Warning: much cussing ahoy! I lost count of how many times I was forced to use the "F"
word, but given that Lance is an angry teenage boy, foul language abounds! >:D
NEWSBRIEF: Dude -- go here. It's screencaps and info. from the upcoming X-Men Evo
finale "Day of Reckoning"! And it's Pietro-licious! (Just look at the pouty, beautiful little
thing! He's just precious! :D Pie-Pieeeee! And Lanciepooooo! ::squeals:: But much
more of Pietrooooo! ::drools:: Eeeehehehhehehheee!) AND an episode clip. Yummy...
::thinks naughty Pietrance thoughts:: Yay! Psycho B is all happy now annnnd stuff. (I
really should switch to decaf...) ^_^
http://forums.toonzone.net/showthread.php?s=&threadid=31340
Before ya'll tune me out and skip through the A/N's, READ THIS! Um, okay, now that I
have your attention (hopefully) uhh, read this chapter very, veeeery closely! There are a
bunch of implied things, explanations, imagery, etc. Do not whine at me if you do not
read this and then later don't understand anything! I slaved over this chappy for*ever*,
for some reason -- it just wasn't coming easily to me. ::shrugs:: I hope it isn't as strange
as I think it is. >.O
A question, if I may: why does everyone seems to enjoy evil Scott, evil Jean, evil Xavier,
etc., but not evil Evan? Is it really that far a stretch? I mean, he has some pretty violent
and dangerous powers, and with the background I laid out for the story...? Anyone? No?
Ahh, well. :P
And, I know now I should have made myself more clear last time in my ranting: I wasn't
stolen from nearly so much as several other authors I admire and respect. Going back
through, I only saw a few things of mine, compared with the multitude of swiped stuff
from others. And I am actually more upset that this person took from them (my idols!
My heroes! ::sniff::) than I am angry at my own stuff being used. I am fiercely protective
of the authors who I look up to (and I'd be willing to bet that they would be seriously
freaked out if they knew just how much I loved their work...) so I am tempted to tell
them, but I won't, because I am so very, very chicken/wussy/weak/coward-ish/etc....
Maybe they'll read my fic and learn of it themselves (I doubt it, as they do not review it...
::pouts::) or perhaps they will read the offending fic itself, and take their own actions.
One can only hope. >.>
And response to... (don't bother reading unless you've reviewed/read the reviews recently)
*batE: I realize now my mistake of posting such a chapter right after such drastic
potential news from Comics Continuum. But don't despair until the episode airs! It is
entirely possible that the Spykey one may not be the one to go! I mean, they had their
chance to out him in African Storm but didn't, right? Right. :D And I see you've
wrangled your poor, unsuspecting cousin to join us in the madness... what would you like
for your referral extra credit, hmm? ^_~
*DarkFire: Now now, play nice! You wouldn't want to hurt Psycho B's feelings, would
you? ^_^
*SailorWade: Hey! I reviewed you fic! :D I'm glad you were able to catch HeX Factor,
it was an awesome ep! Don't worry about your friends, mine do the same thing -- Psycho
B Evo withdrawal. Scary times. >.O Umm, yay, stalker! At least they haven't reviewed
again... that's a good sign. Maybe I scared `em off. >:D
*R: Well, since I still have no review from "your lady" that Lance/Pietro/Kurt thing you
requested will have to be shelved for the time being... ^_^ Thanks for not being mad
about that whole, um, guy thing. At first I really thought you were a girl, because males
don't tend to be so... fluent, I guess is a good word for it, but you mentioned, yeah, and
then, well, you know. Anyways! :D Okay: flames are mean criticisms, right? And I said
"flame her" which sounds like "flamer" which is another word for gays. Since the story is
about gay guys, I figured I would have people cracking jokes about it, but I was wrong --
I only succeeded in confusing everyone. ::shrugs:: Oh, well! And you're right -- civility
*is* overrated. ^_~
*quicksilver-daniels: Hi, batE's cousin! :D Referrals are nifty! Can't wait to see more of
your Evietro fic -- if you continue to take after your very talented cousin, it should be
super-coolies! Eh, I know Evan was way OOC in chappy 24, and that really irks me. But
it *does* kinda go along with that other fic I wrote, so yeah... anyways, welcome to the
insanity! ^_~ Annnd I luv your ficcy!
