That same cutting breeze wound its way around several bored-looking college types standing near the door, around an exhibition of kids’ “artwork,” skirted a bunch of volleyball players who watched in amazement as their ball, caught up in the vortex of air, floated up to the ceiling, before coming to rest behind a set of bleachers. Poking his head cautiously around, Pietro took the opportunity to look around. As intricate as the façade of the building was, Pietro was expecting something with a little more . . . style, maybe. Definitely something bigger. But this place was about as spartan as even the most threadbare centers in the City. The hardwood floor was marked up with red lines, dividing the space into sizeable square areas – a volleyball net was set up the middle, something that looked like a table tennis/badminton court occupied a square place in the far wall, and a third square closest to the front door seemed to be a free-for-all area. There was a corridor just behind the volleyball area that he assumed led to classrooms where the “crafts” were made, and, more than likely, led to bathrooms and/or locker rooms. Not bad, he conceded, completing his “tour” with an offhand shrug. The place was clean – in that overly sterile, Lysol-scented-air sort of way – and the equipment seemed in good shape and functional, something not always found in similar centers in the City.

But there seemed to be something missing, and creeping along under the cover offered him by the wooden bleachers, the blue eyes sought it out. Aha! There it was. His eyes narrowed when he saw the basketball court – though calling it a court was something of an overstatement – tucked away in a far corner of the building. It looked to be a little more than a half-court setup – just two baskets and small as hell. Lame beyond belief – such a configuration was unheard of even in the most rundown rec centers back in New York.

A group of little kids trouping out to the . . . court, or whatever it was, cut off his internal outrage. The youngsters were dutifully following a tall, dark-skinned guy carrying a clipboard in one hand and a basketball in the other – he had to be about 6 foot 5, with a wiry build and the type of finely muscled legs that would have been right at home on a swimmer or runner. His height, and the waist-length, red-tipped dreads he wore in a low ponytail, gave him a regal and somewhat imposing air, as well as an exotic look – one not easily missed in a town as small and homogenous as Bayville. In fact, Pietro was reasonably sure that he’d seen the guy somewhere before, but he couldn’t remember where exactly.

But the brown-skinned, bright-haired teen that sprinted out onto the court behind the last kid was instantly recognizable, and Pietro hunkered down while he watched Evan, dressed in shorts a tank and carrying a little clipboard of his own, trot up to the dreadlocked wonder and begin a conversation as the kids milled around bouncing basketballs and running up and down the court. Pietro couldn’t make out what the two were saying, but by the intense look of concentration on Evan’s face, Pietro figured it was of some importance. The speedster frowned; the older guy was likely not a new recruit or teacher at the Institute. First off, Evan would have mentioned it if he were, and second, Pietro wasn’t getting a “mutant” vibe from the tall man. It was likely a “sense” he’d developed from his father, but Pietro always had a knack for telling who had powers and who did not. So, then, the question remained – what was this guy to Evan that the blond would devote a good part of his Saturday to seeing him – and refuse to tell anyone, including his boyfriend – what it was about.

Their talk done, the tall man blew a whistle, and immediately the kids stopped what they were doing and thronged around Evan and his companion. Pietro was too far away to hear what was being said, but in another second, the kids split up into two smaller groups, one group following Dreadlocks to one end of the court and the rest trailing behind Evan to the other end. Pietro followed the latter group, speeding to the other end of the bleachers before one could blink, kicking up a huge cloud of dust as he went. Coughing a little as the dust swirled around him, the white-haired teen crept low to the floor and peered through the bleachers at his boyfriend, standing at the top of the key, saying something to the squirming little kids lined up before him. Pietro wished he could hear what was being said – some of the children seemed to be listening intently and others were busily poking each other and dragging their sneakers back and forth across the free-throw line.

