Seven






Evan,

I saw you this morning, before school. You were with some of your friends, and you kind of fell off your skateboard. You were so smooth about it, though -- I was impressed. When you were getting up, you looked right at me. I thought I'd melt right then and there! I'll be thinking about your eyes for the rest of the day.

Love,
XXXX



"Dude! This girl sounds like a winner!" Kurt smiled as he peered over his friend's shoulder at the note. "You wipe out on your board, and she still likes you. Marry her."

"That wasn't my fault, man. One of my wheels was loose." Evan elbowed the other boy into silence as they headed to the outdoor lunch area. "Old piece of junk. My folks are gonna bring me a new one when they visit next week."

Evan again glanced at the letter, admiring the neat penmanship and the way the letter "I" was dotted with hearts. He'd been surprised, in truth, to find the missive: he thought that after the . . . misunderstanding occasioned by the last note, his mystery girl would take a different approach to getting his attention. Apparently not. But damn . . . why'd she have to see me fall?

"Sweet. You locked eyes with your dream girl and didn't even know it," Kurt said with a grin. "This is the stuff multimillion-dollar movies are made of, dude."

"Yeah, that really burns me." Evan frowned heavily. Kurt was right: The situation was like a movie - a bad one. "This sucks out loud, man. I mean . . . she was right in front of me, and I didn't realize it."

"So you didn't notice anyone interesting?" Kurt asked. "No mysterious dark beauty with flashing eyes swooning at the sight of you?"

Gross. That sounds like something out of those corny books Auntie O keeps under her bed. Evan's nose wrinkled in distaste. "I didn't see anybody, man, At least not anybody I remember in particular. I was working on this new routine when my board crapped out on me." He slipped the note into his back pocket, attempting to remember if he'd noticed anything --or anyone - out of the ordinary that morning. Nothing came to mind, however; he saw Jean escorting some of the newest members of the X-Team to class, he'd seen Scott a few times, Risty Wilde once, and a few others, but no one who stood out, really, with dark and flashing, or any other type of eyes.

He and Kurt walked out into the bright Bayville day. It was a nice mid-autumn afternoon - sunny with just a hint of chill. Good football weather, Evan thought. Unfortunately, getting tackled usually caused him to shoot a spike or two. He'd dropped junior varsity football in a hurry the first time that had happened. He hid a smile remembering how one of his bone fragments sailed at the coach and took the clipboard out of his arms, pinning it to the wall. Hmmm . . . I wonder if Coach's gotten out of that mental hospital yet . . .

"I saw some people from the mansion," Evan said absently. "But I don't remember anybody hanging around . . ." He looked around the crowded lunch area, his eyes eagerly flitted from one female face to another as if the information he needed would be written on their foreheads. That didn't happen, of course. Rather, he found many of the girls he looked at rather . . . commonplace, ordinary. Not to say they weren't attractive -- they were. But it was in the same bland way: same style of dress, similar hairstyles, and same plastic smiles. He frowned a little, thinking that he wouldn't really have noticed any of those girls if they had been watching him - especially if he was focusing on boarding. Well, it's not like every girl in the school is out here, he thoughtf with some degree of relief. And besides, anybody who's close with Tolensky and Maximoff can't be too boring . . . or too sane, either.

"Well, maybe your mystery girl will be around again after school. You'll be skating, right, since there's no basketball practice." They were not far from their lunch table, but Kurt rummaged in his lunch bag and began chomping on a sandwich. "You might want to keep your eyes open, mein freund."

"Um . . . yeah. Maybe." Evan glanced at the ground, feeling lightheaded all of a sudden. The first day in more than a month that there was no basketball practice, and instead of spending his free afternoon practicing moves on his board, he'd be hanging out with Pietro of all people. Evan gritted his teeth, wondering what sort of torture the speedster had in store for him later as their contest began in earnest. The blond had run afoul of Pietro enough times to be a little apprehensive. Why won't he just tell me? Evan unwittingly crumpled the bag containing his lunch, squeezing his tuna sandwich into a tuna pancake. But maybe she told him not to. She seems kinda shy . . . won't sign her name - or even initials. Fuck . . . this is gonna drive me crazy! Who is she?

