------
Author's Note:
Greetings.
For some reason, this story just grabbed my attention. I posted the first part several hours ago and haven't been able to concentrate on anything else since. So, without further ado, here's another section. Read, review, and enjoy.
Hint, hint, nudge, nudge. Read, REVIEW, and enjoy. ;) Pretty please.
Cheers.
Jack
------
It felt really weird to be pushed around in a wheelchair. Even more so because it was Wolverine doing the manual labor. Didn't he try to stick me with his claws last year? Repeatedly? He turned us around and backed into the elevator. Doctor MacTaggart and Hank joined us. The big blue guy let me push the button for the ground floor. Maybe it was 'Be Nice to Cripples' week.
I couldn't understand why the Doc and Hank had such a silly grin on their face. Probably had some sort of surprise in store for me. This may sound strange, but I hate surprises. I glanced up, earning the usual scowl from Logan. At least some things never change. A funny thought crossed my mind. For a guy who'd been shot five times in the face, he looked pretty good.
"You guys seem pretty happy for some reason," I said to Hank. He'd been pretty nice to me in the past. I owed the guy my life, I guess, so it couldn't hurt to be polite. [1] He exchanged a knowing look with Doctor MacTaggart and I found myself fantasizing about making a run for it. Except for the fact that my legs wouldn't work. Details, details. They were up to something and I knew I wasn't going to like it.
I didn't have a chance to voice my objections, however, because the elevator doors conspired against me. A bell chimed somewhere and the doors rolled aside, revealing the lobby of the mansion. Some bozo had trimmed the large room with what I assume were meant to be festive decorations. They'd even gone so far as to hang a batter that said 'Welcome Back to the Land of the Living, Pietro!'
If life was fair, I'd have been allowed to crawl under the nearest rock and just die.
Life, I've noticed, isn't at all fair, however. Instead of hearing my mental scream of 'take me back, take me back!' Logan pushed me out onto the marble floor. Every single person in the world who irritated me was gathered in the lobby for this apparent festival of lunacy. Where did Xavier find so many students? No wonder the Brotherhood always felt outclassed when we fought. Baldy has too deep a bullpen.
Heads turned when the elevator doors slid open and the room went nearly quiet. I say nearly because I'm pretty sure the sound of my heart beating echoed off the cathedral ceiling. I shot a sour look at Logan, who returned it with interest. On the plus side, he looked just as uncomfortable as I did. Aw, was the big, bad wolf afraid of a little party? If so, I could certainly commiserate.
A cheer went up and the room erupted in applause. My ears rang from the sheer force of the noise. Everywhere I looked I could see people smiling at me and pounding their hands together. Were these people mainlining crack or something?
Thankfully, the noise died out after a few minutes, replaced by a dull roar of conversation. Hank and the Doc moved off into the crowd of my peers, leaving me alone with Logan.
"Where to first, kiddo?" he asked just loud enough to be heard over the crowd. I looked up at him, then around the room. Aha. Someone had thoughtfully set up a buffet table over by the base of the staircase in the center of the room. My mouth watered.
"Just go ahead and park me over there, would you?" I said. Logan grunted and started pushing me through the assembled kids. It was slow going at first, because everyone was intent on shaking my hand or clapping me on the shoulder. My hand started to cramp after the first half-dozen people and my shoulders were really starting to throb. Hopefully this little soirée wouldn't last too long.
Kitty phased her way through the crowd in my direction. I wondered how she got away with wearing that sort of outfit. The Professor seemed a little too uptight to be comfortable with his people wearing what amounted to a sports bra with that silly X-logo over each boob. Not that I complained or anything.
Even better than the scanty shirt she was wearing was the bottle of ginger ale in her hand. "Hey," she said. Then she hugged me. I must have hesitated, because Logan smacked me lightly upside the head. A little overbearing, that one. I hugged her back and took the offered soda.
Logan wheeled me to the base of the steps, well within reach of the buffet table. He stepped back as I sipped my soda, looking me over. I put on my best innocent expression and just stared back. Finally he just shook his head and headed toward the front door, fishing a crumpled pack of cigarettes [2] from his ever-present jacket.
Kitty sat down on the bottom step next to me. Her bottle hissed as she twisted the top off and she too a long swig of Barq's.
As soon as Wolverine was safely out of earshot, I leaned over to her.
"What was the hug for?"
She burped slightly and wiped her mouth. Gee, how ladylike can you get?
