Awareness

[Pyro]

Timestamp: Late afternoon, day after the bank raid

John didn't fully recover consciousness until around three the following afternoon. He'd woken once or twice in the intervening hours, but never long enough to really take in his surroundings. By the time he woke, the transfusion was complete and whilst he still felt weak and woozy, he knew when he came to that he was on the receiving end of a Lucky Escape.

The bed in which he lay was pristine, immaculate, starched white sheets that smelled beautifully clean - which was more than he did. He was still mostly covered in his own blood and the sweat and grime of the past four days.

Had it only been four days since leaving Genosha?

How had that happened?

He turned a little in the bed, but was still attached to the IV. Noting that the blood bag was empty, he popped himself free and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He nearly fell when he stood, but gritting his teeth, made his way laboriously across to the en-suite bathroom.

Washing his face made him feel a bit better, although he stared rather anxiously at the filthy state of the once-white towel when he dried his face.

He looked longingly at the bath for a few moments. There were only showers in Genosha. He'd not had a soak in a bath for...how long?

Too long.

He slowly walked back out to the bedroom and climbed back into the bed, closing his eyes. His shoulder, which had been dressed properly now, still felt dull and ached, but he knew that he would be all right now.

His eyes opened again and there was a definite look of sudden realisation in them. Where were his friends?

Where, to that point, was he?

He got to his feet again and, naked from the waist up, with an IV tube still in his arm, his hair sticking out in all directions and looking for all the world like a madman, he headed out into the corridor to find out what was going on.

[Jane]

Sending Heinrich into lapses of blissful German had become sort of a personal goal for Jane, by this point. He had, as promised, arrived bright and early to Giacomo's villa the next morning with an extensive list of plants he used in his work, and though Giacomo and the household in general had held him at bay at least until Jane staggered down blearily for "breakfast" at eleven - only a minor crash after all, it turned out, or else she'd have slept the day through at the very least. After consuming what must have been half the contents of the kitchen, Jane felt ready enough (having already bathed again just because she could and changed) to emerge into the world.

Jane was barefoot, which unnerved her; even more unnerving was the fact that she wasn't wearing trousers, but instead one of Giacomo's daughter's several thousand long, flowing white dresses. Built similarly they might be, but similar did not take into regard a certain abundance in Jane's bottom half that, apparently, Italian women did not share. None of the jeans fit, and without jeans, there was only so much you could cover with all the tops in the closet, at least 90% of which were glorified bras and 100% of which were built for those better-endowed than Jane. The dresses, with the straps in the back tied together to cinch the up, had been Jane's only option, and she was not best pleased with that. It left too much unprotected. Thankfully, the daughter had at least had a few dozen pairs of opera gloves in a little drawer next to where her formal wear was kept, and Jane had found a white pair that went almost up to her shoulders.

She felt vaguely bridal. It wasn't a good feeling. Kneeling in the dirt of the newly-formed orchard behind the house helped it a little, except that she knew she was going to grass-stain the dress.

"Wunderbar!" Heinrich shouted at her again, mopping his sweating forehead with an extremely ill-used handkerchief as Jane reproduced yet another plant from a representation in one of his medical textbooks to his exacting standards, the seed pods being suchandsuch millimeters in diameter and the stamens being soandso in length, and with a perfect shade to the blossom. "Wunderbar! Dieses ist unglaublich!"

Jane had had no idea what he was talking about for at least the last four hours, but she got the general gist. A white-clad assistant (why did apparently the entire nation of Italy have such a penchant for white?) carefully bent over the plant, clipping off exactly three leaves before bagging them and packing them in a box, the eighth box, which was already half-full of similar things. She pushed a lock of hair back behind one ear, sighing. She hadn't even been able to get her hair up and out of her face - though the impelements to do so were profuse in the little white bathroom, it was all clips and pins and bizarre torture devices, nothing so simple as a little grip. She hadn't been able to figure anything out, so now it was all over her face instead.

And the work was a little boring, but a good stretch. At least she'd got to make the entire apple and pear orchard pop out of the ground at once to repay Giacomo for his hospitality. That had been cool.

