Notes: Thanks to Heatherly for the look-through and proofreading.

"I need coffee, aspirin, and someone to kill me," Julio muttered, collapsing onto the bench in the changing room. Every bit of him ached. Even parts he didn't even know he had. It all cried out in agony every time he breathed. He was getting too old for this shit.

"Aw, who knew you were so delicate?"

Julio glared up at M then winced as a ripple of sharp, stabbing pain twisted down his neck. "Unlike some of us, I'm not invincible. Really wish I was, though. Dios."

Terry laughed. "Aye, me too. I think they make walls harder in Paris." Terry gathered her damp hair into a ponytail, a grimace on her face that Julio completely understood. There were dark bruises peppered along her shoulders, and a mark the size of Julio's head on her thigh. "But mmm, coffee sounds like heaven. You buying, Ric?"

"Unlike some of us, I'm also not rich."

Monet sighed, a pillar of suffering wearing only a tiny white towel.

"I'll buy," Sam said, coming in from his shower, towel hanging low around his waist. "I'll take it out of the budget. God knows we all could use a little pep-me-up after everything that's happened in the last few weeks." He plopped down on the bench beside Julio, towel coming open at his hip. Julio stared at the smooth bare skin then quickly looked away.

"Y'all okay?"

"We're fine," Jamie, and Jamie, and Jamie said, in unison, as one dupe dried Jamie with a towel and the other rubbed his shoulders. That was what Rictor needed - more of him to do the things his arms were too sore to do, like pull on a pair of pants.

Terry nodded. "Aye, me too. They tried to turn me into ground beef, is all."

"Might've cracked a couple ribs," Ric confessed when Sam turned on him, knowing better than to try to lie to a guy he'd fought side by side with for years.

Sam had been keeping a closer eye on him than usual, after that Weapon XII mess. But Julio was over that. Darkstar had died, but he hadn't thanks to a previously unknown resistance to brain-infecting zombies. But the guilt he felt for surviving was something he had no resistance to and mostly tried not to think about. It had changed him, though, somehow.

He just wasn't sure how yet.

"Where?" Sam poked him. "Here?"

"Firstly, fuck off," Julio said, twisting away even though it hurt more to do that than sitting there and taking it, "and secondly, si. I'll wrap 'em later. Just need aspirin."

"Done." Jamie banged his head against the wall and a dupe popped out, scurrying out of the room without a word. "Hey, did we even get the bad guys, Mr. Leader Man?"

"Looks like we did, according to the reports. Good work, team. We're definitely getting better at this."

"Terry did most of the work, amigo," Julio said idly, stretching his torso, testing the severity of his injury. The pain from everywhere else was making it hard to focus, though. "Hey, someone want to explain to me why I'm always the first one taken out?"

"They can tell you're annoying from first glance," Monet replied, zipping out of the way when Julio reached out to flap a hand uselessly at any part he could reach. She smirked at him then tossed her towel over his head. Julio heard Sam squeak, and grinned.

"Ach, you shouldn't tease poor Sammy boy."

Jamie hooted. "No, no, by all means, tease him. Naked, if at all possible, please."

Julio blinked as M snatched her towel back, twisting it up to snap at Jamie. After a brief struggle, he finally managed to move enough to get his sweatpants half-way up his legs. He was going to be stiff tomorrow, and he was supposed to be working all day manning the phones. Usually, they got one of Jamie's dupes to do it, but he had requested a vacation. Julio could only hope the chair was plush and comfortable, and he could sleep in it.

The dupe came back with aspirin and a glass of water. Julio mumbled his thanks then downed the two pills with a rush of cool liquid wetting his throat. He stood carefully, stuffed his feet into his loosely laced boots, yanked his pants the rest of the way up, and finally, with his ribs throbbing in painful protest, pulled on a large sweatshirt.

"Are you okay?" M asked quietly as they filed out of the changing room. Sam and Terry were up front, going over the mission in painstakingly boring detail, determined never to make another mistake like the Weapon XII debacle. Jamie and his dupes were still in the change room, playing rock-paper-scissors to decide who would stay behind and work.

"Just sore," Julio assured her. "And in desperate need of caffeine."

M grinned, and Julio grinned back. Some days, he still didn't know what to make of Monet. They hadn't been friends until the Weapon XII thing, but when he had woken up in the hospital with a killer headache but no worse off than that, she had been there, determined to be his new best friend. He hadn't asked why, but she had turned out to be pretty cool, and he'd always liked insanely perfect people. He liked everyone in the group, actually, which continually surprised him and convinced him that he had made the right choice. He had also been offered Los Angeles and Mumbai after his initial interview for X-Corporation.

There wasn't anything about Paris that he didn't love, even the people. He loved the look of it, the gothic architecture and the constant looming presence of the Eiffel Tower, and the sound of it, always busy like back in Guadalajara, filled to the brink with people.

He missed some things, though, about the life he'd left back in Mexico.

He missed feeling like he had made an obvious difference in the world. Without him there as a constant thorn in their side, he knew the more unsavoury members of his family were going to undo all the work he had done getting them shut down and their guns off the streets. He did good with X-Corp, but it wasn't nearly as personal to him.

He missed his mother at strange times, because they had finally found a place with one another where she could look at him without seeing all the people he had killed when his power first manifested, and he could look at her without feeling the bitter old sting of rejection and abandonment. He didn't love her like a son should love his mother, but he loved her in his own damaged way. It was the best he could do, considering.

He missed Shatterstar, too, wherever he had ended up after Julio had taken the job with X-Corp and 'Star had decided to embark on a mission to find himself, because he had seen people do it on television and it sounded like a good idea. Julio got postcards from time to time, addressed to him in 'Star's neat, small writing, with nothing else written.

He was lagging behind the group when he first felt it, the electric crinkle of unnatural energy in the air. Sam and Terry stopped up ahead with Sam shouting out, "look ready, folks," as they took defensive positions. Julio's eyes darted wildly around as he tried to locate the direction of the impending attack, but the streets were strangely empty for this time of night.

There was a snap of noise, like the crack of a whip, and Julio flinched, closing his eyes reflexively against the violent sound. He opened them just in time to see a mangled body spill out of the shock of light that had formed in the middle of the street. It landed with a thud on the pavement then groaned as it tried to push up on its one remaining arm.

"Shatterstar?" Sam shouted over the roar of the anomaly as it closed, closest to the struggling body, but Julio quickly closed the distance, Shatterstar's name echoing hysterically inside his head. It was overlaid with Julio's own internal voice, screaming no, no, no! "Guys, it's Shatty! Terry, you and M fly back and get a medic here pronto."

"Done," Terry said, launching into the air with a shriek, M following closely.

Julio approached tentatively. "Is he …?"

'Star stopped trying to get up and turned his head toward his voice. "Julio?"

He had no eyes, Julio realised suddenly, looking at the bloody lines of his matted eyelashes. No blue eyes, and only one arm, and he was so obviously dying that Julio was too scared to go any closer and find out if he was real. "I'm here," he said.

'Star bowed his head briefly, and there was something different about him, a subtle difference that Julio couldn't quite place, only sense on a deep, intimate level. Ignoring the hysteria screeching in his blood, Julio knelt down at his side and reached out.

"The Time-Dancer," Star said quietly, red blood fresh on his lips, bubbling up as he spoke. Julio slid his hand across 'Star's stomach, pulling him between his legs. It was the first time he had ever touched 'Star more tangibly than accidentally banging his hand or stumbling into him from behind. They had shaken hands once, longer than necessary, and Julio still remembered how it had felt.

"She sent me back."

"Back?" Sam asked, Jamie standing sombre and quiet at his side.

"In time. I am not your Shatterstar." He coughed violently, bright blood spattering across Julio's forearm. "I will be, but not for many years. I am more than forty, by earth time," 'Star confessed, and Julio could see it, suddenly, in the subtle lines of his face.

"We'll do our best to save you," Sam promised. "We have medics …"

"Sam, I will be dead by the time they arrive," 'Star replied frankly. "This is a gift, nothing more." 'Star arched suddenly, taking a harsh, gasping breath, and Julio held him tighter, his throat too clogged to speak. This couldn't be happening. None of this could be real, and 'Star could not be saying, "a gift, to die in Julio's arms, like he died in mine."

"Don't tell me when," Julio whispered through the thickness suffocating him.

'Star smiled a bloody smile. "I wouldn't."

Nothing hurt anymore, Julio realised, not his bruised body, which was numb, or his heart, which hadn't caught up yet to what Shatterstar was saying. Part of him wanted to believe it was impossible, but 'Star was a verifiable time-traveller, born a hundred years in the future, and this man, this man was Shatterstar. Julio knew it without a doubt.

"Julio," 'Star said, lifting his one hand, and Julio leaned into it, letting the broken fingers rest on his face. The next words came out in Cadre, their secret language. "I had forgotten how beautiful you were at this age," 'Star murmured, body beginning to relax in Julio's arms. "The memory I keep in my head is much older, but no less beautiful."

Julio replied in Cadre, slow and halting but clear. "Are we …?"

"Yes. And this will be the catalyst." 'Star smiled, his fingers flexing against Julio's cheek. "I am not changing the future, because this is the way it happened." He choked wetly, spitting up more blood, and Julio began to shake. "Julio, be strong," 'Star said. "Be strong and find me because I am too lost in this strange world to find myself."

"And it's that easy?"

"No, but it will work out. You have my word that I already love you."

"I love you," Julio whispered, folding his hand over Star's, helping him map the contours of his face. 'Star hummed peacefully, his breathing slow and steady now. When he urged Julio's face down, Julio went and took the gentle crimson kiss without cringing, struggling to memorise every perfect detail as if it would never happen again.

When the kiss ended, 'Star smiled contently and stroked Julio's cheek with his thumb. "Za's vid, I've missed you. I'm ready to follow you. I'm ready. Julio …"

"'Star," Julio said helplessly as 'Star shuddered in his arms and exhaled sharply and passed away, all the life rushing out of his body and leaving him broken and limp on Julio's knees. Julio bowed his head, closing his eyes against the sudden flood of emotion.

"Ric?"

Julio shook his head, and Sam backed off, talking quietly to Jamie as he led him away. Julio gathered 'Star's body more firmly against him, burying his face in the red tangle of his hair, and cried softly into the side of 'Star's head, without any shame.

He couldn't have stopped if he had wanted to.

Julio didn't know how long he had been crying when Sam tugged his clinging arms away from Star's dead body or when Monet helped him to his feet and hugged him awkwardly, because she was as bad at that sort of stuff as he was. He felt numb, like his entire world had come crashing down around him, and his hands shook uncontrollably. He hadn't even felt this bad after Weapon XII.

"We'll find Shatty, Ric, and we'll bring him back here," Sam said, coming up to them, a steaming cup of coffee held out in offering. Julio shook his head, knowing he would just end up spilling. A row of nearby benches was clattering noisily together.

"I'm about to lose control of my powers," he said stupidly, and Monet swept him up into her arms and flew straight up, away from the source of the danger. They flew until Paris was just a series of tiny dots below them, and the city was finally quiet.

~~~

When Julio awoke, it was morning, and he couldn't remember having gone to bed. Someone had stripped off his blood-soaked clothes, leaving him naked under a massive swell of blankets. His hands had been scrubbed clean, no traces of red beneath his fingernails, and if he hadn't spied his boots near the door sitting in a bloody puddle, he would have thought he'd imagined the night before. That it had only been a nightmare.

Julio got dressed in his uniform, moving like an old man, hunched over and sore. He skipped shaving, but brushed his teeth and took a piss. In the mirror, he winced at the dark circles under his eyes and the smudge of blood on his cheek that someone had missed. Wetting a cloth, he rubbed at it until his skin was raw and pink beneath his fingers.

"Madre de Dios," he muttered at his pitiful reflection then abruptly puked into the sink, gripping the porcelain like a lifeline. Eventually, he pried his hands away, stumbling over to another sink and splashing his face with icy water before leaving for work.

X-Corporation had two ways of being contacted. One involved just thinking 'X' and Cerebra would pick it up and life would be dandy and devoid of peril and death. It was the way he preferred, because phone duty was mind-numbingly boring, but they hadn't quite worked out all the kinks in the system yet. So the phone was the second way.

Monet was at the phones when he walked into the room. She looked up at him and said, "I was told you weren't working today. You should rest. You look like shit."

"Nah, but I wouldn't mind the company if you're that bored," Julio said, collapsing into the nearest chair and pulling a headset over his ears. He looked over at Monet, and she nodded, settling down again. "Anything exciting happening out there?"

"It's a quiet morning. No morons trying kill each other yet."

"Good," Julio replied, leaning back in his chair. He rubbed at his eyes with his fingertips, willing himself to feel more awake, less like he'd had the shit kicked out of him. Emotionally, he just felt worn, too numb to really contemplate anything meaningful.

Monet brought him a cup of coffee and a blueberry muffin, and Julio smiled his thanks. He looked around the room for the first time, noticing Sam hunched over one of the computers, impatiently poking the same button over and over again. Julio flicked his gaze towards the screen, recognising the little headshot of 'Star even from across the room, tiny face drawn into that faint sketch of irritation Shatterstar always seemed to wear.

"He's in Madripoor," Sam said, noticing Julio's look, "I think."

"You think?"

"The system's messed up, Ric," Sam admitted bleakly, viciously tapping at the keyboard, swearing under his breath. "I gotta get Forge or someone to fix this piece of junk. I guess it's having trouble with Shatty because he's not exactly human, or he's cloaked, or something. Could just be that Shatty's in hiding, which would make sense."

Julio sipped his coffee instead of smacking his head against the wall.

"Or maybe we're looking for the wrong guy. Maybe Benjamin Russell?"

"He fucking hates that name, Sam. You're looking for Shatterstar."

Sam sighed. "He just couldn't make this easy, could he?"

"'Star? Do something the easy way? What have you been smoking, amigo?"

Sam's expression grew grim. "Okay. Back to square one. We've got agents in Madripoor. They're going to find him, tell him what's happened and bring him in." Sam pushed away from the computer. "Best case scenario, he believes them and doesn't kill anybody. Worst case, we gotta go get him, and I get in shit for Shatty killing people."

"Just like X-Force," Julio said, grinning into his coffee.

Sam sighed again.

"It's a good plan, but I can tell you he's not going to go with them," Julio replied, mouth against the ceramic edge of the coffee mug. "I know him, Sam, and if two total strangers show up, it's gonna get messy really fast. He already thinks Mojo is after him."

"Didn't he fulfil the prophecy and kill Mojo, or whatever?"

Julio frowned around the edge of the mug. "Try telling him that."

"If I sent the agents with a message from you, you think Shatty'd believe it?"

"Maybe," Julio said slowly. "He could think I'm a shape-shifter."

"Who speaks whatever it is y'all were speaking before 'Star died?"

The events of the previous night came back like a sledgehammer to the side of his head. "I can try, Sam. It's not like me and 'Star have a secret handshake or something."

"He'll know it's you, you idiot," Monet said quietly, and Julio felt his face heat as the details of the show he had put on grew less foggy behind his eyes. He knew what they were thinking and wanted to tell them it wasn't like that, but he had been told it would be like that, and soon.

"I'll do my best," Julio muttered, staring into the murky swamp of his coffee, and held out his hand for the device that Sam offered him. Sam made some loud excuse about visiting the little boy's room, but M stayed in her chair, turned back to the console.

Julio positioned the camera so it pointed at his face then leaned over to press record. It whirred impatiently at him, blinking green and red lights, so Julio cleared his throat and began to speak. "Hey, amigo. Long time no see. You need to come to Paris for a few days, okay? Something fell out of the sky you probably want to take a look at."

Julio took another deep breath then switched fluidly to Cadre, leaning closer to the camera. "Remember that time in Mexico City, when we were chasing my cousin Hector, and we ended up completely lost and that guy with the ugly moustache offered me ten bucks if I'd, uh," Julio didn't know the Cadre words for 'blow him', "service him?

"Nobody else would know that story, would they? And I wouldn't have the," he didn't know the Cadre word for 'balls' either, "guts to tell anybody about it. Trust me. Come to Paris."

Stretching, Julio leaned over and turned it off, sitting back in his chair, drawing his knees up to his chest. He inexplicably felt like crying again, then felt like a fool for feeling like that. He wasn't a kid, and 'Star wasn't actually dead, and things were fine.

Monet put a hand on his shoulder, and said nothing.

Julio concentrated on breathing.

