The next day Jasper saw Peter Maximoff in the hall on his way to first period. Some teacher had the senior student backed up against a locker and was yelling at him about truancy while Peter simply smiled impishly at her. When Jasper passed him the other teen gave him a familiar nod as a greeting and an even wider smile. Jasper returned it with a quick, awkward one of his own before hurrying on. Hallways were not safe places.
Jasper saw Peter again during lunch, and then after school in the parking lot. Every time Jasper caught a glimpse of him the other teen seemed to have been watching him from a distance. If he'd had any social courage whatsoever he might have jokingly confronted Peter and asked if he was following him. He didn't though. He wasn't that self-centered.
"Nothing' at the school."
Professor Xavier prided himself in not showing any physical reaction to how startled he got when Peter appeared out of thin air in the middle of his up-until-then quiet study.
"I didn't hear you knock."
His piercing blue eyes looked up at the teen and with a sharp nod he indicated the formerly-closed, now ajar, door. Peter looked like he might object, but then promptly shut his mouth, twisted dramatically on the spot and vanished again. A quick series of knockings was heard from the now once-again closed door.
"Come in," the professor called and Peter made a point of opening the door very slowly, entering the room as a stage-actor knowingly walking to his make-believe doom.
"Hello, Peter, what can I do for you?" Charles smiled, putting down the map he was studying and giving the teen his full attention.
"I just came to tell you there were no suspicious incidents at the school today."
"I thought we agreed that the school was an unlikely target for these people."
"Yeah, but I needed to show up anyway or my mom's gonna get in trouble. Thought I might as well keep an eye on the kid. Let me tell you, those secret mutant-blood stealing assholes is, like, the least of his problems. He might get murdered by the football team before they even get to him."
"Ah, to be young again," the professor responded ironically. "Where's Hank?"
"Out by the kids' house, lurking in his car like some shady pervert. If we keep this up, someone gonna notice him."
"The thought has struck me as well," Charles rubbed his temple, a gesture that was now simply a remnant from when he used to get terrible headaches.
"I say we give it one more day, and if we haven't found whoever is doing this by then we have to inform the family of our suspicion and offer what little protection we can. Please deliver that information to Hank when you return to him."
"Yeah. I will. Um… Professor? There's another thing. I need a favour."
Charles felt the unease flooding off of Peter, filling the air and his own mind.
"Are you planning on being arrested again? If so, please know that my funds are not unlimited," Charles intended it as a joke to get the teen at more ease and Peter gave him a crooked smile.
"Giant mansion would beg to differ," He replied, making a grand gesture to include the entire property. "Besides, no-one dresses as sloppily as you if they're not filthy rich. No one who's actually poor would be caught looking like a hobo. Unless they were… you know, actual hobos."
"I would be careful about making fun of a man's clothes when you're about to ask him a favour," the professor smiled and folded his hands on the desk, inviting Peter to sit down. "What can I do for you?"
Peter sat down in the offered chair, but he didn't splay out like he usually did. Instead he rested his elbows on his knees and kept tapping his feet against the thick carpet.
"I...uh… you know my sister, right? My twin?"
"I know you have one. But I have never met her. As I am sure you know."
"Yeah, but ok, so she's been away for a while and I was just wondering if maybe you could… you know, check up on her? Just to make sure she's fine. With everything going on, you know?"
"Can't you simply call her?"
"No. I can't," Peter looked defeated, his dark eyes fixed on the carpet in front of him "If I try to call, it's a wrong number. And it's the same when mom calls. Not even the same wrong number. It's like always different things."
"Are you sure you have the correct…"
"Come on, yeah, I'm sure, Prof. It's kinda part of her power. She doesn't want us to be able to call her, so we can't. She doesn't want us to find her, so we can't. That's just how it is. But maybe if you could use Cerebro you could at least tell if she was in trouble or not. I don't need to know where she is, I respect that she might want some time off and she's perfectly capable of taking care of herself... but mom's worried, you know? And I'm a little bit worried too. She's my sister."
"Of course I'll help, Peter, to the best of my abilities."
If the teen had been closer to him Charles might have reached out to place a comforting hand on his shoulder.
"Cool. That's very cool of you," If Peter was wiping something from underneath his eye he moved too fast for the professor to actually catch it. "Sorry I made fun of your duds."
"It's alright, Peter. I can take it," the professor smiled. "If there's nothing else, go keep Hank company for a while."
"Yeah, wouldn't want to miss out on all the action of hanging out in a car with a guy that smells like a large cat," Peter grinned.
And with that, he was gone.
On his way back to the main floor after a brief session in Cerebro, confirming that young Wanda was indeed in no danger, Charles noticed that something smelled funny. He wasn't sure what it was. Something reminiscent of the electrical discharge left behind by a thunder-storm. As the elevator dinged open on the main floor, he recognized the thick scent of electrically charged atoms hanging in the air and it caused his heart to race.
