by paxnirvana
Rating: NC-17 Pairing: Shadowcat/Shatterstar, Rictor Archive: Ask first, please.Author's Note: Rating for a little violence -n- swearing -n- grown up stuff, as well as a liberal dose of sex. And I am willfully ignoring the whole Shatterstar-as-Benjamin-Russell origin mess here. (If anyone even knows about it. Old X-Force fans?... Bueller?... Bueller? Nah.) He's from Mojoworld only. Enuf awready! *wicked smile * [Saw a picture of Shatterstar in a black leather vest that just _screamed _ for a different story. . . ] 7/12/01
Disclaimer: The main characters and most of the references in this story belong to Marvel Comics. The others don't. But all three are in CHARACTER LIMBO right now anyway, so they probably won't mind the action here.
* * * * *
I've never felt this way
About anyone or anything
Tell me...What do I have to do
To make you want me?
But if I can't make you want me
What do I have to do?
To forget about you. . .- Stabbing Westward
Chapter II
Julio Richter was sleeping when the door to his cell shot open with a loud clang, echos reverberating painfully through the small metal room as several large goons entered, all scowling fiercely. He jerked upright, torn from fitful sleep instantly, glaring back at the intruders with desperate defiance. Dios, he'd faced supervillians. These oversized examples of the bottom of the human gene-pool weren't going to intimidate him. At least not too much.
An older man with heavy, dark-rimmed glasses slowly entered the room, standing and looking at him with somber menace from just inside the doorway. Two of the brutes stood before him, massive arms crossed and beady eyes glaring. The man had little intention of getting too close to the captured mutant, it was clear. Even though he was chained to the wall.
"Your red-haired compatriot was seen in the area, Senor Richter," the man began without any preamble, his English thick with a Russian accent.
"Que?" he shot back, determined to show no fear and to give them as little cooperation as possible. The man simply smiled at his bravado.
"This time, he was aided in his escape from us by a young woman. Do you have any idea who she might be working for?"
Honestly puzzled by that tidbit of information and reluctant to show it, Julio pasted a sneer on his face and shook his head. "No comprende, senor," he said flatly.
The man's expression didn't change as he simply raised an eyebrow. One of the goons moved over and caught him by his chained hands, hauling him unceremoniously to his feet. Julio cursed him in Spanish, the words low and venomous. At a nod from the older man, the goon plowed his fist into Julio's stomach, sending him gasping and retching to the floor. It had happened too fast for him to brace for it, the brute aiming up under his ribs anyway, hitting his diaphram with expert savagery. Pain paralyzed him for an endless moment, his lungs frozen. His mind whirling with panic as his breath locked in his throat.
"Your compatriot seems quite... accomplished, as well as extravagant in both his manner and dress. He should have been easy to locate, yet he has disappeared. What resources does he have? Who would he contact regarding your situation. . . the local police, the American FBI, some of your mutant allies? Or will he attempt to rescue you alone?"
Julio angrily shook his head, struggling to breathe again, fighting the pain in his gut, his ribs.
"This defiance is pointless, Richter," the older man said, shaking his own head sadly. The goon moved toward the crumpled young man again. Julio tried to move away, but he was still dazed from the earlier blow. The collar on his neck felt even heavier. If only it wasn't there, he'd be able to stop this, drive them away. But big hands lifted him relentlessly up, and a huge fist struck his ribs over and over again until he lost track of the blows, his thoughts reeling, his body in agony.
In his mind he could only cling to the hope that Shatterstar was still free, still searching for him. And that his friend would do everything in his considerable power to rescue him.
* * * * *
Kitty Pryde stood outside the closed door of her bathroom, stunned. Shatterstar had just opened the door wide and passed out his clothes, smiling benignly at her before closing it again. Totally naked. God. She shuddered in place, wondering in a rather bemused fashion if she was even breathing any more.
He was beautiful. Strong, sleek, pale like cream, with a light dusting of red-blond hair across a broad, hard chest. The hair arrowing down to lower, um, areas. Oh, and what areas! She swallowed hard at the memory. And the cascade of loose, incredibly long, ginger-red hair over his shoulders perfectly framing that glorious body. Oh. Hell. She was in serious trouble. He was gorgeous and tall and completely alien.
Well, not completely alien.
