Chapter Nine: Phobias and Flashbacks
A luxury hotel room.
Magnus felt sometimes, when he first opened his eyes, before he felt that vulgar collar rubbing at his neck, taunting him, that he had somehow taken up residence in a luxury hotel room. Of course, soon after, it always came rushing back to him. Chains with no metal and a needle in his arm. A needle he hadn't been able to stop, that hadn't been metal. They were ready for him... they'd been ready for everything he had, for every eventuality. And they'd taken him.
And he'd awakened here, in this luxury hotel room. With a collar around his neck. An "inhibitor."
At first, he'd flown into a rage. Sadly, however, rage simply wasn't the outlet it used to be when he didn't have the power to tear a room down around him any longer.
Correction. He had that power. He simply couldn't use it. Which was infuriating.
The whole thing was infuriating. His Acolytes were the best of the best, and he knew it. But Gambit had been incapacitated, Pyro had giggled like the fool he was, Colossus had stood and stared blankly, and Sabretooth... well, he wasn't sure what had happened to the feral. But he wouldn't be at all surprised if Victor Creed had somehow managed to get away.
Loyalty wasn't so dependable, when it was purchased. Or taken by force.
I should have brought Wanda and Pietro. They would have been an asset, at this point...
But it was too late to wish for that, now. He should have thought of it before, and due to his failure to plan for the eventuality that Sinister would be just as interested in him as he was in Sinister... he was caught. His children would not have turned their backs. Pietro, though something of a whiner, was well-trained and dependable. The boy never failed to answer his father's call– which was as it should be. And his need to prove himself, as most boys wish to prove themselves to their fathers, had made him into an acceptable operative. But he was too young, and too erratic, and Magnus had feared he would be a liability at this juncture in the plans. Particularly once he learned of Sinister's interest in the children– he didn't want to draw any more attention to his hideaway than he needed to by bringing the objects of Essex's interests home with him.
Wanda was simply a gamble, no matter how he looked at it. Since Mastermind had "reprogrammed" her, the girl appeared to be kindly disposed toward him... which was good. Very good, in fact. She was powerful, perhaps she would be even more powerful than he one day. He'd known it was a possibility since she'd manifested, at such a young age, with such violence. Shame that she couldn't control it– he could have used her help. And her loyalty. The girl obviously had an obsessive quality that made the achievement of her focus-of-the-moment her prime directive. Had that focus been on helping him instead of killing him, he might've made much larger strides in his master plan by this time. She seemed, after Apocalypse, as if she would have been willing to stay with him, for the sake of family; however, he was uncertain about bringing her in before he had set up all his plans, and wanted to secure her complete cooperation, and compliance with his creed, before showing them to her. The girl had too much will to take risks.
Far more than her brother. But she might, in fact, have inspired the same in him, as she had when they were children, so many times. He often thought that the necessity of sending Wanda away, both for the sake of everyone else's safety and for her own, was both a blessing and a curse. On one hand, it made certain that Pietro would cooperate with his every wish– he was always the eager-to-please half of the twins, even at such a young age. Wanda had never cared much what anyone thought of her, except her brother, perhaps. Combine the loss of her influence on him, along with the fear the boy had harbored after she was gone that if he did something wrong, he too would be sent away, and it had proven a strangely effective mode of controlling the hyperactive boy. But on the other hand, Magnus had lost his chance to secure for life, by raising her the right way, the full compliance of the girl he was certain was one of the most powerful mutants in the world– his daughter.
Either way, the two of them would not have turned on him, like most of his Acolytes. Which was key. This was blood, after all– and he knew the twins couldn't shake that bond. Even Wanda, now that she remembered nothing about the asylum, had some affection for him. And he could use that, to further the greater good. His children at his side, he could make everyone understand. Understand that mutants are the future, the natural course of human evolution. And they would take their place as such... they would not be pushed, shoved, beaten into obedience.
How anyone could find fault with this dream, he never would understand. Charles and all his protestation about innocent lives, innocent children. He understood nothing about war, despite the fact that he'd seen it himself. He never could see that individuals don't matter, when it comes to war– only the greater good. And that was how Magnus knew he would win. He would sacrifice himself, his Acolytes, his own children to the cause. Individual lives didn't matter. Only freedom mattered.
He would never be oppressed again.
At least... that was what he had thought.
For the hundredth time on this endless day, exactly like all the other endless days, he clawed at the restraining collar around his neck, grinding his teeth in irritation. Each day, he was fed at exactly the same time, and visited by his "host" at exactly the same time. The red-eyed, vampire-esque Essex. And every day, the man asked him the same question. "Will you join forces with me, or no?"
"Never," Was always his answer. He'd learned enough about this man's mutant-torture through Gambit's efforts (which the man had dared to use on the son of Magneto!), and enough about his "research" pursuits through his own research, that he wanted nothing to do with him. Other than to wipe him out of existence. Who did this Sinister think he was, after all, to tamper with the destiny of homo superior, let alone his children? Add in the obvious ties to Apocalypse, whom Magnus had discovered had something to do with the origin of the man's extraordinary powers, and it was clear that the man had to die.
Therefore, if Magneto was to have any association with this man, it would be only for the purpose of killing him.
He understood the man's wish to have him join forces, however, though he did not know what sort of specific project the man needed him for. It was not unlike his situation with his own daughter not so long ago, really. Her power, and the potential for another family-loyalty, such as the one that kept Pietro his most faithful servant, despite his youth and arrogance, were tempting attributes. To have her by his side would have been ideal– but her hatred for him had kept them apart.
And now, when he was so close to completing the final steps in his plan, when all that was left to do before he could return to power was to kill this man, this Sinister...
Sinister took him.
And he, Magneto, the Master of Magnetism, was left clawing futilely at a piece of jewelry he should have been able to snap with a mere thought. Inhibited. Impotent.
And waiting for his chance. Because he would find one. And then, he would kill this man. The man who dared to try and capture his children. The man who dared to torture his son. And the man who dared to hold him captive.
Yes. Magnus would feel much better once Essex was dead. In fact, the prospect was what got him through the night.
"I'm so happy to see you getting out, Jeanne-Marie," Jean offered, softly, coming up behind the darker haired girl in the hallway. She'd been on her way to the living room, in the hope of finding something to watch... and she'd seen the slight figure of her friend, slowly making her way along the same hall.
She hadn't been avoiding her. She'd spoken to her, in fact, as soon as possible, once she'd regained coherence nearly two days ago. How could she stay away when she needed to know so badly that Jeanne-Marie would, in fact, be alright? Her entire life seemed to hinge around JM's well-being, for the past few days. So they'd spoken, briefly. Avoided all pertinent subjects.