He maintained a composed expression as he wheeled himself into the study, unusually aware of the amount of metal running through the structure of his house and lining his furniture, not to mention his chair. As he entered the room, he stopped and folded his hands in his blanket-covered lap, the image of serenity.
"I'd offer you tea but I'd love for you to tell me which one of us you've come to assassinate this time before I start bringing out the good china," Charles greeted the familiar frame of Erik's back, who was bent down over the maps the professor had previously been where the professor had carefully marked X:es over locations.
"You know," Erik's voice was distorted by the metal helmet, giving it a menacing echo.
"I really don't but my guess would be… Hank? It's a 50/50 shot after all."
Erik spun around on his heel, crushing the map in one hand and holding it in front of him like a sword pointed at Charles head.
"You know about our children being taken off the streets, and yet you do nothing?" he growled. "You are supposed to be their protector but what have you done to help them?"
"I can tell you what I didn't do, Erik. I didn't drop a stadium on the White House on national television to prove some sort of superiority complex, putting every mutant on the planet in immediate danger."
"I didn't put them in any danger they were not already in. I simply gave them a possibility to live like free men and women, not like rats covering underneath the heel of human government. It's us or them, Charles. This proves it!" Once again he shook the map at Charles face. "When will you wake up and realize what reality is like outside of this tiny shut-in universe of yours?"
"A reality you created for us by your actions" Charles answered coldly "And perhaps I aided in with my inaction"
"Oh please, not taking action is what you do best. If you had your naive way we'd all sit in an interspecies drum circle of peace and understanding, serenading the sunset!"
"Yes, Erik, because that sounds LOVELY compared to forcing us into yet another war where we pit people against each other simply for being born a certain way. And could you please remove that ridiculous helmet? I can't have a serious shouting match with you while you wear that awful thing. Where did you even get it?"
"Do you think I am incapable of fashioning something out of metal that Shaw was able to make in the first place?" Erik answered from underneath the shadow of the helmet, which was evidently a different one from the one left discarded in the rubble outside of the White House.
"Did you have to make it equally appalling? Could you take it off please? If I wanted to shut you down I would have done so in Washington"
"You must take me for a fool, Charles."
"I do, but not because you refuse to remove that thing. Well, not entirely because of it at least."
Charles pinched the base of his nose, the last sentence spoken with tired mockery. He didn't want to have this argument. Part of him had secretly been hoping that Erik had noticed the disappearances as well. Though he feared what his former-friend might do about it, this gave them a cause to unite their efforts. Charles knew he was being vain, still hoping to turn Erik away from his dark path, but he had missed the other man's company and he wasn't ready to let go. Not yet.
"What do you want Erik?" Charles sighed, wheeling himself further into the room.
"I came to ask for your help, but you obviously already have it figured out. You're just too weak to act or simply don't care!" He threw the map at Charles feet, but some of the explosive anger had faded from his voice.
"We have a plan in motion," Charles replied coolly. "We've targeted a person of interest that we believe these people might go after, and we have detail on his whereabouts around the clock. If they come for him, we'll be there."
"Kids are disappearing off the streets, Charles, and you're up in your mansion playing Columbo!" Erik snarled and he looked like he might have said something else, if he hadn't been suddenly interrupted.
"I love that show!" Peter exclaimed where he appeared at Charles side, startling both the men. "Surprised you know about it though. TV doesn't seem like your style."
When Magneto turned to give the youth a stare that would have sent lesser men running, Peter only continued talking.
"I'm basing that entirely on your previous encounter with law enforcement. And you know… the cape. Can't picture people in capes watch a lot of TV. Because then you'd know capes isn't very... trendy. Unless you're a Las Vegas magician. Or like a REALLY over the top super villain. Which might be what you're going for, what do I know?"
Charles couldn't help it. He laughed. He really shouldn't have because Erik was very keen on his pride, but he couldn't help it. The image of the menacing master of magnetism performing parlor tricks on stage was simply too hilarious.
"I am glad this situation amuses you so. The children being taken are probably not that happy about it," Erik tried to line his voice with poison but he realized it came out as a pout.
"So far, as far as I have been able to determine, no one has actually been abducted for a long period of time. Peter, could you hand me the map, please? Thank you."
He smoothed the paper out over his lap as soon as it materialized in his hand.
"Counting Peter, you remember Peter, I assume"
"Not sure we were ever formally introduced, but hey, Peter, got you out of your little underground penthouse to menace the world once more!"
"I remember"
"Counting him we've so far had four abductions in the greater New York area, following a distinct pattern, indicating that they are indeed one group. Do you have additional information that you would like to share, Erik?"
"I know about two of those," Erik admitted, as those dots were what had angered him about the map in the first place.
