True Lies Chapter 17: The Fourth, a x-men: the movie fanfic

True Lies

Chapter 17: The Fourth

By: Michelle2

Note: This fanfic takes place 1 ½ years after X-men 2. While I enjoyed the various films since X-men 2, I always envisioned my trilogy as the sequels. The imagination is awesome.

True Lies is the third part of my trilogy. Part 1: The Truth Hurts. Part 2: Sweet Little Lies.

As always: I don't own the characters or make money off my fanfics. I enjoy having fun.

Some of these scenes were inspired by the comics, Avengers 500-503.

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The sky was beautiful and clear. He thought he would see a white light when he died, but instead, he saw one color—red.

He should have known she's be the death of him, but he fell for her…and now he fell 70 stories. The last image of her burned in his mind. The anger. The rage. Red.

Was that really her?

Was this really how it would end between them?

Would she ever forgive herself for what she did?

Could he still forgive her in his death?

The sky faded away, and everything went dark…

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Clint Barton rolled out of bed and staggered to the bathroom. He had too much to drink last night. He should have known better, but they were celebrating.

What?

Did it matter?

Wanda was upset again when he turned down her advances. He didn't want the alcohol to affect their decisions in their relationship, so he walked her to her room and left her alone. He felt guilty for that, but then again, he was alone too.

They didn't deserve to be alone; they deserved to be together. They deserved happiness. The Avengers ruled their lives. They couldn't have it both ways…or could they? They could be partners as Avengers and lovers, and perhaps even more.

When he called her, she seemed happy.

"Clint," she giggled on the other end of the line. "it is good to hear your voice…I thought…I'm sorry about last night. I drank too much."

"So did I," he said.

"I'm sorry."

"I am too," Clint replied. "Wanda, our relationship…I don't want to mess this up with you."

"I know. I feel the same way," she agreed. "I guess we both got carried away last night."

"It's a new day," he reminded her. "We start a new day together. How about we go out for lunch?"

"You want to leave the tower?" she replied. "Steve wants everyone to stay in today as a precaution."

"Does anyone every listen to Rogers anymore?" he offered but changed his mind. "I can order something and bring it to your suite. We'll have a quiet evening in."

"I'd like that."

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He banged on the door of the Avengers Tower for nearly an hour before Steve Rogers let him in. When the door opened, the captain could barely open his mouth to say, "You've got some nerve, Logan."

Logan sniffed the air. She wasn't in the tower—yet.

"I told Hank McCoy that the Avengers would handle Mystique," Rogers informed him.

Logan huffed at the younger man. "You don't handle, Mystique. Mystique handles you," he replied and walked around the tower. He was going to inspect every floor to be sure the tower was safe.

"Look, Logan. I am sorry about what happened with Sabretooth," Rogers said. "But storming in the Avengers Tower isn't going to solve anything. It's bad enough I have Stark breathing down my neck. I don't need X-men interfering with Avengers' affairs."

"Mystique is a mutant; therefore, it's an X-men affair," Logan argued.

Captain America followed him as he inspected each of the building but didn't stop him from his search. He could tell the younger World War II veteran was contemplating the right response. Mystique's interest in the tower blurred the lines too much for them.

"I don't want any trouble, Logan," Rogers said when they walked on the fifth floor. "I've had enough trouble for one year."

There was a sadness in the younger man's voice. Like Logan, Steve Rogers had to watch a lot of people around him die.

"I'm not trying to cause trouble," Logan said, pausing briefly before turning to Captain America. "I'm trying to stop it from happening."

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Wanda laughed, seeing her fourteen year old boys enjoying her stories of when she was a teen. She and Pietro always got into trouble, especially when they first discovered their powers.

"Your uncle got caught in one on my hexes," she explained to the William and Thomas. "He thought he could run out of it, but he ended up spinning in like a little tornado around the room."

William's laugh brought tears to her eyes, and Thomas fell out of his chair.

Wanda couldn't ask for a better moment. There she was, sitting a table with her boys. She missed them. Why didn't the other Avengers understand that? Why didn't Vision understand that?

The lights in the room flickered.

"Mutter, are you okay?"

Wanda nodded. She could feel William's hand on hers. He was real, wasn't he? "I'm fine. Perhaps I had too much to drink last night."

"Mutter, you don't drink," Thomas fussed at her. "It gets you in trouble."

"Sometimes, I do," Wanda admitted. That's how she got pregnant with Talia Josephine. She didn't handle her alcohol that night, and neither did Kurt. Yes, she got in a lot of trouble.

"Mutter."

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Ororo sighed as she looked over the papers Scott handed to her. She was the last of the full-time faculty to make final decision about Emma Frost. She agreed with Scott and Hank and Kurt. Emma Frost was worth giving a chance. She was qualified to teach several courses, and she already had an education degree and experience teaching and counseling. With a growing student body, Emma would be a blessing to the students and overwhelmed faculty.

