Chapter Four: Affections and Disasters
Rogue walked through the clinical halls of Bayville High after the last bell, already breathing easier. Something about that final ring just set her soul free, every day. She looked to her right, where Jean-Paul walked next to her, already breaking out his sunglasses. If there was anyone who loved the final bell more than Rogue, it was probably JP. Whether it was because he hated school as much as she did, or because he couldn't wait to drive his car, she figured she'd never know.
She scanned the hall as they walked straight down the middle, crowds actually parting for them at times. It was a combination of the fact that they were well-known Xavier kids, and therefore mutants, that Jean-Paul was already considered one of the "cool kids" in school, despite the fact that he ignored the rest of the "cool kids" implicitly, and that they were seniors.
Nice to see that there were some perks.
She spotted Alex and Ray laughing near the door, probably waiting for Bobby and Roberto, and nodded to them as they walked outside into the bright autumn sunlight. They waved and shouted and Jean-Paul waved back to them, and stopped to say something or other to Alex. She waited, since he was her ride, and they kept walking their usual route in silence.
One of the best things about hanging out with JP was that she didn't have to talk all the time, and he didn't either. They were both perfectly happy just being there, together.
It made her wonder, for the thousandth time, how he could stand to be near motor-mouth Maximoff for such extended periods of time. But maybe Pietro was different, when you got him alone. Maybe he treated Jean-Paul differently, just like she knew JP treated him differently than anyone else. She'd heard that people acted completely different around someone they loved...
Not that she would know. No one had ever loved her that way, so she had no proof, in either direction.
Not that she needed to know, of course. She was just fine on her own... well, that was her story, anyhow. But it was funny, the way it made people act.
Point in case, as they came around the corner– Wanda Maximoff and Sam Guthrie. Wanda was leaning against the wall next to the blonde X-Kid, their heads leaning close, talking about something that looked quite involved. Wanda didn't look even mildly pissed off, like she usually did any time she was within a few miles of the school. She was just talking. Her usual "fuck with me and die" body language seemed to have evaporated entirely, and she even had her hand in the pocket of his jacket, like she was looking for something.
But Wanda had been off lately. She and Rogue weren't that close, Wanda spent more time talking to Kitty than anyone else, oddly enough. Aside from Sam, of course, these days. But Rogue had math with "chick Maximoff," as Ray had referred to her just the other day, and this week Wanda had been even less communicative than usual. Normally they found plenty to bitch about together. But lately she'd just been so... down. She couldn't even seem to rant properly anymore.
"Wanda hasn't been looking so good in school, JP," she mentioned, as they neared the parking lot. "Any idea what's up with her?"
He seemed to consider this, and bit at his lower lip for a moment. "You know... you're right. I've been so worried about Pietro... so that means they're both fucked up, at the moment."
Weird. "What about the rest of the Brotherhood?"
Jean-Paul shrugged, "I talked to Fred today in gym. He's fine. And Lance was as grouchy as ever last night when I was over. Todd barely comes out of his room when Wanda's around now, but I think he's ok..."
Poor guy. Todd was irritating, yeah. And, in the words of Scott, had the hygiene of a dead pig. But he had his good moments. She was having trouble recalling any, at the moment, but she knew he had some. But Wanda was just out of his league.
Of course, she was out of everyone's league.
But still, she couldn't help but feel bad for Toad. "He real broken up over her and Sam?"
"I assume," he obviously didn't care one way or the other.
"Poor guy."
Jean-Paul rolled his eyes, and then re-assumed his thoughtful expression.
"Anyhow," she changed the subject back, knowing damn well what he'd be thinking about. "That's kinda freaky, dontcha think? Pietro and Wanda both getting sick at the same time?"
He shook his head, "If it were sickness, I'd say yes. But Pietro swears that he just can't sleep. I've put him to sleep three nights running, in fact."
She felt her nose wrinkle up, but grinned at him anyhow. As irritating as she found Pietro... he and Jean-Paul were bordering on... cute together, at times. Their stupid arguments, how they were constantly picking at each other, flirting like little boys– the way they touched each other all the time, Jean-Paul would adjust Pietro's hair or Pietro would hook his finger into Jean-Paul's belt loop, like they didn't even realize what they were doing. Little things she'd probably never understand. It would've made her heart hurt, if it hadn't been Pietro. She'd never say that she thought they were cute, of course, because it'd stop immediately. But she could think it, anyhow. "I don't even wanna know, unless you knocked him out."
"No," he rolled his eyes, "Just gave him a back rub. He's easy. But he always comes to school the next day just as fucked up. I think he's having nightmares."
"Well then, maybe it's just a coincidence?"
"Jeanne-Marie has had nightmares that wake me up," he mused.
No way, couldn't be. "You two are freaky, that's why. Wanda and Pietro aren't psi, JP. It's just not possible."
He sighed, heavily, as they came up on his car, where Kurt and Kitty were leaning against the M5, reading Cosmopolitan and laughing aloud. "I don't know... I just have a feeling."
"Freaky twin feeling?" She laughed.
"Something like that," he answered. But his ponderous mood seemed to lift all at once, and he grinned at her suddenly. He stopped walking, nodding at the car where Kurt and Kitty stood, obviously not having noticed them coming.
She cocked her head at him, curious as to what he was up to.
He pulled out his keys, and raised his eyebrows once, then hit the red button on the keychain.
The two mutants leaning on his car screamed as one and jumped into the air, clutching at each other in fear, as the alarm went blaring. The magazine dropped to the ground and they both looked around, wide eyed, and saw Jean-Paul and Rogue laughing at them. JP, blessedly, hit the panic button again and turned the alarm off.
Rogue leaned on him heavily, laughing hard, and Kitty ran over and started beating on him instantly, shrieking in protest. He laughed and let her hit him as much as she wanted.
Kurt just leaned back on the car and sighed. "Oh man, don't do that to me. I almost had to change my shorts."
Kitty wrinkled up her nose, and started hitting Kurt instead.
* * *
Jeanne-Marie stared into her closet. She was supposed to be figuring out what to wear tonight, when she had dinner with Warren Worthington. But she was having difficulty concentrating on the clothes, rather than concentrating on Warren himself.
Her history test had been a complete disaster, even though she and Jean-Paul had studied for it non-stop. Wanda had claimed that she'd failed as well, but Jean-Paul had only rolled his eyes at them and said it was easy. But she really couldn't wait to see him tonight. To go to his house, to have a real date. She'd never had a real date with Roberto, though they went to the movies a few times. She wanted it to be perfect, like a fairy tale.
It was stupid, of course. She knew that. It was just dinner.
She sighed into the closet and shook her head, "I'm being silly, aren't I?"
"Can't say I blame you, JM," Kitty replied from somewhere behind her in the room, "Angel is pretty damn cute."
"I don't even know him," She pulled out a light blue cashmere sweater and held it up against her, then turned to look in the mirror on the inside of her closet door. It was a good color, she decided. Matched her eyes. "Is this one alright?"
"You don't know him," Kurt agreed, who was sitting beside Kitty on the bed. They'd both come upstairs after school to help her pick what she wanted to wear.
Correction, Kitty had come upstairs for that. Kurt had wandered in to ask questions about Algebra, since he couldn't find Bobby anywhere, and had ended up being dragged into the whole scene as their "male panelist."
"But that's the point of a date, right?" The fuzzy elf continued, "To get to know someone?"
"That looks great JM, put it on and lets see," Kitty agreed, reaching up to cover Kurt's eyes.
Jeanne-Marie glanced sideways, to make sure her hand was covering enough, and then pulled her shirt over her head and slid the sweater on. "I suppose you're right, Kurt. I'm just so excited... I feel like a little girl."
"Wow, you must really like him," Kitty uncovered Kurt's eyes and nodded at her. "That's perfect. Wear that one."
"Ja, looks great. Can I go now?"
"No," Jeanne-Marie told him, pointing at him dangerously, "I still need to pick my pants. Don't move a muscle, elf-boy."
