Venomous

(AN: First off, I'm a very impulsive writer when it comes to fanfiction. You might say it's my worst material...a way to play with toys that aren't mine because I don't have to worry about hurting their characters in my head. So. You will find improbability, some OOCness, and bollocksy drama that no self-respecting original fiction author would ever conscience. But this is a way to shake off those impulses without having them leak into my proper writing. So, without further ado, act 2 of Jubilee and Wisdom's naughty little lives.)

Wisdom scrubbed a hand over his face, as though trying to clear away a shadow. He was shaking, just a little, as he dried his hands and stared at himself in the mirror. He was the same as he had ever been. There was that same black hair spilling over into his pale blue eyes, same straight, sharp nose, same narrow cheekbones and square jaw, same mouth with its unexpectedly full lower lip, same stubborn chin. There was a streak of blood, dried and crumbling, on his forehead, which hadn’t come off under the water, and he pulled it away with his thumb. He wasn’t sure if he should change or not, but he was impatient to see her, despite the bizarre circumstances of the moment.

It seemed as though Brian had decided, in the absence of Excalibur, to throw a little party for some financial and political contacts. It was strictly black tie, and held in the main ballroom, which was easy enough to avoid for the re-entering team, but since Jubilee had left him in bed that first morning, things had been somewhat chaotic.

Her installation in Buckingham Palace, and her introduction to the royal staff had been relatively smooth. The ‘particular services,’ however, that Betsy had brought her in to perform, it turned out, did not involve active duty with Excalibur. Rather, she was something of a liaison between them and certain parties of the government which were somewhat unsavoury, as well as the intelligence mercenaries Brian employed on occasion. Her official title was ‘Royal Military Aide,’ and though her identity was not widely known to the public, she would be introduced gradually to select officials.

Wisdom had, initially, been thrown off balance when Elizabeth Braddock had announced that Agent Lee was to have little to do with Excalibur on the surface, and that she was now, for all intents and purposes, an attaché to Brian, but he couldn’t say that it didn’t make sense. She was, firstly, a depowered mutant, but, secondly, her contacts in the field of black ops and the mercenary world were incalculable. She’d served for five very eventful years as the deputy leader of the New Warriors, and had effectively defied the U.S. government’s attempts to register all mutant vigilantes. Her subsequent year of freelance mercenary work had been spotless on the surface, but, if she was to be believed, there were dozens of political parties who had vied for her favours.

She hadn’t done any highly visible assassinations, but he was willing to bet that a few quiet disappearances could be laid to rest at the feet of their newest recruit. That didn’t exactly please him, but he wasn’t one to judge, and he liked knowing what his associates were capable of. Though it didn’t look as though she’d have anything to do with Excalibur on the outside, the fact of the matter was that she lived in the palace, and there would be significant association.