*Selena/Tainisha: Hey, passwords are very precious thing -- without mine, my mother
would have access to all my naughty little, erm, things on my screen name. That would be
a bad thing. I'm glad you and Toddykins have such a close, trusting relationship! ^_~
Getting stuck in the rain sucks, and passing out in the rain must suck twice as badly! Poor
thing! ::pats head:: You must take better care of yourself! I'm glad the chappy made you
feel better, and I hope this one doesn't ruin that progress... >.> Now go to sleep! :D
*Medusa171: Hee hee hee -- Evan is a very naughty little pre-stalker boy... ^_~ This
being as it may, can you not see why I made the "Creepin'" fic? It just... fits, I guess. O.o
I will not be releasing the name of the plagiarist, unless someone else who recognizes it on
their own comes forward first, as I am a big chicken... and I would hate to be the only one
to accuse if I was wrong (which I'm not, but that's besides the point) and slander is not
something I want my penname synonymous with. Sorries! :D
*DaRk RaVeN: Frappuccinos are yummy! :D Annnnd I just had one today, so hopefully
that doesn't influence my writing... (yeah, riiiiight...) >.> Um, I saw your bio page and
how you need help with uploading and all that good stuff, so yeah, like, totally email me if
ya have any questions! I'm no genius, but I manage all right. ^_^
*terry: Ahh, the joys of answering the phone the wrong way for the situation. I mean, I
anwser at work with the wrong greeting (morning or afternoon) consistently enough that
people just kinda expect it from me now... how sad. ::smirks:: But I can't see why your
boss would even want to fire you over a simple phone mix-up! That seems harsh (unless
your boss is a heinous bitch, like my old one... that evil whore...). Anywho ^^ um, review
more! I neeeeed to see that people are reading and enjoying it, or else I have no
motivation to keep going. ;_; So, yes! Reviews are your friends! :D
*Cherry Drop: Been missin' ya, sweetie! ^_^ I know this is a busy time of year for lotsa
folks, so it's okay if you've been a bit delinquent in reviewing, although I believe you may
miss your chance to review tomorrow, since this chapter is up now... (if that made any
sense, which it did not). :D
Disclaimer: As if! No, really, if you actually believe I own any of this (makes grand
sweeping gesture) then I have some prime swamp land down in Florida you may be
interested in... No, seriously. I don't own anything. (Duh?)
*~*~*~*~*~*
Chapter twenty-five: Taking the "Sexual" Out of "Homosexual"
Three weeks.
Three fucking weeks, and Pietro wouldn't let Lance touch him, much less sleep with him.
He would skirt around any physical contact, claiming he just needed some time, or some
space... and never admitting what was truly bothering him: that he had been violated.
Lance scrubbed his face with his palms as he sat at the kitchen table, watching the coffee
percolating cheerfully in the pot. Lance glared at the machine, and said politely to the
burbling device: "Shut the fuck up!"
He caught himself, again -- why was he taking his anger out on senseless things?
Meaningless objects? Ahh, yes -- so he didn't accidentally explode at Pietro. Lance knew
it wasn't his fault, or Pietro's -- it was that stupid wanker Daniels. `What could the little
fuck even have planned? It's not like he could have kept Pietro trapped in that fucking
fridge forever. Stupid little fuck,' Lance thought, twisting his hands together and
clenching them into fists, absently cracking his knuckles. Todd bumbled into the kitchen,
surprised to see Lance awake and semi-alert so early in the morning. The toad had been
more understanding and sympathetic to the couple since the fateful day at the mall, three
weeks before to the day. Making this a Saturday. `Too early to be up, but I can't sleep.
Not alone, anyway,' Lance thought dryly, his eyes shifting to the clock hanging on the
wall. `Seven in the motherfucking morning...'
