After the Fall: Part 11
Title:: After the Fall- Part 11
Rating: R (language, violence, m/m but not quite the m/m you may have been hoping for)
POV: John, with a main cast of Erik?Magneto, and Bobby
Spoilers AU After "X2". Previous installments here.
“What’s the point in having words if you’re not going to communicate?”
Bluebeard by Kurt Vongeut
“So what the fuck is the deal John?”
“What?”
“I see your face, I see Bobby’s face, and I’m thinking it was a little more than fighting over the remote.”
“He ate the last Twinkie. And I had called it.”
“Look John, I know you’re all alienation and haunting the library lately but you used to give me at least decent sarcasm-“
“The Professor already sat us down for the respecting one another lecture and all that crap. If you want my side of the story than be on my side.”
“I am. I just want to know why Bobby suddenly has a single and you’ve moved into the lab. The John I knew hated doctors.”
“I’m rooming with Hank, not the lab. And we just had a disagreement, that’s all.” She waited. John fidgeted, thumbing the pages of the book in his hand. “Bobby and I have different concepts of fag, that’s all.”
“What do you mean? Bobby came clean?”
“How…”
“The night after that party? Bobby opens up a lot when he’s wasted.”
“But he freaked when he found out I was-“
“He freaked because he never thought there was a chance. And when he finds out there is, you were blowin’ it with some random guy.” Thankfully Jules left out the ‘literally’ or whatever he knew she was thinking.
“I…”
“And what happened?”
“Let’s just say both of us prefer to be pitcher.”
“Oh. Oh. Where the hell did you get that figure of speech?” He shrugged. “So that’s where the confusion of ‘fag’ comes in?”
“Yup.”
“And your solution is to ignore it?”
“Until it goes away or I leave, yeah.”
“And where are you going?” John held up the guidebook. “Africa? You serious?” He nodded. Jules sank into a chair.
“You want to go to Africa? For what?”
“I don’t know yet. But it seems right.”
“You’re going to Africa because you think it’s tawdry?” Her voice was getting pitchy.
“I didn’t say that. Just said I want to go.”
“You’re unbelievable. You’re fucking unbelievable.”
“So I’ve heard. Look Jules, everyone wants a five year plan out of me. Here it is-- TIA and all that. I don’t want to go to school. I know everyone expects me to grow out of that-“
“I don’t.”
“So then what’s the fucking deal? I’ll get my G.E.D.”
“John, you’re gonna get yourself shot.”
“Hopefully for smuggling.” She winged a paperback at him. “Hey! That one looked thick.”
John? If you are available, you have visitors came the buzzing. John twisted his finger in his ear, trying to dislodge the sound. “Got to run Jules-“
“Yeah, I heard. What’s the deal? You expecting Murph?” She still looked pissed, while trying not to look interested.
“No… Don’t think he even knows this place’s address. Huh.” John shrugged and headed outside. A vintage Cadillac- fucking gorgeous- was idling on the drive, and a woman he could only describe as fucking beautiful held the back door open, dressed in some sexy version of a chauffeur’s uniform. Erik stood on the other side of the car.
“John? I believe we need to have a discussion about your education.” The blonde winked.
On the edge of John’s peripheral vision he could see the teachers assembling. Logan and Summers flanked the Professor, and Monroe stood on the porch. He would bet anything everyone had their face squished to the window, and the dining room bay windows were probably three or four heads deep. He didn’t flinch, just crunched his way through the light snow on gravel. “Hey, can I-“
“Don’t. No one drives this but me,” Mystique said through a wide smile, her voice sharp. He climbed into the back seat.
“I hope we’ll be having a well balanced meal. I mean, this is a school day after all.” Erik nodded towards the Professor, and the car sped off, Mystique keeping it from slipping off the icy road. “So, where are we eating?”
No one answered. Mystique watched him through the rear view mirror. Erik watched the evergreens. John sighed and did the same. It wasn’t until the salad course was served (the waiter openly disgusted by John’s choice of outfit and leather jacket) that Erik asked, “What have you learned John?”
“I’m sorry?”
“I’m under the impression that you have spent the last eleven months at a school. I assume you have learned something, preferably of use, in your tenure.”
John broke a bread stick and buttered a piece, thinking longer than necessary. “Mostly about the bird and the bees. You know. About sex.” Mystique bristled and her wrist flashed blue. Erik watched him chew, swallow. “I know what plangent means. And I have a pretty good ear for jazz, and a better appreciation for flasks of whiskey.”
“And your Bobby Drake?” John remained silent. “I assume then, that those bruises are not from rescuing some senator in distress.” He tore off another piece of bread with his nails and stuffed his mouth full. “At least have the good taste to eat quietly John.” He washed down the lump in his throat with the red wine Erik had ordered from the table. He was sure it was expensive, but it didn’t have much of a defining flavor. John hoped the alcohol would go to his head.
“Are you asking if it was everything I thought it would be?” Erik nodded and Mystique looked somewhat interested. “The school shit, I guess. Been reading a lot. The people, I dunno.”
“Charles mentioned your brother is attending the Institute. He seems to think it’s a great leap forward in relations.”
“Don’t you fucking touch him.” One hand went to the pocket, the other balled into a fist. Erik raised his eyebrows.
“You’ll find John, should you choose to partake in that activity, certain key components of your device are no longer functioning as they should.”
“You melted my lighter?”