And Jeanne-Marie's newfound paranoia quickly became evident. Jean had offered to go for a walk with her, since she looked pale and drawn, and her pale eyes now had a new, haunted sort of look to them. Sunlight, the last Jean expected they'd see before the November snowstorms began in earnest, would have been just the thing for the younger girl. But JM had refused, saying she'd rather stay inside, in her room. Jean asked around, and everyone had been getting the same story from Jeanne-Marie, apparently. Once she'd moved out of the downstairs medcot, she'd stuck to her room almost exclusively, leaving only when absolutely necessary.
Jean-Paul was with her, most of the time, though he'd gone to school today for the first time since she'd been hurt today. Warren had stayed with her the rest of the time, so that she didn't have to be alone. She didn't like being alone either. Jean had taken a watch from him, just yesterday, but the conversation had been slow, and her offer of a walk had been refused.
Jeanne-Marie, for her part, seemed normal, sometimes. Until Jean brought up going outside. And then, she would retreat. And refuse to say why she didn't want to go out. Blatantly.
"I... think I shouldn't stay in my room so much," JM offered, when Jean was beside her finally. "The Professor said it will only make things worse... and I trust him."
Jean nodded, sympathetically. God, the poor girl. It wasn't her fault that she couldn't handle this, she had a disorder to cope with. Jean should have known better... god she should've known! "Where are you heading?"
"I'm not sure," The younger girl offered a sheepish smile at that. And almost looked like herself again. No matter how small the smile, Jeanne-Marie always lit up when she had one on her face. She was just... naturally beautiful like that. "I just... made myself leave the room."
"Want to watch a movie with me?" Jean offered. And not just because she felt bad for the girl... she really could use the company herself. She wanted to see Jeanne-Marie laugh, for her own purposes. To alleviate the crushing guilt that had been plaguing her for days now. But she also... just wanted someone to be near her. Scott had tried... but she felt horrible, hanging on him. Particularly because not only had she never been the "needy" type before, and generally found people like that irritating and weak-willed, but because she felt horrible for sucking up so much attention from him now, when she'd avoided him completely for weeks before. She was entirely cognizant of the fact that she was being a fair-weather, or, as it were poor-weather, girlfriend. And she honestly hated herself for it. Scott had been a dear, but he obviously didn't know what to think, and she didn't want to confuse him anymore...
She didn't know what she wanted from him anymore, in fact.
But Jeanne-Marie... Jeanne-Marie she needed to spend time with. For both of their sakes.
The Canadian X-Man nodded, "Yes, let's watch something funny."
"Exactly what I was thinking," Jean nodded, with a smile that was only a little bit forced, as they turned into the rec room. She kneeled down by the DVD collection, and took a deep breath. Curiosity may have killed the cat, but she couldn't help herself... it had been two days, after all. And dammit... she needed to know. "How are you doing, then? If you're out of the room, I assume you're feeling... safer?"
"...No. But I'm feeling as if I should pretend I'm feeling safer. Which serves the same function, to get me out of my room."
Jean looked over her shoulder, and felt another stab of guilt in the pit of her stomach, as she saw Jeanne-Marie already curled up underneath a blanket, nestled into the corner of the couch, looking as if she'd become a part of it if she could. Pale and pretty and fragile. Like a scared little girl.
Instinctively, Jean wanted to go to her and hold her, like she had when the younger girl had first come to the Institute, when JM had no one and nothing and was just a frightened orphan in a new place. But she was frozen in place. Mostly by guilt. She only looked at the other girl, and shook her head. "I'm so sorry, JM."
Jeanne-Marie's eyes caught hers now, pale and blue and surprised. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Jean. It's not your fault that I'm... the way I am."
Jean winced, and sucked in a breath, painfully. As if she'd been punched.
Certainly felt like it. Right in the stomach.
"It is my fault. I shouldn't have made you go to that rally."
JM blinked at her, obviously confused, for just a moment. And then said, "You didn't twist my arm, ma amie. I agreed that it was a good idea. It's not your fault that I... attacked that boy. I could have hurt him..."
"He hurt you," Jean hissed, a lot more venomously than she'd meant to.
"He hurt you too," came the quiet reply.
Jean looked away, at that. Yes, he had hurt her. But she could have withstood the accusations, the glaring, the shouting, the hate. She'd wanted to turn it around. And instead, she'd ended up... like this. It wasn't Jeanne-Marie's fault, she knew that. The girl couldn't help what had happened to her, what Jean had felt happen to her, in her head. "It's not your fault, what happened," She managed to say, now flipping through the DVD collection, without really seeing the covers at all as she did so. She was just staring.
"... Maybe," Came the reluctant answer. "But it's not yours, either way."
It was. But Jean didn't want to argue. She just wanted things... to be right again. She'd alienated her friends, her boyfriend, she'd gotten stuck on a boy who was stuck on her friend, she'd tried to throw herself into cause after cause... she'd lost the plot. It was time to get it back. Go from where she was. And make no more mistakes, if she could help it.
"How about Old School?" She offered, pulling out the DVD. "Scott said he and JP thought it was hilarious."
"Sounds good to me," Was Jeanne-Marie's quiet reply.
Jean put the movie in, and moved to the couch, to sit next to her friend, trying to just concentrate on the here and now. Trying to forget how mean she'd been to this girl for the past week, due to stupid jealousy, thoughtlessness. The girl who'd been her roommate for months, the girl who'd been a good friend to her, always. Who'd never let her down.
"Are you cold? You can share with me," she heard, next to her.
She looked over, surprised, to see Jeanne-Marie offering part of her blanket to her, dark eyebrows arching elegantly in a questioning sort of look.
And she smiled, genuinely, accepting and scooting closer as they arranged the cover around themselves. They used to do this all the time, sit on the couch and watch movies, during the summer. Any time it rained or stormed. And the air conditioner would be on, so they'd get cold, and burrow under a blanket and laugh...
She leaned against JM's arm, and felt the other girl leaning back, warm and comfortable, as she hit play on the remote. And hoped this was a start.
Alex had an odd habit, Scott noticed, of trying to look like he wasn't depressed, and being very bad at it. He'd plaster some kind of goofy grin on his face for about ten minutes, until he simply couldn't anymore, and then his boyish face would simply fall, all at once. Heart on his sleeve, this kid. Or, at least, in his eyes.
It was kind of refreshing, really. Alex was like that though. He didn't spend nearly as much time with him as he'd meant to, when Alex told him he'd be coming to the Institute for good. He'd planned on them doing this, sitting at a pizza joint drinking cokes and eating until they were totally stuffed, a few times a week, at least. Or getting coffee, or hanging out somewhere, doing something. But things had been so crazy, really, for the past few months...
Oh hell, who was he kidding, things were always crazy around the Institute. But he couldn't help but wish he'd found more time for this, in the past, or making a silent vow to do so in the future. Now that things were... open between them... Alex was probably the one person in his life he would always welcome at his door. No matter what.
"So," The surfer-kid asked, over a huge slice of anchovy-pineapple pizza (a delicacy he'd insisted Scott at least give a try.) "What's the deal with this Pyro guy?"
