Work Text:
Her brother gets exorcised or whatever you wanna call it, and suddenly they’re back, back with the X-Men, no more secrets, no more needing his marrow for survival; and this time, it’s not even clandestine ruthless secret-force style like under Magneto, but the actual X-Men.
Victor knows nobody wants him there; he can hear the whispers, damnit, his hearing’s better than people remember: whispers questioning Monet’s judgement, or why he leaves the room whenever she does, or why she scans for him so quickly, so frequently, like she’d die if she lost sight of him, or why they seem to sleep in the same room, or why they always gravitate into some secluded corner together (and not even to scheme!). And he hadn’t tried to be weird, he’s actually thought he’d been keeping it quite casual (can’t be dragging her down with him, after all, the fact that his inversion may or may not be slowly wearing off aside, these are her people, and she, in turn, is all he has now), so despite the fact Monet doesn’t seem to care, it gnaws at him.