Kurt sighed, feigning irritation, but obviously not too bothered by being locked into a room with two pretty girls, one of whom was changing her clothes repeatedly.
Jeanne-Marie didn't mind. She was too fixated on her mission of the moment to think about it much. But she felt nervous. And she never felt nervous around boys. She hadn't felt nervous around Warren, either, until he'd asked her out. Jean-Paul had been eyeing her as early as homeroom today, commenting that she must really like this Angel, to be so nervous.
She thought she did. But it was stupid. She didn't even know him!
Right?
* * *
Jean tried not to look irritated as she got up to answer the knock on her door. Her roommate, a very nice girl from Ohio called Tara, was out, and it was probably one of her droves of friends. They always came over on Friday nights to watch some show or other.
Jean liked her roommate, and her roommate's friends. But she was usually at Xavier's on the weekends, so she didn't really hang out with or get to know any of them too well.
This weekend she was staying in the dorms, however, since next week was the first really difficult week since she'd started at the school. She had two tests, one of which was going to require extensive essay writing, the other in which she'd be expected to produce an experiment out of thin air, to the satisfaction of one of the most frighteningly brilliant professors on campus.
The Professor had agreed that she'd better stay at school, to be free of the distractions and responsibilities that would face her at the Institute.
But apparently, distraction was everywhere. She reached the door, plastered with one of Tara's many "hot guy" posters, and took a deep breath before pulling it open. No need to snap at whoever it was, just because she had about two weeks of studying to do in two days...
She pulled it open... and stared.
"Scott... what are you doing here?"
Her boyfriend raised an eyebrow at her, smiling despite her strange greeting, and replied, "Classes are over for the day, and the Professor mentioned that there was some kind of trouble yesterday here at school... thought I'd swing by, see how you were doing."
At first, she had no idea what he was talking about. But oh, yes, her physical anth class, of course. Andy Rasz and his idiocy. "It was nothing. Just some kids mutant-bashing. I took care of it."
He kept smiling, but something felt off. She couldn't decide quite what it was, but he didn't seem... all there. Something forced, between them.
It made her stomach hurt, vaguely.
"I know you can, Jean," he was saying now, "Just thought it was a great excuse to come and bother you, is all. If you're busy, I can go, I told Warren I would–,"
"No," she suddenly stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his neck, realizing that she hadn't even given him a hug when he'd turned up. God, what was wrong with her these days? So many things, racing through her mind. This was Scott. "It's good to see you," she assured him, as he returned the gesture and put his arms around her waist and relaxed into her. She leaned her head on his broad shoulder for just a moment, breathed deeply, smelled that familiar mix of dryer sheet and aftershave that was so quintessential Scott in her mind, and tried to forget everything else. Because honestly, it was good to see him. Even if things felt a little... off. She pulled back, after a moment, and he kept a hold on one of her hands, letting the other drop to her side. "Let's go get a smoothie at the union," she offered, turning to pull her door shut, "And you can tell me about what's happening at the Institute. I'll be missing everyone this weekend."
"They'll miss you too," he offered, as she locked the door behind her, then started leading him down the dark hallways of the dorm. "And things are good. I finally talked to Alex, did I tell you? I managed to convince him that I don't think he's a freak. And JP retracted his death threat."
The Alex part, she was happy to hear. Scott was understandably taken by surprise when his brother had come out to him, and to be honest, Jean was taken by surprise when he'd told her about it too. But she knew he'd felt horrible about his reaction. And Scott was not the best at communicating emotions, so she was particularly glad to hear that he'd managed to straighten things out on his own. But... "Why would JP threaten to kill you?"
"Oh god, Jean, didn't I tell you about the talk we had?" He shook his head, and seemed to be thinking hard about it.
Scott wasn't usually that difficult to understand, no matter how much he chained up his emotions to keep them from getting away from him. But his friendship with Jean-Paul, who she considered to be an insufferable prig, she would never understand. Logically, the two should hate each other. She trusted him as a teammate, and an X-Man, but personally, JP was an arrogant, preening juvenile delinquent, who treated his sister like she was five years old, and Scott was a stand-up, in charge, sweetheart of a man, who did his best to respect and appreciate everyone. One of them had to be a bad influence on the other, and she dreaded the idea that Scott would pick anything up from that cocky Québécois. And their little "talks," for some reason, were all too frequent, in her mind. "No, I would've remembered."
They'd reached the door by this time, and stepped out into the chilly early evening air. Winter was now closer than summer, and the days were getting shorter and shorter. Jean silently congratulated herself on remembering to wear a thick wool sweater today, even if she hadn't had the sense to pick up a coat on her way out. She started leading him toward the union, about a block or so away, as he said, "Damn, that was a few days ago. I can't believe I didn't tell you this, it was hilarious..."
Yes. Ha-ha, isn't Jean-Paul acting like an asshole and threatening to kill you for the umpteenth time hilarious. "Why did he do it Scott?"
"Oh, he noticed that I was avoiding him, and talked to Alex eventually, figured out that I was avoiding both of them."
"Why did you avoid Jean-Paul again?"
He shot her a sidelong glance, under those ruby shades. "Cause he was the one Alex went to..."
What, she was supposed to know that?
Ok. She was being irritable, and she knew it. So she smiled at him, and instead said, "I guess I'm just not up on things like I should be."
He looked straight ahead now, and his brow furrowed, giving him that thoughtful hero face she loved to look at so much. "No. I'm sorry, Jean. I should've told you..."
She considered for a moment, using just the very smallest bit of her lesser psychic abilities to feel him out. Not to listen to his thoughts, just to sense the psychic vibrations around him, to catch his mood. And she found that he was extremely upset. Not necessarily with her, she couldn't tell that much without looking closer, but upset nevertheless. Probably, she realized, at the thought of Alex coming to Jean-Paul instead of him.
God, it had really bothered him. And he hadn't said a word to her about it...
Suddenly, she felt horrible. "No, it's ok, Scott. I got a little wrapped up in Warren's business, but now that's done, so I only get to see him at the Institute–," she stopped, suddenly, and felt her stomach drop. Oh no. She really could've phrased that better... I only get to see him? She felt her cheeks flushing, and looked down so that her long hair would cover it up. "I mean, to work on things."
She didn't have to look up at him to know that he was watching her. And she felt his hand twitch, just a little, in hers. She imagined that it was him wondering if he should be holding her hand at all.
Hyperactive imagination. That's what she told herself.
"Right," was all he said. "Well, I told him I might stop by if I can get there before six. He's picking JM up at seven–,"
"JM?" She looked up suddenly, confused. Why would Warren be picking JM up? Unless...
Jean swallowed hard, and looked straight ahead. Trying not to think about why her stomach suddenly went numb inside of her.
"Yeah, their first date," Scott didn't even notice, he just started smiling again. She didn't have to look at him, she could hear it in his voice. "I thought she would've told you, she's been floating around the house singing, practically, since he asked her the other day."
"I...," She stuttered, having an extremely difficult time processing and dealing with the stomach-clenching combination of jealousy, anger, and guilt that was raging through her at the moment, "I guess we haven't talked much lately."
Scott was looking at her. She could feel him looking at her, as they turned to go up the stairs to the front door of the union. And she couldn't look back.
It was stupid. Silly. Childish. She didn't even know Warren, and she loved Scott. He was the perfect guy! Warren was just a distraction, something to look at, something she'd become fascinated with because the distance between her and Scott was starting to eat at her, and she knew it was eating at him, but they couldn't talk about it because... because...
She couldn't think about it. It made her numb.
"You guys used to be best friends," He observed, quietly.
Jean took another hard swallow and a deep breath she hoped was silent, and said, "Yeah. We used to."
* * *
Scott was hopelessly confused, and only halfway through his smoothie, when he made it to Warren's penthouse downtown.
