X-Men Fic: Rehabilitation, Magneto/Pyro Rated R

[anneline]

Title: Rehabilitation
Pairing: Pyro/Gambit Pyro/Magneto
Rating: R for slash and language.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Warnings: Major spoilers for X3. Bad language, some violent imagery.
Summary: John needs Magneto.
Thanks to lilacsigil for the beta.



It figured that Bobby would turn out to be one step ahead of him. He always was; every fucking time. John wasn't sure how he'd survived. That had probably been Bobby, too. Bobby, being more heroic than John ever would be, had most likely pulled him to safety during the last frantic retreat off the island. Hell if John knew. He was mostly unconscious the whole time. He couldn't remember anything; he had to piece the whole story together from second hand accounts and newspaper articles. All he remembered was waking up in the prison infirmary with two fingers missing down to the first knuckle on his left hand, and one missing all the way to the second knuckle on his right.

"Frostbite," the orderly had said as John stared at his hands in confusion. The orderly had said it with a big shit-eating grin on his face while he pushed a mop around on the floor in front of John's bed. He said it like it was the most hilarious thing ever, and like he'd been sitting on that juicy bit of information for days, just waiting for John to come out of the coma so that he could explain it. The orderly looked familiar, an asshole pawn, John thought. He had one of those retarded omega tattoos on his cheek. "You should see your toes," he giggled.

Frostbite. Figured.

That was over five years ago. John had cut a deal with the D.A. and got himself a twelve year sentence. His lawyer had said he'd be out in five and she hadn't been lying. It felt very anticlimactic, being paroled -- just dumped out onto the street like he was no big deal, just a sidekick after all. When he first got out, John spent every free evening and every day off looking for one man, who turned out to be a lot easier to find than John thought he would be. All that time on the Internet and shaking down people and John found him in a park, twelve blocks from the halfway house where he was staying.

"Who you playing?" said John, dropping down into the empty seat across from Magneto. Metal chess pieces were laid out on an outdoor chess table in front of him, but Magneto was just staring at them.

"Go away."

"Guess you didn't miss me then."

Magneto stared at John for a moment. He narrowed his eyes and asked,

"Are you one of them?"

"What?" said John. "You mean human? Homo sapien?" Like you, he thought but didn't say. "No. Still me. Look." John reached instinctively for his pocket. "Um, you wouldn't have a lighter or matches or anything? I'm not allowed to carry them -- condition of my parole." Magneto said nothing. John scanned the park. "Wait, I know, look over there." He focused his attention on a fat girl in shorts, sitting on a park bench, and smoking. The end of her cigarette flared up and she gave a terrified little scream, her face contorting in shock. John laughed. It felt good; he hadn't done anything like that in ages. "See?" he said to Magneto. "They didn't have to fuck with my mutation to keep me in line. Just had to keep me away from open flames."

"So, they didn't cure you." Magneto said the word 'cure' with a sneer.

"No. They rehabilitated me, though," John said with false brightness. "I can make furniture, now."

Magneto looked back down at his chessmen.

"What happened to your fingers?"

"I had a skiing accident." John held out both his hands. "What do you think?"

Magneto said nothing. He looked older. Much fucking older, thought John, and blander. Like any other old man. But he wasn't any other old man. He was Magneto. John knew that. His body knew that, too. He felt a twist in his stomach he hadn't felt in years. A rush of excitement washed over him, but had Magneto always looked so frail? John had planned this meeting a dozen different ways in prison and it wasn't turning out right. And talking wasn't the only thing he'd been imagining doing with Magneto. John used to think about Bobby when he jerked off. He still did. He imagined punching Bobby over and over again with burning fists. His face would be a mess and John would come every time. But otherwise, he thought about Magneto, who had these big, rough hands...

"Go away," said Magneto, again. "Whatever you want from me, I can't give it to you."

John fidgeted in his seat. "I just want-- I don't know? Nothing. Look. It doesn't matter that you're -- you know. That doesn't matter." John picked up random chess pieces and set them down again, nervously. "There are others like me; there are still a lot of strong mutants out there. I made contacts in prison. You can lead us. I don't know. I'll help you. Just tell me what do."

