I Am Not You!
A short thing, one shot writing, but with a couple different characters being focused on. I guess that I am feeling in the mood for character introspection at the moment. By the way, if you want a time reference on when this all happens it's before No Good Deed. Oh well, sit back and enjoy the show.
Disclaimer: I don't own Evo, so don't sue me. I hate bloody copyrights.
They all avoid the bathroom whenever possible. That's how you can tell them apart from the rest of the children in town. Even when they do go, to have a shower, or whatever, they rush in, and rush out, trying to minimize the time spent in there.
It's a mirror. A piece of silvered glass, nothing for anyone to be afraid of. But they are all afraid of the truth that hides behind the innocent faces that parade in it every time someone walks into the room.
Glass is all that it takes to make them turn and run away. The fact that they are mutants is not the problem. It is part of the problem, but it is only an after thought. A spoonful of salt makes not difference to the ocean.
The fact that they are mutants does not scare them, it is the fact that it is not their face in the mirror that stares back at them. They look at themselves, and they can only see other people. Evil people, to their young minds, minds that can only see in black and white.
It was the eyes, those yellow hate filled eyes that he remembered most. They had been blue with a white filmy wash once, but now they were yellow. The same yellow as his own eyes.
Kurt had broken his cardinal rule, never look in the mirror for too long. He began to notice the similarities as soon as he did that. But for once everyone at the Institute was out doing something, and Kurt had the mansion all to himself.
So, he had taken a long shower, and gotten his fur thoroughly clean. Usually he had to wait until after lights out if he wanted a real shower. But the problem was that he had caught sight of his own reflection in the mirror. At first he had been engrossed, trying on different expressions, and brushing his hair into different styles.
Now he was looking at his eyes, fearing for a second that he saw anger radiating from them, or that the look on his face was just a little too sly. Or the smile might have been slightly too smug, like he had a secret.
He saw himself turning into her as he watched his face carefully in the mirror. Not that his face had lost its fuzzy texture, or his hair changed from raven black to brilliant red, but he noticed tiny quirks in his expression that might be the signs of his mother.
What if he became like her in reality? Was he full of hate and venom, ready to hurt in any way possible? What if he was trying to twist people's plans to his own advantage already? He might not notice, the change might be gradual. He would not know, until he woke up one day and realized that he had no friends, that no one was willing to forgive him.
Rogue, he latched onto that thought. Surely his sister would not abandon him. No, she would, she would be the first. Rogue could not bear to have Mystique's name mentioned in her presence. If Kurt became like that evil woman, then Rogue would reject him before he could hurt her.
Kurt glanced at the mirror again, only to see those yellow eyes. He teleported out of the room with a loud bang, leaving behind only some smoke and the mirror, hanging innocently on the wall.
Pietro splashed cold water on his face. It was about 2:00 AM, and he was wondered why he wasn't asleep in his bed the way all normal people were at this hour. Everyone else in the house was dead to the world, even Lance, who wasn't getting much sleep since Kitty had dumped him.
In fact it was Lance's fault that he couldn't sleep. Yes, it was Lance's fault. Playing that stupid guitar of his until one in the morning, before clumping loudly upstairs to fall straight into bed in all of his clothes. Yes, it was Lance's fault that Pietro had received a stupid nightmare, and couldn't get to sleep now.
Pietro glared at his reflection for a few seconds in the mirror, trying to plan what he would do to Lance tomorrow to gain revenge. Icy blue eyes stared back at him, letting none of his thoughts or feelings through. For a moment longer he managed to concentrate on the problem of Lance, but he finally gave it up, flinching away from the intense stare in the looking glass.
He tried to tell himself that it was just the late hour and the lack of sleep that was making his imagination run haywire. But he kept on seeing those eye staring back at him, every time he looked. He could imagine himself as he grew older. His thin, sharp nose would become a beak. The already thin lips would be compressed by a frown. That permanent frown would give him lines on his forehead. This would lend dignity, and enhance the shadowed eyes, which would have sunk deeper into his face. His hair was already white, no use changing that, and there was no point in dyeing it. Dyes did not stick to his hair properly, at best he gained the faintest hint of color at the temples, at worst the dye would take a hold for a mere two hours, and the begin to come off in smears.
He shuddered; disgusted by the image it conjured. He knew that face in the mirror only too well. It was not his own, it had never been his own, and he knew with a sinking heart that it would never be his own. Anyone would recognize him as his father's son. His hateful, despicable, evil father. Pietro would never be free of the constant reminder that the legacy would live on.
He would become the next Magneto. That was what he had been trained for. He was already a better leader than Lance, if a bit more liable to take risks. He knew that in time, even that would go away, and he would be just as cold and calculating as his father. Maybe if even more so, he could calculate all of the possibilities faster than anyone else. He only lacked the experience to see all of those possibilities.