He had no idea what the hell had just happened with that half-hour visit to Jean, but he did know that he was damn glad it was over. And while Warren Worthington really wasn't the first person he wanted to see, considering that he was almost positive that Jean's words, not to mention her stunned, red-faced reaction to the news of JM's first date with him tonight, meant that she had some kind of... thing for Angel, he had promised to come by and help him out with his preparations for the evening. Warren didn't really have any friends, at least, not that he still saw regularly, as far as Scott could tell. So he'd offered to come and help with dinner as a sort of extension of friendship, maybe bring the guy in closer, let him feel more comfortable hanging out a Xavier's since he was probably going to be there a lot more.
It occurred to him that right now that should be the last thing on his mind, when it came to Angel.
But he couldn't really bring himself to be angry. Not at Jean, and not at Warren. First of all, he knew Jean well enough to realize that she would never cheat on him, even if they were having problems. And hell, he definitely looked at other girls when she was away. Never developed a crush... but considering their unspoken issues lately... it was kind of understandable. Hell, he hadn't even told her that he was upset about Alex going to Jean-Paul with his problems before him. That had really upset him, and still kind of did, even though things were squared away with the kid now... the fact that he hadn't even thought to tell his girlfriend about it spoke volumes about how they were drifting apart lately.
And Warren was spending a lot of time with her. He was rich, smart, handsome. What was it Jean-Paul had called him? Ridiculously gorgeous? Scott had to admit, it was true. Irritating, yeah, but true. That was nothing to get angry about either, especially considering that Warren was even less smooth than he was when it came to women. Scott had seen him trying to talk to JM, trying to act casual. Even he could see that the winged boy was just... bad at it. And Angel was so obviously smitten with Jeanne-Marie, Scott seriously doubted that he had room in his head to think about Jean as much more than a business associate at this point.
So really, what was there to be angry about?
As the elevator opened, and Scott entered the top floor of the Worthington Tower, sipping at his strawberry smoothie, he realized that he was being too logical about this- to a fault, possibly.
And he wasn't quite sure if that was a good sign... or a bad one.
He walked down the hall and rang the bell on Warren's door, strangely calm, and waited. He tried to consider his position in this whole mess. Tried to think about why it wasn't bothering him the way he thought it should be bothering him that he and Jean Grey, the girl of his dreams, his angel, were suddenly forgetting about each other.
But he didn't come up with an answer before the door swung open, and he was greeted by a smiling, if somewhat breathless Angel of a different sort. "Hey fearless leader."
Amused, Scott raised an eyebrow at him. Now that wasn't the greeting he'd expected from the normally sober and withdrawn Warren Worthington. He must've been as excited as JM was. "You been talking to Jean-Paul?"
Warren stepped backward, and gestured for him to come inside, then closed the door behind him as he did so. "JM calls you that too. Everyone does, in fact. JP is just the only one who says it to your face."
Entering into the high-ceilinged, well-appointed apartment, Scott actually found himself smiling. "Sounds like JP. Him and Kurt." But when he took a few more steps in, he smelled something... decidedly charred. "Is something on fire?"
The million-dollar smile on the other boy's face suddenly turned almost sheepish, as he confessed, "Well... not anymore. I've never really... cooked before. Nothing but pasta."
Scott gestured for him to lead the way to the kitchen, laughing quietly. He should've expected that Worthington wouldn't know how to cook. Amazing that someone with so much personality, charisma, intelligence, and good looks could be so... clueless sometimes. Not that Scott wasn't every now and then– he'd made that abundantly clear to himself in the past few weeks. But damn. Rich kids... a strange breed. "Good thing my visit with Jean was a bust, Warren, or you'd be in big trouble."
Warren laughed at him, but threw a glance over his shoulder, over his wings, that made it obvious that he wanted to ask about Jean. Whatever kept him quiet about it Scott was thankful for, however. The confusion over what had just happened, and why he was being so logical about it, had still not lifted from his brain. He went immediately to the fridge, once he caught sight of it, and stuck his head inside, in search of something useful. "You're in a good mood tonight," he pulled open the crisper and found a half a head of lettuce, a bag of really old looking carrots, and a few zucchini that still looked pretty good.
"Yes," the other boy admitted, from behind him, "Nervous, but yeah."
Scott stood up and tossed him the zucchini, then went to rummage through what looked like the main pantry for other ingredients. "JM is a sweet girl," he told him, as he searched. "Aurora will lead you around by the nose, if you let her, but she's a lot of fun. Interesting, anyhow, both of the Beaubiers."
"Yeah," Warren agreed. There was a slight pause while Scott was amazed at the volume of useless junk in Warren's pantry– mostly really old snack food, the guy obviously ordered in five days a week– and then the blonde boy cleared his throat, and started talking again. "So, I had no idea that you and Jean were dating."
Scott furrowed his brow, and bit down on his lip, but found the cooking oil. "Do you have any pasta?"
"In the tall cupboard, next to that one. Sauce is next to it. Pasta, I'm good with."
Scott pulled out the flour and oil, set them on the counter, and started digging through the cabinet he'd been directed to. Sure enough, there were boxes of the stuff. And some really nice sauce to go with it. Perfect. "Cut up that zucchini, pretty thin" he told Warren, as he dumped his new ingredients onto the counter, and started pouring flour out into a mixing bowl. Once the vegetables were cut up, he'd have Warren dip them in flour, then fry them up. That'd be nice with some pasta. Easy, but good. Man cooking, as Logan referred to it. Scott hated to give in to the stereotype, but in this case, it might just be appropriate. "Yeah," he finally answered, after he'd poured out the flour next to Warren, and had moved on to finding a frying pan. "We're dating."
"She never said a word," Warren was saying, as he started slicing.
Scott was strangely unaffected by that statement. Whether because Warren had uttered it in such a totally guileless, almost bewildered tone of voice, or because he really didn't care, Scott had no idea. "I'm sure...," he answered, perhaps a bit too obviously dryly.
The chopping noises stopped now, and when Scott looked over, the blonde boy was looking directly at him. Mildly shocked, it seemed. "Scott, I didn't–,"
"I know you didn't Warren," He held up a hand, and smiled. It wasn't his fault, after all. It wasn't Jean's either, probably. It might've been his, but he wasn't sure if he cared. He just felt... like it was a dream. Like none of it was true. Maybe he'd never even been with Jean in the first place, really. Maybe this was all a dream to show him what a bad idea their relationship really was, and how they both had too much to deal with in their own lives to worry about each others'...
God. That sounded bad, even in his head.
But... wasn't it true?
"I've seen you with JM," he continued, as Warren started his slicing process again, "You're worse than me."
Warren laughed at this, low and oddly restrained, as usual, and looked up at him again, "Thanks, Slim– ow!"
The winged boy jumped, and dropped the knife, looking down at his finger with obvious irritation.
"Don't bleed in that," Scott pointed to the bowl of flour, as he pulled out a frying pan and a pot to cook the pasta in, "it's our breading."
"Hell, that hurt," Warren put his finger tip to his lips, and sucked for a minute, then looked back at him. "She didn't flirt either."
Scott let a small sigh escape him, "I know. She wouldn't. Forget it, man."
Eyeing the knife for a moment, then reaching down gingerly to pick it back up, Warren said, "You sound like you're... over it."
Over it. Over Jean? Over their relationship? Over trying to put in more energy than she was to keep the lines of communication open?
Yeah. Maybe he was, actually. "Just sorta... went cold, you know?" He admitted, as he turned the idea over in his mind. Over it.
"That happened to me once," Warren mused, voice quiet and deep, like he was very far away. "I was fourteen."
"What did you do?" Scott asked, running water into the pot, so he could start the pasta while Warren hacked away at himself. Actually, maybe talking about it wasn't such a bad idea. Things were starting to make a little more sense, now that he'd been forced to give them words. Almost like the action of admitting to things gave those things some kind of tangibility.
That was useful. Could come in handy during the next team meeting, working on strategy. Perhaps if he said the ideas he had, even the half-baked ones which he never spoke of until they were finished, usually, they would start to take shape...
"Sprouted wings, got myself kicked out of school and sent home, and never saw her again," came the bemused answer, cutting into Scott's train of thought.