She looked back up at the house, wondering whether John would wake up today or if he'd take until tomorrow. He'd probably sleep for a while so his body could knit itself back together, and she'd had no clue exactly how much valerian she'd given him, so that could still be in effect, but he'd been asleep for almost - what, eighteen hours?

A shape flitted past one of the windows in a hallway with an external face and Jane peered closely at the next window in the line. Sure enough, a half-naked and filthy form shuffled past it, unidentifiable things sticking out of its arm and with a big red-brown patch covering half the back of its upper body.

"Scusi," Jane said to Heinrich, forgetting momentarily that he was the Austrian and Giacomo was the Italian, and trotting back up to the house, leaving them to sort happily through the boxes of cuttings.

"John?" Jane called once she got up to the steps to the verandah, crossing the patio and moving into the house, unsure of where he'd got to. "That you?"

[Pyro]

The voice reached him immediately and when he turned, he dropped into an obviously defensive stance, a habit he'd never really lost since the time he'd spent on the streets. When he saw Jane, at first he simply didn't recognise her, dressed as she was. Eventually, the vague tickle of awareness made him recall her face to mind.

"Yeah," he said, after a pause. "Yeah, it's me. Where the hell am I? Where's Python? And Juggernaut?"

He sounded totally alert and compos mentis, which was a good thing, but he really did look like hell. And without wishing to put too fine a point on it, the boy was a little on the pungent side as well. The iron scent of dried blood and antiseptic mixed with the near-permanent smell of woodsmoke that seemed to linger around the young man.

His green eyes held her gaze for a few more moments, then he looked around himself. "This isn't Genosha," he murmured, talking more to himself than to her. "We were going to go back via Potenza...so this must be Giacomo's place. I never met the guy. Is Python here?"

[Jane]

Jane flinched as the kid shifted immediately, suppressing the urge to dart back outside and go back down to Giacomo and Heinrich, who at least were large enough to provide some sort of shield. For a few seconds it didn't even look like John recognized her. Was it possible...? Well, he'd been high almost the whole time and bleeding continuously the rest -


"Yeah," he said, and Jane breathed a sigh of relief. "Yeah, it's me. Where the hell am I? Where's Python? And Juggernaut?"

He looked a little crazy. And he smelled a little like the alley behind Jane's apartment had.

"You're fine," Jane said slowly, but he started talking again before she could get anything more information in edgewise.

"This isn't Genosha. We were going to go back via Potenza...so this must be Giacomo's place. I never met the guy. Is Python here?"

"No," Jane said. "I mean, yes, this is Giacomo's house. We're still in Italy. Python's not here, he's out getting Whatsherface with Juggernaut, like you told him to. You wouldn't really wake up on the plane, so he called someone who called someone and then they took us here..." Her voice trailed off.

"How much do you remember?"

[Pyro]

"How much do you remember?"

"Not much after I got shot, to be honest," said John, screwing his eyes closed and trying to remember. "I know your face though. Jane, right? You helped us out." He frowned. "I DID say thank you, I hope."

He sat down on one of the chairs that was set out along the hallway and tried to collect his thoughts. "I vaguely remember getting out the car park and getting into a smuggling compartment on the plane, but after that...it's all a bit hazy. So the guys have gone to get Sekhmet, huh? Well, probably for the best. Hopefully she'll have got us more recruits...numbers, numbers, we need num...where's my shirt?"

He had noticed, for the first time, that his shirt had been removed. With his shirt having been removed, the fuel line fired ignitor that fed a pilot flame to his hand had also been removed. Without it, he felt naked and vulnerable. "Shit, where's my shirt?"

He looked about to break into some sort of panic attack. He began patting at the pockets of the black combats that he wore and a look of relief came into his eyes. "Ol' Faithful," he murmured, mysteriously until he pulled out a Zippo lighter.

"Never leave home without it," he said, lovingly, gazing down at the item before he began flicking it on.

And off.

[Jane]

"Not much after I got shot, to be honest. I know your face though. Jane, right? You helped us out."[/b]

If he didn't remember her coloring, anyway, Jane would be severely doubting in his mental capabilities, even if he HAD been shot. And high. A few times.

"I DID say thank you, I hope."

