Chapter Six: Confessions and Plans
"Fuck, she's not in here."
Pietro glared around his sister's empty room, irritated. Irritated, and still scared.
It hadn't even been a nightmare, really. Just... something about how real everything was. It had been raining, in the dream, and he still felt wet, cold from it. Just thinking about that storm, he felt chills down his spine, his skin reacting with goose bumps. Not freezing, just chilled to the bone. The kind of cold that seeps in with the water and settles down for days. That gets into the blood, and won't be drawn out. His skin was warm. But inside, he was so cold.
He shivered, and tried not to think about it anymore. It was just a dream, after all.
But something about the past was calling to him. He felt it now, so plainly. He'd been a complete idiot not to think of it before, but with the news of his father– of Magneto disappearing with the Marauders... it had to mean something. And the dreams were just getting more and more real. Scarier and scarier.
And where the fuck was Wanda, anyhow?!
"She must've been dreaming too, maybe she got up to have a drink?" Jean-Paul offered from behind him, in strangely subdued tones.
Pietro had a feeling that JP was only mostly awake– not entirely. He was barely awake himself, having spent the past week or more in such a sleep deprived funk that made every day seemed endless and every night eternal. But Jesus, it was good to know that Jean-Paul was with him.
He'd never been so goddamn scared of anything as he was of Wanda. He knew it, he'd known it since the first day that idiot Mystique had brought her to the house. Wanda was nuts, plain and simple. He'd adored her, worshiped her as a child. But she had just gone nuts. She hadn't been when they'd locked her away, of that he was certain, but she'd sure as fuck come out that way.
It was a very physical fear too. In his stomach, in his heart, under his skin, in his muscles. Everything in him was getting ready to run. Fast. And not stop.
OhgodwhatifImakeherremember?
"Yeah, ok. Downstairs."
Silently, Jean-Paul followed him down the dark stairway, into the foyer. The house was dead. Dead and quiet. Nope, she's not down here. Definitely not, bettergobackup–
But Pietro stopped, and held up a hand when he heard a voice coming from the living room. A decidedly male voice. And it wasn't Lance. Or Todd. Or Fred.
"Sam," Jean-Paul's eyebrows raised dangerously high as he said the name aloud, obviously just as surprised as Pietro that the younger boy was in the house.
Pietro pursed his lips, a sudden flash of indignation tearing through him for just a moment. What the fuck was Sam doing here at four in the morning anyhow? Jesus Christ, couldn't he keep his paws off of Wanda for long enough to let her get some goddamn sleep? And who the hell said he was allowed in here at night anyhow? That was it, of course, he'd just have to string the kid up and spin him around and use him as a Kentucky fried pinata at his next party, because this was just ridiculous, finding him here like this–
"In here," The New Mutant's voice called, softly from the next room, cutting into Pietro's mental tirade.
And bringing him back to himself a bit. Christ. So what if Sam was here? Really. Not like they were in bed or something together–
Oh. Oh bad mental image. So bad.
Pietro exchanged a quick glance with his best friend, whom he finally noticed was looking rather unkempt, for him. His eyes were puffy and his hair was utterly wrecked, sticking up at odd angles in the back. Jean-Paul nodded toward the living room, and Pietro nodded back, then led the way in. Sam Guthrie was on his couch, alright. And Wanda was beside him, turned sideways so that her legs were thrown over his lap, her arms around his neck, her face buried in his shoulder. Sam had his arms around her, protectively. Like someone would come and take her away if he wasn't extremely vigilant about it.
Pietro considered it. But decided against it when Wanda looked up, and blinked at him.
He just stared at her. Because Jesus, she looked bad. Bad as in upset. Bad as in totally fucking wrecked from the inside out.
Fuckfuckfuckcan'tdothisdon'twannadie.
Jean-Paul gave him a little push with one hand, sending him toward the couch and snapping him out of his fearful trance. Something Pietro couldn't see passed between the two X-Men, and Sam nodded to JP once, then whispered something into Wanda's ear.
Wanda narrowed her eyes, but nodded. And then started staring. At Pietro. Who stood there, only feet from the couch now, as Sam and Wanda disentangled themselves from each other, and Sam retreated into the kitchen, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he went. Totally oblivious to the glare Pietro shot him as he left.
Which was probably good, since Pietro wasn't really sure why he was glaring anyhow. Obviously Sam had done a good thing. Wanda was probably dreaming too and she was probably scared and Jesus he was such a shitty brother. Hadn't always been like that, they used to be friends, used to do everything together, used to know what each other were thinking and finish each others' sentences and all that twin stuff but now they barely even talked and when they tried something bad always happened and this time oh god it was gonna be so bad....
Wanda was looking at him. Sitting there on the couch, in the dark, looking at him. Jean-Paul was standing behind him, starting to back away.
He turned quickly, and stared him down.
Don'tyouleavemeherewithherJean-Paul.
Jean-Paul nodded, as if he'd heard the words echoing now in Pietro's head, and leaned in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. Like he was standing guard.
Good enough. For now.
There was no excuse now. He had to do it. Had to do something.
He looked back to her, still staring at him. She looked scared, in a very... Wanda way. But not of him. Scared of... he couldn't imagine what. Did she feel it too, the same irrational, jarring terror he did when he woke? Once a night, sometimes twice. Did she really understand?
Scared. Sweat. Stomach. Lie. Run. Touch. Ask. Beg. Confess.
He swallowed hard, and started to speak to her. But not in English. For the first time since he'd come back to the United States two years ago, Pietro spoke in his native tongue. ::What do you remember?::
Wanda's eyes grew wide, and her mouth opened, slightly. He could see it all on her face– for the first time since she'd come out of that asylum, her thoughts were perfectly clear to him. Like they used to be, so long ago.
She remembered that much. She'd understood him.
"What... you're speaking...," she stuttered, still staring.
"Romani," he finished, knowing that was the best way to describe it, for his purposes. If he was lucky, that would refresh her memories... but nothing since they'd come to live with their father in the US, when they were just little kids. Anything after that was probably damaged goods, but Wanda hadn't heard Romani spoken in probably...
