A few days later, Azazel returned. Moira was on the fence about telling him about the image inducer incident, but Christine beat her to it. He was angry, and she didn't blame him. These were her children, she was their mother, but she had to admit there were things she was just not going to understand. As much as she wanted to think she could do anything for them, fix everything for them, these things in regard to their mutation were outside her realm.

He let the situation go, not letting it become a big fight. They seemed to be fighting so much lately, Moira was tired of it. She just wanted to be happy to have her husband home, after being away for those few days. He didn't return unscathed, a gash on the side of his face which she knew would become a new scar. It hurt her to see him hurt, but he played it off as if it were nothing.

They'd celebrated his return exactly as they knew how, now laying in bed together, Moira rubbing the side of his face, careful of the gash she'd stitched. "You're going to be one big scar," she told him.

"Scars are sexy," he responded, grabbing her hand to kiss her wrist.

"Who told you that?" she quirked a brow.

"I am scarred from many things," he pulled her in. "And you still married me."

"I didn't marry you for your scars," she told him. Her fingers traced his face, to the most apparent of the scars he had. He closed his eye as her finger moved over it. In the time they'd been together, she'd never asked where it was from. "You should be more careful."

Azazel snorted. "Is not such thing as careful in my job."

Her fingers moved to the new gash again. "How'd it happen?"

"Accident," he said. "When fighting with knife, was surprised."

"This is from your knife?" she asked incredulously.

"Fighting is not so clean, Moira," he told her. "Just because you win, does not mean you don't get hurt. Can get hurt easily with own weapon."

Her brow knitted as her fingers traced across his face again, to the large scar over his eye. "What about this one?"

He grew quiet, his hand taking hers and pulling it from his face. "Old story. Boring."

"I want to hear it," she replied.

Azazel sighed. "Was young. Just turned seventeen," he started. "Left caravan for first time. Margali wanted me to stay, but I couldn't. Needed to get out."

Moira pulled her pillow tighter under her head as she listened. This was a time in his life he'd had yet to really discuss with her.

"Didn't know where I was going or what would do. Was naïve. Wanted to see world," he paused. "Decided to try different places. South America. Australia. Africa. Was amazing. But more I traveled, less careful I was. Was so stupid. You know how it is when young. Invincible. Like nothing can hurt me. Was very wrong." He sighed, his eyes turning to the ceiling. "Found way to Romania. Very superstitious there. Played games…" he trailed off, then turned to Moira with a look of shame. "There was beautiful girl there. I wanted her. Watched her a lot. One day, waited until she was alone and teleported to her. She was so scared. Convinced I was devil. I let her think it. Don't know how I thought it would work," he shook his head. "She begged me for mercy, before I even do anything. Said I could have anything, anything if I just spare her. It wasn't fun anymore. She was crying and begging and I felt bad. So I try explain, I am not devil. I am man, just ordinary man. She's praying and crying still. Then suddenly we're not alone. Things are thrown at me, big man shows up with knife, threatens me. I try to explain, but he attacks, knife hitting my eye. Pain, so bad." Azazel closed his eyes. "I was so used to my life with caravan, where I am accepted, that this never even came to mind. Never thought could happen. I teleport away, back to my caravan. Sprained wrist, bruised and bloody, but worst is eye. Margali's mother stitched me up, but say that if knife is even centimeter over, I would have lost eye. I learned lesson that day."

The story mirrored so much Moira's recent revelation about their children. She traced the scar again, moving to place her chin on his chest. "We have to talk to our children, Alek."

His brow raised. "What you mean?"

"You got hurt because you didn't understand the world outside. You were naïve, you said it," she started. "We can't let our children grow up like that. We need to prepare them."

"They are young still," he started.

"They are," she agreed. "But it doesn't mean we can't have this conversation. And make a plan. Because the story you just shared, that will not be our children's story."

He shook his head. "It will not."

~&Q~

The story Azazel shared had cemented in Moira the need to start introducing their children to the reality of the world. However, it was a battle in her, because as their mother she wanted to protect them. There was no way to protect them and prepare them, and the day would come they'd venture out of the house on their own. She would be foolish to think she'd be able to protect them forever.

First, there was the matter of Cynthia's first birthday. They were two months away from it, but Moira wanted to start planning. She'd reached out to Margali, who was worried with the issues with Stefan. She's not made a commitment, but said she'd try. Moira hoped they'd make it. She'd reached out to Charles, and he had confirmed he'd save the date. On a whim, she sent a letter to Irene. They'd been in inconsistent contact the past few years, but she hoped to get a response. Kurt would be happy to see Marie.

A few of her coworkers tittered about it, knowing that her daughter's first birthday would be coming up. She'd still had yet to show any pictures, and they'd given up asking, though on occasion she'd hear a snide comment about her discretion. The friends she'd had at work were waning quick.

Spring was really taking hold, and it was nice to have some warm weather again. Azazel's face had healed, though it did leave a rather nasty scar. The children had inquired about it, but for now they were being kept in the dark about their father's profession. As far as they knew, Daddy fell down, which made Christine giggle to no end.

As it grew warmer, Azazel took on a few projects in the back yard. Their back yard opened up into immense fields, which the children loved playing in, though they seemed to venture further and further each time they did. They'd decided to give them a centralized place to play, so beside a large tree, Azazel was constructing a sand box. He'd already hung a tire from the branch, and the kids often fought over who would swing from it.