"Fine," said Magneto, standing up. "I'll tell you what to do. Go to hell and leave me alone." He stalked away from John and out of the park.

John watched him leave for a few minutes, and then started rapidly gathering up the forgotten chess pieces.

One hour later and he was at Magneto's door. It was on the first floor of an apartment complex, facing a cluttered courtyard. The door opened and a blast of air conditioning hit John on the face and arms. He held out a large cardboard box.

"What's this?"

"This is Chinese food," said John, pushing past Magneto, and into the apartment. He headed towards the kitchen table, where he deposited the box. He pulled out a black case that held the chessmen. "Here, you forgot these."

Magneto grabbed the case and frowned. "You followed me."

"Yeah, of course," said John, pulling other things out of the box. "Wasn't hard. I learned from the best."

"Here." He offered Magneto a little white take-out box. "You eat Chinese food right?"

"No".

"Yes you do," said John, gesturing more forcibly with the container. "Want to know how I know? Because you used to make me fetch it for you all the time. Beef Chow Mein. I know that's what you want because that's what you always wanted. You never ordered anything else, the whole time I worked for you. I doubt that changed in the five years I was on the inside. You've probably never ordered anything other the Beef Chow Mein in the last eighty years or however old you are."

Magneto took the food.

"I can buy my own Chinese food."

"Can you? Good." John handed Magneto a set of chopsticks and opened his own box of Orange Chicken. "You can pay me back. Do you know how much furniture makers earn? They earn shit."

Magneto sat down at the table and John sat opposite him. "You're doing me a favor," said John, while chewing. "Letting me have lunch here. The place where I'm at, it sucks worse than Xavier's. I've got a curfew." He checked his watch automatically. "No drugs, no alcohol. I mean, I'm old enough, now, to drink legally but I can't drink. Sucks. Which reminds me." John pulled a six-pack of beer out a brown paper sack that was still inside the box. "These are for you. I can't have any; I was just psyched to be able to buy them. There's this mutant chick at the house, she can sense whether you've been drinking, anything, one drink, half a drink, one sip, she'll know. And then it's back in the can. She doesn't even have to touch you. She can monitor blood sugar, too." John smiled. "She could be really useful in the cause, I mean, if we get a lot of diabetics."

Magneto shook his head.

"Mutants help to imprison brother mutants?"

"Yep," John grabbed the rice and scooped some of it on top of his chicken. "Tons of mutants are working for the prisons -- psychics, dampeners, super strong types, all sorts."

"Hmm." Magneto made an angry gesture.

That got a rise out him, thought John. It was good to see.

They ate the rest of their meal in silence.

"Now what?" said John as he gathered up the empty cartons and threw them into the box.

"I'm taking a nap," said Magneto. "I believe I told you to go to hell."

Nap. He was just saying that piss John off, John was sure of it. He ignored it. "Fine, but I'll be back tomorrow."

That evening, after curfew, John was in his bed reading a book on re-finishing techniques when Remy cracked open the door and slipped into the room. Remy had already been in the halfway house for two weeks when John arrived. He'd done three years for theft. He was into small time cons augmented by an occasional purse-snatching. He had taken to John immediately and John hadn't discouraged him.

"So, did you find him?" Remy asked. He was standing in the doorway in low-slug jeans and wearing a loose tee-shirt with the words "Magneto was right" silk-screened onto it. Above the words was a drawing of the helmet with Magneto's intense eyes peering out. It was a popular tee-shirt, not just among mutants, but with normal teenagers and celebrities, as well.

John looked up.

"Who?" he said casually.

"I know what you've been up to," said Remy, flopping onto the bed next to John. "Who you've been looking for."

"Yeah." John moved over a bit to give Remy room. It was a tight fit on the single bed.

"Yeah. You found him, didn't you?" Remy whispered. "It's bad, isn't it?"

"You knew."

