Chapter 11: Capture and Release
The green-haired woman known to her colleagues as "Vertigo" was dreaming.
Mostly of power. She usually had dreams of power. It had started long before she'd developed her mutant capabilities to disturb the equilibrium of anyone she chose, and, in some cases, cause hallucination. When she was just the privileged daughter of a wall-street mogul; Danica Van Fleet.
No one knew that was her name, here in Sinister's stronghold under the Carpathians. No one ever would, if she could help it. The boss had never hooked her up to that machine of his, and her "colleagues" were too stupid to bother learning about anyone else around here. They'd rather spend what little free time they had shooting at the wildlife and arguing over who would be the leader.
All, that is, except for the new guy. Scalphunter, he called himself. And like her, he never told anyone his true name. He was obviously Native American; his bone structure, his voice, and, if one wanted to stereotype, his code name, all pointed in that direction. And he was what Sinister called a "technoformer." He could reconfigure any kind of technological device.
The man had a lot of painful toys, effectively. But his usefulness wasn't just in battle. He'd created the security systems she was monitoring tonight.
Or had been, before she'd started dreaming.
This dream, she'd had before. It involved Janos, aka Riptide, and those lovely long legs of his. The man was a hopeless imbecile, of course, but damn good in bed. And far be it from Vertigo to deny herself something she wanted. She had him in quite a compromising position, in fact, involving a blindfold and about ten feet of rope, and was about to start getting exactly what she wanted–
When the alarm woke her up.
She shot up in her seat, blinking for only a split second as she jerked into lucidity...
And then took another second to stare at the computer screen, flashing red before her.
Her hand slammed down onto the comm system button, and before she could even think, she barked out, "Fuck! They're on to us!"
Remy LeBeau glanced over his shoulder at his one-time teammate, one eyebrow cocked, a very conscious expression of arrogance on his face.
Not that he was feeling particularly arrogant, for once. He was used to being the brains of any operation. Not that John was stupid– the man had a hell of a mind. He was imaginative, clever... had the makings of a great villain, really. He was just too easily distracted by shiny things (and fire, naturally) to make much of it. Pete had always kept to himself, though, and didn't seem particularly bright. And Sabes... homme was nothing but a killing machine.
Gambit had been a lot of things in his time, and could appreciate a lot of things that most people couldn't. But murder, never.
At least... not on purpose. Never on purpose.
Either way, Remy was used to being the brains of the outfit. But here, at Xavier's, they had sixteen-year-old kids giving him a run for his money. And honestly... he liked it. Everything about the place was a challenge. Gaining their trust, which was his main goal, at the moment. Finding a way to make Rogue see... that there was something between them. Even this, the building and execution of a massive security breach for Ex-Gen.
He could get used to this.
And he was convinced that he and the chaton should go into business together, doing security for rich bastards like Stark and Worthington. They'd make a damn fortune.
"You got 'em, mate?" His Aussie companion arched a flaming orange eyebrow right back at him.
"'Course we got em," Remy smiled. "What'd you expect, Johnny?" He let his eyes leave the screen again, turning his back on it and leaning against the console to face Pyro. He crossed his arms over his chest, and noticed the way the other man's eyes sped over him, taking in the movement. Like he was memorizing every line.
Interesting. Remy'd always known the man was... different. Had no idea he was interested in that, though. 'Course, Magneto kept them all busy enough, without considering any kind of relationship beyond a passing friendliness between his Acolytes– and sometimes not even that. But usually, the Cajun was good at picking up on "vibes."
Hell, maybe Johnny was just feeling grateful for the lifesaving act, and his strange little mind could only think of one way to repay Gambit...
Or maybe Gambit had just been awake far too long. Sacre mere, staying awake twenty-four hours used to seem so... easy. Twenty-one years was a long time, though. When they were twenty-one years with the Guild, and then Magneto, anyhow.
"Excellent point, mon ami," Pyro did a fair approximation of his accent, and grinned madly. "You're totally infallible. Romantic heroes must be."
Remy felt his brow furrow. "Romantic hero...? Homme, you been sniffing lighter fluid again?"
John's only answer was his typical cackle, a joyful sound that sounded a bit like, "ha-HA!-ha-ha..."
Shaking his head, Gambit turned back to his console, leaning on it with both hands, staring it down like it was his mortal enemy. He narrowed his eyes at the output, scanning quickly to make certain that the data feed was continuing unchecked. All night long, Kitty's spy-bot had been rifling through Ex-Gen's treasure trove of information. Remy couldn't remember the last time he'd had so much fun, seeing all that beautiful, beautiful intelligence spill forth. Maybe in London, fighting the X-Men, actually... and the spider-guardian...
Which, in retrospect, hadn't been the best idea.
Sure was a good time, though.
And since then, things had gone down hill. Real fucking fast. A few nice moments with Rogue–
"What would you do if the pony-tail valley girl suddenly told you she was in love with you?"
Remy paused for a moment. And then, shook his head again. "Johnny, your imagination is a scary thing."
"You have no idea, mate," He could hear the smirk in the fire-bug's voice. "Gonna answer the bloody question?"
"I'd sweep her off her feet, of course," he replied, giving off the illusion of absent-mindedly answering. As if he wasn't thinking about it at all. "I'd hold her, look deep into her blue eyes, and tell her there's never been another like her. And I'd kiss her until she couldn't breathe." At that point, the thief looked over his shoulder and grinned at the other man, "And then... Remy probably be arrested. Le chaton, she only sixteen."
"Right, my mistake," Pyro grinned right back maniacally, moving forward to lean on Gambit's shoulder with one arm. "Forgot what an upstanding, law-abiding sort you are." He waved his free hand at the monitor. "But if you two can make this, just think what the children would be like."
Mais oui, M'sieu Allerdyce was not from this planet. Remy's lips twitched upward in a smile, and he turned his face toward his companion's. "Gotta wonder what goes on in that head of yours, John."
"Buy me a drink, let me pick your brain, and I'll tell yer."
Dieu... was the firebug trying to pick him up? That was... unexpected. Not unprecedented of course. Not exactly welcome either, in this case. But then again, he'd probably had worse...
Tired. That was the problem. Tired and damn frustrated.
Not that he would've been any less frustrated if Rogue... wanted him. She did want him, he was sure of it... she just didn't trust him... and she obviously trusted the boy scout...
His own fault. But it was her face he'd seen when Sinister had him strung up, bleeding from his side. And it was her he'd thought to call. And he knew it was damn foolish... but he was afraid it always would be.
"Oui, John, we can do that some time," he sighed, closing his eyes. "Just don' think you be winin' and dinin' me. Remy not–,"
But he never got to finish his explanation. A loud, sinister sounding beep suddenly echoed through their control room. And Gambit's eyes snapped open, scanning the display frantically, disbelieving what he was seeing.
His hand slammed down on the comm unit beside him, but before he could get anything out, Pyro announced to absolutely no one, "Fuck! They're on to us!"
Scott was sweating.
His morning workout had been rougher than usual– by request. This sitting still was getting to him. Things were falling apart around him, and all he was allowed to do was sit and watch. And he needed to get it out. Somehow.
So he kicked some Sentinel ass.
