Must Be The Music: Right Where It Belongs

by Beaubier

The first story in Must Be The Music. Wanda tries to come to terms with the memories she lost. Will the people around her, including dear old dad, help… or will they only make it worse? Here’s a hint—she’s tougher than all of them put together.

TITLE: Must Be The Music: Right Where It Belongs
AUTHOR: Beaubier
AUTHOR'S E-MAIL: fastlove.for.rentatgmaildotcom
FANDOM: X-Men: Evolution
PERMISSION TO ARCHIVE: Any time, just let me know!
CATEGORY: Wangst, but nothing serious.
RATINGS/WARNINGS: Rated pg-13 for language
SUMMARY: Wanda tries to come to terms with the memories she lost. Will the people around her (including dear old dad) help… or will they only make it worse? (Here's a hint—she's tougher than all of them put together.)
DISCLAIMER: I didn't invent the X-Men, and I have nothing to do with Evolution. If you somehow think I do: Thanks for the compliment, mislaid thought it may be.
NOTES: This is a sort of sequel to Thicker Than Water (which was a sequel to Relativity and then Here Comes Trouble), but it's not necessary to read that saga to catch on here. I'll make everything clear. That said, this is the first in a planned series of several one shots that explore the various main characters from TTW. Some will be serious, some fluffy, some just plain ridiculous (much like Here Comes Trouble, only more disjointed.) These stories will be written in chronological order beginning a few months after the end of TTW. Some will happen simultaneously, but I'll let you know if that's the case. For the most part they're completely stand alone.

This is Wanda's. If you don't like this one, please hit up the next one just the same. They'll all be completely different from each other. Except that… you know. I'm writing them all. The current line up is Wanda, Warren, Jean-Paul, Jean, Rogue, Sam, Pietro, Alex, Scott, Aurora. But of course that's subject to change if I get a bug up my nose about something.

A short explanation of what the hell I'm doing here: When I write I have music for every character. Since I suck with titles and generally get most of my inspiration/ideas from music, each story in this planned series will be named after a song (a common cop out for me.) I'll put a few lyrics at the beginning as an example of why because I'm a geek like that. But don't try and match the song up with the story ala Dark Side of Oz. I'm not that clever. I just like music.

Mad love to Risty for the beta read. 4 Real 4 Ever.

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00

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Right Where It Belongs

What if all the world's inside of your head
Just creations of your own?
Your devils and your gods
All the living and the dead
And you're really all alone?
You can live in this illusion
You can choose to believe
You keep looking but you can't find the woods
While you're hiding in the trees

-NIN

It's a sunny day and I can hear children laughing when I think about it. Their laughter sounds tinny, hollow like it's echoing off bathroom walls. Filtered through a culvert, bouncing off metal till it doesn't really sound human anymore. Fake and Styrofoam. He looks at me with smiling blue eyes that are just like mine and smiles. Runs a hand ever so casually through silver-white hair and smiles. The smile is unfamiliar, like the smile on a statue in the House of Wax.

My brother tugs at his sleeve to get his attention. The movements are too slow, too deliberate. Did he move like that when we were children? Does it only look strange now because I'm older, because we're manifested and he's usually running around like a fox drunk on honey?

My father turns his smile to my brother. The smile grows wider, more painful. I want to look around but I can't. I only see Pietro tugging at his sleeve and my father smiling… he won't stop smiling that horrible, unnatural smile… and the merry-go-round won't stop spinning..

Wanda put the pen down and stared for a minute at the gutted composition book in front of her. She unfocused, let her eyes rest so that she wasn't seeing words anymore—just black marks on white paper. Her head was starting to hurt and now she knew why.

When this memory had come to her before she'd known the truth, she'd always assumed it had taken on its freakish, looping characteristics because she'd been so young when the supposed day at the park with daddy and brother had taken place. She couldn't have been very old—how could she remember something accurately? (Mind, this was completely ignoring the fact that what few memories she retained of her time before coming to America were far clearer and more pleasant.) But no, she'd always think, she was just getting goth in her old age, as Pietro would've gladly reminded her. It was nothing. Christ, for all she knew it was a fever dream—it had that strange nightmarish quality to it sometimes.

But now she knew. She knew that this painful mockery of an idyllic father-child outing was exactly what it looked like. A plastic lie. Something that had been shoved into her brain by a madman, acting out of fear of her father.

She'd been writing them down lately. Sometimes she'd tear them out and chuck them into the garbage, but it was more the writing that was important. Wanda had always (which meant for roughly a year, according to all accounts) felt like most of her was missing. Whatever that meant. She'd been guarded since the thought had first occurred, unwilling to "talk about it." For one, who gave a fuck, and for another, well it was none of their goddamn business. But Sam had suggested that maybe if she wrote it down she'd feel better. He called it purging.

That stupid redneck just said everything he thought anyhow, so god knew how he came up with the idea.

It was working, in a way. She'd write the memories down, whatever little pieces of fake past she had, and then try to make herself stop thinking for a few minutes. Just sit there staring at the paper but not seeing the words. When she came back to it, the memories looked so false, so contrived, she had to admit that she'd known all along that something wasn't right. There was something about looking back objectively and recognizing that it wasn't right that made her feel a little better. Like she had a handle on everything.

That was all she wanted. Just to deal with it. But what fucking teenager doesn't think they have some horrible shit problem that no one else will ever understand? Did the fact that Wanda Maximoff actually did have a real problem make her any different, in any way that mattered?

When she was alone in her room, she didn't think so.

When she was outside, with them, it felt a little different.

She was mostly okay with it. Or she thought she could be, anyhow, if she just understood why.

---

She liked the things at the playground—not the merry-go-round proper (even though that was what Sam called them), but the circular things that just went round and round. They had bars on them to hold on to, and if you ran around really fast you could jump on them and go around and around till you felt that heady disorienting sickness and had to stop.

Wanda liked that feeling. It was like running or screaming till you puked. Sometimes she thought she needed something like that.

"Catch, JM!" She heard Bobby's voice nearby.

There was a flash of light nearby and Wanda didn't need to look up to know that Aurora was living up to her code name.

"Sam!" JM shouted.

