Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/97755.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage
  Category:
      F/M, M/M
  Fandom:
      X-Men_(Movieverse)
  Relationship:
      St._John_Allerdyce/Bobby_Drake
  Character:
      St._John_Allerdyce, Bobby_Drake, Rogue, Jubilee, Kitty_Pryde, Scott
      Summers, Jean_Grey, Hank_McCoy, Carol_Danvers
  Series:
      Part 17 of On_Love_and_Lust_at_Mutant_High
  Stats:
      Published: 2001-03-31 Completed: 2001-05-27 Chapters: 4/4 Words: 11476
****** The Longest Day ******
by seperis
Summary
     This is St. John's history.
Notes
     This required research. Count 'em--one comicverse fanfic archive = 45
     stories, most of which were Rogue/Gambit or Rogue/Magneto. Please,
     mourn my shell-shock with me. One Comic Rogue FAQ. So far losing my
     mind as to entreat smug fanboy friends who always said I'd come to
     them one day. After all that, I STILL don't have a clear idea of what
     exactly happens inside Rogue when she gets a person dead in her head
     for keepsies. So the following authors need to be thanked--Nacey for
     Causa Anima, Karen S for Obsession, Diebin for most of her stories,
     and the ittybitty fanfic archive for about fifty ways it could be or
     is or will be, I'm not sure anymore (dizzy am I). I interpreted
     heavily from those areas and all of them deserve adulation. For a
     bibliography of stories I went through, email me, and I'll give 'em
     to you in detail.
     This was originally posted as four separate fics around a theme. I'm
     posting them here as four parts of a single story, since they more or
     less are.
***** Proposal *****
Jubilee was one of those rare people that St. John always felt just a little
off-center around. Her mall obsession, love of the color yellow, her slight air
of ditzy inattention--she could fool you. Fool you bad, make you think that
there wasn't anything else to her. Make you *not* wonder what went on behind
her eyes because you thought you already knew. Dangerous things with her--she
could play you like a trumpet and you'd never, ever know.
Jubilee, like most people, was far more than the sum of her parts. Unlike most
people, she took considerable pains to hide it. Which was more than just a
little interesting. Who had the highest number of calls to Mr. Summers' office
for disciplinary action? Jubilation Lee. Who got caught pulling some of the
coolest and most interesting stunts around the school? Jubilation Lee. Who got
regularly grounded to the point where Mr. Summers had to actually revise his
punishment curve? Jubilation Lee. So that's the impression--pure energy,
troublemaker extraordinaire, mall rat.
Big mistake. Huge.
So she fooled you like that, like she was all surface action and reaction, that
she couldn't keep a secret or work out a good plan. Like Kitty in a way, except
Kitty hid under disturbing quiet when she could pick any lock on campus if she
couldn't walk through the walls and hack most of the computers without breaking
a sweat or a nail. St. John supposed, on some level, it made sense--better that
your enemies underestimate you than otherwise, and if she practiced her
dissimulation on her friends first, who was gonna blame her for it?
So okay, got that much. St. John knew these things. Knew them in his blood,
knew better than to assume that just because Jubilee was living energy and
seeming openness didn't mean jack shit, that she could be as subtle as anyone
else and had a truly amazing ability at strategy when she felt moved to use it.
Or, like Kitty, she could beat anyone in the Mansion at chess in under forty
moves. And if you didn't make the connection, then you deserved to be surprised
when she turned dark eyes up and said something that could have been outrageous
except somewhere in you, you knew she'd already worked it out. It was *not* an
accident that she was his primary companion for any bomb-activity. She just had
that kind of mind.
"We gotta see her." Heels drumming against the bottom of the couch, yellow
jacket pulled over her blouse and shorts, utterly and completely blase. Normal
Jubilee.
Uh-huh. St. John sat down on the edge of the couch beside her, glancing at
very-asleep Bobby curled up in the corner. Bobby, who could sleep given
opportunity and a decent period of time. Hell, in captivity, when prisoners
were hit with insomnia and fear--that'd never be Bobby. Forcing down an odd
grin, he leaned back into the couch.
"They won't let us down there." Tried several times--Dr. Grey just shook her
head with stress-tightened lips and Mr. Summers was on constant Logan-watch.
Which was all kinds of weird as hell, St. John admitted, but of all people at
the Mansion, he supposed Mr. Summers would know what Logan was going through
best. After all, he'd stood over the bed of an injured Dr. Grey before, and
whether or not he approved of Logan's decidedly unfilial attachment to Rogue,
he *would* get what went on in Logan's head better than anyone else could.
Or knew how to dodge fast during Danger Room scenarios, which was probably
equally as valuable. Logan took out his emotional unbalance the old-fashioned
way.
"That part's obvious, babe. Sit your ass up and pay attention." Jubilee moved
one leg, wincing a little as the bandages pulled. "The codes to the level with
the isolation chamber and stuff are changed--and anyway, we need help for this
one."
"Jubes." St. John thought carefully. "Look--what makes you think us being there
will make any difference?"
She ignored him. That was fine.
"What little I could get outta Wolvie says there's not much of anything comin'
out of her." Jubilee sat back, giving St. John a long, curious look. "She's
fighting it all interior, she's not emoting like she did last time. But last
time, she wasn't scared of losing herself either. It's been a fucking week and
we don't know anything because we're too young or some crap like that." A
pause. She had something on her mind. "They're at a stalemate, that's what I
got from McCoy before he disappeared back down into there. Carol has a good
grip and so does Rogue. They're equal powers sorta--weird though that sounds--
and Rogue can't just save any strength back because she's holding Carol down
and trying to rebalance all the personalities in her head, and holding whoever
the else is in her head and sees this time as easy pickings to take over her
body."
She was going somewhere with this. He was getting a headache trying to keep up.
Another glance at still-sleeping Bobby and hit with an insane urge to wake him
up just so he could sit through this too.
"Carol asked 'bout you, Johnny." The blood in his body froze--hell, even
thought froze. "She got out and started sayin' things--Rogue got her back under
and was stronger afterward for awhile--Carol drained herself to get control." A
pause. "Rogue's scared to death that if she lets go even a little and regroups,
Carol'll get control for good. But--but Hank thinks that's not exactly right,
you know? He thinks--he thinks that if Rogue makes Carol fight and then lets
her take over, Rogue'll have a chance to--I don't know, sort of gather herself
together. She's good at balancing those within, she knows how to use them--she
used Wolvie to burn Remy outta her, you know? It's just it was such a shock and
she took so much, she lost her balance. So--"
"You think if Carol gets control and burns herself out doing it, Rogue'll have
enough time to get stronger and balance everyone else, then go after her." Dr.
McCoy and Jubilation Lee discussing advanced mutant neurology--he got the
feeling Jubilee was breaking it down into layman's terms for him specifically.
Hmm. She'd always been brilliant at biology.
"Yeah. 'Specially if the Prof gets in her head and helps her center herself--
she's so scared right now. You remember last time."
It would never cease to amaze him. That Jubilee was loads smarter than she ever
let out. That Jubes could do some seriously advanced thinking--and not simply
because she was smart and quick, but because she remembered things and put them
together. Jeez.
"So--"
"We gotta wake up Carol. Logan can't do it, though she's made a few comments
that are giving everyone somethin' to talk about, you know?" That was mildly
amusing--he'd figured from Rogue's few whispered words on the plane that Logan
had known Carol. No huge shock--the girl was good at what she did. Just--
awkward. Icky, even. "Logan calls Rogue and you--."
