Thicker Than Water

by Beaubier

Completed! Aurora and Northstar, Quicksilver and the Scarlet Witch, the Brotherhood, the XMen, the Acolytes. Alliances are tested, ties are cut, and siblings find out if blood really is thicker than water. Third in a series, but could stand alone.

14. Truths and White Knights

Chapter Thirteen: Truths and White Knights

Even had he predicted this situation, he definitely wouldn't have predicted that it would go this way.

Pietro Maximoff was sitting on a cot in the corner, legs crossed in front of him, hands crossed over his belly as he slouched against the wall. Watching his twin sister pace. Like a tiger. Like she was going to explode. Like she was the one with the mutation that made it almost impossible to stop moving.

Which of course, he did. Not that he could tell, at the moment. Considering that he couldn't feel his mutation.

And that was fucking freaky. No question.

In the past hour or so (and god, hours moved fast, if it had really been an hour, like Wanda said), he'd kinda gotten used to it. He didn't feel sick anymore.

He just felt retarded. Literally. Slow as fuck, and hating it. He felt so... stupid. So many small things– shifts in the light, ticks in peoples' movement, his own racing metabolism– were all wrong. Everything was wrong, as if he'd been dragged into some doped up fantasy world.

Which, considering the nature of their captivity... wouldn't even surprise him at this point.

He knew what he had to do, of course. And, honestly, now was probably a good time to do it, while Wanda couldn't hex him into next week for what it was he had to tell her. He knew the look on her face too fucking well. She was thinking. And she was pissed. And any minute now, she was going to turn it on him, and he was going to have to tell her, and at least she couldn't kill him right now because they had these stupid bracelets on and if there was any gas then he was the fucking Blob because–

"I hate being trapped." She turned on him, suddenly, crossing her arms in front of her, one hip jutting out, jaw set in determination. "These goddamn walls are pissing me off. They make me nervous. Makes me feel like I'm losing my fucking mind or something."

He watched her for another moment, in silence. A very long moment. And then realized what it was that was bothering her.

Shit. Eight years locked up in an institution. Eight years she didn't even remember, technically. But obviously, something in her did. And if she could still feel that paranoia... what if she just remembered everything? He had to tell her, right?

"Something's been pulling at my mind for months, Pietro," she told him, after that moment of silence. "And I know you know what it is. And you said you'd tell me, back at the Maximoffs'. So tell me."

Deep breath. What if he did? Even if she couldn't hex him, that didn't mean she couldn't kill him, really. Hell, a few months ago, she would've used her bare hands, and he knew it. So if he told her... would she revert? Would she suddenly remember? Would she come after him, right there and then, and then go gunning for Magneto again?

Magneto... god.

Pietro stood, the thought of his father suddenly having lit a fire under him, and walked to the other side of the room to stand in front of her. He already felt like he was living a dream, with castles and magic and all that shit he'd only heard about in stories. Stories he used to love. Now, just– too slow, too surreal. "Okay, Wanda. I'll tell you. But... you gotta promise not to kill me, once we get out of here and get our powers back."

Slowly, she nodded back, "I'll do what I can."

"Wanda... promise. No killing."

She sighed, and her lower lip stuck out in an unconscious pout. "Okay. No killing you. Fine. Now talk."

He looked at her for a very long moment, weighing his options. There was the truth. There was the partial truth. And then there were more lies. Honestly... the truth was easier. And... well, he hadn't been lying to her to be mean, this whole time. For one, he was more likely to stay alive, if he lied. And for another, she was honestly better off not remembering. Fuck, Pietro wished he didn't remember, that was for damn sure...

Right. So maybe just... the truth, this time. Not like it mattered-- not like he was really convinced that they would get out and get their powers back.

Might as well die with a clean conscience. Because of all the shit he'd done in his life, all the people he'd hurt, lies he'd told... this one was the only one he'd ever really felt bad about anyhow. It had been hard not to think about it– how things used to be with Wanda, when they were kids. Being back in Transia, near Django and Marya... Dad and Day...

He swallowed hard, and looked away from her, then returned to the bed. He sat, scooted against the wall again, and patted the seat next to him.

She followed, and sat there, where he'd patted. Close to him, but not touching. Wide cobalt eyes, watching him.

Deep breath. Goddamn, time was moving so fast around him. So fucking slow...

"Okay," he started, wincing a bit. "So... remember all that stuff after we left Transia, way back when? Coming to America, living with Magneto? All... whatever it is you remember?"

Her brow furrowed deeply, and her eyes narrowed, just so. "Well, yeah."

Right. And here it comes... "None of that happened."

She just sat, for a moment. Lips slightly parted. Face frozen in a mask of complete confusion and disbelief. He couldn't even imagine what was going through her mind. He wished he could think of more to say, but really... that was it, wasn't it? Nothing she knew, after Transia, was real. Not until Toad had brought her home that day. Nothing.

Fuck. Sucked to be a Maximoff, sometimes.

"What do you mean, it never happened?" she finally managed, voice low and somewhat creaky. Not angry... just... tentative? "I remember it, Pietro–,"

"No," he interjected, knowing damn well he needed to explain this. Fuck, it already sucked so hard for her, having to hear this. Not to mention for him having to explain it... "You think you remember it." He looked at her face for another moment, an indefinite amount of time lapsing. Apparently, it wasn't a terrible amount, as she seemed content to let him examine her expression... but he couldn't find anything there. Just... confusion.

On impulse, he reached out, and covered her hand, resting on the bed between them, with his. So much smaller, darker. So much more gypsy.

The kids in the camp had always liked her better. She was pretty, like a gypsy. He remembered that, all too well.

"Back before Apocalypse," he started again, "something happened to you... your memories were... replaced. You remember going snowboarding, when Kurt and Todd showed up? When you forgot why... why you used to be angry at Magneto?"

She made an irritated face now, her nose scrunching up, just like she used to when she was little. "It's not like I forgot," she snapped. But then, suddenly, she turned pensive again. Like she'd changed her mind, suddenly. Like she was trying very hard to remember. "I just got over it, eventually. It was just some stupid bitterness thing, I think–," but she was cut off by her own slight wince of pain.

Pietro let out a short breath, and blinked heavily. Fuck. "But you don't remember what kind of thing." It wasn't even a question. "And when you try to remember... it hurts."

Wanda opened her mouth then, red lips at first curling just the tiniest amount, preparing for a sneer... but the blankness of confusion soon returned, and she simply stuttered, "I..."

"What's the first thing you really remember?"

Again, her brow furrowed. A slight wince, less noticeable. "Now that you mention it, I remember being really fucking pissed when Todd kissed me. And then Kurt said he'd saved me..."

But Pietro was stuck on the first part. "What?!" That fucking frog had kissed his sister?! Oh, no... no he did not. "You never told me–,"

"Oh Christ, Pietro," she rolled her eyes, her hand twitching under his slightly. "I make out with Sam all the time."

"Gah!" He closed his eyes, willing the mental images away. God, it was bad enough he'd had to see it at that club like... whatever. A month or two ago. Did he really need to relive it? "Wanda! Don't make me hurt him–"

Her hand grabbed at his, suddenly, and squeezed. Hard. He gave a slight squeak of pain, and she simply said, "Story."

"Okay," he sounded pathetic, even to his own ears. "But... you believe me?" Because honestly, he wasn't sure she could accept this. Especially not from... well, him. He wasn't exactly known as the most trustworthy human being in the world. Of course, he had absolutely no reason to lie to his sister about this. At all. Ever. And really, it was just to fucking bizarre not to be true...

"... I don't know," she hesitated, for a moment. But her hand was still locked into his, and gently. "But everything before... doesn't feel..."

"Right?" he guessed, assuming that wasn't the end of her sentence.

And he was wrong. "No. It just... doesn't feel. At all. Except for–,"

This one, he knew. "Transia."

"Yes."

Fuck. Right. So now he'd come to it... He turned away from her, unable to really look her in the eye while he did this. Because this was the shit... this was the shit he didn't think about. Sure, Magneto cropped up a lot. Sure, he thought about Wanda more than was probably healthy. They were his family, and he was born and raised a gypsy. That was all he really cared about, if he cared about anything at all, after the shit he'd been through.

And yes. Yes, he fucking cared.

But this... Christ. This was the big one. Time was slipping by him, and all he could do was stare straight ahead, at the stone wall of the Citadel that held him captive. And try to think how the fuck to explain this to his sister. Without breaking himself. Or, really, her.

Not that they weren't already broken. Had been for years. But that was just the thing he didn't want to think of.

Numb. He could do numb. Right. Numb.

"When we were nine years old... do you remember anything?"

That pensive expression again. She shook her head, after only a few minutes. "Yes. We... was that when we went to Sea World for our birthday...?"

Pietro felt his eyebrows shoot up, and his mouth fall open. And his eyes start to burn.