“I prefer not to be threatened while I am eating.” Mystique smirked. Erik remained passive in expression, his eyes lit quietly.
“We’re surrounded by candles.”
“That we are.” Erik waited as his plate was cleared and the silverware changed. “Are you still overusing the zoom feature?”
Mystique blanched for a moment, confused. “Sometimes. Mostly I’ve taken pictures of a couple shows. When I went back to New York for the summer.”
“Shows?”
“Concerts.”
“Ah.” Their wine was refreshed. The main meal was served. John had order fusilli something, the waiter claimed it was spicy. God he hoped so. He could deal with some fucking action. Erik watched, didn’t touch his veal.
“What? You want to pray or something?”
“You haven’t answered my question yet John. How is your education?”
John put his fork down. “It’s good. I haven’t gotten my name on the back of a varsity jacket, if that’s what you mean.”
“And your future plans?”
John fiddled with the fork, tapping his fingers on the stem of the spoon he hadn’t used. “I’m thinking maybe I don’t need to choose sides. I’ve never been one for that Capture the Flag shit.”
“So you’re saying you’re burying your head in the sand?” Mystique asked, her voice like Bobby’s when he got really pissed which wasn’t really fair since he could actually turn to ice.
“What I’m saying is, I know everyone thinks they have my best interest at heart, but the one thing that’s consistently had my back has been cold, hard cash.” John wasn’t looking at her, just Erik. And something flickered again in Erik’s eyes. John used to think he was some kind of savant or something when it came to reading people- he could see his father walking up the road after work, or hell, the bar, and guess what was on his mind, knew he was gonna get beaten or not. Reading people had saved his ass more than once in Seattle, and on the way to New York, three weeks of sleeping in strangers’ cars, knowing who to ask for change. But sitting here, in this expensive, fucking-pressed linen napkin restaurant he couldn’t get a decent read on Erik. And it was fucking discomforting.
“So you’re going to go whore yourself to the highest bidder?” He ignored her, waited for Erik.
“Are you planning on opening a bank account?”
“Cash would be fine. Don’t believe much in banks.”
“Really?”
“Banks are all about addresses. Me, I’m a big fan of Howlin’ Wolf.”
“I would think he is a bit before your time.”
“I would think you’d know better than to try and pin me.” Cocky, he knew it. But like hell if he was going to regret that.
“Flat fee?”
“I figure it’ll vary. Transportation not included of course.”
“Of course.” Erik was silent for a moment, and then his fork rose to meet his hand. “Eat. Your food is getting cold.”
The ride back was mostly silent. At one point Erik passed him a cell phone and told him to keep it on, always. John wanted to say something about class and disturbing his peers but kept his mouth shut. Erik held up a small fold of bills. John didn’t say anything, but tried to judge the amount by the crease. He handed it over without saying anything, and John pocketed it, went back to staring out the window. When they pulled up to the Mansion, mostly everyone was back outside. John wondered if the Professor called everyone to let them know who was coming, wanting to make a strong show of it. Erik stepped out of the car behind him, touched his shoulder. John turned.
“They seem… younger.”
John looked back. There were more kids- a long time ago Doctor Gray had said once that more kids were developing their mutations earlier, something like how kids now were hitting puberty earlier than 50 years ago. It would even out eventually, plateau. God, he loved that word. “Yeah, after Ellis Island, people got less willing to keep the future-yous of the world around.” John knew that walked the line between cocky and asshole, but it was still sort of a surprise when Erik flicked his ear with two fingers. Seriously? They guy could kill him with a paperclip and he was gonna half-ass box his ears? John shrugged it off.
“You’re walking a fine line here, you know. You’re risking your soul, holding out like this.”
“Is he telling you to say that?”
“You are not the only one who thinks for himself, John.”
“Gotcha.” This whole thing was reminding him of that Philip Larkin poem, the one about parents fucking their kids up and coastal shelves and shit. And then Erik was bending from the waist and he kissed John fully. God, he knew how to work his tongue, and his teeth scraped John’s lip in a way he never could quite admit he loved, fingers tight in his hair. “Well, shit.” Erik tasted like iron, wasn’t that expected?, and the light burn of alcohol and peppermints. And then suddenly John got it. “So me and Bobby, we’re supposed to be like you and him? Evenly yoked and shit? You guys playing chess with us?”
Erik just looked at him, and John bit his lip, wanting to yell, or burn or something. Anything. “Learn well John.”
“Yeah, whatever. I can recite the Bible too- ‘let justice flow down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream’. That’s Amos.” Erik simply looked at him. John turned and walked back to the house, hearing the damn fine car whirring in the slush. They watched him walk in, made room for him to walk without touching any of them, as if his touch might pass on some sort of bloodlust. He knew he should talk to Jules with the whole communicating more thing, but he was itching for a marble notebook and his were stashed deep under his mattress, giving off a heat that no one else was gonna sense. Seth was sitting on the second set of stairs, waiting.
“Hey.”
“What’s up?”
“So that was the big bad?”
“Think he prefers Silver Fox.”
“I think that was that composer guy.” John shrugged.
“You’re not worried the crazy is going to rub off on you?”
Seth shrugged now. “You’re my brother. I mean, if you’re planning on killing all homo sapiens, I’m not really gonna be able to stop you, am I?” John put his arm around Seth’s shoulders and squeezed.
“I wouldn’t do that to you.”
“I know. It’s the people you don’t know that have to worry.”
“Hey-“
“Sorry. I’m just testy.”