Wanda actually looked up when they mentioned her boyfriend (a word she still thought was mildly retarded, but used for lack of a better one). And there he was, looking a little too cute for anyone's good, rocketing through the air…

And into a tree.

She rolled her eyes. At least he'd caught the football first. He sat in a shrub, rubbing his blond head, clutching the ball to his chest like a baby. Or, she now knew, like a quarterback. Thank you Sam, for filling my head with useless sports trivia.

She wondered what it was about playing catch with a football that made them all so happy. They were smiling and laughing and running, but she couldn't see why exactly. It seemed like the action was fairly arbitrary. They might as well be having a cup of coffee or watching television or dancing.

Dancing was nice. She liked dancing better (probably cause it only involved one person, and one person was much easier than a crowd) but even that didn't make her smile and laugh and hug random people like the Xavier's kids were doing right then.

"Why don't you play, Wanda?"

She looked up, face twisting into an involuntary expression of annoyance. Jeanne-Marie wasn't as fast as either of their brothers, but she was still irritatingly quick just the same. Wanda hadn't known she was there. "What?"

JM's face was flushed, her perfect skin glowing. She had the same disturbingly blue eyes- only just a little more fevered - that her brother had. And now they were fixed on Wanda.

Oh wait. Aurora.

Heh. And they said she was crazy. At least she knew her own fucking name.

(At least… she thought she did. Pietro would've told her when he'd told her all that other shit at Wundagore, right?)

"Play catch with us." Aurora had no qualms about interrupting her internal monologue. "You're just sitting here looking sad and it's such a beautiful day." Her grin was bright, like the pretty teenagers in the ads trying to sell toothpaste.

Wanda just stared at her. Why the hell would she do that?

"Wanda…?" Aurora slid onto the bench next to her with her usual lack of respect for personal space. She put a hot little hand on Wanda's fishnet covered thigh and leaned in close.

Wanda could smell her. Fruity something and shampoo from all that long gorgeous hair. She raised her hand to her own short-cropped hair, then realized it was a self-conscious kind of act and forced her hand back downward. Why did she care that Jeanne-Marie Beaubier (Aurora) made her look boyish in comparison? What would it get her if she were the pretty one? Aurora was worse off then her, and everyone knew it…

At least… Wanda thought she was.

"Wanda, are you okay?"

Blinking in surprise, Wanda looked over at the other girl. "What? Yeah, I'm fine. I just… I'm not sad."

Aurora didn't respond for a moment but her eyes raked over Wanda's face repeatedly. Like she was looking for something there.

"You said I was sitting here looking sad," Wanda pointed out as patiently as possible, feeling like it martyred her a little more every time she tolerated this girl. She was a saint for it.

"Oh! Well, maybe just thoughtful then? I didn't mean to interrupt…"

It was funny how Jeanne-Marie's accent had dropped off exponentially after she'd decided she was AURORA. Her English was almost as clear as Jean-Paul's now.

Aurora stood, still casting doubtful glances at her. But at least she took the hint.

"Thoughtful," Wanda agreed, suddenly and inexplicably compelled to be nicer to the girl. JM wasn't so bad. Just irritating sometimes. Less now than before, if she really thought about it. At least when she laughed now it was an outright laugh, not that coy little giggle. And it wasn't her fault… JM was fucked in the head too.

Sudden compassion tied knots in her stomach. It was a strange feeling that took her a few seconds to recognize. By the time she did, Aurora had flashed her toothpaste-selling Cover Girl smile and was on her way.

Wanda watched her go then returned her attention to the (slightly irritating) kids on the not-merry-go-round. Wondering if she'd laugh like that if she hopped on and played with them. She honestly thought she might. Something that could make her want to puke seemed a lot more interesting than throwing a piece of dead cow back and forth. Dead cow had two valid uses as far as she was concerned—eating and wearing.

But even Crazy Jeanne-Marie Beaubier liked to play catch with the boys. Why the fuck didn't she?

"Hey."

Goddammit. Caught off guard again.

But this time it wasn't so bad. When Wanda looked upward again it was Sam Guthrie standing over her. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, showing more defined arms than any skinny white boy had a right to and the roots of his wheat-blond hair were dark with sweat.

At times like these she remembered what had made her kiss this dumb hick in the first place. "Hey," she smiled up at him. The smile felt nice. Like an old memory that was warm.

Or maybe just real.

"Bobby and J—er, Aurora went to get some ice cream. You want some? Or…?" he trailed off, cocking his head just a little.

She shook her head and stood up, taking his arm and starting to pull him to the far side of the playground. "No."

"Aww, I'm all sweaty!"

She smiled. "I know, idiot. It's hot."

He flushed. But smiled that huge dork smile which she so carefully pretended didn't affect her at all. "Oh. Well… all right then. So…" His visible struggle to try and think of what to say after that was brilliant. She could've watched him all day. (Well… for a few more minutes anyhow. Then she'd have to jump him.)

Maybe that was why she liked him so much. She didn't feel… different around him. If anything, she felt normal.

Then again… she always thought what she felt was normal. It was the way everyone else looked at her that had been her first clue that she might not be.

No one looked at her oddly when she was with him though. Either that, or she never noticed. Either was fine with her. Fuck 'em anyhow.

"So," he finally pulled himself together enough to string a few words together. "How's things at the Brotherhood Headquarters?"

He hadn't been around the house much lately. With spring kicking into gear training had been sped up at Xavier's. And for Sam, newly minted leader of the New Mutants (under their brand new tutor), that meant he didn't have as much time for "studying Spanish." The presence of Pietro in her house meant "Spanish" was a bad idea there. And the presence of the previously mentioned new tutor at Xavier's… well, that was out too.

But he found a way to be there anyhow. Somehow.

She shrugged and started walking along the little path around the park, his arm still firmly in her possession. "Not bad. Lance and Pietro need to go to the fucking store before we starve to death, but somehow we're still here. Oh, and John set the bath tub on fire again yesterday." Yeah. Why had they let him stay, again? Jackass. "How's X-Camp?"