Sea World. Fucking Sea World. Why the fuck would they put Sea World in her head?

As if they'd ever been anywhere at all like Sea World during their entire goddamn captive childhood... "Oh... fuck...," he tried to speak, but found that he was laughing. The kind of laugh that was really just a prelude to crying, and he knew it. "No, Wanda. That's when you manifested."

"I thought we were twelve when we manifested," she argued, "We were in the park."

He shook his head, not laughing anymore, his stomach feeling sick and weak. God... he wished he could just let her think they'd been to Sea World. He'd still never been there.

"At home. Father...," God... god, he had no idea how to do this... "We hated it in America. He made us speak English all the time. Kept us inside. We couldn't play with other kids...," A random sampling of the fucked-up-ness that was the few years they'd spent with their father, together. How could he ever really explain it to her? Did he really want to? If she didn't remember, she was better off. She hated walls, just like he did. Why tell her about all of them?

"No," she was shaking her head, and her bangs were falling into her eyes, unchecked. "It wasn't that bad..."

"It was fucking awful," he informed her, matter-of-factly. "We used to cry." No... wait. Wanda hardly ever cried... "I used to cry."

Her confusion lifted, suddenly. And she cocked her head at him, eyes drilling right into him so that he had to turn and face her. And when he did, he really wished he hadn't.

She was looking at him like she knew him.

"You always cried more than me."

He swallowed, hard. "Yeah."

And she just kept... looking at him.

Slow motion. Blinking. His thoughts had no time to collect, before he felt like the pause was awkward. Before he felt like his stomach was twisting faster than he could handle. Before he felt like everything was changing around him, while he sat and watched her watch him.

Finally, he willed himself into action again. Blinked a few times, pulled his eyes off of hers. "So... uh...," fuck... where the hell had he been...? "One day, you told him we wanted to go back. And he said no. And... you... made the roof fall on us."

Her eyes went wide, but not with the reaction he'd expected. Her hand gripped at him, furtively, and her eyes appeared to be... misting up. "Pietro... this isn't funny..."

Fucking heart in his throat. "You're fucking telling me?" But he had to keep going now. This was it. This was his one chance to either have her back, or die. And really, he'd always known it was one or the other. "Listen Wanda, you're a lot better off not knowing all this. What happened after that was way worse."

"Did I hurt you?"

He felt his eyebrows draw down and together, and he considered this, for a moment. That was what she was thinking? "Yeah," he said, honestly, "knocked me out. I woke up in the lab. He wouldn't let me see you." God, he'd been so fucking pissed, when his father had told him he couldn't see her... he'd thrown a tantrum, and his father had smacked him, right across the face. Magneto was a bastard, but he rarely ever laid a hand on his children. Told him that men didn't throw tantrums, and he'd have to learn to live his own life. That he couldn't count on her for everything. That he'd be stronger, better, on his own. "He said you were too angry, and he didn't want you...," to kill them all. "Near the lab equipment."

She turned her body now, to face him, throwing her legs over his lap, with her knees high, so that they weren't actually resting on him. It put her face so close to his, he couldn't avoid her eyes anymore. She was so fucking intense, was the thing. And he knew he was too. And he knew he loved people who were. And he knew it was because of her.

But that didn't make him stop hating it as much as he loved it.

"What happened to us?"

Again, Pietro looked forward, at the wall, in a vain attempt to avoid her stare. Didn't matter. He could feel it, just the same. "You... he...," fuck. Fuck he did not need to relive this moment... he'd never really said this shit aloud. Sorta, with JP, but not like... this. Not to her. "He had you locked up. Said you couldn't control it. They took you into the hospital..."

Fuck. She'd cried then. Cried and screamed for them to take her back with them. He could still hear her. It still made him shiver, the sound of her voice, begging them not to leave her.

He slumped, bonelessly, and his head hit the stone wall behind him. He barely felt it.

"The hospital...," her voice was so shaky, the words so brittle. It was like she didn't even understand what they meant. She was just repeating sounds he'd made. Sounds that meant nothing to her. He glanced in her direction, and saw that her face was wet.

Jesus. "I couldn't get in," he tried to explain, helplessly, watching her cry. He didn't even think she noticed that she was. Tears were just rolling down her cheeks. Unchecked. No sobbing, no nothing. Just crying. "I didn't have my powers yet. I... I stopped talking to everyone. I couldn't stop him...," Fuck. What the hell was he even talking about? He didn't want to relive this but he had to but why was he telling her how he had felt?

"From what?" She asked, eyes catching his again, forcefully.

His mouth worked for a moment. And then he replied, "from leaving you." What else would he stop him from...?

"Wait," she blinked, dark eyebrows drawing down and in, as if in confusion. "Our father left me in a fucking... insane asylum," she hissed the words, as if they were poison, "when we were nine?"

He nodded, blinking hard. Fuck, his eyes were burning.

"And you stopped talking?"

Again, he nodded. God, that had sucked. He hadn't thought about it in ages, but he had refused to speak for a good six months after that, at least. He really wasn't sure how long... and he only started again because he was pretty sure Magneto was going to kill him if he didn't. "He was really pissed," he offered, lamely.

She still looked confused. Not like he could blame her, at this point. "And I... I didn't hex him?"

"No," he shook his head, and squeezed her hand again. Because this was the worst part... "You just... cried. I couldn't...," ah fuck. He was choking now. The words wouldn't come, because he was fucking choking on them. Great. Fan-fucking-tastic. "I just stood there. That's why you hate me."

Wanda took a deep breath, chest rising and falling once, slowly. But her eyes never left his, and she said, "I don't hate you."

"You do," he informed her, thinking of all the times she'd hexed the crap out of him. Used him as bait for their father. Tried to kill them both for leaving her there. And really, they'd deserved it, so not like he could blame her. "You just don't remember."

Shaking slightly, she moved a little closer to him. He let go of her hand, and put an arm around her, and she leaned her head on it. He really couldn't believe that she could stand to touch him, at the moment... but maybe it was just because she didn't remember. If she remembered, really... he'd be dead. But this was so much better. It was kinda like getting her back. Almost. Sorta. "What happened to me in there?"

He sighed again, and slumped a little more. "You just... got angry. Magneto sent me back to the Maximoffs. He said it was too dangerous at the house. Marya and Django bought the house then. Settled down for me. And I was a dick."

The small laugh she gave at that was extremely gratifying. Her face was still wet, but she was curled up around him, and it almost felt right. So he didn't move. He just prayed to a god he knew damn well wasn't there that it wouldn't change. Not yet.

"I made them send me back on exchange, when I was sixteen," he continued the story. "Mystique busted you out of the hospital after I found father... or he found me, anyhow."

"How'd he find you?"

Pietro wrinkled up his nose at the memory. "I was in jail. X-Men."

That was all the explanation she needed. "And I was with Mystique?"

"Yeah," he nodded slightly, "She brought you to kill Magneto."

"Oh my god," she seemed to freeze, in his arms.

Hm. Maybe telling her she'd been used as a weapon against her own family could've been handled in a more sensitive manner... but then, Pietro had never been accused of being sensitive. That was for fucking sure. "Yeah... you weren't real excited about me, either."

She sat up now, and looked him in the eye again. "You never came back for me."

He felt his eyes widen, and fought an urge to shrink away from her. His stomach dropped, and his eyes burned even worse. Fuck. This was exactly what he'd known would happen... "No! I did!" he insisted. "I fought the Maximoffs till they sent me back! I begged them... but you'd been in there six years, Wanda. And I couldn't get in. I... I used to watch for you sometimes..."

And he had. When he'd first come back, he'd make it a point to go by... to stand near to the hospital... to watch the windows, the doors...

Fuck. Felt like ages ago. And then he'd finally seen her, and she... wasn't his Wanda anymore. She was just... scary. Really fucking scary.

He watched as her face went from stony and wet, to slightly pink. She took one shaky breath... and started to cry in earnest. Her body rocked slightly, as she tried to breathe, but she was sobbing now. It was a lost cause.

Pietro squeezed his eyes shut, to avoid a similar fate. One of them had to be okay. He knew that much, instinctively. He put his hand in her hair, and pulled her closer, his cheek to her wet one. Jesus.

She moved now, to face him, and threw her legs over his, perpendicular, so that she could put both arms around him. It occurred to him at that point that he was actually being... a brother. Like that thing he'd seen JP do, where he'd kissed her forehead. And it was pretty goddamn sad that it had taken a complete breakdown to make him do it, really. They used to be so good together. Wanda and Pietro. "Fuck, Wanda," he whispered, "Please, don't. I seriously, I'm sorry. I should've... I was... he..."

"Shut the fuck up," she thumped his chest with one hand. "What were you supposed to do, take on Magneto when you were nine years old?"

Honestly... "I guess."

