Notes: Consider this a distant--very distant--sequel to my old clunker of a fic "A Second Chance." There was an actual sequel I had in mind, not to mention the prequel, but alas, time to embark on writing mini-epics of love and battles, well, it's not really there (maybe one day I'll get back to the prequel. That felt the least self-indulgent of the whole thing). Little one-shots are more my style these days, and truth, I've been kicking this idea around for years. Finally decided to give old Tobias some grief.
Fun fact--I wrote the whole thing while sitting in The Elephant Room in Edinburgh, also known as "The birthplace of Harry Potter." It really is a lovely little cafe, with a gorgeous view, and it's a great place to write, so hey, if you're in Endiburgh and feeling nerdy, I'd suggest visiting.
(Extra nerdy fact--I snuck the place where I live into the story. Ah, I'll miss it.)

And the standard, far-too-self-important disclaimer applies, of course. Toad/Mortimer Toynbee and all the X-verse and sundry belong to Marvel. Felix is mine, though. It'd be pretty swell to see him (or someone like him) become canon one day. Darn it, Quesada, you promised us Toad wasn't going back in the box!
And, of course, no profit is being made off of this (or indeed, any other current aspect of my life). I'm paid in smiles, and Marvel can't sue me for those! What? They can?!?i

An Unexpected Fare

"Lousy weather, innit?"

"Mmph."

"Granted, now, this ain't half so bad as up North. I'm a Yorkshire man meself, and the summers up there can be downright miserable an' grey as winters. But then, everything's miserable an' grey in London. Pollution and all, y'know..."

Tobias Toynbee expounded on all the problems with London's weather and politics, as was his God-given right as a London taxi driver. The passenger didn't listen, of course--they never did--but his barely mumbled polite response marked him as a natural-born Londoner.

Tobias had lived in London for over thirty years now, and considered himself "gone native," as it were. It had been the best course open to him, after the divorce. After the baby. After Mary had done some research and discovered which chromosomes were responsible. After she'd realised that the tiny scars on Toby's neck weren't merely from a childhood accident.

The gills had happened when he turned thirteen. Toby always took first in swimming as a boy; his father often joked that if he stayed in the water any longer, he'd turn into a fish. In the cab now, Tobias rubbed his neck subconsciously. That was the first time he'd come to London, quick and quiet with his father's help, not telling his mother. A month of recovery later, and only the pale pink scars remained. He'd been careful to avoid doctors after that. And there were times when he…

A tourist darted out in front of them. Tobias swore and swerved to avoid her, a foolish girl camera in hand, trying to get the best angle of St. Paul's in the distance.

"Buy a postcard, lady!" he grumbled, and the passenger behind him grunted in agreement, or to acknowledge that his driver had spoken.

He dropped the passenger off and cruised up to Paddington, looking for fares from the tourists at the hotels. As he came up Westbourne Avenue, a young man, smartly dressed, flagged him down. Tobias pulled to a stop and the lad jumped in.

"St. Patrick's in, em...it's around Baker Street!" he said, bouncing in his seat. Tobias chuckled as he pulled away, and glanced in the rearview mirror.

"So, where're you fro--" He stopped, his voice dying away to a croak. The boy was green. A definite, undeniable, blotchy green, with messy, dark hair and bright gold eyes, like a frog's. He wasn't the first mutant Tobias had had in his cab. After all, mutants had become much more common, more open these past twenty years, and London had always been a messy hodgepodge of all kinds. But the colour...the eyes.

"I'm from the States. New York," the boy said cheerfully. He adjusted his tie in the reflection on the window, and Tobias sighed with relief. From the States. Then it couldn't be...anyway, the child may not've even survived. "But my Dad's from here," he added.

Tobias's throat went dry.

"Really?" he managed, wondering at how raspy his voice sounded. The boy was too excited to notice.

"Well, not from here, exactly," the boy admitted. "From York, actually. But he doesn't talk about it much."

Tobias gave a dry, choking cry, startling the boy. He turned it into a cough and pounded his chest.

