A/N: Clearly, no longer a two shot. I blame those Puerto Rico pics.
…0…
New York; 2012
Honestly? He thinks they're actually sort of…dating.
Wednesday, he asked her to go over to the comic book store on St. Mark's Place with him. She did, for once, and kept her comments about nerds and tights to under the breath mumbling.
Thursday, she coerced him into helping her look for a certain type of silk all over Chinatown. Not as out of the ordinary, but they had lunch afterward and walked the streets until dusk, holding hands for the whole world to see and talked about weekend plans.
Weekend plans. Together.
He thinks she may be his girlfriend.
It's difficult to pinpoint which is more puzzling; him and Alex dating, or him and Alex just plain getting along.
Friday night there's a horror movie marathon at a revival house in Queens. It's not really something he'd be into, but she tugs on his arm and gives him that puppy dog face she does so well and he caves. Naturally.
Ross, his roommate from UVA, calls him about once a week, just to say hi. Against his better judgment, Justin tells him he has a date that night. He knows it's not smart and that it could lead to questions he has no answer for, but he can't help it. He wants to brag a little.
"Horror movie. Nice." Ross sounds like he's smiling that cocky smile he always has when talking about girls. "That's a great way to get up close and personal, if you know what I mean."
He does, and it makes him feel a little on the queasy side.
There's a big difference between holding hands in public, kissing a few times after everyone else in the house is asleep, and…the rest. And he's not sure how he feels about that just yet.
He doesn't tell Ross that of the two of them, he's the one more likely to be creeped out by a bad slasher movie than Alex is. He just lets his friend think that he's going to take his advice. It's always worked in the past.
They stand on the subway ride there, the train packed with the young hipster crowd heading from the city for underground concerts and commuters making their way home after a long day at work. Justin holds onto the poll to keep from falling (he's clumsy like that) while Alex thumbs through a magazine she picked up at the terminal. He sees a few guys by the car's end casting glances in her direction. Defensiveness wells up in his chest. As her brother, Justin has never been entirely comfortable with guys checking her out. As her whatever he is now, he begins to think of a way to let them know that she's taken without tipping her off. She'd never let him hear the end of it.
"Hey, there's going to be an art festival in Duchess County next week," she says offhandedly.
"Yeah?" He leans over to look at her magazine, sliding an arm around her shoulders.
Alex looks up at him. No doubt he caught her off guard with such a public display, as small as it is. She casts a look over his shoulder. Justin almost sees the light bulb go off over her head when she sees the same guys looking their way. "Oh, are you trying to be all macho here?"
Heat spreads across his face. "No."
She laughs and stuffs the magazine down in her bag. "Yes you are," she teases. "You're giving those guys the 'off limits' body language and everything."
"Alex…" He has to look away. She's right, she knows she's right, but he doesn't need to see the mocking in her face just yet.
The feel of her arms sliding around his waist surprises Justin and his head jerks up. He's not used to her being affectionate, for lack of a better word. Plus, hello, they're in public. Then she smiles a smile he's never seen before and he realizes she's blushing a little bit herself. "I think it's…cute."
"Yeah?"
"Mmmhmm."
Her hand rubs a circle up and across his shoulder blades, sending a warm tingle down his spine. The other hand manages to make its way up his chest to his collar and she pulls his face down to hers, both hands tangling in his hair.
Justin feels dizzy when she pulls away. Alex looks very smug and self satisfied. The guys at the other end of the car are forgotten. The only thing that matters to him right now is the press of Alex's small frame against his and the way her head fits just so into the curve between his neck and shoulder.
…0…
Washington; 2018
Alex looks pissed. There's really no other way to describe it. She stands before her brothers, scowl on her face, radiating fury from head to toe.
Justin is beyond embarrassed because he can't help the blatant way he stares at her, not able to connect the Alex in his head with the Alex standing in front of him.
This happened to him once before and he's not anxious to relive that.
A scowl darkens her face when she notices the way his eyes just won't leave her, and she crosses her arms over her chest in irritation. "I asked you a question."
Did she? Oh yes. Why are they (he) here?
Because Max asked me.
Because Max needed me.
Because I miss you.
Because I'm sorry.
"I'm getting married," is what actually gets said. By Max.
