Disclaimer: I own none of the characters within.

Author's Notes: I can't believe we're almost there. Do you know that this story is what made me decide to become a writer full-time? Now here I am at college, studying writing, and I'm almost finished with the story that started it all. Wow.

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"What should I do now?" said Wanda, trembling as she saw the bag of her blood held in Dr. McCoy's hands.

"All you can do now is wait," said Hank sadly. "Wait and pray."

So she walked out of the med lab and into the anxious audience that had been huddled around the viewing window. Lance held out his arms for her and she stepped into the embrace naturally, the two of them moving with the grace of dancers into their proper positions. Lance was strong and solid and warm, and when she rested her head against his chest she could hear the steady thump of his heartbeat. She closed her eyes and counted one, two, three...

"You feeling okay, sweetums?" the nickname sounds forced, just like Todd's smile, as he patted her on the shoulder with a strange, fragile tenderness.

"I'm okay," she said to him, while Pietro's voice said somewhere deep inside: for now.

"He's coming back, right?" Johnny was so eager, lurching away from the wall and taking delicate, wobbly steps towards her. "Mungojerrie's gonna come back now?"

She couldn't answer him, looked away from his approach, her arms tightening around Lance and her fingers twisting into his t-shirt. He stroked her back with gentle, rhythmic movements, and said in a low voice to Johnny, "We sure hope so."

"Okay," Johnny stopped, sensing that she didn't want him to come near. "You know, I don't feel so good."

He staggered abruptly, his center of balance suddenly yanked out from under him, his arms thrown out like a tightrope walker. Before he could fall, Freddy moved with surprising speed and confidence, catching Johnny and sweeping him up into powerful arms, cradling him close like he once held an exhausted Pietro a lifetime ago. This time was different; Pietro had felt cold and limp, but Johnny was burning hot, almost too hot to touch, and his body was trembling from head to toe.

"What should I do?" Freddy whispered to the dying creature in his arms. "What do you want me to do?"

"I don't know," Johnny said weakly. "I'm scared. Don't let me go."

With a great shudder he twisted in Freddy's arms, clinging to him desperately, pressed to him with a terrible urgency. Uncertainty flicked over the giant's face, but then he softened with a secret guilt, a failure to protect that he might be able to redeem himself for at last. He remembered a roadside promise, a long cold walk with a sick friend in his arms that he let go of too soon.

"Okay, little guy," he said gruffly. "I could carry you for a little while."

He sat down on the floor, settled his burden into a more comfortable position, then closed his eyes, lost in thought.

Logan growled. He could smell the sickness in the air, could smell the decay eating away at Johnny from the inside out. Unlike most scents, though, he didn't recognize this one. It smelled unnatural, chemical, a manufactured disease. The very idea of it unsettled him down to the core, and he shifted his weight to be ready for anything, and no matter what else happened in the room, he kept one sharp eye pinned on the timebomb that he alone was aware of.

"Wanda," said Erik in a low, embarrassed voice. "May I speak with you?"

"Sure, knock yourself out." she growled.

"May I speak with you..." he cleared his throat delicately. "Alone?"

"Whatever you have to say to me," She turned to face him but remained in Lance's embrace, leaning back against him with his arms wrapped protectively around her. "You can say in front of everybody."

Erik lowered his eyes, wounded, but accepted the humiliation as part of his punishment.

"I wanted to... apologize."

"For what?" she was merciless.

"For all the things I... for my failures as a father."

"And what failures were those?" Her eyes were like twin flames, blazing with rightful fury. "I want to hear you say it."

"Wanda—"

"Say it or I'll never forgive you."

The promise of forgiveness was an unexpected one; Erik looked up sharply, saw that she wasn't lying. She was willing to forgive him, but only if he laid his sins bare for everyone to see.

"For the abuse, for the..." he faltered, couldn't look her in the eye. "For the lies, for the experiments..."

"And what about what you did to me?"

"I'm sorry for locking you away." he stared at the floor. "I'm sorry I abandoned you and your brother."

Tears blurred his vision and choked his words. He covered his face and groaned, "I'm sorry I couldn't keep your mother alive!"

The icy shell of hate that Wanda had built around herself suddenly cracked, splintered just enough to let a tiny little sliver of pity slip into her heart. It was small, but it was there, and so she could not truly hate him any longer. Slowly but calmly, she removed Lance's guarding arms and walked carefully towards her father.

Her father.

The gap between them could never be closed, the wounds could never truly heal. But scars or no scars, she could at least lay to rest the anger, the rage that had been living inside of her for far too long.

In a quiet voice she said, "I forgive you, Father."

He looked up at her with wet, tragic eyes, and before either of them truly were aware of it, they were in each other's arms. Everyone and everything else in the room disappeared, didn't matter anymore. Erik wept, cherishing and marveling at the warmth in his embrace, his eyes closed as he struggled to commit every single detail to memory. Wanda's eyes were open and filled with sadness for him, pity for him, as she felt him shudder with tears.