"They seem to choose targets rather carefully and operate like local law enforcement, trying to attract as little attention as possible to themselves. All the minds I searched…"
"Hang on!"
"... weren't too upset about the encounter and none of them seems to have suspected foul play."
Charles ignored Peter's interruption, which never seemed to discourage the teen from talking.
"Your 'I don't enter minds uninvited'-rule seems to be broken a lot, Prof!"
"A good lesson to learn early in life, kid, is to never trust a telepath," Erik said grimly.
"Yeah, ok, I'm perfectly fine with trusting the word of the guy at the top of FBI's Most Wanted list. You've obviously got it aaalll worked out!"
Peter grinned at Erik and the older man looked as if he might rip the copper wire out from the walls and strangle the teen with them.
"But hey, that speech you held was pretty cool. Scared the shit out of my mom, but still pretty cool."
"Your mother had nothing to fear from me," Erik's voice was a deep, metallic thunder but he didn't sound as angry. "She has borne mutant children, and if she stands by you, she is an ally."
"Oh, so as long as we can breed with them, humans can coexist with us? How very thoughtful of you!"
"Can we not talk about my mom and breeding, please? Also, it sounds really freaking creepy, especially when you've got that thing on. Maybe you should work on being less creepy? Might be good for PR"
"Why are you here?" Erik asked, exasperated. "Have you become a member of Charles' one-man Peace Corps?"
"Helping out as best I can," Peter quipped. "Speaking of which, a weird car with blacked-out windows stopped twice outside of Jasper's house this evening! Hank followed it but it shook him."
"What?" Charles and Erik exclaimed in unison.
"Aw, you two are really cute," Peter smiled and continued. "Anyway, I thought maybe you could extract the image of the car from Hank's mind and get it into my head, and then I can just run a lap around town and see where it went?"
"Where were you when this was going on?" Charles demanded.
"At home, making my little sister dinner," Peter replied, crossing his arms defensively. "I've got a life, you know, and a mom that works odd hours. Someone's gotta look out for Lorna. So where are we on this mind-image-transfer thing?"
"It can be done, but it won't be pleasant for either of us."
"Wow, I hope I never hear a girl say that to me."
Extracting the image from Hank's head wasn't very difficult under normal circumstances, but the doctor was incredibly angry at finding Erik standing in the main hall of his home. That complicated things, as an image of him almost drowning Erik in a fountain kept slipping to the front of his mind where he was trying to keep the car with the blacked-out windows.
It took Charles longer than expected to be able to get the full image and then project it into Peter's mind. They had tried this once before, to try and get the faces of the people Peter had been arrested by, but the teen hadn't been paying that much attention at the time and the images where fleeting at best. The main issue was that the professor wasn't able to find all the pieces that together would have formed an image, since looking after something in Peter's brain was like trying to listen to bird-song while trapped underneath a speeding train. After two minutes, he came away with such a migraine that he was bedridden for the rest of the day. Naturally, he was quite nervous about entering Peter's mind again. But dropping an image in there was like throwing a paper plane out into a storm. There wasn't much effort to it.
"Wow, trippy!" Peter said when the car had been deposited into the whirlwind of his mind. "Ok, got it, back in while!"
He was out the door before anyone else could blink.
"So, Erik, how about that cup of tea?" Charles asked and Erik almost smiled. Almost. Hank didn't.
Charles and Erik were half-way through an argument about how very, very wrong the other person was both ideologically and ethically about everything when Peter returned, wet from a sudden downpour outside.
"Found it" he said triumphantly as he entered the kitchen, too fast for either of the other men to see, but not too fast not to leave pools of rainwater all over the floor. "It's outside an apartment building on 7th and Regal. That house is packed though and I didn't see who was driving the car."
"That's alright, Peter. I can search a house of minds quite easily if I'm in close proximity."
"There's nothing in that neighborhood," Hank complained from his sulking position right outside the kitchen door, unwilling to come in but equally unwilling to leave Charles alone with Erik. "If we park a car there we're going to stand out like a sore thumb, especially if they're looking out for suspicious activity."
"Not necessarily," Peter replied with a grin "There's a bar right across the street from the parking lot. If we sit in there, we're just going to look like a rag-tag bunch of patrons striking out. It should be fine. I know the bartender."
"It's a plan, at least" Charles looked over the table at Erik, who hadn't touched his rapidly cooling tea. "Are you coming with us?"
"Better not," Erik replied. "I'm somewhat famous these days"
"Ah. Yes. Of course," Charles couldn't quite hide his disappointment.
Peter walked into the shady back-alley dive like he owned the place, snapping his fingers in the air before speaking over the small crowd of regulars.
"Barkeep! Three whiskeys, hold the ice."
"Very funny," a thin woman whose accent sang of eastern Europe replied from behind the bar. "Maybe when you grow up, you can be a famous comedian and support your poor elderly mother."
