* * *
He'd been looking for Jeanne-Marie, of course, the moment he came into the Institute. But when he'd asked Jean about her, he'd been told that she was probably out doing homework. And considering Jean's frosty tone when informing him, he figured that was about all the information he should ask her for today– she was clearly unhappy about something.
Maybe it was Scott. Warren felt like an idiot, for not knowing that the two X-Men were involved. Not that he'd seen them together that much. At least, not when there wasn't some kind of life-threatening situation on hand that took precedence. But he'd talked to Scott more than a few times, at length, and Jean had just spent the last two weeks at his side... he'd think that someone would've mentioned it to him.
Not that it mattered. He hadn't tried to put any moves on her, he had nothing to feel bad about...
Not that he had any moves, per se.
Which was too bad, because he got the feeling that Jeanne-Marie Beaubier did have moves. At least, she was extremely comfortable around the opposite sex. And affectionate. And absolutely magnetic.
He shook his head, turning down the hallway toward the conference room he knew Xavier and the others would be waiting for him in. They had news about Worthington Industries for him, about the things that he and Jean had uncovered during their seemingly endless research. He did not need to be thinking about Jeanne-Marie...
It was hard though. He hadn't stopped thinking about her, in fact, since he'd seen her for the first time. It wasn't even that she was beautiful, which she was. Sweet-faced and fine-boned, those big, shockingly blue eyes, the fire behind them... but there was more to it than that. For the last few days, every time he'd been at the Institute, he'd made it a point to find her. And she always smiled at him so easily, put her arm through his, asked him questions that friends ask. And he always found himself talking to her as if he'd known her for ages, like it was nothing. There was just something about her that made him feel...
Normal? No, not just normal. Accepted. Content with his life. Something like feeling loved, really, for who and what he was. Not that she loved him, but it did feel... warm like that. And although he thought his sudden obsession with her might be a little out of hand, he couldn't resist the chance to get a little closer. He just didn't know anyone else like her. She was just so–
"Hey, Warren," Scott was beside him when he came out of his reverie, opening the door for him. "You feeling ok?"
He smiled and nodded, "Yes, I'm fine. I was just thinking."
"Dangerous habit," Scott raised his eyebrows.
Apparently so.
~~~~
"Your hunch was right, you two," Xavier was nodding his bald head at Warren and Jean, where they sat side by side at the huge round table. "ExGen does have links to certain parties of note. Namely, Sinister."
Jean sucked in a breath, just to his left, and Warren looked over to see her green eyes gone wide. "Essex! That was the name on the castle they took Jeanne-Marie and Pietro to, when Sinister kidnaped them!"
Wait. Jeanne-Marie and who? Pietro what? And why was that name familiar?
But the Professor was already nodding again, so Warren decided to keep his questions to himself, and hope that all would be explained. "Yes, Jean, and we have reason, now, to believe that Sinister is Dr. Nathaniel Essex, in fact."
Sinister. Kidnaper? Geneticist? What the hell were they talking about...?
"Wait a minute, Professor," Scott was shaking his head, on the other side of Jean. "That man, that thing we saw... he looked middle-aged. Well, if he'd looked a little more human he would. I don't think he would've been old enough in 1955–,"
"Neither would I, kid, to look at me," Logan's gruff voice added in, from next to Xavier.
Warren looked over at the feral mutant, and tried to hold back his distaste. The man was clearly untrustworthy. Just something in his eyes... he'd seen something like that in the eyes of muggers and murderers and other common street scum before. And Wolverine gave him the creeps, because of it.
But he couldn't keep quiet about this anymore. He was confused, and this meeting was about him. If he couldn't follow, he wasn't much help. And he'd spent long enough letting someone else run the show for him at Worthington Industries. Obviously, his parents weren't discriminating enough with their interests. He wasn't about to let that continue, not on his watch. "So, what you're saying," he spoke up, "is that my family funds research by some maniac who experiments on mutants? He actually kidnaped Jeanne-Marie?"
"I'm afraid so, Warren," was the Professor's answer.
Funny, how the man somehow managed to sound detached, yet as if he were sympathetic. An oxymoron in the sound of his voice.
But Warren didn't feel so detached. He just stared for a moment, all else forgotten, finally. Because really, he was watching his worst-case scenario unfold before his eyes. It was as bad as he'd feared, if this was true. No, it was worse than he'd feared... there was an actual, honest to god, supervillain involved.
Part of him thought it was a damn good thing he'd become suspicious and looked into this. But another tiny part, the weak, scared part that everyone had, but that he was so ashamed of, wished he had never thought of it.
Jean was obviously not feeling so detached either. She leaned back in her chair and shook her head, "My god, I didn't realize..."
"What can we do, Professor?" Scott asked, after only a moment's downtime.
Warren took a deep breath, at the business-like sound of Cyclops' voice, thankful for the guy's natural ability to just deal, an ability he both admired and envied, if just a bit, and looked up hopefully.
But it was Logan who answered, taking the chewed up end of an unlit cigar out of his mouth to do so. "Nothing for now. We gotta use Warren's connections to ExGen to find out for sure if Sinister is still involved in their operation. And if not, who is, and what they're up to?"
"I can request a full report," he said, immediately. Action was the only way to get rid of the tiny voice of doubt, he knew all too well. And the only way to get rid of this sinking feeling of guilt in his stomach was to be proactive. Here was his chance. "We're footing so much of their bills, if I can make them see how serious Worthington Industries is about backing out, they'll give us much greater access. Not full, but enough that we can get inside and find a way to get it ourselves."