Todd made his way over to the new refrigerator; the one that was the same exact model
that Pietro has been trapped in briefly by Evan. Pietro wouldn't go near it. Truth be told,
Pietro pretty much stayed the Hell out of the kitchen altogether, since every major
appliance in the room had been purchased the day he was... And Pietro was too thin,
Lance decided. He wasn't eating properly since the incident, since he wasn't venturing into
the kitchen. Ever.
Lance hauled himself out of the chair and over to the coffeepot, fixing himself a mugful of
the tasty beverage and staring out the window at the heavily falling snow. Christmas was
on its merry way. `Perfect cuddling weather, but left with no one to cuddle. Tragic,'
Lance thought with discontentment, swirling the brown liquid in its container.
Todd rifled through the fridge noisily, probably trying to make up for the awkward silence
in the room. Lance sighed, figuring he should probably make Pietro some breakfast, to
make sure the poor kid got something, at least. He would bring it up to Pietro's room.
He had been sleeping there, alone, since the incident. Lance had stayed two nights in
Mystique's room, hoping beyond hope that the white-haired teen would decide to join him,
even if they didn't have any kind of intimate relations, but after the two nights, Lance had
given up and returned to his own bedroom, always leaving the door unlocked and slightly
ajar with the faint hope Pietro would... but he didn't. And probably wouldn't. And Lance
resented every second.
Two pieces of lightly buttered toast and one dainty, flowered teacup filled to the brim with
coffee later, Lance walked steadily up the stairs, taking extra care not to spill the contents
of the gold-rimmed cup. Had his hands not been full, Lance would have knocked on
Pietro's bedroom door, but he decided that a more peaceful greeting may be better
received. Balancing the plate on his forearm, Lance turned the doorknob awkwardly and
nudged the door. It swung open, smugly silent on its brass hinges.
The room was a complete mess; so unlike Pietro to leave it in such a manner. Clothing,
papers and reading material, along with multiple miscellaneous CD's, were strewn liberally
across the floor. The few shirts left in the closet were hanging precariously from their
hangers, some already fallen to the floor. The sheets of the normally military-neat bed
were mussed and rumpled, but the inhabitant of the room was not occupying them.
Pietro was standing topless in front of the window, which was wide open, sans screen,
letting the snowy drafts right into the room. Lance was convinced the younger mutant
had a death wish, standing there half-clothed in New York's notoriously bitter cold winter
weather, and made some offhand comment regarding such as he set the food down on the
dresser and went to the window to close it. Pietro shrank away, not meeting his
boyfriend's eyes. His icy flesh was sprinkled with goosebumps, but Lance didn't dare try
to touch him to rub some warmth into the pale, frosty skin.
"Brought you breakfast..."
"I'm not hungry."
"Bullshit. You didn't eat a single thing yesterday."
"Yes, I did. When I was... out."
Lance was dumbstruck. "When?"
"Sometime..." Pietro answered vaguely, his eyes looking towards the frosted window
again, taking in everything; seeing nothing.
Well, that *would* explain the mysterious disappearances. Lance's eyes traveled over
Pietro's rail-thin body. His ribs were prominent, and the skin stretched over his arms and
shoulders looked grotesquely skeleton-like. He was virtually anorexic. The fast mutant
needed almost much nourishment as Freddy, but got next to nothing, by choice, now,
seeing as he never entered the kitchen. His metabolism was probably forcing his body to
devour itself. Lance cringed visibly at the thought. Pietro's head snapped up, probably
thinking Lance was wincing at *him*. The damaged goods.
Pietro didn't say a word, just stalked silently out of the room. Lance sighed in defeat.
***
Todd Tolensky never, ever thought it would come to this -- him, the most homophobic
guy he knew, giving Pietro relationship advice. Or attempting to, at least. Pietro didn't
appear to be listening.
"He's real worried about you, yo," Todd urged his friend, the pleading tone not endearing
him to the slender boy. "We're all worried."
Pietro turned slowly to gaze at the small boy crouching on the arm rest of the loveseat.
His imploring demeanor belied his truths -- he was scared at how Pietro had changed so
drastically the past few weeks. Lance had tried to cover it up at first, but eventually broke
down and had a family meeting while Pietro was mysteriously missing one night and
explained the whole thing -- Daniels virtually forcing himself on the white-haired teen, and
the subsequent rumble (no pun intended) with Summers and Grey. All of it. Todd was
shocked, to say the least, and appalled that Evan would stoop so low. He hadn't minded
the other two; they got what they deserved, in his humble opinion.
