Chapter Five: Advertisements and Visitors
"It's nice Jean," Kitty pronounced happily, after her day of touring the urban campus where Jean Grey now spent her days , "Maybe I will look into applying here next year. The computer labs are awesome!"
Jean smiled down at her, and flipped her hair over her shoulder. Like a supermodel. Jean and Jeanne-Marie always reminded Kitty of supermodels, with the way they moved. Not in a jealous way, just in an admiring one. "I have a few friends who are Comp E, if you want to talk to them sometime."
Kitty felt her brow furrow in confusion, and raised an eyebrow at the older girl, "Comp E?"
"Computer Engineering, sorry," she explained, taking Kitty's arm and leading her around one corner, toward the pizza place she swore had the best margherita pizza she'd ever tasted. "Comp E, double E, BME..."
"Oh right," Kitty nodded, now feeling a little stupid. Well, not that she was supposed to know, but still, "Duh."
"No problem, Kit," Jean smiled down at her. "It's pretty nice to have someone visit me here, you know. I like showing people around."
Kitty, for one, was glad. She and Jean were not the best of friends, but they'd always gotten along well, and she'd been worried about the older girl when she'd gone off to college. What if she didn't make friends? Didn't like it? She knew that Jean would be too proud to come crawling back to the Institute, if that happened. And what if she wished that she had gone further away to school, to in North Carolina or California?
Either way, Kitty was also glad that she wouldn't have to make that decision for a few more years, herself. But it was nice to see that Jean had made the right one. It gave her hope. "Well, Scott was just here the other day."
When Jean made no reply, the brunette girl looked back up at her, and saw her chewing on her lip fiercely.
Oh god... had they fought? Jean certainly didn't look happy about her bringing it up! No way, perfect Jean Grey and Scott Summers couldn't have fought! Scott hadn't been in a bad mood or anything last night... She was about to open her mouth to ask her about it, barely able to contain herself, when Jean finally spoke.
"Yes. But he left to see Warren."
Oh! And there was another good story! "I heard he had to help Angel cook for JM," she laughed, remembering Scott's description of the acrid burning smell he'd encountered upon entering Warren's apartment.
Jean blinked, stared hard at the pavement under her feet, and chewed at her lip some more. Kitty couldn't decide if she was being thoughtful... or irritated. Sometimes, with Jean, they could end up being the same thing. Mostly when it came to Scott, though. "Did they have a good time?" She finally asked.
Did they have a good time?! Jeanne-Marie had practically been dancing when she'd finally come home from Warren's last night, or more accurately, this morning. And they were spending all day together today, at the museum. Kitty had been sure her Canadian friend had told everyone (well, everyone who mattered) the story. "Haven't you like, talked to her?"
"No. Not in a while."
Kitty shrugged, suddenly feeling very weirded out by Jean's thoughtful-irritated behavior. "She said she wanted to call you today, before she went out with him again."
"Yeah," Jean nodded, looking up now, as if making a real effort to be normal again. For which Kitty was grateful. "I got her message on my voicemail."
And didn't call her back? Man, maybe it was JM and Jean who had fought? Those two used to be thick as thieves when they lived together... Kitty decided to keep her observations to herself as the redheaded girl led her toward a small brick building that smelled distinctly like pizza. Kitty felt her stomach rumble, and was suddenly very aware that she hadn't eaten since roughly 7AM, thanks to a smart remark Jean-Paul had made to Mr. Logan which had cost the whole team an extra session this morning. In fact, she felt a little dizzy from hunger, if she thought about it hard enough.
But as they went past the door, a poster stapled to the sign outside, next to about ten other student-made advertisements, caught her eye. She stopped. And stared. And her mouth fell open. "Oh my god... Jean..."
"What?" The older girl came to stand behind her, and began reading over her shoulder. "Oh..."
Come to the organizational meeting for STUDENTS FOR HUMANITY. Take ACTION for your species. Don't sit and watch while the threat overcomes us. We will not be silent. Humanity will STAND. Now is the time. November 1, Hopkins Bldg,, Room 100. Contact Andy Rasz @ 555-2387 or Rasz.28@po.nys.edu.
Kitty read the sign twice, then a third time, just to make sure she was really seeing what she thought she was seeing. And she suddenly felt very sick to her stomach. "That is so not good..."
"That's the boy from my physical anthropology class, Andy...," Jean was saying thoughtfully, taking the whole thing a little too calmly, Kitty thought.
"And they say that education usually does away with ignorance," the brunette snorted, crossing her arms over her chest, in a sudden flash of defiance. Once again, the people they bust their asses to protect fear and hate them...
Hey, that was kinda catchy...
"What's it say at the bottom, by the little star?" Came from over her shoulder.
Kitty squinted, and leaned forward to read the smaller print at the bottom of the paper, "It says... Not a NYS funded project... and... MDS (Mutant Detection System) used upon entry– Oh my god! Mutant Detection System?! What the hell is that?!" She spun, now thoroughly pissed off, and looked up at Jean expectantly.
Jean only shook her head slowly, "Never heard of it... but whatever it is, they can't use it. That's discrimination, the school won't tolerate it."
"Well, if it's not school funded, if it's a private organization... I mean it's pretty much a free country, right?"
Jean was still shaking her head, as she said, "I guess so, Kitty. But you're right. This is so not good."
* * *
Jean-Paul was taking a walk. Nothing fast, no flying. Just a nice, slow walk, around the Institute's considerable property. Alone. Trying not to worry about anything.
Jeanne-Marie was due home at any moment, from the museum. Her brother had been surprised when she didn't return home last night until nearly 2 AM, but he'd managed to stay silent about it. He'd managed that, of course, because he wasn't home himself to see it happen, and by the time the extra long Danger Room run was over in the morning, she was running around getting ready for her day at the museum.
She seemed happy, content. He could feel it coming off of her in waves, any time she came near– she wasn't bothering to hide it. But that didn't keep him from wanting to grill her, to ask her what they did and why she was gone so long and a million other questions that every brother probably wants to ask. But he hadn't had a chance.
And really... it was probably better that way.
Even if his sister hadn't put the fear of god into him with her forced separation from him, being around Wanda and Pietro, especially lately, made it perfectly clear to him just how amazing what he and Jeanne-Marie had together was. He could remember so clearly what it was like before her– never feeling close to anyone, never having anything that he could depend on, always alone. Famous, but alone. He used to pretend it was a good substitute. Who needs love when you have fame, he used to ask himself.
But then he met her. And things changed, forever. When they touched, when that flash of light filled the room, his heart... woke up. Two halves of the same whole, in a way, Jean-Paul and Jeanne-Marie. They understood one another's minds, they used one another's powers. The proof was right there, for everyone to see. Oh, they were different, individual, yes. They had existed without each other for years, and could do it again if necessary.
Jean-Paul knew, however, that he would never be content to do so again. Because even when they were fighting, he knew that something would make it right. One of them would always do what had to be done. Pietro had mentioned begging. Jean-Paul had scoffed at the idea. But he knew that if he had to, he would. Only for her. Because he didn't want to live like that anymore. Didn't think he would make it, if he had to. Because not knowing what he was missing might've made him bitter, but knowing what he was missing had hurt like a motherfucker, that week. And that was mild, compared to what it would be without her entirely.
