Mac gets the feeling that there's Some Sort of Shit™ going down in the big, swanky-ass mansion they are invited to stay at. It reminds of her of the trailer park sagas of her childhood.
Frankly speaking, Mac does not have enough shits to give about that right now.
She watches the silver car peel out of the gravel drive and wishes the Lady of the Lake and the guy with red glasses the best of luck. Hopefully, those two can figure out whatever the hell is going on in their lives. She'll admit it's a little (read: super) weird for her. Bustin' outta lakes in Canada, staring at them in the futuresque hospital, the weird psychic shit, these are all areas she's pretty unfamiliar with. Yet it looks like red-head and glasses guy are sticking together.
Good for them. Maybe they can figure out this big wide world and have an easy time of it.
"So…" Ana starts. "What now?"
Mac fights the urge to pace. She's already walked the room too many times, taking in the uncomfortably beautiful area with all the disquiet of someone who has never experienced this extravagance. The carpets -and who puts carpet in a place with kids?- is plush. Her toes sink into the thick, unstained fibers. The dark wood paneling on the walls is so sleek and smooth it's ridiculous. The color perfectly matches the furniture and carpet unlike the hodge-podge collections she's seen before. The beds are full sized, with sheets so soft they catch on her skin, and she felt like a heathen as she tossed and turned on what is the most expensive mattress she's ever even touched, let alone lay on. There's even a bathroom attached to their room. One with actual stone counter tops, complete with soaps in the shape of tiny leaves and clamshells.
It all makes her very, very uneasy.
That's why she couldn't lie down until their only possessions in the world, two tired backpacks filled with supplies, were brought to her. That's why she went to bed fully clothed, with shoes on her feet in case they had to dash. It's why she doesn't close her eyes until Ana's are wide open, the old skinning knife in her hands, rusted charms gently being rubbed smooth by her friend's fingers.
But that was last night, and this is now.
"Well, we have some options," Mac responds hesitantly, dragging her thoughts back to herself. She lets the stark white curtain drop back over the window, and a piece of it snags on her callused palm. Idly she wonders if this is what cats feel like when they get their claws stuck in fabric.
"Option one: we stay here," she states, looking to Ana.
Her friend shifts her eyes in a subtle way, a clear sign to Mac that she never really actually contemplated it. She fiddles with the end of her wet braid while Mac watches, observing her sort through the pros and cons in her head.
On one hand, they have nowhere else to go. Here, at least, they seem to have shelter, food, and water, which is a step up from running around the wilderness. There is also the tentative offer of protection.
On the other hand, they don't know these people from a hole in the ground. They have no guarantee how long the invitation is going to be extended, not a single clue if that offer of sanctuary comes with a yet unseen price tag. It also goes without saying that they are so out of their depths here it isn't funny.
"Option two: we leave," Ana counters.
Mac nods, because yes. That is another option, one she fully expected Ana to think of. They can run, God knows where, and God knows how long. They can keep running until their legs give out and they can no longer remember what's chasing them.
This has the benefit of allowing them to control their future. There would be no doubting their benefactor's intentions if they didn't have one to doubt. There would also be the fact that they wouldn't have to deal with any of this…weirdness.
Almost against her wishes, Mac finds herself staring at their backpacks. The juxtaposition of their shitty, worn-out, smoke smelling possessions on the richly upholstered chair is a stark reminder that this place isn't for them. That the weirdly magazine-esque mansion,the tension, and kids, this ain't their scene.
Don't get her wrong. On some level, Mac gets it. On top of typical school shit, and the drama of growing up, everyone here has to be wary of things like government cures. It's a weird mix of worrying about what to wear and also whether or not there will be sanctioned use of force against you if you show up at a mall. Again, if she could, if she was asked, she would help.
Maybe.
Right now she has a lot on her mind.
"Option three…" Mac trails.
The silence lingers, thick in the air.
"We start a fire?" Ana asks skeptically.
"Ana."
The other woman throws her hands up in the air, braid swinging behind her.
"It worked!"
"It worked one time Ana. Starting a fire worked once. Let me stop whatever train of thought you're having and say that you cannot solve every problem life throws at you by starting a fire."
Ana makes a sweeping motion with her hands, the kind of gesture that implores Mac to reconsider.
"No."
Ana crosses her arms then, expression unbothered as if Mac will come to see her side in time. However her friend feels right now, though, Mac can pretty firmly say that Ana's options of running and/or starting a fire is not the mature way to handle things. They are grown ass women. There has to be a better way.
"It boils down to this Mac," Ana says in a lackadaisical tone. "We are stuck between stay and go. I trust you, and any choice you make regarding this manner."