"Why be worried... be happy," Pietro added with a silly grin, making Todd wonder if the
boy wasn't on some kind of drugs that caused these drastic mood swings and bizarre
comments. He shook his head.
"You're a dick," Todd proclaimed, hopping down from his perch on the arm rest and
leaping out of the room, sending the pale boy one last withering glance. Pietro watched
him go with an apathetic stare. It seemed as though he had just closed his eyes when
someone was tentatively nudging him awake.
"Pietro, do you want some lunch...?" Lance asked cautiously. The last time he'd laid a
finger on the boy, Pietro had jumped a foot in the air.
"Maybe later," Pietro replied lazily, turning over on the sofa and curling into a little ball.
Lance wasn't satisfied with that. His temper was at the end of its fuse.
"Maybe now," he said, yanking his beau off the couch and pushing him towards the
kitchen with purpose. Pietro seemed almost willing to go, until he entered the room and
came face-to-face with the refrigerator of doom. He tried to zoom back out, but Lance
caught him and held him firmly. "Sit down," he commanded. Pietro, deciding that he
couldn't win in his newly emaciated state, opted to obey the brunette's stern orders. He
sat at the table, leaning back in the chair and lurching forward quickly as the cold backing
made contact with his bare skin. He shivered.
Lance resisted the urge to take him in his arms and warm him, and force some hot food
and drink down his throat. He had to see if Pietro would eat on his own before he forced
him, though. He prayed it didn't get to that point. He truly did. He tried to get the
ashen-tressed mutant's interest piqued by using the electric can opener he'd held so dearly
during their day of shopping. Grabbing a can of soup out of the pantry, Lance made a
show of removing the lid and pouring it into a pot, turning on the stove Pietro had just
*had* to have and setting the stainless steel pan on the front burner. Pietro stared,
looking like some homeless, half-naked waif who'd just stumbled in off the streets; his eyes
following Lance around the kitchen hungrily.
Lance said not a word as he placed the steaming bowl of chicken noodle in front of Pietro,
settling down in the seat beside him with a bowl of his own. Pietro didn't move, just
breathed in deeply and sighed. He was in the process of turning his head away toward the
window when Lance's hand shot out and caught him by the chin, jerking it toward the
steaming liquid in front of him.
"Eat it. No looking out the goddamned window till you finish everything in that dish."
Pietro didn't respond, instead picked up the spoon set next to the bowl and toyed with the
broth for several moments, letting the golden liquid dribble off of the utensil repeatedly.
"Eat that soup. This is the last time I'm gonna say it."
He continued playing with the food and ignoring Lance. Lance pounced, grabbed the
back of his head and pried the spoon from his fingers. "I didn't wanna have to do this,
doll, but I'm not gonna let you do this to yourself anymore," Lance apologized as he tried
to shove the spoon into Pietro's tightly shut mouth. Most of the liquid was lost in the
battle, but now, it was down to the principle of the thing -- that spoon had to make
contact with Pietro's mouth. Lance pinched his nose, thus forcing him to open his mouth
to take in air. A trick used on himself many a time during his childhood, but never with
food -- just medicine. Food had been a precious thing. One would think Lance were
trying to shove poison down Pietro's throat the way he was struggling. Lance almost
wished he had a video camera, so Pietro could witness later just how stupid this was. It
was like feeding an unwilling baby. A very large, sexy baby, but a baby all the same.
"Goddammit, Pietro! Sit still and fucking cooperate already!" Finally, Pietro went limp in
his arms, the struggle no longer worth it. That, or he simply tired himself out. Either way,
Lance was able to make him eat. He held the smaller boy tenderly as he continued the
feeding. Pietro's eyes were closed. He was waging an internal war; wanting to eat, but
feeling unclean and ruined -- he didn't want to feed the monster that had taken up
residence within. He felt guilty for feeling so goddamned guilty -- many people suffered
through worse every day. He'd been let off relatively easily, really; just some general
roughing up and forcible kisses... he shuddered to think what else had been to come, had
the spyked one been given adequate time.
