Chapter 21

"Nyet."

"Nyet?" Raven echoed, unable to hide the disappointment edging into her voice. "Is that a definite nyet or...?"

"Absolutely nyet," Azazel clarified, crossing his arms tightly. He sat on his bed, glaring at Raven as she stood a few feet away. Several hours earlier, the two were downstairs listening Charles and Alex elaborate on their suspicions surrounding the mysterious earthquake and Moira's own research into the mutant-worshiping Sect of Nur, who may be positioning themselves as a real threat if the myths surrounding them proved true. It all sounded like the plot of a bad, dime-store science-fiction novel, but if Charles was concerned, that was enough to make Raven pay attention. Before they disbanded, Charles somehow coerced a cease-fire between Moira and Azazel. How many telepathic threats he had to use to secure that truce, Raven didn't care to guess. The blue woman couldn't blame Azazel for his distrust of that woman; Raven had never been fond of Moira, but it was news to her that Moira and her partner had been tracking the very KGB cell that Raven had once worked for. One of these days Raven was also going to ask Charles why, exactly, Moira didn't remember anyone from the old days, but right now, Raven had bigger windmills to joust.

Presently, she stood in Azazel's room pleading her case to go East in search of Erik. She had secretly trailed Azazel after the meeting in Charles's office, and she asked for a private discussion the second she caught him alone. So far, though, it seemed like her words were falling on deaf ears.

"What are you thinking, asking this of me?" Azazel dropped his head to his hands, rubbing his face vigorously in frustration. "Go into Eastern Bloc? Together? Might as well sign own death warrants!"

"Zaz, something's wrong," Raven argued. "Erik's one of us, and he needs our help."

"Erik," Azazel scoffed under his breath, making Raven frown. She knew Azazel wasn't exactly a fan of Erik, not after his brief time in the Brotherhood (and, to be honest, maybe a little because Erik and Raven had been involved before she and Azazel became a couple), but she hoped Azazel would be moved by the fact that Erik was a former comrade and a fellow mutant in trouble. He looked back up at her, this time through splayed fingers. For a second, Raven caught herself fixated on the intensity of his coloration. What are the odds that someone with such dark red skin would have such light blue eyes? She was wearing her own natural skin, a tactic she knew would work in her favor. Azazel had never liked her wearing a disguise any longer than necessary, and if she was attempting an appeal to his sense of mutant solidarity, she couldn't exactly hide while making her case.

"Nyet," Azazel repeated, refolding his arms. "You think you were so clever, last time, when you went for Kurt? KGB knew were you in the East, Raven. You are lucky you found way out before they found you, as I am lucky nyet person saw us together in Berlin!"

Raven swallowed hard, drumming her fingertips on her elbow. She didn't know her presence had gone noticed when she rescued Kurt; she truly thought she had skated under the radar. Part of Raven wondered if what Azazel said was true, of if he was exaggerating to drive home his point. Either way, their conversation was not going in the direction she wanted.

"Stay out of the Bloc Raven," Azazel shook his head, making a show of his final decision. "Let Magneto fight his own battles."

"That's just it," she was losing ground fast, and had to switch tactics, "it's not his own battle, at least, not anymore. Erik has a wife and a child now. Did you know that?" Azazel continued his passive stare, but Raven saw his tail twitch just enough to know she had sparked his attention. "I found that out a few years ago. A daughter, Azazel. She's only seven years old. Wasn't that about the same age Clarice was when you adopted...?"

"Stop," Azazel snarled, standing suddenly and extending a finger in warning, but Raven pushed recklessly forward.

"...when you adopted her? What would you do if it was Clarice, or Kurt, who needed...?" Before she could finish, Azazel seized Raven by her shoulder, leaning in until his face was mere inches from hers.

"Do not. Use my son. Against me." He hissed, squeezing her shoulder just hard enough to make her wince. His tone was dangerous, and something malicious flashed in his eyes when he spoke. For a second, Raven was reminded of all the reasons she had feared Azazel when she first laid eyes on him, but she held his gaze defiantly, determined not to show her fright. Just as quickly as he grabbed her, Azazel let go, turning away and raking his fingers through his hair, seeming agitated that she forced a reaction out of him.

"I'm going, with or without your help," Raven concluded, rubbing her arm. Still with his back to her, Azazel dropped his face into his hands again, this time exhaling loudly.

"When?"

"I'll need to get a few things ready here, find someone to take over my class, then get a few things in place with my European contacts. I'll also need..."

"When, Raven?" His voice echoed against his palms.