"Hrrumph...Sorry."

Everything felt numb and far away. Thirty years of driving the same streets took over, and his hands automatically moved the wheel, his eyes automatically scanning the traffic. It wasn't possible, it wasn't possible, it wasn't possible.

But he glanced in the mirror again, and could see so plainly. Mary's smile, her little way of quirking up her lips, broader on this eager young lad's face than he ever remembered seeing it before. His father's eyes, grandfather's eyes, his own eyes, done in gold and shining as the boy looked at the scenery around him. The boy wore a tuxedo. Tobias's patriotic spirit took over, and he found himself attempting to make small talk, while his conscious mind drifted in a numb haze.

"Going to a wedding?" The boy grinned.

"Sort of. My parents are renewing their vows today."

"L-long way to go for it."

"Yeah, well, my Dad wanted Felix, the guy who raised him, I guess, to do it. He's a priest over at St. Patrick's."

"How long have they been married for?" Tobias was dimly aware of tears in his eyes.

"Twenty years today."

Twenty years ago. Twenty years ago, his tiny son, the little crying green babe he'd abandoned to an orphanage, had grown up. Had fallen in love. Had gotten married. Had had his own son. It made him dizzy.

"He's an X-man!" the boy declared proudly. Tobias nodded vaguely. He'd heard of them, of course. An American superteam of mutants. "Only, well, he says he's not, but he lives at the mansion and he teaches martial arts, and he's saved the world plenty of times. Well, helped save the world, I mean, it's a team thing.

"I'm going to be an X-man in a year, when I'm eighteen," he added, swelling with pride. Tobias could feel the tears running down his cheeks now, just a few.

"That's...wonderful," he whispered. He had so many questions, and knew he couldn't ask half of them. "Who's...What about your mother?"

"Oh, she's not one. She's a regular human. But she teachers at the Xavier School too."

"Your father...he's a good man?" The boy looked at him oddly. Tobias bent his head and let the brim of his cap hide his face.

"Y-yes," said the boy, a little uncertainly. "He's a hero, I mean. He wasn't always, I know, back before he joined the X-men. But he's brave and funny and...and...he's my Dad, I mean."

Tobias nodded and said no more. The spires of the church came into view. He pulled the cab against the curb. A small group of people were gathered outside on the steps. The boy handed him a twenty quid note and started to open the door, but Tobias stopped him, handing the note back.

"Can I ask...what...what's your name, lad?"

This time, the boy stopped and looked at him for a long while, and though he couldn't bring himself to meet his gaze, Tobias felt certain that the boy glanced at his name badge on the dashboard.

"Felix," he said at last. "Felix Toynbee."

And he opened the door and was gone.

Tobias fought the urge to call out something, to say something, to ask...anything. But instead, he just watched the boy bound over to the man in the center of the crowd. Like the boy, the man was green, a paler, swampier colour, and his hair was a dirty-brown. He looked tall and straight and strong, and Tobias could not tear his eyes away. The boy, Felix, pointed in the direction of the cab, and the man looked up. For half a moment, bright gold eyes met Tobias' brown ones, an unreadable expression on the other man's face.

Then one of the guests, a woman, walked up to green man, hugged him enthusiastically, and began talking, presumably telling him how happy she was for him. And others gathered around again, and the man disappeared in a cluster of friends. But he turned his gaze back toward the cab, and a sudden fear and longing ran through Tobias that he may come and speak to him.

In a fit of panic, he pulled the cab away from the curb and drove off as fast as he dared, Finally, he pulled into a tiny, half hidden alley, and parked, panting as if he had run a marathon. His son. He had seen his son. His poor little Mortimer, the baby he'd hardly dare name, had grown into a better man than his father, surrounded by friends, with a loving family, something Tobias could never be a part of. But he had a good life, and that was more than he had ever dared hope for the little green baby, those forty-odd years ago.

Overcome by grief and gladness, old Tobias Toynbee bent his head over the steering wheel, and wept.