"Real good," he said genuinely, his former embarrassment gone just like that. "Things are pretty intense with…," he shot her a sideways glance, obviously testing her reaction to what he was about to say before he said it (he was a smart guy, which was how he'd stayed alive for these past months), "Magneto teaching us."

She didn't feel anything when he said it. What was he to her, anyhow?

Other than the reason she was living a teen angst dream. Nightmare for her, but she'd seen some kids at school with scars on their arms that looked like they could use something real to angst over. They'd probably love her life.

Fuck them, too.

"Word is that you're the star pupil." She stayed on topic for the moment, softening what might've seemed like a 'you're sucking up to the dad I hate' accusation with a half-smile.

In truth she always felt a little proud of Sam. For how hard he tried. For the fact that they'd all recognized it. Why the fuck she should she had no idea. It wasn't as if she'd worked her ass off for two years to get there for him.

He grinned lopsidedly. "Well I just reckon I'm lucky cause he ain't tryin' to kill me, you know?"

She rolled her eyes, smile falling off a little. Not entirely. Just… like it was any of Magneto's business. Did she expect him not to notice that his team leader was dating his estranged daughter? No, she wasn't retarded. Did she expect him to keep his trap shut about it and not bother Sam? Yeah, she did.

Probably too much to ask though.

"As if he has any fucking claim on me," she commented, complete with more eyerolling. It came out a little more bitter than she'd expected…

Well, fuck him, while she was at it.

"I know it, Wanda." Sam gave her arm a squeeze and looked at her with his devastating puppy dog eyes. Bastard didn't even know he did it, which was what made them so goddamn effective. "You know I do."

He was so… earnest. She almost winced when he said it. "I know you do," she said quietly, squeezing him back.

And he did. If anyone (other than Pietro) knew, it was Sam. She was willing to let him know because he never, ever asked. He let her know she could, then he shut the fuck up. That and he never made her feel like she was complaining or whining—which was something she wanted to avoid. She wanted to deal, not bare her soul or what-the-fuck-ever.And anyhow, if he was going to handle her bullshit… well, the least she could do was let him know where it was coming from.

They were quiet for a few minutes, getting further from the kids running around screaming their heads off on the playground. She was a little relieved to be away from them—from the soccer moms and their vermin offspring (who were having so much fun on the not-merry-go-round.) Quiet was nice. People were interesting, she supposed… but loud.

After a few minutes of quiet Sam finally spoke again. "He did ask me to ask you to come visit him though."

She felt her brow furrow and fought the initial surge of anger down. She was getting fairly good at it these days, but it was still a battle every time something blindsided her like that. Like…

Yeah. That.

She gritted her teeth for a moment, felt Sam watching her, silent and careful. Finally the blue electric surge that had been creeping up her spine died a guttering death. And she knew it was safe to ask, "when?"

"This morning," he admitted quietly. He didn't sound like he didn't want to tell her exactly. He just sounded… well, something. Something Wanda wasn't familiar with but Sam was good at, whatever it was. "He pulled me aside after practice and I thought I was about to get my ass handed to me for this stupid mistake I made… but hell if he didn't just ask me to deliver a message you to. Real polite-like too."

Wanda looked at their feet on the brick path, thinking. Was that like her father?

She wouldn't know. Pietro would, but only pre-mindwipe. Everyone said since Mastermind had gotten to him in Transia… he wasn't the same. He was supposedly stable now. Sane. Intelligent. A good teacher. Even Sam said he was good at what he did (though he was smart enough not to say anything else.)

She knew better than anyone else how much a mindwipe could change you. If what people said about her before the wipe was true… well…

It didn't matter though. She'd still done all those things. And she knew they were part of her, even if she couldn't remember. More a part of her than those stupid fake Wax House nightmares she locked up in the composition book on her desk. She accepted it, she believed it. She was trying to make her peace with it.

But not with him. No matter how bad things had been before… she'd never be able to forgive him. When he accepted that, that it was his fault, that he never would've had to worry about her trying to kill him in the first place if he hadn't been such a fuck-o their whole lives… well, maybe then she'd have dinner with the dickhead.

Maybe.

She still hesitated before she told Sam that. Because… she knew most of the stories about what she'd done, what she'd been and why. Little pieces of her that she didn't own anymore. Lance, even Todd and Fred, they'd all told her something. But there was still so much missing…

She still didn't know why.

Then again, her father probably didn't either. But… she still had a personality after her wipe—according to Pietro the only difference was that she tried to kill people less now. Why would it be any different for Magneto? Surely whatever was left to him, whatever he had that was essentially him could answer her question.

Why did you do this to me?

She took a deep breath. "What did he say exactly?"

"Tell my daughter," Sam started in his definitely not-Magneto-like accent, "if you see her—I mean he knew I would, but might be he was trying to be polite about—,"

She tugged on his arm impatiently. "I get it, Sam."

"Right." He flushed but went on. "Sorry. Tell my daughter if you see her that I'd like to meet her for dinner this week. If she'd prefer some other time… something about how any time you want is okay. I forget the words but that was the point."

She gritted her teeth, thinking..

She shouldn't be considering. She knew what the old man wanted and she had no intention of giving it to him. He wanted to be a Happy Family. This meant that he was still in complete denial about the fact that he'd fucked his own chance at "happy family" a long time ago.

But… she wanted to know why she was different. Why they looked at her like that. No, not even that. Not really. Just why… someone would do that to her. Lock her up like that. Yeah, it was her fault she'd tried to kill him… but any idiot could see that locking your little kid up like that and telling her she'd almost killed her twin brother and he didn't want to see her anymore would cause some serious fucking instability.

Jesus. It wasn't rocket science. Or, say, creating a giant orbiting space station on an asteroid from which you plan to overthrow the human race. It had to be at least as easy as that, she figured.

"Did he tell you why he wants to talk to me?"

She knew why. But she just wanted to see if he'd lied about it to Sam.

"I…" He shrugged a little as he trailed off, doing the puppy dog eyes again. His eyelashes were blonde, but long and thick. It was completely unfair. "Honestly I'm a little scared of the man, so I didn't go asking questions. I just said I'd tell you if I could. So he asked if I thought you'd accept and I said I didn't think you would, no."