Alex's eyes soften looking at her little brother. Justin knows that look. Hell, he invented that look; when you want to strangle your sibling but you can't when the memories of their pudgy baby fingers holding onto yours refuse to abate. And when she crosses the room and wraps Max in a tight hug a lump lodges in Justin's throat that's half guilt, and half envy.
"I missed you," she whispers and when she pulls away she wipes at her eyes.
Her eyes meet his. "Justin."
"Alex."
"So," she turns a bright smile to Max, linking an arm through his to steer him towards a gaggle of chairs against the far wall. "Tell me about the girl."
Max is blunt, like usual, like Alex. "She's mortal."
Alex stops dead in her tracks. Her fingers wind around the pendant hanging about her neck, puling like she needs some strength, some salvation. She looks back over at her older brother for some unknown something he wishes he could give her. He would in a heartbeat, if he could.
"Max…"
"I won't change my mind, Alex," Max says. "I love her. This is what I want."
"Justin…" Now she's fully turned towards him, begging him to do something. Not that he can blame her. It was always his job.
Justin sets his bag down on the shiny oak floor of Alex's gallery, and walks silently to his younger siblings, sneakers making a soft 'whoosh' sound. He imagines them, like this, when they were younger and how it was forever his role to keep them safe, keep them under control when no one else could.
Man, did he drop the ball or what.
But there are no eye rolls on Alex's end here. No look of confusion in Max's eyes when he looks back and forth between the two people he looks to for his cues. There is only them, the Russo children, and the unspoken disaster that nearly tore their family apart rearing its ugly head again.
(But it didn't feel like a disaster until it became one.)
"It's his choice, Alex," he says and squeezes his brother's shoulder. Solidarity. Relief and gratitude wash over Max's face and Justin will never forget the way his brother looks right now.
"But Justin-"
"We did this," he tells her, and she clamps her mouth shut, eyes wounded. She knows he's right, as does Max if the way he's squirming and averting his eyes means anything. "You and me, Alex. The two of us put Max in this situation and neither of us have any right to tell him he can't have what he wants."
The soft recessed lighting in the gallery, meant to set everything in a flattering glow, catch her features and make the unshed tears in her eyes sparkle. One tiny hand works its way into Max's much larger palm, gracing him with a watery smile while the other remains in a white knuckled fist around the long silver chain she wears and Justin can almost feel the press of St. Christopher as if it were his own skin the image was imprinting upon.
…0…
New York; 2012
Dinnertime is the most hectic in the Russo household. Justin has forgotten the way noise could make him feel so at ease. Alex's voice, rising over his or Max's, trying to make her point, his dad repeating himself over and over because no one can get a word in edgewise when his kids are all in the same room, his mother and her continual please for quiet and 'get your elbows off the table.'
This is only the third time this summer that all of them have sat down to a meal at the same time. They're having stir fry, tying to get the pieces of 5 different Tuesdays into 1 conversation before all the food is gone. But their mother came prepared and the cell phones have all been confiscated until after dinner, the house phone turned off, and the television remote hidden.
And ever since this…thing with him and Alex started, they've been eating their meals together, away from the rest of the family. Being around the rest of the family is a nice change. Does he want things to go back to normal? He's not sure, he's really not. There's a novelty to being able to actually talk to his sister, for once in his life to be able look at her and know she's not thinking of ways to torment him in her head. She enjoys his company, whatever that entails now. (He's not going to let his mind stray there with their parents on either side of them.)
Tonight feels like high school to him. Max is going on and on about some girl that he met at the garage earlier, about a superhero movie that comes out this weekend, his voice light and unburdened the way Justin wishes he could be. He thinks of how excited Max's voice was when he called to tell him he'd gotten his drivers' license, and thinks that his brother is still such a kid, all inexperience and innocence despite it all.
Justin hate onions and Alex picks them off of his plate with no thought. This is what they do. She takes them as easily as air, leaving him with whatever she has no desire for herself. When there's nothing left on her own plate but green peppers, she hands it to him so he can scrape them into his second helping.
No one thinks anything of it, but when he makes a comment about onion breath she sticks her tongue out at him, no retort, and he notices his father's glance in their direction, silently observing.
