Bleeding: Then and now

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July 30th, Charles de Gaulle International Airport


"Marius?"

Jennie blinked, it couldn't be. The probability for this was- well not even really worth calculating at this point. Even with all of his changes, the figure before her was still unmistakably Marius. The way he tilted his head, his posture, hell, even that damn purple shirt. Of all the places in all the world...

"Marius! Omigod!" Jennie exclaimed before dropping her bag to fling her arms around his neck, respirator be damned. She stood on tiptoe and hugged him hard, before realizing that she was still mad at him, and she drew back to punch him in the ribs.

"A note? You left me a fucking note?"

"Oi, ow! Well nice to bloody see you, too," Marius said sourly. He drew back and rubbed his side, using his apparent displeasure to try and disguise the fact his heartrate was still up from all but running across the terminal. Her irritation was almost a tangible thing, like hot needles pricking his skull. He shoved it aside to give her a wounded look. "'So how have you been, Marius? Have you suffered any further unspeakable trauma, Marius? I am relieved beyond measure to see you haven't suffered horrible death in a foreign land!' These are appropriate conversation starters with the unwell. But no. I suffer countless tribulations, and what do I get? A punch in the side."

"Because you left me a note, dumbass! I, at the very least, should have merited a phone call or something," she punctuated this statement by hugging him again. "Oh, God, it's good to see you."

"Ah, abuse and affection in a single breath. Thus reminding me why you hold the title of Jennifer Stavros, Queen of Mixed Signals." Try as he might, Marius couldn't quite seem to make himself untense; the hug he returned was slightly wooden. He pulled away and continued hurriedly, "Here, but . . . sorry for the note, for true, but what with things bein' the mess they were I thought it'd be easier to just have done with it. Make a clean break an' that. Also, for some odd reason, that I'd get a smack."

"Imagine that," Jennie said wryly. "Just be happy there's no bookcases to drop on you." Her hands shook slightly, he'd startled her, and her adrenaline was going. She had also noticed his stiff response, normally he was such a whore for physical affection, but she chalked that up to 'fear of being hit'. Jennie bit her lip and looked down. "Of all the crappy airports in all the world, Marius. And here I was having the worst day ever," she looked back up and smiled. She was so glad to see him.

Marius relaxed a little. The smile was genuine, and that . . . helped. It seemed like it had been a long time since anyone had smiled at him like that. He hadn't even realized.

"Bit of luck I'm here to save it then, eh?" he joked. He automatically moved to flick his hair out of his eyes, and was slightly startled when the plastic collar of the respirator hindered the movement. Marius pretended he'd meant to stop and rolled his shoulders a little. "So what brings you to lovely, lovely France, whose sterling service has successfully managed to delay every sodding flight in the last twelve hours?"

Jennie gasped and put her hands to her mouth. "Oh, that's right, you don't know." She couldn't keep the grin off her face. "Well, unfortunately for me, you get an ego boost. You were right. Remember when we left that folder at my Dad's building? Well, he sorta kinda contacted me." She shrugged her shoulders shyly. "I've been hanging out with him. In Italy."

Anything Marius was going to say was interrupted by two men in grey slacks and shirts, with white gloves and silly white epaulets. One grabbed Marius by the arm and began to speak quickly in French. Marius jerked his arm away and replied scornfully. They began an argument in rapid-fire French, all of which went completely over Jennie's head.

Jennie sighed and grabbed the other man, who had to be a security guard, nobody else would wear that stupid uniform, "For fuck's sake can we do this in a language I understand? English! Je ne parle pas français!"

"Excuse us, mademoiselle," the man replied, in a tone that conveyed no such regard for convenience of the sort, "we noticed this man bothering you." He politely but firmly removed her hand from his shoulder.

"I'm not botherin' her, she's my mate. Did you not see the bit with the repeated hugging?" Marius turned to the guard who'd accosted him and said, "Le réalité et toi, vous ne vous entendez pas, n'est-ce pas?"

Jennie noticed the guards getting more and more agitated. Right, we need to leave, now, before somebody winds up in jail. "Yes, he's my friend, who I haven't seen in over a month. The punch was a friendly thing." She maneuvered herself in-between Marius and the guard. "We were just going anyway. I'm not sitting in this airport for another 16 hours."