She smiled slightly. What a walking contradiction. Said he was scared of Magneto then told him to his face that he probably wouldn't get what he wanted? "Doesn't sound like you're so scared to me."

He laughed. "I was shitting my pants as I said it. Better to be honest though."

Yeah. Sam would think that. Honesty or Death.

She'd make fun of him for his fake nobility… if there was anything fake about it.

"I doubt it," Still smiling slightly, she tugged at his arm and pulled him off the path toward the nearby stream. The sun was high and hot and the bank was lined with trees. And Bobby and Aurora wouldn't find them there. "You deal with me every day, you're definitely not a coward."

"Na, that ain't scary," he assured her with that precious dogged stupid-cheerful look on his face. "It's fun."

She shot him a look that said she didn't believe a word and he just laughed. She almost laughed too as they padded across the grass, but she was distracted by a sudden urge to take her shoes off and feel the grass in her toes.

That'd be stupid though. Apparently that was a great way to get a death-encrusted hypodermic needle in the toe. At least that was what Pietro had yapped at her last time she'd tried.

"So you think you might go?" He asked after a few silent seconds.

She shrugged. Honestly… she was done thinking about it. She didn't know what she wanted to do and she was starting to get frustrated with herself. Mostly for even considering talking to the rat bastard in the first place. And when Wanda got frustrated, things sometimes went wrong. Diversion was necessary. "I don't know. I doubt it."

"Maybe?" He sounded just a little surprised. But not in a bad way.

"No," she said. Then she creased her brow, looking down at her feet again as they padded over the grass and into the low undergrowth nearer the stream. "I don't know. He doesn't even remember anything anyhow. Why would I talk to him?"

"I dunno. Sometimes I wish I could talk to my father. But he was a coal miner from Kentucky, not… Magneto." A rare wry smile crept onto his lips. He hardly ever made that particular face, not being much for wryness in general. "But I guess no one knows but you, Wanda."

Huh. When he was right, he was right. She considered for just another moment.

And got absolutely nowhere.

"What could it hurt?" he asked after just a second.

Right. That was it. Fucking frustrated and not thinking about this anymore. She tugged him around the nearest tree.

"What are you doing?" he laughed as he tripped over a fallen branch trying to keep up with her.

She turned around to face him, looked at those big blue eyes. His hair wasn't sweaty anymore but that was all right. His shirt sleeves were still rolled up like the big, hot dork he was.

"I don't want to talk anymore, Sam."

The rest of her explanation was non-verbal. But it did involve her mouth. And his, incidentally.

---

When she came home Pietro was waiting for her. Having made himself at home on her brand new black duvet. Like the little prince he thought he was.

He looked up from some magazine he'd pulled out of the pile on her nightstand and sighed at her like the long-suffering, loving, gentle brother he was and always had been. "There you are."

In a split second he was standing and the magazine was flying through the air in the general direction of the pile it'd come from. It landed with an unceremonious flop and a loud tear.

Unsurprisingly, Pietro didn't seem to notice. He held out a piece of paper to her and tapped his foot with his usual oh-so-charming impatience. "Douche McDouchebag wants you to check the shopping list before we go. Hurry up so I can get on with my life."

She snatched the thing out of his hand and started to look it over… but she wasn't really seeing anything there. Charming nicknames for Lance aside (Pietro had a new one every day lately—which she saw as his cunning little way to keep Lance at a distance now that he'd shown his true colors and helped nurse Pietro back to health after Wundagore like… you know… a friend), she had bigger things on her mind.

Things, she had realized on her way home, she ought to talk to Pietro about.

They'd been doing that more and more lately. He still did the prince (princess?) act with her daily, but it fell away fast lately. They'd talked about all kinds of things since he'd come clean with her. Since they'd walked away from Magneto together at Magda's funeral.

It had only been a few months ago. But considering how comfortable she was with Pietro these days, it felt like forever.

"What's with the JBF hair?" he asked.

Her gaze? snapped back up to his. "What?"

"JBF hair," he repeated, rolling his eyes. "Just Been Fucked, dumbass."

"Oh," she looked upward as if she'd be able to see it, then ran a hand through it… and came out with a bit of a leaf.

Heh. Whoops. Maybe against a tree wasn't such a great place to make out.

Pietro's eyes popped when she stood there staring at the leaf bit (and maybe trying not to laugh a little.) "Ewwwww!" he threw up his hands and hopped backward, suddenly appearing sitting on her bed with his knees tucked up to his chest. Like a frightened little kid. "Ew, ew, ew, ew!"

She rolled her eyes, sat down next to him. And then slowly, deliberately (no point in trying to catch him by surprise), reached up and flicked him in the forehead.

"OUCH!" Came the indignant screech.

She looked back at the list and tried to read it.

"Before I get old, Wanda," he griped, rubbing at his forehead and managing to look very much like an insulted cat. A little silver princess of a cat.

She made a more honest effort. Almost. But she was really thinking about how to bring this whole Magneto thing up with her brother. On the one hand, she knew exactly what he'd say. It was what she wanted him to say, luckily—that Magneto was out of their lives and they liked it that way. But on the other hand, he didn't know what it was like. Sometimes he said he wished he could erase his memories of the last few years, but that made her think he had no idea what that really meant. It was like… like she'd had a lobotomy. Like she was walking around with half a brain. And she had to come to terms with it, and if she could just get some kind of—

"Christ, I could just go to the store myself and steal all this crap in two seconds, but noooo," he was griping next to her. He was speaking rapidly, but slow enough that she knew she was mean to participate in the conversation (eventually, once he was done listening to himself talk), or face his Mighty Sulk. "We have to play it straight. Fucking Alvers—just a few more months, Pietro—"

Yeah. Okay so she wasn't interested in his bitching at all right now. "There's nothing straight about you," she cut him off.

He smirked at her.

"I need Ho-Hos."

His eyes widened again and he scooted a few inches further away from her on the bed, eyeing her suspiciously. "Oh god. Already?"

Lately when her hormones had gone through the roof (read: PMS weeks), Wanda had been craving Ho-Hos. She had no idea why but it was one of those completely unstoppable urges. Fred had made the mistake of eating her personal box of them last month, and he'd ended up with his overalls so far up his ass everyone was sure he'd just have to wear them like that till he died.