"I call Carol." Flat. He knew why. He and Danvers shared some memories, that
was for sure.
"Looks that way." No sympathy--you weren't called out on your past but you were
certainly expected to deal with it when it showed up at the door and fucked
with you.
Fuck.
"But--"
"It'll fuck over Rogue, I know." Jubilee flushed. "She's gonna be flooded and
Carol's gonna take over and scare the crap outta her. She's gonna be pissed.
But that's what she needs, okay? We're family, we're not here to coddle her to
death. She needs to get mad and she needs to regroup and she needs to bring
this crap to a stop. And if Carol takin' over does it, then so be it. I'm
willing to put up with her temper after it's over if you are."
"It's a risk."
"A massive risk. But nothing is happening now and it's been a week, Johnny. If
she was strong enough, if she could do it, she woulda done it already. We gotta
do it another way."
A pause. St. John wondered suddenly what it was like--because nothing in any of
their mutations would ever have prepared them for what was for Rogue literally
a battle for her own survival. Fighting her own mind. Probably the closest
thing would be the Professor and Dr. Grey--but there were the differences. And
smart as they were--and Johnny admitted that they probably knew much more about
the situation than he or any of the other kids did--they just didn't know Rogue
the same way. Because they didn't stay with her every day, they didn't eat with
her and sleep with her and fight with her. They didn't get the unguarded day-
to-day interactions. And they didn't really know what moved in her, what she
was really capable of. Rage blinded her, but anger was useful--she could think
through that.
"McCoy'll go for it?"
"McCoy gave me the idea. He'll go for it. We just gotta get to him and the
Prof, lay it out so to speak." Jubilee took a deep breath. "You're the only
one, Johnny--been thinkin' about this, after I talked to Wolvie and McCoy. You
go in, distract the bitch from the outside, Rogue fights from the inside, and
voila, the bitch is toast on a paper plate. She's goners--when Rogue gets
control, she can start breaking her down finally, instead of just holding her
off." Jubilee took a deep breath. "You can do this, Johnny."
A long pause. Jubilee searched his face and he wondered if she'd ever doubted
he'd do it. Shit, he'd known he'd do it from the first words outta her mouth.
"So who do we ask?"
A mischievous grin, like she'd suggested stealing Logan's whiskey for a wild
night or something. Pure Jubilee. Shit, she knew how to play them.
"I know who to talk to."
*****
St. John had been in the Professor's office only a few times--though Jubilee,
troublemaker extraordinaire, was way too familiar with the room and it showed.
To his surprise, Dr. McCoy was also present--how the hell had that happened?
But a good thing. Definitely a good thing. Put the plan forward once, not give
him time to panic. All good.
Carol Danvers did *not* scare him. He was not a kid anymore.
"Jubilee, St. John, please, come in." The Professor was smiling--all good. St.
John nodded, taking three steps before he noticed the other chair--and ran into
a frozen Jubilee.
Logan, slouched in a chair at the left side of the desk, watching them with a
curiously muted expression. And St. John shivered just a little, wondering how
long it had been since the older man had slept. He looked more than wired--he
looked just on this side of homicidal.
Fuck. So Carol Danvers didn't scare him anymore. Cool. Logan *did*. The
Professor, being both wise and a telepath, immediately picked up their not-so-
subtle panic and smiled, motioning them toward the chairs in front of his desk.
Jubilee got the one closest to Logan--if he was throwing himself on his sword
and confronting Carol Danvers, she could damn well be his buffer against Logan.
"Dr. McCoy is present in his capacity as Rogue's physician." A nod at the
doctor while the Professor's eyes never left them as they took tentative seats.
"Logan is here as Rogue's guardian."
Guardian? Seeing their expressions, the Professor smiled again, obviously
trying to put them at ease. "In this case, power of attorney and ability to
make decisions when she is unqualified to do so, since she's reached the legal
age of consent. It's a standard precaution for all students entering the school
without parental permission. Each of you has a designated guardian--I think you
remember the judge that writes the orders--or someone who is designated to give
consent if you are unable to."
Oh yeah. Just--Logan. St. John swallowed, wondering if Rogue knew--well, shit,
of course she knew, it was just immensely interesting to think that while Logan
was chasing his tail throughout the greater northern United States and Canada
he was obviously also going through a complex legal web via the postal service
to assure Rogue's safety. That for all intents and purposes he was her father--
or had been. Ooh. Now wasn't that just a strange as hell thought. Almost
incestuous. Well, he was used to that--he'd worked his way through most of the
mutant population of the school sexually (pre-Bobby of course), so really, it
wasn't so odd. Maybe.
And he knew he was desperate to get his mind off the coming interview. Geez, my
boy, get a grip. It's just Carol. Could be much worse. Not sure how, but shit,
it could be.
"Dr. McCoy has filled me in on his theory. I'd like to hear exactly what you
consider would be a method of implementing it."
No surprise, St. John still couldn't quite speak--Logan was absently rubbing
his knuckles and St. John *remembered* how those claws looked. And how very
long they were. And sharp--cut through anything. Hmm. Jubilee, however, had two
things he did not--one, a good relationship with yonder sociopath, and two, an
enviable ability to say anything anytime anywhere. She had it down to an art.
Gotta admire her for that--his tongue was stuck somewhere in his stomach.
"We think--since St. John knew Carol pretty well--that if we send him in to--
you know, make her upset or something--that she'll get control from Rogue." A
soft growl and Jubilee drew a hasty breath. "Temporarily. Dr. McCoy said that
Rogue isn't getting anywhere because all her attention and strength are used up
holding everyone else off and trying to rebalance. But if Carol got control--
she could, you know, bring everyone else in her head back in balance and sort
of--you know, regain her strength."
Jubilee paused, taking another breath, and St. John felt himself shiver beside
her--it was beginning to make him wonder exactly *how* this was gonna work.
"So you suggest we allow St. John to go into the room with her."
Oh shit.
"Yes." Damn, she was confident. "One on one interaction, let him take up her
attention. Maybe--do something. Rogue'd never attack Johnny--they're friends,
you know? Carol knows him, though--she knows him somehow, and Dr. McCoy says
she asks about him. So let him wake Carol up outta there and Carol burn herself
out taking control to get to him. And Roguey freaks and gets everyone else in
line and then starts burning out the bitch by inches. Dr. McCoy said that they
could keep the stalemate for a long time--and--" Jubilee trailed off, switching
gears--they *weren't* getting enthusiasm for the Plan here. "That's how she
burnt out Remy, letting Wolvie there take control when she was--"
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
Four entire seconds Jubilee froze in place, eyes wide. Oh fuck and a half. St.
John saw the Professor's eyes dart to Logan's, a pause in the man's sudden
movement, before Logan slowly relaxed back into the chair. Very slowly. And
he'd swear that metal flashed on those big hands.
St. John was determined not to show how very weak his entire excretory system
had suddenly become. They'd just signed Remy's death warrant. Oh shit. Think
about it later. Much later. Much, much later. When Jubes could take Remy and
get *really* lost in New York for, say, a few decades.
"So Remy was the one that fucked up her head last time." A pause, considering--
no heat in his voice, which was really chilling, come to think of it. "She was
in that room? That's why she was sleepin' so bad when I got back." A flickering
glance at them. "Jeanie and Scooter locked her up in there." He was quick, had
to give him that.
