Chapter Ten: Stories and Experiments

::Your sister has changed.::

Pietro looked up from where he sat, strangely still, in the back yard. Marya was inside, having insisted she be allowed to show Wanda how to cook her "specialty." Pietro had decided not to tell her she'd have better luck with him in the kitchen. Wanda, when she wasn't sending him looks that very clearly said, "Wait till I get you alone, Pietro," had been swallowing Marya with her eyes. That was the only way he could think of it– the way his twin looked at their foster-mother. It was as if she were hungry for the sight of her.

Honestly, he was glad her memories of them seemed to be mostly intact. But he knew, with a sickening certainty, that it wouldn't be long before one of the Maximoffs let it spill that Pietro had lived for years in Transia without his twin sister.

And he'd have to come clean.

And she'd have to kill him. For abandoning her all those years ago, even though it'd ripped his heart out, and he wasn't at all sure he'd seen it since. For lying to her after the mind-wipe, even though she was so much happier now.

Things were just... out of his control. He'd had his first real night's sleep in over a week. And all it had done for him was leave him lucid enough to realize that things were simply out of his hands.

Normally, the thought would've made him panic, and every now and then he did, a little. But mostly, he just felt... different. Being here... being home... seeing them.

He knew he'd loved them, as a child. And maybe it had never gone away. He'd never been fantastic with that love shit, after all. He'd lived with them, for six years after Magneto had sent Wanda away. Alone with them. A year after Wanda manifested during one of her temper tantrums, bringing down the fucking roof of their house in the process, injuring him, convincing their control-freak of a father to send her away, he'd sent Pietro back here. Magneto had told his son that he would be "safe" at home in Transia.

But Pietro thought he knew the truth of that. He knew when he wasn't wanted. He just wasn't useful enough, since his powers hadn't become active yet, and so he'd been sent away.

During the six years with them, he'd never told Marya and Django why Wanda hadn't come back with him. He'd refused to talk about her at all, in fact. They'd worried and fretted over it, over him, and he'd pointedly ignored it, becoming more and more distant and sullen. And by the time he was a teenager, and his mutation manifested itself, he was drinking, stealing, and fucking his way through the angst bullshit.

The mutation hadn't been that great, at first. Pain in the ass, in fact. But he'd wrestled it down, almost spitefully. Half the time, he did it to prove to himself that he was useful– he could control his powers, and his father would be sorry when he found out. And the other half of the time, he did it because he was scared as fuck that if he didn't, he'd end up like Wanda.

And the whole time, he'd been lonely. Jesus Christ, just remembering it, sitting here in this yard, behind the house Marya and Django had bought, in the hopes that "settling down" would settle him down...

So lonely, back then. But enough drinking, stealing, and fucking, and he'd made himself forget her. Forget that she was missing.

Sitting here now, however, he realized that he had never stopped feeling it. He'd just made himself forget the words to articulate it. But he'd been missing her since he was nine years old.

He'd made them send him back to the states when he was just about to turn sixteen as an exchange student. They didn't know what else to do with him– all the trouble he got into, caused. They would've done anything to make him happy again. And the moment he was in NewYork again, he'd ditched that whole "host family" scene and disappeared through the cracks. He'd gone looking for Wanda, at the hospital, once. Found out that she was still there, and that she hated him, and their father. And he'd never gone back. Because he wished, after finding that out, that he'd never looked for her at all. And he'd made himself forget again- forget why the fuck he'd needed to get back to the US so badly anyhow.

And his parents, the Maximoffs, hadn't heard from him since.

Django sat next to him, as the past ten years of his life flashed through his mind with the usual speed. The older man still exhibited that typical gypsy lack of personal space that Pietro had inherited, sitting so that their legs and arms were touching. His foster-father moved like a young man, still, despite the grey at his temples, and the creases around his dark eyes.

Pietro blinked at him, suddenly hit by the familiar smell and feeling of his father all over again. This father. Leather and wood chips. So opposite everything Magneto was. ::She had a... difficult time... while I was here.:: he admitted, finally, achingly aware of the American edge in his Romani, after over two years away. It had been worse, last time. But it still sounded like shit.

::We thought she was dead,:: The older man said, eyeing him sideways. ::And that that was... what had happened to you.::

Again, the speedster blinked.

He'd never even considered it. It made sense, of course. If his twin had died in the States, and he'd come back and started being a complete fucking delinquent...

But Jesus. Wanda.

Dead.

Fuck.

His eyes heated up instantly, and he felt sick to his stomach. ::No,:: He finally pushed out, past the large obstruction in his throat. Even when she'd been gone... he'd always kinda... known she wasn't dead. And maybe sometimes he'd thought she'd come back, maybe... a long time ago.

Of course, when she had come back... fuck. That blew.

But not dead. Never dead. The idea made him dizzy, turned his stomach to stone. Sure, she'd made his life hell for a few months, tried to have him killed, to bait their father, whom she also wanted to kill... but he'd never wanted her dead. Never. Never dead, god no, not Wanda.

Him before Wanda.

That thought frightened him nearly as much as the thought of her being gone. And he had no idea why it had arisen at all. He only knew that it was true. Locked up and far away was one thing. Gone was another. Gone was...

Fuck.

::Our father had her locked up in... a hospital,:: He tried to think of the best way to explain it to him. Might as well practice... Django would probably want to know why Wanda had fried him anyhow, after he confessed to her. Which he'd have to. Soon. ::You remember how I... move fast, no?::

Django nodded, silently, dark eyes searching his son's face. Expression unreadable. Pietro had never hidden his mutation from them, when it had cropped up. He'd been waiting for it to manifest, of course, and when he'd finally figured out why the fuck things were so annoyingly slow all the sudden, he'd actually been pretty goddamn proud of it. He didn't show it to the other kids, or his friends, or anyone else. But at home, he never cared. Not that he was at home too much. But the Maximoffs had called it magic. He let them believe it, of course, because he didn't care to explain. He didn't care about anything, then. And they'd loved him anyhow.

::Wanda gets angry... and she makes bad things happen. They call her a witch.::

Another solemn nod, ::We knew you were special, when you were given to us. We knew.::

Pietro raised an eyebrow at that. It was the first time he'd ever heard either Maximoff mention the adoption process, or lack thereof. Honestly, he hadn't even known he and Wanda were adopted until Magneto had come for him... and the family resemblance was a little too uncanny, even for a seven year old to ignore. The topic of how the twins had ended up with the gypsy family was strictly taboo with Magneto, however. Pietro had always suspected that meant he didn't know how it had happened. But Django... he had to know, obviously. ::How did you know? Who gave us to you?::

Django shook his head once, sharply.

