Fic: That Someone You Can't Live Without (Marvel Comics)
Title: That Someone You Can't Live Without
Author(s): thinlizzy2
Artist(s): moushkas
Fandom(s): X-Factor (Marvel Comics)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 7915
Characters/Pairings(if any): Theresa/Monet (romantic friendship), Rictor/Shatterstar, past Theresa/others, past Monet/others and one surprise pairing to keep things fun!
Warnings/Spoilers: Mention of canon substance abuse and the canon death of a child, some unwanted sexual contact. Ignores some elements of current canon, but there are spoilers up to issue 242.
Summary: When Rictor discovers that Terry and Monet have been sharing a bed for quite some time, he tries to assist his old friend and teammate with coming out while Terry struggles to help both of them understand how her relationship is different than his and that's okay too. Meanwhile, there's shopping trips in Milan, a wolf-baby running amok and an unseen enemy on the blogosphere targeting Monet.
Author’s Notes: A huge thanks to moushkas for the gorgeous art, misachan for being a wonderful beta reader and the mod of this fun and unique challenge!
The lovely art can be found here:
http://moushkas.livejournal.com/18728.html
The omelet slid unnoticed off the plate as Rictor took in the scene in front of him. He had a moment to reflect that it was a shame that he was the one standing there instead of a straight man; the sight of two gorgeous women, clad in nothing but their underwear and curled up together under a sheet, was kind of wasted on him. Then Monet stirred and Rictor cringed in instinctive self-defense.
“Is there any point in asking why you’re here?” Monet had frost in her voice as she reached for her bathrobe. “Or should I spare myself the incoherent babbling?”
“I just thought...” Ric gestured towards the ruined eggs. “I used to make this sometimes when we were with X-Force. Terry likes it.”
She arched a perfectly groomed eyebrow at him. “I think I know what Terry likes better than you do.”
He couldn’t hold back the snort of incredulous laughter. “I guess you do!”
Theresa rolled over and rubbed the back of her arm across her eyes. “What’s goin’ on?” Her voice was slurred with sleep. “What do I like?”
“Apparently, factory-farmed eggs mixed with reconstituted frozen vegetables. With a side of dust-bunnies and floor-germs.” Monet strode towards the bathroom. “It’s his mess and he’s your friend, so would one of you kindly have that cleaned up before I finish my shower?” A moment later, the door closed and the sound of running water filled the room.
Terry groaned and fell back on her pillow. “I hate to seem ungrateful, Ric...”
“No, it’s no problem. I’ve got it.” He tossed the larger chunks of omelet back onto the plate and dabbed at the remnants with a napkin. Some runny bits were already embedded in the carpet.
“It’s fine”, Terry said, when he pointed it out to her. “I think she sneaks cleaning people in here when I’m out. I’ve definitely never polished the bathtub fixtures, but they’re always sparkling.”
Ric nodded in relief and then blinked. “Wait, does she live here?” He raked his eyes over the room and saw plenty of evidence to support his new theory. He was pretty sure Terry didn’t buy face cream infused with flecks of gold.
Terry shrugged. “We all live here, right?”
“You know what I mean.” He put the spoiled breakfast on the desk and scooted up onto the bed, poking her playfully in the shoulder. “Looo-cy. You got some ‘splaining to do.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m not sure if that’s more offensive or less because I’m ginger and you’re Latin.”
“We can call it a draw.” He smiled at her. “So. Wanna talk about it?”
“About what?”
He stared at her. “Ron Paul, nuclear weapons and the elections in France. About your new bed-mate, what else?”
“Not that new. She started sleeping over after... you know.” A shadow crossed her face and he winced, knowing what was coming. He hated that he’d made her think about the baby she’d lost. “Sean. When we were in Ireland. And then when we came back here I guess she just stayed. It’s nothing official.”
“Terry - this is great.”
“Is it?”
“Sure! We can be the queer X-team. LGBTX.” He chuckled to himself. “Rahne’ll be thrilled.”
She shot him a look. “It’s not like that.”
“What’s not?”
“Me and Monet. I hate to rain on your pride-parade, but we’re not dating.”
He laughed. “Come on, Ter. The two of you are always partnering up? Fine, you work well together. You disappear off to Europe or wherever? Cool - why not spend her dad’s money? But you sleep together. In the same bed.” He put a hand on her knee. “You know you can talk to me, right? Been there, done that and all.”
She shook her head. “Ric, I swear, I’d tell you if there was anything to tell. But Monet and me, we’re not-”
“What?” The bathroom door swung open and Monet stepped into the room. “We’re not what? Seriously annoyed that he’s still here? Because in that case, you’re going to have to speak for yourself.” She opened the closet and Rictor noticed that quite a few of her designer dresses were hanging alongside Terry’s things. “I want to get dressed”, she informed Rictor. “You aren’t rich enough to see my breasts.”
Rictor decided that - to save his life - he might as well refrain from mentioning that he’d already seen them. “Duly noted. I’ll come back when I win the lottery and get into breasts.” He paused at the door. “Terry, you know where to find me, right?”
“We ALL live HERE!”
The furious pace of Monet’s fingers on the keyboard could only mean one thing. The hateful website had sprung up about a month ago, and it seemed to be nothing but ugly rumors about Monet. Theresa leaned over her shoulder to see the screen, but her friend waved her away.
“It’s absolute rubbish this time. Don’t pollute your eyes by looking at it.”
Theresa sat back on the bed. “I don’t know why you even bother to keep looking at that stuff.”
“I’ve Googled my own name every morning since the first time I appeared in StyleWatch”, Monet informed her. “I see no reason to stop now just because some mouth-breather in his mother’s basement has a vendetta.”
“You see nothing weird at all about what you just said, do you?” Terry’s smile faded when she saw that Monet was genuinely upset. “What is it this time?”
There was a long pause before Monet answered. “Apparently, I’m the latest of about a billion wives of some improbably named terrorist, who has deployed me here to spy on America.”
“Ouch.”
“Totally ridiculous.” Monet rolled her eyes. I mean, can you imagine me as a multiple wife? I’m the star of the show or I’m not turning up, thank you very much.”
Theresa felt an unexpected twinge at the thought of Monet being married to anyone. She puzzled over that for a moment, and then dismissed it. Stupid Rictor.
Monet continued. “I mean, multiple husbands - I could do that. But not the other way around.”
There was that twinge again. “Not to mention the terrorism thing. You know, if this really upsets you, we can try to track the guy down. I mean, we do work for a detective agency and all.”
“No. It’s not worth either of our efforts. I have some very exciting paint-drying to watch.” Monet turned back to the keyboard.
“You know, if you keep replying to him you’re just going to give him a reason to keep lying about you”, Terry pointed out as Monet resumed her angry typing. “People like that just thrive on attention.”
“I’m not replying to him.” Monet hit the ‘send’ key and closed her laptop. “I’m signing him up for penis-enlargement spam. All the penis-enlargement spam. Although I’m sure he’s already signed up for most of it.” She rose, taking Terry’s arm. “Now come on. I’ll buy you a proper breakfast.”
The omelet ended up on the floor again.
As Rictor headed to the kitchen, he was startled by a blur of reddish-brown fur which sent him and his plate tumbling. Rahne appeared soon after and shot him an apologetic look as she gathered up her son.
“Tiergaard! Look what you’ve done to uncle Ric! You turn human right now.”
The child whined, shooting his mother what Rictor tried very hard not to think of as his ‘puppy-dog eyes’.
“Human!”
Probably sensing he wasn’t going to win this one, Tier shifted his shape, transforming into a pudgy redheaded toddler.
“That’s better.” Rahne softened her tone and stroked Tiergaard’s hair. “Sorry, Ric. He’s trying to avoid bath-time. Are you okay?”
“Nothing broken but my pride.” He climbed to his feet and petted his godson on the head. “You’re getting fast, huh pal? And mean old Mommy’s still trying to keep you clean. Doesn’t she get that you’re a boy?”
“Very funny. Let me put him in the playpen and I’ll help you clean up.”
Guido stuck his head out of the kitchen. “I can help him if you wanna get started on the bath, Rahney. Or I can take Tier upstairs if you want.”
Rahne beamed at him. “Thanks, Guido! Are you sure you’ll be all right with him? Remember, he needs to go in the blue bath-support ring; the green one’s too small now. And get him to shift so you can shampoo his fur as well.”
“You know what? Why don’t both you you go bathe Tier?” Rictor suggested. “I can clean this up by myself. I’ve got lots of practice with that.”
“You sure?” Guido asked.
Rictor nodded and watched the three of them head up the stairs. He sighed and began his search for the mop. He wanted to get this taken care of and then find Shatterstar. They had lots to talk about.
“You’re getting checked out.” Monet dipped the last of her pain au chocolat in her latte and leaned closer to Theresa. “Don’t bother looking; he’s nothing worth craning your neck for, but I thought you should know.”
Theresa looked anyway. The man wasn’t terrible looking: sandy-haired with nice eyes behind horn-rimmed glasses. Objectively, he was probably even attractive. But she felt absolutely nothing. She returned her gaze to her plate and began pulling the green tops off her strawberries.
“Told you.” Monet flipped through her magazine. She held up a picture of a glittery black handbag. “Do you like this?”
Theresa shrugged. “It’s nice, but don’t you already have one just like it?”
Monet hoisted her own - identical - handbag. “Sharp eyes, Sherlock. I meant for you.”