"What do you think?" Scott asked for her approval, which was rare. Something bothered him or confused him. The decision about admitting Emma Frost as a new faculty member had already been made, and Frost had accepted the offer. Something else troubled him. Perhaps he wanted her approval about something else.

"I hate admitting you are right," Ororo replied. She smirked when she spoke, but she couldn't help it. Part of her regretted the words that came out of her mouth next. "I think Emma Frost would be a great addition to the school, especially as a counselor."

"Great. Great," Scott's eyes widened, and his voice cracked.

"You look—"

Ororo paused as the bell rang for the 10 o'clock class. Any moment her classroom would be filled with eager and noisy students.

"You look nervous," Ororo finally said.

"I'm not nervous."

"It's alright, Scott," Ororo admitted. It had been over a year since Jean's death. They didn't forget her, but they were moving on with their lives. It was hard at first, but each day seemed easier. It was better to remember her and all she did than to cry in a corner. She wouldn't want them to continuously mourn. "We all know you like Emma."

"I do, but I just—" Scott sighed. Three students entered the room and sat at the back tables.

"It's okay, Scott," Ororo said. Her eyes got teary at the thought of seeing her friend happy again. "Jean would want you to move on. She'd want you to be happy."

Scott nodded. He didn't say anything, and he didn't need to. He knew his friends would all be there for him.

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Remy felt uneasy as the eight students entered his culinary class. He had a small group of students, but their wide eyes focused on his injuries.

"Monsieur LeBeau, are you okay?" Paige Guthrie asked as she and Illyana Rasputin walked to their station.

"I'm okay, Paige," Remy replied, but the young girl didn't seem to believe him.

His one-on-one with Sabretooth was a shock to all of them, but they all didn't understand the grave situation he was in last night. He was lucky. He knew that, but it had just dawned on them what actually happened. They were staring at the bruises on his neck—the ones his collar couldn't hide—and his arm in the sling.

Remy listened to the bell ring, and Bobby Drake returned to the classroom. While Bobby was a pain in ass for asking stupid questions about Disney princesses all morning, he actually proved to be helpful. Without Bobby's assistance, he wouldn't have his grade sheets or his classroom set up for when the students came in. Trying to get things done without the use of his dominant arm was proving to be a challenge.

"So, we're not having class today?" a hopeful "Jono" Starsmore asked. The sixteen year old couldn't eat a thing, but was taking the course to impress his crush.

"We are having class," Remy assured them. "Bobby is going to demonstrate your assigned dish and then you will have time to make your choice of tacos. I will be grading both dishes, and Bobby will help me taste test as part of your grade."

"Aw man," another student whined. "I thought you were going to let us play hooky."

"You thought wrong," Remy replied, though he would have thought the same thing in his high school classes. "Besides, it's either yamake ya own lunch or eat what Hannah's serving."

"What's Hannah making?"

"Sloppy Joes," Bobby said. "They come out the same way they go in."

Paige gagged at his comment and then asked, "So what are we making first?"

"Bread pudding," Remy replied. "Hannah has a theory dat y'awl are refusing ta eat bread, so it goes stale and I have ta make bread pudding every other week. So today, since I obviously can't cook, y'awl are going ta make it fa de entire student body."

"You're kidding, right?" Jono asked. "And you're going to trust Drake with a knife."

"Hey," Bobby said, looking up from the demonstration table. "I know how to use a knife."

Remy laughed and then instructed. "Bobby, you need to slice the bread in one-inch cubes, so slices, sticks, dices. "

Bobby held up the knife with his index finger positioned over the blade. He was ready to slice the bread as instructed, when Illyana fussed. "Monsieur LeBeau, Mr. Drake is holding the knife wrong."

"Good observation, Illyana," Remy said, and he pulled out a red marker. "You can do the honors."

Remy struggled to hold his composure as the teen colored Bobby's index finger red with a marker.

"What the hell?" Bobby looked at Remy for an explanation.

"Ya got Anne Burrelled," Remy replied. "Ya ever watch Worst Cooks in America?"

"No," Bobby replied as he corrected his grip on the knife.

Remy smirked. This might be fun!

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"Mutter."

"Yes, William." Wanda's smile drooped. Her head was fuzzy, but they stared at her. Were they real? They couldn't be. No, they were. She made them real.

"Mutter, is everything alright?" William asked, squeezing her hand. She could feel it, couldn't she? Why did she keep questioning herself?

"No," she whispered, looking around the room.

William and Thomas crumbled into a thousand pieces. Wanda was on the bedroom floor with a broken mirror before her. She lifted her hands; blood dripped through her fingers.

"What's wrong with me?"

Nothing.

