Every cloud has a silver lining (and a scarlet one)

Wanda was sitting on the wide windowsill in the hall on the third floor. Book in hands, she was enjoying the coolness of the stone wall her back was propping up and the draft that was tickling the back of her neck. The curtains the color of ripe apricot rustled like the crinoline skirts of pompous gowns she was reading about in an original Grimms’ fairy tale. Not quite a read one would choose on a day off but she was enjoying it nonetheless while Peter and Lora went to explore some nearby town, probably eating their tenth ice cream on the beach.

Please don’t get a sore throat, the girl prayed, taking her eyes off the yellowed pages of the book from time to time to look out of the wide-open window into the courtyard. The murmuring flows of the fountain sparkled invitingly under the rays of the sun, so that Wanda sometimes wanted to reach out to them and run her fingertips along the surface of the water.

The girl watched the red-brown butterfly flutter somewhere in a hurry, a light smile blooming on her face. No drama or late-night ruminations, it seemed like her life simplified in a good way. Silence at last lost an uneasy touch to it and she fully embraced it, resting with her mind and soul.

Until her attention was caught by a figure she noticed from the corner of her eye. Her mouth lost on a joyful upturn of the edges, setting into a reserved line. Theoretically, she could jump out of that window. She would land on her feet like a cat, graceful and unharmed, but German letters printed on a slightly rough paper became her escape instead.

“Aschenputtel?” Hank asked, raising his brows as he took a peek at the fairy tale Wanda was trying to get lost in. “Although I think I see the logic in reading a dark story on a sunny day. This might reduce the chance of getting a nightmare.”

The girl wouldn’t be surprised if he now supplied her with statistics on how often people have nightmares after learning a gruesome story, fictional or real. It was something that made her roll her eyes on a bad day and raise an intrigued eyebrow on a good one. In any case, now there were only days when the two of them simply existed in the same space. After their conversation in the hall, some time had passed and so did Wanda’s resentment, though not fading completely, rather going into the “whatever, I don’t give a fuck about that anymore” section.

With such nice pronunciation of ‘Cinderella’, Hank was clearly not a layman in German – another wrongful assumption she had the impudence to make about the man.

Having received no reaction from Wanda, already implausible casual tone the scientist tried to set, crumpled completely. Sorrowful lines ran between his brows before he asked quietly, “May I sit down?”

The girl lifted her shoulder in an indifferent shrug.

“Thank you,” Hank said, and as he lowered himself on the windowsill, practically at Wanda’s feet, the girl cast a stealthy glance at him. He was dressed as usual – brown linen trousers and beige checkered shirt – but his sleeves were rolled to his elbow, something he didn’t do even when working with oily mechanical parts of the sentinel in the lab. His dark hair that seemed to grow longer in the week Wanda had been giving him a wide berth and brows that at last made their comeback, softened his already pleasant features. Honestly, he looked so vulnerable, the girl’s heart had a hard time staying unaffected.

“I understand that you don’t want to talk to me and nothing I say will change the fact that your trust in me is broken,” Hank began. A shadow must have passed over Wanda’s face because he pleaded, “Please just–just listen to me. I promise that if you tell me to leave you alone, I won’t bother you again.”

He took a deep breath and lightly slapped his thighs before he spoke again, “The last few years it was just me and Charles and this school. My job was to teach children physics, monitor them and help Charles in any way I could, and in my free time I sat in the lab assembling the jet like damn Legos. And then... This whole situation with the Apocalypse, with the death of Alex, the return of Raven and Erik... It really shaken me up, you know? All this time I just lived day after day, without making plans for my future.” He sighed; his eyes went up to Wanda’s face “You guessed my feelings for Raven since the very start –

Everyone “guesses” it, darling, Wanda thought.

“– but when it comes to her… I don’t know, it feels very situational. Maybe because there were times – I don’t always know if what she says can be trusted, to be honest. And given their history with Erik... I think I sort of snapped?

The girl would have smirked and grimaced as she often did when it came to this love triangle of two decades ago, but the raw emotion in Hank’s voice didn’t let her do so. That wasn’t some kind of anecdote. He was a living person and even if her father and Raven gave no reason to think that they were anything more than friends-occasional enemies, it didn’t change the fact that seeing them together could cause the man pain. That was the problem. Everyone was so used to seeing him as a scientist that they forgot that his feelings could be deep and in the case with Raven, for example, it could be not just attraction or affection, but an inexplicable therefore true love.

“You and I started our friendship with an apology. You gave me a second chance after I so insensitively pushed you and your brother to become a subject of my research and I blew it for essentially the same reason. I’m–I’m sorry. You may not believe me, because as it turns out, my actions don’t support my words, but this is what I feel. I’m truly sorry, Wanda. I saw something more in your relationship with Erik and I was jealous of how easy it is for him to win over some of the best people I know –

Wanda’s hand froze with a page held between her fingers. She was still persistently pretending that she was reading. She was, actually, but black printed letters didn’t form into anything more meaningful than what Hank was saying.