Terry reached out to touch the silky fabric. “Sure, I love it. I’ll just arrange to mortgage one of my kidneys and then we can go get it.”
“My treat.”
Terry shook her head. She glanced down at her suede kitten-heeled shoes, another present from Monet. “You can’t do that.”
“Please.” Monet waved a hand airily. “I spend more than that on a pedicure.”
Terry had seen Monet’s feet and knew that was probably true. Still. “You know, you don’t have to always buy me things”, she ventured. “I mean, I’ll like you anyway.”
There was a long pause before Monet responded. “I know. I think that’s why I offer to do it.”
They sat in silence for a while. Theresa was used to being around people who filled up quiet with nervous chatter: Jamie Madrox, Wade Wilson. It had taken her a while to get accustomed to the comfortable silences that she shared with Monet, and she savoured this one until an idea hit her. “How about some retail therapy on my budget? I can introduce you to the joy that is Target.”
Monet rolled her eyes. “Regretfully, I must decline. Dignity, and all that. I couldn’t go today at any rate; I have to meet Guido in a couple of hours.”
“Oh.” Terry felt her stomach drop a little bit. She didn’t know what was wrong with her; all his his general goofiness aside she liked Guido and he seemed to really care about her friend. But ever since he and Monet had started this... whatever the hell it was that they were doing, she’d just felt uneasy whenever his name came up.
“How about tomorrow, though?” Monet slid the magazine into her handbag and began gathering up her things. “But on my terms. I’m not trying on anything synthetic; that stuff gives me hives for days.”
Terry laughed and stood up, taking the other woman’s hand. “Sounds good. We’ll work it out.”
“They were in bed together?” Shatterstar furrowed his brow in consideration. “That is... an intriguing situation. How would it work, in terms of genitalia?”
“Google it. Trust me, you’ll find all the information you need”, Rictor laughed. “So anyway, I’ll talk to Terry about the whole thing, if you want to have a chat with Monet. You’d probably have better luck than me; she likes you.”
Shatterstar shot him a sideways glance. “She does not.”
“Okay, she tolerates you. It’s still better than most people get.”
“And what I am meant to talk to her about?”
“You know, let her know that it’s all cool and that if she wants someone she can talk to about coming out and everything, we’re here for her. Just be supportive and all that.”
“Like Sam was with you?”
Rictor flinched at the memory. He’d still been a deeply-closeted teenager when Sam Guthrie had given him the whole hey-buddy-still-your-friend speech and Ric had promptly broken his nose in return for all the awkwardness. He still felt bad about that.
“Well, don’t use his exact words. Try not to stammer as much as he did and don’t tell her that you’re sure Cable won’t think of her any differently. Or if you do tell her that, take a camera. Her face would be priceless.”
Shatterstar looked nervously at his camera resting on the shelf. Rictor had given it to him for Christmas, and he knew he cherished it. “I don’t think that I would get it back in a usable condition. In fact, I’m not sure that discussing this with Monet at all would be a good idea. She’s very fast and I prefer my nose in one piece.”
He smiled ruefully at ‘Star. “You’re telling me that I should shut up and mind my own business, huh?”
His partner returned the smile. “I think it might be better to wait until Monet or Theresa initiates a conversation, that’s all. This is their relationship and their concern; making it public needs to move at a pace that suits them.”
Rictor nodded, conceding the point. “You sound very professional when you talk about this stuff, you know that. Like a guidance counsellor in an after school special or something.” Shatterstar blushed and Rictor laughed out loud. “Really, ‘Star?”
“There was nothing else on! And it was educational.”
Rictor leaned in and kissed him. “You’re adorable, you know that? And a dork. You’re adorkable.”
Star rested his head on Rictor’s shoulder. “I don’t think it would be a bad idea if you wanted to offer Theresa your support. She did the same for me, in a somewhat different manner, when you were in Mexico, and I appreciated it very much at the time. Just... be sensitive to her needs and her privacy.”
“More TV quotes?”
“We really need to get the DVD player fixed.”
“I’ll take it in to the shop next chance I get. Hell, how about now? It’s a nice day; do you feel like taking a walk into town?”
Shatterstar contemplated the offer. “I was actually going to take your advice and Google-”
“Later”, Rictor laughed, taking his hand. “Trust me, that’s gonna be best as a dark-of-night activity.”
Monet twirled around in the purple leather dress and Theresa applauded. “It’s gorgeous. I’d say it’s definitely the one.”
“Please”, Monet scoffed. “There’s no one involved here.” She turned to the salesgirl. “I’ll take this one, plus the black trouser suit and the red Prada with the black beading. And that green Dolce and Gabbana for my friend, in the size 8. And then can you send someone over to show us some accessories?”
The salesgirl nodded and murmured something in Italian, slipping away before Terry could protest. She confronted her friend instead. “I told you, you don’t need to buy me things!”
“And I told you you could pay for the flight. And our accommodations. What more do you want?”
Teresa fought a smile. “We flew here on your family’s private plane and we’re staying in your uncle’s villa.”
Monet was unfazed. “You can leave a tip for the maid.”
Terry threw up her arms in a gesture of surrender and laughed. “Fine, you win!” She remembered the feel of the smooth green silk on her skin; it was a fabulous dress. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Monet held up a gauzy blue gown and looked at it critically.
Terry watched her for a moment. “Monet? Are you ready to talk about why we’re here yet?”
“The Autumn collections are out.”
“Monet.” Getting woken up by Monet with orders that they go to some fashionable shop or play or restaurant was fairly normal. Finding out that hot-spot was in some exotic destination that required their passports wasn’t unheard of either. But there had been a sort of frantic quality to her that morning that had made Theresa expect something a lot more dangerous than just a shopping spree in Milan.
“It’s nothing, really. Just internet stuff.” Monet was definitely avoiding her eyes.
Terry got up to hug her. “What did he write?”
“Let me think. ’I’ve suspected that Monet St. Croix might have a drinking problem for a while, but even I wasn’t expecting her to spend an entire afternoon with one of New York’s most exclusive wine merchants. She was in there for hours, long enough to buy enough booze to last a normal person a year or to outfit herself for one of her notorious weekend benders. At least she’s still drinking Daddy’s money instead of stuffing it up her nose or shooting it into her veins, though with this girl it’s sure to be just a matter of time.’ Or something to that effect anyway.”
“Oh, honey!” Terry squeezed her tighter. “Don’t let it get to you.”
Monet hugged her back and then stepped away. “The thing is, I was buying wine. Guido wanted to get some champagne for... something special, and he’s hopeless with wine. I was just doing him a favor, and that’s all I bought. But this guy must have seen me go in, and he was keeping track of how long I was there. It’s just... unpleasant. Creepy. I know I can take care of myself, but I don’t like that he got so close and I had no idea.”
Terry fished around in her handbag for a tissue. “I still don’t know why you don’t do something about him.”
Monet wiped at her eyes. “Honestly? Father says not to. He says that if I draw attention to him many more people will find out about it, and it’ll give what he’s saying validity. In short, I shouldn’t do anything that would embarrass the family further.” She offered the tissue back to Theresa.
“Keep it.”
“So anyway, I just figured it would do me some good to get away for a bit. And you, being my best-friend-slash-loyal-minion, got dragged along for the ride. Hope you don’t mind too much.”
Theresa laughed. “An all-expenses paid weekend in Italy? I think I’ll cope.”
“A week.”
“What?”
“We’re staying for a week.”
Terry stared at her. “But work-”
“I already talked to Guido.” She smiled softly for a moment. “He’s going to cover for us; he’ll ask Rahne to help him. And it’s the slow season. Jamie can always call us if he needs us anyway, right?”
“Sure”, Terry agreed, feeling strangely unsettled by Monet’s smile. She was buying champagne for Guido. Guido was willing to cover for her at work. “Nice of Guido to offer. Guess he’ll do pretty much anything you say, huh?”
“Who wouldn’t?” Monet checked her makeup in the mirror, fixing her tear-smudged mascara. “And on that note, you’re under strict orders not to tell anyone I cried about this. Otherwise, I won’t be held responsible for the consequences. Understood?”
“Understood.”
“Excellent.” The door opened and a team of assistants entered carrying trays of jewelry. “Now on to more important things.” She held up a pair of dangling emerald earrings. “Wouldn’t these look gorgeous with your new dress?”
Okay, so this particular after school special wasn’t terrible. It was a little bit worrying that Shatterstar had thought to record it though. Rictor twisted a bit in ‘Star’s arms so that he could see his face. “Do you just keep the TiVo going 24/7 or something?
“Shhh.” ‘Star took a handful of popcorn and stuffed a few pieces in his own mouth. He used the remains to silence Rictor. “This is the good part.”
So they watched in silence as the happy couple overcame the football team’s prejudice and reunited. Rictor couldn’t decide if it was amusing or not that the fact that one of them was a jock and the other a science geek was treated like it was as big an obstacle as them both being guys. He thought the quarterback was definitely right though, as he saw ‘Star’s eyes water a bit over TV meant for preteens. Geeky guys were definitely hot.
The next one hadn’t saved correctly; it cut off right after the opening credits. Rictor tried to insist that he honestly didn’t mind missing out on random-white-girl’s descent into the horrible world of marijuana addiction, but ‘Star insisted on trying to find it online.