Funny, how Warren seemed to grow a sense of humor once you got him alone. He seemed awfully serious, sometimes, but really... he was alright under there. A really good guy, all around. And if he was spoiled, at least he was a good sport about it.
"Convenient," Scott shrugged, with a grin. If only things would be that easy for him...
The other boy looked over at him now, and raised one golden eyebrow questioningly. "You're in a hell of a mood, if you don't mind my saying."
"So are you."
"Point taken."
* * *
Warren was, as they said, wired, by the time he finally got Jeanne-Marie back to his place.
Dinner was ready, warm in the stove, except for the pasta, which he'd start right then, so that it would be perfect and ready in fifteen minutes. Scott had really saved him on that one.
Particularly considering that he seemed to think that Jean had some kind of crush on Warren. It was obvious, from the way Scott had responded to his questions, that he had his suspicions.
It was ludicrous, of course. Jean had never made any sort of advance on him. He definitely would have noticed, and she definitely hadn't.
Which was good, because he didn't think that starting something with Jean, Scott or no Scott, would've been a good idea, considering the fact that he became obsessed with Jeanne-Marie Beaubier at first sight. That really would have added in complications that he didn't want to consider. He felt ridiculous enough, falling all over himself as he was, without adding insult to injury.
But good god, she was beautiful. Jeanne-Marie had on a slightly fuzzy, soft-looking sweater that hugged her just tight enough in all the right places to make him wish he could reach out and touch it. He knew she was wearing make up, he figured she usually did, but he really couldn't tell where it might be. She was just so pale and perfect. Long black hair, shining all the way down to the middle of her back, that single streak of silver highlighting the light of her eyes against it. Such a fine face, such delicate, high cheek bones, such smooth skin.
He could stare at her all night, and still never get enough.
And thoughts like that were precisely why he felt a complete fool.
But he honestly could not help it. Not that he'd never seen a beautiful woman. Not that he'd never had a date or two. Sometimes, his parents had fixed him up with family friends– usually heiresses with more money than sense, or the personality of a hairbrush. Of course, some of them had been interesting enough. For one night. But really, he was lucky he'd never taken more interest in one of them. Not as if he could ever get close to any one of them, after all, if he did. A good, long hug was all it would take for them to notice that something about Warren Worthington was not quite... right.
And he lived in fear of it. It kept him from turning on the charm he used to have with girls when he was younger. He hadn't tried, really tried to use it since his wings had grown in. And it seemed like it was lost to him now, as he showed Jeanne-Marie– beautiful, confident, laughing Jeanne-Marie– to his door.
He opened it for her, and let her step inside first, then slipped in behind her, closed it, and took her coat off her shoulders, with a little help from her. "Your home is beautiful, Warren," she was looking around, and her voice held a small note of awe in it.
Hanging up her coat, he felt himself smiling again. Like he had been the entire way home with her in the car. "Thank you, but it's not really mine. Nothing here is, in fact. It's my family's."
She turned to look at him and smiled. And lit up the entire room, as far as he was concerned. "When you're family, you share."
"Even Jean-Paul?" He asked, leading her into the kitchen so he could start the water boiling. Scott had also warned him, while they'd worked on dinner together earlier, that he'd better watch himself around JM's notoriously volatile brother. But JP hadn't given him so much as a sidelong glance since he'd asked Jeanne-Marie out, so Warren wasn't really that concerned. Maybe he'd gotten lucky, but he honestly couldn't imagine that things were as bad for Roberto DaCosta as the people at the Institute made them out to be.
Really, how bad could a protective twin brother be?
Jeanne-Marie nodded at him from the doorway as he started the water on the boil, "I know he sounds harsh, the way people talk about him. But he does love me very much. And he spoils me. But we are still getting used to each other."
"I always wanted a brother or sister," Warren admitted, surprising himself with the confession.
He wasn't used to talking to someone without considering every word, and whether or not it exposed him as a mutant, or a bad representative for his family, or an unworthy future CEO...
God, having her around was nice.
She came into the kitchen and leaned against the wall for a moment, just looking at him. After a moment, she said, very quietly, "Me too."
It occurred to him, a little too late, he realized, that discussing the past might not be the best idea with her. Not yet, if ever. If he thought he had problems, what little he knew about her history made his story look like a walk in the park. His heart started to beat a little faster, and he unconsciously ruffled his wings, just a bit, with a sudden rush of nervous energy. "Well, Scott stopped over, and I have to admit, dinner is thanks to him. I ruined my first attempt," he gestured toward the island in the middle of the kitchen, where there were stools to sit on. For dinner, of course, they would go out to the dining room. He had it all set up very nicely. But since he needed to finish the pasta, might as well sit down here. Maybe... some wine? Was that what he was supposed to offer her?
"It's ok," she laughed, following his unspoken suggestion and moving to one of the stools, then settling herself in on it and leaning one elbow on the counter top fetchingly. "I don't know how to cook either, so I can understand. Jamie Madrox taught me how to make cookies, you know."
If he was remembering correctly, Jamie Madrox was the little guy around Xavier's, the kid who multiplied himself by ten every time he got knocked around a little.
The idea of JM in the kitchen with a dozen 13 year old little boy helpers made him laugh, as he moved over to the wine rack to examine what he'd brought from the cellar last time he'd been at the house. "Cute. Do you want a glass of wine?"
"Please."
He wanted red, with what they were having, that much he knew. He pulled a few out, and eventually settled on his favorite. "Merlot alright?"
She laughed, this time sounding a little bit freer than before. As if she was making herself comfortable.
Good. That was exactly what he wanted. Just her, being herself. It was one thing for him to be nervous– he always felt nervous around her. But he didn't want that for her. Not that she was nervous, maybe a bit overwhelmed by the whole thing, that was all. Not as if he could make someone like her feel nervous.
"I don't really know the difference," she was still laughing. "But if it's red, I will probably like it. I didn't know you were twenty-one."
He grinned at her, and went to find the cork screw. "I'm not. But we always have it around. It was never a big deal, growing up. I just take it from the cellar at the house."
"I'm not twenty-one either," her voice changed suddenly, and the only word he could think of to describe it was... coy. "But my ID says I am."
He stopped his progress with the wine bottle, and just looked at her for a moment. She was sitting there, one hand propping her head up, under her chin, grinning at him. And he could do nothing but shake his head. Because god, she was beautiful. "You're a terribly interesting girl, Jeanne-Marie."
"You don't know me very well," she pointed out, arching one of her already upswept eyebrows at him, almost playfully. Now she was getting comfortable. This was how she usually behaved around him, flirtatious and fascinating. "What if you get to know me and I turn out to be really very boring?"
He went back to work on the cork, and replied, "No, I don't know you, but I already think that you're interesting. It's not a bad start. And I really doubt that you could ever be boring."
"Warren," she started, voice lowering a little, becoming just a touch more serious. "I know it's not an appropriate question to ask... but why me? All the girls love you. My brother even admits that you are quite possibly perfect, and he is the pickiest person I know. You're smart, you have a life, a big company to run..."
Trying to hide the ridiculous grin that he felt appearing on his face, Warren turned his back to her and busied himself taking down two of the large, fat red wine glasses hanging from his cupboard, and pouring two glasses of the burgundy stuff for them. "I don't...," he started, wanting to give her an answer, but uncertain that he could trust himself to do so, at this point. He felt so... giddy around her. So bloody stupid. But... he liked it. "I don't feel self-conscious with you," he decided was a safe enough answer. "I don't know why, we've only spoken a few times, and I know it's odd," he turned back around, face now composed, and brought the glasses to the table, sliding one over to her and sniffing at his own carefully. "But the truth is, that you... make it easy."
For a moment, she just looked at him again, big blue eyes saying a million things he couldn't begin to understand. He didn't know what it was she thought about, when she looked like that. But he would've given an awful lot to find out. Finally, she spoke. "I think that is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me."
Oddly embarrassed, but unwilling to show it, he looked down into his glass, and took a drink, then rolled it around longer than necessary to give himself recovery time.