"Do you want some crackers?" Lance inquired, pleased that Pietro had managed almost
half a bowlful on his own. Pietro began to shake his head no, then stopped.
"Maybe just a couple," he said warily, eyeing Lance as he got up to hunt through the
pantry for the box of saltines. Pietro pushed the dish away. He needed to rest, just for a
minute... so tired...
"Pietro, all we have left is the Ritz kind, do you want..." Lance trailed off as he saw the
speedster asleep on the table, almost literally in his dish. He did look so innocent and
blameless while in slumber! Lance could almost forgive him for his childish behavior
earlier.
Lance gingerly picked up the slender frame of his friend, supporting his slight weight with
both arms. Pietro instinctively cuddled closer to the reassuring heartbeat. Lance realized,
with a bemused smile, that he was holding the boy in much the same manner a new
husband would hold his bride.
The older mutant deposited Pietro on the worn red sofa, and covered him with a thick
blanket, tucking it around his boyfriend's body with the greatest of care. He stepped back,
watching the calm, serene expression on the pale teen's face as he slept so peacefully, freed
of responsibilities. Lance sighed softly and went back to the kitchen to deal with the
dishes dirtied by their lunch. As he rinsed and loaded the emptied bowls and utensils into
the new dishwasher, he recalled the scene directly following their trip to the mall all those
weeks ago.
::flashback::
Pietro clung to Lance almost desperately as the brunette turned the door key in the lock,
opening the metal portal and guiding Pietro inside, closing the door soundly before making
his way to the other side to let himself in. Lance turned the key in the ignition, and the
engine roared to life, the heat generating from under the hood rapidly melting the
accumulating snow as it fell. Lance opened his mouth to speak, but abruptly closed it
again when he saw the white-haired boy's body language; knees drawn up to his chest,
arms around them, turned toward his passenger side window.
"Pietro, seatbelt."
No reply.
"Put your seatbelt on, it's bad weather out," Lance prodded, but Pietro didn't budge. His
personal withdrawal style was already taking shape. Lance reached over to apply the
seatbelt for him, and Pietro had cried out loudly in protest, pushing Lance's hands away
forcefully. Lance retracted his hands in surprise, palms up in apology. Pietro wouldn't
look at him. As much as he didn't like to, Lance allowed Pietro to sit curled into a
seatbelt-less ball on the seat, despite the rotten driving weather. Lance squinted into the
Star Trek-ish white-on-black snow screen the headlights illuminated like a whirlwind
tunnel of warp-speed stars as he headed for home. Pietro was silently sobbing, his head
buried in his arms.
Lance heard a large gulp of intaken air, and thought for a brief moment that maybe his
lover was going to speak to him, but instead, Pietro let the breath out shakily, fogging the
window. His hand reached up, a finger extended to doodle in the residing circle of
condensation. Suddenly, a voice:
"He *touched* me."
Lance wasn't quite sure how to respond. Pietro interpreted his silence the wrong way. He
didn't speak again.
::end flashback::
He dropped in the small, powdery blue and white tablet and closed the door, pressing the
pre-set button for a normal wash. He wiped up the sticky mess of partially dried spilled
soup on the table from Pietro's struggling. The sponge was thrown in the sink.
Lance sat down heavily on the kitchen chair, noting how out of place all the new devices
looked in the run-down room. `Maybe fixing the place up would give Pietro something
useful to do with his time, instead of just skipping school and moping around all day
watching mindless soaps.'
Pietro had, indeed, missed more schooling than he'd attended since the incident, not
showing up to more than two consecutive days of school at a time. Todd and Fred
complained endlessly about the unfair treatment until Lance held the family meeting to
inform the rest of the team about the happenings.
::flashback::
"Okay, guys, here's the deal," Lance had started, looking uncomfortably from boy to boy
as he searched within to find his next words. "Last weekend, when we went to the mall...
it wasn't just me and Pie against Summers and Grey -- Evan was there, too," Lance
revealed to the two startled mutants. They looked beyond surprised that their stand-in
leader would keep something like that from them. The importance of what Lance had said
didn't register right away.
