Author's note: Thank you to MrsPanda, wolfimus prime, kmj1989, NotMarge, TReneeM, anonymouscsifan, and Girl-of-1000-fandoms for the reviews! Girl, what a compliment! Thank you so much :-)

By the way, the quote Vivien thinks to herself at the end of last chapter was from Romeo and Juliet, Act I, Scene 5. It comes right after that famous line from Juliet: "My only love sprung from my only hate!/ Too early seen unknown, and known too late!" Just a little fyi for everyone.

Poor Vivien, guys. She's going to become more and more conflicted as time goes on. This is just the beginning. If you're feeling bad for her then I'm doing my job right! Feel free to let me know what you think. And as always, thank you for reading!

"Superior"

August 26, 1974

Well this... this is disappointing. Why do these things have to cost so goddamn much?

I'm at a music store in the City looking at guitars. I really want to buy one for Mr. Cole, but I'm getting a big fat case of sticker shock right now.

My funds are kinda limited at this point because I've been buying so much food for everyone in Hell's Kitchen. So as much as I want to give Mr. Cole a guitar, I don't think I can really justify spending that much money on this one thing. I obviously appreciate music and everything, but feeding everybody kinda trumps that, don't you think?

I sigh in defeat.

I guess this is one thing I just can't help my friend with, any more than I can give him his sight back.

Unless...

"Can I help you with something?"

I glance over my shoulder to see a guy with bad skin behind me. He has an overly-helpful expression on his face. "Fred," his name tag says. I'm guessing he works here.

"No, not today, thanks," I reply politely.

I turn back around, but he doesn't leave. "So... do you play?" he asks eagerly, moving to stand by my side. I automatically reach up and adjust my hat to make sure my ears aren't showing. "Or are you looking to learn? We offer lessons, you know."

"That's cool, but I already know how."

"Oh yeah? How long have you been playing for?"

I shrug. "I can't even remember learning," I admit.

"Who taught you?"

It's difficult to hold back the growl of irritation I want to make. Why is this guy being so goddamn nosy? Or is this just polite conversation and I'm such a closed-off loner I can't even tell the difference? Dammit, I hate talking to people I don't know.

"My father did," I reply hesitantly. "Do- do you play?"

There. Look at me trying to make small talk with a stranger. Vivien gets a gold star for the day.

"Sure do," Fred says, offering a hand to shake. "I'm Fred, by the way."

I don't take it- I'm afraid my claws would be too noticeable if I did. But I try to give him a bright, closed-lip smile to soften that awkward moment. "Nice to meet you. I'm Vivien."

"Well, Viv- can I call you Viv?" he asks. I open my mouth to reply, but he keeps talking without pause. "Are you thinking about buying today?"

"It's Vivien, actually," I tell him stiffly. "And like I said, not today."

"You sure?"

"Very," I reply.

"Well... feel free to take one down and play if you want to, anyway," Fred offers eagerly. "And since you're not buying today, come back any time, Viv."

"Vivien."

"Right."

"I may have to take you up on that offer, though, Fred," I tell him. "Thank you."

Because I have an idea on how to get Mr. Cole a guitar.

The question is, can I make that sacrifice?

August 27, 1974

"Hello, Mr. Cole," I say brightly the next day. "I brought you something."

"Oh, ya did?"

I kneel down next to the old man and put his hand on my dad's guitar case as I settle it in his lap. I wait until his fingers have started sliding along the beaten-up leather, exploring the shape enough to recognize it before I ask, "what do you think?"

"Vivien, ya said this was your daddy's," Mr. Cole notes seriously.

It's actually more than that. This is the one material thing I have left of my parents- everything else was lost in the fire that killed them. Once this guitar is gone I'll really only have my memories of Mom and Dad, and nothing else.

"Yeah," I agree, somehow managing to keep my voice even. "But I want you to have it now."

Believe me, deciding to give up my dad's guitar wasn't an easy choice.

But I also know it's the right one. Mr. Cole has nothing to his name except for the clothes on his back, on top of being blind. I saw how much playing affected him when I let him borrow my guitar last week. As much as it hurts to part with it- and trust me, it really fucking hurts- I know that Mr. Cole needs this more than I do.

"I can't-" he begins to object.

"Sure you can," I interject sternly. "Mr. Cole, you told me you haven't been able to play in twenty years. We both know that a soul without music starts going dark. That's why you need this more than I do."

"But-"

"Mr. Cole."

"But Vivien-"

"You're going to hurt my feelings if you keep protesting," I warn.

This makes him chuckle. "Stubborn little thing, ain't ya?"

I pretend to scoff. "Who says I'm 'little,' Mr. Cole?" I demand, but I'm only kidding. I can smell that he's weakening.

And besides, he's not wrong.

"No one did," he replies. "I can just tell. Most of the time I can't even hear ya move, ya know."

I laugh. "That's part of my mutation, actually. I'm light on my feet," I explain. "But we're getting off topic anyway. You're going to take this guitar, Mr. Cole, and you're going to play to your heart's content and- and take really good care of it for me. Understood?"

Mr. Cole clutches the instrument in his lap, his expression clearly torn. "Fine," he huffs, finally relenting. "But only because you're twisting my arm about it. I'll keep it safe for ya, I promise."

"Good," I say.

"Thank ya, Vivien," he murmurs. His voice is kinda choked up. "Truly- thank ya."