"A few days, tops."

"Promise you will find me again, before you leave?"

"Find you? Why?" Raven raised an eyebrow, trying to suppress the hope in her voice. He looked at her over his shoulder.

"Find me so I have one more chance to talk some sense into you, devotchka."

"Fine," Raven turned to leave. Her request was futile; there was no way Azazel was going to take her East. She was on her own, and a solo mission was going to be damn near impossible. With Azazel, she would have had a much better chance. Just as her fingertips brushed the doorknob, something stayed her hand. She frowned, glancing down to see a bright red tail coiled around her wrist. For a second, Raven thought back to the few days of Kurt's life. As a baby, he'd wrap his tail around her wrist almost instinctively when she held him, the same way his father had done whenever he wanted Raven's attention, and even sometimes for no reason when they were alone. For years after giving up Kurt, Raven would startle awake at night in a cold sweat, swearing she could feel something wrapped around her wrist.

"I saw what you did," Azazel's tail slipped away as he turned to face her. "Back in the office."

"And just what do you think I did?" But Raven knew exactly what Azazel was referring too; part of her felt stupid for putting herself between a teleporter and a gun, but she had acted without thinking. Because apparently, I still care. The thought suddenly made her very angry in light of the fact he was outright refusing to help her.

"Moira would nyet have shot me," Azazel held her gaze steady. "That is nyet who she is. And, had she pulled trigger, I would have vanished before bullet came."

"Yeah well," Raven steeled herself, "You could have have said thank you, you know? I guess at least one of us still cares if the other one dies." It was a low-blow, but Raven was hurt, and the pain made her want to hurt him back. Azazel narrowed his eyes.

"Get out," he growled. Turning on her heels, Raven let the door slam behind her.

Azazel winced as the door shut loudly in the wake of Raven's departure. That certainly wasn't how he expected their conversation to go, not when she practically jumped out of the shadows thirty minutes before, seizing him by the arm and demanding that he take her to his bedroom. Raven was lucky he didn't stab when when she surprised him; he was already on edge after seeing Moira MacTaggert in the school and learning that she'd be staying at there for a few days. There was no way he could stay in his own room now, not with her under the same roof. Cease-fire or not, Azazel didn't any CIA agent not to take advantage of apprehending a high-level KGB operative when the opportunity presented itself, practically on a silver platter at that. Might as well go knock on her door, hand her all my weapons and a set of handcuffs, mused Azazel sarcastically. Not that handcuffs would do anything against his mutation, but still. Azazel took a deep breath, still in a state of disbelief at his present circumstances. He grabbed the bottle of vodka he kept inside the nightstand, unscrewing the cap and tossing it on his bed. He didn't even bother looking for a glass. After everything that happened, he needed a drink.

As the liquid burned his throat, he though about the chance he had to get rid of Moira permanently a few years back, when the CIA raided a Soviet club fronting a black-market munitions operation. Azazel had traced a target to the club, and he happened to be stalking in the catwalk shadows when the CIA poured in. He recognized Moira and Levine almost immediately from their run-ins earlier that year. Azazel had enjoyed watching the firefight; he only decided to leave when an actual fire broke out. Just before he vanished, he spotted Moira lying unconscious, trapped under fallen debris on the floor. She should have died there, but something made Azazel teleport her outside, dumping her unceremoniously on the ground and disappearing before her American comrades could even raise their guns. Opposing sides or not, the truth was that Azazel respected Moira. The woman proved herself to be tough as a hammer and she had to fight hard to get to where she was in a world run by men. She deserved a better death than smoke inhalation, lying on the floor of some seedy club.

It also doesn't exactly hurt that Moira's accent in Russian is really, really cute, Azazel mused, smiling to himself. He easily could see why Charles was enamored such a strong, beautiful woman, once he made the connection that Moira was indeed the devotchka Charles was pinned over. Charles seemed to care for Moira as much as Azazel did for Raven, and...

Raven. Azazel shook his head as if to banish their entire conversation. Honestly, he wasn't sure what he expected from her anymore, but it certainly wasn't her latest request. She was crazy to think he would willingly take her into the Eastern Bloc, putting them both in a position for the KGB to kill them as traitors. She had no idea how close she was to being found the last time, and he only overlooked her erratic behavior because of Kurt. Now she wanted to go back, and for Magneto, of all people? The last time Raven and Magneto were in the same place, Azazel saw the outcome on TV. She shot him. In the neck. Now she wants to risk her life for his? Azazel took another drink. Unbelievable.