“– it pushed me to do something that deeply hurt you. As a mutant who never makes his mutation obvious, I should have realized how serious this was, but I went on with that.”

Wanda didn’t know what to do about it. She didn’t want to be one of those who forgives over and over again, even if the mistakes become more significant each time. She wasn’t like that. Or she thought she wasn’t because under Hank’s repentant gaze, she had difficulty keeping her sympathetic nature on a leash. She kept her eyes trained down on the book in her lap.

The man lowered his head, humbly, as if he weren’t expecting a fairy tale kind of ending of this conversation. He said, “I don’t want to bother you any longer. Thank you for letting me tell my side of things,” then, indeed no longer lingering, stood up and began to walk away. Although, having made a few steps down the hall, the man looked at Wanda over his shoulder to add, “Please, tell Ms. Maximoff a thank you from me.”

Questions started to raise in the girl’s head like bubbles in a glass of champagne. Ms. Maximoff? Did they talk? When? Why? They even seemed to have the same intoxicating effect because her tongue became loose and from her lips came, “For what?”

If Wanda’s curious gaze hadn’t drifted to his face and met those blue eyes behind the gleaming glasses, she was pretty sure the man would have dismissed the question as an auditory hallucination. She didn’t say a word to him during all these days, deliberately and mostly demonstratively. Although in some cases it was good that she kept her mouth shut, otherwise something bad risked breaking loose from it, destroying everything beyond the possibility of restoration.

“Uh, she–she told me something that–that guided my thoughts in the right direction,” Hank replied, stuttering slightly.

For some reason, Wanda asked, “Did you meet when she was here?” even though the answer was obvious.

The man nodded. A small smile timidly lifted the corners of his lips. “I think she even remembered me before I started mumbling.”

The girl smirked. She wouldn’t bet all her money on that.

“It doesn’t mean I forgive you,” she said, catching herself.

“I know,” the scientist replied quietly.

Sometimes a sorry didn’t cut it and sometimes it was the right key on the key ring that opened the first lock of a heavily secured door. Neither Hank nor Wanda could say with certainty what was true for them but the ice was broken and somewhere one worried Charles could breathe more freely.

….

Perhaps the reconciliation of his dear friend with the daughter of his other dear friend did not affect the Professor as one would think – after all he was responsible for 80 souls wandering around his estate – but it did bring some light into his heart. One could also assume that the man used his telepathic skills to be a “side observer” of the conversation near the window overlooking the courtyard, however he was aware of the fact that such a thing even happened because of the other gift he had – the power of observation. Which apparently was asleep for a while or not working on his inner circle because when Hank came to him last night, he expressed some feelings Charles had no idea his friend was dealing with. He was definitely taking his falling out with Wanda seriously, dejected by the loss of what in a nutshell was friendship, not just partnership as both of them sometimes presented it. But when the telepath saw his friend in the cafeteria at lunch, he knew a shift happened in their state of affairs. Shackles of sorrowful thoughtfulness stopped rattling, even though they weren’t gone yet.

“I also find your strategy quite amusing,” Erik’s deep voice floated in Charles’ mind.

“Hmm?” The telepath flicked his gaze to his friend, the thread of their conversation completely eluded him.

The Master of Magnetism jerked his chin slightly toward the chess board on a low square table between them, turning the Professor’s attention to the fact that he had just lost his Queen.

“Stumbled upon someone’s dirty secret?” the magnetokinetic asked, his brows raised ever so slightly. Leaning back in the leather armchair, with his ankle crossed over a knee and elbow propped on the buttoned, rolled arm, he was a picture of nonchalance this nice Tuesday afternoon. It was in moments like this that the resemblance between him and Peter seemed strikingly obvious to Charles. They didn’t share many similar facial features but their manner to hold themselves was an instant giveaway for those who paid close attention. All the cheerfulness aside, the speedster, much like his father, could hardly be called an open book and the gift that his DNA carried took the skill of masking so much further, shielding his thoughts even from an experienced telepath.

Charles gave his friend a flat look. “You are well aware that I never do that.”

A light lift of the shoulder was the only reply he had got.

“I’m just glad that Hank and Wanda made amends,” he said, reaching over the porcelain cup on a glass disc – a modern touch to the otherwise old-fashioned wood coffee table. He picked it up, his eyelids half-closed as the floral note tinted with orange tartness filled his nostrils, and took a sip of still warm Earl Grey.   

“She’s rather sympathetic toward him,” the Master of Magnetism said matter-of-factly.

“Maybe that’s her gift,” the Professor said casually, watching his friend over the cup. Not a muscle twitched in the latter’s face, that stoic expression kept perfectly intact. Well, it was worth a try. “Come on now,” he added gently. “You cannot be against her kind heart.”