"I'd heard rumors." Remy was lying on his stomach. He managed to pull a deck of cards from his jeans pocket and started to shuffle them idly. "Magneto's fucking pathetic, now."

John slammed his book closed.

"Shut up. I mean it. Say that again about Magneto and they'll need dental records to identify your body. Know what I mean?"

"All right. Jesus." Remy quit shuffling. "Why do you have to be such an asshole? I know I'm not a level three or four, or whatever the hell you're always going on about, but I'm a mutant, too. And I'm smart. I know the streets and I can help you."

"Hey, did you come in here to annoy me," John said with mock cheerfulness. "Or to suck my cock?"

Remy stuffed the cards back into his pocket.

"There are other things I can do for you, you know."

"Yeah, yeah," said John. He kissed Remy lazily for a while before directing him downward.

Remy was all right. John usually liked them blond like Bobby. Remy has a stack of unruly red hair, a cute wide nose covered in freckles, and freckles all over his back and arms. It was sexy, John thought. Remy's eyes were totally fucked up. John might have preferred blue or something but Remy's looked like two burning flames. Naturally, that had a certain appeal for John.

"Hey, you can do me a favor," John said when Remy finished.

"Yeah," said Remy, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Lend me that shirt."

The next afternoon John didn't find Magneto in the park, so he went straight to the apartment.

"Beef Chow Mein," said John, handing Magneto another box of take-out as soon as he opened the door. John pulled off his jacket and smirked while he waited for Magneto to notice the shirt.

Magneto exhaled angrily. "Take it off."

"I was hoping you'd say that." John smiled widely and yanked the tee-shirt off over his head.

"Put it back on."

"Uh uh," said John. "Not until you comment on the abs. I was so bored in prison. All I did was work out. It's intimidating going to the gym in mutant prison, you know. You're, like, sweating and straining and you look over and the guy next to you is bench-pressing 980 like it's nothing. It's discouraging."

Magneto smiled thinly.

"Worth it, though," John said. "I look good, don't I?"

"You could use a haircut."

John ran a hand through his hair.

"You want to -- you know?"

"No."

"Yeah. All right. I miss-- I don't know, I thought..." John put the shirt back on. He wore it inside out so it wouldn't bug Magneto while they ate.

John was relieved to find Magneto in the park the next day because he was short of cash and sick of Chinese food to boot.

"The thing about chess is," he said, sitting down across from Magneto at the chess table, "It's popular in prison." John began arranging the pieces for a new game. "You remember how you taught me to play? Well, I'm a lot better, now."

They played, Magneto silent, John rambling.

"Good try with your bishop, there," said John, casually. "I know this guy at the halfway house who calls himself 'Gambit'. He has this trick he does with cards." John moved his knight. "Don't ask me what the hell cards have to do with a gambit. To be honest, I don't think he knows what gambit means. He's good-looking, though." John looked up to scan Magneto's face for any hint of jealousy, something. He found nothing. "Anyway, he's from Louisiana and he has this accent, I can hardly understand him. He's part of this Louisiana mafia thing. I mean, did you know there was a Louisiana mafia? Well, if you did know about that, that's what he's in." The chess pieces clicked quietly against the concrete table. "He could be useful. He's real enthusiastic." John watched Magneto's face again. "Real eager."

Magneto smiled slightly and moved a bishop.

"Come on," said John, taking the bishop. "They didn't take your chess playing skills. Will you at least make an effort, for fuck's sake?" he shouted, suddenly angry.

"Checkmate."

"Wait. Really? Fuck."

Magneto started putting the pieces back into their starting positions.

"You'll want a rematch."

"No," said John, standing up suddenly. "Let's go to your place. I want to-- I want you to..."

Magneto didn't move. "No."

"Quit saying that," John whined. "I'm not even asking about the mutant brotherhood bullshit. Just -- you know. I want, like what we used to have." John ran his hand through his hair. "You don't want to fight, you don't want to fuck. What do you want to do?"

"I'll play chess."

John exhaled loudly in frustration.

