Chapter Fourteen: Lost and Rescued
Pietro Maximoff was scared shitless, and hating himself for going along with this. He crouched beside Wanda, somewhere in the labyrinth of Sinister's laboratory complex under Wundagore. The place was dark, but not necessarily inherently evil, like the last place he associated with the man. Aside from the smell like formaldehyde, electricity, and their three-day-old clothes-- the smell was strikingly familiar, and made him want to twitch. They'd been following the lights from place to place, making a map in his mind, until he was sure he knew where the old bastard was. All the signs led to one place. All the paths ended here.
He had a feeling that his father was behind door number two. And he didn't want to open it.
It had been a long fucking week, and he didn't much feel like lying to himself. Magneto could fuck off and die, as far as he was concerned. He still believed what he'd told his sister, ages ago, before Apocalypse. Magneto was a bully. He'd gotten in over his head again, and gotten what he deserved. End of story. One less bully to push him around.
Only... there was a lot more to it than that, and he knew it. This bully was his father. Her father. And while he could easily convince himself that it wasn't his duty to do shit for the guy... Wanda was another story. And if Pietro didn't try to help her, she'd never forgive him. Not this Wanda, the one he knew from Transia. And that was all this Wanda had to work with really- her gypsy memories. The only things she had that were real.
She didn't hate him, though. Which meant that he could have her back, if he did this one thing.
Plenty of things about his life had become clear to him since he'd landed here at home, in Transia. He now realized that Django had been right about him all along. Pietro Maximoff was never meant to be alone. He was half of something. And the other half was her.
He'd been so young when she'd been taken away. Through everything that had happened- with the gypsies, being uprooted and stolen to America, being sequestered and ignored and prodded at... none of it had ever really been that bad. Because they'd always had each other. Someone to talk to, someone to understand. Hell, they didn't even have to talk to understand, back then.
Then he'd taken her away. Could've been for any reason. Because he was afraid of her? Because he knew that together, they'd be stronger than him? Because somewhere in that fucked up head of his, he really thought it would be better for her? It didn't matter at all.
What mattered was that he'd taken away a piece of Pietro. And now, without even meaning to, he'd given her back. And Pietro was way too smart not to recognize that he'd either do what she asked, or he'd be at serious risk of losing her again.
She'd said that it'd be just them, after this. Wanda and Pietro. No more father, and if anyone could keep him from running to his father, it was her. If he had her, what difference did it make if Magneto thought he was worthless? Magneto was just too fucking stupid to realize that it was his own fault if his son was worthless. He'd taken half of him away, after all.
Fuck him. This was it. This was freedom. This was how he'd take himself back. They'd save their asshole father, and he'd have nothing to hold over their heads. And they'd go back to Bayville, and he could see Jean-Paul again and not let him out of bed for a week, and Wanda would love him, and everything would be okay... for the first time in over a decade.
Just this one thing. This one thing that Django would tell him to do, anyhow. It'd make his old man proud. The real one. The Maximoff one.
His life was unfolding in front of him like a book, crouched low and tight under the mountain, in the dark, listening to Wanda breathe. No more suppression. No more lying to himself. All his energy focused on this one thing. It was a new mode of being, for Pietro, and scary as fuck. But for once, he was truly focused. Just. This. Once.
"What the fuck do we do?" Wanda already sounded tired. They should've slept more- she wasn't made for running on empty.
"Hell if I know," he sighed. "We can't just walk into his fucking lab." God. Sinister's lab. Not an experience he needed to relive... not at all.
"I'll hex the door," her face was grim, pale in the soft blue glow. "You run in and grab him. You can do that, right?"
He nodded, "Done it before."
"I'll keep... whoever else busy. Get him out and come back for me."
"No way," he shook his head. "Not leaving you." That was non-negotiable.
"It'll take you five seconds to get him out of here and come back," she glared at him, hard. "If we go together, you can't carry both of us."
Pietro screwed up his face, but couldn't deny her logic. And he knew she could hold her own for five seconds. At the very least. "This isn't much of a plan," he pointed out.
"Got a better idea?" She almost laughed, much to his surprise. Whether it was a crazy laugh or an actual amused one... that still remained to be seen.
"Obviously not," he sighed. "Let's do it." At that, he stood, and zipped to the door, planting himself in front of it, hands on hips.
Long seconds later, Wanda appeared beside him, and he felt her start to... crackle. The dark lit up with blue hexlight, as it whizzed from her hands, straight at the metal of the door. The silver-blue metal suddenly appeared liquid, wavering, flowy lines appearing, their formerly rigid structure bowing dangerously. And it ripped apart, with a strange, incongruent splashing sound.
In an immeasurable fraction of a second, Pietro took in the scene it revealed. A laboratory, just a little too similar to the one he'd been held in, back when Sinister had been frying his nervous system for shits and giggles. Stone floors and metal tables. Walls of equipment, monitors, glass stasis tubes, wires and hook-ups and disturbing, bubbling vats of god knew what peopling the large, open room.
Sinister. Almost seven feet tall. Blue-grey skin, red eyes expressionless, glowing. No cape this time.
And Magneto. Standing beside him in a pair of khakis and a black sweater. His face looked... different. Something strange...
Fuck. He was smiling at them.
Pietro froze, stomach clenching sickeningly. He shot an extremely nervous glance at his sister. This was wrong. All wrong. Sinister had kidnapped their father. They weren't best buds. Magneto was supposed to be tied down to some table in here, and Pietro was suppose to go break him free and run with him to safety and then come back for Wanda and...
And Magneto did not wear khakis. Ever.
Wanda's jaw flexed, visibly, as her eyes darted from one man to the other for an agonizing moment. Not more than two seconds. An eternity for Pietro.
"My god...," she whispered, glancing back at him.
Sick. So very, very sick to his stomach. This was, without a doubt, wrong.
"You came," Magneto stepped forward now, faint smile still in place. "Come in. Your mother will be here soon, she's in the next room. It's good to see both of you."
... Okay. Now he knew this wasn't his father.
"What the hell is going on here?" he blurted, honestly feeling like he might throw up at any moment. Jesusfuck, he couldn't even imagine how the hell... what the hell...
Magneto was in league with Sinister? Something like that... that was all he was sure of. But... did he really have to go to all this trouble just to trap his own kids? If he'd asked, months ago, they would've come. No... no, there was something else going on here. Magneto didn't operate like that. His father was doing something here, something bigger. Pretending to be in league? Shit, what if he had just fucked it up?