The Maximoffs, he was convinced, were complete idiots. He adored them both, of course, but honestly. They had no idea how lucky they were. If Jeanne-Marie ever got as fucked up about something as Wanda obviously was over her nightmares, Jean-Paul knew he would be the first to hear about it. In fact, it had happened before, and she had come knocking on his door within minutes. And yes, he would go to her if something like that was keeping him up at night. Of course, it was a moot point, because they would both know if the other was so disturbed, but the fact remained. And really, he felt bad for Wanda and Pietro. Both of them had more issues than they knew what to do with. A little solidarity just might keep them from going off the deep end, some day.
As he rounded the corner, coming around to the front of the house, he noticed that a car was pulling away, and his sister was standing there watching it go, her back to him. Her hair was blowing back from her face in the chill wind that had kicked up lately, and he almost smiled at the image. She looked like she should be on the cover of some dime romance novel, standing there in the wind, watching that car pull out of the drive. Quietly, he came up behind her, resolving to be gentle with his questions due to his strangely sentimental mood lately (he had to blame Pietro for being so fucked up lately– it was really starting to get to Jean-Paul.)
She turned long before he reached her, grinned hugely, and started coming to meet him at a bouncing sort of run. When they met up, her pale cheeks were flushed– whether with the effort of the run, the fact that she was newly in love, or the cold of the autumn wind. He opened his mouth to ask her how her day had been, even though he could feel her radiating warmth quite clearly through their empathic link, but was taken by surprise when she threw herself into him and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Oh, Jean-Paul, he's so wonderful!"
Glad that she couldn't see the incredulous expression that was no doubt creeping onto his face, and would only feel that he was genuinely pleased with her elation, he put his arms around her waist and picked her up just a little as he hugged her. ::You've been having a good time? You didn't tell me about last night.::
After a moment, she pulled away and held his hands with her own warm ones. He hadn't noticed how cold he'd gotten, staying outside so long, until that moment. ::Yes, it was wonderful. He made me dinner, with Scott's help, of course, and we talked and talked for hours. And today we spent so much time at the museum, until we agreed that we couldn't possibly look at any more without exploding! And you should see his house, Jean-Paul, the art his parents have collected. He even has some in his own apartment, at the Tower, and it's so lovely.::
Unable to help himself, Jean-Paul raised his eyebrows at her and asked, switching back to English, "That wonderful is he?"
She smiled hugely, beautifully, and nodded. "Oh yes. Jean-Paul, I want you to spend time with him."
He blinked at her for a moment, then laughed, "Me? What for?"
As they had a tendency to do when alone, she switched languages again, ::I want you to get to know him, and to love him. I know if you spend time with him you'll like him very much.::
::My sister, I will not treat him as I treated Roberto–.::
::I know. We both learned a lot from Roberto.::
::No,:: he grinned, ::I simply trust Worthington with you more than I trusted DaCosta.::
She rolled her eyes at him, still smiling. ::You will love him too, I know it.::
::If you decide that you love him, I'll have no choice,:: he pointed out, that small seed of doubt creeping back into his mind. Too fast. She was falling too fast. Two days of dating him and she was talking about love? Good god, what was she thinking? And was Worthington as far gone as she was?
But if he betrayed his thoughts through their connection, she showed no sign, ::I'm glad you've come to realize that! Is dinner ready?::
He only shook his head at her, and started to walk back toward the house, draping his arm protectively over her shoulder as they went. ::It will be soon. Let's go and get ready.::
~~
"Yo, JP."
Jean-Paul shook his head and sighed. He was getting used to Pietro magically ending up in his room when he came back from the Danger Room, dinner, or any other place Pietro was not, really. But honestly, it'd be nice if he could get a warning, now and then. "What are you doing here?" He asked the silver-haired boy sitting with his feet up on his desk, flipping through his date book interestedly.
"Waiting for you, dickhead. Listen, can you come over tonight?"
"Yeah, after dinner. What's going on?"
Pietro shrugged, and sat up straight, feet falling to the floor with a loud thud. "Nothing. Just making sure."
"Where else would I go?" he laughed, taking off his jacket and heading to the closet to hang it up.
The laugh was a little forced, though. This was weird. Pietro was making sure he would come over? Didn't he always come over on Saturday nights? Or at least hang out with the guy? Was the lack of sleep finally going to his brain so much that he thought Jean-Paul would forget him?
"I dunno, though maybe you'd be hanging out with Scott or JM or something. Since you've been over at the house so much lately."
Jean-Paul considered this, and realized that it was true. Pietro had been occupying an inordinate amount of his time lately. And he hadn't even noticed. But considering the amount of thought that was expended on the state of his best friend's sanity lately, he really might as well be with him as much as possible. He'd be thinking, worrying about him even if he wasn't, after all. In fact, he hadn't talked to Scott, Alex, or Rogue– the three he had a tendency to speak to more than the others– for quite some time outside of school.
"Whatever," he made himself sound nonchalant, "My time really isn't as precious as I make it out to be, Pietro."
This elicited a snort from Pietro that somehow managed to communicate both sarcasm and agreement.
"You could've just called and asked me that."
"I tried," he offered, suddenly at Jean-Paul's side. "You weren't home. Can I borrow that?" He pointed to a black sweater hanging near where the Canadian X-Man had just hung his coat.
"Yes, but don't fuck it up. I was outside."
"It was fuzz-butt on the phone, he said you were out. So I came on over."
Jean-Paul eyed him carefully for a moment as Pietro pulled the sweater off the hanger and laid it over his forearm. Tired. He looked sick, really. Paler than usual, eyes sunken and dark, movement less crisp, abrupt, than usual. Everything about him seemed so much less... effortless than it usually did. It hurt, somehow, to see it. And he didn't really want Pietro to go. "You want to stay for dinner?"
"Na, I gotta go, I'm supposed to be cooking," he rolled his eyes. "As much as I'd love to irritate the X-Men over dinner, and possibly give Scott some heartburn, I'll have to pass."
The X-Man led him out the door, after that, and down the hall to the stairs. "Right. Then I'll be over after, just–," but as they neared the top of the stairs, he heard some kind of commotion coming from the foyer. "What the hell is going on down there?"
Pietro shrugged, "Hell if I know man."
They exchanged a look of confusion, and almost simultaneously flashed to the bottom of the stairs, so quickly that Jean-Paul knew no one in the foyer would be able to tell that Pietro actually beat him by a fraction of a second.
But speed was the last thing on his mind, when he saw what was causing the commotion.
"Evening, all," A smooth Cajun accent was drawling, "Sorry to drop by without a warning, but I was out of quarters, this time."
"Gambit?!" Pietro squeaked, stalking across the foyer and pushing through Roberto, Bobby, and Rogue, who had apparently had had the misfortune to answer the door. "What the hell are you two doing here?!"
Jean-Paul turned his attention to the drop dead gorgeous Gambit, whose signature brown trench coat was hanging off of him in tatters at the bottom, and who held up a shockingly orange-haired youth in an offensively bright kevlar costume. The fashion victim's head was lolling to the side, and his eyes were just barely open, and Jean-Paul could've sworn that was drool shining in the corner of his mouth. Gambit held him up with one arm, hooked around him and under his armpit.