Scott raised an eyebrow at his brother behind his ruby glasses. Now how the hell did he know that Pyro was awake– the kid hadn't even been home yet! "How did you–?"
"Don't ask questions," Alex held up one finger, solemnly, as if he were some Roman orator. "I have my sources. So, what's his deal?"
Grinning, Scott just shook his head. He probably didn't want to know what Alex's sources were, anyhow. He worried about the kid enough. "Hank says he sat up, looked around, and said, You got a lighter, mate?"
Alex started to laugh, but encountered difficulty, since his mouth was full of Coke. Cheeks puffed out, dark eyes bulging comically as he tried to restrain the laughter building up in him, little brother finally managed to swallow and cackled, "Oh god, so it's true what they say about him?"
Scott only raised on eyebrow, "The name is accurate, I'd say."
"He gonna like... stick with the X-Men?"
Jesus. That's all they needed. First the thief, then the arsonist. But he held his tongue on the subject, and just shrugged, "No idea, bro. I didn't talk to him, he was in with the Professor and Gambit when I left."
"What about Gambit anyhow?"
Ugh. Involuntarily, Scott made a face that he figured probably said it all. A very unpleasant face, he could tell, just from the feeling of it. "He's... dodgy."
Alex nodded, enthusiastically. "Yeah but he seems kinda cool. He showed me how to pick a lock yesterday."
"God, Alex," Scott shook his head, with something of a defeated grin, "Don't... don't tell me that."
Alex grinned back, "Sure thing, Fearless Leader."
"God, you too huh? Remind me to get JP back for that one. When he's not broken anymore."
They chatted a bit about that, about Alex's little ice-cream session with their mutual friend, and Scott felt rather guilty that he didn't have anything to contribute. He hadn't been able to get more than five minutes of company out of the younger boy, no matter how he'd tried, for the past few days. It was almost as if Jean-Paul was avoiding him.
No, not him. Everyone.
But he'd asked the kid to go out with him for a reason, he remembered, when the grin slipped out of place on Alex's features for a second, during the conversation. And he decided to dive right in and ask him about it. "Ok, so I might be angsting, kid, but I can definitely tell that something's up with you. So you gonna spill?"
Alex rolled his eyes heavenward, in a rather obvious attempt to write his issues off. "Oh dude, it's retarded compared to what's going on at the Institute right now–,"
But Scott wasn't having it. He'd spent enough time being a bad brother, and he was going to get Alex to talk if he had to pry the information out of him with a crowbar. He could see it, in his brother's eyes. You could always tell by Alex's eyes. They looked like they were trying to avoid his, now that the subject had been breached. Definitely something up. "C'mon, man. Even if they're not the end of the world, they're still your problems, right? That's important to me."
The younger boy seemed to consider, as he chewed thoughtfully, one cheek puffed out comically, stuffed full of pizza. When he swallowed, he said, "Yeah I guess so. Ok, deal time."
"Hit me," Scott said. A deal was fair, if it got the kid to spill.
"I tell you what's bothering me, you tell me about Rogue?"
Scott nearly choked on his Coke. He'd expected that Alex would want to know, but he hadn't expected him to be so... forward about it. Maybe because he'd kind of been skirting the issue in his mind, himself... pretending it didn't exist.
When really, it had been driving him mad. It was kinda hard now, when he saw Rogue– and he saw her all the time, of course– not to think about it. About how stupid he'd been, not to see it. And he couldn't help but wonder if she still... well, she didn't obviously, but man... "It's nothing," He shook his head, muttering more to himself than to his companion.
Alex shrugged, still grinning. "No deal. How's that pizza?"
Scott grimaced at the "no deal" part of the reply. But the pizza bit actually made it turn into something of a grin. "Surprisingly good, actually." And he took another bite of the strange concoction, just to prove his point. It really was good, even though every fiber in his being told him it shouldn't be good at all... but then, Alex was good for making him go against his own, admittedly rigid, status quo. "Ok fine," He finally gave in, after chewing his food. "But you talk first. I'm the shitty brother, let me do this for once."
"Alright, alright," the younger boy rolled his eyes. Once he'd taken a drink of his Coke, he took a deep breath, and looked his brother in the eye. Obviously steeling himself for something big. "So, I think Ray is like... weirded out by me."
"But I thought he was really cool about it," Scott cocked his head, curious. When last he'd talked to Alex about who he'd discussed his recent... issues with, the list had been short– JP, Ray, and him. And everyone on it was someone who understood, or was important to the kid somehow. Friend, roommate, brother. Alex had even said that Ray had acted like it was completely normal.
"He was," Alex shrugged, putting his pizza down and suddenly looking very forlorn. "He is... I don't even know man. See... I kinda...," Scott could see the younger boy swallowing convulsively now, watched him shift his weight in his chair, as if uncomfortable. Whatever it was, it was going to be important.... "I kinda... well, I didn't tell you this before, but I... I have... I really like Ray."
Scott furrowed his brow for a moment, "You...," And then it hit him. "Oh! Oh, you like Ray." Well, that made sense... for a minute, he experienced a serious bout of sympathy angst for his kid brother, in fact. It had been bad enough when he'd wanted Jean so badly and she was only in the same house. If she had been in the same room... wow. Lots of time in the showers.
Alex nodded, looking slightly guilty, his eyes falling to his discarded slice of pizza now. "I mean, I know it's not gonna happen but...." He looked up then, suddenly, and his smooth brow furrowed. Scott was amazed, momentarily, at the similarity of his expression to the one he saw when he looked in the mirror and did the same thing. Guess some things can't be denied. "Dude, is this weird?"
"No, honestly," He answered, without even having to think. He really was over his short moment of weakness, when it came to Alex being gay, and had been prepared for the eventuality of a crush or boyfriend for some time now, happily. Since their last talk, really. Though he was still embarrassed about his initial reaction, and the avoidance that had followed... he truly was ok with everything, now. This was his brother, his favorite person in the world. Not a chance he'd let something stupid come between them like that again. "The pizza is weirder."
That, at least, got a smile from the surfer-boy. "Ok. So... I'm afraid he like... found out or something."
"Hm...," Scott considered the dilemma, and found he was actually enjoying worrying about a problem like this one. Not that it wasn't important– it definitely was. But it didn't hold thousands of lives in the balance, and it didn't require him to hurt anyone else, and... yeah. Alex was definitely good medicine, even when he had minor drama. "Well, that doesn't seem like his style man," he confessed. He didn't know Ray that well, just knew that he had a little bit of a wild streak, a wicked sense of humor, and tended to get into fights with Roberto. Over anything. But he was a punk, and extremely liberal, from what he'd heard and seen. Not likely to judge anyone else by a certain set of social standards... maybe even more likely to embrace people for being different, whether he realized it or not. "It's Ray, and he's pretty... blunt. I'm thinking he'd just tell you. You think someone told him?"
"Na," Alex shook his head, "Only JP knows, and he wouldn't."
"Not a chance," he agreed, wholeheartedly.