Nothing at all.

The tears rolled down her cheeks. "Help me."

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Mystique sat at a table in a coffee shop nearby the Avengers Tower. She could see every floor from her distance, but she didn't make a move. She was sitting at a coffee shop and staring at a near-empty tower that housed the Avengers on break. She blamed Sabretooth for getting captured, and she blamed the X-men, including her daughter and son, for their interference with her plans. She could have been in the tower already, rerouting the diary from its destructive course.

She knew S.H.I.E.L.D. agents were in the area, and they were watching closely. She brushed her blonde locks from her face, giving one a sly smile before gazing at the tower again.

Then she saw him, and things seemed to be worse. Logan stared out one of the windows on the lower floor of the tower, and Captain America stood not far from him. She couldn't read their lips, but she could read Logan's body language. He was searching for something, and he didn't want to be interrupted. Was he looking for her?

Mystique felt her eyes burn from the tears. It had been a while since she'd seen him—since he asked her to dance at Kurt's wedding. He told her to go in, but she could—she couldn't face her children. She didn't want to ruin their happiness, even though she didn't agree with all their life choices. So she accepted his offer to dance. She could still feel the way he placed his hand on the small of her back and pulled her closer to him. Why didn't she want him? Why did she settle for Victor?

She wiped her eyes. Damn him for interfering!

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Wanda stood up. Blood rolled through her fingers and down her arms.

It's not real. None of this is real.

She reached over to the dresser to balance herself, but her grip slid from the blood.

Red.

It was red. Her favorite color.

She touched her nightgown, attempting the dry the blood and to stop her hands from bleeding. On her dresser, pictures of her family and friends cluttered the top.

"Wanda," Vision called.

She turned, and her head spun.

"Wanda," Scott Lang's voice came from another direction.

"Wanda," Agatha said. "What have you done?"

The images of the deceased moved in the pictures. They were all Avengers. They were all her friends. But what did she do to them?

One

Two

Three

"YOU KILLED US!"

Wanda pressed her palms to her temples. What had she done?

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Clint took aim at the bullseye in the archery range. His aim was a little off—an inch from the bullseye to be exact. He was never off; he always hit the center.

"I don't know why you didn't tell me the first 50 damn floors were empty," a gruffy voice echoed in the room.

"I wanted to see how long it would take for you to notice that Mystique was not here," the familiar voice of Steve Rogers replied.

Clint stepped away from the archery range. Lately, he was the only one perfecting his perfect aim, besides his moment with Wanda, but not today. He walked into a heated conversation between Captain America and an X-man, Wolverine.

"Relax," Rogers examined the room. "You only went up 22 floors before I told you. I could have let you go the whole way."

Logan grunted. "How many damn floors does this tower have?"

"Ninety-three," Clint said, interrupting the elders. Steve Rogers looked rather calm, considering the Wolverine eyed everything like a hawk. He was familiar with the gruff, elder man. He was good friend of Kurt, and Talia Josephine affectionately called him Unca Wolvie. "If you count the hanger as a floor."

Logan grabbed him by the shirt and stared at him. His nose sniffed the air, and then satisfied with his scent, he let him go.

Clint staggered to regain his balance. "What the hell?"

"Language," Steve Rogers corrected, then realized he'd hear Clint tease him for the rest of the day. "Logan is looking for Mystique," he explained. "I told the X-men that we could handle her, but Logan here insists that we cannot handle our affairs."

"Typical X-men," Clint replied. He liked getting a rise out of people; besides, he needed a good challenge. Life in the tower could get boring. Time to poke the Wolverine with a stick. "I thought this is why you were all school teachers. Those who can't do, teach."

"Watch your tongue, Barton," Logan warned. "You might lose it."

Clint smiled. Logan could be an ass, but at least he was honest. "What makes you think Mystique would come here? Carol Danvers doesn't even live here, at least not since Rogue…well you know."

"Rogue didn't steal her powers," Logan defended as he examined the room. "Mystique slammed Rogue into Danvers and forced a power transfer because of something in a damn diary. What happened to Danvers was an accident."

"Tell that to Carol."

Logan smirked. "I seem to remember the X-men telling you about Mystique targeting Danvers, but none of you Avengers listened, so we had to come save your asses."

"Carol Danvers went into a coma because you X-men interfered."

"We did everything we could to stop it," Logan replied and turned to Captain America. "Like I said. You don't handle Mystique. Mystique handles you."

Rogers folded his arms. "What did Sabretooth say during the interrogation?"

"Don't have a clue," Logan admitted. "Sabretooth was all over some kind of diary that predicted the future, mumbling all kinds of crap. By the time the interrogation was over, the diary was in pieces…but Raven…Mystique ain't stopping. Creed himself didn't think this was over."