~~~

The eager chirp of the phone jolted him from vague, nightmarish dreams. Julio fumbled for his headset, which had slipped down his neck, and settled it back on. "Thank you for calling X-Corporation Paris. Rictor speaking. What can I help with you today?"

"Ric, my man, how's it hanging, brother?"

"I was sleeping and some steroid-enhanced fucker woke me up."

"This is one-hundred-percent all-natural muscle, and don't you forget it." Jimmy laughed, and Ric could hear Feral in the background, hissing something at him. Whatever it was, Jimmy ignored her, which was the best thing when it came to Feral. "You should be glad nobody's taping this phone call, man. You kiss your mother with that mouth?"

"Only if I'm desperate for the taste of soap. What's up, Jimmy?"

"Thornn was manning the lines and noticed the call go out for Shatty. I tried to get them to wait for information, but you try having an opinion with the Callasantos sisters bitching at you. They're bad enough normally, fighting like cat and fucking cat."

"And that's why I'm in Paris," Julio replied, yawning.

"Yeah, yeah. So what's up with Shatty, man? I haven't seen that freak for ages."

Neither had Julio, for that matter, until Shatterstar, forty years old and ripped to shreds, came tumbling out of a temporal portal into the middle of Rue Whatever-the-fuck. Julio didn't want to answer, didn't want to relive any of it again, didn't even want to think about it, but he owed Jimmy something, so he said, "I'll put you through to Sam."

The noisy background sounds of Feral and Thornn fighting like alley cats and Jimmy's irritated, "will you two fucking cut it out," clicked into silence, and Julio watched the board until the call was successfully transferred to Sam, who would kick his ass later.

He was alone, he realised suddenly, Monet long gone if the number of inter-Corporation memos he had slept through were any indication. Terry would be in soon to cover the night shift, allowing Julio an escape from this claustrophobic little room. Maybe he'd take that trip to the medic, his ribs still tender from the beating he'd taken the night before.

He was staring off into space when Terry showed up, still dressed in her pyjamas, a book tucked under her arm and a mug in her hand. "Ric," she said fondly, mussing his hair with her free hand. She climbed into the seat next to him. "Hey, you all right, boyo?"

"Sure," he said, pulling the headset off his ears. "Just a little tired, I guess."

"Yesterday was pretty intense."

Julio shrugged noncommittally.

"You ever want to talk …"

"Not my style, Terry, but thanks." Julio stood up, cracking his back then hissing, partly in relief and partly due to the sudden stab of pain. Definitely had to see the medic. "Listen, Sam's running some sort of program trying to find 'Star. If anything happens …"

"I'll call," Terry promised.

The hallway was empty when he stepped into it, all the daytime personnel long gone. Only the permanent staff -- the mutants, the core of the program -- remained on-site around the clock, staying in dorms on the top floor of the building, living and breathing X-Corporation. It wasn't quite like X-Force, because he'd always had the option to leave when he wanted to. It had taken a while to get used to all these people living in his pockets, with no means of escape.

The medic, Dr. Lee, was still on-duty, dozing in her chair, and when Julio cleared his throat, she nearly rocketed out of it onto the floor. She clucked at him when she saw the heavy bruising under his arms, gave him the usual annoying spiel about being too damn macho to admit he'd been injured, and wrapped him up so tight he could hardly breathe.

"I see you too often, Rictor."

Julio snorted, pulling his tee-shirt back on, trying not to wince and betray just how rotten and battered he felt. "Yeah, well, tell everyone to stop kicking the crap out of me."

Dr. Lee shook her head as she put away the unused supplies. "I don't know how you kids do it."

"Someone's got to, and I don't see anyone else volunteering." He took the bottle of painkillers when she held them out to him. "And besides, mutants heal quickly." He shrugged.

"You're younger than my son, do you know that?"

"Been doing this since I was thirteen," Julio replied, shrugging again, and she didn't have a response for that, so he left with a murmured goodbye and paused outside, briefly, to pop a couple pills. He liked Dr. Lee, but he really didn't need another mother.

His footsteps echoed hollowly as he walked down the dim corridor, hand braced against his side. It wasn't his imagination. Every time they faced down the newest creep, it felt like they always went after him first. Sam had tried to explain that he was the one considered to be the biggest threat, but Julio didn't feel like much of a danger. Seven years later, and his control over his powers remained tenuous at best. Extreme emotion obliterated all the skills he had learned, and he still couldn't narrow down his field of focus without using his fingers to direct his seismic waves. Some threat he was. Right.

Without consciously intending it, he ended up stopping outside the little room they used as a morgue. Not that many people had died, but they would eventually, and everyone knew it. Darkstar was only the first. Julio tried the doorknob, and it turned easily under his palm. A table lamp had been left on, casting the room in an eerie macabre glow. 'Star lay there, on a metal table, dead.

He didn't look old enough to be forty, but Julio had heard that mutants with healing factors tended to age slower than everyone else. Wolverine was hundreds of years old, if the grapevine wasn't full of shit, and he didn't look that old at all. But the history of 'Star's life was visible on his face, the hint of lines around his mouth, subtle and almost invisible, but undeniably there. Julio had studied 'Star's face often enough to recognise the changes.

Forty years old and dead twenty years in the past. But 'Star would live longer than him, Julio remembered suddenly. He turned their brief conversation over in his head. It had sounded to him -- though admittedly he hadn't been paying much attention -- that he had lived long enough to change 'Star's memory of him, no longer this confused young man at all.

He'd probably live to see thirty, then, and maybe thirty-five, thirty-six, thirty-seven, but never forty. And that was so much longer than Julio had expected. It gave him a peculiar feeling of hope even as it hurt his chest to think of his own death. The inevitability of his end had always been something Julio had resigned himself to, not overly eager to meet it but not afraid either. The encounter with Weapon XII had rattled him, but not destroyed him. And now 'Star had just promised him another ten years, at the very least.

Julio reached out and touched the silky strands of Star's copper hair, which had been washed and combed out, spread around his naked shoulders like a funeral veil. Gently, Julio brushed his knuckles over the immortal pout of 'Star's full lips, surprised, briefly, at how cold he was, how dead he felt. He had only known how people felt at the end, when they were still warm, when you could pretend that there was still a chance.

This Shatterstar had loved him, and this Shatterstar was gone.

Julio wiped the tears from his cheeks without even knowing they had fallen.

"You shouldn't be down here, Julio."

Julio looked up at the wall, wondering how long Monet had been standing there and how much she had seen. There were too many questions he wasn't ready to answer yet. Julio was a fiercely private man, stubborn and hot-headed, but shy about the deeper things.

"I fixed the computer. This Shatterstar of yours is definitely in Madripoor."

Julio didn't say anything.

"You really shouldn't be down here."

"I know," Julio muttered, casually lifting his hand to his face and surreptitiously checking that his face was clean. They were good friends, but not that good. Convinced his pride was intact, he turned around. "It's just a shock, you know, to see him like this."

"It's very," M's gaze flickered over Shatterstar's body, "violent."

Julio turned back to him. "That's not the part that surprises me. You don't know him, but this is a fitting end for him, going out fighting. Violence is 'Star's way of life." Julio touched the red hair again. "It's just … I can't seem to believe he's still alive."

"We'll find him, the one from our time. I'm very good with the computer, Julio."

"Very modest, too."

"And absolutely no need to be," M replied, smirking, not a hair out of place, but he could see the underlying concern in her eyes. He wanted to tell her that he was fine, but he'd just been caught lovingly stroking a dead guy's hair, in a morgue, in the dark.

Julio reluctantly stepped away, heading toward the door and not stopping even when M touched his elbow. He made it halfway down the hall before Monet caught up to him and grabbed him again, this time making sure to get a firm, superhuman grip.

"I'm terrible at these sorts of things, you know, but I can get you drunk," Monet said seriously, like it would solve all of his problems, and while it wouldn't fix a damn thing, it would help him forget about it, at least for a night. "We can even go dancing."

"Sounds good," he assured her then smiled. "Hey, you're buying, right?"

M sighed massively. "Yes, you cheap, cheap man."