"Excuse me. That was a thank-you for saving Kurt's life like that," she said. I really had to strain to hear her. A stereo had been cranked up somewhere in the background and the music was too loud for my taste. Which one of these weenies listened to Fats Domino, anyway?
It took a moment for her words to register. Thank you? Oh, man. I hate emotional situations. It's times like these I really hate my fair complexion. I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks as I looked away from her.
"It was nothing," I mumbled, wishing she hadn't brought up the subject. "But it was!" She took a swig of her soda again. "I mean it. If you hadn't done that..." Oh, I cut that one off in a hurry. "If I hadn't done that I wouldn't be in this freakin' chair," I sneered. Silence.
I looked over at her and was surprised to see that her eyes were moist. Nice job, dumb ass. See, there's this thing I do called accelerated speed. Sometimes I talk before I can think. I've also been known to put both feet in my mouth almost before I'm finished speaking. Man, this was awkward. I reached out and put my hand on her shoulder.
"Hey, I didn't mean it like that." I'm sorry, my eyes said. Too bad she wasn't looking at me. No, really.
She stood up as someone fought their way through the crowd toward us. I sighed when she walked away. Yeah, great going. You've been conscious for all of thirty minutes and you've already alienated one person. Let's see how long it takes to piss off the room, shall we? I was tempted to go after her, but the wheels on the chair wouldn't move. Logan had tripped the brake somehow and I couldn't figure out how to unlock the darn thing.
I looked up at the person standing in front of me, starting to get peeved. I'd probably have said something stupid and inane if it hadn't been Lance standing there. We just stared at each other for a moment. He was all right. My mind was having trouble wrapping itself around that fact. Last I'd seen he was a limp heap wrapped in steel. Now here he was, sipping what looked suspiciously like whisky, and grinning at me like a fool.
After a long moment, he stuck out his hand and we shook. Firm grip, as usual. "You're alive," he said. I raised my eyebrow at that and he grinned even wider. "For the most part," I said. I snatched his cup out of his hand faster than he could react and sniffed. Bleh. Apple cider. He took his cup back and drained it in one long pull, then sat down beside me.
"Did you hear about Fred?" he asked? I looked at him for a moment then looked around the room, craning my neck in a vain attempt to see over people. As an afterthought, I also took stock of the buffet table. It was still more or less intact. That wasn't good.
"Where is the big guy, anyway?" I asked. It was wholly out of character for the Blob not to be monopolizing the food supply.
Lance reached over my and plucked a cluster of grapes off the fruit basket at the edge of the table. Popping one in his mouth, he said, "He's dead."
Remember what I said about surprises? I spluttered, spraying ginger ale all over my shirt and lap and a sizable portion of the floor in front of me. Ugh. That stuff burns like the dickens when you snort it out your nose. I gagged a couple times, fighting for breath and looked at Lance with wide eyes. He had to be joking.
He just looked back at me. If he was joking, I wouldn't have wanted to play poker with him. His eyes were looking not really at me, but through me as if I wasn't even there. Now that I had a good look at him, I noticed just how drawn and haggard he looked. It couldn't be true, and yet there wasn't any other reason for him to be looking this worn.
Ever since Mystique had bailed out on us, Lance had been the one to take charge of our lives. It had been Lance who'd scrounged the money for bills, groceries and the rest. Lance who'd stood up for us and tried his best to protect us.
The very thought of Fred dying on his watch seemed to have broken something inside him. I made a mental note to ask the Professor if he knew a good shrink.
'As a matter of fact, I do.'
I jerked in my wheelchair and looked wildly around the room. I hate when Xavier does that.
'I'm sorry,' he said in my mind. 'I didn't realize you weren't comfortable with telepathy yet.'
I jerked again. Lance must have thought I was having a seizure, because he suddenly gripped my arm. I looked down at his hand, followed his arm back to his body, to him. He was looking at me with the strangest expression.
"You ok?" he choked. His tone of voice drove any remaining doubt from my mind.
"I'm fine," I said. I had to try a couple times before I could continue. "How," I swallowed, took a sip of ginger ale and tried again. "How did it happen?" Don't ask me why this was important. I just had to know.
Aside from the fact that Fred had been the strongest person I'd ever met, he'd also been the largest. I swear I could have fit four or five of me into one pair of his overalls. His other mutation, other than the incredible strength, had been his near invulnerable skin. You don't just beat a guy like that to death.
"Would you believe a heart attack?" I searched Lance's face. He wasn't serious.