Jesus. Ten years? Probably more. Magneto always made them speak English. Didn't want them standing out, if they were ever around other kids, having an accent to make them sound different. Make them a target. He told them to be proud of who they were, but he made them speak English. The man never did make a lot of sense. They were young, they'd learned fast, but Wanda always used to get in trouble for switching into Romani when it was just the two of them. She'd get caught, and they'd both get into trouble... shit. Ages ago. So long ago.
It was a miracle she remembered at all.
"You haven't spoken to me in Romani since...," her smooth brow suddenly furrowed, and she seemed to be concentrating hard. She wasn't looking him in the eye anymore, but staring at his chest. Right through his chest.
Quickly, he moved to her side, sat on the couch, and started to talk. Couldn't let her think too much, just had to get it out, figure their shit out, and not let her thing too much. Nothing after Transia. Don't let her think about what happened with Magneto and how much they'd hated living with him and how she'd told him one day they wanted to go home and he'd told her no and she'd flipped out and the roof had come crashing down–
Nope. Not gonna think about that at all.
"Since we were kids. But you remember?"
"How can you still speak it? I can hardly understand you..."
Shit. Shitshitshit. "Fast mind," he tapped his temple, pulling his legs up under him and turning to face her.
"I'm not crazy am I?" She asked, slowly. "You're dreaming too. Jean-Paul told me."
Part of him wanted to kiss his best friend for that. Most of him. But part of him still wanted to deck him. "Yeah. Same ones. From..."
She nodded, "When we were little."
He nodded back, "Right. So if you're crazy, I am."
Which, of course, meant that he was crazy. But it wasn't as if he hadn't figured that out on his own already.
"What does it mean?"
Pietro thought about that for a moment. And decided that if he didn't get some sleep soon, he really wasn't going to be doing a lot of serious thinking for a very long time. Because it was starting to hurt. "It means... I don't know."
"Sam thinks that it's all connected. To Magneto. The dreams started for me about when..."
"He would've been nabbed by those Marauder motherfuckers," Pietro could've smacked himself. Of course! Jesus, what an idiot he was for not seeing it!
Of course... it could've been a coincidence.
But...
"Why the fuck didn't you tell me you were having nightmares?"
He looked up at her, in utter shock. "Are you kidding? Are you fucking joking, Wanda?"
"No! If you'd said something–,"
"Me?!" He could not believe that she would make this into his problem! She was the unapproachable one, the one who would end up hexing you to the floor in uncomfortable positions if she so much as heard one word she didn't like out of you! "Why didn't you say something? Jesus, you've been so pissed off you didn't even notice–,"
"Oh yeah, Pietro, because you're a really attentive brother, you always notice–," she was rolling her eyes at him now.
"Hey, I notice! Remember last time you were sulking I followed you up to your room just to ask what was wrong with you!"
She was quiet then, for a minute. Staring at him, in the dark.
Indignation suddenly drained out of him, and fear came rushing back in, in a tidal wave. Oh Jesus. Now he'd done it. Now she was going to get mad, and think about Magneto, and her mind was finally going to crack because god knew it was unstable anyhow and holy fucking hell at least Jean-Paul was still over there and maybe he could fly away and come back and find Pietro's body in the mess once the damage was done...
But all she said, after that silent minute, was, "You did."
Now, it was Pietro's turn to be quiet. That was not the reaction he'd expected. Where was the screaming? Where was the hexing? Where was the pain?
"Yeah," he finally managed to squeeze out, after a minute, with something like his usual cockiness. He hoped. "I did. That's right."
"Fine then, what can we do about this?"
Pietro considered, mind whirring at light speed. What were their options? "First off, we need to figure out if any of this has to do with Magneto."
"I have a feeling...," she started, eyeing him carefully. She didn't finish her sentence.
But she didn't have to. Because looking at her, looking at him, he knew. This was about Magneto, even if not directly. Something about the past... it was coming to haunt them. "Why now?" He asked, without bothering to explain himself. She had to understand.
She shook her head, "Of all times? I don't know, Pietro. But we have to assume it has something to do with... our father," the last word was almost a hiss.
He had to hold back the shiver that crept up his spine when he heard it. That tone of voice... that was definitely pre-mind-fuck Wanda talking. She used to say everything like that. Like the way she used to growl his name when she was mad, low in her throat. Pietrooo...
But he had been right. She understood. This was happening for a reason, and they both knew it. And it was something about Transia and cow-women and tiger-men and gypsies and magic and castles and...
Christ. His childhood was a goddamn Hans Christian Andersen story.
But it was his. And it was back. No denying it. Maybe if he went to Transia he could...
Pietro looked over at Jean-Paul, quickly, and saw the darker boy watching him, backlit in the kitchen doorway. Dark and serious. And worried.
"Sam and I should be getting back," he suddenly spoke, jarring the strange image of the silent guardian statue Pietro had created for him in his head. "I have an early meeting, and he has training. Are you two alright?"
"Yeah," Wanda spoke before Pietro could protest. He really didn't think he was ready to be alone with her. Wanted him to stay. Just a little while...
"Yeah, we're fine," she finished. "Thanks JP."
He came over to them and leaned down, to kiss Wanda on the forehead. It was a genuine, brotherly action, but for some reason it surprised Pietro. She looked up at him and smiled, and he smiled back, then looked over at Pietro. "I'll come over after the meeting. Whatever we learn, you'll be the first to know, both of you."
Pietro just nodded, still stunned from that strangely protective, caring moment he'd just seen pass between his sister and his best friend. He'd never really noticed before but... JP was a really nice guy. Well, that was dumb, of course he was, if he could put up with Pietro. But... he must be a good brother. Or something. That looked so... natural for him.
Pietro eyed his sister, feeling hopelessly inadequate for a moment. It was a feeling he was not familiar with processing. But her eyes were now on Sam, who was coming out of the kitchen, hands still stuffed into his pockets. Pietro was grateful that the redneck kid had stayed out of the way while he was trying to talk to Wanda– JP already knew pretty much everything there was to know about him. But Sam finding out that he was... well... scared of his own sister; that would've been totally unacceptable.
