- Don't read any further. However, if you do read, expect a lame ending that way you're not too disappointed.
John hummed to himself, his eyes closed. He was lying on his bed, over the covers, his arms folded behind his head, his legs stretched out.
Circling his bed were candles, burning brightly. Every so often he would open his eyes a little, enjoying the vision of the blurred lights surrounding them. Candles were set up on plastic Pringle lids on the dresser and the two nightstands on both sides of his bed.
The bulbs of fire danced together, in a pattern. When his eyes would slowly open, the bulbs would grow larger, screaming out to him, reaching out to him.
There was something lurking through his very own thoughts, not giving him a moments rest.
"Bloody hell!" He hissed, annoyed, jerking up, a scowl was present on his face. "Why were people given emotions?" He pondered out loud, scratching his chin with thoughtfulness. "Sure as hell beats me." He answered himself with a shrug.
The silence in the room became stale and awkward for the pyromaniac. Guilt was eating away at him. The flames of the candles expanded as he brought his knees up to his chest and nervously bit down on his bland fingernails.
"I can't let this go on any longer." He decided, his voice low as a whisper. "I just can't." Sighing, he jerked back with all his weight and out stretched his arms and legs. The springs groaned from the sudden force of weight. "Things were so much easier when I wasn't even trusted with a plastic knife." He paused, "Actually, I don't think I'm allowed to—" His body tensed up as he heard the footsteps on the roof. His pulse raced. "I should have told them. Oh, I just should have at least hinted better." Beads of perspiration began to pop out along his forehead as he sat back up, a nervous anxiety boiled up within him. "Those stupid Southerners. I could have painted a picture and they wouldn't have figured it out." Sighing, he openly admitted, "Then again, I can only draw stick figures.." And damn good ones at that.
The window suddenly opened and in slid a body, "I told you to leave the window open." A familiar feminine voice snapped, "I nearly killed myself trying to open the window."
He turned his head, now concentrating hard on the candle nearest to him. The woman walked over to the side of the bed, sitting down next to him. "Too bad." He mumbled, narrowing his eyes.
"Why so much hatred?" She asked, smirking, for all this amused her.
"Sorry if I don't take well to threats."
"You said somethin', didn't you?" She grabbed him roughly, tightly cupping the side of his face. She turned his head forcefully so that he was facing her.
"I didn't say anythin', Bella." He spat at her, rolling his eyes.
"You little wretched runt." She snapped, pushing him down. Her hand moved down, clutching his throat, her long sharp fingernails dug into his flesh. "What did you say? I can see it in your eyes." The tips of her red hair lightly swayed against his chest when she leaned down, her face close to his.
"Nothin'!" He gasped as her grip on his neck tightened. "Honest!"
"I don't trust you." She stated firmly, her grip now was loosened. "I would add a dramatic 'any farther than I can throw you' but I could probably do so, you weak boy." She slowly brought back her arm, "But I still don't trust you."
"Oh yeah and I just have barrels of trust with you, Mystique." His emerald green eyes flashed and followed her as she stood up. "And if you were more careful, I wouldn't have found out it was you."
The blue skinned woman snarled at him, "Shut up. I told you then and I'll remind you now—so much as a peep from you and I will harm the three of you. Don't think I'm kidding—"
"Like you would harm Rogue." John laughed quietly, sitting up. The fire to the candles grew smaller, which earned a glare from Mystique. "Tryin' to kill her boyfriend ain't exactly goin' to make her like you any more than she does now."
"I'm saving her."
"Who do you think you are? Jesus? Napoleon? Hitler? Superman?"
Mystique continued to glare at the younger male. "I don't know what that blonde bimbo sees in you."
"A handsome Australian!" It had been days ago when John walked in on Bella—only to see Belladonna with Mystique's head. Mystique was going to 'do away with him' but Bella stopped her, and then blushed and said that Remy would get suspicious if his friend disappeared too. Although he wasn't entirely sure of what the two crazy women were up to, he knew both just wanted his darling Gambit dead. "Bella nearly ran over Rogue."
"It wasn't Bella; it was me."
"Wow, you really are doin' a great job of "savin'" 'er, dog!" His voice rose, and the flames of the candles shot up nearly a foot and then went back to normal size.
"Shh!" Mystique hissed, "And it was an accident, you fool. She walked out of nowhere."
"She walked off the sidewalk into the bloody street. She's my Super Absorbant Gal, Mystique. And Remy is my little knife-in-toaster. I won't let you do any harm to them." With those words, he got off the bed and stood up. "I haven't been myself lately." He declared as the flames from the candles shot up two feet in the air, "But Johnny's home."
She just narrowed her eyes at him; anger flowed through her veins. "Quiet you." She jeered through clenched teeth. Her mouth opened to snap at him some more, but an explosion in the hallway interrupted her, making the door rattle.
With tension high in the air, John quickly scrambled over to the door, yanking it open, a slight buzz echoed in his ears. He looked down the hallway, his sight uncertain from debris and dust in the air. "Do I want to know?" He asked himself weakly as he took a step outside his room, unsure of what to say.
"Merde! That was one hell of an explosion!"
The Australian's face deadpanned.
-Several minutes earlier…
Remy sat on his bed, sinking into the pillows that were propped up behind him, and a sleeping Rogue was settled in his arms. He glanced down at her wondering how on earth she could sleep as if she didn't have a care in the world. Her even breathing nearly made him want to doze off—but he reminded himself of what he had gotten himself into when he agreed to return to his so called home.
Rogue then said something incoherently, stirring in her sleep as she shifted her position. She mumbled something louder before turning around onto her back, which made Remy wince, seeing as how she was still lying on him.