"Uh...," he amended, quickly, before anyone could reply. "I mean, we could hardly find the place. Jesus, what a maze."
Magneto's silver eyebrows raised, but he shot his son a strange glance. Like he was... amused?
Oh sweet Jesus. This could not be his father. And god, his stomach was fucked. He suddenly felt light headed too...
But before anyone had time to say another word, the inevitable happened, and Wanda exploded. "What kind of game are you playing, you sick asshole?" She pointed dangerously at their father.
"Wanda, don't-," he tried to stop her, panicking. Shit, shit, shit. If Magneto was trying to infiltrate and he somehow needed their help to get out of here (not that he thought they should help him, but still, they were here, and Wanda would want to, right?), she'd blow it with her temper! Pietro didn't like his father... but he did know the way he worked. And no way Magneto would either let his Acolytes think he'd been taken by force if he hadn't, or truly join forces with someone who'd kidnapped him. He had way too much pride for either. Hell, he had too much pride to even pretend to acquiesce either...
But something was missing, and that was the only answer his mind could dig up. Something was making him sick.
And Wanda was about to blow something up. "Answer me!" she growled, cutting him off, her hands flashing an electrified bluish-green, spheres of energy spreading out from them, pulsing threateningly.
"Wanda," Magneto held up a hand, stepping forward again. His expression was obviously confused, but moving fast toward angry, eyebrows drawing down and in. And that was definitely the "commander Magneto" voice that said, "Stop this. What's wrong, child?"
For a second, she wavered, and shot Pietro a quick look.
He shook his head, quickly. No, Wanda, don't...
Her lip curled up, and her hands started to glow even brighter. "Talk or I hex," she growled again.
Pietro sighed. This was gonna get ugly. "We... uh... we just don't get why you guys are working together," he tried to cover quickly. Jesus, Sinister was staring right through him. That man, or whatever he was, had strapped him down to a table and fried his nervous system for a laugh, and now he had a hold of his father.
The lines on Magneto's forehead deepened. "I've been here all week. Essex...?" he looked to his new "partner."
Okay. That made absolutely no fucking sense. Yeah, he'd been here all week. But not of his own volition... and why was he acting like Pietro should know all this shit...? God, something was so wrong...
"He kidnapped you!" Wanda shouted, the hex spheres spreading further now as her anger flared.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Um," Pietro's lighting fast mind fumbled desperately for a way to explain, to stop her, even to just get her the fuck out of there...
"She's mad," Sinister stated, simply.
Red flashed behind the speedster's eyes when he heard it, and he promptly stopped trying to make excuses. "Fuck you, asshole! You're the-,"
The words took too long to leave his lips, however. Before he finished, he felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder, from behind. Lighting fast, pure reflex, he reached for the hand, grabbed it, and swung the offender around by his arm a few times, in a circle, building up dangerous amounts of momentum in what would look like a cyclone, from outside. He recognized the fucker, too. Riptide. Looking bruised and battered, granted, but it was still the same psychopathic freak Marauder he'd had to deal with last time. Pietro took aim, and let go at just the right angle to slam the bastard straight into Sinister.
He never saw if it worked out that way, however. What he saw was Wanda staggering, inexplicably at first, as that green-haired bitch stepped out of the shadows. Also looking worse for wear, but it was definitely Vertigo. Which made the staggering not-so-inexplicable, any more. He zipped across the room to her, picking her up and slamming her into one of the flashing computer panels against the wall, his shoulder in her gut, without even thinking. She impacted with a crash and a fizzle, sparks flying as her head slammed backward, cracking a monitor. He heard Riptide crashing into something at that exact moment, but he didn't look to see what.
Spinning around as the green haired bitch slid to the floor behind him with a barely audible groan, Pietro caught sight of his sister again. With something disturbingly silver around her neck, being held, hands behind her back, by a huge brown-skinned man with long black hair... and a giant fucking knot over his eye. Goddamn, someone had fucked the Marauders up. But what was scary was that Wanda was fighting him... but not hexing.
Fuck! That bitch must've incapacitated her just long enough for Huge Unknown Marauder Creep to snap that thing around her neck!
He started to shake, still seeing only red. Somewhere, he thought he heard Magneto demanding to know what was going on. He'd started to ask when Vertigo was about halfway to the floor, in fact.
By the time he'd finished asking, Pietro was already at his sister's side, and had thrown his first punch, hard and fast, into her attacker's side. Before the man could even crumble, he slammed his other fist into the man's rib cage, moving with his natural superspeed, feeling bone crunch under his knuckles. Again, he pulled back and let go. Resistance against his fist, a slight give, hard muscle and shattering bone. He couldn't see properly. This fucker had Wanda. Again. Sick to his stomach. Again. Panic, heart racing, like he'd explode. Again, and the man's body finally realized what was being done to it, as he started to fold at his middle, fingers letting go of Wanda. She started to dive out of the way, falling forward as she struggled out of his grip, but Pietro just kept pummeling him. Over and over. Drilling, crushing, bruising, breaking. Red rage burning through his veins at lightspeed, blood on his knuckles from god knew who.
Wanda hit the floor. Screamed his name.
He stopped.
Long-haired Marauder had dropped to his knees, the effects of uncountable blows all hitting him at once. He slumped into a ball, bleeding.
Pietro took a breath, tried to slow himself down, deliberately. He flexed his hands, straightening his aching, partially broken fingers. Shaking. Swallowing sour acid, burning at the back of his throat.
He had to slow down. He couldn't tell what was happening. Out of control. Needed control. Hyperdrive senses and his sister was moving too slow, and he couldn't stand this with his father coming toward him and Sinister pointing in his direction...
Another deep breath. He dropped to his knees, ignoring the mangled Marauder, reaching out carefully for his sister. Slowly.
Her hands went to her throat. She was trying to sit up. But she couldn't.
"Magneto!" she clutched at his arm.
Fuck. Metal collar. Magneto was holding her down. By the neck.
Pietro looked up, still fighting to reconcile himself with normal time again. He hadn't lost control in so long, he'd almost forgotten how to fix it... Magneto had one hand out, pinning Wanda effortlessly by the stupid fucking inhibitor around her neck. "Let her go!" he snarled, through his teeth, trying to pull her up with aching hands. Futilely.
"What is the meaning of this?" his father demanded. "Did you come here to insult those who would help me with my work?"