Which triggered a strange response in the speedster. He knew damn well what that gesture meant. No more questions. And he found that he had no inclination to disobey, for once. Oh, his curiosity was burning a hole right through him, yes. But... he knew better.

Whoa. Fucked up.

::Because he thought her a witch, he had her locked away?:: The older man asked.

Pietro sighed. ::She kept making bad things happen. You know her temper... and she hated America,:: He winced, remembering what had happened to them there. The prodding and poking, the seclusion they'd been subjected to by their father. Like some kind of fucking science project. Sure, he'd pretended to be fatherly now and then, but it had always been about how useful they were to him... Christ. Just answer the question, Pietro... ::She wanted... we wanted to come home. She told him one day– Mag... our father. He said no. And... the house almost fell in. I got hurt, and he sent her away...::

Fuck. His throat felt swollen, his eyes were burning.

This was the shit he spent almost all his free time forcing himself not to think about, goddammit.

::And he kept you, Pietro,:: It was only half a question really.

He nodded anyhow, ::For awhile, yeah.::

Felt like he was choking. What the fuck?

Django's arm was around him then. And Pietro hadn't even noticed him moving. ::You weren't meant to be apart from each other.::

Covering his face with one hand, Pietro closed his eyes. This was bad. So fucking bad.

Last time... when he'd come back... Django had told him the same thing. He'd run away for three days, that time, at ten years old. On his first stealing binge, before his mutation even manifested. When he came home, they didn't ask where he'd been. So young, and they already understood him. Jesus, they'd always known he couldn't be held down. And eventually, that was why they'd stopped asking about Wanda. He remembered it perfectly clearly now.

Because every time they'd brought her up, he'd run away.

Fuck. The things a person could block out if they wanted to... sick, really.

Goddamn... he was home. But he'd been burying this shit for so long. And he definitely wasn't ready to bring it back up. Just when it looked like things were going to get better with Wanda...

Damn. Jean-Paul would know what to do, what to say. He'd be able to think of a way to tell her that wouldn't lead to instant pain and probable death. He was assloads better at this brother shit. And so fucking sure of himself, that dickhead.

Pietro suddenly really wanted to talk to his best friend. So badly, it hurt.

He pushed on his eyelids, hard, then scrubbed his hand over his face, fighting down an almost undeniable urge to run. The same urge he'd been giving into since he was ten years old, and Wanda's name had been mentioned. Trying to stop his eyes burning. Trying to say something, anything.

::A lot of things happened when she got out,:: He continued his story. ::It was about a year and a half after I got back to New York. She hated me... and our father. But... he... she...,:: How to explain the fucked-up-ness that was his sister's life? ::He made her forget. She thinks she was with us the whole time, me and our father, and that we all lived in the States up until she and I moved into the house we live in now, with our friends. She doesn't remember the hospital. She doesn't know we were ever apart.::

Deep breath...

And actually... it felt kinda good to tell someone the whole story. He'd unloaded a little on JP, but not like this. And yeah, it felt good.

::You must tell her.::

Simple. Sounded so fucking simple, when this man said it. This man who'd been his father since he could remember, the man he'd missed telling him stories when he'd been stranded with Wanda in that huge bedroom in Magneto's house in the US. The man whose scent had never left his memory, the man who could sit down next to him after two years of thinking he was dead and gone and never coming back, and still treat him like... a son.

::She'll kill me,:: He explained, shaking his head. God, he knew he sounded like a whiney bitch. But that was all there was to it.

::She's your sister. Trust her.::

"My sister's a fucking nutjob," He muttered, in English, uncovering his face finally.

::Watch your tongue,:: Came the mild reproach. The only English anyone knew around here consisted of damn, shit, hell, fuck, and the occasional dick.

::Sorry, papa,:: He responded, almost eerily automatically.

Django squeezed his shoulder.

Pietro closed his eyes again. And tried very, very hard not to compare this man to Magneto. Not to think about the differences between Magneto's house, and the home the Maximoffs had given him here. Really... that was half the reason he'd stayed away from home so much, when he'd been sent back to them. He'd never actually thought it through, back then... but Django was more a father than his actual father would ever be.

And Pietro fucking hated it. Man, what he wouldn't have given for half the affection, the attention this man offered so freely, if it had come from the disapproving, domineering Magneto...

Fuck. No more. And he definitely wasn't going to think about the second time he'd lived with Magneto, when he'd been with the Acolytes...

::You remember the dreams we used to talk about? With the animal-people?:: Change the subject. You're here for a reason, Pietro.

Django stiffened, Pietro felt him go rigid beside him. ::You shouldn't speak of–::

Blah blah blah, forgetitoldman. That had worked when they were five. Not anymore. ::They came back,:: He interrupted, determined to get what he needed on this issue. He had to, or he was going to lose it. ::We started having dreams... bad dreams. Last night was the first time I've slept in weeks.::

::That's why you came home.:: His father's voice was solid, but flat. Betraying nothing.

Pietro looked over at him, sun-brown skin and shining dark eyes. And sighed. ::Yes, papa. But....:: He swallowed, unable to finish the sentence. He didn't even know what he wanted to say to that, the feeling it gave him was so... strong. Something involving the lump in his throat that wouldn't go away, and the tiresome burning at his eyes. Because yeah, that was the reason they'd come home. But honestly... it was... good to be here.

::I'm glad to see you too,:: The gypsy smiled, then. Gently.

Pietro just looked away. And swallowed hard. Fuck. He was so not prepared for this. Some things were just... meant to stay buried. And this was one of them. His whole fucking life was one of them.

::It's magic,:: Django continued, never releasing the boy from his grip, his voice still solid, solemn. ::Old magic. They tell stories about the New Men of Wundagore, half man, half animal. And the Higher Man who lives there, who created them. They are stories of our people. Just... stories.::

Looking back to study his foster-father's face... Pietro knew better. Django could tell a story like no one else. Pietro had been good at it once, too. In fact, he was still damn good at it, and probably thanks to this man. But he could see clearly enough that stories or no... this man believed what he was saying. And even if they were just stories, Pietro had certainly never heard them before. Which was unheard of, of course. He'd heard all the stories, and he could still remember most of them, if he tried. He hadn't tried in a long time, but he knew damn well they were in there, somewhere. And he'd never heard a story about any New Men. ::Wundagore? The mountain?::

::They say there is a castle there.:: Was the only answer.