"Awesome," Julio said, telling himself he wouldn't think of Shatterstar for the rest of the night, and even if he didn't succeed, he wouldn't remember it come morning.

~~~

It took them a few days, but early on the third morning, Sam burst into his room and shook him awake, even though it was his day off. Too groggy to realise why he would even be there, Julio groaned at him pathetically and pulled a pillow over his head.

"Ric," Sam said, laughing and yanking the pillow away, tossing it onto the floor. Julio grumbled then pushed up on his elbows, eternally grateful that he hadn't kicked off the sheets in his sleep. His dreams had been frantic and violent, so that surprised him.

"What?"

"We got him, and he's coming in. Should be four or five hours, depending on the wind. Nobody died either," Sam added, sitting down at the foot of the bed. Julio frowned slightly, but Sam didn't seem to notice. "Don't have much more details that that."

"Did anyone tell him about, you know, the Shatterstar in the basement?"

"He's been briefed," Sam said. "Seemed only fair to prepare him."

Julio nodded, looking down at his belly and the messy ruffle of dark hair leading its way under the sheets. Once upon a time, Sam had been the modest type, politely averting his eyes when a girl wore a skimpy bikini, only showing skin when swimming.

"I didn't tell him about what happened that night, between you and him."

Blood rushed through Julio's ears, making it hard to hear Sam. He nodded again.

"Ric, I want you to be comfortable here, with X-Corp, more than you were with X-Force." Julio opened his mouth to loudly and vigorously protest, but Sam held up his hand. "No, I know. That had everything to do with Cable, and I understand that, but …"

"But," Julio repeated, amused.

"You have me worrying that you're holding back here, not being yourself …"

"Are you asking me if I'm gay?" Julio interjected, before Sam could embarrass himself, or Julio, any further. Sam was beet red, looking at a point over Julio's shoulder on a wall Julio knew for a fact was boring old white. Sam nodded woodenly, looking so chastised that Julio couldn't even be irritated with the fact he was prying. "Well, I am."

"Yeah?"

"Si," Julio said, wishing Sam had better timing, wishing he had put on shorts before going to bed, but he'd been wasted for the second night in a row, and it was easier to get undressed and stay that way. "And I'm not uncomfortable here. I love it here."

"You didn't say anything."

"I don't say much about anything, Sam," Julio pointed out.

Sam mulled this over, and apparently agreed, nodding briefly, efficiently. He still didn't move, though, and Julio realised with sudden urgency that he had to piss, his bladder full of tequila shots and cheap French wine. "Well, I'm glad to know. Thanks."

"Uh, you're welcome, I guess."

"And you and 'Star …"

"Evidently together forever in the near future," Julio replied, and it was his turn to blush. It was the first time he'd said it out loud, and his heart jumped excitedly to hear it. "But right now, or any time in the recent past? No. 'Star's a … very complicated man."

"And very frightening," Sam added helpfully.

Julio shrugged, the corners of his mouth quirking into a smile. "Not once you get to know him." The blush dropped from his face, threatening to pool in his groin, despite his urgent need to pee. "And listen, Sam, I really gotta … you know I'm naked, right?"

"Yeah, I was hoping neither of us was going to mention it. I'm going now."

"Thanks."

Sam patted his foot awkwardly before getting up and leaving, closing the door gently behind him. Julio swung his legs over the side of the bed and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, burying his face in his hands. "Madre de Dios," he muttered, willing his heart to stop racing. It was the first time he'd come out to anybody.

Now not only did he have to piss like a demon, but he was pretty sure he had to puke, too. He stumbled around the room, dragging on the first pair of pants he found, and sprinted out of the room and down the hall, the walls bending dizzily around him.

"You know drinking's bad for you, right?" Jamie called after him, laughing, and Julio gave him the finger before grabbing the doorjamb, swinging himself into the bathroom. The toilet presented a dilemma, and he settled on shoving his pants down his thighs and leaning over, one hand braced against the wall, in case his stomach gave up.

As his bladder emptied, the need to vomit seemed to pass. He still didn't feel too hot, and the bathroom was slanting at a forty-five degree angle, but at least he wasn't going to miss 'Star's arrival because he couldn't pry his head from its porcelain pillow.

"You need someone to hold your hair back while you blow hunks? I'm sure I can find a dupe who'd be up for it," Jamie said, grinning, hovering in the doorway. Julio glared at him, padding over to the sink to splash his face with water. "You look like shit."

"Imagine that. I feel like shit, too."

"You have a theme going. Excellent."

Julio scooped water into his mouth with the palm of his hand. "You seen M?"

"Bright and early, yeah, and looking like she hadn't matched you shot for shot. Brings back the memories, let me tell you, me and Guido, three bottles of tequila, and those strippers from Los Angeles, who could do this thing with ping-pong balls." Jamie sighed blissfully and started to sing, "memmmmmories of the way things weeeeere …"

Julio looked up, pressing his hands together. "Madre de Dios, please save me."

"I have been sent from God to punish you for pickling your liver."

"Jealous you had to work?"

"Immensely. M never pays when I'm around. Probably has something to do with the fact I've figured out if I get a couple dupes drinking then reabsorb them, it's like I drank those ten drinks in about fifteen seconds. Then I puke all night long," he added.

"Awesome." Julio rubbed his hands vigorously over his face then lifted his head, peering into the mirror. He winced. He looked like he hadn't slept in weeks, dark angry circles under his eyes, lips chapped like snake scales. Combined with the bandages wrapped around his chest, he looked like he'd just been roused from the dead. "Urgh."

"Seriously, man, maybe you wanna cut back a little," Jamie said quietly, kindly enough that Julio didn't snap at him to get the fuck out. Jamie continued, "at least until we don't have a dead guy in the basement, freaking everybody out. Freaking you out."

"I'm fine," Julio muttered, unconvincingly. "I'll be fine," he amended, "once 'Star gets here and we can do whatever it is we're going to do with him. Have a funeral."

"They had a funeral for me once," Jamie said. "I'm told it was lovely."

"I heard all about it from Rahne." Julio combed his hair away from his face with his fingers, knots catching on his knuckles, pulling at his already aching head. "Listen, if this is some sort of intervention, don't bother. 'Star's gonna be here in a couple hours."

"Okay. I'll back off. In my defense, Terry made me do it."

"I'm not …" Like her, Julio thought, and couldn't seem to say aloud, but Jamie got it, nodding. He still didn't fuck off, though. Julio looked over at him. "Are we done?"

"You need anything?"

"No."

"Okay, then. Bye."

"Bye," Julio said, turning back to the mirror and vomited, once, into the sink, sinking down to his knees and pressed his back against the cool tile wall. He sat there for a long, long time, the pipes groaning in his ears, the world dancing wildly around him.

~~~

Julio napped all afternoon, waking up to the cheerful chirp of his pager as it wiggled across his floor. He squinted at the clock, the neon numbers a jagged blur across his eyes. Six hours rest and he still felt like crap. Combined with a sudden, unforgiving case of nerves and ribs that just didn't seem to be healing at all, he almost didn't get up.

He climbed out of bed, digging a pair of green cargo pants out of his closet then hunting for a clean pair of shorts amid an army of mismatched socks. He paused in the middle of shaking out a black tee-shirt, the room stretching sideways before settling again. Julio began to search desperately for the bottle of painkillers, shirtless, groggy.

He found them in his boot, and took two without water, then pulled on his tee-shirt and shoved his feet into a pair of sandals. He tugged at his hair, unwilling to hunt through the mess to find a comb, then swaggered cockily into the hall, in case anyone was there to see. They weren't, and he resumed his natural slouch, dragging his feet.

There was a helicopter pad on the roof, typically used to launch them into missions, so Julio headed up there, fighting against the nausea that the elevator heartily encouraged. His ribs twinged with every breath, and Julio realised, quite suddenly, that he wasn't ready for this. Wasn't ready to see Shatterstar again. Wasn't ready to tell him.

He just wasn't ready.

The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open with a hiss, and it no longer mattered if he was ready or not. It was too late. Sam had seen him, and Sam wasn't the type of guy to let anyone wimp out of the hard stuff. Julio smiled weakly at him and stepped out.

They waited there for a few minutes, without speaking, before the helicopter came chopping through the Parisian air. The wind picked up, twisting Julio's hair around his face, effectively blinding them. He did nothing to remove it, just stood there, nervous.

The helicopter touched down, idled for a couple seconds, then picked up again. Julio's hair dropped down to his shoulders, and he looked up to see Shatterstar standing there, across the landing pad, regarding them quietly. Relief came up like a sudden, violent wave in Julio's belly, nearly knocking him over. Alive! his brain shrieked giddily.

"Shatty," Sam said warmly, stepping forward, offering his hand like a dork. Shatterstar walked towards him, looked down at Sam's hand then took it, shaking it. "Wish we'd be seeing you again under better circumstances. They told you about him?"

"Yes," 'Star said strangely, still holding onto Sam's hand. He barely blinked when Sam politely extricated himself with a mumble. His mouth was drawn into a thin grim line, something obviously troubling him. Julio would ask him about that later.

"You hungry? Tired? We don't have much to offer, but it's a good living."

"No, thank you," Shatterstar replied, his gaze settling on Julio, and Julio stepped forward, unsure of what he intended until he had his arms wrapped around 'Star's torso, face pressed into his neck. 'Star didn't hug him back, but Julio hadn't expected him to. That he didn't push Julio away was enough, even though he was obviously uncomfortable.

Sam cleared his throat, and Ric lifted his head from 'Star's neck, stepping back. The distance between them remained miniscule, which 'Star also permitted, and Sam continued, "Ric'll show you to your room, and when you're ready, we can head on down and see the, uh, the body. We weren't sure what you do on Mojoworld when people …"

"We eat them."

Sam's jaw dropped and his eyes bulged comically, and it would have been perfect if Julio hadn't started laughing before 'Star even cracked the slightest betrayal of a smile. Sam waved an ineffectual fist in their direction. "You assholes. I actually believed you."

"The look on your face," Julio wheezed, leaning towards 'Star, who grinned down at him. Julio's heart skipped a beat at that, and he stopped laughing, though his face was still split into a wide smile. Warmth radiated from 'Star's skin onto his forearm. "Sorry."

"Sorry," 'Star echoed, with even less conviction than Julio had managed.

"Just get him settled," Sam said, exasperated. "Did I mention y'all are assholes?"

Sam was still shaking his head as he turned on his blast field and launched off the roof, disappearing over the side. Julio turned to 'Star, his gaze accidentally resting on his full lips, slightly parted, baring perfect white teeth, and Julio couldn't stop himself from remembering that kiss, how unexpected it had been, how right it had felt. He'd be lying to himself if he said kissing 'Star was something he'd never considered doing. He'd considered it all right, mostly in the shower every morning and in his bed every night.

"You don't eat your dead, right?"

'Star shook his head, the edge of his mouth quirking. It was a clear, bright day, uncommon for Paris, and the black star around his eye seemed lighter than usual. "We burn them. There are certain rituals performed. Cadre battles songs are typically sung."

"Sounds nice," Julio said stupidly, beginning to move toward the elevator, trusting 'Star to follow. Normally, Julio would have politely offered to take his bags, but 'Star had only brought one small duffel bag. His swords were strapped to his back.

"Sam says it's my choice how to proceed, so I think I will skip all of that."

"I think it should be my choice," Julio replied, stepping into the elevator when the doors slid open. He leaned up against the wall on one side as 'Star slouched against the other, that strange, faraway look on his face again. "I mean, most guys don't plan their own funerals. Someone who, uh, cares for them usually does, and I … care, about you."

'Star's eyes narrowed, his arms crossed stiffly in front of him, fingers tapping against his pale forearms. He dropped his head, tendrils of copper hair falling in front of his face, dusting over his shoulders. "And it's really me? I would not put it past Mojo …"

"It's you," Julio croaked, then cleared his throat. "Trust me."

"I simply find it odd, that I would travel back in time, only to die."

Julio bit his lower lip, unsure of how much he was allowed to say. It had sounded to him like it wouldn't matter, that Shatterstar had been fully aware of what had happened and had passed on that information to him, but he also didn't want to fuck with the future.

"Are you not telling me something?"

The elevator dinged and they stepped out into the hall. Monet was coming out of the bathroom, one towel wrapped around her hair, the other around her body. She glanced at Shatterstar then continued on without speaking, disappearing into her room.

"Julio?"

Julio sighed, simmering with irritation. It was hard to stand up to 'Star when 'Star was looking at him like that, like he could see right through him. "Listen, can we talk about it later? It's been a rough couple days, and I'm not ready to get into it now."

"I suppose, if you give me your word we will talk about it. I have fallen for this before," 'Star added, without accusation or anger, just a simple statement of fact calling Julio on the shit he tried to pull. He almost missed it when 'Star had been totally clueless.

The guestrooms were right at the end of the hall, and Julio took him to the closest one to his own, the door unlocked when he tried it. A key card sat on the dresser, beside a set of clean towels and a pager. The small bed was neatly made, military corners and a single, lonely pillow. The room smelled stale, the air stagnant from months of nothing.

"I'm two doors up," Julio said, leaning against the wall, watching as 'Star slowly moved into the room, looking around suspiciously, memorising every tiny, insignificant detail of his tiny, insignificant room. He kept watching as 'Star ran his hands over every surface, pausing at every minor imperfection. "There aren't any cameras in the rooms."

"Hm," 'Star said noncommittally, head tilted in concentration. The blinds on the window were open, clean and crisp light raining in, and his profile was striking against the shower, so irresistible that Julio had to look away before 'Star caught him gawking.

"It's good to see you."

Shatterstar turned to look at him, his hand lingering on the top of the dresser. He nodded briefly. "It's good to see you, too." 'Star paused and glanced down to the floor, an act Julio unwittingly mimicked. "I've found life is not as interesting without you."

"We made a good team, huh?"

"Yes."

Julio smiled and pushed away too quickly from the wall, nicking his ribs on the edge of the dresser. He hissed sharply and pressed his hand to his side, ignoring the bright starbursts of pain in his peripheral vision. "Madre de Dios," he muttered sickly.

"You're injured."

"Just m' ribs," Julio gasped, stepping back when 'Star reached for him and smacking into the unyielding wall. Sweat inexplicably climbed down his face, settling in warm, salty drops on his chapped lips. It got worse, when 'Star pulled Julio's hand away and replaced it with his own, gentler than Julio had been with himself. "'S fine."

"You've been to see a doctor?"

"Si. Just healing slowly. Probably stress," Julio grunted when 'Star pressed his fingertips unexpectedly against the sorest area. Julio's knees buckled helplessly, and if it had been anybody other than 'Star trying this shit, he would have happily punched him.

"I did not do this?" 'Star asked, all up in Julio's space, huge and perfect and gorgeous, his usually severe face lightened with concern. If Julio hadn't been in horrible, cock-softening pain, he might have had to worry about a hard-on. "Julio, did I …?"

Closing his eyes, Julio shook his head. "No, no, completely unrelated events, and Madre de Dios, 'Star, could you stop poking at it? It really fucking hurts." His breathing came in harsh, wet bursts, and he squeezed his eyelids together until 'Star stepped back.

"You should go back to that doctor. He missed something."

"She, and no, I'm fine. Been like this for a couple days, and I've been drunk for most of them. I probably fell down some stairs and nobody told me," Julio said, more harshly than he intended. He sat down on the bed, using the hem of his tee-shirt to wipe the sweat off his face, scrubbing harder than he needed to. "Stop looking at me like that."

"I'm not looking at you like anything, Julio."

Julio glanced up, and 'Star stared blithely back at him.

"Okay," Julio said, standing up, vague discomfort crawling over his skin like an itch, "maybe we should head down and see the, uh, the body. If you're ready, I mean."

'Star nodded and followed him out of the room, grabbing the key card as he passed the dresser. M was in the hall again, dressed, and Julio smiled at her then looked back at 'Star to introduce these two unlikely friends of his. "'Star, this is M. M, 'Star."

"I've heard a lot about you," M said, not quite warmly but trying to be.

"I've heard nothing about you," 'Star replied, failing in exactly the same way.

Any more forced interaction was just going to be torture, so Julio spared them both the pain and continued toward the elevator, dragging the back of his hand across his forehead. It came back damp, and he frowned, briefly, before shaking it off. If he was feverish, it was only because he'd abused his body so badly with alcohol and not because of his ribs. They were cracked, he knew that, but there wasn't much he could do about it.

In the elevator, 'Star said, "She's your … friend," voice hitching on the word.

Julio scuffed the top of his sandal against the floor, shoulders back against the wall, arms crossed in front of him. When he looked up, his hair fell messily into his face. He blew at it before saying, "Yeah, and we work together, and she lives next door to me."

"You're very close?"