"You're kidding," I said flatly. He shook his head, gesturing with the bunch of grapes.
"No, really. Doctor MacTaggart did an autopsy." He grimaced and stood. I waited patiently as he refilled his cup from the punch bowl and sat down heavily beside me. "Remember when your...when Magneto hit him with that iron girder?"
I nodded, unable to speak.
"The Doc thinks that the impact of the thing on his breastbone caused a heart attack. I didn't understand all the technical parts."
I just stared at my hands. This was unbelievable. I'd figured that Fred would probably outlive us all. Even now I couldn't really believe it. I looked around, fully expecting him to saunter through a door.
When I finally looked up, Lance had disappeared. I searched the room for him, but couldn't see him at all. He'd just wandered off. The more I looked, the more I felt stifled. There were just too many people in here for comfort. A sigh escaped my lips and I reached down to figure out the brakes on the chair again.
A moment later they disengaged before my eyes and I had to jerk upright to keep my balance. Jean was standing nearby and she winked at me. I nodded gratefully.
"There someplace quieter around here, Red?" I asked her without thinking. Last time I'd called her that, she'd projected an image of my private parts being squeezed in a vise into my mind. Ouchie. Either she didn't notice or just didn't care this time. Instead, the chair started rolling forward on its own.
She led me around the back of the stairs to the glass floor-to- ceiling windows that overlooked the back patio. Had to admit, the Prof sure had a swingin' pad here. In-ground pool, sauna, Jacuzzi, the works.
The door opened before we got there. Must be nice being telekin...tele...being able to move things with your mind. Turned out it was actually later in the day that I thought. The sky was that ruddy orange color that only appears when you're staring at the wrong end of a sunset. The air was a welcome cool breath after the crowded heat of the lobby. I reveled in it for a moment, just tilted my head back and enjoyed the clean (relatively speaking. This was New York after all) air on my face and arms. This was a perfect night to run.
Ouch. Next thing I knew, I was laying on the concrete of the patio, the chair overturned behind me. I couldn't run. Darn it. Damn it. Damn it all.
"I hate you, father," I breathed.
I'd forgotten that I had an audience. I felt arms around me and was lifted off the ground. Jean didn't say anything, just righted the chair with her mind and set me back into the thing.
"Sorry," I muttered.
"Don't worry about it. You're not exactly a heavyweight you know." She sighed and squatted down so she was at my eye level. Very patronizing of her, in retrospect. She must have picked that gesture up from Summers. "We're all going to have to adjust to this."
"What?" What was she talking about?
A puzzled look came over her face. "You mean Logan or Hank didn't tell you?"
"Tell me what?" I pressed. One of these days people would stop talking to me like I was an idiot child. Couldn't happen soon enough, in my opinion.
"The Professor contacted Social Services and had you placed into his guardianship," she told me. I thought about that.
"Does this mean I'll have to live here?"
Jean nodded, smiling as she patted my shoulder. "You have to heal somewhere, Pietro." She stood up and turned to leave me alone like I'd originally asked. "Lance and Wanda are more than welcome to stay here as well, of course. The Professor made that quite clear." I heard the door- wall slide shut behind me and was left alone in the falling darkness.
Well, this was certainly an unexpected twist of fate. If nothing else, it would be a welcome change. I imagined that this house had more than one working bathroom. Probably a kitchen without roaches. That in itself was enough to turn my head. I smiled and leaned back in the chair. Maybe this wouldn't be too bad. After all, if I didn't like it, I could just get up and walk away...after I healed, that is. If I healed.
I glanced down at my traitorous legs. If. That was the question, wasn't it? If I healed.
What if the Doc was wrong and this paralysis was permanent? I started breathing a little faster. What if I was stuck in this wheelchair for the rest of my life? Oh my God, this was unacceptable. Totally out of the question. I had to find a specialist. Had to find someone who actually dealt with human patients and not genomes and whatever else Doctor MacTaggart played with in her spare time. I had to get out of here.
That's pretty much when my mind shut down.
Oh, I was still conscious. I could still see, still hear things. I was suddenly aware that I was on the verge of hyperventilating. Very, very aware. I just no longer had the urge to go anywhere. A suspicion crept through my mind.
"You're wondering if I've taken control of your mind." The professor's voice came as a shock, as did the fact that he had indeed read my thoughts.
"Don't DO that!" I yelped, whipping my head around. My voice cracked. Nice timing, that. Then I realized that he'd spoken aloud.