Pietro felt his brow furrow. What was he hiding? And if there were animal-people at Wundagore, and they were dreaming about them before... well the dreams had stopped when they'd come to Transia, right? Did that mean they were supposed to go to Wundagore? Fuck... ::How are we dreaming about the castle and the animal-people if we've never heard the stories?::

A sigh now, from the older gypsy. ::This is magic. I told you. Some witches... can make you dream. They trap you, lure you with dreams.:: His foster father looked him in the eye now. And he looked sad. Terribly sad. ::You are twins born in sadness. It will follow you forever. Someone wants you, child. Badly. Such magic should not be strong enough to call you back from America.

::Someone wants you. Badly.::

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The corners of Rogue's mouth twitched upward in a long-needed amusement, as she watched the insanity unfold. Having Alex and Forge in the same room was just... such a bad idea.

"Dude, are you serious? That's hella cool, man, there were dinosaurs?"

The darker boy nodded enthusiastically, long hair falling into his eyes. Forge didn't even notice. He just kept talking and gesturing with his mechanical appendage, the thing making odd whirring noises, bits spinning, as he did so. "Guess it was pretty groovy," he grinned. "Even if Kurt was pretty damn sorry he agreed to let me experiment on his porting after, I think. I guess actually seeing the fire and brimstone was pretty unnerving... not to mention the far out creatures that live in it."

"Scary," Rogue looked up at Scott, where he stood, next to her.

He seemed to be standing next to her a lot, these days.

"Extremely," He grinned back, arms crossed over his chest, surveying the scene with definite amusement on his handsome face.

She only quirked an eyebrow, and watched, slightly awed, as Forge continued his work on the... computer/contraption/monstrosity he'd been constructing from the moment he got there– the chorus of dudes, groovys, hellas, and cools never ending.

Remy was watching her, of course. Staring, with those burning, beautiful eyes of his. Watching her every move, and not pretending otherwise. Kitty was already busy with her laptop, writing some "tests" she needed to "compile" before she incorporated the new junk Forge was cooking up into her "system."

Right. Whatever.

Before they'd wandered in on this little tech-fest, Rogue, Scott, and Alex had been wandering through the halls, discussing the fact that no one had seen Jean-Paul since his sister had left for Ottawa that morning. And no one had actually talked to him since she'd been injured at the protest at NYS. Alex had come the closest, and what info he'd managed to pump out of their tight-lipped speedster was... minimal, to make the understatement of the fucking century. The trio had been lost in speculation about his whereabouts, and how he must be feeling with Pietro, whom he was obviously madly in love with, MIA, and JM, the only other person in the world he really truly loved, acting so fucking weird. And, yeah... they'd been hoping to find him down here, hiding out in one of the few private spaces available in the Institute, in one of the practice rooms or security stations below the main campus.

And then they'd stumbled across the room that held the tech-team at work. And the mood had lightened considerably, thanks to Alex and Forge and their equally retarded modes of speech. In spite of Remy.

Who was watching her.

"Think it's gonna work, swamp rat?" she asked, meeting his eyes fearlessly. It made something in her jump, just a little. But she could handle it.

Sure, it probably meant that there was something between them.

But it wasn't the right something. Not even close. And as much as he swore that he understood her, that he'd never meant to hurt her... she'd never be able to forget.

Rogue didn't let go of her grudges easily. And she didn't want to. It kept her safe, after all.

"Course it gon' work," Came the smooth reply, along with that smile. Slow and sure. And sexy.

But not sexy enough to get away with being a dodgy bastard. And anyhow... she'd seen better.

"Gambit, stop bragging and like... get over here," Kitty suddenly piped up, eyes never leaving her computer screen.

Rogue actually laughed as Remy raised both eyebrows, but obeyed immediately. "At your service, petite."

"Also scary," Scott's voice said, in her ear.

She looked up at him. And very nearly smiled.

"That's a killer idea! Man, you should stick around, I think we could add in some more features– we have plenty of time before Kitty will be ready for us."

"Oh dude, I'd totally get in the way..."

"Forget it man, you're cool. Give me some more of those Mission: Impossible ideas, Alex. You think it, I'll build it. It's kinda what I do. You dig?"

Rogue just shook her head, actually smiling, just a little, by that time. "C'mon Shades, let's get outta here."

"Gladly," Scott turned around, and opened the door for her. "Later guys, good luck."

"Later, bro," Alex waved, grinning from his new "assistant" spot next to Forge.

Kitty ignored them completely, totally taken in by her work.

And Remy just watched her.

When Scott closed the door behind them he stopped, and raised both eyebrows at her behind those red sunglasses. "He's not creepy at all, is he?"

"Why, Scott Summers," She grinned, wryly, "Is that sarcasm I detect?"

"I grew a sense of humor in the past few weeks, I guess."

"Sometimes, it's do or die," She raised her eyebrows, to match his.

"Sometimes. C'mon, maybe he's in the Danger Room or something, getting the shit beaten out of him by Sentinels. He's a masochist that way."

Rogue's eyebrows climbed even higher. But she started down the hall at Scott's side, nevertheless. In search of Jean-Paul again.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"You're sure about this?" Warren asked, for what he knew had to be the twentieth time, at least, ruffling his wings in irritation.

"I did it to myself," Dr. Langkowski grinned at him, clutching that security blanket of a clipboard he was so damn fond of to his chest. "And you've met Adrian and Jared– they've been through the process as well. Their mutations are perfectly normal and active, and neither of them can be detected by any kind of MDS. We're still working on the way to negate the serum you mentioned– the one your friend Pyro seems to have been injected with, that dampened his powers, but this, at least, is a start."

Warren had heard this speech roughly twenty times, as well. As many times as he'd questioned the good doctor, in fact. And each time, the good-natured, well-spoken, heroic-looking man had obliged him with both soothing words and scientific examples.

But now, it was down to the wire.

And there was Jeanne-Marie, the woman he loved, floating in a giant test tube of transparent blue liquid. Her eyes were closed, her dark hair pooling around her head, the only part of her that moved. A black strip of Kevlar was wrapped around her waist, connected to a cord that held her in position, and a long silver hose extended to the mask that covered her delicate features, allowing her to breathe. She wore nothing but the sparest white undergarments, leaving her skin exposed for the process. And she looked so cold. Her pale, perfect skin appeared blue through the cast of the liquid, her form so thin and fragile. She hadn't been eating properly since it had happened...