Of course, the X-Kid probably already knew. But all those other fights, those weren't serious. This was... important. Not for public display. And Sam, in his book, was definitely still "the public." JP was more like... part of things. Or something.
Whatever, he was just glad Sam was out of his way.
Guthrie looked like he might come over to them, for a minute, but he stopped about halfway across the living room, and looked over at Pietro. Then back to Wanda. And obviously decided it was better to save his romantic intentions for later, as he said, "I'll... talk to you later, ok?"
Wanda nodded, and replied, "I'll meet you at the shop. Five o'clock."
He smiled at her, crooked and idiotic, and turned to follow Jean-Paul out the door without another word.
And Pietro turned back to his sister. Who had her elbows on her knees and her face in her hands. For a minute, he panicked as he thought she was crying. But her breathing was steady, and her shoulders didn't shake at all. No, she was just tired. Not crying. It was going to be ok... That's what JP had said, wasn't it?
"It's gonna be ok," He mumbled, more to himself than to her.
* * *
"They need to talk," Jean-Paul explained, about as emotionally drained as he could ever remember being in his life. "And neither of them will be totally honest with us around. Pietro would probably say anything in front of me, just because he's scared shitless of Wanda, but not in front of you. And Wanda... she needs him right now. And she won't let me see her need someone."
Sam nodded, slowly. Jean-Paul noticed, thankfully, that the younger boy hadn't even bothered to ask why they were walking home. The truth was that JP needed a walk. It was cold outside, a chilly late fall morning. Today would be Halloween. The moon was low and orange, the sun wouldn't be long in coming up now. Foggy and dark and windy. Perfect night for a horror film.
Unfortunately, Jean-Paul wasn't really in the mood to indulge a flight of fancy. He hadn't wanted to leave. But he knew he had to. Knew they had to. He only hoped they could help each other, somehow. Though he couldn't imagine how. Perhaps... "How did you end up over there?"
"I told Wanda to call me if the dreams came again. She didn't for awhile. But tonight she did. So I... snuck out."
Jean-Paul shot him a sidelong glance, impressed. He wouldn't have expected it, but he felt a strange surge of... pride, almost. Yeah, this was the kind of guy he wanted for Wanda, and for Jeanne-Marie. Most definitely. He could only hope that Wanda would accept Sam's attempts to help... but it seemed as if she was learning to do just that, since she'd called. That was not a very... Wanda thing to do.
It wasn't a Jean-Paul thing either, though. So he could understand. Definitely. "Do you think they should talk to Xavier?"
"I told her she should, when I first found out last week," the blonde boy admitted, running a hand over his newly shorn locks, messing them up even further.
"The hair looks hot, by the way," Jean-Paul remarked, off hand. "When did that happen?"
"While we were talking," Sam grinned, "Thanks."
"How did you plan on explaining it to the others?"
Sam had obviously not considered this difficulty, and began chewing on the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. "Dunno, really... guess I'll just..."
"Tell them I did it, they'll buy it," He offered, shrugging.
"True."
"Brilliant. Amara's going to be all over you tomorrow, you realize. And possibly Alex."
"Alex...?"
"Anyhow," Jean-Paul continued, suddenly deciding he didn't feel like explaining that whole story to Sam tonight. Not that Alex would care– he'd told him in no uncertain terms that he didn't want to hide it from anyone at the Institute. Now that Scott and Ray knew, the hard part was done, after all. But there were more important matters at hand. "I don't know why they don't want to talk to him. Pietro said something about grown-ups and how he couldn't trust them and what had Xavier ever done for him. Something like that."
"I think the Prof worked with Wanda when she was... locked up, you know? I remember when she turned up, he said something about that. But she... she doesn't remember. Cause they..."
Jean-Paul glanced over at the younger boy, and saw him staring at the ground hard. Looking like it was his head who had been fucked with, not Wanda's. Looking sad and angry and... serious. Sam wasn't really a serious kid. Quiet, shy, but he always seemed to be smiling.
God. He must really love her, already. "Yeah, Pietro told me," he admitted. "And no one has told her about it. Pietro thinks she'll go off and try to kill him again."
"She might," Sam shrugged. "But at least it'd be the truth. Still... not my place to tell her... I'm not even sure what to tell her anyhow. I don't know what happened, exactly, and that's not the kind of story you come to someone with half-ass. Half her life is missing, and from what I figure, what they put into her head is a hell of a lot better then what was there. I mean... it's not my choice to make... damn. Jean-Paul, when did things get so complicated? I mean, super villains, I can handle. But this..."
Yeah. Personal complications. What a bitch.
Jean-Paul shook his head, and looked up at the sky as they continued on their long walk home. He was surprised to find that he was glad for the company. But he still wished he hadn't had to leave. Even though he knew it was the right thing to do. For them. "Considering that we're a bunch of super-powered hyper-hormonal teenagers, mon ami, it's amazing it wasn't always like this."
* * *
Warren Worthington glanced around the conference room once more, to take stock of the situation. And silently thanked whatever god was out there that he'd had yesterday alone with Jeanne-Marie, to make him remember why it was he had to do things like this. Because at the moment, he was really unhappy about pretty much everything in his life.
Except for her. And that, he had to admit, was perfect.
She sat next to him, with her brother, stony-faced and cold-eyed, on her other side. He hadn't said two words all day, as far as Angel could tell. And he still didn't understand what the big deal was about the guy– he'd never even spoken to Warren since he and JM had been out together. Not that there had been much time, of course. He hadn't exactly made an effort to be friendly, but from what Warren understood, his not making an effort to be an asshole was Jean-Paul's way of being friendly.
Kitty and Rogue sat next to him, about a quarter of the way around the table, also in uniform like the rest of the X-Men, signifying the official nature of this gathering. Kitty was sitting up straight, watching Cyclops for any sign that he was about to begin, and Rogue was eying Jean-Paul every now and then, looking worried, and the thief beside her, looking irritated, by turns.