Clint looked to Steve Rogers and then both back to Logan. While Clint didn't know the man well, there was something in his voice that concerned them. The Wolverine was afraid.

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Rogue stared at her cell phone. She and Jean-Paul had been texting each other throughout the morning, causing her to lose focus in her classes.

J.P: Really.

Rogue: Yeah. So confused.

J.P. Y

J.P. He 3 u. TT him.

Rogue: Complicated.

Rogue: Powers of death.

J.P. So

J.P. U worry 2 much.

Rogue rubbed her eyes. She was supposed to be reading an article and writing a journal before the end of class, but all she could think about was Remy.

Why was the man so complicated? For the past few days, all he talked about was being with her—the girl who can't touch anyone anymore. He was getting his divorce finalized. He wanted her to meet his family. He is thinking of getting a house with her. Perhaps she was the complicated one?

J.P. U there.

Rogue: Journal.

Rogue: Failing miserably.

Rogue: Can't absorb what I read. Can absorb anything else.

J.P. U need a drink.

Rogue: Yep.

Rogue: Logan took my fake i.d. again.

Rogue: :(

J.P. 3 u girl. TTYL. Spanish exam next hour.

Rogue: TTYL

Rogue tossed her notebook and phone in her book sack and turned in her journal. She didn't care if she received 10 points or zero. She just wanted to be back home to figure things out.

She stepped out of class and looked at her phone. She didn't have another message for Jean-Paul to comfort her. She had something else. Her lock screen and home screen were images of her with Remy. She just wanted to be with him the way he wanted to be with her.

Rogue: I love you.

Remy (one handed response): 3 u 2

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"I finally understand why you agreed to teach this year," Bobby said, looking around the room. The eight students were busy at their stations prepping their mise en place for their tacos, while their bread puddings were finishing up in the ovens.

Remy sighed. The red disappeared briefly allowing the black to show completely as he rolled his eyes. "Enlighten me, Iceboy."

"You have your own little sweat shop," Bobby replied. "All you have to do it show them what to do, and then they do it. You could have them cook lunch for the entire school if you wanted."

"Dere is more to it dan dat," Remy replied. He watched the students meticulously—the way they held their knifes, the way they cooked their food, how they used the equipment, how they served the food to others. His classroom wasn't set up the traditional way, but the components made it challenging. Safety was a big key to success in his classroom—and in any kitchen.

"We are standing here…it's like we're babysitting them."

Remy couldn't argue with that point. After demonstrating a particular meal, he was watching the students or interacting one-on-one with them as needed. "Dey are learning life skills."

"They could easily go to Taco Bell," Bobby shrugged.

Remy sighed. It took a lot not the punch the younger man, but Bobby was just that—younger. Bobby didn't understand what it was like to wander around, wondering where his next meal was coming from. He lived in the mansion since his powers manifested. He didn't have to cook his meals or even wash his clothes. He lived like a spoilt brat, but it wasn't really his fault. He was just lucky to grow up surrounded by supporters, even if they spoiled him too much. Remy, on the other hand, knew what life was like away from the mansion. He knew what it was like to live on his own. He knew what it was like trying to find out what he was really made of—not everything about his life was good.

"Dey could easily do a lot of t'ings," Remy finally replied. "But not everyone is as lucky ta live here. What will dey do once dey leave...if dey leave?"

Bobby was silent for a moment. The younger mutant's wheels were spinning. "That's why Prof. X asked you teach a cooking class and Ororo to teach sewing and Logan to teach woodshop."

"Exactly. What do ya t'ink would happen if dis school didn't exist?" Remy stepped away to walk around the classroom. He checked on each student, offering them advise and encouragement as they worked on their knife cuts or monitored them as they removed hot pans of bread pudding out the oven.

Remy didn't approach his culinary class the same way he approached his French class. With the French class, he modeled his curriculum after Kurt's German class. With the culinary class, he was allowed to be creative. Professor Xavier thought it was amusing he modeled his course objectives off of cooking competition shows, such as The Worst Cooks in America and Guy's Grocery Games. However, to Remy, it all made sense, and the kids liked teasing him about it.

"Paige," Remy said, stopping at the young girl's station. She had chopped enough vegetables to feed an army or the Guthrie clan. "I t'ink ya got enough fa ya veggie tacos."

"Oops," Paige giggled. "I forgot I'm not watching my mom in the kitchen."

Remy smiled. His first memories of Jean-Luc adopting him were ones spent in the kitchen. "Make a set of veggie tacos for Ms. Munroe; she'd appreciate it."

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Wanda stumbled down the hallway from her room to the small living area. Blood from her hands smeared along the walls as she tried to steady herself.

"You killed us."

"Wanda."

"Leave me alone," she cried. Why is this happening to me?

"Mutter."

"STOP IT!"