Everyone at the table was nodding at him, and Xavier spoke again, "I wish Aurora could go with you, since she would know and recognize the kind of equipment and personalities we are working with here. If we could somehow disguise her beyond recognition, perhaps with an inducer. But I don't think she can handle the strain of facing her past just yet."
Ah yes, he'd heard about this as well. Ages ago, when the Beaubiers had first arrived, he'd spoken to Scott online, and had been given the story a bout Jeanne-Marie's fragile state at the time. He honestly found it hard to believe that the sweet, friendly, flirtatious girl he'd met a few days ago could change into something so fragile. But then, if the Professor was still concerned about it, he wouldn't want to endanger her. No matter how much he'd like to have her on his arm, even if it was just for some undercover operation.
And if he didn't bite the bullet and just ask her out soon, that might be the only way he'd ever have her on his arm...
"I don't know," Scott was shaking his head, tapping his fingers on the table in front of him ponderously, "She's been stable since the last incident, and that was months ago. For the most part, anyhow. I know that her disorder hasn't disappeared, but maybe if we put the right spin on things, make sure we get Aurora instead of Jeanne-Marie–,"
"It's too risky," Jean cut him off, gently. "If something happens and she blows Warren's cover...," She looked over to him now, and bit at her lip, obviously considering the possibility rather deeply, and not liking it.
That did not bode well, he decided. But things would be easier if he had someone with him who knew what to look for, what to expect. "If she knows about this Sinister, it might be worth the risk. Is there anyone else?"
"Just Maximoff," Scott sighed.
Maximoff. Ok, that name he definitely remembered. "Which one? Aren't they...?"
"Magnus' children, yes Warren," Xavier was answering now, steepling his fingers and cocking one eyebrow in an impressive, and obviously unconscious Spock impression. "No, Quicksilver is not dependable. He has no allegiance to anyone, thanks to his...," But the Professor trailed off there, shaking his head. "No, not Pietro. You'll have to go it alone."
Pietro. Right, that was where he'd heard that name. He barely remembered the brat, but he knew enough to pity Jeanne-Marie for her kidnaping even more, if she was with that creep.
"You know, Professor," Scott leaned forward, elbows on the table now, "If you sent Jean-Paul, that'd make Maximoff a pretty safe bed. He's shady, but I don't think he'd back out on JP. He might, but it's pretty unlikely."
Xavier seemed to consider this for a moment, an expression of mild shock on his face. It was obviously an avenue he had not considered taking. "True."
Warren, however, was hopelessly confused once again. Not being privy to the ins and outs of X-Men politics was certainly becoming a handicap. And if he wanted to take care of business, he'd need to fix that. "They're friends?"
Jean shifted beside him, and offered him a bemused grin, "It's a little more complicated than that."
But Logan was not so shy about informing him of the situation. "They're screwing."
Scott put his head in his hands, and Warren could've sworn he was laughing. Jean shook her head and hid her face with a screen of red hair, so he couldn't see her reaction. Xavier simply raised his eyebrow again.
And Warren felt like an idiot. He could feel his face flushing. And suddenly this chair was very uncomfortable. He fought the urge to fidget, and looked down at the table.
Jesus. What a day he was having. First that idiot Drake messing with him, and now this. Well, how was he supposed to know? No one had told him that Jean-Paul and Pietro were gay for god's sake. If they had, then maybe he would've thought before he asked, and not have to be sitting in the same room with the proper Jean Grey and Professor Xavier while Wolverine discussed who was screwing who...
"Well, it's true," Logan shrugged, after a moment, with a smarmy sort of grin.
"I see," Warren finally made himself say, still refusing to meet the feral's eyes. He would, eventually. Once his ears stopped burning.
"No," Xavier blessedly spoke again, "They're too volatile. Jean-Paul has my implicit trust, in these matters, of course. But no matter if Pietro may... like him, that doesn't make him anywhere near as trustworthy."
"Speaking of which," Scott asked, obviously accepting this answer as the truth, "has anyone heard from Magneto? Or any of his crew?"
Logan was the first to answer, shaking his head, "Not a goddamn word. Haven't even smelled the Cajun lurking around, since he left here last time."
Jean sat up a little straighter, and her expression turned to one of shock and concern. "He used to lurk?"
Now that guy, Warren remembered. And to be honest, the idea of Gambit lurking around here even made him wary. They didn't come much shadier. The way that guy had just slid right past all his security, taken that Spider Stone like he'd left it outside on the front stoop, gift-wrapped... not that it had been his fault, he'd been under mind control. But anyone who knew how to do that kind of thing was probably not to be trusted.
Xavier, however, ignored the sidetrack to his meeting, and said, "I'd appreciate it if no one mentioned this outside of this room. Particularly to Jeanne-Marie. She may yet have to face Sinister again, but I'd rather it wasn't today."
"Understood, Professor," Scott said, "But I still think she can handle at least hearing about it."
"We'll see after her session tonight, Scott," Xavier conceded. "Dismissed. Warren, could I speak with you for a moment?"
Jean, Scott, and Logan all got up to leave the room and started to file out, but Warren leaned forward a little more in his seat, curious. "Of course, Professor."
