Requiem

Setting: Three years after PD Season 2. A few years back in the 'corrected' post-DOFP universe.

Summary: Ned discovered his mutation when he was nine. He was lucky enough to find a partner that thought his power was a gift, not an abomination - even more so when his powers brought back his childhood sweetheart. But nothing lasts forever. There's nothing left for him in Papen County. This is the end. Or is it?

Warnings: Angst like whoa. Character death. Suicide and overall dark themes at the beginning.

a prima vista

at first sight; played from notation without prior review

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale.

His breath billowed forth in the afternoon chill, his feet pounding a steady rhythm against the needle-strewn path. A midwinter thaw had reduced the snow blanketing the grounds of the Institute to distant piles, but a thick layer of dark clouds on the horizon warned of a tempest to come.

This far from the manor, the only sound came from his soles beating the ground and his regulated breathing. Pine boughs trembled against a cutting blast of wind, which sliced through Ned's layered sweatshirts.

He took a deep breath through his nose and huffed it out forcefully, tensing his abdominal muscles to build heat. He kept his focus on his breathing, his eyes watching the path ahead for stray rocks and roots. With all of his attention on the environment around him, Ned had no room left in his brain to worry about Emerson's news or Ruth's menacing prediction.

Except of course he did. He always did. He hadn't survived nearly twenty-five years as a mutant without a slightly-more-than-healthy amount of paranoia.

Fear and frustration pierced the fragile shell of his focus. Ned winced and clenched his gloved fingers into fists, trying to find his calm somewhere in the regular beat of his feet crunching against frozen needles.

Cold air cut through the tightness in his throat. He inhaled deeply, taking greedy breaths. The sharp chill of winter scraped the constriction from his lungs like a stiff wire brush. The clouds hung low and heavy over the woods, smothering in their closeness and the promise of coming snow.

He wondered if Digby had a place to stay warm.

His thoughts raced and he began catastrophizing, imagining the worst case scenarios. He pictured Digby alone in the driving sleet, shivering beneath an overpass. He pictured him attacked by wolves, captured by animal control and put to sleep when no one came to claim him.

He wasn't getting enough air. Modifying his breathing rhythm, Ned clenched his fists tight and increased his pace.

Inhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Inhale. Exhale.

Yes, Digby was a dog - but he was Ned's dog. Digby had been the only friend he'd had for years. After making him alive again, Ned had kept a nervous eye on the retriever, but no white hairs appeared on the dog's snout. By all appearances, his three-year old dog had remained that age for the past quarter century.

Some nights, Ned used to watch Chuck sleep and speculate about the fate to which he had condemned her.

As it turned out, he needn't have worried about that. If she'd had any chance at everlasting life, he'd snuffed it out.

His mouth twisted with disgust. His lungs were burning and he'd lost his rhythm, but his feet pounded on.

A long time ago, Ned rationalized away his role in the de-aliving of alive-agains. He refused to take credit for the death of a previously reanimated being, so he'd invented comfortable terms to distance himself from the responsibility.

He couldn't rationalize his role in Chuck's death. Before she touched him, she was alive - and then she was not. He had killed her, plain and simple.

Rogue's gentle insistence that he was faultless picked at a healing scab. He'd managed to ignore the worst of that particular itch for some time, but her comments caused the maddening discomfort to flare back to life.

His breath came in ragged pants. His side ached. Digby was gone and Chuck was dead and something awful was coming for him and couldn't one thing in his life be normal for five seconds-

His foot slipped on a hidden icy patch and Ned tumbled to the ground, taking the brunt of the fall with his right forearm and side. The frozen earth was unyielding beneath a layer of needles and decomposing leaves. His arm stung, but Ned was distracted by a set of iron bands around his chest preventing him from breathing.

All of the air had left the forest. He coughed and gasped, scraping his fingers against the path. His chest spasmed, protesting the rough treatment. Honestly, he should have known better. There were some limits he couldn't press anymore - not without retribution.

Ned coughed again, this one wet and deep. He took in a deep lungful of air. Then it was lost again as another spasm tore through him.

He was back in the mill, choking and gasping for breath, freezing cold and drowning on dry land. Only the mill had been better than this - at least he'd had Chuck with him.

That set him off again.

Coloured spots exploded behind his eyes and he wondered for a terrifying moment if he were going to pass out.

At last, the constriction around his chest eased and the air returned to the woods. Ned sat back on his heels, gulping greedy breaths. His pulse pounded in his ears and echoed in his palms.