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Logan looked around the room. The Avengers common area was nothing like the X-mansion's common area. There were no teenagers laughing and flirting and playing games. It was just a long empty room with fancy furniture and fully stocked bar. Of course, he shouldn't have been surprised. The Avengers Tower was originally Stark Tower, and everyone knew Tony Stark liked to entertain.

"This is nice set up," Logan said as he helped himself to a drink behind the bar.

"It fits more of Tony's style," Steve Rogers said. He didn't object and motioned for him to pour a glass for him too. "Playboy billionaire asshole. Pardon my French."

Logan chuckled for the first time he arrived at the tower. "I take it you and Tony don't get along."

"We get along when we have to," Steve replied. He looked around the room.

Logan thought about his relationship with Scott Summers. "I get that."

He took a drink. Normally, he would revel in the silence, but something about empty tower made him uneasy. So far, he had met a handful of people, most were temporary "government" guests that spent the night or came to take a break from the business they were on. Very few Avengers occupied the tower full-time. Steve Rogers was there, and Dr. Strange had left to run some morning errands. Clint Barton finished up his training and had plans to meet Wanda Maximoff for lunch. Pietro Maximoff and Hope Pym were on their way back from Europe, while the rest of the Avengers were in the new facility outside the city.

There was something about the tower's eerie silence that scared him.

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Mystique walked slowly towards the Avengers Tower. She sipped a latte to keep her cover, but she had figured out where all the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents had positioned themselves. They eyed her too. They were ready to make their move when she made hers. She needed a distraction—a good distraction.

She glanced as door opened to the tower. She recognized the Avenger instantly—Hawkeye. He had blond hair, a chiseled body, and smirked that made her want to melt. He wasn't bad looking for a human, or superhuman as he was classified.

She watched as he met with a young girl delivering food to the tower. Another date, perhaps? She found it odd that Hawkeye set his sights on Magneto's eldest daughter. The woman wasn't sane; even Magneto worried about her health. What was Kurt even thinking? And my grandchild came from that woman's loins? At least her grandchild was real.

Mystique felt shaky for a moment. She stepped away from the tower in an effort to gather herself. She had way too much coffee; she was sure of it, but something else bothered her.

She saw nothing but red.

Page…

After page…

Nothing but red.

Suddenly the diary she had made sense. Wanda…

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Hank glanced down at his phone. Since Steve Rogers texted him about Logan's arrival, he had been on edge. Perhaps it was the craving for Twinkies, or perhaps it was just something about that day that bothered him. Either way, Logan was at the Avengers Tower, easing his mind about Mystique or whatever else seemed to be ailing him.

"Dr. McCoy."

The soft voice of Melody Guthrie brought him back to reality. "Yes, Melody."

"I wrote an outline for my science project. Can you look over it before the end of class?" she asked.

"Certainly," Hank replied. He walked over to the young mutant's desk, wondering if the feeling of uneasiness would leave him.

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Wanda walked around the room. The shelves on the wall shook, and then fell one by one. Vases, pictures, and breakable knickknacks from her travels fell to the floor.

"Help me. Help me."

The tears rolled down her cheeks. The walls closed in on her, trapping her in a prison of her own mind. It was dark in there. It was dark.

"Mutter."

Not again. No.

"Mutter, what is wrong?" William asked.

"Stop please."

She felt Thomas's cold hand on her shoulder. "Mutter, everything is going to be okay."

"We'll take care of you," William added.

No. No. No. She closed her eyes. "Go away, please."

The knocking on the door interrupted her thoughts.

"Wanda, it's Clint."

She heard the familiar voice say. She opened her eyes. He couldn't see her like this, but no, he should. He could help her. No, he would be just like them. She didn't need help. She needed help.

"Wanda."

"One second," Wanda replied. She wiped the tears from her eyes. She could pretend none of this happened.

The room brightened, and the shelves lined the walls, displaying all her treasures. William and Thomas blended back into the background.

She stood up. A red, sequined gown draped loosely on her body. She smoothed the gown, and a gold belt appeared around her waist accenting her figure. She willed away all the pain and the darkness surrounding her. She could disguise herself. She could disguise her pain.

She opened the door, seeing him standing there.

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"Waking up in a different time period wasn't as disturbing as seeing myself in a history textbook," Steve Rogers explained as he shared drinks and war stories with Logan.

"I got you beat," Logan said, puffing on the end of a cigar. "We took some kind of stupid field trip with the kids to some Civil War museum. Next thing I know, I hear, 'That looks like Mr. Logan.' So I went over to the kid, thinking he's just messing with me. But no. There I am in a Union soldier uniform, and I'm standing next to Victor Creed."

"Sabretooth," Steve shook his head. "Wow."

"You want to know the real kicker?"

"There's more."

"I'm Canadian," Logan added.