But he was 100% trouble on the hoof.
"Shatterstar. Now. I'll just... wash. . . gonna go. . . and, uh, wash your stuff," she called out, amazed to discover that yes, she was still standing. And yes, she did indeed still know how to speak.
A vague affirmative reply came from inside the bathroom. Then water started to run. She gathered up his clothes, dumping them into her own laundry basket with a squeak of sudden dismay. That body. In her shower. Oh. Warm water running over it. Caressing those amazing muscles, those long lean limbs. Soaping up. With her soap. Oh, no. She'd never be able to take a shower calmly again. Maybe she'd just bronze that soap.
She swallowed hard once more and forced her feet to move toward the door. Then she stopped, dropped the laundry basket and lunged for the jar of quarters she kept on top of one of her bookshelves, frantically digging out a handful to use on the machines in the basement and scattering extra coins around in her haste to stuff them into her pocket. Then she stumbled around, trying not to listen to the sound of the shower as he obviously climbed under the spray. Damn these thin walls, she thought desperately, and just where the hell are my keys anyway? She slapped at her jeans pockets, aware that her gaze kept returning helplessly to the bathroom door. Was it closed all the way? Latched? Her hand closed over a familiar bundle of metal in her pocket. Keys. Moe liked to sit on the edge of the tub when she showered - would the little cat intrude on her guest as well? Push open the door so she could catch another glimpse of that magnificant body through the clear shower curtain. . .
With a yelp, Kitty Pryde gathered up the laundry basket and fled from her apartment, determined to stay in the laundry room until she was certain he was finished and tempation was removed. He was a guest for pity's sake! But it wasn't so easy to escape her own heated thoughts.
* * * * *
He stood behind her, arms folded across his broad, bare chest, staring intently down at the monitor as she started her search pattern. Apparently the sweatshirt she'd found him had been too confining or something, because he'd emerged from the bathroom wearing only the baggy shorts, acres of pale skin gleaming in the late afternoon sunlight. Now, she could feel the warmth of his body radiating against her back. She was almost uncomfortably hot already, because it was one of those surprisingly warm Seattle summer evenings; surprising in how quickly the heat built up in this city after a day of partial sun with broken clouds. It never seemed quite natural that it could get so pervasively hot without direct sunlight. Or maybe it was just because of his presence. She steered her thoughts firmly away from that direction, trying to concentrate on the program running in front of her.
The men under the library had given him a name before the Mandroids chased him away. Arctic Circle Seafoods. So here she was, hacking for mutantkind again. But hacking into a supposedly legitimate company's system in order to trace illegal activity wasn't something you did without your full attention on it. Or it shouldn't be attempted that way, anyway, she told herself ruefully. Her fingers flew over the keyboard, entering commands, changing parameters as her custom designed system chewed discreetly through the security layers around the company's mainframe. And why did a supposedly simple Russian-owned food manufacturer have such stiff security in the first place? Important trade secrets about fish processing? She snorted at the thought.
"Will that query trace not limit the encryption possiblities? Perhaps you should verify node addresses first," he commented. She darted a surprised look at him.
"You've done this before?" she asked with raised brows.
"Codalista. I am a warrior born, but Cadre trained. And from your future, little human," he said with a slight air of superiority. "This tech is archaic, but useful."
She fought down a surge of irritation at his casual dismissal of the system she'd worked so hard to piece together over the last six months. State-of-the-art stuff with more processing power per chip and a more sophisticated semi-autonomous OS than any other small-scale system she'd used, save the X-Men's Shi'ar-enhanced systems and Cerebro itself, of course.
She pushed her chair back, folded her own arms over her chest and glared at him over the rims of her computer glasses. And tried to keep her glare on his silver eyes and not let it wander.
"Maybe you'd like to do this part, Mojo-boy," she said, her tone icy. He seemed surprised then, glancing from her to the screen and back again in confusion.
"It would not be productive. I can operate the system satisfactorily, but do not know the proper contextual variables to produce the information we require."
"No local knowledge, huh?" she said, whipping back around then sliding her chair back into place, shifting fussily until it was back in perfect position. Hands paused, poised over the keyboard again. "Well, then butt out and let the local expert work."
He fell silent. She concentrated determinedly on the sniffer program she'd let loose in the other system.