God, this made him hurt. The Professor had tried to talk her out of this too, when both he and Jean-Paul had failed so miserably. But she'd been insistent. She was eighteen years old, no longer a ward of the state, or of anyone, and this was her choice. He knew it made her feel somehow... in control, to be able to make this choice. Like she was taking an active role in her own recovery. And he knew she needed that feeling...

He just felt, somehow, that there must've been a better way. A way that wasn't so... wrong.

She just looked so... cold and... dead.

He winced, wings twitching once again, and pulled his eyes away from her with great difficulty.

"She'll be fine," Walt smiled, a bit crookedly, wrinkling blue eyes behind thick, dark-framed glasses. "She won't feel a thing."

Warren wanted to sound manly, wanted to nod his acceptance. Wanted to sound as certain as Langkowski.

But his eyes flashed back to Jeanne-Marie again. Cold. The beautiful, lively, loving woman who'd brought him so far in so little time. Who'd made him want to be alive again. Who'd talked with him about Cezanne all night. Who'd kissed him on his couch, despite the fact that Brad Pitt was on the television.

His heart froze in his chest. He had no answer in him. Just, "God, I hope so."

There was slight, very heavy pause. Warren didn't much care, however.

The doctor, however, seemed to care quite a bit. He valiantly tried, after clearing his throat, to change the subject. "She's Canadian?"

Warren blinked, confused. Obviously she was Canadian. She had a Québécois accent for god's sake. "Yes, from Quebec."

"And her brother is an X-Man too, you said?"

Still confused, he nodded.

Walter seemed to consider this. "Canada has her own team of super-humans in the making. Think they'd be interested?"

Warren simply stared, trying to wrap his mind around the question. Was the man joking? Why the hell...?

The other man's smile turned sheepish, quite suddenly. "Yet another attempt to diffuse a tense situation with random chatter goes awry. I'll just... go back to my machines and... let you worry."

In spite of himself, Warren almost wanted to smile. The man was certainly... interesting. And it was just that kind of ridiculous charm that had made him trust him in the first place– he was clueless, even more so than Warren himself. One of those brilliant scientist types with a "big dumb and hairy" looking mutation. And... an odd sense of humor.

But trustworthy. A good man. Beyond question. He'd done everything in his power today to explain the process to them, to introduce them to the others in the top-secret building who'd undergone his "procedure," Adrian and Jared Corbo, to gain their trust. And that was all that mattered here– trust. Jean-Paul trusted Warren. Warren trusted Walter. And Jeanne-Marie...

If Jeanne-Marie trusted anyone, she wouldn't be doing this.

If she needed this, however, to feel safe... if she needed this before she could trust again...

He'd stand by and watch. No matter how it made his stomach turn.

"Here we go," Langkowski's voice called, from across the room.

Jeanne-Marie's containment-tube lit up, glowing electric blue, and bubbles started to rise from the base, small and fast.

Warren's stomach jerked, sickeningly, as her body rocked slightly. Like some sort of weird science project, bringing her back to life. But he couldn't close his eyes. Wanted to, but couldn't.

Logically, he knew it was alright. This was perfectly safe, tested, and would help her immensely.

But the way he felt about Jeanne-Marie Beaubier was anything but logical.

Just be alright when it's over, Jeanne-Marie. Open your eyes and smile at me, tell me everything's okay...

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Lance Alvers was not in the best of moods.

Not that he ever really was, unless Kitty was involved. And even then, lately, things had been strained. Nothing serious, he knew that. He and Kit had been through way too much shit to let something like her suddenly being all wrapped up in some kind of "Top Secret X-Geek Bullshit Project," as he'd so unwisely referred to it last night, pull them apart permanently.

But that really wasn't the only reason he was pissed off, lately. So he figured he had an excuse.

Anyhow, the least he could do was buy her a fucking mocha. She loved those things. He'd just grab her one, since he was in town, and take it to the Institute. And whatever the stupid project was, she could stop for a few minutes and drink a cup of coffee with him.

Right?

Fuck, he was irritated. And still not a word from Wanda and Pietro. Nothing since that pile of money on the kitchen table four days ago, that signified their sudden, unceremonious disappearance. No note. No call. No nothing. Just a pile of fucking money.

It was weird for a lot of reasons. But Lance had a hard time shaking the feeling that it was wrong, simply because it was so completely unlike Pietro to leave without making a grand exit. The guy was way too much of an attention-whore for that.

And sure, last time Pietro had been gone, Lance had definitely thought good riddance. But lately... he'd been cooler. Not exactly trustworthy– Pietro was a shithead, a daddy's boy, a complete and total dick. But... well, JP seemed to calm him down, somehow. In fact... if Lance actually thought about it, Pietro's bouts of almost-coolness had started when he'd started getting laid regularly.

As disturbing as the relationship had been initially, and mostly just because it was happening right through his bedroom wall, and obviously consisted of large amounts of man love... Lance really hadn't had a problem with it. He'd kinda figured Pietro would end up with a guy. Especially after he'd come back from the Acolytes, spouting that bullshit about Lance needing to "look nicer" if he wanted to be on Pietro's team...

Shit. That thought was making him mad again...

Anyhow, yeah, that's when Pietro had started being cooler. And as shitty as it had been, Wanda had also been fucking cool since the mind-wipe thing. They hadn't exactly had deep conversations, but she was alright to hang out with. And things had been shit for a lot of reasons, yeah, but the past few months were actually the best the house had been since he'd lived there.

A fact he hadn't realized until the twins had fucking dropped off the face of the planet a few days ago without a goddamn word to anyone.

And it pissed him the fuck off.

Lance shoved the door to the coffee shop open, trying not to cause any random earthquakes as he did so. As a result, the bell that hung on the door rang just a little too sharply, and the people sitting around the tables nearby all looked up at him, irritated.

He glared, feeling his mouth twist up in a sneer, and started for the cash register. Fuck these yuppie motherfuckers. All he wanted was coffee and Kitty right then and...

A familiar face at the back of the shop cut the thought off, however. And a closer look confirmed his suspicions.

Jean-Paul Beaubier, bent over a book and papers. Staring into a plastic cup like it held the answers to the mysteries of the universe.