“By no means I am,” Erik said firmly. “I’m against her being hurt again.”

A fierce protector – that who Erik was. Had always been. Of his beliefs, of people whom he took under his wing, of people whom he had love for. Seeing that side of him coming to life again filled Charles with melancholic joy. He had always warned his friend that there would be consequences to his actions but he had never seen it coming crushing at him so violently. He worried that it was the last stroke, that it would break the man beyond repair and the only thing that would make him go on with living would be his innate stubbornness.

The Professor leaned forward to put his cup on the coffee table, the porcelain and shining glass clinking merrily, then settled comfortably in his wheelchair, elbows propped on the leather-wrapped pads of the armrests. He couldn’t promise that the thing why Erik’s fingers clenched into a fist wouldn’t happen, God knows it’s human nature to sometimes strike even those who one cared about the most, but the telepath hoped to warm his heart to Hank at least a little bit. Where the former was rather indifferent, the latter showed distaste, and ever since the two mutants met, they never strayed from this path.

However, Charles’ noble attempt to bring his two dear friends closer was thwarted when the door to his study opened without a warning knock.

“When did summers become so unbearable?” Raven grumbled, coming from behind the telepath’s back, relieving him from the need to twist in his seat and spare his guest a welcoming glance. She grabbed the cup with desperation of a madman saved from a deserted island, her fingers wrapping around the ribbed porcelain ignoring the handle, and threw the drink down her throat. Judging by the grimace that distorted her features, she expected to find a warming liquid of a different kind in there. As if Charles would actually use his Chinese tea set for that purpose.

 The Professor watched his sworn sister plop down onto the linen sofa, the knickknacks on the chest of drawers behind it clinking in surprise. In denim breeches and white ribbed tank top that didn’t cover her midriff, blond wavy hair sticking out of a messy bun – she looked more like a student rather than a teacher. And behaved accordingly.

“That tastes like shit,” the shapeshifter said, the grimace of disgust still intact. She kicked her Air Forces up onto the lower part of the coffee table.

Her gaze swept over the chess board, Erik’s solemn face and Charles’ usual expression, briefly lingering on his right cheek which the man knew had a red spot blossomed there because he’d been propping it with his fist for far too long, lost in thought. Mockery arched Raven’s brows before it formed into words and flew out of her mouth. “Are you two busy with your old men game again?”

“Some practice uppercuts and kicks, and some exercise one muscle that can save them the trouble,” the Master of Magnetism said casually.

“And these “some” then find themselves knocked flat out on the ground,” Raven parried right away.

“Don’t you think that your trainers would look nicer on the carpet?” Charles chimed in, unable to tear his gaze from a blade of grass that fell off the dusty ribbed soles.

“From surprise mostly,” Erik quipped. A pawn came to rotate measuredly above his open palm.

The shapeshifter shrugged. “Whatever you need to tell yourself.”

“Raven, take your feet off the table, please,” the telepath said, switching from suggestions to a polite demand.

“Oh Lord,” his sworn sister muttered on an annoyed exhale. “Charles and his fancy tables.”

Yet, she complied with his request, polishing it with a rather theatrical flick of her thumb and forefinger, sending a blade of grass flying off the shining surface of the coffee table.

“Aside from our horrendous leisure time preferences, are there any other issues you’d like to address?” Charles bantered, sensing that the displeasure with weather wasn’t the reason that led Raven into this room.

For a second there, the woman lingered, then, she leaned forward, hands dangling between her knees. “Did any of you have a profound talk with Hank lately?” she asked, the gaze of her narrowed eyes swinging from one man to another.

“You’ve already asked me,” the Master of Magnetism answered. “You know that’s not usually what Hank and I do.”

“Which is very unfortunate,” the Professor noted, looking sideways at his old friend.

The pawn dropped onto Erik’s palm, long fingers closing off around it as he said, his tone dry, “His attitude toward Wanda didn’t make me want to change it.”

“Yeah, that’s not something I could see coming,” Raven drawled pensively, her brows knitted. She shook it off in a moment. “Anyway, back to tête-à-têtes. Charles?”

Those gray eyes focused on his face, not trying to read what was written along the lines, but waiting for him to tell it himself. She rarely did that now, waited for something instead of prying it out. But Charles still remembered the time when she was just his young sister cuddling up to his side while he was busy reading one of the books for his academic work. Maybe it was bad that when he looked at her now, barely touched by time (at least her human form did not change much), with this for once calm expression and wavy hair painted with different colors thanks to the recently installed stained-glass window behind her, and he wanted to bring it back. He missed her dearly but kept his sorrow to himself not wanting to burden her or make her feel anchored to him or this place that used to be her home too. Even now, after he finally asked her to stay, the telepath was willing to let Raven go if she wanted to leave.