She pulled away now, and the look in her eyes was actually angry, through the tears. "Shut up."

He blinked. And almost laughed, for some reason. She just looked... so young. Pink-cheeked and wet-eyed and confused as hell. She looked like Wanda.

"No," she suddenly changed her mind. "Tell me why all I remember are stupid picnics and birthdays... and they're barely in color."

Ugh. More... she still hadn't heard the end. Jesus. He leaned back, again, his face still wet from hers, and let his head hit the wall again. But he kept one arm around her. Just in case. "You believe me?"

"I... yeah," she admitted, still sobbing, just slightly. But mostly, it looked like the worst was over. "It explains... a lot."

"Okay," he took a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut. Things were getting blurry. Fuck, why did she have to go and cry? "So eventually, you trying to kill father got old. So... he kinda... lured you to Mt. Arrowrose."

She didn't reply for a moment. And he didn't look at her. He kept looking at the wall.

"No," she finally spoke, "Todd followed me there. I just wanted to go snowboarding, and Pyro showed up and... wait..."

"No," he stopped her. "He used Pyro to lure you there, since you were trying to kill him. And when he got you there, he brain-fried you. He used some dude to change your memories."

Her hand was suddenly clutching at his shirt, near his waist. Tight. Balling it up. "If you're fucking with me..."

He looked over at her now, and simply stared. "Why?" he asked, flat, after a moment of meeting her suddenly bright-eyed, but seriously angry gaze. "Why the fuck would I lie to you here, now? I wish you could keep thinking he took us to Sea World. I wish I thought that, goddammit. Look, when we get back, ask Todd. Or Fuzz Butt."

"Why didn't you say something?" She slammed her hand into his chest again, the tears having stopped completely now.

"You wanted to kill me!" he squeezed her shoulders, but he knew his voice was rising about an octave. This was just insane... not that he could really blame her but... goddamn! "You nearly killed Magneto!"

Not that he should care, at the moment. The man had fucked him over enough, right? He wanted to get away from him, not to be like him, never to have to go back to him... and he knew damn well he would, if his father asked...

"Fucking serve him right!" Wanda exploded, thumping his chest again, this time somewhat painfully, then latching on to his shoulder.

He only sighed, however. Cause she was absolutely right. "I know. But... Wanda, believe me," he shook his head, "I hate him. You know I was glad, when we thought he was dead. All he's ever done is use us. And I keep... I..."

I keep going back to him.

Fuck.

She looked at him for a moment, her face returning to its normal pale tones, and then nodded, slowly. She understood. "You always did care what he thought. When we were little."

He closed his eyes. He had. He'd always been the one who was afraid to displease him, afraid to upset him... she'd always been the one who wasn't afraid. "It was a lot harder not to, without you," he admitted, as the thought entered his mind. He hadn't really considered it before but... damn. It was true. Maybe if she'd been there, none of that would've happened... "You're the big sister."

"Jesus fucking Christ, Pietro," she sounded a little mad again. But halfheartedly. "What the fuck did he do to us?"

"What didn't he do," he retorted, with equally halfhearted bitterness. "That'd be a good place to start."

Silence then. Again, he couldn't judge for how long. Time... it just ticked away so quickly for everyone. How did they deal with it– the feeling that they were losing so much of their lives, so quickly? How had he dealt with it... before he'd known? It seemed to him that he should always have known. He'd always been Quicksilver, somehow, hadn't he?

No. No, he was just... tired. And time was slipping through his fingers. And he didn't care, because she was here. "So, you don't want to kill me?"

"You? No," she replied, resting her head on the arm she still had around his neck, once again. "Him? Yes. But first... we have to get the fuck out of here."

He leaned his head on hers, and yet another sigh escaped him. "Fuck... I'm so sorry Wanda."

He'd said it a long time ago. After they'd gotten him out of that prison Sinister had kept him in with Jeanne-Marie Beaubier. Before he'd ever thought they could be friends with the X kids. Before Jean-Paul had changed everything. He'd said he was sorry, then. And he meant it for all the same things, now.

"Me too," she told him.

"I wish it had been me."

"The asylum? Or the mindwipe?"

Pietro closed his eyes. And said, "Yes."

She slid her arms down, around his waist, and put her head on his shoulder. She smelled like sandalwood, vaguely. Her face was wet and hot against his neck. He let his head rest on top of hers, and flicked her overgrown bangs away from her eyes.

It didn't feel quite right. Not like when they used to fall asleep together, when they were prisoners of their own father. There was something huge between them now. Years between them. But that was nothing new. That had been there since she'd gotten out of the hospital.

Strange, however. Now that she knew why that thing was between them... it didn't seem like the years had been quite so long anymore. Didn't seem so... unfixable. So maybe... if they ever got the fuck out of here... they'd be alright again. Now that they'd admitted to everything.

The idea almost made him giggle. Just a little.

Instead, he sighed. Jesus, he was so literally retarded right now. If this was what being "normal" was like... he'd rather die.

Of course... it was looking like they might.

He hugged Wanda a little tighter, and she shifted against him, letting him pull her close. This wasn't like her. And it wasn't like him.

But it was, really. And no one had to know but them.

So he leaned his head back against the wall. And tried to breathe evenly.

Dying was going to suck. He'd really miss JP.

---

When he'd left the room, Jeanne-Marie had been crying.

And all he'd wanted to do was hold her.

But he couldn't. Ever again. Because every time he touched her, now, they would black out. Every. Time.

Jean-Paul couldn't cry. His eyes were burning and his throat was tight. When he'd seen Scott, Alex, and Rogue standing there, staring at him as he'd exited the room, he'd honestly thought he was going to, right there and then. Dissolve into a sobbing puddle in front of all his friends and be forced to commit ritual suicide out of shame.

He leaned his elbows on his knees, reliving the painful, fresh memory, still scraped raw, and put his face in his hands with a shaky sigh. God, he'd wanted to kill Xavier when the old man had told him the "clues" about Transia weren't good enough, and they wouldn't be leaving immediately. If not for Jeanne-Marie sobbing beside him, he probably would have. It was so painful that she was right next to him... and still the furthest away she'd ever been. Crying, hugging herself, asking him over and over again to forgive her.

Naturally, he'd said he did. But she couldn't feel him anymore, couldn't tell if he did or not, like she usually could. And he couldn't touch her, couldn't hug her and comfort her as he usually did. So why should she believe him?

It actually, physically hurt. Like he'd been gutted. Like something was missing from his stomach. It ached and it was so empty inside...

He'd said that he forgave her.

But he wasn't sure he could, not really. All he could think, over and over, was "How could she?" All of this, for what? For the experiments of some doctor in Ottawa? For some invented peace of mind for her alternate personalities? Why?What was so fucking important that she would choose it over him?

Logically, he knew she hadn't done anything of the sort.

But his eyes burned, and his stomach ached. And god, he was just. So. Alone.

Someone knocked at his door. And he ignored it, of course. He hadn't bothered to lock it, but no one would dare to open his door without invitation–

He heard the door swing open.

Correction. Someone would.

He didn't bother looking up, even then, however. Only one person had the balls, or the stupidity, to do it. He knew who it was. He wanted to tell him to fuck off. Ask him if causing him to completely flip out in the meeting earlier hadn't been enough for Scott. Hit his "team leader" square on the jaw, like he had the first time Jeanne-Marie had been taken from him...

But he didn't. He just sat, covering his face, trying to breathe, as he heard his friend's footsteps coming closer. Jean-Paul's heart was pounding in his ears, a desperate urge to fight, to cry, to run building up in him. He felt the bed shift under him as Scott sat– just close enough so that their knees wouldn't touch.

Jean-Paul squeezed his eyes shut and suppressed a sigh. For some reason, this visit already bothered the fuck out of him. He was sick of people being careful with him. Sick of... everything.

"Hey."

Jean-Paul opened his eyes, at that, scoffing. Hey. How very... masculine. How Fearless Leader. How utterly infuriating.

"Hey, man," Scott surprised him by nudging him with his arm, leaning into him for a moment, "You okay?"

Okay? Did he look okay? Jean-Paul wound his fingers tightly in his own hair, and tried to keep from screaming, from flying, from kissing him, hitting him. Anything. Something. Surely, this was what it felt like to be mad. Desperate. Losing the battle.

"Jean-Paul...," he tried again, voice quiet and careful. Normally, by this time, the insults would have been flying. It was simply how they dealt with one another. Something very like this had happened once before, a long time ago. Months like years. "You're going to explode."

An almost silent, extremely bitter laugh escaped him, and he finally looked up, hand dropping to hang lifelessly between his knees, elbows still on his thighs. He didn't even look at Scott– didn't know if he could. And not because he was angry about the meeting. The meeting meant fuck all.

He wasn't even sure why he couldn't look at him, exactly. But he knew that wasn't it. He just couldn't. He just... hurt.