"I spoke to the research foundation your parents supported in Canada that you discovered made a large contribution to a project concerning mutant genetics. They directed me to a Dr. Walter Langkowski, who now works for the government himself, apparently on some sort of top-secret project. If you're interested in finding out about his work, I did manage to find a number for his department."
Slowly, Warren nodded. The idea that his family was involved in more than one nefarious plot against mutants was a little more than he was ready to stomach, today. But it was his responsibility. "I'll talk to him."
"I don't think it's going to be any trouble," Xavier smiled at him, voice taking on that strange sympathetic echo again. "I believe this project is purely for knowledge's sake."
"Let's hope you're right, Professor X."
* * *
Jeanne-Marie was surprised. She'd just had to work on a literature project with Pietro and Lance, and she had gotten out of there without wanting to kill either of them.
She hadn't thought she'd see the day.
She hung up her coat in the front closet, and headed straight for the TV room, where she just knew that Bobby would be hogging the channel changer. Not that she cared– she didn't have any "shows," like most of the other kids. But she did enjoy watching them battle over who got to watch what they wanted on the big tv in there.
Sure enough, there he was, feet in place on the coffee table, subjecting Kitty to something she was obviously not that excited about. The brunette girl had a look of pure boredom on her face.
Bobby, on the other hand, was smiling in contentment.
Jeanne-Marie sat down next to him, dropping her book bag next to his feet on the table, and leaned on him heavily.
"Long day, JM?" He asked, sweetly, patting her on the leg.
She nodded as best she could with her head on his shoulder.
He took a deep breath as if he was about to say something else, but something behind her caught his attention, and he suddenly stood up.
She watched him with vague irritation, as he grabbed the bored Kitty by her arms, and hauled her up. "C'mon Kit, I gotta show you something."
"Like, what?" She protested.
"Something in my room. JM, we'll be back in five."
"Drake, you better not be talking about what I think you're–,"
But their argument was lost as they went up the stairs, and Jeanne-Marie found herself alone with the TV.
She blinked, confused. But then, Bobby's actions rarely made complete sense to her.
When she turned back to face the TV, however, she saw someone in the doorway, out of the corner of her eye. Someone, she was happy to find, with wings.
"Hello, Angel."
He smiled that gentle smile of his, and came to sit next to her. "Please, call me Warren."
They had to go through this nearly every time they spoke. She did think of him as Warren, but she'd always loved angels so much, as a child. Granted, they could be terrifying as well. But so beautiful.
He was not, of course, an angel. She knew that. He was just a man, and a very sweet one at that. "Of course, Warren. How was the meeting?"
"Informative," he replied, "If heavily... depressing. The family business has its fingers in some pretty terrible shit...." But he trailed off and looked over at her, a wry, somewhat crooked smile on his face. Not his usual million-dollar smile. "Heh, sorry. You don't want to–,"
"I do," she cut him off, before he could tell her what she did and did not want to hear. When she'd first met him, she'd thought he was interesting. He honestly didn't seem to realize how wonderful he is. Now, after only a few days, she had decided that it was no act– he was genuine. Which, of course, only made her more interested in just how he could've come out that way. Surely just having wings wouldn't be enough for someone as intelligent, thoughtful, and funny as Warren Worthington to look so... sad all the time. Like he was apart from everything. Like he had no idea he was beautiful. "You know, Warren... I see you here every day now. I watch you, sometimes. And you only smile if someone makes a funny joke, or when you first greet someone. You seem so sad and thoughtful all the time." Then, on impulse, she reached out and touched the edge of his wing, carefully, feeling the silkiness of the feathers, the strength beneath, with just a fingertip. So much softer than a bird's wing. Like an angel's. "And you're so beautiful, it seems wrong."
She slid her finger down just a bit, with his feathers, and he immediately sat straighter, shoulders tensing.
Jeanne-Marie looked back up at his eyes, pulling her hand away quickly, and silently berating herself. What if she'd hurt him? She didn't know one way or the other if he could stand to have them touched! "I'm sorry–,"
"No," he said, quickly, baby blue eyes darting to hers, away again, and then finally catching hers for good. He smiled at her, and she realized, with great relief, that she hadn't hurt him at all. "I just... most people never even see them, let alone touch them. I forget... they're sensitive."
She nodded, understanding. Of course. What a fool she was. "To catch the wind, non?"
"Yes," he kept smiling, without showing his teeth, pink lips pressed together as if they had to hold the full on grin he was capable of inside, for an unknown reason, "But, what you said. I suppose sometimes I look sad, yes, but beautiful really isn't the word."
Grinning, she offered, "Dashingly handsome?"
He laughed quietly, a low, controlled sound that somehow felt infectious. So she laughed with him. And then he winked at her quickly, "Well, yes, of course."
"See," she took his hand in hers and squeezed it, "You smiled!"
"Must be you."
She cocked an eyebrow at him, "Am I so funny-looking?"
Smile becoming even wider, he just shook his head. Almost like he couldn't believe what she was saying. "No. Not at all. Jeanne-Marie?"
"Yes?"
He appeared to swallow hard, but his eyes never left hers as he asked, "Would you have dinner with me?"
She felt her eyes go wide, and blinked at him a few times, lost for words.
Well, she knew that he liked her. And she was certainly interested in him. But she honestly had no idea that he liked her enough to... "Tonight?" She tried to buy herself time, to give him the answer she knew she wanted to, without giggling like a little girl.
"Any night," he told her, earnestly. "You choose."