Lance had been trying to catch up with him for days. He'd even hoped to talk to JM about it at school, but once she'd been injured (he got the whole story from Kitty, of course), he realized that was a fucking long shot. Not that he wasn't irritated about the fact that she'd been injured, in and of itself. First of all, the anti-mutant crap just fried him - God, if he could get his hands on the assholes who'd hurt her, he'd personally string them up as lawn decorations around their house. And secondly, he liked JM. She was pretty cool to have around in class, not snotty like some of the other girls from the Institute– barring Kit, obviously. They had English together, and she was pretty funny. And easy on the eyes.

Another thing he'd never really noticed till it was gone. And that was shitty, cause it wasn't like he'd ever had that much in life, he really should've appreciated this shit...

He made his way to the table in the back, however, without even thinking twice. Because he knew that if anyone knew what the hell was going on, it was Pietro's boyfriend. And he'd be damned if he wasn't going to find out.

JP looked up, as he neared the table, and met his eyes, calmly. His pale face looked almost frozen. Cold.

Lance, however, was unimpressed. He pulled up the nearest chair, and sat across from the X-Men's resident speedster, never taking his eyes off the other boy's. "You weren't in school yesterday," He said.

Jean-Paul simply raised his eyebrows. "I was. Part of the day. I had to leave."

"Skipped out?"

The X-Man looked back down into his cup. "What does it matter?"

He didn't sound depressive, or weak, as he said it. Just sounded... blank. Like someone who didn't want to think.

Well too fucking bad. He'd better start thinking. And now. "Where are they?"

The other boy simply stared, impassive, cold blue eyes never leaving that obviously all-knowing liquid in his glass. "Who?"

Lance felt his lips curling up in that sneer again, and clenched his fists on the table, involuntarily. Alright, he was already pissed off enough. And as much as he liked JP– and he did like JP... no fucking way. "Don't fuck around Jean-Paul."

"What do you care?" Cold eyes snapped up to grab his again, face suddenly taking on an expression of disgust.

Oh, fuck no. Hell, if they hadn't been sitting in a damn coffee shop, Lance would've seriously considered slugging him right in the jaw. His face suddenly grew extremely hot, and he could've sworn that his eye was developing a twitch...

But then... he thought about the question. And realized that... he wasn't exactly sure why he cared. Because things were too quiet in the house? Because he'd expected them all to work through this shit together, the Brotherhood? Because Pietro and Wanda were god knows where with zero money and no friends, and their father had just been kidnapped, and that fucking worried him? "Look," he glared at the other boy, dark eyes narrowing in his best "don't fuck with me" stare, "You have no fucking clue about us, the Brotherhood. I like you, Jean-Paul, and I know you're Pietro's boyfriend, or best friend, or what the fuck ever. But you have no idea how much we've been jerked around and fucked over. And if someone is fucking with the Maximoffs...," As he said it, another possibility occurred to him– one he honestly didn't believe, but that he knew would get a reaction out of the cocky Canadian. "Or if they're fucking with us–"

JP's fist suddenly slammed into the table, and something cracked underneath it. Lance hadn't even seen him do it, really. Just heard the crack, and then saw the X-Man's hand curled up tight, shaking, in a fresh dent in the hardwood table. And if looks could kill.. The rock-tumbler knew damn well he'd be fried.

Well good. Let him get pissed. Because Lance sure as fuck was. Maybe now he'd understand. "Don't tell me about not having a fucking clue, Alvers," The speedster hissed, normally barely-there accent suddenly thicker than usual. "You're the one who has no idea what's happening here. I don't care what the fuck Pietro did in the past, this isn't about you, or the Brotherhood, so just back the fuck off."

Lance leaned in over the table, feeling his jaw clench. God he wanted to haul off and hit this sonofabitch sometimes... arrogant fucking prick. He was almost as bad as Pietro. "Then why don't you tell me? Don't you think I fucking deserve to know?"

Jean-Paul simply stared at him for a moment. Upper lip twisting, almost convulsively, as he stared the other boy down.

And then, he simply sat back, and shook his head. Just like that. Just like he'd never even been angry.

Jesus. What the fuck was up with this guy?

"They had to take care of family business," The Canuck finally told him.

Oh, thanks for the fuckin' information. But still, it was more than he'd had before, and as quickly as Lance had gotten rid of his anger, he shrugged off his surprise at JP's sudden mood swing. And sat back in his own chair, shaking his head. "Goddamn it, I knew this had something to do with that stupid fucking father of theirs."

Jean-Paul simply shrugged. "I don't know that, for certain. And neither did they, when I saw Pietro last."

"They were fucked up over something...," the Brotherhood boy shook his head, dragging a hand through his mop of dark hair in frustration. "Pietro was being way too nice last week for him to have been feeling normal. And he looked–,"

"Like hell," The other boy finished, in a disturbing sort of monotone. "And so did Wanda."

"What was it?" Lance asked, mostly to himself. Still moderately pissed, but it was starting to fall away, the majority of his energy now being diverted to the wave of confusion that was making his brain it's new home. "What the fuck was wrong with them?"

There was no answer, at first. JP looked like he was going to speak. But instead, he just bit at his lip, and shook his head. "I can't, Alvers. Start all the goddamn earthquakes you like, tant pis."

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"It means too bloody bad, is what it means."

Aaaaaand there came the anger again. "Look, Jean-Paul–,"

"Listen for a minute, rock-head," The Canadian pointed at him. But without any real malice in the action, or venom in his voice, surprisingly. "They might be in over their fucking heads, but I said I'd wait a week before I spilled, and I'm going to. But yes, I know where they are... generally speaking. And I do think it has to do with Magneto, but I don't know for sure. And until I know, I can't say a goddamn word."

"Why are you being a dick? If they're in trouble, or if Magneto has them–"

"Then you'll be the first to know," Jean-Paul interrupted, suddenly. Staring him down.

But this time, it wasn't a challenge. It was... sincere. Like he was trying to make Lance believe him, just by looking at him like that. Cold, serious eyes.

Lance felt his brow furrow. But his fists unclenched. And so did his jaw. "The first, Jean-Paul. If you guys go after them..."

"I swear, I'll come for you."

They simply watched each other, for another minute. And Lance finally shook his head again. "Everything is all fucked up."

"Tell me about it," Jean-Paul snorted, picking up his cup, and taking a drink through his straw, looking irritated and...

Tired. Lance hadn't noticed it before, but JP definitely just looked... tired. And it was rare fucking day when Jean-Paul Beaubier didn't look like he'd jumped off the cover of GQ.