Pietro stared, still clutching at Wanda. He just... couldn't understand. There was no answer. This couldn't be happening. "Are you on something?!"
"He kidnapped you!" Wanda repeated, still scratching at the inhibitor.
"What is she talking about?" Magneto loomed over them now, his presence almost suffocating.
"Ask me, you jerk!" she spat.
Pietro looked from his struggling sister to his increasingly angry father, swallowing acid again. Unable to answer anyone. Couldn't be happening. Had to get her out of there.
"Lensherr, your daughter is trying to kill me," Sinister spoke, his Marauders (or what of them were present), attempting to pull themselves off the floor. Except Vertigo, who wasn't moving.
"Fuck you, creep! Let go of me, father!"
"Wanda, stop immediately," Magneto boomed. "Pietro, explain."
"Get out of here, Pietro," Wanda hissed.
His stomach clenched. No.
"You will not move," his father glared, cocksure. "Explain this needless violence."
Wanda struggled again, almost over top of Magneto's demands. "Get out! Find help!"
Help? Help?!
"He will call their X-Men!" Sinister was moving forward now, red eyes flashing.
"He will do no such thing," Magneto's cold blue eyes were staring right through him. An all-too-familiar glare. The one that said, You will do what I say because you're my son. If you disobey me, you're nothing. Only with me can you rise to the top. You want to be on top, don't you Pietro?
He shook his head, trying to clear it, avoiding Magneto's eyes.
"Get out or we're dead!" Wanda clawed at him, now hysterical.
Riptide was on his feet again, shurikens flashing.
Vertigo twitched, in a pile on the floor.
Nameless Marauder groaned, angrily, impotently, nearby.
Magneto took a step forward, as if to grab him.
Sinister was coming for them, the malice in his every move unmistakable.
"Go!" She screamed, nails digging into his arm.
He had time to think it through. A few seconds before Magneto would have a hold of him, or have the time to consider dropping him to the ground by reversing his blood flow. Thinking with his blood rushing in his ears, making him feel a bit like he was underwater.
If he left her now, there was a chance that someone could help? But who? And how would he find them? The X-Men would help, or, at least, Jean-Paul would. Jean-Paul, god it hurt to think of his face. Would anyone else help them? Would Pietro be able to run to somewhere with a phone? A phone, such a normal, trivial little thing. The nearest city was over two-hundred miles. Would they connect him to America collect? Could he really leave Wundagore, knowing that she was trapped inside with Sinister and Magneto?
And if he stayed... what the fuck was Magneto doing? Pietro had just taken down three Marauders, violently, he realized. After that, it had to be perfectly clear to Magneto that his son could hold his own here. And it had always been obvious that Wanda could. So if bucket head wanted out of here, he'd missed a golden fucking opportunity... and Magneto didn't miss opportunities. It was perfectly clear that he could level the place himself, in fact, let alone with Wanda's help... hell, Pietro was a pussy, compared to his father and sister, and even he could own these losers, apparently. At least, with the help of a little berserker rage...
So what the fuck was going on? Sinister was looking at Pietro like he was a little worm on a big hook, and the speedster knew all too well what that meant. This was going nowhere good, fast. Even fast, to him. She was probably right, there would be no one to save them, if he let himself be caught...
But... how could he? "I can't," he told her.
The room was closing in around them. He was holding her hand.
"Go or we're dead," she begged, face pink, eyes wide. "You have to go. I need you to go!"
She blurred, as his eyes suddenly became wet. He could feel the warmth of Magneto's body, too close to him now, just about to clamp down on him, take him into captivity.
He sped up, in an instant, leaned over, and kissed Wanda. He knew very well that no one else would see it. The only reason she'd even know would be the ghost of his lips on hers, after he was gone. The feeling like something had been there. He hoped she'd know.
And without allowing himself another precious fraction of a second to think- Quicksilver was gone.
All your fault. Weak, foolish, ridiculous little girl.
All.
Your.
Fault.
Why don't you go write it down in your little journal, Jeanne-Marie? Why don't you go stare at the stained glass window and pray for your Angel to save you from yourself? Save you from your own stupidity. From your own fear.
Stop crying.
Stop that pathetic weeping.
Now.
Do something about it. Take control, for once in your sad little life. Fight back. Be your own person.
Because if you don't, you pathetic little bitch, I'll do it for you.
"Jeanne-Marie?"
She started, heard jumping into her throat instantly, at the familiar voice. The hand on her shoulder. Just a little too cold, as usual.
Jeanne-Marie drew a hand over her face, quickly, hoping to hide the fact that she'd been crying. Again. But she hadn't been able to stop since the accident. She'd cried herself to sleep, last night. And when she'd awakened, she'd started again.
The minute she remembered what she'd done.
"Hey... um, I can go, if you want...," Bobby took his hand away, slowly, when she looked over her shoulder at him.
"Non," she told him, instantly. "Non... don't."
She'd been sitting here, in the window-seat, since lunch. Which, of course, she hadn't eaten. Jean had tried to get her to, but Jeanne-Marie couldn't bring herself to eat. Or to do much of anything but cry.
But she didn't want to be alone. Not really.
Bobby's wide, brown eyes latched on to hers, for a moment. Questioning. He bit at his bottom lip... and then sat beside her, with a pronounced thump.
She sniffed, and wiped beneath her eyes again, hoping the flood of tears would stop. She didn't want him to go away. So she turned herself around, facing away from the window, legs hanging over the side of the window-seat. Her leg against his, her arm over his. And leaned, just a little.
He didn't say anything. Just looked at his feet. He had a giant band-aid on his forehead, and that cowlick at the back of his head was standing at rapt attention. It almost made her smile.
"How is your head?" she asked, after a few moments of rather uncomfortable silence.
"Oh, it's okay," he shot her a sideways glance, then returned his eyes to his feet. "Mr. McCoy says I should take some more codeine and sleep... but I totally feel like a zombie, man. I'll take the headache."
At that, she did manage a smile.
"How about you?" his voice was suddenly quiet. Tentative. As if he thought he'd break her if he spoke too loudly.
That's because he might, isn't it, Jeanne-Marie? You're fragile and vulnerable and made of light. And the slightest threat, the tiniest touch, can split your pathetic little world into pieces. And it's all. your. fault.