"Just give me something to do, damn it. I want to do something. I feel all penned up. It's like I never left prison."

"I told you before that I couldn't help you. I'm finished with all that."

"With what? With everything?"

"Yes, I'm finished with everything. I'm tired. I've lost and I'm tired. I have no -- no power. I'm no good to anyone."

"I'm still good," said John earnestly.

"Hmph," Magneto shook his head. "Not good enough, as I recall."

John stiffened.

"Yeah, I let you down. I know. It's probably my fault that you're-- But I can make it up to you, if you let me."

"It's like losing a part of your body," Magneto said quietly.

John held up his hands. "Like a finger."

"No, like losing your mind."

John knew. He could imagine, anyway. All those years nowhere near fire and he yearned for it the whole time -- wanted so badly to touch it. Yet, even so far away, he could feel it. On the edge of his mind, he always knew it was there, fire, somewhere, he could feel it flickering and he knew that he could control it, if he ever got close enough. He knew it was the blood of the earth, fire, and metal, too, both combined and molten under the crust of the earth. It pulsed and flowed, a comforting second heartbeat. And Magneto must have felt the same thing when it came to metal and now he'd lost that. Yeah, it was a fucking tragedy. It'd be the end for John but this was Magneto, John thought. He could still move people as easily as he used to move iron filings.

"You don't know what I've lost," said Magneto, staring angrily at John. "Charles. Jean. Do you know what Jean meant to me, at one time?"

"You turned your back on Mystique easily enough," John said defiantly. "You seem to get over people."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Yeah, you never cared about Professor Xavier or Doctor Grey either. You don't care about people, just about what they can do for you or your cause. You said it yourself, what Xavier did for mutants, that's what was important to you. You didn't care about him."

"You'd best be quiet now." Magneto stood up. He was almost a head taller than John and didn't look so frail anymore. His face was contorted in rage but John didn't back down.

"I know. I know. I mean, I guessed." John took a step back. "Look, I know you don't care about me but that doesn't matter. It doesn't matter how you feel about me. It's how I feel about you. About how I feel when I'm here." John looked around. They were getting a few curious glances but for the most part, the other people in the park were ignoring them. "Look," sighed John. "I'm a loser. I always have been. I mean, you lost everything and you're like a tragic hero. Me, I'm just a fucking loser. Comic, fucking, relief. Smacked down, locked up. But it doesn't matter. With you, blowing up cars, shouting orders, man, I was never happier."

"Well, it's over," Magneto growled. "You move on."

The chess pieces rattled. John turned to stare at them.

"Wait," he said, awed. "That was you."

"It's nothing."

"It's nothing? It's fucking something. It's coming back, isn't it?"

"There's no time," Magneto sighed. "Five years, and I can barely move a spoon. I don't have the time to wait."

"You don't know that. Things move fast these days. Faster than ever. You said it yourself: a whole new species has evolved in less than four generations."

"It's moved past me. Time has left me behind."

"There's got to be some way to accelerate the process. You must have thought about it." John touched a pawn that had stopped shaking. "If it's coming back for you, then others... Mystique."

Magneto's face changed, he looked somewhat thoughtful.

"You know where she is, don't you?" John asked.

Magneto nodded.

"This is huge."

"No, it's not. It's nothing."

That night, still angry and frustrated, John dreamed of Bobby squeezing his fists with his frozen hands. Squeezing hard. It burned. Nothing burned John, but that did. It hurt like hell. He was crying but Bobby wouldn't let go.

He didn't really make furniture. He repaired it. He could have made furniture, if there had been any money in that. As far as John knew, underage Filipinos were the only ones who made furniture anymore. There was still a market for fixing things, though: crap chiffarobes, dining room chairs, teacarts that had all "been in the family for generations." People always thought they were worth fixing. John could never get them to understand that if it was crap to start with, being a hundred years old didn't make it worth anything, it just made it hundred year old crap. Sometimes he stumbled on some nice pieces; there was some cool mission stuff in San Francisco, but not often. John hated how much, against his will, he'd come to know about furniture and antiques. It had even come to interest him, workmanship, style, wood grain, shit like that. It got so he couldn't miss an episode of Antiques Roadshow. It was not something he wanted people to know about him, not something he wanted advertised. Working on a crap chiffarobe all morning, that's how he ended up running late to his hair appointment, still smelling of varnish.

