August 12, 1992

"So, what are your current plans?"

David shifted on the couch in his father's office. It felt strange to have a normal conversation after the edge that had existed under their words for so long. Now there were no double meanings to his words, no way to try to hurt his father.

There was still that angry feeling in his head though, one that seemed to be spreading like a disease. David knew that it was just the voices, the same filth that had been injected into his system long ago. Their feelings were still there though, feelings that bled over into his own.

He had to fight them though. Already he could see, more clearly than ever before, how they had poisoned his life. It was painful just how much his father didn't know about his life. David had kept so much close to his chest for so long, unwilling to talk to his father for more than a few minutes in the past.

It was like it was mocking him for his inability to come to terms with what happened in the past. David still wasn't sure if he had come to terms with it, and he wished he knew how he could. At least he didn't blame his father anymore, saw the truth of the matter.

David cleared his throat.

"I think that I'll be able to graduate in another year or two, take the bar exam," he said, "I've been interning with a few firms, and one or two mentioned a possible job in the future."

"It sounds like you impressed them," his father said.

"Well, after you argue down several mob-paid goons with guns, everything else seems kind of anti-climactic," David said.

His father chuckled. David had only briefly told him about the encounter at the time it happened, but he had the feeling that Kurt had gone back later and told him some more of the details. It had probably been done with the hope that it would paint his brother in a better light.

"I suppose so," his father said.

His father leaned back.

"It's sort of like when I first came across your mother in full fury," he said, "Nothing shocked me after that."

"Wait, what?" David asked.

He had a hard time imagining his mother raising her voice. If anything, when she was angry, her voice just became steadier. David remembered how her eyes would narrow whenever he got into trouble, her voice firm and brokering no argument.

His father looked to the side. David wondered if he was lost in the memory. It didn't seem like it would be a particularly good memory to get lost in. When his father turned his head again David continued to look at him, his expression frank and inquisitive.

His father sighed, but it it was an amused sigh.

"She was angry at being left behind after Cuba," he said, "I thought that our position as mutants hiding from the government would put her into danger and...I wasn't exactly the man she met at a pub in England."

His father's eyes drifted over to his wheelchair before snapping back to David. David understand the look in his father's eyes, the feelings of being damaged goods, no longer fit for use.

"So yes, she was angry," his father said, "Angry that I would dare to make that decision for her about the two of us."

David nodded. He'd heard a little bit of the story between his parents when he was younger. When he got older he didn't care so much, but now that some part of him recognized that perhaps it was time to start.

"I can't think about mom being happy while her fate was decided by someone else," David said.

"No, she isn't that type of person," his father said, "She didn't appreciate me putting her into that position either, and she let me know that rather vocally. Right after we narrowly avoided a plane crash too."

"A what?" David asked.

"The Blackbird was still in testing phase for the cloaking technology," his father said.

"Aha," David said.

His father drummed his fingers against the wheelchair. David thought for a while, trying to find the right words.

"So, how did you resolve that?" he asked.

"I'm sorry?" his father said.

David cleared his throat again.

"How did you resolve that?" he asked.

"Hank did some sort of data patch, I'm not sure what-" his father said.

"No, not that," David said.

He waved his hand vaguely, still feeling lost for words. David knew it was his fault that he couldn't make the words come out, couldn't phrase the question exactly how he wanted it. His father watched him for a moment, his expression strange.

"You mean what happened between myself and your mother," he said.

David nodded, grateful.

"She stayed," his father said, "David..."

His father clasped his hands in his lap.

"I have lived so much of my life believing that people don't stay," he said, "I haven't told you much about your grandparents, but your grandfather died when I was born. Your grandmother was...absent, and I always felt alone."

His voice caught.

"I'm not sure how much you know about your aunt," his father said.

"I know enough," David said.

From his father's sudden wince David knew that his voice had come out edgy. He couldn't help it. He'd heard stories when he was little, small discussions between the X-men, of how his aunt had left. He'd looked up her profile when he'd still dreamed of becoming an X-man, studied it and read the information about her. Mystique might have been listed in the back of the book, but he'd read that she was more than proficient in hand-to-hand combat and a talented shapeshifter.