Jeanne-Marie closed her eyes, took a deep breath. Trying to fight it off. God, but she hated her. Hated her so much-
"You don't have to talk, JM," he was whispering now. "I'm sorry, I can-,"
"Non," she reached out, as he started to move, put a hand on his leg. "Non, reste une moment encore."
"Um... JM..."
She shook her head, and focused on him again, correcting herself. "Stay another moment. Please." She had to pull herself together. Had to stop fighting her. "I'm just tired. But I'm happy to see you."
His eyebrows drew down and together, under shaggy hair, and he put a hand over hers. Still cold, but so lovely. "You don't have to talk," he repeated, "I'm just... I heard, is all."
She met his eyes again. Usually laughing eyes. Putting glitter over Scott's door and snow in Jean-Paul's boots. She only nodded at him, unable to speak. There was nothing she could say anyhow. Everyone knew what she'd done. What she'd done to her beautiful brother. What she'd done to them.
"Warren's gonna be okay," his voice sounded slightly better now, and gained confidence as he went on, little by little. "I just came up from the medlab. Pyro, that crazy bastard, saved my ass before Sam and Alex showed up, so I wanted to check up on him. Doc says that Warren should be up and around soon, and he'll walk fine in a month or two. Something about how well he's healing already- I guess it's kinda crazy. Anyhow, the surgery managed to put all the pieces of his ankle back where they belonged, before they healed up all wrong, and he's already on the mend, as they say. I mean, he's no Wolverine..."
Jeanne-Marie slumped against him, letting his babble wash over her. It felt good. Sounded good. Just listening to him talk, no matter what it was about. She'd already heard about Warren's surgery, and that he was healing remarkably well. The Professor had sworn he'd inform her the moment there was news, if she'd leave the medlab and try to see the sun. She knew that Xavier was trying to help her, to get her to go out and live, to stop crying in the medlab... but she'd insisted on knowing about Warren as soon as possible, as her condition for going. Now, he'd promised to contact her the moment he awoke.
Part of her was desperate for him to. Desperate to see him, hear his voice. It would make her feel better, she knew, even if it was only a temporary fix for what ailed her. But right now, she'd be more than happy for even that much.
Yes, run to the Angel. Even if he reminds you of that window, back home in LaValle. Home, at the orphanage, where you were sure he'd come for you one night, because of what a wicked girl you are. Don't you feel ridiculous, Jeanne-Marie? Aren't you pathetic-
"- But it's pretty cool anyhow," Bobby's voice brought her out of it, suddenly, and she looked over at him, eyes fixing to his face, as if he could anchor her there. She had to stop this fight. Had to get it together... He paused, looking at her for just a moment, her sudden fixation on him obviously confusing him. Or at least drawing his attention to her state.
"Jeanne-Marie," he was shaking his head and sighing now, eyes narrowing in concern, "I'm so worried about you. Have you talked to the Professor much?"
She blinked at him, watching his eyes. So sincere. It wasn't right. Bobby's eyes should be laughing. "Oui. He said he'd be with me tonight as well. After dinner. Maybe Jean-Paul...," she almost choked, suddenly on the name. She hadn't been crying before... but now her throat was tight and her eyes were burning again... "Maybe he'll be back by then. He comes with me, sometimes. To see Xavier."
She wasn't making sense, and she knew it. She knew what she meant, but... it wasn't coming out right. Bobby opened his mouth, to reply, but stopped himself. Like he didn't know what to say. Like he was afraid.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm hard to be with, I know."
"Jesus," he surprised her now, suddenly wrapping both his arms around her, and pulling her hard against him, one hand on the back of her head. She nuzzled into his neck. He was warm, even if he was always a little colder than the average human being. Maybe it was just the combination of them that was warm. The space between them. "You're not hard to be with, JM. Not at all. Warren's gonna wake up soon, and he's gonna want to see you, and then I'll be all depressed because I don't have you to myself anymore. How could I feel like that about someone who's hard to be with, huh?"
She gave a sad laugh, halfhearted, and slid her arms around his waist, leaning her head on his shoulder. Letting him hold her. It wasn't the same. But it was sweet. She didn't want him to go. "Okay," she whispered. "Thank you, Bobby."
"Hey," she could hear the smile in his voice, even if she couldn't see it, "you don't have to thank a friend for telling you the truth."
Such a sweet thing to say.
Such a sweet thing to say. He says it because he's afraid he'll break you again. You break so easily, you break yourself all the time. Admit it, Jeanne-Marie. You know who it is you really want to save you. But he can't now. Can't be near you. Can't be in the same room as you. Ran away to find his boyfriend, forgot all about you, alone, without him. Look what you did to him. Look what you did to you.
"Such a sweet thing to say," she whispered, eyes shut tight, throat clenching painfully.
God, but she hated her.
"Such a sweet thing to say."
John Greycrow wasn't at all surprised to find himself the Last Marauder Standing.
Blockbuster, the dumb bastard, hadn't come back from the clusterfuck in Bayville. Dead or alive, he was no good to the boss now. Harpoon, the cocky asshole, had come back with a smashed face and his leg eight kinds of broken. Out of commission for months, and the boss was fucking pissed. Vertigo had been alright, once she'd woken up... but roughly three hours ago, she'd nearly had her head smashed in by the little silver-haired fairy fuck, and she wasn't waking up from that one just yet. And wouldn't be for a few. Riptide was functional, but getting ripped a new one for letting that whole fuckup in the lab happen in the first place- it had been his job to tag the kid. Instead, Quicksilver had gotten away.
And Scalphunter sure as fuck knew it. In fact, he wasn't exactly "standing" very easily himself. He was pretty goddamn sure, in fact, that the little Maximoff fuck had caused some serious internal damage. Jesus, he'd never felt anything like that in his life- like being hit all at once, by about five hundred different fists. He was pretty sure, in fact, that if it weren't for his regenerative capabilities (slight, but there, nevertheless), he'd have bled to death internally by now. And he still wasn't exactly sure he wouldn't, in the end. Cracked ribs aside... there was some seriously fucked up shit going on inside of him, at the moment.
Sinister could probably fix him, of course.
But he wouldn't. Not until this little shit had been caught.
The searing pain around his right lung had gone numb, luckily, after about an hour of searching the entire mountain for traces of Pietro Maximoff. Scalphunter had used his techno-forming capabilities on a homing device he had tucked into his utility vest, and changed it so that it caught heat signatures, instead of just the signal from the tiny tracker he'd failed to land on Quicksilver before the slippery little cunt had escaped. He'd caught sight of the little shit multiple times- darting in and out of caves, behind rocks, shit like that. Like a little jackrabbit. For the first hour, nothing. But since, he'd been all over the place. Scalphunter had even seen the kid with his own two eyes, in fact, in the past half hour. Twice.