Xavier rolled his wheelchair up beside mine, giving me a critical look. Why did I have the feeling he was sizing me up or something?
"Moira was right," he murmured to himself. "You do look undernourished. We'll have to do something about that." He squinted, leaning a little closer to me to look me in the eyes and I suddenly knew that he had indeed squelched my flight instinct.
"Indeed I did," he said in that urbane voice of his. "It's important that you not make too many demands on yourself while you heal, Pietro." I locked eyes with him with the most defiant expression I could muster. No one tells me what to do if I don't feel like going along with their plan. The man had the most intense gaze I'd ever seen a person. It wasn't any surprise that I couldn't hold onto it for more than a few seconds.
"Why do you care anyway?" I asked, stubbornly.
He raised his chin, looking out over the back yard. The stars were coming out, I saw. Not many, but a few shone through the deep red-purple twilight. Wish I'd had a camera. It's sort of hard to describe. Xavier pointed out at the stars twinkling overhead.
"What do you think of those, Pietro?" he asked me quietly.
I was dealing with a world-class telepath here, so I wasn't about to give him a smart answer.
"The stars? They're kind of pretty." I wondered where this was going.
"Yes, they are." He shifted in his chair slightly. "Erik and I used to sit out here on nights such as this and watch the stars from the roof of this very house, you know."
I'm not slow or anything, but it took me a moment to realize he was talking about my father. It had been years, a lot of them, since I'd heard anyone refer to him as Erik Lensherr. Wanda and I were the product of a summer fling between him and a Lithuanian exchange student one summer sixteen years ago. [3] They'd never married and so we'd been brought up with her name instead of his. Our mother had died less than a year after we'd been born. A dim memory came back to me, skirting around the edge of my mind, but I couldn't put my finger on it.
"No," I said. "Actually, I didn't know."
Xavier turned that intense gaze at me again. For a fleeting moment I caught my reflection in his eyes. Then he shrugged.
"Oh yes. He and I were once as brothers. But his ideas divided us." He sighed. I'd heard that line before, from Magneto.
"What does this have to do with me?" I asked.
The man folded his hands into his lap and sat very still for a long time, gazing out at the stars. After a moment, I gave up on getting an answer and did likewise. There were more stars now, glittering down on us. It was actually quite pretty now that I think about it. We sat there in silence for a while before he spoke again.
"Do you remember anything of your life in New York?" he asked suddenly. Actually, no, I didn't. Dad had moved us there from London when Wanda and I were still small. I had an image of a cramped university apartment, and old beat-up Volkswagen Beetle and...
"Wait-wait-wait," I stammered. "You. What are you doing in my memories?" I must have looked as shocked as I sounded. Xavier wheeled his chair around to face me.
"You honestly don't remember?" he asked gently. Then, without waiting for a reply: "You and your sister are my godchildren."
My jaw dropped into my lap. "You've got to be kidding."
"No, I'm not. If you'd like, I can show you photographs and such from when you were small." My throat worked, but no sound came out. Too many shocks in one day, thank you very much. Waiter, check please! I just stared at the man, unable to answer. His head cocked to one side and he frowned, then he rolled his eyes.
Turning his chair around, he ruffled my hair. Can you believe it? "Ororo needs help controlling the crowd in there. Think about my offer, please. I would like nothing more than to help you," he said as he rolled back into the house.
I didn't answer, just slumped back into the chair and stared at the night sky.
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To Be Continued.
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[1]: Not entirely truthful. Hank didn't actually save his life until the end of 'Speed Limits.' What Pietro is referring to is the first chapter of that story, when Big Blue stitched him up after he collapsed on the Institute ground. E.g. read the other fic first. ;)
[2]: Ever notice how cigarettes packs are always described as crumpled in literature? Just once I'd like to see it appropriate for a character to pull a new pack of smokes from his or her pocket, unwrap the cellophane, pull the tin-foil out, and tap out a new stick. Not from me, though. I'm perfectly content to go along with the more common crumpled scenario.
[3]: I've chosen to deviate from the 'Uncanny X-Men' origin of Magneto/Quicksilver/Scarlet Witch, leaning instead toward the less traditional 'Ultimate X-Men' story line. Short version is that Magneto and Xavier's falling-out was relatively recent. Up until that fateful happening, the two of them were quite close to the point of being a part of each other's children's early lives. In this series of fics, I'd say that the split happened roughly ten to twelve years before the present, making Pietro and his sister about four to five when their father and godfather went their separate ways.
