Then Erik turned and walked off. The beam pressed against Peter's neck fell to the floor, and Peter was left standing alone. The only other person who still remained was Charles. Peter glanced over at Charles, and Charles moved toward him.

"Peter," Charles said, his eyes sad, "I'm so sorry—"

Peter turned away, mumbled something under his breath, then was gone. He didn't want sympathy or empty words of comfort. All he wanted to do was get away and be alone, and so Peter ran. Out of the mansion and across the sea, collapsing somewhere in an uninhabited portion of the Russian forest. He'd thought he'd planned everything out so carefully, but now it was all falling apart. Erik hated him. Great. Wonderful.

Maybe it was just stupid of him to believe that he and his father could have some sort of meaningful relationship. They hadn't had any contact for Peter's entire life. To think that that could suddenly change was just a hopeful dream. Peter took his music and listened to "Head Games" about fifteen times in a row before getting up and considering his next move.

Should he go home? Should he return to his mother? The thought of going home, licking his wounds, caused him to bristle. He'd be proving to her that she was right; that Erik really was no father. That option was out for Peter. Unless he actually needed to return home, or chose to just to check on his mother and sisters, he wouldn't choose that option.

Should he go back to the mansion? Sure, Erik was still there, but Peter could always avoid him. That, and he was part of his team. And he had many friends there. Who cared about Erik anyway? He wasn't important. Their recent fight didn't matter to Peter.

No, it didn't.

In a blink, Peter was back in the mansion's kitchen, ravenous beyond belief. Food was good; food was always good. Peter made himself fifty hamburgers for lunch and ate until his stomach hurt, hoping this would take his mind off his emotional pain. Nope. It didn't matter, not really. He didn't even like his father.

Footsteps behind him caused Peter to turn, and he saw Jean standing behind him, her expression the same as Charles had been.

"Oh, Peter," she said, reaching out to him.

"Don't read my mind, Red," Peter growled, evading her easily and eating another hamburger before walking out of the kitchen. Why did everyone want to comfort him? Couldn't they just pretend like nothing had happened, which was what he wanted? Couldn't they just act like nothing was different?

"Hey, Pete," Scott said.

"Hey, Shades. What's up?"

Scott scratched his neck. "I heard what happened. It's the worst."

Why did this keep happening to him? Sighing a bit, Peter looked away, gritting his teeth. "You got that right."

"I was gonna eat lunch. You game?"

Peter blew him off. "I ate fifty hamburgers already."

"Okay, cool. Later."

Peter continued walking, trying to stay upbeat as he made his way down the hall. But it was so hard. He felt like his heart had been ripped from his chest. Why did Erik seem to hate him? What had he done? It wasn't his fault that he was Erik's son . . .

"Peter."

Peter turned, sighing as he recognized Charles' voice. "I don't want to talk, Wheelchair."

"I don't want you to talk; just listen," Charles said, approaching Peter. "Peter, I know you're hurting. But all is not as it seems. I talked to Erik just now and—"

"I don't want to hear about him!" Peter screamed. "He hates me, and I didn't even do anything!" In a blind rage, Peter punched the wall next to him and put quite a large hole in the structure.

"Peter, please hear me out."

Peter shook his head. "I don't want to hear anything about him. Just stop."

"Peter . . . "

"No!" Then Peter took off, exiting the mansion and crossing the lake in the backyard before stopping and sitting down on the ground. Why couldn't everyone just leave him alone? Why did they have to do this, treat him like they knew what he was feeling and try to make it better? Couldn't they all just leave him be? Talk about something else? The weather? The news? Of course not. They just had to keep bringing up thoughts and feelings that Peter would rather throw into a dungeon and lock away for all eternity.

Peter sat back and put his hands on the ground as he stretched out. As his hands pulled at the grass beside him, Peter felt something cool and hard at his fingertips. Frowning, he inspected it and saw that it was a German half dollar coin. A Reichsmark from 1939 Nazi Germany, to be exact. It was stained and brown, almost as if . . . wait, wasn't this Erik's?

"Peter."

Peter glanced up, then immediately returned his gaze to the ground, clenching his fists in anger. Why was Erik here? What did he want? "Go away," he muttered.

"Peter, I—"

Peter was up in a flash, glaring at his father. "Oh, so now you want to talk?" he snarled. "Is that it, Magnet? Huh? Is it? And after practically threatening to kill me, you think I'll listen?!" As Peter's gaze connected with Erik's, he noticed that Erik's eyes were a bit red at the corners and that his vision looked glassy. Peter, however, felt no sympathy for Erik. What he felt instead was vindictive pleasure. Yes, let him be in pain! Let him feel it; let him know!