“Why? Monroe’s biology?”
“No. Worse.” He hesitated, then let it rush out. “I talked to Mom today.”
“Yeah?”
“She wants me to come home for Thanksgiving.”
“Go for it. You like turkey and football.”
“She wants you to come too.” John stopped, three doors from Seth’s room, arm falling off.
“What the fuck did you tell her? You swore-“
“I didn’t tell her about you! Well, I mean, I said I had this friend John and when she asked about your family, I said you didn’t have one, and she wants you to come to Thanksgiving.”
“Well tell her I can’t!”
“I told her you were gonna spend it alone!”
“Well suddenly I have an uncle I haven’t seen in a few years! Make him rich for fuck’s sake, make him British, do what you want, but tell her I’m not coming!”
“I can’t!”
“Well you should have thought about that before you made me into Oliver Twist or some shit!”
“You won’t even consider it?” And he got a good look at Seth’s eyes, the fucking want there. Somehow he was saying yes, even though he meant no, because he knew this shit was just gonna hurt them both. Seth though, Seth just gave him this great big hug like he had saved Christmas or some shit.
~***~
He had found a collared shirt somewhere and buttoned it mostly. God, it might be Bobby’s. Smelled like his generic cologne when he first put it on but he had attributed that to it being on the floor of the closet.
She did a double take the when she first saw him. It had been what, seven years? Seth got a good look at her surprise before going and kissing her cheek. The stepfather clasped John on the shoulder and said something about Mary giving the boy a proper greeting. She mumbled, “welcome to our home John” and fled to the kitchen, after stuttering on the J. Seth showed him his room, and watched John smoke a cigarette, kneeling next to the window so the room didn’t smell too much like smoke later.
Dinner was fine, mostly Steve’s family, which John was expecting. They kept asking him about his past, which he side stepped mostly. No, he was from Seattle originally. No, he wasn’t sure where he wanted to attend college. He liked movies, he guessed, and music. No one had the bad taste to ask about his family directly. They invited him back for Christmas dinner, one of the aunts saying hurriedly, “if you celebrate, of course.” He thanked them, tried to remain gracious. But finally someone needed more wine, and someone finished off the last of the butter and he practically flipped over the table in his willingness to get to the kitchen. He bet they thought he was a real nice boy.
“St. John?” He turned and locked eyes with her. “It’s really you, isn’t it?” He nodded. “How?” He saw his jacket on a chair back. He knew he had laid it on the master bed, just like all the others. It looked creased, and her hand went to touch it before dropping back to her side.
“Dumb fucking luck.”
“He never said, he never, if I had known-“
“It’s alright. It is what it was.”
She started to apologize and he shook his head. The kitchen was nice. There were those kitchy-fake country signs on the door about kids stealing your minds, and oven fires having nothing on hot flashes. It looked happy. “Listen, I have to go. Could you tell Seth for me?” She nodded, and her cheeks were wet, her throat jerking. He took in the deepest breath he could on smoker’s lungs, and said best he could without his voice cracking, “you have a lovely home.” She let out a sob, and he slipped out through the fire escape, hands sticking to the freezing iron bars.
He smoked two cigarettes, and his hands were just clenched from the cold, finally. He called Murph. “John? What are you doing?”
“Happy Genocide to you too man. Look, I’m in the city and I need to get wasted. You up for it?” He could hear people scuffling in the background. It sounded like someone was telling Murph to get off the phone.
“Shut the fuck up, it’s Dodger. Look man, I’m over at Tony’s- you remember where that is? Look, want to meet me here? Couple of us are here. We’ve got beers and shit. We could use you.” He took the subway, and watched the people in the car. Most looked like they were heading to dinner or coming from. There was one sad-eyed guy, his eyes barely visible above deep shadows, clutching a brown paper bag to himself, and a vinyl record. God, he did not want to look like that.
John couldn’t remember if it was 4A or 3A so he rang both and one let him in. Steve stuck his head over the banister and watched him walk the flights. “Long time no see man!” He tossed him a beer car, which almost slipped out of John’s hands, the aluminum wet with cold sweat.
Tony’s room looked like it did when he was 13, only with more rappers on the wall and a couple tacked up pictures ripped from porn magazines. He had been in Juvie with them, but for beating the crap out of a guy from school when he heard he was thinking about making a move on the girl Tony liked. He got out a month or two before John and Murph.
“Sup Dodge?” Murph embraced him quickly, and JRock slapped his hand. Deans nodded from the window, smoking a cigarette.
“What’re you guys up to lately?” They glanced at each other, verging on guilty.
“Actually,” JRock took control. He was no longer a pimply kid- he had grown at least four inches and put on weight- it looked to be mostly muscle. “We’re wondering if you still got your skills.”
“Meaning?”
“We need you to break into-“ Steve shut up when JRock looked at him. John looked to Murph.
“You in on this too?”
“We all are man. Didn’t think you were gonna be around, or else I would have brought you in from the beginning.”
“Big score.” Murph nodded. John licked his lips and put down the beer car, wondered what exactly Tony used the desk for since he had failed out of the eighth grade last time John checked. He shook his head. “The fuck man?”
“C’mon Dodger. You could jack into anything. Just one go.”
“Don’t be a faggot Dodge.”
“For fuck’s sake man.”
