Family Ties

Family Ties Chapter Twentght ght (NC-17)

Disclaimers Apply

 

A/N Goddess Foxfeather, Queen of Mad Plotbunnies, BUSIEST
WOMAN ALIVE ™, Prophetic Muse and Hamster Witch…beware the Nipple of
Rivendell! InterNutter, TC and Maxwell Pink
get extra cookies for archiving. J ProPhile is still a groovy smutmuse even
though his email bounces me like a ferret (extra points if you know where
that’s from) and Jubilee (don’t worry…I remember the underwear comment), Ramsey
and Tex get musecookies for being helpful.
J Readers/Reviewers: THANK YOU!!!!!!!!!! *happy dance of gratefulness * Um…I’ll stop. The ducks are looking at me strangely…

 

 

 

Amara
unfolded the worn parchment carefully, minding the thin creases that were so
transparent from constant refolding that she was surprised it did not fall
apart in her hands. The lettering was
dark and had feathered before it was sent, the tendrils of ink so fine as to be
almost unnoticeable, but she noticed.
She had memorized everything about the letter—the texture, the smell,
the weight of it, the sight and the contents were committed indelibly in her
mind. Outside the tent, the revelry of
the concert was reaching a fever pitch as the first band took the stage, the
thrum of thss ass and drums vibrating through the ground, giving her an excuse
for her shaking hands. She did not have
to go over the lines again to know what it said, but she forced herself anyway,
each word a new stab of pain into her heart, cutting off her breath. I am without a home. I am without a family. I am well and truly alone in this world. The letter had been long forgotten, almost
intentionally, she thought. Amara was
willing to give credence to what the Professor said about subconscious
motivations making people do things they otherwise would never do. She had left this letter, a precious memento
of Nova Roma, unopened and unread for nearly three years, locked away in a box
of fragrant wood, which itself was tucked deep within a large camphorwood trunk
under many layers of robes and regalia she would never wear again. The letter had taunted her, though, in
recent days and she finally dug it out, finally read it. And then her world shattered into shards of
white hot pain.

“Amara?”

She hid the
letter under her folded leg and glared at Warren poking his head through the
tent flaps. “What?”

“The show
started and…Hey, are you crying?” He
edged into the tent, filling it with his wings and aura. “What’s wrong?”

“Go away,”
she said firmly, not quite meeting his eyes.
“I don’t want to see this band.”

Warren
looked down at her with a carefully neutral expression on his face, a single
twitch of his left wing belying his concern.
“If you say so… Look, I was gonna go grab something to eat off the grounds. Want to come with? This concert food is making me sick.”

Amara
wavered. She did not want to be with
anyone right then, but she was hungry…
“Where are you going?”

“No
idea…somewhere they don’t serve brains.”

“Good
enough for me,” she said, standing. The
letter was exposed and, before she could stop him, Warren grabbed it. “Give me that,” she snarled, reaching for
it.

“This looks
old…what is it?” he asked, turning his back to her and unfolding the letter
carefully as Amara pummeled his back with her fists. “Hey, watch the wings!”

“Give it to
me!” she said, a note of desperation tingeing her voice as she continued her
efforts to reach the thin parchment. “Warren!”

With a
heavy sigh, he handed it back to her. “Can’t
read it anyway…it’s all in Latin. You,
uh, didn’t steal that from some collection, did you?”

She
glowered. “No!”

“Amara…”

“It’s a
letter. From home.” She tucked the letter back into her luggage,
carefully sandwiching it between layers of clothing. “Nova Roma,” she clarified at Warren’s mildly confused look.

“I know
where home is, but I didn’t think they had international mail there.”

“Don’t be
stupid,” she muttered coldly. “Why
would they mail it to me? It was in my
things when I left home.”

“Ah. “
Warren waited expectantly but was met only with silence. Finally he sighed and said, “Well, let’s get
going. I’m starving.” He bowed as best he could and held the tent
flaps open, motioning for Amara to go first.
With a skeptical glance, she did, leaving him alone in the tent for a
moment for the ostensible purpose of maneuvering his wings. Lightening quick, he grabbed the parchment
from her open bag and tucked it into the waistband of his pants as he edged his
way ou the the small space, giving Amara a tight smile in the process. “How about Chinese?”

