All our lives we've looked
into each other's faces.
That was the case today too.

How do we keep our love-secret?
We speak from brow to brow
and hear with our eyes.

-Rumi

The old plan of action was still fresh in his mind: At the signal, he’d run to the left, circle, and aim punches at the person closest to him. Next step was to take out the defender in the middle. He didn’t need to worry about the right side – it’d be covered. Final order of business: Look around and see if anyone else needed help. Then, if all went according to plan, it would be done and they’d be victorious.

For a change.

Pietro did his best to look unconcerned and calm as he, Lance, Fred and Todd faced the ‘A’ Team of the X-Men in a parking lot across town. Taking a short cut on their way home from the Bayville Galleria, they’d been surprised to see that some of the cars in the lot had been trashed – shattered windshields, dented fenders, spray-painted tires, and the like sagged amid spray-paint cans and shards of broken glass. The Brotherhood had barely had time to get their bearings and try to determine what or who could have caused such a mess when, from out of nowhere, the X-Geeks showed up and accused them of doing the damage. Never mind that no one had seen them doing anything, and that none of them had so much as a paint smear on their clothing. There was damage done and the Brotherhood was at the ‘scene of the crime,’ so that was all the proof the X-Freaks needed.

Much yelling and name-calling had ensued, and the respective ‘leaders’ of the teams, Lance and Scott, were still going at it, sniping at each other like SWAT team sharpshooters while their respective teammates glared at each other, all of them waiting for the real fireworks to begin. It was just another X-Men/Brotherhood melee. Same song, different radio station.

Except this particular tune had not been played in quite some time. It was strange – going against the X-Men had been an almost daily occurrence when Mystique was around and running things, but since her disappearance, things had calmed down a lot between the groups. Just the other day Todd had joked that his armor was growing mold on it, Fred had considered donating his battle fatigues to the Salvation Army, and Lance’s “helmet” was being put to good use as a bowl to hold popcorn in. Pietro would never part with his Quicksilver uniform, but at the moment, he wasn’t even sure where it was, exactly -- it had been so long since he’d had cause to use it. Suffice it to say, not mixing it up with Xavier’s best and brightest had become more familiar than fighting them ever had been. Not that the X-Men and the Brotherhood were friends, exactly.

Some of them were considerably more than that.

Pietro braved a glance at the face he’d avoided looking at since the confrontation began. Sky-colored eyes roamed a familiar landscape of smooth, milk-chocolate skin, fluffy golden hair, brown eyes and full lips. The normally lucid eyes were muted, almost somber, and the subtly muscled form was stiff and tight. Alert. Wary. And resolutely avoiding the speedster’s gaze.

The silver-haired teen smothered a sigh and looked away, trying to look interested in what Lance was saying – what was Lance saying? Oh . . . something about Summers being an asshole. That, too, was nothing new. Pietro then retreated back into his thoughts, darting glances at the dark blonde several feet away from him, disappointed that he never caught the boy looking back at him.

Pietro bit his lip, knowing that this was the way it had to be when the X-Men and the Brotherhood went head to head like this. He and Evan knew that in times like these, they had to stand with their friends – and against each other -- no matter how much that might hurt, no matter how hard it would be. When it all came down to it, Evan was an X-Man and Pietro was a member of the Brotherhood-of-freaking-Mutants. By definition they were enemies –

Well, in a sense. It was more correct to say that Spyke and Quicksilver were enemies – not Evan Daniels and Pietro Maximoff – well, not anymore anyway. The antagonism had shifted to the personas they assumed when they donned their spandex suits and took their places on the opposite sides of a struggle neither of them fully understood. That they didn’t see eye to eye on the ‘mutant question’ put them at odds.

They’d understood that even before they’d started making eyes at each other, had even talked about it some. But Pietro had refused to think much about it – like the closet optimist he was, he didn’t think there was anything to think about.

Well . . . wrong again.

Pietro shook his head as memories of a subdued conversation came to mind, drowning out the hum of conflict around him.