"I wasn't present at the time Rogue absorbed Remy, Logan." The Professor's
voice was gentle. "I have no idea of the circumstances."
How the hell do you answer that? Jubilee stared, wide-eyed, as Logan shifted
again, and St. John could almost see the claws come out to do some serious
damage.
"It turned out for the best, Wolvie, you know?" Jubilee was back on her horse
again, talking so fast that St. John wondered if she was even breathing. "I
mean, that's why she wanted to be locked up this time--she let her other
personality take control and burned out who she absorbed so they wouldn't be a
threat to her last time. Concentrated. Probably thought it would work this
time, too--"
"But Carol can take control of her body as Remy could not." Dr. McCoy leaned
forward in his chair, big blue hands braced on his knees. "She is too afraid to
allow Carol the same privilege she allowed Logan--or to give up that much
control in order to reorganize her mind. So she is at a current stalemate--
neither strong enough to control all the personalities nor weak enough to break
completely and let them flood her body until she can recreate herself."
Break her. That sounded somehow worse--bad enough for her to absorb Carol and
take on Carol's mind and memories while remaining Rogue. But that second option
didn't sound quite the same--because he somehow think that Rogue just wouldn't
come out the way she went in.
"I think she was hoping that being locked up would break Logan out, you know?
But Carol's too strong. And it's too much for her--I mean, that's *all* of
Carol Danvers in there, every bit of pure bitchiness with some to spare. It's
not like the others--Lensherr and Wolvie didn't die, they faded. But Carol--"
"Carol will never fade entirely." McCoy's voice was expressionless.
"But she can break her down far enough that she can absorb her instead. So it
isn't separate. Like she did with Wolvie so she could use his--ummm, fighting
stuff. But sort of different--" Jubilee stopped, and to his shock, St. John saw
the Professor nod slowly, almost thoughtfully. A glance at Dr. McCoy, then
Logan.
Logan wasn't giving anything away here. Not a single expression that told them
how they were doing in the convincing department.
"I have indicated to you, Xavier, that this method is the only one we have not
tried." Dr. McCoy's voice was even. "As you and Jean have both tried telepathic
manipulation to help her control the onslaught of the foreign personality and
it was unsuccessful, my observations during Rogue's absorption of Remy indicate
that this may be a viable solution. Especially should you participate during
the submersion of Rogue's identity and assist her in sorting and rebalancing
her inner personalities. At worst, it will simply fail."
"Or that bitch takes complete control for good." Logan now. Not sounding too
keen on the idea.
"Not of Rogue." Jubilee shook her head, and God, how the hell did she get that
much confidence? "She's stronger than that. She just needs to rest and rethink
the situation. She's bad about that, she'll react and think she's being clear-
headed when she's not. She needs to stop reacting and be forced to think and
not be afraid--and she'll break her. Slice and dice, baby."
Yeah. That actually sounded reasonable.
"I'd need to be present to assure that St. John is not harmed during the
experiment. St. John, you've said little--are you certain you wish to go
through with this?"
Oh. He had a choice?
"I'll do it." His voice sounded less convincing than he'd expected. Clearing
his throat, he tried again, feeling the gazes of everyone. "I mean, it'll work.
I'm not worried about it. I know Carol--she--" God, seeing Carol again. But his
knee was better, he was recharged, and he breathed out slowly. Carefully. He
was eighteen, not twelve or thirteen, and she couldn't scare him like that
anymore. Mostly. "I'm ready when you are."
The brush of a mind against his, then the Professor nodded, satisfied. St. John
breathed out, looking curiously around the room, but the Professor was focused
on Logan.
"Logan?"
Nothing for a minute--and St. John shivered at the look he gave them,
remembering that long time avoiding Logan because of what they knew about Remy.
He knew Logan remembered that, was putting it together--and this wasn't good,
wasn't good by a long stretch of the imagination. The Professor waited, and St.
John felt Logan's steady gaze on him--and suddenly, it came together.
This was Logan's decision. Rogue had given him that power; the decisions for
her medical treatment, her decisions period, were in his hands. And all of that
depended suddenly on him, on them, on the kids that had lied to him through
silence about what Rogue had gone through before.
And God, what reason had they given him to trust them?
"All right. I want to be there, Chuck."
"Of course, Logan. I wouldn't dream of it otherwise.
***** Execution *****
Chapter Summary
     St. John faces a ghost. Mostly.
St. John spent the hour beforehand watching Bobby sleep. The rec room was
quiet, and he centered himself on the floor by Bobby's feet, clearing his head.
This was not something that should worry him, not at all. The Professor would
be there. And that *wasn't* Carol Danvers. That was a mental copy of Carol
Danvers in Rogue's head. The real Carol Danvers died. Very dead. Currently
vaporized in his very own explosion.
Jubilee was sitting beside him, her knee pressed against his. A little cool,
and it made him wonder if his temperature had risen again.
"You ready?" Soft voice. Gentle.
"Yeah." Yeah, sure he was. He wanted her dead, he'd wanted her dead for a long
time. Longer than even he knew. Absently, he began to stretch his fingers out,
then rubbed sweating palms into his thighs. Before he could begin to get up,
however, Jubilee levered herself up, taking his face between her hands.
"I'll be there, Johnny. It won't be just you and Rogue and the X-Men, okay?"
Serious dark eyes, and he tried to smile, but nothing would work. Blankness in
his mind, trying to keep out the Carol-vibes.
"And Logan, who is gonna turn us all into mulch, you know that."
Jubilee breathed out, a smile quirking her lips.
"Professor called Remy into his office after Scooter took Logan to work out
some tension in the Danger Room. I think he and Kitty-cat are gonna go play in
town for a bit. When Rogue's got control of her body again, Logan'll turn all
his attention on her. He won't have any time to worry about the sins of
omission by the kids, 'kay?"
"Yeah." He got the feeling that Logan didn't forget crap like that. Jubilee
glanced at Bobby. "You sure--"
"Nah. Bobby'll want to be there and he had that thing for Rogue, you know.
It'll freak him totally to see me and her go at it." A pause. Another deep
breath "Let's go."
Nodding, she got to her feet, pulling him up with some of that amazing physical
strength that always vaguely shocked him, before fingers slid through his and
they made their slow way to the elevator. Comforting--that someone was going
with him, ready to be of use. Mostly because she initiated this whole damn
situation. He glanced down at her as she sauntered along beside him, wondering
"I'm taking you out to dinner tonight." Absently, she swung their hands,
skipping a little to try and hide the glance over her shoulder. Checking on
Bobby probably. Shit, he wouldn't wake up until it was all over. Good thing.
St. John laughed a little. That elevator door looked awfully close.
"Bobby might get jealous."
"He'll get over it. Mexican food, babe. Something in hot."
Dr. McCoy was--how serendipitous!--waiting for them at the door.
"Scott and Jean are both going to be present," he said softly as they stepped
into the elevator. Hearing Jubilee's sharp breath, he shook his big head
absently. "Jean's telekinesis might be of help, and Scott insists that he needs
to be present should Logan--"
Dr. McCoy trailed off and St. John nodded, and again wondered of all people, at
the fact Logan would respond to Mr. Summers. "In any case--"
"I'm allowed in right?" St. John saw Dr. McCoy stiffen and he began to go that
way too. "Look, one, Rogue's my friend and so is Johnny--and two--shit, there
is no two there. I'm not sending Johnny in alone--"
"He won't be alone." St. John saw Jubilee wince and realized he'd taken a
stronger grip on her hand. He was also getting hot--uncomfortable, definitely,
and Dr. McCoy blinked. So it wasn't just him--it was the elevator as well.