Now, it was her turn to swallow. Her heart was suddenly in her throat, beating like a rabbit's, and she couldn't seem to make it go back to where it belonged. "Well, I have a history test tomorrow..."
"Tomorrow night?"
She couldn't keep from smiling, as she told him, "Yes, tomorrow night."
Oh dear Lord... had he really just asked her for a date? Angel, asking her for a date? She barely knew him, she shouldn't be so excited, maybe he was strange and snotty and...
Oh god.
"Would you rather go out, or should I cook?"
His wings ruffled, slightly, as he asked, and caught her attention. She knew that when he went out, he kept them hidden. He was lovely with or without... but if she was going to be with him, she wanted to be with all of him. Not some front he put up for the rest of the world. Just him. "I don't want you to hide yourself, Warren."
"I'll pick you up at seven," was his immediate answer. "Dinner will be ready at eight."
* * *
Pietro threw his backpack onto the floor in his room, and stretched his tired back out instantly, reaching high into the air. It had been a really damn long day– school in the morning, then working on that stupid project with Jeanne-Marie (who, luckily, was almost as smart as her brother) and Lance (who was... well smarter than average, but nowhere near to Pietro, of course.) After that, which had taken about three hours, JP had been taken by another of his reckless samosa cravings, so they'd gone for Indian.
This was, in fact, the first time he'd been home since seven AM. And he was actually pretty happy to see the place.
As Pietro stretched, Jean-Paul dropped his bag next to his friend's and started digging in it. Pietro knew that he had some reading to do, but had invited him over anyhow. He was tired and cranky, but... Pietro really didn't want to be alone right then. Whether JP had figured that out, or just didn't mind where he did his homework, Pietro didn't much care. He was just glad that the X-Man had agreed to hang out awhile longer. In fact, he was halfway hoping that JP would pass out in his bed, and end up there all night.
Maybe having someone else around would keep the nightmares at bay. Or, at least, make it easier to fall asleep.
It usually was easier, when Jean-Paul slept over, oddly enough. And not just because that usually meant that they were both worn out. Maybe having him around just gave Pietro something to think about, other than his miserable life, how stupid everyone around him was, how trapped he felt, the stupid fucking nightmares...
"Pietro...?"
The silver-haired boy turned his head to look at JP, who was now stretched out on his bed with his lit reader in one hand and something white and plastic in the other.
Whoa. He'd really just zoned out there for a few. "Huh?"
Jean-Paul shook the white thing at him once, and it rattled.
Oh. Right. The pills.
"What's this?" JP inquired, eyebrows dangerously high.
No shit, Sherlock. "Valium. I believe it says right on the label, boy genius."
JP narrowed his electric blue eyes at him, and popped the bottle open, examining its contents carefully. "What's it doing in here? And half gone?"
Pietro rolled his eyes reflexively. He figured that someone would have to give him shit about this, but he really hadn't expected it from Jean-Paul. The guy knew plenty about the usefulness of drugs when dealing with hyperactive systems. "Figure it out, speed bump."
Jean-Paul carefully replaced the cap on the pill bottle, and set it back on the night stand, then leveled a stare at Pietro that the Brotherhood speedster was surprised didn't fry his brain. Or steal his soul. "Maximoff, if you weren't by nature so fucking fast, I'd swear you were retarded."
Once he'd had a moment to recover from the heat of Jean-Paul's glare, Pietro attempted to shoot one of equal intensity right back, and planted his hands on his hips. "Look dude, fuck off. I really don't need this right now, especially from my friendly neighborhood drug dealer."
Predictably enough, Jean-Paul was unimpressed. "Once in awhile, a great while, yes, it's nice to get fucked up and relax. But this is different. Since when are you a socially-acceptable-Valium-addiction-bearing-housewife type?"
Alright. Now "addiction" was an awful strong word. Jesus, he couldn't sleep! That's what the shit was for was it not? Granted, Pietro had to take enough to knock out a decent-sized horse for it to actually have the full effect, but still, what the fuck was he supposed to do? "That's the first bottle I bought. I can't fucking sleep right, ok...,"
But once he started talking, he found that he simply didn't have the energy to keep up his righteous indignation any longer, and let his hands fall to his side, his shoulders slump. "Something's wrong."
JP sat up straight now, and Pietro carefully avoided those eyes as he asked, "What is it?"
"I don't know," came the automatic answer.
The automatic lie. He did know. But he wasn't about to admit that dreams from his childhood had him so wrecked. It was so fucking stupid...
"You do," JP, predictably enough, wasn't buying it. He put down his book and pushed himself to the edge of the bed, faint worry lines marring the hard, smooth angles of his face now. Not angry anymore, at least, which was good. "Look, this is getting out of hand. Whatever is bothering you has to stop. You look like hell, and–,"
Pietro let out a loud, derisive snort to cut him off, suddenly extremely uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was taking. "Ohyeah.Igetit. God forbid the boy toy isn't up to par for a few days."
As soon as he said it, he felt like he'd been punched in the gut. And he wished he could take it back.
But he also knew that he'd meant it to hurt Jean-Paul. He wasn't sure how he knew it would, but he did.
Jean-Paul's eyes flashed, hot and electric, then turned to ice. Pietro watched the simple series of movements that the other boy executed in a mere fraction of a second, consciously allowing himself to speed up with Jean-Paul's burst of speed, but making no move to avoid him. The X-Man, visibly vibrating with the build up of energy in his body that his powers caused, to Pietro's eyes, stood, took two long, certain strides, and sprung like a tiger.