"You said thank you," Jane assured him. He sat in one of the chairs and she moved fully into the hallway, leaning on one of the doorposts.

"I vaguely remember getting out the car park and getting into a smuggling compartment on the plane, but after that...it's all a bit hazy. So the guys have gone to get Sekhmet, huh? Well, probably for the best. Hopefully she'll have got us more recruits...numbers, numbers, we need num...where's my shirt?"

"They cut it off," Jane said, but he looked a lot more worried about a shirt than even she'd have been, and he didn't really have anything obscene to cover. "When they sewed up your shoulder, I mean." Sekhmet. That had been the girl's name. At least she'd come at a good time, if John was talking about recruits.

"Shit, where's my shirt?"

"They'll get you a new one," Jane said helplessly. "It was all bloody. I think they burned it."

"Ol' Faithful. Never leave home without it."

He started flicking the thing on and off, on and off, on and off.

Oookay.

"There's a bathtub in the room they put you in," Jane said pointedly. "And I can tell you all the details you don't remember later, if you like."

[Pyro]

"They'll get you a new one. It was all bloody. I think they burned it."

"As long as they took the fuel line connector out of it, I'm sure that went down very well." He seemed to visibly relax at her words, though. Chances were then, that his ignitor was around somewhere.

"There's a bathtub in the room they put you in, and I can tell you all the details you don't remember later, if you like."

He looked up at her, dressed in pristine white and then down at himself, dressed in decidedly grubby combats, no shirt and socks that may well have to be chiselled off. A very slow awareness came to him.

He stank.

Not just a slight unpleasantness, either, but an absolute stink.

He felt incredibly self-conscious.

"Ah, the patient awakes!" The German accent cut through his little moment of self-pity and the lighter flicked absently to the 'on' position. "You should not have left the room without me checking your wound first, young man."

The man was little and squat and staring intently at the wound on his shoulder through the dressing. "Is good. It is healing well."

"Who the hell are you?"

"I am Heinrich," was the reply. "They call me the Surgeon. Is not much of a name, I admit..." A laugh. "But accurate enough. I am friend of Giacomo. I fix your shoulder last night and your lovely lady friend here has been kind enough to repay me this morning..." Here, he smiled broadly at Jane.

John wasn't sure he wanted the detail.

"Can I bathe?"

"As long as you do not get the dressing wet, then yes."

"It's a bit difficult not to get it wet. Unless..." Oh god. The only person here that he knew was Jane. Unless...

Unless he...

Unless he asked her...

No, he couldn't.

Unbeknownst to him, he'd flared bright pink again.

[Jane]

"As long as they took the fuel line connector out of it, I'm sure that went down very well."

"I'm sure they did," Jane said, not sure what a fuel line connector, which sounded like it should be part of a car, was doing in his shirt.

Then, suddenly, for the first time, John appeared to notice that he stank.

Jane privately blessed any and all gods and goddesses that existed for this newfound knowledge.

"Ah, the patient awakes! You should not have left the room without me checking your wound first, young man."

Heinrich puffed up, balding head shining in the afternoon sunlight and his girth nearly brushing the sides of the verandah doors as he made his way into the hall.

"Is good. It is healing well."

Jane re-crossed her arms.

"Who the hell are you?"

"I am Heinrich. They call me the Surgeon. Is not much of a name, I admit... But accurate enough. I am friend of Giacomo. I fix your shoulder last night and your lovely lady friend here has been kind enough to repay me this morning..."

Ohhh, creepy creepy. Jane smiled back, slightly forcedly, and her arms moved up higher.

"Can I bathe?"

YES PLEASE JESUS.

"As long as you do not get the dressing wet, then yes."

"It's a bit difficult not to get it wet. Unless..."

Suddenly John went bright pink again. He definitely wasn't feverish this time, which meant he was just blushing, but why would he be..?

Unless -

Oh dear.

"You can wrap casts in plastic bags in the shower," she said quickly. "I guess you could plastic-wrap yours, you can't exactly get your whole arm into a bag, can you?"

She was so not helping ANYONE in the shower. Not until both of them were blind and she was irrevocably tied to them more closely than 'I patch up your shoulder, you give me money and ride to Italy.'