Which, unless he was mistaken, meant that the kid was slowing down.
Finally.
And John Greycrow was born and raised a hunter. He knew when his prey was getting tired. He could practically taste it.
If he could just keep from bleeding to death, internally... he really owed this little bitch some serious pain. Some very, very serious pain. Just needed to live long enough to get his hands on the fucker, and then, take him with him.
Magneto was out here somewhere too, but it was impossible to get a signal on him, obviously. Fucking magnetic interference with all his equipment. But Scalphunter would just have to make sure he got to the kid first, so he could fuck him up a little. What Sinister and bucket-head didn't know wouldn't hurt em, after all. They had the little Maximoff bitch already, and he hadn't gotten to have any fun with her. Might as well take his revenge on the boy-twin.
Kid had it coming. And he'd love to be the one to give it to him.
The X-Jet had never been a particularly stress-free environment. But today, Rogue was pretty goddamn sure, won the gold star for tension you could taste.
Sam was up front, with Wolverine and Storm. Kid had been so jumpy all morning, it was obvious his mind was somewhere else. Wasn't real hard to figure out where, either. They had him in the jump seat, on the pretense that since he was a prime candidate to pilot the jet back, he'd get a refresher on all those sims he'd run. It was painfully obvious, of course, that he was really up there so the "grown-ups" could keep him from crawling out of his skin. Rogue, personally, had a feeling that the Kentucky boy would be focused as all get out, as he would've said himself, the minute they landed this plane in Transia. It was just a question of getting his body caught up with his mind- which was already there.
Scott and Lance wore disturbingly similar expressions- eyebrows low, jaws tight, faces turned downward. For once, they had nothing to say, it seemed. No antagonistic bullshit banter. No threats. Of course, Lance had already gotten airsick twice, which was probably not helping his will to argue... but she knew damn well that his expression was more Fearless Leader than green around the gills. She wondered if anyone had ever bothered to point out the similarities to the two boys before. She'd always thought Lance was a jerk, personally... but he had that thing about him that Scott did. That... "I know what I'm doing and I'm sexy while I do it," thing. Kinda. Either way, neither boy had spoken since the jet took off. They were brooding. And they both did it so well.
Freddy and Todd were quiet too- strapped into their disproportionate seats. Todd's eyes kept shifting, that unnerving, glowing amber shade. He'd even avoided bothering Kurt- a pass time the bug-eater seemed to enjoy just a little too much. Fred kept fucking with his seat belt, absently. Like all this holding still was just a little too difficult for him. Freakish, considering that holding still was what he did.
Kurt and Kitty sat across from each other, shooting worried glances between them, also silent. Both of them had jumped at the mission. Kitty wanted it because, for one, she liked Wanda. But honestly, she liked Jean-Paul too, despite her best efforts not to. Rogue had discussed the issue with her roommate not that long ago, in fact. Problem was, Kit had the biggest heart in the world. And no matter how much JP intimidated, scared, or annoyed her... he was still her teammate, and in a way, brother. Kitty would never let that go. Girl just had to spread her sunshine. The fact that she had all the codes and info that the (now too injured to come along) Cajun had brought them only cinched her position on the team. And Kurt... well, he was Kurt. He'd follow Scott on any crusade, and in his heart... well, Rogue knew her little brother was a sucker. And she loved him for it.
And then there was Jean-Paul. She didn't know what the fuck Scott had said to him the other night, but it seemed like it'd done some good. Honestly, she'd expected Cyke to end up with a black eye or a broken jaw, after he'd gone after JP.
Part of her, she hated to admit, was jealous. Jean-Paul had been her friend first- she should've been the one to get through to him.
But she'd mocked that part of herself into submission, until it was well and truly stamped out. Just like she'd mocked her stupid crush on JP into submission. And she'd decided, in the end, that she was just really goddamn glad that he didn't look quite so broken anymore.
He'd been looking straight ahead the entire time, staring at the back of the seat, never looking over at her. As if he didn't even really know she was there. His hands kept gripping at the armrests, obviously needing something to keep them busy. White knuckles and the muscles in his forearms pulsing at regular intervals, under skin tight kevlar.
She'd been trying to think of something to say. But fuck... she wasn't so great with this kinda stuff. She understood, she really did. In fact, she could fucking strangle Jeanne-Marie Beaubier right about now. There was only so far the "but she's fucking nuts" excuse went with Rogue- she knew what it was like to be out of control. She knew what it was like to fight with yourself, or with others in your head. It wasn't the same, but... she fucking knew. And it didn't go far enough to excuse this. As if Jean-Paul wasn't fucked up enough over this whole Pietro mess- psycho-sister had to go and fuck up the one good thing the boy had in his life...
God. Some people just wanted smacked.
But she couldn't say that to JP, and she knew it. For one, it wouldn't make him feel any better. And for another, it'd just piss him the fuck off. JM was his sister, even if girl seemed not to give a fuck, unless she needed someone to cry all over. And Jean-Paul would defend her until it killed him.
Rogue nearly twitched, thinking of her reaction to Kurt's first attempts at "family connections." They'd talked about it since, of course, and they were clear now. Kurt understood that she had certain... issues. And so did he. But Jesus... at least she'd wanted to be a sister to Kurt, from the beginning. At least...
Okay. This wasn't helping. She'd fucked Kurt over and she knew it. But she'd... she'd made it better. They'd made it better.
Nothing was going to make this better. Maybe that was pessimistic... but what the fuck could turn back some weird ass genetic masking process? Or the fact that, as far as she knew, Jeanne-Marie had no interest in doing it, even if she could.
And comparing herself to the Quebecois girl was only causing a little too much pain for comfort, anyhow. So enough of that. Back to Jean-Paul.
The fact of the matter, with the Beaubiers, was that Jean-Paul loved his sister more than Jeanne-Marie could appreciate. And that was what pissed Rogue the fuck off, more than anything else. That was why she was staring at him, out of the corner of her eye, wishing she knew what to say to make it better. She knew what it was like, in a way. She understood part of what he was going through.
But she didn't have sunshine to spread, like Kitty.
His hands tightened again, on the armrest. The muscle in his jaw worked. Ice blue eyes dropped to his lap.