And now Murph was grabbing his arm, pulling him out the circle that had developed around him. John was pretty sure he had watched this whole scene before on a National Geographic special. The heat was boiling, and he was surprised the long razor grass hadn’t withered and died right there on the camera. He cracked his neck- he could deal with the heat, the muggy accusations. The weight.
“John, what are you doing? C’mon, just say yes.”
“No.”
“John, you know who these guys are. They’ll-“
“I don’t do it anymore man. Murph. I can’t, not with my brother-“
“I’m your brother John. Who’s been there? Huh? Seth? Has Seth been there? Was he the one who watched your ass
in Juvie? How about Bobby? What has Bobby done for you?”
“Murph-“
“I’m your brother John and for someone who’s always shit on families, you don’t seem to recognize the one you got. Right here. Now please, just be Dodger. An hour. Dodger for an hour and then you can go back to whoever you think you are now.”
The whole scene was very Roman Empire. For a second, John wondered if the Romans had ever seen lions in action, had known the marked similarities, then he remember the gladiators.
“I’m sorry.” Murph looked like he wanted to cash in on what he was owed but before he could speak, JRock spoke.
“No,” said JRock. “I am. You used to be good. Now you’re not even a man. You come here, you drink our beer, and you think you’re beyond this? Fuck you.” Murph watched, didn’t have many other options. Survival comes first. When everything was done, when they had beaten the savannah out of John, Murphy pulled away from the rest, went to grab him. “Don’t touch him.” Murph helped him stand.
“We can’t leave him here,” Murph shot back, and dragged him out the apartment, John moving numbly. “Look, I got to take you to the hospital-“
“No.”
“John, you know-“
“You shouldn’t be down here with me. Get back up there.”
“John-“
“You know how this shit works as well as I do Murph. Now get the fuck back up there.” Murph nodded and headed back inside. John’s bookbag came hurtling out of the window, just missing John to land in the street. He grabbed and started to limp away. If he pretended he didn’t have lungs, maybe it would get easier. Still, every foot or so he stopped to lean against a building to try and catch some breath. Everything hurt. Beyond hurt, screamed. The cold in the air punched his lungs to lace. He got to a payphone and held onto it for a moment, holding himself up. Somehow he had the change. Bobby picked up just as the machine started to kick on.
“You were gonna ignore me?”
“What’s up John?” Bobby’s voice was flat.
“I need you to come and pick me up.” It hurt to talk and breathe. It was taking a lot of self control, and the gentle flame at his finger tips to keep from screaming and collapsing on the snowy cement.
“Why don’t you call Magneto?”
“Fuck Bobby, I didn’t call the X Men. I called you. If you can’t do it fine.” There was a silence. John was ready to hang up when Bobby asked where. John told him the address of the IHOP down the street, next to the hookah bar he used to stare at wondering if he went inside, if he’d be seen as older, if they cared. He moved like an old man getting there, stopping at one point on someone’s stoop to moan quietly before forcing himself to shake it off and keep on. He sat outside, knew he couldn’t order a coffee without spraying blood from his lips, knew he had a broken tooth, and waited. He had a book in his bag, something Hank wanted him to read and from what he had read on the train while Seth napped it was pretty good. But he didn’t think he could focus his eyes like that, so he let himself drift.
“John?” Bobby kneeled in front of him, lightly touched his bruised face. “John, what the hell happened?”
John realized he was lightly dusted with snow, and felt like a statue. He managed to croak out, “you know me and baseball bats have that love-hate relationship.”
Bobby whistled, his brow all furrowed. “Seriously John. You need to get to a hospital.”
He shook his head. “Just drive, alright?”
“Lemme help you-“
“I got it. Thanks.” Somehow he forced himself to stand, had to stop and gasp. Everything above the torso burned like the worst beating Ash ever gave him. His knee could barely support his weight. Mincing, he managed to make his way to the car and climbed in. Bobby ran around to the driver’s side and started the car after following him to the car like he was some kind of fucking baby bird. He shrugged off his jacket and tucked it around John’s lap. He smelled like blood and wet denim, he realized, as the snow melted in the car’s heat. Bobby pointed to the iPod.
“That’s yours. Thought you’d want it.”
“Thanks.” John managed to find the 80s playlist Jules had made him, all Gothic rock and New Order and punk new wave. He closed his eyes and kept his head turned to the window. He felt Bobby accelerate beyond any conceivable speed limit and couldn’t help smirking a little at his influence.
He opened his eyes again when Bobby touched the side of his neck with cold fingers. The defroster was on. He figured it probably looked bad the way he kept passing out like this. “We’re here. John, can I-“
“How come you weren’t up in Boston?” John didn’t look at him. Bobby kept his thumb on John’s artery.
“Mom called yesterday. Said maybe it was better if I just came up for Christmas. Besides, they were
going to my aunt’s and I’m allergic to cats.”
“Shit. Sorry.”
“I fucking hate cats so…”
“So it still sucks.”
“Can you get out of the car ok?” John opened his door. Hank was standing on the steps. Summers was next to him, probably thought this was some kind of anti-mutie thing, started forward but Hank stopped him. John managed to climb out of the car, keeping all weight off his knee, which had seized into the bent shape. John tried flexing it and stopped, the pain making him light headed. He took one step and almost fell over. Bobby stood next to him, waiting. Sighing, John slipped his arm over Bobby’s shoulder, and allowed himself to be helped inside. He made it up the second stair before feeling the snow, Bobby’s arm, the light of the open door fade away into the blackout.
Author's Note: It's long. And I was probably too heavy handed at times. My apologies for both.