Pietro let himself be slammed against the wall, in fast forward, hard. He felt the impact through his bones, and was honestly surprised that he hadn't ended up through the wall, in Lance's room.
Not that it mattered. His whole body already ached with exhaustion. Why not throw in a few well-deserved bruises?
And Jean-Paul was on him now, had him by the front of the sweater, breathing hard, inches from his face. And the Canuck was seriously fucking pissed. Normally, JP slamming him against a wall, or any other number of mildly violent acts, would've been a real turn-on. But not when he had that look in his eyes. When Jean-Paul looked like that, like he was about to beat the shit out of the next person to open his mouth, Pietro had to admit that he was really fucking scary. And not in a good way.
But he deserved the pain, for that. So bring it on, Jean-Paul.
"You're a real fucking bastard sometimes, you know that?" the dark-haired boy hissed at him, eyes frozen, jaw muscle working hard, breath hot and short.
Without meaning to, Pietro looked down. He knew it was a heinously submissive action... but fuck. He really wanted to take it back now. Bad.
Jean-Paul slammed his fist into Pietro's chest, the one clutching his sweater, and trapped him between the fist and the wall, less than gently. "Fucking look at me."
Pietro did, instantly. His eyes scanned his best friend's face, found it cold and beautiful in a way that almost hurt him to see. And he felt like he was choking on something, suddenly.
After a moment's thought, he recognized the only vaguely familiar sensation. Guilt.
"I know what you're doing," JP growled, letting go of his sweater, but jabbing him in the chest with one finger instead. His eyes never let up, and Pietro was caught by them, he knew, until Jean-Paul saw fit to release him from their hold. "You think that if you piss me off enough, I'll fuck off and leave you alone, shut up about whatever it is that has you so fucked up, and let you pretend you're a hard ass. That worked a few months ago, mon ami, but not anymore. I know you too well."
Pietro swallowed hard, and felt his stomach flip. "That's touching," he managed to squeeze out, trying desperately to give it the sarcastic spin he didn't feel at all.
But Jean-Paul, still fearless and utterly in control, only put one warm hand to his face for a moment, still staring him down threateningly. The combination of the two message confused Pietro, and only increased his sense of panic, that Jean-Paul was the tiger here, and Pietro had a fair chance of not making it out alive. JP's hand on his face was almost comforting, it was so gentle. But those eyes...
"Yes, it is touching," the other boy suddenly pulled his hand away and took a step backwards. "And don't pretend you don't think it is, you prick."
Pietro stared, now totally taken back, and watched as JP turned around and sauntered back to the bed, then threw himself on it and stretched out again.
First off, how the fuck could he know that? And second... hello split personality! Man, that shit must be genetic, or something...
With a resigned sigh, the silver-haired speedster followed his friend's lead, and threw himself down on the bed next to him. Achingly tired– too tired to fight. And too scared to be alone, really, which was what this all boiled down to. He was too tired, in fact, to deny that at the moment. "I'm just grouchy. I need to sleep, but I'm too tense. Achy, you know? I can't even think straight."
Jean-Paul, face now composed, eyes back to calm, crystal pools of blue, was examining the pill bottle interestedly again. "This shit... once in awhile I'm sure it's fine. But how long did it take you to eat half the bottle?"
Busted. He'd bought the bottle two days ago.
"Well," he tried to somehow skirt the issue, "I have to take eight at a time, or it doesn't work. Just makes me groggy."
JP closed his eyes for a moment, and then opened them to cast a venomous sidelong glance at the other boy. "Fuck. I swear to god, Pietro, right here right now– If you fucking kill yourself, I will come after you and drag you back into the land of the living just so I can have the pleasure of killing you myself."
That actually made Pietro laugh. "Again, touching." But in a fucked up, JP kind of way... it kinda was. It was pretty nice, really, to have someone worry about him. Even if Jean-Paul's worrying involved slamming him into walls.
"I'm on a roll today," his friend replaced the pills on the night stand and then turned back to face Pietro, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Maybe you should talk to Mr. McCoy. Or even Xavier."
Pietro rolled his eyes. Oh yeah, since adults are so good at fucking me over, let me give a few more a line in on my life. "No way. I'm not some goddamn five-year-old. It's just a nightmare–,"
"Nightmare?" Jean-Paul cut in, his face now showing concern outright.
"Fuck," Pietro sighed. He hadn't meant to say that aloud... "Jesus, I'm tired."
Jean-Paul sat up suddenly, and held out a hand to pull him up as well. "Take your shirt off."
Pietro accepted the hand and sat up, then raised his eyebrows suggestively. Not that JP's appetites should really surprise him anymore. Hell, if he'd been feeling on top of his game, he probably would've been all over the guy by now. Look at him, sitting there in that tight T-shirt, in those jeans that looked like he'd had them custom–
"Don't get excited," the X-Man was shaking his head and smiling. "You're in no condition."
"True."
"And anyhow, if that's what I wanted, I'd take it off myself."
"Also true."
Pietro complied anyhow, and threw his shirt on the floor carelessly. Jean-Paul made a sort of "turn around" gesture with one hand. Again, Pietro did as he was told, and stretched out on his stomach, head cradled in his arms. Ah yeah, this was the life.