“Doesn’t tête-à-tête mean ‘a private conversation between two people’?” Charles hedged, regretting that he didn’t grab the teapot from the kitchen. He would gladly hide behind a cup right now if only it helped to ward off his sister’s questions and Erik’s curious gaze that was almost palpable. Hank didn’t tell him anything that was a big secret yet, the moment they shared felt very private, meant to stay between them only.

“Thanks for the definition, Oxford Dictionary,” Raven quipped.

The Master of Magnetism tilted his head to the side, the corners of his mouth lifted ever so slightly in a sarcastic smirk. “What did he tell you that you’re running around the school with questions?”

“He was concerned about my mental state if the aftermath of the explosion had been worse than it was,” Raven crooned and even though her tone was unperturbed, it somehow felt prickly. Erik’s expression hardened. “And he’s still not fond of you.”

Despite his psionic abilities and his position as headmaster, the man felt like he was Doctor Watson in the world of Sherlock Holmes – insightful enough to recognize the riddles but not smart enough to solve them. “What does it have to do with you?” the man puzzled over the explosion part. “What are we talking about here?”

The gears in his mind started to turn, gaining on the momentum as he was trying to piece that little, as it turned out, he knew. The explosion set off a chain of intensive events. Erik learned about his fatherhood. According to rumors that swirled through the halls, he had an argument with Raven that left her room in chaos and which also made Hank upset. Egged on by doubts and suspicions, he ran a test on Wanda’s blood, discovering a mutation in her DNA. From that point on, the chain obtained some “charms” like Hank’s sudden friendship with Alan or the enmity between Wanda and Namor, but the bottom line was that it finally dawned on Charles. He had recently learned that Raven knew that the twins were Erik’s children, she also knew that he was about to leave school and the explosion of the Sentinel coincidentally happened on the very day when the man was sitting in this office with a suitcase. If Hank and Erik didn’t miscalculate and Wanda didn’t pursue some selfish goals, then the only person who had access to the otherwise properly functioning robot was the shapeshifter he was staring at, speechless. She curled her lips like an erring child.

“So, the bottom line of your conversation with him was…” the Master of Magnetism left the sentence hanging in the air between them unfinished.

“He –” Raven splayed her hands that were still dangling between her knees, then clasped them and smacked her lips, nodding absentmindedly “– has feelings for me.”

The Professor exchanged a glance with Erik before he turned his head back to the woman and drawled, not sure if he was reading her emotions correctly, “That’s…good that you’re ready to acknowledge it.”

“No. He said that he has feelings for me,” she pointed out as if the fact that the confession was made carried more weight than what it disclosed.

Lately Hank’s behavior was out of the ordinary which puzzled and pleased his friend at the same time. Yet, knowing that the scientist had a thing for his sister was kind of…weird. “Oh,” was all he could reply to that.

“I don’t get it then why you care whether he talked to somebody else or not,” the Master of Magnetism puzzled, getting visibly bored of that conversation. “I doubt he’d share in how many years he’s planning to ask you out for dinner, if that’s what you’re interested in.”

“Can you stop being an asshole for a second?” Raven said, parrying his lunge with the same level of sarcasm.

“You two, stop,” Charles intervened, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Or I’ll ask you to leave my office.” Judging by the looks on their faces, both were ready to test the warning so the man pinned them down with a deadpan stare he usually used for the erring students. It was the best he could muster after years of being a headmaster.  

“What are you going to do?” the telepath asked his sworn sister.

The shapeshifter lifted her shoulders in a shrug and leaned back, crushing into the linen cushions with desperation. “I mean, I have to do something about it, right?”

The man knew that that would make his friend happy. Yet, as much as he would want to see that, the fact that Raven was sitting there gripped by indecision, he feared that pushing them to each other would end with anything but happiness. “I believe that it’d be fair to both of you if you sit down and talk about how you both feel,” he said, choosing his words carefully.

 Erik, perspicacious as usual, put forward a more radical solution (nothing out of the ordinary here too). “Get him out of his lab and see if it works for you. After all, making the first step has never been difficult for you.”

The corner of Raven’s lips quirked up slightly into a smirk that seemed too intimate for Charles. “Oh Lord, spare me of this,” he pleaded, distaste drawing a deep frown on his face.

“Of what?” Erik and Raven asked in unison.

“Of this!” The Professor waved his hand at the connection flailing between his sister and his old friend, invisible but very much tangible. Something that would forever link them, at least for the telepath. “Don’t give him false hope if what he shared with you doesn’t really resonate with you.”

“What he “shares” rarely resonates with anyone,” the Master of Magnetism noted matter-of-factly. Yeah, sometimes he was an asshole. But Charles let him get away with it, a habit he developed in the early days, always finding some sense in everything his friend said, even if sometimes he refused to admit it. Now, Erik harbored a grudge against Hank for hurting his daughter’s feelings and considering his temper, the fact that the scientist didn’t get hurt in return was already admirable.