Rating: R (language, violence, m/m but not quite the m/m you may have been hoping for)
POV: John, with a main cast of Erik?Magneto, and Bobby
Spoilers AU After "X2". Previous installments here.
“What’s the point in having words if you’re not going to communicate?”
Bluebeard by Kurt Vongeut
“So what the fuck is the deal John?”
“What?”
“I see your face, I see Bobby’s face, and I’m thinking it was a little more than fighting over the remote.”
“He ate the last Twinkie. And I had called it.”
“Look John, I know you’re all alienation and haunting the library lately but you used to give me at least decent sarcasm-“
“The Professor already sat us down for the respecting one another lecture and all that crap. If you want my side of the story than be on my side.”
“I am. I just want to know why Bobby suddenly has a single and you’ve moved into the lab. The John I knew hated doctors.”
“I’m rooming with Hank, not the lab. And we just had a disagreement, that’s all.” She waited. John fidgeted, thumbing the pages of the book in his hand. “Bobby and I have different concepts of fag, that’s all.”
“What do you mean? Bobby came clean?”
“How…”
“The night after that party? Bobby opens up a lot when he’s wasted.”
“But he freaked when he found out I was-“
“He freaked because he never thought there was a chance. And when he finds out there is, you were blowin’ it with some random guy.” Thankfully Jules left out the ‘literally’ or whatever he knew she was thinking.
“I…”
“And what happened?”
“Let’s just say both of us prefer to be pitcher.”
“Oh. Oh. Where the hell did you get that figure of speech?” He shrugged. “So that’s where the confusion of ‘fag’ comes in?”
“Yup.”
“And your solution is to ignore it?”
“Until it goes away or I leave, yeah.”
“And where are you going?” John held up the guidebook. “Africa? You serious?” He nodded. Jules sank into a chair.
“You want to go to Africa? For what?”
“I don’t know yet. But it seems right.”
“You’re going to Africa because you think it’s tawdry?” Her voice was getting pitchy.
“I didn’t say that. Just said I want to go.”
“You’re unbelievable. You’re fucking unbelievable.”
“So I’ve heard. Look Jules, everyone wants a five year plan out of me. Here it is-- TIA and all that. I don’t want to go to school. I know everyone expects me to grow out of that-“
“I don’t.”
“So then what’s the fucking deal? I’ll get my G.E.D.”
“John, you’re gonna get yourself shot.”
“Hopefully for smuggling.” She winged a paperback at him. “Hey! That one looked thick.”
John? If you are available, you have visitors came the buzzing. John twisted his finger in his ear, trying to dislodge the sound. “Got to run Jules-“
“Yeah, I heard. What’s the deal? You expecting Murph?” She still looked pissed, while trying not to look interested.
“No… Don’t think he even knows this place’s address. Huh.” John shrugged and headed outside. A vintage Cadillac- fucking gorgeous- was idling on the drive, and a woman he could only describe as fucking beautiful held the back door open, dressed in some sexy version of a chauffeur’s uniform. Erik stood on the other side of the car.
“John? I believe we need to have a discussion about your education.” The blonde winked.
On the edge of John’s peripheral vision he could see the teachers assembling. Logan and Summers flanked the Professor, and Monroe stood on the porch. He would bet anything everyone had their face squished to the window, and the dining room bay windows were probably three or four heads deep. He didn’t flinch, just crunched his way through the light snow on gravel. “Hey, can I-“
“Don’t. No one drives this but me,” Mystique said through a wide smile, her voice sharp. He climbed into the back seat.
“I hope we’ll be having a well balanced meal. I mean, this is a school day after all.” Erik nodded towards the Professor, and the car sped off, Mystique keeping it from slipping off the icy road. “So, where are we eating?”
No one answered. Mystique watched him through the rear view mirror. Erik watched the evergreens. John sighed and did the same. It wasn’t until the salad course was served (the waiter openly disgusted by John’s choice of outfit and leather jacket) that Erik asked, “What have you learned John?”
“I’m sorry?”
“I’m under the impression that you have spent the last eleven months at a school. I assume you have learned something, preferably of use, in your tenure.”
John broke a bread stick and buttered a piece, thinking longer than necessary. “Mostly about the bird and the bees. You know. About sex.” Mystique bristled and her wrist flashed blue. Erik watched him chew, swallow. “I know what plangent means. And I have a pretty good ear for jazz, and a better appreciation for flasks of whiskey.”
“And your Bobby Drake?” John remained silent. “I assume then, that those bruises are not from rescuing some senator in distress.” He tore off another piece of bread with his nails and stuffed his mouth full. “At least have the good taste to eat quietly John.” He washed down the lump in his throat with the red wine Erik had ordered from the table. He was sure it was expensive, but it didn’t have much of a defining flavor. John hoped the alcohol would go to his head.
“Are you asking if it was everything I thought it would be?” Erik nodded and Mystique looked somewhat interested. “The school shit, I guess. Been reading a lot. The people, I dunno.”
“Charles mentioned your brother is attending the Institute. He seems to think it’s a great leap forward in relations.”
“Don’t you fucking touch him.” One hand went to the pocket, the other balled into a fist. Erik raised his eyebrows.
“You’ll find John, should you choose to partake in that activity, certain key components of your device are no longer functioning as they should.”
“You melted my lighter?”
“I prefer not to be threatened while I am eating.” Mystique smirked. Erik remained passive in expression, his eyes lit quietly.