Which had been her intention. Fucking Todd and his judicious application of hedge shears (where he'd found them, she didn't want to know) had saved Freddy from his fate, however.

Truth be told, she liked the fact that they all knew now. The fear of her hormones combined with a deep and superstitious fear of anything at all female-related to produce an almost mystical reverence at times. Or… just sheer terror. (Pietro had once run screaming down the hallway and claimed he was about to pass out when he discovered a cardboard applicator that hadn't flushed. These objects were strange and alien and obviously very damaging to the male psyche. Or so it seemed to Wanda.)

And it kept them away from her goddamn Ho-Hos if nothing else.

Now it was her turn to smirk. "Get them or die."

He nodded quickly but then froze again, eyes widening in further terror. "What if they're out?"

She glared at him for a moment just because it was amusing to watch him cringe over Hostess cakes. And then she shrugged, giving up the game suddenly. Any other day and she could've kept it up for a few more minutes. But not today. "Get some Ding-Dongs," she suggested. Same thing, different shape. Whatever.

Pietro snickered.

Ha-ha. Ding-Dong. Funny stuff. "You're a five year old," she told him.

He just grinned at her. "K. Well, gottago!"

Before he was all the way out the door she had him frozen in place with a nice crackling hex.

"Wait."

As if he had a choice.

He looked around nervously, frozen in mid-stride half outside her door and half in. "Wandaaaaa," he whined.

She nodded her head and the hex dissipated instantly, dropping a pile of Pietro on the floor with a nice thud.

"I need to talk to you."

He looked up at her from the ground, half scared and half indignant. Like he wasn't sure which would be more appropriate at the moment. "I'll find the Ho-Ho's, Wanda. I'll scourge Bayville. Jesus, I'll go to the City—"

She sighed down at him. "I don't need them yet."

He sighed back at her, the relief showing up clearly on his face. "Oh. Okay then."

A fraction of a second later he was back on her bed, lounging like it was home sweet home with his legs sprawled out in front of him, arms up behind his head.

She sat on the edge of the bed and tucked her legs up under her lotus-style, then began fiddling with the fishnets she had under her little black shorts. There was no really good way to do this, so… she just did it. "Magneto wants to see me."

Pietro sat up straight before she'd even finished the sentence. He fixed his most pressing gaze on her directly, leaning forward over his lap to make sure she couldn't avoid it. "Fuck him," he said definitively.

She nodded, agreeing wholeheartedly with the sentiment.

This made her brother relax a little, but he didn't start lounging again. And he kept his eyes on hers, searching. "How'd you find out?"

"Sam."

"Pfffft," he blew out an unimpressed kind of sound from between his lips. "Teacher's pet."

Wanda shrugged. "He can't help being around him. Sam's the leader of the New Mutants—,"

"Ha! New Mutants!" Pietro interrupted, a mocking grin taking over his features and making him look like one hell of an evil little elf. "What a faggy name!"

She ignored him and went on, unwilling to be dragged into a discussion on what, exactly, was "faggy" and what wasn't. There weren't enough hours in the fucking day. "—and he deserves to be after Wundagore. It's not like he picked the job."

Pietro rolled his eyes but relented. Wanda knew it irritated her brother that she had a "boyfriend" (obviously, being his sister, she was pristine and pure as the driven snow and wanted to be that way her whole life, which meant no boys at all ever)… but she also knew that she couldn't have picked a more brother-friendly guy than Sam Guthrie. Not that she'd done it on purpose… she'd been drunk, for Christ's sake. But it had worked out easier for her in the long run at least. "Better than being an X-Man I guess."

She almost smiled. Right. Because Pietro was soooo anti-X-Men these days.

Well, X-Man, anyhow.

"The point is that he asked Sam to invite me to dinner."

Pietro literally turned up his nose and crossed his arms over his chest. "Hmph. So you think Sam will actually tell him to fuck off in those words? Cause I'd pay to see that."

Yeah. Now came the hard part. Not that she was scared of her brother, because… yeah. Pietro. No. But she did need his input. Yes, need. Because she was very aware that if she did this it wasn't as Wanda. It was as Wanda-and-Pietro. They both knew that was all that existed in terms of family, and they were both happy for the first time in a long time with that fact.

But she wanted to know.

"I didn't tell him to."

Pietro pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes at her. "Why not? What'd you say?"

"Nothing," she admitted. "I didn't want to talk about it so I dragged him behind a tree and we made out inst—"

Pietro had his fingers in his ears before she could even finish. "La-la-la!" he sang, "I. Can't. Hear. You!"

She rolled her eyes at him. God, he was such a priss. She batted at his arm to make him stop plugging his ears. "Stop it you puss."

His eyes returned to the suspiciously narrowed position immediately. "Well you're going to tell him to fuck off, right?"

"Yeah. Eventually."

"Eventually?" His eyebrows climbed dangerously high on his forehead and he sat forward again. His cheeks, normally ivory pale, started to go a little pink. "What the hell does that mean, Wanda? Eventually?"

She was bad at this. This whole… communication thing. Most of their understandings about this Magneto situation had come from two or three sentence conversations, really. Yeah, they'd talked about the past, about the future, about what they did and who they were. But most of their anti-Magneto foreign policy was just… taken for granted. How to let him know she didn't plan on violating it while also explaining herself? Would he even let her?

Finally she sighed. "I don't know how to make you understand."

He closed his eyes.

Wanda knew she'd said the wrong thing immediately. Her throat felt like he'd reached out and closed his fist around it somehow.

Pietro looked like she'd smacked him.

"Wait," he croaked after a short silence—short for anyone but Quicksilver. "Wait just a goddamn minute." His eyes opened and fixed on her again. If she didn't look at his face, his hair, it was just like her own eyes glaring at her in the mirror. Accusing. "After all this bullshit, after your big it's me and Pietro now speech at Magda's funeral—"

"It wasn't a speech," she corrected.

Wrong thing to say again. Pietro turned a little pinker and started talking faster. He didn't say much but it came in one powerful rush. "You'regoingtoditchme?"