But he was still afraid. For Jeanne-Marie. For Jean-Paul. For Jean. For Alex. For the X-Men. And there was absolutely nothing he could do.
He headed down the hall, absently throwing his towel over his head and moving toward the elevator. He just wanted a nice long shower, in his own private bathroom. No locker rooms. No nothing. Just him and a lot of hot water, relaxing him.
"Scott?"
He stopped. And actually... smiled.
Jean.
They hadn't really talked much in the past few days. And he was surprised to find that he had missed her. He felt it, when he heard her voice behind him. He pulled the towel off his head, and turned around, smiling. Sure enough, there she was, in sweats and a t-shirt. Must've been working out in the gym. "How are you, Red? Been a while."
She smiled, halfway, one corner of her mouth creeping upward.
It was nice to see. But there was a distinct lack of heart-jumping. Just a slightly warm sensation, vague and pleasant.
"Alright, actually," She answered, coming to stand closer to him, ponytail swinging jauntily despite her smooth, graceful gait. "A little nervous about JM, but she called earlier to say hi. She said they were going out to breakfast in Montreal, while they had the jet out, and then coming home. She said everything went perfectly fine."
JM. Jesus, that girl... He shook his head, "I just hope... I hope she found what she wanted."
Jean's smile widened, but looked a little sad. Scott almost winced, because he knew that Jean probably still hadn't managed to convince herself that she wasn't responsible for what had happened to the younger girl, causing her already fragmented psyche to shatter completely for awhile. He knew that she realized, logically, that it had nothing to do with her. But he also knew that logic had very little to do with things like this– and that he would've been struggling with the exact same thing.
He knew a lot about her, really. More than he'd realized.
"Jean, we should talk."
She nodded, as if she'd expected it. Maybe she had. Maybe she knew him too. "Busy right now?"
"Sweaty and disgusting, but not busy. Care to join me in my room?"
"I'd love to."
They sat on the floor, backs to the bed, legs stretched out in front of them. Scott had quick-changed out of his uniform, and had found something similar to her ensemble, grey sweats with a giant X on the front and a white undershirt tank. But he was still sweaty.
She didn't seem to mind. She seemed to know what it was he wanted to say, really. And to agree.
Funny, how they'd been so far apart for the last month they'd been together. And now that it was over, he suddenly felt close to her again. Maybe it was true, what they said about pressure on a relationship forcing it to go unstable. Maybe what they'd had before should never have been tampered with. Maybe...
Maybe he should just say something.
"Jean, I... I'm sorry."
She looked over at him, leaf-green eyes devoid of any pain. Just... wide and beautiful. "I'm sorry too."
Yeah. She knew what this was about. Confirmed. "I should've–,"
"No, it's my fault," She shook her head, ponytail swinging around to lay on her shoulder, then leaned her head back on the mattress behind them, sighing. "This is harder than I expected, this whole balancing act. Things didn't work out how I thought they would, living at NYS."
"Maybe we... rushed into things," He watched her face, carefully. Part of him was surprised that this was so... agreeable. This was them, breaking up, after all. But most of him knew that she knew. And agreed. And…thank god.
She nodded, then closed her eyes.
"Jean...," He started again, taking her hand on impulse. "We've known each other a long time. And we've never lied to each other. Tell me the truth– do you honestly think we can do this right now?"
"No," she opened her eyes, and looked directly at him. "Not without hurting each other more. I know that sometimes you have to get hurt to make things work. But sometimes enough is enough. We're both... scattered. It sounds shitty but..."
"Our priority stopped being us," he finished.
She squeezed his hand. "It's my fault. I did the same thing to JM–,"
"No," he said, emphatically. She wasn't going to take the blame for this too. Yes, she had been the one to move away. But what had he done to repair the breach he'd known was growing? Did one visit make up for weeks of letting things slide? How much did he show he cared by letting himself be distracted enough to watch her slide away? "No, I let it happen. And if it was me living the dorms, it might've been the other way around, easy. If one of us had said something then...," He shook his head. No point in speculating. He didn't want to keep it up– the idea simply didn't interest him. Or her, it seemed. "But now, we're here."
"If it's meant to be, it will," she smiled, slightly. "But... it's not meant to be right now."
Scott Summers didn't know much about "meant to be." But the sentiment, at least, he could agree with. Odd, this unspoken understanding. How had they both come to the same point, in so little time? Just a few days ago he'd held her in her room as she shook about Jeanne-Marie's injuries... him dreading this talk, and her feeling as if she never thought it would happen. But now... "It feels like we've just said something we've known for a long time."
Her only answer was to lean closer, shoulder pressing against shoulder, and kiss him.
It took him by surprise, at first. He couldn't remember the last time they'd kissed like this. Her lips soft and warm on his, pressing but not prying. Gentle and almost innocent. His eyes were closed, and he let himself feel her again. Because he had a feeling this was goodbye.
Maybe they'd go back to being friends. She certainly felt like a friend, right here, right now. Even the kiss was friendly–
A loud beep from his communicator on the desk rudely interrupted their moment, however. Both teenagers looked in its direction, over Scott's shoulder. And heard Gambit's voice. "Best get down here, Slim. We been caught."
Eyes widening behind ruby sunglasses, he turned his head around to look at Jean once more, a horrible sinking feeling lodging itself in the pit of his stomach, his brain already reeling with scenarios and schematics. "Fuck. They're on to us."
A castle.
Well... more like a citadel, really. Jesus fucking Christ, Marya had been right. There was a goddamn castle on Wundagore mountain.
Wanda Maximoff, at the moment, happened to be inside said castle. Stone walls and floors, combined with flat-panel monitor screens and sleek halogen lamps. Somehow, the mix was pleasing. Just...
How the fuck did this shit get to Transia?
And how the fuck had her life come to this?
She sat next to her twin brother, Pietro, on one of the beds in the room– the room that she'd explained was to be theirs for the duration of their stay. Their stay with her, here in the Citadel of Science.
Her. Magda Lensherr. Their mother.
"He promised me that he could give you back to me," she was explaining, pulling fretfully at her shawl, smiling at them as she had been continuously since she'd appeared at the Maximoffs' door only hours ago. "He said he could make my magic stronger, make it reach you in far away America..."
The hex witch shot her brother a quick glance, and saw an expression of puzzled irritation on his face that she knew had to match her own. Jesus... this was the weirdest shit ever. And she'd seen some weird shit. But this... just...
Jesus.
Their mother. Magneto nevertalked about their mother. Said she was dead, and the topic wasn't open for discussion. In fact, Wanda had rarely ever thought about her that she could remember. She was just that out of the picture. But this woman... she knew damn well that Magda's coloring– darker skin and black hair, her voice– low and able to turn from commanding to gentle in a heartbeat; all of it was distinctly like Wanda's own. Magda's face was different, however. Delicate and pretty. Almost like Pietro had gotten the shape of her, and Wanda the color.
Thanks for the jawline daddy dear.
And Marya and Django had believed this woman, that she was their mother. They'd cried, but they wouldn't say why. And then Magda had explained that she had been hoping to speak to them, and was so happy they'd come, and if they wanted answers, the answers lay here, at this castle.