“We’re surrounded by candles.”
“That we are.” Erik waited as his plate was cleared and the silverware changed. “Are you still overusing the zoom feature?”
Mystique blanched for a moment, confused. “Sometimes. Mostly I’ve taken pictures of a couple shows. When I went back to New York for the summer.”
“Shows?”
“Concerts.”
“Ah.” Their wine was refreshed. The main meal was served. John had order fusilli something, the waiter claimed it was spicy. God he hoped so. He could deal with some fucking action. Erik watched, didn’t touch his veal.
“What? You want to pray or something?”
“You haven’t answered my question yet John. How is your education?”
John put his fork down. “It’s good. I haven’t gotten my name on the back of a varsity jacket, if that’s what you mean.”
“And your future plans?”
John fiddled with the fork, tapping his fingers on the stem of the spoon he hadn’t used. “I’m thinking maybe I don’t need to choose sides. I’ve never been one for that Capture the Flag shit.”
“So you’re saying you’re burying your head in the sand?” Mystique asked, her voice like Bobby’s when he got really pissed which wasn’t really fair since he could actually turn to ice.
“What I’m saying is, I know everyone thinks they have my best interest at heart, but the one thing that’s consistently had my back has been cold, hard cash.” John wasn’t looking at her, just Erik. And something flickered again in Erik’s eyes. John used to think he was some kind of savant or something when it came to reading people- he could see his father walking up the road after work, or hell, the bar, and guess what was on his mind, knew he was gonna get beaten or not. Reading people had saved his ass more than once in Seattle, and on the way to New York, three weeks of sleeping in strangers’ cars, knowing who to ask for change. But sitting here, in this expensive, fucking-pressed linen napkin restaurant he couldn’t get a decent read on Erik. And it was fucking discomforting.
“So you’re going to go whore yourself to the highest bidder?” He ignored her, waited for Erik.
“Are you planning on opening a bank account?”
“Cash would be fine. Don’t believe much in banks.”
“Really?”
“Banks are all about addresses. Me, I’m a big fan of Howlin’ Wolf.”
“I would think he is a bit before your time.”
“I would think you’d know better than to try and pin me.” Cocky, he knew it. But like hell if he was going to regret that.
“Flat fee?”
“I figure it’ll vary. Transportation not included of course.”
“Of course.” Erik was silent for a moment, and then his fork rose to meet his hand. “Eat. Your food is getting cold.”
The ride back was mostly silent. At one point Erik passed him a cell phone and told him to keep it on, always. John wanted to say something about class and disturbing his peers but kept his mouth shut. Erik held up a small fold of bills. John didn’t say anything, but tried to judge the amount by the crease. He handed it over without saying anything, and John pocketed it, went back to staring out the window. When they pulled up to the Mansion, mostly everyone was back outside. John wondered if the Professor called everyone to let them know who was coming, wanting to make a strong show of it. Erik stepped out of the car behind him, touched his shoulder. John turned.
“They seem… younger.”
John looked back. There were more kids- a long time ago Doctor Gray had said once that more kids were developing their mutations earlier, something like how kids now were hitting puberty earlier than 50 years ago. It would even out eventually, plateau. God, he loved that word. “Yeah, after Ellis Island, people got less willing to keep the future-yous of the world around.” John knew that walked the line between cocky and asshole, but it was still sort of a surprise when Erik flicked his ear with two fingers. Seriously? They guy could kill him with a paperclip and he was gonna half-ass box his ears? John shrugged it off.
“You’re walking a fine line here, you know. You’re risking your soul, holding out like this.”
“Is he telling you to say that?”
“You are not the only one who thinks for himself, John.”
“Gotcha.” This whole thing was reminding him of that Philip Larkin poem, the one about parents fucking their kids up and coastal shelves and shit. And then Erik was bending from the waist and he kissed John fully. God, he knew how to work his tongue, and his teeth scraped John’s lip in a way he never could quite admit he loved, fingers tight in his hair. “Well, shit.” Erik tasted like iron, wasn’t that expected?, and the light burn of alcohol and peppermints. And then suddenly John got it. “So me and Bobby, we’re supposed to be like you and him? Evenly yoked and shit? You guys playing chess with us?”
Erik just looked at him, and John bit his lip, wanting to yell, or burn or something. Anything. “Learn well John.”
“Yeah, whatever. I can recite the Bible too- ‘let justice flow down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream’. That’s Amos.” Erik simply looked at him. John turned and walked back to the house, hearing the damn fine car whirring in the slush. They watched him walk in, made room for him to walk without touching any of them, as if his touch might pass on some sort of bloodlust. He knew he should talk to Jules with the whole communicating more thing, but he was itching for a marble notebook and his were stashed deep under his mattress, giving off a heat that no one else was gonna sense. Seth was sitting on the second set of stairs, waiting.
“Hey.”
“What’s up?”
“So that was the big bad?”
“Think he prefers Silver Fox.”
“I think that was that composer guy.” John shrugged.
“You’re not worried the crazy is going to rub off on you?”
Seth shrugged now. “You’re my brother. I mean, if you’re planning on killing all homo sapiens, I’m not really gonna be able to stop you, am I?” John put his arm around Seth’s shoulders and squeezed.
“I wouldn’t do that to you.”
“I know. It’s the people you don’t know that have to worry.”
“Hey-“
“Sorry. I’m just testy.”
“Why? Monroe’s biology?”