Amused, Pietro watched Evan dribble the ball shortly and pull up for a jump shot that swished through the net. It was the blond teen’s signature move, and Pietro silently admired his boyfriend’s scoring prowess. It was the one part of Evan’s game Pietro had never been able to fault – Evan could score at will from almost anywhere on the court, and that coupled with the white-haired boy’s speed and rebounding ability had made them a force in neighborhood pick-up games and on PS 104’s varsity team. Pietro watched Evan sink another basket – a hook shot this time – and noticed that more of the kids were paying attention, even those who’d been goofing off before. Evan pointed to two kids in the front, said something to them, handed them the ball and stood back as the two took turns unsuccessfully trying to re-create Evan’s moves. The blond teen watched the two kids struggle for a moment before calling up two more kids. When they, too, failed to get the ball anywhere near the net, two more were called to the fore, and so on until all the children had a chance to fail at making a basket. Pietro shook his head. The kids were probably between 8 and 10, and some of them were quite short, but their skills, such as they were, were pitiful. They would’ve been eaten alive back home. The speedster chuckled a little to think of how even the last kids to get chosen for pickup games back in his and Evan’s Brooklyn neighborhood would have been four times the player these kids seemed to be.

Pietro glanced up at the court at the group that was playing with Dreadlocks, and was a little surprised to see the kids posting up and shooting well. Hardly anyone in that group, in fact, missed a basket with the taller man looking on impassively. Hmm. They stuck Daniels with the rejects. What an insult. Pietro looked quickly over at his boyfriend’s squad in time to see one of the kids trip over the ball he’d been dribbling. Evan, he noted, looked slightly exasperated, but he was, so far as Pietro could see, keeping cool, stopping the kids when they made really silly mistakes, and correcting them as best he could.

The problem, though, so far as Pietro could tell from his cramped perch, was Evan’s assumption that the kids he was coaching had the same sort of skills he had. Pietro doubted he’d say it to Evan’s face – but Evan’s brand of shooting really couldn’t be taught. Their old coach at PS 104 had said it over and over again – there were two things that came naturally to a player – the ability to create his or her own shot, and speed. Pietro knew he had an abundance of speed, so he’d never really tried to hone his shooting game, and as a result, he’d not been as great a scorer as Evan or any of their other teammates. Watching a couple of fidgety kids horsing around with each other, Pietro wondered if maybe Evan had been saddled with kids who had speed but no shooting ability, in which case Evan was wasting perfectly good makeout time on a lost cause.

And that means, I’m getting shafted, too. And not in the good way. Wincing as two of Evan’s players simultaneously threw balls toward the basket that barely touched the bottom of the net, Pietro brushed the dust off his pants and decided that at the rate things were going, Evan would be in the center all day with his band of misfits, and the speed demon was having none of that. Enough of the day had been wasted.

Get ready to meet your savior, Daniels. Running a hand through his snowy hair, Pietro sped once around the court, whipping up an odd wind at the far side of the court that made everyone turn and stare – including Evan, who was then understandably nonplussed to turn around and find his smirking boyfriend standing behind him.

“What the – Maximoff, what are you doing here?”

Missed you, too, Evan. Pietro smiled innocently. “Getting some exercise.” He looked at the youths, who, recovering from the windy diversion, had resumed their shooting drills. “Jesus, Daniels, I know you generally get your ass handed to you on the court, but even this level of competition,” he nodded at the kids, “is a little too weak for you. Maybe.”

He said it with just the right teasing tone, but Pietro was a little surprised when Evan didn’t give him a cute little smirk in reply. “How did you know where to find me?”

“Christ, was it supposed to be a state secret?” Pietro raised an eyebrow. “I did some research. Did you think you’d be able to hide forever? I always manage to find you, Spykeboy.”

Pietro’s slight smile wilted a little under Evan’s deadly serious look. The spike shooter was really looking pissed off, and the speedster could not imagine why. “C’mon, Daniels, you being all seeeeeecretive? You think I’d stand for that? I wanted to know what was up.” Pietro smiled a little more and pulled out his heavy ammunition. “It was a challenge. Besides . . . Rockhead and Goggleboy were getting way too loud.” He grimaced. “IwasgoingcrazyIhadtogetout!”

Evan blinked at the speed speak, but the first half of the statement had the desired effect. Smiling a little, the blond shook his head. “Yeah, they do get a little . . . wild. It’s weird, ‘cause Scott doesn’t even snore.” Sighing, he glanced over his shoulder at his group, and turned back to his boyfriend. “It wasn’t a secret, man, I just never said anything ‘cause . . . ‘cause . . . I don’t know, I didn’t think you’d care.”