He’d always wondered about wisdom of setting up his computer to notify him whenever one of his teammates was mentioned online. Sure it meant that he could get downtown with bail money that much sooner, but it was also clearly a ticket into the realm of do-not-want.
“What is it?” Shatterstar asked, sensing Rictor’s sudden tension. Then he noticed it too. “Mutant millionairess Monet has always been an easy conquest for gentlemen with enough cash or flashy superhuman powers to go around, but it appears that lately she’s been craving a different sort of loving. Monet recently chartered a private jet to Italy, and I can now confirm that the only other people on board were the pilot and Theresa Cassidy, the female teammate with whom she seems to be spending more and more time. Enjoy the trip to the Isle of Lesbos, ladies - just hope that radical Muslim daddy doesn’t catch wind of it or you might find yourselves cut off without a ticket home.” ‘Star furrowed his brow and took a deep breath. “This is very bad.”
“Understatement of the year there.” Rictor buried his face in his hands. He had no idea if his family had any idea that he was gay; if they ever bothered to do a search on his name then they probably did. He didn’t need to wonder about how they would respond - the whole ‘killing-men-good-loving-men-bad’ thing was pretty much a family motto. He didn’t give a shit. But he was out and had got to come out on his own terms. Furthermore, he didn’t even like his family; Monet adored her dad. The whole thing was a fucking mess.
Shatterstar’s hand on his shoulder brought Rictor back to the present. “What should we do? Do you think we should notify Monet?”
Rictor thought it over. “She probably already knows. And if she doesn’t, why wreck her holiday? I’m pretty sure this shit will still be here when she gets back.”
“We could take care of it”, Shatterstar suggested. “It would not take long to find this person.”
It was tempting, but not their place. So Rictor settled for sending a quick email to Theresa - Hope you’re having fun; let M know we’ve got her back if she needs us - and then shut off the computer. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m not really in the mood for issue TV right now.”
Shatterstar nodded. “Are you hungry? Shall we see if people want to order a pizza?”
Rictor was about to agree when a crash sounded from downstairs. Tiergaard’s playful yelping was followed by an exasperated cry from Jamie. “Damn it! Rahne, where are you? This is going to take hours to clean up!”
Rictor changed tack. “Or maybe we can just go to bed.”
Shatterstar smiled at him. “Bed is definitely fine.”
Theresa laughed as she spun around on the dance floor. There was a time when she would have been long-drunk by this time of the night, and to be honest she’d once been worried whether she would be able to enjoy a nightclub on nothing but mineral water. But the music here was fantastic, the crowd was young and fashionable and the vibe was just so good that she couldn’t help getting swept up in it all.
Her partner bent down and kissed her neck and she pulled away. Okay, she wasn’t that swept up.
“Why, Bella?”, he asked, putting on an imploring face.
He was gorgeous, and the old Theresa would have already had a hand down his pants in the back of the cloakroom, but public fumblings didn’t have the same appeal sober and that was just one more thing about drinking that she didn’t miss. So she just gave him a distant smile. “I’ve got to go find my friend.”
Monet was disturbingly easy to find. Theresa penetrated the group of cheering men to find her grinding against some wall of muscle. The guy looked like he was having the time of his life, with his hands all over the outfit that Terry had helped Monet select a few days before. Every few seconds he’d lift his gaze from Monet’s ass or cleavage and scan the crowd, as if making sure everyone there realized just how lucky he was. He was no one Theresa knew, and she’d be willing to bet good money Monet didn’t know him either. But with his shaved head and stupid sunglasses he looked astonishing like Guido Carosella. Theresa fought back a wave of nausea as she pushed her way back through the dancers and out of the club.
She lay on the bed, sleepless and miserable, until the sun came up. It would have been great to be able to say she didn’t know why she was reacting like that, but the truth was that she knew all too well. Every minute that passed before Monet returned made it even clearer.
“There you are!” Monet swung open the door and kicked off her shoes. “I was looking for you for almost an hour. Why didn’t you answer your phone?”
Terry scanned her for some clue of what she’d been doing that evening. Monet’s hair was a bit mussed, but that could have happened at the club or on her flight back to the villa There were no hickeys on her neck that Theresa could see, but her healing factor combined with general invulnerability meant that she didn’t bruise easily. So she’d have to ask.
“I put it on silent before we went dancing and then I guess I forgot about it. Sorry. So, did you have a good night?”
“Not bad. Milan’s going downhill for nightlife though; next time we should go to Barcelona.” She must have noticed her friend’s bitten lips and bloodshot eyes. “Are you all right? You didn’t-”
“Drink? No. Did you sleep with him?”
“Good, because - what? Who?”
“That guy!” Theresa could hear how crazy she sounded but there didn’t seem to be any way to stop now. “The guy you were dancing with. Did you sleep with him?”
“I danced with a lot of guys. I didn’t sleep with any of them.” Monet stared at her. “Are you angry at me?”
“No.”
“Well... good.” Monet stepped out of her dress and pulled her nightshirt over her head. “Because I’ve had a night of it and, believe it or not, even I need my beauty sleep.” She lay back down, pecking Terry on the cheek. “Wake me if the world is ending. But only if there’s something we can do about it.”
Terry studied her as she slept. Maybe it was the amount of time she spent with Monet, but she had somehow stopped noticing just how beautiful the other girl was. But now, with her long black hair spread out over the pillow, her thick eyelashes casting shadows on her dark silky skin, Theresa was struck with a kind of panic. Someone’s going to take her away from me. The thought came out of nowhere and was followed by an urgent denial. No.
“Monet?” She whispered. No reply. “Monet!” The other girl grumbled in her sleep, threw an arm up over her head and then lay still again.
Desperate, as though just imagining the abandonment could make it happen, Theresa leaned down and pressed her lips against Monet’s. She’d kissed the other girl a thousand times, but she’d never been scared by it before. Those had been affectionate pecks, delivered in humour or comfort or simple, easy companionship. This was different. Everything was going to have to be different now.
Monet opened her eyes, but didn’t move. Theresa didn’t know what to do, so she carried on. She kissed her mouth again, and then her smooth cheek. She stroked Monet’s hair, trying with all her might to ignore the voice in the back of head insisting this is not what you’re meant to have. That scared her even more. She’d had the same realisation with James Proudstar all those years ago. They’d been so close, and now she barely ever saw him. Terrified, she buried her face against Monet’s neck and kissed her bare shoulder.
Monet’s moan was far more annoyed than lustful; the hand on Theresa’s chest wasn’t drawing her closer but pushing her back. “For God’s sake. Terry, cut it out!” She obeyed instantly, climbing out of the bed and holding the sheet in front of herself.
Monet stared at her through narrowed eyes. “You’re sure you’re not drunk?”
She shook her head helplessly. “I just thought...” She trailed off, unable to continue. The look on Monet’s face was more painful than a physical blow would have been.
Monet shoved her feet into her slippers and headed for the door. “Merde. Not you.”
“Where are you going?” She knew she had no right to know, but Monet was wearing nothing but a nightgown and if anyone should be wandering the streets upset and alone, it was Terry.
“The other room!” The door slammed behind her.
Theresa hadn’t even known there was an additional bedroom; they’d never once used it. She sank back onto her own bed, which was already growing cold. She let her tears fall onto Monet’s pillow.
The sound of glass smashing woke Rictor with a start. He dashed to the window to see Monet taking flight, moving so quickly that she was a tiny dot against the sky in a matter of seconds. His sleep-logged brain wondered why she hadn’t gone out the door or at least opened the window before leaving, but then he noticed the computer lying on the ground and figured that it had probably preceded his teammate through the glass.
Shatterstar was already at the door, swords in hand. Rictor called him back. “I don’t think it’s that kind of emergency.”
A quick check of his own computer revealed what kind of emergency it was. Even Shatterstar paled when he read the poisonous text. “What do you think we should do?”
As painful as it would be, Rictor knew there was only one course of action. “You find Layla, see if she can work her special brand of creepy knowing-stuff on this. I’ll go talk to Terry.”
Theresa had been in a horrible mood ever since she and Monet had returned - two days early - from Milan. Monet had stormed off to her own, little-used bedroom and Terry had taken to nursing cups of coffee in the kitchen well into the night, in what Rictor suspected what as effort to avoid going back to her room alone. He had no idea what had happened, but his heart ached for his poor friend.
The door opened almost immediately when he knocked, but her face fell when she saw it was only him. He hated to bring her still more bad news, but he didn’t have a choice. “Ter... have you been online yet today?”
The horror on her face when she read the post was heartbreaking. “Our sources have turned up a whole bunch of goodies on Monet’s new gal-pal/bedmate. It turns out that Theresa Rourke Cassidy is a longtime alcoholic who’s managed to combine her weakness for drink with her sonic scream to cause all kinds of destruction. What’s more, it runs in the family; her father was a known lush as well! So maybe it’s a good thing her baby turned out to be a squib. Perhaps Monet will want to think twice about starting a Brangelina style family with this one?” Her voice began cracking as she got to the end and all Rictor could do was helplessly offer her a kleenex.
“Thanks.” Theresa’s voice was thick with tears as she blew her nose.
“It’s awful, I know.”
“Aye... but, well, what can I do?” She dabbed at her eyes. “Maybe Monet’s right, all we can do is ignore it.”
“She said that?” Rictor asked. “I think she may have changed her mind.” He explained the scene he’d woken up to that morning.
