AN: To all those who have inquired about Say My Name, it may get done, it may not. I'm out of ideas. So if you have any, e-mail me at maxine_mcginnis@yahoo.com This story is already written in my head, so all I have to do is write it out. Easy huh? Yeah right. Please, please, please R & R! More reviews, more story more quickly!
I should have just said no.
Even now, even after all that's happened, I can't help but think that everything - everything - could have been prevented if I'd just said no. No. One syllable, two little letters. N-o.
And he'd said I **could** refuse. He'd said that I had a choice - not that I'd believed him, of course. But I could have tested the theory, could have seen just how serious he was. I could have ended it right there. By saying no. Sure, he might have killed me - might have killed **all** of us, but that would have been better than what did happen.
Dammit.
I should have just said no. And it's too late now.
***
Shirts. Socks. Underwear. Jeans. T-shirts. More underwear. Spare wheels for his board. Yet more underwear. His final report card from Bayville High.
Evan Daniels looked at this last item with a critical eye. He'd managed to get two Bs - one in English, the other in Algebra, one B-plus in Spanish, and two A-minuses - one in Gym, the other, improbably, in European History. They were good grades - good enough to land him on the honor roll at Bayville for the first - and, probably last - time. He'd been so proud to show it off to his aunt, to the professor, to his teammates and to his parents. Looking at it now, as the day sloped into twilight, the grade report seemed to sum up the futility and helplessness that had been his lot from the minute he came to Bayville.
He'd studied hard and gotten his grades up because he would have been sent back to Brooklyn in disgrace if he hadn't. Returning as an outcast and a failure was not exactly his idea of a homecoming. And truth be told, at the time, being a member of the X-Men was all he'd wanted to do. The feeling of camaraderie, the teamwork aspect - all of it had appealed to him. He liked being part of a whole, a cog in the wheel, as it were. He thought he could be a part of a group, yet retain his individuality. To a large degree, he'd been able to - how many black, blond-haired skater teens had there been in Bayville?
But that was all surface. He was allowed to be weird, and different and cool so far as looks and extracurricular interests were concerned, but that was all. He found out quickly that being an X-Man meant thinking a certain way and behaving a certain way. It meant following - oftentimes blindly - any direction Professor X gave. It meant getting good grades and excelling in just about everything, like Jean Grey did. It meant being inconspicuous, below the radar, innocuous. Evan thought he could handle that aspect of X-Man life, too. And he'd tried hard to adapt. He cleaned up his act, started being more "considerate," in the words of his Aunt Ororo. Stopped being less of a "geek head," in the words of Kitty Pryde.
He'd tried hard to fit in the mold of the perfect X-Man. Tried to be as much of a clone as Scott Summers as possible. In the months before the . . . bad thing happened, he'd been succeeding and had been trying to convince himself that what he was doing and how he was changing was a good thing. Certainly, his aunt and the other adults in the mansion had been happy about his transformation from slacker into studious student. For a time, Evan tried to believe that he, too, was happy.
That ended, though, after the . . . bad thing. After that, all bets were off. Evan saw the X-Men - and Xavier - for what they were. They were fakers. They were cowards. They were hypocrites - Xavier especially - and he didn't want it anymore. Didn't want to slip into the role of mindless automaton, like Scott. Didn't want to blindly follow just as everyone else did - including his beloved Auntie O - while Xavier stood -- or, rather, sat -- around playing God of Telepathy. After the . . . bad thing happened -
He stopped, shaking his head. It had been nearly a month since it had gone down - and it had taken him almost as long to plot his departure -- and still he couldn't bring himself to *say* the word "death." The . . . "bad thing" that had happened was death - not a hard concept to grasp, not a difficult thing to understand. And Evan still couldn't bring himself to actually *say* the word. He couldn't even *think* the word. It conjured up too many images - all of them bad - of that day, that mission. Images of Sabretooth lying half-buried in the sand with his throat cut. Of that young girl with the dark hair and eyes - the one Evan couldn't seem to get out of his mind -- lying sprawled out with her head bashed in, looking for all the world like a china doll that had been stomped on. Of Pietro . . .
Evan swallowed hard, an image of stark white and screaming crimson - crimson blood - flashed through his brain. Pietro . . .
Death. The bad thing. He stared out the window, slightly surprised at the sudden appearance of tears, which promptly slipped down his cheeks. Pietro . . .
Dead.
Evan glanced down at the report card again, which was now dotted with wet. He studied the bit of paper for a moment before tearing it in two and tossing it in the trashcan. No need for reminders of his old life - the X-Life - now. That was done.
He zipped up his duffle bag and slung it over his shoulder in one fluid movement. Placing his best skateboard under his arm, he carefully opened his door and stepped out into the quiet hallway. He puzzled at the lack of activity in the mansion, but then remembered that the rest of the team was in the Danger Room doing drills. He had told his aunt that he wasn't feeling well, so she'd excused him from the session. Evan wondered what she would do, what she would say when she discovered him gone. Would she even care? She certainly hadn't seemed to when Pietro had been lying helpless.