"Why didn't ya just tell us before, yo?" Todd had asked, and rightly so -- it seemed strange
to hide such a fact. Lance shook his head.
"I handled Shades and the other bitch, but that little fuck did... things to Pietro," Lance let
on, his newfound intense hatred of the black boy showing through his carefully
constructed mask of neutrality. Todd and Fred stared.
"What?"
Lance steepled his hands beneath his chin, finding his happy place, or trying to at least,
before going on. "He threw Pietro over his shoulder like a sack of fucking potatoes, or
whatever, and ran. I saw him, um, kissing him, after I knocked out those other two
pussies, then he threw him in a refrigerator and locked him in. You guys know how he
gets in tiny places," Lance said solemnly, his gaze full of meaning. Fred nodded, and Todd
look thoughtful.
"Uhh, is that why he won't touch this here new one?" Fred wondered aloud, and Lance
nodded, staring at a small discoloration on the chipped tabletop.
"I think so," Lance answered with a curt nod. "I think that's the same exact model he was
inside. It wasn't for long, I made sure of that," Lance pointed out, "but still -- to him, a
minute can feel like hours, especially during something as shitty as that. Fucking locked
in. That motherfucking X-Dipshit. I'm gonna kill him," Lance muttered under his breath,
but the younger boys heard anyway.
"Don't do anything crazy, yo," Todd urged, obviously worried that the X-Men may try to
retaliate for the senseless violence. But, part of their own team was responsible, so how
could they possibly justify their actions?
"I won't. But I *am* gonna make `em pay," Lance vowed with steel in his voice, a look
of pure, unadultered hatred flashing in his dark eyes. At that moment, the front door
opened and quickly shut, a gust of wind whistling through the house, but not created by
the last member of their group as it usually was; it was only the wind from outside. Snow,
too. Pietro walked, particularly slowly for him, past the kitchen, not pausing to look
inside. He stepped jerkily up the stairs, relying on the banister heavily, his new thinness
more apparent at that moment than it had been since the occurrence. Lance jaw dropped
at the shape his boyfriend was in. How had it gotten that bad so quickly?
Lance looked at the other two teens occupying the table. Todd nodded towards the stairs,
and that was all the encouragement Lance needed. He bolted for the staircase like the
proverbial bat outta Hell.
***
Lance knocked softly at the door. There was no reply. He rapped again, louder this time,
and tried the doorknob when Pietro still ignored his endeavors, shifting his weight back
and forth from one foot to the other in anticipation. The door was locked from the inside,
again. Figures. Lance leaned up against the wall, the palm of his hand resting on the
heavy oak door. Giving up again, he padded down the carpeted hallway to his room, right
next door. Climbing onto the bed, he gripped the headboard with both hands, pressing his
ear to the wall and closing his eyes to listen for any sounds of life from within. Nothing, at
first, then came a soft, almost inaudible weeping. A small sniff quelled the sobs after a few
moments, and all was quiet again. Lance slid down onto his mattress and shifted to stare
up at the ceiling. The fan was whirling around and around... a lot like Pietro when he
showed Lance some of his dance moves. But, Pietro was faster. Even on high speed, the
ceiling fan would be no match for the swiftness of the white-haired mutant. Except maybe
now, as Pietro wasn't quite in tip-top shape... and it was all that stupid spyking little jerk's
fault. Would Lance ever again know the pure, beautiful sweetness of Pietro's love?
::end flashback::
Lance watched Pietro climb the staircase laboriously, still weak despite the nourishment
he'd received earlier. The navy blue blanket was still wrapped around him, super
hero-style; like a cape. Lance decided to try his luck and call out to the rapidly retreating
form.
"Pietro!" Said boy slowed, pausing to look in the direction of the sound. He smiled
weakly at Lance.
"Hey... I'm gonna go take a little nap, I think... wake me up for Days?" he requested, and
continued up the steps. Lance had been hoping he'd say to wake him for dinner. He
blinked. Days of Our Lives wasn't aired on weekends! Either Pietro was confused, or
planning to sleep for two days straight! Either way, worth some investigation. Lance got
up quickly to follow the brat.