Her mouth opened but no sound came out.

Ditch him?! What the fuck was he… he… what?!

"No!" she managed finally. "Pietro…," but she was at a loss. Had she really said something that bad? "What the fuck?"

He crossed his arms over his chest more tightly and stuck his chin out at her, probably imagining himself the picture of defiance. But his cheeks were pink and his eyes were wide and… ouch. "Well? That's what it is if you go to him. He's trying to divide and conquer. I mean I knew he would, but I didn't know it'd be this easy."

Now it was her turn to narrow her eyes. She felt that crackle in her stomach move up her back but wrestled it down. It wasn't easy when she was so fucking distracted by her idiot brother and his chin jutting out at her like that, but she found a way. "I'm not letting him divide us. I'm the one who ended up a fucking psychopath last time, Pietro, do you think I don't know that's the worst idea ever?"

"Could've fooled me," he was trying to sound cool.

He failed miserably because she knew him. And while she wanted to choke him for being such a sensitive little dickhead… Jesus. She understood. Everyone else on the planet was a fucking mystery to her, and she knew she was to them. But Pietro, she understood.

As if she needed more evidence that her brains were totally scrambled.

"I meant that I don't know how to make you understand why I'm even considering talking to him."

"I know."

"No you don't." Her frustration came out in a fast crackle of blue along her fingertips, punctuating the last word.

His eyes flicked nervously from her hand to her face. But his chin stayed out and his arms stayed crossed.

He was really upset. Jesus. Normally he'd be hiding in a closet by that time.

Well… she'd just have to spill it then.

"I want to know why he did this to us. I'm getting better, Pietro, you know I am, but sometimes it just gets to me at night. Every time I remember being a kid here in the States… it's like having a nightmare. It's all so wrong and plastic and I know you say it's better than what happened… I know it is. But he took half my life when he put me in that asylum…"

And she was done. Her throat had closed up and no more would come. She knew it. She'd tried to spit out as much as she could before her own loathing for self-pity conquered her. But the moment was past and if she kept going she'd probably just ask Pietro to help with the third nail.

It's always hard to get that last one in yourself.

But his face had gone a little more placid and his chin was tucking itself back in now. "So… you want some closure or something?"

She sighed. "Closure. That's faggy."

He raised his eyebrows at her. "It really is." But then his face went more serious, thoughtful like. After a few long seconds of silence he finally said, "Well I guess it's okay. I mean, I can tell you exactly what he'll say and exactly what the real answer is—,"

"What?" she asked, not bothering to hide her doubt.

"He'll say he doesn't remember, he can't imagine doing something like that to his own children. And the real answer is that he's a megalomaniacal twat who doesn't care whose life he ruins or whose blood he sucks out in his quest to rule the world. It's not gonna make you feel any better…" He shrugged as if to finish the sentence that way.

He was right. Wanda knew he was and she hated it. "So… I shouldn't go."

Pietro was quiet for another second or two. It was strange and somehow uncomfortable. Unnatural. Then he said, "No. I think you should go. Because if you don't, you're going to wonder if I was right. And some day when that bastard is finally dead, you're gonna try and tell me it's my fault you never got your goddamn answers. So go. And tell him I said to fuck off."

She smiled.

Pietro smiled back.

"I'll tell him we both said to fuck off."

"Sounds like a plan," and he stood up at a surprisingly normal speed and stretched himself out, arms over his head. "I'm going to get your Ho-Hos now."

"Thanks."

He just stared at her like she was crazy. Even crazier than when she'd suggested meeting up with their father a few minutes ago, as a matter of fact. "I'm not being altruistic here, sis. Believe me."

---

"Someone's been cutting up Pietro's People Magazines…"

Wanda looked up from the kitchen floor, narrowing her eyes and preparing a quick hex just in case she didn't like what she saw. She should've known from the accent, however, it wouldn't be a problem.

"Jean-Paul," she blinked up at the speedster in question from the center of her clippings and oddities. "How long have you been there?"

He shrugged smoothly, standing in the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest. Dressed like he was a twenty-something stockbroker trying to pick up chicks in a bar as usual. Bright blue eyes flicked from her to the canvas propped up against the cupboard in front of her. He looked at the latter for a long moment, silent.

Suddenly a little nervous about what exactly Jean-Paul found so interesting there, Wanda looked at it as well. It wasn't even close to being done. She'd drawn a large shape there—the quick, dark messy figure of a man. It wouldn't be there for long though… she wasn't even really sure where it'd come from. She was in the process of covering it up with the various clippings Jean-Paul had been referring to (none of which were from People Magazine, thanks very much, asshole).

When the nervousness she suddenly felt about Jean-Paul's disturbing, piercing eyes (just like his sister's only a little less crazy… if not much) being on her canvas didn't wear off, Wanda started to get annoyed. She'd come into the kitchen to do… whatever it was she was doing because for one, no one else was home, and for another, the last time she'd made "art" in her bedroom she'd ended up fucking her carpet all to hell with charcoal and glue. Lance had been a real housewife lately, since they were on a pretty tight budget, and Wanda really didn't want to hex the shit out of him. Again. So the crappy kitchen linoleum had seemed like her best bet.

What the fuck was Jean-Paul doing here anyhow? Not that she minded, but Pietro was at the store with Lance and she sure hadn't asked him to come over and critique.

It was only half done anyhow. And even when it was done, she knew she'd never show it to anyone. She'd just throw it away.

It was another purge. She needed one pretty badly after that talk with Pietro. Not that she'd made any actual fucking decision about what to do.

Which, come to think of it, was probably the issue that wanted purging. She hadn't thought of it when she'd started cutting bits up. She never did. It just happened.