"I guess," Julio replied, shrugging.

"I see."

"But she's not my girlfriend, if that's what you're getting at."

Shatterstar didn't confirm or deny this accusation, but Julio realised that it had been exactly what 'Star had been asking, and it surprised him more than it should have, knowing what he did about their seemingly inevitable future together. It made it more real, somehow, to know that 'Star cared about these things, when he hadn't used to.

And if 'Star had, maybe Julio just hadn't noticed before.

Hadn't known it was there to see.

Hadn't believed it ever would be.

~~~

The antiseptic scent hit his nostrils first, stronger than it had been two nights ago, but 'Star was three days dead by now, and Julio guessed that meant a lot of chemicals to preserve his body for the funeral, which had been scheduled for Friday, two days away.

Other than that, everything looked exactly the same, his expression still locked into that peaceful mask, like he hadn't been torn to shreds before dying. Julio glanced over at 'Star, the alive one, just to confirm that he was still there, and he was, his eyes locked on the body on the table. He looked vaguely horrified, though he covered it well.

"Where is my other arm?" He demanded, finally, glaring at Sam.

Sam looked, for lack of a better word, frightened, and Julio wanted to tell him that 'Star didn't exactly mean it like he sounded, like he would rip off Sam's own arm if he didn't give the right answer. "Don't know," Sam mumbled. "This is just how we got you."

"How did I die?" 'Star asked roughly, stepping forward then circling the table like it was about to attack him. He was, Julio thought, taking this a lot better than Julio thought he would, or a lot worse. The misplaced, misdirected anger surprised him.

"Massive injuries, I'd reckon. Overloaded your healing factor. We'd have to do an autopsy to know for sure …"

"Za's vid!" 'Star exclaimed, ignoring Sam. "Where are my eyes?"

At this, Sam looked helplessly in Julio's direction, and Julio stepped up to 'Star, putting a hand into the small of his back. It was a gamble, one that would either agitate him further or relax him slightly, and it paid off. 'Star's shoulders drooped, and he closed his eyes, visibly composing himself. When he opened them, he looked pale but steady.

Without another word, 'Star walked over to the table, and before either he or Sam could protest, flipped his body over by the neck and began to run his fingers over his skin, eyes narrowed in deep concentration.

"What are you looking for?" Julio asked, before Sam could.

"The truth," 'Star replied briefly, palming his own ass, as if that held the secret. That unsettled Julio, but he refused to look away. 'Star did nothing without meaning to, no move wasted, every act necessary. He treated his body roughly, like it didn't wear his face.

Sam shifted his eyes to the door. "Uh, 'Star …"

"Sam," Julio warned him quietly, and Sam shut up.

'Star flipped himself over, shucking the sheet onto the floor, and Julio stared at the slack dead face, refusing to let his memories, future or otherwise, be tainted. But he was still disturbed when 'Star pried his jaw open and forced two fingers into his mouth.

'Star examined every inch of his body, poking and prodding, looking for things only he knew about. Julio let his gaze settle on the fire red of 'Star hair, which was still glossy and vibrant, the only part of him that still looked alive. And finally, after what felt like eons, 'Star sighed deeply and gently laid his body back down onto the metal table.

Julio started nibbling nervously at his thumbnail. "It's you, then?"

"Apparently," 'Star muttered, all the answer he was likely to give. He tugged the white sheet up to his naked shoulders, smoothing it until it laid flat against his chest, then, almost tenderly, brushed the hair from his own dead face. "But someone desecrated my body."

Julio exchanged a glance with Sam. "Amigo, this is exactly how we got you."

'Star spared him a dry, withering look. "On my world," he said, "death is clean. We may kill for sport, but it is clean. And this," his glare rested on the stump of his arm, which, Julio noticed for the first time, resembled raw hamburger, "is not clean at all."

"What does that mean?"

"Only that this looks like I was not on Mojoworld when it happened, and that Mojo did not kill me. If this is true then that would make me very happy," 'Star said, a grim mockery of a smile twisting his lips. That seemed to be the final straw for Sam, who mumbled something about giving 'Star some time alone, and rushed out of the room. 'Star frowned at that then said, very softly, "I made him uncomfortable."

"That's okay," Julio assured him, still chewing at his thumb, his other arm wrapped around his waist. "It's gotta be weird, seeing yourself like that, all … all dead."

"Yes," 'Star agreed, brushing his knuckles over his pale cheek. It would have been disturbing if Julio hadn't done the exact same thing. "And I'm so old."

"Yeah."

"Did I say …?"

"More than forty."

"Forty? Fekt." That, more than anything, seemed to shake 'Star's resolution and he stepped quickly away, crouching down to the floor, back against the metal wall. He balled up his hands and pressed two white-knuckled fists to his temples, closing his eyes.

Julio watched as the last residue of anger melted away from 'Star's tense body, replaced with something far more sinister: grief. Julio recognised it, because he felt it, too, the ugly sorrow that wormed like maggots in his guts and pierced his heart like a knife.

And, worse, there was more to it than just feeling sadder than you ever had before, and nothing quite so simple as facing your own mortality.

It was facing your own immortality.

Twenty years was practically forever.

"Why would I do this?"

Julio looked down at his raw, bloody thumb.

"Julio, why would I … that body is apparently me, but I would not …"

"You had your reasons," Julio said, without looking up. His eyes felt sticky and hot, his whole face tight with fever. If he raised his gaze, if he saw the depth of 'Star's emotion, he wouldn't have the strength to support him like 'Star needed. His hands were already shaking.

"Fekt," 'Star said, thumping his head against the wall, the hollow sound echoing in the room. "Fekt." He had the heels of both hands pressed against his forehead. "Fekt!" He shouted, a third time, and tugged out a sword. "Fekt!"

"Put that away," Julio said, wearily, rubbing his fingertips into his temples.

"Take them, then, before I do something I will regret."

Julio held out his hands, calling his bluff, then was utterly shocked when 'Star handed them over, his fingers lingering only briefly against Julio's open palms. The swords were lighter than he expected, and still warm from 'Star ferocious grip. "You wanna get out of here?"

'Star nodded, glaring sullenly at the floor, a loose shock of copper hair caught in the corner of his down-turned mouth. They were some pair, the two of them. Julio had managed to stay drunk for two days, and 'Star appeared to be unravelling at the edges like an unloved sweater. Not that Julio could, or would, blame him for that, when his own tenuous control was slowing ebbing away.

Julio ushered 'Star out of the room then shut the door behind them. They walked side by side down the corridor, a grim silence between them. Neither of them were big talkers. Julio could remember hundreds of hours passed quietly on the road, with maps spread out on the dashboard and warm Cokes in the drink holders of the rusty old Jeep they had borrowed from the only one of his uncles who was legitimately employed.

Uncle Luis was Julio's only connection to his birth mother, who had died when he was two years old and whose face he could not remember. He had only one picture of her, given to him by Luis when he turned ten. She was a sad woman; he had her eyes.

She had been murdered in broad daylight, and the assailant had never been caught.

Uncle Luis, a verifiable doctor, had no great love for his sister's gun-running family, blaming them for his sister's death (a belief that Julio shared) and had always been eager to help his sister's only son. His support of his and 'Star's efforts had been both emotional and monetary. Luis had patched him up more than once, never asking questions when they had showed up on his doorstep, covered in blood, dirt and bruises.

Mostly, he recalled, it had been him covered in blood, dirt, and bruises, and 'Star, as always, totally fine. The only things Julio had going for him was raw power, and the ability to take a punch without simpering like a wimp. His ribs twinged to remind him that wasn't exactly a good thing, and he pressed a hand to his side, refusing to wince. 'Star looked over at him, eyes narrowed, and Julio shook his head.

"It's nothing, amigo, just a couple cracked ribs. Can't do much more than keep them wrapped and keep taking those pills the doctor gave me. I wasn't kidding about those stairs, either. You know how loopy I get when I'm wasted," Julio added, knocking 'Star with his shoulder, then laughed when 'Star shoved back, one-handed, into the wall.

Julio winced at the stab of pain, though it wasn't any worse than he'd done to himself recently with things like eating, and taking a piss, and breathing, but it was still uncomfortable. "Shit, amigo, did we not just finish talking about my crappy ribs?"

"I was careful," 'Star replied, "and you should be careful with my swords."

Julio looked down at them, surprising to see the tips dancing dangerously close to his toes. He lifted them higher, holding them out in front of him and tapping the blades together until 'Star glared at him to stop. Blades like these could behead a man in one stroke. Julio knew because he had seen it happen. 'Star was a dangerous guy like that.

"How'd you end up in Madripoor?"

Shatterstar shrugged.

"You don't know, or you don't want to tell me?"

"I know how I got there, Julio." 'Star said, sounding tired and world-weary in a way Julio had never expected from him. He sounded like he'd grown up, emotionally, since they'd last been together, which had been one of 'Star's personal-enlightenment goals, but it looked like that knowledge had come at a price, the kind that made your body ache.

Julio sympathised.

"How long do you think you're going to be in Paris?"

"As long as it takes to get this over with. If you insist on a funeral -- and you are stubborn enough that I know you will -- a few days. My employer," 'Star's mouth twisted briefly and bitterly over the word, "will fire me, if this takes much longer than that."

They paused at the elevator, waiting for the doors to slide open, and Julio leaned up against the wall, resting the swords against the floor. "Please tell me it's not a pimp."

"I do not believe so," 'Star said slowly, mouth stretching into a thin, perplexed line. "Unless this is some reference to MTV. I find that channel far too much like my home world, and you know I don't watch it. I think it's entirely possible Mojo owns it."

Julio smiled. "No. I'm talking Pretty Woman, and you're Julio Roberts."

'Star's nose wrinkled adorably, and he shook his head. "Definitely not."

"Good," Julio murmured, straightening when the doors opened and waiting for 'Star to enter first. Despite everything else, he found it impossible not to grin at 'Star. It just felt right having him here in the flesh where Julio could count every steady breath he took, listen to his faintly accented voice, even smell him. 'Star always had smelled great.

"You tired, amigo?"

'Star nodded, head tipped back against the elevator wall, throat exposed. "This day has been difficult." His voice sounded strange, and Julio realised it was because he'd never seen 'Star so obviously exhausted, his iron guard only now beginning to crumble.

Julio's stomach dropped as the elevator lifted, and he watched the numbers climb, counting them in his head. When they stopped, his stomach twisted again, unpleasantly. Julio stepped out first, looking back over his shoulder as he spoke. "It's not everyday you're called in to identify your own dead body. That's gotta be tiring."

"I'm still not entirely convinced it is me," 'Star admitted.

Julio lifted an eyebrow, leaning forward on the swords like they were canes. "Say what?"

"My motivations," 'Star murmured thoughtfully, bringing a thumb to his mouth, beginning to gnaw at his nail. It was a habit he had undoubtedly picked up from Julio, which would undoubtedly irritate his mother, who had spent most of Julio's life trying to break him of it.

They stopped at Shatterstar's door as 'Star rooted around in his pocket, and Julio looked up at him, swords held limply at his side. "What about your motivations, amigo?"

"I do nothing without a reason."

"Why are you assuming you didn't have a reason for doing this?"

"You are obviously upset about it, and I am … reacting oddly," 'Star said slowly, dropping his gaze, expression serious and sombre, before composing himself again. "I know I have been accused of being an attention hooker, but this is not how I would act."

"Attention whore. And maybe you changed in twenty years, huh? You're not the same guy I knew even two years ago. And that's a good thing, by the way," Julio added snidely, not quite sure why he was so pissed off about this, but he couldn't help it either.

"Perhaps," 'Star agreed, in a way that made it clear he didn't agree at all.

Julio gritted his teeth.

'Star deserved to know the truth, but Julio was too tired to get into it. Tomorrow, he thought, or the day after that, they would sit down and get into it, but not right then. Julio just wanted some time to be with the living 'Star before going back to the dead one.

"Do you have a training room?"

"Fifth floor, end of the hall. Your room key will get you in."

'Star nodded then turned, unlocking his room and opening the door. He paused in the doorway, head bowed, before whirling around and walking back to where Julio stood. 'Star leaned forward, close enough that they were almost chest to chest, then lifted his arm and laid it very gently across Julio's back. His breath was hot and damp on Julio's neck. His ponytail tickled Julio's cheek. 'Star squeezed him lightly before stepping back.

"Thank you," Star said, "and give me my swords."

Julio held them out, smiling crookedly as the door shut in his face.

~~~

For the first time since 'Star had landed mostly dead in the streets of Paris, Julio woke up feeling well rested and in only a minimal amount of discomfort. It was insanely early, but he'd crashed hard the night before, and slept straight through the night without waking up once. He pushed up slowly, sending a foot out to hunt for a pair of shorts, then yawned as he pulled them up his legs, tempted to grab another few hours rest.

But he knew 'Star's schedule, knew he would already be up and doing productive, impressive things with his day. Julio grabbed his towel and his shampoo then swaggered into the hall, eyes narrowed into slits against the assault of bright neon lights. Jamie was already in the showers, forehead pressed against the wall as water raced down his back.

"Late night?"

Jamie looked over at him. "My dupes are morons, man, which probably looks bad for me. Half of them were too hyped up on coffee to sleep after we got off work, and the rest of them wanted to go out and get laid. I had about three guys on my side, for sleep."

Julio laughed.

"It's like herding cats, man. We seriously need to hire more people, or invest in some decaf coffee."

"Blasphemous," Julio said dismissively.

"Don't worry. I'm voting for more people who are not me, too."

Julio ducked his head under the spray as it came on, letting it push his hair away from his face. "I take it you didn't get laid," Julio said, eyes closed against the stream.

"French women just don't appreciate me."

"Didn't you say that about American women?"

"Good point. Maybe I should see if Mumbai is still hiring."