But he was going to try to not think about that anymore.
Evan bounded down the huge staircase, heading straight for the doors. He had a brief thought about the mansion's security cameras tracking him, and wondered if he should spike them out of functionality. After a moment, he decided against it. He'd been able to "escape" before - back when the professor had wanted to send him back home - and he'd be able to escape again. He had his board, he had some money in his pocket, he had clean underwear . . . and most important, he had a destination.
The early-evening air was fresh and sharp against the black teen's face as he stepped outside the X-Mansion. With a deep sigh, he jumped on his board, speeding toward the front gates. As he neared the exit, he wondered if he should call his parents. They wouldn't understand - he knew that much -- but they might listen. They might *try* to see things his way. But then again, he couldn't be sure that Xavier hadn't gotten to them, too, somehow. After the . . . bad thing happened, Evan had tried talking with them, tried telling them how he felt and how he'd been affected by that mission, but they'd done little more than pat him on the head and tell him that all was for the best.
**It's horrible, but he was your enemy,** they'd said. **Remember the episode in school? Remember the trouble he put you in? He was bad news. We could see this coming.**
They hadn't understood - either that, or they hadn't remembered that before he'd become Quicksilver, Pietro Maximoff had been his friend . . . his best friend. Evan wondered his parents would have acted so blasé if they'd seen what *he'd* seen, namely, Pietro Maximoff, who had moved at the speed of light since they day Evan had met him - lying utterly motionless, still, in a pool of blood. He wondered what they would have had to say if they'd seen *that.*
**Nah, I won't call them. Yet. I'll get adjusted and call 'em when I get settled . . . when I've had a little more time to think . . .** He reached the gate, forcing himself not to look back at the sprawling mansion. He chucked his board and his bag over the high, intertwining sliver bars before scaling the gate himself and dropping nimbly on the other side. There. It was done. He was out of the X-Mansion -- more or less. Now it was time to move quickly. Evan hopped on his board again, tooling down the little path that led out of Xavier's little enclave into the greater Bayville area. The scenery whizzed by the boy, but he wouldn't have noticed anything even if he'd been going slowly. He was free . . . free of the constraints . . . free of Xavier's mind games. Yet it was frightening, too, this newfound freedom. But he chose not think about that: While it was true that he didn't know exactly what he was getting into, he *did* know what he'd just gotten out *of.* And already, he felt as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
***
"I said I'd handle it, Todd! Now get out!" Rogue waved a toilet plunger menacingly at the diminutive mutant. "Go on, now! I ain't afraid to use this."
"All right, yo. All right! You don't gotta get mean." Todd put up a protective hand. "All I was saying is that there's a special trick to it - when it gets clogged, you gotta jiggle the handle *and* plunge. Here let me show -"
"Out!" Rogue made shooing motions with her hands. "I know all 'bout this. Ain't like I never lived here before. I still remember all the . . . quirks about this place."
He smiled crookedly. "You mean all that time at the X-Freaks and the marble tubs and self-flushing toilets, and you still know how to use a plunger? I think I'm in love, yo." He stopped smiling when he saw the girl's angry glare. "What? What I'd say?"
"I don't wanna think about that . . . about them." She stared down at the floor. "It's bad enough I gotta see 'em at school . . . I just . . ." Rogue stopped there, and brushed at her eyes with the back of her hand.
"I'm - I'm sorry. I just forgot." Todd stood there awkwardly, a slightly fearful expression on his face. "I just . . . um . . . I didn't think it . . ." He took a deep breath. "The X-Losers are just that - losers. You figured it out - but it took you long enough. And I'm glad you're back with us, yo. We . . . we missed you."
"Yeah . . ." Rogue said softly. "I missed you guys, too."
"'Tro will be glad you're back, too. He should be coming back soon, don'tcha think? He's never been gone this long before. I'm kinda worried, but he'll be back soon. I'm thinking maybe before finals start. Right?"
Rogue couldn't meet his gaze. Tears clouded her eyes, and she was rendered speechless. **My god. My god. I gotta tell 'em. I can't let 'em go on believing . . . They gotta know that he's not coming back.**
She blinked her tears away and looked at Todd. She stifled a gasp at the depth of sorrow she saw reflected in the sea-green eyes. **Oh my god. It's like . . . he knows. He knows. Todd . . . he knows that he's . . . that Pietro's . . . **
"I'd better let you get to that, uh, plumbing." Todd's voice was strangely somber all of a sudden. "Dinner's soon, okay?"
Rogue could do little more than nod, and Todd disappeared quickly down the stairs. Numbly, she sat on the edge of the bathtub, her mind turning back to the final mission she'd served as an X-Man. It was one that stood out for one reason and one reason alone.
She still couldn't believe he was dead.
