Heather tried to be strong for the twins.
In the morning, she'd go into each of their rooms and wake them up - if they resisted, she kissed their chubby cheeks and tickled their sides until they shrieked with laughter. Once they were awake, they demanded to do things themselves - Wanda would whine until she was allowed to pick her own clothes out and even if he wasn't tall enough to look into the mirror, Pietro would insist he would brush his teeth.
She would cook breakfast while they were getting ready. Sometimes she'd go all out, spending a good chunk of her morning making pancakes, bacon and eggs. Other mornings, she could barely drag herself out of bed, let alone make a fancy breakfast - a bowl of cereal would have to do.
By the time they had eaten and grabbed everything they needed for the day, the bus would already be rolling down the street, coming to a screeching halt in front of their house.
Heather would kiss each of them not once - but twice - and would smile and watch the two bounce eagerly onto the waiting bus, just in case one of them turned to look back at her. When the bus finally would drive away, she could usually feel herself deflate.
Some days, she could convince herself she was okay - she could unpack and do some housework, even read a little and catch up on some soap operas.
She could tell herself that Sean wasn't buried in some ditch in Vietnam, that she didn't have to see her students in body bags and coffins, that Alex would come home, that Charles hadn't become a stranger to her. But the other days, it wasn't easy to pretend.
On those days, she'd curl up into a ball on the couch and wonder if she curled into herself enough, could she disappear. It would last until she heard the sound of a slamming door and two excited voices, and the game of pretend would begin again - with a smile on her face, she would greet her babies with kisses.
One day, a month after they had moved in, she noticed something was wrong with Wanda.
She had left for school like she normally did - all smiles and giggles - but when she arrived home, she was lagging behind her brother, trudging along. Her lips were pouting and her little eyebrows were pulled together in confusion. "What's wrong, buttercup?" Heather asked. Wanda could be overdramatic at times, she reasoned with herself, Pietro beat her in a race or maybe a classmate took her crayon.
Wanda was silent and that, for Heather, was a sign that this was bigger and badder than race or a crayon. But she didn't push - she made dinner like usual, helped the two with their homework before she tucked Pietro in and kissed him on the top of his blonde head.
Finally, she made her way to Wanda's room. The little girl was already in her red nightie, her Raggedy Ann doll and teddy bear by her side in bed. She looked less heartbroken now, but something was still off. Uneasy, Heather sat on the edge of the bed, before asking, "Baby, what's wrong?"
Wanda hesitated, before her sweet voice finally rang out. "Do I have a daddy?"
The question surprised Heather. "What?"
Wanda let out a sigh, sitting up quickly, before she ranted, "Today at school, Willy come over and he asked what my mommy and daddy's names were, so I told him that I had a mommy named Heather and four uncles, but he said that uncles don't count and then I said I don't have a daddy but then Willy said you had to have a daddy."
Heather's heart stopped. She knew this day would come, she just knew it, but she hadn't prepared for this. She didn't know what to say. She couldn't tell her the truth, she wouldn't understand and - and they had no way of knowing that Wanda was going to be a mutant. Hearing that her father was human hating terrorist would hurt her in so many ways. She couldn't do that to her girl.
"So do I?
Heather was so caught up in her thoughts that she had forgotten about the anxiously waiting 6 year old in front of her. She let out a deep breath, preparing herself for the worst. "Yes, you do."
"Where is he?"
"He, um, had to go away - for a little while."
Wanda paused, taking in this new information, before questioning sadly, "Did he leave 'cause he didn't like me?" Heather blinked in shock, before quickly responding, "No, no, sweetheart, never. He didn't leave because of you or your brother. He left - he left because he was in trouble."
"Trouble?" Heather wanted to curse herself out. "We'll - we'll talk about it when you get older, okay? It's bedtime, baby."
"But I'm not tired," said Wanda, right before she let out a big yawn. Heather couldn't help but smile softly at the sight, before she tucked the little girl (and her toys, of course) in. "Mommy?" the small voice came, just as Heather was turning to close the door.
"Yes, dear?"
"Will daddy come home soon?"
Heather's heart hurt and the innocence in her daughter's voice made it only worse. She didn't want to lie, but she didn't want to tell the truth. Both would hurt. Trying to keep her voice from cracking, she whispered, "Maybe, baby girl."
Erik wasn't mentioned very frequently after that - sometimes here and there, the twins would want to know something about him, whether it was his eye color, his favorite food or even if he believed in Santa Claus. Somethings she couldn't answer, which just continued to remind her that she'd only known the man for a month before he left.
She never did tell them his name.
She knew that some day, the government would reveal that Erik Lehnsherr did, in fact, kill President Kennedy and if her children would be watching the news report at the time or even going to any history class afterwards, they'd have to live with the fact that that was their father. So she guarded that fact for them.
'Maybe' and 'When you're older' became her go-to statements when discussing Erik.
Her children grew before her eyes.
Size wise, of course. The two were close in height, but Pietro had Wanda beat by two inches. Wanda's curls were long and almost unruly, but she liked it that way - after all, it was in style. Pietro wanted to grow his hair out ("Like Jim Morrison, mom," he'd gush) but whenever he'd try, it would look too messy and gross for Heather to handle. Maybe she needed to 'get with the times', but she still preferred the hair of the 60's.
Pietro was still interested in video games and rock music, and Wanda with her stuffed animals and Barbies, but when they turned 8 in the summer of '71, Heather gave them more freedom. They'd go for bike rides with their friends and sometimes run over to the neighbors' pool and play there. They were always home by supper, but Heather barely saw the two during the afternoon. While being alone hurt, she knew that she couldn't hold onto them forever.