"Hey . . . when you do finally meet her," Kurt said, polishing off a second sandwich, "ask if she has a sister. Maybe we could double date."

"What - first I do your trig homework and now you want me to help you get a girlfriend, too?" Evan said with a smile. "You know you're my man and all, but this friendship thing can only go so far."

"Hey . . . the Fuzzy Dude needs some love, too." Kurt peered into his paper bag. "Um, but more important, the Fuzzy Dude needs another sandwich. You gonna eat yours?"

The darker mutant shook his head and was about to answer his friend with some variation of "shove it," when a slight movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. He turned his head a little and was startled to see Pietro looking right at him. He was sitting with the rest of the Brotherhood at a table on the outskirts of a circle of lunch tables. The white-haired boy wore a wistful, almost dreamy, expression - one that dropped the minute Evan met his eyes.

Pietro sat bolt upright then, and his soft features became stony, serious. A shudder ran through Evan, and the blond slowed his steps, wondering what it was about Pietro's eyes that made him so nervous. It wasn't just the color - they were like liquid sky, a deep, disturbing blue - but there was also an incisiveness about them that was unnerving. He had a way of looking at a person that made it appear as if he was stripping away the very layers - skin and such - probing to the bone. In that, Evan thought that it was probably much more uncomfortable being the target of one of Pietro's denuding gazes than it would be to look a shades-less Scott full in the face - though a look from Pietro wouldn't result in serious bodily harm, at least.

Evan nodded uncertainly at his rival, who barely inclined his head in reply. The blond looked thoughtfully at the silvery strands, suddenly feeling more skittish than ever about what would happen after school, though he couldn't say why. The eyes were part of it, but there was something more . . .

This is stupid. I notice Maximoff, but not the girl who's supposedly crazy about me. Evan grimaced as he and Kurt walked on. How messed up is that?

~*~

Yeah, Evan. I'm watching you. And, goddamn it, that's all I can do. For now.

Barely moving his head, Pietro continued to track Evan and Kurt's - but mainly Evan's - progress across the yard. He hadn't seen him since early in the morning before school. Evan had been palling around with his skaterboy loser-friends on the school's back lot. Pietro had found a nice little perch where he could stand relatively unobserved and watch as the object of his affection did spins, jumps and other incomprehensible things with his skateboard. And then poor Evan had fallen on his face, much to the amusement of said skaterboy loser-friends. Pietro had been a little concerned, but couldn't help but grin at the sight of his rival all sprawled across the ground. He had to give the blond credit for getting up quickly and continuing his skate as if nothing had happened.

Pietro decided to allude to that morning's episode in the note he deposited in Evan's locker before lunch began. The speedster had been ready to deep-six the letter campaign after the first disaster, but decided to start again to give Evan a bit more help in their little contest than just the 25 clues. Pietro feared that the letters would just confuse the blond teen more, but maybe that wasn't necessarily a bad thing, either. And besides, Pietro needed an outlet, needed to give vent to the mishmash of feelings inside him, and burdening Todd with it all wasn't the answer. Writing the little notes gave Pietro a chance to let Evan glimpse a bit of the real him . . . the Pietro that he wouldn't - couldn't let Evan see. Not yet, anyway. The Pietro that he was sure no one - save Todd - and, perhaps, one other . . . person - even knew existed.

I wonder if he's gotten it yet. He seems . . . chipper. Pietro gazed at the mocha-toned boy as he and Kurt approached a table in the middle of the circle at which Summers, Kitty, Rogue and other assorted X-Members sat. Evan slid in next to Kurt, and Pietro's jaw twitched. Too close. The dark-haired mutant was sitting entirely too close to Evan, in the speedster's opinion. He could see Evan taking something out of a brown paper bag - something flat - and holding it out to his neighbor. Kurt took whatever it was, looked at it, laughed, and reached out to stroke Evan's back. Pietro nearly choked at that, and his body temperature seemed to rise a few hundred degrees. 