She gets him back though, putting her hand on his knee under the table, making him jump and choke on his lemonade. "Went down the wrong way," he covers, coughing and sputtering over his words. Alex simply grins to herself.
Later that night after everyone is asleep he's reading in his room while she sits against his headboard watching a Woodstock DVD on his laptop. Justin's left the door open, for appearances sake, and hopes their luck continues and no one gets up any time soon.
Alex closes the computer abruptly, crawls next to him and bumps his shoulder with hers. "Shouldn't this feel weird?"
"Maybe," he says, playing with a strand of her hair that's fallen across his page.
"Maybe?" she teases, and scoots closer. "Aren't you supposed to be smart?"
Justin's book is taken out of his hand and dropped to the carpet below. He finally examines her expression and cocks his head to the side. "Well, I guess it depends on the movie."
Alex makes a face at him. "Cute."
"Oh, I know," he rolls his eyes heavenward like it's such an ordeal being him before he grins at her. "Sound familiar?"
"You finished?"
Rolling over onto his back, he crosses his hands under his head and smirks up at her. "What's in it for me?"
Alex grins that devious grin of hers, closed lipped, and he knows instinctively what he's in for, when she takes the chain of his necklace between her fingers. It drives him crazy when she does that.
"St. Christopher, the patron saint of travelers."
He raises his head up to look at her, not used to Alex actually knowing who someone not associated with MTV is.
"You're not the only one who had to suffer through Sunday school you know."
Justin holds his hands up in defense. "I didn't say a word."
She harrumphs and pushes her bottom lip out in a pout. He realizes Alex wants to play.
"There's this song my roommate listens to a lot." Alex's hair is so soft. He just can't seem to keep his fingers out of it, even when he has to reach up for it. "Frank Sinatra."
"The old guy?"
Justin laughs. "Dead actually, but yeah."
"That's creepy."
"Hello, Jimi Hendrix. Died in 1970." He taps his laptop with his foot.
Her eyes roll upward. "Continue," she says grudgingly.
His hand falls from her hair to skim down her arm. Again, so soft. "I've got you under my skin."
She's so cute when her brow furrows like that he thinks. "Huh?"
"That's the song. I've got you under my skin, I've got you deep in the heart of me."
Alex leans closer. "I think I like this song. Is there more?"
"So deep in my heart that you're really a part of me."
Then her lips fall onto his, cutting off his words. Good thing since the rest of the song isn't nearly as romantic.
And if either of them stopped to really think about the lyrics, the mood would be ruined. Because in a way, she actually is a part of him. They share the same blood, the same DNA, the same memories. Now they share this.
Footsteps creaking in the hallway make them spring apart as if burned. Justin has his book back in his hands and Alex has resumed her spot with the computer before their dad pops his head into the room. "Justin, you still awake?"
He fights against the desire to confess everything right then and there under his father's gaze. "Yeah."
He spies Alex at the head of the bed. "What are you doing in here?"
"My battery died." God, Justin wishes he could think of lies on the fly like she can.
That seems to satisfy him so he turns his attention back to his son. "There's a game on. You wanna watch?"
"It's after 11," Alex interjects.
"Live from Vancouver."
There's such…hope in his father's eyes, such excitement. It's been so long since they've watched a game together, and he misses it. He misses his Dad. "Sure."
He's gone quickly, and they hear the set blaring to life downstairs. Justin casts an apologetic look back at Alex. "You can borrow that," he directs his hand at the laptop. "If, you know, you want to finish your movie."
Instead, Alex purses her lips and ejects the disk. "No thanks. I think I'll just go to bed." She storms past him without another word, shrugging off the hand he tries to place on her shoulder. When he hears the click of the lock on her bedroom door, Justin leans his head against the wall, cursing under his breath before he makes his way downstairs.
…0…
Washington; 2018
They walk to dinner. Alex likes to frequent a small bistro with a view of Capitol Hill, so that's where they go. Max stays in the middle the entire way, and Alex keeps her arms around herself. No one speaks much.
The place is pretty nice. He wonders if they're going to get any comments about their wardrobe. All three of them are dressed pretty casually; all in jeans, Alex wearing a black sweater and an army jacket, Max in an unzipped hoodie. Justin's wearing a blazer over his tee shirt, but he also has on a pair of Converse. But the hostess, in a silk dress, doesn't mention it. She hugs Alex though and shows them to a table before the people that were already waiting when they walked in the door.