“She... was upset? Because he wrote that stuff about me?” Theresa sounded oddly hopeful.
“I didn’t see her face, but it sure looked that way”, Rictor confirmed. “To be honest, Ter, I’m a bit worried she might hurt the guy; you know what she’s like when she gets angry.”
Terry shook her head. “Trust me, she’s not going to do anything stupid on my account at the moment. She’s probably just gone to blow off some steam.”
“Actually, you’re wrong.” Layla leaned on the door frame, with Shatterstar close behind her. “I’d recommend you get over there pretty quickly.” She offered Theresa a scrap of paper. “They’re here.”
Theresa stared at the address. “She’s going to confront this guy? On my account?”
Layla shrugged. “Of course. You didn’t think she’d let him get away with that, did you?”
“This is all very touching”, Rictor interjected. “But maybe the talking can wait until after we’ve stopped a murder. ‘Star, can you get us there?”
Theresa was already at the window. “I’m going alone.”
“You don’t have to-”
“I want to.” Theresa’s voice was firm. “Look Ric, I know you mean well and I appreciate it. But this is my dirty laundry being aired and my privacy being violated. Not to mention the fact that Monet is my...” She trailed off.
“Your what?”
“Person. She’s my person and I want her back. And before you ask, I have no idea what I mean by that but I’m sure as hell not going to figure it out by standing around here talking about it.”
Rictor thought about all of the times he and ‘Star had pulled each other back from the brink of something horrible. Even before he’d realized they were in love, there had always been that bond there, that inexplicable knowledge that they’d both found a person who was indispensable. He leaned forward and kissed Theresa on the cheek. “I hope you get what you’re looking for.”
“Aye, me too. Whatever that is.”
“Maybe you’re too close”, Layla suggested helpfully. “To really see it, I mean.”
“Maybe”, Terry agreed as she stepped onto the windowsill. “But I’m not backing away now.”
Theresa wasn’t sure what to expect when she found Monet. It was an extreme understatement to say that her friend had a temper - Theresa had seen her bend a telephone pole like a straw when a stranger mistook her for a prostitute and she’d seen her crucify a man who had tortured mutants. She was braced for the very worst.
But she never would have expected a scene like the one she barged into.
Monet stood in the center of a rather messy bedroom. Several food-encrusted plates had been smashed and cartoon-drawings of women with improbable anatomies had been torn down, leaving the walls bare. Those walls had once been a uniform faded blue, but were now covered with the same eight words, printed over and over again. A young man with bad skin and an odor that reminded Terry of yellowed underwear was on his hands and knees, frantically scrawling them yet again in the few inches of space that remained at the bottom of one wall.
I am very sorry for being an asshole.
“Monet?” Theresa was carefully to speak softly. She held out her hands in a placating manner. “What’s all this?”
“Terry.” Monet didn’t take her eyes off of the sweating man on the floor. “Good. You’re here. Meet Fred.”
“Jed.” The man sounded close to tears.
“Did I say you could talk? Anyway, Fred here just needs to finish serving his detention and then we can go. I’m pretty sure his Perez Hilton days are safely behind him.”
“Absolutely.” Jed clamored to his feet. “I’ve definitely learned my lesson. And I think I’ve got all the walls covered now, so-”
“Ceiling.”
He stared at Monet. “How am I supposed to-” She narrowed her eyes at him. “I’ll work it out!”
As Jed piled books on top of his desk - and then climbed onto the books - Theresa stared at Monet. “Who is he?” She whispered. “Why did he write all that stuff?”
Monet made no attempt to lower her voice. “Fred here apparently had a little crush on me back in school; this was when Sean and Emma had to let the townies in. I actually don’t remember him at all. He says he never worked up the nerve to speak to me, but I doubt I would have noticed even if he had. This whole thing was actually just a sad little bid for attention.”
Jed whimpered a bit as he strained to reach the ceiling. Theresa couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry for him. Then again, there were no marks on him and she couldn’t see any blood, so in the pissing-off-Monet-St-Croix stakes, he’d actually got off pretty easy.
She turned back to her friend. “But I thought you weren’t going to do anything about him. Weren’t you supposed to just ignore him?”
Monet suddenly dropped her gaze. “That’s when it was just about me.”
Even though she’d known she was the catalyst for this, hearing it confirmed still made her eyes sting a bit. She blinked hard. “Listen, you really didn’t have to... I mean, I know things have been weird lately, and that’s my fault, but-”
“Mon Dieu!” Monet had noticed the tears forming. “Theresa, not in front of the m-o-r-o-n.” She took Terry’s arm. “Fred, the grown-ups are going outside for a chat. I’ll be back in a few minutes to check your work, so be careful not to get sloppy with your penmanship.”
Once they were out on the street, Theresa tried again. “Listen, I really appreciate you standing up for me.”
“I’ve been wanting to deal with him for a while.” The forced nonchalance in her voice didn’t fool Theresa a bit.
“I’m a wee bit relieved too, to be honest. You went a lot easier on him than I thought you would. I guess you’re probably used to people doing silly things over you.” She’d meant for that to sound more subtle than it actually did coming out of her mouth.
Monet looked away from her. “When I was a girl, my father used to tell me that the boys at school were only making fun of me because they liked me. I don’t think it’s true; you’ve never seen a photo of me from before the X-gene kicked in and you’re not going to. Still, I don’t know why, but it helped. There’s something rather idiotic in me that wants even unpleasant people to like me.”
“I think that’s normal. It’s human.”
Monet shot her a rather withering glance. “I’d prefer to think I’m above all that, thank you.”
Theresa couldn’t help herself. She snorted.
Monet went on. “I’d still probably have done it though. If he’d been nice to me. I did that a lot, back in school. I think the only reason I didn’t become ‘that girl’ is that no one really believed the boys when they talked about it.”
Terry thought of the pathetic man in the house. The idea of him touching Monet was ridiculous. “Seriously? With someone like that?”
“It really doesn’t matter to to me what they’re like. Or it didn’t, before.” She sighed and rubbed the back of her hand over her eyes. “Terry - I don’t like sex anyway.”
Theresa gaped at her. She remembered Monet’s fury when she found out about Jamie’s infidelity, recalled way she’d rubbed herself against the man in Milan. “I’m sorry, what?”
“You heard me.” Monet sat on the curb and Terry settled down next to her. “I like to flirt and kissing is enjoyable, but I just don’t care for sex. In fact... I hate it. ” Terry realised Monet was searching her face for a reaction and tried to wipe the surprise from her expression. It must have worked, because she continued. “But, and I know it’s asinine but I like... being liked, I suppose. Being wanted. And everyone who’s ever liked me has wanted that. Those boys when I was at school, and then Everett. Jamie, Darwin, Guido - you see the trend? That’s part of why being around you was always so good. I didn’t think you wanted that from me.”
“I don’t.” She wondered if it was safe to hug Monet yet.
The look her friend shot her suggested otherwise. “So I hallucinated what happened in Italy then?”
Theresa thought back to that horrible night in Milan: her terror at the idea of Monet leaving her, her frantic need to do anything to make that not happen. There had been desire there, but it hadn’t been sexual, just a hungry longing to keep the very best thing in her life from slipping away. “I didn’t want to lose you.”
Monet’s head lowering to Terry’s shoulder felt like a gift. “I don’t want to be lost.”
Theresa felt her heart pounding faster. Years and years stretched in front of her, to be filled with peppermint lattes and almond-mocha ice-cream, shopping for shoes and filling out sudoku puzzles, teaching Monet how to care for potted plants and then scolding her for neglecting them. Long conversations about anything and everything with the person who meant the most to her in the world followed by holding her close at night. She forced herself back to reality. “What about Guido?”
Monet lifted her head. “What about Guido?”
“Aren’t you two, like, together? Or getting together or something?”
Monet laughed. “Guido is head-over-heels in love with Rahne. Seriously, he has been for months now. He wants to have even-more-terrifying babies with her.”
If Theresa had been drinking something it would have been spewed all over herself. “Honestly? Guido and Rahne?”
Monet nodded sagely. “I’ve been schooling him in How to Woo a Scottish Werewolf 101, since he’s totally helpless with girls. That champagne I bought for him? That was for the night when he was finally going to tell her.” She tilted her head back and studied the clouds. “It’s supposed to be a secret for the time being, but I understand it went very well. Of course, he did want me first, but he gets points for eventually taking that hint.”
Theresa laughed as well. “I love you, do you know that?” She stood up and extended a hand. “Let’s go home. We can come back tomorrow and see if he’s done the rest of the house, just to be safe.”
Monet’s hand in hers felt absolutely right. “If he left one i undotted, I’m making him redo the whole thing.” She paused before taking off. When she spoke again, her voice was unusually soft. “I love you too. I do. Je t’adore. And I know sex does matter to you.”
“Not really, anymore. Not since...” She didn’t want to say her son’s name and she didn’t have to. Monet always knew what she meant.
“You’ll get there again. And I’ll need to accept that.” She held up a hand to still Theresa’s oncoming protest. “Don’t worry, I’m not about to offer up my virtue. Never again, if all goes according to plan. What I was going to say is that if you want sex you should have it. I’ve seen your taste in men; I’m not likely to be threatened by the likes of Jamie or Wade. Just don't meet anyone better than me. Agreed?”
Theresa grinned as she kissed her. It was a chaste kiss, asking for nothing and yet somehow ensuring she got everything she needed. “Honey, please. Who could ever be better than you?”