The thief. Warren had been surprised to find him here, to say the very least. But as soon as he heard the story, he knew it had hit the fan. And it just figured that Gambit would be the one to bear the news. That rat bastard was always there when everything went wrong, it seemed. Not to be trusted. Shouldn't be in this meeting. Shouldn't be near this room, or near this meeting, or near these girls, for the love of god. He was trying to be stealthy, but the way those unnerving red-on-black eyes kept fixing on Rogue was obvious– his interest in this meeting was not purely business. Which made all his motives suspect, as far as Warren was concerned.
Kurt sat beside him, tail waving impatiently as he obviously fought to control his hyperactive urges. He was fighting a valiant fight, however, and was watching Scott with attention similar to that which Kitty was showing their leader. Storm and Wolverine were beside him, both looking calm and collected, aside from the occasional sniff from Logan, which made Warren have to suppress an undeniably juvenile urge to roll his eyes at the hairy man. Couldn't he be civilized for an official meeting even? And, as always, Professor Xavier sat, overseeing the whole gathering, between Wolverine and Cyclops.
Bobby sat to Warren's right, tapping a finger impatiently on the table, in a rather annoying rhythm. Warren shot him a look, and the younger boy narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth, as if he would protest.
Luckily, Scott cut them off, as Jean took her seat between Cyclops and Iceman. "Ok people, this is what we're dealing with. We have Magneto kidnapped, or whatever we're calling it, by Sinister. We have Sinister involved in one of Worthington Industries' larger projects, at one time or another, ExGen. ExGen is presently, according to the in-depth report Angel received from them this week upon request, involved in various development projects that are not so mutant-friendly. Warren?"
Deep breath. Calm. It's not your fault. You're making it better. "The most obvious is the Mutant Detection System– the one Kitty and Jean saw advertised on a poster for an anti-mutant group at school. ExGen developed the technology that makes such things possible, even if the system itself isn't an ExGen project. Apparently it's been around for months now, and scientists in Canada have been working on a way to mask or change mutant genetic make-up, to protect themselves from just such an occurrence–,"
"Why should we hide?"
Warren looked across the table at Gambit. A man he had not exchanged two words with, but already disliked. Almost to the point of disgust, really. "I didn't say that we should, I simply meant to point out that the technology has been around for long enough for someone to think of taking countermeasures."
Gambit just stared at him, hard, with those eerie glowing eyes of his.
Deep breath. Come on, Worthington. Don't let him get to you. You can do this. You're the CEO. "Other ExGen projects include the serum that was on the dart that infected Pyro– it slows the mutant capabilities for a period of anywhere from two to three weeks as well as diluting the blood– and they are working on another version of it altogether. I suspect it will make the use of mutant abilities impossible for a certain period of time, if it reaches its final stages of development. There is also a technology in development for a bracelet, that when attached to the mutant has such an effect."
"They have a bracelet that nullifies mutant powers?" Storm's voice was decidedly alarmed.
Warren nodded, solemnly, "Yes, that's what the report said. Or, at least, they're close to having one."
"They just sent you this report? With all this bad stuff in it?" Bobby asked him, brown eyes grown wide. "I mean, isn't that sh– er... that stuff like illegal?"
"It's not illegal," Jean shook her head, at Bobby's right, "Not where they are. They have several operations in eastern Europe, in fact. And even in the States, this kind of thing would probably be conveniently overlooked."
"And the report said things in much nicer terms," Warren sighed, thinking back on the report that had been waiting for him from ExGen when he'd returned from his perfect day with Jeanne-Marie. "They almost made it sound like they were doing these things to help mutants. A lot of things in the report about "Helping mutants who can't control their powers," and things like that. Said these things were used in hospitals for unfortunates like the mutant population, things like that. There was never a negative, outright anti-mutant sentiment expressed, even though it plays off the latent fears and myths held on to by the "educated" PC types, subversively."
"And your family supports this?" Came a sharp, French-accented voice from the other side of JM.
Warren fought not to snap back. Fought with the mixture of shame and indignance that started building in his stomach, then shot through his veins, heading him up from the inside out.
He'd never had the best temper, really.
But this was business. Not personal. "This isn't about my family, Northstar."
"And you're just now finding this out? Are they doing this intentionally, or does your family not realize that their–"
"That their son is a mutant?" Warren cut him off, coldly, unable to stop himself this time. Who the hell launches a personal attack in the middle of a damn business meeting? "No, they don't."
Warren felt Jeanne-Marie's hand on his leg, suddenly. Warm and small. And strangely... calming.
But his eyes were still locked with Jean-Paul's, and the Canadian X-Man was decidedly unimpressed with what he'd heard. JP was still staring him down with those eerily familiar icy blue eyes, one dark eyebrow raised in a challenge. A dare.
Warren gritted his teeth, hard, against an urge to reach across Jeanne-Marie and grab her smart ass of a brother by the neck. He really wasn't a violent man... but this was not a subject that was open for discussion. As if he didn't have enough to worry about, dealing with the guilt of it all, on his own.
But Jeanne-Marie was there, and she understood. She squeezed his leg once more, and he felt the urge to throttle Jean-Paul seep out of him little by little, and finally looked away from him, back to the Professor, who was speaking now.
"Angel is right, Northstar," his calm, commanding voice mercifully interrupted their staring match. "The whys and wherefores are in the past, mistakes or not, and had little to do with Warren either way. Our aims would be best served by attempting to decipher what it is that Sinister wants with Magneto, and what we can do to shut down or contain ExGen."
"The question is, do we have proof enough of Sinister's involvement to shut them down at all?" Cyclops asked. "Their activities may feed straight into anti-mutant sentiments, but they've also done a lot of research to forward the collective knowledge of mutant physiology in the world, and can hide behind that. They're supposedly a totally unbiased corporation, and unless we can prove otherwise, send Warren in and get him to uncover something unethical, our hands our tied for the moment–,"
"It's Sinister," Jeanne-Marie suddenly spoke up, her hand curling into a fist on Warren's leg under the table now. He covered it with his own, instinctively. "You all didn't see his laboratory, inside. I did. I promise you now, whatever he's doing, it's unethical."