And, he only had a few days to talk her out of going. Why couldn't she see that he did care if she died? That's exactly why Azazel didn't want her to go. This was his way of jumping in front of a bullet, only this bullet had already been fired.

Magneto, Azazel clenched his jaw. The leader who only led them down rabbit holes. Who put the entire Brotherhood in direct danger more times than Azazel could count. Who couldn't pull any weight at the Hellfire Club even though it was Magneto who called for the rescue of Emma Frost. Who was his wife's ex-lover who she now wanted him to help rescue. Who was partially responsible for Azazel's fight with Little Sister by fathering that glupyy Maximoff kid in the first place...

Azazel knew his last angry thought was a kind of a stretch, but right now, he didn't care. Everything he had build for the last few months at Westchester felt like it was crumbling around him. First Clarice getting righteous with him, then Charles getting his pants in a knot over the CIA woman, and now Raven being snarky because she needed to go East and he refused to help her get herself killed.

At least he still had Kurt to count on during this whole mess. My son, Azazel thought. Maybe it was time to finally tell him...

Time.

Azazel glanced at a nearby clock. The light blinked 5:57 PM. Clarice would be meeting with Magneto's son in just a few minutes. He glowered and took another long drink, wondering how many more people he would piss off before this day was over.

"...then the Velveteen Rabbit asked,..."

"Ms. Clarice? Peter Pan likes you," the girl named Luna interrupted Clarice with the brash, innocent honesty that only little children can get away with. Clarice lowered the picture book, amused at the child's boldness. The small audience sitting in the semi-circle around her giggled at Luna's outburst. Clarice looked across the playroom and saw Peter slowly spinning in a circle with his arms held wide as two as two older children hung off him, their feet dangling just above the ground.

"Does he now?" Clarice asked playfully. Luna nodded solemnly before motioning for Clarice to lean down. She cupped her tiny hands around Clarice's ear.

"You like him too," she whispered. "I can see it in your colors." Clarice sat back and tilted her head, grinning at Luna as she puzzled what the girl means by her colors. All of the children in the Xavier School's kindergarten already display mutations - many physical as well as invisible - and Clarice didn't know half of what the children could do. Peter warned her before they walked into the room that most of the children were too young to fully control their abilities, so she had to be ready for an accidental zap or possibly a nip from the more feral children. Clarice didn't know what to expect when it turned out their date started with playing with the school youngest students while their full-time caregivers took a dinner break.

All Clarice really knew was that more than anything, she wished there had been somewhere like this when she was a little girl.

An hour earlier, Clarice had stood in the kindergarten doorway, utterly transfixed. Her head still ached from the psychic block Charles inflicted earlier, but the pain was slight. The KGB employed a few telepaths, so she did have some training in blocking mental attacks. Clarice's borrowed green dress felt foreign against her skin, and she soothed its pleats as she surveyed the room. Shortly before meeting Peter, Jubilee and Jean appeared at Clarice's door, bearing dresses and make-up and more excitement that Clarice had for her own date. It seemed that word traveled fast around the school (especially, as Clarice suspected, if that word traveled from Peter's mouth), but in the end, Clarice was grateful; getting ready for a date was the most normal teenage experience she ever had, even if she was already twenty-four years old. Clarice was surprised to find Peter looking more cleaned-up than usual as he stood waiting in the foyer, although that only meant combed hair and a t-shirt with a picture of a tuxedo cumberbun on it under his gunmetal jacket.

"Wow, Clarice! You look...wow!" Peter grinned as he held out his arm. At least he didn't bring me flowers, Clarice thought, smiling and slipping her arm through his. One friendly date with Peter was fine, but she didn't want things to get awkward or give him the wrong idea in the long run. Peter walked her down a few hallways on the first level, and they eventually stopped at an unfamiliar door.

As it turns out, Charles found a great reason for the speedster to remain at the school; Peter was the official part-time assistant in the school's kindergarten, which meant he helped with the children a few hours each day to give the full-time teachers and caregivers time off for meals and rest. He was downright a natural at it, and the children loved having their very own Peter Pan; a boy who never quite grew-up.

"Where did all these children come from?" Clarice counted as she asked. There were only about a dozen children in the room, but they ranged in ages from toddlers to somewhere about eight or nine years. Until earlier that day when she saw Peter on his little field trip with the children, she didn't even know the Xavier School took in students that young. From the little she knew about other people's mutations, it seemed rare for one to manifest before twelve or thirteen years in age.