Julio squirted a blob of shampoo into his palm them began combing it through his hair, enjoying the feel of the water against his skin. He hadn't bothered taking off the bandage around his chest, knowing he'd never get it back on as tightly without help and completely unwilling to go back down to Dr. Lee and listen to her try to mother him.

"Speaking of getting laid, you're looking less like ass than you did yesterday."

Julio scooped the soap out of his eyes, then glaring over at him.

"I'm just saying," Jamie said, grinning. "Anything you want to tell me?"

"Um, I'm gay?"

Jamie looked at him like he was a moron. "Well, duh."

Julio ducked his head back under the stream, hoping Jamie understood that the communal shower really wasn't the place to talk about it. Whatever "it" was, anyway. He hadn't slept with 'Star and could only imagine himself doing so in the most vague, abstract ways. And even thinking about it distantly sent the blood straight to his cock.

When he looked up again, Jamie was gone, and Julio breathed a deep sigh of relief then immediately wished he hadn't. His ribs did feel better, though, minutely, and maybe that meant he was finally healing. "About damn time," he muttered, smiling.

Julio went back to his room and got dressed in a pair of well-worn jeans and an AC/DC tee-shirt he'd found in one of those vintage clothing shops Terry loved so much. It had a hole the size of a dime in the armpit, and the name "Martin" written on the tag.

He stopped by his mailbox on the way down to the training room, and gathered the envelopes under his arm before taking a detour to find coffee then, eventually, ending up in the observation room, watching 'Star work out. Julio kicked his feet up onto the console, took a long swig of lukewarm coffee then started flipping idly through his mail.

There was a nice cheque from his Uncle Luis masquerading as a belated birthday present, an envelope of newspaper clippings from his mother, an inter-office memo from Sam enthusiastically stamped, several times, with "urgent" in blood red ink. Looking up briefly just in time to see 'Star launch himself off the back of a Mojo-esque hologram, Julio watched as 'Star arced through the air, flipping so fast that it made Julio dizzy, then landed lightly on the opposite side of the room, crouched low to the floor, swords ready.

"What exactly is his power?" M asked, and Julio jumped wildly, sending his mail raining to the ground in a storm of white envelopes. He glared at her as he gathered them, but she was too busy eyeing 'Star to notice, leaning forward, her expression thoughtful.

"He converts sound into energy," Julio said, settling back into his chair and ripping open the urgent note from Sam, trepidation making his fingers slow and clumsy. Sam's inter-office memos were never good. "Everything else is just a bonus, I think."

"He's really," M leaned forward, tapping a finger against her lips, "athletic."

Julio scanned the memo from Sam, which informed him that 'Star had deferred all funeral arrangements to him and Sam wanted him to have it all done by five, delivered in writing, to Sam's room. Any later, and Sam would kick his ass from there to Kentucky.

"He's stunning," Monet said, sitting back. "There's absolutely no way around it."

Julio had no idea how he was going to plan a funeral by five. It was impossible. Just thinking about it made the nausea that had been following him for days rear up in his stomach, lodging as a gooey lump in his throat. He should have just listened to 'Star, but some sick part of him wanted a funeral. Needed it, really, for reasons he didn't dare explain.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Julio muttered, folding up the memo and shoving it in his back pocket. He would worry about it later, because it was too damn early in the day for shit like that. He took a deep breath, reaching for his coffee. "You were saying something about 'Star?"

"Just noticing how gorgeous he is."

"Oh," Julio said, sipping at his coffee, both hands curled around the ceramic mug. He stared into the murky liquid for a few more seconds then, briefly, flicked his gaze in M's direction, immediately looking away when they made eye contact. "I guess he is."

M sighed. "Julio, please. I was there that night. Everyone was there, and we all know. Sam was the only one polite enough to ask, on the off chance that was your way of reacting to a dead team-mate. He's charmingly naïve sometimes," she added, smirking.

"Okay, then. You're right. He is gorgeous. He's really … something else," Julio said, his heart thudding frantically against his chest, like it was trying to break free. He focussed his eyes on 'Star as he twisted and turned through the obstacles in front of him, beheading some enemies, gutting the others. All of it done systematically, unforgivingly.

"I've always known," M said, matter-of-fact, "how you feel about him."

Julio took another long sip of coffee.

"I take it you were never going to tell me."

"It just never came up," Julio mumbled lamely, trying not to think about the many times he had abandoned Monet in a club and fucked off with some guy to make out in the bathroom, or the nearest dark corner, or the first alley they stumbled into. When everyone else talked about their sex lives, he had nothing to add. He wasn't fucking anybody, and hadn't yet. "I'm just a private person, and I didn't want to make a big announcement …"

"Which you succeeded at quite impressively, I must say. Or not at all. Unless you're Sam, who was quite willing to believe you kiss all your male friends on the lips."

"Shut up," Julio muttered sheepishly.

"All I'm saying is that I would watch out for him around mistletoe."

"Shut up," Julio repeated, rubbing a hand through his hair, trying to scratch that particular image out of his brain. He liked Sam, but Sam was not his type. And even if Sam tended to kiss everyone when drunk on eggnog, Julio wasn't going to tell M that. She would just have to find out for herself at the X-Corp Paris Annual Christmas party.

M regarded him quietly for a moment then said, "Please tell me you're not traumatised by any of this," in the most condescending tone Julio could have imagined.

"What? Traumatised by my future lover-boyfriend-whatever dying in my arms, or being gay? Because, actually, si, I am a little traumatised by what 'Star did to me," Julio said, with more bite than he intended to put into it, "but the gay thing I'm totally fine with. Most days," Julio added wryly, smirking around the edge of his coffee mug.

"Good. I can be supportive, but I can't handle things like that."

Julio gave her a weak smile and felt better, all things considered. M's no nonsense way of approaching things reminded him a lot of 'Star, who was logical to a fault, and it comforted him in a bizarre way. He didn't like to be coddled, and neither of them was capable of it.

And now, he was out to three people, and the world hadn't ended, and nobody was treating him any different, which was unfortunate in Monet's case. He could tell by the evil gleam in her eye that she was out to torture him, and he was too glued to 'Star's performance to do the right and proper thing and run away screaming like a little girl.

"Well, this explains why you're still a virgin."

"Madre de Dios," Julio muttered, horrified, his face bursting into a fiery red, and knowing that he was blushing made him blush even harder. "Please do not go there."

"I think it's sweet. You were waiting for him."

"Urgh. It just happened that way, I swear," Julio moaned, slumping in his chair.

"It's all very romantic."

"Dios, please," Julio begged her, already laughing, "please stop."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Do you not want to talk about your pathetic sex life? Too bad."

They were laughing too hard to speak when 'Star came into the booth, a towel looped around his neck, the top half of his costume tucked into the back of his pants. Disarmed by the giddiness coursing through his veins, Julio allowed his gaze to swoop down 'Star's glistening body, from his full pouty lips, to his pink pert nipples, rock-hard abs and mouth-wateringly impressive bulge, and finally, his amazingly powerful thighs.

Julio glanced away, drawing his knees up.

Sometimes, 'Star was just too much to take in all at once, but that never stopped Julio from trying to memorise every perfect inch of him. It was worse now. He felt out of control, anticipation making him stupid, but he wanted it, wanted 'Star, so damn badly.

"I'll leave you two alone," Monet said, grinning like a serial killer, and Julio rolled his eyes, but didn't beg her to stay either. 'Star frowned at her, stretching to his full, imposing height as she pushed past him. He didn't like her, or didn't trust her …

… Or he was jealous of her, which seemed more likely, knowing what he did.

Dios, Julio thought dazedly. 'Star really was a different man these days.

"You done with your workout?" He asked brightly.

"Yes," 'Star said, sitting down in the seat M had abandoned. He looked troubled as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands tightly clasped. "You were laughing."

"I tend to do that with friends," Julio replied, dropping his feet to the floor. He began to swing the chair soothingly from side to side, subtly regarding 'Star through the dark veil of his own messy hair. "I've heard you laugh, amigo. I know you can do it."

'Star hummed noncommittally, and Julio decided to change the subject.

"So your funeral …"

'Star arched a perfect red eyebrow. "Yes?"

"If you could give me, like, a run-down of a traditional Cadre funeral, like, a little more specific than you already have, I'd appreciate it." Julio had to give himself bonus points for how casual it came out, like he was the type of guy who always asked for help.

'Star brought his clasped hands to his mouth, pressing them against his lips. It was a couple minutes before he spoke, every word coming out slowly and quietly. "On my world, death is very common. When I fought in the arena and a warrior died, the body disappeared." He smiled grimly. "There were rumours that the Spineless Ones ate them."

Sam had obviously known something Julio didn't. "Dios. Did they?"

'Star shrugged. "I would not be surprised if they did. We were nothing more than animals to them. But nothing was proven, and there were a good many rumours that I now know are untrue. If nothing else, we fought harder to avoid such a gruesome fate."

"Is that why you burn the bodies of your dead?"

"In part," 'Star admitted, eyes dark beneath his troubled brow. "Our bodies belong to Mojo, even in death. If we develop mutations without his permission, they are only ours until death, when the code is given to the bioengineers. Not that there are many mutants. I can only think of four, and unlike mutants from earth, our powers are flawed."

"You do all right, amigo."

"Thank you."

Julio nodded.

Silence settled over them, comfortable like a worn old blanket. Julio felt the physical distance between them acutely, even though 'Star was only three feet away. Not close enough to touch, and Julio wanted to do that desperately. He was allowed to now.

'Star shifted suddenly, and began to speak again.

"The night before, the warrior is prepared, his body anointed with oil and his hair braided, one for every year of life," 'Star explained, sitting straight in his chair, his hands now balled into white-knuckled fists. "At dawn, so the fire does not alert the enemies to our presence, we take the warrior to the nearest clearing, provided there is cover in the surrounding area. Traditional Cadre battle songs are sung, in the language that we as a people created. And the warrior is burned, freeing his uemeur, his soul, from the confines of his Mojo-made body and sending it to the next world, where Mojo cannot follow."

"Your uemeur? Isn't that what Spiral transferred to …"

"Yes, it is the only thing, besides my mutant power, that Mojo did not create."

"Do you have gods on your world?" Julio asked quietly, wondering why they had never talked about any of this before. Maybe because he didn't believe in anything. Once upon a time, he had been Catholic, but that felt like another man's beliefs these days.

"No."

"Who sings the Cadre battle songs?"

'Star shrugged. "I suppose I will have to."

"I can, too, if you want," Julio offered, feeling strangely shy. He had a good voice, and he knew it, but singing was a private thing to him, limited to cars and showers. But he would do it, for 'Star, because he had to -- nobody else spoke their secret language -- and more than that, he wanted to. 'Star deserved an awesome, warrior-worthy send-off.

"I'll teach you the songs," 'Star decided. "I will write them down."

"And since when is Cadre a written language?"

"Hooked on phonics worked for me!" 'Star said gleefully, so abruptly and so unexpectedly that Julio stared at him for a moment, utterly perplexed, before cracking up, tossing his head back and letting a belly-deep gale of laughter tumble off his tongue.

"Amigo," he gasped, tears streaking down his cheeks, "warn a guy."

"But then it wouldn't be funny," 'Star pointed out, the slice of his grin a brilliant white blur across his face, a startling counterpoint to his vibrantly red hair. He didn't do it often, but when he smiled, it was gorgeous, the most perfect thing Julio had ever seen.

"I'm gay, you know."

'Star blanched, which almost sobered Julio right up. He was still giggling, but it was half-residual and half-nervous, something he couldn't stop. He hadn't even meant to say it, because the moment wasn't perfect at all, and he'd just killed a really funny joke.

"Just so you know," Julio added quietly. "Everybody else knows already."

'Star nodded, his grin gone, replaced by a troubled frown, his teeth gnawing on his lower lip like he did only when his world had been completely knocked off it axis. Julio had only seen it twice before. Once, with the Benjamin Russell mess, when everybody else had fucked 'Star up before Julio had been able to get there, and a second time, that night in the club, with that Stecky woman, who had been rubbing all over him.

"'Star?"

"I don't know what to say," 'Star murmured, quietly, like he was ashamed.

"You don't have to say anything. I'm just telling you, because you're my friend, and I guess I'm finally coming out. It's no big deal," Julio added casually, even though his heart was jumping around in his chest like Tabitha on speed, making him dizzy.

"No big deal," 'Star repeated slowly.

"Amigo, you've watched tv. We're in the new Millennium. Shit is different now. Maybe American television isn't the best thing to watch, but French television, Madre de Dios, I don't understand most of it, but it's pretty wild. You'd like it," Julio said, trying to change the subject, but 'Star didn't look like he was going for it. "Talk to me, 'Star."

'Star lifted his eyes. "I really don't know what to say, Julio."

"Just assure me you're not gonna hate me, because I'm about to puke here."

"Why would I hate you?"

"I don't know."

"I don't."

"Well, great. Thanks," Julio added, as an afterthought, and was surprised it came out so sincere. He couldn't figure out what 'Star was thinking, his face sliding back into that careful mask he always wore around people he didn't trust, which seemed to be everyone, except for him. 'Star had never looked at Julio like he was out to get him.

Until then, at least. Until that very second.

Julio looked away quickly, suddenly ashamed.

"I'm sorry," he said, without understanding why he was apologising.

"I think I will return to my work out," 'Star replied, standing up and pausing, briefly, to put a hand on Julio's shoulder. Julio looked up, and 'Star looked almost apologetic now, like he knew he was acting like an idiot, and couldn't stop, and regretted it.

"I have stuff to do anyway. But if you want, I'll probably be eating dinner on the roof around six or so. If you wanna join me, grab something from the cafeteria, and I'll be there. You should see some of Paris while you're here, even if it's from a distance."