Author's Note:
Greetings.
For some reason, this story just grabbed my attention. I posted the first part several hours ago and haven't been able to concentrate on anything else since. So, without further ado, here's another section. Read, review, and enjoy.
Hint, hint, nudge, nudge. Read, REVIEW, and enjoy. ;) Pretty please.
Cheers.
Jack
------
It felt really weird to be pushed around in a wheelchair. Even more so because it was Wolverine doing the manual labor. Didn't he try to stick me with his claws last year? Repeatedly? He turned us around and backed into the elevator. Doctor MacTaggart and Hank joined us. The big blue guy let me push the button for the ground floor. Maybe it was 'Be Nice to Cripples' week.
I couldn't understand why the Doc and Hank had such a silly grin on their face. Probably had some sort of surprise in store for me. This may sound strange, but I hate surprises. I glanced up, earning the usual scowl from Logan. At least some things never change. A funny thought crossed my mind. For a guy who'd been shot five times in the face, he looked pretty good.
"You guys seem pretty happy for some reason," I said to Hank. He'd been pretty nice to me in the past. I owed the guy my life, I guess, so it couldn't hurt to be polite. [1] He exchanged a knowing look with Doctor MacTaggart and I found myself fantasizing about making a run for it. Except for the fact that my legs wouldn't work. Details, details. They were up to something and I knew I wasn't going to like it.
I didn't have a chance to voice my objections, however, because the elevator doors conspired against me. A bell chimed somewhere and the doors rolled aside, revealing the lobby of the mansion. Some bozo had trimmed the large room with what I assume were meant to be festive decorations. They'd even gone so far as to hang a batter that said 'Welcome Back to the Land of the Living, Pietro!'
If life was fair, I'd have been allowed to crawl under the nearest rock and just die.
Life, I've noticed, isn't at all fair, however. Instead of hearing my mental scream of 'take me back, take me back!' Logan pushed me out onto the marble floor. Every single person in the world who irritated me was gathered in the lobby for this apparent festival of lunacy. Where did Xavier find so many students? No wonder the Brotherhood always felt outclassed when we fought. Baldy has too deep a bullpen.
Heads turned when the elevator doors slid open and the room went nearly quiet. I say nearly because I'm pretty sure the sound of my heart beating echoed off the cathedral ceiling. I shot a sour look at Logan, who returned it with interest. On the plus side, he looked just as uncomfortable as I did. Aw, was the big, bad wolf afraid of a little party? If so, I could certainly commiserate.
A cheer went up and the room erupted in applause. My ears rang from the sheer force of the noise. Everywhere I looked I could see people smiling at me and pounding their hands together. Were these people mainlining crack or something?
Thankfully, the noise died out after a few minutes, replaced by a dull roar of conversation. Hank and the Doc moved off into the crowd of my peers, leaving me alone with Logan.
"Where to first, kiddo?" he asked just loud enough to be heard over the crowd. I looked up at him, then around the room. Aha. Someone had thoughtfully set up a buffet table over by the base of the staircase in the center of the room. My mouth watered.
"Just go ahead and park me over there, would you?" I said. Logan grunted and started pushing me through the assembled kids. It was slow going at first, because everyone was intent on shaking my hand or clapping me on the shoulder. My hand started to cramp after the first half-dozen people and my shoulders were really starting to throb. Hopefully this little soirée wouldn't last too long.
Kitty phased her way through the crowd in my direction. I wondered how she got away with wearing that sort of outfit. The Professor seemed a little too uptight to be comfortable with his people wearing what amounted to a sports bra with that silly X-logo over each boob. Not that I complained or anything.
Even better than the scanty shirt she was wearing was the bottle of ginger ale in her hand. "Hey," she said. Then she hugged me. I must have hesitated, because Logan smacked me lightly upside the head. A little overbearing, that one. I hugged her back and took the offered soda.
Logan wheeled me to the base of the steps, well within reach of the buffet table. He stepped back as I sipped my soda, looking me over. I put on my best innocent expression and just stared back. Finally he just shook his head and headed toward the front door, fishing a crumpled pack of cigarettes [2] from his ever-present jacket.
Kitty sat down on the bottom step next to me. Her bottle hissed as she twisted the top off and she too a long swig of Barq's.
As soon as Wolverine was safely out of earshot, I leaned over to her.
"What was the hug for?"
She burped slightly and wiped her mouth. Gee, how ladylike can you get?