Today, both older children were outside helping their father on this venture. Cynthia sat by the back door, standing with the help of the wall and watching everything going on outside. Moira decided to take the time to do some lesson planning and was working at the table when a knock came on the door. Still something they were very unaccustomed to. She took a quick look outside at her family and then moved to the door, peeking out. The figure on the other side shocked her enough to throw the door open.

"You can't be that shocked," the blonde woman said.

"How did you find us?" she asked, moving aside to let her in.

"Do you really have to ask?" Emma tapped her head. "I'm here to see Azazel."

Moira paused. Babbling away, Cynthia crawled into the room to find her mother. Emma's eyebrow raised. "My goodness you two have been busy."

Moira rolled her eyes and grabbed her daughter, moving to the back door. "Azazel," she called to him. "You have company."

His eyes narrowed and he began to trek in, the children running ahead of him. Kurt zoomed in first, turning to his sister. "I beat you!"

"No that's not fair!" the girl whined. "Not fair!"

"Children, go to play," Azazel demanded. The two ran into the other room, pausing only slightly to see who was there.

"Lord you've been very busy. Are there any more hiding somewhere?" Emma asked.

Azazel's eyes slid to her. He smiled a bit. "Emma. What bring you here?"

"It's private, darling," she leaned in to give him a kiss on the cheek. "Is there somewhere we can talk?"

"She can hear," he indicated Moira. "I keep nothing from my wife."

"Yes well," Emma rolled her eyes. "Lord, Azazel, what happened to you?"

Azazel headed into the kitchen and returned a few moments later with a bottle of white wine and two glasses. He set them on table, as Emma and Moira both sat, Moira letting Cynthia to the ground to find her toys. He handed each woman a glass and sat himself.

"Look at you playing house. Who'd have thought the killer from a few years ago would be shackled by three children," Emma said after a sip. "If the men you've killed could see you now."

It was Moira's turn to roll her eyes. Emma loved to needle, and sometimes her attempts were far too transparent. Azazel didn't let her shake him. "What you want, Emma?"

"To catch up," she told him, looking down at his wine. "It's been a long time."

There was something in her voice that almost sounded sincere. Azazel smiled and leaned forward to put a hand over hers. "It has. Much has changed."

"Yes, for you," Emma replied. "I can honestly say I never saw all this in your future. Even when Mystique was pregnant."

"Neither did I," he said. Moira grew a bit uncomfortable with Mystique's name coming up. Azazel moved his hand to hers, giving it a squeeze.

"Lord, Azazel, you should thank everything that Mystique dumped your baby. I can't even fathom that woman raising a child," she scowled. "I know she's shacked up with some lesbian and a kid they adopted, but I also know she's rarely there. That woman," Emma shook her head. "Lost cause entirely. I have no idea why Magneto keeps her so close. Xavier did the right thing throwing her to the curb."

Azazel simply nodded, but Moira was confused about the conversation. Had Emma tracked them down and come all this way to talk about Mystique? She was about to say something when Azazel squeezed her hand. She looked to him and he gave her a look that told her to keep quiet.

"Anyhow," Emma turned her eye on Moira. "I never thought I'd say this, but you got a severe upgrade Azazel."

Moira felt like an object in this conversation, and it made her uncomfortable. Azazel sensed it, leaning in to Emma. "You did not come here to chat, Emma. I know you too well."

The woman let out a breath. "I did not." She glanced to Moira then back to Azazel, raising her brows. He nodded and she sighed. "I've been sent to find you. I have an opportunity for you."

"Am not interested," Azazel said, waving his hand. "Am retired."

"Like hell you are," Emma responded. "I can name your last five jobs, Azazel. This is without reading your mind, dear. If you think your work has gone unnoticed, you are mistaken."

"Is that it, you've come to warn?" he surmised.

"I don't need to warn you," she told him. "There's nothing that could be coming for you that you couldn't handle. I've come because I know you, Aleksandr."

Moira's eyes widened at the use of the name, and her head snapped to her husband. His eyes were on Emma. "Do not use that name."

"What, have I lost permission?" she asked him. "I didn't realize it could be revoked." Her gaze was icy and met Azazel's. It softened slightly. "I was sent because of our past. Because we were great friends once."

"Sent by who?" Moira chimed in. Azazel looked to her, then to Emma for a response.

She paused, eyes darting between the two. "Magneto. The brotherhood is getting back together."

Azazel shook his head. "As said, I am not interested."

"I think you will be in this," she told him. "Magneto has a plan, larger than any he has had before. Something that will change humanity."

"What is plan?" he asked.

"I am not at liberty to say," she told him. Her gaze roamed the room and fell on Cynthia playing in the corner. "What I will say, Azazel, is that you owe it to your family to take him up on it."

"It that threat?" his lip curled back angrily.

"Not in the slightest," she moved her hair off her shoulder. "Erik is building something huge."

Azazel shook his head. "I will not move on this. I am done."

Emma sighed sadly. "I wish you would. I think you will regret this decision," she stood, moving toward the door. "Well, I suppose it was nice to see you then, at least. I will let Magneto know your decision."

Moira stood as well, to see her out. Before Emma left, she turned to the woman. "I doubt very much you have any interest, though I will work to leave this option open for him. He may change his mind."

"I don't think so," Moira told her. She'd make sure he didn't. There was no way she wanted him involved with them again.

"We'll see," she replied coolly. "Remember the name Genosha. You might very well change your tune."