The other bodies on the field - Sabretooth and some girl - Rogue had managed to block out from her conscious mind, but she couldn't forget Pietro. Couldn't forget how pale and drawn the boy looked lying there against the sand. She couldn't forget Evan's horrified look when he saw his rival go down. Rogue couldn't forget how stony Jean's voice's was when she turned to the rest of the X-Men and said - **I sense nothing from him. He's gone. All of them - Sabretooth, the girl, and Pietro - all of them are dead.**
But what Rogue knew she'd never forget - never, ever, ever forget was the sound she'd heard next. Xavier, was right beside her in the X-Jet, sitting in his wheelchair, and when Jean made her pronouncement - he . . . he **laughed.**
It wasn't a full-out guffaw; it was more like a quiet chuckle, but Rogue had heard him. She'd been so stunned at that point that she thought for sure she was hearing things. And when she heard that low giggle of triumph, well, she thought for sure that she'd gone insane. She looked at Xavier, and he still had a look of amusement on his face.
He'd laughed. Three people dead, two of them teenagers, and one of them was Pietro, for god's sake, and Xavier had . . . laughed. **There is nothing to be done here, then,** he'd said, as cool as milk. **Logan, set coordinates for the X-Mansion.**
He hadn't even stopped to pick up the bodies. He'd left them to rot there in the sand.
His laughter echoed in Rogue's mind the entire way home. She sat silent in the jet, next to an equally mute Evan. Her mind, though was a total blank. No one spoke a word during the entire trip, and when they'd touched down back at the mansion, each member of the team had slunk off to their rooms, not saying a word. Rogue, too, went zombie-like to her room, but her mind, at least, had begun to work again. As soon as she hit her room, she knew what she had to do. She'd been feeling the pull to leave for weeks. There were too many rules, too many restrictions, and too many weird occurrences that she couldn't rationalize anymore. Especially not after what had happened that day. So as soon as Kitty had fallen asleep for the night, Rogue had quietly packed what few things of "value" she had, and set off, running at top speed. She didn't stop until she'd reached the Brotherhood House.
They took her in with few questions. She simply said being an X-Man was not for her, and that being in the mansion cramped her style. Fred and Todd even seemed glad to see her. **Got tired of the X-Geeks finally, huh?** Todd had chortled with joy. Lance had been unusually quiet, and Rogue understood why: Pietro had been "missing" a few months at that point. At the time that the speedster had been gone, Rogue had wondered about him, and had been, in truth, a little worried. Now, all she felt was sorrow - yet she couldn't tell them what she knew the boy's whereabouts. For their part, the three remaining Brotherhood boys had tried to shrug off their teammate's disappearance, and each took pains to act as if it was Pietro's habit to vanish for long stretches of time.
**'Tro's like that. He'll be back, yo. He'll be back.**
The tears fell fast and hot down Rogue's cheeks, and she gripped the plunger in her pale hands. She'd promised herself that she'd let the boys know about Pietro when the time was right - when they were ready. Yet, when could that be? She herself wasn't ready for Pietro's death, and she had been there. Still, they had to know. Todd seemed to know already, or at least suspect, but he was probably in denial. Maybe they all were. **I've been out of the X-Men for three weeks. Scott and Jean and them don't even look at me anymore at school. It's like they all forgot about me, but I'm still scared of Xavier.**
She pondered that for a moment, but was interrupted by a loud clanging coming from downstairs and a tangle of voices.
"Rogue! You gotta get down here!"
The girl started. It was Todd's voice, and the young teen sounded pissed. Rogue jumped up quickly, wondering if perhaps they'd stumbled on some news report, or some news article mentioning the discovery of the body of an extraordinarily thin, white-haired boy. She sped down the stairs with the plunger in hand, her heart pounding madly.
"What? What's wrong?" She burst into the living room, breathing hard. "What happened?"
Lance, Fred and Todd stood around an open front door, all of them wearing expressions of disbelief. Rogue craned her head around to see who was at the door, and catching sight of the person, her pale face became even paler. The plunger dropped from her hand.
"What the . . ."
"'Sup, Rogue." Evan stood on the threshold of the Brotherhood house with his board under one arm and his duffle bag in the opposite hand. "How you been? Hey . . . is that spaghetti I smell? I'm starved."
"Daniels . . . what the hell do you want?" Lance growled, punctuating his words with a tremor that shook the house. "You got two seconds to -"
"Yo, chill man. I come in peace." Evan threw his bag into the room. It landed with a thud, but all eyes remained on the blond teen. "Listen - I've had it with Xavier." His eyes met Rogue's, and he nodded slightly. "I'm here to join the Brotherhood."
***
They think I'm dead.
I'm not of course. Dead people can't eat pepperoni pizza, can they? They can't sneeze, can they? They can't watch hours and hours of ChiPS, right? And I've done all those things - today.
No, I'm not dead. Though it'd be a lot easier if I **were.**
Well, don't get me wrong - it's okay here. I get whatever food I want, whatever drinks I want, and though the selection of television programs is pretty poor - hence ChiPS - I've got entertainment.
But's that's all I've got now. Everybody's gone now. **My** death was faked - god knows why, but Magneto's got his reasons. Or at least that's what he told me. But the other deaths . . . they were real. They were real.
And I'm alone again.