"Hmmm," she said as a blip appeared in the scrolling code on one window. "There's a hole. Kind of obvious, but I'm gonna use it anyway." She typed furiously for a while, watching the results. Then, suddenly, the screen cleared and a menu in Cryllic letters came up on her screen. Stunned, her hands froze on the keyboard.
"Damn," she hissed, biting her lower lip in consternation. Shatterstar shifted behind her, but remained quiet. "I know these bozos. From Vladivostok. Kolguyev Fisheries. A front for a major Russian syndicate that has old KGB connections. No wonder they had power armor. Their system's ice is sloppy, however. Typical. Brawn over brains."
Her disgusted comments didn't require a reply, so he stayed silent, still stinging slightly from her earlier dismissal of his expertise. He didn't like to feel useless. However, he freely acknowledged that this wasn't the kind of foe that could be faced with only a sword. She typed furiously for a while again, seemingly reading the Russian on the screen with ease. It was one of the human languages that he had not yet bothered to learn.
"They've got some Genoshan tech too. I see a requisition in here for collars and cuffs - two sets - and a mutant tracking device of some kind. Looks like they were ready for you guys. How'd they miss you?" she said, throwing a sharp look at him over her shoulder before returning her attention to the screen.
"Ah," he said, a wealth of discomfort in that single syllable. "I was simply not present when they came for Julio."
"Hmmm," she said again, the sound starting to bother him. It conveyed far more than he was comfortable with - suspicion, speculation, doubt. And he still felt guilty for letting his own confusion and pain distance him from his friend at a time when it turned out he needed his battle prowess the most. If he had been there, then perhaps Julio would not be in such peril now.
"Well, well, well," she said, breaking into his thoughts. "They've got only one boat in town right now. It's in drydock, actually, getting overhauled at one of the boatyards on Lake Union. The 'Red Star'. Kind of an old-school name for a fishing boat. Those wacky Russians. Such traditionalists." Despite the mockery in her words, her tone was bitter and shaded with something that sounded almost like grief. Concerned, he found himself watching the side of her face instead of the screen. But as always where the emotions of others were involved, he didn't know quite what to say.
"I'd have to say the corporate offices are out. . . they're in a rather open-plan, rented office building on the other side of Lake Union," she said, plunging on. He listened, unable to think of a way to stem the flood of commentary. And it was information vital to his quest to find Julio. "Hard to hide someone for long in there. Thankfully the library looks like a goods transfer point rather than a permanent base of operations. So the boat itself is the most likely spot for them to keep Rictor - particularly if they've got a collar on him." She frowned at the screen for a long moment.
"Okaaay. Got that memorized," she muttered, and with a few flicks of her fingers she had neatly backed out of the other system, the connection broken. Then she ran a check on her system to make certain nothing hostile had attempted to latch on or trace her while she was in there. Satisfied that she'd both left no tracks and gotten away clean, she brought up her default screen. He silently admired her skills. The more time he spent in her presence, the higher his opinion of her grew. He would fight beside her without hesitation.
"We'll go out later in the evening and check the boat out. See what kind of security they've got in place."
"As you say," he said solemnly, staring down into her warm brown eyes until she shifted away, spinning out of the chair and walking with some kind of agitation over toward the windows. She turned around, facing him again with arms crossed defensively over her chest. And he was puzzled. Why the protective reaction? Had he offended her in some way?
She smiled at him brightly, "Now, what would you like for dinner?"
* * * * *
She left him alone, happily occupied with surfing the 'net, Larry already firmly ensconced on his lap. He had assured her that anything she provided him to eat would be sufficent. She'd rolled her eyes in disgust and gone into the kitchen to check out her supply of staples. Quickly deducing that she needed to take a quick trip down the street to the grocery store. She hadn't planned on feeding anyone with an appetite like his and needed more provisions.
On her way back, she stopped off in the basement laundry room to quickly swap the wash load into the dryer. The sooner he was back in his own clothes, the better.
The stairwell was hot and the bags heavy, but since she'd forgotten to instruct him about the door buzzer, she climbed the stairs with only a minimum amount of profane grumbling under her breath. She knocked on the door before she used her key, so as not to surprise him. Peering carefully inside, she let the door swing fully open as she juggled bags and keys awkwardly. No sense startling a guy with training like his. A girl could get hurt that way. Or, at the very least, all the eggs would get broken.