Marius was about to make another scathing comment, but it was interrupted by Jennie taking him by the arm and propelling him away from the increasingly hostile guards.

"Sorry for that, Jen," Marius said as they made their way across the terminal. "They've had it out for me all day. Seems I'm considered somethin' of a scene."

The last word was almost spat. It wasn't that he hadn't tried to hide it. He had when he'd first left the school. It did no good. He still got stares. More, in fact, because the respirator couldn't be completely disguised, and smothering himself in clothing during a European summer only drew attention to the fact that he had something to hide. After weeks of pointing and whispers Marius had finally ditched it all -- the hooded sweatshirt, the sunglasses, even the gloves he'd been wearing even since he arrived at Xavier's. He was going to be stared at whatever he did.

Fuck it. They want to look, let them.

Jennie sighed. Again, Marius had no real experience being out as mutant. Back in Vegas, Jennie's mutation was well known because of all the trouble she caused. However, she never had to deal with the physical aspects. Jennie gave Marius's arm a squeeze. "Don't worry about it, they're French. Therefore, they automatically suck, and you can't take anything they say seriously. And now you have a pretty girl on your arm, so that makes you better."

It didn't matter to her what he looked like. It was hard when he was changing, because of her complete inability to help him. At least she could try and be there for him now. He was still, after all, Marius. The very same boy who tried to drink her great-uncle under the table in Greece, and lost spectacularly.

A smile formed behind the heat of the respirator. "Ah, Jen. My innate superiority needs no defense. Although I will grant that so far as accessories go you are unquestionably the best in an age." Safely away from the guards, some of the tension began to ebb. Marius slid his arm around her waist to return the squeeze with a brief half-embrace. "So, Italy with your dad, eh?" he said, changing the subject. "What brings you to the wretched hive of scum and villainy that is France, then? Part of the grand trip or just passin' through?"

"Passing through. Supposedly. That thing about 16 hours? Yeah, part of the whole 'worst day ever', right before my cellphone went to the big mall kiosk in the sky," she held up the remains with a rueful smile. "I was going to go and test the age limit at the bar, and then I turn around and find a Marius. Strange, that. What are you doing here? Did the French find a way to entrap you in this marble hell they call an airport as well?"

"They did. I am now on hour seven of a forty-minute layover." His connecting flight had turned him away. 'Passenger complaints.' So he was waiting. And waiting, and waiting. He was sick of waiting.

"But here we have a bit of luck," Marius continued airily. "Seventeen is more than sufficient to purchase alcohol. I could almost be convinced France is a civilized country. The French are obviously conspiring to keep us here, so they recognize quality. Such a pity about the bit where they automatically suck."

"Indeed. Why, Marius Sammar Cartier Laverne," Jennie said in her loftiest tone, "are you suggesting that we go get shitfaced?" Jennie pulled her suitcase up so they could wedge themselves on the escalator. "Since the French are conspiring against us after all."

"Not in so many words, but come to mention it the idea does have a certain appeal. Never been shedded enough to forget what country I'm in, but since it's bloody France it's worth a go--ah, wait!" Marius' abrupt halt at the base of the escalator almost resulted in a pileup with the three Asian businessmen who'd been behind them. Marius turned to Jennie, orange eyes narrowing in a grin.

"Almost forgot," he said, oblivious to the swearing behind them. "Speaking of bars, gotta get someone first."

"Oh?" Jennie said, pulling her suitcase out of the way of the angry businessmen. "Who?"

"Oh, just an old friend." Marius smirked as they headed for the Up escalator. "Well, older . . ."

"Oh?" Realization hit, and Jennie grinned widely. "Oh! Well, we mustn't keep him waiting. Alone in an airport. Good lord, we better hurry."

"Not really him I'm worried about."

"Exactly."





August 14th, Club Boheme


The club was dark and smoky, with exposed brick and framework giving it an almost "gothic" atmosphere. The young and hip of Paris crammed onto the dancefloor or snuggled up to each other on leather couches that rimmed the walls on the lower floor and dominated most of the second. Clubbing in Paris was much different than in other cities, it moved around following promoters instead of DJ's venues. But there were still a few specific venues that were well-known and attracted followers week in and week out. This was one such club.