 

Scott
frowned and punched the pillow in annoyance, the feathery thump nowhere
near as satisfying as he wanted it to be.
Okay, Jean’s gone twitchy and I don’t know why. She won’t come back here but we’re not
breaking up…She went all Zen or something and now I’m sleeping alone for the foreseeable
future. Fuck. The early afternoon light streaming into the
bedroom through the open window, bathing the room in a pale, milky illumination
that was lost on Scott. He stared at
the freshly made bed for a moment before flinging himself onto it with a barely
audible sigh, bouncing slightly as he landed.
The ceiling was freshly painted, but that, he reflected, was something
else lost on him. Can’t even see
colors properly, couldn’t even tell what color the sheets are unless someone
told me… He rolled onto his stomach
and buried his face in the sheets, muffling another sigh. And damn it, why does she have to use
that detergent? I can’t smell it
without thinking of her now! He
paused mid-silent diatribe. Oh. Fuck me.
I don’t fucking believe it. I
wasn’t doing that, was I? He bit
his lip in frustration, trying his best not to shoutectiectives against himself
as he lay face down on the soft bed.
Everything he had said to Jean since the argument a few days previous
came flooding back—every implication, insult, sneer and blame washed over him,
sending hot tendrils of guilt down the back of his neck and through his
back. I was such a fucking prick!

 

Jean stared
at him blandly and shook her head. “That’s
not enough, Scott.”

He
frowned. She was dismissing his best
apology out of hand without a second thought.
“What do you want from me, Jean?
I don’t understand! I told you I
was sorry for being such a dick, that I didn’t realize what I was doing until
just now…”

“I want for
you to realize that we’re not carefree teenagers anymore. You can’t take out your frustrations on me and
then expect me to forgive you so easily.
I love you, Scott, but you hurt me badly. You made me feel like I was doing something wrong by moving on
with my life. I want to be married to
you, but I think we need to take a little break until we both grow up.”

He felt as
if he’d been punched in the stomach.
Her very tone implied that she meant he was the one with the bulk
of growing up to do, and instead of the anger he expected at these words, a
strange feeling filled his bones and spilled out with his next words: “What do
I need to do to show you that I’m ready for this after all?”

Jean smiled
wanly. She recognized desperation when
she heard it and she more than empathized with him. She felt exactly the same way.
“I can’t tell you what to do.
You’ll do it when you’re ready.”

“Stop
talking like that!”

“Like what?”

“In
almost-riddles!”

“Scott,”
she sighed, her eyes prickling, “I miss you so much. I want us to be together again but I can’t let you run roughshod
over my feelings like you had been. I
know it’s frustrating about not having a job and school starting again so soon
but…but sometimes, being a grown up means having to deal with things that suck
like that and having to get on with life instead of pouting.”

Scott
quickly erased the pout brewing from his features. “Jean…”

“Scott,”
she said on a breath, barely loud enough for him to hear, “I can’t tell you how
to fix this but I can tell you that I’ll wait as long as it takes.”

“That,” he
sighed, “is not what I wanted to hear.”
She did not acknowledge his words but merely smiled sadly and slid from
the room, heading in the direction of the Danger Room and leaving him alone in
the kitchen. He did not want to see the
Professor but he was having an overwhelming desire to ask for the man’s advice,
no matter what hard feelings remained between them. Jean’s voice in his head, so clear that for a moment he thought
it actually was her, piped up in his head. Maybe the feelings are only one sided in this case… He groaned aloud. That isn’t what I wanted to hear, either…

 

Remy
frowned down at Lilly, standing before him and smiling sweetly. “Non, cherie, I don’ tink so.”

“I though
that maybe we could get to know one another.
I want to find out all about my cousin but she won’t tell me anything…”

Menteur,
he thought, but did not give voice to his accusation, did not call her a liar
to her face. “I got lots goin’ on, mademoiselle. Now if you ‘scuse me…” He moved to shut the door in her face, but
her hand shot out and stopped him. I
know who you are, he wanted to shout as he throttled her, but instead he
forced a smile and said, “Lilly, I ain’t gonna tell you tales outta
school. You jus’ gonna have ta talk to
Jubilation yerself.”

“She isn’t
here, is she?” she asked, though in a tone that clearly stated she knew the
answer. “I would rather talk to
you. Come, I will buy you lunch.”

Remy’s
frown deepened. He knew the tattoos on
her neck and her grandmother’s arm, he knew what they meant and just how
dangerous they were, but she did not know that. The Professor, he thought to himself, would get up out of his
chair and kick his ass if he knew what he was about to do. “D’accord, cherie. Les’ go.”

Lilly
blinked as if surprised, then smiled broadly.
“Wonderful. Maybe you can recommend
somewhere in town?”

Remy forced
another smile and purred, “Of course…I know a nice lil’ place by de river.” He offered Lilly his arm and she took it
after a moment’s hesitation.

“I will
drive,” she insisted, and Remy knew better than to argue.

“D’accord. It’s too bad Jubilee can’t join us, eh?”

“Quite,”
she drawled, leading him to the car out front.
Remy felt as if iron bars were clanking shut behind him as the car door
slammed. “Now, where to?”