At least, I think I am. You know - it's weird: I'll think I'm alone, and I'll turn out **not** to be. Like when I was singing along to Bette Midler that one time: I thought the others had gone to get the car serviced, but nope . . . there they all were behind me, laughing their asses off at my rendition of "Wind Beneath My Wings." I thought I was alone in the kitchen, once, again singing, and making a sandwich, and there Todd was . . . being annoying.
And this thing . . . all of this started because I thought that I was alone. My mistake. And it turned out to be a huge one.
I'd gotten home from school early, having decided that World Cultures class could get along without me being there. I sped home - and I mean I *ran.* Got home in about two seconds, too --I was sort of tired that day, that's why it took a little longer than usual. I just wanted to relax a little before the others came in.
Thinking back on it, I knew something was weird the minute I walked in the door. The air just seemed . . .different. Thicker . . . or something. I don't know - just different. And the floors seemed weird. Shiny, or something, like someone had washed them. I remember looking down at the kitchen floor and being able to see my reflection - something I knew I hadn't been able to do when I'd left that morning. But I just glossed over that, too. I was in my own world, I guess. Or something. No, I guess I'm generally not very observant . . . I'm usually moving waywayway too fast to really *look* at anything.
But anyway, I grabbed some cookies and milk and ran to my room, just enjoying the silence. I went in my room, set the stuff on the bed, and was just about to open the window to let some air in, and then I noticed there *was* air coming in. My window was *already* open, and I knew I hadn't left it that way when I'd gone to school.
That's when I started to get a little spooked - the weird air, the shiny floors, and the open windows . . . it was all freaking me out.
And then . . .
"Pietro."
I tell you I nearly jumped out of my skin, but not because I'd been startled, but because I recognized the voice.
"Pietro. Face me, please. Have you forgotten your manners?"
I turned around, slowly, kicking myself. Of all the days to cut school . . .
"Pietro. You are looking well."
Magneto. Yup, it was him. Same helmet, same weird cape. He was floating in the air, and that annoyed me. The freak had already broken into *my* home, did something to *my* air and *my** floors, and he's talking to *me* about manners?
I just stared up at him. He really hadn't changed - yes, still the same old master of magnetism, or whatever stupid title he was going by. I think I must have looked pissed off, because he stopped floating and stood on the floor like a normal person.
"It has been a long time."
**Not long enough,** I remember thinking, but I didn't say anything. Honestly, I didn't know what **to** say. I mean, something like, **Hey, Mags . . . so you're back, after leaving us starving and broke, for, what, eight months. How the hell are you?** seemed . . . not quite right.
"You do not seem happy to see me." He sat on my bed, and nearly made the cookies fall on the floor. I wanted to slap him.
"I'm just surprised, that's all." I said slowly. I desperately wanted a cookie. "I thought, uh, we thought you'd, er, left for good . . ."
He smiled at me when I said that, and I swear, I wanted to start running right then. I don't know why I didn't. Stupid, stupid, stupid me!
"No. I have not. I have kept an eye on al of you here," he said. "On the whole, I have not been pleased with what I have seen. You lack discipline and are losing sight of the values I've instilled in you. On several occasions, I've seen young Avalanche romancing one of Xavier's students." He frowned. "They are the enemy! Fraternizing with them is a capital offense."
I just shrugged. I wasn't too thrilled with Lance's little Kitty Pryde fetish only because he acted like a fathead whenever she was around.
"It's not as if we have any *guidance* you know," I'd said, a little testy. "And we're just a little busy wondering what and how we're gonna eat on a daily basis. Um . . . and while you're here, we could use a couple of bucks -"
He put up his hand. I knew what that meant, and I shut up. I was going through serious sugar withdrawal, and I figured that maybe if I shut up and let him say his piece, he'd leave me to my cookies.
"I have need of you," he said. "For a new project. A far-reaching project. One that could affect all of mutant-kind."
Right. Like I hadn't heard *that* one before.
"Look, unless this "far-reaching project" involves some far-reaching money, I don't think we're interested. Besides - Mystique's not our principal anymore, remember? It's not as if we can just take off from school and not be noticed."
"That is not of a consequence," he'd said. "And I do not want the entire group. They . . . will not do. I only want you, Pietro."
Yeah. I've heard *that* one before, too.
"Me? Why?" I looked at those cookies again. They were calling my name. "What can I do? What do you want me for?"
What he said next totally floored me. I mean, it took my breath away. I even forgot about the cookies for a second.
"What can you do?" he asked. "That is simple. We have a bond. You can . . . love me."
Actually, now that I think about it, maybe I did fall through the floor. I mean, I was getting seriously sick . . . Magneto had to be, what, in his 60s? And he was coming on to me? Ewww! Sicksicksick!
"Er . . . look . . ." I started backing out the room, wondering what I'd done to deserve this day. "Um . . . Magneto, I really don't think I go that way . . . and even if I did --"
He waved me off again, looking pissed. "*No. * You do not understand. But soon you will." And then he smiled, and it wasn't a *nice* smile. Actually, it looked pretty scary through the helmet and all. "And from this day forward, you will not call me Magneto. Please . . . call me . . . Father."