Pietro frowned. “Gee, thanks a lot, Daniels. Way to make me look like the insensitive boyfriend.” Sighing theatrically, he folded his arms. “I’ve been asking you for weeks where the hell you go . . . that seem to you like I don’t give a shit about what you do?”

“Look, I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just . . . y’know, we both kinda do our own thing.” Evan shifted nervously from one foot to the other. “Anyway, when I’m out boarding, you don’t wanna hear about it.”

“I don’t board,” Pietro returned with a shrug. And I’d rather arm wrestle Freddy for a Ding-dong than hang out with those losers you skate with. “I do play basketball, though. So what’s the deal?” He gestured at the other end of the court. “Who’s he and what's with the Cub Scout league? Is this some sort of X-Geek sports outreach program?” Pietro eyed the youngsters with a little more interest. “Are these . . . special kids? Baldy’s getting his dibs in early?”

“No.” Catching his meaning, Evan shook his head vehemently. “The mansion doesn’t have anything to do with this.” Looking up the court at Dreadlocks, he lowered his voice. “That’s Chi.”

“Chee? Like Chee-tos?” Pietro snickered. Oh, great. I start thinking about Freddy, and now I’m thinking like him. “He looks more like a Doritos man to me. The extra-cheesy kind.” He glared at the older man’s back. Sure he had legs for miles and a fairly nice body, but Pietro assured himself that this Chee guy was the last type to turn Evan’s head. The blond tended to like his guys with less height and more mouth.

“C-h-i. Chi Peterson. He’s trying to put together a Bayville youth basketball league. Or at least a team,” Evan answered. “He and Coach are friends – he played with Coach’s son at State. He came to practice one day a couple of months ago and told us about the league and that he could use some volunteers to help him handle some of the kids who aren’t ready to join the traveling squad. You know, run some drills, help ‘em with fundamentals, that kind of thing.”

“Uh-huh. Looks like it’s working like a charm,” Pietro said dryly as a ball clanged uselessly against the backboard. “You know, if you’re trying to mold these kids into players in your image, Daniels, I think you’d better use different clay.”

Evan ignored the jibe. “Anyway, Coach made it kinda mandatory for every body in the starting five to spend two weeks helping out Chi and his kids. He said it’d be good community service, teach us spirit of togetherness, all that. Every Saturday, one of us would come in, find out what kids needed the extra help, and work with them. I was the last one to have to come.”

Pietro digested this information in silence a minute. “You’ve been doing this disappearing act a lot longer than just two weeks.”

“Yeah, I . . .” Evan stopped, and scratched his head. “It was weird man – everybody who’d done it before me seriously hated it. I mean, it’s a Saturday afternoon – or part of it – that you’re spending cooped up, running around with little kids –”

“— When you could be boinking your utterly flawless boyfriend’s brains out.”

“Maximoff!” Evan darted a look to the kids nearby who, beyond a few curious ones who were gawking at Pietro’s hair, were mainly oblivious.

“Just an observation.” Pietro smiled blithely at Evan’s indignant look. “Go on.”

“All I’m trying to say is, I came in here, just looking to fill the time so Coach would be happy. But, I got here, and I really started to like it. I mean really like it. Chi is cool, and working with the kids has been pretty awesome. I mean it’s weird, man. They totally look up to me.”

“Oh, and here I thought that was because they only came up to your kneecaps.”

“Screw you.” Evan made a face. “But anyway, I decided to stay after my time was up. Chi offered me like an internship thing. I can get PE credit if I want. Plus, it helps keep me in practice, and I think I kinda like coaching. It’d be cool to do something like Chi and run my own league. That’d be cool as hell.”

“Right. But before you thinking about commissioning someone to build you a state of the art rec center,” Pietro said this while giving the court a disdaining glance. “Maybe you could get some kids who can play first.”

Following Pietro’s gaze, Evan was silent as the two of them watched the group of kids struggle through more shooting drills. “They’re learning, man. I’m working with them. Some of them aren’t as old as the kids on Chi’s squad.”