When the embrace ended, Erik smiled at her tremulously, hopefully. She gave him an answering smile and shook her head.

"I forgive you," she said, low and fierce. "But if you ever come near Pietro again, I will kill you."

She didn't wait to see his expression change from joy to despair. She turned away from him and walked into the med lab to watch Dr. McCoy filling a syringe with the tranquilizer that would bring Pietro back to her.

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Pietro stared at the paper in front of him.

He had watched in amazement as his own hands wrote the name: Wanda.

"Who's Wanda?" he asked himself again.

He became distracted by the way his fingers tip-tap-danced on the tabletop, and he laughed hysterically as they performed a demented can-can, his voice providing a shrill musical accompaniment, his toes tapping enthusiastically in rhythm. When the dance was over, however, his attention was drawn again to the piece of paper with the name printed carefully on it.

She must be someone important, he decided, for him to suddenly write her name down out of the blue.

Blue, like her eyes.

He squinted at the paper in alarm, because for one second he really could have sworn he saw another pair of eyes there, dark blue ones, and a face, too, a girl's face. Stormy eyes, dark like the ocean.

The eyes said: come what may.

"Shut up!" Pietro snapped at the paper, because it was starting to scare him.

No, the paper wasn't scaring him. It was the sudden notion that he was losing his memory. Everything felt fine, though! How could he remember anyone named Wanda? He had always been alone. He was a strange and wonderful creature, far and above anyone else, too fast to be caught, too fast to be seen. It had always been so and it always would be, wouldn't it?

That's not true! A tiny voice far, far away was screaming to him. You've got to remember! Focus, Pietro!

"I'm trying!" he panted, clutching his head. "I'm trying to remember!"

There she was, and there were others with her— dark hair, angry eyes, the earth shaking under his feet. Someone small and pale and always worried, someone as big as a mountain and as soft-hearted as a kitten. Fire crackled somewhere, the smell of smoke, a poem about cats and a pair of green eyes that said: Russian roulette.

"Who are you?" Pietro spun around, chasing the ghosts that evaporated before his eyes. "Leave me alone!"

Focus, Pietro! Focus on Wanda!

"Wanda, Wanda, Wanda," he repeated, pounding his forehead against the wall, his eyes hot and his teeth clenched. "Wanda, Wanda, Wanda..."

And her voice answered: I'm here for you, Pietro.

He flew away from the wall, his hands pressed feverishly against his chest to keep his heart from exploding out of it.

"Wanda!" he screamed, panicking. "Help me! I almost forgot— I'm starting to forget! Wanda, don't leave me!"

Scrambling out of the kitchen, he tore into the living room and found it empty. She wasn't there. Wild, frantic, he raced around the mansion, searching for someone, anyone, Wanda Lance Todd Freddy Johnny anybody help!

"I'm going crazy!" he shrieked. "I think I'm dying! I don't want to die! I don't want to die! I'm not ready, I'm not ready to die yet!"

Tumbling down the stairs to the med lab, he almost wept with relief when he saw all of them there, waiting for him, frozen like statues but so welcome to his eyes that he wanted to hug and kiss all of them at the same time. He walked from person to person, saying their names, savoring their faces, remembering. The only one he did not approach was Magneto— he was too afraid. But he found Wanda standing next to the doctor, and with a sob of exhaustion he threw his arms around her.

She smelled like he remembered. She was here, she was real, and she was his reason to focus. Just focus on Wanda. Keep it together, just a little while longer.

When he finally opened his eyes and looked into hers, he saw that stormy blue was pointed at the table. He followed her gaze down and saw a note written by the doctor. It said:

Pietro—

This syringe contains a powerful tranquilizer that we believe will slow you down into real time. We may have found a cure for you. You must administer the tranquilizer yourself. Insert the needle into your upper arm at a forty-five degree angle and

Pietro couldn't read any further. His eyes were riveted on the syringe. The needle gleamed wickedly, shimmering with the nightmares of his childhood. Wild accusing eyes glared at Wanda, then at Magneto looming nearby. Another needle, is that it? After years of those terrible experiments, all that pain, injection after injection until his arm felt like it was going to fall off, and now they actually expected him to stab himself with one of those things?

The madness he thought he had escaped suddenly pounced and grabbed on tight, and the very idea of complying with such a request seemed not only ridiculous, but a real threat. He couldn't believe that Wanda would do such a thing to him, would dare to ask him to lay down his freedom for her. Here he was, fast as the wind, king of the world, and she expected him to give it all up.

And Magneto! He couldn't even call him father, lurking over there with his eyes on the syringe, just daring him to stick it in his arm. That's what he wants, isn't it? That's all he wants! He wants to start the experiments again until you're either better or dead!

"I won't..." he snarled.

Snatching the note up, he tore it to pieces and threw it on the floor, grinding it down with his heel defiantly.

"You can't make me."

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