It didn't label her as the traitor that she was to her friends and family. David had also, with some anger and trepidation, taken a good look at her golden eyes and dark blue skin. Something had clicked inside his head and he'd put it aside, just like he had when he'd seen the red man with the forked tail and pointed ears.

"Then you know that she left as well," his father said, "Along with the man that I considered my best friend."

David nodded.

"And I sent your mother away too," his father said, "It was perhaps something that happened as a result of everything that had passed, my mind exaggerating my own fears. Perhaps I wanted to send her away before she could leave. You know that I...repressed her memories, but I knew it wouldn't last forever. I suppose that I just expected that she would stay away after what I'd done."

His father closed his eyes.

"And then she came back, and she stayed," his father said, "And slowly, far too slowly for her liking, I realized that I needed her. I couldn't bear to be without her and, although things haven't been perfect, I believe that our paths crossing was the best thing that has ever happened to me."

His father opened his eyes. David's hand fisted on the armchair. He tried to keep his breathing steady, but he couldn't quite manage it.

"I was always a little ashamed that she was the one who had to be brave," his father said, "It placed too much of a burden on her, more than she should have had to bear. If I had been a little bolder, a little less uncertain, then I think that things would have been easier on her."

He shrugged slightly.

"But I do not regret that we are together," he said, "I only wish that I would have done it sooner."

David looked away, feeling something strange stealing over him.

"Thank you for sharing that," he said.

"Well, it's nothing you shouldn't already know," his father said.

Guilt prickled under his skin. If he'd been a better son, then his father would have already had the opportunity to tell him everything.

Oh God, now they're getting gushy.

David pounded the side of his head slightly. He got up, straightening his shirt. He knew his father wouldn't be fooled, but he had to at least make the appearance of pretending that everything was fine.

"Still though," David said, "I uh, thanks."

He turned to go, his mind whirring.

"It's Sharon, isn't it?"

David turned, surprised. His father was looking at him with a kind but knowing expression.

"I don't..." he said.

His words died beneath his father's expression. David sighed. He felt miserable. He hadn't told anyone how he felt about Sharon, hadn't even told Kurt. Then again, there had been too much happening to look at his feelings for too long. They seemed so unimportant.

"You don't have to say anything," his father said, "I have been paying some attention you know. You look at her as though...well, as I imagine that I looked at your mother for some time. There's so much fear that there's too many pieces of you scattered everywhere to even think of putting yourself back together, that no one should have to deal with that."

David bowed his head.

"She's my best friend," he said, "And if I...dad, I can't..."

His voice choked and he loathed himself for it.

"I can't lose her," he said, "One way or another, I can't lose her."

His father wheeled up beside him and put a hand on his arm.

"You don't have to," his father said.

"But I might," David said.

"David," his father said, "Sometimes the risk is worth it."

David didn't say anything, his heart and head hurting him. He felt as though someone had just placed weights on his shoulders, pushing him further and further into the ground.

"David, I don't worry about Kurt anywhere near as much as I worry about you," his father said suddenly.

Surprised, David turned to look at him.

"I know it sounds like a strange thing to say," his father said, "But...Kurt's an innocent in many ways. He's had some trials, and God knows that he has more ahead of him."

His father's voice was pained, and David thought of the pictures in the Brotherhood dossier, pictures Kurt had refused to look at.

"And they will try him, and some of that innocence will be lost," his father said, "That's the natural progression of things. But..."

His father sighed.

"I know all too well what happens when that progression is sped up," his father said, "And I know that it is tempting to view everything in life from behind that distortion. It's just...it comes as second nature after a while. But, David..."

His father smiled sadly. David felt like he wanted to cry.

"It doesn't have to be that way," he said, "No matter what people say, you can regain some of your innocence, some of your trust in the world and life. You just have to open yourself to it."

The tears were pricking at his eyes and David pushed them away.

"I know that it's easy to do," his father said, "And I know you have your reasons. But so did I. If I can help it, I would prefer that you not make the same mistakes that I did."

David looked back at his father, his heart thudding painfully and his head still pounding. For a moment he could barely think, but two words made their way out of his lips.

"Thank you," he said.

His father smiled, this one genuine.

"What are fathers for?" he asked.