There was no sign of Shatterstar at first, but Moe sat in the middle of the room, tail twitching imperiously, green gaze focused on something in the kitchenette. The cat looked over her sleek gray shoulder and meowed at the opened door once before returning her intent stare to the kitchen. So much for concealment, Kitty thought, fighting back a smile as Shatterstar stepped out into the main room, a bared sword held in one hand.
He frowned down at the cat, and folded his arms over his chest, blade flashing in the muted early evening light. The cat matched his malevolent glare with ease.
"Naughty Moe," Kitty scolded the cat with mock seriousness, trying not to laugh outright at Shatterstar's disgruntled expression. "Well, you're trying to be discreet at least," she said to him. "Now come help me with this stuff."
"I understand now why they did not use cats in the Arena," he said with disgust, still frowning down at the little cat who blithely rose to her feet and walked across his foot, tail stropping his leg. "Unlike dogs, they do not obey commands." He sheathed the sword in the plain black scabbard clutched in his other hand with a smooth snap. After setting it carefully on top of a bookshelf, he came over and effortlessly lifted the two heavy bags out of her arms. Moe followed him at every step, curling around his feet, her demanding voice loud in the silence. He walked carefully, trying not to step on the persistant cat, his expression one of classic cat-induced exasperation.
She bent down and picked up the last bag, struggling to contain her laughter, then abruptly failed, letting it out in great whooping peals at the expression on his face. She staggered inside the apartment, one arm wrapped around her waist to ease her aching ribs, and closed the door, throwing the lock as she gasped for air. He stood patiently by, bags in his arms, a now bemused expression on his face, waiting for her laughter to die down.
"Oh, 'Star!" she groaned. "I haven't laughed like that in ages!"
He raised a ginger brow at her, a suspiciously amused quirk to his lips, then looked down into Moe's upturned face. The cat meowed once again, settling down and wrapping her tail neatly around her feet, still staring intently at him. He frowned down at the cat, nearly sending Kitty into gales of laughter again.
"She wants you to feed her," Kitty explained, still chuckling. "Since you were the one here when the dinner alarm went off in her tummy." Then she brushed past him and into the kitchenette, setting her bag of groceries down on the tiny counter.
"But I do not know how to feed her," he said, following her into the small space. Between the two of them, the bags in his arms and Moe underfoot, it was crowded in her kitchen. She bumped into him, feeling the heat of his arm briefly against her breast, then she backed away, eyes wide.
"Oh, just put those on the table, 'Star," she said, trying to fight down the sudden heat in her face. He turned and placed the other two bags on the narrow dining table, watching carefully for the cat who paced his every step, still meowing. Larry appeared in the doorway as well, blinking sleepily but ready for food now that Kitty herself had arrived.
"Moe, darn it, that's enough," Kitty muttered to the plaintively complaining cat. "I'm feeding you already, okay?" Then she turned and boosted herself up on the counter to reach the high shelf where she kept the cat food - well out of reach of the acrobatic Moe. Her hand had just closed around the box when a firm arm slid around her waist, lifting her off her awkward perch on the counter.
"Let me assist you," she heard Shatterstar say near her ear. A tremor ran through her as he plucked the box out of her hand and lowered her back to the floor, her body sliding down his.
She froze for a moment once her feet touched the floor, hands splayed against his bare chest, feeling the steady beating of his heart beneath that smooth, warm skin and staring helplessly at the reddish-pale stubble on the chin so close above her. If it was possible, he was even nicer looking close up, his skin pale like cream and without a single freckle despite his coloring. Her gaze drifted to his lips. His mouth was held in a relaxed way, not smiling, but not grim either. Lips well-shaped and firm. And very tempting. She pushed abruptly away, her pulse thundering wildly in her ears.
"Always knew you tall guys were good for something," she found herself saying as she took the box back from him and moved quickly toward the bowls set under the tiny window on the other side of the kitchen. Moe followed her, voice demanding. Larry ambled over as well, adding a few mews to the cacophony just for good measure. She dumped dry cat food into their bowls with a shaking hand, inadvertently giving them more than usual. Moe fell to immediately, Larry taking his time settling his fat black self in front of his bowl before chowing heartily.
