AN: I would like to promise you all that Pietro Maximoff will remain his cocky, slightly punk-ass self in my story--I don't redeem villains because that makes them very boring (I'm always disappointed in the comics when Pietro and Wanda high-tail it off to join the Avengers. Why not be mutant terrorists instead, guys? You're much more fun to play with. Though I suppose House of M reminds us they aren't entirely redeemed, after all. Not to mention their incestuous love for each other. Ha. Right, I digress.)

What I do enjoy doing with my villains, rather than redeeming them, is presenting them as complex characters. I'm hopeful that these last few chapters have shown there is more to Pietro than his inflated sense of confidence (dare one say megalomania?) and occasional bad attitude (which we'll see more of), but I promise he's not going to be Angsty!Pietro forever. There's just a few things that make the poor boy nervous. His sister is one, his father his another, and being in the same restaurant is definitely nerve-wracking. On that note, I bring you: Uncomfortable Family Dinner!Enjoy, and as always, thanks for reading.

Your humble author :)

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Chapter 8

Pietro stood with his hands in his pockets, leaning against the restaurant's brick façade as he and Wanda waited for their father to show up at Caruso's. Wanda was staring out at the road at the cars that passed by, appearing completely collected and unfazed by their upcoming dinner.

Every now and then, however, there would be a near-accident on the street that clearly said otherwise.

He went to stand next to her beneath the cheerful bright white-and-green striped awning, the last near-miss a little too close for comfort. "Hey, sis, he'll be here, okay?"

"I'm not worried," she bit out, glaring at him, but he knew she was lying. She sighed loudly. "Okay, fine. I wouldn't be nervous if you'd have let us show up at six-thirty instead of six-ten. Why'd we have to be so early?"

"Don't blame me. Lance needed the jeep to pick up Kitty." Pietro shrugged "Besides, I usually am early. I get places fast." He grinned at her, trying to make her relax.

She didn't smile back, but the cars on the street drove by without incident and her expression looked less troubled. "Why does he make me so nervous, Pietro? We were happy when I was little. When you and I lived together in the city he would visit us, and I don't remember being so nervous then…."

Guilt hit him, sharp and hot, right in the stomach, because of course Wanda had never lived with him in the city. "We didn't see him much, remember, and then bang! He shows up, then runs off and nearly gets himself killed." Pietro said haltingly, because while it was true that he rarely saw his father when he'd lived in the city, he wasn't sure if that's how Wanda remembered it.

He wished his father had thought more about this whole mind-erasing thing before devoting the three minutes he'd apparently allotted for the procedure. It wasn't so much the childhood memories that bothered Pietro—despite missing his sister and suffering through his father's occasional moodiness, he'd actually had a relatively happy childhood—it was Wanda's memories after that that were problematic.

Sometimes I hate you for doing this to me. For making me lie to her. For leaving her with me without thinking how hard it would be for me to keep this stupid story straight.

Wanda nodded, the brief flash of uncertainty on her face evaporating. "I guess you're right, Pietro. I just…it feels like I barely know him."

Pietro searched for something to say that wasn't because you don't.. He was saved by the arrival of their father, walking towards them with his chin at its customary arrogant tilt and dressed in black slacks and a grey sweater. He looked completely put together, in control.

"Pietro. Wanda. I'm happy you could make it," he said in his rich voice, his face carefully guarded but not particularly unfriendly.

"Luckily, Wanda remembered where this place was," Pietro said, giving his father a pointed look.

His father just smiled at that, ignoring Pietro's barbed remark. "A good thing indeed. Shall we?" He opened the door and nodded that they should precede him into the restaurant.

They were shown by the hostess to a table in the back, near a window. Pietro wondered if anyone recognized them from the news. The waitress did not appear to; she merely handed them their menus and brought them glasses of water before leaving them alone to decide on dinner.

"So how are the two of you? Getting along well, I hope?" Magneto took a drink of his water. Pietro felt the bizarre urge to laugh. This was all so normal, as if they were an average family having dinner together on a pleasant fall afternoon.

