A slightly shorter chapter before a longer one with some answers... I promise :P And thanks for the few reviews I've had, might not be many yet but certainly encouraging. Thanks :)
-H
Mirror, Mirror
They took in our apartment with a practiced eye and incredulous looks. I shifted uncomfortably and Angel took my hand. I could see Ratchet trying half-heartedly to hide his admiration of our home, the fact we'd managed to hold down a home, while Fang just looked around in blank disbelief. We'd done our best to decorate the flat to suit our family. The sofas were all low down, made from old pallets that had brought us crates of books and food to work, with large squishy cushions and woollen blankets for when it got cold. There was a wall of shelves that housed books, dvds and various mementos from our travels; shells from Hawaii, leaves from Colorado, a Mickey Mouse statue from our trip to Walt Disney, a keychain from New York and various other bits and bobs.
The doors to the bedrooms led off that wall, and the kitchen was lit by fairy lights under the cupboards and the fridge which was midnight black had been scribbled all over with a white pen like a chalk board; reminders to buy food, messages from work, rehearsal schedules from the YRAA.
It was a home, and it felt like they were invading it. Iggy was standing statue still, staring unseeing accusingly in the Second Gen's general direction. I cleared my throat and broke the silence first, "What brings you to Glasgow?"
"A number of things," Fang replied with an odd look at Iggy who obviously didn't see it. "We have business here, and things were getting a little heated in America." Well we knew what that was like. I crossed my arms and stared him down, "We were also trying to find you, Max. Have been for a long time now."
"Well you've found me, I'm right here," I snapped, "What now?"
Fang frowned unhappily, "This isn't quite what I had in mind-" he was meaning the intense living room with lots of other people listening in.
"Whatever you have to say you can say in front of my flock."
"They were once my flock too," he added darkly and I glowered.
"That was your choice."
Ratchet moved his weight from one foot to the other and nudged Fang, "You said you weren't gonna fight man, you knew she'd be mad."
My respect for the mutant went up just a little, but it was their third companion that really put an edge to the night. "Then why did we even bother? Look at this place! You came looking for a warrior and found a house-mom, she's hopeless."
My teeth bared in response to this and Angel squeezed my hand warningly. Fang tried to negotiate her shutting her mouth over his shoulder but I interrupted, "If you wanted this to be diplomatic you shouldn't have brought her."
"He didn't want to," Angel put in with her telepathic insight, "But she insisted. She wanted to see how… how weak we've all become."
The flock radiated fury and Fang held up his hands, "Alright, it was a bad move, Maia maybe you should step out-"
"Maia!" My snort of derision cut him off, "My God you could have at least changed it to something a little less like my name." She might all of a sudden have scarlet hair but she was instantly recognisable now her face wasn't a blurry smudge in a newspaper. "You're pathetic," I told Fang, "And your wrong," I added to the Max-impersonator, "We are not weak, we've succeeded in doing what no other mutant has been able to even try. We've made a home and a life for ourselves here, with no scientific help, no government funding and no more fights to the death."
"That makes you weak!"
"That makes us survivors, rather than being a failed experiment trailing around in a better mutant's shadow," I hissed and I saw the expression that I usually wore when my blood boiled. "You may look like me, or at least you used to, but you will never be me, Max II."
With some effort she reigned in her anger, "Why on earth would I want to be you? But nice speech."
"Nice hair," I commented snidely.
"Nice scar," she shot back and I flushed. I looked at Fang who had gone very still as he took in one of the details he'd missed in the alley due to the shadows and rain. But here, in our brightly lit apartment, it was all too visible running across my throat.
I swallowed hard and made my tone softer, "Maybe we should talk outside."