Jean-Paul's eyes flicked down to the floor before she could tell him to fuck off. Her eyes followed his again, this time to the perfectly straight lines of clippings spread out over the cheap grey linoleum beside her. Lines of images color coded into one line of red-yellow-orange and one line of blue-purple-green. Hot and cold colors. Beside those was one perfect line of text clippings—fat headlines, skinny headlines, odd phrases. "Try to remember always just to have a good time" in red block print, "Missing Persons" in tiny black and white, "WATCHFUL EYES" in bright blue. One whole line of them, just words. The length of that line was equal almost exactly to the red-orange-yellow pictures line, which was equal almost exactly to the blue-purple-green pictures. The lines very nearly lined up with the faux-tile lines on the floor. But they were off by an inch or so. She liked them lying in the center of the tiles. It felt more balanced. And when she picked an image or phrase (or pieces of words or phrases, sometimes she just hacked them up), she moved the others over to fill in the gaps. So the lines would be perfect again.

He still wasn't talking. And now it was really getting on her nerves. "Can I help you?" she growled at him. In her best "fuck off and die" voice.

She loved the guy… but she was really not in the mood.

Completely unafraid (as usual), he just flicked his eyes back up to hers. "Have you ever been checked for Obsessive Compulsive Disorder?"

"What?" she rolled her eyes up at him. She wanted to stand up so he wasn't looking down at her but she had a few clippings on her lap… in just the right places. She'd forget what she was doing with them if she stood and they fell. She wasn't giving him the satisfaction of ruining her fucking… thing. "Like I don't have enough mental issues, you need to make up more?"

"I don't think it's me, Wanda," he not-quite laughed. "What's it supposed to be?"

She tossed off a quick shrug and looked back at the canvas—half of her charcoal man already hidden behind various images and odd phrases. Mostly, she made sure hot and cold ones were next to each other. She hated when she got hot and cold pockets on the collages. "No idea."

"Well it's interesting anyhow," he was shrugging again as he wandered closer to her, then ducked down near her perfect line of word-clippings. He glanced at them, then back at the canvas again. "I suppose art doesn't have to be a picture of something, does it?"

She shot him a sharp look. But when absolutely no sarcasm was visible on his pretty face (wonder of fucking wonders), she felt herself slump just a little. "No. I don't know why I do it anyhow."

He gave her one of those looks. Those looks that said he knew more about her than she thought… looks he hardly ever backed up, intelligently enough. He had once and she'd confessed having all those nightmares about Cow People and Transia to him (well, mostly.) Since then he'd had the courtesy not to make her spill her guts anymore. Thank Christ.

Not that she wasn't grateful that he'd saved her life (and Pietro's) or anything. But she really didn't feel like angsting to him over absolutely nothing. Like hacked up magazines on her kitchen floor for no reason at all.

"Better than being a pretentious art asshole, isn't it?" was all he said. "Where's your

brother?"

"With Lance."

"Christ," he rolled his eyes and stood up again. "I'm leaving then. He'll be in a shit mood when he gets back from whatever it is. Tell him to call me later, will you?"

She nodded and turned back to her canvas, assuming the conversation was over. She picked up the phrase on her knee—a pale grey "and we'll fly and we'll fall" from a lyrics sheet in an old music magazine she'd found under her bed. She picked it up and covered the back with rubber cement, then pasted it directly over her Disappearing Man's chest. Almost unthinkingly.

"Wanda."

He heart jumped. She felt a hex crackle around her fingers and the clipping nearest to her left hand withered up and turned black, curling like someone had set it on fire. Cold fire, somehow.

She'd thought he was gone. She turned to look over her shoulder at him and he was still in the doorway. Watching her.

"What?" She finally forced out.

"You really don't know why you're doing this? Or what it means to you?"

She blinked at him. "I said I didn't, Jean-Paul. Why the hell would I lie?"

He just nodded and disappeared. Like speedsters always did when they were finally done talking to you.

Wanda looked back at her canvas and stared at it. Wondering what the hell Jean-Paul saw when he looked at it that had made him so goddamn curious. Then she looked at the lines of clippings he'd been so interested in and wondered about those. So she was organized? So she had a plan… a plan about something she honestly didn't have a name or general theme for at all.

She'd never thought it was weird before, the way she did this. But, she realized, no one else had ever seen her do it, and she'd never known anyone else who did it. What if this was really fucking strange? JP had sure looked confused, and he was pretty used to her by now…

She stared at the curled up black picture remnant near her left hand for just a second. Then stood up, collected each clipping, picked up the canvas, and walked outside. When she got to the trash can, she dropped the whole mess inside. And then she started for the Xavier Institute.

What the hell was she doing, anyhow?

---

Remy had let her in. He'd looked mildly surprised to see her but not in a bad way. He'd kissed her hand and shown her to her father's office without a single question. Just pleasant chatter and thinly veiled curiosity. It was obvious even with those demon eyes of his.

And now Wanda stood there staring the door. Erik Magnus Lensherr on the bronze plaque.

For some reason it was really funny. She laughed out loud—not hugely but enough.

Then she knocked.

"Come in, it's open."

Yep, that was him all right. That deep commanding voice he liked to throw around so much and make grand speeches with. Oh yeah. She opened the door and stepped into the doorway.

He was at his desk. The windows were all open so the slowly dying light from outside spilled in, making the strange scene before her glow a kind of afternoon orange. Magneto at his desk in a button down shirt from JC Penney, clacking away at the keyboard of a little Dell laptop. Stacks of papers and books all over the desk, organized chaos that she recognized all too well.

Both she and Pietro did things the same way. Piles. But the piles were organized, everything was where it was supposed to be and if anyone moved anything god help them.

He glanced up, obviously expecting it to be one of his trainees. When he saw her standing in the doorway his expression shifted only mildly to one of surprise. "Wanda. I wasn't expecting you."

She stood a little straighter. "You invited me."

Yes." He stood up and extended a hand toward a nearby couch setup—two loveseats and a coffee table.

It was a big office. She wondered who he'd booted out to get this sweet spot. She hoped it was Logan. That'd be funny.

"Please come in and sit down. Sam didn't—"

"I didn't tell him." She followed him over to his little coffee table and took a seat on the couch… after he sat on the loveseat. "I wasn't sure if I wanted to see you."

He nodded as if he'd expected as much. "I'm glad you decided you to come."

She watched him for a second, trying to figure out what she wanted to say. She knew Pietro was right and this was stupid… but there was a tiny voice in her head that said he was also right that she needed to know for sure. But what to say? She wasn't good at this kind of thing…

Finally, she shrugged and sat back on the couch, crossing one leg over the other. The couch was nice too, actually. Very posh.