"Ja, I agree," Kurt was nodding. "I was only in there a minute, and I don't like to think of it."
"Yeah, it was totally creepy," Kitty chimed in, wrinkling up her nose and eyeing JM worriedly.
"And you know what he did to me and Pietro," Jeanne-Marie's voice was quiet, but steady. There was something about it, some undercurrent that demanded that all eyes in the room look to her, and listen to what she had to say. Warren saw Jean-Paul cover her other hand with his, where she was slowly clenching it into a fist to match the one Warren had covered himself.
It surprised him. Jean-Paul was apparently quite a contradiction.
"He started to experiment on us, and he knew what he was doing. He had the equipment, he had the methods. He has to be stopped."
"You're right, Aurora, you know we all agree with you," Cyclops said, solemnly. "But we don't know for certain that Sinister is still connected to ExGen. That's what we need proof of. Warren has volunteered to go over there, to company headquarters, and try to figure out what's going on– sort of undercover, but sort of not, since he's going as himself. But we've decided it might be the best way to really uncover what's happening from the inside out."
"Just so we're all clear," Jean-Paul said, slowly, still clutching his sister's hand protectively as she sat stone-faced between them. "What is the motivation here? To wipe out mutant experimentation and the bad guy, in this case Sinister? To rescue the X-Men's enemy, Magneto, or perhaps to find out what he's up to? Or to protect Worthington Industries from a bad investment?"
Red flashed behind Warren's eyes again, but he felt JM's small hand squeeze his leg, and he saw her other hand squeeze her brother's. With quite a different intention. Both actions seemed to calm him, once more.
"To put it bluntly, Northstar," Jean raised her eyebrows at the Canuck, across the table, "Yes. Sinister needs to be stopped, and if we can use Angel's connections, all the better. And Angel wants to clean things up with Worthington Industries, and if he can use our help, all the better. It's good for us, and good for him."
"And Magneto?" Jean-Paul was practically glaring at the red-headed girl as she spoke.
Warren furrowed his brow, irritated. Who gave a damn about that madman anyhow? He'd obviously been taken against his will, it wasn't as if he'd joined forces with Sinister...
Was it?
"He was definitely abducted, Gambit?" He couldn't help but ask.
"Kicking and screaming, mon brave," The Cajun drawled, leveling that unflinching, arrogant gaze at Warren over the table. "The man did not want to go."
"Well, we know our enemy then," Logan growled, leaning back in his chair and eyeing each of the X-Men by turn as he spoke. One by one. "We'll start the simulations tomorrow morning, before school. Every day. This is your last day of freedom– after today, you're mine. And we'll be ready for the Marauders, when the time comes. Angel, Gambit, you boys better be there too, if you're planning on sticking around, or being anywhere near us when the shit starts to fly. You're either in, or you're out."
Warren looked across the table at the dark figure of Gambit, in shock. The former Acolyte was actually being invited along?
"Count me in, M'sieu Logan," he crooned, unmoving.
"I'll be here," Warren promised, still astounded.
"In the meantime, Angel," The Professor cut into his shock with that cool voice again, "You and I will make arrangements for your visit to Eastern Europe– assuming you will be invited to travel there. The rest of you, dismissed. And I suggest you make good use of this beautiful day Logan has granted you. You might not get to enjoy another one for some time."
* * *
Jean tried to make her way unobtrusively out of the meeting, then out of the Institute. She still had a huge exam Tuesday, and she needed to get back and study, if she was going to be spending most of her mornings here for the next few weeks. She considered just bringing her belongings back and moving back into her old room for the time being, and commuting to school...
But decided against it, ultimately. She wasn't entirely certain that she was ready to move back in with Jeanne-Marie Beaubier. Or Scott Summers.
Not that she didn't love them, both of them. Just that... she wasn't exactly sure where she stood in the stupid teenage crush department. And either of those two could remind her all-too-quickly just who it was she was thinking of before she went to sleep.
She'd thought that she'd kicked it. Thought that she wanted to work on making things right with Scott. But she... couldn't.
Maybe she just didn't want to. Maybe the whole Scott thing was just because they had so much in common, their goals, their futures, their time as X-Men, the two oldest of the kids. Similar duties, similar paths. Maybe they should've just been friends all along.
Not that Warren would be at all interested in her, even if she wasn't with Scott.
But that wasn't the point. It had nothing to do with Warren.
Didn't it?
"Hey, Red," A low voice suddenly stopped her in her tracks halfway down the hall to the foyer. "What are you in such a hurry to get outta here for?"
Jean turned around to face Logan, who was eyeing her carefully. She told herself to relax, that the feral could smell any sign of discomfort or anger. And she didn't want him to ask about any of it. Stupid teenage problems. Sinister and Magneto were out there. And here she was, thinking about boys. "I just need to study, that's all."
"Well, listen," he started to walk now, side by side with her, toward the front door. "Chuck and I been talking, and we think it might be best if you had some company at school this week. Someone who would fit in, seem like a friend of yours just visiting."
A sort of righteous indignation she hadn't felt since Scott and Kurt had tried to interfere with the Sirens started to rise up in her now. "I can take care of myself, Logan. I'm not a little girl."
"No one thinks you are, believe me Jeannie," He sounded almost placating, if Wolverine could ever be said to. "But things could get out of hand real fast with that kind of activity up there. Just let someone come with ya tomorrow, and then the day after, maybe. Just while this organizational meeting shit is happening."
Jean clenched her jaw once, hard. But when she looked over at the older man, she saw that his expression wasn't patronizing in the least. Just one of genuine concern. And she felt her posture relax, involuntarily.
"We're X-Men, Red," he growled at her. "We take care of our own."
Funny how expressive a growl can be, she thought, smiling in spite of herself.
"I talked to some of the girls about it– I woulda sent Slim, but he has tests too this week. JM said she'd come tomorrow, Kit on Tuesday. Just to make sure you're not alone if things get ugly."
Tomorrow. And entire day with Jeanne-Marie, whom she'd been ducking all weekend... "Great," she forced out, suddenly back to her initial state of total irritation with the idea. "First class is at ten though. Can they miss school?"