He couldn't think what this could mean. All he could really think was, "What the fuck...?"
"Remy, what happened to Pyro?" Rogue unceremoniously pushed Pietro out of the way and stomped up to the Acolytes, sliding under the orange-haired boy's other arm– orange-hair boy obviously being Pyro– and lifted him upward.
"He been bleeding for about a week, chere, real slow. He needs a doctor."
"What are you doing here?" Pietro demanded again, turning a little pink in the face. Whether because he was being entirely ignored, or because the sight of his fathers' henchmen had affected him so strongly, Jean-Paul couldn't imagine. But either way, whatever it was that had brought these two to Xavier's probably wasn't going to bode well for the Brotherhood speedster's already ailing psyche.
Or, Jean-Paul mused, still frozen in his spot at the foot of the stairs, staring, for his own psyche either. Because he was definitely starting to panic at the scene unfolding before him. The last time Gambit had been involved in anything... Jeanne-Marie... Pietro...
"Help me take him downstairs," Rogue barked at Gambit, "Mr. McCoy is down there now. Bobby, go tell the Professor we need him, if he doesn't know already."
"You can't take him down there–," Drake began to protest.
"NOW," Rogue spat at him, glaring with green fire in her eyes.
Bobby nearly jumped to deliver her message, and Roberto followed, throwing suspicious glares over his shoulder at the Acolytes at the door.
"Gambit!" Pietro sounded nearly panicked now, as he started to follow the two mutants carrying the sagging orange monstrosity, on their way down to the medlab.
"Got some bad news for you, bout your father," The Cajun finally drawled, stopping for just a moment to look at him, and getting a dirty look from Rogue for his trouble. "He been kidnaped, in a way."
"By who?" Pietro squeaked, eyes wide.
"Same people kidnaped you, kid."
* * *
Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.
Just... fuck.
Pietro Maximoff sped through the front door of the boarding house and into the living room, and found just the person he'd been looking for. Sitting there. Staring blankly at the TV.
She looked like hell. And he knew he did too. And he knew, just knew this had something to do with their past, something that linked them together. The dreams used to come when they were little too, when they lived in Transia, with the gypsies. Marya and Django told them to keep quiet about the animal-people in their dreams. He remembered. He remembered it like it was yesterday.
But what about Wanda? Wanda, sitting there like a zombie. What did she remember? And if he asked her questions, if he brought up old subjects, what would that make her remember? And could he afford to ask her anything, if it was going to crack whatever the hell their insane, megalomaniacal, currently kidnaped father had done to her? She would flip out, if she remembered all those years in the hospital, if he said the wrong thing and undid whatever they'd done to her mind to make her forget. Flip the fuck out and kill him. She'd tried before. He would've died, he knew, if not for the intervention of Rogue and Shadowcat, though it pained him to admit to it. He would've died.
Dead. He didn't want to be dead. But she would make him dead, if she remembered.
Jesus. He couldn't tell her.
The very thought made his heart beat faster. Can'ttellheranything. Don'twannadie.
But he blurted it out anyhow, since he knew she'd find out from Guthrie or Pryde sooner or later tonight. "SinisterhasMagneto."
Her head snapped around so that she was facing him immediately. And her upper lip started to curl into a sneer. And he could see it, rising in her. Anger. God, sometimes he thought she was just made of anger.
His stomach clenched sickeningly as he watched her face twist up with hatred. For him, for their father, for Sinister. He didn't know who the fuck it was for.
Pleasedon'tletitbeme.
"How do you know?" She growled. She didn't seem disbelieving. She just seemed... like she wanted to know. And now.
"Gambit and Pyro are over at Xavier's right now. I was just leaving and they turned up. The Marauders came for Magneto, and Pyro was injured– they shot him with something that Gambit finally figured out wouldn't let his blood clot and now he's still bleeding a little and it's been almost a week but Pyro wouldn't let him take him to the hospital so he convinced him to go to the X-Men but by the time they made it here John was totally fucked and now he's layinginthemedlabandhe's–,"
"Stop," she told him, firmly. She didn't yell, she just told him.
He took a deep breath, and stared at her. Heart beating fast– even for him. And that was fucking fast.
"Why does Sinister want him?"
Pietro thought about this, and finally admitted, "I don't know. He wanted us because we're twins... because we're the children of one of the world's most powerful mutants."
"And powerful ourselves."
Yeah, you are...
Wait. Where had that come from? He was powerful. He was Quicksilver, goddammit, the fastest person in the world. Well, not that it had been proven, but if he was faster than Jean-Paul... he had to be faster than everyone else, right? That was powerful, dammit!
"I guess."
"Does he want us, still?" She asked, still growling low, but staying in her seat.
"I don't know," he said again, shaking his head. "Gambit didn't say anything about us."
Wanda chewed at the inside of her cheek for a minute, and her expression softened somewhat. "Where did they take him?"
"I don't know," he was getting tired of saying. "Gambit said he didn't know either. They came, talked to him, then there was a big fight. Somehow, they got a hold of him, though I don't know how the fuck they managed that considering that if he wanted to he could just reversethebloodflowintheirveinsanddropthemcold–,"
"You're doing it again," Wanda informed him.
He took another deep breath. "Right. Sorry. What do we do?"
For a minute, his sister just looked at him. And he'd never noticed it before, but they really did have the same eyes, kinda. Same color, anyhow. Dark blue, and a little smoky.
Weird.
Wanda suddenly clenched her jaw, appeared to swallow, and then looked back at the TV. "I have my own problems. He didn't come for you when you were in trouble, why should we care?"
"Wanda, you were the one who wanted to go when he was taken by Apoca–,"
"I know," she looked back at him and snarled. "There is nothing wrong with my memory, dear brother."
Now, it was Pietro's turn to swallow hard.
"But things are different now. He doesn't give a fuck about us, you said it yourself not six months ago. Why do you suddenly care?"
She might as well have hexed him to the wall. Or slapped him in the face. He opened his mouth, expecting some kind of cruel retort to find its way out, to slap her right back.
But no sound came. He only stared, remembering what Sinister had done to him. The way it had felt, his nervous system frying at light speed.
He didn't like his father. Hated him, in fact, most of the time. But he didn't want him to die. Not like that, and not at all. Was that why it bothered him to hear that his father had been taken? Or was it the idea that Sinister could use Magneto to get to him again, to come back, to take him away, to do it all over again, to use him and Wanda for some kind of sick research that ended with them in bits and pieces all over that fucking horrible lab of his, with the green bubbling tank and the torches and the machines that probed his mind and burnt his insides...?
Wanda just shook her head, and looked back to the TV again. "It's not like we could do anything anyhow. We don't even know where they took him. He can take care of himself."
Pietro just stood there, completely still, for a moment. Stomach in knots, heart in his throat, watching his tired, cold, heartless, fearless sister watch TV.
And for the first time in ten years, he wished that he could be more like his sister.
* * *
Bobby Drake was well and truly worn out. The arrival of one Remy LeBeau and one St.John Allerdyce, not to mention the news of the X-Men's biggest rival Magneto, had, to say the least, put a bit of a damper on dinner. In fact, he still hadn't eaten. But it was only eleven o'clock, on a Saturday night, and he was fucking worn out.