Because of him. Oh, this couldn't be good. Carol's dead, Johnny. Cool down. The
door pinged open and he walked out, almost dragging Jubilee with him. No way in
hell he was walking in alone. The door to the isolation chamber was locked, as
expected, and he was standing--vibrating, practically--as Dr. McCoy caught up
with them and put in the codes.
And wow, was this room full. He had an audience. This couldn't be good. Not at
all.
"You'll do fine." Jubilee's voice in his ear. He knew, in some vague, not quite
real way, that the Professor was talking to him, that Dr. Grey was saying
something, and Logan was standing near one of the observation window, not even
paying attention to him at all. Nor was Mr. Summers, who was standing just
behind him, speaking in a low voice that St. John supposed was trying to keep
Logan from walking in there and just *shaking* Rogue loose from Carol. Which no
doubt had probably been an option. Hehehe, Johnny, get a grip. Buttons were
pushed, a hand on his back led him forward, and suddenly Jubilee's hand was
gone and he was alone with Rogue.
He almost didn't recognize her.
Bare hands--first thing. Broken fingernails, and Rogue had amazingly fussy
habits about her hands. Bruised knuckles, nothing broken though, the walls were
a mess of scratches and the pounding of her fists and her feet--Carol's
strength. Carol's invulnerability. Long hair handing around her face, the
scrubs dirty and stained--
--brilliant green eyes met his when the door closed behind him. Sealing shut
like a bank vault. Bright green, Carol's intense gaze, the color of grass or of
pure life. He remembered seeing them for the first time and thinking he'd fall
in love with a girl with green eyes one day.
"Pyro." Low bare drawl--could have almost been Rogue, but it wasn't, it was
Carol mocking Rogue. Her whole body shuddered suddenly and her head went back
down.
"Been awhile." Fuck, what was he supposed to do here? He didn't know banter,
had no idea where to go with this. Mock her? Ask her how it felt to be dead and
in someone else's body? It was Rogue's body, but it was so easy to see those
eyes and think Carol.
Carol scared him. Carol, amoral, totally driven, unforgivably stupid sometimes.
Carol. He found a chair in the far corner, guessed by its relatively intactness
that it'd been shoved in with him before they sealed the door. Glancing at the
observation windows, polarization making it certain he couldn't see a thing.
Rather frightening and comforting at the same time.
"I'm glad you're dead."
That brought her head up sharply, and another shudder went through her. But
Rogue wasn't looking at him.
:::She is gaining a measure of control.::: Johnny jumped at the feel of the
Professor's voice in his head--luckily, the man saved his pride and didn't
comment on it. :::Rogue is fighting her but is weakening as Carol becomes
angry. Continue.:::
:::Um...okay, sir.:::
"You're--you're glad I'm dead, sugar?" Grated out between teeth that'd only
half-obey. Staring at him from those eyes he'd seen at twelve and so alone.
Braced against an alley wall, grinning down and asking if this was the best he
could possibly do. Dirty alleys and dumpster dinners. You could be so much
more, Johnny--you could do anything you want. Come with me, baby.
"I'm so glad you're dead." His breath was harsh. Eyes widening as they fixed on
him. "You made my life hell--"
"I trained you!" On her feet, jerkily, fighting Rogue again, but pure rage just
did something. "You would have died if I hadn't found you!"
:::Good, St. John. You're doing very, very well.:::
This was good?
"Nothing I wanted to learn."
"Playing the part of a hero in a leather suit, honey?" Flat Midwestern tone.
Another, slightly smoother movement. Hands clenching and unclenching at her
sides. "Your friends know what you are? You tell them about that first fire?"
Abruptly, she jerked again, hand going out to the wall to steady herself. "Tell
them about it, Pyro baby."
"The Professor knows everything he needs to--hard to hide from a full
telepath." His hands were clenched on the arms of the chair--he found himself
standing up, hands becoming warm. "It must suck, being dead, knowing an
eighteen year old kid brought you down. After all, you were recruited because
you thought you were the best, right?"
"I am the best!"
"You're pretty dead, actually."
Another step toward him, her body suddenly jerking her against the wall.
:::St. John, Rogue is becoming panicked. Carol is reacting very predictably to
the stimulus of your presence. Continue.:::
Continue? He was descending into soap opera melodrama--where the *hell* did he
go from here?
"I'm not dead." Another step closer, then her feet braced and she rose two
inches off the floor. Hovering. "You ungrateful little bastard--I offered you
your life out there and you attacked me."
"You were gonna kill my friends." She was getting closer, the twitching was
slowing down. Rogue was losing. God, he would be making this up to her for
years.
"Not you." A sharp breath.
"You think I believe that? You tried to sell me to the Brotherhood once. You
gonna try to do that again?"
Somewhere in that outer room, they were finding out more about him than he'd
ever wanted anyone to know.
"It was for your own good! You were stupid, undisciplined--you needed someone
to train you." Hovering a little closer. He wondered if he should back up--
:::St. John, she's breaking--:::
A fist impacted into his jaw, knocking him several long feet. Not at her full
strength--she could have broken his jaw if she was. Something still holding her
back. The wall was comforting against his back and he rubbed his bruised
muscles, staring at her as she floated uncertainly.
"You lost. Lost your money for me, lost your mission, lost your life. Ain't it
great to be dead and have a little girl picking you apart from the inside out?"
Got it. She was coming at him and there was nothing of Rogue in that slender
body.
He never knew he'd do it until he did, rushing out of him, fire that burned on
nothing but the power of his mind--rushing out of him deliciously, and he
breathed out before it got out of control. Between them in rich orange, and
somewhere along the way he'd forgotten how beautiful it was--but how could he
forget? Delicious. Staring at it lick the flames, reshaping it until it circled
her, getting awkwardly to his feet.
"I should have killed you in Santa Fe, along with that family you burned to a
crisp, baby."
Shit. That hurt, that would hurt. Later, when he had the time to be sick to his
stomach and worry about those outside. This was Carol, he was Pyro, and they
had some definite business to finish. Leave it right there.
"I've killed you in thirty Danger Room simulations." He steadied himself
against the wall as a wave of nausea spilled through him from his bruised jaw.
"I've killed you in my mind so many times--"
"Never could do it in real life."
:::St. John--::: Ignored him.
"I would have."
"For her? For the kid trying to fight her own body?" A laugh--no more
jerkiness, Carol was in full control. Smiling, and he let the fire die, feeling
a sharp pain when he did it, hating to lose it. Her feet hit the floor and she
staggered a little from the impact. "She won't win."
"Yeah, you'd like to think that--she beat you once already."
"Pyro, baby. Whadya think the Brotherhood would give me for this body? What I
can do with it? All my mutation and hers too." For the first time, she seemed
to realize her hands were bare. "Come on Johnny. I'd like to start some fires
for the hell of it. Get my ass outta here, anyway."
Oh shit.
She was fast--Rogue was trained to be fast, though, and Carol probably was
startled by that. Didn't help--he hadn't even began to pull out his power when
he was up against the wall, a hand wrapped around his throat.
