[Piotr, Paul] But I'm not bitter. Really.

[x-vega.livejournal.com]

Paul and Piotr head down to Harry's to talk about sisters. Sometimes, only someone who's been there can understand.


There was no sense ordering wine in a place like this. Paul knew better and managed to get a grin out of Harry when he ordered a pitcher of Ommegang for himself and Piotr. "Who knew they could make a good Belgian beer in New York?" he asked, once Harry had set down the pitcher and glasses and gone. "I'm not a fan of the local brews but this one tastes like it's piped in from Europe so it's tolerable."

Piotr looked down at the dark brew. The thick, musky looking beverage looked like a stew of witch-like consistency. "I usually stick with Rolling Rock," he remarked. "It's the best of the cheap beers, but my preference will always be vodka. Did you have to guess?" he kidded by raising an eyebrow.

"Hardly," Paul said, smiling. "But vodka leads to all manner of mischief before one knows it. And it's still not past dusk even though dinner's long gone. Vodka is best when it's dark before dinner and you can pull it out of the snow to drink it straight by the fire." He sat back and surveyed Harry's with a critical eye. "This is a rather mundane little place, I suppose it's comforting in its way, though."

Mundane wasn't how Piotr would describe the place. He liked Harry's just fine. "It is comforting, and considering our limited choices here in town, I am content with this place," he muttered while gazing about the building. "How was your little shopping trip with Clarice? She's a great girl isn't she?"

Paul's cool expression softened and he smiled. "Yes, she is. Very lively and creative. We had a nice time, only one unfortunate incident of some jackass in a really bad shirt and his over-thin mistress making commentary about her appearance."

A look of anger rushed across Piotr's face but quickly cooled. Breathe "I just can't understand people sometimes...but I'm glad you had a good time. Clarice has become one of my better in the mansion. I'd hate to see something bad happen to her."

"I wouldn't let anything happen," Paul said calmly, noting the brief change in Piotr's expression. "I'm also not taking anyone out with those damnable image things unless it's necessary. From what I can tell, the self-image issue is an ongoing problem for most young mutants. It's hard enough to be sixteen without everything else heaped on top. Still, hiding is not an answer."

"I agree," Piotr nodded. "I realize it's easier for me to say so seeing that I look just as normal as any human. Same for you too right?" Piotr suggested.

Paul ran his fingers through his hair, exposing his pointed ears. "Almost, but not quite." His features, overall, were mostly human but there was something a little strange and fey about him. It made him more attractive but certainly didn't help him blend in at all. "It's hard either way. There's so many ways to be different."

"That's for certain," Piotr confirmed. He passed a glance at the pitcher of beer and noticed it hadn't been touched yet. He poured himself a full glass, sat back and sipped the foreign liquid. He had been so wrapped up in small-talk that he almost forgot why they were at Harry's. He leaned back into the table and spoke softly. "Jean-Paul, thanks for coming here with me. I would like to know more about you and your sister's relationship."

Ouch. Right for the sore spot. Paul sighed deeply, sliding his fingers down the condensation on his glass, watching the rivulets ripple away. "It's changable," he said, not wanting to be too evasive but sensitive about the subject. "And I'm sure she sees it very differently than I do. We argue a great deal, she's doesn't like me interfering in her life. She is a very volatile and dramatic person, and coming from me, that's saying something. We seem to spend more time at odds than not."

Piotr attention could not be disturbed even if a bus came through their table. "Were you ever close? Or always at odds?" he questioned.

"We are always close," Paul said, looking at Piotr from under his lashes. A slow smile touched his lips. "Even when we are at odds. We would not be at odds if we were not. But yes, we have been inseparable in the past, sharing everything." Just not now. That went unsaid, but it was there in the air.

"I see," he said, avoiding Paul's eyes. Piotr couldn't help thinking back to when Illyana was a child and always in his arms and just how happy he was with her. Illyana now is a completely different story. He wasn't afraid of her growing up, but is now terrified of her unloving attitude toward him. "Did you...oh I don't know how to ask this...did you ever wish she wasn't your sister?" he choked.