Rogers laughed. "You hungry?"

"Sure," Logan replied. It was enjoyable talking to someone closer to his age and experience, but he missed the busy mansion. He missed the beers with Kurt. He missed butting heads with Scott. He missed his quiet talks with Xavier. What the hell was he doing here? He felt foolish for leaving the X-men in the middle of a meeting. Plus, he left his classes without a teacher for the day. He was thinking about Mystique, rather than his duties to his friends and students—shit, his family.

Steve's cell phone rang before he could even ask what he wanted to eat. "You sure?" the younger man sighed as he talked to the caller. There was something about the tone of his voice that bothered Logan. "All right. We'll get down there."

Steve hung up the phone and stared at him.

"What?" Logan asked, taking another sip of whisky.

"That was Agent Hill. S.H.I.E.L.D. spotted Mystique near the tower," Steve replied, slipping his cell phone in his pocket after he stood up. "She's been inching her way closer to the building."

"So let's go greet her," Logan replied as he stood. He wanted to bring the bottle of whisky. He wanted a good cigar. Damn, he loved being right.

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Clint's eyes widened as the door open and Wanda leaned on the doorframe.

"I missed you," she said. Her lips were bright red, a color that suited her well. They begged him to kiss her.

"I'm…I'm sorry about last night," Clint replied. Her red sequined dress slipped off of one shoulder; he could see down her dress. She wasn't wearing a bra. "I…I thought…" he held up the bags. "We'd have a nice lunch and…talk about us."

"Hmm," Wanda said. "We can talk. Come on in."

Clint walked in the room. There was an air of confidence surrounding her. He found it irresistible. "You look beautiful…umm….I hope you don't mind I ordered Thai."

"Something wrong, Clint," she said, as she sat on the end of a small table. She was making it extremely hard for him to focus.

"Wanda, I…"

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Clint dropped the bags of food and kissed her. He wasn't going to leave her alone now, and he was ready to skip to dessert.

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Bobby Drake balanced his tray and Remy's tray as they walked over to the table for lunch. He didn't want to admit it, but so far, he had an enjoyable day. While Remy tricked him into playing "Vanna" to make bread pudding, the reward for assisting grading the students' tacos was well worth it. Plus, he got to avoid the dreaded sloppy joes that were being served in the cafeteria.

"So, how was this morning's class, boys?" Hank asked. The blue, furry mutant wasn't good at hiding his intentions. "I see the classroom survived the two of you."

"Ya funny, Hank," Remy said as he sat down at the table. "I be thinkin' 'bout ya while we have us here an edible lunch."

"I might have to agree with you on that," Hank replied as Bobby placed their trays on the table. "How did you make bread pudding with one arm?"

"Drake demonstrated," Remy replied. "Den I had the class make bread puddings for the school."

"The entire school?" Hank's eyes widened.

"Oui."

Hank abruptly left the table. His blue body blurred as he moved quickly through the students filling the cafeteria.

"You know," Bobby said as he sat next to Remy. "I'm starting to agree with your point about Hank eating to deal with his breakup from Trish."

"Told ya," Remy replied. He focused on his cell phone rather than his tray of food.

"So how many times you going to text Rogue," Bobby asked, earning a glare from Remy. "You know she's probably in class."

"She should be at lunch now," Remy replied. His one-handed approach to texting with his left hand made him frustrated. He'd type and delete, and then retype.

"Something bothering you?"

"I'm fine; I'm just…it's been a long morning," Remy replied.

Bobby took the hint. Afterall, he was Rogue's ex-boyfriend. Why would Remy want to talk to him about her or their relationship?

Hank returned to the table with one of the bread pudding pans.

"Seriously, homme," Remy said as Hank hogged the pan to himself.

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Clint pulled off his quiver, dropped it on the floor, and followed Wanda through her suite. They kissed and slid hands up and down each other's bodies, fumbling on their way down the hall to her bedroom. He knew better than this; she knew better than this. But who would stop them? They were both capable of making this decision.

"I want you, Clint," Wanda teased, unbuttoning his pants. "You want me?"

"Wanda," Clint replied. He found it hard to talk. Did he want her? Yes. Yes, he did, but he knew it was wrong. He had to be the voice of reason. "We need to talk about this."

"Talk about what?"

He grabbed her hands, stopping her from pulling his pants down. "Us…what this means?"

"I don't want to talk, Clint," Wanda looked up at him. She licked her ruby red lips. "I want you. I want this to happen. Don't you?"

"I do too, but…"

"What?"

"Our line of work…the Avengers…your daughter…" Clint tired to reason with her, but even he was finding it hard. "A lot is on the line with us…we need to think this through."

"You think too much," Wanda replied. "Let me help you forget about everything."

She kissed him. The desire she had for him drove him mad, but something wasn't right. Something about the way she kissed him seemed unreal.