[Pyro]

"I guess you could plastic-wrap yours, you can't exactly get your whole arm into a bag, can you?"

Jane's words burst into his consciousness with an explosion of relief and joy. Of course! What kind of idiot was he, anyway? "Great idea," he said, brightly and Heinrich nodded in agreement.

"I will fetch you some medical wrap from my bag," he said. "A bath would do you good in many ways," said the little man tactfully.

Not to mention how much good it would do everyone else in the house.

* * *

He emerged from the bath an hour or so later, his hair wet around his face, swathed in a fluffy towel. Someone, presumably Giacomo, had provided a change of clothing (unfortunately for a man a little taller than him, so the jeans came down around his feet somewhere) and he slid into them gratefully.

Having changed, he sat down on the end of the bed and took stock of his situation. He tried looking at it from a number of different angles, tried putting different spin on the issue and tried Looking On The Bright Side, the way Kitty had always told him to do.

Whichever way he looked at it, it came out the same way.

He had made a mess of things.

He had almost died.

He had ended up in Italy whilst the rest of his people were scattered.

He was, frankly, not proving himself to be a very good leader. Being shot in the shoulder had alerted him to the fact that he wasn't, as he had previously suspected, some sort of immortal soul. Magneto had always dealt with the bullets.

He towel-dried his hair which obligingly stuck up every which way and in bare feet padded out to find Jane and hopefully something to eat. His stomach was telling him that he'd not eaten since leaving Genosha and he planned to rectify that situation.

[Jane]

"Great idea."

"I will fetch you some medical wrap from my bag. A bath would do you good in many ways."

Thank the Lord.

* * *

Jane finished up Heinrich's list for the next fifteen or twenty minutes, moving through the last few things quickly - practice apparently was good for her; despite the fact that Jane had a very good grasp on her power anyway, she'd never had good endurance, and Jane had never really gone this long before.

After she'd filled up all his boxes, Heinrich finally let her take a break, and Jane wandered inside to find food - it was almost seven and the sun was beginning to think about setting, turning the sky all sorts of interesting colors. She knew it was just the pollution, but it was still beautiful.

She found her way into the kitchen, but was quickly chased out by various attending chefs and eventually the huge, corpulent Chef Himself and gabbled at in Italian, which Jane took to mean that she was going to have to wait for dinner. She grew herself an apple and wandered into the library, checking out Giacomo's collection of classics.

[Pyro]

"The Three Musketeers," came a soft voice from behind her. "My favourite book of all time." John stood in the doorway, leaning against it. He was (mercifully) clean, his hair still wet, and he was wearing a pair of too-big jeans that hung loosely on his hips and a white, designer short-sleeved shirt.

He scrubbed up surprisingly well.

"When I was a kid, I didn't have a lot to do other than read," he said, still leaning against the wall, "and I used to re-read that book so many times. I was always Athos in my mind. Porthos was too tough, Aramis was too suave and D'Artagnan was just a big girl's blouse. Athos was the man."

He pushed himself away from the doorframe and padded into the room. "I used to play games of 'Let's Pretend' where I'd buckle my swash around my bedroom. My dad used to yell at me to keep the noise down. I tried to write my own stories about the Musketeers, but they never came out right."

He gave her a sort of half-smile.

"The chef won't let me have anything to eat and I'm starving," he complained, his stomach growling to emphasise the point.

[Jane]

"The Three Musketeers. My favourite book of all time."

Jane jumped and turned around. Apparently the Italian obsession with white stretched to boys as well.

"I never read it," Jane said. "I think I started, somewhere, but I forgot to pick it up again." Jane had half-read a lot of books, actually.

"When I was a kid, I didn't have a lot to do other than read, and I used to re-read that book so many times. I was always Athos in my mind. Porthos was too tough, Aramis was too suave and D'Artagnan was just a big girl's blouse. Athos was the man."

Jane smiled and pulled the book off the shelf, hefting it carefully - it looked old and probably valuable, like everything in the house, with gilded egdes and a beautiful leather cover.

"I used to play games of 'Let's Pretend' where I'd buckle my swash around my bedroom. My dad used to yell at me to keep the noise down. I tried to write my own stories about the Musketeers, but they never came out right."