He sighed. Fuck. The guy really did look bad, though. Lance hated when he started feeling compassionate. What a pain in the ass. Happened way too much to be just a minor inconvenience too. It was getting to be damn impossible. "How's JM?"

Jean-Paul's eyes closed, just for a second. And when he opened them, he suddenly looked completely defeated. "Ask me again tomorrow."

And once again, fuck. "Missed her in class."

"I know the feeling."

Lance pushed himself up out of the seat he'd taken, and pulled a hand through his hair again. "You look like hell, man."

"Merci beaucoup, mon ami."

Jesus.

Hell, at least he wasn't alone in his misery, right?

"Later, JP."

"Later."

With that, the Brotherhood boy turned around, and walked away.

And yeah, he wasn't as pissed anymore. But he was sure as fuck a lot more depressed, for some reason. And really, really goddamn worried.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The house was so warm, despite the thin mountain air, the very definition of the word "cozy." A word Wanda Maximoff had never thought she'd be using to describe anything she associated with "home."

Granted, this had never been her home, this house. It was a far cry from the wagons and camps she remembered, before their father had come and taken them to the United States. But somehow, the presence of Marya and Django Maximoff– who had turned out, once she'd spent an entire day with them, to be the only two creatures in her memory that didn't give her a massive headache. And that was something she couldn't even say for Pietro. Sometimes, even thinking of her twin made her dizzy, made the whole world seem to fog over– despite her many memories of him from their joint childhood.

And considering the things she'd heard in the past two days– both traveling and getting reacquainted with her foster-parents from so long ago... she knew damn well there was a reason for that.

She just had no idea what it might be.

And she hadn't been given a chance to ask her brother. He'd pointedly avoided her all day, claiming that he needed to get out and run, or had to talk with Django, or was exploring some "leads" he had, and he'd talk to her later.

But he wasn't going to get away now. Their parents were in the kitchen, and they were in the small living-area, sitting close to the fire, waiting for Marya and Django to bring dinner out. And she had him by the elbow and wasn't about to let go.

"Marya said you lived here, in this house," she hissed into his ear, her heart beating fast. Despite the chilly air, the fire was doing its work admirably, and she felt almost as if she was going to start sweating. But that might've been from her heartbeat, from the strange surge she was getting, feeling like she was at the edge of... something.

She'd felt it since they'd arrived in Transia. And now, she wanted to know why.

Pietro squirmed out of her grip, and turned his face to hers, flashing pale in the firelight. The room was dark– the Maximoffs were not ones to waste their electricity, provided by a small generator nearby. Oil lamps burned, adding to the sweetly smoky atmosphere of the room. And the flashing shadows they cast only served to accent the fear and guilt etched out on her brother's almost delicate features.

Something in her felt bad, hissing at him like this.

But she knew him. And he was a liar. And a cheat. And...

She had to know.

"I did," he whispered, glancing around as if expecting spies to be watching them, listening to them. "But it's a long story, Wanda. Not now, okay?"

"I've heard that all day long, and last night before we finally passed out," she insisted, renewing her grip on him, this time further up on his arm. "Pietro, if you know something you have to tell me. Marya and Django have been acting so weird about this whole thing–,"

"Jesus, they haven't seen us in years! What do you expect?"

"Shut the fuck up, you know what I mean," She felt her brows draw down and together, and she gave him a little tug, to emphasize that she wasn't about to take no for an answer this time. "Marya told me today that she'd thought I was dead!"

Pietro closed his eyes for a moment, and he looked genuinely... sad.

Confusion washed over her, and she had to shake her head to get rid of it for long enough to tighten her grip on him.

He opened his eyes as she dug into him, and tried to pry her hand off of him. Gently, she was surprised to find. But he was trying. "Look, can we talk about this after dinner? There's a lot of stuff we need to talk about, and I swear, sis, I'll tell you everything I know. Just... wait till they go to bed, okay?"

"Pietro, if you try to get out of this–," she started to warn him, narrowing her eyes dangerously at him.

"I swear to god," He stopped trying to pry her hand off of him, and simply covered it with his own now, shaking his head. "There's something fucked up going on here, and I don't think we can figure it out unless we just... tell everything. And we gotta figure it out. Django said something about magic when I told him about the dream–,"

"So did Marya," She admitted, letting go of his arm, and taking his hand, rather suddenly, instead, her eyes never leaving his. She recalled the conversation with her long lost mother again, the almost terrified look in Marya's gentle brown eyes as Wanda had explained the dreams to her, and what had brought them to Transia. "She said it was a witch or something. And I swear she knows more than she's telling me."

Her twin nodded his silver head solemnly, and squeezed her hand. It was oddly... reassuring, actually. And unexpected. But then, any time Pietro made sense, it was unexpected. And despite the fact that they were in the middle of nowhere, with no fucking clue what they were supposed to do next...

She could've sworn that for once, things were starting to make sense. Or at least, that they were about to.

"Did she say anything about Wundagore?"

"Yeah," Wanda told him, shaking her head, "About some kind of stories. And she let it slip that we came from there." It hadn't made any sense to Wanda, of course, at the time. She'd known they'd been adopted, yeah, but Wundagore, as far as she knew, was just some lonely mountain way out in the wilderness...

"Holy fuck," Pietro suddenly blurted, perhaps a little too loud. His dark blue eyes darted around again, conspiratorially, and he shook his head at her. "Fuckfuckfuck. Wanda, Django said that the animal-people were supposedly from there, in the stories."

Something shot through Wanda then. From her brother's hand, it seemed, into her spine, and then all through her. Something like... excitement. Something like she was on the edge of a very tall cliff, looking over, feeling it pull her in. Scary and electric and... god. She was so close to something. "Jesus... So we had those dreams all those years because of when we were babies or something?"

"Fuck," Her twin's vocabulary seemed to be suffering an immense dry-spell, as he squeezed her hand convulsively, once again. His face was caught somewhere between extreme fear and surprise, and if she didn't know that he had nowhere to go... she would've sworn that he was about to run. "We gotta convince them to tell us abouthowtheygotus," His words were starting to smash together, almost to the point where she couldn't decipher anything at all.

"God, do you think–?"

But her thought was cut off, by a knock at the door.

::Coming!:: Came Marya's voice from the kitchen.