Alex chewed at his lip for a minute, then took a rather quick sip of his Coke, his movements jerky and nervous. "I'm afraid I like... did something weird. Looked at him funny or something."
Arching an eyebrow in disbelief, Scott gave his brother a sideways look. "He's pretty open-minded, man. At least, from what I've seen. You probably know him better but... I don't think so. Maybe you should say something to him..."
Alex's dark eyes went wide, and he froze, pizza halfway to his mouth. "Dude..."
Ok, so no on that idea. It obviously terrified surfer-kid, even thinking about confessing. Which was understandable, but if Ray had been so cool with the idea of a gay roommate, maybe he could at least help Alex feel more comfortable or... "Or not."
"No way," Alex was shaking his head now, emphatically, bangs falling into his eyes, unheeded. "He's my roommate. I'm like... betraying the Sacred Code of the Locker and Dorm Room every time I think about... it."
Again, Scott cocked an eyebrow. Note to self– turn off mental imager when discussing Alex's guy problems. "Ok, so that was a little weird," He grinned across the table.
To his great relief, Alex's shoulders relaxed, and he grinned right back, then stuffed the previously frozen-in-midair pizza into his mouth.
"And I still think you should say something," Scott continued, considering what he knew about Ray Crisp's life before the Institute. It wasn't much– the kid was something of a mystery, but what he did know... "He's probably just stressed, or thinking. He has... kind of a screwed up story. Maybe he needs to talk to someone. Who does he talk to, around here?"
Yes, he was officially encouraging his brother to do the typical thing– find the girl you like when she's at an emotionally vulnerable point in her life, support her through the hard times, and make her yours. Only this time... it was a little different.
But hell, he figured all guys liked that trick, not just the straight ones. And Alex wouldn't exploit it...
Ok yeah. It was still a little weird, maybe. But not necessarily bad. Just... different.
"So," Alex considered, through a mouthful of pizza, "You're saying I'm paranoid?"
Scott shrugged. Only one way to know, "Talk to him."
"Dude," Alex shook his head, swallowing and halfway laughing again. Obviously not a consideration, that whole "talk to him" thing. But hell, that's what JP and Rogue had said when he'd asked them about Jean– "So Rogue," kid brother interrupted again, "What the hell was that about, man?"
"Gah," He let out a sound of frustration, and dragged a hand through his hair. And he'd been doing so well thinking about Alex's love issues there for a moment... "I don't know."
Alex gave him a look that very clearly said oh come off it.
So he sighed, and decided it might really be a good idea to get this off his chest. Two days now, and he could find no peace from it, despite the disaster brewing around the X-Men at the moment, what with Warren not getting his clearance from ExGen, and Jeanne-Marie being injured, and Magneto's entire family coming up missing...
And it was probably a bad sign that he couldn't stop thinking about Rogue, despite all that other stuff. So he started talking. "She said she used to have a crush on me, last year. Well, ok, she said a lot of other really important things, too, that's not all we talked about. Most of those things were about Remy, who she may or may not have a crush on now. But... but yeah. That's the thing I can't get over, you know?"
A slow, knowing smile spread across the younger boy's face, and he lowered his voice to a singsong sort of taunt, "Awwwww, you like her!"
If it had been anyone else, Scott would have pursed his lips, crossed his arms over his chest, and denied it until the end of time. Even if he... well, it wasn't that it was true. He just... didn't know.
But it was Alex. Goofy, hilarious, sunshine-boy Alex. And his smile was infectious, apparently, because Scott had very little luck fighting one of his own. "I have a girlfriend," He argued, nevertheless.
"Dude!" Alex leaned back and pointed at him, grinning wickedly. "You totally didn't deny it at all!"
Scott covered his face with one hand, trying to wrestle the smile down again. "It doesn't matter anyhow, it was a long time ago.
"Scott," Alex leaned forward again, planting his elbows firmly on the table and gesturing emphatically with both hands. "Listen to me. Five years ago is kind of a long time ago. Last year was like... yesterday. She was wearing your sweater!"
"She gave me that sweater," He mused, remembering what a complete idiot he'd been that Christmas. Fretting over Jean being gone, alone with Rogue, shopping, looking for Warren...
"Dude," Alex almost choked, for the second time that night, on his Coke. "That's like... hella cute. You guys are so gonna get married."
But now, Scott's former levity suddenly left him. This hadn't been the plan. Jean. Jean was the plan. The perfect girl for him, she complimented his every quality. When he was too serious, she lightened him up. When he was too stubborn, she showed him how to give. When they needed anything, anything, the other was always there.... "Alex... Jean."
Alex eyed him critically for a moment, steepling his hands over his forgotten pizza. "Are you or are you not totally over that. Because I thought–,"
Ouch. World's Biggest Jerk, once again. He should just get it tattooed on his forehead. "She's a little fucked up right now," He cut in, giving his brother what he hoped was a meaningful look, so he wouldn't have to come right out and explain...
That he was still with Jean only because he was afraid she couldn't handle a breakup right now.
God. God, what a dick.
Alex nodded, thankfully understanding, but said, "Yeah well she can join the club. It's cool that you think of her first, that's what friends should do. But... Eventually," His voice got quiet now, and one corner of his mouth turned up in a sad sort of half-smile, "You gotta do it. It's not fair to either of you to pretend. And believe me, bro. I know all about pretending. Don't torture yourself, dude."
Scott gave his own half-smile, and wondered how similar to Alex's it appeared. He knew the kid was right– those were some serious words of wisdom. But..., "I'm so good at it, is the thing, Alex."
"Must be genetic."
"No."
Jeanne-Marie stood on the other side of her room, arms crossed over her chest, staring him down. "Listen to me Jean-P–,"
"No," He said again, emphatically. It was ridiculous. It was preposterous. It gave him a very bad feeling. "I'm telling you, ma soeur, no. Not a chance, not in hell, not in heaven, not happening, non."
For a moment, her eyes flashed. And then her arms fell to her side, and she sighed, "Why are you being difficult?"
What explanation should he give her for why this was wrong? This procedure she wanted to undergo, that she'd convinced Warren to take her to Ottawa for– she couldn't even leave the house, how the fuck did she expect to get to Ottawa?– it was simply wrong. He could feel it. "Some things...," He attempted to explain, "Some things shouldn't be tampered with."
"Superstition–,"
"Respect," He corrected her, instantly. "Respect for who and what you are. You shouldn't be ashamed–,"
"I'm not ashamed!" she exclaimed, eyes flashing with anger at the implication.
He could barely feel her, at the edge of his mind. She'd held herself back, once she'd recovered completely. Or as completely as possible, he supposed. And before then, he'd had to shut her out, to keep out her overwhelming confusion and sadness, while she cried. She was being completely illogical now, and he reached out for her again, mentally... and found that she would give no more. Surely she could feel him there... But no. Not a sign. Nothing to explain how or why this idea had taken such a hold on her. "Then why, sister? Why would you want to do this if not from shame?"