Jane laughed quietly. She'd done enough pretending in her room for ten kids. "What is swashbuckling, exactly?" she asked. "I never figured that one out."

He gave her a sort of half-smile.

"The chef won't let me have anything to eat and I'm starving."

Jane pushed one of the library's windows open and reached outside to a willow tree, which obligingly grew another apple with a little twisting and coaxing. She plucked it gently and tossed it to John, though she held it up for a second to let him know she'd throw it - he seemed the type to freak out if you ever pulled a "think fast" on him.

"What happened to Milady and Athos and all that?" Jane asked. "In the end? I never got that far."

[Pyro]

He took the apple gratefully and crunched into it. It served mainly to make him realise exactly how hungry he actually was. He'd never been good at taking care of himself and in the six months since Alcatraz, eating had been a sporadic, hit and miss affair. Thus it was that the always scrawny John Allerdyce still had less meat on him than a Chicken McNugget.

"What happened to Milady and Athos and all that? In the end? I never got that far."

John seemed moderately scandalised.

"Tell you the ending of one of the best books ever written? Jane, I'm shocked. They never really reconciled their differences, let's put it that way. And it's unlikely they ever will. It's like that, love."

He munched into the apple hungrily which stopped him saying anything else. When he spoke, he nodded at another book. "Last of the Mohicans," he said. "Another good one. I took that one with me when I first left home."

[Jane]

"Tell you the ending of one of the best books ever written? Jane, I'm shocked. They never really reconciled their differences, let's put it that way. And it's unlikely they ever will. It's like that, love."

Jane rolled her eyes and gave John a generally disbelieving look. "How old are you, anyway, Mr. Experience?" she asked.

"Last of the Mohicans. Another good one. I took that one with me when I first left home."

"And that's another one I got halfway through again, but that was because it was boring," Jane said, aware that she sounded like an uneducated plebe. "The opening put me to sleep. When did it start getting exciting?"

Her fingers passed Gulliver's Travels, which she'd actually finished, though she always called it Gilligan's Travels by mistake in her head.

"I always liked modern stuff more, to tell the truth," she said. "Ever read Catcher in the Rye? You'd like that one."

She wondered vaguely whether it was a praise or an insult to compare someone to Holden Caulfield.

[Pyro]

"How old are you, anyway, Mr. Experience?"

He bristled visibly.

"I was twenty in February," he replied. "And I've done more in the last six years than a lot of people do in a lifetime, including reading most of the classics. And yeah, I read Catcher in the Rye. And Catch-22. And Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. Although I hated the movie." He shrugged his shoulders - carefully.

The library was magnificent, even better than the one at Xavier's mansion. John had spent a lot of time in the library there, mostly because he loved being among the books, but also because it was one of the few places he could get a little piece and quiet. Drake had taken the piss, of course, saying he was only there because it was the most flammable place in the building, but then what did Drake know?

"Feels kind of weird not being on Genosha," he said, heading to the patio and looking out over the countryside. "It's kind of pretty here. I could almost start writing again."

[Jane]

John looked a little pissy and Jane grinned at the bookshelf, highly amused.

"I was twenty in February. And I've done more in the last six years than a lot of people do in a lifetime, including reading most of the classics. And yeah, I read Catcher in the Rye. And Catch-22. And Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. Although I hated the movie."

"Wow," Jane said, her tone not quite making it anywhere near awestruck. "You must've had a lot of spare time."

Jane had been on the streets (well, vaguely) for, thank you, ten years now, and even if she hadn't read the classics, she'd... well, held more odd jobs than she'd thought possible. Generally survived. It was still an accomplishment!

"Feels kind of weird not being on Genosha. It's kind of pretty here. I could almost start writing again."

"You should," Jane said absently, turning pages in a copy of Vanity Fair and trying to find the place where she'd moved to South Carolina. "I had a friend a few years ago who had a theory that it was the artists who really made change, not the generals, because if you look at history, it's always the poets and the painters on the edge of any big movement, making people think differently rather than just obey different rules... he was kind of a deadbeat, though. I think it might've just been a really involved pickup line."

[Pyro]

"Wouldn't know much about pickup lines myself," he said, "I just used to enjoy writing. But then things all went somewhat pear-shaped, really. I had a pen-name lined up and everything..."