Author(s): thinlizzy2
Artist(s): moushkas
Fandom(s): X-Factor (Marvel Comics)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 7915
Characters/Pairings(if any): Theresa/Monet (romantic friendship), Rictor/Shatterstar, past Theresa/others, past Monet/others and one surprise pairing to keep things fun!
Warnings/Spoilers: Mention of canon substance abuse and the canon death of a child, some unwanted sexual contact. Ignores some elements of current canon, but there are spoilers up to issue 242.
Summary: When Rictor discovers that Terry and Monet have been sharing a bed for quite some time, he tries to assist his old friend and teammate with coming out while Terry struggles to help both of them understand how her relationship is different than his and that's okay too. Meanwhile, there's shopping trips in Milan, a wolf-baby running amok and an unseen enemy on the blogosphere targeting Monet.
Author’s Notes: A huge thanks to moushkas for the gorgeous art, misachan for being a wonderful beta reader and the mod of this fun and unique challenge!
The lovely art can be found here:
http://moushkas.livejournal.com/18728.html
The omelet slid unnoticed off the plate as Rictor took in the scene in front of him. He had a moment to reflect that it was a shame that he was the one standing there instead of a straight man; the sight of two gorgeous women, clad in nothing but their underwear and curled up together under a sheet, was kind of wasted on him. Then Monet stirred and Rictor cringed in instinctive self-defense.
“Is there any point in asking why you’re here?” Monet had frost in her voice as she reached for her bathrobe. “Or should I spare myself the incoherent babbling?”
“I just thought...” Ric gestured towards the ruined eggs. “I used to make this sometimes when we were with X-Force. Terry likes it.”
She arched a perfectly groomed eyebrow at him. “I think I know what Terry likes better than you do.”
He couldn’t hold back the snort of incredulous laughter. “I guess you do!”
Theresa rolled over and rubbed the back of her arm across her eyes. “What’s goin’ on?” Her voice was slurred with sleep. “What do I like?”
“Apparently, factory-farmed eggs mixed with reconstituted frozen vegetables. With a side of dust-bunnies and floor-germs.” Monet strode towards the bathroom. “It’s his mess and he’s your friend, so would one of you kindly have that cleaned up before I finish my shower?” A moment later, the door closed and the sound of running water filled the room.
Terry groaned and fell back on her pillow. “I hate to seem ungrateful, Ric...”
“No, it’s no problem. I’ve got it.” He tossed the larger chunks of omelet back onto the plate and dabbed at the remnants with a napkin. Some runny bits were already embedded in the carpet.
“It’s fine”, Terry said, when he pointed it out to her. “I think she sneaks cleaning people in here when I’m out. I’ve definitely never polished the bathtub fixtures, but they’re always sparkling.”
Ric nodded in relief and then blinked. “Wait, does she live here?” He raked his eyes over the room and saw plenty of evidence to support his new theory. He was pretty sure Terry didn’t buy face cream infused with flecks of gold.
Terry shrugged. “We all live here, right?”
“You know what I mean.” He put the spoiled breakfast on the desk and scooted up onto the bed, poking her playfully in the shoulder. “Looo-cy. You got some ‘splaining to do.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m not sure if that’s more offensive or less because I’m ginger and you’re Latin.”
“We can call it a draw.” He smiled at her. “So. Wanna talk about it?”
“About what?”
He stared at her. “Ron Paul, nuclear weapons and the elections in France. About your new bed-mate, what else?”
“Not that new. She started sleeping over after... you know.” A shadow crossed her face and he winced, knowing what was coming. He hated that he’d made her think about the baby she’d lost. “Sean. When we were in Ireland. And then when we came back here I guess she just stayed. It’s nothing official.”
“Terry - this is great.”
“Is it?”
“Sure! We can be the queer X-team. LGBTX.” He chuckled to himself. “Rahne’ll be thrilled.”
She shot him a look. “It’s not like that.”
“What’s not?”
“Me and Monet. I hate to rain on your pride-parade, but we’re not dating.”
He laughed. “Come on, Ter. The two of you are always partnering up? Fine, you work well together. You disappear off to Europe or wherever? Cool - why not spend her dad’s money? But you sleep together. In the same bed.” He put a hand on her knee. “You know you can talk to me, right? Been there, done that and all.”
She shook her head. “Ric, I swear, I’d tell you if there was anything to tell. But Monet and me, we’re not-”
“What?” The bathroom door swung open and Monet stepped into the room. “We’re not what? Seriously annoyed that he’s still here? Because in that case, you’re going to have to speak for yourself.” She opened the closet and Rictor noticed that quite a few of her designer dresses were hanging alongside Terry’s things. “I want to get dressed”, she informed Rictor. “You aren’t rich enough to see my breasts.”
Rictor decided that - to save his life - he might as well refrain from mentioning that he’d already seen them. “Duly noted. I’ll come back when I win the lottery and get into breasts.” He paused at the door. “Terry, you know where to find me, right?”
“We ALL live HERE!”
The furious pace of Monet’s fingers on the keyboard could only mean one thing. The hateful website had sprung up about a month ago, and it seemed to be nothing but ugly rumors about Monet. Theresa leaned over her shoulder to see the screen, but her friend waved her away.
“It’s absolute rubbish this time. Don’t pollute your eyes by looking at it.”
Theresa sat back on the bed. “I don’t know why you even bother to keep looking at that stuff.”
“I’ve Googled my own name every morning since the first time I appeared in StyleWatch”, Monet informed her. “I see no reason to stop now just because some mouth-breather in his mother’s basement has a vendetta.”
“You see nothing weird at all about what you just said, do you?” Terry’s smile faded when she saw that Monet was genuinely upset. “What is it this time?”
There was a long pause before Monet answered. “Apparently, I’m the latest of about a billion wives of some improbably named terrorist, who has deployed me here to spy on America.”
“Ouch.”
“Totally ridiculous.” Monet rolled her eyes. I mean, can you imagine me as a multiple wife? I’m the star of the show or I’m not turning up, thank you very much.”
Theresa felt an unexpected twinge at the thought of Monet being married to anyone. She puzzled over that for a moment, and then dismissed it. Stupid Rictor.
Monet continued. “I mean, multiple husbands - I could do that. But not the other way around.”
There was that twinge again. “Not to mention the terrorism thing. You know, if this really upsets you, we can try to track the guy down. I mean, we do work for a detective agency and all.”
“No. It’s not worth either of our efforts. I have some very exciting paint-drying to watch.” Monet turned back to the keyboard.
“You know, if you keep replying to him you’re just going to give him a reason to keep lying about you”, Terry pointed out as Monet resumed her angry typing. “People like that just thrive on attention.”
“I’m not replying to him.” Monet hit the ‘send’ key and closed her laptop. “I’m signing him up for penis-enlargement spam. All the penis-enlargement spam. Although I’m sure he’s already signed up for most of it.” She rose, taking Terry’s arm. “Now come on. I’ll buy you a proper breakfast.”
The omelet ended up on the floor again.
As Rictor headed to the kitchen, he was startled by a blur of reddish-brown fur which sent him and his plate tumbling. Rahne appeared soon after and shot him an apologetic look as she gathered up her son.
“Tiergaard! Look what you’ve done to uncle Ric! You turn human right now.”
The child whined, shooting his mother what Rictor tried very hard not to think of as his ‘puppy-dog eyes’.
“Human!”
Probably sensing he wasn’t going to win this one, Tier shifted his shape, transforming into a pudgy redheaded toddler.
“That’s better.” Rahne softened her tone and stroked Tiergaard’s hair. “Sorry, Ric. He’s trying to avoid bath-time. Are you okay?”
“Nothing broken but my pride.” He climbed to his feet and petted his godson on the head. “You’re getting fast, huh pal? And mean old Mommy’s still trying to keep you clean. Doesn’t she get that you’re a boy?”
“Very funny. Let me put him in the playpen and I’ll help you clean up.”
Guido stuck his head out of the kitchen. “I can help him if you wanna get started on the bath, Rahney. Or I can take Tier upstairs if you want.”
Rahne beamed at him. “Thanks, Guido! Are you sure you’ll be all right with him? Remember, he needs to go in the blue bath-support ring; the green one’s too small now. And get him to shift so you can shampoo his fur as well.”
“You know what? Why don’t both you you go bathe Tier?” Rictor suggested. “I can clean this up by myself. I’ve got lots of practice with that.”
“You sure?” Guido asked.
Rictor nodded and watched the three of them head up the stairs. He sighed and began his search for the mop. He wanted to get this taken care of and then find Shatterstar. They had lots to talk about.
“You’re getting checked out.” Monet dipped the last of her pain au chocolat in her latte and leaned closer to Theresa. “Don’t bother looking; he’s nothing worth craning your neck for, but I thought you should know.”
Theresa looked anyway. The man wasn’t terrible looking: sandy-haired with nice eyes behind horn-rimmed glasses. Objectively, he was probably even attractive. But she felt absolutely nothing. She returned her gaze to her plate and began pulling the green tops off her strawberries.
“Told you.” Monet flipped through her magazine. She held up a picture of a glittery black handbag. “Do you like this?”
Theresa shrugged. “It’s nice, but don’t you already have one just like it?”
Monet hoisted her own - identical - handbag. “Sharp eyes, Sherlock. I meant for you.”