The hand lingered on the blond's back and Kurt's mouth came close to Evan's ear, whispering something. Evan laughed at whatever had been said and gave a short answer in return. Then Kurt laughed, much to Rogue's annoyance it seemed. During the exchange, Pietro noticed with a look that was getting increasingly dangerous, that the German boy's hand remained on Evan.

Touching him! That furry freak is touching him! The silvery teen glared at the back of Kurt's neck, wishing that he could, for a moment, swap powers with Lance and open up a chasm beneath the furred mutant's feet. I'd even switch with Shades . . . it'd be nice to blast Fuzzy Wuzzy into another dimension. A slow, cold smile spread across the pale face as he imagined blue, downy limbs splattering over the far wall of the school.

"Damn, Speed." Todd leaned across the table, and Pietro looked up quickly, now jolted out of his grisly daydream. "You're squeezing the hell out of that Coke, yo. You all right?"

Pietro glanced down, a little startled to find that he was gripping a handful of crumpled aluminum. He wondered idly how much more force it would take to do the same thing to Kurt's head. Maybe if I start lifting weights . . . 

"I'm fine. Just getting a jump on recycling." He brought the crushed can up to his lips, casually looking over at the X-Table again as he did so. Kurt hands were off Evan finally and on various foodstuffs, which he was shoveling into his mouth with a speed that would have impressed Pietro if he hadn't wanted to kill the boy. Evan was engaged in an animated discussion with Kitty, who had the decency to keep her hands to herself. Of course, it would have been hard for the girl to fondle Evan from across the table - assuming that she wanted to, of course, Pietro conceded.

"What the hell is so interesting that you keep staring over there?" Fred's voice sliced through the relative quiet like barbed wire. "You wanna sit with the X-Geeks now?"

Pietro nearly jumped out of his skin, dropping the half-full soda in his lap. In fewer than two seconds, he learned a very important lesson - namely, icy wetness in the crotch area was a very, very bad thing. But an angry Fred - and he sounded pretty pissed - was much worse.

"Iwasn'tstaringIwasjust -- Aieeee!" He wriggled like a fish on a line as the full effect of the way-too-cold soda registered on way-too-sensitive areas. Todd stopped eating, giving his friend a look that was half-questioning, and half-"I-don't-want-to-know." Pietro calmed down as best he could, which wasn't much. He felt icy shivers radiating where icy shivers never should radiate - except in certain situations. "Iwasonlylookingtoseeif -"

He turned wildly toward Fred, but the immovable teen, whose cherubic face seemed to have turned to granite, wasn't listening to him. Fred wasn't even looking at him - it was Lance he was talking to. Lance, who had been looking in the direction of the X-Table, looked over in surprise, and he faced down his hefty teammate with dark, dangerous eyes.

"Fred, what the fuck are you talking about? I wasn't staring at anything - you've been talking this shit all morning," the earth-shaker snapped. "It's Bayville and the X-Geeks are all over the place no matter where you look. What the hell do you want me to do?"

"Maybe pay a little attention to us for a change," Fred shot back. "I asked you the same fucking question five times, but did you hear me? Nooooooo . . . you had your eyes glued to them." He jabbed a meaty finger at the table in the middle. "What the hell's that all about?"

"I heard you the first five times," Lance said angrily, shoving away his food tray in one violent motion. "So for the fifth time, yeah, I made the sandwiches. No, I don't know what kind of ham that is; I just grabbed what was on sale. Satisfied? I told you all that already - maybe you were too busy stuffing your face to hear me."

"Yeah, whatever." Fred growled. "Maybe if you'd taken us ~with~ you on your little shopping spree yesterday, I wouldn't have had to ~ask~ the question."

The table went silent. Lance and Fred sat opposite each other, erect -- unnaturally so - tension radiating like sunbeams off their bodies. Freddy, whose bulky, flabby frame usually jiggled at will no matter how still he was, looked as solid as steel and immovable, indeed. Lance just looked angry and more than a little tired. Pietro and Todd exchanged knowing looks. Ever since Lance had started his nightly sojourns, Fred had gotten more and more perturbed. He's on probation with us, the blond had said during one of the first nights Lance had pulled his disappearing act. Why ain't he here proving that he's sorry for what he did. Where does he go, anyway, that he won't tell us where it is or when he'll be back?

