Moira was feeling exhausted, both emotionally and physically, by the time Peter got her back to her house. She had another hour before she had to get to work, and it wasn't enough time to sleep or do much more than try to get herself presentable.
Feeling defeated, she looked at her watch. At that point she was running on around three hours of sleep, tops. It had been a long time since she'd had to pull something like that.
Moira looked at herself in the bathroom mirror, at her bloodshot eyes, at the dark circles beginning to form. Putting on makeup didn't seem worth the effort, but she had to at least look like she was trying to ensure that no one knew anything was wrong. At least it would help sell her story of being sick.
Picking out a crisp blouse with a pair of pants, she changed. When she looked at her reflection in the mirror, she saw the her from around a week ago staring back at her. It was an exhausted version, but it was still her.
She hated it. So much had changed in a week, and it had felt like things were going in a different direction. Yes, she had thought she would have to go back eventually, smooth out her resignation and tie up any loose ends, but she hadn't thought it would be so soon.
But it had been, and Moira had never been one to regret her past. Not if there was a path she had yet to trod. Regrets didn't help you lift up your feet, get you moving any faster.
So she finished and walked down the stairs. Peter looked up at her. It was obvious he'd been browsing through her magazines in varying degrees of interest. It wasn't like him to stay still for long.
Peter continued to watch her, shifting from foot to foot, as she began looking for her necessary clearance cards. She didn't know exactly what he wanted to say, if he wanted to say anything at all. Moira didn't quite understand him.
"I need to start driving," she said, running a hand through her hair.
"Okay, so I'm shotgun, right?" asked Peter.
She shook her head.
"You're not coming with," she said, "I'm not letting you into CIA headquarters-"
"No, just like, the outside," said Peter, "Professor told me I'm supposed to make sure you get there safely and stuff."
She raised her eyebrows and Peter gave a shrug.
"Hey, I'm an X-man," said Peter, "I'm supposed to be following his orders, right? And he wanted to make sure nothing bad happens, and, you know..."
He shrugged again and Moira pinched the bridge of her nose. She didn't know whether what Charles was doing was sweet or overkill. Yes, she was about to face someone she could only describe as a maniac, but it would be in the CIA compound. He'd hardly kill her there, and Moira knew not to let herself get into a situation where she was completely alone with him.
However, she knew she'd need to save her energy and venom for Stryker. Besides, if it made Charles feel a little more comfortable letting her go for a while when all he'd ever known before was loss, then it would be worth it.
She could still remember the desperation with which he'd told her to be careful. It was frightened in a way that Kevin's goodbye hadn't been. Kevin was, after all, used to her going into dangerous situations and coming back. He was worried she'd get hurt, he had seen her in the hospital, and knew she might not come back.
But, at the end of the day, she always had, so Kevin had that assurance. Charles didn't. When people left him, whether it was for the unknown or their own personal crusade, they rarely returned.
"Okay," she said, "But I'm driving at a reasonable speed and you need to go when I tell you."
"Can do," Peter said, giving her a thumbs up before disappearing in a blur.
She grabbed her keys, trudging tiredly to her car. Peter was already inside, tapping his hands on the door. Moira decided not to ask how he'd gotten in without the keys, or if he'd taken the keys in the first place and then put them back on the counter. It was, again, an energy saving measure.
And she had the feeling that, if she was going to live at the Institute, she would have to get used to some of Peter's stranger habits. And, however frustrating he was, Moira wanted to feel grateful for him running around on behalf of her and her son. He'd only just recovered from a broken leg. Hank had said he healed faster, but he'd been doing a lot of running lately and it probably hurt somewhat.
She settled for an irritated look before unlocking her door and getting in, revving up the engine. Moira was glad that she'd filled the car up before she left. It meant she wouldn't have to try and find an all-night gas station on the way.
Peter stayed silent for a few minutes as she drove out of the driveway and down the street. People were just starting to wake up, the road slowly turning before them. Next to her, Peter rolled the window down, letting in some of the fresh morning air.
"You and the Professor," he said, "You're a thing, right?"
She blinked a few times, giving him a side look. He just grinned at her.
"Hey, I ain't blind," he said, "Couple of us were wonderin. Jean, she said it wasn't any of our business-"
"Smart girl," said Moira.
"And, you know, probably not," said Peter, "But, if you two are or anything like that, which I'm pretty sure that you are for the record-"
"Peter," Moira said.
"-and I'd be willing to bet money on it, but Kurt's the only one who would and he's pretty much broke," he said, "But, here's my thing. So, your munchkin. Kevin."
The stress of the past few hours was starting to build to a boiling point. Munchkin? Her son?
"Just saying, he's a good kid," said Peter, "And, I'm pretty sure from some things he said, he doesn't have a dad. Dunno if he's dead or a jerk or what, but, what I'm getting at...what I'm getting at..."
Although it probably wasn't a good idea, Moira turned her head slightly to look at Peter. While he was asking incredibly personal questions, questions which she quite resented, the sudden awkwardness in his words struck her as strange. To her surprise she saw that Peter seemed to be struggling, the look in his eyes not quite there anymore.