It was that same summer that Wanda's powers finally made their appearance.
Heather had just started supper when the back screen door slammed open. "You guys are home early," she hummed, before turning away from the stove to find -
- Both twins looking pale as a sheet.
The smile Heather had had on her face was gone in a flash. She turned the burner off, before facing the two of them again. "What's wrong? What happened?" Her words triggered a flood of emotions. Wanda began sobbing, as Pietro began to ramble on in a fast pace, so fast that Heather couldn't understand a single thing he was saying.
Her arms wrapped around her daughter, holding the little girl closely, before she stopped Pietro midsentence. "Sweetheart, sweetheart," she said franatically, "Slow down. Tell me again. What's wrong?"
Pietro took a huge breath, before repeating himself, slowly this time. "We were playing and his 6th grader came over to us and started being mean. Then Gordy got mouthy with him and started beating on him and - Wanda - it was like a red swirl or - or a beam, mom. And it shot right out from her hand and it hit him."
She pulled away from her snuffling daughter, looking down at her in shock. After all this time, she had thought Wanda was a human but - here was the proof. With her body changing so much and with the stress she was under, her mutation finally showed itself.
"Baby, it's okay," Heather claimed, hugging her tightly, "We'll figure it out, okay? You'll be okay, we'll be okay."
Wanda's power had the tendency to flare up when she was upset.
At first, it would only appear when she was having a temper tantrum or when she was very stressed. By the end of it, Heather had been tossed around a few times by the 'red swirls' that came from Wanda's hands. And for the first time in a while, she wished that Charles hadn't closed the school - Wanda needed help with controlling her power.
But Heather would stop that train of thought, she was a teacher at that school once. She could help her child.
And slowly, over the next few months, Heather helped Wanda with her anger. She couldn't stop it all together, but they started a method - close your eyes, count to ten. After some time, it worked. Wanda would calm down and no one or nothing was sent flying across the room.
Soon enough, Wanda was able to access her power without being angry - though when she would pick objects up, they would only float for a while, otherwise they were very shakey.
It didn't matter to Wanda though. There was always a big grin on her face whenever a dish successfully landed in the sink or her Barbie flew directly into her hand, and she'd always whip around to look at Heather, to see if she was watching.
One afternoon in April, the doorbell rang.
Heather stood up from the living room floor, where she and the kids had been sitted, a board game out in front of them. Pietro groaned. "Mom, it's your turn," he insisted, but Heather just laughed.
The doorbell ringing didn't raise any alarms for Heather, but when she opened the door and saw who was standing there, she froze in her place.
Before her stood Hank, a man she didn't recognize, and - Charles. A walking, standing, messy looking Charles.
She didn't focus too much on Charles; even if his shades covered his eyes, she could still see his empty gaze - so similar to his mother's. She instead turned her gaze to the man she didn't know. He looked like a bodybuilder and his hair was spiked up in two places, reminding Heather of horns. He looked her up in down, with a look of shock and something she didn't recognize.
But she still felt the need to cross her arms and cover her chest. "Can I help you?" she asked, wishing she could sound more initimating.
"You can, actually," Charles' English accent was still so evident and with the way he was speaking, Heather didn't know if he was upset or drunk. No, she really didn't care. "May we come in?" For a second, Heather considered slamming the door in their faces - have them take that as a h to e to l to l no.
But Hank hadn't done anything to her.
So she spared them, opening the door wider and letting them in.
"What's this about?" She questioned, before Hank and Charles looked at the man expectingly. The man glanced at them both before sighing. "Look, this is going to be hard to explain, just listen, you got it?" Heather nodded, and the man pulled a cigar out of his pocket and put it in his mouth. "No smoking in my house," she commented simply and the man gave her a dirty look before continuing, "Boy, is this getting repetitive. I'm from the future. Charles sent me back to stop Mystique from killing Trask. We need to get Erik out of the Pentagon. Get it?"
The man brought a lighter to the cigar and a rage - not just from the smoking but from the stories he claimed - came over her. She felt the familiar warmth through her body and she didn't even bother stopping it. The man jumped, her astral powers shocking him, and looked at her wildly, as she glared at him. "I said no smoking in my house."
"Do you understand?" Hank asked nervously, and Heather let out a harsh laugh. "Understand what? That you guys are trying to pull my leg? Yeah, I understand. Now get out of my house."
"Heather, please - "
" - No, wait," the man said, recovering from the zap. He looked her in the eyes and spoke in a soft tone, "If we don't stop her, everyone you know, including yourself, is going to suffer. You're going to lose - " The man paused, like he was suddenly nervous about sharing something, " - a lot of friends and family. Your kids are going to suffer."
Heather froze at that.
"Let's say - I choose to believe you. What if the future doesn't change? What if you're releasing a - a criminal for nothing?" The man grunted at that, "We won't know until we try, won't we, toots?" Heather had the urge to shock him again, but a look from Hank stopped her. A sudden gust of air beside her shocked her, especially when another came after Pietro threw himself at Hank.
"Oh, and we'll need him too."
"No."
"Heather - "
"No. You can involve me in this stupid mission, but not my kids."
"Heather," Hank said, his voice rather calm, "He'll be safe." Heather snapped at him, "How do you know?"
"Kid's fast," the man responded, "He'd overrun anything that tried to catch him." Heather looked at her son, confusion written all over this face, and - and even if it pained her, she knew he was right. She knew she couldn't leave Wanda alone at home and with her unprediability with her powers she wouldn't be safe - but if she waited in the car, she'd be okay. She'd be fine. After a moment, Heather glanced over the three men's faces, before letting out a big sigh.
"Fine."
