WHO: Axe Brookstanton and his arch-nemesis
WHAT: Something that isn't very wise
WHERE: Muggle London
WHEN: Late the night of his thread with Therese


Axe hammered mercilessly on the door.

His brother knew where he lived, Axe had had no trouble figuring that out. The suggestions he was being virtually stalked had not been subtle. No one else had ever been there, no one else even knew his address, entirely by his design, so of course it was one of the first things his brother saw fit to violate. He was about to return the favour. In his poking and prodding for his brother's whereabouts, he'd also learned a great deal more about Xavier's vaguely barrister-like profession than he'd ever known. Diplomatic law explained why he had such an exaggerated idea of his importance and sway in government, but it was obvious Xavier had his hand in more than one pot on the side, if he was needing Axe to "help sort out some troubles."

Never in his life could he remember feeling more unbalanced. The stripping away of Axebanger Brookstanton had caught him entirely unaware, and even his best defences were not prepared for that sort of siege. After that scene with Therese, he felt more confused and like lashing out than ever, but there had been… an epiphany, in the midst of all that confusion and tension. He had had the thought, "his team was his life." And what had he been doing with his life?

You deserve love. You've earned it before. You deserve love. You've earned it before. You deserve love. You've earned it— Lies. All pretty, well-meaning lies. The only thing he had earned, truly earned all by himself, was a prison cell, and perhaps that was not as far off as his derisive tone made it sound. But he was ready.

Tugging his hood tighter around his face, he kicked the door once for good measure, idly marvelling he'd even been able to find Xavier. He couldn't help but wonder with a slightly sinking feeling if it was so easy to find Xavier because he hadn't bothered to hide.

Or, more troubling, actually wished to be sought out.

When the door opened slowly, casually, he could see the silhouette of the tall, imposing man behind it. "Rupert," Xavier drawled opening it widely to welcome him, as if he were not the scourge of his brother's existence. "Such a pleasant surprise." English. Always English. Such a misguided Français that his pride was derived from how well he could be un Anglais. Axe sometimes imagined his brother's disappointment in their father for failing to return to his motherland could not be quantified in any system known to humankind.

Primed for the fight, he turned angrily as soon as he had shoved past Xavier, yanking his hood back and narrowing his eyes. "I know it was you," he snapped. "I do not know how, and I cannot think why, but I know you were responsible for that story."

There had never been any love to lose between the two of them. The one time Axe had called on his brother for help was the precise reason he was in this mess now. But he was still… surprised, still hurt by what Xavier had done. The story hadn't been directly leaked by him, no, Axe knew his twisted sense of loyalty and pride enough to know that promising their father that Xavier would never reveal their family's sordid history meant keeping his word. But he also knew Xavier was a snake, and would have found some other means of doing.

What he didn't understand was why. After holding the previously-empty threat of exposure over his head all his life, what had tipped his brother's hand now? Axe was playing at a steeper disadvantage than usual, and he did not care for it.

Xavier tutted at him, frowning. "It was a shame to see such dirty laundry aired in public. You should really have a care, brother. You never know where these uptight English will poke their noses into next."

The flippancy was too much, as his fists balled and the hair on the back of his neck stood up. "Connard!" Axe snarled, grabbing Xavier by the collar and shoving him into the door. "Ne me poussez pas à bout!"

Eyes glinting dangerously, Xavier lifted his hand and wrapped it around the one Axe had on his throat. "Soyez prudent, mon frère," he said softly. "You forget your place."

Size was not on Axe's side, as it never had been. Xavier was built like one of the Norse gods of yore, but with his brute strength alone, Axe could guarantee his rage made him unparalleled in this fight for the moment. Instead, he squeezed Xavier's throat in spite of his attempts to shove him off.

"I have forgotten nothing," he growled. "How can I, with you hovering in the shadows—come une peste. But I am finished. Tu vas trop loin cette fois."

Finally pushing back from the door and wrenching Axe's hand away, Xavier thrust him back while he gave a little sneer. "Go on."

"I will not be so frightened of you that I put other people in danger," he swore, thinking of Broadmoor. He was not even sure what the endgame of Xavier's requests was, only that there was a team he had to tie his own with in the league. And about play-offs? He didn't know. "After?" Xavier, had said, "We will talk after you have delivered." Had there been bumps? Of course. Axe was good, but he could not single-handedly control a seven-person team, nor what his competition did. He should have done this the moment he'd turned his own bat on Kendall, but he'd been too scared. Seeing one of his biggest secrets where all the world could read about it was freeing. What was there to be scared of any more? No, what he felt was a blind rage.

"Will you not?" Xavier advanced, taunting. "Will you not do it like you have done every other thing I have ever demanded of you? Danced every step I told you to dance? You see, I think you will. Because you are still a frightened little boy who is waiting for his mother to save him from the cruel, nasty world. Your precious mother, who only kept you because she could use you to wring my father of every centime she co—" CRACK!

Axe smashed his knuckles against his face, catching him in the mouth.

"Faites-le," he breathed, looking murderous. "Do what it is you are threatening and turn me in. But I will promise you this," he staggered backward. "Tu n'es pas infaillible," snarled Axe, pointing a shaking finger at him. "I will take you with me. Soyez assuré que je vais trouver un moyen." Jerking the door open, he stepped out into the night and slammed it shut behind him.

Xavier wiped his lip with the side of his hand, eyeing the thin ribbon of blood dripping down his finger dispassionately. Fine… If his puppet had begun deluding itself that it was a real boy, so be it. It might even make his job easier. After all, there was just as great a chance those puppet's strings would form a noose entirely of their own accord before Xavier could even bother to sever them.

And a puppet with broken strings was just as good as dead.