Terry reached out to touch the silky fabric. “Sure, I love it. I’ll just arrange to mortgage one of my kidneys and then we can go get it.”
“My treat.”
Terry shook her head. She glanced down at her suede kitten-heeled shoes, another present from Monet. “You can’t do that.”
“Please.” Monet waved a hand airily. “I spend more than that on a pedicure.”
Terry had seen Monet’s feet and knew that was probably true. Still. “You know, you don’t have to always buy me things”, she ventured. “I mean, I’ll like you anyway.”
There was a long pause before Monet responded. “I know. I think that’s why I offer to do it.”
They sat in silence for a while. Theresa was used to being around people who filled up quiet with nervous chatter: Jamie Madrox, Wade Wilson. It had taken her a while to get accustomed to the comfortable silences that she shared with Monet, and she savoured this one until an idea hit her. “How about some retail therapy on my budget? I can introduce you to the joy that is Target.”
Monet rolled her eyes. “Regretfully, I must decline. Dignity, and all that. I couldn’t go today at any rate; I have to meet Guido in a couple of hours.”
“Oh.” Terry felt her stomach drop a little bit. She didn’t know what was wrong with her; all his his general goofiness aside she liked Guido and he seemed to really care about her friend. But ever since he and Monet had started this... whatever the hell it was that they were doing, she’d just felt uneasy whenever his name came up.
“How about tomorrow, though?” Monet slid the magazine into her handbag and began gathering up her things. “But on my terms. I’m not trying on anything synthetic; that stuff gives me hives for days.”
Terry laughed and stood up, taking the other woman’s hand. “Sounds good. We’ll work it out.”
“They were in bed together?” Shatterstar furrowed his brow in consideration. “That is... an intriguing situation. How would it work, in terms of genitalia?”
“Google it. Trust me, you’ll find all the information you need”, Rictor laughed. “So anyway, I’ll talk to Terry about the whole thing, if you want to have a chat with Monet. You’d probably have better luck than me; she likes you.”
Shatterstar shot him a sideways glance. “She does not.”
“Okay, she tolerates you. It’s still better than most people get.”
“And what I am meant to talk to her about?”
“You know, let her know that it’s all cool and that if she wants someone she can talk to about coming out and everything, we’re here for her. Just be supportive and all that.”
“Like Sam was with you?”
Rictor flinched at the memory. He’d still been a deeply-closeted teenager when Sam Guthrie had given him the whole hey-buddy-still-your-friend speech and Ric had promptly broken his nose in return for all the awkwardness. He still felt bad about that.
“Well, don’t use his exact words. Try not to stammer as much as he did and don’t tell her that you’re sure Cable won’t think of her any differently. Or if you do tell her that, take a camera. Her face would be priceless.”
Shatterstar looked nervously at his camera resting on the shelf. Rictor had given it to him for Christmas, and he knew he cherished it. “I don’t think that I would get it back in a usable condition. In fact, I’m not sure that discussing this with Monet at all would be a good idea. She’s very fast and I prefer my nose in one piece.”
He smiled ruefully at ‘Star. “You’re telling me that I should shut up and mind my own business, huh?”
His partner returned the smile. “I think it might be better to wait until Monet or Theresa initiates a conversation, that’s all. This is their relationship and their concern; making it public needs to move at a pace that suits them.”
Rictor nodded, conceding the point. “You sound very professional when you talk about this stuff, you know that. Like a guidance counsellor in an after school special or something.” Shatterstar blushed and Rictor laughed out loud. “Really, ‘Star?”
“There was nothing else on! And it was educational.”
Rictor leaned in and kissed him. “You’re adorable, you know that? And a dork. You’re adorkable.”
Star rested his head on Rictor’s shoulder. “I don’t think it would be a bad idea if you wanted to offer Theresa your support. She did the same for me, in a somewhat different manner, when you were in Mexico, and I appreciated it very much at the time. Just... be sensitive to her needs and her privacy.”
“More TV quotes?”
“We really need to get the DVD player fixed.”
“I’ll take it in to the shop next chance I get. Hell, how about now? It’s a nice day; do you feel like taking a walk into town?”
Shatterstar contemplated the offer. “I was actually going to take your advice and Google-”
“Later”, Rictor laughed, taking his hand. “Trust me, that’s gonna be best as a dark-of-night activity.”
Monet twirled around in the purple leather dress and Theresa applauded. “It’s gorgeous. I’d say it’s definitely the one.”
“Please”, Monet scoffed. “There’s no one involved here.” She turned to the salesgirl. “I’ll take this one, plus the black trouser suit and the red Prada with the black beading. And that green Dolce and Gabbana for my friend, in the size 8. And then can you send someone over to show us some accessories?”
The salesgirl nodded and murmured something in Italian, slipping away before Terry could protest. She confronted her friend instead. “I told you, you don’t need to buy me things!”
“And I told you you could pay for the flight. And our accommodations. What more do you want?”
Teresa fought a smile. “We flew here on your family’s private plane and we’re staying in your uncle’s villa.”
Monet was unfazed. “You can leave a tip for the maid.”
Terry threw up her arms in a gesture of surrender and laughed. “Fine, you win!” She remembered the feel of the smooth green silk on her skin; it was a fabulous dress. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Monet held up a gauzy blue gown and looked at it critically.
Terry watched her for a moment. “Monet? Are you ready to talk about why we’re here yet?”
“The Autumn collections are out.”
“Monet.” Getting woken up by Monet with orders that they go to some fashionable shop or play or restaurant was fairly normal. Finding out that hot-spot was in some exotic destination that required their passports wasn’t unheard of either. But there had been a sort of frantic quality to her that morning that had made Theresa expect something a lot more dangerous than just a shopping spree in Milan.
“It’s nothing, really. Just internet stuff.” Monet was definitely avoiding her eyes.
Terry got up to hug her. “What did he write?”
“Let me think. ’I’ve suspected that Monet St. Croix might have a drinking problem for a while, but even I wasn’t expecting her to spend an entire afternoon with one of New York’s most exclusive wine merchants. She was in there for hours, long enough to buy enough booze to last a normal person a year or to outfit herself for one of her notorious weekend benders. At least she’s still drinking Daddy’s money instead of stuffing it up her nose or shooting it into her veins, though with this girl it’s sure to be just a matter of time.’ Or something to that effect anyway.”
“Oh, honey!” Terry squeezed her tighter. “Don’t let it get to you.”
Monet hugged her back and then stepped away. “The thing is, I was buying wine. Guido wanted to get some champagne for... something special, and he’s hopeless with wine. I was just doing him a favor, and that’s all I bought. But this guy must have seen me go in, and he was keeping track of how long I was there. It’s just... unpleasant. Creepy. I know I can take care of myself, but I don’t like that he got so close and I had no idea.”
Terry fished around in her handbag for a tissue. “I still don’t know why you don’t do something about him.”
Monet wiped at her eyes. “Honestly? Father says not to. He says that if I draw attention to him many more people will find out about it, and it’ll give what he’s saying validity. In short, I shouldn’t do anything that would embarrass the family further.” She offered the tissue back to Theresa.
“Keep it.”
“So anyway, I just figured it would do me some good to get away for a bit. And you, being my best-friend-slash-loyal-minion, got dragged along for the ride. Hope you don’t mind too much.”
Theresa laughed. “An all-expenses paid weekend in Italy? I think I’ll cope.”
“A week.”
“What?”
“We’re staying for a week.”
Terry stared at her. “But work-”
“I already talked to Guido.” She smiled softly for a moment. “He’s going to cover for us; he’ll ask Rahne to help him. And it’s the slow season. Jamie can always call us if he needs us anyway, right?”
“Sure”, Terry agreed, feeling strangely unsettled by Monet’s smile. She was buying champagne for Guido. Guido was willing to cover for her at work. “Nice of Guido to offer. Guess he’ll do pretty much anything you say, huh?”
“Who wouldn’t?” Monet checked her makeup in the mirror, fixing her tear-smudged mascara. “And on that note, you’re under strict orders not to tell anyone I cried about this. Otherwise, I won’t be held responsible for the consequences. Understood?”
“Understood.”
“Excellent.” The door opened and a team of assistants entered carrying trays of jewelry. “Now on to more important things.” She held up a pair of dangling emerald earrings. “Wouldn’t these look gorgeous with your new dress?”
Okay, so this particular after school special wasn’t terrible. It was a little bit worrying that Shatterstar had thought to record it though. Rictor twisted a bit in ‘Star’s arms so that he could see his face. “Do you just keep the TiVo going 24/7 or something?
“Shhh.” ‘Star took a handful of popcorn and stuffed a few pieces in his own mouth. He used the remains to silence Rictor. “This is the good part.”
So they watched in silence as the happy couple overcame the football team’s prejudice and reunited. Rictor couldn’t decide if it was amusing or not that the fact that one of them was a jock and the other a science geek was treated like it was as big an obstacle as them both being guys. He thought the quarterback was definitely right though, as he saw ‘Star’s eyes water a bit over TV meant for preteens. Geeky guys were definitely hot.
The next one hadn’t saved correctly; it cut off right after the opening credits. Rictor tried to insist that he honestly didn’t mind missing out on random-white-girl’s descent into the horrible world of marijuana addiction, but ‘Star insisted on trying to find it online.
He’d always wondered about wisdom of setting up his computer to notify him whenever one of his teammates was mentioned online. Sure it meant that he could get downtown with bail money that much sooner, but it was also clearly a ticket into the realm of do-not-want.