"Charles can swing it. They both have straight As right now, so he wasn't hard to convince. I'd go myself, if I wouldn't stick out like a sore thumb. At least the girls won't attract too much attention."
Before she could stop herself, Jean rolled her eyes, "You've never been around Jeanne-Marie in a room full of men, obviously."
Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Logan looking her over, carefully again.
But she decided it would be better to avoid that glance for the time being, and get back to studying. She had a long week ahead of her.
* * *
The thing about Gambit, Rogue was thinking, as she wandered through the back yard alone, is that you just never know what the hell he'll do next.
Unpredictable. Not in that temperamental Jean-Paul way. Not in that crazy Jeanne-Marie way. Not in that funny Kurt way. Not in that stupid little kid Bobby way.
No, his unpredictability was pure Remy.
She tried not to think of him like that– Remy. She knew damn well she shouldn't care about the man at all. He'd used her, after all. Followed her for weeks, learned her schedule, learned where she'd be and when and what was happening in her life, all just so he could use her.
Part of her didn't want to believe that was all there was to it, of course. The part of her who had never had anyone care for her. Mystique, Irene. They just wanted to use her. And for some reason, the idea that Remy– Gambit, goddammit– was only after the same thing... she didn't want to believe it. Something about him.
"Bit cold for a walk, chere, non?"
Before she could suppress it, she jumped. But didn't scream. So at least there was that. "How you been, Remy?"
She didn't even look up at him, as he fell in step beside her, smoking one of those blue-box Camels he always had. Turkish Royals or something. The smell of them reminded her of him. Quintessential Gambit smell. Rich tobacco and the dead smell of fall.
Of course, add the smell of the Louisiana swamp, and that pretty much said everything about the rat.
But she wasn't feeling particularly bitter about it, today.
"Been better. Been worse," Was all he said, with a slight shrug of his shoulders.
"Why'd you come here?"
He looked over at her now, and inhaled heavily on his cigarette. Thoughtful. "For Johnny."
"Where would you have gone if Pyro hadn't been hurt?"
"Cut to the chase, don't you?"
She met his eyes now, and stopped walking. He stopped with her, perfectly in synch. And she watched him for a minute. Red on black eyes, that didn't give a damn thing away. But once she'd looked at them, she knew she'd have a hard time looking away. Just like the first time.
Her cheeks started to flush, as she thought of it. Middle of a battle, and there she was, staring at this idiot Cajun like a love sick puppy. Almost lost her hand because of it.
"Something wrong?" He raised an eyebrow at her, and smiled.
Cocky bastard. She wanted to hate him. But she didn't. She knew it, because she started to smile too. "Gonna answer my question, swamp rat?"
He shook his head, and took another drag, then exhaled deeply to the side before answering. "Can't go back home. I told them I could, in there, but you know I can't. Don't really care much about Magneto– other than the fact that leaving someone to Sinister's mercy not exactly my idea of the right thing to do. Only place for me is here."
"We're just the backup plan?" She crossed her arms over her chest, and tried not to pay attention to how good the man looked. A pair of worn jeans and a white t-shirt under his trench coat. Square jaw. Straight nose. Mocking smile. Chiseled like he was made out of marble. Like he should be sitting in a museum somewhere.
Looking at Remy LeBeau, she realized, was probably not a great idea, for a girl who couldn't touch anyone. Not that she wanted him, of course. Well, maybe she did, a little. But she didn't trust him, which was really the point.
"No," He answered, smile fading from his features, "Not a backup plan. I gotta do something with myself, Rogue. And I talked to Xavier, last time. He offered. So I'm back, and I'm accepting."
"You're here to stay?" She felt a creeping sort of incredulity now. The idea of Gambit being there twenty-four-seven... definitely made her uncomfortable.
He nodded, however, and continued smoking. "Here to stay. You like that idea?"
"Not really," she said, honestly.
He looked over at her again, and she could see his disappointment. His face had barely changed, but for some reason, the sight cocking of one eyebrow, the tiny downward angles at the corners of his mouth, were easy enough to read. "Didn't want to hurt you, Rogue."
Didn't want to hurt me.
"No one ever wanted to hurt me, Gambit," She answered, slowly, as the thought occurred to her. "But... everyone I let myself trust, ends up using me. Like I'm not a person. Like I'm just this vessel for these crazy powers. Except for the X-Men. So far. And you know, it ain't been all roses with them either. So I guess... I guess you'll just have to understand if I don't fall right into your arms."
Remy opened his mouth to reply, but she didn't want to hear it. None of his smooth talking, none of that sexy accent and silver tongue. She didn't want any of it, so she started walking away now, back toward the house.
Blessedly, he didn't follow. But she could practically feel those glowing eyes burning into her, until she closed the door behind her, then leaned back on it, just for a minute. Just to catch her breath.
Something about him definitely... affected her. Was it the way he looked at her, like no one else had ever looked at her before? Like she was something special? Hadn't be already proven that he was just like the rest of them, that he just saw her powers when he looked at her? But of all people, wouldn't he be the one to understand just how it felt to be used? His own father saw powers when he looked at Remy, didn't he? And why did he say... why did he give her...?
"Rogue? Are you alright?"
With a short gasp of surprise, the mutant girl looked up, to see Scott Summers staring at her worriedly from behind his ruby shades. "Oh... Scott... yeah, I'm fine. I was just... talking to Remy."
"Remy, huh?" Slim raised one eyebrow and eyed her with mock-suspicion.
But she didn't much feel like laughing. Even if the expression was pretty cute– just like most of Scott's usually pitiful attempts at humor. "Scott... why is he allowed to join the X-Men?"
A deep breath, and Scott ran a hand through his hair, with obvious irritation. "I guess... well, the Professor says he's not a bad guy. Says that he was working for Magneto because he wanted mutants to be safe, but doesn't believe in the superiority complex any more than Colossus does. And he also says that Gambit is trustworthy. How the hell he gets that from Gambit, I don't know. But Logan's been sniffing around him all day, and he seems pretty relaxed about his presence now so...," He stopped there and gave a little laugh, then shook his head. "I'm rambling. Sorry. Anyhow, the point is, I don't know. I don't like him, or trust him. But... he deserves a chance, just like everyone else."
