A/N: Been a while since I updated this, but here you go! And thanks for the reviews :)
-4-
"So…how'd he take it?" Nori asks, her hand in a box of animal crackers. Her tone is nonchalant.
Laura puts down her bags. "He didn't."
"He killed himself?" her blue-haired friend asks, looking startled.
"No. I didn't tell him." She unzips her jacket and looks around her at the small, white-walled, beige-carpeted hallway, and small kitchenette visible beyond the corner. "Well, at least you guys didn't destroy the apartment. Guess that's a plus."
"Seriously?" Nori asks, ignoring her comment. "You spent like—what—a grand on a plane ticket, out of your limited money—and you wasted the trip?"
"In a sense." Laura takes her coat off and heads toward the kitchen counter, lays it on the back of a chair. "Where is he?"
"Watching TV." Nori shrugs. "I guess you're better off. Keller would just screw everything up, if you ask me. It's like his power or something."
"Mmm." Laura is walking down the corridor, her eyes trained straight ahead. She passes two doors, then enters an open space—the living room. She creeps up to the couch and peers over the back. "Guess who's home!" she says.
"MUMS!" the little boy shrieks in babyish delight. He struggles to stand up on the sofa, and launches himself upward.
"Careful!" Laura exclaims, but she closes her eyes and buries her face in the small shoulder as she returns the embrace.
"You shoulda heard all the crazy requests he made while you were gone," Nori says, from the entryway. She's smirking.
"Mums! Mums!" He pulls away, his eyes full of anxious energy. "Annie Nori sed I couldn' have scissorsan' she was mads at me but den she showed me how to fowd paper an' its called or'gammee an' she showed me how to make a DRAGON! An' den we drawed with my crayons an' I drew a FIRETRUCK! But when I was pwayin' with my weggos dey had a BIG FIGHTS an' der were ROBOTS!"
"Awesome," Laura says, kissing the top of his head. "I wish my week had been so exciting."
He looks up at her. "Where'd you go, mums?" he asks. "Annie Nori sed you were seein' Unnk Wogan an' I assed why I couldn' too an' she sed widdle boys EZZ'PODE on airpains! Mums, I wann' know, would I ezz'pode too?"
Laura looks at Nori, who shrugs.
"Just really little boys, Nate," she says finally, in a very careful manner. "You're almost big enough. Almost. Give it a week or two." In case they ever have to fly anywhere, because he has extremely good memory. She's found that out the hard way.
"WEEALLY?!" Nate gasps. "CAN I?! CAN I?! CAN WE GO SEE UNNK WOGAN DEN?!"
"Mom's got to make a bit more money first, but someday maybe." Laura closes her eyes. She hates lying to her son, who has always been deathly curious about Logan, having heard many stories about him. He often grabs forks and runs around the apartment, pretending he's 'Wooovvereen', and he loves having Laura pop her claws—which she does very hesitantly.
It's so hard to resist the sheer baby giggle of delight that emerges the moment the sharp, deadly weapons do. She'd been astonished to think her claws could ever have a purpose outside of death and torture, but apparently, they are just the shit for amusing toddlers.
She's often wondered how Nate would react to seeing his father's powers in action. The loudest thought in her head—when she had first seen Julian's metal hands—is that Nate would never, ever shut up about them if he caught a glimpse. And the flying—the little boy would never sleep again, and neither would Laura. She just knows he would try to imitate it, somehow.
"Thanks for watching him this long." Laura says, looking up at her friend.
Nori grins. "Don't mention it. Seriously, we had fun. He reminds me of my little brother." Her grin lessens for a moment. "I should get going. Frost paged me earlier. Something about a vampire threat or something."
"Don't go outside…got it," Laura says, in a mild tone. "God, I really should move to somewhere a little less X-central. You guys are just a freaking magnet for disaster."
"You're one to talk. Given that poor kid's heritage, I'm actually surprised he survived being born."
"Shut up."
"Seriously, though—why don't you move?"
Laura purses her lips. "I guess…I have a lot of memories here. My aunt and cousin…Julian…you guys…"
"Don't just live in your memories," Nori cautions. "You'll become incredibly bitter."
"I'm not." Laura looks down at Nate, who is watching the TV again. She smiles. "I'll call you tomorrow and tell you what happened. I'm kind of jet-lagged right now."
"Sure." Nori waves. "Later, Nate."
The boy doesn't respond, eyes glued to his program.
…
"God damn you, Cess!" Julian snaps at his red-headed friend as she stands by the door of her classroom—Art 220—in the hallway. She's clutching a pile of art history books to her chest.
Cessily blinks. "Wha—oh my god! You CALLED her!"
He wrinkles his nose. "Of course I did. You blackmailed me."
She grins. "Yeah, right. Since when have you let anyone threaten you, Julian?"
He thinks. "I hate you even more."
"Oh, come on." Cessily rolls her eyes. "So? When's the wedding?"