"I will be there," 'Star promised.

Julio smiled, patting 'Star's wrist. "Okay, cool," he said.

"Cool," 'Star agreed, any brand of slang always hanging so awkwardly on his lips, but he kept trying it out anyway, though usually only around Julio. 'Star did a lot of things around Julio that he didn't do around anyone else. Laugh, for one, and nap, for another. The first time he'd closed his eyes on the couch, Julio had thought he was sick.

Julio got up on shaky legs, heading for the door, watching his feet. He felt sick, and disappointed, and embarrassed. 'Star, the older one, the dead one, had told him it wouldn't be easy, but he hadn't thought it would be this hard. With him and 'Star things had always seemed to happen naturally, but not this time. Ironic, Julio supposed, that the only one who had reacted badly to him coming out was the guy he was coming out for.

"Julio?"

He looked up. "Si?"

"Your ribs," 'Star placed a big, warm hand against Julio's chest, right under his arm, where his ribs had been bothering him the most. The touch knocked the breath right out of him, worse than the initial kick that had cracked them in the first place.

"Better," Julio promised, trying to wiggle away from 'Star's sudden concern. It didn't seem fair, that somehow in the last day, 'Star had picked up a cue that made touching implicitly okay, when they had spent months with an ocean of space between them. Julio entirely blamed himself and that relieved hug he hadn't been able to stop.

It was just another way that 'Star tortured him without realising, filed in Julio's head alongside his annoying habit of taking his shirt off all the time, that secret smile he flashed Julio when nobody was looking, and the fact that he had never noticed girls.

Hope really was the cruellest thing in the entire world.

~~~

In his room, Julio locked himself in, jabbing an angry finger at his stereo until something suitably loud and drowned kicked in then, with a sigh, he slid down the wall and bowed his head. "Madre de Dios," he muttered, bumping his brow against his knees.

He hadn't expected anything. Not really. Just a little bit, with that secret part of him that stared longingly at 'Star when 'Star wasn't looking, the part that imagined all the romantic shit that he tried not to think about, the part that tended to daydream idiotically.

But then 'Star had practically fallen into Julio's lap, saying all the things Julio had always wanted to hear, and never expected to. If 'Star was right about Mojo's involvement, that meant that Julio had been wrong. Worse, it meant that he had been stupid, and if there was one thing Julio couldn't abide by it was his own stupidity.

That was how the thing with the Right had happened. A man, a stranger, had offered him atonement for what he had done to Guadalajara, and in that brief second of consideration, when he had been dazzled by the promise of betterment and forgiveness, not just for him but for the city he had been born in, they had nabbed him. Just like that.

Just like that, and he still hadn't gotten over it, and probably never would.

It felt the same, now, as the thought that he had been taken for a fool finally crossed his mind. He realised, quite suddenly, that 'Star had suspected this all along, and the idea that Julio had led him into something bad without even considering that he was just a pawn made him queasy. Why did everyone know to exploit his biggest weakness?

Emotionally, Julio was fucked up. He knew this, and apparently, so did everyone else. He had tried to be like 'Star, cold, suspicious, disaffected, but he seemed genetically prone towards idealism, that things would work out if he only believed in them. And it wasn't like they ever did. Julio couldn't think of a time when he had had a happy ending.

Yet he still fell for the same joke, time and time again. Still trusted the villains.

His secondary mutation was evidently complete idiocy. That was good to know.

Julio laughed bitterly into his jeans, his fingers wrapped around his shins, keeping his body curled into a protective ball. Music pulsed in his blood, loud enough that his ears already ached. If Jamie was trying to sleep, Julio would probably have forty men trying to kick down the door in five minutes. Forty men, and not the one Julio wanted.

Julio closed his eyes.

In his defense, everything was happening too fast. He wasn't ready for it, not with the fact that 'Star was going to die, not with his own mortality, and definitely not with everybody knowing everything about him, all those hidden bits of him he wasn't ready to share. It wasn't that he was ashamed of being gay. That wasn't it at all, but he was just so tired of being different all the time. Even among mutants, he was different.

It exhausted him, always being strange, never fitting in.

It was emotionally tiring.

And he couldn't think of a single moment in his life when he hadn't acutely felt that difference. But he knew that wasn't entirely true. In Mexico, with 'Star, he had felt comfortable, like he had finally grown into his skin, but that hasn't lasted, and everything had reverted back to normal, with him feeling like a freak, removed from everyone else. Even his mutant power set him apart. Hardly anybody could destroy a city accidentally.

Except he could, and had, and probably would again, if the wrong person ran into him and pushed him over the thin ledge of control he always toed. Even now, twelve stories above the earth, he knew the ground would be shaking under his feet if he stepped on it. Emotionally, all his great strength, his protective armour, had been stripped away.

Julio's eyes snapped open, and he looked around suspiciously, examining every dark corner, every shadow out of the ordinary. The thing with Mojo, the thing that made him truly terrifying, was that you didn't know when he was watching. 'Star had explained it once, that he took your life and made it into entertainment, and you didn't always know. Julio had begun to lose track of the number of times Mojo had already caught 'Star, forcing him into one of Mojo's ratings grabs. Even on earth, he wasn't safe.

Nobody was. Not 'Star, and not him.

Julio had never understood 'Star and his paranoia more than he did right then.

He pushed those thoughts to the back of his head, refusing to put on a show for a madman, if that was what this was. He wasn't entirely convinced yet. With shaking hands, he reached for a pen he spied on the floor, underneath a stack of pay stubs. He grabbed the nearest stub, and began to write on it, keeping his words simple and concise.

Even if that man downstairs wasn't Shatterstar, he was someone.

Julio still thought it was 'Star, though.

Still wanted to believe.

Needed to.

When the memo was written, he folded it up and wrote SAM across it in big, bold letters. He sealed it with a price sticker he peeled off a tag sitting in his garbage can. Slowly, using the wall for leverage, he stood up and stopped at the mirror before leaving.

"Dios," he said to his pitiful reflection, "you look like shit, amigo."

If anyone saw him, he wouldn't be able to lie and say he was fine. All the good feelings he'd woken up with were gone, dark circles back beneath his eyes, the set of his mouth curved permanently downward. He smiled to test it out, but it looked fake. Closing his eyes, he took a series of deep breaths, forcing his face to relax and accept the lie.

"I'm fine," he said, forcing his face to believe it, and he could almost feel the harsh lines evening out. Opening his eyes again, he was almost fooled by his deception. Julio spared himself one last look then headed for the door, memo clutched in his fingers.

The hallway was empty, and he tiptoed over to Sam's door then slid the note underneath it and broke for the elevator. X-Corp wasn't busy enough that he'd randomly run into people, but he didn't want to risk Sam and another one of his awkward pep talks.

Morbidly drawn to the basement, he pressed the button before he could talk himself out of it, holding his breath as the elevator plunged downward. His mind drifted to 'Star, the alive one, and he pulled it back just as quickly. Thinking about 'Star, the one upstairs, just knotted up his guts and made him feel like crap. Sometimes, secretly in the deep recesses of his brain, Julio wished that 'Star was less complicated, and more human.

The dead Shatterstar was right where he was supposed to be, face still locked into that mask of peacefulness and rest. He smelled funny, but Julio forgave him for that. Corpses, in general, didn't smell like flowers, and 'Star was no exception. It was sick, that he was even there, doing this, but even though this 'Star had ripped out his heart, he'd put it back together, too, and Julio wasn't sure the other one was going to be so kind.

"I'm so mad at you," Julio murmured, in Spanish, as if Mojo wouldn't just slap a couple subtitles under his chin. Julio brushed his knuckles over 'Star's cold cheek. But he would know, wouldn't he, the difference between a real Shatterstar and a fake one?

Julio dropped his voice, and murmured, "Did you really come back for me?"

'Star lay there, unresponsive, dead, his final smile still ghosting his lips.

"I would know you," Julio said, a little louder. "I would be able to tell."

His words echoed mournfully against the bare, metal walls.

"Don't talk me out of this. Your paranoia isn't something I like about you."

'Star was still smiling, wearing the same smile the alive one would have been wearing, if Julio had complained about the same thing to him. Maybe Julio understood why 'Star always had to watch his back, had to be suspicious of everything, but he didn't have to like it, and one of them had to be angry about it. 'Star mostly seemed resigned.

"Idiot," Julio muttered, and didn't know precisely whom he was referring to.

~~~

A few hours spent with 'Star's corpse, and Julio felt a little more grounded, lying on his back on the roof, waiting for Shatterstar to arrive for dinner. It was unseasonably warm, the clouds in the sky a cheery white, and he'd immediately stripped off his shirt before falling into a comfortable sprawl, the bright yellow sun eagerly warming his body.

He had balled his shirt up into a pillow, and it was comfortable enough, if he ignored the rough stone rooftop biting into his back. He knew the minute 'Star joined him, followed his steps by the sound of them, felt when he was close enough to cast a cooling shadow. Julio opened his eyes, squinting at the harsh sun, and said, "Amigo."

"Julio."

Julio settled back down, resting a hand on his belly. "If you're hungry, go ahead and eat. I'm gonna lie here and enjoy the sun. You have no idea how often it rains."

"Too often, I would think, for your liking."

Julio grinned. "Damn straight. Give me dry sweltering heat any day."

"You would like Mojoworld, then. It's too hot to breathe," 'Star said absently, sitting down on the edge of the roof, looking over the side. Sunlight tangled in his hair, making the red so wildly vibrant that Julio stared wildly for a second, forgetting himself.

Julio spread his legs a little, suddenly restless, and held his breath when he noticed 'Star watching him, blue eyes focussed on Julio's stomach, his spread fingers. His expression was unreadable, but Julio wanted to believe there was attraction there.

"You are going to get a stripe where your bandage is," 'Star pointed out.

Julio looked at his chest and the gauze he had stopped noticing somehow. Out of sight, out of mind, and just thinking about it made his ribs ache again. Phantom pains, he hoped. "Madre de Dios," he muttered, putting a careful hand against his side, testing.

Julio sat up, reaching back to brush the pebbles off his back, hissing when he strained a couple muscles and realised his pain wasn't so ghostly after all. 'Star narrowed his eyes, but didn't say anything as Julio stood up and joined him at the edge of the roof. It was a long way down, but not high enough to make the people into busy little ants.

Julio reached for the sandwich he had hidden in the shadows, next to a bottle of now lukewarm water and a half-melted chocolate bar. When he looked up, he caught 'Star watching him, and beckoned him closer with a tilt of his head. 'Star leaned in.

"Amigo," Julio whispered, "If I fell for some huge Mojo-esque joke, I'm sorry."

'Star frowned at him, then replied, just as quietly, "If you say that is me then I will believe it. You know me best, so you would know the difference." Up close, the blue of 'Star's eyes look less like the sky and more like water, deep and intense, a surreal type of colour that stopped people in their steps and forced them to stare. "And I apologise …"

"You don't need to," Julio said quickly, keeping his voice low.

"I do," 'Star insisted, still frowning.

"I surprised you. Should have said something sooner. No biggie, you know."

'Star didn't say anything, just continued glowering at him, the skin between his red eyebrows deeply furrowed. The silence wasn't exactly uncomfortable. It felt better than it had that afternoon, when he'd felt sick to his stomach, convinced he had just fucked up the only healthy long-term relationship he had ever had with another man. The idea of spending another twenty years with him was nothing short of utterly thrilling.

Julio smiled.

"What?" 'Star asked, looking around, like someone else had to be the source for Julio's sudden wave of happiness. And Julio realised, in that second, that even if they were knee-deep in Mojo's illusions then at least he had gotten something out of it.

Months apart, with 'Star on one side of the world and Julio on the other, had been too much, and Julio hadn't realised how much he missed him until he was sitting right there, in front of him, looking sombre and miserable and all those amazing human things.

Jealousy being another one of them.

'Star lowered his eyes. "Is there someone … some man … ?"

"No," Julio whispered, shaking his head, "no, there's no one else, I promise."

'Star nodded briefly, head still bowed, chin practically touching the base of his throat. His ponytail flapped in the warm wind, brilliantly red, and when he tilted his head, the sun caught his profile, highlighting his chiselled features. He raised his eyes.

"Tell me why I came back, Julio. You said I had my reasons …"

"I don't how much I'm allowed to say, or if I'm gonna fuck with the future …"

"You want that badly to preserve it?"

Julio smiled, and nodded. "Very much, si. I'm fucking terrified that this is all Mojo's doing, that none of it's going to happen. All the stuff you told me, it didn't scare me at all. Even that I, you know, die. That I'm dead in that future. I'm okay with that."

"I'm not okay with that," 'Star said, horrified, and Julio laughed.

"Well, amigo, I don't think you have much say." Julio shrugged. "'Sides, I got a couple years left in me, if what you told me is the truth, and I really do think that's you down there, 'Star. I can't even tell you how I know. I just feel it in my gut, you know?"

"Your gut is sometimes right," 'Star agreed, reluctantly, probably thinking of the same thing Julio was, all those fights on the rural back roads of Mexico, lost with only an outdated map and a vague sense of direction. Whenever 'Star had won, they had usually ended up in the United States. "But it is not right about everything," he added quietly.

"Yeah, I know. But I've always been kinda right about you, haven't I?"

"You would say so."

"Because I know so, amigo. You aren't what people think you are."

'Star smiled down at his hands, though his eyes seemed sad, and Julio wanted to ask him what he was thinking, but didn't. Knowing 'Star, he wouldn't be able to explain it even if Julio did inquire. It probably wasn't any one thing, either, just a heavy weight on his shoulders, the same one he'd been lugging around for months, and the one he had shown up still bearing, noticeable from the moment 'Star had stepped off the helicopter.