Mac feels touched at the absoluteness of that statement. She doubts Ana would hesitate to follow her into hell, but…
Not for the first time, Mac feels the pressure. Ana doesn't have much motivation for things like this, always waiting for Mac to give the go ahead. If the choice turns out to have unforeseen consequences, then the responsibility for it rests solely on Mac's shoulders. Or rather, Ana will bitch about it until the end of time. She'd follow Mac into hell but complain every step of the way.
"Your choices have value as well Ana," Mac states.
Ana goes quiet, looking away. However there is a pleased flush to her cheekbones despite the sudden blankness of her expression. Reaffirmation is what she said she needed, and reaffirmation is what Mac can give. After all, they did take split shift watches during the night.
"Gay," Ana whispers, ruining everything.
Mac sends her an exasperated look, and Ana draws herself up, indignant.
"Look, it's all...it's all just fucking weird and convoluted," Ana defends. "You know it, I know it. There's no rhyme or reason to this. I mean, that geneticist that I super look up to? He spoke in my brain yesterday, addressing Logan, who apparently has some unknown relationship to the fucking guy who kidnapped us, but we are unsure what kind of relationship. All of this happened in a big, secret school for mutants in the very state we were taken from, and there is a vague suspicion that we were only taken in because you saved Suburban Dad. Suburban Dad, who is apparently a spook who hung around for hitherto unknown reasons."
There's a beat of silence.
"Okay, point," Mac gives. "But now we have to make a choice."
"Only we have no fucking clue what choice to make on account of there being no sense in all this. You might as well split open a goat and try to divine what choice to make from its entrails."
Mac makes a face at that vivid and rather gruesome metaphor. Why would she say that? Why even bring organs into this?
She swipes her hand down her face when she finally comes to most likely reason.
"Ana, are you hungry?" Mac asks tiredly.
Ana's makes a face, her features twisting around. That would most likely be a yes, and Mac can damn well guess the reason she didn't just come out and say it.
Fuck this situation.
"Let's get breakfast Ana, and then we can sort things out," Mac says. Ana nods, flashing Mac a grin, and there's a sense of relief in her chest. That, at least, she chose correctly.
There's no offal in the kitchen, but to be honest, Ana didn't expect any.
It's all good, though. There are eggs in the fridge.
Nobody actually said to help themselves. If she stops and thinks about it it's pretty rude to just take the food, but the fact remains that they don't have any subsistence of their own and have to make due with what there is. A carton of eggs combined with the box of spaghetti from last night only comes out to around five bucks in a grocery store anyway, so it's not too much. If she wants to get really upset about it, she'll even throw in an extra two for the gas it took to cook them and the water they used when washing dishes.
Then again, that's assuming they haven't racked up a massive medical debt for their impromptu stay at the future hospital, and they aren't going to be charged for dirtying up the clean linens in the atrociously clean room.
Jesus fucking Christ she hopes that has all been waived.
'It's cool,' she tells herself. 'It's all really cool. Just breathe.'
Ana checks Mac. She seems okay, and therefore Ana has nothing to worry about.
She whisks the eggs, her heart beating sluggishly in her chest. She doesn't know why this place has a communal kitchen when it's supposedly a school. Didn't think to even wonder about it last night, too preoccupied with everything that was going on around her, mind still quiet and numb.
Now though she has to wonder why there isn't a cafeteria, or whatever the rich boarding school equivalent of a cafeteria is. All the kitchenware looks sleek enough to go into an industrial kitchen. The pan in her hand is immaculate, unlike the chipped Teflon and old cast iron she has at the apartment.
'Had,' she corrects as a wave of homesickness crashes over her. She misses those pans, the ratty sofa, and the crumbling plaster. It hasn't even been that long, but it never takes long to miss those things when you know they are gone for good.
Is this her fault? If she had just stabbed Victor in the eye while he drove, they could have dumped his body and made it back in time. Maybe if she had hesitated more, fought with Mac instead of submitting like a coward-
With a slight swallow and a few blinks of her eyes Ana squashes down the feeling inside of her with a ruthless efficiency, letting only the barest traces linger inside. It's easier to do after their recent brush with Victor, like a refresher course or some shit.
She focuses solely on doing the eggs correctly, adding seasoning and making sure they are the perfect muted yellow without any hints of brown before hefting the pan over to the roundabout counter where the plates wait.
Mac smiles at her from where she's leaned over said counter, a reassuring thing that Ana really appreciates. It wipes some of the lingering doubts from her heart and eases her worries.
They eat in a comfortable silence then, punctuated by the light scrape of silverware over actually ceramic instead of plastic. Ana savors the taste of hot eggs instead of cold backpack food and greasy diner fare.
The heavy tread of boots against polished hardwood ruins it, though, and she feels the tension creep into her shoulders as Mac drags her gaze from her plate to the doorway.
Ana doesn't do the same. Instead, she watches the reflection of the move in her fork handle. Not as good as a spoon, but it is adequate enough to make out the general features.
It's Logan. He is staring at them.