She looked away now, crossing her arms protectively over her chest, looking very young suddenly. "... Then maybe there is some shame... but it's not what you think."
He crossed the room now, to stand in front of her. This was simply ridiculous, and he was not going to listen to it anymore. If she was going to insist... she was going to tell him why. He reached down, put one hand under her chin, and lifted it, so that she had to either meet his eyes, or stare at his chest. And he knew very well she was too proud not to meet his eyes. "Tell me, Jeanne-Marie."
She met his eyes immediately, defiantly. And clenched her jaw. "I'm eighteen years old. I'm not a ward of the State anymore, no one controls me. I'm going to Ottawa to see Dr. Langkowski about his procedure."
For a moment, he simply looked at her. He felt his own jaw clench, in what he knew must be a startlingly similar expression to the one she wore at that very moment. Felt his eyes narrow, as they held hers fearlessly. Stubbornly.
And remembered, suddenly, how it had felt to lose her for even a week. When she hadn't spoken to him. Wouldn't see him, wouldn't touch him.
Fuck.
He let his hand fall from her face, back to his side. Suppressed a violent urge to hug her, suddenly, and not let go. God. God he was breaking and he knew it. And he needed to touch someone he knew.
He couldn't explain it... but he'd been feeling it, and badly, since... fuck. Since Pietro had gone. He'd gotten used to it, though, with the other boy. And he was used to it with his sister too, even if in an entirely different fashion. But he couldn't articulate it, this unfamiliar need. Too much worry, too much fear, had burned his brain out almost entirely.
He just needed... to feel it.
And actually, at that moment, at this point in the hopelessly fucked up existence of Jean-Paul Beaubier... hers was the exact kind of touch he needed. Nothing wanting or demanding about it. Just comforting and warm and... god. How had he lived without her so long?
He reached out again, this time taking her hands. Small, think hands, a little too cold. Like a doll's. But they felt good, to him. "Jeanne-Marie," He began, this time carefully. "Please. Help me to understand. I'm worried about you, and I don't want Worthington convincing you of something you're not fully prepared to deal with. This is your genetic make-up. It's who you are... who we are. Don't let him–,"
"He doesn't want me to either."
Jean-Paul blinked at his sister for a moment. That was... unexpected. "I'd thought..."
"Non," she shook her head, bit her lip momentarily. "He told me about the project before. I was the one who suggested it for me. He begged me to reconsider."
Hm. Perhaps the winged wonder could live, after all. "And why do you refuse us?"
Now, she looked away. And he felt her open up, just a little. Felt his stomach flip with the first shock of her panic as it hit him. "Mon frere... life has moved on... and I can't. I'm scared... very scared."
He swallowed hard, trying to keep her– now painfully obvious– fear from becoming his own. Black undertow. And she was alone in it. It kept pulling her feet out from under her until she stumbled back to standing... and every time it was getting harder...alone black fast hard scared pain stomach dark...
Jean-Paul pulled his sister closer to him, and wrapped his arms around her small waist, holding her close. Small, but so strong. Her shaking could as easily be her panic as it could be the vibration of power running through her. She let her head come to rest on his shoulder so that her hair, wild and soft and dark, was against his cheek. He smoothed it gently, reaching up, underneath her arms as she snaked them around his neck. Latched on to him. Almost like a child, not quite like a lover. Dieu... just the thing he needed. He closed his eyes against the fear. He had to be stronger than her. His lonely was nothing, compared to her panic, the disorder in her mind. He turned his head into her, like a cat, nuzzling at her hair.
"I'm ashamed of the fear, Jean-Paul. I don't want to be afraid."
Fuck.
Deep breath. Running his hands over her back, hoping to calm her. Like a baby. Like his sister. "It will go away, with time."
"It won't. I'm fighting it... I hate her, Jean-Paul..."
A flash, and there was only white behind his eyes as her undertow caught him. White flash, fade to black, a tug at his mind, his sanity, that nearly collapsed him into her.
Slowly, painfully, he shut her out. Careful. So careful. The vertigo slid away, but it left a strange film on his mind. He could feel it there, oily and vague and... wrong.
And his shoulder was wet from her, suddenly.
No. He couldn't let it happen. Everything in him shouted to make her stay, to tell her no...
But god... he wasn't sure who he was talking to anymore. Whoever she was, though... she hated herself. Part of herself. One of herselves. The fragmenting was getting worse, as she panicked. And he would do anything... anything to stop it. To save her.
"Anything you want, Jeanne-Marie. Anything at all."
She had finally gone to sleep.
And Jean-Paul was still reeling.
He could feel it still clinging to him, the thin film she'd left on his reality. Her fear. Her fragmented mind.
He'd never heard her do that before– make reference to one of her "others." He'd been too overwhelmed at the time to realize it then, but she must have been referring to the fragile Jeanne-Marie, when she said, "I hate her." Who else could it be? Did his sister want to do away with her softer side altogether? Did she want to be the violent Aurora always? Or did she hate her as well?
Dieu. He wished he could sleep like her. And forget.
But he had an Angel to find.
And find him he did, in the library. Staring at a book. Obviously not reading. And completely lost in his own thoughts.
Jean-Paul wasn't sure about him. He wanted to write him off as a rich playboy, as an irresponsible billionaire spoiled brat. And he was, in a way.
But in a million other ways, he wasn't. Jean-Paul might have been able to ignore those things, a few days ago. Might have been able to focus on his unconscious pretension, his irritatingly beautiful appearance, his obviously hungry eyes, when they fell on Jeanne-Marie. But now... he couldn't ignore them.
Jeanne-Marie appeared to be right about Warren Worthington. And he was in love with her. Madly. The most overprotective brother in the world could not have ignored it. Not after this week. No matter how much he wanted to.
So Jean-Paul sat beside the older boy, sunk into one of the fantastically comfortable loungers. Felt his body relaxing, for the first time all day. God. He hadn't even known he'd been so tense...
Warren looked up, as he settled in. The hawk-eyed look of a businessman, who feared he'd have to guard his interest with his life.
But the speedster simply hadn't the energy for the game. Not tonight. "Thank you," he said, quite simply. "You have been there when she needed you, even though you hardly know her. Most men would have disappeared a few days ago. You don't owe us anything... you don't owe her anything. But you stayed."
Warren's blue eyes softened, at that, visibly releasing any intention to fight, or rather, to defend, that he may have had. "I love your sister."
When he said it, he looked down, suddenly. But there was no flush of embarrassment in his cheeks. He just looked... thoughtful. His wings ruffled, just slightly, and Jean-Paul raked his eyes over them.
Angel. How absolutely fucking appropriate.
"I know," The darker boy admitted, after a long moment. "And if she didn't love you, she wouldn't have recognized you like she did, after... it happened."
Blue eyes raised to meet his again, and a wry smile spread slowly across his heroic features. "They told me you wouldn't like it."