Against her better judgement, she spoke. Peter was, even if he didn't act it, in his mid-twenties. While it felt like she was talking to a hyper-active teenager, he was an adult. And there was just something in the way he was talking.
"His father and I are divorced," Moira said, "And...because of his actions, he's not a presence in Kevin's life any more. And Kevin is actually happy about that. We both are."
Peter looked slightly abashed, rubbing the back of his neck. He swallowed once and then looked back at her.
"Look, I grew up with some dad issues," he said, "My mom's husband was kind of a jerk, and then I learned when I was older he wasn't actually my real dad, and that was kind of a mind blow."
He mimed an explosion near his head, making a strange noise out of the corner of his mouth.
"But like, I'm just trying to say, that I think Kevin's in good hands with the Professor, coz I don't think it's easy for you to leave him behind," Peter said, "And, I mean, we all get why you had to do that, but, he's gonna be taken care of. He's a nice kid. And if you and the Professor are together now, then that kid's gonna have one helluva father figure in the next few years."
She ducked her head. Moira remembered the way Charles would patiently answer the questions of any child to cross his path, would consider their questions instead of just dismissing them in the way adults could sometimes do. He had been made to be a father it seemed, but had been denied biological children. Now, he was acting as father to a schoolfull of children.
And then there was the way he treated Kevin, with such care. The two of them would smile or laugh at something the other had said using their gifts. Kevin not only liked Charles, he respected him, and she hoped he'd been sincere about everything he'd said before she left.
"I think so too," she muttered.
"Sweet! So you are a thing?" asked Peter.
Moira saw the walls around headquarters in the distance, and said a small prayer of gratitude.
"Alright, this is where you go back to New York."
"Awwwwww!"
"No 'aws,'" Moira said.
Peter snorted, but there was the sound of a car door moving next to her, and he was gone. She showed her security pass when she arrived, parking a few cars down from her usual place. It paid to be careful.
Moira was feeling much more awake after her conversation with Peter, although she had a feeling Charles was going to have a difficult time with the speedster when he returned.
She walked up the stairs, flashing her pass when she had to and heading toward her boss's office. She could just about hear snatches of conversation.
"-no, I told you she's going to be here in a few minutes. Agent MacTaggert's very punctual, so you can trust that."
Stryker was already here. She breathed in deeply, steeling herself. Moira had gone into tough situations before, had been humiliated, talked down to, forced to watch opportunities be given to others, but she had endured. She'd kept her knowledge and her expertise insulated, using it as her weapon in times of crisis, exploiting weaknesses and cracks when she came across them.
And the man behind the door had come into a meeting around a week ago, trying to do those very things to her after locking her in a cell with other innocents. He'd forced her to come back with very little preamble from a place where she and her son were just starting to find balance.
Moira pushed open the door, assuming a calm, questioning look. Her boss was seated at his desk, and just like she'd suspected, Stryker was there, looking grave and imposing. She'd fought against that before.
Her boss looked relieved to see her, but also concerned. It appeared that her looks really were selling her cover story.
"Sorry I didn't knock," she said, "I heard my name and came in."
"Good to see you again Agent MacTaggert," said Stryker.
"I honestly can't say the same," said Moira, "But I heard I needed to come back about some rather strange request to get all of my research?"
"After what happened a week ago, it's honestly in the best interest of the nation that we get all the information possible on the mutant threat," he said.
She crossed her arms.
"If I recall correctly, it was mutants who helped take Nur down," Moira said, "I think I know a thing or two about that."
"Yes, mutants. Including a terrorist who tried to kill the president," said Stryker, "Someone you let go."
"Now wait a minute colonel," her boss said, "I will say that, while I'm disappointed Agent MacTaggert didn't get Magneto, we both know the president's considering giving him a pardon for what he's done. And, in all the chaos of having someone that powerful get taken down, the collateral damage and possible injuries, I think we can probably allow for a little leeway."
"That's what you call it?" asked Stryker.
Her boss gave him a cold look.
"It's certainly what Trask called it when you failed to apprehend the mutants who crashed the 1973 Peace Accords and threatened the lives of several diplomats," he said.
Stryker's jaw tightened and Moira fought to hide a smirk. While her and her boss didn't always see eye-to-eye, she knew he was terribly protective of his agents and he, like her, didn't trust the man in front of them. If there was an agency rivalry in his words too, which she suspected, so much the better to make this work in her favor.
"Now, we're not here to trade insults," her boss said, getting up, "We're here to try and figure something out to satisfy everyone. And let's take this to the conference room. The day shift gets in soon."
He walked past the two of them, pushing the door open. He was only a few steps away and Moira moved to follow, but something stopped her. When she looked back, she saw Stryker was giving her a look that reminded her of a snake eyeing a mouse it was about to eat.
"You're not going to win this one MacTaggert," he said, "Just so you know."
She gave him a grim smile.
"I would literally rather die in that cell you locked me in that let you get my pencil shavings," she said.
Moira didn't wait for a reply before following her boss out.
"Just so you know."