"I am still unsure about things," 'Star confessed. "I don't know why …"

"Yes, you do," Julio insisted, laying his hands on 'Star's forearms, balanced on the edge of the roof, straddling the wall that enclosed the ancient shingles. One of his legs hung over the side, miles above the street below. But he wasn't afraid, not at all.

Suddenly, he wasn't afraid of anything, not with 'Star looking at him like he was.

"There's one thing you'd come back for, isn't there? One thing …"

'Star lifted his eyes, and nodded. Below them, someone started honking and yelling in French, speaking too quickly for Julio to follow it. Distracted, he looked down, but couldn't see anything more than two angry little dolls waving their fists at each other.

When he looked back, 'Star was staring at him, intensity frozen in his features. Julio's heart sped up, so fast that he was sure 'Star could hear it thumping away in his chest. Slowly, Julio moved his hands up 'Star's arms. His thumbs led the way, sweeping up the hairless skin on his forearms, to the damp skin in the dip of his elbows, then the convex curve of his biceps, and 'Star watched all of this, unspeaking, before murmuring,

"You."

"Me," Julio agreed, leaning forward, kissing him, finally.

It wasn't like the other kiss. There was no desperation in it, not yet, and 'Star's mouth tasted like mint, not rust, still wet but not in the same way. It was awkward and strange, but not entirely unpleasant, and it got better when 'Star finally got what Julio was trying to do with his tongue and parted his lips, letting him inside, welcoming him.

Even though he was the more experienced one, Julio hadn't kissed many people beside 'Star. Rahne, a couple times, but it hadn't felt like this, which more and more resembled a lazy afternoon exploration. So it wasn't like those frantic hook ups in clubs, either, when he knew he only had ten minutes to make the best of a difficult situation.

Because things were different now. This was a man he was kissing, a man he knew, a man he considered his best friend. If someone stumbled upon them, Julio would be more annoyed than embarrassed. Everyone knew now, so that part was over. It left him with this: 'Star and the potential of a future together, where everything worked out.

Where something, finally, worked out.

By the time they stopped kissing, entirely reluctantly, pushed apart only by their growling stomachs, the sun had already set, and all of Paris had lit up into a dazzling night-time canvas of gold on black. A cool wind had settled over the city like a blanket.

"Wow," Julio said, staring out at the city, but hoping 'Star knew what he meant. His entire face tingled, his lips still damp and catching the chilly air, but his heart had slowed into a steady pulse, no longer too big and frantic for his chest, but happily sated.

'Star still looked troubled, though, like nothing had been solved for him.

"Amigo?"

'Star sighed. "Julio …"

"Please don't," Julio said, putting his hands back where they'd begun, resting on 'Star's forearms. He really wanted to place them on 'Star's thighs, feel the curve of their muscles underneath the worn fabric of his ratty old jeans, the same pair he always wore.

"Why did I do this? I must have known …"

"Known what?"

'Star sighed again. "How I feel right now. How lost in this world. It is so …"

"Confusing?" Julio offered helpfully, lighting rubbing over 'Star's tense arms.

"Yes. Everything is so confusing, and I … we … you kissed me," he muttered, shaking his head, and Julio smiled at him, bemused but utterly unrepentant. If 'Star had betrayed even the slightest hint of discomfort, Julio would have stopped, but he hadn't.

Which Julio took to mean he could do it again, so he did.

~~~

They made out leisurely, even as their stomachs engaged in a symphony of protests. Julio let his hands wander this time, down to 'Star's hips then under his shirt, sliding into the small of his back, where it was warm and damp, then up his spine until 'Star shivered. 'Star wasn't quite as adventurous, keeping his palms on Julio's knees.

When they parted, Julio reached for his sandwich before he could be tempted again. 'Star did the same. They kept a comfortable silence between them, broken only by the crinkle of plastic as they opened their meals, but there was no distance to match the quiet. Julio had practically ended up in 'Star's lap, his thighs draped over 'Star's, his knees at 'Star's hips. It was oddly comfortable, though the brick bit into his ass a little.

When they finished eating, Julio asked, "Did you get a chance to write out those songs for me?"

'Star nodded, leaning forward, his chin practically resting on Julio's shoulders, and fished a piece of paper out of his back pocket. It was still warm when Julio took it, unfolded it and quickly scanned the words. They didn't make much sense to him, written.

"Amigo, I'm not really understanding this. Sing it for me?"

'Star gave him a look, the sort of withering look that made most people shy away, but Julio just nudged him in the side. It took a minute or two, but then 'Star started to sing, quiet at first, then louder as Julio listened. He followed along with his finger, matching the words coming out of 'Star's mouth to the phonetic sounds on the paper.

He began to sing along by the third verse, the melody blissfully repetitive. There was a mournful quality to 'Star's voice that Julio tried to match, a match that came easily and quickly. If there was one thing Julio understood above all others, it was feeling sorrow so deeply that you couldn't breathe because the sadness choked the air right out.

He remembered his mother wailing, after his father had been murdered. His own screams echoed in his nightmares.

It was an old memory, one that still hurt a lot. Sometimes, in the dead of night, when he was particularly broody, he wondered how his life might have turned out if his father had been around. He wouldn't have wasted all that time hating Cable, for one thing, even though Stryfe had been the one to pull the trigger, but Julio hadn't known that.

He didn't know a lot of things, it felt like, sometimes.

All of the time.

He had wasted too many nights, twisting and turning, wondering if his father could have handled him being a mutant, being gay. The optimistic part of him said yes, but the realistic part wasn't so sure. His mother didn't know, officially, about the latter, but he would be the first to admit he had fucked up by bringing 'Star to Mexico. He had heard the whispers, and very few of them had been encouraging. Worse, he thought, than all the shit they said about him being a mutant. Which was funny, but only in a really sad way.

"Julio?"

He looked up, jolted out of his thoughts, and realised he had stopped singing.

"Are you okay?" 'Star asked, like someone was dragging it out of him, and Julio smiled. That was one thing they had in common - neither of them liked answering personal questions. It was probably the reason they had made it this far without ever talking about this huge and terrifying thing between them that had always seemed to be there, even in the beginning when Julio had dismissed 'Star as a terrifying weirdo like everybody else.

Julio didn't believe in love at first sight, but he could be persuaded.

"You think maybe we should talk about this?"

'Star shrugged, looking vaguely uncomfortable, his thighs tense beneath Julio's legs. They were precariously perched on the edge of the roof. One unexpected gust of wind, and they were probably going to have a whole lot of fun trying to fly before dying.

"You said things to me," Julio confessed, "right before you died."

'Star nodded, obviously not surprised in the slightest.

"And we kissed, in front of everyone, so everybody knows. Sorry," Julio added.

'Star nodded again, but there was a smile playing on his lips. Julio saw it before he managed to bite it away, his face resuming his usual stoic mask. He was gorgeous when he smiled, but Julio had to admit the strong-silent-type thing suited 'Star perfectly.

"You didn't say anything about Mojo, but you mentioned … um, uh …"

"Who?"

Julio glared down at the roof.

"Julio, please."

"Spiral," Julio muttered. "I think. I mean, you called her the Time Dancer …"

'Star frowned deeply, any lightness immediately gone from his face as he tilted his head, eyes narrowed suspiciously. Spiral didn't get 'Star going quite as badly as Mojo did, because 'Star knew Mojo's main motives. Spiral's were much more unclear.

The only thing Julio knew for sure was that Spiral had had ample opportunity to kill 'Star or, worse, drag him back to Mojoworld, and she never had. He wasn't naïve enough to believe she was one of the good guys, but her actions regarding 'Star had always been contradictory. Spiral's involvement was the only part he was truly unsure of. With Spiral, you could never really tell, but maybe, he hoped, this time you could.

"This is what it will be like, with me," 'Star murmured, turning his head toward Paris, eyes cast down towards the bustle of the city beneath them. "I don't have a life, Julio. I am a weapon. I am owned. And not even my death frees me from that, apparently."

"We don't know that she was still working for Mojo."

'Star's expression darkened. "Mojo never frees you from your contract."

"Then maybe Mojo's really dead! You killed him, 'Star, I saw you do it. On tv, remember? When I saw you die for the first time. I should be pretty pissed at you, amigo, always dying when you know I'm watching," Julio joked weakly, patting 'Star's thigh.

"He'll kill you to get at me, Julio. He'll kill you for entertainment."

"And if he does, it's gonna take him twenty years to do it. I'm not afraid of him."

"You should be."

"I'm not," Julio insisted, lifting his chin defiantly. "And I'm not afraid of you, either. Being with you. If you want," he added, feeling weirdly shy, "to be with me."

"Julio."

The skin at the back of Julio's neck prickled unpleasantly, and he knew what was coming, felt it as a sickly swirl in his belly. He reached for 'Star, grabbing by the wrists then twisting their fingers together. "Don't do this, 'Star. Don't say it. Just don't, okay?"

"I won't make you happy."

"Please," Julio whispered. "It'll work out. I promise."

"I cannot even be sure that is me …"

"It is," Julio insisted, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice. He didn't want to beg, didn't want to force 'Star into anything, but it was out of his hands now. Every part of him wanted this, needed it, and to deny those parts now would kill him.

"Julio."

"Fuck!" Julio shouted in 'Star's face, then sprang up, nearly going head first over the side before 'Star caught him by the ankle and yanked him in the other direction. It felt good to have stone under his feet as he stomped across the roof. "You're an asshole!"

"Yes."

"You told me this would be hard, but I just … fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!" He kicked the nearest object, a bucket filled with rainwater, across the roof, then marched up to 'Star, torn between punching him and kissing him. "I can give this all up, you know."

"I don't want you to. You're happy here."

"Yeah, I'm not gonna lie. I am, but I'd be happier with you. I was happier in Mexico, you know. I was … so happy there, with you, and then you …" Julio paused, took a deep breath, and continued. "Have you even found what you're looking for?"

"No."

Julio thought, briefly, about throwing himself over the side of the building, but settled on sitting back down on the edge, facing out toward the city, legs hanging over. 'Star was unnaturally still, his knees pressed up against Julio's thigh, warm and firm.

"I'm fucking lousy at this, amigo. Sorry. I'm gonna be better, starting now."

"I don't even know what you are talking about, Julio."

"This. Us. Or not us, I guess. Something. Fuck," Julio added, just for good measure, tucking a hand against his ribs to press at them, ground himself. The shock of pain felt good, refreshing, like someone had dumped a bucket of ice-cold water on him.

"Stop that," 'Star said, curling his fingers around Julio's wrist, pulling. "And I still don't know what you are talking about. I did not … I did not say no, Julio. I should," 'Star added, "but I'm tired of being like I am. Of being this … inhuman."

Julio glanced over, startled. "Amigo, you aren't. Why are you even …?"

"Because I am not human."

"Your body is human," Julio muttered unhappily, ignoring 'Star's glare at the mention of the man 'Star had once asked him to pretend never existed. In retrospect, it probably hadn't been the healthiest thing, emotionally, to help 'Star bury Benjamin Russell.

"Perhaps," 'Star said, finally, reluctantly, "but my uemeur is not."

"You have human memories," Julio added, unable to stop picking at this huge gaping wound. 'Star glared at him, but he could do that until his eyeballs fell out because Julio wasn't going to admit that 'Star was inhuman. He just wasn't, and that was that.

"These memories are not mine. I am not Benjamin Russell. If I was …"

"This would be easier for you?"

"Yes."

"It wouldn't be, 'Star. You want to be human? Here's your first lesson: it sucks. Nothing makes any sense, and you do stupid things, and have stupid things done to you. You're human to me, okay? I … I wouldn't feel like this, towards you, if you were this thing you think you are. I just wouldn't, okay?" Julio muttered, looking down at his feet.

"I'm still not human," 'Star insisted, stubbornly.

"Okay, fine. You seem perfectly human to me, but whatever. What do I know?"

'Star shrugged, and Julio burst into abrupt, almost painful laughter.

"Madre de Dios, 'Star." He leaned into 'Star, bumping him with his shoulder, and 'Star looked at him like he had lost his mind, which he had, somewhere back in Arizona when being 'Star's friend had seemed like no big thing. "Thanks for the ego-boost there."

'Star rolled his eyes as Julio continued chuckling, feeling a little better now. The good thing about 'Star was that Julio could act like a complete moron around him, and 'Star never held it against him. The first time Julio had realised that he'd nearly crashed the Jeep into the nearest ditch, and it shamed him to realise it had taken him so long to figure out just how much 'Star meant to him. He was the best friend a guy could ask for.

"Listen, just forget I said anything, all right? Or that we, you know, kissed."

"No."

Julio blinked. "What?"

"No," 'Star repeated. "You cannot take it back, Julio. Not this time."

Julio dragged a hand wearily down his face, too emotionally strung out to come up with a response. He was just tired, tired of never having any control over his life, tired of always wanting more than he was given. Just tired like he could sleep a hundred years.

They sat in silence for a long time, Julio hunched over like an old man, 'Star still leaning toward him. At some point, 'Star took his hand and held it, brushing his thumb over the back of it, back and forth, soothingly. Julio didn't know where to go from there.

"It's late," Julio said, finally, forcefully pushing it out of his own mouth. A big part of him was happy to stay there all night, broody and anxious, but the rest of him just wanted a break from the sheer intensity of it all. "Dunno about you, but I'm exhausted."

'Star nodded, pushing off the ledge of the roof and offering his hand to Julio, who took it. All Julio wanted to do was press his face to 'Star's stiff shoulder and keep him there, but melodrama had always pissed him off, especially when he was the source of it.

"Tomorrow, I was thinking, we probably need to buy supplies, right?"

"Yes."

"I know this place we could have lunch -- they make amazing sandwiches -- and you might as well see some of Paris while you're here. It's an awesome city. If you want to see it," Julio added, casually, so 'Star wouldn't think it was a date or something.

'Star hummed a little, agreeable enough that Julio took it as a definite yes. It wasn't surprising, when you thought about it, that the Cadre language was based mostly around hums, grunts and other primal sounds. It was 'Star's favourite way to communicate, and Julio had long ago learned to decipher what every quiet noise meant.

The elevator was silent, not entirely awkward, but nowhere near comfortable either. In an ideal world, 'Star would have just broken down, pressed Julio up against the wall and admitted that he couldn't live without him. Julio smiled down at his feet. Like that would ever happen. Nobody showed high levels of self-restraint quite like 'Star did.

"I never asked," Julio said suddenly, "if there's someone else, like, for you …"

'Star's eyes widened comically, then he shook his head, sharply.

Julio laughed. "Amigo, you're pretty hot, you know. Everybody thinks so."

"Sam does not," 'Star pointed out, "and James, and Roberto, and Nathan, and …"

"Okay, okay, I get it. I'm just saying, though. It was a valid question."

The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open with a hiss. Julio stepped out first, ignoring the collection of leering Jamies gathered down the corridor. His first instinct was to check his neck in a mirror. They had been kissing for an awfully long time.

"You do," 'Star said, uncertainly, hovering on the edge of a question.

"I do what?" Julio asked, forcefully ignoring the swarm of Madrox eyes on him.

'Star leaned in, lowering his voice, switching to Cadre. "Think I'm hot."

Julio dropped his gaze to the floor. "Si."

"Oh. I didn't know."

"You weren't supposed to," Julio replied quietly, then added, in hesitant Cadre, "I wouldn't have said anything if all this hadn't happened. The whole thing is embarrassing. Everybody keeps looking at me, and it isn't … it's not like anything's happening, either."

"What is supposed to happen?"

"I don't know."

"Me neither." 'Star glared over at the swarm of Jamies. "And they are nosy."

Julio grinned, fishing his key out of his pocket and looking over at the Jamies again, noting with satisfaction that some of them looked ashamed of themselves. "Welcome to my life, amigo. X-Corp's not exactly busy yet, and we've made knowing everything about each other into a sport. Of course, I didn't have much to know, until recently. I can tell you how much sex Jamie doesn't have, though, if you wanna know."

'Star made a face. "Why would I?"

"Never mind," Julio murmured, laughing quietly, reaching for his door and sliding his key through the lock. 'Star was close enough that Julio could feel him breathing on the back of his neck, a little too quickly, in Julio's opinion. "So I guess …"

And then 'Star was kissing him again, his hand sliding over Julio's where it rested on the knob, pushing the door open. Julio stumbled back, and would have fallen flat on his ass if 'Star hadn't moved that hand to his waist, slipping quickly beneath his shirt. Julio wasn't quite sure why, or what he had done to encourage it, but he went with it. No sane man wouldn't, with 'Star pressed up against him, belly to belly, mouth to mouth.

The door slammed behind them, and they pulled back, briefly, to stare at it.

They stared for an awfully long time.

"Amigo," Julio murmured eventually, "we don't have to. When I said …"

"I wanted him to see," 'Star confessed, sounding a little ashamed of himself. His eyes were fixed on Julio's mouth as he said it, and it took all the strength Julio had not to life his fingers to his lips and see if they looked as wet and thoroughly kissed as they felt.

"That's cool, amigo. But I mean it. Just because you're …"

"I just need to think," 'Star said decisively, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "That is all. I need to think this over, and I … Julio, there are so many other men who would love you. Much better men than me," 'Star added, and smiled a little, sadly.

"I'll live if you say you're not interested, 'Star."

"Unless, if I say that, you don't. Maybe that is why …"

Julio lifted his hand. "Dios, if it is, don't tell me. Make your decision on what you want, okay? Not what I want, or what you think Mojo wants. Be selfish for once, please."

"I will try," 'Star promised, an intensity on his face that made Julio shiver. He looked away quickly, before he was tempted to show 'Star a little bit of his own intensity. It was an obvious cue, he thought, that 'Star was free to go, no feelings hurt, no problems at all, but 'Star didn't move. When Julio looked back, the only change was that he had stripped down to his Calvin Klein boxers and had climbed onto Julio's narrow twin bed.

"Is this okay?" He asked, frowning a little, like he expected to be kicked out.

Julio sighed. "Yeah, but if I start humping you in my sleep, it's not my fault."

"I will keep that in mind."

Julio nodded, then stripped down, leaving his clothes in a messy pile on his floor. He noticed, idly, that 'Star had folded his own stuff and placed it neatly on top of the dresser. He thought about buying himself some time, maybe tidying up the hurricane of shirts and pants on the floor, but 'Star was watching him, and would know, somehow.

They had shared a bed before, and Julio hadn't embarrassed himself.

The bed had never been this small, though.

"Julio."

He looked up. "I mean it, about the humping, just shove me away or something, okay?"

"Something," 'Star agreed.

A person would have thought this wasn't what Julio had been wanting for the better part of two years, but he approached the bed like he expected he would approach his own execution: very slowly, and with the inside of cheek clenched between his teeth.

'Star shifted over, his back against the wall, one arm stretched across the top of Julio's pillow. He slipped in next to him, settling on his back, and looked up at 'Star. It was weird. He couldn't pretend it wasn't. But it was nice of 'Star to take the initiative, even though he knew tomorrow would bring him nothing but grief from his idiot friends.

"You make me want to be human," 'Star murmured, stroking gentle fingers over Julio's cheek, wisps of his hair tickling Julio's face. The way he whispered it sounded unbearably sad, and Julio didn't know what to say. Platitudes didn't work with 'Star.

So Julio did the only thing he could, and closed his eyes, letting his body relax into 'Star, resting his cheek on 'Star's gently rising and falling chest. It was the safest he'd ever felt, and he thought 'Star understood that, somehow, because he relaxed, too.

In that moment, everything was fine.