Luckily, it really was quite good, so he didn't mind too much.
"I find that hard to believe," he finally told her, honestly.
She only smiled, sweetly, and took a sip of her own wine. When she'd swallowed, she nodded at him, "It's good. So tell me something about yourself, Warren."
Something about himself. My name is Warren Worthington the third, I live alone, hide from my own family, am expected to take over as CEO of one of the largest companies in the United States in five or so years, I have wings coming out of my back, I'm a mutant and a freak...
No. Come on, man, you can do better than that. "What do you want to know?"
She considered for a moment, then asked, "What about school? Why aren't you in college?"
There. Now that, he could answer safely. "I thought about it. But I was at boarding school for years, as a kid, and I figure college, if I lived there, would really just be the same kind of thing. Not exactly ideal for a guy with my kind of mutation."
Funny, how it didn't really hurt to say it, when he said it to her. She just nodded, and kept looking him in the eye, steadily. As if what he was saying was actually interesting.
"And things have really gotten a little crazy lately, so I haven't bothered trying to be a commuter," he continued, when she gave no sign of wanting to speak. "I mean, I spent all this time thinking I was alone– you know, some kind of... freak or something. I'm just starting to remember what it's like to... be human again, I guess. Thanks to your friends, anyhow. The X-Men have helped me out a lot, and I've tried to help them when they asked, but they're pretty much the only people I've spoken to at length in awhile. Having Jean in and out all week is the most company I've had in years. The idea of throwing myself into college right away...,"
Oh god... said too much.
That was the problem, he guessed, with never talking to anyone. Once you finally find someone to talk to, you go and make an idiot of yourself–
But she was nodding still, eyes very sincere, "Scary, oui."
He gave a half-hearted smile, mostly out of gratitude. "Pretty much, yeah."
"But you're good with people," she sipped at her wine again, then cocked her head at him, curiously. "A little shy at first, but it's charming. You would have no trouble."
"Easier said than done," he felt his smile growing rueful. He didn't mean to sound bitter, but... really, it was true.
"It always is," she agreed.
"What about you?" He tried not to jump to eagerly at the chance to change the subject off of himself. "You'll graduate soon, what will you do?"
"I haven't really thought about it yet," she told him, absently tracing the rim of her glass with her index finger, as if she had no idea she was doing it at all. A strangely enchanting, absent kind of action. "I know that I should apply now, if I want to go to school... but... I was raised in a school, did you know?"
"I heard a little," he admitted.
"An orphanage school," she elaborated for him. "For girls, in Quebec. I never knew my brother until a few months ago."
He nodded, surprised that she would bring it up. Surely it was rather a touchy subject... but then, things always seemed easier for her. Communications-wise. Maybe she liked to talk about things. "Yes, Scott mentioned that, when you first came to the Institute."
"The school was awful," she leaned in over her glass now, suddenly speaking in a low, playfully conspiratorial voice. "Bayville High is much better, of course, but... I suppose I just need a break. I have my brother, my powers, the X-Men all to consider. I have personal things to work on first."
That, Warren could definitely understand. "Don't we all."
She only smiled at him, and sipped at her drink some more.
* * *
"So you're really not mad about Jeanne-Marie and Warren huh?"
Jean-Paul looked over at Pietro, next to him on the couch, with mild annoyance. "No, of course not. He seems alright. A bit spoiled, but I suppose it's not his fault that he's rich."
"It's your fault that you are."
He shrugged, and looked back to the television, "True. But it's hardly the same."
"Pietro!" Came a sudden rumbling, better known as Wanda Maximoff, from up the stairs. "You didn't clean the bathroom!"
Pietro wrinkled up his nose, and sighed. "Youdoit!"
The heavy footfalls of Wanda's boots were coming down the stairs now, however, and her brother was starting to look around for some place to hide. Jean-Paul, used to this game by now, just smirked. He knew how this would end, but it never stopped amusing him to watch it unfold. Every time, Pietro tried to squirm his way out of something, and every time Wanda got her way.
Something about sisters. Jeanne-Marie did it by smiling. Wanda did it by yelling, possibly hexing. But they always ended up getting whatever they wanted, somehow.
"It's your turn," she was growling, as she came into the room. "It takes you five seconds, you shit. I did it last week, Lance did it the week before. I want to take a bath."
Pietro rolled his eyes at his irate sister, but stood up, anyhow. Wisely. "FinefineI'llberightback."
Jean-Paul sped himself up, just so he could watch Pietro disappear around her, and then looked back to Wanda.
She rolled her eyes at where her brother had been, but didn't move. She just stood there, hands on hips, staring. And, Jean-Paul realized, she did look bad. Not bad, per se. Wanda would have to go through a serious change of face and body to ever look bad. But she looked tired. And she was clearly staring into space, as if she'd forgotten why she'd come downstairs, which was entirely out of character for the girl. Particularly considering that she'd come downstairs fired up on a mission to hex.
"Wanda?" He ventured, waving at her from the couch.
She looked up, with tired, cobalt eyes, and blinked slowly. Like her eyelids were too heavy to work properly.
Rogue had been right. Wanda was, indeed, in the same boat Pietro was in. No question about it. Hard to believe that he hadn't noticed, considering the amount of time he spent at this house, the fact that he usually ate lunch sitting across from her, and that he did consider her a friend. But he'd been worried lately. Very worried.
First Jeanne-Marie not speaking to him, then immediately starting to chase after Worthington. It was all too fast for his taste, although he told himself that he would not say a word against it until he was certain there was good reason– those two weeks of her shutting him out still smarted, and he had to admit, after Rogue had dressed him down for it and made him "see reason," it had been partially his fault. So he was resolved to try and be more understanding, to just be there for her, as she had asked him to on more than one occasion with Roberto. He couldn't make any promises, of course. But he did want to try.
Then those daft Summers boys, and why he gave a shit about their relationship he couldn't imagine. At least, he wished he didn't. In reality, he knew all too well what it was like to have a disapproving sibling, in Alex's situation. Jeanne-Marie was tolerant, but at times, particularly when she was more Jeanne-Marie than Aurora (although he had to admit, she'd been surprisingly stable lately), he could have sworn that she didn't approve– not only of Pietro, but of the fact that he was gay. If it were anyone else, he wouldn't give a fuck, but her... Either way, Alex was lucky that Scott was not actually disapproving at all. The very idea that Scott had let his little brother think that he was disapproving, even if it wasn't the truth, irritated the hell out of Jean-Paul. He really ought to know better, that idiot boy scout.
And then this whole mess with Pietro, whom he had been trying to coax into telling him just what was wrong without slamming him up against any more walls. Despite his best friend's protestations that he was just stressed over trivialities and not sleeping well because of it, Jean-Paul wasn't convinced. And, much to his dismay, Pietro only seemed to be getting worse. Every night it was the same– Pietro asked him to come over, wanted him to stay much later than he should have, and couldn't fall asleep. Jean-Paul left him eventually– he could get away with sleeping over on weekends, but Mr. Logan kept watch for any stragglers, usually, and would no doubt have his ass if he tried to pull it on a week night.
At least, that was his excuse. Honestly, he would've been willing to deal with Logan berating him on occasion– he got it fairly often for pulling some stunt in the Danger Room, after all. But he wasn't sure that spending every night just sleeping next to Pietro Maximoff would be such a good idea. That implied all sorts of complicated things that he wasn't really willing to consider, at the moment. But as things got scarier and scarier with Pietro, he found himself getting more and more afraid for his friend. He couldn't deny that he cared a great deal about him. But he couldn't imagine, wouldn't imagine, what it might mean.
"Come and sit with me while you wait for him," he told her, patting the couch next to him.
She drew her dark eyebrows down, but complied with his request, coming to his side and sitting down with a rather long sigh.
"You're sick?" he asked, nonchalantly. But he didn't feel so nonchalant about it. He knew, just knew somehow, that if both of them were having the same issues with sleep, it meant something bad. Maybe Rogue was right, maybe it was a "freaky twin feeling." He realized that the Maximoffs were nothing like he and Jeanne-Marie, when it came to being so closely linked, both psychically and physically. But they were entirely too linked for it to be coincidence. And they obviously hadn't even noticed that anything was the matter with the other, they were so wrapped up in being tired themselves.