Wanda extracted her hand from Pietro's frantic grip, and left the warmth of the fire, to get the door. ::I'll see who it is.::

Mostly, she had to get up and get away from her brother's strange, contagious excitement and fear. For some reason, it seemed like the more freaked out Pietro got, the more her own stomach tightened, the more she felt like she was about to break into a sweat. The more she wished that she could run with him.

::No need, Wanda,:: Marya appeared in the kitchen door to protest, just as Wanda reached the door. She looked slightly flushed... but maybe it was just the low light, playing tricks.

The hex-witch opened the door anyhow.

And found herself staring at a strikingly beautiful woman. Probably about Marya's age, really, with long, dark hair. Delicate, high cheek bones, and dark eyes of an indiscernible color in the flash of the fireplace and oil lamps. ::Welcome,:: she said, cocking her head in curiosity at the new arrival.

The woman simply stared at her for a moment. And then looked past her, to where Pietro sat on the floor, by the fire. Staring at the two of them by the door.

::No...,:: Wanda heard her foster-mother protest again, weakly, from the kitchen doorframe.

The younger girl looked over at her, to see what, exactly, was wrong.

That's when the visitor spoke, her voice low and raspy, but with a strangely undeniably soothing quality. Not terribly unlike Wanda's own, really. ::My god, Pietro. You look just like your father.::

Every function in Wanda Maximoff's body froze then, as a cold chill worked its way up and down her spine.

And when she managed to look back at the face of the stranger at the door, the woman was crying. And holding her arms out to her.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Kitty nodded to herself, sipping at the last of her mocha, which had long since gotten cold.

She'd stopped the compiling for long enough to drink a third of it with Lance, who was especially grouchy today for some reason. Probably because she'd told him off last night for belittling her work. Whatever he'd called her project here today. And she knew he didn't mean to sound so... derogatory about it. He was just angry that she couldn't spend her day off with him...

But Jesus, he really needed to get a clue. And she did adore him, most of the time... but seriously, she thought he'd like... grown up or something since that whole Apocalypse thing had gone down.

And anyhow, he was a lot more worried than he'd let on about Wanda and Pietro being gone– and she couldn't blame him for that at all. Hell, she was worried too. Wanda was her friend, and even if she and Pietro were far from friendly... she wouldn't want anything bad to happen to him. Ever. Oh well. According to Jean, not to mention Ms. Munroe and Kitty's own mother, men never really did grow up. So not too surprising that an eighteen-year-old boy hadn't managed yet, really.

Anyhow, Gambit had actually made this whole thing really easy. Using the security codes she'd hacked a few weeks ago for Jean and Warren, combined with Gambit's information and technical... weird thieving expertise, or whatever, Forge had managed to come up with a totally helpful "Random Test Generator" for her hacking program. The crazy contraption managed to come up with every possible security scenario, based on what they already knew about ExGen's mainframe and security measures, and create those measures in a virtual reality to test against Kitty's fancy new hacker program. Once she'd gotten the thing to compile, with Forge's help, they'd put it to work against the RTG.

And after hours and hours of speedbumps, and of Gambit claiming that there was still one more angle to the security that needed added into the equation (which, of course, created roughly five hundred new tests for Kitty's programs to run up against,) which usually required some code re-writing, and some surprising and inventive suggestions from the new addition of Alex to the tech team... she thought they really might have a program that could handle pretty much anything the bastards were capable of throwing at them.

Hell... maybe she really would study comp sci at college. This stuff was a total breeze!

Not only all that, but Forge had also come up with a new power source for all the machines they were running to take care of the programs, and he'd made some of what Alex called "gamer mods" to the processor, to avoid burnout. Hell, they didn't even need to overclock the thing, with the modifications Forge had come up with...

For someone who was a child of the 60s and 70s, he'd sure caught on to modern technology awful fast. Of course... that was his mutation.

"Good work, chaton," Gambit sat down next to her, smelling like fall and cigarettes, as usual, taking off that trench coat of his after coming in from one of his hourly smoke breaks.

She didn't even mind that he was calling her chaton. It was preferable to petite, which she'd barely managed to break him of, during their all-day crunch session. And now, at eleven pm, he'd finally seemed to settle on chaton permanently.

She could handle that. Actually, it was kinda cute. And he really had been totally cool about this whole thing. She'd kinda expected him to be all seedy and flirting with her or something, from the impression she'd gotten from the rest of the team about him. And from fighting him for the past year, of course. But really, he was alright.

Or maybe she just had a soft spot for big delinquents. But she preferred to think of it as being able to see the good inside someone who looked bad, on the outside. A book was more than its cover, after all.

Honestly, she was starting to think that Remy might not be such a bad addition to the team. Between him and Warren, the X-Men were that much better off. And if he could think of all these angles... hell, even Scott couldn't deny that it was pretty damn brilliant, the way he knew the ins and outs of hi-tech security. And if he wanted to use his powers for good instead of evil now, they'd be kinda retarded not to let him.

"Thanks, mon ami," She looked up at him and raised an eyebrow. "Where are our sidekicks?"

Gambit nodded to the room next door, where Forge was demonstrating some random, kinda scary looking piece of equipment to Alex, with great enthusiasm.

Kitty rolled her eyes a them through the glass.

The blonde boy waved, grinning.

"God," She shook her head, grinning right back in spite of herself. "There is like... way more hair than common sense in that room right now, and I'm totally scared."

Remy cocked an eyebrow. "You not exactly the most common-sense oriented fille Remy ever met in his life, either."

"Says the man who refers to himself in third person," the girl muttered, rather good-naturedly, as she turned back to her computer screen. "Alright, call the Professor and Scott, it's time to fire this sucker up. We are so taking ExGen down tonight, Gambit."

"No doubt in my mind, chere. No doubt in my mind."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooo

AN: Oh yeah, bet you thought I was gone, didn't you? Newp. This story ain't over till it's over!

Anyhow, I'd like to take this chance to thank my beta reader once again, Sue Penkivech. Damn, woman, you catch things so wonderfully. Where the fuck would I be without you?

Anyhow, on to the shout outs, cause I don't have a lot to say. It's another bit of a bridger chapter, but what can you do? It's hit the fan proper...

Almost. ;)

vespie: First off, thanks very much for the kind words. Will Mags die? Apparently, he dies about as easily as Jean, so I doubt I'd have any luck trying to kill the wanker. However, I agree. I much prefer gay Pietro. I have many many reasons why, and those who know me have heard the spiel one too many times, so I'll spare you. But I'm glad you like him. Cause god knows I do. Never woulda guessed, would you?