Jennie smothered a yawn as she climbed the wrought-iron staircase to the second floor. Someone must of thought it looked cool, because it sure as hell wasn't built for safety. Jennie pushed her way past some hipsters in tight pants, almost tripping on her heels. Most clubs didn't even open until midnight in Paris, and even at 4 in the morning things were going strong. Considering their "day" hadn't even started until early afternoon, Jennie knew she should be less tired, but lately she'd been pushing things to keep them out of trouble.

She got to the second floor and paused, trying to remember where she had left him. She knew it was a dark corner, but this club was all dark corners. Which is probably why he liked it so much.

She finally found him in the far corner of the club, lounging on a couch. It sat on a slightly raised platform, at the moment empty of all other occupants. It was becoming their habitual spot; it offered a good view of the floor.

"Nose sufficiently powdered, then?" Marius asked, tilting his head at the approach of a familiar genetic signature. His pupils reflected green by the light of the candelabra that had been set on the table. That, he thought, was overkill. Though he appreciated the necessities of ambiance, Marius had some very pointed opinions about any place of business that employed black candles.

"For a moment, you looked almost cool. Then you go and open your mouth." Jennie replied, flopping down next to him. "The line to 'Les femmes' was ridiculous. As was the amount of hairspray. I think I got a contact high." She leaned forward on her elbows and gave her friend a critical look. "I take back the looking cool thing," she reached up and tugged on one of his new dreadlocks. "What the hell were you thinking?"

Marius looked at her with hooded eyes. The errant clump of hair was reclaimed and pushed back with great dignity. "Ah, I am wounded. Or would be, if the insult had come from one not famous for changing haircolour with a frequency one could set one's clock by. Mock as you will, at least one of us need no longer be concerned by split-ends."

Jennie rolled her eyes, but kept her mouth shut. She knew not to push him about his appearance. Even if she felt he had just made things worse. She stretched her arms over her head and yawned, "Be happy, when you met me I was in the tail end of my punk phase. Ugh," she yawned again, "tired. Are we ready to go yet?"

"Yeah, about. Think it's gone late enough that all that're coming've come."

Jennie heard the tone in his voice. "Who're you looking at, then?"

"Girl over there in the white lace. Friends seem to've gone off to neck." He pointed, his naked hand a shadow in the candlelight. In the heart of the gesture teeth gleamed. "Might welcome the break in the evenin'."

Squinting, Jennie craned her neck to see where Marius was pointing. The girl had the look of someone who had been abandoned, but was still trying to enjoy herself. Jennie turned back to Marius, and fixed him with a look. "You sure?"

"I ever been anything less?" Orange eyes flicked back to her, bright and steady in the darkness. Then he exhaled slowly, a rasp through the plastic of the respirator, and his gaze settled back on the girl in the white dress. She was stirring the ice in her drink, expression flat, completely oblivious. "Seems the right sort, at any rate. Might be enough."

Might be, Marius thought.

As if it ever was.

Jennie bit the inside of her cheek, considering. She decided she was too tired to argue tonight. Exhaling loudly and using the table as leverage, she pushed herself up. "Well then, I guess I'll go see if she would like to meet some new people. And unlike some people, I can be subtle." She tugged at her skirt and stepped off the platform. "And you can tell him I said that," she added without even turning around.

Marius' lips twitched in a smile as he watched Jennie cross the room to strike up a conversation. He sensed more than saw the presence approaching from the opposite side, his automatic reaction to another's approach eased by long familiarity.

"Hear that, mate?" Marius said, half-nodding to acknowledge the newcomer without taking his eyes from the two girls. "That's your honour under assault there."

"How exciting." said the stranger who gracefully slid into a seat that Jennie just departed. He lit a cigarette from a battered cheap lighter fished out of a pocket, then leaned back to survey the club. "I'm having my honor and my methods slandered. Again. By Jennifer." he mused, running a hand through his thick dark hair.

"I'm beginning to think she doesn't love me anymore." Manuel said with a heavy sigh. "Do you think she still loves me?" he asked, adjusting his dark glasses over his hellishly-glowing eyes.

"I do."