"I guess so," she mused, pushing off the door and starting toward the kitchen. It almost made sense... and if Logan didn't have a problem with him, chances were that his intentions were good. But why didn't he just stay with them in the first place? Was he really so intent on finishing the job he had promised to do for Magneto? And if so, didn't that bode well for the X-Men, if he was truly that loyal? Unless the loyalty was really to Magneto, exclusively...
He followed. "All we can do is sit back and wait, I suppose. And deal with him in the meantime. Are you... ok with him being here?"
She looked back over to Scott, and blinked a few times before answering. "Yeah. I mean... it's fine. Well, it's not, I guess, but I'll deal with it. He just sorta... confuses me. Ya know?"
"He likes you," Scott pointed out. "That makes a guy confusing. Or a girl."
Part of her agreed– Remy liked her. And another part of her disagreed– Remy was just stringing her along until he needed her again. Just like the rest of them.
She suddenly, violently, wished that last year's crush on Scott Summers would come back and save her from this. In comparison to this weird... tension with Remy LeBeau, tension she'd thought she wouldn't have to deal with very often, it seemed like a walk in the park to pine after Scott.
"He likes me, or he likes my power?" she knew it sounded sulky. And didn't care.
"I never looked at a girl like that because of her powers," Came the slow, careful reply from Scott.
She felt her brow furrow, as she tried to decide if she really wanted to think that answer through or not. "That how you look at Jean?"
She was surprised to find that it still hurt, just a little, to say that. And that it sounded a little bitter.
Not that she still wanted him. Just that... Jean was still Jean, after all. Hard not to be irritated by that.
Scott surprised her, however, by raising his eyebrows at her and saying, "Not anymore, I guess. Hey... here's an idea. Let's go do some Halloween shopping, maybe grab JP. I could use some advice, and it might take your mind off things, on our last day of freedom."
She smiled, as they stepped into the kitchen, "Sure, if JP isn't stuck to Pietro for the day. He has been lately. Whatcha need advice about? Costume?"
"Not so much," his smile suddenly turned wry. "I just... well, you're a girl. I thought maybe you could..."
She shook her head at him, and rolled her eyes, "Spit it out, Slim."
"Well... what's the best way to break up with a girl, do you think?"
* * *
Wanda was nervous.
She didn't know how she could spend the evening with Sam and not let him know what it was they were planning.
They'd talked about it for hours, once they had finally given up the tough guy acts. Apparently, she and her brother had more in common than they were willing to admit. Mainly, they were both stubborn. And scared.
But some things couldn't be denied, as she'd found out today. And their past was turning out to be one of them. Neither of them could deny that there seemed to be no way out of this mess, no way to put whatever it was about the past, about Transia, that was haunting them to rest... no way but to go home.
Pietro was scared, she knew he was scared. Of course, that was nothing new. He'd always been a runner– it was what he did after all. He was an undependable coward, basically. But even Pietro couldn't run fast enough to get away from his own dreams. From his own past. He would hardly say two words about it all, at first. Kept asking her what she remembered, what she thought, how she felt. And he was slow to provide any information. He seemed to remember things about Transia, about their adopted parents, the Maximoffs, about the gypsies and Romani and everything else that had to do with their distant childhood so much more than Wanda did herself. He even said he knew where they could find Marya and Django. And refused to say how.
But it wasn't important, right now. All that was important was what they would do tonight.
They'd struck an uneasy alliance, over the issue. Wanda knew that she couldn't do it alone, not this time, and it would be stupid to try anyhow, with Pietro just as involved as she. So they were allies. Not friends, of course. But... they had to do this together, and they both knew it.
And they were going to go home. The plane would leave at 7AM. And they'd be on it, both of them. E-tickets bought with the last of Wanda's money. They'd leave Pietro's for the guys, and hopefully be back in time to get more for them by the time two months was up.
Good god. What if it really did take two months...?
"Wanda," She heard his voice near to her ear, slumped low as they were in the seats at the movie theater. She loved the movies. It was probably her favorite thing to do on a weekend, go to the movies and see everything, anything she could. Scary was best, but sci-fi, fantasy, action, romance, it didn't matter. Movies kept her from thinking. Dark theater, comfortable seats, and lately, Sam beside her, holding her hand. She could just sit, and let it take her away. The American Dream.
But tonight, for some reason, she couldn't seem to pay attention.
"Wanda, do you want to go?"
She looked over at him, saw the deep worry lines in his brow, furrowed up as it was, saw the concern in his eyes even in the dark, burning behind the reflection of the war movie they were watching. Or not watching, as it were.
And it made her hurt, somehow. Inside. Just... looking at him. So sincere. And the way he'd come to her last night, at just a phone call. Come over, laid with her until she'd fallen asleep. When she woke, shaking from the dreams, she was in his arms. And it was easier because of him.
So what was she planning to do? Leave him. And not say a goddamn word. Spend all night with him and turn up missing the next morning.
Sam didn't deserve that. He deserved to know, just as much as Jean-Paul.
But Pietro was right, she had to remind herself. For once, the shit was right. The less people who knew, the better chance they had of making it in undetected. JP wouldn't tell anyone, not until he thought it was time. Sam could probably keep the secret... but they had agreed... only one person...
"No," she forced herself out of her thoughts, and into reality. The reality where Sam was sitting very close to her, his hand warm on her leg, intertwined with her own. His beautiful eyes questioning her.
She wanted suddenly, desperately, to kiss him.
It was ridiculous, of course. They were in public. But... she wouldn't be seeing him for a long time. An unknown amount of time, anyhow. And... she didn't have the words to tell him. She couldn't tell him, even if she did have the words. It always felt like they were... saying something when they kissed. Maybe if she could just kiss him...
"I don't want to go," she finished, after a long pause. "I want you to kiss me."