"Fine, yeah. School and stuff." Pietro exchanged a glance with Wanda. "The usual."

"How—how are you?" Wanda asked hesitantly, and Pietro could hear the undercurrent of anxiety in her voice as she tried to reach out to Magneto. He felt a sudden, sharp protective urge to leap across the table and strangle their father.

Though this was better than that nightmare with the Sentinels, he had to admit, which was probably why he felt so conflicted about the whole thing. Pietro slouched in his seat in typical adolescent fashion and watched their interaction with his stomach tied up in knots. This whole thing was going to fall apart, someday, he just knew it.

Magneto appeared completely nonplussed by the tension. "I am fine, for the most part. I have been busy trying to figure out my finances. I thought perhaps—" he faltered, looking uncharacteristically unsure of himself for a moment. "I thought that perhaps if I could afford it, I would find a house with enough room for the three of us to live."

"I'm really happy where we're living," Pietro said quickly. He might occasionally want to smack Lance or force Todd to bathe, and Fred was nearly eating them out of house and home, but the thought of having to be some sort of mediator between his father and his sister, with all the lies that made up their dementedly complicated family dynamic?

Oh, hell no.

"I'm sure that you are. I do not wish to upset your normal routine. I merely meant that there would be room for you both, if you wished to…stay there, occasionally." He looked away, staring out of the window, his fingers drumming on the table.

"Is everything okay at Xavier's?" Wanda demanded, a slight edge to her voice. "I mean, they're not being awful or anything to you, are they?"

Pietro saw the brief flash of pleasure on his father's face at her concern. "They're fairly polite for the most part, if not a bit rowdy. I'm not used to living with children." As if he realized his mistake, Magneto smiled smoothly. "At least, not for a long time now."

Pietro expelled a breath and Magneto cut his eyes down at him. They had the same eyes, he and his father, but Pietro didn't know if he'd ever be able to make his gaze that cold.

"So you don't think you'll be staying there that long?" Pietro asked quickly, focusing very intently on the tablecloth. He shifted in his seat, nervous energy racing up and down his spine, his skin tingling. He felt the urge to run, to vanish, to be anywhere else but here. His fingers actually curled around the curved wood of the chair as if he were trying to keep from bolting.

"I'm not sure. There're still a few things I need to work out." Magneto was looking at him with a faintly disproving expression, as if he could sense Pietro's mood beginning to become manic.

Maybe he could. After all, Magneto actually had raised him, and surely he was well-aware of Pietro's rather frantic, high-strung nature when he was agitated. "No, ah, plans for world domination?"

Wanda, who had been taking a sip of her water, choked. "Pietro," she hissed, looking furiously at him. "What the hell kind of question is that?"

"Language, Wanda," Magneto said sternly, then turned a rather imperious look on his son. "I have no such plans at the time, Pietro, but if I change my mind I guarantee you'll be the first to know."

Wanda laughed at that, and Pietro felt himself flushing in embarrassment, but some of the tension eased at the table. Their conversation turned to more mundane things—school, homework, and as they ate dinner it eventually drifted towards the news and the recent outbreak of "Mutant Hate Crimes".

"There was a Dateline special on it," Wanda remarked, toying with the remains of her chicken Caesar salad. "It was really awful. People suck." Pietro noticed her nails were clean, free of the black polish she was so fond of. True to her word, she'd not worn her dangling cross earrings. She still looked a bit weird with her hair being two different colors, but other than that, she looked less like a Hot Topic advertisement than she usually did.

"When do you watch Dateline?" Pietro asked her, reaching over to steal a piece of chicken from her plate with his fork. The fork moved out of his hand and rested at the side of his plate before he could do so, however. He looked up and caught his father's disapproving look.

Ah, right. Metal cutlery. Master of Magnetism father with a complex for manners.