***

“I’m not trying to start anything, man. I was just thinking –”

“What? I thought you’d sworn off all strenuous activity ‘til after finals.”

“All right, you know what? Forget it. Never mind.” Evan sat up and swung his legs off Pietro’s narrow bed, eyes darting around the small room. “Damn. Where the hell is my shirt?”

Pietro glowered at Evan’s back, mourning a perfectly good make out session that had been murdered by rational thought. Talking was so not what he wanted right then, but if it would keep the blonde in his bedroom for a few moments longer . . .

“Look, I just don’t see the point in worrying about it.” A pale blur, and then Evan’s sweatshirt was discovered and being held captive against a pallid, bare chest. “We haven’t fought you guys, in what -- almost a year. Since the Asteroid M thing –”

“More recent than that.” Evan raised an eyebrow. “The soccer game. Remember?”

Pietro colored. The more he remembered Lance’s idea to “out” mutants, the more asinine he realized the plan had been. “Okay fine. But that was the last time.”

“Uh-uh.” Evan snatched the shirt away with a scowl. “Then there was that time at the carnival . . . you guys trying to steal that money –”

“Hey! Tabs and her asshole dad stole that money first!” Pietro frowned as he watched Evan dress, tantalizing flesh disappearing bit by bit under heavy clothing. “And I wasn’t even there.”

Exasperated sigh. “All I’m saying is that I’m an X-Man and you’re Brotherhood, and that means we’re still enemies and it’s possible that we’ll have to scrap again one of these days. So what’ll we do about it? If it happens?”

“And all I’m saying is that it’s not going to.” Pietro dropped his head back onto his pillow, a hand caressing the warm spot next to him – the place where Evan had lain beside him only moments before. “Look – I know you may find this hard to believe, but nobody in this house is wasting time worrying about how to tick off the X-Geeks. Some of us have lives, you know. I know that’s probably a foreign concept to you.”

“Whatever, man.” Evan pulled on his sneakers, taking an inordinate amount of time tying the laces. “It’s just gonna be weird if we ever have to face each other again.” He looked over at Pietro. “If we go up against each other, I . . . I dunno if I can hold back – I’ve gotta fight you. You gotta fight me. It’s . . . we won’t be able to get around that, ‘Tro, and that could mean --”

“Will you listen to me?” Pietro zipped out of bed, coming to rest in front of the blonde. “It’s over. You and your friends can save the trouble of taking your spiffy uniforms to the cleaners. We’re at peace, or whatever – for now. Maybe it won’t last forever, but I’m not gonna spend time worrying about it. Everything is cool. You want me to start singing Kumbaya?”

“Um . . .”

“Didn’t think so.” The speedster grinned, pulling the brown teen up and into his arms. “So stop worrying about that and let’s talk about something else. Or, better yet, let’s not talk. At all.” He stepped back, giving Evan a firm push. With a yelp, Evan landed on his back on the bed. The blonde yelped again when Pietro, quick as lightning, pounced on him, tilting his head slightly so that their mouths were at the perfect angle for a kiss.

“Hey.” Pietro stared into the mahogany eyes, delighting in the sensation of Evan squirming beneath him, but not oblivious to the worried look reflected in the mahogany depths. “All right look: Let’s say something comes up and we’ve gotta kick your asses –”

“Dream the fuck on, ‘Tro. You guys have never beaten us –”

“—Maybe you and I can work something out,” Pietro went on, refusing to have his lovely argument ruined by ugly fact. “Like . . . we go up against each other, but maybe when I run around you, I’ll manage to just miss hitting you –”

Evan’s eyes went wide with understanding. “And I could sorta miss you with my spikes? Like aim a little to the left or the right or something.”

Pietro kissed the tip of Evan’s nose and grinned. “You and me. Mano-a-mano. Like the old days. . . only, not really for real. And nobody’ll know the difference.” He looked smug. “They’ll be too busy fighting their own battles.” Pietro groaned when he saw the frown return. “Now what?”