I should have just said no.
Even now, even after all that's happened, I can't help but think that everything - everything - could have been prevented if I'd just said no. No. One syllable, two little letters. N-o.
And he'd said I **could** refuse. He'd said that I had a choice - not that I'd believed him, of course. But I could have tested the theory, could have seen just how serious he was. I could have ended it right there. By saying no. Sure, he might have killed me - might have killed **all** of us, but that would have been better than what did happen.
Dammit.
I should have just said no. And it's too late now.
***
Shirts. Socks. Underwear. Jeans. T-shirts. More underwear. Spare wheels for his board. Yet more underwear. His final report card from Bayville High.
Evan Daniels looked at this last item with a critical eye. He'd managed to get two Bs - one in English, the other in Algebra, one B-plus in Spanish, and two A-minuses - one in Gym, the other, improbably, in European History. They were good grades - good enough to land him on the honor roll at Bayville for the first - and, probably last - time. He'd been so proud to show it off to his aunt, to the professor, to his teammates and to his parents. Looking at it now, as the day sloped into twilight, the grade report seemed to sum up the futility and helplessness that had been his lot from the minute he came to Bayville.
He'd studied hard and gotten his grades up because he would have been sent back to Brooklyn in disgrace if he hadn't. Returning as an outcast and a failure was not exactly his idea of a homecoming. And truth be told, at the time, being a member of the X-Men was all he'd wanted to do. The feeling of camaraderie, the teamwork aspect - all of it had appealed to him. He liked being part of a whole, a cog in the wheel, as it were. He thought he could be a part of a group, yet retain his individuality. To a large degree, he'd been able to - how many black, blond-haired skater teens had there been in Bayville?
But that was all surface. He was allowed to be weird, and different and cool so far as looks and extracurricular interests were concerned, but that was all. He found out quickly that being an X-Man meant thinking a certain way and behaving a certain way. It meant following - oftentimes blindly - any direction Professor X gave. It meant getting good grades and excelling in just about everything, like Jean Grey did. It meant being inconspicuous, below the radar, innocuous. Evan thought he could handle that aspect of X-Man life, too. And he'd tried hard to adapt. He cleaned up his act, started being more "considerate," in the words of his Aunt Ororo. Stopped being less of a "geek head," in the words of Kitty Pryde.
He'd tried hard to fit in the mold of the perfect X-Man. Tried to be as much of a clone as Scott Summers as possible. In the months before the . . . bad thing happened, he'd been succeeding and had been trying to convince himself that what he was doing and how he was changing was a good thing. Certainly, his aunt and the other adults in the mansion had been happy about his transformation from slacker into studious student. For a time, Evan tried to believe that he, too, was happy.
That ended, though, after the . . . bad thing. After that, all bets were off. Evan saw the X-Men - and Xavier - for what they were. They were fakers. They were cowards. They were hypocrites - Xavier especially - and he didn't want it anymore. Didn't want to slip into the role of mindless automaton, like Scott. Didn't want to blindly follow just as everyone else did - including his beloved Auntie O - while Xavier stood -- or, rather, sat -- around playing God of Telepathy. After the . . . bad thing happened -
He stopped, shaking his head. It had been nearly a month since it had gone down - and it had taken him almost as long to plot his departure -- and still he couldn't bring himself to *say* the word "death." The . . . "bad thing" that had happened was death - not a hard concept to grasp, not a difficult thing to understand. And Evan still couldn't bring himself to actually *say* the word. He couldn't even *think* the word. It conjured up too many images - all of them bad - of that day, that mission. Images of Sabretooth lying half-buried in the sand with his throat cut. Of that young girl with the dark hair and eyes - the one Evan couldn't seem to get out of his mind -- lying sprawled out with her head bashed in, looking for all the world like a china doll that had been stomped on. Of Pietro . . .
Evan swallowed hard, an image of stark white and screaming crimson - crimson blood - flashed through his brain. Pietro . . .
Death. The bad thing. He stared out the window, slightly surprised at the sudden appearance of tears, which promptly slipped down his cheeks. Pietro . . .
Dead.
Evan glanced down at the report card again, which was now dotted with wet. He studied the bit of paper for a moment before tearing it in two and tossing it in the trashcan. No need for reminders of his old life - the X-Life - now. That was done.
He zipped up his duffle bag and slung it over his shoulder in one fluid movement. Placing his best skateboard under his arm, he carefully opened his door and stepped out into the quiet hallway. He puzzled at the lack of activity in the mansion, but then remembered that the rest of the team was in the Danger Room doing drills. He had told his aunt that he wasn't feeling well, so she'd excused him from the session. Evan wondered what she would do, what she would say when she discovered him gone. Would she even care? She certainly hadn't seemed to when Pietro had been lying helpless.
But he was going to try to not think about that anymore.