"You said you're tense," JP was explaining, as Pietro felt the other boy climb on top of him, one leg on either side, and come to rest lightly just at Pietro's tailbone. "I can put you to sleep, if that's what's keeping you up. We had a trainer from South Africa once, when I was on the national team– he had this strange degree in something like... human kinetics and ergonomics. Something to that effect. He was a genius when it came to muscle therapy. He taught us how to work out cramps or tension for each other, when he wasn't there to do it for us."
Pietro closed his eyes as Jean-Paul's voice continued to drift over him, softer than usual, strangely... patient. He felt his friend's fingers push on him slightly, at his lower back, and then slide up, applying constant pressure to the tense ridges of his muscles. JP repeated the action a few times, like he was feeling Pietro out. Before long, Pietro was sighing aloud with contentment at the warmth from the other boy's strong hands and the effect it was having on his tired body. After a little more kneading, more like Jean-Paul was ironing out the bunches in Pietro's muscles, Jean-Paul started concentrating on the really painful spots, the ones that felt, at least, to the sleepy speedster, as if they were more bone than muscle at the moment.
He was in heaven– drunk on exhaustion and the strangely blissful feeling of just being touched by someone he trusted. He lost track of what the hands on his back were doing, more involved in the simple sensation of the weight of Jean-Paul on him, and the feeling of the knots in his muscles untying themselves under his hands. But eventually, he recovered enough lucidity to realize that part of the bliss had to do with the fact that the Canadian boy's hands were actually vibrating against him, when he came to the particularly nasty spots.
Sleepily, Pietro smiled– grateful, and not for the first time, for his best friend's fantastically useful mutation. Funny, though, to think that ten minutes ago JP had been ready to kill him. And now, he was making him remember just how good being alive could feel.
But then, that was one of the brilliant things about Jean-Paul Beaubier. Never a dull moment.
"Trainer teach you that too?" He mumbled, as he felt a sudden vibration in his friend's fingers seep into his back, loosening the knot Jean-Paul was applying his efforts to at the moment.
Somewhere above him, JP laughed. "I made some modifications. You're a wreck."
"God it feels good," he sighed contentedly again. Because damn, now his lower back was starting to feel alright, and JP was moving up toward his shoulders and... guh.
"That's the idea."
"You should move in with us," Pietro mumbled, swimming in his half-asleep bliss.
Another laugh from above. "Jesus. You'd be dead in a week."
"Yeah," Pietro agreed, "But I'd have a blissful fucking week before you finally cracked and decided to kill me, Jean-Paul."
JP kept laughing quietly for a moment, and dug into Pietro's aching shoulders with a ferocity that was somehow all too kind. Pietro kept sighing happily, mumbling that it felt good now and then, warm and sleepy and starting to drift off, until Jean-Paul finally spoke again. "Throw that horrible shit away."
"I'm going to have to ask you to shut the fuck up now," Pietro was in no mood to have his moment of joy interrupted, thank you very much. "You fucking pothead."
"Once in the past six months, Pietro," JP reminded him. "Our physiology, especially yours–,"
"Shut up with your human kinetics and ergonomics already. You're making me tense again."
Jean-Paul smoothed out the muscles near his shoulder blades, the squeezed his shoulders. "I am not. I can feel you, remember."
But Pietro was too far gone to argue now. Five more minutes of this treatment and he'd be sleeping like a baby. "Jean-Paul, shut up and fix me."
* * *
"Which brings us to the third major factor in evolution– mutation. This is the single fastest way in which evolution can move forward–,"
"How do we know it's going forward?"
Jean Grey shifted in her seat, trying not to look uncomfortable.
She knew very well that many of the students in her class realized that she was a mutant. It had not been made an issue, not at all. A fact which had surprised her, initially. But since they'd been on the subject of evolution, she'd noticed more and more wary glances being cast in her direction. Professor Johns was wonderful, of course– she never made a comment about mutants that wasn't textbook, and spoke of evolution with a completely unbiased, scientific approach that Jean admired. And she was a good woman, as well, fair and intelligent and caring about her students. But it was those students who worried Jean, some times. Because the air in class had lately been thick with between-the-lines questions that obviously related directly to the mutant problem.
A problem that she, at least, in their eyes, was likely seen as a part of.
A problem that, as far as she was concerned, was not a problem at all.
"That's just it," The professor answered, sitting herself on her desk and looking up at the student who had asked, a girl only a few rows down from Jean. "We don't know if it's going to be a useful mutation, one that gives the organism an advantage over the rest of their species, thereby making them more likely to pass their genes on, or if it will be a harmful one that will cause that organism's chances of procreating to lower drastically."
A boy on the other side of the auditorium spoke up now, "So if a mutant has some kind of advantage over me, their kids are likely to have an advantage over mine?"
Her stomach dropped when she heard it. That was the first time any direct questions had been asked about mutants posing a genetic "threat" to humanity.
She took a deep breath, sat up straight, and raised her hand.
Because yes, she was a mutant. And she was no threat to anyone.
Anyone, at least, who didn't cross her friends or family.
Professor Johns looked up at her and smiled. "Miss Grey?"
Another breath. A look around. She could positively feel every eye in the classroom on her. Every person in there waiting to hear what she would say about this. This, she knew damn well, was a test.