She heard the rustling of paper bags, and took a deep, steadying breath before turning around. Easy girl, she cautioned herself. Don't get silly ideas. Shatterstar was calmly unloading the groceries, setting perishables on the counter near the refrigerator, other items he set on the shelves of the open pantry. He didn't seem to be aware of her flustered state.
"You put groceries away too, huh? Don't suppose you cook. . ."
He shot her a lowered-brow look of sudden concern.
"Is that required? Because Julio says I can burn water. Which is obviously impossible for anyone other than Sunspot or Cannonball." Then he brightened slightly, holding up a can of tuna fish. "But I do know how to use a can opener."
"That's okay, 'Star," she said with a laugh, glad for the diversion from her growing attraction. "Tonight, I'll take care of burning the water."
* * * * *
In order to concentrate at all, she shooed him gently but firmly out of the kitchen. There was an easy spaghetti sauce recipe that she'd been dying to try making, but hadn't wanted to eat the leftovers for a month. He had finally vacated after extracting a solemn promise that she would allow him to clean up afterwards. That was an easy sell.
Once fed, Moe and Larry were more than happy to vie for the privilege of sitting on his lap at the computer. Larry won from sheer bulk. Moe indignantly began a bath in the middle of the floor. Shatterstar surfed the 'net faster than anyone she'd ever seen, she noticed in passing as screens flashed by as fast as the connection allowed. He scanned and absorbed information at a phenomenal rate, apparently retaining most of it.
After the sauce was prepared and simmering, she made a salad, sniffing the air hopefully. Her cooking skills were still rudimentary, but it smelled good so far. Then she put water on to boil for the noodles. With a quick word of explanation, she ran downstairs to the laundry room, gathering up the load of dried clothes and rushing back upstairs.
He was standing when she returned, hand warily on the sheathed sword atop the bookshelf, a purring Larry held incongrously in his arm.
"Easy, just me," she said as she entered the apartment again. "Your clothes are dry."
He nodded to her, silver eyes flashing and returned to the chair in front of the computer, carefully resettling the cat on his lap before resuming his surfing. She took a moment to assess their clothing needs if they were to do a reconnaisance that night. His shirt was too light in color, while his vest was essential as it held the straps for his sword-sheaths. He had a nice heavy pair of Doc Marten boots. She stifled her envy. She'd left her own Doc's in storage on Muir Island, foolishly believing she'd return for them soon. Then Moira had been killed. She brushed the sad thought away firmly, returning her attention to Shatterstar. His own jeans would have to do. There was certainly nothing of hers that would fit those heavy, long thighs. She closed her eyes and swallowed hard, scolding herself internally again. Then she yanked open the walk-in closet, determined to find something more appropriate for him to wear.
After much cursing and shifting of boxes, she managed to find him a black tee shirt from a box of tired, yet oversized old ones she'd scavenged from various male teammates over the years. It was adorned with a silly, yet strangely heroic-looking monkey cartoon character on the front - probably an old one of Bobby Drake's then.
"Hey, 'Star, try this on for size. Not so warm, and it's dark enough," she said poking her head out of the closet and tossing the shirt toward him. He turned at her words, and caught the shirt without disturbing the cat in his lap beyond the brief flicking of an ear. Easy feat, considering it was Larry, the World's Most Determined Lap Cat.
"Ah, Dexter's Laboratory," was his only comment as he tugged the shirt on before returning to his surfing on the Internet. She was simultaneously relieved and disappointed when all that bare, smooth skin was finally covered. She'd been around strong, fit men in various stages of dress and undress for years, she thought in disgust, so why was this one bothering her so much?
After a quick check on the kitchen to stir sauce and dump noodles in boiling water, she returned to the closet, contemplating her own clothes. In her zeal to leave everything X behind, she'd left all her working suits at the mansion. She cursed herself silently as she looked through her wardrobe for something suitable to use on this scouting mission. Say what you would about the clinging properties of Reed Richard's unstable molecule clothing, it was incredibly durable and prevented a lot of minor injuries. And she had none of it available to her right now.