Paul nodded slowly. "Sometimes, yes. But isn't it natural to want to get away from what hurts?" He sipped at his beer, thinking for a while. "Life was simpler without her, but I wouldn't go back to it, ever. I don't want to lose her, not really. I just want us to get along."

Piotr took a few chugs of his beer and refilled his glass. "I've been trying to get alone with my sister lately but it's been too hard," he sighed. "She's being far too difficult and I've run out of tricks. I have no way of reaching her anymore..."

"Why are you chasing her, then, if she keeps pushing away?" Paul asked. "She's your family and from what I remember from catching up on your circumstances, it's just the two of you. If you stay in one spot, she'll probably come back to you. Sometimes distance is the only cure." He spun his glass idly, watching the light glitter in the beaded water on the outside.

"I can't believe I yelled at her," Piotr whispered to himself. "She's accused me of disowning her, and I don't see why it matters. She doesn't want anything to do with me so why even consider each other family, right?"

"Because you /are/!" Paul's voice rose and his eyes flashed, then he quickly got himself under control again and sat back. "You /are/. Even if she wants nothing to do with you, you are still her brother," he said, his voice all the more passionate for being reined in. "You can't change that and neither can she. It's like your mutation, it's in your blood and even if you hate it, you can't erase it. No one can."

Paul's raised voice startled Piotr and caused him to look away. "...I just hate how she makes things so hard for me. I love her so much and it just gets thrown in my face. I don't know what to do with her." Piotr realized that the conversation had done a complete 180 degree turn and was now focused on him. "How do you deal with your sister when she's being...difficult?"

"Badly," Paul said with a short, bitter laugh. "I react. I can't help it."

A swelling laughter built inside Piotr and he couldn't hold it in. He let out a few loud laughs and wiped a tear out of his eye. "Same here. I probably have the worst reactions and I always pay for them. I never learn."

Paul shook his head. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for all of us. Don't let her get away with saying you disowned her, that's ridiculous. Even God can't change the fact that you're her brother now; He has to live with his errors just like the rest of us."

Piotr's chuckles lingered for a few more laughs. "I'm sorry for myself too. I'm sorry I'm laughing like a fool, but you have to understand that it's amazing to me to find someone else who actually can look at me and my pity and relate instead of insulting me." He looked down at his glass. "It's a nice change."

Paul shrugged and made a face. "I understand. I'm a terrible brother sometimes and the best brother in the world at others and I think I'm doing the same thing all the time, but it never seems to look that way to her. People always take the woman's side. She's first with the histrionics. We say nothing about it and so we're obviously to blame. No one can imagine that we might know what we're talking about, right? We're men, and not even properly collared heterosexual ones at that. We couldn't want anything but to keep our sisters underfoot. God forbid that anyone entertain the notion that we ever meant well when we started out." He gave Piotr a wry smile. "But I'm not bitter. Really."

"I understand exactly what you're saying," Piotr winked. He took in the room and a few deep breaths. What time is it?, he wondered. It had to be late. Late enough for vodka? he mused. "Say, can I buy you a shot? It's got to be after that hour of darkness you mentioned earlier."

Paul looked out the window and then back at Piotr. He'd had more than ten years to get used to the idea of having a difficult sister, more like twenty, if you counted his time in other places. "Why not?" he said, waving his hand negligently. "We're irredeemable anyway, after all."

Piotr flashed a grin at Jean-Paul and bellowed to the bartender, "Two shots of Vox vodka please!" He rubbed his hands together with excitement. He hadn't really drank since last January when he got in trouble with the school. The bartender brought the two men their shots and Piotr held his up high in offer for a toast. "To our sisters. May they be difficult and we pay the consequences."

"Indeed. That seems inevitable." Paul raised his glass. "And may we all do it in good health, at the least."

"And may old grudges be forgotten and healthy relationships be our goal," Piotr toasted. He put the shot glass to his lips and tipped his head back.

Paul nodded and followed suit. "Let's hope we survive it," he said, when his glass was empty.