"Oui," he breathed, finally.

"Better to do it here, now, with me. Not when we're in Transia fighting Sinister."

Jean-Paul felt his mouth curl up in derision. Ah, oui, because it certainly looked like they'd be shipping out at any moment now... "What do you want me to say, Scott?" he hissed, so bitter he could taste it. He knew his accent would be heavy, knew his voice sounded strained and thick with emotion. But he couldn't stop it now. "Do you want me to cry now? Do you want to hear what you already know?"

"I don't know," the answering emotion in the other boy's voice surprised him. "That's the thing, man, you haven't talked to anyone since..."

A deep breath, and Jean-Paul covered his face again, with one hand, his head pounding, stomach aching. Since Pietro had gone.

"Seriously," his voice dropped a little deeper, even more sincere now. "Stop fighting it. Fuck it, Jean-Paul, it's just me."

He dropped his hand, sneering at the wall before him. Oh, how very touching. It's just me. You can talk to me, Jean-Paul. "You sound like Jean."

A quick, irritated release of breath from Scott announced just how aggravating that particular rebuttal had proven. "You sound like Pietro."

"Fuck you, Summers," he choked on the words.

The horrible part was that Scott was right. That trick of Pietro's, pissing people off so they'd leave him alone, let him have his way... Jean-Paul was pulling that right now. Jesus, but... he didn't really even want Scott to leave, was the thing. He just... he...

"Don't be a dick, Jean-Paul," the older boy's voice was returning to its usual tone now, with the welcome addition of their usual surface animosity in the words. And it somehow put the speedster slightly more at ease. "Goddammit, you're broken. Just break and get it over with. This is insane."

His resolve melted, and he felt it dripping out of him. But he stood, suddenly needing to move, to distance himself from his friend. "What should I say?!" His voice was louder than he'd meant it to be, when he spoke, but he had no control. It was about to start falling out of him, and there was nothing he could do. Every word hurt, already. In a wonderful way. "That I... that I don't know where he is and he could be... gone and I'll never know if I was right to keep my word?" He stopped walking when he reached the wall, and turned, finally meeting Scott's eyes through ruby shades. His friend's gaze was unwavering as he sat, listening. "That I'm...," Jean-Paul pushed out through his teeth, wanting to keep going, needing to get something out, now that he'd begun, "that she... I can't even..."

I can't even hold my own sister, the only person I've ever loved, while she cries for me.

But he choked again, and his eyes were wet. The image of Scott sitting on his bed in a white t-shirt, stained with someone's blood, blurred.

"Yeah," Scott nodded, once. "That. All of it."

Jean-Paul balled up his fists, trying not to shake. This wasn't supposed to happen. He wasn't supposed to want it to. He blinked hard, and tried again. "Can you change it, if I tell you that right now, I have nothing and no one? That for years, I never knew what I was missing, so it didn't matter? And now I do and..."

Dieu, he hated himself for this. Who needs love when you have fame? He'd known it was missing, back then. But he hadn't known what it meant, really. Hadn't known anything. And now here he was, spilling out his blood for Scott Summers. All over him. All over the floor. He hated it and it hurt, but chrisse, what could he do...?

"We'll get him back," Scott informed him, in definite leader-voice. Honestly. He truly believed what he was saying.

Fuck, he wanted him back. And her. Both so far away. And it was even more painful, the distance between him and Jeanne-Marie, than the distance between him and Pietro.

Because she was just downstairs.

He wrapped his arms around himself and drew a shaking breath, trying to calm his heart, to force it out of his throat. He gripped his own arms hard, and blinked tears away again, refusing to let them fall. He was bleeding enough for Scott. Even if it did hurt this good. It was too much. "I can't feel her anymore."

The other boy's eyebrows raised, slowly, and he leaned forward on the bed. "Hell... at all?"

"Just a little," he shook his head, trying to explain things as best he could, through the unfamiliar confusion that clouded his mind. "But honestly, it's more like I can feel that she's not there. At first, I thought she was shutting me out. But she isn't... we keep trying, not even thinking about it. She's just...," again, he stopped. Choking. Fuck, but he couldn't. Too much.

"Jesus, man," Scott's eyes were wide, his face pained. He obviously hadn't considered that aspect of their powers and how it would be affected by this... genetic fuck-up she'd been a party to. It was strangely gratifying, the understanding, the sympathetic pain, dawning on his face. Gratifying and infuriating, all at once. "I had no idea."

Still hugging himself, Jean-Paul leaned back against the wall, letting his head thump against it dejectedly. "My whole life," he tried to explain, "I never...," had anyone, loved anyone, felt anything like her. "Everything changed, with her... I suddenly understood why I was so..."

"Alone," Scott finished for him, blessedly.

Jean-Paul let out a sigh of relief. He couldn't say certain things. He'd wanted to... but god, he hated himself for loving this release.

"I know man," the other boy nodded, standing and starting toward him now. "I remember, after I lost Alex."

Of course... he hadn't considered... but Scott had lost Alex once, for a very long time. Completely different circumstances, but still fundamentally similar. Jean-Paul's stomach jerked, as Scott stopped, two feet before him, eyes locked to his. Without really thinking, words began to spill out again. "I didn't know why before. Now, I know. And... there's a wall between us... but it's glass. I can see her. But I can't feel her, touch her. She might as well be something I imagined." Fuck. He could barely squeeze the words past the lump in his throat, and Scott was blurring again. His eyes were burning and he hated the sound of his own voice in his head, thick and forced– hated the sound of the words he wasn't able to stop until speaking had become a physical impossibility...

"It's okay man," Scott reached out, lay a warm, reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Keep going."

Jean-Paul closed his eyes at the touch, and hugged himself tighter. "I don't want to keep going," he mustered one last round of bitterness, for that. But his heart wasn't in it. "I just want to forget," he finished, weakly.

"You can't forget," Scott squeezed his shoulder, and Jean-Paul opened his eyes, searching his friend's face, desperate for what he saw there, as shameful as he felt it was. "Jeanne-Marie is still your sister."

"Is she?" he snarled. Certainly didn't feel like it.

Scott actually winced, at that. "She is. And we'll get Pietro back."

And then, he did something remarkable. He took his hand from Jean-Paul's shoulder, and sort of... spread his arms, just slightly, turning his palms upward. Hands held out to him.

There was no hesitation. Jean-Paul stepped forward, and wrapped his arms around the other boy, one around his neck, one around his waist. He was almost surprised when Scott did the same, the hand that had been on his shoulder sliding back over it, and coming to rest on his back, the other arm locking around his waist.

It wasn't a man-hug. Nothing quick, nothing awkward– separated hips, bump chests, pat-pat.

No. It was a real hug. Scott and Jean-Paul, breathing against each other. Warm and solid and fuck, he was going to cry. He tried not to shake, released a breath that sounded more like a sob, into Scott's neck. Jesus, but he felt good. Jean-Paul reached up just a little more, clutched at Scott's hair, holding him too tightly. Needing it too much.

And Scott, again, to his surprise, let him. The older boy tightened his grip around Jean-Paul's waist, not even a hint of shying away.

Jean-Paul knew his face was wet, but couldn't care. Fuck, he needed this. Needed to feel someone like this, needed to touch someone. It had been so long. He buried his face in Scott's hair, vaguely noticing that he hadn't had it cut in months, breathed into him with an almost disturbing amount of affection in the action. Normally, he would never have allowed it. Would never have wanted it. But he smelled like clean sweat and blue shampoo... felt strong, like he was holding him up... and god. So. Warm.

He would have kissed him right there and then. If Scott Summers hadn't been the Straightest Man on Earth, he really would have. God knew, he was dying to, at the moment. Never before, probably never again. Just here, feeling slightly mad and clinging.

"Jesus, Jean-Paul," Scott breathed, sounding almost shaky himself. Perhaps he understood the significance of the action, of this exchange. Perhaps he felt it, understood Jean-Paul's need as deeply as he hoped. But even if he didn't... couldn't... it didn't matter. It was close enough. It was more than he'd expected. "If Xavier doesn't ship us out in eight hours, once everyone has gotten some rest... we'll go."

Ah... god. Surely he didn't mean... Jean-Paul swallowed hard, squeezed his eyes shut to stop the flow of tears. Weak. Shameful. God, why wouldn't it stop? He pulled back a bit, out of the warm safety of the embrace, but kept one hand on Scott's shoulder, the other resting at his hip. Not clutching at him quite so fiercely. But unwilling to give it up, completely. A deep breath, a long look. Eyes behind red sunglasses, unwavering. A deep breath, and he leaned forward, put his forehead against Scott's. Felt him breathe. Felt him. "We?"