Evan bounded down the huge staircase, heading straight for the doors. He had a brief thought about the mansion's security cameras tracking him, and wondered if he should spike them out of functionality. After a moment, he decided against it. He'd been able to "escape" before - back when the professor had wanted to send him back home - and he'd be able to escape again. He had his board, he had some money in his pocket, he had clean underwear . . . and most important, he had a destination.
The early-evening air was fresh and sharp against the black teen's face as he stepped outside the X-Mansion. With a deep sigh, he jumped on his board, speeding toward the front gates. As he neared the exit, he wondered if he should call his parents. They wouldn't understand - he knew that much -- but they might listen. They might *try* to see things his way. But then again, he couldn't be sure that Xavier hadn't gotten to them, too, somehow. After the . . . bad thing happened, Evan had tried talking with them, tried telling them how he felt and how he'd been affected by that mission, but they'd done little more than pat him on the head and tell him that all was for the best.
**It's horrible, but he was your enemy,** they'd said. **Remember the episode in school? Remember the trouble he put you in? He was bad news. We could see this coming.**
They hadn't understood - either that, or they hadn't remembered that before he'd become Quicksilver, Pietro Maximoff had been his friend . . . his best friend. Evan wondered his parents would have acted so blasé if they'd seen what *he'd* seen, namely, Pietro Maximoff, who had moved at the speed of light since they day Evan had met him - lying utterly motionless, still, in a pool of blood. He wondered what they would have had to say if they'd seen *that.*
**Nah, I won't call them. Yet. I'll get adjusted and call 'em when I get settled . . . when I've had a little more time to think . . .** He reached the gate, forcing himself not to look back at the sprawling mansion. He chucked his board and his bag over the high, intertwining sliver bars before scaling the gate himself and dropping nimbly on the other side. There. It was done. He was out of the X-Mansion -- more or less. Now it was time to move quickly. Evan hopped on his board again, tooling down the little path that led out of Xavier's little enclave into the greater Bayville area. The scenery whizzed by the boy, but he wouldn't have noticed anything even if he'd been going slowly. He was free . . . free of the constraints . . . free of Xavier's mind games. Yet it was frightening, too, this newfound freedom. But he chose not think about that: While it was true that he didn't know exactly what he was getting into, he *did* know what he'd just gotten out *of.* And already, he felt as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
***
"I said I'd handle it, Todd! Now get out!" Rogue waved a toilet plunger menacingly at the diminutive mutant. "Go on, now! I ain't afraid to use this."
"All right, yo. All right! You don't gotta get mean." Todd put up a protective hand. "All I was saying is that there's a special trick to it - when it gets clogged, you gotta jiggle the handle *and* plunge. Here let me show -"
"Out!" Rogue made shooing motions with her hands. "I know all 'bout this. Ain't like I never lived here before. I still remember all the . . . quirks about this place."
He smiled crookedly. "You mean all that time at the X-Freaks and the marble tubs and self-flushing toilets, and you still know how to use a plunger? I think I'm in love, yo." He stopped smiling when he saw the girl's angry glare. "What? What I'd say?"
"I don't wanna think about that . . . about them." She stared down at the floor. "It's bad enough I gotta see 'em at school . . . I just . . ." Rogue stopped there, and brushed at her eyes with the back of her hand.
"I'm - I'm sorry. I just forgot." Todd stood there awkwardly, a slightly fearful expression on his face. "I just . . . um . . . I didn't think it . . ." He took a deep breath. "The X-Losers are just that - losers. You figured it out - but it took you long enough. And I'm glad you're back with us, yo. We . . . we missed you."
"Yeah . . ." Rogue said softly. "I missed you guys, too."
"'Tro will be glad you're back, too. He should be coming back soon, don'tcha think? He's never been gone this long before. I'm kinda worried, but he'll be back soon. I'm thinking maybe before finals start. Right?"
Rogue couldn't meet his gaze. Tears clouded her eyes, and she was rendered speechless. **My god. My god. I gotta tell 'em. I can't let 'em go on believing . . . They gotta know that he's not coming back.**
She blinked her tears away and looked at Todd. She stifled a gasp at the depth of sorrow she saw reflected in the sea-green eyes. **Oh my god. It's like . . . he knows. He knows. Todd . . . he knows that he's . . . that Pietro's . . . **
"I'd better let you get to that, uh, plumbing." Todd's voice was strangely somber all of a sudden. "Dinner's soon, okay?"
Rogue could do little more than nod, and Todd disappeared quickly down the stairs. Numbly, she sat on the edge of the bathtub, her mind turning back to the final mission she'd served as an X-Man. It was one that stood out for one reason and one reason alone.
She still couldn't believe he was dead.