"Peter, I want to talk—"

"You specifically told me to stay away from you and never to talk to you again. That's just what I'm doing. Besides, you've already said enough," Peter growled in bitterness. He bent over and picked up the coin from the ground, showing it to Erik. "This is what you're here for, right? Yeah, I know it is, so take it and go. You certainly care about it more than your family, anyway. At least you keep it safe in your pocket instead of threatening it with a homemade javelin."

Erik took a step forward. "Peter, don't—"

"No, Erik, you don't," Peter said. "Just take it and leave." He threw the coin at Erik, and for once the coin didn't levitate and simply dropped to the ground.

"Peter, listen—"

No, he didn't want to listen. Erik hadn't heard him out, so why should he do the same? He'd threatened him. Erik was no father; Peter didn't want to be his son. "I hate you." The words were out of Peter's mouth before he could stop them. Not that he cared. But seeing Erik's reaction almost made Peter wish he hadn't said it. Somehow, as Peter stared back at his father, he found himself becoming emotional as well. He drew his lips inward to stop them from shaking. No, he couldn't do this. Erik had threatened him and hadn't cared. Peter didn't care, either.

Turning away from his father, Peter blinked hard, then put his goggles over his eyes to cover it up. No, he didn't care. He couldn't; not anymore. Unable to stay any longer, Peter simply did what he was made for. He ran. Past the mansion and across the Atlantic Sea, all the way to the tip of Greenland.

Now on an ice floe, Peter sat down and growled out his frustration. Yeah, he was Quicksilver, all right. Half of the time he was too slow to get anywhere, and the other half of the time he was reacting too fast and getting himself into situations he barely managed to get out of. But this time, there was no turning back. He'd said three words that he could never take back. Not that he wanted to, anyway.

It was stupid of him, really. To think that he could stay at the mansion. Now that he'd had a "proper" conversation with Erik, Peter knew that it would be too much for him to stay around his father. The emotions were too strong; he had to leave. It was almost ironic. He'd been searching for his father for the last ten years, and now Peter was the one who was going to disappear. It was just too painful.

His team would be fine without him. Erik hadn't wanted him around, anyway. It would be better this way.

He hated it. Hated it. He'd tried so hard to befriend Erik. For a short while, he'd even believed that they were friends. Heck, this morning they had been friends. They'd trained together. But then Peter had let his secret slip or something. Maybe it'd been something Peter himself had said; maybe someone else had told Erik something, like Charles. Maybe Erik just hated the thought of having a son. What kind of father threatened his son, anyway? No matter how Peter felt, he and Erik were now enemies. That was certain.

Erik had become enraged at Peter and had threatened his life. Peter, some hours later, had responded in kind. Now there was no going back; the damage was done. Erik hated him, didn't want to see him, and didn't want to talk to him ever again.

Peter had no father anymore. There was no reason for him to stay. He didn't want to be around Erik, and Erik felt likewise. It would be easier for him just to leave.

In an instant, Peter was back in the mansion. He first entered the kitchen, eating five dozen sandwiches before turning around and seeing that Scott, Raven, Jean, and Kurt had paused eating lunch and were now all silently staring at him.

"Hey, Pete," Scott said. "What's up?"

"Just eating some lunch," Peter said, eating another five sandwiches.

Jean took another drink of water, then gasped. "Peter! You're leaving?"

Man, mind-readers were annoying. She was almost as annoying as Wheelchair.

"Wait, you're leaving permanently?" Scott asked. "What about the team?"

"Is vis because of your faver?" Kurt asked.

Peter blew them all off. "I'm just going to China for a month to do some more . . . chess studying. It's no big deal; don't worry about it. I'll be back before you guys even blink." Then Peter was gone and in his room. Wonderful, now Jean would tell everyone that he'd been lying. Then they would all gang up on him and try to force him to stay. Well, that wasn't going to happen. He wasn't going to be forced to remain in a situation he wanted to be a part of no longer. No one could stop him, anyway.

Peter packed up all his belongings into a bag and sighed. Within the last few months, this place had become his second home. It was painful, really. Being forced to say goodbye on such short notice and on such bad terms. Well, not with his friends . . . but still. Maybe if he tried really hard, he could remain. Stay here.

No, he couldn't. He'd tried to get along with Erik and failed. He couldn't stay here, not with his relationship to Erik cutting into him like a sword. Sure, he was Quicksilver, and that made him a little bit, well, like Quicksilver, but he'd tried so hard to get along with and become friends with Erik.

He'd been funny, and affable . . . and . . .

A knock on the door startled Peter. Sniffing once and blinking hard, Peter hid the bag he'd packed his clothes in and opened the door to his bedroom.
"Peter, please, I want to talk to you," Charles said.

Peter almost slammed the door in his face. Of course mind readers were linked to other mind readers. It'd probably taken Jean half a second to transmit the news of Peter's leaving to Charles. "I'm busy, Wheelchair. Don't wanna talk."

"Peter, just because Erik and you had a bit of a disagreement—"

Peter hated the light tone that Charles was using. "Bit of a disagreement?" he growled. "He tried to kill me! He hates me!"