Finally deciding on black leggings, a tight black top, low rubber-soled boots and a black leather belt with a purse-like pouch built into it, she carried it all into the bathroom to change. Not that 'Star would probably even notice if she changed in the closet as she usually did, but it was for her own self control. She dressed quickly. A rather neo-eighties look, she thought finally, staring into the full-length mirror on the inside of the bathroom door, but practical without being too obvious. The leggings at least gave her flexibility enough for spin kicks. It would have to do.
* * * * *
Focus. It was one of his best skills learned in the harsh school of Mojo's Arenas. This world, however, was less structured than his own. Sometimes that focus could be used against him in battle, catching him off guard, he knew. And sometimes it betrayed him in other, less dangerous, ways.
His focus on the computer and the data streaming to him from the Internet was a sham. Ever since he'd helped her down from the counter in the kitchen, his true focus had been on her. Something strange had happened then. Tension had flowered when she stared at him, her hands on his bare chest. Almost like battle tension, but different. It wasn't until she'd pulled away to feed the cats that he'd realized what it was; sexual tension. The unfamiliar feelings puzzled and confused him, leaving him struggling to understand. He'd not felt it directed so strongly at himself before, though he'd witnessed plenty of it between Siryn and Warpath on X-Force. So he focused now, subtly, on her little bursts of activity as she prepared food, then searched through her clothing for combat attire for him, then herself. She was sleek and graceful, much like the imperious little cat who followed her around, going about her chores with smooth economy. And now generating a strange fascination for him.
He could hear her soft movements behind the closed bathroom door. She was changing into something more suitable for reconnaissance and battle. And for some reason, the idea that she was removing her clothing in the same place where he had removed his own earlier was making him uncomfortable. He shifted on the chair, the cat on his lap responded by poking him lightly with sharp little claws as it purred reassuringly.
He liked her. Already he considered her a friend. Somehow, unlike his former female teammates Tabitha and Theresa and Domino, Kitty didn't make him feel uncomfortable or like an outsider. She'd realized his needs without his having to ask, feeding him without protest. Taking him in. Agreeing to help him in his search. And she listened to him when he spoke and sifted his words for ways to understand him. Despite her constant taunts about his origin, there was no heat or venom behind those words. It was simply the way she spoke, as if she used light words to keep a distance. It was something he had observed in more than one of his teammates over the years. Even Julio. Humans often used humor to help them deal with unpleasantness. He understood why, but, trained as he was from childhood in fighting, still had a hard time separating humor from action. Focus, again.
But thoughts of Julio, still missing and possibly in grave danger, sobered him. Focus. He would need all of it to overcome this strange feeling. Shadowcat wanted to be left in peace. She'd left the X-Men themselves for this purpose. He would concentrate on finding Julio, with her help, then they would leave her to her peace. And this strange tension between them would not long be a problem. He hoped.
* * * * *
It still wasn't fully dark - could never be inside a city - but it was dark enough and not yet late enough for them to attract undue attention. After dinner and cleaning up had been completed, she had taken him onto one of the ubiquitous buses, a shorter ride this time. They'd climbed out near a part of the city where old manufacturing and port activities were slowly giving way to trendy office space, night life and retail use. A place in transition with activity at odd hours so their presence wouldn't be too remarkable.
She led him past a zone filled with laughing, talking people spilling out into the warm night from bars and restaurants. Into a quieter area near the man-made waterway that connected the inland lakes with the nearby sea. Low buildings dominated this place. As they approached the address she'd obtained, both stared in dismay at the lights blazing in the busy shipyard that was their target. There were men everywhere, welding, painting, pounding on the large black and red boat in the drydock.
"Damn," she said. "They're putting in overtime on it. Must be trying to hit some kind of deadline."
"You are certain the boat itself is our goal?" he asked quietly, expertly assessing the risk of trying to gain entrance with all these observers. Far too dangerous. Their foes could easily have watchers among the workers and either kill or relocate Julio long before they could reach him. They would have to find another way, or get better information on his location.
"Yeah," she said, then continued after a quick glance at his stony expression. "I'm sorry, Star. We'll get him out. We'll just have to come back during the day and do a better reconnaisance."
* * * * *
They had returned to her apartment in near-silence, both of them disappointed by their lack of progress. She'd made him a make-shift bed on the floor made out of layers of blankets. Luxury compared to accomodations in the Pens, he'd assured her. He had settled down into it easily enough at first, after stripping down to the shorts she'd left out for him while she was in the bathroom getting herself ready for bed. She'd turned off all the lights before she emerged, climbing into her bed above him in silence, though she was fairly certain he wasn't asleep.