He undressed, throwing his clothes at the foot of his bed, and slid into the sheets with a sigh of great relief, noticing the snores coming from Roberto's side of the room and the peaceful expression on Sam's face in the bed next to Bobby's. Heh. And they hadn't even had to do a double session today, like he had, thanks to Jean-Paul's smart mouth.
But Jean-Paul's smart mouth had been noticeably absent all evening, after the two Acolytes had arrived in their foyer. The one standing tall and strong had looked like he'd been through the wringer-- the thief Gambit. The other had been slumped lifelessly on his arm, looking like someone had drained all the blood out of him-- the nutcase Pyro.
Nutcase. He shouldn't think of him like that, the guy could die if Mr. McCoy couldn't save him. Even if he'd fought them both on occasion, Bobby could still have a little compassion. Those Marauders were no fucking joke– he'd seen that well enough in London a few months ago, when they took Jeanne-Marie. And Mr. McCoy had said that whatever drug was on the dart they shot Pyro with, he'd never seen it before, but it definitely had some sort of blood-diluting agent, not to mention something that slowed down Pyro's natural mutant pyrokinesis, most likely. Something about that had all the adults pretty worried, including Scott.
But Bobby was a little too tired to consider why or how. He just wanted to sleep now. Sleep away the... weirdness of today.
*Rrrring.*
His eyes snapped open, but he didn't move. Was that...? Na, couldn't be. He was hearing things...
"Xavier Institute."
Bobby felt his eyes go wide, and fought an urge to turn over and look at his roommate, Sam. Who apparently had been sleeping with the phone under his pillow, and had just answered it after one ring, out of a completely dead sleep only a second before.
Oh, this day just got weirder and weirder.
"Yeah, I tried to call, but they said you were out..." Sam's whisper was barely audible, and Bobby had to strain to listen to it. Who the fuck would be calling him at this hour? His family? Wanda? What the hell for? Was Sam some kind of secret thief... or maybe he did drug deals in his spare time? Damn...
"No, don't... I see... yeah, it happened again? ... Ok, I'm on my way... no, I want to... I'll just go out the window, no one will know..."
Ok... who was this guy in the bed next to his, and what had he done with Sam Guthrie?! No way that Kentucky boy was actually going to sneak out at eleven o'clock! Of course, it was a weekend, and if he wanted to spend the night somewhere, he would've been allowed... but he hadn't gotten permission, and permission was required for that kind of thing... Jesus, if only he weren't so damn exhausted this would make way more sense, he just knew it...
"I want to... it's ok, don't worry about it... I'll be there in five minutes... yeah, you'll hear the crash," Sam gave a muffled, half-hearted laugh at that. "Ok... Wanda?"
Wanda! It was Wanda?! What the hell was Wanda calling at eleven for? Was it about the whole Magneto thing? And why the hell did Sam have the phone in bed with him, like he was waiting for the call?
"I'm glad you called. I'll be there soon."
Bobby heard the beep that meant his roommate had hung up the phone, and then heard him slip out of bed and start digging around in their collective clothes-pile. Bobby considered his options. He could lay there, and be unable to fall asleep because he was dying to know what the hell was happening. Or he could sit up, and ask the redneck just what the hell he thought he was doing.
No choice at all.
He flipped over in bed and asked, "Sam, what the fuck are you up to?"
His blonde roommate jumped in surprised at the sound of his voice, legs half in, half out of his jeans, and fell in a pile of tangled limbs onto the floor with a muffled "Mmph" sound.
Bobby sat up, torn between laughing at the awkward position of his dear roommate, and demanding an explanation immediately.
Sam looked up at him from the floor, leaning against his bed, jeans up to his knees, and scratched at the back of his head in that "confused hick" way he had.
"What was Wanda calling about? Why are you going over there?"
"Uh...," the country boy looked down at the ground, and suddenly seemed to notice that his pants weren't on yet. He worked on pulling them up and tucking his boxers into them as he stuttered, "Well... I, uh... she's..."
Bobby watched, finding it harder and harder not to laugh. Between Sam's difficulty getting his pants on while sitting on the floor and his distracted attempt at finding an explanation that was acceptable, Bobby was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to hold it back much longer. But embarrassing the guy would only make it harder to get an explanation out of him... "Well? She's what?"
The other boy stood now, and zipped up his jeans at long last, then looked over at Bobby. And then down at the ground, fast. "She just needs me to go over. I'll be back before breakfast, just cover for me if someone needs me, or... whatever. Ok?"
And suddenly, Bobby didn't want to laugh anymore. Because when Sam looked back up at him, met his eyes... he looked a lot older than his barely 16 years. And he didn't look awkward anymore. Didn't look like some long-legged, slack-jawed, clueless country kid.
He looked serious. Looked... kinda... well, grown-up. Like this was important.
"Yeah, of course I'll cover for you, man."
Sam nodded, and started digging for a shirt in the pile of clothes. "Thanks, Bobby."
"How you gonna get back in?
"Just use the security codes."
"You have them all memorized?"
Sam stood up, shirt in hand, and asked, "Don't you?"
No! Who the hell could remember five different codes that changed every week? Not, Bobby... and he was amazing with numbers. "Uh... yeah, of course I do."
"Well, see you at breakfast."
"Later, Romeo."
Sam just raised an eyebrow at him, pulled his shirt over his head, then turned to head to the window. "Close it once I'm out of here, ok?"
Bobby followed him to the window, and leaned against the wall as Sam crouched up on the sill, on the balls of his feet. "Gonna come crashing through her bedroom window?" he couldn't resist.
His roommate looked over at him, sporting his typical crooked grin, "Was hoping I could land in the shrubbery before I did any real property damage."
Bobby laughed, then patted him on the back.
And Sam jumped out the window with astounding grace, for a boy who'd just spent a good five minutes tangled up in his own jeans. Bobby leaned out, to watch, and saw his friend's mutant power activate before he was halfway to the ground, suddenly rocketing him upwards and out, leaving a glowing trail behind him, almost too fast to see. He watched until he was too far away to see, then closed the window and padded back to bed, to the sound of Roberto's snoring.
Yeah. Definitely a weird fucking day.
* * *
Scott was so tired, he could barely think. But some instinct in him, something protective, wouldn't let him go to bed until Remy LeBeau was safely asleep first. Hardly anyone else seemed to think it was odd that the man had been let in and given full access to the Institute immediately, despite the fact that they'd fought him on more than one occasion, he worked for Magneto, and he'd basically kidnaped Rogue not so very long ago.
Granted, he had warned them about the Maximoffs. But that didn't mean he was trustworthy.
A fact that only he and Logan seemed to appreciate. The feral sat, eyeing the Cajun mutant from the other side of the room, sniffing now and then, as if checking for some kind of malicious intent in his scent.
Scott wouldn't have minded a look in the guy's head either. Instead, he settled for listening to Gambit retell his story to Hank.
"I been hanging around, part time, with the crew, since I left here. They found me, like I figured they would. But the boss, he let me get off easy, told me Ididn't have to stay anymore, when I told him about his kids. Just got this look in his eye. Said he had to take care of things. He been trying to get a hold of Sinister ever since, even worse than when he thought the man had ties to Apoc. But now Magneto don't want to ask him questions, he just wants to kill the man. Said anyone who would fuck with his family had to go. Not in those words, course, but that's what he meant."