“That won’t work, either. I can’t just hang my friends out to dry,” Evan replied. “The X-Men are a team – You can’t seriously think I’ll sit by and let Lance bury people or Fred sit on people while we’re acting like we’re fighting. And you’re not gonna just let your buds twist in the wind, either.”

“Well . . . no.” There was a pause, and Pietro chewed his lip, thinking. “Fine. I know we’re gonna have to do what we’ll have to do. If Shades tries to hit me, I’m gonna have to take him out. And if Todd tries to wrap you up, well . . . you’re gonna do whatever.” Pietro sighed and closed his eyes briefly, wondering why his life had to be one complication after another.

“But what won’t work is if we start totally avoiding each other. People’ll notice that, trust me. We’re supposed to hate each other. Right?”

Evan’s lips moved soundlessly for a moment, and he nodded slightly, the pain in his eyes mirroring the speedster’s own. They both hated – hated – playing the rivalry game, but they had to hold on to the pretense – their situations were messed up enough without the X-Men getting wise to what was really going on between them. “Yeah . . . I guess.”

“So I’ll have to get by you, and you’ll still have to get by me, no matter what we do.” Pietro’s expression became slightly menacing and he leaned in, resting his forehead on Evan’s. “Not that you’ll be able to . . . once I get you fenced in . . .” He pressed himself firmly against Evan’s body, rubbing sensuously, smiling when the other boy gasped. “. . . You’re stuck. And don’t count on the spikes.” Pietro’s voice dipped low, teasing. “You won’t have to pretend to miss me, Ev. I could dodge those things standing still.”

The next few moments were a sweet blur. Pietro was vaguely aware of the comically indignant look on his boyfriend’s face as the blonde gripped him tight and with a slight struggle, reversed their positions. A second before Evan’s mouth descended on the speedster’s, his tongue storming Pietro’s mouth like a squadron of paratroopers, the brown-skinned teen brought his mouth close to Pietro’s ear.

“Dodge this, Quickie.”

And all that came after was beautiful oblivion, and Pietro surrendered to it gladly, the fight in him sapped by the full, gentle lips of his erstwhile enemy.

***

Pietro was brought out of his musings by an ominous rumble under his feet – a sign that Lance was getting majorly pissed off. Both sides were becoming restless now . . . and it seemed only a short period of time before heated words would give way to punches and kicks and spit spray and earthquakes. Laser beams and mind screwing --

A garbled cry drew everyone’s attention, and Pietro turned in time to see Fred lunge forward, the ground groaning beneath the hefty mutant’s steps. Apparently, Freddy had had enough talk and was leading the charge, his fist aimed right at Kurt Wagner’s nose. There it was – the signal. The floodgates were open and it was time to go into battle mode. On the edge of his vision, the speed demon saw Todd spring forward, directing several feet of tongue at Jean Grey. Lance had already increased the tremors and it was becoming difficult for anyone except the earthmover to keep their footing on the shuddering ground.

With an inward sigh, Pietro switched into Quicksilver mode and, mindful of the plan of action, swept to the left in a streak of white. A flash of red caught the speedster’s attention, and turned in time to see Todd bounce out of the way of one of Scott’s death rays. Pietro grit his teeth as he saw Rogue, one hand uncovered, begin to advance on the youngest Brotherhood member. Pietro wheeled round, gauging whether the smaller boy needed some help –

A hand from behind grabbed him by the hem of his shirt, yanked him backward. A low growl tickled his ear . . .

“Just think about how fun it’ll be to make up.”

The speed demon was spun around then. Blue eyes melted into brown as a hint of a smile crossed Evan’s lips. In less than a heartbeat, however, the darker teen’s expression turned serious, and he became Spyke once more. The enemy.

He released the white-haired boy and stood his ground, protrusions of bone springing up along his arms and legs.

“C’mon, Quickie.” The blonde’s voice carried across the battlefield, the warmth in his tone lost on everyone except the boy to whom the words were directed. “Let’s see you get by me.”

FINI