At least she hoped he was wearing the shorts she'd left out for him. Particularly since she'd done his laundry and realized he didn't wear anything as mundane as underwear. And it was thoughts like those that were keeping her awake.
Moe and Larry jumped up onto the bed with her, taking their usual places as anchors around her feet, pinning her to the bed. Purring contentedly for a while before they finally quieted and slept, curled into tight balls of fur. Poor Shemp, she thought absently, no doubt traumatized by the sheer presence of a guest, he was probably wedged in the furthest corner under her futon, behind the boxes stored there. When this was over and Shatterstar was gone, she thought with only a little twinge, she'd owe the reclusive kitty a catnip treat.
Unable to sleep still after longer than an hour, despite her weariness, she had listened as Shatterstar quietly rose from the blankets and moved to the windowsill. She let her eyes drift slowly open and watched as he sat, staring out the window at the bright night sky. It seemed to fascinate him, the way the occasional high, broken cloud scudded over the waxing moon. The streetlights outside her window had switched off to conserve power, something they did every half-hour or so, darkening the room until only moonlight showed him to her in bars of pale light.
Finally, she sat up too.
"Can't sleep?" she asked him quietly. He didn't even turn.
"Julio is my best friend and he was also my lover," he said softly. "But he was not. . . comfortable with that fact. That is why I was not with him on the night when they captured him." There had been rumors running between the X-teams at the time. About the two of them and their unusually close friendship. Apparently, the rumors had been true for once. First she felt a sinking in her heart, but then her heart ached for him. It had to be tough.
She stayed silent, watching him, letting him gather his thoughts. If he needed to talk, she was willing to listen. It wasn't as if there were a lot of people on this planet who would even understand most of what he was talking about without thinking he was crazy. The thought made her realize just how lonely and isolated he must feel, cut off from his teammates and now best friend.
"On Mojoworld, I grew up in the Pens. Housed only with males. I had offers, because of my pleasing features, but I never indulged. Instead I focused all my energies on training, denying everything except the need to hone my skills for battle in the Arena. To be distracted by anything, especially emotion or sensation, was to die, as I had seen over and over again. And I wished to live. Then Cadre Alliance recruited me for the Rebellion. Within their ranks I was 'married' to the first Cadre-fighter I could work well with. Windsong. It was a battle arrangement, a linking of instincts. We fought like one - it was like nothing I had ever experienced before. But there was never opportunity for anything more. Until I was sent here - and I met Julio."
"You two really hit it off, huh?" she said after the silence had stretched on.
"He helped me in so many ways, as I tried to help him. We were friends. But soon after we became lovers, he left the team." He looked over at her finally, pain darkening his eyes, visible in the renewed light from the streetlight below. "I believed him when he told me it was Cable who had driven him away. But then he came back and asked me to help him save his family. I agreed to go with him, but we did not become lovers again. It was as if he had forgotten that had ever happened between us. There is so much about this world that I still do not always understand, and I was afraid to lose my friend - so I let it be."
"I'm sorry, 'Star," she said with soft sympathy. "Julio's still young. . . " She trailed off as she realized with a start that the man they spoke of was less than a year younger than she was. When did she get so old in spirit if not in body? All those years of fierce training and harsh battle and bitter loss. All those friends gone; Illyana, Rachel, Piotr, Moira.
"Gaveedra," he said, his voice hushed. "To my friends, I am Gaveedra-7."
"Do you love him, Gaveedra?" she asked quietly, her spirits lifting slightly at his comment.
His brow furrowed and he looked out at the night again, a dark shape against the stars, the muted glare from the street.
"He is my best friend. We fight well together. Za's Vid, I do not know." He shrugged, then continued quietly, "I just do not understand human love, no matter how many romantic comedies I watch."
She let out an involuntary laugh, surprised by his matter-of-fact words. "Sorry, 'Star, I'm not laughing at you. Just at your choice of guidance."
"Everyone says not to let television be my guide, but offers me little in the way of an alternative," he said, a touch of bitterness to his tone. She sobered quickly.