Jean-Paul snorted at that, derisively. "I'm protective, not jealous. You treat her well, I treat you well. It's not fucking rocket science."
Warren's smile broadened, but stayed just a bit sad. "Yes. So I see."
That business taken care of, the Canadian sighed and rubbed at his temples with both hands, still trying to rid himself of his sister's darkness, of her sickness. And failing miserably. "I don't like this, Worthington."
"Neither do I," The blonde boy? admitted, voice low and somewhat gravelly. "I trust the man, Dr. Langkowski, for some reason–"
"But not with her," Jean-Paul finished. Obviously, not with her. "I hate this, in fact. It feels wrong."
"What can we do?" Warren sighed, and Jean-Paul heard his wings ruffle again.
There was the problem, really. Warren was as powerless against her tears as he, obviously– and he hadn't the faintest clue of the darkness inside her. If he did, he'd undoubtedly be even more disinclined to talk sense into Jeanne-Marie.
He rubbed at his temples a little harder, and leaned his elbows on his thighs, bent over himself. So. Tired. Suddenly. "Nothing," He said, finally. "Take care of her. If anything happens to her, I'll have to kill you."
A slight chuckle, somehow not irritating or smug in the least. "I know, Jean-Paul. But you'd have to beat me to it."
"Or her," He half-growled. And he didn't mean my sister. He, very specifically, meant Aurora.
"Or her," Came the agreement.
First official conversation with sister's boyfriend taken care of, Jean-Paul stood, slowly, and turned to look at him one last time. Beautiful golden angel. Wings twitched, slightly, feather sounds light and impossibly... human. And he couldn't help but hope, against every pessimistic instinct in his body, that this man was half the angel he looked to be.
Well, this sure as shit wasn't how John had expected things to end up.
Right, recap. So not that long ago, he was jobless and happy, writing his books, watching Mags get squashed repeatedly in glorious living color. Which was a real fucking trip. Not much longer after that, still jobless and happy, he was watching a live feed of the X-Men kicking A-poc's ass. Which was a bit of a laugh, really. Next thing he knew, however, Mags was back and being all secretive once again, with a serious hard-on for some Sinister fellow. Which was a bit of a drag, admittedly. But not like he'd had fuck all else to do, at the time. Writers block was a real bitch. But then, the kicker. The best fucking thing he'd ever seen. Magneto got his ass kicked once again, but this time, he was taken alive.
Must've really burned old Chrome Dome, that.
Unfortunately, he hadn't been conscious enough to truly enjoy it.
But the biggest laugh of all was waking up in the Xavier Institute, days later, with a big fucking lump on the head. That was quite possibly the funniest shit he'd ever seen in his entire life, really. In a "Holy hell, what the fuck" kind of way.
St. John Allerdyce leaned back in the cushy seat he presently occupied in the conference room, and took stock of his company, grinning with the unabashed giddiness of a five-year-old. Shades and his hot red-head girlie. The blue fuzzy kid and the valley girl. The goth girl, the Frenchie-fairy, and the pretty angel. The hairy feral and the bald man.
And, of course, Remy.
He'd been surprised to see his former comrade, really. The Cajun had fucked off as soon as Mags had "died," just like the tin-man had, last time. Pyro normally wouldn't have cared too much about the whys and wherefores of Gambit's presence here now, if not for the book. His newest romantic hero was based on the thief, after all. So he'd have to remember to ask.
Particularly considering the way said romantic hero prototype kept checking out goth girl. Definitely a story there.
And then, there was the ice-boy. Who was squirming in his seat, right next to John. Who had to try very, very hard not to laugh at him. The kid had been twitching ever since the pyrokinetic had greeted him with a smiled and a cheerful, "My fire melts your ice!" In fact, he'd been almost certain that the X-Man's knees were going to buckle, the moment he'd uttered the greeting.
Christ. Just trying to make friendly conversation. Some people, honestly.
Tee hee.
Shame they wouldn't give him a lighter, really. The kid might loosen up a little if John got a chance to show him just how lovely fire could be once again. Especially fire in the form of a nice big dragon.
Yes. Just the thing to relax the little ice cube.
Or melt him. John figured that he owed the kid one for icing up his shooters in London, after all.
Tee hee.
"Gambit," Baldy suddenly cut into his joyful fire-thoughts. "Please explain to everyone the plan we discussed."
John raised an eyebrow (how he still had eyebrows he wasn't sure. Lucky thing his hair grew fast, really) and kept grinning, as he watched Shades clench his jaw at that. Just like Remy, to wrap the X-Men around his little finger in less than a week. Charming fuck that he was.
He'd have to put that in the book. Romantic hero wraps enemy faction around his little finger. Priceless.
"Fact is," the Cajun leaned forward, and looked each of the X-Men dead in the eye with that glowing red gaze as he spoke. John took mental notes. Eye contact. Sexy accent. Very nice for romantic hero. "Monsieur Ange's plan for infiltration ain't goin' exactly as planned." Pretty angel's wings ruffled at that. John grinned even wider. The angel was fun to play with. Angels made nice fire-things. "I'm thinking we gonna need a more direct approach, if we need... confirmation of the fact that Sinister's involved in this company before we allowed to go put a stop to it."
"Which we do," Shades interjected, rather tersely.
Note to self: Enemy faction-leader should have a nice big stick up his arse.
Right.
"Oui," Gambit smiled, ingratiatingly.
Ooooh, the ingratiating smile. Had to remember that one too.
"I remember, mon ami. Which is why we need to take matters into our own hands, and get into their mainframe ourselves for the information we need."
This time, both of Pyro's blonde eyebrows shot up. Oooh and a daring plan. He was used to Remy LeBeau taking orders... or at least pretending to. This was very nice. And useful. For the book.
Yes, maybe he'd feign interest in this whole X-Men looking for Magneto thing. Just for the chance to watch Gambit in his new environs. He was much more romantic-hero here than back at the hide-out! What a lovely surprise.
"And how, exactly," Pretty angel apparently needed to know, "Are we going to accomplish this?"
But this time, it was hot red-head who spoke up. Slowly. "... Actually, Warren... you and I managed to access classified ExGen information after some fumbling around from Kitty... if we managed to get some new equipment, specialized for this job, and if we had a focused search..."
John liked red-heads. A lot.
"And I think I know just the guy to give us the upgrades we need," Valley girl was obviously trying not to bounce in her seat, the prospect of hacking clearly having made her quite happy in the pants.
"Forge!" fuzzy blue kid suddenly exclaimed, with a giant, fanged grin.
"Precisely," Baldy nodded, solemnly.
John was so lost at this point, he didn't give a fuck who they were on about. But Baldy would make an interesting character too, really. Kinda Captain-Picardy-know-it-all-bald-man-ish.
"Let me make sure I understand," Frenchie suddenly spoke up, looking an awful lot like he'd been the one out cold for a few days, and someone had suddenly snapped him out of it. In the rudest way possible. "We call this Forge... Kitty and he hack into ExGen and find out about Sinister... and then what?"