The door was being unlocked--
:::NO! STAY THE FUCK OUT!::: Him this time, hoping they understood, hoping they
knew. Carol out now was Rogue fucked over. Was him fucked over.
--Carol was smiling until she realized nothing was happening.
"You're not Rogue." He grinned, choking out the words. "That's one." Getting a
hand up, knowing Rogue's weaknesses--wrapping his fingers around her wrist, an
ankle around her knee, and they both tumbled to the floor. She was staring up
at him blankly, eyes wide.
"How--"
"You're not in your body anymore--physical memory is different from the mind
behind the eyes." He couldn't hold her, was already moving, letting the heat
spread through him. So ready to use it, if for no other reason than to see it
burn. Feel it burn, and how long had it been since he'd done that?
"She's mine. This is my body." Rolling into a crouch on the floor--she was
moving more like Rogue than Carol, with that subtle tension of muscles, the way
she rested her weight on the balls of her feet and kept so low--that wasn't
Carol at all. Physical memory--the body knew what the mind did not.
"She killed you once--she'll have fun this time. Take you apart by inches." He
knew he was smiling, knew that probably wasn't healthy. "You don't know her--
and God, are you stupid. You let her take you down when you beat the rest of
us. Think about it."
"Little bitch--" She hovered again, but it seemed less natural, less practiced-
-like she was doing it for the first time, like Rogue would do it. Watching her
as she twitched a little--not much, but some. He wanted to know about the
progress, how much time had gone by. What he needed to do, because it was
tempting to kill her.
Kill those green eyes himself and let one ghost in his past finally be buried.
"You still want her, Johnny? That why you're fighting so hard to get her back?"
Oh, not a good idea, Carol-baby. Not at all. Stupid, really. "I saw you out
there on the field. You woke up for her."
"I wanted her to kill you. Shoulda been me, Carol. I'd've done it, I wanted it.
But it was fun to watch, babe."
Her feet were on the ground again. She stumbled, grabbing for the wall.
"You're no better, Johnny." She was twitching again--had it been enough time?
Had it? He didn't know, it couldn't be that short, Rogue had to have needed
more time to break her.
"Yes, I am." Had to believe that. He was here, he wore the uniform. He didn't
do that.
"What makes you better? You killed them just as surely as if you'd held a knife
to their throats."
And it was so natural--she stumbled back against the wall at the force of his
fist, rebounding off the wall and almost onto her knees before hastily catching
her balance. Pushing her hair back with one hand.
*God* that felt good. He wanted to do it again.
"You didn't tell me they were in there."
:::St. John. Out. We've got it.:::
No--he wanted to tell her more. Tell her about the nightmares she'd caused, the
long nights he'd spent awake listening to their screams when they died in his
fire--more than that, he wanted to forget how much he'd loved controlling it,
feeling it respond to his will and his mind.
That no, he hadn't known about that family, and he was suddenly uncertain that
if he *had* known--if he had known, if he would have cared.
He wanted her dead for teaching him that much, how not to care. It was burning
his hands, burning in his body, he could feel it come to life--and fire he
created could never hurt him. Small space, super containment, he could blast so
hard even invulnerability couldn't protect her. Ram that chair through her body
superheated, let her die. Finally.
Rogue was suddenly frozen in place--Dr. Grey or Professor Xavier, probably--and
the door opened. A hand on his arm that jerked away--was his temperature that
high?
"Johnny?"

He was watching her stand there, and her body began to twitch--almost like
convulsions--but he knew it was finally happening. Rogue was stronger, Rogue
was determined--Rogue would have his head for hitting her body. A hand on his
sleeve, pulling him back and out and the door was closed before he heard a
piercing scream and he turned as Rogue collapsed into the floor.
But he'd wanted to be the one that killed her--
Professor Xavier was inside too, and he hadn't even heard the man go in. Stared
at Rogue, then back to Dr. Grey, who was swaying slightly, eyes closed, Dr.
McCoy supporting her body--and Logan, who'd raked metal claws across the wall
and Scott just beside him, hand on his shoulder. Maybe talking again.
No one was paying attention to him and he was glad. Door open, out, close
behind him, collapse into the hall floor. It felt good, it was good, it was
quiet and Carol hadn't told him about that family, but she was right.
He wouldn't have cared.
"Johnny?"
"Pyro." His voice was hoarse.
"We don't play like that." Jubilee, kneeling beside him, arms going all around
him despite the heat of his skin, the feel of his body. Gentle, sisterly, warm
around and against him, and he closed his eyes. "It's nasty, Johnny. I'm
sorry."
"You got Rogue back. You're not sorry."
"I'm sorry it had to be you, babe. But I wouldn't change anything." Hands on
his face, lifting, so he could look at her. "Neither would you. She's gonna be
dead very soon."
"I wish I'd killed her myself." Fingers in his hair, gently stroking, and he
leaned into her. She had a past, just like all of them. Just not quite like
his.
"Yeah." Her voice was soft. "I wish you could have too."
***** Remember *****
Chapter Summary
     St. John faces a little of his past.
From the roof of the old apartment building, he could see the Statue of
Liberty.
Not particularly significant, except it was a nice view. The new torch was up,
as if nothing untoward had ever happened there. He stared at it for a moment,
trying to imagine what Rogue had never quite described--a machine, Eric
Lensherr, Rogue, and pure power.
Bobby had told him, but he'd watched that power roll toward New York
personally. It wasn't quite the same.
Bobby had taken him up there sometime after his fourteen birthday--not for any
occasion, just one of those restless moments where there was nothing to do and
free time to do nothing with. They'd walked up the many stairs, joking how PE
was definitely keeping them in shape. Bobby had dropped ice cream on his shirt
(where it remained frozen) and St. John had twisted his ankle on the way down
and had to be carried out.
Probably should have suspected then that Bobby would always want to catch him
when he stumbled. If the silence he'd been treated to when he emerged from his
Carol-baiting was any indication, it might be awhile before Bobby forgot.
"Where's the salsa, babe? Never mind." Taco Bell. Jubilee's idea of good
Mexican food. Strangely addictive in it's own bastardization-of-actual-food
way. Greasy and never quite enough cheese, and the shell was always soggy on
the bottom, but like McDonald's hamburgers, it was that part of pop culture you
just couldn't avoid. And it helped. Weird but true, there was nothing quite
like having fluorescent orange grease trickling down your chin and slicking the
roof of your mouth to put life in perspective.
"Great view, Jubes." Chew, chew, chew--chew a little more. Soggy shell
sometimes acted like a cross between gum and latex gloves. St. John remembered
when he and Bobby and Rasputin would go stock up on junk food and save leftover
tacos in the fridge. Bobby liked to zap his in the microwave--St. John did his
the mutant way, just heated it up. Reheated day-old post-refrigeration tacos
were even worse--but still, comfort food. Orange grease and hot wilted
imitation lettuce and red lumps that vaguely resembled tomatoes or the product
of nuclear warfare. Comfort.
"I like it." She was picking over her quesadillas. "It's pretty quiet up here."
From her easy familiarity with getting up here, she must have come by before.
She leaned over, short dark hair covering her cheekbones briefly as she
rummaged for the hot sauce. Found it with a small grunt of triumph and he
watched her put the packet between her teeth to tear off a corner.
