Disclaimer: I own none of the characters within.
Author's Notes: Thank you all so much for the wonderful reviews and praise. I'm honored to be receiving such comments from you all. I hope this chapter does not disappoint.
~
The heavy silence weighed on them like an actual, tangible presence, settling on their shoulders and dragging down on them, as though weights had been attached to all of their appendages.
Unnerved and strained, Lance slid onto the couch, slumping there with an intense expression on his face. His eyes burned into the opposite wall, hands clenching and unclenching on his knees.
The repose of the oldest infected all of them; Todd sank to the floor and sat with his legs crossed, and even Freddy lumbered to a seat in the deep easy chair. Only Wanda remained on her feet; she was driven by a restlessness she didn't quite understand.
All gazes remained fixed on the deserted staircase.
And yet no figure came drifting down the steps; no pale, smiling face reappeared telling them everything was all right. The stairway was empty as a graveyard, even the thin banister beginning to look eerily like some reaching, skeletal arm.
The tension became unbearable.
Snapping from her place, Wanda broke from the hushed ranks and marched up the stairs, vanishing around the corner at the top and out of view.
~
Walking down the hallway, she felt her nerves kick into a higher gear. The closer she got to Pietro's room, the faster her heart began beating, until it was thundering in her chest like a runaway locomotive. His tension was ebbing through the door to her; she could feel it rolling towards her in thick waves.
Seemingly undaunted by the storm, she nonetheless hesitated a moment with her hand resting on the doorknob, before giving it an authoritative twist and bursting into the room.
Scrambling to untangle himself from the curled position he'd been in on his bed, Pietro twisted his head around to glare at her accusingly.
"W-w-what have I always t-told you about kn-n-n-nocking?"
His glanced away from her, his eyes flitting about the room as the traitorous stutter became suddenly and painfully obvious. Instinctively, he drew his knees to his chest and locked his arms around them, in what Wanda had come to recognize as his defensive position.
"I don't think I have to knock at a time like this." She said levelly.
"A t-time like what."
Even with his careful and deliberate phrasing, his tongue tripped up again. He clamped his teeth down and rhythmically chewed on it, his gaze still avoiding hers.
"Pietro."
No response. Not about to be turned away so easily, she moved into the room and sat down on the end of the bed, moving slowly and giving him plenty of space, lest he bolt. She hated having a relationship like that; having to treat him like a panicky and brainless animal.
"Stop biting your tongue." She muttered offhandedly. "It'll start bleeding."
He made no sound to acknowledge her, but his jaw obediently ceased its' steady gnawing.
In no hurry to antagonize him, she allowed her gaze to take in the room she had seldom – no, never – visited. It was, not surprisingly, very neat and straight. A few movie posters were tacked up on the walls; Jaws, Ferris Bueller's Day Off, and, interestingly enough, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. The big shock was that there wasn't a mirror in the whole room. Not even over his dresser.
And here she'd always thought of his as a bit vain…
But then, she couldn't even remember her life accurately; how could she be trusted to form decent opinions of anybody?
The same silence she had run from downstairs swooped down on them, and she shifted uncomfortably. He, on the other hand, seemed perfectly content to make her wait in an eternity of stillness.
That was her first clue that something was really wrong.
He wasn't moving.
"Pietro." She snapped, a bit too sharply.
His gaze remained unfocused and lost. Was he even breathing…?
Jumping to her feet, she spun around and was about to shake him again, when suddenly he lifted his head and stared at her, still unnaturally motionless. His eyes were sharper than she'd ever seen them; she felt like he was looking right through her.
Not a word did he speak.
"Wanna talk?" she offered lamely.
The level stare remained fixed on her for an intolerable moment of tension. Finally, his eyes glanced away and released her. One thin hand absently patted the bed next to him in a mute request for her to be seated.
Immediately, she complied, and settled next to him. Hard as it was, she waited for him to instigate conversation. After a long stretch of time, his whisper fractured the silence.
"I don't know what happened. One second I was st-st-standing…"
At the stammer, he broke off the sentence and let it hang painfully on the air, before at last continuing.
"…standing there, then I was…"
He gestured vaguely, his hand limply waving at the air, reminiscent of someone shooing away flies. Still he did not look at her.
"I was… there, but… not really. You were all frozen… like you weren't moving or…"
Abruptly, the gesticulating hand was drawn back in with the rest of his heart, and he clutched his knees with more ferocity to his chest, breath coming harshly.
"So… are you okay?" she probed cautiously.
"W-what would you c-care?" he snarled darkly, muffled by the effect of burying his face in his arms.
"I think I would care why my twin has suddenly developed a speech impediment and the inability to look me in the eye…"
She put the emphasis on the word 'twin', as though it's clarity would remind him of the bond that was supposed to exist between them. In truth, the bond was there; she just didn't know if he felt it too.
Her cold words pierced his fog, and he unfolded in a swift and snapping motion, whipping around and grabbing her upper arms with a surprising fierceness and strength, full force of his blazing eyes turned on her.
"It was a different world! There were m-m-monsters and… and eyes watching me! And no one was there b-but me! Only m-m-me! And I was scared shitless! Is that what you wanted t-to hear? Is it?"
He shook her with more violence than he probably intended; still, it frightened her. Not the shaking, not even the fact that he had admitted his own fear for the first time she could ever remember. The scary part was…
She had seen it.
Thinking back to the moment he vanished, she remembered the split-second of seeing those eyes, feeling that panic and terror… Even as he continued rambling in a tortured confession that was picking up speed, her world was only half-focused.