"He ain't seen those kids in months," Logan growled across the room, just as Scott was thinking it. "He just wants an excuse to go on another crusade."
"Perhaps you make an excellent point, Logan," Beast nodded his head at the mutant crouched in the corner, "However, that does not necessarily signify that we should disregard the possibility that Magneto's genuine concern for his offspring led to this particular endeavor."
"I don't call locking a girl up in an insane asylum at the age of eight genuine concern. Hell, Hank," Scott made himself push the man's first name out, "Magneto's parenting skills, or lack thereof, can almost account for Pietro's attitude. He was gunning for Sinister from the beginning."
"Don't matter why he wanted the man," Gambit shrugged, leaning back against the wall now. "All that matters is that his interest got him kidnapped, and Pyro cut up. Colossus split for Russia as soon as Mags was taken, said he was gonna come back here after he got his family business taken care of. Said he wanted to talk to Xavier. Thought maybe we'd find him here–,"
"Well he ain't here," Logan snarled. "So get back on the subject, swamp rat. What does Sinister want with Magneto?"
"That's what I been trying to think of, mon ami. And far as I can see, the only thing Magneto is to him is a threat. Maybe Magneto getting too close to the truth about him, so he had to take him out," Gambit crossed his arms over his chest, looking completely at home.
"No...," Scott shook his head, "That doesn't make sense. He would've just killed him, it's obvious that Sinister has no qualms. I mean, he experiments on mutants." He suppressed a shiver at the thought of it, and remembering what Jeanne-Marie Beaubier had looked like on the plane back from London that day, a crying, shaking, fragile thing, slowly losing her mind in her brother's arms.
Jesus. He really wished that Magneto was all they had to deal with. He'd rather be fighting Gambit and Pyro than that scary bastard any day...
"I don't know then, Cyke," Gambit raised an eyebrow and stared him down with those unnerving red-on-black eyes. "You ask me a question, I give you the only answer I can think of. Unless he still wants the kids."
"I propose that that is not entirely outside the realm of possibilities," Hank said, nodding slowly. "And given the potential, perhaps the Beaubiers should be provided with some sort of surveillance as well, considering his previously evidenced interest in their rather unique genetic relationship–,"
"The Beaubiers ain't the offspring of the most powerful mutant in the world, homme." Gambit pointed out. "And that's what Sinister said, when he was done messing with my head."
Scott snorted, "What? He told you his nefarious plan, then left you hanging on a wall to die? What is he, a Bond Villian?"
Gambit narrowed those frightening eyes at him, and pointed at him, as if his hand were a gun. But his voice stayed calm, smooth, low. The man always sounded like he was purring, somehow. "No, that's not what happened. He was talking to himself, then to his henchmen."
Amazing. He hadn't said a word, but he still managed to make Scott feel, just by looking at him like that, as if there was some kind of implied threat. Shut the fuck up about what he did to me. Almost like it was coming off the older guy, like a signal being broadcast.
Scott was unimpressed. Gambit was tough, but honestly, so was he. If the guy was for real, he'd be happy to let him stick around, join up with the X-Men like Xavier had offered him last time. But he had to prove himself first, and unspoken threats weren't the way to do it. No matter how he looked at it. "Either way, the Beaubiers should be warned, but I doubt it's any immediate threat."
"I concur," Beast was nodding again, looking from Scott to Gambit carefully, one bushy eyebrow raised. "It's reasonably safe to assume, at least until presented with evidence that suggests otherwise, that our megalomaniacal geneticist super-villain is presently otherwise occupied. Magneto will not be an easy house-guest to pacify."
It didn't make any sense, the Cajun's story. He rolled it over in his mind, then spoke again, finally. "Let me see if I have this straight. Magneto is obsessed with Sinister because he thinks he has ties to Apocalypse. He sends you on a recon mission, you get captured, Sinister finds out about him and his kids. He becomes obsessed with them in turn, tries to kidnap them with his crew of nutcases, fucks it up– excuse me Hank–,"
Beast grinned hugely and held up a large blue hand, "Please, my friend, don't feel inhibited my presence."
"So we get our guys back, you run back and tell Magneto what happened, he has fits about someone daring to mess with his kids, and goes after Sinister full tilt. Sinister eventually sends his little potato-heads out again, and they somehow manage to overcome the Master of Magnetism. Who is, like you said, one of the most powerful mutants in the world. And cut Pyro all to hell, as well as shoot him in the neck with some kind of poison dart that's keeping his blood from clotting properly. Ad now we think it's slowing down his mutant power of pyrokinesis as well. You two hide out for about a week, him threatening your life any time you come near him, Colossus splitting for Russia. You don't call, like you did last time–,"
"What you want me to call about?" Gambit interrupted, still sounding cool as a cucumber, despite the purposely inflammatory nature of Scott's rant. "Tell you Magneto's missing? What the X-Men gonna care about Magneto getting himself kidnaped? Shit, Remy don't even care about it, and I know Johnny in there don't. I would be in New Orleans right now, if it weren't for him slowly dying all week long. Couldn't leave him like that."
"You told us about the Maximoffs," Scott tried to sound hard, even though that last bit, the bit about not being able to leave Pyro, had hit kind of hard. Not that his saying it proved it was is true motivation... but why say it otherwise?
"The Maximoffs just a couple of kids," Gambit pointed out, staring him down fearlessly, still leaning against the wall, head high, like he owned the place. "And it was my fault they were a target. Magneto, he's no kid. He just as dangerous as Sinister. I worked with Quicksilver, don't forget. Never met a more perfect example of a scared little kid. A brat, oui, but young."
"And how old are you, Gambit?" Scott snorted. The guy couldn't be more than 23, at the most...
"I don't see that it's your business, homme." He arched an eyebrow dangerously, but didn't move another muscle.
"I do believe that will suffice," Hank suddenly put a hand on Scott's shoulder, and Scott felt some of the tension he had been unconsciously storing in his back start to flood out of him at the touch. Reminding him to relax. Gambit was not necessarily an enemy. Not this time, and not yet. "It's time for us to retire, if I'm not mistaken. I will remain here to monitor Mr. Allerdyce's condition until I determine that he will, indeed, recover. The rest of you, to bed."
Logan, who had been surprisingly quiet in the corner, almost to the point where Scott forgot about him entirely, growled something low in his chest as a response, and stood up to leave. "Come on, Cajun. I'll show you to your room."
Remy followed Logan out the door, brushing past Scott in a breeze that smelled like cigarettes and autumn. Without another look in the X-Man's direction.
When the door closed behind them, Scott felt his tension release almost completely, and was sharply reminded again of just how tired he was.
"Get some rest, my friend," Hank told him, patting his back once more, and turning to look through the window of glass on the door to the private room Pyro was sleeping in.
"He going to be ok?"
"I believe... that the probability is high."
"Gambit should have brought him here earlier," Scott groused, looking at the chalk-white face of the Australian mutant napping in the next room. "He's lucky he's not dead, isn't he?"
"Yes, he is. But one does not argue with a pyrokinetic in possession of a lighter, Scott. It is a battle that is destined to be lost. And he didn't realize the bleeding was constant–,"
"Yeah, I know," Scott pulled at his hair a bit, distracted. "I'm just tired, that's all. It's been a long weekend, and it's only Saturday night, you know?"