"Tops of apartments tend to be relatively deserted, babe." Couldn't help the
sarcasm, and he felt a firm cuff to his arm as she shifted to find the sour
cream they'd picked up at the grocery store. St. John reached down, absently
pulling off his boots and socks, bringing his bare feet down on the rough weave
of the blanket Jubilee had spread. The night was cool, but not uncomfortably
so. One of those rare, perfect nights
She didn't ask him anything and that had to mean something. Let him eat his
soggy tacos and onion-stuffed burritos and drink his coke without hindrance.
Fine, long fingers splayed inches from his.
It could have been any night in his life, any dark roof, any time. Eyes fixed
on the glowing torch, he heard himself speak.
"Do you miss your parents?" he asked softly, and her head jerked around,
searching his face. Then her eyes widened, dark in the pale almost-blur of her
face. She understood.
"Sometimes. A lot." The barest tremble of soft lips before her eyes went down
to stare into her lap, at the wrappers spread across one leg and trailing onto
the blanket. She'd never been the neatest person he'd ever met. "Not something
I think about every day." Or, like, ever. He knew the history, but in the same
way any of them knew--rumor, whispers, small, insignificant comments dropped
into conversation. "Carol was your family, wasn't she?"
It would never stop touching him, how truly good Jubilee was at this. How she
knew. And how very badly he wanted to tell her this--just this, so she'd
understand.
"Close as they come." He hoped his voice was casual. "My parents didn't want
me--at least she did." He breathed out sharply. "I hated her, Jubes."
"Yeah." Her hand on his shoulder, and he lifted his arm to let her lay down
against him. Dark hair brushing under his chin, the light scent of apple and
vanilla clinging to the strands.
"Tell me about her, Johnny."
It was still there, all of it--old memories, things he didn't like to believe
could still be so vivid.
"She gave me my name. Pyro."
--in an alley, she'd startled him and he'd thrown fire--invulnerability though,
kept her safe, and she'd started, frowning, then a slow smile. {--"Hey little
pyro. Whatcha doin' here?"--}
It wasn't as hard as he'd thought.
"She handled all that stuff--job stuff--I just stayed at the apartment and
slept and refueled--we did two or three jobs a week, but I wasn't very focused.
I was--" he traced a random pattern in the air, frowning a little--
"undisciplined. So I spent a lot of time trying to use it at all. When I got
emotional--well, it wasn't a good idea to be around me." He felt rather than
saw Jubilee's smile. "She fireproofed the place early on. To make it less
likely I'd combust something."
--glancing around the tiny two room apartment she'd somehow rented despite her
age and no credit history while she told him in no uncertain terms what would
happen to him if he burned anything she liked.
--breaking his arm once when he lit her bed on fire. Compound fracture. Set by
a backstreet doctor who'd lost his license. Dr. McCoy had noted the slight
imperfection of the bone there. Only a long look but never a comment. He liked
him for that.
Six weeks to heal. Six years to remember.
"Surprised you didn't take the place out with no control." Edges of amusement.
"Not very focused." he sighed, trying to think about a way to phrase it. "Just-
-it wasn't I could look at something and it'd go boom. Something well to the
left but in my general line of sight would go firey on me." She laughed softly,
as she was supposed to. "So big things were okay--nice large target. Little
things were not."
A soft nod, brushing silky hair on his neck. He slid an arm around her, lightly
stroking the dark head as she shifted closer.
"For about a year, we lived like that--she gave me food and clothes and I never
left the apartment unless she took me herself. Showed me early on what would
happen if I did--not a pleasant lesson." Not one he had any intention of
sharing--even Bobby hadn't seen those scars. "But--it was home, you know? And--
"
--he'd never been more alone in his life. Carol coming home brought him to the
door, to be petted like a--like a fucking pet. With dinner, or a movie to
watch, and he'd fall asleep curled all around her, needing the human contact he
couldn't have otherwise, that he got when he pleased her--invulnerability made
her safe from him if he lost control.
"It wasn't easy." A statement, not a question. He shook his head quickly.
"We did little crap, stuff that didn't get noticed too much. A fire there for
insurance, a backstreet assassination--nothing really professional yet, she
didn't have the skills or the contacts or the reputation and I didn't have the
control. Mostly bully-work or running drugs, stuff where flying and strength
were assets. And she was--well, you saw her. Small, blonde, looks like an
advertisement for Young America, you know? You don't suspect her until she's
already broken your neck. And I was barely twelve and scared to death--so
anyone seeing me wouldn't think much of a kid in the corner. Get me too scared,
unlike other kids, I might fricassee you."
Almost happened once. Carol had found him crying in a corner of their apartment
and asked why he didn't finish the job and get rid of the fucker. What made him
stop. Why the man only had second degree burns. {--"What the hell is you
problem, Pyro? Anti-mutant bastard. Make the world a better place without
him."--}
"Yeah." Soft.
"The last time--she said we got a big one. An abandoned apartment building
downtown--nothing weird, just insurance money. It wasn't--it was clean, you
know? Clean money, no one got hurt unless they came too close. And it wasn't a
great part of town anyway."
He breathed out, the cooling night air even chillier against his skin and he
felt Jubilee shift even closer--probably for the body heat factor. Or for the
comfort. He wasn't sure which.
A night remarkably like this one, come to think of it.
"It was a clear night--working in rain is just suspicious on principle, and in
general, being wet doesn't contribute toward good burning and--well, my control
wasn't great. I'd drain myself out trying to keep it going. So she took me
close enough to see what I was supposed to do and far enough away so we
wouldn't be in any danger." Carol was sixteen and beautiful and those long
fingers were wrapped around his shoulder, lips close to his ear. {--"Good,
Pyro, baby. Light her up."--}"She told me and I did it."
He wondered how he'd explain how it felt--unlike those little fires he'd played
with, shaped, changed, his little toys, this had been unbelievable--a rush of
pure and unadulterated heat and pleasure that threw itself out of him with a
longing so sharp it was almost pain. Consuming the roof of the building and
he'd been utterly fascinated to watch it work, beginning the manipulations that
would bring it down faster--then the sheer pleasure of shaping, making it into
something. A dragon eating one window, a bird soaring before plummeting toward
the back door. Circling it, running up and down in fine, straight lines as if
he was drawing a tic-tac-toe board.
{--"Careful, baby. Don't want 'em to know it was mutants playing here."--}
Into another window, out another, and something distracted him, something--
"Johnny?" Jubilee's voice was far away.
And *why* was he hearing something? Like screams, and he frowned when he pulled
up the fire, saw something in a window--
{--"Take it out, Pyro. Blow it. Now."--}
A hot white flame had exploded upward and Pyro had almost collapsed from the
rush of it--
"There were screams." His voice was hoarse, bitter. "I was too into playing
with my little fire to hear them. Or care if I did hear."
"Oh Johnny."
--collapsed back into Carol, who supported him as if he weighed nothing.
{--"That's my boy. That's my little boy. You did good, baby. So good."--} Long,
elegant fingers stroking back his hair, flying them home, sliding him into her
bed and curling up against him, that first kiss, tasting of liquor and smoke
and some secret Carol-taste that made him dizzy. Wrapped up in her arms, he
fell asleep. Exhausted, so happy he'd finally pleased her.
"I saw it on the news when I woke up. The bodies--five of them, a homeless
family shacked up on the third floor." Jubilee's hand closed over his and he
shut his eyes. "Carol said not to worry 'bout it. They were saying it was
suspicious, that mutants could be involved--and Carol said she found somewhere
for us to go. Somewhere safe. She was in contact with the Brotherhood then, I
guess. Had it ready."