“These aren’t shooters, and you know it. You had your touch when you were younger than them. So did I.” Pietro ducked out of the way as an errant ball sailed by his elbow. “You’re wasting your time trying to cram jump shots down their throat. It’s not gonna work.”

“I don’t know that and neither do you. Some of them –”

“Look, Daniels, be smart for a change. I know you can do it.” Pietro knocked gently on Evan’s forehead. “For starters – they’re not tall enough to be able to post and lay the ball in. And they for damn sure can’t jump –”

“How do you –”

“– So why don’t you just tell these little rugrats to hang it up and come back when they grow a few feet or they get legs like Todd’s? Or get the fast ones, teach them to run the court, crash the boards and develop their games that way? See? Easy. I should have my own league. I’d own this town.” Pietro ran a hand over his hair. “Solet’sgetoutofhereandmakeout.” Grinning a little at Evan’s confused look, he said, “Or, if you insist on hanging around, there’s this nice little spot behind the bleachers. We could –”

“I have a better idea.” Quicker than Pietro had imagined Evan could move, the blond had his hands on the speedster’s shoulders and was pushing him in the direction of the door. “Why don’t you leave and let me do my job? I need to concentrate man, and I can’t do that while you’re here.”

“Why not? Afraid I’ll distract you?” Pietro easily sped out of Evan’s grip and again zipped around the perimeter of the court before whizzing back to the blond’s side. “What could I do to distract you, Spykey?”

“Would you chill with the speed trials? I had the weirdest feeling that was you the first time it got all windy in here.” Evan’s eyes darted around nervously, and he breathed a sigh of relief when no one seemed to have noticed the whirl of air and silver streak that had rimmed the court. “I mean it, ‘Tro. Go back to your place. I’ll be there in another hour – tops. I promise.”

“What? And listen to Scott and Lance pollute the air with their horniness? Hell no!”

“They’ve gotta be done by now. And if they aren’t, play music or something. Put in earplugs.” Evan leaned close, and Pietro felt his body tingle in response to their closeness. “Or you could listen to them and pretend it’s us doing what they’re doing.”

“Uh . . .” Pietro swallowed hard as his cheeks turned crimson. “Wouldn’t work. We don’t make nearly as much noise.”

“Maybe that’ll change,” Evan continues in the same seductive murmur. “Just hang out at your place a little while, and I’ll . . .” He whispered the rest in the speedster’s ear, one hand resting gently on the small of Pietro’s back. Listening intently, Pietro felt his face grow hot enough to melt, and it was a fully scarlet face that Evan pulled back and smiled into after another moment of whispering. They stared at each other for a moment, Pietro’s eyes riveted to Evan’s, searching, attempting to discern if the blond teen were serious, and Pietro’s face grew even warmer when he saw the determination and subtle promise in the dark-brown eyes. Pietro swallowed hard.

Finding his voice, Pietro finally managed, “An hour, Daniels. Or I come back here, drag you to center court and stick my tongue down your throat in front of these rugrats and everybody. How’s that for a spirit of togetherness? Coach would be thrilled.”

“It might be less than an hour.” Evan looked at his watch, and then back at the speed demon. “Now that I’ve got it in my mind . . . I don’t think I’ll be able to concentrate on much else.” He swiped his bottom lip with his tongue in a manner that made Pietro want to spontaneously combust. “And ‘Tro – I’ll bring up the rebounding thing to Chi. Some of these kids are fast. It’d be worth a shot getting them to develop that if it means they can get on the main squad.” Evan gave the speedster a genuinely sweet smile. “Now get out of here and get stuff together. Clock’s ticking.”

“Umokayseeyoulaterbye!” Hesitating only to squeeze his boyfriend’s hand, Pietro zoomed off, kicking up another cloud of dust and creating another wind-tunnel effect as he sped off into the bright Saturday afternoon. There was at least a little bit of work to do now and would keep him occupied while Evan busied himself with his Dud Squad. After all, if, as Evan had promised, they were going to “christen” every room in the Brotherhood house, then the whole place would have to be cleaned top to bottom. And there was that one matter of what Evan had suggested they do in the Jeep, but on that, Pietro reflected, they’d have to act incredibly quick, or Lance and possibly Scott would be in for a hell of a surprise.

*finis*