_Not nearly enough for my taste, yet,_ he growled to himself, elbowing his way down the hall, past a vase that seemed intent on blocking his view of the proceedings below. He was standing on a balcony, overlooking the ballroom, shaking a little. Excalibur had returned, not a quarter of an hour before, from their latest mission, in an obscure village in Wales, where a psychotic samurai had recently taken up the practice of leaping out at people from hedges and making off with various limbs. He’d turned out to be part of a druidic cult that somehow also tied in with some Japanese myth or other. It hadn’t helped that the bastards had a measure of arcane power all their own. Nothing, of course, that Excalibur couldn’t deal with, but Betsy had been put through the wringer psionically, and Talia had pulled a muscle in her back while executing a leap that shouldn’t really have been humanly possible.
The whole deal hadn’t been sweetened by the fact that, upon arriving home, the first thing he’d done was to look for Jubilee, but he’d been politely informed by a butler that she was indisposed, entertaining in the ballroom. The look that he’d been given indicated that his presence would not be appreciated.
Of all the rotten luck. Pete rolled up his sleeves, turning their bloodstained edges out of sight. It had been a messy mission, and he certainly wasn’t fit to appear at a gala. He watched the suits and gowns, partially concealed by a tapestry with the royal coat of arms emblazoned on it, scanning the room for her. _There she is._ He grinned, and something in him gave way as he caught sight of a pair of well-remembered bare shoulders, rising gracefully out of an indigo silk sheath which fell to her ankles, slit high up the skirt, more for ease of movement than for a display of flesh. She was standing some four metres behind Brian himself, speaking to a middle aged woman whom Pete vaguely recognized as being the wife of some international banker or other. The practiced elegance of her stance, the glass of champagne she casually sipped from every so often, the easy smile that flirted round the edges of her lips did nothing to hide from Wisdom the fact that she was all nerves.
Could it be the company? No, she had that poxed up old banker’s wife eating out of her hand, and was drawing appreciative, though respectfully reserved stares from several men. She could negotiate any social situation life handed her, he knew that much. No, there was something else, a readiness in her back, the shift of her eyes, every so often, to Brian. He watched her for nearly a quarter of an hour, time going by like smoke rings, minutes forgetting their predecessors, and then the realization hit him, like a fist in the gut.
He suddenly recalled several comments Betsy had let slip on the ride back, something about Brian’s safety, the Light House in Scotland, an anxious remark concerning some parties that her brother might have offended, the awe in her voice when she spoke of him as Britannica.
_She’s playin’ bodyguard._ He felt a growl rising in his chest. _And he, invincible or not, is fucking letting her!_ He was about to rush down the stairs, about to drag her out of there, consequences be damned. They hadn’t even gotten that cup of coffee together yet, and by the gods, he’d have that much. He surged forward, putting a leg over the balustrade, preparing to jump down into the middle of the room. _Megan’ll have me ballocks,_ he thought fleetingly, but then everything happened at once.
A movement at the end of the room seemed to catch both Jubilee and Brian’s eyes, and it was as though a signal had passed between them. As the shrieks of ‘Oh, my God! A gun!’ pierced the air, and people scattered, Brian turned, catching Jubilee by the waist, so casually he might have been about to lead her onto the dance floor, turning his back to the source of the disturbance as the crack of the reporting bullet shattered into Wisdom’s ears. He threw himself from the balcony, hands bristling with hot knives, hurling himself toward the person with the gun, who was just starting to run. All he could make out was a blur of green hair and a black pantsuit.
‘Don’t kill her!’ Jubilee’s voice snapped through the air, in a tone of command that brooked no disobedience, and then she was running, a blue blur of silk streaking past him, followed by Brian, who was airborne. The guests all round them were shrieking and scattering like ants whose colony was under attack, and Wisdom slowed as he saw Brian swoop down, taking hold of the would-be assassin by her collar. Jubilee was laughing as Pete caught up, but her eyes were cold, expressionless. It was the same expression Pete knew he wore when he was prepared to kill someone. ‘Didn’t think you’d show up yourself, Viper,’ she was saying, her tone deceptively light. ‘I mean, I knew you’d try offing me the second I stepped back on the radar, but coming yourself? I didn’t know I meant that much to you.’
The woman was hissing, spitting incoherently in a language Pete couldn’t identify exactly, but which he was betting was a gutter dialect of Vietnamese. Brian held fast to her, impassively. ‘You cost me my husband, you little bitch!’ the suddenly switch to English was a surprise, as much to Jubilee as to Wisdom.
‘Oh, puh-lease.’ Jubilee rolled her eyes. ‘He was willing to chew his leg off to get outta your bear trap. I had nothing to do with it. No, I’m thinking this has more to do with your little run in with a certain heir to the Princess Bar.’
‘Hoan has no right, calling that bastard Logan’s son!’
‘Have you bloody looked at Hugo lately?’ the sentence came out on an incredulous laugh. Wisdom was beginning to feel that he was witnessing an event that was years in the making. ‘That’s enough. Do it, Brian.’ At her signal, Brian produced a set of what Wisdom recognized as sedative cuffs, restraining the green-haired woman with them, causing her to slump suddenly, as her words became incoherent and she passed out under the effects of the cuffs. Jubilee suddenly glanced at Pete. ‘Hey, there. But underdressed, aren’t you?’ he glanced down at his ruined slacks and bloodied and grimy shirt, and chuckled.
‘Guess I am. Wonderin’ wot th’ sods goin’ on, as well.’
‘This isn’t your prerogative.’ Brian started, but Jubilee’s mouth twisted thoughtfully.
‘I don’t know, Brian, maybe it’s best if he knows. I’ll brief you in a bit. Gotta put Viper here in the brig, though, and cool off the guests.’ She grinned unexpectedly, punched Brian companionably in the shoulder. ‘You’re the best bodyguard, your Highness. I really appreciate the solidarity.’
Grim-faced, Brian hefted the unconscious woman over one shoulder. ‘We all have dangerous skeletons in our closets.’ Jubilee nodded, then turned back to Wisdom as Brian flew away.
‘I’ve gotta go let everyone know that their king’s a hero…as if they’d forgotten. And then I’ve gotta acknowledge an assassination attempt on myself. Which should get me some street cred here in the UK.’ She straightened her dress.
‘We still on fer coffee, luv?’
Her smile turned into something less pristine and more instinctual. ‘I don’t know. I’d rather get smashed again.’
‘Meet yer in the service kitchen?’
‘Ten o’clock.’ She nodded curtly, and he had a glimpse of who she must have been when she led the New Warriors. He knew that nod, and it meant dismissal from any superior officer. He was just considering obeying, when she stepped forward. ‘Oh, and Wisdom?’
‘Yeh.’
‘Wear your tie like this,’ she tweaked the half-loosened knot, ‘and roll your sleeves up like that. The whole working man in a white-collar suit…so damned hot.’ Rising on her toes, she caught hold of his collar, and kissed him gently, provocatively, on the cheek, slinking away in a rustle of midnight silk.
~