"How much?"
"For the building? Ten grande of a two point five million dollar insurance
claim. Carol was gypped." Sort of a bitter satisfaction in that.
"No." Softer. More careful. "How much to bring you to the Brotherhood?"
St. John stiffened, knew she felt it.
"Market value of one pyrokinetic is fifteen grande or so. Alive, healthy, ready
for some serious indoctrination. I was all of those things."
She was sitting on her bed with the phone clutched in one hand and he'd felt
her gaze across the room, grinning. He'd tried to breathe through the sudden
fear. {"--We got someplace to go, baby. You're gonna like them.--"} Pulling him
in to sleep beside her, fingers running down his arms and back. {--"My little
Pyro, we got ourselves a hell of a meal ticket, you know. You're good, baby. So
good."--}
"I'm sorry, Johnny. But--you were just a kid. What the hell makes you think
you--"
"It wasn't about being a kid, Jubes. It was--was about--about how good it was.
That I--" he stopped, taking a breath. "I can't, Jubes."
Couldn't talk about how little he'd cared about those deaths. How very,
desperately little.
"You don't have to."
She shifted higher and he felt the stroke of her fingers across his cheek,
knowing she felt the streaks of dampness that her thumb wiped away.
He didn't want to believe he'd cry for Carol.
"It's okay to love her too, Johnny. It's natural, normal."
You weren't supposed to love those who hurt you. There was nothing natural
about that.
St. John shook his head and cradled Jubilee a little closer. Around them the
night had grown a little cooler and he pulled up the edge of the blanket over
her bare legs, tucking it around them, knocking over the bags to spill crumpled
wrappers around them.
"I'm sorry, Jubes." He body was warm against him and somehow, they switched
positions and his head was pressed against her shoulder, delicate fingers
stroking his cheek. He shut his eyes tight, taking a long, deep breath.
"S'okay, babe." Delicate touches--long fingers sliding down his back and he
felt his body shake. Like Carol. "I understand."
***** Not Forgotten *****
Chapter Summary
     In which St. John and Scott bond over rum.
Bathroom floors sucked, no question. Cold, immaculate white tile; plain, bright
orange rug; him and Bobby. Alone.
Okay, so the floor itself was fine--the fact that he had to sit on it at eleven
at night just to get some decent conversation with his lover was not.
"Bobby--"
And saying it was 'conversation' was a stretch.
The blonde head lifted, shoulders stiffening briefly--enough so St. John knew
that nothing he could say would probably do much in this instance but piss off/
hurt/anger/wound Bobby further. He'd seen him when he and Jubilee had come in,
the flicker of a white t-shirt on the landing, a glimpse of ice-blue eyes
before he disappeared back upstairs.
He'd been waiting.
Jubilee had squeezed his arm and darted to the elevator to see if Rogue was
being released into the general population anytime soon. Leaving St. John the
highly unenviable task of going upstairs alone and confronting his lover.
Which, granted, probably would be better than going up *with* Jubilee if Bobby
was in a mood. But still.
Damn.
So he tried again.
"Look, she was just--"
"You don't owe me any explanations, Johnny," Bobby said quickly as he went
about his usual nightly ritual. Brushing teeth, washing face, straightening the
bathroom, disinfecting the toilet--okay, so not so usual. Hmm. Not good. Not
good at all. "Can you hand me the bleach?"
Disinfecting and whitening. Double whammy. With a brief shudder at the variety
of cleaning he was in for, St. John took a breath and let it out slowly,
reaching under the sink to find the spray-bottle of whatever bleach-based
cleaning fluid Bobby had picked out of the housekeeper's closet this time.
"I wasn't trying to cut you out--."
"I understand, buddy. It's okay." Oooh. Buddy. Not a good sign. "Damn. We're
out." A quick, convulsive shake of the almost-full bottle, and Bobby might as
well have said, get your ass outies, like, now. "Can you go down and get me
some more?" The white and purple plastic container was brandished with a
frightening parody of a normal-Bobby smile, disturbing enough that St. John
nodded and backed out the open bathroom door, grabbing his cigarettes off the
bed as he passed.
Bobby was back scrubbing the underside of the toilet lid before Johnny even got
out the door. Ouch.
Which was how it came to be that, at three in the morning, he was sitting
outside in the garden, chain smoking through a once-full pack of cigarettes.
His head ached from the effects of the half-empty bottle of rum that he'd
stolen from the downstairs liquor cabinet. Drinking was bad. Yes, watch the
after-school specials, they are all so right. But secret effect not mentioned--
it was bad, but frankly, it worked. Or at very least, the nasty feeling in St.
John's stomach was doing wonders to distract him from his extraordinarily
screwed-up emotional life.
Oh yes, he was Pyro, murderer and practicing teen alcoholic. Let all cower in
fear. He hooked the bottle in one hand and took another swallow.
"Mind if I join you?"
Dropping the bottle (which miraculously remained upright), St. John looked up
into Mr. Summer's visor, shock wiping out all comprehensible thought, and for a
moment, nothing would emerge from his mouth but an undignified and rather shaky
squawk. Smooth, Johnny, very smooth, show off those adult tendencies of yours.
Taking this as tacit permission, his teacher sat down on the grass beside him,
picking up the bottle and studying it with interest.
"Hmmm. I guess lecturing you on the dangers of drinking at this stage would be
rather pointless." Glancing at the label, Mr. Summers gave it a thoughtful
look, then took a shot, placing it back down on the grass between them.
St. John wondered if he'd been slipped some hallucinogens in the last few
hours.
"Sir?"
Mr. Summers shrugged.
"We'll keep this between us." A pause. "Bobby just started cleaning the gym
showers."
St. John winced. Those showers were filthy.
"I considered sending him to your room, but I'm guessing it's already spotless.
I've always thought that coping mechanisms were interesting--everyone has their
own specific ritual they use to get through difficult times." A slight smile
and St. John remembered that Scott had been on Logan-sitting duty and witnessed
Logan's concept of coping. Poor man. "Alcohol doesn't rate high on the list,
Johnny."
"Sorry I don't live up to your expectations, sir." He was surprised by the
bitterness in his voice and lit his cigarette quickly, taking a drag to cover
the unexpected emotion. He didn't like anyone seeing him like this.
Mr. Summers' head turned sharply, the smile fading.
"You've rarely disappointed me, Johnny, adolescent rebellion aside." A pause.
"It can't be easy for you--I do understand that."
"I'm sure you mean well, sir--"
"Scott." A pause. "On the field, I'm just Scott. You've earned that much."
Surprise after surprise--St. John was certain he'd be utterly floored by this
if he was just a little less drunk. Mr. Summers--Scott--pushed the bottle over.
"Come on, take a drink. God knows, you can't get very drunk off this--we don't
keep the good stuff where you kids can find it."
Numbly, St. John picked up the bottle, taking a quick drink, setting it down as
the muted heat worked its way down his throat and settled in his stomach.
"It's never going to be easier, Johnny. To tell the truth. Sitting out here
isn't going to miraculously produce a solution to your problems, and I can
guarantee that bottle won't help either. That's experience speaking."
St. John couldn't imagine Scott Summers ever drinking. Just wouldn't compute.
