CHINA, 2023

Wanda tightened her grip on the hanging strap, wincing as the jet made a not-so-soft landing. There was tension throughout; while finding the rest of their team was in fact great news, it did nothing to fix their grim faces - finding the X-Men wouldn't guarantee they'd all survive and it sure as hell wouldn't bring back those they had lost. Ignoring the peg in her heart, she glanced over at her older brother.

It shocked Wanda, sometimes, how much they had changed.

Their hair was tainted with gray - though with Pietro's platinum blonde, you barely noticed it throughout his thick hair and goatee - and their faces were wrinkled, crow's feet appearing when they smiled or laughed. But their powers were stronger now, more developed.

Pietro's blue eyes were focused straight ahead, his gaze never leaving the door. His lips were drawn in a grim line and Wanda - she never thought she'd say it but - she missed his dumb jokes, his pranks, his never ending laughter. The man before her was no longer the carefree Pietro of their youth, but instead, a Pietro that had seen too much, lost too much.

She felt a hand be placed on her shoulder and she turned to see her father.

Wanda restrained yourself from shrugging the hand off and, well, who would blame her? She'd only met the man twenty years ago and even then, he'd been trying to destroy the humans. That wasn't something she could just forgive. But she had promised mom that she'd try and be civil - though her mom had told her she could always kick his ass if she needed her to.

Wanda found herself smiling at the thought, before the openning of the bay door snapped her out of it.

They all made their way out - Pietro, Charles, Storm, Magneto and Wolverine - and they were greeted by some familiar faces.

"Professor!" Bobby called out, his face relaxing, as the other mutants drew closer to see. "Bobby," Storm mused, making her way to his side and hugging the younger boy, as he hummed, "Hey, Storm." Wolverine, with a lit cigar, nodded towards Bobby, letting out a simple, "Hey, kid."

"Professor, you made it."


USA, 1963

Heather quickly learned that the twins were very different.

Wanda loved, craved, attention. Anytime that Heather would put her down before Wanda was ready for it, the little girl would begin to whine and whimper - if Heather wasn't fast enough, the shrieks of utter agony would start. But the minute she was in her mother's - or her uncles', she wasn't picky - arms, she was calm and back to cooing in no time.

Pietro was a much calmer baby. He loved sleep and to Heather's relief, spent most of his time napping. When he was awake, he was gurgling happily - whether he was being given a colorful toy or being played with by the boys. To Heather's surprise, he was never fond of Alex's rock music, letting out happy squeals whenever he'd hear it.

The boys were enjoying their roles as honorary uncles, but Heather knew they were still anxious about having newborns around, especially since they'd never had experience with babies before. (When Heather left them alone for 3 hours, after they promised they had it all handled, she'd come home to find both of the babies screaming and Sean crying). But it was nice having them around - and she knew the twins liked having them around as well.

The first few months were hard - some days Heather didn't want to get out of her bed, but soon the cries of her babies were too much to ignore - but the smiles and the giggles and the big curls that appeared on Wanda's head made it worth it.

Both of them were getting bigger with each day, and they were beginning to roll over and push themselves up on their arms, big blue eyes watching every move she made.


President Kennedy died on a Friday.

The twins had just been put down for a nap and they had been cleaning up from lunch when Charles shouted from the living room. Dishes were quickly abandoned in favor of new reports. The few channels they had were all reporting on the developing story - Kennedy had been shot and no one knew who had done it or what was going on.

An hour and thirty minutes later, he was dead.

It was silent through out the home, sadness and shock polluting the air, and when Wanda woke up from her nap crying, Heather cuddled her little girl in the nursery - needing some comfort herself.

The following days were similar; they talked more about what had happened but it seemed as if the whole nation was too shocked, too numb, to move on. Heather couldn't stop to mourn, however; her babies needed her.

It was after the state funeral, with the nation still on high alert, that they began looking for people to question about the crime.

And his picture was the first shown.

Heather stared at the screen in horror and - and she couldn't think straight. Erik. Erik was wanted for questioning. The father of her children had very possibly killed their President.

Hank had turned the television off quickly, but they had all seen it - they all knew.