"Remy gon help the petite," Gambit corrected him.
Hm. The whole referring to himself in third person thing might have to go. Kinda made John feel a little cringy inside, really.
"Help with what?" Valley girl had her nose wrinkled up, ponytail swinging in indignation.
"Think all being a thief is, is breaking into houses?" Remy raised an eyebrow at her. Nice look. Very sex. Gotta use that one. "Oh non, ma chere."
Valley girl and goth girl snorted at that. Simultaneously.
John couldn't help it. He had to cackle at that.
Ice-boy twitched again. And scooted his chair a little further away.
Tee hee.
"And after we break into their mainframe," Remy ignored the ignominious snorting and cackling with his usual ease, "Then we have both the proof of Sinister's involvement that we need, and the means, in the form of schematics, maps, and the like, to take him out before he know what hit him."
"So the need for a frontal assault is eliminated almost entirely," hot red-head mused.
Pretty angel shook his head. "There's not much else we can do, if they're not going to clear me. We need that information."
"Remy's Plan B works for me," Goth girl shrugged.
The Cajun practically consumed her with his eyes, for a moment.
John very nearly had to cackle again.
"What about you, Pyro," The feral suddenly growled in his direction, quite surprising him out of his little spectator sport. "We know you ain't got a lot of love for Magneto, but if you have enough loyalty in ya to want to help... you can come."
John blinked.
Then grinned.
"If it means you'll give me my fire back, I'll bloody well follow you to Siberia, mate." And keep tabs on my romantic hero, thanks very much. I got fuck all else to do!
"Christ," The popsicle muttered beside him.
John cackled, happily, and moved his chair a little closer to the younger boy's.
Look! He'd made a new friend!
Tee hee.
Wanda was beginning to remember.
For a very long time, Transia had been a vague remembrance– before the hugeness of an American city, the confines of her father's house. A watercolor wash of singing and campfires, dancing and storytelling, twenty brothers and sisters, twenty mothers and fathers, laughing and crying and fighting all the time. Colors on paper that were faded echoes of something she'd forgotten how to feel a long time ago. Marya and Django. Wanda and Pietro. Things she never thought would end, when she was six years old.
They hadn't spoken too much, on the small propeller plane from Latveria. Wanda, for her part, had been trying to remember. Who knew what Pietro was ever thinking, but judging from the sour look on his sharp features, it was less than pleasant, whatever it was. Her limited success at remembrance, though littered with the colorful, emotional connections that seemed absent from the rest of her life, had left her with a familiar, bitter taste in her mouth.
Until, that is, she stepped out onto the metal stairs, and got her first look in over ten years at Transia. And stopped breathing entirely.
The tarmac and surrounding airfield were really rather pitiful, and of little concern to her. But not a mile away, in a stunning postcard-like panorama, rose the Carpathian mountains– in tones of brown near the base of the nearest, rising into purple, and finally white caps. The sky at this altitude was a fantastic shade of blue, dark but vivid– a color she'd never imagined could exist in nature. And the space itself was so... clear. So heavy with silence it almost felt sacred. Like she'd stepped into a church... and actually gave a fuck.
Home.
Pietro's hand on the small of her back had brought her back into the present again, and she'd started down onto the tarmac. But she couldn't' shake the feeling that she'd just had the wind knocked out of her. The colors were brighter– the grass, the red brick of the building, the blue in her brother's eyes. The objects were clearer, more solid, as if everything for the past ten years had been completely out of focus– a dream that had nothing to do with the actuality of Wanda Maximoff. The vague, translucent quality of her memories was lost, when she thought of Transia now. They were, without question, the fragmented memories of a child... but they made her feel. Like no memories of America ever could, ever had– aside from the spare few she'd collected in the past few months.
She'd loved her life here. She'd been a happy child.
She didn't know this house. Small, with the kind of coziness, the wooden-beam facade that reminded her of a gingerbread house, for some inane reason. It looked lived in, but Pietro had let it slip that the Maximoffs had only lived there for five years or so.
How he knew that, he wouldn't say. And the more she asked, the quieter he had gotten.
Luckily for him, they'd arrived shortly after he'd let that bit of information out. And the feelings had started to rush back once again, which was more than enough for her to try and deal with. She filed her questions away for later– though her suspicion lingered heavily– the moment she saw the woman outside the front door, watering her flowers.
Bright blue and purple flowers, small, growing in bunches. Pillows of color against the nondescript brown of the house.
The woman was thin, but strong, and sun-brown. Long chestnut hair streaked with silver, pulled into an elegant braid that trailed down her back. She wore a simple outfit, a short-sleeved blouse and a long skirt, in shades of blue and white– a contrast against her dark features. She reached upward, made a visor of her hand to shield her eyes from the sun, and the elegance of the movement made her, to Wanda's eyes, seem very like a queen.
Like a mother.
Her throat felt tight, and her hand froze on the handle. She'd meant to open the door of the dilapidated cab they'd conned into driving them all the way out here (Wanda had offered to hex the reluctant driver into submission, but Pietro had– rather to her surprise– suggested that they simply pay the fare two ways, using the last of their money.) But, seeing this woman's mannerisms, the vague, first impression of the hauntingly familiar features under the shadow of her hand...
God. She remembered. Her heart stopped beating, where it sat in her throat, just for a moment as the tsunami hit her. Pulled her under in a wash of bright color and emotion. Felt like she was laughing and crying at the same time. But she hadn't made a move. Hadn't said a word.
The door swung open, and Wanda raised her eyes to see her brother standing over her, looking down over the door. "C'mon Wanda," He reached for her hand. "It's Marya."
"I know," she muttered. But she took the hand offered to her, and stood. Pietro closed the door behind her, said something to the cab driver in his tripping Romani. She could hardly understand, he spoke it with such ease, compared to her broken attempts at their native tongue. And the car pulled away.
Wanda barely noticed, because the woman was coming toward them now, with the long, elegant strides of a dancer. Tears wetting brown cheeks, despite the smile on her lips. ::Pietro... you are back! And oh... oh... this beautiful woman... can she be...?::
She'd reached them by now, and Wanda found herself pulled into a hug with one arm, facing Pietro, who occupied the other. She looked at his face, pale and somehow... relaxed. Saw him close his eyes and lean into the smaller woman.
He looked so young, suddenly.
::It's Wanda, Marya...,:: he whispered, his voice strangely frail. And when had he ever called her Marya? Wanda only knew this woman as...
Mother.
The woman turned her pretty face, a face much younger than the wise, dark eyes in it, to Pietro, and kissed him on the corner of his mouth. She had to tilt her head up, to reach him, and Pietro had to look down. He kissed her back, and opened his eyes.
Wanda swallowed hard. Tried to swallow her heart, which still refused to be dislodged from her throat. As her brother and her... mother turned their eyes to her, simultaneously.