The other bodies on the field - Sabretooth and some girl - Rogue had managed to block out from her conscious mind, but she couldn't forget Pietro. Couldn't forget how pale and drawn the boy looked lying there against the sand. She couldn't forget Evan's horrified look when he saw his rival go down. Rogue couldn't forget how stony Jean's voice's was when she turned to the rest of the X-Men and said - **I sense nothing from him. He's gone. All of them - Sabretooth, the girl, and Pietro - all of them are dead.**
But what Rogue knew she'd never forget - never, ever, ever forget was the sound she'd heard next. Xavier, was right beside her in the X-Jet, sitting in his wheelchair, and when Jean made her pronouncement - he . . . he **laughed.**
It wasn't a full-out guffaw; it was more like a quiet chuckle, but Rogue had heard him. She'd been so stunned at that point that she thought for sure she was hearing things. And when she heard that low giggle of triumph, well, she thought for sure that she'd gone insane. She looked at Xavier, and he still had a look of amusement on his face.
He'd laughed. Three people dead, two of them teenagers, and one of them was Pietro, for god's sake, and Xavier had . . . laughed. **There is nothing to be done here, then,** he'd said, as cool as milk. **Logan, set coordinates for the X-Mansion.**
He hadn't even stopped to pick up the bodies. He'd left them to rot there in the sand.
His laughter echoed in Rogue's mind the entire way home. She sat silent in the jet, next to an equally mute Evan. Her mind, though was a total blank. No one spoke a word during the entire trip, and when they'd touched down back at the mansion, each member of the team had slunk off to their rooms, not saying a word. Rogue, too, went zombie-like to her room, but her mind, at least, had begun to work again. As soon as she hit her room, she knew what she had to do. She'd been feeling the pull to leave for weeks. There were too many rules, too many restrictions, and too many weird occurrences that she couldn't rationalize anymore. Especially not after what had happened that day. So as soon as Kitty had fallen asleep for the night, Rogue had quietly packed what few things of "value" she had, and set off, running at top speed. She didn't stop until she'd reached the Brotherhood House.
They took her in with few questions. She simply said being an X-Man was not for her, and that being in the mansion cramped her style. Fred and Todd even seemed glad to see her. **Got tired of the X-Geeks finally, huh?** Todd had chortled with joy. Lance had been unusually quiet, and Rogue understood why: Pietro had been "missing" a few months at that point. At the time that the speedster had been gone, Rogue had wondered about him, and had been, in truth, a little worried. Now, all she felt was sorrow - yet she couldn't tell them what she knew the boy's whereabouts. For their part, the three remaining Brotherhood boys had tried to shrug off their teammate's disappearance, and each took pains to act as if it was Pietro's habit to vanish for long stretches of time.
**'Tro's like that. He'll be back, yo. He'll be back.**
The tears fell fast and hot down Rogue's cheeks, and she gripped the plunger in her pale hands. She'd promised herself that she'd let the boys know about Pietro when the time was right - when they were ready. Yet, when could that be? She herself wasn't ready for Pietro's death, and she had been there. Still, they had to know. Todd seemed to know already, or at least suspect, but he was probably in denial. Maybe they all were. **I've been out of the X-Men for three weeks. Scott and Jean and them don't even look at me anymore at school. It's like they all forgot about me, but I'm still scared of Xavier.**
She pondered that for a moment, but was interrupted by a loud clanging coming from downstairs and a tangle of voices.
"Rogue! You gotta get down here!"
The girl started. It was Todd's voice, and the young teen sounded pissed. Rogue jumped up quickly, wondering if perhaps they'd stumbled on some news report, or some news article mentioning the discovery of the body of an extraordinarily thin, white-haired boy. She sped down the stairs with the plunger in hand, her heart pounding madly.
"What? What's wrong?" She burst into the living room, breathing hard. "What happened?"
Lance, Fred and Todd stood around an open front door, all of them wearing expressions of disbelief. Rogue craned her head around to see who was at the door, and catching sight of the person, her pale face became even paler. The plunger dropped from her hand.
"What the . . ."
"'Sup, Rogue." Evan stood on the threshold of the Brotherhood house with his board under one arm and his duffle bag in the opposite hand. "How you been? Hey . . . is that spaghetti I smell? I'm starved."
"Daniels . . . what the hell do you want?" Lance growled, punctuating his words with a tremor that shook the house. "You got two seconds to -"
"Yo, chill man. I come in peace." Evan threw his bag into the room. It landed with a thud, but all eyes remained on the blond teen. "Listen - I've had it with Xavier." His eyes met Rogue's, and he nodded slightly. "I'm here to join the Brotherhood."
***
They think I'm dead.
I'm not of course. Dead people can't eat pepperoni pizza, can they? They can't sneeze, can they? They can't watch hours and hours of ChiPS, right? And I've done all those things - today.
No, I'm not dead. Though it'd be a lot easier if I **were.**
Well, don't get me wrong - it's okay here. I get whatever food I want, whatever drinks I want, and though the selection of television programs is pretty poor - hence ChiPS - I've got entertainment.
But's that's all I've got now. Everybody's gone now. **My** death was faked - god knows why, but Magneto's got his reasons. Or at least that's what he told me. But the other deaths . . . they were real. They were real.
And I'm alone again.