"The eyes… it was like they were all w-watching me… waiting for m-me to… do something… thousands of eyes! Everywhere! Just these eyes and…"
"You forgot the fangs." She said flatly.
A sneer of horror and confusion creased his face, as turned to gape at her, the whites again visible circling his eyes. Panic was setting in… she had to calm him down…
"How do you know…?"
The question was slow and agonized, his lips trembling as though he was about to scream or faint or do something terrible. She could feel his breath hitching in his chest, catching on a thousand ragged gasps that echoed in her mind and made her feel light-headed.
"I don't know. I don't know what I said. Sit down." She said desperately.
But he had seen through her ruse; the animal in danger will always smell or sense its' enemy, no matter how beautiful it may appear. In his eyes, she could see that she was suddenly the enemy, the predator, and a great quiver ran through his body as he tensed for flight.
"Pietro, wait-"
A rush of air, a gust of wind… he was gone. The window behind her was open, and going over to close it she saw a path drilled into the ice below.
Such was his character. Always the first to run from his problems… he'd grown up running, he'd been born with a restlessness in his heart and a cowardly streak that always drove him to a hasty retreat. Something lurched in her stomach, and a cracked whisper escaped her lips and flitted out the window into the cold.
"You can't run forever…"
~
Downstairs, life was dormant and hung in a suspended world of glaring eyes and heavy breathing. Indeed, each intake of oxygen seemed to rattle the precarious state of silence, the quiet inhalation thundering like an avalanche on their ears, sense enhanced by adrenaline.
And yet as time wore on and neither twin returned to them, the adrenaline began to slide back to a normal level, the calm eking back into the room and massaging away the tension. But although their bodies relaxed, their hearts remained constricted with fear and worry.
Todd, again, was the first to speak and chase away the heavy fog of resignation.
"So…"
"So…" Fred repeated.
Both turned their inquisitive eyes to Lance, Fred's gaze confused, Todd's pleading for the earth-shaker to explain everything away and tell him that everything was fine. Lance could do neither, and that frustrated him even more. He continued rhythmically kneading the couch.
"Lance?"
The quavering voice of Todd reached him, and he turned a level and carefully blank stare on the younger boy.
"What happened? Do you… do you think he's okay, man?"
Unable to keep his eyes locked with that begging and fearful gaze, Lance broke the contact and glanced around the room, trying to appear casual.
"I'm… I'm sure it's nothing the Speed Demon can't handle. He's a tough guy… you know…"
His sentence trailed away weakly, and he refused to acknowledge it. Todd, however, heaved a thin sigh that spoke of a desire to believe that explanation, no matter how shabby it was. To believe that everything was all right. That's what he needed, and he accepted it gratefully.
Minutes later, Lance found himself alone. He vaguely recalled hearing Todd and Fred speaking their respective excuses as they wandered out of the room, thankful to be released from the spell of tension. The dark-haired teen, however, was still firmly ensnared, and remained rooted to the spot.
He remembered how much he had hated Pietro not that long ago… he could vividly recall the anger and hatred seething at that arrogant little bastard who had betrayed them so easily. He had seen Pietro lie, backstab, insult, and do every other horrible thing short of murder.
And then everything changed… Wanda and Todd had gone off to the mountain resort, raging and uncertain, respectively. They had come back confused and happy, respectively. The entire time they'd been gone, however, Pietro had been bouncing off the walls. He'd been acting even more of a maniac than usual. Then suddenly, just a short time before the two returned, the speedster had suddenly gotten lethargic. Lance could still remember his shock at walking into the living room and seeing Pietro draped over the couch, eyes glazed and a sad smile tugging at his lips.
Then Wanda came home. Pietro went berserk. He was acting… happy, of all things, for the first time Lance could remember in eons. Suddenly the whole house was faced with the formidable foe of an enthusiastic Pietro. And for some crazy reason, even Lance couldn't stay mad at him.
Not only was he silver-haired, but also Pietro had the gift of the silver tongue. He could talk his way out of anything, and he could talk anyone into everything. And after the 'incident', the silver tongue had turned into a rollicking, witty, and familiar presence. Always a clever snap or a sharp retort for everything…
Todd had been the first to welcome him back. But then again, Todd had always been tragically co-dependent. Unable to form his own opinions, four or five days of the good old Pietro and Todd was liking him again.
Lance had fallen for his charms next; he had been such good friends with Pietro before the Sentinel, it seemed only natural to welcome him back. It was as though Quicksilver was a separate personality and had taken over Pietro's loyal mind and made him do horrible things. A thin and ridiculous description of it, but accurate nonetheless.
Strangely enough, Fred had been the last to give in. Fred was the sort of guy who took a while to form an opinion, but once he had it, it stuck. He had just finished reconstructing his opinion of Pietro when the turnaround happened, and so he remained against the speedster for quite some time. Even at this point he was still adjusting.
Groaning bitterly, Lance flopped over onto his side on the couch, staring at the ceiling. Had it been such a short time since everything had been so simple? When it was just Lance, Pietro, Todd, and Fred; a pack of teenage boys who had nothing but each other and a load of attitude. Those had been the days… Days when money wasn't an issue and the X-Men were their only enemies.
Gone. Shattered in one day of Sentinels, captures, battles, and betrayals. Things would never be the same again, and no amount of silver tongues could fix it, no matter how hard they tried.
A mute and haunted Wanda appeared at the staircase, trudging into the room and melting into the armchair. After a strained silence, Lance summoned the energy to make his statement.
"Pietro."
Sighing wearily, she murmured her response accompanied by a longing gaze out the window.
"Running again."
~