The speed demon had wondered the same thing. He and Todd were not in agreement with Fred and Tabitha that Lance was maintaining some sort of secret communication with the X-Men, but Pietro was as curious as everyone else as to what exactly Lance was doing, hence his little "project" in tailing the rock-tumbler on his nightly rounds. Not that he'd uncovered anything - good or bad - but it was a neat way to keep occupied on the nights his frustration about the Evan situation threatened to overwhelm him.

"Look . . . I told you - it's just easier for me to go to the supermarket alone," Lance said. "If you all are crammed into the Jeep, where are the bags supposed to go?"

"Yeah, but you didn't take the Jeep last night," returned Fred. "It sat all night cause we didn't have the cash to gas it up."

Lance paled a little. "I didn't say I took the Jeep last night."

"Well then don't use that as an excuse, then!" Fred glared hard at his teammate. "And where the hell did you get the money from to get any food? I thought we were broke."

"We are." Lance said bluntly. "But I managed to find some dough."

"Yeah? From where?"

"Around," he answered without looking at the hefty teen. "What difference does it make? I got it. It's not like it was a lot."

"It makes plenty of difference," Fred yelled. "What's with the secrets? Why can't you just tell us stuff and stop sneaking around? Don't you trust us?"

"Fred, come on, yo . . . calm down." Todd grabbed one of the bigger boy's arms. "People are looking -"

Pietro looked around - Todd was right . . . the lunch area had gone eerily quiet and people from several tables away, including the table at which the X-Men sat, were staring their way. He watched Evan watching Lance, and couldn't help but feel a sharp pang of jealousy, though he was sure Lance could care less about Evan looking at him. Pietro nearly fell off his chair, though , when the brown eyes swung his way suddenly. He froze, feeling a searing blush suffusing his skin. Evan tilted his head a little, brow furrowed in a silent question. Pietro blinked rapidly and managed to shrug his shoulders slightly - though it was more an involuntary movement than anything. At that moment, Pietro was scarcely aware of the movements of his body, just concentrating on the dark teen across the courtyard whose gaze was holding him in thrall. The corners of Evan's mouth lifted into a smile and he shrugged also, absently rubbing his bottom lip with the tip of his milk carton. A bit of milk trickled out over the full lips, and Evan, perhaps lacking a napkin, licked away the excess, his tongue moving lazily over his mouth. Azure eyes followed the movement like a cat lying in wait for a mouse, and the speedster was sure he'd temporarily lost the ability to speak.

Ohmygodohmygod . . . Pietro bit back a moan as he became quickly and uncomfortably aware of how little room there was in his slacks. Gottacalmdowngottacalmdowngotta--

"I don't give a fuck! Let 'em stare." Fred snapped, bringing Pietro out of his little moment. "When we let you come back, you said things would be different . . . but it's been the same bullshit since the minute you walked back through the door."

"No, this is bullshit," Lance popped up from the table like a jack-in-the-box, and a slight tremor made the trays dance atop the table. "Enjoy your lunch. I'm outta here."

"Now where are you going?" Fred stood, too, shaking off the restraining arm Todd placed on his shoulder. "You running off to them again? Go ahead . . . at least you're doing it in front of our faces this time."

Lance's face turned the color of day-old ashes. "I'm goin' to take a piss. You wanna come watch? Or do you don't trust me enough to be able to do that alone?" Lance's eyes glimmered beneath the heavy fringe of brown hair, but the pallor remained. Without taking his eyes off Fred, Lance dug around in his pocket, and brought out the keys to the Jeep.

"Here. Take the car. I got something to do after school." He tossed them into the middle of the table, and they landed with a sad clang next to a lone apple. "It's got gas - just make sure Tabby doesn't get anywhere near the wheel."

"Uh . . . what's up after school, yo?" Todd asked softly, almost fearfully. "There's no games or anything today . . ."