Soon enough he was settled into a salon chair, a towel around his neck and strong pungent odors filling the air -- the varnish and paint remover, bleach, disinfectant. They were all chemical smells; he liked it. He could smell cigarette smoke on the girl who was cutting his hair, he noticed her fingers were nicotine stained as they danced past his eyes, snipping fast.

"You smoke?" He asked. He saw her pack, crumpled up, in front of him, on a tiny counter. A pack of matches was slid under the plastic wrapper.

"Yeah," she said. "I know, bad habit and all."

John shrugged.

"I used to smoke."

"Want one?" she said, reaching for the pack.

"No, I'll take the matches, though."

"Um, okay."

She handed John the matches when they were done. He examined the pack for a moment.

"Duplex," she said. "It's a cool club. I'm there almost every Saturday night." She winked at him. He smiled stiffly and handed her a twenty. Pathetic, he thought, as he headed to the counter to pay, pathetic homo sapien. He always wanted to say something like that, or maybe something like "puny human". It would be funny. He decided he'd save that for Rogue since she'd taken the cure. He'd toast her up with Bobby watching and say "puny human." The thought made him smile.

The next afternoon he tossed the paper down on top of Magneto's chess pieces, scattering them everywhere. It was a glorious day, cool and sunny; long white clouds streaked across the perfect blue sky. The headline was all about the explosion, the previous night at the Worthington Labs warehouse. The article said all sorts of things about "isolated incidents", and "no evidence that mutant terrorism is on the rise". Shit like that. Nice photo, though, the warehouse in flames but the letters, written in fire on the front of the building were still distinct -- "Magneto was right."

Magneto didn't even look at the newspaper; he just looked up at John.

"You got your hair cut."

"Yeah."

"Good."

Magneto might have looked older but he was still strong -- strong and hard and fierce as he drove into John. John was on his knees, his face pressed against the sheets. Magneto placed his hand on the back of John's neck to hold him down. John sweated and twisted and cried out when he came.

"I'll do anything for you. You know that." said John, after. He was tired and sticky, the air conditioning freezing the sweat on his skin. Late afternoon sunlight was streaming in through a window.

"I never doubted that, my boy."

John felt a swell of pride even though he knew Magneto was thinking more about the sway he had over John and not about John's loyalty.

"I can't stay here, you know," said John. He was lying next to Magneto in a double bed that dominated most of the small bedroom of the apartment. "It's got my M.O. all over it. When I got home this morning, there were already cop cars out front of the halfway house. I had to take off. I almost got caught. My parole officer's been calling me all day on my cell phone..."

"I imagine you have somewhere you plan to go." Magneto looked pensive, staring at the ceiling.

"Yeah," said John. "I have somewhere to go and you're coming with me."

"Really. Where?"

"New Orleans."

Magneto smiled. "I am getting a bit bored with San Francisco."

"We can leave after dark," said John.

"Hmm," said Magneto. "Tea first, then, I think." He got up and threw on his robe. He walked out of the bedroom toward the kitchen. John pulled on his boxers and followed.

"I'm starving, too," said John, opening a cabinet at random. "Do you have any peanut butter?"

"Damn," said Magneto. He was standing by the stove, holding the kettle and peering down at a burner.

"What?"

"Pilot light went out again," said Magneto.

"Easy," said John. "I can..." He put his hand down to feel for a pocket that wasn't there. "Oh shit. I forgot. I used them already." He looked at Magneto. "You sure you don't have matches or a lighter or something?"

Magneto reached into the pocket of his robe and pulled out a lighter.

"Here, keep it."

John took it and stared at it, shark teeth along the edge of the lid, a Zippo. John gripped it hard. It felt warm in his hand.