But she'd always tested well. So she began, "Thank you, Dr. Johns. This theory of evolution doesn't really apply to "mutants" as a human phenomenon. Darwinism, for our species, is not the same kind of physical survival guide it once was. Social Darwinism goes a lot further for humanity, when it comes to fitness– the kind of evolutionary fitness to survive long enough to pass your genes one. Money and good healthcare go a lot further than an ability to perform some sort of "inhuman" feat, large or small. And, to be honest, most humans with an active X-Factor do not receive any "advantage," per se, that could be at all considered to make them more fit. If anything, they are likely to be outcast by their species for the "disadvantageous," as the majority of the species sees things, nature of their mutations. And even if they were not, the evolutionary advantages, both physically and socially, are unclear."
A boy not far from her snorted loudly, "Yeah, and some mutants are just natural geniuses, right Jean? You don't call that an advantage?"
She fought the urge to spin on the boy and offer to show him just the sort of advantages being a mutant did have, even if its evolutionary advantages were negligible. Instead, she took another long, calming breath, and looked him in the eye. Cold, pale green eyes.
"That's enough," The professor cut in immediately. "Thank you Miss Grey, those are excellent points that you raise. Human evolution is no longer a matter of Survival of the Fittest, in the purely physical sense, but also in the social sense. That issue is not as black and white as the media would have us believe. It isn't really our concern in this course, however, which is why we have been discussing species other than our own...,"
She went on and on, but Jean found that she was still being watched by the green-eyed boy a few moments later. She narrowed her own eyes at him, and flipped her hair nonchalantly over her shoulder, hoping that she appeared less nervous than she was. But she couldn't help but feel like he had murder in his eyes.
She told herself she was being overdramatic. But honestly...
"What's your super power Grey?" He suddenly hissed, in a loud whisper. "Ass-kissing?"
A girl beside him laughed a little too loudly, "Perfect hair?"
Someone behind her leaned forward now, and rumbled, "Whatever guys, leave her alone. Andy, everyone knows your kid brother is a mutant, so knock it off."
The boy with the pale green eyes suddenly stood, and exclaimed, "Fuck you, man!"
Jean looked from him to her defender, a dark-haired, dark-eyed boy in a Ramones T-shirt. She was partially glad to see that not everyone in the class was against her, but she was also mildly annoyed. She really could handle it...
"Mr. Rasz," Dr. Johns had her hands on her hips, and was glaring at the standing boy. "Is there a problem?"
"He's not a mutant!" the boy protested, removing the hat that sported his Greek letters and moving as if he would lunge over the seats at Ramones boy, right through Jean if necessary. One of his friends held him back, the girl who had suggested that her mutant power was perfect hair, less than cleverly.
"That's lovely," the professor pointed emphatically at the door. "Now sit down or get out."
Andy Rasz, for Jean had gleaned his name from the conversation around her, took a moment to glare at her again.
Jean glared right back, and set her jaw defiantly. She'd be damned before she let any mutant hater intimidate her. Not here, not in her own school. She was an American too, goddammit.
And she won, this round. The boy's upper lip curled in disgust, but he turned his back, and stalked off, through the door.
Dr. Johns carried on with her lecture, as if nothing had happened. But Jean felt herself shaken, inside. It hadn't been that bad, and she'd known that she should expect problems... but something about that boy was just unnerving.
Andy's little girlfriend was speaking again now, however, and just loud enough so that Jean couldn't help but overhear. "Jesus. Fucking muties causing problems everywhere. Someone oughtta do something about em."
******************************************
AN the second:
I realize, of course, that this is all hopelessly complicated. It may seem to you that I have three, possibly four distinct storylines happening all at once, and keeping track of them may well be giving you a migraine. I know it gives me one. But, I assure you, it all ends up in the same place. Not that I have the genius of Dickens behind me here, nothing brilliant like that, just that I truly am going somewhere with this.
Anyhow, Dickens is one of those writers I never like while I'm reading but I finish the book and go, "well, wasn't that clever."
That was oddly off topic, wasn't it?
Right. So I've had this story in my head since the next-to-last chapter of Relativity or so (a few details were not quite ironed out, but it's all good now, thanks to Sue's help!), so if you can bear with me, I'll try and make it as painless as possible ;)
One issue some people seem to be having is the lack of Rogue/JP time. There is a reason for that. I've not forgotten our favorite southern belle– I'm sure that JP would talk to her about his estrangement from JM, his worries over Pietro, etc. However, I have a lot of story to tell here, and I'm trying to economize as much as possible without compromising myself on the "storytelling" thing. Because I really don't want this to last 80 chapters just because I want to talk about every character in Evo. Even though I do. I always have reasons, and usually a lot of them, for the scenes I choose to write, and for the things I let happen off-panel. And Rogue just isn't a main plot-forwarder at the moment.
Of course, now that I said that I'll feel an idiot, since the next chapter (or maybe it's the chapter after... the next three chapters are basically written already...) starts with Rogue/JP time... but the point is that I needed a reason for it, and I had a lot of other things to get to first. All in good time, my pretties. All in good time.
I am, however, very pleased that there is a considered interest among those who are bothered to read this in Rogue. Because she'll get her chance, and it's good to know that it has a good shot at being well-recieved!
That explained, now for the shout outs.
Risty: HAHA! You said JP/Scott bondage! *ahem* That was way more amusing to me than it should've been. Don't give me ideas ;) You, ma chere, have done it. I cannot believe that you remembered the angel from the windows, because that was exactly what I was going for when I wrote that. I had this whole story planned when I wrote that bit with JM, and I already knew Warren would be an integral part of the story. Yes, I also used that angel as a counterpart to the kinder, gentler one she saw in "Theology," but I had my other reasons. And holy Jesus, you picked up on it. You restore my faith in humanity. You've just made me so happy, you have no idea.