And she didn't really mean to, but she did it anyhow. She covered his near hand with her own gloved one. It almost surprised her, at first, that she'd done such a thing. But seriously... just looking at him was making her hurt.
His eyes seemed to focus, suddenly, as he blinked. Jean-Paul turned his head, fixed her with that look he had. The one that made her feel like he was looking right through her. Pretty lips a little too pale... but he looked like he wanted to smile.
Or maybe that was wishful thinking.
His fingers moved, underneath hers, and she mentally prepared herself for him to pull away. He was having a bad day. He didn't want to be touched. He just wanted to think, to get ready, to...
Instead of pulling away, however, he slid his fingers upward, between hers, tangling them. She curled her fingers downward, between his, and around his hand, and he followed suit. Within seconds, her hand was still on top of his, but they were fastened tightly together, hinged at the fingers.
The corners of his mouth twitched upward, just slightly. Her stomach felt like it was full of lead. There was nothing she could say, not really.
His fingers squeezed in on hers tighter, warm through the fabric of her glove. He turned his head again, to look out the window. But he didn't let go until they were ready to land. Until she recognized the mountain from Riptide's memories. Mount Wundagore.
Wanda felt her head slide to one side. Uncomfortable.
But not really. Nothing felt like much of anything, really. Not anymore.
She knew that her father was gone. Gone after Pietro. She knew that Pietro had left her here, but he'd be back.
And she knew that whatever the fuck this red-eyed bastard wanted from her, she wasn't going to be into giving. But at the moment, she couldn't even move a finger... so...
The vampiric red-eyed fuck had called her a gypsy.
The word kept appearing in her head. Over and over again. Like it was written on the inside of her eyelids. Gypsy. It meant something to her, and she didn't know what.
He'd kissed her, and now he was gone.
::Here comes the gypsy girl... who is beautiful and smart...:: She wasn't sure if she was singing aloud. Or if she was just hearing it in her head. That was what the word reminded her of. Of her mother. Singing. What language was it in? She knew what it meant, so it didn't matter... ::Whoever tries to court her... will come to regret it...::
Haha... ha. That was funny. The song made more sense now... now that she'd...
She blinked, when something flashed in front of her eyes. Was he back already? Or had he been gone for days? She couldn't remember. She just wanted to go to sleep.
Sinister.
Another word... why that word?
Red eyes in front of her. And he was yelling at the skinny man with the black hair. She'd seen him before. She didn't know how.
::When she goes to market... she is the most beautiful one...::
Her head slumped further. Her lips might've been moving with the words. Pietro used to sing it too, and laugh at her. Not a mean laugh. A laugh because he said it was about her...
The man with the red eyes. He looked very far away. Like a vampire. Her mother used to tell her about vampires. They weren't real.
He must be fake.
He reached out, and grabbed the skinny man. By the throat. Pointing at her. At her.
"You will do it."
She understood his words, his violence. Her blood seemed to freeze, though she wasn't sure why. Something in her said it was the drugs he'd shot into her. The rest of her was just frozen.
::Her father goes with her...::
"I can't! If you want her mind to break-,"
"You will do it, or I'll break you."
::In a nice horse-drawn wagon...::
Her father had gone after her brother though. Dark hair and eyes... no. Silver hair. Like her brother. Like Pietro. He'd be back soon.
"It won't work! It could kill her, and me- gak!" That was the skinny one's response. His feet weren't touching the ground anymore. They were kicking. The vampire's hand squeezed.
Her blood, frozen. God, her blood. Why was this happening?
::Come with me, beautiful gypsy girl...::
Her eyes started to close. No more words, from the two men in the room with her. No words, just kicking. Choking.
God. God, he was dying... she could feel him dying, she thought...
Dying and she was frozen and... and now her head was moving just a little. But her neck was so tired. She just wanted... to sleep...
Pietro would be back soon, anyhow.
And the song was stuck. And the gypsy word burned into her head. For no reason, and she knew it. Just a word. A random word. The last thing she remembered. Something to hold on to.
::Come with me, beautiful gypsy girl...::
The skinny man was dead. Dead because of her? Dead somehow. On the ground. The vampire was looking at her. What would he do now? What was she supposed to do...?
::Come with me, beautiful gypsy girl...::
"Wanda... you'll cooperate won't you? You don't want to end up like him. You'll listen to your father..."
Her father.
::Her father goes with her... In a nice horse-drawn wagon...::
She started to smile, it seemed like.
He did not. "Speak English. I cannot understand you."
This annoyed her immensely. It used to annoy Pietro too. "Gadje Gadjensa, Rom Romensa," she informed him. Stupid fucking Gadje vampire... If he didn't like the way she talked, he could go fuck himself... calling her a gypsy... she didn't call herself gypsy... they were Rom... Wanda and Pietro...
Another needle in her arm.
Red eyes faded.
Into black.
"First order of business- look for signs of company. Scanner says we have at least one heat signature down here. And one more that keeps disappearing and reappearing. Fast."
Jean-Paul caught the look Scott sent him. And nodded.
He wasn't letting himself get too hopeful. Maybe this was all a farce, like Xavier feared. Maybe Pietro had been mistaken. Maybe...
Maybe it was him.
"We can't get a lock, too much magnetic interference. Which could mean two things. And you can figure out both of them, without me having to tell you."
Easily. Big fuck-ff scrambler equipment. Or Magneto.
"Northstar, Storm, you two are our aerial view- we need you to stay here and search the mountain. If there's some kind of secret entrance, or if there are people crawling around down here, you'll be the ones to find it. Avalanche, Rogue, come with me to that Citadel-,"
He couldn't wait. He was practically twitching. Jean-Paul pushed off the ground, and flew away from the still-rambling team leader.
He hurt. Everything hurt. He just needed to find them. Two heat signatures. Wanda and Pietro. They had to be down here. Somewhere. No matter how much he told himself he shouldn't think that way, no matter how much he swore he had to set himself up for failure here...
There was no option. It had to be them. Had to be him. He didn't care why or how- he just wanted it... so badly. Stomach tight knees weak eyes burning wanted it.
"Northstar."
It was Scott. Over the comm link.
"Oui," was his short answer. Exasperation. Goddammit, did this mountain have to be so huge? Where was he?
"Be care ful. Don't do anything stupid, man. Check in, fifteen minutes. Tops."
"Fine. Northstar out."
Not that he didn't appreciate the sentiment.
