A/N: Heelloooo! Anyone see the Doctor Strange trailer? November can't come soon enough… And speaking of movies… X-Men Apocalypse! Gahhh, can't wait for that! Thank you to all who have read/reviewed/favourited/followed. I added 'read' onto that, because it means just as much to me (almost 9000 views?!)

anonymouscsifan: Thank you for all your kind thoughts :D I'm happy that you're loving the progression of their relationships. And I wonder how you'll feel about this chapter XD

Disclaimer: Although I haven't said it in a while, I still don't own X-Men!

Chapter 19/Chapter 21

May 12th, 1972. Maple Grove High School.

The weather had taken a turn for the worse. Nora had gone back and made sure to bring a rain jacket, because at precisely 1:26 the downpour of a century had began. (Though that was an exaggeration, she'd been in the 'downpour of the century' and it had been much worse than this.)

Wanda hadn't spoken to her all day. Which didn't surprise Nora. She'd probably heard about her and Peter disappearing the other day.

There was no doubt that Wanda's greatest fear was losing yet another friend to her brother. Even if Anne had lasted this long. Wanda still hadn't been too surprised when Peter'd jumped at the chance to ask her out for dinner.

The last straw had been when their Mum pulled out the extra ticket.

Hands gripping either end of her pencil, Wanda strained to keep from snapping it in half. She'd done everything she could to keep Peter away from Anne.

Despite how powerful and chilly her exterior was, Wanda saw a lot of vulnerability behind those brown eyes.

Wanda stared as Anne scribbled down her notes in her elegant, loopy print. She'd brought a rain jacket today, but Wanda didn't know why. The sky was grey, but the forecast was for mild, dry weather.

"Hey," Wanda blinked and saw the brunette staring at her, brows furrowed in curiosity. "You okay? You barely got down half the notes."

"It's nothing." Wanda carelessly twirled her pencil between her fingers. "Chemistry just ain't kickin' it for me today."

"Fair enough." Anne discretely moved Wanda's paper next to hers and began to copy down the intricacies of covalent bonds.

It was at these time, when she was relaxed and thought no one was listening, that Wanda heard a bit of Anne's French accent slip out.

These moments were few and far between, but when they did happen, Wanda felt like she saw a bit more of the real Anne Green.

Two minutes before the bell rang, the class was packed up and waiting impatiently by the door.

As the two girls ate their lunches, facing the long wall of windows opposite their lockers, one was shocked as the heavens seemed to split open, letting a month's worth of drought spill out.

Anne nodded in confirmation, "Right on time."

Wanda shook her head, some things never ceased to amaze.

Like how Peter'll never stop chasing skirts.

The day went on, Wanda dreading the 200-foot sprint from school to bus.

But no matter how much she hated it, it had to be done. Within seconds, her corset-style shirt and black flowing skirt were both soaked.

Anne conveniently had a handkerchief for her running eyeliner.

"You could've at least told me it was gonna rain."

"Oh… Sorry."

Anne offered Wanda her rain jacket for the short walk home, but she politely declined.

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.

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Maximoff Residence.

"I didn't realize you were a professional chef." Nora looked on in confused appreciation at the feast Peter had prepared. (AKA: 'run in' from a Las Vegas hotel.)

Peter scratched the back of his head, "Yeah, well… you know."

"It's nice; I like it." The brunette was blushing.

"Well who the fuck is gonna eat all this?"

The two mutants turned to see Wanda casually slouched against the dining room doorframe. She'd changed into a baggy t-shirt and sweats -obviously not planning on going anywhere anytime soon.

"Well, we were gonna…" Peter gestured to himself and Anne.

"She doesn't even like mashed potatoes."

Noticing how awkward she was making the situation, Wanda sighed and slowly turned around to trudge back up the stairs.

"I'll pick through the leftovers when ya'll're done."

Nora shrugged off her rain jacket as Peter pulled her chair out for her.

Peter suddenly swore under his breath, and zipped away from the table. He reappeared a moment later with two bottles of coke.

"Wanda said it's your favourite."

Nora smiled as he uncapped their drinks. She didn't have the heart to tell him that Wanda had lied. Every time she drank Coca Cola, a patch of hives broke out over her stomach.

The late lunch (or early dinner) was composed of a full-sized Thanksgiving turkey, a variety of steamed vegetables, and Nora's worst enemy.

Mashed potatoes.

"So you really don't like 'em," Peter said, eyeing the fluffy white pile that she had pushed to the edge of her plate.

She shook her head, "The texture… I.. just… It disgusts me."

After spending a week in a Medieval castle, scrubbing dishes. Nora had a deep hatred for all edible mushy things.

"Sorry, I didn't know," Peter apologized, a dejected look in his eyes.

Realizing how rude she'd been, Nora took a deep breath and set down her silverware.

"I guess there's a lot of things we don't know about each other."

An uncomfortable silence came over the small, circular dinner table.

Peter made art with his food, while Nora tried to itch her nose as discretely as possible.

"Favourite colour?" The brunette's bowed head jerked up suddenly.