~~~

Julio had never been one to sleep through the night. As a baby, his mother said he'd keep the whole neighbourhood up with his screams and cries, and as a young boy, he'd spent half the night convinced of devils under his bed and monsters in his closet. As a teenager, nightmares jolted him from sleep more often than not, and as a man, well, nothing had really changed. Maybe he was less terrified of his dreams, but that was it.

He woke up only twice. Once, vaguely aware of 'Star's open eyes and how they fixed steadily on the ceiling before he felt Julio's fuzzy stare. "Go back to sleep," 'Star had murmured, in Cadre, and Julio had easily complied. The second time, 'Star was out cold, hot face pressed against Julio's cheek, still looking grimly troubled, like there was no escape, even in sleep. He didn't wake up, even when Julio rolled onto his side and snaked an arm across his tight belly, but his face lightened imperceptibly, and he sighed.

'Star was still there come morning, even though the clock assured him that it was well past nine by the time he pried his eyes open to check. Rolling onto his back, Julio realised a second too late that it hadn't been the smartest move. 'Star was awake, and while Julio had no memory of humping 'Star at any point during the night, he definitely had an erection now. 'Star noticed, immediately, because 'Star noticed everything.

"Hi," Julio said.

"Hello."

"Sleep okay?"

"Yes."

"Awesome."

'Star smiled, and Julio wondered, suddenly, if 'Star had just went about his morning routine then returned without him waking up. His breath smelled suspiciously minty, and he didn't seem to be covered in the same sheen of sweat that Julio wore like a second skin. Which was unfair, because it made 'Star seem even sexier than he was.

It made Julio even harder, too.

"I cannot stay," 'Star said. "Whatever happens between us, I cannot stay."

A knot tightened in Julio's belly, heavy and hot and full of nervous feelings as 'Star confirmed what he hadn't even wanted to think about. 'Star wasn't finished doing whatever it was he was doing out there in the world, and Julio wasn't selfish enough to ask him to hurry it up. Still, on some secret stupid level, he kind of wanted to. "I know."

"And you cannot leave. You are too happy here. You belong here."

"I guess," Julio agreed, reluctantly, even though it was true.

'Star sighed. "I wish I wasn't …"

Julio put a hand over 'Star's mouth, sharply shaking his head when 'Star protested. "Dios, 'Star, don't apologise. I might not understand what you're doing out there, but I know it's got to be done. Have I told you how much you're changed since we were last together? And how it's for the better? Whatever you're doing, it's working. Promise."

"The moment I have found it, I will return. I will even join X-Corp. If they let me," 'Star added, as an afterthought, and Julio smiled. Like they would turn him down.

"I can wait, amigo. Lasted this long, haven't I?"

'Star looked bleak as he sighed. "These human mating rituals baffle me."

"I was just hoping we'd get drunk and screw like normal twenty-some-things, but then your dumbass metabolism fucked with that plan." The few aborted attempts had ended with Julio's head in the toilet and 'Star asking if he needed to go to the hospital.

"I think I would like to screw anyway."

Julio jerked out of his sprawl. "What? Right now?"

"Yes."

His mind reeled. "But I thought you had to think about things."

"I did think. All night. And I think I would like to have sex with you."

Julio swallowed. "Right this second?"

'Star sighed.

"Okay, okay, but give me, like, five minutes, okay?" He was already off the bed as he said it, heading for the door. "Five minutes, 'Star. Don't move a muscle, all right?"

"You are coming back."

"Five minutes," Julio assured him, then launched into the empty hallway. He was pretty sure he was coming back. He'd be an idiot not to, but it wasn't every day that the hottest guy you knew, the honest-to-god love-of-your-life suggested you do it. With him.

"Whoa," Sam said, jumping out of his way, "where's the fire, Ric?"

"Have to piss," he said, lamely, like it would matter at all by noon, when Sam had had time to compare his story of 'Julio running around in his underwear at ass o'clock in the morning' with Jamie's story of 'and then they kissed like horny horndogs in the hall.'

In the bathroom, he took a minute to stare at the wall, trying to calm down. It was lame, on a deep embarrassing level, to feel this excited, this giddy, about sex. People had sex all the time. It was all over French tv, and he shared a wall with Terry, who had a very loud French boyfriend, and it was all they, his team-mates, his friends, talked about.

But having sex with 'Star was something else. Julio was still a virgin, which he could deal with, but so was 'Star, and 'Star was complicated, sometimes, when it came to shit like this. The encounter with Stecky had proven that. The only thing Julio had ever seen 'Star run from was sex. Not that that meant he wouldn't do it. Of course he would.

He was too hard to piss, and, try as he might, nothing eased that pain. Not thinking of his disapproving family, or the threat of his father's ghost, or even all the horror he had seen in his life. He resented having to use that. Resented it more that it didn't work. He wanted it to be like the movies, where he would wake up and be totally ready for it, wouldn't have a full bladder distracting him or gross as hell morning breath.

Julio looked around, first left, then right, then grabbed his cock and pumped his fist over it, once, twice, three times, coming against the porcelain of the toilet. Not soft even then, but enough that he could force himself to go. He closed his eyes, and waited.

With the pressure on his bladder eased after minutes of extreme concentration, he washed his hands then brushed his teeth with one hand, and used a damp cloth to mop around his groin with the other. Not sexy in the slightest, but he felt better about it, after.

Felt better, about having sex, with 'Star, for the first time.

"Dios," Julio muttered at his dazed reflection.

He made the walk back to his room slowly, one hand curled protectively against his belly. It was hard to ignore his cock, which was so over-ready for this that it didn't seem bothered by the fact they were walking in a public hallway, with tented out briefs, but his brain was getting in the occasional protest. Sex could ruin everything. It probably would.

Like, what if it wasn't any good? And they still had to be friends after? He was gay, but maybe 'Star wasn't. Maybe 'Star was just doing this out of pity, and even the thought of that made Julio want to swear celibacy and run the other way. He hadn't saved himself for 'Star or anything stupid like that, but it would look that way to others. It already did.

To have sex, or not to have sex, that was the question.

The only thing that calmed his nerves, even marginally, was the look on 'Star's face when Julio walked into the room. He looked almost scared, smaller than Julio could have imagined, already naked in Julio's bed, a sheet pulled haphazardly across his thighs. It was the most breathtaking sight Julio had ever seen, and he couldn't help staring at the naked expanse of 'Star's hip, abandoned by the useless cotton sheet he wore like armour.

"Madre de Dios, 'Star," Julio murmured, embarrassingly husky, locking the door behind him, shivering when 'Star look up at the sound of his voice. Any worries he might have had rushed right out of his idiotic head, and he knew without a doubt that he wanted to do this. If it was bad, who the hell cared? They could practice until they got it right.

Hooking his thumbs in the elastic, Julio pushed his shorts down his wobbly legs, then stood up, stretching to his full, mostly unimpressive, height. 'Star smiled, and maybe 'Star was a little gay after all, because he turned to Julio, letting the sheet slip off his legs, and the sight of 'Star's cock, fully ready, fully hard, nearly knocked Julio over.

Madre de Dios, but it was big. He knew that, in theory, assuming that a guy so well hung when soft would be pretty impressive when hard, but seeing it was almost too much, and he was infinitely glad he had had the foresight to jerk off in the bathroom.

"Julio?"

"You are …" Julio couldn't wrap his brain around the words, English completely gone from his head, only the remnants of Spanish holding on. "Amigo … Dios, amigo."

'Star frowned adorably. "Julio, you are not making any sense. Again."

"I can't sleep with you," he blurted.

'Star was beginning to look alarmed now. "What? Why not?"

"You're too sexy," Julio murmured, half-joking, half not. He felt like he would die, if 'Star touched him now, if he touched 'Star. His hands ached with the wanting, beyond desperate to touch 'Star's naked skin, frightening in a way he couldn't articulate.

'Star stood up, and began to approach, crossing the room in three strides, and then stopping right in front of him. He looked confused, Julio thought, and didn't blame him. This was a terrible way to reac