"Wha—Cess, I told you. It was just a phone call, because I didn't trust you. And I was right." Julian glowers at the redheaded girl. "Laura denied everything, and said you weren't supposed to come and do that to me."
"Of course she did!" Cessily waves her hand in the air. "Would you admit it, if it was the other way around?"
Julian looks unimpressed. "I didn't cry, Cess."
"No, you nearly turned into Darth Vader. I see how that's way better."
He stares at her, wide-eyed. "I really hate you. And I'm still with Carm. And I will be, for the foreseeable future, okay? There's nothing between Laura and me anymore."
"You're such a bad liar." Cessily argues. "You'd think after all these years that you'd realize I can recognize your lying face."
"Fuck off!" he snaps. "Just no, okay? I did what you said—so if you tell Logan that crap, I'll have to get even. Big time."
"Right." The redheaded girl grins again. "You stew in your own doubt for a bit. You know the real score, and don't try to deny it. I'll bet you ten bucks that you're on a plane to San Fran, come Monday."
"Good." Julian glares at her. "I'll spend it on painkillers, 'cause your logic gives me a big-ass headache."
"You do that." She waves at him and enters the classroom, with a bright smile to her students.
The door snaps shut with a very final sound, and Julian rubs the back of his neck, feeling somehow that he has not won the argument…but he is unable to pinpoint the exact reason.
…
Laura pours two cups of milk, then replaces the carton in the fridge and turns back to the counter. Behind this sits Nate, in a high chair, his small hands curled around an oatmeal cookie, and a big smile on his face.
"Don't put the whole cookie in…just dunk it," she cautions, handing him the plastic cup.
"I won'." Nate throws his entire cookie in, then tries to grab it again. His small features screw up in an expression of outrage. "MUMS!"
"Nate, what did I just tell you? You need to listen, sweetheart." Laura takes the cup from the boy and fishes out the treat. "Look. Like this." She shows him how to dip the cookie into the milk, and he nods seriously.
She watches as he (much more carefully) attempts to emulate her instructions, sticking out his tongue every time he tries to dip the cookie, and thinks about how lucky she feels. Amazingly lucky, all things considered. Even the heartache she'd felt on the way here has faded, in the company of her son, watching him attempt to master what he clearly considers a serious task.
How did she get this lucky?
Laura remembers a time when this scene would have been lost on her, almost entirely. She had hated whining, screaming kids, and had little patience for the idea of ever having one. Her idea of 'good times' had been her and her friends, or better yet, her and Julian, alone. After the horrors of her past, Laura had thought the time she'd spent with him would be the happiest in her life.
She remembers a time that she had existed—and had not existed—simultaneously. Just empty, barren memories, with no opinions, no warmth, no fondness. Ten years of her life she had been a caged creature, with only one purpose: death. She hadn't known there could be anything else for her.
She didn't even have a name.
Her life had been changed the day her mother came to save her. Armed to the teeth and shouting orders to a small group of people, the woman had knelt by Laura—sitting in her cell—and she had recognized her own face.
"I am your mother. My name is Sarah." The woman had told her, in a very direct tone. "You are leaving this place. Do you understand?"
"Yes," she had replied. Even though she didn't.
"Good." Her mother had placed her hand on her shoulder. "You answer to 'Laura' now."
The girl had tilted her head. "A mission?"
"A big one." The woman's eyes had hardened. "You will never respond to X-23 again, is that clear?"
Laura had hesitated, and then nodded. For the mission.
The mission hadn't ended. Her mother's team had destroyed the facility, top to bottom. And then she was taken away, to a blaringly unfamiliar suburban neighborhood. The woman had dressed her in strange clothes, and had introduced her to a girl named Megan.
"Your cousin," Sarah had explained. "Study her. Copy her. She will teach you how to fit in for your mission."
Laura would only find out what 'cousin' meant about a year later—and as for 'the mission', it took her much longer to realize and to understand that she had been liberated from her cage.
Reborn, in a sense. How odd to think of herself as being born at ten years old.
She had copied Megan perfectly, had adopted her mannerisms and attitude, and the two girls had grown to be close friends—after a time. Laura had attended a regular high school, and the years spent as a caged animal had slowly begun to fade, under her earnest attempts to 'fit in for the mission'.
Everything had come back though, when her facility handler had reared her head—and killed everyone and everything that she held dear. She was sixteen years old.
Laura thinks about this period as little as possible. Covered in blood from her relatives and from escaping her handler, she'd crawled up the stairs and into her mother's bedroom to hide in the closet amongst a familiar scent. She couldn't stay—she knew they would look for her there—but she needed to heal a particularly nasty wound.
That was when she'd found the letter, in her mother's safe, as she searched for the fake ID waiting for her there. Sarah had given her explicit orders and directions on what to do if the facility attempted to re-capture her.
But the contents of the letter was something Laura had never seen before. In a few minutes, she had learned why she had been made, who had made her, and from what. And exactly why her mother had ordered her to head for New York if the shit hit the fan in San Fransisco.