"Wh- what?"

"What is… your favourite colour?" Peter repeated.

No one had ever asked her this before, Nora realized. Recalling insignificant playground arguments over red versus blue that she hadn't been a part of.

It seemed like a silly question. But it was a silly question she had never been asked.

Putting her fork to her lip, Nora said, "Purple… I guess?"

Purple was nice. it was dark, but seemed to have a certain warmth hiding inside.

"Cool."

She thought a moment before returning the favour. "What about you?"

"Blue!" He said it quickly. Peter had been waiting for her to ask him.

"Like the ocean?"

"Like the sky."

"Cool."

The questions then came in an everlasting flurry. Favourite animal; favourite food (and drink); worst (and best) school subjects.

Peter even went so far as to ask Anne about her favourite book (which was sacred ground) when he noticed the time.

"Oh shit! We're gonna be late!"

Nora barely had time to wipe the gravy from her lip before he whisked them away.

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.

.

Riggs Elementary, which held students from grades kindergarten to five, was bustling with activity. It was so full of children running around in costumes, parents trying to find seats in the nearly-filled auditorium, and teachers trying to chase down said kids that no one noticed two teenagers appearing amongst it all.

A tight -but not commanding- grip on her wrist, Peter pulled Anne through a brood of spring-coloured tulle (worn by some excited-looking second-graders) towards the performance hall.

"Tickets, please?"

Peter stopped in mid-step.

The two mutants stared down at the paint-splattered art table. (Which, today, was doubling as a ticket booth.) Two girls, one wearing a baseball hat, the other in a tie-dye t-shirt, sat by a tin container. They looked as happy as any older sibling that was being forced to come here tonight.

"Tickets," the one with the hat repeated, gaze not leaving Peter's as she popped a large, pink bubble.

Though the baseball hat obscured her eyes, Nora assumed her eyebrows were raised by the smirk on her face.

Peter rifled through his pockets, mouth opening and closing like a fish.

I suppose it's my turn to pay, Nora thought.

"Peter! Anne! There you are!"

It was Mama Maximoff to the rescue!

Both teens breathed a sigh of relief, as a line was steadily growing behind them.

Tall, blonde, and gracefully swathed in a simple green dress, Magda guided Peter and Nora to their seats.

The second they sat down, the lights dimmed and the audience quieted as two students came onto the stage.

These two were much more enthusiastic than the ones selling tickets, and they delivered a kindly-spirited opening to the Spring Parent-Appreciation concert.

"A lot less religious controversy than the Christmas play," Peter whispered to Anne, referring to the annual PTA debate over 'Santa Claus' versus a Nativity play.

The MC's concluded their introduction, and an older woman hunched over a piano began a jaunty tune. A class of kindergarteners (obvious by their rambunctious attitudes) made their way onto the stage and began to sing.

"Wanda usually helps with the music; playing the piano and such," Peter said. "But she opted out this year."

I wonder why, he thought sarcastically.

The auditorium walls -which doubled as the gymnasium- were decorated with many different and colourful pieces of artwork. (Each of the collections differing depending on the class.)

As the second song began, Peter noticed how Anne tapped her fingers against her thigh. It wasn't a nervous or agitated kind of tapping, but as the concert went on, he realized she was keeping time with the music.

She seemed to do this unknowingly -like pushing her hair back, or readjusting her glasses.

It was only now that Peter realized how much time he spent thinking about Anne.

Like how she always made snarky comments under her breath about how horrible everyone around her was -and thought that no one heard her.

Or like how she would roll her eyes so far back into her head whenever he got a supposedly simple French question wrong.

How she never seemed to care about what her hair looked like; or about the clothes she wore.

Or how when she thought no one was listening, Anne sometimes let her native French accent shine through her English speech

Anne chuckled softly, and Peter turned his attention from her to the stage.

Brygit was right in her element, wearing the pink tutu, princess tiara, and sparkly butterfly wings.

The second-graders did a horribly-choreographed ballet routine (which looked more like highland dancing.) But it was adorable nonetheless.

Anne giggled as one of the boys tried to spin Brygit around in an attempt at a dramatic finale. Peter couldn't help but smile at the spectacle.

The parents and grandparents around them couldn't help but wonder what the hell a pair of meddling teenagers were doing at a function like this.

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.

.

Forty-five minutes of repressed sexual tension later…

"Want me to walk you home?"

Nora was startled, but pleased. "Um, sure… I guess."

Peter told his mother that he'd return later; then he, and Anne left. As they left the school grounds, neither of them noticed Magda's apprehensive frown.

Since they were walking at a regular person's pace, it took them almost an hour to get to the four-plex, but Nora found herself enjoying every minute of it.

They talked about the pros and cons of school (Peter obviously mentioning more cons); how long it would take for Nixon to fuck up (Anne thought he would last until the end of his presidential term); and where they thought the world was headed. (Although, Nora had to constantly remind Peter that no she could not travel to the future, because no she still had not told him when she was really from.)

All in all, it turned out to be a rather deep conversation.