"Wanda," Clint said as she broke from the kiss. He looked into her eyes. He couldn't recognize her.

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Rogue looked up from her phone as Kitty Pryde joined her for lunch. "You find everything you need at the library?"

"I've been like copying chapters and printing online articles all morning," Kitty said, placing her tray on the table and dropping her book sack in an empty chair.

"You know you could just check out the library books and print at the mansion," Rogue replied. Her cheeseburger and fries smelled like a grease trap. She envied Kitty's willpower to eat healthy that day.

"I know. I checked out some, but I made some copies for Bobby, since like he don't want to leave the mansion as an iceman and draw unnecessary attention to himself," Kitty replied. It was a reasonable explanation. Walking around as a block of ice wasn't something you could hide. "What about you? How'd your day go?"

"I don't know," Rogue looked at her phone. At the end of each class, she had received a text from Remy. He knew her school schedule enough to text her without interrupting a class, but his apologetic tone in his texts made it hard to focus all day. In addition, texting Jean-Paul in the middle of class didn't help her concentration. "My head just seems foggy today. Remy and I started our morning talking about all kinds of things."

"Like what?"

"Us…the future …secrets…it's complicated," Rogue admitted. While she and Remy both needed to talk things out, they also knew it wasn't going to be easy. "It was a long morning."

Kitty half-smiled, the kind that said I feel for you, but I don't know really what the say, so she just said that first thing that popped in her head. "At least you two are talking about it. You can't hold everything inside, Rogue."

Rogue knew Kitty's simple advice had double-meaning. It was exactly what she needed to hear at that moment. "Thanks, Kitty."

"No problem."

Rogue's phone vibrated across the table as a text from Remy came in.

Remy: Missing you. 3

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Kurt sat at the table. He was the last one in the cafeteria to get his food. First, he checked on Ororo, only to find she had a delicious lunch of veggie tacos. Then, he had to help T. J. and Clarice to their table. Then he had to clean up the apple juice T. J. spilled. Then finally, he got to eat.

Remy sat across from him, paying more attention to his phone than the icy mutant making fart noises next to him. Alex and Lorna didn't seem amused.

"Damnit, Drake," Alex fussed as he dropped his sloppy joe in his plate. "We're trying to eat."

"What the hell is this crap?" Lorna said, poking her sloppy joe with a fork. "I don't think I can pick it up."

"Hannah scooped it out of Logan's toilet this morning."

Remy smirked at Bobby's comment, but Alex and Lorna moaned, pushing their plates away.

"Look, Remy, next time you have your class cook tacos, we want in," Alex said.

Kurt agreed. He stared at the sloppy joe, debating how to pick the thing up, but Bobby's words echoed in his head. Perhaps, Hank had the right idea of just eating a tray of bread pudding for lunch?

"Is zhat how your day has been, mein Freund?" Kurt said to Hank.

"What do you mean?" Hank asked. As smart as the other blue mutant was, he seemed clueless at that moment. Someone was having some serious Twinkie withdrawals.

"How is?" Kurt asked, pointing to the bread pudding. Apparently, you snooze, you lose qualified in this case. He was the last to get his food, so he missed out in pleasing his sweet tooth.

"Delicious, you should try some," Hank offered.

"I'll pass," Kurt replied. He picked through his sloppy joe but couldn't take a bite. Damnit, Bobby. "Have you heard from Logan?"

"He's having drinks with Steve Rogers," Hank replied. "Rogers is humoring him about the whole Mystique at the tower thing."

Kurt sighed. He could use a drink. "So, he hasn't stabbed anyone."

"Not to my knowledge," Hank chuckled. "But I'm sure he's butting heads with Clint Barton. The man's got a tongue, and he's good at pushing buttons."

"So I've heard, but as long as he keeps his tongue tied vhen around T.J., he's okay," Kurt replied. It had been no secret that his ex and Hawkeye had been getting closer over the past few months. It concerned him knowing his daughter was around another man who could possibly be a father-figure to her. But then again, Wanda had to feel the same way about Ororo getting close to T.J. "Clint's an okay guy, right?"

"You seem concerned."

"I'm just…" Kurt couldn't find the words. There was just something that was bothering all day—Wanda's phone call, Xavier's insistence in T.J. staying home in the mansion, Logan leaving to tend to Mystique. He felt overwhelmed.

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Wanda couldn't focus. In her mind, she could see them die. She could hear their screams. She was responsible for them haunting her now.

"Wanda."

Clint's voice cut through the chaos but only for a moment.

She moved her lips to reply, but no words came out.

"I'm sorry."

Scott Lang heard his killer's voice, but he never saw her face. The laser blasted him, killing him instantly. He left behind a daughter T.J.'s age.

"Stop it," Wanda pressed her hands against her temples. The room spun.