It was difficult to remain sane when the three dearest to his heart people were so different and intertwined in some kind of love triangle, but Charles tried his hardest every day.

“Hank deserves some sincerity,” he said, his tone firm as he locked his eyes with Erik’s which doused him with glacial indifference.

“He sure does,” the Master of magnetism replied.

“Mom, dad, don’t quarrel,” Raven jumped in the conversation, a mask of mockery set across her face. “Nice chatting with you but I gotta bounce.” She smacked her knees and sprung to her feet. An askance look went over the figures on the chest board before she hurtled an overly enthusiastic, “Have fun!” at them and absented herself from the room before her sworn brother could say anything else.

Erik and Charles swapped a rivalry glance.

....

On the other side of the closed doors, Raven exhaled, throwing her head back and closing her eyes for a moment.

She came to Charles’ office hoping to get something that would help her find the way out of a situation she had never been in before, but instead she received unsolicited advice that settled on her shoulders like a heavy blanket, only it didn’t comfort her.

Who did she listen to? One erased the memory of a young woman who was ready to stay at his side, and the second wasn’t aware for two decades that the woman who left him gave birth to their twins. Yep, one could hardly call them experts in love. And was it really love? Hank said he had feelings for her, but apart from her DNA materials he studied under the microscope he barely knew her. They spent a couple of months together before Cuba, then met ten years later in Paris and Washington, exchanging a few glances at best. It was all the time they spent around each other until now. What if he liked the idea of her, the image that lived in his fantasies but had nothing to do with her?

They came from different worlds. She was an orphan who luckily found her way into the home of the rich and got home schooling because a boy with the most amazing gift deemed her worthy of adopting her into his family. Hank on the other side...Wait, what did she know about him? Raven racked her mind. She distinctly remembered that he graduated from Harvard when he was fifteen. He worked in a C.I.A laboratory until she, Charles and Erik whom they knew for like two seconds came along and destroyed his career. Oh, yes, that’s right, there was also a temporary convergence of her and Hank’s views on mutation right before he generated a serum from her DNA, which only strengthened what he wanted to get rid of.

The shapeshifter looked down at her hands. She may have accepted her mutation and the fact that it distinguished her from 98 % of the population of planet Earth (at least in appearance), however, just like him, more often than not she put on a mask. The problem was that it didn’t feel like one.

Raven shook her head. There was no use in having an existential crisis in the foyer of Charles’ mansion. An elevator seemed like a more suitable place for that anyway, so she headed under the staircase and pressed a smooth, round button. In a moment a ping rang out and the doors to a well-lit metal box opened. She stepped in and pressed 1.

She preferred not to think about the way he looked at her, why there was so much light in those sapphire eyes when their gazes met, and why he was more animated around her than around others. Hank was a nice guy and to be honest, Raven enjoyed his company. However, all of that, even his full pink lips were not enough to match Eric’s charms.

The elevator pinged again and let her out into the blue tiled hall stretching under the school.

She and Lehnsherr didn’t spend long together and she definitely didn’t love him, didn’t feel any butterflies in her stomach when their lips clashed as if it was another battle. She did care about him a great deal though, now even more than back then. Was it possible that she simply didn’t notice that her attitude towards Hank changed too?

Raven stopped five tiles from the lab’s round door. Was she being pressured into this? Everybody watched her, even more so at this school and it didn’t slip her notice that whenever Hank or Erik, better even, both of them, appeared next to her, students started to whisper. One particular silver-haired imp would’ve started a ‘Haven’ campaign if she didn’t slap him nicely a few times. He thought he was being clever and secretive but she had definitely heard him use that ridiculous name to refer to her and Hank.  

“Talk about how you feel,” Raven repeated Charles’ words to herself. Offered the man who drowned his pain and fears with alcohol. “Shit.”

If only she knew what she felt…

The door swished and as the shapeshifter walked into the enormous laboratory there he was, hunched over test tubes in his white coat and blue rubber gloves. A smile tugged at her lips on itself.

Apparently not expecting guests, the man shot a glance over his shoulder, his newly grown eyebrows peaked out from behind his glasses. “Did I miss something?” he asked, swiveling in his chair to properly face her. His gaze slid over his wristwatch as if he suddenly realized that more time might’ve passed by while he was sitting there, engrossed in work.

“Oh, nothing to miss there if you’re not a fan of a scorching day,” Raven bantered, suddenly feeling some awkwardness in her body. She shoved her hands in the back pockets of her breeches.

“Why are you here?” the man puzzled.

“Well, I thought about what you’ve said the last time I saw you –”

A somewhat sorrowful smirk twisted Hank’s lips. He shook his head, saying. “You don’t need to worry about me,” as he went back to his project.