Eventually, they reached the ancient picket fence that surrounded Nora's borrowed property. Neither said anything for a while, not wanting to end the time they'd shared with one another.

"So," Peter tried. "Did you like the show?"

Nora blushed (and was completely unsure as to why she did!) "Yeah, it was nice."

"I'm glad you liked it."

"Wanda didn't volunteer this year," Nora said. Why had she said that?!

"Yeah… She already has enough hours to graduate."

Both of them knew that wasn't the reason. (And they were in grade eleven, anyways!)

Peter scratched the back of his head. "She likes volunteering for stuff like that -things that involve music, I mean. Music and children, she likes those things." Jesus Christ that sounded creepy!

"And girls," Nora said.

Peter started, then remembered that Anne knew. "Yeah…"

"That's cool -that's she's a lesbian, I mean. I'm cool with it." Nora didn't really want to go inside, not just yet.

"That's good. She really values you as a friend." Peter cringed internally at how shrink-like that had sounded.

There was no denying it, the tension between them was becoming unbearable.

"So…" Nora said, but her voice trailed off.

The sun was just beginning to set, spreading the horizon with a mural of pink and orange. A flock of cawing birds suddenly emerged from a nearby tree, startling the teens from each other's gaze.

Peter took a step forward. Nora stood shock still, unsure of what to do. Suddenly becoming very self-conscious, she realized that her hair was an absolute mess! Her jeans were three days unwashed, her shirt was at least two! (Did it smell? She couldn't tell…) And her bag! Don't even get started on that… That thing was as old as she was! How it was still intact, she didn't know.

She felt her heartbeat go up, ten, twenty, faster and faster. Way past the natural rate. She didn't bother trying o slow it down.

The distance between them decreased more and more, and suddenly, they were practically chest to chest. Or in Nora's case: crown of head to shoulder… Damn, she was short.

Trying -and failing- to cease her blush, Nora looked up at the boy towering above her.

He really does have beautiful eyes, she thought. So grey; grey like a storm. A storm as uncontrollable as him. And his hair! She had the unintelligible urge to run her fingers through his shaggy silver locks.

That's what she liked about Peter. Despite what everyone else thought, he didn't let anyone control him. He made his own path; drew his own fate. He could do something with his life; could emerge in the eyes of everyone else. He was the exact opposite of her: spontaneous, outgoing, lovable.

"Hey shortstack," he whispered, breaking through her thoughts.

She sighed, the breathy noise making Peter want to kiss her even more. "I think I've given up on telling you to stop that."

"Really?" He quirked one eyebrow. "You don't seem like the type to give up so easily."

She frowned, "Who said anything about easy? I've been telling you for the past four months! 'Shortstack' is a derogatory term that degrades vertically-challenged people as myself. We take pride in our height -or lack thereof- and I'll have you know that being short comes with a lot of- mmmffff!" Nora's tirade was silenced as Peter chose that moment to kiss her.

And in that second, all sensible thought flew the coop in Nora's jumbled-up head.

Kissingmekissingmekissingme. Ohmygodhe'skissingme. He tastes nice, but what if I taste bad?! Hair! My hair's a mess. Hands, what do I do with my hands. She settled with placing them on his shoulders, and in doing that had to stand on her tiptoes. And in doing that, she unintentionally leaned into the kiss.

Peter hesitantly ran his fingers through Nora's curls, but then pulled her even closer as she went up on her tiptoes.

She tasted like mint, fresh and crisp. She smelled like citrus, and a bit of sweat; Peter loved it.

After another second, they broke apart; gasping for air; flushed red; hair a little messier on Nora's part.

She took a step back.

Idiot.

Fool.

Incompetent promise-breaker. She hated herself for kissing him back; for letting him kiss her. But she couldn't; didn't hate herself for it. Even if she had broken her one rule. That was her one rule: don't make connections.

But she had; and romantic ones were the worst.

But she liked it. She really did.

"I- I should go…" She turned to leave, but then felt a hand hold on to hers.

Peter stared at her imploringly, "Please, don't shut me out."

He was serious. She was afraid. They were complete opposites.

But she liked it. She liked him.

"I…" She took a deep breath. "I like you."

There. She'd said it. Let the choirs of a metaphorical heaven rejoice. Nora felt like a huge weight had been taken off her shoulders. But that a slightly smaller one had replaced it: her promise.

Danielle.

Your sister.

Your dead sister. The one other death you absolutely need to change.

Don't forget about her -you made a vow to change things.

I won't, she promised internally. I never will. But I can stay here a little longer. Maybe get their help?

Excuses, excuses.

"I like you too," Peter said, bringing her back to the present.

He kissed her once more, this time on the forehead.

"I'll see you tomorrow."

She nodded.

Then he was gone, leaving a billowing trail of dust in his wake.

Nora smiled and put a finger to her lips. The distinct taste of Peter still lingered.

She liked him. He liked her.

Nora opened the gate, an unusually chipper skip in her step.

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A/N: Anyone catch the not-so-discreet RedVBlue reference? Let me know if you did XD