"Excuse me. That was a thank-you for saving Kurt's life like that," she said. I really had to strain to hear her. A stereo had been cranked up somewhere in the background and the music was too loud for my taste. Which one of these weenies listened to Fats Domino, anyway?
It took a moment for her words to register. Thank you? Oh, man. I hate emotional situations. It's times like these I really hate my fair complexion. I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks as I looked away from her.
"It was nothing," I mumbled, wishing she hadn't brought up the subject. "But it was!" She took a swig of her soda again. "I mean it. If you hadn't done that..." Oh, I cut that one off in a hurry. "If I hadn't done that I wouldn't be in this freakin' chair," I sneered. Silence.
I looked over at her and was surprised to see that her eyes were moist. Nice job, dumb ass. See, there's this thing I do called accelerated speed. Sometimes I talk before I can think. I've also been known to put both feet in my mouth almost before I'm finished speaking. Man, this was awkward. I reached out and put my hand on her shoulder.
"Hey, I didn't mean it like that." I'm sorry, my eyes said. Too bad she wasn't looking at me. No, really.
She stood up as someone fought their way through the crowd toward us. I sighed when she walked away. Yeah, great going. You've been conscious for all of thirty minutes and you've already alienated one person. Let's see how long it takes to piss off the room, shall we? I was tempted to go after her, but the wheels on the chair wouldn't move. Logan had tripped the brake somehow and I couldn't figure out how to unlock the darn thing.
I looked up at the person standing in front of me, starting to get peeved. I'd probably have said something stupid and inane if it hadn't been Lance standing there. We just stared at each other for a moment. He was all right. My mind was having trouble wrapping itself around that fact. Last I'd seen he was a limp heap wrapped in steel. Now here he was, sipping what looked suspiciously like whisky, and grinning at me like a fool.
After a long moment, he stuck out his hand and we shook. Firm grip, as usual. "You're alive," he said. I raised my eyebrow at that and he grinned even wider. "For the most part," I said. I snatched his cup out of his hand faster than he could react and sniffed. Bleh. Apple cider. He took his cup back and drained it in one long pull, then sat down beside me.
"Did you hear about Fred?" he asked? I looked at him for a moment then looked around the room, craning my neck in a vain attempt to see over people. As an afterthought, I also took stock of the buffet table. It was still more or less intact. That wasn't good.
"Where is the big guy, anyway?" I asked. It was wholly out of character for the Blob not to be monopolizing the food supply.
Lance reached over my and plucked a cluster of grapes off the fruit basket at the edge of the table. Popping one in his mouth, he said, "He's dead."
Remember what I said about surprises? I spluttered, spraying ginger ale all over my shirt and lap and a sizable portion of the floor in front of me. Ugh. That stuff burns like the dickens when you snort it out your nose. I gagged a couple times, fighting for breath and looked at Lance with wide eyes. He had to be joking.
He just looked back at me. If he was joking, I wouldn't have wanted to play poker with him. His eyes were looking not really at me, but through me as if I wasn't even there. Now that I had a good look at him, I noticed just how drawn and haggard he looked. It couldn't be true, and yet there wasn't any other reason for him to be looking this worn.
Ever since Mystique had bailed out on us, Lance had been the one to take charge of our lives. It had been Lance who'd scrounged the money for bills, groceries and the rest. Lance who'd stood up for us and tried his best to protect us.
The very thought of Fred dying on his watch seemed to have broken something inside him. I made a mental note to ask the Professor if he knew a good shrink.
'As a matter of fact, I do.'
I jerked in my wheelchair and looked wildly around the room. I hate when Xavier does that.
'I'm sorry,' he said in my mind. 'I didn't realize you weren't comfortable with telepathy yet.'
I jerked again. Lance must have thought I was having a seizure, because he suddenly gripped my arm. I looked down at his hand, followed his arm back to his body, to him. He was looking at me with the strangest expression.
"You ok?" he choked. His tone of voice drove any remaining doubt from my mind.
"I'm fine," I said. I had to try a couple times before I could continue. "How," I swallowed, took a sip of ginger ale and tried again. "How did it happen?" Don't ask me why this was important. I just had to know.
Aside from the fact that Fred had been the strongest person I'd ever met, he'd also been the largest. I swear I could have fit four or five of me into one pair of his overalls. His other mutation, other than the incredible strength, had been his near invulnerable skin. You don't just beat a guy like that to death.
"Would you believe a heart attack?" I searched Lance's face. He wasn't serious.