It was the castle, the rock, from the dream. Pietro had started to shake just a little, when they'd come in view of the citadel. She'd felt like her eyes were on fire. He'd held her hand the entire way up the mountain road, and inside.
A childhood nightmare. A stormy night.
But it wasn't just a nightmare, was the thing. This was real. Everything she'd been seeing, everything keeping her awake, was suddenly real. Like walking into a goddamn Salvador Dali and seeing melting clocks all over the goddamn place. That, in fact, might've seemed normal by comparison.
Pietro had been quiet. And that was never a good sign.
She still had his hand, and she didn't want to let go. And he wasn't complaining.
"I don't get it," she shook her head, "If you're our mother, and you wanted us back so damn badly, why didn't you just keep us in the first place?"
She seemed to shudder under her mass of hair and shawl, and her dark eyes had a sudden misty effect to them. "Your father is... a frightening man. I feared that my presence would alert him to your existence."
Pietro snorted beside her, and finally spoke. His words were so bitter she could taste them. Too bitter, even for him. "Something sure as fuck did..."
"What makes you think he's frightening?" Wanda asked, slowly, more concerned with what it was that had made this woman, if she was in fact who she said she was, abandon them in the first place. Pietro seemed to think that Magneto was a rat bastard... and she did too. Mostly. He'd abandoned them twice, as far as she was concerned. And she wasn't about to give the fucker a third chance. But... something in her needed to know if he was really a bad man, or just...
Misunderstood.
Even though she didn't care about him. Obviously not.
"He's a vengeful man– or he became one, I should say. Once he discovered his powers." Her voice was slow, dreamlike. As if she were remembering something she'd buried for a long time.
Wanda cocked her head at the woman, narrowing her eyes. "Something happened." It wasn't a question. It was clear that something had happened to make Magda Lensherr so afraid of her husband that she would abandon her babies... at least, that would be the logical answer...
Magda blinked. And dark blue eyes bored into Wanda's, suddenly fearless. "It doesn't matter now."
Wanda opened her mouth, not even certain what was about to come out. But Pietro, not surprisingly, beat her to it. He let go of her hand, and stood up, suddenly pacing back and forth in front of the wall. Blessedly, at an almost-normal speed. "Actually, it does. Why are you doing this to us now? I mean, couldn't you just pick up a fucking phone and call? Or sent a goddamn letter? No, of course not. Count on our parents to make everything as painful and complicated as possible–,"
"You remind me so much of him," she smiled, gently. "He was older than you when we met, but–"
Pietro stopped, and his eyes were blazing, his normally porcelain cheeks flushed pink. And his hands were clenched in fists at his side. "I'm nothing like him."
For just a moment, Wanda simply watched them watch each other. Her head was pounding. Pietro hated their father, and it had to be for more than just leaving them high and dry– he'd been talking about hating him since they'd thought the old guy was dead. And now he didn't seem to give a shit whether this was their mother or not, so long as she gave them answers, and now. And Wanda, for her part, didn't even have the energy to be angry. The headache was too bad, the situation too fucked up. She just... didn't understand.
"He has a point," she interrupted the staring contest. "What's with all the dramatics?"
Magda's eyes flashed back to hers. For some reason, it made Wanda swallow hard. "You are watched, always."
"By who?" She sighed. Jesus, drama queen, answer the goddamn question. Maybe she was their mother– she was starting to sound like Pietro...
"Your father's friends."
Pietro was suddenly at her side again, arms crossed over his chest, hip stuck out, feet planted far apart. His eyes narrowed, and he asked, "The Acolytes?"
The older woman shook her head. "Charles."
Wanda looked to her brother instantly, and he looked back. "... Xavier?" he nearly whispered.
Her mind was officially spinning, at that. Xavier? Since when was he a friend of their father's? And what the hell was going on that Xavier finding out about would be a bad thing...? But out of the corner of her eye, she saw Magda nod the affirmative.
"Fuck," Pietro blinked at her.
Wanda looked back to the woman, who was adjusting her shawl again, and set her jaw. That's it. I'm getting some goddamn answers. "This is bullshit. We need to know why we're here."
"Fuck," She heard beside her again. Pietro had his hand in his hair, and one of his aerodynamic hair-spikes was officially being knocked crooked by his worrying it. Oh yeah, he was done. When he messed up his own hair, the party was over.
But Magda didn't respond, so she took a step closer. "Why would you bring us here now?"
"Fuck!" he said, louder this time.
She glared at him over her shoulder, "We heard you, Pietro." But silently, she added, don't freak out... not yet... need you...
Because no way she could deal with whatever the fuck this was alone...
Finally, however, some reply was made by the Gypsy-woman. "Because we're free of him now. And we can be together."
Wanda suddenly felt like she'd been punched in the stomach. Yes, she had a very physical reaction to that pronouncement-- felt like her stomach getting slammed into, shutting down every process in her for one very painful, very sickening split second.
Because... fuck. She'd known this had to do with Magneto being kidnapped.
"Fuck!" Pietro announced once more, voice having risen at least an octave.
She didn't bother to bitch him out. She could hardly breathe. "Free of our father?"
Magda nodded, smiling gently. "Yes. He won't bother us anymore. We can be together."
"How the fuck did you know about him being kidnapped?" Pietro was beside her again, having stepped up to where she stood, facing the other woman. His voice was decidedly unstable, and prone to squeaking at this point. But for him... this was pretty goddamn valiant, she had to admit.
"He told me."
"Who is he?" Wanda spat, for what felt like the hundredth time today. But it didn't matter anymore. She thought she knew...
"The doctor who showed me the full extent of my magic, who helped me bring you here," was the Gypsy-witch's explanation.
"Why is he helping you?" Pietro insisted, eyes darting around so fast that Wanda lost track of them. Looking for his way out. He would've been gone a long time ago, she knew. If not for her.
Magda didn't seem to notice their discomfort at all, however. She kept smiling, and held out her hands to them. "I'm his apprentice."
Neither of them took the offered hands. They simply stood, side by side, staring at her. Wanda leaned against her brother, just a little. He was definitely not the brave one. But Jesus, she couldn't do this alone. She had to know...
"What's in it for him?" Pietro spat.
The woman only shook her head, and smiled even wider. "So much like your–,"
"I AM NOT LIKE HIM!" The silver-haired boy declared, his face twisting up with emotions Wanda was certain she'd never seen in him before, hatred, disgust, and pure anger among them. Sarcasm, bitterness, amusement, she was used to. But not this...
For some reason, it made her stomach clench even harder.
She put a hand on his arm and squeezed, holding him near the elbow. He was tensed up, completely, practically vibrating with whatever it was he was holding back. "How long have you worked with him?" Wanda pressed on, knowing very well that time was short, having no idea how the hell they were going to get out of this. Information might be all they had to use, in a short time. Things were starting to feel that way... urgent. Pressurized. Explosive.
Like Pietro, really.
"A month or so. He found me at Wundagore, when I came to visit Bova."
She shared another look with her twin. Bova? Should they know that name? She said it like it should be familiar, but Wanda had never heard it before, that she knew of...
"She was my midwife when you were born, and she raised you for a time after, before you were given to the Maximoffs."
Her speedster twin suddenly seemed to go limp beside her. And leaned on her a little. "Fuck."