“What is it?” Shatterstar asked, sensing Rictor’s sudden tension. Then he noticed it too. “Mutant millionairess Monet has always been an easy conquest for gentlemen with enough cash or flashy superhuman powers to go around, but it appears that lately she’s been craving a different sort of loving. Monet recently chartered a private jet to Italy, and I can now confirm that the only other people on board were the pilot and Theresa Cassidy, the female teammate with whom she seems to be spending more and more time. Enjoy the trip to the Isle of Lesbos, ladies - just hope that radical Muslim daddy doesn’t catch wind of it or you might find yourselves cut off without a ticket home.” ‘Star furrowed his brow and took a deep breath. “This is very bad.”
“Understatement of the year there.” Rictor buried his face in his hands. He had no idea if his family had any idea that he was gay; if they ever bothered to do a search on his name then they probably did. He didn’t need to wonder about how they would respond - the whole ‘killing-men-good-loving-men-bad’ thing was pretty much a family motto. He didn’t give a shit. But he was out and had got to come out on his own terms. Furthermore, he didn’t even like his family; Monet adored her dad. The whole thing was a fucking mess.
Shatterstar’s hand on his shoulder brought Rictor back to the present. “What should we do? Do you think we should notify Monet?”
Rictor thought it over. “She probably already knows. And if she doesn’t, why wreck her holiday? I’m pretty sure this shit will still be here when she gets back.”
“We could take care of it”, Shatterstar suggested. “It would not take long to find this person.”
It was tempting, but not their place. So Rictor settled for sending a quick email to Theresa - Hope you’re having fun; let M know we’ve got her back if she needs us - and then shut off the computer. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m not really in the mood for issue TV right now.”
Shatterstar nodded. “Are you hungry? Shall we see if people want to order a pizza?”
Rictor was about to agree when a crash sounded from downstairs. Tiergaard’s playful yelping was followed by an exasperated cry from Jamie. “Damn it! Rahne, where are you? This is going to take hours to clean up!”
Rictor changed tack. “Or maybe we can just go to bed.”
Shatterstar smiled at him. “Bed is definitely fine.”
Theresa laughed as she spun around on the dance floor. There was a time when she would have been long-drunk by this time of the night, and to be honest she’d once been worried whether she would be able to enjoy a nightclub on nothing but mineral water. But the music here was fantastic, the crowd was young and fashionable and the vibe was just so good that she couldn’t help getting swept up in it all.
Her partner bent down and kissed her neck and she pulled away. Okay, she wasn’t that swept up.
“Why, Bella?”, he asked, putting on an imploring face.
He was gorgeous, and the old Theresa would have already had a hand down his pants in the back of the cloakroom, but public fumblings didn’t have the same appeal sober and that was just one more thing about drinking that she didn’t miss. So she just gave him a distant smile. “I’ve got to go find my friend.”
Monet was disturbingly easy to find. Theresa penetrated the group of cheering men to find her grinding against some wall of muscle. The guy looked like he was having the time of his life, with his hands all over the outfit that Terry had helped Monet select a few days before. Every few seconds he’d lift his gaze from Monet’s ass or cleavage and scan the crowd, as if making sure everyone there realized just how lucky he was. He was no one Theresa knew, and she’d be willing to bet good money Monet didn’t know him either. But with his shaved head and stupid sunglasses he looked astonishing like Guido Carosella. Theresa fought back a wave of nausea as she pushed her way back through the dancers and out of the club.
She lay on the bed, sleepless and miserable, until the sun came up. It would have been great to be able to say she didn’t know why she was reacting like that, but the truth was that she knew all too well. Every minute that passed before Monet returned made it even clearer.
“There you are!” Monet swung open the door and kicked off her shoes. “I was looking for you for almost an hour. Why didn’t you answer your phone?”
Terry scanned her for some clue of what she’d been doing that evening. Monet’s hair was a bit mussed, but that could have happened at the club or on her flight back to the villa There were no hickeys on her neck that Theresa could see, but her healing factor combined with general invulnerability meant that she didn’t bruise easily. So she’d have to ask.
“I put it on silent before we went dancing and then I guess I forgot about it. Sorry. So, did you have a good night?”
“Not bad. Milan’s going downhill for nightlife though; next time we should go to Barcelona.” She must have noticed her friend’s bitten lips and bloodshot eyes. “Are you all right? You didn’t-”
“Drink? No. Did you sleep with him?”
“Good, because - what? Who?”
“That guy!” Theresa could hear how crazy she sounded but there didn’t seem to be any way to stop now. “The guy you were dancing with. Did you sleep with him?”
“I danced with a lot of guys. I didn’t sleep with any of them.” Monet stared at her. “Are you angry at me?”
“No.”
“Well... good.” Monet stepped out of her dress and pulled her nightshirt over her head. “Because I’ve had a night of it and, believe it or not, even I need my beauty sleep.” She lay back down, pecking Terry on the cheek. “Wake me if the world is ending. But only if there’s something we can do about it.”
Terry studied her as she slept. Maybe it was the amount of time she spent with Monet, but she had somehow stopped noticing just how beautiful the other girl was. But now, with her long black hair spread out over the pillow, her thick eyelashes casting shadows on her dark silky skin, Theresa was struck with a kind of panic. Someone’s going to take her away from me. The thought came out of nowhere and was followed by an urgent denial. No.
“Monet?” She whispered. No reply. “Monet!” The other girl grumbled in her sleep, threw an arm up over her head and then lay still again.
Desperate, as though just imagining the abandonment could make it happen, Theresa leaned down and pressed her lips against Monet’s. She’d kissed the other girl a thousand times, but she’d never been scared by it before. Those had been affectionate pecks, delivered in humour or comfort or simple, easy companionship. This was different. Everything was going to have to be different now.
Monet opened her eyes, but didn’t move. Theresa didn’t know what to do, so she carried on. She kissed her mouth again, and then her smooth cheek. She stroked Monet’s hair, trying with all her might to ignore the voice in the back of head insisting this is not what you’re meant to have. That scared her even more. She’d had the same realisation with James Proudstar all those years ago. They’d been so close, and now she barely ever saw him. Terrified, she buried her face against Monet’s neck and kissed her bare shoulder.
Monet’s moan was far more annoyed than lustful; the hand on Theresa’s chest wasn’t drawing her closer but pushing her back. “For God’s sake. Terry, cut it out!” She obeyed instantly, climbing out of the bed and holding the sheet in front of herself.
Monet stared at her through narrowed eyes. “You’re sure you’re not drunk?”
She shook her head helplessly. “I just thought...” She trailed off, unable to continue. The look on Monet’s face was more painful than a physical blow would have been.
Monet shoved her feet into her slippers and headed for the door. “Merde. Not you.”
“Where are you going?” She knew she had no right to know, but Monet was wearing nothing but a nightgown and if anyone should be wandering the streets upset and alone, it was Terry.
“The other room!” The door slammed behind her.
Theresa hadn’t even known there was an additional bedroom; they’d never once used it. She sank back onto her own bed, which was already growing cold. She let her tears fall onto Monet’s pillow.
The sound of glass smashing woke Rictor with a start. He dashed to the window to see Monet taking flight, moving so quickly that she was a tiny dot against the sky in a matter of seconds. His sleep-logged brain wondered why she hadn’t gone out the door or at least opened the window before leaving, but then he noticed the computer lying on the ground and figured that it had probably preceded his teammate through the glass.
Shatterstar was already at the door, swords in hand. Rictor called him back. “I don’t think it’s that kind of emergency.”
A quick check of his own computer revealed what kind of emergency it was. Even Shatterstar paled when he read the poisonous text. “What do you think we should do?”
As painful as it would be, Rictor knew there was only one course of action. “You find Layla, see if she can work her special brand of creepy knowing-stuff on this. I’ll go talk to Terry.”
Theresa had been in a horrible mood ever since she and Monet had returned - two days early - from Milan. Monet had stormed off to her own, little-used bedroom and Terry had taken to nursing cups of coffee in the kitchen well into the night, in what Rictor suspected what as effort to avoid going back to her room alone. He had no idea what had happened, but his heart ached for his poor friend.
The door opened almost immediately when he knocked, but her face fell when she saw it was only him. He hated to bring her still more bad news, but he didn’t have a choice. “Ter... have you been online yet today?”
The horror on her face when she read the post was heartbreaking. “Our sources have turned up a whole bunch of goodies on Monet’s new gal-pal/bedmate. It turns out that Theresa Rourke Cassidy is a longtime alcoholic who’s managed to combine her weakness for drink with her sonic scream to cause all kinds of destruction. What’s more, it runs in the family; her father was a known lush as well! So maybe it’s a good thing her baby turned out to be a squib. Perhaps Monet will want to think twice about starting a Brangelina style family with this one?” Her voice began cracking as she got to the end and all Rictor could do was helplessly offer her a kleenex.
“Thanks.” Theresa’s voice was thick with tears as she blew her nose.
“It’s awful, I know.”
“Aye... but, well, what can I do?” She dabbed at her eyes. “Maybe Monet’s right, all we can do is ignore it.”
“She said that?” Rictor asked. “I think she may have changed her mind.” He explained the scene he’d woken up to that morning.
“She... was upset? Because he wrote that stuff about me?” Theresa sounded oddly hopeful.