"Foster care and orphanages, mostly," Peter shrugged. He motioned to little boy with orange, reptilian skin who was crawling towards a ball that one of the older girls was waving. The child looked no older than three. "Some of them are born that way, and their parents just abandon them. They end up in the system and the Professor and Hank - er, Dr. McCoy - have a few contacts that will alert them about mutant children, and arrange for them to come here. If they're lucky, their parents will bring them straight to the school, like our little Humberto over there. I call him Bert."

"Lucky?" Clarice frowned, watching the girl reward the baby with a hug when he reached her. He laughed, his eyes blinking with a third lid like a lizard's. "What's lucky about being abandoned by your family?"

"Ok, maybe lucky isn't the right word," Peter backtracked. "But, let's say a kid is born and it's obvious that the kid is a mutant, like Bert. There's a chance that the hospital staff will take the baby away, or the parents will freak and refuse to take it home. America's a better place than most for mutants, but there's still a lot of prejudice, especially in really small towns and suburbs. So, let's say the kid gets put the foster care system. There's a good chance that they'll be the only mutant in there, isolated and made to feel bad for being different, and still abandoned by their family. Or, the kid goes home with parents who don't want a mutant kid, and ends up feeling just as isolated and bad because their parents are tools. Or," Peter puts his arms out, motioning to the room at large, "those kids can end-up here, maybe without their blood family but at least with a mutant family and they can grow up feeling like they're somebody and they have a chance, you know? Having a parent detest you for what you are..." Peter paused, frowning. "Well, let's just say it sucks. These kids deserve the chance to grow up, and be just kids."

Clarice nodded quietly in agreement. When the little girl brought Bert over to say hi, Clarice sneaked a glance at Peter, wondering where he hid this deeper side and why it suddenly manifested. His silver eyes lit up when Bert reached for him, and he took the baby into his arms like he was a natural.

"Come on," Peter extended a free hand to Clarice. "Let me introduce you to my favorite little dudes and dudettes."

"See you tomorrow, Moony!" Peter whispered, waving enthusiastically to the night-shift caregiver Danielle Moonstar. She smiled as the pair left the kindergarten two hours later, just after bedtime. Clarice really enjoyed tucking the children in and listening to Peter read them a bedtime story, even if he riled a few of them up by overly acting out parts of his namesake, Peter Pan.

"That was amazing!" Clarice gushed, making the smile on Peter's face seem to glow.

"You're welcome to visit the kids anytime. Danielle loved you, and so did the kids. You're really good with them." Clarice smiled at his compliment. She always did like little kids.

"Maybe I'll take you up on that offer."

"So, if you liked that," Peter stopped and turned to face her, "then I think you're gonna love what I got planned next, and...wait, what's so funny?" He gave her a sideways look as she started giggled, her hand over her mouth.

"It's your hair, it's just..." Peter's hair - so meticulously styled earlier - now had a very loose, very lopsided braid on side from one of the little girls, most likely Rahne. Peter started combing it roughly with his fingers, but without thinking, Clarice reached up and gently unwound the braid herself. Her fingers accidentally brushed the side of Peter's face as she did so.

"There, all fixed," she grinned. Clarice noticed that Peter's cheeks were bright pink and for once, he seemed lost for words. She cleared her throat. "So, you were saying? You have planned...?"

"Yes, right!" Peter recovered, nodding as he snapped his goggles in place. "Stay here for two minutes, Ok? I gotta...well, I'll be right back. Two minutes, tops." He held up two fingers in illustration. "Time me!"

True to his word, he zipped away and zipped back in just under two minutes. Smiling triumphantly, he thrust a second pair of goggles at Clarice. She took them, raising an eyebrow.

"Dare I ask what you have in store, Mr. Pan?"

"Quicksliver Express, at your sevice, m'lady!" Peter spouted in a mock British accent, bowing dramatically. He then moved just behind Clarice, placing his hands gently on her lower back and neck as she adjusted her goggles. "Please keep your hands and feet inside the vehicle at all times. Also I have to hold your neck or you'll get whiplash." Clarice nodded, but it didn't escape her notice that for all his comedy, Peter's fingers trembled slightly when he touched her.

"Just don't get me killed, speedster," Clarice smirked.

"Well, you know what they say," Peter snickered, starting to push them forward. "To die would be an awfully big adventure!"

Joyful laughter echoed through the school hallways as Clarice felt her body fly, moving faster than light; it wasn't until they stopped that Clarice realized the sound had come from her.

A/N: Date night TBC! Also I slipped in a few fun, inside nods to my fellow writers/readers in this chapter. Please R&R - thanks all :)