"Father was taken a few weeks ago," she pointed out to him, as things started to fall into place in her mind. "And from what Jean-Paul told us, Pyro nearly died and Gambit was meant to. We were never supposed to know that he was gone, Pietro..."
He shook his head, obviously seeing the pattern. "We're so fucked."
Now, she turned back to Magda. "Where is this doctor? What is his name? This is very important."
She bit her lip, and again, Wanda was struck by her strange, ethereal beauty. Smooth skin, browner than it should have been thanks to the sun, eyes that seemed too old for her face. Every part of Pietro that wasn't explained by Magneto's looks was right there. And every part of her, too. But that didn't even matter, at this point. All that mattered was the information.
"Give me an hour," she replied, finally. "I will tell you everything."
"We don't have an hour, lady," Pietro replied, practically snarling, after which he turned back to her, took her by the shoulders, forced her to look only at him. "It's him Wanda. We know it's him. Let's get the fuck out of here."
"Wait, Pietro," she batted away one of his hands, looking to their mother once again. "Just a goddamn minute." She knew he was right, of course. They'd probably known it all along, really. But what the fuck kind of choice had they had? Stay at home and lose their minds to sleep deprivation, or walk into the trap? At least the trap, they could look in the eye eventually. Face down.
And Wanda fully intended to. But there was something else they should do.
"Where is our father?"
"Wanda!" he squeaked. It would've been funny, if it hadn't been an expression of very real, very valid fear. And she felt it too, she found. She just... had to. "Jesus Christ," He continued, "Last week you were the one saying fuck him, and now you want to play hero?"
She glared at him, "We can't let him be tortured to death. You of all people should know–,"
The panic in his eyes was clear, and he latched onto her shoulder even harder now. "Yeah, I do, and you have no idea what this fucker can do. What about us, Wanda–?"
She turned her face back to the other woman, who was simply watching them with tears in her eyes. "Is the doctor here, in this citadel?"
"No!" she exclaimed, reaching out for them futilely again. "No, this is the Citadel of Science, home to the High Evolutionary. This is where you were born. The Doctor doesn't come here anymore."
"Where. Is. Our. Father?" she repeated through her teeth, glaring now, despite the woman's tearful eyes, her outstretched, empty hands. Mother or no... this was a trap. And she'd done enough walking into the arms of traps for one day.
Magda's hands dropped, and she looked at the floor. "I don't know. I truly don't. I only wanted–,"
But Pietro had other ideas. He grabbed her other shoulder again, turning her to face him. "She doesn't know Wanda. Let's. Go."
"Please," The older woman was now crying outright, shaking her head, "Give me an hour. I've waited so long to see you again..."
Wanda looked to her, and felt her heart suddenly leap into her throat. Beautiful face, now wet-cheeked. She was being honest... this must have been sincere... but–
"I'm too young to die," Pietro informed her, snapping like a bratty child. "And I don't know you from a bar of soap. Your little family reunion is a fucking death trap."
"No, Pietro," she begged, backing up from his icy hot glare a step, shaking her head, "You don't understand."
"No," He continued, wickedly, "You don't understand. You have no idea what the fuck you've just done to us, and I believe that, but we gotta get the fuck out of here." And at that point, he looked up at the ceiling, still digging into both his sister's shoulders convulsively, muttering to himself. "Jean-Paultoldme, Hefuckingtoldme. Iknewitandheknewit–,"
"Shut the hell up," Wanda finally told him, unable to stand it anymore. If she didn't get a fucking straight answer in about five seconds, someone was about to get hexed. She pushed him backwards, just a little, and turned to face their mother, stepping closer so that she was eye to eye with the other woman, breathing hard, stomach in knots. "Why will it be different in an hour? Just tell us now."
"I will bring him to you," Magda told her, obviously trying to maintain her control. She reached out, as if she would take Wanda's hands. That Gypsy familiarity of touch.
Wanda simply stared.
She dropped her hand empty, once again. "He will explain. He'll make everything clear."
"Nonono," Pietro's hand was suddenly on her wrist. "Nice to meet you, mom, but I'mthefuckouttahere–,"
And with that, the door clicked.
As one, the twins turned to look at it. Wanda thought she might throw up. It had locked. On it's own.
"Wanda–," Pietro began, still clutching her wrist.
But she already knew what he would say, and she could feel the hex rising in her even as he said her name. Blue and green and fire in her middle, and goddamn was she going to hex that fucking steel door into next week–
"Take these, quickly," Magda shoved a bracelet at her, and one at Pietro. Silver and smooth, obviously modern, with strange invisible latching. It interrupted her hex, and she stared at the thing, a half finished hex ripping through her veins, her head a wreck, her brother's hand tightening around her wrist. "Put them on. They will save you from the gas. It's coming!"
Panic. Genuine panic in the woman's eyes.
"FuckinghellWanda, Do it!" Pietro let go of her and snapped his bracelet on so fast she didn't see.
She did the same... and the hex suddenly disappeared from inside of her... but she didn't smell any gas... "I don't feel any..."
A dull thud caused her to look down, however. And she saw her brother, collapsed at her feet, holding his stomach, his face twisted up in pain.
She dropped down next to him, on her knees, and immediately checked his pulse. "Fuck, Pietro! Wake up!"
He opened his eyes and the expression on his face made her whole body go numb. "Wanda... I feel sick."
His lips were pale, his eyes huge. "Oh my god," she'd forgotten everything else, "What's wrong?"
Was there some gas? What had happened? Who was sending in nerve gas, anyhow, and why? Because they were going to leave, obviously, but what was it doing to Pietro? And wasn't the bracelet supposed to be the antidote?
A voice from the door caught her attention however, and Wanda realized that she'd completely forgotten Magda. "I'll return in an hour," the shaky voice said.
Wanda spun around in an instant, on her feet, "Stop. Right. There!"
She meant to hex her, when she pointed. Meant to use the half-formed hex that had seemingly disappeared in her somewhere, but knew that they never really did. She still had it in her, she just needed to send it out, and tear shit up...
Only... she couldn't find it.
In fact... she couldn't find... anything.
She was... empty.
"Please, don't worry," Magda shook her head, pleading from outside the door as it closed behind her now, "The bracelets will keep you safe from the gas, but you cannot leave. Please, children, I'll return!"
Wanda sprung the moment she'd recovered her equilibrium from the unsuccessful hex. But she was too late. Instead, she slammed into the door just as it clicked, and re-locked itself. "Fuck!" She screamed through it, at it, around it. "GET BACK IN HERE!"
Again, she tried...
And nothing. No blue and green power. No surge. No rush of good-badness and power. No... anything.
"Jesus Christ...," Pietro muttered, still on the floor behind her when she turned around to look. "Uhhhh... god..."
"What's wrong?" she was on him again in a moment, kneeling at his side, wishing she knew what the fuck to do with a sick speedster. His color, what little he had, was coming back, but he still looked awfully fucking weak...
"Everything is so... slow." He spoke as if he had just learned how to pronounce the sounds of the language– deliberate and uncertain. "But it... it doesn't feel slow. It feels... right. And I... I can't make it fast again..."
Wanda looked upward, searching for an air duct. "Was it the gas?"