The three of them make small talk. Alex recommends dishes, Max asks about the drink selection. Understandable. Justin could use some liquid courage himself.
It's weird.
In the back of his head Justin has wondered what it would be like to see his sister again for years. He just never imagined the circumstances would be quite like this.
While they're all presumably poring over their menus he studies Alex. If anything, she's more beautiful than ever now that she's all grown up. He watches her study her menu, even though she herself said she comes here a lot, like it's a matter of utmost importance, twirling a lock of curly dark hair around her finger. She releases the strand and Justin watches it spring back into place against the slope of her cheekbone. A cheekbone that was a lot more prominent than the last time Justin had seen her. Everything about Alex, from the lines of her face, to the way she spoke, to her shoes had been hones to a sharper point that put her on display more than all the loud clothes of her youth ever could.
The waiter brings them a bottle of wine on the house. Max raises his eyebrows and gives a low whistle, making the corners of Alex's mouth quirk up in amusement while she sips.
Justin? Justin watches the waiter study Alex, drawing his eyes across her face and over the lines of her body in that unrestricted type of appreciation that Justin can't. Alex herself could not possibly be more oblivious to the fact. Not surprising. Alex has always turned heads. She's just used to it.
Then her gaze flick up, and meets his. He nods his head towards the waiter, still standing beside her chair while Max peppers him with questions, and offers up a small smile for an olive branch.
She doesn't return it, doesn't even try. Instead, her eyes, once so bright and full of life, dim even more and she looks hollow; a husk of her former self.
Or…maybe she feels that same palpable loneliness that he's felt for the last 5 and a half years.
Appetizers come and go, followed by entrees. They make it all the way to dessert before Max brings up the reason that they're all there to begin with.
"So…are we gonna talk about this or not?"
"Here, Max? Really?" Alex demands.
He shrugs, taking a bite of his chocolate sundae and talking around it. "At least I know you guys can't yell at me in public. Well, you can, but you won't."
A part of Justin wants to smack his brother upside the head. Another part wants to laugh. He's right after all.
"Max," Alex drops her voice. "Are you really sure about this?"
"I love her." And he says it with such certainty, such faith, that Justin can't help but be moved. "She's the one, Alex. I want it, all of it, with her. Forever."
What it must be like, Justin thinks, to be so sure of your choice. It's a luxury he hasn't had himself since…
"Justin?"
"Huh?" he looks up to see his sister looking at him expectantly. She pinches the bridge of her nose-most likely to stave off a headache-and exhales, blowing her bangs out of her eyes.
"I asked you what you think of all this?"
"I'm here, aren't I?"
Alex grimaces. "I meant; are you okay with our family losing magic?"
She must see the way they both look away from her then, the way they began squirming around like kids in trouble with their teacher. "What?"
Neither of them says anything. Max shovels another forkful of cake into his mouth, Justin takes a very long sip of his wine.
"Guys…what are you not telling me?" training her eyes on her little brother, she leans back in her chair and takes on a defensive posture. "Max?"
"Well…you see, Alex, the thing is…" He turns toward his brother, desperation coloring his features and his posture so much so that anybody in the restaurant would know that he didn't want to have to say what he was about to. "Justin," he finally pleads, "little help here."
"We can get our powers back," he blurts out, then realizes what he's said and backtracks. "At least one of us can."
"How is that even possible?" Alex looks stunned, probably more so than he was when Max first told him that the thing he thought could never happen was actually possible. "We had our powers stripped…" She leans forward, eyes downcast. "For a good reason."
She looks ashamed. A cold chill creeps over Justin's body despite the stuffy air in the room.
"I know," he tells her. "But Crumbs talked to Max, and one of us can have our powers back." He takes a deep breath. "If we can decide who its going to be."
"One of us?" Her head whips around towards Max so fast her hair flies about her face. She pushes it away mindlessly. "We have to choose which one of us gets to have our powers back?"
Feeling sheepish, Justin shrugs. For some reason, this-telling her this way-feels like a copout. After everything that's happened, she deserves better than this.
"Yeah."
…0…