"Got detention," Lance answered shortly. "Later."

He turned away, stalking off across the courtyard. Pietro noticed that the rock tumbler took the long way back to the main building, walking right by the table of X-Men. Every one of them stared as he walked by, but Lance didn't spare a glance to anyone sitting there, so far as Pietro could see, and soon disappeared around a corner.

Fred just stood there, his expression unreadable, as the tension in the air dissipated, and everyone in the yard lost interest and went back to their food.

"Fred . . ." Todd began.

"He's lying," Fred said blandly. "He's lying to us . . . about the money . . . about where he goes . . . Why does he have to lie?" He remained expressionless, but the voice was tinged with bewilderment. "Why?"

"Fred . . . come on, yo." Todd stood beside the blond. "This wasn't the time or place to get into all that. When we get home . . ."

"Home. Right." Fred shook his head. "I see him more here than I do at the house." He looked at Todd then at Pietro. "And even when he is at home, it's like he's not there . . . like he wants to be somewhere else - like with them." He leveled a savage glare at the X-Men.

"He was with them, Freddy. And he got the hell out," Pietro said with a sigh. "You know how the X-Geeks are . . . they're probably in his ear - or his head - all the time asking him to come back . . . but has he? No. Will he? No."

"You don't know that . . . unless you can read his mind," Fred retorted. "'Til last night, I didn't want to believe that Tabby might be right about Lance spying for Xavier, but-"

"Dammit, Freddy, for the last time - he's not spying for Shinehead!" Pietro felt a little better now that his pants were drying out some. "What would be the point? We're not doing anything half the time except starving and freezing to death."

"Then where's he getting the money to get the food?" Fred asked. "I know my groceries: The ham in our sandwiches? That's Black Forest brand . . . top of the line. I can tell by the way it's sliced -"

"And you say you don't have any talents, Freddy." Pietro smirked.

"I'm being serious!" Fred looked angry. "That stuff costs, like, $5.99 a pound . . . there's gotta be two pounds at least in the refrigerator. And it's never on sale. Never. So he lied about that. And those doughnuts we had this morning . . . they're Krispy Kremes! Krispy frigging Kremes!"

"I thought they tasted unusually good," Pietro murmured. "And Lance was smart enough to get glazed - the best kind on Earth."

"Naw, yo. I like the Boston cream," Todd cut in. "Especially when the chocolate glaze is-"

"Will you two shut up and listen?" Fred thundered. "My point is, the day before yesterday, we were eating old peanut butter with no jelly on stale bread, and today, we're eating Black Forest ham and Krispy Kremes. And those sodas we're drinking are real Cokes, not the fucking store brand that gets flat the second you open 'em. It doesn't make any sense. Where else would he get the money if not from Xavier? It ain't like we got any friends with money . . . or any friends at all."

"Maybe he's lifting it off somebody," Todd said. "Some rich prick with a fat wallet and crap for brains. There's enough of that type around here."

"Or maybe he's stealing the food," Pietro suggested. "Think about it - he goes into a supermarket, starts a low-grade quake, then while everybody's screaming and running for cover, he cleans up. Everybody's just so happy to be alive that nobody notices a few pieces of meat and some sodas missing."

"No." Fred's fists were clenched at his side. "He would have told us if that was going on . . . it's not like we'd tell anybody . . . besides - what if someone saw him? He'd want us to cover for him, right?"

Pietro glanced at Todd, who held up his hands in an exasperated gesture. "Okay, look: so he's getting money from somewhere . . . maybe. But it's not from the Geek Squad. He was at Bayville University last night - I saw him there myself," Pietro said. "There's a lot of rich idiots there, and Lance looks like he's old enough belong on campus. Maybe he's scamming some loaded chick out of her book money."

Fred thought that over a minute. "How could he do that?"

"Freddy, if I've gotta explain that, then there's no hope for you at all." Pietro grinned lasciviously, and Todd laughed low. Fred's expression did not change. "That would explain the secrecy. He's keeping maintain a low profile over there; he can't have us bumbling in and messing up his little scheme."