Pietro held up his wrist, where the alien silver thing was clasped around him. And struggled to sit up. "Or this thing. I don't smell anything funny in the air..."
She helped him sit, and collapsed back down in front of him, staring at him, watching him slowly regain his color. Pulling at her own bracelet.
The latches had disappeared. "Oh my god...," She swallowed hard. Wished for a hex to throw. Wished... wished...
"We're so going to die," Pietro leaned against a nearby wall, and slammed his bracelet off the floor with a loud clink. The thing was completely, utterly unharmed by the mistreatment.
Wanda narrowed her eyes. "No, we're not," she informed him. Because... no. No, this wasn't where it ended– on a chopping block for some freaky mad scientist who misused their insane Gypsy-witch of a mother and megalomaniac of a father. Or her brother. She looked at him hard... and decided that he was going to make it. "And neither is Magneto. But I want some answers."
She was shocked to find that when Pietro looked her in the eye, he actually looked like he was about to burst into tears.
She hadn't seen Pietro cry since they were five years old.
But it had been a really fucking hard day. And she just might have to cry too, before it was all over.
Because fuck...
Yeah. Just... fuck.
Jeanne-Marie Beaubier felt...
Fine.
Really, truly... fine.
When she'd awakened from the procedure, she'd been cold. Walter, the darling doctor, had given her another blanket. Warren had held her. And she'd simply smiled. They'd asked how she'd felt, and she'd said...
"Fine."
Was it possible? Could this small thing, this "experiment" she hadn't even felt, couldn't even remember, have healed her so much?
No, it's all in your mind.
But isn't that what's most important?
And with that... she'd simply felt... fine.
They were in Warren's private jet, coming up on New York again, after brunch in Montreal. She'd gone out to eat. Sat across the table from her boyfriend– her wonderful, beautiful boyfriend– and held a lovely conversation about the possibility of college for her next year. What she wanted. What she dreamed of.
It felt like it had been years since things had felt so... normal.
Part of her wanted to mock herself for it. For being so weak. For letting something so obviously psychosomatic control her for the better part of a week.
But the rest of her hated that particular part of her. So she mostly tried to ignore it.
Warren looked over from the pilot's seat now, and smiled at her. When he spoke, the relief was still evident in his voice. He'd been so worried... everyone had been so worried. But she'd known all along– all she needed was to do something. To take control. Even if it was a symbolic action... symbols were important. They were how the human mind communicated. And if her mind needed a symbol to communicate with... well, with a part of her that couldn't otherwise be reached... so be it, non?
"Jeanne-Marie... you're smiling."
She covered his hand with her own, where it sat on the console between them, and squeezed it. "Oui, mon cher, smiling for you. Thank you, so much–,"
"Please," he squeezed her hand, taking it into his own, much larger one. Always so warm, his hands. Like his eyes. Like himself. "Don't ever thank me for anything. Nothing I do is out of the ordinary. It's all... things you should expect of me."
She shook her head, feeling her face flush. "No, Warren. I've been awful, and I know it. But I needed you for this. And you were there. You didn't have to...," but she couldn't finish. Something welled up inside of her, huge and impossible to ignore. Felt like she was going to cry...
But that was the point, wasn't it? Warren had stayed with her, through her most horrible moments. He barely knew her, really. And he'd stuck by her just as her own brother had. He'd given her everything he could– love when she needed it, space when she wanted it, time when that was the only thing she'd thought would help...
He really is an angel.
As trite as it is... and yes, it's horribly trite.
She sighed, but kept the smile on her face.
"I did have to," he insisted, smiling right back. That quiet, understated smile, those sensitive pink lips curving upward just so. Made her want to kiss him. "I have no choice, any longer. And I can't honestly say that I'm sorry about that."
He squeezed her hand again, and she shook her head again. She wanted to tell him what she was feeling. She thought he deserved to know...
"There's Bayville," he spoke again, before she could make herself speak, pointing straight ahead, and moving his other hand back to the controls now, leaving hers alone on the console. "We're almost home."
Instinctively, Jeanne-Marie reached out with her mind, searching for the link she knew would be there, waiting for her. Dieu, she would be happy to see her brother. To throw herself into one of his hugs, the hugs he saved only for her. To be able to open up to him once again, without the fear of bringing him down into madness... self-inflicted madness. What a relief it would be!
But he didn't seem to be there. Perhaps she was still too far away? It felt... odd somehow. Something other than simple distance. She wasn't sure exactly how their link worked, but she thought she should be able to feel him. To let him know she was on her way. She cocked her head, and concentrated harder.
Nothing.
"Warren," she began, chewing on her bottom lip with sudden nervousness, "I think something is wrong."
Alarmed, but preoccupied with landing preparations, he shot her a quick, concerned glance, square jaw flexing once with worry. "With you?"
"No–," she began her explanation, only to be cut off by the sudden, rather disturbing beep of the comm unit they'd brought along.
"Angel, Aurora, this is Cyclops. Do you read?"
Code names. Jeanne-Marie's heart skipped a beat, and she shared a furtive glance with her boyfriend before he replied, "This is Angel, we read."
"How is Aurora?"
Deep breath. Things were alright. She could see the house, nothing had been destroyed... something was definitely off, as she couldn't really feel her brother yet... oh god please don't let anything be wrong with her brother... "I'm fine, Scott. What's happened?"
"Trouble. We've been found out, effectively. And the Professor thinks they'll send the Marauders to try and take us out. If you can't fight, JM, we understand. But you two should get out of here, if that's the case. Things are too dangerous."
Another deep breath. Another look at Warren.
He simply looked at her, right back. Steadily. And somehow, she knew what his eyes were saying, despite the fact that his lips never moved. It was her call. He wouldn't make it for her.
Not that she wanted him to. Really.
"I'm alright," she told the comm unit, nodding at Warren. "I can fight, if need be. The doctor says there are no side effects, and my powers are functioning normally."
There was a slight hesitation on the other end there. A long moment that seemed to stretch out far too long, until it felt like it was ready to snap. Along with her stomach, which was suddenly in knots. But finally, the answer came. "Then get down here and suit up. Meet us in the war room in fifteen."
"We'll be there," Warren replied. The unit clicked in reply, and it was clear that Scott was no longer on the other end. And the jet was ready for landing. "You're sure, Jeanne-Marie?" was all he asked, eyes intent on the task before him– blinking lights and landing gear.
She nodded anyhow. "I can do this. I had my time to be afraid. I want to start fresh. I have no excuses now."
He shot her a quick glance, and a slight half-smile.
And she knew he wasn't buying it any more than she was. She had excuses. So many of them. And so many of them valid.
But she also had her symbolic act. And now, it was time to fight again.
Or she'd end up hating herself far too much.
Christ. Always with the meetings! The meetings and the talking and the crap that went along with them. What was this, the third meeting in a week? No! Fourth! Jesus, Mary and Joseph, when he'd signed on for this, he really had thought it'd be, in the words of the King, a little less conversation, a little more action.