"You're kidding," I said flatly. He shook his head, gesturing with the bunch of grapes.
"No, really. Doctor MacTaggart did an autopsy." He grimaced and stood. I waited patiently as he refilled his cup from the punch bowl and sat down heavily beside me. "Remember when your...when Magneto hit him with that iron girder?"
I nodded, unable to speak.
"The Doc thinks that the impact of the thing on his breastbone caused a heart attack. I didn't understand all the technical parts."
I just stared at my hands. This was unbelievable. I'd figured that Fred would probably outlive us all. Even now I couldn't really believe it. I looked around, fully expecting him to saunter through a door.
When I finally looked up, Lance had disappeared. I searched the room for him, but couldn't see him at all. He'd just wandered off. The more I looked, the more I felt stifled. There were just too many people in here for comfort. A sigh escaped my lips and I reached down to figure out the brakes on the chair again.
A moment later they disengaged before my eyes and I had to jerk upright to keep my balance. Jean was standing nearby and she winked at me. I nodded gratefully.
"There someplace quieter around here, Red?" I asked her without thinking. Last time I'd called her that, she'd projected an image of my private parts being squeezed in a vise into my mind. Ouchie. Either she didn't notice or just didn't care this time. Instead, the chair started rolling forward on its own.
She led me around the back of the stairs to the glass floor-to- ceiling windows that overlooked the back patio. Had to admit, the Prof sure had a swingin' pad here. In-ground pool, sauna, Jacuzzi, the works.
The door opened before we got there. Must be nice being telekin...tele...being able to move things with your mind. Turned out it was actually later in the day that I thought. The sky was that ruddy orange color that only appears when you're staring at the wrong end of a sunset. The air was a welcome cool breath after the crowded heat of the lobby. I reveled in it for a moment, just tilted my head back and enjoyed the clean (relatively speaking. This was New York after all) air on my face and arms. This was a perfect night to run.
Ouch. Next thing I knew, I was laying on the concrete of the patio, the chair overturned behind me. I couldn't run. Darn it. Damn it. Damn it all.
"I hate you, father," I breathed.
I'd forgotten that I had an audience. I felt arms around me and was lifted off the ground. Jean didn't say anything, just righted the chair with her mind and set me back into the thing.
"Sorry," I muttered.
"Don't worry about it. You're not exactly a heavyweight you know." She sighed and squatted down so she was at my eye level. Very patronizing of her, in retrospect. She must have picked that gesture up from Summers. "We're all going to have to adjust to this."
"What?" What was she talking about?
A puzzled look came over her face. "You mean Logan or Hank didn't tell you?"
"Tell me what?" I pressed. One of these days people would stop talking to me like I was an idiot child. Couldn't happen soon enough, in my opinion.
"The Professor contacted Social Services and had you placed into his guardianship," she told me. I thought about that.
"Does this mean I'll have to live here?"
Jean nodded, smiling as she patted my shoulder. "You have to heal somewhere, Pietro." She stood up and turned to leave me alone like I'd originally asked. "Lance and Wanda are more than welcome to stay here as well, of course. The Professor made that quite clear." I heard the door- wall slide shut behind me and was left alone in the falling darkness.
Well, this was certainly an unexpected twist of fate. If nothing else, it would be a welcome change. I imagined that this house had more than one working bathroom. Probably a kitchen without roaches. That in itself was enough to turn my head. I smiled and leaned back in the chair. Maybe this wouldn't be too bad. After all, if I didn't like it, I could just get up and walk away...after I healed, that is. If I healed.
I glanced down at my traitorous legs. If. That was the question, wasn't it? If I healed.
What if the Doc was wrong and this paralysis was permanent? I started breathing a little faster. What if I was stuck in this wheelchair for the rest of my life? Oh my God, this was unacceptable. Totally out of the question. I had to find a specialist. Had to find someone who actually dealt with human patients and not genomes and whatever else Doctor MacTaggart played with in her spare time. I had to get out of here.
That's pretty much when my mind shut down.
Oh, I was still conscious. I could still see, still hear things. I was suddenly aware that I was on the verge of hyperventilating. Very, very aware. I just no longer had the urge to go anywhere. A suspicion crept through my mind.
"You're wondering if I've taken control of your mind." The professor's voice came as a shock, as did the fact that he had indeed read my thoughts.
"Don't DO that!" I yelped, whipping my head around. My voice cracked. Nice timing, that. Then I realized that he'd spoken aloud.