Beast nodded, solemnly. "In the immortal words of Ringo Starr, 'It's been a hard day's night.'"
Scott felt himself smiling at the furry blue teacher, against his own will. "I thought it was John who sang that one."
"Unfortunately, I fear that I'm not cognizant as to that information. But I believe the quote came from Mr. Starkey. Good night, Scott."
Scott nodded, and left the medlab. He walked down the hall, took the elevator up to the main house. Headed into the foyer, and up the stairs. Wandered down the hallway, into his own room, at the end of the hall. All the while, trying not to think about how everything was suddenly so completely fucked up in his life.
Not that it was bad. Just that... nothing was the same anymore. As if in less than a month, he was living a completely different life from the one he'd had at the Institute all along. Enemies were friends, some that felt right, like the Brotherhood, whom he'd always thought they should be allied with, some that felt wrong, like Gambit and Pyro. His brother and he were closer now, but things were undeniably different there, since Alex's confession and his own idiot response– he knew he had a lot of proving to do before the kid would really feel comfortable with him again. And Jean... God. He didn't even care about it anymore. Everything was all wrong.
He just wanted his life to feel... normal.
He laughed, as he undressed for bed. Normal. He was a 19-year-old guy who had uncontrollable energy beams that shot out of his eyes any time he opened them.
"Normal" shouldn't even be in his vocabulary.
Better suck it up and deal, Summers. Suck it up and deal.
* * *
He hadn't expected her to call. And judging from the look on her face when he'd shown up, picking leaves out of his hair from the bush he'd used to cushion his impact (he was getting a lot better, he'd been able to effectively land safely for months now if he focused, but he was a little distracted, at the moment.) She didn't look unhappy to see him. Or sorry she'd called.
She just looked... tired. And sad. She definitely looked really sad.
He really hadn't given it any thought, when she'd called. She'd tried to hang up on him almost immediately, and he'd actually thought she would do it, for a minute. But as quickly as she'd decided she didn't want to talk, she suddenly opened up, and admitted that she was panicking from the nightmares, and the news of her father's capture, which was all over the Institute by now. Sam had tried to call her, but Lance had told him she was gone out somewhere. And he figured Pietro, who he knew was there when Gambit and Pyro had made their grand entrance, would've told her anyhow.
Wanda hadn't asked Sam to come over. She'd just admitted that it had happened again, and he'd informed her that he was on his way. He wasn't sure why he'd done it, or where the hell he'd gotten the guts from to do it. But as he watched her slow, heavy movements as she closed the door behind him and pulled him into the dark foyer at the Brotherhood Boarding House... he was damn glad he had.
"I'm sorry," was the first thing out of her mouth, after the door was shut. "I shouldn't have gotten you out of bed–,"
"I wasn't asleep," he lied, smiling at her– he hoped brightly. The light was so low, he could only just make out the contours of her face in the yellow glow from the light in the hall upstairs. But even in that light... so tired.
"I feel like an idiot. I don't know what I expect you to do for me...," she turned away and started walking into the living room.
He grabbed for her hand, before she could get too far, and caught it. "We'll think of something. To take your mind off things."
Slowly, she turned back to face him. Her eyes looked down, to his hand holding hers, and then back up, to his eyes. And she nodded. "Maybe. But I can't concentrate very well right now, Sam..."
"Course you can't," he kept smiling, as he searched his mind furiously for something that might keep her occupied, but didn't require too much focus. He didn't have a plan coming in here, he'd just jumped out the window and come. Just wanted to see her. Wanted to be here with her. Hell, maybe he could even get her to talk a little. But then, he felt the proverbial lightbulb come to life over his head, as he remembered a request she'd made, almost a week ago. "Hey, what about that hair cut? You said I was shaggy the other day, and I said I'd let you cut it, remember?"
A smile threatened to appear on her face, the corners of her mouth twitching just slightly upward. "You were serious?"
He shrugged, "I don't care. Anyhow, you'd probably do something cool with it. Just don't dye it blue, my mother would kill me."
The smile finally appeared, and even if it looked tired, he felt his heart leap into his throat at the sight of it. "I'll see what I can do."
~~
Sam looked upward, at the ceiling in the kitchen of the Brotherhood house, trying futilely to see what exactly Wanda was doing to his hair. The more he thought about it, the more he though this might not have been the best idea. But then again, what good was hair if it didn't impress your girlfriend.
Not that Wanda was his girlfriend...
Oh man, what was he doing, thinking about stuff like that at a time like this? Wanda had so much on her mind, and here he was acting like an idiot, wondering where their relationship stood. He mentally kicked himself in the ass, and decided to try and get her talking. "So... uh, you feeling ok now?"
"Yes," she said, as she ran her fingers through his now wet hair. She'd already made a few snips, mostly in the back, and the few glimpses he'd had of her face gave him the impression that she was fully into her project. Which was what he'd been hoping for, of course. "It doesn't last that long, but when I first wake up, I can't even move."
"I know what you mean," he had to make a concentrated effort not to nod at her as he spoke, "Same thing happens to me when I get nightmares. Or even just weird dreams. Cold sweat..."
"The works," she agreed, voice low, but somehow echoing in the empty downstairs of the huge house. Not another soul appeared to be awake. "I've never been afraid before, that I can remember. Except for being afraid for Magneto, during the Apocalypse..."
Sam chewed at the inside of his cheek, and wondered if he should ask. They'd never spoken about her father before, and all he knew is that she suddenly went from hating him to wanting to save him, and it was thanks to Magneto somehow screwing up her memories of him. A far cry from the bustling Guthrie family– they never had much money, but they lived a normal, loving family life. They always had each other. And he honestly questioned his ability to ever understand Wanda on this level because of it. Not that he would change his family, not for anything in the world, but it did make her situation difficult to understand, to say the least.
And volatile didn't begin to explain her reaction to most things family related, even now. Including her arrogant speedster twin. But, considering the days events, which he was sure had something to do with her finally deciding to pick up the phone and call him... he figured she probably had something to say about her family, tonight. "You scared for him now?"
She was quiet for a moment, and he felt her messing with his hair, heard her snipping away at it.
His heart was in his throat. He knew it wasn't more than a few seconds of silence, but it felt like an eternity, as he sat there. With Wanda Maximoff holding a sharp projectile over his head.
"Kind of," she finally spoke, and he let out a long release of air that he could only pray hadn't been audible. "But I don't know why I should give a fuck. He didn't do shit when Pietro was taken by Sinister, why should we do shit now, even if we could?"
"Did he know when Pietro was kidnapped?"
Another silence.
Another lump in his throat. Had he asked the wrong thing? Well, he couldn't hope to bat 1000, he supposed, but he desperately needed to say the right things to her tonight. Wanted her to be happy she'd called, to feel better about things in the morning, even if just a little. Wanted to make her life easier, better, somehow...
"I don't think so. Gambit didn't tell him. He said he didn't know where to find him."
Well, there was nothing to say to that really. Nothing that wasn't obvious.
"But he would've known if he hadn't abandoned us. Again. So fuck him."