She shrugged, and leaned on him a bit, a warm weight on his arm. "No. Just tired."
"Nightmares?"
Sharply, she looked up at him, and sat a little straighter. "Why would you think that?"
Still feigning nonchalance, he told her, "Pietro is having nightmares, I think. He can't sleep."
Her full red lips thinned out, and she began chewing at the inside of her cheek, like she always did when she was deep in thought. "He looks alright..."
"He looks like shit," He informed her. "For Pietro, anyhow. Maybe you two should talk about it."
She rolled her eyes, now back to her usual sarcastically bored expression, and elbowed him once for good measure. "Yeah sure, like we're five years old again. Hey Pietro, I'm scared at night!"
"So you are having nightmares."
She narrowed her eyes at him, and he looked back to the television. They needed to sort this out, whatever it was. Normally, he wasn't Mr. Philanthropy. But he liked Wanda and he definitely liked Pietro– and there honestly weren't too many people he gave a fuck about in life (or there hadn't been, before he'd come to Bayville) so he wasn't about to watch them fuck themselves up.
"Yeah," she admitted. "Not that scary though. They shouldn't be, anyhow. I don't know why they wake me up, to be honest. Sometimes they're not scary at all. And it takes a hell of a lot to scare me, usually."
He felt a smile appearing on his face as he offered, "Usually you doing the scaring, ma chere, that's why."
She gave a quick snort of approval to that statement, but before she could speak again, Pietro flashed into the room, and stood leaning on the television. "Happy sis?"
"If you even left a hair in that bath tub, I'm coming back for you," she threatened, standing up and brushing past her brother as if her conversation with Jean-Paul hadn't occurred at all. She let her hands crackle blue and green as she passed him, and he jumped away quickly, then stood wrinkling his nose up at her retreating figure for a few moments.
Normally, it would've been funny. But tonight, for some reason, he suddenly didn't feel much like laughing.
"What's her problem?" Pietro planted himself back at his post on the couch, and threw his feet up onto Jean-Paul's lap.
Jean-Paul seriously considered pushing those feet back off of him and putting his own up on Pietro, just to be obtuse. But to be honest, Pietro usually did things his way. He figured he could give a little, on such a silly issue like who sat how on the couch. This time. "She's having nightmares."
Pietro looked up at him with an expression of surprise that was hauntingly similar to his sister's only moments ago, when Jean-Paul had mentioned the word nightmares to her. They looked nothing alike, the Maximoffs. Except for the eyes. But at the moment, it was perfectly clear that they were brother and sister.
But the silver-haired speedster quickly recovered, and leaned back comfortably on the couch. "Probably watching some kind of horror flick. She gets more goth every day."
Jean-Paul sighed, but kept quiet. He could probably depend on Wanda to talk to Pietro about it, eventually. But nothing short of forcing them to talk would make either Maximoff break down and do it before things got really bad.
And if this wasn't really bad, Jean-Paul honestly didn't want to see what was. Because it was making him insane, and he was sleeping just fine.
* * *
Jeanne-Marie knew damn well that she should've said no to that last glass of wine. But she wasn't driving anywhere, and she was so happy and warm and full of good food... she didn't want it to end. It didn't matter anyhow, her metabolism would get rid of the alcohol fast enough. It was just that... it hit hard, that wine.
But her wish had been granted. It was perfect. The whole evening, just perfect. She'd been here almost four hours now, first eating and talking, then talking some more, and now watching a movie that neither of them were paying much attention to because... they just kept talking. It was like they had an endless stream of conversation, and the more they talked, the more they had to talk about. First, about the X-Men. Silly gossipy talk about who was who and what they thought of each of them individually. Then about art. He asked her what she would study in school, if she went, she said something to do with art. And it had spawned a long conversation on art and film and literature that had Jeanne-Marie feeling like she was flying, despite the fact that she was glued to her chair.
He even had paintings in the apartment. He showed her the Van Gogh in the living room, the Cezanne in the study, and the Gaugin that had been hanging on the wall in the dining room the entire time, that she'd assumed were just reproductions. He liked the color of impressionism, but not the Impressionists themselves. He liked the post-impressionists, with their injection of emotion, darker undercurrents, into the medium, the way they added to a movement that was mostly just vague emotion based on reaction to color, on something "pretty..."
They went on and on. Two hours, standing there, just talking. Not about each other, anymore. Just about some strangely nebulous concept, about something beautiful that she could hardly believe another human being had the uncanny ability to understand like she did. Many people understood art, of course. She did not think she was alone in that, or even that she understood nearly enough. But no one else seemed to understand it like she did. And there was no music playing, no TV noise, no eating, no doing anything but standing in front of a Gaugin talking, the entire time. Until her feet hurt and her glass was empty.
And then they laughed at how silly it was. They'd wanted to get to know each other better, and here they were, talking about art.
But secretly, Jeanne-Marie knew she'd learned more about him from that conversation than she would have from hearing his entire family history. Because family was a part of everyone, of course. But who they were, inside, was individual.
And if this was Warren Worthington, this man who understood things, who saw color and light, who watched emotion unfold on paper and canvas like she did... then she thought she knew enough, for one night. They had time. All the time in the world.
Not to mention an already planned trip to the Met tomorrow. And a possible visit to the family home, where their much larger collection of art was housed. At least, the part of the collection that wasn't in the Met. Apparently the Worthingtons had quite a few items on loan to the museum.
He talked about it like it was nothing though. He didn't sound proud, or preening. It was just the way things were, for him. It was just money. Easy for him to say, of course. But she appreciated that attitude, nevertheless. It occurred to her, and not for the first time, that Warren was probably lucky to have his mutation for more than just the wonderful ability to fly it gave him. It had probably also kept him from being the most annoying kind of stuck up rich boy possible. Instead he was...
Wonderful.
He had loosened up considerably since he'd picked her up earlier. He'd seemed so eager, so hopeful, but still so restrained, at first. But halfway through dinner, and two glasses of wine later, he was smiling much more, talking freely, laughing that low, sweet laugh of his. By the time they'd finished with the painting, and decided to watch some funny movie, just for the sake of lightening things up, they'd opened their second bottle and were acting like old friends.
The movie was Snatch. He had something for Guy Ritchie films, apparently, and she was not disagreeable to anything involving Brad Pitt, so they sat on the couch to enjoy it. She noticed how tightly he could fold up his wings, when he needed to, how they tucked up and under themselves so that when he sat back, they didn't seem as inconvenient as she'd initially thought they would be. In fact, despite his size, easily over six feet tall, and his wingspan that was twice that, nothing about Warren Worthington seemed at all awkward or out of place. He moved with the sureness of a dancer, if not quite the fluidity, and his wings seemed the most graceful part of all. Just like an angel's should be. Shining and strong, soft and powerful, all at once.
She found herself having to constantly repeat in her head, do not touch him.
But it wasn't just the wings that she wanted to touch, as it turned out. Because as he laughed at the movie, albeit quietly (she wasn't sure he was capable of raising his voice, in fact), she couldn't help but watch his face. She wanted to trace the strong line of his jaw, cut almost perfectly square, but saved from severity by the slightest of rounded edges. To ruffle his blonde hair, once so perfectly in place, now adorably mussed from his distracted pushing and pulling at it while they discussed their favorite artists.
She contented herself by moving a little closer, leaning against his arm and wrapping her own around it, pulling her legs up onto the couch. And tried to watch the movie. After only a few moments of a very dirty Brad Pitt doing some hellacious accent then was pure murder on her English-as-a-second-language, she gave up and simply started laughing, "I can't understand a word he's saying."
Warren grinned, and reached out to the coffee table in front of them for the remote. "Something about periwinkle blue. Wait, let me rewind...," he hit the button once, and the picture slid backwards at a frantic pace, until it was nearly four scenes behind where they wanted it to be, "Ah! Too far!"