A voice like Victor's sounds in her brain. It says 'Impress me or die', and 'Better than Logan and his brat' so firmly her hands tighten around the fork contemplatively. She feels cold, feels utterly still. She knows Victor, knows what he wants and what she can do to make him happy. It wasn't all that bad. He could have killed them, yes, but it's better than this tension. He was upfront, not smothering them with weird kids and soft things and impending debt. She understands how he works. He coming back anyway and she could, she could-
"Mornin'," he greets.
"Mornin'," Mac greets back reflexively. The same time she says it she slaps Ana's fork holding hand to the table, and when Ana glances up Mac is giving her a commanding look.
Ana carefully loosens her fingers from around the fork. Only the does Mac takes her hand back.
Logan awkwardly clears his throat behind her, going for the coffee machine. Even though she wants to slip away, she remains firm. She trusts Mac.
Her friend watches him carefully, and Ana keeps her mind empty. If Mac signals her, they can both be gone in a flash. He's big, fast, and knows the terrain better, but they can do it. They can do anything.
Logan coughs again, and Ana sees him tilt his head at them out of the corner of her eye.
"Not hungry?" he asks, and Ana realizes he's gesturing towards the eggs. They haven't taken a bite since they heard him coming
A tension builds in her gut, traveling along her spine. She tries to smother it down, but it builds in her head.
"This is awkward as shit," Mac states bravely.
For some reason, this is exactly the right thing to say. Logan snorts and the dread lessens enough for Ana to gather herself together.
"You're telling me kid," he says.
Ana winces. There's fire in Mac's eyes at that name.
The man pauses, and she doesn't know what he sees there, but it's enough to make him pause.
(A woman rearing back like an angry bear, and another lying as still as a gator. Tense, defensive, acting like the whole world is going to attack.)
"Victor called her that," Ana says coolly.
There's a beat, just a moment before he goes back to pouring himself a cup of coffee.
"Won't happen again," he answers gruffly.
"We're in our twenties. Not kids or 'Girlies,'" Mac spits, having to say something to let the anger out. "What is wrong with you?
That makes him do a double take, but Ana doesn't think it's because he's offended. She turns just enough to see him raise his mug to his lips and squint at them, brows furrowed.
"No joke?"
"For shits sake. Yes," stresses Mac.
"You look like you just got your license a year ago."
"Thanks. We moisturize," Ana quips sardonically. It just sort of slips out, and Ana goes still after she says it. What if it wasn't right? What if Logan isn't amused like Victor? What if-?
He exhales sharply in good humor, and she lets herself relax minutely.
"What about you? You look pretty ragged. Late forties, early fifties? Gettin' a little old to be hanging with children," Mac says acerbically, still not calm. Ana puts her hand over Mac's, and her friend glances down at it. Maybe it's the fork still in her fingers, or maybe it's the reminder, but either way she softens a bit.
Good. It's never smart to pick a fight with people who may be able to kick the shit out of them.
For his part, Logan just shrugs as he makes his way to the edge of the counter. He broadcasts his movements and stays at the edge of it instead of joining one of the side like they are, which is appreciated and is far too kind for her understanding. This is his place and he should go where he chooses. Allowing them ground is weird.
"Wouldn't know, only clearly remember the last few years. The rest is blurry," he says. "Think I took a head injury."
Ana glances at Mac, who glances at her.
"So hypothetically you could be like two hundred years old or something," Mac says after a second.
He sends her a bemused glance.
"That's a weird as shit reaction."
"I'm not hearing a no."
"Could be that old, I guess."
There's a beat of silence.
"Cool," Ana says, her tone flat. She removes her hand from Mac's, eyeing the stove contemplatively. There was aerosol cans in one of the cabinets, and some fancy ass olive oil in another. It worked last time.
"Ana no."
Ana breathes in slowly, turning to her eggs once more. Fuck this whole weird as hell situation.
The mood of the kitchen returns to where it once was. Tense, awkward, and flighty. Ana and Mac eat their food mechanically, knowing that they have no idea where the next one might come if the powers that be tell them to stop. They are hyper aware of the stranger amongst them, and the implications of his statement.
Logan gives them a weird considering look like he's weighing out an idea, measuring the merit of it before he can speak.
"You two like bourbon?" he asks eventually, despite the fact that it's still morning.
The answer that goes through Ana's head is an all encompassing 'please, yes' despite the fact that she's more of a gin girl herself. However, she will take what she can get at this point.
Or she would. The fact remains that Mac doesn't answer, and neither does she. They don't know him from Adam. They do not like him. They do not trust him. They do not trust this entire fucking situation.
So even though Ana wants it, even though she craves it, she holds her tongue.
Logan looks at them, and she thinks he sees it. He nods slowly at their silence
"The offer is open at any time," He tells them.
And just like that, he takes his cup of coffee and walks away.