“No. Worse.” He hesitated, then let it rush out. “I talked to Mom today.”
“Yeah?”
“She wants me to come home for Thanksgiving.”
“Go for it. You like turkey and football.”
“She wants you to come too.” John stopped, three doors from Seth’s room, arm falling off.
“What the fuck did you tell her? You swore-“
“I didn’t tell her about you! Well, I mean, I said I had this friend John and when she asked about your family, I said you didn’t have one, and she wants you to come to Thanksgiving.”
“Well tell her I can’t!”
“I told her you were gonna spend it alone!”
“Well suddenly I have an uncle I haven’t seen in a few years! Make him rich for fuck’s sake, make him British, do what you want, but tell her I’m not coming!”
“I can’t!”
“Well you should have thought about that before you made me into Oliver Twist or some shit!”
“You won’t even consider it?” And he got a good look at Seth’s eyes, the fucking want there. Somehow he was saying yes, even though he meant no, because he knew this shit was just gonna hurt them both. Seth though, Seth just gave him this great big hug like he had saved Christmas or some shit.
~***~
He had found a collared shirt somewhere and buttoned it mostly. God, it might be Bobby’s. Smelled like his generic cologne when he first put it on but he had attributed that to it being on the floor of the closet.
She did a double take the when she first saw him. It had been what, seven years? Seth got a good look at her surprise before going and kissing her cheek. The stepfather clasped John on the shoulder and said something about Mary giving the boy a proper greeting. She mumbled, “welcome to our home John” and fled to the kitchen, after stuttering on the J. Seth showed him his room, and watched John smoke a cigarette, kneeling next to the window so the room didn’t smell too much like smoke later.
Dinner was fine, mostly Steve’s family, which John was expecting. They kept asking him about his past, which he side stepped mostly. No, he was from Seattle originally. No, he wasn’t sure where he wanted to attend college. He liked movies, he guessed, and music. No one had the bad taste to ask about his family directly. They invited him back for Christmas dinner, one of the aunts saying hurriedly, “if you celebrate, of course.” He thanked them, tried to remain gracious. But finally someone needed more wine, and someone finished off the last of the butter and he practically flipped over the table in his willingness to get to the kitchen. He bet they thought he was a real nice boy.
“St. John?” He turned and locked eyes with her. “It’s really you, isn’t it?” He nodded. “How?” He saw his jacket on a chair back. He knew he had laid it on the master bed, just like all the others. It looked creased, and her hand went to touch it before dropping back to her side.
“Dumb fucking luck.”
“He never said, he never, if I had known-“
“It’s alright. It is what it was.”
She started to apologize and he shook his head. The kitchen was nice. There were those kitchy-fake country signs on the door about kids stealing your minds, and oven fires having nothing on hot flashes. It looked happy. “Listen, I have to go. Could you tell Seth for me?” She nodded, and her cheeks were wet, her throat jerking. He took in the deepest breath he could on smoker’s lungs, and said best he could without his voice cracking, “you have a lovely home.” She let out a sob, and he slipped out through the fire escape, hands sticking to the freezing iron bars.
He smoked two cigarettes, and his hands were just clenched from the cold, finally. He called Murph. “John? What are you doing?”
“Happy Genocide to you too man. Look, I’m in the city and I need to get wasted. You up for it?” He could hear people scuffling in the background. It sounded like someone was telling Murph to get off the phone.
“Shut the fuck up, it’s Dodger. Look man, I’m over at Tony’s- you remember where that is? Look, want to meet me here? Couple of us are here. We’ve got beers and shit. We could use you.” He took the subway, and watched the people in the car. Most looked like they were heading to dinner or coming from. There was one sad-eyed guy, his eyes barely visible above deep shadows, clutching a brown paper bag to himself, and a vinyl record. God, he did not want to look like that.
John couldn’t remember if it was 4A or 3A so he rang both and one let him in. Steve stuck his head over the banister and watched him walk the flights. “Long time no see man!” He tossed him a beer car, which almost slipped out of John’s hands, the aluminum wet with cold sweat.
Tony’s room looked like it did when he was 13, only with more rappers on the wall and a couple tacked up pictures ripped from porn magazines. He had been in Juvie with them, but for beating the crap out of a guy from school when he heard he was thinking about making a move on the girl Tony liked. He got out a month or two before John and Murph.
“Sup Dodge?” Murph embraced him quickly, and JRock slapped his hand. Deans nodded from the window, smoking a cigarette.
“What’re you guys up to lately?” They glanced at each other, verging on guilty.
“Actually,” JRock took control. He was no longer a pimply kid- he had grown at least four inches and put on weight- it looked to be mostly muscle. “We’re wondering if you still got your skills.”
“Meaning?”
“We need you to break into-“ Steve shut up when JRock looked at him. John looked to Murph.
“You in on this too?”
“We all are man. Didn’t think you were gonna be around, or else I would have brought you in from the beginning.”
“Big score.” Murph nodded. John licked his lips and put down the beer car, wondered what exactly Tony used the desk for since he had failed out of the eighth grade last time John checked. He shook his head. “The fuck man?”
“C’mon Dodger. You could jack into anything. Just one go.”
“Don’t be a faggot Dodge.”
“For fuck’s sake man.”
And now Murph was grabbing his arm, pulling him out the circle that had developed around him. John was pretty sure he had watched this whole scene before on a National Geographic special. The heat was boiling, and he was surprised the long razor grass hadn’t withered and died right there on the camera. He cracked his neck- he could deal with the heat, the muggy accusations. The weight.