He flushed from exertion and shame. Well, at least no one had been here to see this. Ned was, as always, completely alone.

Ignoring the dampness of the slush clinging to his sleeves and soaking into his sweatpants, Ned pulled his knees close and dropped his head against his forearms. He took a slow, shuddering breath.

He missed Chuck. He missed Emerson and Olive and everyone in Papen County who'd made it feel like home.

He missed Digby. He hadn't seen his dog in two and a half years, but he could still remember exactly what his bark sounded like - the happy bark that he only made when Ned came home -

Hang on.

Ned jerked his head up and scanned the woods.

That wasn't his memory. There was a dog in the forest.

He peered from trunk to trunk, squinting to try and see through the shrubbery.

A long howl in the distance, punctuated with a series of short barks. The rustling grew louder, closer. Twigs snapped. Snow crunched. Something was barreling towards him. Fear propelled Ned to his feet, yet insatiable curiosity slowed his retreat. He thought of wolves, he thought of coyotes, he thought of how far he was from the manor. Before he could make up his mind-

A flash of mud-streaked fur burst from the bushes and ran circles around him, barking and snapping eager jaws into the empty air.

Ned's pupils shrank to pinpricks. Sparks ignited within the pie maker, spreading warmth from his winter-tipped fingers to somewhere deep inside, somewhere he feared he'd never be warm again.

"Digby?" he said, barely believing his luck.

For there was Ned's beloved retriever, wagging his tail until his whole body shook with the momentum, rearing back on his hind legs and leaping away. His legs and belly were matted with mud, but he looked no worse for the journey. No obvious scrapes, no hunger-thin ribs poking out.

Delight spread across his face and he let out a bark of laughter, bouncing on his heels. He wanted to rush forward and wrap his hands around his missing friend. While Digby had decades of experience with their no-touch arrangement, he wasn't sure the dog would be able to refrain from licking any exposed skin. So Ned looked about in the bushes until he found a stray branch.

Digby let out another howl and concluded with his look-it's-Ned bark. He settled back on his haunches, tail furiously sweeping the path behind him.

With great care, Ned used the branch to stroke Digby's head and neck. The retriever let out a contented harrumph, his amber eyes sliding half shut.

"I missed you, too, buddy." he said, releasing a sigh of pent-up tension.

And then-

A muffled crack split the late afternoon air and a cloud of black and purple smoke materialized behind Digby. Within it stood one of the mutants Ned knew only by sight - the blue guy with the tail and vaguely demonic face.

Flinching, Ned dropped the branch and shied back. On the ground, Digby sprang to his paws, his ears perked up.

The blue guy took in Ned's appearance, cringing slightly. "Forgive me - I did not mean to frighten!" Despite the facial tattoos, gleaming yellow eyes and prehensile tail, his posture was meek. His face was contrite and his three-fingered hands held up to show that he was not a threat. Voice thick with a German accent, he explained, "There was a breech on the northeast perimeter, and I was to ensure we were not being overrun."

Digby removed his tail from his legs. His head tilted to the side and he paced a circle around the blue guy, sniffing lightly. Ears perking up, he wagged his tail apprehensively and moved closer to sniff his hands.

"Oh! Hallo, welpe! Are you the cause of all of this fuss?" Blue guy said in the high, cooing voice with which one usually speaks to dogs. Apparently his hands passed inspection, as Digby started licking his fingers with enthusiasm.

Ned let out a sigh of relief. He wasn't sure how Digby would react to other mutants, but his low-key dog had returned from the grave. Mutants must not rate much significance on the canine-freak-out-o-meter.

"His name is Digby." Ned volunteered. Conscious of the mud soaking into his shirt where he'd fallen, he brushed himself off the best he could. "You can pet him, if you'd like - I'm allergic."

"Danke. He is yours, then? How did you get here, ehn, welpe?" The blue guy reached down to stroke Digby. His thick fingernails scratched under the retriever's collar. Digby made a satisfied whine, craning his neck into the touch.

As Digby, of course, could not speak, Ned figured he would do the polite thing and answer for him. "He probably tracked me down. He did it when- I mean, he's done it once before."

"What a brilliant dog! And where are my manners? I am Kurt Wagner - but in the Munich circus, I was known as the Incredible Nightcrawler!" Kurt said, his wide grin revealing pointed teeth.

"I'm Ned." He replied. Perhaps he should be jealous, but his ears still rang with disbelief and he was glad that someone was there to stroke his clever dog (who was not dead - well, not dead again, thank heavens).

Straightening up, Kurt raised his eyebrows. "Are you perhaps the same Ned who is doing the baking in the night?"