Star-of-Chaos: Woot, you liked Pyro! I had a lot of fun writing that bit, but damn was I scared of it...

Risty: As you know, I love you. But I'm just going to say that here. The weird thing is that Latveria is actually 616's country that is run my Dr. Doom. But if you're not a Fantastic Four fan, that means fuck all. I, on the other hand, have a serious Human Torch problem. Among the many others that by this time you definitely know (a little too much) about. Much love!

amura: Walter, as you asked for! Not much of an appearance, but yay for furthering the plot, right ;) Thanks for the faithful reviews, darling, you're so lovely to keep sending them!

DemonRogue13: Thanks for the review, and yeah... Pietro is having some issues. We always hurt the ones we love, no? I'm a huge fan of Scott/Rogue, Evo-wise, for somer eason. They just seem to fit for me. I'm glad it's at least (sorta) making sense!

Minerva Solo: Hello! I'm glad that you approve of the John-- like I said before, it made me nervous. You're an excellent writer, and having your reviews on my evo stories makes me feel so warm and squishy inside. Thanks so much!

Angharad: Oooooh, I dunno! Anyhow, thank you so much for the kind words, you're a total sweetie!

crazyspaceystracy: Yay you liked Alex and Scooter! Honestly, I never thought I'd see the day where I too loved the Summers boys... count on Evo to make it so. I'm glad that the last update came on a day when you needed it-- I've never had a better compliment than someone saying that reading a story got them through a hard day. So kind of you. I hope you enjoyed this one, you're a darling.

Summing up the Stars: Okay, so it took me awhile... but I did update ;)

Akuma no Tsubasa: You know, about the French thing... I've had people tell me four different ways to say the simple phrase "mon ami." I think I should've just taken French... what was I thinking with Spanish? I mean really... Anyhow, I dunno if I've dangled enough carrots this time, but I'm certainly trying! Hope you're still out there reading.

Namida: I too have Alex issues. Clearly. Glad you enjoyed it!

Eboni: Woot, you liked the "tee hee!" For some odd reason that's all I can think when I think of Pyro. Bless him. I'm glad the Magneto scene came off decently in the last chapter-- that was another one I was worried about because... well... it's Magneto. How the hell do you write the most powerful SOB in the world (arguably)? Thanks for reading, though, so much appreciated.

UniversalAnimeGirl: Ahh yes, the lack of Sam/Wanda. It hasn't died, it will be back, never fear! And with a vengeance. I have big plans for my darlings. For now, however... stupid plot is in the way .. You honestly are wonderful at picking up at all the undercurrents I'm so fond of playing with-- I very much appreciate your reviews. Thank you so much for being so clever, it makes me feel so loved!

Relwarc: Good god, JM really is a trooper, isn't she? Bless her, too. Her decision here to undergo the procedure is totally not my idea-- I stole it straight out of old school Alpha Flight. Just not the way she came to it. I'm not terribly original, and I know it, but I prefer to think of it as "homage" rather than "stealing." Ahem. ;) Anyhow, I'm very excited to hear that I made pop come out your nose. Not because I wish you discomfort, obviously (and damn, that IS uncomfortable...), but because I'm so glad Pyro was well-recieved. I'm wary of making him "too" insane, or unbelievable, because I really do love what they did with him in Evo-- 616 Pyro was always the mutant with the power I wanted, and the personality that made me want to smack him upside the head. It means alot to me that I've done decently with him, in your eyes. And the thing you pointed out, about your going back to Germany... you've hit the nail on the head. I actually took that scene, with Wanda arriving in Transia, directly from my own experience. Granted, it wasn't going back to my home country. But sometimes, the Himalayas feel like home to me. And landing on the tarmac in Kathmandu does me in. Every time. For just those reasons. I'm so glad it rang true, that part was VERY important to me, personally. Thank you so much!

Caliente: Stupid ff.n eating your review! 3 yousomuchomg. (Hey I'm talking to you on MSN while writing this... ooooh...)

CyberPilate: I think you ended up happy with me... but anyhow, you've given me an excuse to talk about Jean! So here I go! First off, I'm not a Jean fan. Not at all. Except, a bit, in Evo. And the reason is-- she reminds me of me. SO much. So when I write Jean, I write exactly how I would react to a given situation. The reason for her estrangement to Scott is, literally, 1- Physical distance, and 2- A busy mind. She's gone, and she's busy. And she has a life of her own, outside of him, and it's simply more important. Seeing as how Jean is a lot like me in a lot of other ways... I gave her my own reaction. I think from your review of Chapter 10 it made sense... but I'm not entirely sure. Anyhow, I'm glad you are still reading, and enjoying, because your reviews never fail to make me consider what, exactly, I'm up to here!

Girlonthem00n: Whoa... all in one night! You sound like... like... damn. Like me ;) I do that all the time! We understand each other, apparently. And I, like you, am dying for more Pietro/JP. You have no idea how pissed they are at me right now that I don't have them screwing perpetually. Two angry speedsters in your head is so not pretty... anyhow... ;)

Taineyah: Yay! You liked Pyro! God, that makes me so happy...

Amelia Glitter: Hope you're still reading, thanks for the review!

Pomegrante Queen: I too was once a fan of R/R. However, having been a huge Gambit fangirl since the early 90s... I've seen a lot of it. And honestly... I see your point, but I simply don't like them together. I think he chose her, initially, because 1- he was attracted to her, and 2- he could never really "get close." Gambit purposely chooses women that will never be able to get "close." He's scared to death of it. Their relationship has always been... rocky. And at first, that was what was good about it. But a writer got ahold of them who blew it all to hell-- any chance at trust, at closeness they ever had should've been done when she left him in Antarctica. That is, of course, just my opinion. And, it never happened in Evo. However, I think that the way Remy used her in Evo, despite his claim that he'd "watch" her... was bloody creepy. And as much as I love him... I guess the bottom line is, I don't like R/R. I can read it, if it's well done, don't get me wrong! Just not my bag, obviously. I'm glad, however, that despite your wish for R/R, you can still read my fic! That means a lot to me, and that you'd bother to review is totally sweet.

And last, but far from being least... This one is for you. Because your Johnny will never be replaced. Because you loved everyone you ever met. And it probably sounds stupid, but every time I hear that laugh now, I'll wonder if he even knows he's doing it. We miss you, Omi-chan.

Good night, everyone. And thanks for reading.