A creak was suddenly heard outside their bedroom window making Remy sit up straighter, and Rogue wake up. Before she could make a sound, he clasped his hand over her mouth, making a soft 'shh' sound between his teeth. His body tensed up as he listened quietly for another sound, but merely heard the branches of a tree sway against the window.
"What is it?" Rogue asked sheepishly as he pulled himself out from under her and stood up, "What did you hear, Swamp rat?" She ordered, her voice a low grumble. "Is it time?" She furrowed her brows at him, her voice lower. She dared not to say anything else as she watched his cautious moves, and took notice in his quiet steps towards the door. She clicked her tongue, impressed.
When Remy turned and looked at her, Rogue almost expected him to scold her but instead he made a hand gesture for her to come to him. And she did, more noisily than ever. He shot her a look, to which she shot him one back.
"Are you ready?" He asked himself more than her, placing a hand on her shoulder. His body tensed up and when he was about to grab the doorknob, Rogue grabbed the hand on her shoulder and phased them through the door. "Shh." She pressed her index finger against her lips and elbowed him.
Letting go of his hand, Rogue slowly walked towards Bella's bedroom, the floorboards squeaking under her weight. She mentally cursed, looking back at Remy, who rolled his eyes at her.
"You can fly cherie." He reminded her, remembering she had absorbed Jean Grey.
"I know that." Rogue snapped at him, defensively, in a low whisper, "I don't need your stinkin' reminder of who I have in my head, all right?"
Well, If Remy didn't know better, Rogue was a tad bit cranky. "Good. Stop arguin' and go on with it." Rogue had to absorb Belladonna; even though Remy wasn't so sure he wanted that anymore. But after Rogue mentioned the absence of his family and how she could easily be lying, he couldn't take chances.
"I am not arguin'!"
"What is goin' on out here?" The door flew open and Belladonna stepped out, making a face when she saw Rogue standing in front of her. Remy immediately drew a card from his pocket, charging it. "What the hell—" Without even thinking, Rogue reached up, shutting her eyes, and Bella slapped her arm away, "What the hell do you think you're doin'?" She demanded, angrily, shoving Rogue away from her, "Get away from me."
Remy felt how nervous and anxious Bella suddenly came and narrowed his eyes at her, knowing that something definitely wasn't right. Took him long enough, eh? It was like the sun came shining through the mass of clouds for him. "Do it, Rogue." He ordered her, evenly. And she did—holding Belladonna still with telekinesis, Rogue absorbed her and before Remy could even blink, Bella was unconscious on the ground, and Rogue stumbled hard into him, knocking his charged card out of his hand.
"That's it! All you bloody blokes are just crazy!" John stood in the doorway of the room, staring at the two Southerners in sheer puzzlement. Reluctantly, he glanced behind him to see Mystique no longer standing there, but a snake resembling his dear Goldie slithering away on his bed. Taking a few cautious steps, he saw what all the excitement was—and his jaw dropped.
Remy coughed, nodding in agreement, but his attention was more focused on a dazed Rogue. Rogue just stared down at Bella's prone body, and then back at John.
"What? I didn't kill her." Rogue snapped, rolling her eyes, "Y'all have been pullin' a doozey on Remy an' myself. Mystique.. Belladonna.. John."
"Hey now, cherry. I ain't have nothin' to do with anythin'." Defensively, John folded his arms across his chest, "I tried tellin' you that—Ahhhh! Friggin' crikey!" The Australian let out a howl, stumbling forward, bent over. He glanced up at his fellow teammates. Gawking, he hissed, "The bloody bitch bit me!" He spun around on one foot, the other one lifted up a little, only to catch the sight of a bird flying out his bedroom window. "She knows, Mystique!" He shouted out to her, rage in his voice, "Next time I see you, you're goin' to become a charcoaled marshmallow, dog!"
Rogue, who felt confused and angry at that given moment, set her hand on Remy's shoulder, "Your family—the Ripper's are heldin' 'em at their old place." She told him, her voice soft. A red faced John glanced behind his shoulder at them, biting down on his lower lip in pain. "Everything we were told was a lie." Somehow, that wasn't too surprising.
"I know." Remy told her, looking away from her, "I jus' had to find out what was really goin' on down here Rogue." He turned to Pyro, "Watch psychopathic blonde, would you? And—dammit, John. Are you okay?"
"I'm alive." John said, shrugging his shoulders. He walked forward, limping, "Go do what you have to do. I'll be here."
But when they got back, Belladonna wouldn't be there. But when they got back, John would just be sitting in a room, in the darkest corner, with the sorriest looking eyes imaginable. But when they got back, they realized they have had it.
It was time to let go.
"What exactly happened?" Logan had asked much later, after getting a phone call from a certain pyromaniac, who sounded like his flame had gone out. John shrugged his shoulders at Logan, not knowing how to explain his latest adventure. Hunched over, with his hands shoved into his pockets, he limped forward, feeling Logan's eyes on him. "Where's Stripes and Gumbo?" The short Canadian demanded, impatiently.
"They're gone." John answered him finally. He exhaled slowly, recoiling when Wolverine took a step forward. "They're," He winced, looking away from Logan, who demanded to know what he meant, waiting to feel his claw pierce through him, "—just gone."
Silence filled the air, along with tension. Logan stood there, his brow scrunched up; he didn't know what to say. He did, however, know he wasn't leaving without the two Southerners.
"It was their choice." The pyromaniac spoke up, smiling faintly, "And I don't think it's worth it for you to try to sniff out those crazy accented fruit loops." He cleared this throat, "Also, mate, I had enough of this place. I'm headin' back to the lucky country." Needless to say, John was as mad as a cut snake. Something did click in him, and he slapped Logan's back, feeling chirpy. "And boy do I have a story for you!"
I'm sorry but I'm done with this. I just opened this and realized I'm never going to find a way to end this the way I want. This sequel was a mistake.