Vision stared at the Avengers. He was helpless and didn't know what he did. And when the flames from the explosion died down, that's when Jennifer snapped.

She wandered if he felt any pain.

"No, no more," Wanda fell to her knees, and tears streamed down her cheeks. "Please, make it stop."

"Why are you here?" Agatha said in one breath.

"Mother sent us to visit you."

"She misses you very much."

Agatha placed her hand over her heart and walked backwards slowly. "Oh really." She just needed to get to the communicator. She had to warn the others. "I miss her too. She never seems to visit me anymore."

"She says you have betrayed her."

"And that you have taken everything away from her."

"Your mother…said that." Agatha said feeling her heart pounding. She just needed the communicator. "Taken what away."

"US!"

Agatha grabbed the communicator and pressed the panic button.

"Agatha, what's wrong?"

Agatha felt her throat tighten. She couldn't speak but only lip her cries for help. Then, she dropped to her knees with tears in her eyes as she struggled for her breath.

"Mother sends her condolences."

"No more Agatha."

Her body became still.

Then, they were gone.

The last thing she saw was her red boots walk across the floor.

"Wanda."

She felt Clint's hand touch her shoulder. She looked up and gazed into his eyes. He only felt concern for her. The man felt something real for her. She tried to warn him. "You should leave."

"I'm not leaving you," Clint said. He wiped the tears from her cheeks. "I didn't mean to upset you. It's just…I care about you too much. I don't want to screw this up. I know you've been through a lot these past few months."

"Have I?" the darkness laced her voice. She stood up; he mirrored her moments. He looked so lost and confused at that moment, but when the room change from the cheery, make-believe world into reality, he finally understood.

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Logan and Steve Rogers rode the elevator down the tower. Neither one of them said a word. Each knew better than to piss off the other.

Steve Rogers looked at a recent text on his phone. Dr. Strange had one more thing to grab from his place before returning to the tower. He thought about sending Clint and Wanda a text too, but why have them worry over something that could be easily handled?

The lights in the elevator flickered, causing him to look around the elevator for some logical explanation, but he found none.

When the elevator stopped, he and Logan stepped out into the lobby. That's when the real light show began.

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The lights in the room flickered uncontrollably, and then the bulbs burst, leaving the light from the sun to illuminate the room.

Clint stepped back, taking in the scene around him.

The neatly decorated suite faded away, revealing chaos. An antique full-length mirrow lay broken on the floor. As he backed away from her, bloody prints traced the walls. In the main suite, the common room, he nearly tripped over a broken shelf. The cabinets and drawers in the small kitchen were tossed on the floor like someone ransacked the place. Then the pipes burst, spraying water around the room. The floor vibrated beneath his feet, and the ceiling cracked above him. The windows that overlooked the city where the only things clear.

But that didn't matter to him. Wanda was the only one that mattered, and she didn't look like herself. The glaze in her eyes scared him.

"Wanda, I'm going to call Dr. Strange," he suggested.

"What for?" she asked as walked forward like a zombie.

"You need help," Clint said. "The Avengers can help you."

"Help me?" she laughed. "I'm not the one who needs help."

"Wanda, let us help you. Let me help you."

"I'm sorry, Clint," she said. "I didn't think you were like them, but I guess you are. You are all the same."

Wanda looked down at her hands. Her thumbs centered in her palms, and a red glow surrounded them.

"Wanda."

She thrust her hands forward and screamed. The blast hit him in the chest, flinging him through the glass windows that gave her a view of the city.

He reached for his quiver of arrows, but they were out of his reach. Cupid stole his bow and arrow, leaving him defenseless.

Down he fell…

The sky was beautiful and clear. He thought he would see a white light when he died, but instead, he saw one color—red.

He should have known she's be the death of him, but he fell for her…and now he fell 70 stories. The last image of her burned in his mind. The anger. The rage. Red.

Was that really her?

Was this really how it would end between them?

Would she ever forgive herself for what she did?

Could he still forgive her in his death?

The sky faded away, and everything went dark…

He became the fourth…

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When I looked back and read some of the fanfics I wrote, I realized how much the endnotes were a little diary. I have to do that again.

When I first started writing Sweet Little Lies, I wondered what it would be like to see the Scarlet Witch on the big screen. While I watched a 1990s Avengers cartoon when I first started writing the fanfic, I didn't see the Scarlet Witch that I read about in the House of M storyline. I finished SLL in 2006, and then I started work on this True Lies fanfic shortly after. Now, it has been over ten years, and the Scarlet Witch has appeared in four MCU films, work on WandaVision has started, and theories about Dr. Strange 2 are on the Internet. I'm excited and curious about the future of the Scarlet Witch in the MCU!

Now, if only the movies can get Gambit and Rogue right…