“Good because I’m here to ask you out,” Raven blasted out. The test tube slipped out of his hand and broke, falling onto the table. A yellowish liquid spilled over the papers, crumpling them with a poisonous hiss.

“Shit!” the scientist exclaimed and jumped up from his chair, taking a few steps back.

“To dinner. Or something,” the shapeshifter continued when his eyes shot to her. He was blinking at her like a robot that couldn’t recognize a command, at least that how Raven pictured it to look like. “I’ll tell you the time and place a little later. Haven thought that one out yet.”

With that, she turned around and headed to the door, her heart beating so fast, she wondered if the devices in this room could detect it.

....

“It’s stupid,” Jean muttered.

“My ideas are never stupid,” Peter objected, keeping his voice low. “That’s the execution that sometimes messes them up.”

The light of the flashlight in the speedster’s hand slid over every sharp gravel as these two bent over the road in the courtyard, the sky above them so dark, it seemed like the night had indulged whatever that shenanigan was about.

“Yeah, sure,” the girl drawled, unconvinced.

The young man pointed the flashlight at her face, and even though she threw her hands up, the attempt to shield from it was futile. She hissed, scrunching up her face, “What are you doing?”

“If my idea is stupid, why are we here then?” Peter asked, daring her to say that if it weren’t for him, she would continue to stare at Jubilee wistfully every time she caught sight of her. It’d been about a week since the girl returned from her visit to Beverly Hills and not once did they exchange even a stiff “Hi”.

“Once more,” the telepath said, a slight crease forming between her brows, “what exactly are we looking for?”

“Jubilee is somewhat romantic,” the speedster drawled distractedly, crawling away from the fountain.

Not quite understanding what he was getting at, Jean hummed an encouraging, “Uh-huh,” following him.

“So for her to truly appreciate your gesture, we need to do everything by the book,” Peter elaborated, though it only made his friend blink confusedly at him all the more. “Aha,” he exclaimed, holding something up, “here you are!”

Peeking out from behind the young man’s shoulder, the girl peered at what appeared to be an unremarkable example of a pounded stone in the light of the flashlight. She was no longer sure if she was listening to the song of the crickets in the bushes or to the screech of the gears in her own mind. Her tights were burning from squatting on her hunches, the skin of her arms was dotted with mosquito bites and it took a great deal of her will to fight the urge to scratch those itchy spots so one might forgive the irritation that slipped into the telepath’s voice when she said, “A piece of rock? We’ve spent the last fifteen minutes looking for a piece of rock?”

Peter’s head swiveled to her, and he shushed her, as if she was a whimsical child. Jean might’ve believed in the solemn seriousness his face assumed if his dark eyes hadn’t twinkled so gaily, testifying to the fact that he simply enjoyed messing with her guileless nature.

“Follow me,” the imp whispered in an enigmatic tone and, holding to the shadow of the bushes, he slinked toward the mansion before disappearing around its corner.

“What – Wait!” Jean picked up the posters she leaned against the basin of the never sleeping fountain, tucked them under her arm and nearly tripped over her numb feet when she tried to hurry after her friend. Limping, she caught up with Peter under the windows of the west wing. “I seriously think you need to watch less spy movies. What now?”

“Don’t fret, Prof Jr,” the young man drawled, walking backward from the mansion, “all goes as planned. So far.”

Even though the night’s shadows concealed half of his face, the red-haired telepath could swear that a teasing grin was lifting Peter’s lips. But it wasn’t his quip that made her pause for a second, doubt flickering in the back of her mind.

“Tell me you are not going to do anything stupid,” Jean muttered pleadingly, coming to the realization that she was being ridiculous. She was sneaking around the school in the dark with Peter Maximoff. Of course he would do something stupid and she would be involved in it too.

“Nothing good started with a totally sane idea,” he replied and she heard a click of a pebble hitting the glass.

The pitter-patter of the broken window cut through the midnight silence, sharp pieces showering them like a good autumn rain while the lights were starting to turn on, bewilderment wafting in the air. The girl held her breath, preparing herself to be caught red-handed. Luckily, that unfortunate scenario played out in her head only.

“Whew! That went well for once.” Peter put his hands on his hips and finally paid Jean a glance. Panic must have still lingered in her features because his brows drew together before he said, “What?”

“Do I even want to know under what circumstances it didn’t go “Phew”?”

“Nah, probably not.”

He reached out for her upper arm and gently but firmly tucked her forward and put a poster in her hands before he turned her around by her shoulders to face a window on the second floor. It had already been lit up by a nightlight Jean knew was standing on the shelf right above the bed.

She snapped her head to her friend panicking for an entirely different reason now. “That’s stupid. I look stupid. What am I even doing here at this hour? I’m not a knight in shining armor that wants to win over a girl with a stupid gesture.”