“John, what are you doing? C’mon, just say yes.”
“No.”
“John, you know who these guys are. They’ll-“
“I don’t do it anymore man. Murph. I can’t, not with my brother-“
“I’m your brother John. Who’s been there? Huh? Seth? Has Seth been there? Was he the one who watched your ass
in Juvie? How about Bobby? What has Bobby done for you?”
“Murph-“
“I’m your brother John and for someone who’s always shit on families, you don’t seem to recognize the one you got. Right here. Now please, just be Dodger. An hour. Dodger for an hour and then you can go back to whoever you think you are now.”
The whole scene was very Roman Empire. For a second, John wondered if the Romans had ever seen lions in action, had known the marked similarities, then he remember the gladiators.
“I’m sorry.” Murph looked like he wanted to cash in on what he was owed but before he could speak, JRock spoke.
“No,” said JRock. “I am. You used to be good. Now you’re not even a man. You come here, you drink our beer, and you think you’re beyond this? Fuck you.” Murph watched, didn’t have many other options. Survival comes first. When everything was done, when they had beaten the savannah out of John, Murphy pulled away from the rest, went to grab him. “Don’t touch him.” Murph helped him stand.
“We can’t leave him here,” Murph shot back, and dragged him out the apartment, John moving numbly. “Look, I got to take you to the hospital-“
“No.”
“John, you know-“
“You shouldn’t be down here with me. Get back up there.”
“John-“
“You know how this shit works as well as I do Murph. Now get the fuck back up there.” Murph nodded and headed back inside. John’s bookbag came hurtling out of the window, just missing John to land in the street. He grabbed and started to limp away. If he pretended he didn’t have lungs, maybe it would get easier. Still, every foot or so he stopped to lean against a building to try and catch some breath. Everything hurt. Beyond hurt, screamed. The cold in the air punched his lungs to lace. He got to a payphone and held onto it for a moment, holding himself up. Somehow he had the change. Bobby picked up just as the machine started to kick on.
“You were gonna ignore me?”
“What’s up John?” Bobby’s voice was flat.
“I need you to come and pick me up.” It hurt to talk and breathe. It was taking a lot of self control, and the gentle flame at his finger tips to keep from screaming and collapsing on the snowy cement.
“Why don’t you call Magneto?”
“Fuck Bobby, I didn’t call the X Men. I called you. If you can’t do it fine.” There was a silence. John was ready to hang up when Bobby asked where. John told him the address of the IHOP down the street, next to the hookah bar he used to stare at wondering if he went inside, if he’d be seen as older, if they cared. He moved like an old man getting there, stopping at one point on someone’s stoop to moan quietly before forcing himself to shake it off and keep on. He sat outside, knew he couldn’t order a coffee without spraying blood from his lips, knew he had a broken tooth, and waited. He had a book in his bag, something Hank wanted him to read and from what he had read on the train while Seth napped it was pretty good. But he didn’t think he could focus his eyes like that, so he let himself drift.
“John?” Bobby kneeled in front of him, lightly touched his bruised face. “John, what the hell happened?”
John realized he was lightly dusted with snow, and felt like a statue. He managed to croak out, “you know me and baseball bats have that love-hate relationship.”
Bobby whistled, his brow all furrowed. “Seriously John. You need to get to a hospital.”
He shook his head. “Just drive, alright?”
“Lemme help you-“
“I got it. Thanks.” Somehow he forced himself to stand, had to stop and gasp. Everything above the torso burned like the worst beating Ash ever gave him. His knee could barely support his weight. Mincing, he managed to make his way to the car and climbed in. Bobby ran around to the driver’s side and started the car after following him to the car like he was some kind of fucking baby bird. He shrugged off his jacket and tucked it around John’s lap. He smelled like blood and wet denim, he realized, as the snow melted in the car’s heat. Bobby pointed to the iPod.
“That’s yours. Thought you’d want it.”
“Thanks.” John managed to find the 80s playlist Jules had made him, all Gothic rock and New Order and punk new wave. He closed his eyes and kept his head turned to the window. He felt Bobby accelerate beyond any conceivable speed limit and couldn’t help smirking a little at his influence.
He opened his eyes again when Bobby touched the side of his neck with cold fingers. The defroster was on. He figured it probably looked bad the way he kept passing out like this. “We’re here. John, can I-“
“How come you weren’t up in Boston?” John didn’t look at him. Bobby kept his thumb on John’s artery.
“Mom called yesterday. Said maybe it was better if I just came up for Christmas. Besides, they were
going to my aunt’s and I’m allergic to cats.”
“Shit. Sorry.”
“I fucking hate cats so…”
“So it still sucks.”
“Can you get out of the car ok?” John opened his door. Hank was standing on the steps. Summers was next to him, probably thought this was some kind of anti-mutie thing, started forward but Hank stopped him. John managed to climb out of the car, keeping all weight off his knee, which had seized into the bent shape. John tried flexing it and stopped, the pain making him light headed. He took one step and almost fell over. Bobby stood next to him, waiting. Sighing, John slipped his arm over Bobby’s shoulder, and allowed himself to be helped inside. He made it up the second stair before feeling the snow, Bobby’s arm, the light of the open door fade away into the blackout.
Author's Note: It's long. And I was probably too heavy handed at times. My apologies for both.