Sam closed his eyes, and fought to keep from shaking his head as she snipped away at it. He couldn't imagine ever saying something like that about his own father– but he could imagine saying it about hers. So maybe he could understand. But this was just a little too coincidental, in his mind, the way things were coming together. First, Wanda starts having nightmares. Then she finds out that her father has been taken away by a man who wanted them for genetic experimentation, maybe a week later...
A week later.
"Wanda, when did the nightmares start?" He asked suddenly, as something began to take shape in his mind.
"I guess... a week ago?"
"Gambit said he and Pyro hid out for almost a week before Pyro was too weak to fight him anymore and he brought him to us, finally..."
"Which means," she finished for him, the snipping noise suddenly coming to a halt over his head, "That they started right about the time that everything with Magneto went down..."
"Weird, huh?" Was about all he could say. Hard to believe that it could mean anything, but it was a pretty screwed up coincidence...
"Pietro is having dreams too," she began snipping again, suddenly.
Ok. Now that was just pushing it over the limit. "The same ones?" He asked, hoping he didn't sound too disbelieving. It wasn't that he didn't believe, of course. It was just that... damn. Something was going on here, and he could see it, part of it... but it was only half of it, he knew...
"I don't know. Jean-Paul is the one who told me."
"You didn't ask?"
"Have you met my brother, Sam?" Her sarcasm was so thick he could taste it.
And it made him smile. Now that was his Wanda. "Good point. Maybe you should though. It has to mean something, I just have a feeling about it..."
"You know... it's really fucked up that you say that, because I think it does too. I mean... when we were little, in Transia, I remember that we both had really weird dreams. About these like... animal-people. And our parents, our adopted parents, used to tell us to be quiet about it. Not to talk about those kinds of things where people could hear us. We were really little, when it was happening, we went to live with our father when we were five or six. I can barely remember. And it feels like these are the same dreams, you know? Like... like they're memories mixed with dreams.... Jesus I sound like a fucking head-case–,"
"No," he stopped her, instantly. He was startled by the amount of personal background that had just come out of her mouth– more than she'd uttered in the entire tenure of their association all crammed into the last minute and a half. And he was glad to hear it, thought it was good for her, wanted to know about it. But he didn't want her to think that it made her insane. Wanda may have been a lot of things, unstable included, but she was not insane. And if she ever was, she'd had her reasons. "No, it doesn't sound crazy. In fact, it sounds like you and Pietro need to talk about this, if it's happening again. I mean... don't you think that's a really weird coincidence? Not just the two of you having these dreams about... Transia, but the fact that they started when your father was taken by a man who tried to kidnap you and your brother?"
Silence for a little while, as she chopped away at his hair. The whirr of the scissors almost seemed joyful really, it was so clean and quick. The whole house was quiet, other than that, and it would've been oppressive... if he hadn't been so involved in the machinations of this thickening plot. "He wanted us for our genes, not just because we were twins. Mostly twins, with the bonus of being Magneto's twins. But if he was trying to lure us to him, he is a complete fuckwit– he didn't exactly leave his address, if what Pietro said was true. And he sure as hell picked the wrong hostage to hold."
"True," Sam admitted. "And one knows where Magneto is, at the Institute. I didn't see Gambit or anything, but Bobby and Berto told me everything they knew– they were there when Gambit and Pyro came in."
"Then what the fuck is he doing...?"
He let a small sigh escape him, and realized that he simply had no idea. It was there, something that had to be tying this together, he could feel it at the edge of his mind. But something was missing, and he couldn't see it. "I don't know... but whatever it is, maybe you and Pietro can figure it out."
"Pietro," she scoffed, suddenly putting the scissors down on the table beside them, and running her hand through his hair, so that he could feel it going in all different directions. His head felt remarkably lighter, though, and when he looked down at the ground, he saw a huge pile of his own golden hair under the chair he was sitting in. She came around to the front of him, ducked down to eye level (he politely kept his eyes locked onto hers when he noticed the advantageous angle that put her at, so that her cleavage was a little too evident to avoid completely, and his ears started to burn) and cocked her head at him, quizzically.
And then, she smiled. Her eyes were sunken, her movements slow, but she smiled at him for the second time tonight. And damn if it wasn't the best feeling he'd ever had, just looking at her like that. "You look hot, Crash."
With that pronouncement, his ears really started to burn. "You're teasin' me."
"No shit," she stood up straight, "Go look in the mirror. If I weren't so tired, I'd jump you here and now."
He swallowed hard, and tried to keep the idiot grin from taking control of his face completely. Something told him that he wasn't "hot" in the least. He'd never been hot, and he never would be, as far as he was concerned. Wanda, she was hot.
But he wasn't going to argue with her, if she wanted to think he was too. That was for damn sure. Particularly not if it was going to elicit that kind of reaction from her.
* * *
She wasn't sorry that she'd called.
As soon as she'd hung up the phone, she'd been sure she'd just made the stupidest mistake of her life. Hell, as soon as he'd answered the phone, she'd thought that. But now, here he was, acting like it was no big deal that she'd dragged him out of bed at eleven PM, that it was now 2AM and he was laying on the couch in the living room with her, running his fingers through her cropped hair gently, while she tried to fall asleep.
It wasn't so bad, letting him do it.
Or maybe she was just too tired, too exhausted, more like it, to care. But she liked it. She liked the feeling of him against her, his front to her back. His arm pillowing her neck, underneath, his fingers in her hair. Felt warm and kind of dreamy... like she was swimming through something very thick.
She didn't really want to go to sleep. But she didn't have much of a choice. The moment they'd sat down and turned on the TV, she knew that she needed to lay down. Her head was just so heavy. So she'd commanded that he stretch out and move over, and he'd complied with his usual amount of alacrity. She'd already learned that if she told Sam to jump, he would ask how high– assuming that the request was a reasonable one. Of course, she'd never ask anything unreasonable of him, which might've had a lot to do with his willingness to comply. He'd shown his backbone to her more than once, standing there during her fits with Pietro, grinning at her when she got mean with him. He wasn't scared of her.
He just liked to be with her. Do things for her.
Was it really so bad if she let him? Was she such a weak woman for telling him all of those things?
No. She knew it, she wasn't. It had been smart. Because now that she'd spoken to someone with a little more lucidity than she was possessed of herself, at the moment... she had to admit that things were just a little too fucking coincidental. Wanda was a huge believer in coincidence, of course. She didn't believe in fairy godmothers or guardian angels or even god, for that matter.
But sometimes, things seemed to be happening for a reason. Something was driving her to think of her past, from all directions.
The only problem was... when she thought of it, sometimes it made her lose focus entirely. Like she was forgetting something... or like her entire past was a dream– fragile and translucent.
Sam stopped petting her hair now, and slid his arm down, over her waist, and his hand hung just at her stomach. His lips were close to her ear, and she felt a strange, warm sensation that started there, and spread through her entire body pleasantly as he whispered, "I'll stay until you're asleep."
"You don't have to go," she heard herself mumble, as if it wasn't her saying it at all. She could feel him next to her, against her, all over her. But it was almost like she was outside of it, looking at them. "It's late."
She felt him smiling, against her ear. Pictured it, in her mind, since she couldn't see him. And her eyes had somehow gone closed anyhow, though she couldn't remember making a conscious decision to close them. Crooked, stupid, idiot smile. Bright blue eyes, more intelligent than anyone would ever guess, if they didn't take the time to look into them. And he really did look hot as hell, with his hair short and messy like that, cut close to his head and going every which way... "If I fall asleep with you, I'll never want to get up."