"You and me," he confirmed, breath hot on Jean-Paul's face. He made no move. The speedster was almost certain that Scott had no idea what was "okay," in this situation. Had he ever been so close to another boy before? Would he think anything of the fact that he was right now? But he felt good, seemed to acquiesce to Jean-Paul's demands without protest. Didn't pull away. Stayed close. Jean-Paul wouldn't forget. "We can both pilot the X-Jet."

Telling him exactly what he wanted to hear. And could never happen, obviously. Scott would never disobey the Professor. Never be so... reckless. The younger boy closed his eyes again, and choked out, "Scott, don't–,"

"No joke," Scott's hand returned to his shoulder now, squeezed it. Jean-Paul could still feel him breathing as he spoke. "I swear, okay?"

The speedster pulled back a little more, leaving a small space between them, knowing that he couldn't hold a discussion on the beautiful insanity of this idea while he was clinging like a child. He took his hand from Scott's shoulder, and ran it over his own face, hoping to dry it off, so he wouldn't look quite so ridiculous. He looked Scott in the eye again, as the other boy let him go, returned his arms to his side. But Jean-Paul kept that hand at his hip, just at the waist of Scott's jeans.

"Why?" he asked, once he'd managed to compose himself enough to be sure he wouldn't choke on the word.

"Because it's right," Scott's eyes were still unwavering, sincere behind their red screens. "We need to move, now. They got the first move, but we came out on top. We need to end it, now. It's too dangerous not to. And man," the corners of his mouth twitched upward now, in a not quite smile. "I'd do it anyhow."

Dieu, but he wanted to kiss this man.

Instead, he leaned into him again, resting his head on Scott's shoulder. Pretending not to notice that his face was wet, once more.

Scott put his arms around him, and rubbed his back just a little awkwardly.

It didn't matter. He loved him for it, just the same.

"Okay," he whispered, sighing. "Okay, Jean-Paul."

He tried to breathe deeply. He tried to relax. He tried to tell himself how utterly embarrassing this would be in the morning.

The last one came the closest to composing him, finally.

After a few moments, he managed to get himself under control, and stood up straight, taking a step backward, and wiping at his face with the back of his hand. "You tell anyone..." he left the half-hearted threat open.

Scott smiled, putting his hands in his pockets. Looking a little rumpled, but none the worse for wear, really. "Don't worry man, my reputation is at stake too."

Jean-Paul meant to smile, but was fairly certain that it looked more like a grimace. Christ, he felt ridiculous. But he'd needed that... badly. "You're now queer by association."

The smiled didn't leave his friend's face for a moment. "I've been called worse by nicer people, JP."

He wanted to laugh. But it came out more like a residual sob. Come to think of it, Scott's shoulder did look just a little wet... and there he was, standing there, smiling at him.

"Need another hug?"

At that, he actually managed a fair approximation of a smirk. "It might make you gay."

"You're good-looking, man," Scott grinned, genuinely. "But not that good-looking."

Another sob of a laugh, and Jean-Paul suddenly felt much better about his almost insuppressible urge to kiss his friend, not five minutes ago. "Bloody shame, really."

Scott shook his head, still grinning, and Jean-Paul started to smile back. It almost felt normal, after that, somehow. This was the first thing, in fact, that had felt normal since Pietro had left.

He made a mental note to take Scott out and get him hopelessly fucked up, as a thank you. As soon as they won this fucking war. "Actually," he admitted, "I could use another."

"Thought so."

---

Magneto had fought for an hour.

Even without his powers, he'd given Sinister a hard enough time to be admirable. Acceptable.

But, inevitably, Sinister had won. And if Magneto wouldn't cooperate willingly... he'd make him cooperate.

The fools had failed. The Marauders couldn't even take the X-Men out two at a time. He'd have to do this his way, as usual. And they'd be here soon, assuming they were smarter than the average house pet. Which meant he needed to be ready.

He couldn't wait for Magneto to break any longer. He hadn't come this far to fail now.

"Are you sure it will augment my powers well enough," The Sniveler, as Sinister had come to think of him, questioned.

He looked down at the waif of a man– recruited through Magneto's own memories of him. Mastermind had jumped at the opportunity for retribution, initially. But now, seeing his former oppressor strapped to a metal table in nothing but his underwear, he was balking.

And to think, he'd assumed that taking away the helmet and cape would make the man less impressive.

"The design itself was thought of by Magneto, and improved upon by me. Do you doubt me?"

The Sniveler shook his head, and picked up the headgear that, once activated, would push his powers to the point where he could actually force his way into Erik Lensherr's mind. Of course, Sinister knew full well the thing worked. He'd built it the moment he'd first seen it, in Magneto's mind– only in a much bulkier, ridiculous form. It pushed the evolution of the X-gene, in Lensherr's version. This one worked purely on the mind. He'd used it with Magda, which was how she'd been able to reach the children all the way in America, with the capabilities provided by the X-gene she was not even aware of possessing.

Of course, his science was infallible. And once he had Magneto, he'd have his X-Men. And then, the experiments could begin in earnest.

---

Erik opened his eyes, and the lights were like daggers into his brain. Something in him fought, forced him to keep his eyes open. He tried to move, but his wrists were clamped down by cold metal. He reached inside, for the power he knew was there. But couldn't find it.

And then, he remembered. The procedure, to augment his powers. Essex was helping him to evolve his powers to the next stage. He'd been in Transia a week now, working with the other man, hoping to find a way to fast-forward his evolution...

Fast-forward...

Shouldn't Pietro be arriving soon? Erik felt as if he hadn't seen his children in years. They'd been so busy with school in the United States, and he in his pursuit of Mutagenics knowledge...

Finally, the room came into focus, as his eyes adjusted to the clinical light, so at odds with the stone walls and floors of Essex's underground laboratory. There was Essex, tall, broad, as a steely vampire. Red eyes blazing. And Magda.

His wife.

"How are you feeling, Lensherr?" Essex inquired. His hollow tones were so oddly unsuited to conversational topics. Health, the weather. It sounded... off, somehow.

But, honestly, Erik felt, "Quite well. I think we can do away with the restraints now."

The other man nodded, and pressed a button on the console nearby. A hydraulic hiss, and his ankles and wrists were free. Erik rose to sitting, the cold metal of the table chilling the backs of his thighs. His hands went instinctively to his neck, to the metallic inhibitor collar there. The thing made his skin crawl... but considering the nature of his powers, and the fact that the laboratory was mostly metal... it was a necessary evil today. Should their attempts at power acceleration have created a surge in his magnetic capabilities...

But now, it was over. And he wanted the horrible thing off. He tapped at it, with his index finger.

Essex nodded again, and came to him, passing a tiny pedkey before the collar to release it.

The moment it unsnapped, Erik caught it with his power, feeling it race through his entire body as he flexed it, like the iron in his blood. He floated it away... and then crunched the collar at once, into a small ball of scrap.

It fell to the ground with a clatter.

But Erik shook his head, raising his eyes to his partner's. A small waste, that, but he felt that much better for having gotten his revenge on the thing. However... it had also proven to him that they had failed in their experiment, today. "We were unsuccessful. My powers feel the same."

Essex only said, "Perhaps some another day."

"We will not stop trying," he nodded, in return.

His gaze shifted now to his wife. She was a mutant too, a weaver of dreams, with the psionic capabilities to enter the mind of a sleeping person, and change what they saw there. He'd met her when the small Transian village she worked as a seamstress in had tried to burn her alive for being a gypsy witch.

Which she was, of course.

And he'd loved her for it.

She looked frightened now, however. He offered her a smile, and stood, padding on his bare feet over the cold stone floor. He stopped, not two feet in front of her, watching her face, her large dark eyes, carefully.

Fear. Her body shrunk from him, but she didn't step away. Her pretty face seemed frozen, far too pale. Her eyes met his, for a mere second. And then looked away.

He reached out, cupped one cool cheek with his hand, tilted her face up to his.

Still as beautiful as the day they'd met. Always by his side. Her remembered his first breakthrough– how she'd been with him that day, how they'd celebrated. He'd been... well, he assumed he'd been happy. The memories seemed quite faded... watercolor-ish. But he was smiling in them. He knew that much.

Why was she afraid now? Had they fought, yesterday evening?

No... no, they'd had dinner together. Had they been irritated with one another...?

He couldn't remember, exactly.

But surely he'd remember if it had gone badly. So perhaps she was only worried.

"I am fine, Magda," he told her, running his thumb gently along the ridge of her fine cheek bone. "You should not worry so much."

Briefly, she closed her eyes. She looked so much like Wanda, when she closed her eyes.

"I know, Erik."

"The children will be here soon," he nodded, pulling his hand back now, as her eyes opened. He was very much looking forward to seeing them. Their willingness to help in the research here in Essex's laboratory meant... that perhaps they had some interest in their parents, again.

"We'll be a family again?"

He smiled, "Of course."