The young man seemed to tune out somewhat, because he shifted until he was staring out of the patio doors, his eyes slightly unfocused, looking out into the middle distance. "Names are so important. Did you know that the original Hebrew meaning of the name 'John' is 'God is merciful'? Or that under Catholic dogma, St. John of God is the patron saint of firefighters?"

He turned to look at Jane and he had an expression on his face that was, for want of a better phrase, slightly wild.

"I ditched the 'St. John' years ago. People used to laugh at it. So I dropped to just using John. But you know what? As of right now, I'm Pyro. I always WAS Pyro, but I never fully embraced it. Magneto always said that was my real name. John Allerdyce died at Alcatraz. I wasn't ready to accept it, but I am now."

He snapped out of whatever moment he'd found himself in, almost visibly shaking himself. "What was I saying?"

[Jane]

"Wouldn't know much about pickup lines myself. I just used to enjoy writing. But then things all went somewhat pear-shaped, really. I had a pen-name lined up and everything..."

Oh, no, not a pen name. He did seem a little shaken up about it, though, because when Jane turned back to say something possibly derogatory about his lack of pickup-knowledge, his eyes were glazing over.

"Names are so important. Did you know that the original Hebrew meaning of the name 'John' is 'God is merciful'? Or that under Catholic dogma, St. John of God is the patron saint of firefighters?"

"No," Jane said. "No, I didn't." Jane meant 'gracious' or something, didn't it? Was there a St. Jane? She'd never checked.

Maybe there was an index of saints somewhere. Jane would've checked, but the look on John's face had turned from slihgtly into decidedly, unsettlingly off.

"I ditched the 'St. John' years ago. People used to laugh at it. So I dropped to just using John. But you know what? As of right now, I'm Pyro. I always WAS Pyro, but I never fully embraced it. Magneto always said that was my real name. John Allerdyce died at Alcatraz. I wasn't ready to accept it, but I am now."

"Um," Jane said. "Okay." Did that mean she had to switch to Tendril or something? She'd always just kind of been... Jane.

"What was I saying?"

"You were talking about names," Jane said. "Are you getting tired? You seem kinda out of it. You probably shouldn't be out of bed on that shoulder, anyway, I know it takes longer than you've been down to replace that much blood."

[Pyro]

"Are you getting tired? You seem kinda out of it. You probably shouldn't be out of bed on that shoulder, anyway, I know it takes longer than you've been down to replace that much blood."

"Tired? No, I'm fine. Hungry, though." He scowled a little. "Maybe a good meal would help me replenish some of that blood loss." He crossed to the bookshelf and gazed up and down the spines. His brow furrowed.

Then he started re-ordering them absently as he spoke.

"I take it you've figured we're the Brotherhood and you're cool with that. There's not many of us left and I'm in the process of trying to rebuild the ranks. It's what Magneto would have wanted. Not to see his dream die away."

He continued re-ordering the books.

"It's not easy. We're pretty much cut off at the base and until the bank raid, we were running out of cash. Now cash we have in plenty. We need a plan, now. We need to do something spectacular, to make our stand."

A few more books moved around and he stared at them critically. "That's better."

[Jane]

"Tired? No, I'm fine. Hungry, though."

Jane laughed. "I think they serve at eight around here. Shouldn't be too long."

"Maybe a good meal would help me replenish some of that blood loss."

"Probably..." What was he doing?

"I take it you've figured we're the Brotherhood and you're cool with that. There's not many of us left and I'm in the process of trying to rebuild the ranks. It's what Magneto would have wanted. Not to see his dream die away."

"It's kind of why I asked to come with," Jane said, mildly fascinated by the re-ordering.

"It's not easy. We're pretty much cut off at the base and until the bank raid, we were running out of cash. Now cash we have in plenty. We need a plan, now. We need to do something spectacular, to make our stand."

"Our stand against what?" Jane asked. He was re-ordering the books, she realized, from alphabetical by author... to height, by largest to smallest.

"That's better."

Hokay.

"Got any more ideas?" she asked, not keen on addressing the book thing. Well, most masterminds had tics, didn't they...?