She couldn't breathe. Something was sitting on her chest, it seemed. Oh god... what was wrong with her? Her eyes felt hot, her head suddenly light. Fuck... fuck what was that?
Marya Maximoff let go of Pietro, who stepped backward. As if he wanted her to have all this woman's attention. But Wanda only had a moment to be confused before she felt the older woman take her hands in hers. Small, delicate, brown hands– long fingered, with rough palms. Warm and strong and beautiful. Fascinating, as those dark fingers twined with her own paler ones. Wanda could barely pull her eyes from them, when she finally looked up to meet those dark eyes. ::My little girl... we didn't know... we didn't know what happened to you... you've grown so beautiful...::
Wanda felt like she was choking, as another tear slid down Marya's flawless cheek. The older woman leaned in, kissed her on the lips once, and then stepped back, eyes raking over her, almost hungrily.
Once Wanda's mind processed the Romani, she shook her head. If she hadn't known where Wanda had been... if it was such an issue... how had she known where Pietro had been? She obviously had known...
A sudden stab of pain shot through Wanda's confused brain. And her eyes were suddenly wet, the world a blur.
Pietro was at her side, his arm around her waist, steadying her. She hadn't even noticed that she'd swooned...
How was it... why was she... had Pietro been in contact with the Maximoffs? Why hadn't he said anything...? She'd thought they'd forgotten... she'd...
She hadn't thought at all. How could she have forgotten her mother? Even if it was ten years ago, how could she? And how could Pietro speak to them and never mention her, never tell her?
Wanda shot her twin a sidelong glance, hoping for answers. But Pietro avoided her eyes, pointedly. Obviously.
Marya released her grip on the girl, and placed a hand on each of their faces. ::Come inside, children. Django will be so happy. We've...,:: And here, her voice caught, and she let her hands fall to her side, her eyes turn back toward the house. ::We've missed you terribly.::
As she walked away, they started after her, and Wanda looked to Pietro again.
This time, he caught her eyes.
And quickly looked away.
Wanda tried to blink away the blurriness, tried swallowing the lump in her throat again, wondering desperately why she couldn't be angry with him. She should be angry. She knew she should. He had been withholding... something from her. She'd thought he would never lie to her. To the rest of the Brotherhood, yes. To everyone else in the world, naturally.
But somehow, she'd thought he wouldn't lie to her. They'd had their fights, they hadn't been close since... well, since they'd been here last, it seemed. But... she'd thought...
Pietro was her brother. She loved him and hated him and it was the same thing. She felt for him. And if she couldn't rely on him... if her own family was a mystery to her...
What the fuck was she doing here?
Fuck. Too many feelings. None of them angry.
Fuck! Why. Couldn't. She. Get. Angry?
And what the hell was wrong with her eyes?
AN: Well here I am again, a long time later, but with a nice fat chapter for everyone to witness! Things are starting to fall apart, or together, depending on how you look at it, and next time around much more will be explained. Stay tuned, I will not fail you!
And now... shout out time!
Caliente: Ahhh yes, my psycho love thingy. God forbid I should make anything... you know, easy to understand. Ah well, I do hope this love-tangle sorts itself out, for better or for worse, because I don't think I can handle any more complication. My brain feels melty ;)
Risty: And I'm back ... again! The angst shall continue to fly throughout this fic, I fear. HCT was to prepare me for the angst. This is... the big one. We all know how I love to break Jean-Paul's heart. Ohhh I'll build him back up again... eventually. ahem
crazyspaceystracey: First of all, thank you SO much for the compliments on the JP/JM interaction. Obviously, the pair is near and dear to my heart– they spawned this whole mess of evo-fic, after all. You're a dear. And as for Sasquatch, ohhh yes, he was an old flame of JM's (and JP's... but that's a horse of a different color, and never really happened per se...) back in their AF days in 616. And he's a cool dude, definitely. Look for more of him very soon.
Angharad: Woot! You dig! ;)
The Rogue Witch: Not dead yet! And let me be honest– Scott/Rogue makes me happy. Maybe it's cliche for Evo but... yeah. Talk about dense. Duh, Scooter, wake up boy!
Akuma no Tsubasa: About Ray freaking out– all will either be explained in a later chapter... or in a sequel or... something. I know what he's freaking out about, it just kinda doesn't relate to the main plot, and I have so many twists and turns happening already, I'm rather afraid to put it in. So I might consider it fodder for a later fic... cause god knows I hate dangling plotlines. Shudder. Anyhow, glad to see you're still reading!
Namida: Hands you more Alexness And yes, STILL alive!
Amura: Yay, more Walter love! He's so the man! Believe it or not, I've been writing this chapter since the day I put up the last one. I know, forever ago. But yes, I'm still here, and still turning it out. And will be till the bitter end.
Star-of-Chaos: Yes, Antarctica soured me. I wanted to stab something after reading that. Repeatedly. And I don't think I can ever come back. R/R is cool in Evo, though, to be honest. Cajun Spice was an awesome episode. I just... well... yeah. Nice to meet you though!
Amelia Glitter: Oh yeah, Pietro avoided her love question. Definitely. And as for JM... she's actually way less fucked up here than she is in 616 atm, if you can believe it. She's Marvel's favorite punching bag... Le Sigh.
Vespie: Thank you SO much for the lovely compliments. You're a darling for... guh. All of it. I honestly worry about Rogue, because I simply don't WANT to do her all... over the top. Even if she is a bit in Evo. And... well, I'm glad to hear it works. Thank you!
Cailleach Bheur: Well, first off, your review was effing amazing. Helpful, insightful, and just really damn sweet of you in general. That kind of feedback is the stuff of dreams, my dear. And second, now that you know me... you've probably more fully explored my love of utterly stupid pairings. And... yay! You like Sam/Wanda! God, they make me happy! As for the Bobster... he has a bit coming up... checks notes in two chapters, looks like. Though I hope the cameo here was enough to hold you over for a few.
Relwarc: Again, with the excellent feedback. You're right, quality over quantity, and I do hope I can continue to deliver to your satisfaction. And yes, JP presently has some issues. I knew from the start I was going to keep piling it on my favorite speedster, and... it's going to get worse before it gets better. But let's hope that makes it more interesting, and not intolerable! As for your wishes for Alex to get some, Transia, and a complete and utter turning around of the Rogue/Gambit norm... waves magic wand they SHALL be granted. See how I love you?
girlonthem00n: Whoa! You read that all in one night! hands you a medal you have the patience of a goddess, girl. Thanks for the compliments!
DemonRogue13: Thank you thank you and I do hope you're still reading!
Taineyah: Again, I make you wait and wait . I dunno about genius... but I definitely have more of that torture stuff... ;)
Summing up the Stars: HAHAHA! deep breath That is one of those reviews that is both flattering and scary at the same time. You made me laugh, and I adore it. And yes, I got the point wink. For you!
That's all for today, folks. Thanks for reading! Much love -Beaubier-