---

Scott Summers was furious. Furious, frustrated, depressed, and slightly sick to his stomach. As if fucking up JP's day a little more, then having that bastard (who, as it turned out, was called Scalphunter, of all things) get within five feet of Alex hadn't been enough...

Damn, he felt for Jean-Paul. The guy was impossible, of course. He was rude, he was arrogant, he was obnoxious and he was completely unapologetic for any of it. And there was no one else, possibly barring Jean Grey, that Scott would rather have at his back during a fight. There was no one else he knew had the same exact sense of loyalty he did, when it came to particular things.

Jean-Paul was his friend, and yeah, he loved him. And seeing him like that...

The last fucking straw. That's what it was.

This was ridiculous. Sitting here, stationary targets for Sinister and his potato-heads. They'd waited far too long, and now Bobby, John, Remy, and Warren were injured, and the mansion had been compromised. Too long.

It needed to end.

He reached the Professor's door, and raised his hand to knock, knowing full well that it wouldn't be necessary. It never had been. But he did it every time.

Come in, Scott, rang through his head. Just as he'd known it would.

Scott pulled the heavy oak door open and did as he was told. He stepped inside the dimly lit office, trying to keep his breathing even. The Professor didn't deserve his anger. But he had to know. This wouldn't wait. And it shouldn't have waited this long. He closed the door behind him and moved to stand just before Xavier's desk, meeting the tired, concerned eyes of his mentor straight on.

"Professor, we need to move."

The older man's initial hesitation said it all. Scott had been raised by Charles Xavier for nearly half his life. He knew what the slight wrinkle around his eyes meant, the barely-there tightening of his lips. He'd already made up his mind. And Scott wouldn't like the verdict. "Scott, please–,"

"No," he interrupted the man, for the first time in his life, as far as he could remember. He knew his tone was measured, level. Serious. This wasn't about wanting his own way, or being a brat. "This is important."

Slowly, Xavier nodded, eyes narrowing, but not in anger. In curiosity. "Alright. Go ahead." His voice was encouraging, but without enthusiasm for the interview.

Just like Scott's. He'd learned from the best, after all.

Time to make his case. "The Marauders are injured– they hopped home on three legs. We know where they are, generally, and we have the equipment and focus to work out the details on-site. If we wait, it gives them time to regroup. If we go, we're still partially unexpected. They don't know for sure that we know about Transia."

For that, he had to silently thank Pietro Maximoff. If he hadn't told Jean-Paul...

"Scott," Xavier cut into his thoughts, sounding careful, shaking his head just slightly. "We don't even know–,"

Again, he cut his teacher off. But this time, he knew his frustration was bleeding out, into his voice. "I know. Northstar knows."

"His emotions are confusing him."

For a moment, Scott simply blinked. This argument... it made absolutely no sense. Sure, Pietro was a bitch. But no way he was just talking crap to JP... Scott clenched his jaw, trying to rid himself of the desperate feeling of Jean-Paul Beaubier clinging to him like a little kid who'd lost everything he had in the world. Tried to think about it objectively.

What reason did Xavier have to disbelieve? It couldn't have been the Marauders– Rogue had gotten a headful of Riptide, and visually confirmed Transia. Once the guy woke up, they could even ask him themselves– if he had enough of a brain to know. Or Xavier could go into his head himself– dangerous, but the possibility was there. It couldn't be that he was just afraid. The Professor had sent them into worse, with far less at stake. It had to be the Quicksilver connection. Xavier didn't trust Pietro... it was the only explanation– and would explain the comment about Jean-Paul's emotions.

But why? What was he worried about?

His irritation reaching new heights, Scott furrowed his brow, and gave up. This was just insane. Their objective was clear, their target was known. "No offense, Professor, but are you blind? Pietro wasn't lying to Jean-Paul. We've sat here too long, and they got the first move. And if we have one more damn ExGen conference, we're all going to explode." With that, he thumped one hand on Xavier's desk, for emphasis. The sound surprised him, slightly. Made his stomach jump. But he was on a roll now. "We know who it is, we know where they are, we need to take them out before this gets any more out of hand."

Again, Xavier shook his head. "One more day, to finish going over the data– if we find nothing, I will enter the Marauder's mind and extract what information we need– assuming he has it. We must be certain the Institute is safe, before we leave, and we have no plan of action until we have a site. Would you take your team into the field without one?"

"I'll come up with one," he practically growled, through his teeth. Xavier was just dancing around this, refusing to give him a real reason. He knew it.

"Scott–," he held up a placating hand.

"No, Professor," he was surprised at how grim his voice sounded. It reminded him of another time he'd thought he was bucking his mentor, in fact. And it hadn't turned out to be his mentor at all. Not quite as ridiculous a situation, not quite so out of character for Xavier as it had been back then... but he felt just as angry. "You're wrong this time. This doesn't make any sense– what are you afraid of?"

Now, Xavier was the one who took a breath. "You're right– I'm not certain that we can believe Pietro Maximoff. He has a history of doing as his father wishes, and Magneto's sudden disappearance and interest in Sinister are far too convenient, timeline-wise."

Scott shook his head. Normally, he would've considered this. Maximoff was a daddy's boy, and daddy was just insane enough to pull a stunt like this. But not now. Not like this. "You think Magneto convinced Pietro to lie to JP, to lure us there, for whatever reason?" he had to clarify.

Grimly, the Professor nodded. "I doubt that Magnus is in league with Sinister, but he may somehow be using him to get to us. If his dream of mutant supremacy were to resurface, despite his... situation with Apocalypse... Scott, it's been month since we fought him. And all we've heard of Magneto since are the words of a thief."

"A thief you allowed into this house," Scott pointed out, face flushing uncomfortably. This felt wrong. All of it. Xavier was wrong.

"And he's proven that he is willing to help us, now. He's being tested. Perhaps he is not legitimate– perhaps his presence is all a part of Magneto's plan. But Gambit's word is not being taken at face value either, he's had an X-Man working with him every step of the way since he's become involved. It's not a chance we can take, not with the lives of the X-Men. And neither is gambling on the word of Quicksilver. One more day. If anything can be found, we'll find it before tomorrow ends."

No. It was all wrong. In a way, he understood, of course. Normally, he wouldn't have wanted to do something like taking the entire team to some far off country he knew nothing about on the word of that arrogant motormouth Maximoff.

But this wasn't playing around. This wasn't some high school problem. This was life and death, and Jean-Paul had known it all week. The Maximoffs had walked into a trap, and Sinister had them and Magneto. If he could get a hold of them– he could get a hold of any of them. Alex, Remy, Scott himself, even. "Pietro is a liar," he said, quietly, after a moment. "He's erratic, undependable, arrogant, and an all-around asshole."

Xavier's eyebrow arched at that. But Scott could've sworn that he was almost smiling.

"He's turned traitor for Magneto before," he continued, shaking his head now," and I think he'd probably do it again. But everything I've heard from others backs JP's story up. And, to be perfectly honest, Professor... I know he wouldn't feed Jean-Paul to the lions. Me, Jean, Kitty... especially Kitty, yeah. But you gotta understand...," he trailed off there, helpless to explain the sheer... weirdness that was Jean-Paul and Pietro.

"You're wrong," he simply finished. "I'm leaving in less than eight hours. Northstar comes with me, and probably the Brotherhood."

Having nothing else to say, Scott then turned and walked out of the office, closing the door softly behind him. No mental beckoning followed. No rebuke, no agreement.

Which suited him. He was determined to get a few hours of shut-eye before he took off for Transia. With or without the X-Men.

Either way, he had a long day ahead of him.

---

When Wanda opened her eyes, it was because of whatever it was that was pressing on her leg, shaking her.

"Wanda, Pietro, wake up, quickly!"

Her eyelids, heavy with just enough sleep for her to get comfortable in dreamland before being so rudely ejected from it, fluttered open.

And she saw... a cow.

No. A cow-person. A cow-woman.

Talking to her.

Her brother stirred against her, still sitting as he had been when she'd passed out, holding her up, sitting against the wall. "Wha–," he began, eyes fluttering open slowly. She watched as they seem to focus on the cow-woman. And listened to the predictable squeal that followed, as he realized what, exactly, he was looking at.

"The hell...?" She took slid her legs off his lap and her arm from around his neck, blinking rapidly. Was she still asleep? Because this was definitely one of the animal-people from the dream. The exact one. The cow-woman. She pushed herself off the edge of the bed, and took one step forward, on shaky legs. "Holy fuck..."

"Shhhh," the strange creature appeared, somehow, to be... smiling. She stood erect on two legs, arms and legs proportioned as a human being's, chest over pelvis, perfectly... normal-ish. But... she was still most definitely... a cow. Her head was a strangely harmonious blend of both bovine and human features, decidedly more cow-like than human. Not frightening, per se... other than for the sheer fact that... well, she was a cow. Large, dark eyes, and... a smile. "Quiet, children. We must go swiftly."