TKD: A minor Fuzzy fix, but it did me good to write it. And holy god... it is so my favorite challenge right now. Taekwandodo needs to love Warren! Well, you don't need to, but damn... he's Warren! Hope I didn't ruin the good start from the last chapter in this one...
The Rogue Witch: It doesn't sound dipshit at all! In fact, one of the biggest compliments I could ever get paid is for someone to say exactly what you did– "That is -so- JP." Makes me all warm and fuzzy inside. Or maybe that's just some strange Kurt fantasy of mine... either way, thank you! I appreciate the compliment on the Scott/JP interaction to. I love to write them together for some reason. They're just so strange. But I suppose my affinity for weird relationships has been proven sufficiently by this time. And yes, I too like Lance. Though he's a nutcase, clearly... I guess I just like the "tough guy" thing. And really, he does take care of them.
cyberpilate: Lovely to meet you! It is so kind of you to actually have me bookmarked, and that you check up to see if I've done anything lately. That, also, gives me a nice feeling. Yes, Alex being gay was quite an adjustment for many people. But I suppose the joy of writing Evo-verse is the freedom it allows. I'm sure quite a few people were doubting that I'd ever picked up a comic book in my life, when I pulled that out of the hat, but as you said, I had my reasons. That people would accept them as well enough, and continue reading, means a lot to me. Thank you for the words on the theme of the story as well, the relationships between siblings, and family in general (eventually, it'll come up...) I'm happy, and also surprised, that it interests others as much as it has interested me. I'm glad to know that you're reading, and thank you for letting me know what you think!
Caliente: You too have picked up on me foreshadowing Angel's coming in HCT! Go you! I'm not saying if he ends up with JM... but it's pretty obvious by now that I at least wanted to try it, I suppose. The animal people is neither from AF or Avengers, per se. It's just a part of the Maximoff history thing, and I'm not sure where it was first shown. I have their story from the Marvel Saga books that came out in the early 80s. And the animal dudes showed up a lot in Quicksilver's own series, from the 90s. And pretty much any time you are dealing with the High Evolutionary. They're called the New Men. As for your masochistic tendencies... you and Pietro both, apparently. The little devil. Thanks for another highly entertaining, yet also helpful and intelligent review. How you manage that balance, I've no idea. But I'm grateful, just the same.
Akuma no Tsubasa: Yes, the Warren development fits in with where the story is going. Without question. In fact, it's super hella important, you will be pleased to note! More familial relationship exploration to come, that's a promise. I'm glad that you are entertained and/or intrigued by the theme of choice here. Nice to know that I'm not talking to a brick wall. And with excellent reviewers like you on the job, keeping me straight, I never feel that way. So thanks a million!
Tonianne: Hello, and nice to meet you ;) Hope this clears up a little bit about what's wrong with Pietro, though the reasons it's happening will have to wait for... er... lots more chapters later!
crazyspaceystracey: Too kind! I rock? Wooohooo! Scott talking to Alex might end up off-panel, might not. I'm still debating on how to sort it out, for the next chapter. But I'm certainly glad it's still enjoyable for you. Thanks for the reviews!
Angharad: JP and JM speaking to one another always makes me feel like something is right with the world. Nice to know I'm not the only one.
UniversalAnimeGirl: First off, thank you for the very helpful, very sweet review. I'm surprised that someone who doesn't much care for drugs, sex, or swearing can even stand to read my stories, but I'm definitely glad to hear it! The reason I use such things is because they are, at least as far as I've found in life, real. Sam wouldn't swear? Maybe not. But I'm careful to keep his use of it down to a minimum, and most of it is in his head, or to use the ones I think he'd be willing to blurt out. I wouldn't have him running around spouting f**k like Pietro and JP all the time. I knew very few boys at that age who wouldn't have at least thought about swearing pretty often. But yeah, there were a few. (Actually I rarely swore until I got to high school. And you see what happened to that... *ahem.*) I'm glad that you are liking the Beaubiers– I clearly enjoy them. Perhaps a bit much, considering the extent of this obsessive writing I'm doing here. But it does me good to know that others are enjoying them as well, and it's very kind of you to take the time to write such a great review for me. Your insights on the Rogue/JP Kurt/JM thing were really wonderful, and you've definitely reminded me why I need to be careful about what scenes I write, and how I write them. People like you keep me honest, and on my toes. And I do love that in a person.
S-Star: I'm so glad the last one didn't seem disjointed, despite the many winding roads I'm trying to lead you down at the moment. I can only hope I can keep that up... do let me know when I stumble! I'm glad this one feel more grounded as well– Here Comes Trouble was a total suspension of reality fic. Not that any sci-fi, which I classify this as, isn't. But I want to deal with something real here. Thanks for the comments, and encouragement.
Taineyah: Thanks for the review?! Oh no, thank you for writing it. Yay Pietro-ness! I do hope that you uncover some good JP in your search through the BF's comic collections. Canon JP is... difficult. He's a bastard, but he has his reasons. Even more so than with the bit of his history I nicked for this Evo-verse. But like I had Scott say, when he's good, he's the best. But we all know I'm obsessed, so enough of that...
Ok, really. I'm done now. I promise. Sincerely -Beaubier-