“That’s a lot of “stupid” in a few sentences, don’t you think?” Peter bantered. He patted her shoulder, his voice softer than before as he leaned closer to say, “You got this, Jeannie Beannie,” and turned on his flashlight again, directing its white light on the poster in her hands. Right in time as the frame of the window slid open and Jubilee poked her head out.

“Jean?” the girl asked, sleep still heavy on her eyelids.

“And Peter,” Peter put in, holding his hand up in a greeting gesture.

“What are you, guys, doing here?” Jubilee got out through a contagious yawn.

“Oh, don’t pay attention to me. I’m a shadow. I’m basically not here,” the speedster blabbered, portraying an extraordinarily articulate empty space. “That’s who you need.” He pointed to the red-haired girl beside him.

Jean propped the posters on her open palm, the soft skin feeling the weight of the sharp-edged paper and the words written there in black marker, and began to flip through them. The first giant notecard said, With any luck, we graduate from school next summer.

It was Peter’s idea to kick it off with an off-topic banter.

The second poster didn’t leave a doubt to whose thoughts were behind it this time. I can’t tell if life plans to set us on different paths.  

But for now, let me say, the third card started for the fourth to continue, without hope or agenda, and the fifth to strike with, you’re my best friend. A bit wordy, with a pinch of drama…Peter’s voice was heard again.

The problem was the girl’s but the solution came from the young man. Both had their own opinion on how to bring it all to life, so, while they were making those cards, they had to compromise and that intellectual ping pong was kind of peeking through at Jubilee right now.

Three years ago, she read on another giant notecard as Jean whispered to Peter, her lips barely moving, “This is so weird.”

…when you stepped into the school,

“I told you it would be weird without the music,” the speedster crooned quietly out of the corner of his mouth.

…my life changed drastically.

He did say that, but standing under the window with posters and music seemed like too much for her. Now she second-guessed her choices, starting with the moment when she found Peter’s idea the only reasonable way to make amends with Jubilee. The girl originally wanted to catch up with her friend somewhere in the park, sit down on the bench near a small waterfall and talk things through. Not that Jean pictured that scene often. Or stalked Jubilee in the park… Anyway, deep down the girl knew that a grand gesture was a deal breaker. Her friend loved such things and hopefully, that night shenanigan would be something they could laugh about together later.

The telepath continued to drop the notecards that had been read onto the lawn, Peter dutifully illuminating the words on the left ones with his flashlight (that for its part attracted quite a lot of mosquitoes, damn them). 

I no longer felt lonely.

Mainly because you continued to break into my room…

…every day with a new gossip…

Jean thought that she heard Jubilee smirk.

…but also to bless me with your light.

“Where’s the last card?” the red-haired telepath asked muttered, realizing that she ran out of giant notecards before she could deliver the only message that truly mattered.

The silver-haired young man met her eyes. “What?”

Disappointment began to spread in her chest. “Where’s the “I’m sorry” card?”

“It was up to you to pick them up, I was searching for a flashlight,” Peter disowned from the shifting blame on an instinct, but then he posed for a second, the look in his eyes uncharacteristically considered before he dropped down in a squat, flipping through the scattered posters.

Jean didn’t know what to do. Should she rush down too and look for the missing message? It seemed that time had turned into sand that was slipping through her fingers, just like the magic of this moment. She threw her head back, her gaze searching, longing to see her friend’s expression. “Jubilee, please, forgive me!” she called, her heart thumping in her chest as she waited for a verdict.

Her friend tilted her head, a gesture of surrender as it seemed because the dark-haired girl replied, “Come on up here,” with an inviting wave of her hand.

Jean wasn’t certain if it were her telekinesis or her hope that propelled her on the second floor of the mansion but in a minute, Jubilee was helping her climb over a window frame.

As soon as the telepath’s feet touched the wooden flooring of the room, she went on with her apology, words flowing out of her, lively like a spring stream, “I was so caught up in the prospect of having more people around me who accept me for what I am that I sort of neglected our friendship. I didn't do it on purpose, I swear. And when I kept the trip to New York from you, I was... Honestly? I was scared shitless of what would happen if the Professor finds out so I kept it even from you. I shouldn’t have but I did and I’m sorry.” She was practically out of breath by the time she finally finished her monologue. “So…will you–will you forgive me?”

“Shut up. You had me when I saw you with those big-ass cards,” Jubilee mumbled, her eyes glossy, and pulled Jean in a crushingly tight hug. The girl returned the gesture, giggling and snuffling at the same time as her own eyes were welled up with tears.

“I missed you,” the telepath said into her friend’s hair, breathing in the familiar jasmine scent. She pulled away but didn’t hurry to let go of the girl completely yet, their fingers entwined.

“I missed you too, idiot,” Jubilee said with a smile on her face. “I can understand that you didn’t invite me to go with you. You know I’m not into Elton John and my parents would’ve totally killed me if I got busted with all of you, but Jeez, keeping your silence after you came back? You have some rock-hard stamina!”