Maybe not Logan, then. That was too bad.

"I guess you should go first. What do you want?"

If her bluntness bothered him he didn't show it. "Wanda… I don't want to be enemies. I understand that you and Pietro would rather live on your own—you're eighteen and that's your right—"

There was no way he could possibly have begun this on a more irritating note. Yeah, because every kid wanted to live on their own and have to scrounge for money while trying to pass 12th grade and deal with their mutant powers and their crazy ass father getting himself kidnapped and their stupid mother falling in league with supervillains.

That shit was awesome.

"Don't start," she cut him off again, feeling a pattern starting to develop already. "You're going to make me mad."

His freakishly smooth brow furrowed (he'd looked the exact same age in her memories—was that an accident of the idiot who'd mindfucked her, or was that some secondary mutation? Or wait, what was that about Captain America and… yeah. Nevermind.)

"Why?"

She rolled her eyes up to the ceiling… and was suddenly distracted by the coffered pattern of the wood ceiling panels. Wow. Fancy. "Because you used and abandoned us," she explained with a long-suffering patience similar to how she'd explained herself to Aurora earlier in the day, "and now you're acting like it was our decision."

"I swear to you, Wanda, I have no memory of that. I cannot even imagine—"

Her eyes snapped down to meet his and she sat up a little. It was mostly involuntary, but went along with the crackle of energy starting to build in the pit of her stomach. She fought it down, even though she almost didn't want to.

The prick was saying exactly what Pietro had said he would. God. Dammit.

"It doesn't matter what you remember," she cut in. If there was one fucking excuse she could not accept, that was it. "I don't remember trying to kill you for what you did to me either. But I did it and I accept that."

It did strike her as a bit ridiculous that she should be telling her father how to be a grown up and deal with his shit. But not surprising. Not even a little.

He just looked at her for a long moment, eyes narrowing slightly. "I see," he said after a few silent seconds.

She doubted it. "So do I. Are you done?"

"You can't be convinced?" He leaned forward slightly as he spoke, like that would make a difference to her. All his Charismatic World Leader charm had zero effect on her. Less than zero. "I don't mean that you should live with me or be dependent on me, I'd just like a chance to build something."

He was completely out of his mind. Wow. She opened her mouth to tell him to fuck off, but somehow realized that she hadn't even asked what she'd come to ask yet. So she just said, "Are you for real? Xavier had to have told you about us."

He nodded. If he was sad or guilty or even slightly upset about what he knew of his past with his so-called children, Magneto gave no outward sign.

Wanda felt the blue electricity in her waking up. She sat a little straighter, trying to fight it. Obviously Xavier had left out some goddamn details. So slowly, deliberately, she explained. "You left me in an asylum after telling me that I'd almost killed the only person in the world I loved, and you abandoned Pietro. You came for him when you wanted something and you used him up."

At that, he did show something. Frustration. "But I don't—"

She slammed one hand down on the armrest, the loud thump punctuated by a sudden crackle of hex power around her fingers. "You did! You did and I want to know why."

He held out his hands as if to show her how very empty they were. "How can I tell you why? I don't even truly believe it."

The blue crackled around both hands now, even though she was fighting it as best she could. She didn't want to fight it, so it was being difficult. But she tried anyhow. "Cut the crap," she growled through barred teeth. "You know what you did and you know who you are. Put yourself back then, in that position. What would make you do something like that?"

He held her eyes for a long moment, nothing but frustration with her on his cold hard face. Then, finally he said, "Wanda you know I can't."

"I know you can." She stood and looked down at him, hex power ripping through her like a fast-moving river. She would not bring this house down. She'd known what he would say… why should she be so angry? She'd known. "I may not be about to kill you right now, but I can sure as hell imagine why I wanted to. Don't lie to me, father." She pointed on of her hex'd-up hands at him.

Unafraid, he simply shook his head. "You want me to incriminate myself. I won't do it."

"You can't use the goddamn fifth amendment with your daughter!"

He didn't answer. He didn't move.

Suddenly she stopped being angry. The power around her hands fizzled out and her body relaxed itself inside and out. The river had stopped rushing…

And she didn't care anymore.

"That's why we don't want you, you know," she told him in a low voice. "Because you don't know what it means to be a father, and we don't know what it means to have one. We're so old and jaded now that we don't even want one."

"It can be different. Magda and I…"

Wanda snorted when he trailed off, the first trace of actual regret she'd seen this entire conversation finally appearing on his face. For her.

"It was a lie, you stupid old man. A lie just like all my happy memories of you." Amazing. He genuinely felt nothing about what he'd done to them, he really truly believed that he had the moral presence and high ground to approach them and expect them to want to know him? Hell, they'd even tried once, after Apocalypse and he'd left them again. Yet he really believed that nothing before his mind wipe counted.

The man had zero accountability. Jesus Christ.

"So you teach at the Institute now and you think it makes up for all the horrible shit you did before?" It was a rhetorical question. She knew he did, if he even thought said horrible shit needed making up for, which was debatable. "You think you can absolve yourself with your kids the same way you can with the world?"

He set his jaw and stuck his chin out slightly.

It was so much like Pietro she almost laughed.

"I'm your father."

The conversation was over. She started walking toward the door without another word. Son of a bitch, Pietro had been right. Now she just needed to think of some way to tell him without saying that, exactly. He'd say it anyhow, but she could never admit—"

"Wanda," his voice stopped her just before she stepped through the door. "Where are you going?"

She didn't look back. "Home."

On her way out she threw a wave at the various X-Kids she passed (little Summers and that hippy Forge guy with a little redhead she didn't recognize) And when she stepped out onto the front stoop…

She thought she felt a little better.

This was where he belonged. In the fake world Xavier had created, the world where Mutants and Humans lived happily ever after and little kids were trained to be killers in the name of peace. It was just the kind of denial of reality, the kind of ignorance Magneto should be living in.

She almost felt like justice had been served.

Ha. So Pietro had been wrong. Maybe not about what Magneto had said… but it had made her feel better.

As she walked home, she wasn't quite smiling. But almost.