"Peter, you don't understand. I talked to Erik. I went inside his mind, and I saw—"

"I don't want to know what was inside his mind!" Peter yelled. "Actions speak louder than words, okay?! Whatever he was thinking wasn't how he was acting!"

Here Charles laughed a bit. Peter hated that laugh.

"Peter, please listen. Erik was only trying to—"

"No, I get it," Peter snarled. "You and him are best friends, right? So you're just standing up for what he did."

"Don't say that, Peter," Charles said, suddenly very adamant. "I would never stand up for wrongdoing."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Right. Just like him and Apocalypse. You kept trying to bring him back. Some good that did."

"Peter, I believe that there is hope for everyone. For every failed human and mutant. For every failed relationship. And let me tell you this, there is hope for you and your father—"

"Shut up!" Peter yelled, his fists suddenly shaking. "There's no hope for me and Erik, okay?! Just let me leave! Just let me get out of here!"

"Peter, you can always start again—"

"He said he never wanted to talk to me again and threatened me!" Peter said, his voice cracking a bit as it rose. Let the entire mansion hear him. He didn't care. "I told him I hated him! You can't take those things back!"

"Peter, please. Don't leave. Stay a few more days. Talk to Erik."

"I can't," Peter said, shaking his head. "I'm leaving tonight. You can't stop me, Wheelchair."

Charles sighed. "I know, Peter. But if you leave before talking this through with Erik, you'll regret it."

"I won't regret this," Peter said, putting his goggles over his eyes.

"All right, Peter," Charles said. "I guess this is goodbye."

"I guess it is," Peter said.

"Say goodbye to your friends before you leave, all right?"

Peter frowned a bit. No, his friends wouldn't convince him to stay. Nothing would. Peter nodded curtly, then raced through the mansion, finding the entire team in the living room.

"So you really are leaving," Scott said.

Peter nodded. "I'm leaving tonight."

"Are you sure it's really worth it?" Ororo asked. "He's your father. Can't you fix—"

"He threatened me," Peter said. "I don't want to fix that."

"He threatened me, too," Raven said. "I'm still around."

Peter looked at Raven for a few seconds, then shook his head. He had to get out of here. He had no other choice. "I'm leaving tonight, guys. Just wanted to say goodbye before then."

"Things are gonna be slow without you," Hank said.

Peter laughed a bit. "You'll get used to it, Furry."

"Are you sure you can't stay?" Jean asked. "Maybe we could get Erik and—"

"No." The thought horrified Peter. Like he and Erik could somehow reconcile on the basis of peer pressure. Yeah, right. "I already said I'm leaving tonight. So, I'm leaving."

"Are vou going to say goodvye to Erik?" Kurt asked.

Here Peter laughed coolly. "There'd be no point."

"Peter," Jean said, "I think it would be good if you talked this over with Erik—"

He didn't want to talk to Erik anymore! It would only make it harder to leave! But it was even harder to stay! What was he supposed to do?! "I already talked to Wheelchair about it. He says that I can leave. I don't need to talk to Erik."

"I think you should talk to him," Jean said.

"No," Peter said. "I don't need to."

"Don't need to, or don't want to?" Scott asked.

Peter swallowed. "I'm saying goodbye. So, goodbye."

"All right," Jean said. "Goodbye."

"Later, Pete," Scott said.

"May peace go vith you," Kurt said.

Everyone else was in the middle of saying goodbyes as well, but Peter, swallowing a sudden lump in his throat, left before his emotions got out of hand. Why was this so hard? Why couldn't he just leave and be done with it? Why did he have to care?

He returned to his room and almost considered calling the whole thing off and unpacking. He wanted to leave, but he didn't. He wanted to reconcile with his father, but he couldn't. Peter was at an impasse, unsure of what to do or even think.

He was Quicksilver, for goodness' sake! He could think at a million miles an hour! Why was a simple two-way decision proving harder than even running faster than the sun?

He'd done it, though, outran the sun for just a moment. Erik had seemed so proud . . .

No! He was doing it again! Erik had threatened him! His father hated him! Why would he want to stay around that?

Why did he want to stay?

Peter stopped listening to "What's on My Mind," sat up from his bed, and looked around his room. He had to leave. Now. He couldn't stay any longer. Without thinking much about it, Peter got up, grabbed his bag of clothes and other essentials, and walked out of his room. At least it was late and everyone was asleep by now. That way, no one would bother him or force him to stay. That was what he wanted, anyway.

Probably.

The mansion was quiet as Peter walked into the kitchen, having one last meal before walking out the front door. He didn't know why he was taking his time with his cheeseburgers, slowly eating each bite, but soon his meal was over. He faced the mansion doors, looking around once before placing his goggles over his eyes.

Goodbye, mansion. Goodbye friends, Charles, and . . . dad.