“I didn’t see her face, but it sure looked that way”, Rictor confirmed. “To be honest, Ter, I’m a bit worried she might hurt the guy; you know what she’s like when she gets angry.”
Terry shook her head. “Trust me, she’s not going to do anything stupid on my account at the moment. She’s probably just gone to blow off some steam.”
“Actually, you’re wrong.” Layla leaned on the door frame, with Shatterstar close behind her. “I’d recommend you get over there pretty quickly.” She offered Theresa a scrap of paper. “They’re here.”
Theresa stared at the address. “She’s going to confront this guy? On my account?”
Layla shrugged. “Of course. You didn’t think she’d let him get away with that, did you?”
“This is all very touching”, Rictor interjected. “But maybe the talking can wait until after we’ve stopped a murder. ‘Star, can you get us there?”
Theresa was already at the window. “I’m going alone.”
“You don’t have to-”
“I want to.” Theresa’s voice was firm. “Look Ric, I know you mean well and I appreciate it. But this is my dirty laundry being aired and my privacy being violated. Not to mention the fact that Monet is my...” She trailed off.
“Your what?”
“Person. She’s my person and I want her back. And before you ask, I have no idea what I mean by that but I’m sure as hell not going to figure it out by standing around here talking about it.”
Rictor thought about all of the times he and ‘Star had pulled each other back from the brink of something horrible. Even before he’d realized they were in love, there had always been that bond there, that inexplicable knowledge that they’d both found a person who was indispensable. He leaned forward and kissed Theresa on the cheek. “I hope you get what you’re looking for.”
“Aye, me too. Whatever that is.”
“Maybe you’re too close”, Layla suggested helpfully. “To really see it, I mean.”
“Maybe”, Terry agreed as she stepped onto the windowsill. “But I’m not backing away now.”
Theresa wasn’t sure what to expect when she found Monet. It was an extreme understatement to say that her friend had a temper - Theresa had seen her bend a telephone pole like a straw when a stranger mistook her for a prostitute and she’d seen her crucify a man who had tortured mutants. She was braced for the very worst.
But she never would have expected a scene like the one she barged into.
Monet stood in the center of a rather messy bedroom. Several food-encrusted plates had been smashed and cartoon-drawings of women with improbable anatomies had been torn down, leaving the walls bare. Those walls had once been a uniform faded blue, but were now covered with the same eight words, printed over and over again. A young man with bad skin and an odor that reminded Terry of yellowed underwear was on his hands and knees, frantically scrawling them yet again in the few inches of space that remained at the bottom of one wall.
I am very sorry for being an asshole.
“Monet?” Theresa was carefully to speak softly. She held out her hands in a placating manner. “What’s all this?”
“Terry.” Monet didn’t take her eyes off of the sweating man on the floor. “Good. You’re here. Meet Fred.”
“Jed.” The man sounded close to tears.
“Did I say you could talk? Anyway, Fred here just needs to finish serving his detention and then we can go. I’m pretty sure his Perez Hilton days are safely behind him.”
“Absolutely.” Jed clamored to his feet. “I’ve definitely learned my lesson. And I think I’ve got all the walls covered now, so-”
“Ceiling.”
He stared at Monet. “How am I supposed to-” She narrowed her eyes at him. “I’ll work it out!”
As Jed piled books on top of his desk - and then climbed onto the books - Theresa stared at Monet. “Who is he?” She whispered. “Why did he write all that stuff?”
Monet made no attempt to lower her voice. “Fred here apparently had a little crush on me back in school; this was when Sean and Emma had to let the townies in. I actually don’t remember him at all. He says he never worked up the nerve to speak to me, but I doubt I would have noticed even if he had. This whole thing was actually just a sad little bid for attention.”
Jed whimpered a bit as he strained to reach the ceiling. Theresa couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry for him. Then again, there were no marks on him and she couldn’t see any blood, so in the pissing-off-Monet-St-Croix stakes, he’d actually got off pretty easy.
She turned back to her friend. “But I thought you weren’t going to do anything about him. Weren’t you supposed to just ignore him?”
Monet suddenly dropped her gaze. “That’s when it was just about me.”
Even though she’d known she was the catalyst for this, hearing it confirmed still made her eyes sting a bit. She blinked hard. “Listen, you really didn’t have to... I mean, I know things have been weird lately, and that’s my fault, but-”
“Mon Dieu!” Monet had noticed the tears forming. “Theresa, not in front of the m-o-r-o-n.” She took Terry’s arm. “Fred, the grown-ups are going outside for a chat. I’ll be back in a few minutes to check your work, so be careful not to get sloppy with your penmanship.”
Once they were out on the street, Theresa tried again. “Listen, I really appreciate you standing up for me.”
“I’ve been wanting to deal with him for a while.” The forced nonchalance in her voice didn’t fool Theresa a bit.
“I’m a wee bit relieved too, to be honest. You went a lot easier on him than I thought you would. I guess you’re probably used to people doing silly things over you.” She’d meant for that to sound more subtle than it actually did coming out of her mouth.
Monet looked away from her. “When I was a girl, my father used to tell me that the boys at school were only making fun of me because they liked me. I don’t think it’s true; you’ve never seen a photo of me from before the X-gene kicked in and you’re not going to. Still, I don’t know why, but it helped. There’s something rather idiotic in me that wants even unpleasant people to like me.”
“I think that’s normal. It’s human.”
Monet shot her a rather withering glance. “I’d prefer to think I’m above all that, thank you.”
Theresa couldn’t help herself. She snorted.
Monet went on. “I’d still probably have done it though. If he’d been nice to me. I did that a lot, back in school. I think the only reason I didn’t become ‘that girl’ is that no one really believed the boys when they talked about it.”
Terry thought of the pathetic man in the house. The idea of him touching Monet was ridiculous. “Seriously? With someone like that?”
“It really doesn’t matter to to me what they’re like. Or it didn’t, before.” She sighed and rubbed the back of her hand over her eyes. “Terry - I don’t like sex anyway.”
Theresa gaped at her. She remembered Monet’s fury when she found out about Jamie’s infidelity, recalled way she’d rubbed herself against the man in Milan. “I’m sorry, what?”
“You heard me.” Monet sat on the curb and Terry settled down next to her. “I like to flirt and kissing is enjoyable, but I just don’t care for sex. In fact... I hate it. ” Terry realised Monet was searching her face for a reaction and tried to wipe the surprise from her expression. It must have worked, because she continued. “But, and I know it’s asinine but I like... being liked, I suppose. Being wanted. And everyone who’s ever liked me has wanted that. Those boys when I was at school, and then Everett. Jamie, Darwin, Guido - you see the trend? That’s part of why being around you was always so good. I didn’t think you wanted that from me.”
“I don’t.” She wondered if it was safe to hug Monet yet.
The look her friend shot her suggested otherwise. “So I hallucinated what happened in Italy then?”
Theresa thought back to that horrible night in Milan: her terror at the idea of Monet leaving her, her frantic need to do anything to make that not happen. There had been desire there, but it hadn’t been sexual, just a hungry longing to keep the very best thing in her life from slipping away. “I didn’t want to lose you.”
Monet’s head lowering to Terry’s shoulder felt like a gift. “I don’t want to be lost.”
Theresa felt her heart pounding faster. Years and years stretched in front of her, to be filled with peppermint lattes and almond-mocha ice-cream, shopping for shoes and filling out sudoku puzzles, teaching Monet how to care for potted plants and then scolding her for neglecting them. Long conversations about anything and everything with the person who meant the most to her in the world followed by holding her close at night. She forced herself back to reality. “What about Guido?”
Monet lifted her head. “What about Guido?”
“Aren’t you two, like, together? Or getting together or something?”
Monet laughed. “Guido is head-over-heels in love with Rahne. Seriously, he has been for months now. He wants to have even-more-terrifying babies with her.”
If Theresa had been drinking something it would have been spewed all over herself. “Honestly? Guido and Rahne?”
Monet nodded sagely. “I’ve been schooling him in How to Woo a Scottish Werewolf 101, since he’s totally helpless with girls. That champagne I bought for him? That was for the night when he was finally going to tell her.” She tilted her head back and studied the clouds. “It’s supposed to be a secret for the time being, but I understand it went very well. Of course, he did want me first, but he gets points for eventually taking that hint.”
Theresa laughed as well. “I love you, do you know that?” She stood up and extended a hand. “Let’s go home. We can come back tomorrow and see if he’s done the rest of the house, just to be safe.”
Monet’s hand in hers felt absolutely right. “If he left one i undotted, I’m making him redo the whole thing.” She paused before taking off. When she spoke again, her voice was unusually soft. “I love you too. I do. Je t’adore. And I know sex does matter to you.”
“Not really, anymore. Not since...” She didn’t want to say her son’s name and she didn’t have to. Monet always knew what she meant.
“You’ll get there again. And I’ll need to accept that.” She held up a hand to still Theresa’s oncoming protest. “Don’t worry, I’m not about to offer up my virtue. Never again, if all goes according to plan. What I was going to say is that if you want sex you should have it. I’ve seen your taste in men; I’m not likely to be threatened by the likes of Jamie or Wade. Just don't meet anyone better than me. Agreed?”
Theresa grinned as she kissed her. It was a chaste kiss, asking for nothing and yet somehow ensuring she got everything she needed. “Honey, please. Who could ever be better than you?”