I lean down and kiss him on his whiskery cheek. "You're welcome, Mr. Cole," I tell him.

And then I get the hell out of there before I cry, too.

October 8, 1974

A couple months later Magneto gives me orders to go steal some government files.

"I'll leave it up to your discretion as to whether you want someone to come with you," he concludes in this really stiff, wary tone that kinda makes me wonder if he's given up on telling me what to do without expecting me to question it.

Hey, I warned him, didn't I? It's not like I ever pretended to be a good little soldier or anything, you know?

Just to fuck with him- seriously, the surprise on his face is priceless- I simply nod in agreement and don't argue. "Alright," I tell him calmly. "I'll head out tonight."

I originally plan on going in alone, but that changes pretty damn quick when I stumble in on a conversation that causes me a little- ok, a lot- of unease on my way out.

You know what they say about eavesdroppers, right? That they never hear good things about themselves?

I think that's horseshit. Eavesdroppers never hear good things period.

"Humans are so weak," I hear Mastermind say dismissively. That's really rich, coming from him. I mean, the little weasel flinches every time I make a sudden move around him now. "We're clearly a superior species."

There's that word I've been dreading, ever since Hank warned me at Alkali Lake. Superior.

So it sounds like Mastermind, at least, really does believe in that bullshit. Of all the Brotherhood I guess I'm not too surprised on that one. Weak people need to feel better about themselves somehow, right? And putting other people down is an easy way of doing that.

But who's he talking to? And do they agree with him?

"Yeah," a voice replies uncertainly. "Yeah, we are."

It's Myles.

My crazy little brother, who's too fucking whacked out half the time to even know better than to agree with Mastermind's crap. I mean, why else would he go along with it? He's young and impressionable, and Mastermind is taking advantage of that to twist his thinking. It's not because Myles could really think like that, right?

I step into view, ready to put the brakes on this mind fuck right now.

Both of them startle- but while Mastermind looks guilty when he sees me glaring at him, Myles' expression is more... thoughtful.

Uh oh.

"Hey Myles," I say cheerfully. "Wanna come on a mission with me?"

"Yeah, of course."

He eagerly scrambles to his feet without missing a beat or even asking a question, and that melts my heart just a little bit. For a second there I can pretend that Myles is just my baby brother, dying to go on some new adventure with me.

Like old times.

I manage to fake a smile for him. "Go get ready then," I tell him. "Meet me at the garage."

"Ok," he agrees happily. He immediately heads for his room to change into his uniform.

Leaving me alone with Mastermind. The fucker who's trying to poison my brother's mind.

I bare my fangs at him. "I'm watching you, asshole," I hiss.

"I'm not the one that needs to be watched," he replies arrogantly.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I demand.

Mastermind just shrugs and gives me this imperious, shit-eating grin that seriously makes me want to claw the expression right off his fucking face.

Just so he doesn't forget who he's messing with I make a stutter step towards him, causing him flinch back in fear. "Fucking chicken shit," I mutter as I turn to leave.

I can't help feeling a prickle of anxiety about what Mastermind said as I go down to the garage. Who needs to be watched? Me? Why would anyone need to watch me? Is it because I don't follow orders all that well? And what kind of other bullshit has Mastermind been feeding Myles?

At least right now with this mission I have a perfect opportunity to ply answers out of my brother. I've just gotta approach it delicately is all. But let's face it, delicacy isn't something I'm good at.

I don't have a chance to bring the conversation around that way at first because Myles is being such a chatterbox about other things and I can't get a word in edgewise.

Almost like... is he doing it on purpose to avoid questioning? Or am I seriously getting too paranoid?

He's your brother, I scold myself. Get real. Just be happy he's acting more like his old self.

And I am happy about that, I really am. Myles has actually cut back on the trips to Crazytown over the past few months.

It gives me hope that one day he'll be- well, not normal again, because that's expecting too much in even a best case scenario- but... better. That maybe someday he won't need me so damn much, and I'll be able to go off and live my own life.

Am I a bad person for wanting that? Probably.

But that doesn't make it any less true.

I finally get an "in" on the conversation once we've actually arrived at the facility we're breaking into.

"Alright," I murmur. We're several hundred yards back from the entrance. "Let's go take a look, see what we can do."

"You'll get us in, Sissy," Myles says confidently. "Humans haven't been able to come up with anything you can't break into."

Humans haven't been able-? What the fuck?

Yeah, I get that that was supposed to be a compliment to me, but I know a racist jab when I hear one.

See, that's the scary thing about prejudice- sometimes it's so subtle that it's hard to notice. And if no one notices it, no one calls you out for it. That just reinforces in your own head that what you're thinking is right.

And around and around that racist hamster wheel goes.

"How do you know a mutant didn't design this place, Myles?" I ask, keeping my voice light. "Or any of the other places I've broken into?"

He gives me a disparaging look. "That would mean mutants work for government."

"Plenty of mutants work for the government," I retort.

Hank, for one, mentioned in passing while we were at Alkali Lake that he worked for the CIA for a while. When he was like, seventeen. That man is so damn smart, and yet-

And you're doing it again, Babineaux. Your brain is supposed to be a no-Hank-zone, remember?

Damn.

"They just have to hide it most of the time."

Myles frowns. "But they shouldn't have to."

"No, they shouldn't," I agree. "But that's what we're fighting for, isn't it?"

He nods thoughtfully.

God, please let me get through to him. Please.