"Yeah . . . he probably has her thinking he's some bigwig from the City," Todd said. "If she finds out that he's just some high school loser living in a dump on the west side, we can kiss our Krispy Kremes goodbye."

"Yeah. If he has a little scheme." Fred eyed Pietro warily. "But you didn't see him with anyone, so we don't know."

"Okay, Fred, listen closely: It's not like we made it easy for Lance when he told us he wanted back in, right?" Pietro said, gnawing his lower lip. "In fact . . . we got him on a pretty tight leash . . . no late, late nights . . . he's gotta let us have first dibs on the TV . . . he's on perpetual dish and trash-duty . . . and no X-Geek fraternization - including with his sweet little Kitty cat - for at least another week. Now, you know Lance - why would he let us put him through all that - especially the Kitty thing - if he didn't want to really be with us?"

"Yeah. Lance knows he belongs with us, not the X-Losers," Todd added. "We're his family, remember? He said so."

Fred looked down at the table for a long moment. "I grew up in a foster home, stayed there 'til I was 10. Alone," he began in a voice so low that Pietro had to lean halfway across the table to hear. "Then I got in the truck show, and I stayed there about six years too long. Alone." The large mutant looked up, and Pietro felt his heart thud painfully at the sorrow in his teammate's face.

"I don't know much about family," Fred said softly, picking up the tray Lance had left behind. "But I know that what we have going at the house right now . . . that ain't it. What we got now ain't family. It's just a bunch of freaks who don't have no other place to go."

He didn't give the others a chance to reply, but turned his back to his teammates and walked off, the tray still in his hands.

"Should we go after him?" Todd asked, looking worried. "He don't look so good."

Pietro was quiet awhile, dabbing his still-damp lap with one of Lance's discarded napkins in an attempt to disguise his own concern. It seemed Fred was taking Lance's return harder than the boy had taken his departure. And that was saying something. "Let him cool off a second," the speedster said lightly. "He's probably just ticked at Lance for leaving him alone with Tabitha all night last night . . . you can't blame him for being mad about that."

"Then why's he not mad at us? We were out for a long time, too." Todd looked doubtful. "Whatever. This is bogus. We're the fucking Brotherhood, and fighting each other, arguing about damned sandwiches and shit. If this ain't playing right into Xavier's hands, I don't know what is. I told ya'll this probation thing was lame. If we were gonna let Lance back in, it shoulda been with no strings attached. Now, everything's all fucked up." The younger mutant got up from the table. "I'm gonna go try to talk to Fred. I just don't like to see him mad, yo. It makes me nervous. You comin'?"

"Er . . . well . . ." Pietro thought quickly. He still had to work out the day's clues for Evan. He had quite a few in his mind, but had not yet narrowed them down to the five he'd use. And the end of the school day was fast approaching. The end of the school day, and he and Evan would be alone. He had to get ready. Every word, every gesture, every nuance had to be rehearsed and committed to memory. Everything would have to be absolutely perfect . . . he had to prepare himself.

But the speedster recalled the anger he saw in Lance's face, the hurt look on Fred's . . . the sadness in Todd's . . .

Fred was wrong, Pietro thought, pushing his hair out of his eyes. The Brotherhood was family. Like it or not . . . they were family.

And for family, one had to make sacrifices.

Pietro's gaze sidled over to the X-Table. Evan was downing yet another carton of milk, his skin glinting like a dark jewel in the afternoon sun. Pietro swallowed hard.

Sorry, Daniels. Looks like you're gonna have to wait.

"I think you'd better talk to Fred," Pietro said with a sigh. "I'll tackle Lance . . . see if I can pry anything out of that hard head of his. It'll be a challenge, or something."

Todd's face brightened. "Sounds like a plan. Between the two of us, we'll get things straight."

"Or get flattened trying." Pietro rose and walked with the younger boy. "It'd be a quick death, at least."

"Have some faith, Quickie. It'll be all right." Todd looked down, frowning a little. "Hey, yo - what's up with your pants?"


Click here for Chapter Seven-B