Bobby had always been a smart kid. And it was beyond him as to why the hell the X-Men hadn't moved on this whole ExGen thing when Gambit first offered to break into the joint for them. Of course, maybe doing it computer-wise was the safer route, but now they were stuck in another meeting because Xavier thought they were all in danger. But it just... didn't make any goddamn sense. If they were in so much danger, why the hell were they sitting around talking about it? Jesus, even Scott couldn't be enjoying talking this much about something. Sure, he liked to have a plan, but daaaaamn. This was just ridiculous.
And why did he always have to sit next to crazy fire-boy anyhow? Dude had made it a point to bug the shit out of him, obviously in retribution for that time Bobby had iced up his blowtorches in London.
Which he wouldn't have had to do, if dude hadn't been trying to fry Warren in the first place. Warren might not be the most fun guy in the world, but he was good for a laugh. And he was good for JM. And really, barbecued Angel just didn't sound that tasty.
Ew. Gross. God, he was bored. No wonder he was thinking about weird shit like barbecued teammates.
Ew. Still gross.
And goddammit, Pyro was definitely moving his chair closer again.
Jesus. Between him and Steve Irwin, Bobby was completely convinced that Australia must be full of nutcases. Nutcases and crocodiles.
Crikey was a cool word though, he had to admit.
Goddammit, Scott was talking again.
"We're still analyzing all the data from the spybot," fearless leader informed them. "But from what I understand, we weren't meant to catch the connection between ExGen and Sinister so quickly– and if Warren hadn't come to us for help, we wouldn't have. What he and Jean uncovered gave us the edge. Without that, we would've been taken over in our sleep within a few months. The information, as Gambit explained it," he nodded toward the Cajun, sitting just to his left, "all points to the research Angel brought to our attention as a way to neutralize any and all mutants Sinister wants to... use." That last bit had the normally dauntless Summers looking decidedly... uncomfortable, really.
Bobby made a mental note to ask about that, later. Scott was normally really straight up about this stuff, but there was obviously something more to that sentence that he didn't want to let out. Which made Iceman, for one, start to feel even more paranoid. He shifted restlessly in the uncomfortable War Room chair. Metal. Who the fuck made chairs out of metal?
Pyro glanced in his direction and grinned.
Bobby pointedly ignored him.
"Maybe I can take over from here, homme?" Gambit suddenly piped up, leaning forward to put his elbows on the table.
Much to Bobby's surprise, Scott simply nodded, once, the movement jerky. And his jaw flexed. Once.
Oh man... this was too weird.
"Thing is," the thief began, gesturing in the air with one hand, "Plenty of the X-Men on his hit list, from what we seen. But he don't have the capability to take us all, yet. So he start on his pet project– and he take Magneto."
"Wanda and Pietro," Jean said, suddenly, from Scott's right.
Oh shit... shit that wasn't good. Bobby's thoughts instantly went to Sam, and how he'd been a total basketcase since Wanda had gone up missing...
"We think so," Remy only nodded, his burning red eyes flashing briefly to Jean, and then back to the rest of the table, scanning his audience carefully. "Only thing we can't be sure if is where they are–,"
"Transia."
Every head in the room, including Bobby's own, turned at that moment. To look at Jean-Paul Beaubier. Who was sitting just to his right. Straight-backed. Face totally frozen. And pale. Even paler than usual.
Shit. Once again, shit. Transia. Did that mean that JP knew where they were all along? And it was some random ass place called Transia? Of course, that was what it had to mean, right? But Transia wasn't a real place, was it? It was like... some fairy tale place or something?
Right?
"Jean-Paul?" Xavier prompted, after the requisite moment of uncomfortable silence.
And, finally, the Canadian boy spoke. At first, slowly, the stiffness of his tone matching his stony posture and face. "The Maximoffs are in Transia. They started having nightmares from their childhood around the same time Magneto was taken. Nightmares about home." By this time, however, his voice had slid into a strangely emotional... drone. Like he was forcing the words out. Like it hurt, just to say them. "They couldn't sleep."
"Ohmigod," came from across the table. Bobby looked up, and saw Kitty, covering her mouth with her hand, blue eyes wide.
Yeah. Ohmigod about covered it.
"That's what was going on?" Rogue shook her head, as if she suddenly understood something, and couldn't believe it. She shoved white bangs out of her face impatiently, and continued. "So it was lack of sleep making them so weird for awhile there, but it was for a reason."
Bobby was totally lost by now. He knew Wanda had been having some issues lately– hell, Sam had snuck out of the house after curfew for her. That had to be serious. But dude... there was some key piece of the puzzle missing. He normally tried to keep quiet in these things– he knew damn well he was on trial in the big team, after all. But seriously..., "How the hell could they have the same nightmares?"
Jeanne-Marie was shaking her head now, from beside Warren, where they'd sat near the door when they'd come in just a little after everyone else. "Sometimes Jean-Paul and I do."
"You two are psi," he countered, feeling his brow furrow. "Isn't that different?"
He would never know, however. Because JP chose that exact moment to speak up again. And something in his voice... freaked Bobby out. Something really intense. Something that made him not want to look at the older boy sitting beside him at all. "It was a trap, and they walked right into it."
"You could've told us sooner."
Jesus. All eyes were suddenly on Scott, as he pushed a hand through his hair, glaring hard at Jean-Paul from behind those ruby shades. He always managed to look so fucking cool, so scary, because of those things...
Bobby's appreciation was short-lived, however, as Jean-Paul instantly countered, in a voice that brooked no argument. At all. "Do. Not. Fuck. With. Me."
"You're personal feelings–," Scooter attempted to counter, now pointing accusingly across the table.
Jean-Paul was on his feet, and his chair was hitting the wall with a really damn loud clatter, however, before dude ever got the chance to finish.
Bobby's heart was in his throat. And he scooted closer to Pyro, on his left. Because judging from the way Jean-Paul's clenched fists were vibrating... someone was gonna get hit.
"Have everything to do with this," the speedster hissed across the table, as if no one existed in the room but him and Scott. "Do you think I want him out there, in the middle of nowhere, with a madman like Sinister after him?"
Whoa. Everyone knew about Pietro and JP, of course. Duh. But damn. Just... damn.
"Then why would you keep quiet?"
"Scott," Xavier held up a hand, from where he was sitting near the door.
About fucking time, Bobby couldn't help but think. Jesus, pissing JP off was never a good idea, and the guy had been completely useless since Pietro had gone. Did Scott really want to die? Because at this point, Bobby was pretty sure that JP was making his sister look stable. His ears were getting kinda pink, and he was seriously kinda vibrating, and that was such a bad sign...
"I didn't know for certain that it was related," Jean-Paul spat, his words sharp and biting. "He made me swear. I don't break my word."
"Do you realize–," Scott just wouldn't let it alone, and stood up to face off with the speedster over the table.
But before Bobby had time to comment mentally on just how retarded a move that really was for someone like Scott, who was supposed to be a brilliant tactician and leader or something, Jean-Paul was on the other side of the table, with the front of Slim's uniform in his hands.
And everyone at the table, Iceman included, was just staring. Totally shocked.
Fuck. He'd finally lost it. They'd all known this day would come...
"Don't you ever talk to me about what I should and shouldn't do when it comes to Pietro," JP was right in his face, but he was hissing loudly enough for everyone in the room to hear. Despite the fact that he clearly didn't believe in the existence of anyone else but Scott Summers. His supposed good friend. "He trusted me, and I had to be certain before I said anything. And if you can't understand that, then you've never..."