She reached out then, a small, key-like object cradled between the two fingers she possessed, almost cloven in between, like an elongated hoof with an opposable thumb. Strangely elegant and effective, really. There was a click, and Wanda felt her metal bracelet suddenly become looser, unsnapping. Her hands went to it, and pulled the horrible thing off, sending it crashing to the floor, even as the strange woman passed the key-thing over Pietro's wrist.

Her brother was suddenly on the other side of the room. And then back at her side, in a flash. He sighed, and leaned back on the bed, closing his eyes. And said something... entirely too fast to be understood.

She furrowed her brow at him. "Pietro... slow down."

He blinked at her, rapidly. And then took a deep breath. And said, "Right. Sorry... fuck,thatfeelsgood."

She nodded, feeling the power in her stirring again. The blue and green electric feeling that she knew she could call up, if she needed it... but would she need it any time soon? Hadn't this woman... cow... entity come to help them? If she'd removed their bracelets, she surely wasn't afraid of them, after all.

But Pietro was examining their would-be savior now, eyes moving up and down too rapidly to catch, taking her in. "Um... so the cow is talkingtous."

"The cow is rescuing us," she corrected, rubbing at her wrist, still certain she could feel it there, eating away at her. God... that did feel good. She hadn't even hexed anything but... she never, ever wanted to feel that... helpless again. Never.

"My name is Bova," the woman told them, still smiling, looking at them with some strange affection in her eyes. "And I'm much more than a cow. But come, follow me– we haven't time to waste. Delphis and Ursula have disabled the surveillance, but the loop will only keep him fooled for a short time before he discovers it, or decides you've been sleeping for too long."

The twins exchanged a glance. And Wanda knew that her brother was thinking the same thing she was. Obviously, this Bova wanted to rescue them, yes. And she clearly had some friends who were helping, if they'd doctored up whatever surveillance they were under. But...

"Who, exactly, is going to discover it?" Pietro beat her to the punch, predictably enough.

"Essex."

Pietro's response was predictable too. Almost comfortingly so, really. "Fuck!"

"Where is our mother?" Wanda asked, flexing both of her hands. The woman had clearly fucked them over, and she wanted some answers. It was bad enough that their father didn't seem to give a fuck about them, that he'd mind fucked her into submission and used Pietro his entire life...

Power coursing through her belly, at that... starting to jump around, inside her...

Oh yeah. She needed that. Goddamn, it felt good.

"In the laboratory," Bova replied, gesturing to the slightly open door, "under the mountain."

"And our father?" Pietro asked, eyes darting around nervously.

"With her," she took a few backwards steps in the direction of the door, obviously trying to lead them that way.

Wanda shot her brother another look, and he was already shooting her a similar one. That made no sense at all. The woman had said herself that she was scared of their father... and for obvious reasons, now that Wanda knew what a sick fuck he was. "She said he was frightening...," was all she managed to force out, through her confusion.

Bova took another few steps, and Wanda reached out for her brother instinctively, clasping his hand, and pulling him along behind her, until they were standing just beside the door. "No one knows exactly what he's up to... but we have enough of an idea to know that it isn't the sort of thing our Lord would approve of. He's given Essex full use of the Citadel, and the rights to the laboratory in his absence, in the name of Science. But we Knights are convinced that if he knew what we know... he would not have left this place in such hands."

::Higher Man,:: Pietro suddenly spurted, switching into Romani.

"That is what the Rom call him, yes," she nodded, solemnly, reaching for the door. "To us, he is the High Evolutionary."

Wanda, of course, wanted to know just how the hell Pietro had heard of such a thing when she hadn't. But there were other issues at hand. "Who are the Knights?"

"We, the children of the High Evolutionary. Anyone born here can become one of the Knights of Wundagore. Including you," she indicated them both.

Again, the twins looked at each other. Pietro's eyebrows were almost up to his hairline, and his dark blue eyes were wide. He looked... impressed.

He would be.

"There is little time," she pulled the door open now, and started shuffling them out of the tiny room. It should have come as a relief, but Wanda could see clearly that the hallway outside was simply... huge. Long stone corridors, vaulted ceilings... and where the hell were they supposed to go from here? "Tygra waits for us at the exit– we must get you to safety."

"I can run us out," Pietro was peering around at an alarming rate, obviously looking for the nearest exit, just as she was. "Tell me which way to go."

"You must take the secret path," she pulled the door shut behind them, and waved them along down the right corridor, feet echoing as she made her way down it. Knowing they had no choice but to follow, most likely. "It is hidden, and impossible without a guide. I will take you out."

Pietro squeezed her hand, and they started down the ominous hallway after this fairy tale figure, silent. His hand was shaking, just slightly, but she squeezed it back, and it seemed to stop. She knew very well how scared he'd been, to tell her... everything he'd told her. But, oddly enough... she felt closer to him now than ever. Almost as if his confession had washed something away that was between them. Not that she had the vaguest fucking clue what that was, or what it ever had been. But she knew he wasn't lying.

He was a good liar. He was an actor. A storyteller. A gypsy.

But so was she, as it turned out. And maybe he'd had a little more practice, but she could tell with her own goddamn brother.

He was telling her the truth, about all of it. Why would he lie? And it explained so much. It made things seem so much more clear. Made so many pieces of the puzzle fall together. She still couldn't remember, of course, all the things he was saying had happened. Between Transia and Arrowrose, which she now realized had to have been the breaking point, nothing felt real. The lack of emotion in her memories, the strange faded colors and descriptions, the headaches when she dug a little too deep... it explained everything.

And it didn't do much to make Pietro look good, either.

But then again, he was nothing if not a survivor. And if she'd really tried to kill him, used him as bait to kill their father (which, she had to admit, she was probably very capable of, if she'd been that angry with him, even without the asylum to consider)... well, fuck.

It didn't matter now anyhow. All that mattered was getting out.

They reached the end of the corridor, and Bova opened a heavy oak door for them, and ushered them inside a room that appeared much like a library. They filed in, still clutching one another, her hand starting to feel just a little sweaty. Pietro didn't seem to mind. His hand was dry, or would have been, if not for hers. He never had sweated much. Only when he was upset, really... or just that exhausted...

The Knight removed a rug from the back of the room, crouching low in the glow of the torches illuminating the room– at such odds with the flatscreen monitors and the like scattered about the library. A trap door was revealed, and she pulled it open with little trouble, and gestured for them to follow her before disappearing down into the darkness below.

Pietro licked his lips, and went first. She followed, quickly, pulling the door shut behind them again, since Bova appeared to have found a torch below, and was waiting for them at the bottom. A few stone steps later, she was standing under the library, in a narrow, claustrophobia-inducing tunnel. It smelled like earth and wet, and made her feel like she was going slightly insane again. But she took her brother's hand again, and followed where the cow-woman led them.

Like Hansel and Gretel. Like some kind of weird fairy tale siblings, being led to their doom.

Maybe not, of course. She did remember this woman from her dreams, that much she knew... and she wasn't the scary part of them. Something about her was almost comforting, really. Her gentle voice... the smile... not that her life wasn't so fucked up already that she would disbelieve anything these days. But animal-people...

The Knights of Wundagore. Apparently, her life was more fucked up than she knew. And what the hell was that, about them being born here? Marya and Django must've known all along, and that was why they used to hush them when they'd talk about their dreams of animal-people. It made perfect sense. As much as animal-people could.

But... where would they go once they got outside? Back to the Maximoffs? Wouldn't that endanger them again? It wasn't as if they could simply fly home, though Pietro could probably run them... somewhere that would be useful. And... what about Magneto?

Not that she should care, of course. The man had made her brother into a basket case, and taken away the larger part of her life. Ruined it, really. She could've been... if not for him, she would've been...

Fuck.

She was going to regret this.

"Can you show us to the laboratory, where our father is?"

Pietro kept walking. Like he'd expected her to ask that question.

Which bothered her. Immensely, for some reason.

Bova looked over her shoulder, but kept leading them down the narrowing pathway. Water trickled from above, and there were small, bioluminescent growths on the cieling, casting a soft glow from above their heads. Normally, she would've been fascinated by how lovely they were. But tonight... she was busy. "Essex plans to bring you there. He will use you."

"Like he's using our parents?"

Pietro's hand twitched in hers. And he stayed quiet.

Which also bothered her. Pietro being quiet was a bad sign. A very, very bad sign. Possibly one of the signs of the apocalypse.

"Your mother is mad," came the answer, as Bova's footsteps slowed to adapt to the newly treacherous terrain. "Once, she sacrificed herself for your sake. I know she would want it again."

Finally, Pietro spoke. Quietly. Only for her ears. "Wanda... I know what you're thinking. But we can't."

She shot him a quick glance. And knew he didn't believe what he was saying.