But he was busy.
He was scared.
And, God. He hurt.
He sunk down, against the rock, in a small crevasse. Maybe they wouldn't see him here.
Fuck, he was tired. Hours now, running. The nearest village- their village, he couldn't get connected. He'd tried to call. But it wasn't working. He couldn't get connected to Bayville, he'd probably have to go to Budapest... and that was far away.
And he couldn't go any further. Couldn't leave.
She was in there. In there. And he'd left her. Again. Third time. First time, asylum. Second time, Sentinels. Third time, Wundagore. Back to the beginning, and he was always leaving her. God... god... needed her back. Had to get to her. God only knew what that sick bastard would do... He shuddered as he remembered his own moments on Sinister's table. Remembered the feeling of his synapses and nerves being fried. What had he done, leaving her there...?
Like a rat in a maze. Magneto was near, so near he could practically feel the fucker. Goddam Marauder guy on the other side, chasing him. Somehow, following him. He was confused and broken and he didn't know what the fuck to do. The longest day of his life. And he couldn't do a damn thing.
Pietro looked up, at the sound of his name. Yes, that had been his name. Sounded like someone was crying for him. Someone who wasn't him. Jesusfuck, he was just so tired, and there was no one there but Scalphunter (who was supposed to be really close to dead, he was pretty sure) or his father, and did he really, honestly think that either of those fuckers would ever cry for him?!
Wait. No. Fuck.
He looked up, just a little further. And blinked.
Fuck.
It was. It couldn't. Could it? Did he? But...
Fuck.
"Jean-Paul?"
The phantom he saw there, rimmed in the dying red sunlight, stepped off the rock it had been standing on.
Stepped off, and fell a ridiculous thirty feet to him. Landing right in front of him, like a cat. Like it was nothing. Like a goddamn angel, all shadowed and glowing at the edges.
"Jean-Paul," again. But definite this time. Couldn't seem to stop saying it, now that he'd started. Felt good, in his mouth, on his tongue.
Blinking again, because the sun was still behind the specter of him, and he couldn't really see his face very well. But he didn't need to, because he knew who it was, all the same. And maybe he'd finally fallen asleep and it was just a dream, but if that was the case...
He didn't want to wake up.
He knew that the other boy was moving at a perfectly normal rate. He knew the movements by heart; elegant, graceful. But he was watching them in slow motion. Had he spoken slowly? Would Jean-Paul understand him, even if he hadn't? He couldn't remember anymore, but the way the phantom was moving was making his eyes sting. He didn't want to wake up now.
"Pietro, mon dieu," Jean-Paul knelt now, in front of him, leaning forward over his lap.
Pietro could see his face now. Sharp and beautiful and intense blue eyes, staring right through him. He knew he was doing the same. Just looking at this boy... just looking at him, and he was blurring now, because of the fucking sting in his eyes. The painful familiarity of seeing him. Breath on his face and the sound of his words, breathed as if he couldn't quite force them out properly.
"I don't want to wake up," he told the phantom. He was just being honest. Should he lie?
He watched as hands reached out, as one touched his face, cool and sure. Felt like Jean-Paul. Searching, at once testing for bruises, bumps, and just feeling him. Felt real. The other boy's face was hard, paler than it should have been. Pietro could hear him breathing, and it was agonizing. The other hand tangled in his hair, and he closed his eyes.
It hurt to look at him. Staring at an eclipse. It was blurry anyhow.
Lips on his now, surprisingly hot, but careful.
Pietro kissed him, and leaned forward, into it. Reached out, suddenly.
The kiss felt real.
His hands connected with kevlar, tight over shaking arms. He held on. Turned his head sideways and drank him in. Fuck, he'd needed him right now, and he'd come. Needed him right here. With his lips going soft against Pietro's, just like they used to in his bedroom. After JP had finished his calculus homework.
Jean-Paul pulled back, suddenly, and his eyes latched on to Pietro's again. Jarring, so blue. "Are you hurt? I saw Scalphunter, tracking you..."
Pietro blinked, again, at the question. Was he hurt? Scalphunter? Was that the guy's name? "I thought maybe I killed him..." He'd hit that guy... a lot. Hard. How was he tracking him?
"Killed him..?," Jean-Paul leaned forward, breathing on him softy.
Maybe he was awake. "Am I asleep?" was all he could come up with.
"No," came the answer, quickly. Hands searching his skin again, smoothing his hair. Petting him.
He closed his eyes. God, yes. "I want to go to sleep, Jean-Paul. I need to sleep."
The other boy shifted, but Pietro couldn't open his eyes to see just how. Strong arms lifted him, and he let them. He stood on his own two feet, though, and put his head on the shoulder nearest to him. He'd always liked his shoulders. They were really perfect... so perfect. Perfect even through the uniform.
Jean-Paul's arm latched around his waist. "You can sleep. We'll take you to the jet. It's going to be okay, Pietro."
His eyes snapped open, then, as they started to move. Jean-Paul started to move. Pietro simply stumbled along with him, leaning against him heavily. "I can't yet. We gotta get Wanda."
The movement stopped, and Jean-Paul turned to face him. One hand found Pietro's cheek, again, and he turned his face upward. Feeling. Examining. Drinking. Ice blue eyes darting here and there. Pietro slumped into him, his muscles burning. He'd never felt this before. Exhaustion. Wanted to fall into Jean-Paul and stay there.
"Where is she?"
"Inside," he answered, from JP's neck. "They have her inside. She told me to get out. Told me to find help... I couldn't leave her..."
Arms tight around him, now. So fucking right and he started to cry. Crying right into Jean-Paul's nice X-Men uniform. Crying and bleeding all over him.
"We'll find her." It was a promise. Had his voice always been that low, that rough? He must've forgotten some things about him, while he was gone. Forgotten how perfect he was. How just seeing him made his throat tight. "Don't worry, we'll find her."
Pietro suddenly had a flash from a conversation... a long time ago... telling Jean-Paul a story in his bedroom at the Institute... "You're an alright Lancelot."
Jean-Paul shook, just a little. Maybe it was Pietro. But he thought it was Jean-Paul. Shook like he was trying not to run away. Trying not to scream. Trying not to hit him. Hands in his hair, breath in his ear. Hot and solid and real and it had been too long since he'd been able to feel this good. "You were supposed to be Arthur, not Guenevere," he breathed.
"This time, they're the same." Pietro wasn't exactly sure what he meant by that, really. But it seemed right. Somehow.