She giggled at him, having never heard him sound so excited about anything as of their short association, and cheered him on, "Stop! Stop!"
He wrestled with the picture for a few moments longer, and finally got it where he wanted it, then let it play again. And still, "Yeah. Just periwinkle blue. That's the best I can do. But I want you to tell me something, Jeanne-Marie, and be honest."
She nodded, solemnly, "Of course, cher."
"Is Brad Pitt really that attractive?"
She grinned hugely, and soon he was grinning right back. "Well, not in this movie," she admitted. "Unless he has his shirt off." She had to admit, no matter how dirty he looked, a sexy man with his shirt off was still probably going to be pretty attractive. At least... from a distance.
His nose scrunched up in an uncharacteristic, or so she thought, expression of mild disgust. "Horrible tattoos."
"I like tattoos!" She protested, whacking him halfheartedly in the arm.
"I like them too, just not badly done ones."
"Ha!" She laughed at him. "Tattoo snob!"
His brow creased, as if he were considering a business matter of the utmost importance. "I believe," he finally said, "that I am."
She covered her mouth to keep from giggling too much more, and soon he was shaking with laughter too. For no apparent reason, really. Just looking at each other and laughing. And he looked so happy. No more sadness, even if it only lasted for a minutes. His bright blue eyes were crinkled up sweetly, and his heroic face looked so boyish...
"You're laughing," she pointed out, moving a little closer so that their legs were pressed against each other's, so that she could feel him. She knew it could have sounded stupid, if she'd said that to anyone else.
But, as she'd known he would, Warren understood. "I am. Quite a bit."
He was silent for a moment, however, and she suddenly wondered if she was perhaps being too forward with him. He had barely touched her, since she'd known him. Most of her friends knew that she liked to be hugged, liked to put her arm around people, liked affection. But Warren, for some reason, seemed a little stand-offish. Not purposely, of course. Unconsciously. "Do you mind this?" She squeezed his arm, to let him know what she meant.
This time, his smile actually bared those gorgeous pearly white teeth of his. "God n–," he stopped what he was saying, and started to laugh again. Jeanne-Marie noticed that his ears flushed pink when he was embarrassed. How utterly charming. "I mean..."
She smiled back, and leaned closer to him now, letting her head rest against his, comfortably. "Ok. You just don't seem very affectionate, is all."
"I am," he said, quickly. "I just... you know...," his fingers were tracing a line up and down her arm now, making it tingle just a bit, so that she almost wanted to shiver. Warm hands, so gentle. "I never got to be, really."
She sat up and looked at him now, and if she hadn't been won over by this time, the totally out of place half-grin on his face would have done the trick instantly. Her heart started to beat faster, and she felt a rush of her blood that was strangely familiar, but different, somehow, this time. "I can help with that."
His blue eyes grew wide, as she leaned in a little closer, slowly. She put one hand on his chest, so she could feel his heart beat, fast and furious as hers. He slid an arm around her waist, and she was pleased to see that despite the fact that he hadn't had a chance to exercise his abilities at romance lately, he seemed to have a natural feeling for it. He pulled her closer, the surprise leaving his eyes completely, and simply smiled again. Breathing. Warm.
She closed her eyes, and let it happen. She knew better than to think that she would be able to leave without it, the way she'd been watching his pretty lips when he spoke all night long. They felt even better than they looked, as it turned out. Soft, but without yielding too much. For a moment it was almost innocent, and his hand reached up to push her long hair back from her face. But before she knew what was happening, her mouth opened under his, and she couldn't help but run her tongue along the ridge of his teeth, quickly. She just wanted a little more, to feel a little more.
Jeanne-Marie Beaubier always felt just a little conflicted, of course. She had a very good girl inside of her, and she usually listened to it with boys, despite her flirtatious habits. Not that she was so very innocent, but she hadn't done much more than kiss, really. And Warren seemed to bring that out in her, to speak to her thoughtful, introspective side, more than her dangerous, thrill seeking one.
But as it turned out, she realized– as she sunk deeper into their kiss, as she traced the lines of his chest through the linen of his shirt, as she felt her blood rushing and his breath so hot on her face– the mild-mannered, art appreciating, soft spoken Angel, was also perfectly capable of having an in-depth conversation with the bad girl in her. Without using any words at all.
* * *
This was getting bad.
So bad, it made her sick to her stomach, just thinking about it.
Wanda sat alone, in the dark, on her bed, arms wrapped around herself, eyes squeezed shut. And tried desperately not to think about what the fuck was happening to her.
And, apparently, to her irritating, arrogant, asshole of a twin brother, who was probably asleep two rooms over, dreaming of Jean-Paul. Or, more likely still, sitting up with Jean-Paul, who, as far as she knew, had never left the house.
She'd gone to bed early, hoping to get a jump on things. It was getting dark so soon now, it wasn't that difficult to convince her aching, exhausted body that it was time for bed. Surely, in this state of supreme tiredness, no dreams would come. Any time she'd ever been this tired, she never remembered having dreams.
But, of course, this night had proven her wrong. Because now it was 3AM, and here she was again, trying hard not to cry because she was just so fucking tired. And she hated to cry. The very idea that she needed to cry just made her angry, which brought tears to her eyes, because it was just so goddamn frustrating and her legs hurt so bad and she just needed to sleep all weekend...
She just didn't have the presence of mind to consider what it might mean, if Pietro really was having trouble sleeping too. Their mutations were nothing alike, their powers had no connections, they had no psychic ability that they knew of... sure, they grew up together, so maybe similar dreams could be explained away. But not randomly having night terrors.
Fitfully, she glanced over at the phone next to her bed. The moon was getting darker this week, but her eyes were so well adjusted she could see the room as if it were light. Every detail in stunning, post dream horror detail. Every move she make, she was sure something horrible would consume her, she shivered, she ached, inside.
No, she wasn't going to call. She'd be ok. This was just some stupid fit she was having, or Freddy's cooking, or some kind of illness from being around Toad's god awful smell all the time, not to mention his fucking irritating moping... there was a perfectly logical explanation for this, and she wasn't going to go crawling to the first boy to open up his arms to her and say something sweet...
She closed her eyes, and willed away the thoughts. Thoughts that it wasn't like that at all. That Sam Guthrie respected her, adored her, and there was nothing wrong with taking him at face value. Hell, that redneck probably didn't even know the meaning of the word "player," even if he was too good to be true.
But she still couldn't do it. She could handle it on her own. She didn't need Pietro, and she didn't need Sam. She'd be ok. She just needed to think.
But in order to think, she'd need some sleep.
Wanda growled low in her chest, and felt that familiar rush of uncontrolled energy start to pour into her, from that unknowable source, felt it traveling along her nervous system's pathways like wildfire, spreading through her entire body until she knew she felt herself shaking with it, uncontrollably. Until the furniture in the room started to rattle and the lamp beside her bed flickered, then shattered in a loud crack. She could feel the bed shaking under her, and blue and green flashes were starting to appear behind her eyes–
When she heard a knock on the door.
Scared out of her destructive trance, she snapped around to eye the door suspiciously, and barked, "What?!"
"Um... just checkin' on you sweetums..."
Toad. At first, she grimaced, irritated. He'd been avoiding her for weeks, and now he suddenly turned up at her door, uninvited, in the middle of the night?
Not that this was the first time it had happened, of course. Just that she'd been enjoying the peace, even if it meant enduring endless amounts of moping from him during the day, when he entered into her presence. "I'm fine, Todd," she said, loud enough that he would hear, and hopefully go away. "Just go back to bed."
"Ah... ok. Just sounded... you know, like a natural disaster."
She sighed, and rolled her eyes. For as irritating as he was... he honestly did mean well. It probably wasn't his fault he was so creepy... that didn't mean she had to date him, of course, but she could at least be civil... "It's ok. Thanks, Toad, but I'm fine."