"You know, when you and Lance aren't hogging the television with your stupid video games, some of us actually watch things on it."

"I do hope you're spending time on your homework," Magneto said, his voice firm. "It's important that we mutants be as educated—if not better educated—than our human—" he paused, his smile sharp. "Our human brethren."

Pietro had absolutely no doubt in his mind that wasn't the word his father had planned on using.

His leg began bouncing and he anxiously ran his palms up and down the side of the chair, the frantic energy rising once more inside of him. Here he was, sitting in a restaurant with his father—the mutant terrorist Magneto (Pietro would put the 'former' on that phrase when and if he actually believed it belonged there)—with his crazy brainwashed sister, being lectured about doing his homework.

Pietro started laughing; the sound was reminiscent of a hyena braying, loud and wild.

"Stop it," Wanda hissed, leaning forward. People at nearby tables were beginning to look over at them, their expressions curious. "Pietro! Stop it.."

"Son, what on earth is the matter with you?" Magneto demanded, his eyes narrowed speculatively, his voice very cold. Pietro just shook his head and laughed harder as the energy rushed through him.

The waitress, who was bringing them their check, slipped and fell on the floor for no apparent reason. There was a loud bang and a shout from the direction of the kitchen. Pietro stopped laughing and looked at his sister; she was gripping the table and her face was white, her eyes very wide as she stared at him.

The sight of her obvious panic quieted his own rising hysteria. "Wanda, it's okay," he said, reaching across the table. He took her hand in his, squeezing it. "I—sorry. You know how I get. Just…relax, okay?"

"All is fine," Magneto said in a very soothing voice. "Wanda, you cannot let your powers control you. You must learn to control them."

Pietro glared up at his father. "This really isn't the time for a lecture, Dad." His eyes flickered back and forth from Magneto's intent expression to Wanda, who had a death-grip on his hand, her nails digging into his flesh unpleasantly.

"I'm not giving her a lecture. It's merely fact. Wanda, look at me," Magneto commanded, and Pietro watched as she turned her wild dark eyes to her father. "Calm down. There's no danger here that necessitates this sort of reaction. Your brother is being his normal overly-dramatic self."

Pietro felt Wanda's hand relax. "I know. I'm sorry." She sounded miserable. "Sometimes I just—I don't know why it does that." She stood up, still obviously shaken. "Excuse me. I'll—I'll be right back." She left, rather quickly, heading towards the restrooms.

Pietro made a move as if he was going to stand to follow her, but Magneto stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "Sit down, Pietro."

One did not disobey when Magneto spoke in that voice, father or no. Pietro sat, his arms crossed over his chest, staring intently at the table.

"Your sister. You say she has no idea about how I have altered her memories, yet she still seems…unbalanced. Why is that?"

"How should I know?" Pietro snapped, angered. "I don't know what the problem with Wanda is, but her powers do that when she's upset. It's better than it was, surely you can see that."

"Of course it is," Magneto said, infuriatingly calm, pulling his wallet from his pocket and finding cash to pay their bill. "I have told you that what I did to Wanda was for her own good. However, if you keep upsetting her as you did earlier..."

The injustice of that stung. "She hates you," Pietro reminded him in a furious whisper.

"No, she hated me," Magneto said, standing up. "Just as I recall she hated you, as well. She doesn't hate us any longer." He smiled, and Pietro turned to see Wanda returning to the table. His next words were quiet and aimed at Pietro. "If she finds out what happened, and I learn you are the culprit…don't think I will take that betrayal lightly, son."

"This is the most fucked up family ever," Pietro muttered, standing as well. He shoved his hands in his pockets, waiting for Magneto to berate him for his language as he had earlier with Wanda.

Magneto looked down at him, and Pietro could have sworn he looked amused. "Perhaps. As it is, this is the only family we have. Do not forget that."

Like he could forget it, even if he wanted to. Pietro remembered he was Magneto's son every time he looked in a damned mirror. He was momentarily envious of Wanda for looking like the mother they'd never known. Sometimes he wished he looked like her, too.