Xavier rolled his wheelchair up beside mine, giving me a critical look. Why did I have the feeling he was sizing me up or something?
"Moira was right," he murmured to himself. "You do look undernourished. We'll have to do something about that." He squinted, leaning a little closer to me to look me in the eyes and I suddenly knew that he had indeed squelched my flight instinct.
"Indeed I did," he said in that urbane voice of his. "It's important that you not make too many demands on yourself while you heal, Pietro." I locked eyes with him with the most defiant expression I could muster. No one tells me what to do if I don't feel like going along with their plan. The man had the most intense gaze I'd ever seen a person. It wasn't any surprise that I couldn't hold onto it for more than a few seconds.
"Why do you care anyway?" I asked, stubbornly.
He raised his chin, looking out over the back yard. The stars were coming out, I saw. Not many, but a few shone through the deep red-purple twilight. Wish I'd had a camera. It's sort of hard to describe. Xavier pointed out at the stars twinkling overhead.
"What do you think of those, Pietro?" he asked me quietly.
I was dealing with a world-class telepath here, so I wasn't about to give him a smart answer.
"The stars? They're kind of pretty." I wondered where this was going.
"Yes, they are." He shifted in his chair slightly. "Erik and I used to sit out here on nights such as this and watch the stars from the roof of this very house, you know."
I'm not slow or anything, but it took me a moment to realize he was talking about my father. It had been years, a lot of them, since I'd heard anyone refer to him as Erik Lensherr. Wanda and I were the product of a summer fling between him and a Lithuanian exchange student one summer sixteen years ago. [3] They'd never married and so we'd been brought up with her name instead of his. Our mother had died less than a year after we'd been born. A dim memory came back to me, skirting around the edge of my mind, but I couldn't put my finger on it.
"No," I said. "Actually, I didn't know."
Xavier turned that intense gaze at me again. For a fleeting moment I caught my reflection in his eyes. Then he shrugged.
"Oh yes. He and I were once as brothers. But his ideas divided us." He sighed. I'd heard that line before, from Magneto.
"What does this have to do with me?" I asked.
The man folded his hands into his lap and sat very still for a long time, gazing out at the stars. After a moment, I gave up on getting an answer and did likewise. There were more stars now, glittering down on us. It was actually quite pretty now that I think about it. We sat there in silence for a while before he spoke again.
"Do you remember anything of your life in New York?" he asked suddenly. Actually, no, I didn't. Dad had moved us there from London when Wanda and I were still small. I had an image of a cramped university apartment, and old beat-up Volkswagen Beetle and...
"Wait-wait-wait," I stammered. "You. What are you doing in my memories?" I must have looked as shocked as I sounded. Xavier wheeled his chair around to face me.
"You honestly don't remember?" he asked gently. Then, without waiting for a reply: "You and your sister are my godchildren."
My jaw dropped into my lap. "You've got to be kidding."
"No, I'm not. If you'd like, I can show you photographs and such from when you were small." My throat worked, but no sound came out. Too many shocks in one day, thank you very much. Waiter, check please! I just stared at the man, unable to answer. His head cocked to one side and he frowned, then he rolled his eyes.
Turning his chair around, he ruffled my hair. Can you believe it? "Ororo needs help controlling the crowd in there. Think about my offer, please. I would like nothing more than to help you," he said as he rolled back into the house.
I didn't answer, just slumped back into the chair and stared at the night sky.
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To Be Continued.
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[1]: Not entirely truthful. Hank didn't actually save his life until the end of 'Speed Limits.' What Pietro is referring to is the first chapter of that story, when Big Blue stitched him up after he collapsed on the Institute ground. E.g. read the other fic first. ;)
[2]: Ever notice how cigarettes packs are always described as crumpled in literature? Just once I'd like to see it appropriate for a character to pull a new pack of smokes from his or her pocket, unwrap the cellophane, pull the tin-foil out, and tap out a new stick. Not from me, though. I'm perfectly content to go along with the more common crumpled scenario.
[3]: I've chosen to deviate from the 'Uncanny X-Men' origin of Magneto/Quicksilver/Scarlet Witch, leaning instead toward the less traditional 'Ultimate X-Men' story line. Short version is that Magneto and Xavier's falling-out was relatively recent. Up until that fateful happening, the two of them were quite close to the point of being a part of each other's children's early lives. In this series of fics, I'd say that the split happened roughly ten to twelve years before the present, making Pietro and his sister about four to five when their father and godfather went their separate ways.