He raised one eyebrow in surprise, but grinned anyhow. Then leaned forward, and put his lips to hers. Warm, soft, sweet. She tilted her head just a little to the side, for a better angle, and slid even closer to him, silently thanking the movie theater for movable armrests– they never kept the one between them down.
There. Now she could feel him. He was always so warm, and she was always so cold. She felt their lips beginning to part, who started it was hard to tell, felt the beginnings of a real, honest to god kiss coming on. Squeezed her eyes shut tight, moved a little closer, and he put his arm around her now, disentangling his hand from hers, slowly.
Now she could feel him even better. She slid one hand up his chest, over his shirt, and to his neck, traced the line of his jaw from his chin to his ear with her fingertips. Their kiss closed off, spontaneously, and started all over again, this time instantly more open, wetter. The moment she felt the tip of his tongue slip past her own teeth, she gave it a small lick, then sucked on it gently.
She'd worked that out the first time she'd ever kissed him. The first time she'd done it, just fooling around, uncertain how to really kiss someone, drunk and brave and stupid, she'd noticed that he particularly liked it. His entire body would tense up, like it was right now, his arm tight around her, his other hand clenching on her leg. Sam always started out sweet, careful. But after a second of that treatment, he suddenly turned into Don Juan. As expected, Sam's body relaxed after just a moment, and she licked at the roof of his mouth, quickly, tasting the warmth in him, the spit and the slight sweetness of the Coke they were sharing.
God it was good, kissing him. Because when she was kissing Sam, all she could think about was touching him– the warmth of him, his arm around her, his lips and her tongue and the feeling of his cropped hair in her fingers. Her heart speeding up and her blood rushing and that strange tingle that seemed to travel from his lips pressing against hers, straight into her spine, and down inside of her, all through her.
She thought about what she wanted to say to him, what she couldn't say. I'll miss you. No. Well, yes, she knew she would. But that wasn't the half of it. I'll think of you all the time. True, probably, as much as she didn't want to admit to it. But that wasn't it either.
Thank you, Sam, for everything. I'll be back. For you.
Yeah. That felt more like it.
A deep breath, and he suddenly closed off the kiss again, pulled back, so that she could still feel his lips brushing against her, so his forehead rested against hers. "What's that for?"
She kept her eyes closed, leaned on him heavily. Slid her hand out of his hair, over his cheek, then his jaw again. Just to feel him. Soft skin, hard angles underneath. Beautiful and boyish and perfect. "Nothing," she whispered, after a moment. "I just... wanted a kiss."
"Hell of a kiss, Wanda," she could hear the smile in his voice, over the gunfire from the movie neither of them cared about anymore. She was in her own world. And he was with her.
She tilted her head sideways and up one more time, kissed him again, softly. Then pulled back and opened her eyes. "Remind me next time you see me that I owe you another one."
"I'd be more than happy to."
She pulled her eyes away from his and slid down a little further in the seat, so that his arm was comfortably over her shoulders, then leaned back on him. Slid one hand between his knees, and laced the fingers of her other hand with his. And didn't watch another minute of the movie.
Instead, she sat and thought about what it was she had to do in the morning. Thought about how insane the idea of it was, of how much they were probably going to regret it, of how they both knew somehow that the only way to find out what the fuck was wrong with them. Somehow, she knew that Sam wasn't thinking about some war movie from the seventies either.
But it was alright. Because by the end of the film, all she was really thinking about was what she was going to do when she finally saw Sam Guthrie again, and he asked her for a kiss. Because thinking about everything else made her stomach hurt. And thinking about that made her think it would all be worth it, in the end.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
AN: Well that took me long enough. Sorry for the wait on this here update, but I seem to have grown a social life, at least over the weekends. And Sue and I have really been hammering away at Fallen Angels-- in fact *BEING SHAMELESS PLUG*, issue four is up now! ff.n/~fallenxangels! And honestly, this one is my favorite issue so far.
Now, for the shout-outs!:
Angharad: Thanks for the faithful reviews. As for JP meeting Magneto... I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you, sadly. Stay tuned for the answer to that one!
Taineyah: Wanda is pretty much always mad, I suppose. Why should today be any different (aside from Sam-ness, which would make anyone happy, no?) Glad you're enjoying!
cyberpilate: That's right all the set up is finally over! And, believe it or not, it's about to hit the fan in the next chapter. Big time. As for Wanda and Pietro being a family... what can I say? I dig the family thing. Let me see if my Wanda and Pietro muses can get along long enough for me to crank this out, and I will certainly ... try ;)
The Rogue Witch: Yes, it was indeed a long-ass chapter! This one was a bit lighter, but things are starting to spiral out of my hands on that issue haha. As for the JP/Pietro bordering on fluff... oh yes. After all, you have to make someone hopelessly in love with their significant other before you can cause them real heartache by taking that SO away... *ahem.* Not that I'm evil enough to do that.
Relwarc: Much to the surprise of everyone, the Jean subplot does serve a purpose! I am not the biggest Jean fan, but she's awfully useful. I am not her fan, because I end up writing her like me. And before you ask, yes, that does mean I'm a horrible ice princess. Woulda been fun to have Pietro flip out and try to beat Sam down, just because of the irony of him walking down with a half-asleep Jean-Paul and all, though, wouldn't it?
Shaman Dani: Gambit always has been, and always will be my favorite X-Man. You know he had to come in SOMEWHERE. At least, in Evo fic. I'm scared to death to write him in 616. I should wake Pyro up so I can play with him too though ;)
crazyspaceystracey: I'm glad you approve of the JP/JM moments-- obviously that is the most important aspect of the story, or at least, it will be very soon. And yes... yes I love Wanda and Sam. So much. Can you tell? I am getting sappy in my old age, but I really am glad to hear that you enjoyed them too!
Risty: The haircut had to happen. That's all there was to it. *nod* Thanks for the brilliant reviews, you're too kind. And thanks for the ones on FA as well! You have no idea how helpful it is! Oh wait... you write all the time... so yes you do. But thank you a thousand times!
And that's all my friends. Until next time... 3 -Beaubier-