"I'm sorry. Does Julio make you happy?"
"He is my friend," he shrugged again, eyeing her. "We enjoy our times together, are happy together. Until he gets uneasy."
"Does he ever talk to you about why he's uneasy?"
"No."
She hesitated before she asked the next question, uncertain if she'd offend him by asking. But it seemed relevant. "Was he your first lover?"
"Yes."
She blinked at him for a moment, taken aback by his simple reply. Self-conscious he wasn't, just confused. His upbringing had been rough. At least she'd had the basis of fourteen years of loving parents and an average, boring suburban life - even if she'd been a 'gifted' child and ahead of all her classmates - before manifesting her mutant power. He'd spent his formative years learning to fight for his life just as entertainment for a mad alien monarch. It was bound to skew his perceptions a bit. Okay, she snorted inside, more than a bit.
"He's been your only lover, right?" she asked, pieces falling into place. Gaveedra nodded, a puzzled expression just visible in the shadows and light on his face. And she wanted to kick Julio Richter's ass right then. He was young, as she'd said herself, and probably just as confused as 'Star was. But he still should have known better, being the resident of this world and all, and the one with a more 'normal' upbringing, than to take advantage of someone who hadn't a clue how to handle themselves emotionally. She smacked herself in the forehead, earning a curious glance from Shatterstar. What was she thinking? Back then, it had been hormones, of course. An eighteen year old boy. Running around playing hero and wearing spandex all day around others doing the same. A guy who had no idea which way was up in his own head, much less in his alien friend's. Supervised by Cable and Domino. Wowie. What a stunning example of normal life they set. The time-lost, messianistic son of Scott Summers and a luck-prone merc. It was a wonder 'Star wasn't in worse shape.
"You watch TV; you know what being gay can mean here," she said seriously after a long moment of silence spent gathering her thoughts. He nodded solemnly. "I don't think there's anything wrong with it - but I'm not sure you actually are. Gay, I mean. Oh, boy, this is going well, Pryde." She huffed out a deep, weary breath wishing suddenly for Kurt Wagner's wise presence. He'd know the perfect words to say, the fuzzy-elf would. A pang went through her for the friends she'd left behind, but she fought it down with the skill of six months of long practice. She folded her arms over her knees and stared in mild frustration at the big man sitting silently across from her.
"Well, Gaveedra, what I'm trying to say is: test your options," she said finally. "Try it with someone else first - another guy, a woman, anybody else. To see what does it for you. To see if Julio's the one you want. If that's the case, then you can push harder to try to make it work with him. But some people, you know, just experiment when they're young. Then they move on to other things. I don't know if that's Julio's thing, or if he's just confused, but at least you'll understand your own head better and he won't be taking advantage of you."
"Kitty," he said, turning toward her and falling back on her real name now. "I understand what you are saying and these ideas have occurred to me before. I watch 'Oprah' and 'Rosie'. My needs are much less than an Earther's, it is clear, but I still cannot want anyone I do not trust. Casual sex does not work for me."
"What?" she said blankly, momentarily confused.
He frowned, then looked away, for the first time displaying self-consciousness. "If I cannot trust, there is no desire in me," he said carefully, glancing at her out of the corners of his eyes. Her own eyes widened as his meaning sank in.
"Oh," she said in a small voice, suddenly very, very flustered and cursing herself inside. "So it has to be with someone like, say, a teammate is what you're saying. Oh. I see."
He shrugged again. "It had not been important until Julio started acting strangely around me. However, I would not want something as minor as sex to end our friendship. That means more to me than anything else. But the sex we once shared has made him unhappy."
"I know what you mean," she said quietly. "I had a... friend do something like that too." Memories flooded her of a big, essentially gentle man driven to terrible violence in a jealous rage. She'd never quite forgiven Piotr for that, and now it was too late. She didn't want to see someone else have the same regrets. "Sometimes, someone does something they regret and they have a hard time trying to get past it. But it just takes patience, understanding and a willingness to try."
"Those things are difficult for me. They were not important in Mojo's Arena," he said, turning to look at her with a deep sigh. She smiled wryly.
"I've got news for you, Gaveedra, they're hard for everyone no matter where you come from," she said gently. "Now we'd better both get some sleep if we're going to be any use to Julio tomorrow."
- - continued - -