At least, I think I am. You know - it's weird: I'll think I'm alone, and I'll turn out **not** to be. Like when I was singing along to Bette Midler that one time: I thought the others had gone to get the car serviced, but nope . . . there they all were behind me, laughing their asses off at my rendition of "Wind Beneath My Wings." I thought I was alone in the kitchen, once, again singing, and making a sandwich, and there Todd was . . . being annoying.
And this thing . . . all of this started because I thought that I was alone. My mistake. And it turned out to be a huge one.
I'd gotten home from school early, having decided that World Cultures class could get along without me being there. I sped home - and I mean I *ran.* Got home in about two seconds, too --I was sort of tired that day, that's why it took a little longer than usual. I just wanted to relax a little before the others came in.
Thinking back on it, I knew something was weird the minute I walked in the door. The air just seemed . . .different. Thicker . . . or something. I don't know - just different. And the floors seemed weird. Shiny, or something, like someone had washed them. I remember looking down at the kitchen floor and being able to see my reflection - something I knew I hadn't been able to do when I'd left that morning. But I just glossed over that, too. I was in my own world, I guess. Or something. No, I guess I'm generally not very observant . . . I'm usually moving waywayway too fast to really *look* at anything.
But anyway, I grabbed some cookies and milk and ran to my room, just enjoying the silence. I went in my room, set the stuff on the bed, and was just about to open the window to let some air in, and then I noticed there *was* air coming in. My window was *already* open, and I knew I hadn't left it that way when I'd gone to school.
That's when I started to get a little spooked - the weird air, the shiny floors, and the open windows . . . it was all freaking me out.
And then . . .
"Pietro."
I tell you I nearly jumped out of my skin, but not because I'd been startled, but because I recognized the voice.
"Pietro. Face me, please. Have you forgotten your manners?"
I turned around, slowly, kicking myself. Of all the days to cut school . . .
"Pietro. You are looking well."
Magneto. Yup, it was him. Same helmet, same weird cape. He was floating in the air, and that annoyed me. The freak had already broken into *my* home, did something to *my* air and *my** floors, and he's talking to *me* about manners?
I just stared up at him. He really hadn't changed - yes, still the same old master of magnetism, or whatever stupid title he was going by. I think I must have looked pissed off, because he stopped floating and stood on the floor like a normal person.
"It has been a long time."
**Not long enough,** I remember thinking, but I didn't say anything. Honestly, I didn't know what **to** say. I mean, something like, **Hey, Mags . . . so you're back, after leaving us starving and broke, for, what, eight months. How the hell are you?** seemed . . . not quite right.
"You do not seem happy to see me." He sat on my bed, and nearly made the cookies fall on the floor. I wanted to slap him.
"I'm just surprised, that's all." I said slowly. I desperately wanted a cookie. "I thought, uh, we thought you'd, er, left for good . . ."
He smiled at me when I said that, and I swear, I wanted to start running right then. I don't know why I didn't. Stupid, stupid, stupid me!
"No. I have not. I have kept an eye on al of you here," he said. "On the whole, I have not been pleased with what I have seen. You lack discipline and are losing sight of the values I've instilled in you. On several occasions, I've seen young Avalanche romancing one of Xavier's students." He frowned. "They are the enemy! Fraternizing with them is a capital offense."
I just shrugged. I wasn't too thrilled with Lance's little Kitty Pryde fetish only because he acted like a fathead whenever she was around.
"It's not as if we have any *guidance* you know," I'd said, a little testy. "And we're just a little busy wondering what and how we're gonna eat on a daily basis. Um . . . and while you're here, we could use a couple of bucks -"
He put up his hand. I knew what that meant, and I shut up. I was going through serious sugar withdrawal, and I figured that maybe if I shut up and let him say his piece, he'd leave me to my cookies.
"I have need of you," he said. "For a new project. A far-reaching project. One that could affect all of mutant-kind."
Right. Like I hadn't heard *that* one before.
"Look, unless this "far-reaching project" involves some far-reaching money, I don't think we're interested. Besides - Mystique's not our principal anymore, remember? It's not as if we can just take off from school and not be noticed."
"That is not of a consequence," he'd said. "And I do not want the entire group. They . . . will not do. I only want you, Pietro."
Yeah. I've heard *that* one before, too.
"Me? Why?" I looked at those cookies again. They were calling my name. "What can I do? What do you want me for?"
What he said next totally floored me. I mean, it took my breath away. I even forgot about the cookies for a second.
"What can you do?" he asked. "That is simple. We have a bond. You can . . . love me."
Actually, now that I think about it, maybe I did fall through the floor. I mean, I was getting seriously sick . . . Magneto had to be, what, in his 60s? And he was coming on to me? Ewww! Sicksicksick!
"Er . . . look . . ." I started backing out the room, wondering what I'd done to deserve this day. "Um . . . Magneto, I really don't think I go that way . . . and even if I did --"
He waved me off again, looking pissed. "*No. * You do not understand. But soon you will." And then he smiled, and it wasn't a *nice* smile. Actually, it looked pretty scary through the helmet and all. "And from this day forward, you will not call me Magneto. Please . . . call me . . . Father."