The entire room was holding their breath as Northstar trailed off, his upper lip still curling just slightly. But for some reason, he stopped there. His grip seemed to lessen on Scott's uniform, and he took a step back, very nearly.
"Okay kid," Wolverine, who had been standing near Scott the entire time, growled. He somehow sounded... gentle, which was... okay, really weird. He put a hand on Jean-Paul's shoulder, and eased the two boys, who were still staring each other down, apart. Slowly.
Bobby sighed, as he suddenly realized that the air had been feeling pretty heavy there. Coulda cut it with a knife. No wonder he hadn't been able to breathe. Chunky air.
Jesus. He seriously felt like someone almost died there.
Never a dull moment. Christ.
"Sit down," Mr. Logan was saying, turning JP around and nudging him in the direction of his own chair now.
Oh great, send him back over here...
"We'll have Marauders to tear apart before long. Save it for them."
Xavier wheeled himself up to the desk now, eyeing Scott with obvious concern, and parked next to JM. "Aurora, how are you feeling?"
Bobby'd been wanting to ask the same question himself, actually. But she'd turned up just in time to listen to Xavier start his introductory speech, and even JP hadn't had a chance to hug her yet. Which, for the Beaubiers, despite their famous fights, was pretty strange.
She nodded, and smiled slightly. That pretty, shy smile she'd had when she'd first come, really. "I'm fine. Clean bill of health, as they say. I want to come, wherever we're going. I'm ready."
"We'll talk," Xavier nodded back.
Dude didn't look too convinced though. And Bobby wasn't real sure he should be. Since she got knocked in the head... JM had been in a really bad place. She looked okay now... too skinny, but that was how she'd been when she first came...
Jean started talking now, however, green eyes focused on Scott at first. Who was just staring. Not at Jean-Paul, who had finally resumed with the ass-in-my-own-chair act they were all expected to follow here. Just... staring. Like, at the wall. And then looking to Remy and Kitty, as she finished her sentence. "We'll need maps, intelligence on Transia."
Kitty nodded, brunette ponytail swinging the affirmative. "Remy and I can handle it."
"Certainement, chaton," from the Cajun.
"Elf, Stripes," Mr. Logan was growling again, stepping up on the other side of the still-staring Cyke, clapping a hand on the younger man's shoulder, like he was trying to shore him up or something. "Get the X-Jet ready. Just in case we need to ship out."
"We should go now," dude Beaubier piped up again.
Bobby looked over at him... and nearly scooted closer to Pyro again. Jesus... talk about little black raincloud. Dude, this was just... the weirdest meeting ever.
And they'd had some weird meetings. Particularly since the Beaubiers had been around.
Not to mention crazy Crikey the Firebug over there.
"Not yet, Speedy," Wolverine shook his head, "We got work to do. We ain't leavin' till we're sure this place is safe– these kids need protecting. Wings, Red, Shades, Flashlight, you're with me."
The designated X-Men rose from their seats, if they weren't up already, and started to file out.
"And me?" from Jean-Paul. Quiet.
But of course, Mr. Logan heard. Mr. Logan freaking heard everything. "Ain't you got some friends to talk to?"
Bobby looked to his right now, to see the answer...
But Northstar was already gone.
Jesus Christ, he hated when the guy did that.
"Uh... so what about me?" he asked, as Scott finally seemed to break out of his trance, thanks to Jean's prodding, and turned to walk away.
Logan turned and nodded in his direction once. "You and the Flamer can tell the kids what's up."
And with that, he turned to talk to Xavier. Privately.
Bobby sighed, and smacked himself directly in the forehead. Great. Quality time with fire-boy, who obviously wanted to melt him. Fan-fucking-tastic.
"You n me, mate," The orange-haired dude winked at him.
Yes, winked at him.
"Good grief," Another sigh, and Bobby stood up, pushing his chair out from under him impatiently. Okay, so yeah, he'd been scared of dude at first. But this was some serious shit going down here... and he still had some damn questions. "What the hell is up with Scott all the sudden?" he asked absolutely no one, leaning on the table with both hands, staring down at it's metallic surface, shaking his head.
To his surprise, Pyro actually replied. "Pretty kid brother is at the top of Mr. Bad-Man's want list, apparently. Fearless Leader isn't real excited, looks like."
"Christ," Bobby looked up at his unlikely companion now, feeling his own eyes go wide. Damn. Sinister wanted Alex? What the hell for? Sure, dude's power was pretty insane... he liked that right? Super powerful mutants? Wasn't the whole thing with Wanda and Pietro because of Magneto being their father and them being twins? And Wanda was definitely uber powerful. And Pietro had some control, even if he was a huge horrible bastard... "Jesus Christ," He repeated, shaking his head. Fuck. No wonder Scott had gone after JP. He must be wrecked.
"He can't help you now, mate," the orange-haired Aussie pointed out, rather unnecessarily. Satan's your only hope, down here in the fire."
Bobby made a face at the melodrama. And then rolled his eyes, to make it clear just what he thought.
Jesus, dude should write bad paperbacks, or something.
AN: ... I find my self at a loss...
Oh no, wait, I now remember what I wanted to say! I pretty much anticipate reviews telling me how much I fucked up Pietro and Wanda's backstory. I realize that their mother gave birth in Bova's cottage. I realize... a lot of things. But I changed them. Cause it's Evo. Alex is also gay here in my odd little world. Woot!
While this chapter solves some issues, it definitely brings up more– never fear, there is a reason! And, I've also decided to go ahead and start planning out the sequel, which I thought I'd never say. But I have too many plots going here, and I don't want to leave a stone unturned. So... never fear. I will not leave questions unanswered.
And... now I'm really at a loss. So how about some shout-outs?
Minerva Solo: No worries about me, I'm always here! However, the Rps are listed on my info page, and we WILL have a Northstar up for grabs in the next few months, so I'll keep everyone updated. (wink-wink). Forge makes me so unbelievably happy in the Evo-verse– definitely get ahold of Middleverse and Shadow Dance (the episode that made me fall in love with the show, incidentally.) He's so the man!
crazyspaceystracey: Wow. That was so damn sweet of you, to say that the Django/Pietro conversation affected you like that. Obviously, it affected me. But... I wrote it, so there you go. And yes! Dingdingding! You were right! Magda it is!
foggynite: Thank you! I am glad they come off "prickly but functional," that is definitely what I'm going for! Particularly with the boys. Pietro/JP is clearly my OTP, there's no denying it. And I'm glad they have convinced you too. Rarely is such a match made... so pretty, so perfect, yet so volatile. Thanks for reading!
Eboni: As for Wundagore being the same place that Magneto messed with Kurt– I have theories on that. Wundagore is the High Evolutionary's citadel, which implies to me that it wouldn't have been deserted when Wolvie went to check it out, as he did in Evo, if it was, indeed Wundagore that he went to check out. SO, I'm thinking that it's like 616– Mags had his "hideout" castle (like in 616, which the BH there was familiar with), and the HE had his Citadel of Science, totally seperate. The HE and Sinister both have their power ties with En Sabah Nur, which is another complicated issue, but I wanted to keep Magneto separate from their functions in the Evo-verse, considering his obviously forced part in Apoc's whole plan. ... And that was a very long winded response to a simple question... but anyhow, I'm glad Lance went over well with you. Grouchy Grandpa Lance makes me happy. Much love!
