Oy.
He's stuck with the kid. Someone stuck him with the kid. Someone stuck him with the kid who just won't stop talking. Someone stuck him with the kid who just won't stop talking about Quicksilver, mutants, her being a mutant, X-men, mutants, her being a mutant, how Wolverine is the jerk of all jerks, mutants, her being a mutant …
And as he silently witnesses the rotting of either his ears or his brain from the incessant chatter, he knows in his head he never wants to have kids. Ever. Not if this is what he'll be destined to deal with. But he keeps his mouth shut – just this once. He's the older one here, and that means he has to be the mature one. He doesn't like it, but he has to act like an adult. Just … this … once …
Molly suddenly pauses and quips, out of nowhere, "Super-speed is lame."
Oh. No. She. Didn't.
"Magic's cooler," she insists. He sputters.
"My powers are not lame! Magic's lame!"
"Nico makes all sorts of cool and pretty things happen with magic. Magic can make unicorns and butterflies appear," she states as though it were the most implicating fact in the world. "Bet you can't do that with super-speed."
"Oh yeah? Well, I can make things explode with super-speed!"
"So can magic– wait, really? Show me! Show-me-show-me-show-me!"
Two seconds too late he realizes he should never have told her that. Now she has gone from one form of chatter in his ear to the other.
"Blow something up!" she cries out happily; if only her older peers could hear and stop her in time, but no … "Let me see!"
"What? No!"
She pauses, then makes a "hmph" sound and crosses her arms over her chest while puffing her cheeks.
"Bet you can't do it," she jabs at him under her breath – though not out of earshot – "Bet you're just bluffing."
"Oh yeah?"
KABOOM!
Somewhere in the future, he'll look back upon this moment and decide that it was probably the perfect thing to do; childish, yes, but perfect – especially when he learns later that it brought a heated argument to a very awkward close. For now, in the present, he finds teammates – both his and the kid's – staring at them and the new mess. And only one person is happy about what just came down.
"Guys! Tommy can make rocks blow up!" she declares in wild, childish excitement.
At once all gazes land on him: some are in surprise – from those who don't know him –, some are in exasperation – from those who knew something like this was going to happen – and some in betrayal – from those who were hoping to pass off as the better team to the opposition.
"She made me do it," he protests.
He hates being mature anyway.