"Dunno what you're talking about, barkeep. My mom's a fox, gonna be eons before she's even close to old."
Peter had paced the length of the room while talking and when he reached the counter, he leaned over it and gave the woman a quick kiss on the cheek. She laughed and snapped at him with the towel she'd been polishing glasses with.
"Lord help me, did I really raise you like this?" she scolded, but with a smile.
"Nah, you did well. TV and rock music corrupted me," Peter smiled back as he plopped himself down on a chair.
"Speaking of which," he continued motioning the other men forward. "Mom, this is Hank McCoy and Professor Charles Xavier. Guys, this is my mom, Magda Maximoff."
"Yes, I remember you." The warmth faded from the woman's face as he studied her son's two companions. Up close she looked older than her years, her dark hair already turning grey at the temples. Her face had probably been girly once, but age and life had hardened soft curves into sharp lines. It wasn't unbecoming though.
"Should I be worried that my son is hanging out with a professor?" she asked, as she shook Charles outstretched hand. Her skin was hard and dry from years of manual labour.
"Most parents would be delighted," the professor replied with a charming smile.
"Most parents are stupid, Professor Xavier."
She turned her attention to Hank, who looked even more nervous than usual under her scrutinizing dark-brown glare.
"You! You look like a proper young man. You, I like," Magda said with an approving nod.
"You would. He's a doctor," Peter remarked from his sprawled out space at the bar.
"A doctor at your age! How proud you must have made your parents!" Magda exclaimed, then turned to her son to once again swat at him with her towel. "Why can't you be more like this young man?"
"Mom, you don't even know him!"
"No, but I know you well enough."
"Point taken. Mind if we hang out for a bit?"
"Why?" Magda's eyes narrowed and she shifted her attention to Charles, who wasn't paying attention to her but seemed to be staring into space with two fingers on his temple.
"This is a bar. It's what people do here, right? Well, except Ernest over there, who I guess lives here? I've never seen him leave."
With his thumb Peter indicated one of the regulars, a hopelessly depressing middle age man whose face was saggy from years of drinking.
"Leave Ernest alone," his mother hissed. "He had a rough time in the war. Show some respect."
"Alright alright. Sorry, Ernest!"
"What?" The man looked confused, as he had not been paying any attention to the conversation before Peter called his name. The teen didn't elaborate and the veteran swiftly sank back into his own beer-drenched little world of misery.
"You avoided my question. If my underage son want to hangs out with this friends, why would he pick the bar where his mother works?"
"You caught me," Peter leaned back on his chair, both hands in the air in a casual 'I surrender'-gesture. "It's a set-up. I want Hank to be my new dad."
Hank felt the furs on his arms stand on end, a sure sign that he was seconds away from turning blue and beastly out of pure emotional shock. Ha was clamoring for words when the professor suddenly spoke into his and, he assumed, Peter's mind.
"Ninth floor, third window on the right. It's them."
"How'dyouknow?" Peter asked out loud and too fast, but the professor caught it.
"That room is completely dark to me. It's like as if someone's blacked it out on a map," Charles continued the psychic conversation. "I can't read anything from it. This has only happened with other telepaths before. These people might be mutants, or more dangerous than I previously assessed. Peter, don't…"
As he tried to voice his warning, Peter left in a sharp gust of wind and Charles finished out loud.
"...run right in."
Hank ran out after Peter, but when Charles attempted to follow, his chair wouldn't move. He turned his head to see Ms. Maximoff standing over him, one hand grasping the push handle so hard her knuckles turned white. She leaned down close enough so that Charles could smell the old perfume and fresh beer on her clothes.
"Listen to me," she said, her voice kept low and her accent more prominent now that it was tinged with anger. "I don't care what you are or what you can do. If my boy gets hurt in any way, or put away because of you, I'll make your life hell."
"I have no ill intentions and I wouldn't put Peter in any danger," Charles reassured her, while also pushing the suggestion into her mind, ever so slightly.
His concentration broke when they heard gunfire across the street.
Authors Notes: Phew, lot's of talking and ending on a cliff-hanger! Sorry about that! This story was originally only meant to have five chapters and I'm kinda keeping a good pace for everything to resolve itself in the next chapter or maybe the one after that. Introducing Erik will make things a little more difficult but hey, it's Erik, there's no way this would be happening and he wasn't aware!
To answer someones question/plea not to have Erik speak fake-German, don't worry! I'm Swedish, so naturally I've studied German for seven years (as we do) and lived in Switzerland, I'm perfectly aware that my overall German is crap and I would never dream about writing anything in it. Seriously, the grammar is a nightmare to me :)
Thanks to everyone who wrote reviews, it's really encouraging to know you enjoy the story! And as always, thanks to my beta reader NotMarge!