"Ok...," he sounded unconvinced, but she heard the distinct sound of him hopping back down the hallway to his own room, as she fell back onto her pillow and pulled the covers up over her head. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to fight the anger, the flashes of hex bolt that she saw behind her eyes when it came, trying to get rid of the images from the dreams, of a keep high in the mountains, of childish fairy tale people, of gypsy wagons and lightning storms. She knew she'd been brought up by gypsies, when she was very young. Maybe it was all something about them, about stories they'd told her, that were coming back. That didn't explain what the fuck Pietro was doing having nightmares, of course but...
Again, Wanda sighed, and squeezed her eyes shut even harder, trying to fight the tears of frustration, of pure exhaustion, that threatened again.
"Absolutely fucking fine," she said aloud, to no one.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
AN: Oh, the long ass chapter of mushiness is over now, everyone can take a deep breath.
First, a quick word on how I'm doing Warren. (Heh... wow my mind is even sicker at 4AM, as it turns out...) It's tempting to make him 616 Warren, of course. But he's not. The two episodes I'm using for most of my Warren here are, of course, On Angel's Wings and Under Lock and Key. Two of my favorites, incidentally. Anyhow, the Warren in On Angel's Wings was very soft-spoken, very withdrawn. He starts out in his nice big apartment, and goes out to save lives, but he's obviously ignoring his family (episode starts with them leaving him a message, something about "we love you and we miss you, please call us!" And him just sitting there, staring) and doesn't seem to have much of a life. He clearly doesn't know about other mutants, and is very businesslike when approached by both sides ("Whatever you're selling, I'm not buying," to Mags, and to Scott and Rogue, "What makes what you do so different from Magneto's pitch?" Or something like that.) He just doesn't seem to trust anyone, but he is obviously an extremely caring sort, considering his acts as Angel, and his concern over the little girl he knocked into the river. In Under Lock and Key (for the record, my favorite episode ever,) he is suddenly living in a huge house, not hanging out in Worthington Tower. When Gambit breaks in, he goes after him without question, and eventually turns up, asking the X-Men for their help. Again, soft-spoken, calm, and willing to do what it takes to do the right thing.
And that's pretty much all we have. I mean, he was in Ascension... but who wasn't? From that... I get this. So I think of what I know about Warren Worthington III, from 616. And it boggles the mind. So I try and reconcile it with what little I have to go on from Evo... yeah, ok. I love Angel, let me be perfectly honest. I think he's a brilliant, beautiful character. And I wanted to prove it. So this is how I decided to do it, and I hope it works for you like it worked for me.
(End Angel Infomercial)
Shout outs–
Caliente: Yeah, Quickie had a short-lived series in the late nineties, I have a couple of em, as well as most of the crossover thingie with Heroes for Hire that was called "Siege at Wundagore." It rocked. Since you love Sam so much, you should be happy with this story. He's obviously going to be in it quite a bit, considering the Maximoffy nature of things. Granted, not as much as my siblings, but still... he'll get to have his day! The Sasquatch reference, the kids in school, everything... it's all more than a cameo. Everyone I mention is there for a reason, I promise. Bear with me, and I'll try not to lead you astray! As for the length of the review, good god, say as much as you need to. I like to know what I did right and what I did wrong, and what made you think or puke or cry or whatever. That's how I know how to get better! PS– more diaries plz thx! 3 ya!
The Rogue Witch: See, you might think they're different storylines, but they're all going to the same place... enough about me, though! You know I do like Jean a lot better in Evo, and I think it's the girl power thing. Ok, I still don't like her that much (she's too much like me, in the things I dislike about myself, and my exact opposite in the things I like, if that makes sense), but I still want to use her. I either like pain or... or... yeah ok. Must just like pain. Hope you're still enjoying!
Chad: Apologies for the lack of dealing with Toad. It's one of those things that's going to happen mostly off-panel, I'm afraid, since it doesn't much further the plot (other than bringing Wanda out of a murderous rage right then.) He may pop up later– the story is plotted, but how I'm getting from point A to B to C is mostly up in the air, after chapter five...
Fata Morgana: Yes, Pietro is a creep, and it is annoying. But to be honest... that's what I love most about him, so it isn't about to change! Our lives would be boring without Pietro the Bastard! Yes, Ororo Munroe is very missing... mostly cause I'm not bothered to write everyone in the Evo cast... this is already a damn epic . Mostly, the people I'm deeming "secondary" turn up when I need them to forward something. It's cruel, but... wow, there are a lot of mutants rattling around in Evolution... Glad you liked the bits with JP/Pietro, as always I love writing them, and the thing with Logan. Good old Wolvie... sometimes he's just so... fun. ;)
Akuma no Tsubasa: Very glad that you're agreeable to my characterizations of Warren and Bobby– I worry the most about the originals, of course, and it means a lot to me that it's been alright, thus far. As for JM and Warren, the pair seems to be meeting with approval, which is good, since they're going to feature prominently, for better or for worse. Which I'm sure you've sorted out already! And oh god, please don't apologize for leaving a long review! It helps immensely to know what struck a chord– that way I know what to try and use again!
TKD: Read enough JP smut and suddenly Walt Langkowski seems damn cool, doesn't he? Even if it involves a cold metal medlab table and lots of bruised JP. Anyhow, enough of my fanfic scars. Thanks for the nice review, like I said up there, the big ones let you know what you're doing right, wrong, and so mediocre no one is bothered to comment. Thank you for having faith in me, to realize that I'm going somewhere with everything I throw in there. Can't tell you how glad I am that you're out there ;)
S-Star: Glad to know that you're still reading, and interested. And not getting headaches from the storylines. Hope you feel the same all the way through this monster fic!
Crazyspaceystracey: Clearly, I also have Wanda/Sam issues. The pairing I started as a joke is now taking over my life, and I think I'm in love with them. Nice to know that others are too!
Risty: Sam *is* cute. He's just... guh. Must have to do with him getting good page time in Xtreme atm, but I've been having Sam fits lately. And yeah, the guy who doesn't quite know what to say, but isn't embarrassing about it... that's really where it's at. Glad you're prepared for an epic, cause that's where I think I'm going with this... gods help me...
Taineyah: Oh! Oh! Another Trekkie! I read a lot of TNG books back in my day, and yeah... weird ass plotline issues. Maybe that's where my issues come from! The whole thing at Lorna's party was insanely funny (Um "a spicy Cajun dish with some seriously hot buns." Has anyone ever uttered a better description of Gambit? I think not!) And the Juggernaut baiting was awesome. Ran mental circles about that big lug, and it was brilliant! Glad you're liking JP these days– he's a hell of a character. Now if they'd only use him more...
Relwarc: You know, it's odd. I started to write the Alex/Scott conversation, but realized that it had nothing to do with the plot, so I ended up cutting it out before I even finished it. One of those plot bunny things that tried to sink it's pointy teeth into my neck. But I overcame, telling myself that I just had 16 chapters of that sort of thing with HCT, and stuck to it. I've really just enjoyed writing Scott so much lately that it was hard to resist. (Holy god... did I just say that?) I'm really glad that you're still reading and reviewing, your input is always helpful, encouraging, and thoughtful. Glad that I could interest you!
Peanutbaby13: You know, you're right. Scott is way more fun when he's having a breakdown... I'll see what I can do. As for Scott/Jean... well they're having the typical college issue right now... but at least you're good with JM and Warren! Nice to see you around again, and can't wait for more of the epic! But you knew that ;)
GayRon: Ah yes. JP's magic hands. If there is someone in the world who isn't utterly beguiled by the idea of it... they are made of ice. No pun intended. Well, not really. Ok, maybe a little pun intended. Er. Right.
That said, I know that some of you have already seen it, but Sue and I put up another issue of our 616 fanfic comic type series, Fallen Angels. The second issue is called "Calling Tech Support," and it's up at our joint account at fallenxangels. If you're interested.
If you're not... whoooo I just wasted another fifteen seconds of your day! Sorry bout that!
I'm so bloody tired. I should never write an AN when I'm this wiped, but look at me, here I go again...