The pie maker nodded sheepishly, tucking his hands in his pockets.

Kurt let out a laugh. "Wonderful! A pleasure it is, Herr Baker, a pleasure to meet you! Did you know, I have not tasted streusel as yours since leaving Europe. Am I correct in thinking that there is some German influence in your cooking?"

"Swiss-German, actually. I learned from a Swiss chef." Ned replied. A chilly breeze swept through the wood, rustling branches and cutting through the wet patches of his clothing. Since he stopped running, his heartrate slowed, bringing his body temperature down. He shivered in the wind.

Picking up on this, Kurt looked contrite again. "Ah, how rude I have been! The professor is wanting to see you. Let us return to the manor now, ja?"

With Digby trotting by his side and Kurt chattering amicably about zwiebelkuchen, Ned found himself moving differently. Hunched shoulders fell back as he filled his lungs with clean winter air. He hooked his thumbs loosely in his pockets, arms hanging easily. His steps, lacking their usual hesitation, were smooth and even. And his face - well, he was smiling so broadly his cheeks ached because maybe, just maybe, his future wouldn't be terrible after all.

They spotted Xavier under the overhang leading into the north wing, a navy blanket tucked over the legs of his light grey suit. Something had the professor in a good mood. His face was set in lines of laughter, hands folded easily on his lap.

"Afternoon, Ned. You're looking well." Xavier remarked.

"I'm feeling well, Professor." Ned replied, taking an even breath and glancing down at Digby. The muddy retriever padded closer to Xavier's chair, his tail wagging slowly. Digby pressed his cold nose against the professor's offered hand and snuffled.

"We noticed a disturbance in the woods near your location and wanted to be certain that you were alright." Xavier said, raising his chin as he looked from Ned to Digby.

"I saw no trouble, only Digby. Professor, his dog tracked him all the way here. Is this not incredible?"

The professor smiled mildly as Digby laid his head on his lap. He laid his hand on the dog's head and smoothed his fur. "Mmm, quite. Almost unbelievable."

Ned shifted his weight from foot to foot, ducking his head slightly. "To be fair, it isn't the first time. When I went off to school, Digby followed me all the way from my hometown. Maybe I should have expected this." He nodded to himself. That made the most sense. There had never been any real danger to his companion, just a lost dog on a quest to find his owner. Maybe the rest of his worries were equally contrived. He knocked his shoe against the frosty pavement, excitement and uncertainty bubbling in his stomach.

Xavier stared down at the retriever's soulful brown eyes, then lifted his hand. "Perhaps. I appreciate your promptness, Kurt."

Recognizing dismissal when he saw it, Kurt vanished with a puff of smoke and the lingering smell of brimstone.

Ned bit his lip, searching for persuasive words to voice his greatest hope. Instead of eloquence, he wound up babbling nervously. "Do you think- I don't know if, ah, any of the kids are- would you mind if-"

"I won't ask you to send him away, if that's what you're asking." Xavier offered him the glowing smile of deep contentment, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "We wouldn't want to draw attention to him or create a trail leading here. Besides, animals can be therapeutic for students far from home."

Ned let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding, mirroring the professor's smile. "Thank you. He won't be any trouble, really."

"I do have a favour to ask you, though. Has anyone ever told you that you're easy to read?" Xavier asked mildly. He watched with interest as Digby wandered the patio, led by his nose, before returning to Ned's side - though never coming close enough to accidentally brush him.

Flushing, Ned looked down and shrugged noncommittally.

The professor's voice was even, instructing without casting judgment. "I can tell that having Digby here makes you the happiest you've been since your arrival. It's more than body language; while others have learned to conceal their surface thoughts and emotions, you subconsciously project them. For the sake of myself and the other telepaths residing here, I'd like to establish some psychic blocks in your mind. It will help protect your anonymity, as well as prevent those of us with mental powers from having to actively block you out."

"Alright - yeah, that would be- helpful." Ned rubbed his damp sleeve against his arm, not ready to make eye contact.

Some of the formality fell from Xavier's tone. "But you have been doing- better? I gather from the chatter about the Midnight Baker that you've been connecting with some of the students."

He relaxed and looked up with enthusiasm. "Yeah. I taught Rogue how to make a pecan pie the other night. She told me something I thought was a little curious - she said there wasn't a cooking class here?"

Xavier grimaced. "That's more a problem of staff rather than priority. Our teachers are stretched unfortunately thin. While some of staff members are handier in the kitchen than others, none possess the training or experience to teach the subject and I'd hate to ingrain a mass of students in bad habits."