He ran as fast as he could, but was still too late -- he heard the definite click of the lock as
he reached for the door handle. He rattled the knob. "Pietro! Open up," he said loudly,
knocking several times. Pietro opened the door a crack, his eyes narrowed suspiciously.
"What do you want, Lance?" he asked in exasperation. He was clearly preparing for bed
in the middle of the afternoon; he was down to his undies, Lance could tell through the
narrow slit in the doorway. He tore his eyes away from the brief clothing and calmed his
voice.
"I wanna talk... are you busy?" `God, that was so lame! I already *knew* he was busy!'
"Um, yeah I am -- can it wait?"
"Not really..."
"Whatever. Gimme a minute," Pietro ordered, slamming the door and locking it
immediately. It was a good two minutes before Lance heard the click of the lock being
reversed and the door being tugged open. Pietro was dressed in a fluffy robe, obviously
liberated from Mystique's closets. Why the woman needed so much clothing in the first
place, being able to assume any look with ease anyway, was beyond Lance. Pietro sat on
the bed, fidgeting and playing with the length of the robe's belt. Lance strode over to sit
beside the nervous mutant, but opted for the armchair instead upon seeing the anxiety on
Pietro's fair face.
"Pietro... Days isn't on today."
Pietro blinked. "What? You came up here to tell me that?" he asked incredulously.
"No! I mean, yes, but that wasn't the point... you said to wake you up for it, but it won't
be on until Monday."
"Oh. I forgot what day it was," Pietro replied easily, flicking his wrist in dismissal. Lance
scowled.
"Maybe that's because you haven't been to school for days. You haven't left the frigging
house for days!" Lance exclaimed. Pietro looked at his bedspread, suddenly very
interested by the small pieces of lint stuck to it. "Pietro..."
"I know. I know! But... I don't wanna go to school because... because *he's* there,"
Pietro said. That was the most forthcoming admission in the entire three weeks of Pietro's
emotional roller-coaster. He willed himself not to cry. `Not in front of Lance; please, not
in front of Lance... pleasepleasepleaseplease...'
Lance dared to move from his chair to the foot of the bed. Pietro was seated against the
headboard. Lance saw him tense for a moment, then relax, somewhat. `Why is this so
difficult?'
"I love you."
A brief pause. `Just fucking say it, Pietro! Three little words. Not so hard to do...' "I
know," came out of his mouth instead.
Lance realized, at that moment, that Pietro had never actually come right out and said
those short, sweet, poignant words to him, not really -- always a "ditto" or a "right back
at'cha". Or an "I know". Never the words. But it was okay -- if he couldn't say it. But
what if he could say it, but didn't want to, because he didn't mean it? Lance shook his
head slightly, shaking out the over-analyzing thoughts. He turned back to Pietro. And
startled himself as well as the smaller teen when he came right out and asked -- "Why
don't you ever say that back?"
Pietro continued picking at the tiny lint balls stuck to the comforter. "I have," he lied.
"No, I don't think you have," Lance countered. Pietro grimaced.
"Of course I have! This is so stupid," he muttered, getting off the bed and pacing to the
door, raking his slim fingers through his hair. "Can you leave now? I'm really not feeling
well."
"So I make you sick," Lance murmured almost silently as he got up of the bed and headed
out. He turned to say one last thing before the door was shut and locked in his face,
perhaps for good this time. "I do love you. It's okay if you can't say it back, but I want
you to know. And I'm right down the hall if you need me." Lance left at that point,
heading back to his own room to sit and ponder where he'd gone wrong to screw up his
relationship so badly. Even though he knew it wasn't his fault at all; the true blameworthy
party resided in a plush, beautiful mansion to be waited on hand and foot and rewarded for
fucking up other people's lives.
Pietro bit his lip, watching Lance walk away slowly, awfully slowly to Pietro's fast mind.
Deciding quickly, he allowed one final plea to break the silent stillness of the house:
"Lance..."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Damn, that dragged. I'm all hopped-up on angst now, baby, so on to write chapter
twenty-six! Whee! :D (Niiiiice and short notes, eh?)
REVIEWS ARE NEATO! :D