Still, it was becoming increasingly clear to Pietro that he shared very little else with the man. It made him feel like he was a failure, which was stupid, because he didn't want to be like his father…did he? No. I couldn't, even if I wanted to. Nothing I've ever done has been good enough for him.

"Are you all right now, Wanda?" Magneto asked courteously. He reached out a hand, as if he was going to touch her, but at the very last moment his hand dropped back to his side.

Wanda nodded, looking a little embarrassed but mostly just tired and unhappy. "Yeah. Guess Pietro's not the only one who's high strung."

"Maybe we get that from Mom," Pietro said before he could stop himself. He watched his father's eyes flash with something indescribable, watched the older man's face shut down completely, and realized he'd pretty much ended the family dinner right there.

Relief surged through him at the thought. Finally. If he had to act like an ass to keep this from being a regular occurrence, then he'd do it. A free meal was not worth all this stress.

"Possibly. Or perhaps it is your sad lack of discipline, Pietro. Thank you both for meeting me for dinner. Please do let me know if you require anything. You know how to reach me." With that, Magneto turned and strode purposefully towards the exit, leaving them both to watch him leave.

Well, this part at least is familiar territory.

"Oh, this is all my fault," Wanda said in a whisper after he'd left. She buried her face in her hands; the windows began to shake.

Oh no.

"No, hey—sis, look. It's my fault—you know I can't ever think before I speak," Pietro said desperately, putting his hand on Wanda's shoulder. "Come on. Let's get out of here."

It was growing dark outside as they walked home. Wanda had her arms wrapped around herself, silent, her shoulders hunched as if in defeat. "It's me, isn't it? He can't stand to be around me, because I can't control myself. Mr. Self-Control with his psychopath daughter," she whispered, and the ache in her voice made him want to hit something.

"No," he said, catching her by the shoulders. "That's not it. He—I annoy him, Wanda, you know that." He swallowed nervously before adding, "I always have."

"Then what is it, Pietro? Why doesn't he like me anymore? Like us? He did when we were younger—I remember!" Her face was twisted with confusion. "Now it seems like I make him nervous and you—" she stopped, looking away. The words disappoint him hung heavy, though unsaid, in the air between them.

"Yeah, well. He's not going to win Father of the Year anytime soon, sis, so don't worry about it. Let's go get an ice cream," Pietro muttered, putting his arm around her shoulders.

She gave him a hesitant smile. "An ice cream? God, Pietro, how lame of an idea is that? What are we, ten?"

He wondered if in her false memories of her happy childhood, if they'd gone to get ice cream together. He sort of hoped so. "Would you rather go vandalize something? Steal a car? Trip someone?"

She laughed weakly. "Yeah. I think that'd be better. I mean, I'm wired for destruction, right? And you're such a punk." She hit him lightly on the shoulder.

"Me? Nope. I'd rather have an ice cream," Pietro informed her, then leaned down and wiped at the smudge of mascara under her eyes with his thumb. "You looked like a raccoon," he explained gruffly.

"Oh. Thanks." She surprised him by hugging him. The press of her body against his was sudden and warm; he couldn't remember the last time his sister had embraced him. Possibly she had in the aftermath of the battle with Apocalypse, but all of that was so hazy he had a hard time remembering it. Certainly it would have been before she'd been sent away, when they were children.

Neither of them spoke again on the walk home, but Pietro kept his arm around her shoulders, and Wanda didn't tell him to remove it.

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NMCL: Yes, poor Lance. One-track teenage boy mind :) Thanks for reading, glad you liked the chapter and the characters both!

BrennaM: Oh, Wanda. Haha. Our poor Wanda. I do love torturing characters so. Really, that would be worrisome if it wasn't such fun. Thanks so much for reading!

Nercia Genesis: Rogueneto! HAHA! That's funny. And you shall get your wish in the next chapter, so stay tuned! Thanks for reading!