Risty: Omg you complimented my Forge! /blush. Girl, you are the Queen of Forgeness, thank you so much! Very glad that the last bit with the twins in Transia didn't drag, and I can only hope and pray that this bit didn't either. It was agonizing for me, trying to write the middle section of this chapter, because I live in fear of draggage. Kick my ass if it happened!
amura: Woot for Alpha Flight references! I'm not sure if you were just talking about Walt, or if you caught the Flex and Radius mentions too, but either way, go you! AF owns! ... okay no, it was kinda lame, but it made me happy, anyhow! If Forge and Alex somehow crossed their DNA, don't you think the resulting child would just have the most fabulous hair...?
PomegranateQueen: As for Kitty/Remy, it's simply not plausible due to age issues, though I don't think they make a bad pair, to be honest. My pairs are random and I don't really control them, they control me, so you're in for a hell of a ride if you hang on for the long haul! They aren't really the focal point of my plotting, however– what is really important to how I plot the fic is the relationships between the siblings. The Beaubiers, the Maximoffs, even the Summers kids. All else is secondary, really. Rogue/Remy, Remy/Kitty, Anyone/anyone, it's a story about family. The sex is just for fun ;) I'm glad you can enjoy it, however, despite the dislike for some of the pairings, and I really feel complimented that you'd read it anyhow! Very sweet!
DemonRogue13: Thank you for the back up on the need for logic and care with the pairings. I definitely need that here. Sometimes. Random hook-ups serve their purposes, clearly. But sometimes, it takes time! Thanks for reading!
Star-of-Chaos: Pyro in the kitchen... dear god, I'm slightly afraid... god I love me some Johnny ;) Good luck with that one!
Relwarc: Have I mentioned yet how much I love your reviews? Just wanted to make sure... Anyhow! I actually have a good friend coughTKDcough who hates Lance with a fiery passion. To be honest, I love him. But when I pick who I use for PoV, it's mostly because those particular people will show through what I want to be shown about one of my main characters, effectively. I consider those to be JP, JM, Wanda, Pietro, Scott, Alex, and sorta Jean, Warren, and Sam, by association. The Toad appearance is definitely slated (dude... next chapter! Whoa, progress!), but only because it will show JP from the PoV I want him to be shown from. That sort of thing. It's what I think about at night, at times– who can I use to forward the plot or the character development I need? It's not that I don't love them, because Toad is actually one of my favorite Evo characters (I have Brotherhood issues, it's true.) It's just that... this is so effing complicated. I really appreciate you hanging in there, even though some characters get the shaft. I admit that they do, and I'll try and draw more of them in, simply so it doesn't get to the point where they seem totally and unrealistically uninvolved in the things happening around them. As for Magda... seriously, I don't know that she's really been dealt with, ultimately, in the comics. I've never seen anything about her after her leaving them with Bova, and Bova trying to pawn them off. If you see anything.... god, please let me know. I love those kids more than is healthy, it's true. So very, sickeningly true.
Jen1703: /pets Jean. It's okay baby, it's not your Warren, I swear... No seriously, I'm really really honored that you'd read my fic. It's so sweet of you and... gah. I love you. You know this. /heart.
Doublel27: Yes! Another winner! Magda it is, and we see my Maximoff obsession shine through! As for Sam... yes. How COULD any woman resist. He is SAM. And he is godly. Thanks so much for taking the time to read this, it means loads to me. You're a darling!
CrimsonObsession: Omg! Heart you! SO glad you understand the Warren thing– I honestly think that sometimes people forget that Evo isn't 616, and expect Warren to be a stupid playboy asshole. There are two things wrong with that, of course. One of which is that in Evo, Warren was a quiet recluse of a millionaire who was cautious and gentle. And the second of which is that 616 Warren has been through some changes since Apoc. And no one wants to give him credit for what he's done since. Bless you for understanding. You rock. But you know I think you rock!!
cyberpilate: I'm SO glad to hear that the last chapter wasn't... too much, with the whole Pietro flashback-ish stuff. I was quite concerned that it might be overload (and, admittedly, I am with this one too, but for different reasons.) Makes me glad to hear that things made sense. So glad. As for me putting myself into the characters... I really shouldn't admit to this if it's off-putting, but I do that with everyone. I'm really not all that imaginative– Jean has my sense of self, Alex has my inner pothead sunchild, JP has my sarcastic frozen exterior, Pietro has my impatience with the rest of the stupid ass world, Wanda is just me looking at the rest of humanity wondering wtf is happening, etc. I don't know how to write without putting myself into the characters, and I wouldn't know how to make it feel real if it wasn't something I'd experienced. That might be a bit much about my process, and I do hope it doesn't ruin things too much for you, but that's definitely where I'm coming from when I write this fic. A strange way to work, maybe, but it's all I have! And tell me... did you scream like a fangirl for Magda?! I'm so glad you sorted that out (figured you would, to be honest!) I've been wanting to mess with her for AGES. Marvel just left her wide open for me... mwahaha!
Akuma no Tsubasa: No need to worry about me, sugah. This fic ain't over till it's over, and that's a promise! Yeah, JP isn't having the best week of his life, and it's about to get a lot worse, if you want a little spoiler. I hate to hurt him, but my darling Canuck just bleeds so pretty, it's hard to resist sometimes. Hopefully, he'll forgive me. If I give him his Pietro back...
Slash Gorden: Have I told you yet how much I love that SN? Slash Gorden. Ha! JP and angst simply go hand in hand, as I was just saying. I do feel bad for the fellow, but he had his fun in the last fic, and he may yet have a few happy moments in store in my head. It's just... he's such a good whipping boy. And really, he didn't have a good storyline in 616 that wasn't rife with angst anyhow. He's just askin for it ;) Glad you're still interested, however, and I'll be updating as often as is humanly possible! Thanks so much for reviewing, it makes me happeeee!
girlonthem00n: How many chapters will it be before JP and Pietro see each other again...? Well... okay so I have the next two plotted out VERY specifically, and they won't as of those two. The ones after that are kinda up in the air, specifics-wise, though I do know exactly what needs to happen and how. I just... don't know when or from whose PoV. So I can safely say... not in the next two chapters... but some time shortly after that! Also... gods I hope you're still okay with my Gambit. I'm so effing paranoid about writing him. Let me know, will you?
D: /posts more. Thanks!
That's all folks! I'm out for the night, and already into chapter twelve. I hope this one reads well, but feel free to tell me if it sucks ass. It's just getting more and more involved, and though I know exactly what's going on... sometimes it's hard for me to tell if I've communicated it well enough. I've had this damn plot in my head for the past what? Six months? So it's all a bit mushy at this point. Thanks a million to everyone who bothered to review– I can't tell you how much I appreciate the feedback. I know it doesn't seem like much, but it means a lot to me, so thanks. Also, Sue Penkivech makes me happy, because she's a badass beta reader. This chapter was a bear, so love on her please thx la Dig it. Love, Beaubier