Though some cool imagery of the older man doing drunken Karaoke at the bar did
meander into his mind and he had to struggle to stop the laugh that threatened
to emerge.
"He's pissed. He doesn't understand."
"Why you didn't tell him about what happened to you?" Scott picked up the
bottle, taking another drink. "Do you blame him for that?"
"No. Yes. Maybe." St. John pulled his knees up, trying to think of a way to
explain. "It's not that simple, it's not a yes or a no. He--he had it easy. I
mean, he has you and Hank and Jean and Warren and everyone, you know? All I've
ever had is him and Jubes and Carol, and Carol I didn't want. How do I tell him
what I was before I got here?"
"You have us too, Johnny."
"Not the same way. Like Rogue has Logan. Just for her, you know? Yeah, you all
like the rest of us, and I'm not saying--I don't mean you've neglected us. But
it's different. Bobby--he was with you at the beginning."
"Actually, I do understand that." A longer, more thoughtful pause. "And now
that he's moved to lover, it complicates things. When you were just friends, it
was easier to share--you didn't have as much to lose."
"Yeah." He meditated on his answer. Yes, he would have told him this time,
definitely. He'd told Bobby everything, except that past. Except that encounter
with Rogue. Except--well, that wasn't everything anymore. The second he
translated Bobby to boyfriend material, he'd made the switch in his head but--
well, Bobby didn't know that. Blinking, he stared into the grass. It didn't
inspire any deep thoughts, but it did smell nice.
"You know, it's okay to have secrets, Johnny."
"Not from someone you say you love."
"You think I tell Jean everything?" A longer pause, and St. John sensed Mr.
Summers was trying to work something out, something difficult. "It's the
problem with relationships in the Mansion--you live and eat and sleep with your
lover. New relationships need space, and you can't get that here."
"That why Logan's taking Rogue away for awhile?"
Scott smiled a little sourly.
"Probably one of the reasons, though neither of them will admit it. The Mansion
is pure pressure on even normal friendships. I suspect, however, at least half
the reason Logan wants to take Rogue out for awhile has a great deal less to do
with their interpersonal relations and more with her need to get away from
this." A general gesture taking in the Mansion, the grounds, everything. "She
was used to being on her own for a long time, and both--all three of the people
in her head were loners, for the most part." Another slight twist to Scott's
smile. "And Logan's never seen her as a child or a student, as we do."
No, St. John suspected that Logan wouldn't be looking at Rogue as if she was an
entree in a much-needed dinner if he'd ever thought of her as a child.
"Yeah."
"Whereas you've always seen Bobby as your best friend and confidante, and you
feel like you can't have that now, because you also happen to share his bed.
That the gist?"
He had to give Mr. Summers--Scott--points for good comparisons. Damn him.
"Sort of."
Another pause, as they both watched the moon over the far trees. St. John
tapped the ashes off his cigarette on the ground and thought about what Mr.
Summers had said.
"You're afraid Bobby will judge you now."
"Yeah." Definitely. Very much so. Like, totally. St. John shifted a little on
the grass, suddenly wishing he'd brought a blanket to sit on.
"Option two is not to tell him--and you lose him that way too, because he'll
think you don't trust him. Which is true too. You don't."
St. John craned his head to meet the smooth red visored gaze.
"So I should tell him?"
"You should do what you think is right. I'm only spelling out your options. You
know Bobby better than I do--he has trust issues. You need to think about that-
-if you don't think you can trust him with your past, how can you consider
continuing a relationship with him, a relationship that's *built* on trust?"
St. John lowered his gaze. This *wasn't* what he wanted to hear.
"That's not fair."
"No, it's not. But this won't be the only time something like this is going to
happen. You've kept a lot of things from him." St. John's head jerked up, but
the tone was so mild--he couldn't know about Rogue. Couldn't possibly. "And he
deserves to know, just as you deserve to have someone you can feel completely
secure with, someone you trust completely. If it isn't Bobby--then you should
find someone that you *do* feel that way about."
"I love him."
"And I'll be the first to tell you, love isn't enough. Not even close." The
smooth gaze turned away. "Love's great, Johnny, and it's necessary. But it's
not the only thing, not even close."
St. John suddenly reflected on a memory--Logan and Jean in the kitchen that
long-ago afternoon. And he was suddenly, painfully certain that Scott Summers
knew all about it. Taking a breath, he looked away, staring into the shadowy
forms of distant trees.
"So I tell him and he asks me how I could let those people die in there."
Scott leaned back on one hand, and St. John watched the long fingers lightly
drumming on the neck of the bottle.
"Do you know why?"
"Because I didn't care." Harsh--the truth hurt. Hurt right now, like it hadn't
really hurt them, the unreality of what had happened.
"You were twelve, Johnny." A slight smile. "What do you think you'll be called
on to do as a X-Man anyway? Rogue killed Carol, and her greatest regret right
now is that she couldn't do it without getting her stuck in her head--though
from what I saw, she's starting to like the flying."
"They weren't the enemy."
"True. And I'm not going to pretend to you that it's okay. But I am going to
tell you that six years of brooding on it isn't going to make them reappear
alive and well. You made a mistake--you deal with it and move on. And you
haven't dealt with it."
"He won't understand."
"I suspect that he's having a harder time understanding why you feel okay
confiding in Jubilee rather than him."
"That's totally different, sir." And he wondered why Scott couldn't see it, why
he was deliberately being obtuse about it. "She's--she's a friend. I mean,
would you forgive Dr. Grey if you found out she killed five people?"
"Yes."
The devastatingly simple reply took every single argument St. John was able to
marshal and answered them, just like that.
"I love her and trust her. Therefore, if she killed five people in an accident
when she was a child, I'd understand. There isn't even a question of that."
Then a soft sigh. "When I said love wasn't enough, that you needed trust, I was
being truthful. But you need something else--you need to be able to forgive. If
you can't do that, then there's no point. So here's the question again--do you
*want* someone you can't trust and who wouldn't forgive you? You're going to
screw up a lot in this relationship. Just trust me on this one. You're going to
screw up in ways you don't even know about yet. You're going to screw up and
your only real solace is that you *will* be forgiven for screwing up. And your
partner is going to screw up, just as badly, and you have to be ready to
forgive them too. So ask yourself that while you get over your hangover. Not
whether you love him--but do you trust and can he forgive. Then every single
question you're asking yourself right now will be answered." Scott Summers
paused, and St. John watched him stand up, bottle firmly in hand, a slight
smile turning up his lips. "I'll take this in--drink some water before you pass
out to avoid a hangover. Logan's putting you back in the Danger Room tomorrow
to run a few more advanced simulations. Probably early in the morning--your
combat teacher's in the mood for some fun." That was plain wicked. "Night,
Johnny."
St. John opened his mouth, shutting it, then tried again.
"Night, sir."
Watching the lithesome figure of his former teacher--Scott Summers now--as he
crossed the lawn, St. John glanced down at his cigarette and took a final drag
before butting it out on the bare dirt near his hip. Laying back, he stared up
at the sky, watching the movement of the constellations that, not for the first
time, he wished he knew the names of. Big Dipper? Who the hell knew?
Bobby was probably done with the showers by now. Probably in the kitchen,
defrosting the freezer. And he knew, with absolute certainty, that Bobby was
going to make him do it this time--talk it out.
Hell if he knew what the hell he was going to say, though. And the rum had been
many good and nasty things, but it hadn't managed to help him figure out how to
handle this.
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