Jean-Paul only nodded, and kissed his cheek, carefully, holding him up. "Oui, I suppose they are."
Pietro felt his feet leave the ground.
"I found him. Wanda's inside. I'll be at the jet in two minutes."
JP was talking to the air. Funny, but he didn't sound like he was happy to see him. If Pietro didn't know better... he would've thought that Jean-Paul was going to cry.
"Gotta find her," he reminded him, eyes still closed. He hated flying. Hated his feet being off the ground. But it was okay... for now. Jean-Paul's arms around him. It was okay.
"Stay awake long enough to tell us how to get to her, Pietro. We'll get your sister back. And you can sleep."
That sounded about right. Of course, he'd have to go with them... they'd never find her without him... but he couldn't really protest, at the moment. Couldn't do anything but hang on.
Jean-Paul kept talking. Low, gruff. He wasn't saying anything, he was just talking. Keeping him awake. Saying his name. He didn't want to wake up.
Just wanted to sleep.
AN: ... I've just moved cross country. I'm too tired to explain myself. God help us all, I swear, it's ALMOST over! In the mean time...
Jen 1703- It still makes me grin every time you say you love my Scott. I am full of glee! See me! This is glee!
Star-of-Chaos- Long indeed. This one was a little more bite-sized, luckily... but I'm glad the last one's angst could be referred to as "gorgeous." I do get annoyed with the angst... but we all knew it was coming!
crazyspaceystracey- Thanks for the love! More reasons for Xavier? In a way, yes. Things aren't going to end up quite as expected, at the Xavier Institute, and we'll get to hear more from baldy before it's all over (not long now... almost there...) I've never understood why anyone thought that Wanda's memories would rush back after she found out... they're gone. Mastermind said he finished the job, I consider it done!
Minerva Solo- Thanks so much! Yes, yes there is a sequel already nice and planned out, actually. I'm pretty happy about that fact, seeing as how I have crap to wrap up that simply will not fit into this plot, without dragging it down... let's hope I can finish up this one in a timely fashion and get on with it!
Risty- Weird... you were talking to me while you reviewed! You know, I'm not really sure just yet if I need the New Men any more, for what I have planned... but I'm gonna have to work a reference to Sir Ram in there for you, obviously...
Cailleach Bheur- Don't feel bad Kate, Evo!Scott was always cooler than 616!Scott! I'm glad the whole Magneto thing worked out... you know, it's one of those things like we were just talking about-- where the PoV can make so much difference. Do I use Magneto? How long do I use Sinister? Grrrr... I swear this gypsy blood is to blame...
PomegranateQueen- I'm so glad it worked for you! That was definitely a rough chapter to slog through, but you're a trooper for it. I hope this update finds you as joyous as the last ;)
Angharad- Yep. It's Magda. Scott/JP was something I agonized over. There was something I definitely wanted to say about Jean-Paul with that scene... and I think it came out, in the end. Thanks to a little help from my friends... or a lot. Really glad it worked for you.
girlonthem00n- "a nice long chapter"... that DOES make me feel a bit better about how amazingly cumbersome the last go round was! Thank you! Hope this one keeps up the good will.
Eboni- Oh, you darling. You made a few really fantastic points in your review (as usual, ever helpful!) but the one that I'm going to talk about at the moment is the thing about JP and JM moving apart while Wanda and Pietro are coming together. That, my dear, was all I wanted to do! Sure, I took a long-ass complicated way to do it, obviously... but isn't that just the way it should be?
amura- I'm a huge Tygra fan too! So cool! Anyhow, thank you for saying it was getting better. I keep trying to go there, but sometimes, I'm uncertain. You're lovely to say so.
Ima Super Mute Ant- And you made my week ;)
DoubleL27- I've always thought that all Wanda has is Pietro, and all Pietro has is Wanda. Whether they know it, or like it, that's all they have. That, and the Brotherhood. But the point of the story is... well, you know what the title is. Much love, you GET it!
Kamikaze- So now that I'm done blushing... thank you! You honestly see what I'm doing here, which is a huge, huge compliment. Obviously. Every comment you made, I was reading it going, "yes!" For me, there's no better feeling, so thanks for reviewing, and letting me know. And, as a side note... I'm glad the New Men weren't too freakish for me to pull of...at least a little. I love them so much... I couldn't very well deny them an appearance. Thanks again!
UncannyAsianGirl- I DID see Havok using his powers to fly-- dude is just so uber powerful it's not even funny. Evo, I figure, shows him at his earliest level of "control" (or lack thereof.) I've given that aspect of him a lot of thought, seeing as how I play Alex at my RP, so I can't really avoid it... and I think his potential should be explored! ... never REACHED, obviously (I mean, it's just Evo, he's a kid!), but explored! What a waste otherwise, huh? Anyhow, very glad you're still reading, thanks for the excellent review.
Relwarc- Thank you thank you for your understanding on the Pietro/Wanda issue. I have serious hangups with those two, and this was my little... purge, if you will. And you got it! Words cannot express my gratitude. As for JP/Scott... well, the undertones were there, in my mind, all along. I couldn't help but bring them out... glad you picked up there too... VERY glad. And as for the swearing... as many people as I ask, I get as many answers. I'm just sticking with American-kid swearing when he does it in English, and what little Quebecois-ish swearing I can glean from those I manage to corner into supplying it when he does it in French. Lazy... but I don't know how to wrap my head around it otherwise. And Kurt... yes. Kurt. Good idea!
Slash Gorden- ... still giggling every time I see your screen name. Xavier, like I said up there, talking to... someone else, is confused too. Sorta. I've been re-watching Evolution, having recently acquired all four seasons for my own viewing pleasure, and I've been thinking a lot about him (I play him at my RP, and let me tell you, he's a pain in the arse...) And, to be honest... he's a dick. But not without motivation (as opposed to Evo!Mags, who, as far as I can see, is JUST a dick...). Whether or not my reasons will be sufficient remains to be seen... but I'm kinda excited about testing the waters! Thanks so much for the most excellent reviews!
Posessor of the X Gene- I'm really glad you've been enjoying the fic! And I'm ALSO glad you're feeling the Angel love. We need more Warren love in the world-- poor chicken boy is so very underappreciated. It hurts me so! And about Alex being gay... points to his beautiful hair. I blame the fabulousness, these days. ;) And yes... yes they have the pointed ears. God I love the pointed ears...