Ned thought to himself. He opened his mouth and closed it a few times. Finally he scratched his neck and said, "Well, I did three years in culinary school, four in the restaurant industry, and owned and operated my own pie-themed bakery for six. I haven't done much teaching, but is that maybe what you had in mind?"

The professor nodded distantly, mulling the idea over. "That.. could potentially resolve a number of outstanding issues. Perhaps we could come to an arrangement."

Digby wagged his tail, his tongue lolling out of his mouth in a canine grin.

Sixteen days, twelve hours, and fifty-three minutes prior to the time heretofore referred as 'now,' something grated at the temperamental temperament of the Great Alexandria.

Sure enough, following her inheritance of a photocopy of the secret manual of the Great Herrmann, Alexandria established a reputation for herself at the Conjurer's Castle - a reputation of being third-best. Tied for first and second were her nemeses, the illusionist duo 'Two For the Show' - also known as Maurice and Ralston, the Pie-Maker's half brothers.

However, despite having a copy of the same playbook as her long-time rivals, despite countless hours spent mastering the acts that made the Great Herrmann great, Alexandria had never been able to catch up to the twins. They absorbed the lessons of their deceased magic dad, elaborating upon Herrmann's already-elaborate tricks until even Alexandria was half-convinced that they were performing real magic.

But as any self-respecting illusionist knows, magic isn't real.

She could handle a bit of competition. She could handle being upstaged by a couple of whippersnappers proving they might not have been riding Herrmann's paisley coattails after all.

What she couldn't handle was the talent scout sitting in the back of the audience of Two For the Show's final performance of the evening. An older man in a steel gray suit, he was observing the twin terrors like a tabby who'd stumbled across a pair of legless chicks. Beside him at the table was a flawless blonde in a shimmering cerulean gown that left little to the imagination. She had volunteered for a demonstration or two and she played the role of star-struck arm candy with ease. But, having played such a vapid role before, Alexandria was suspicious of the blonde's overly sharp gaze.

Yes, they were definitely talent scouts here to evaluate new prospects.

She'd be damned if Two For the Show moved on to the money and forward-to-going before she could.

After the lights faded and the last of the feathers were swept away, Alexandria began resetting the stage for her matinee the next day. Injustice and the idea of getting her fair share grated at her. In fact, they grated so loudly, she almost missed the scout and his arm candy approaching from the lobby.

"Excuse me, Ms. Alexandria?" came a deep, modulated voice behind her.

"The Great Alexandria, if you don't mind. You can call me Great." Alexandria corrected automatically, distracted by a jammed counterweight behind the proscenium.

A hearty chuckle. "My, what pluck you have."

Confused, the redheaded magician glanced over her shoulder. The talent scout met her gaze from the pit before the stage, smiling blandly. She'd had it all wrong. They were there for her, not the twin terrors. Her long-awaited ship was coming in. Her train was pulling into the station. New York was calling her name-

"Could you direct me backstage? I was wondering if I might have a private word with Two For the Show." said the scout.

Her fingers worked their way through the knotted rigging. The counterweight fell to the ground with a heavy thunk, the curtain zipping open to reveal the stage door.

Deflated, Alexandria rolled her eyes and gestured vaguely at the door. "The Wonder Twins are back there."

"Much obliged." With that, the scout and his arm candy swept across the stage. He moved with the commanding grace of a man familiar with pageantry, his blonde closing the door behind them. Alexandria would not have been surprised if the old-timer had been a performer himself in his younger years. She could certainly imagine a ridiculous hat perched upon his silver hair.

As a professional, Alexandria held herself to certain standard of ethics. That standard was not above petty eavesdropping. She sidled upstage and stepped on a hidden trapdoor that led her below ground, where the acoustics were better.

Their voices drifted down to her, muffled slightly by the flooring.

"...congratulate you on a marvelous show. One could almost say - unbelievable."

"We're always...from our fans." Maurice. Or Ralston. Didn't matter which.

"Oh, my associate...more than that. Gentlemen, we have much to discuss."

notes.

UPDATE 04-06: If you're looking for the new chapter, it's chapter 3. I snuck in a deleted scene after some kind soul inspired me to keep working away even though I'm still swamped by schooly bits. That scene was half-written, but I wasn't happy with the ending so I just skipped right past it. Returned out of gratitude to a reviewer.

For now, I'm still working on the interlude. Finals are approaching again. Thanks for your patience and continued support.

Best,

Don't write the story. Live the story.