They had nothing but each other, and she knew it for sure now. But she wasn't going to have this hanging over her head. They weren't like him. Pietro had been right, when he'd yelled it at their mother, not so long ago. He wasn't like Magneto. And neither was she. "I hate him... but..."

He sighed, and looked straight ahead. His jaw seemed to flex, and he closed his eyes. Slowly. Too slowly. He was pushing himself. "Django would tell us to do it, you know."

She looked straight ahead, at that. Django would tell them that they had to rescue their father and mother. Was that the reason she hadn't been able to let go of this whole... family thing? She hadn't thought of it that way before... but when she had been in the dark about her own past, she still had the instinct to run to her father. And yeah, to protect him. Sure, it was opposite that killer instinct that had somehow taken shape, somewhere in there. In the asylum, with Mystique. Wherever. But it made sense, from a gypsy perspective. Marya and Django were her parents. They'd taught her these things.

And for some reason, those lessons still felt very important. Maybe because they were the only part of her life that felt real. Maybe because it was the only thing she had.

Things just felt so much... clearer now. Like accepting the fact that she had no fucking clue who she was... would somehow allow her to figure it out, now.

"We're fucking stupid," she informed him, unnecessarily, she knew. "After this, it's you and me."

She saw him nod, out of the corner of her eye.

But that wasn't good enough. If they did this, it was... it was their ticket out. Freedom from this fucker and everything he'd done to them. Proof that they could exist without him. That they weren't like him. That they were human. "Say it," she demanded.

"You and me," he said, immediately.

And she believed him.

They rounded one last corner, and Wanda was less-than-shocked to see yet another half-animal, half-man. This time, he was a beautiful, six foot tall tiger-man. His eyes were glowing in the dim light, reflective, fascinating cat-eyes. And he smiled, as they approached him, and the door he stood watch by. "Children! I've heard so much about you!" he boomed, in a voice that seemed to echo off of each and every rock in the never-ending underground they'd come through, individually. It almost made her shiver. "Come, we must get you to safety," he began to undo the latch to the door.

"No," Pietro said, quite simply, letting go of her hand and crossing his arms over his chest, defiantly. His face was suddenly set in a very familiar Pietro-expression. That bitchy little "don't fuck with me or I'll fuck you up" one he was so good at.

Bova shot her fellow Knight a worried look. "No?"

"Look, we appreciate it," Pietro conceded, his face softening only marginally to prove it.

"But show us the laboratory," she finished, fixing first Bova, then the tiger-man, with a very steady gaze.

The two Knights exchanged a look of concern. And then looked back to them, sighing.

---

---

AN: Right. So I did warn you that it would get angsty. I mean, that was the point, right? So yes, this was a monster chapter, and you all have my apologies, but hell... what to do? I gotta thank Risty and Jen1703 for helping Sue keep my feet on the ground on this one, and providing priceless help with some character points. Sue Penkivech gets a huge effing gold star for digging through this beast of a chapter– fragmented as it was. It was kinda painful to write, I can't imagine how painful it was to beta. Gold star, I say!

So now we get to the point, with this chapter. The entire fic spawned as an idea to let me do the first thing I did here– make Pietro come clean. And now it's done. It's like... sending the kids off to college. /sniffle.

But much more angst to come, my friends. Hang on, if you can stomach it, and I will bring it all back round!

In important news, however, Blaze has done up a really nice JP/Pietro drawing, and I think it might be enjoyable for anyone who likes the pair. I'll link to it in my profile, so you can see, but definitely check it out, cause she rocks so hard.

Now, for the usual:

DoubleL27– Hallo darling! Yes, Sinister beatdown is coming... in many fun ways, perhaps. But alas, there was recovery to deal with here. I was glad to post your boys asskicking on your birthday... it felt somehow... right ;) I think Scott may have saved JP from a Nightwing fate... but it ain't over yet. At least there is no Blockbuster to deal with... ew.

Jen1703– Yay! I'm glad you liked the action... I love the action. Action makes me happy! Actually... it's probably my favorite stuff to write. And there it was, your sneak peek! Hope it reads a little better than the first time you saw it... as opposed to worse ;)

amura– Ah yes, the last chapter came so fast! This one was longer in coming, but well... it's long. And difficult. Hopefully I can get through the next one with minimal damage to me and my lovely beta... but I'm not holding my breath. It just gets more and more complicated. Wooohooo. Hope this one was enjoyable for yer.

DemonRogue13– As much as I was going for angst here, slicing Warren's wings up would just be... way too much. For this fic, anyhow... mwahaha. Only so much blood is allowed, even for me.

Minerva Solo– Emotional intensity is definitely in danger of being on high overload... but I suppose I expected it. And yes, I agree, the Summers Moment (tm) was definitely needed. Feel the brotherly love. Awwww.

Angharad– Well, hello hello! Glad you're still reading, and I do hope the beaubier files met with your approval. Not the prettiest of sites, but it does the job. I've always loved the way the Beaubiers had a habit of screwing themselves with their powers... the blood... the blood...

Pomegranate Queen– You know, I end up on the edge of my seat when I read a lot too, because of the "faster and faster" thing you mentioned! I'm flattered that the action did the trick for you, thanks so much for following the story!

Akuma no Tsubasa– Ahh yes, my Brotherhood love knows no bounds, and they will be utilized in the very near future. I'd wanted to put something in this chapter... but I guess certain things just... needed to be dealt with. Let's hope that's over with! Enemy-guy with Sam and Alex was Scalphunter, and was IDed in the beginning of the chapter, and a little while back, but it was made pretty vague since the NMs don't know him. Oddly enough, he's shown up in Weapon X lately! I was so excited! Anyhow, hope this bit lived up to some of your expectations.

Eboni– You know, I love when people pick up on stupid little things I throw in there. JP's pronoun switch from plural to singular is just one of em, and man, you caught it! I'm grinning. I really really am :D It's not that he doesn't care about Wanda... it's just... well... yeah! I hope this chapter finds you bored at work– it's long enough to provide much... stuff to do while bored, I'd think. Thanks for the reviews!

UncannyAsianGirl– Whoa! Did you change your penname? Anyhow! Yeah, Aurora goes a bit off the hook... more on that next time, but she's not in a good place at the moment. I like to keep the disorder in the background, for the most part, and let her have fun, but considering the angst of the fic, it's time for it to come out and play. Painful as it may be for her... and us. Alex was always wanted by Sinister, once the big idiot realized that he had the wrongSummers brother in his orphanage, when he had Scooter. Never quite got him... but yeah. Feel the canon love. Plus, as pure destruction goes... sorry, but Havok is called Havok for a reason. You pegged it! The others on the list... ohhh maybe it'll come out later...

CrimsonObsession– hee. Anything for you babe ;)

Amelia Glitter– Hello hello! Glad you enjoy the tension. It's just another of our favorite things to play with here at Beaubier Fic Unlimited. That JP you drew is FANTASTIC! God he looks so awesome. I love it so hard!

Slash Gorden– I do believe that your assessment was gold– Scooter had the shittiest day ever. But at least he did something good, in the end. In my humble opinion, that is! The whole JP/JM unable to touch thing is canon. She let Walter experiment on her and it did pretty much the same exact thing. Of course, this was at a time when she was dating Walt, and JP had a massive crush on him. And then, Walt "died." And they still couldn't touch. So you see, it's not my fault. They're just angst machines. Really. It wasn't permanent, in the comics, but it took a whole hell of a lot to turn back, lemme tell you. The jury is still out on that, here. Mostly because I can assure you, it won't be fixed by the end of this story. And Alex and Forge's children would rule the world with their shinyhair. That is all.

Relwarc– I admit, I had a momentary urge to let the guy slice Warren's wings... but it went away fast. Just too much blood. Too much to deal with. More fun to have it turn out this way, and defy canon!!! I defy it!! ... sometimes. As for whether or not the X-Men and BH will get to Pietro and Wanda in time... oooh if I told, I'd give away my next chapter! Or like... possibly the one after. I suppose it just depends on how long it takes me to get to that point. But you will know soon. Oh yes. Ohhhh yes.

Blaze– Look for Alex/Ray to tie up it's loose ends in the next fic. No room for it here! Too much... moving! But, I am very glad that you are still enjoying and, again, thank you so very, very much... I still want to have your babies. The drawing is printed out, and taped in the front of my notebook :D

Risty– Action You know, for some reason, destroying Warren's ankle was really fun for me. Great minds, and all that. Thanks again for the hard work on this chapter while I was flipping out from the flood and my cat and my headaches. You win!

girlonthem00n– Are clams really happy? You know, I've always wondered at that expression. Really, I have. It is utterly nonsensical, yet I love the sound of it. Which you, having read this fic, probably don't find too surprising. But yes... anyhow... And did you say more drama?! /serves it up/

That is all! Thanks for reading, y'all make me happy. You're brave, brave souls, and I love you.