This wasn't what he wanted. He liked being the leader, but only in the immediate sense. He enjoyed fighting, tactics, and strategy, but logistics was another matter entirely. Pietro was uncomfortable with the kind of power that held life or death over people who he would never know, and never meet. The type of power that Magneto aspired to, the power of nations was not for Quicksilver. Pietro just wished for the power of the individual.
But there was no way that Pietro could escape this trap, laid for him the day he was conceived. The trap that genetics had laid for Pietro Maximoff, by giving all of those similarities to the man who, if he had ever bothered with Pietro, called himself Quicksilver's father.
Pietro splashed some more cold water onto his face, to rid himself of the nightmare, and the he zoomed off. The mirror tilted sideways on the wall, but other than that it did nothing but show the reflections of those who were stupid enough to stand in front of it.
David finished installing the mirror in his room. It was right above his desk, and even though he would have been far more comfortable if the giant monstrosity had been taken to the bathroom, it looked a lot better than the cracked and peeling plaster that was directly behind it.
He flopped down on the new bed, realizing that he could see the mirror from anywhere in the room. Damn, but until they could get that wall repaired David would have to live with it. His mother was puttering away downstairs, probably making certain that all of the antiques that she had brought with her from Israel were perfectly positioned. Mother was slightly obsessive-compulsive when it came to the arrangement of things.
David looked out his long window from his comfy position on the bed. The sun was just setting, and the waters of the loch looked like they had been lit on fire. A crumbling old ruin perched on a cliff far above the water, and cast its long shadow into it. His mother had said that the local teens hung out there. Maybe he should try and go, if he wasn't overcome by one of these stupid headaches again.
He sighed, and went to his suitcase to unpack. There wasn't much left in it, only a few things for his desk and one rumpled photo. David picked the photo out of the depths of the suitcase with loving care and smoothed it out against the mirror. He looked at the differences between the man in the photo his mirror image.
The eyes were his mother's, of that he was certain. He could see their turquoise depths laughing up at him from the photo, but the man in the photo had his hair, and the eyebrows were definitely the same. The square jaw lines were similar, and David smiled t his mirror the way the man in the photo was. Yes, they had the same smiles too. Even the same tastes in clothing, he noticed with curiosity. Tucked in shirts and buttoned up collars.
They were the same person.
David threw the photo on the desk with violent force. He was nothing like the man in the photo. That man didn't care if he lived or died. He had the greatest mind on the planet, and he spent his entire life teaching kids who were freaks. He didn't care if his wife and son were lonely and never had any life except for constantly moving from one place to another.
The headache raged behind David's eyes, and for a sickening moment he felt like he was seeing the world through an infinite number of perspectives. Then his vision returned to normal, but three different voices ranted in his head.
Ian finally got control over himself, and he glared at the photo in anger. The tension between his eyes snapped, and suddenly the photo was surrounded by a ring of fire, that closed inwards and destroyed the pathetic wisp of paper. Ian relaxed, and made the mistake of letting his guard down.
After a brief psychic struggle Lucas looked around the large room with curiosity. Gabriella had certainly found cozy digs. In Scotland, too, he noted as he carefully ransacked David's memories. Lucas smiled at the ease with which he could penetrate David's mind for answers, and make sure that once the 'headache' was over David would have no clue about what had happened. Carefully Lucas pushed all of David's other personalities back. It wouldn't do to have random people running around the house.
He got up and strode over to the mirror. The hair color was the same, but now it was thick and shaggy, rather than David's fine, carefully cut hair. The clothing style had changed to one that was more popular and didn't make him look like he was an accountant. Over all Lucas was pleased, there was be nothing connecting him to David, or Xavier.
He smiled dangerously at his reflection and then mentally blasted it.
"I am nothing at all like you, father dearest."
David woke up on the bed, his headache receding. He looked around and saw the shards of glass on the desk and floor. No, not again. His headaches had been getting far too violent; Mother would probably kill him for this. David also saw a trip to a psychologist in the offing if he couldn't get the headaches under control. He hated psychologists, always probing around, trying to find out what made you tick, even when they couldn't for a million years begin to understand.
He looked at the desk. A book lay on it, probably the one he had used to break the blasted mirror. It was a book of quotes that Mother had given him for his sixteenth birthday. It lay face up on the desk, perfectly innocent looking.
David put it back in the bookcase, although he had to search around to find the spot where it belonged. Then he picked up the large pieces of glass with care.
So, there ya go, another piece of fun filled character introspection. Don't forget to review. Didn't think that it was going to end this way, did ya? Well, join the club. At least now we know what David was doing before "Sins of the Son". Well, toodles, and please, don't forget to review.
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