She wanted to smile at him, but couldn't. So she covered his hand with hers, and pressed it to her stomach, surprised again at the warmth in him. Sleepily surprised. Wanda was so far gone at that point that she couldn't imagine what "surprise" really was.
Just... so tired.
She didn't want to fall asleep. Sleep was where she was haunted.
But it was warm and safe here... where was she again? Did it matter?
No. Just warm. Safe. Not scared anymore.
* * *
Jean-Paul Beaubier sat straight up in bed when he heard that scream.
Not really a scream... more like a yelp or a... a...
Jesus, where the fuck am I?!
He looked around, and slowly realized that he was in Pietro's room. And that noise had come from Pietro himself, who was presently curled up into a startlingly small ball beside him, with the covers pulled over his head.
Instinctively, still not quite awake, Jean-Paul slid down in the bed, and burrowed through the covers until he came into contact with his friend's bare back. He put himself against Pietro, his front to the other boy's back, and slid an arm around him, put his lips against the back of Pietro's neck, and kissed him lightly. He felt so warm, as if he'd been running, as if his skin were flushed there in the dark, and he just couldn't see it. Jean-Paul slid his hand carefully up Pietro's stomach, to his chest, and gently attempted to uncurl him from his fetal position, pushing him back against his own chest, holding him tight against him. He didn't necessarily want to wake him up– Pietro needed to sleep. But he was starting to shake, just a little, and Jean-Paul's heart was speeding up, in a strange kind of sympathetic panic reaction.
God. Oh god, what was he dreaming of, to make him so... afraid. He could feel it, smell it, all around Pietro. Fear. Panic. Something was wrong, so wrong.
"Pietro," he finally whispered, pulling him even closer. "Pietro, it's ok..."
Was it? How could he say that when he didn't know what the fuck was happening in the first place?
Pietro suddenly went rigid in his arms, and took a very deep, labored breath.
Jean-Paul froze, heart thudding as if it would break out of his rib cage at any moment.
"Ah fuck... it happened again..."
Jean-Paul started to ask him what, but found himself shocked into silence when Pietro suddenly flipped over, pushed himself against Jean-Paul entirely, front to front, and buried his face in his neck.
Without kissing him. Without provoking him. Just... touching him. Touching him all over. Warm and shaking and so solid. But it felt surreal. As if it wasn't really happening, for some reason.
"I gotta go talk to Wanda," came a muffled voice from his neck.
"Ok," Jean-Paul replied automatically, "I can go."
"No."
He swallowed, and finally managed to put his arm back around the other boy, and hold him a little closer. Dieu, he loved the feeling of him. Even now that it was familiar, he loved it. Hard and real and dizzying, smooth and warm and so fucking beautiful. It almost hurt, really. "I can wait, then."
"No. You gotta come," Pietro pulled his face out of Jean-Paul's neck, and looked him in the eye.
Jesus. He looked... scared.
"She'll kill me."
For obvious reasons, this confused the Canadian boy. "Why would she kill you?"
"Magneto had her mind fucked with," Pietro breathed, quickly, "So that she wouldn't remember that he locked her away for ten years and that she hates him for it and she hates me too because he didn't lock me away. So now that she can't remember anymore she doesn't want to kill him, but before she kept trying and she almost killed me too a few times and I don't want her to hate me but if we talk about these dreams it might make her remember things and I don't want to die."
Jean-Paul allowed himself a deep breath and a moment of introspection to sort out what, exactly, Pietro was trying to tell him. And finally, gave up. "Wait... you knew that her head had been fucked with, and that she didn't know the truth... but you never told her?"
"She was trying to kill me!"
Still... damn Pietro was dodgy. If he wasn't so goddamn amazing half the time, Jean-Paul might've held it against him. But he had to admit, at the moment very little would've made him turn his back on this boy in bed with him. Nothing short of an act of god, really. "You want me with you?"
"Yes. She listens to you. She loves you."
True, he and Wanda were friends. But he hardly thought that his presence would contain her rage, if what Pietro was afraid of began to happen.
A fact that did not, of course, mean he was going to make Pietro do it alone. "Alright then. Let's go talk to Wanda."
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
AN: My sincerest apologies if anyone is getting eight thousand emails informing you that I updated today... I did... once. And once a week ago. FF.N is all having issues however (which is why I couldn't see the reviews for the last chapter forever and oh man was I *pissed!*) Seems to be cleared up now. Let's hope, and good luck to those poor tech people. God knows the traffic on this site must be unsightly. Quickie shout-outs on this one, since I'm rushed this evening.
Taineyah: Again, you are too kind to me ;) But yes, more Jean-Paul. God, please, more Jean-Paul.
amura: Why thank you! Here, have some more!
crazyspaceystracey: A few notes 1- I'm not into Brad Pitt either, but honestly, the man is a really versatile actor. And looks good with his shirt off. 2- I'm glad you liked the car alarm. They needed a moment to laugh, I figured. 3- Thank you so much for being so kind as to review even though ff.n was eating reviews all week. You're a doll.
Relwarc: Again, thank you so much. I was a bit concerned about the slowness factor... same goes for this chapter. But there is so much shit to hit the fan, I am losing my mind trying to set it up properly. Cause once it flies, there will be no coming back... keep me apprised of the situation if it does not improve, if you think of it again! The little mentions and bits about the "lesser" characters I do try to squeeze in, or they just occur naturally, and I'm pleased that they don't seem out of place or forced. It does make me wonder at times!
Cyberpilate: It appears that we're in the same boat, my friend. I started writing for JP/Pietro, and I somehow got carried away into Angel/JM land ;) I'm really glad that you appreciated it, I think the couple is beautiful, and not just because of their pretty faces. And yes, we've all had that person we adore from afar... bless Todd's slimy little heart!
Risty: First off, you emailed me, which was effing amazing. And second, I'm so glad you liked the characterization. I feared Angel would cause some issues for canon fans... but like you said, welcome to Evolution! You're amazing, thanks for the encouragement! And dude... Wow, JM *did* totally jump Warren's bones! haha, that rocks!
Caliente: Yay, you think they're cute! JM/Warren makes me so happy. I'm freaking goofy for them. As for Gumbo, as you can see, he *did* come back in ch 5... *This* is ch. 5. First one didn't count. Well, it's ch.5 by my count! I suppose that's a technicality, but... yeah I should've been clearer! And yes... 616 Toad... oh god... *shiver* So creepy how he followed them around for so long...
The Rogue Witch: I dunno if it's Jean's fault entirely... I just don't know. I mean, that happens when people move away I guess. Sad but true. Even if they don't go far. As for boiling water, I mastered that early... it's everything after that gives me pause...
Shaman Dani: Woot, you like the new random pairing! Nice to hear from you, and hope you're enjoying!
If anyone else reviewed and I missed you here, forgive me please. FF.N difficulties have been messing with my review page, everyone's review page, hardcore. What to do?
And a big giant "OMFG YOU ROCK" to Sue Penkivech-- not only a brilliant beta, but the goddess of Hank dialogue. The above was possible thanks to her. /bow.
3 -Beaubier-