Showing up on the school's doorstep had been awkward. Logan had been extremely suspicious of her, having no prior knowledge of her existence. The claws had convinced him, but not the others. The school's headmistress, Frost, had been utterly against the idea of such a dangerous individual joining the school. Sitting outside the closed office, sixteen year old Laura—whose biggest concern last week was planning for homecoming—had listened with closed eyes: "The girl is practically a monster! Logan—her subconscious is filled with thirty-six different ways to kill a human without leaving a trace…not to mention fifty styles of torture and international legal codes, and how to avoid them. She's not fit for this school in any fashion."
Those words are still etched in her brain. She had gazed down at her fingers. The nails were painted black but badly chipped, as it had been a week since application. Under the naturally white tips was thickly crusted blood that had stubbornly refused the thorough scrubbing she had performed before leaving her home for good. If she concentrates, she can still smell the scent of blood and bodies from the soldiers lying dead on the kitchen tiles behind her as she worked in the sink on her shaking hands, with scalding hot water and a vegetable brush.
Despite the initial misgivings, Laura had been taken in. She had been given a room with a girl she would later come to know as Nori, and a man with a red visor had handed her a list of classes she would be expected to attend. Really, she can't remember many details about this part. The whole two-week period of her introduction to Xavier's has been grayed out, dominated by the memory of trying to scrub her nails, and feeling general shock.
She can't even remember meeting Julian, not really. She assumes his introduction was lumped in with the other students, possibly in a group. Her first recollection of separately noticing him is a smile they had traded in the Danger Room, watching Santo do something stupid. She can't remember what that something was. Pretty soon after that they had begun to spend time together, Laura avoiding all questions about her past.
Life at the school was a big change for her, but she adapted quickly. Her subconscious skills showed through in practices, and the personality she'd based off Megan had gained her friendship with most of the other kids. The trouble had started a few months after her arrival. Everything became serious—her new life was in danger, too.
Cyclops had begun to give her orders, figuring out her secret: Laura cannot say no to a direct command. She had become his assassin, and had worked with a team of killers, under the watch of Logan (who severely disapproved). He knew she wasn't doing this for her friends, the excuse she'd given him. She was just doing what she was made for.
Her life became extremes—from bloodbaths all over the world, to quiet relaxation on the sandy beach of Utopia with her friends. About a day before Utopia had become a warzone is when she estimates that Nate came into being. Julian had chased her off the regular beach area and they had found a small rocky shore on the less populated side of the island. She had taken sex ed so she had assumed she knew everything about preventing unwanted kids, a topic she never really thought about since she didn't think about the future in general. Every time she'd thought of the future-or of anything that had a more serious nature-a sentence rang out in the back of her mind: practically a monster.
At first, she had thought it was just the sheer amount of gore involved in Bastion's pursuit of Hope that was causing her to throw up every day, to become irritable and emotional about loss. The plane she and Logan had flown in with Ariel was destroyed, and the girl that she had befriended two years ago was blown to pieces. Laura had tumbled to the earth, her eyes closed as she wondered how many times she would need to wear the blood of her friends.
Laura did not then quite understand the concept of love, not when she sat on the toilet, staring at the positive test result—Pregnant—and wondering how it could have happened, and not even when Julian had pulled her out of the pure white light that had made part of his body evaporate. She'd watched him fall to the ground and hadn't moved to pick him up, unable to really connect with what was happening. The emotions she could access were much shallower, then.
It was only after the initial attack, standing in the sterile room and studying her unconscious partner—and his injuries—that she suddenly understood what she'd been missing for a while. The protective instincts had made it hard for her to breathe, and she had paced the room, wondering how she could escape Bastion's red sphere. Whatever was growing inside her wasn't a part of this war, and she had to give it a fighting chance.
Away from all of this. She had to make it a life.
So she had. Or she'd tried to, at least. Nate seemed—and still seems—to be a healthy, well-adjusted toddler. She's spent hundreds of hours pouring over childcare books, and has asked what must be a million questions, to doctors, nurses, and the teachers of the parenting courses she'd taken at the hospital (the UCSF). All of the money she'd inherited upon her mother's death has gone into preparing for—and then raising—this child.
Nate has been more than worth it.
She reaches over and runs her fingers through the boy's hair, which is black, like that of his parents. Every three weeks she takes him to the barber's and has it cut, but it remains as unruly as ever, regardless of whether she tries to comb it or not. It also grows really fast, something that makes her wonder. Will he be a mutant? Could this fast growth be indicative of a healing factor? He's quite clever for his age, and strangers often estimate his age to be three or four years old.
She tries to imagine Nate as a teenager gaining powers, and shudders. She doesn't want him to grow up. Ever.
"More?" he asks hopefully, and she sees that the cookie is gone. Laura's eyes narrow, then she gets up and heads for the jar. Returning with another treat, she warns him: "You will eat your veggies tonight, understood?"
Nate nods solemnly, his big blue eyes wide—and she knows he's lying, but he gets the cookie anyway.