“Will you throw me back onto the lawn if I say that I wanted to tell you everything right away but wasn’t sure if you can keep it to yourself?” Jean asked, her face scrunching up apologetically with every word.

“Hmm,” her friend hummed, pouting her lips in thought. Then, quick as a lightning, she pinched Jean’s upper arm, drawing out an “ouch” of her, more surprised than pained. “Nope, now you’re totally forgiven.” She pulled a face, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “I’m not sure I wouldn’t blurt anything out the following morning.”

The telepath splayed her arms in a “See? That’s what I’m talking about!” gesture.

“Okay, but tell me everything about it!” Jubilee exclaimed, plopping onto her bed.

Jean glanced out the window, finding Peter still standing under it, the collected signs tucked under his arm. He raised his free hand up, giving a thumbs up, his eyebrows raised in question. When she answered with a thumbs up of her own, he thrusted his fist in the air in victory which brought a big smile on her face. She would need to thank him later.

“There’s not much to tell, actually,” Jean said, coming over to the bed to sit with her friend. She let loose a sigh as she fell on the soft sheets and propped her head on her palm. “We went to New York to see the concert and it was…fun. But then the car was towed and we had to search half of the city to find it. The parking fine guy didn’t want to give it back because Wanda didn’t have her driver license with her. And one hundred eighty dollars to pay the fine.”

Jubilee’s brows went up. “One hundred eighty? Oof! Even I didn’t get a ticket like that, like, never and you know how I park.”

Yeah, she once offered Jean a lesson on driving and that was the first time the red-haired girl damaged the Professor’s car (unfortunately not the last).

“Peter and Wanda came up with a plan and everyone supported, so naturally I had to participate in the theft too.”

“What? What?!” Jubilee exclaimed, her expression an epitome of exaggerated shock. “Who are you and what did you do to my friend who refused to snatch a cookie while the cashier wasn’t looking?”

“I said, ‘I had to’,” Jean pointed out. “And we were fifteen! I didn’t even want that cookie but you keep reminding me that I didn’t steal it like that was a crime!”

“Yeah, you didn’t want a cookie because you wanted the cashier boy,” her friend crooned, batting her eyelashes in a completely implausible portrayal of 15-year-old Jean.

The telepath picked up a plush Mickey Mouse from the floor and smacked the girl in the face with it. “Wrap it up! I’m not gonna tell you any more about the trip!”

“Okay, okay, okay!” Jubilee held her hands up, laughing. She snatched her toy from Jean and tucked it under her chin, making a puppy face. “Pretty please? I’m all ears.”

The telepath rolled her eyes but complied. “So we got the car back and drove to Washington to leave it at Peter and Wanda’s mom’s house. One train and bus and an excruciatingly long walk later we were back at school. And the rest you probably already know.” Her gaze drifted to the lava lamp that served as the nightlight, watching the wax float to the top of the globe and back to the bottom, the blue light making the room look like they were sitting in a sea cave. “We’re currently building a tree house in the park. Wanda believes that it will restore our image as a team but…” Her shoulders lifted on its own in a shrug. “I don’t know.”

“Seems like Wanda and Peter are at the root of all major changes,” Jubilee drawled carefully.

“Activism is in their blood,” the telepath smirked. Her friend raised a brow, reminding her that there was one more unspoken truth wafting in the air between them. Probably that was what it meant to have more than one friend: people shared their secrets with you, which, no matter how tempting it was to discuss with an outside party, should’ve remained disclosed. “I mean that they have far more experience when it comes to–Well, many things, actually. So naturally they were the brain behind most of the plans.”

It was an evanescent movement yet Jean caught it when the girl bit on her lower lip as if she bit down on the thought she had. “What?” the telepath asked, drawing her brows together. “You think it’s a bad thing?”

“No, not at all.” Jubilee shook her head. “I just–You know the Professor better than any of your new friends –” The crease between Jean’s brows deepened which earned her a pointed look “– Leave me alone, I’m allowed to be a little jealous.”

“There’s nothing you should –” the telepath started but her friend put out her hand, gesturing her to shut up. “So, what I was saying is that if you feel like what you’re doing now is not gonna work out, just tell them. I’m sure you’ll come up with something else.”

“I think he actually likes this idea,” Jean drawled. It was already deep into the night and the light of the lava lamp was so lulling, her head kept sliding off her palm, gravitating toward the soft duvet. She began to drag her finger along the lace trim of its cover to keep herself awake. “I was worried about him after everything that happened, especially since he returned to the ruins of the house in which he lived all his life, but he seems to be okay. Not against innovations, as he would usually be, and he often comes to check on us and the tree house progress.”

The corners of Jubilee’s mouth lifted. “That’s so nice of him. And what about Magneto? Is it true that the Professor assigned him as your chaperone?”

“Nooo,” the telepath objected with an indignant puff. “He’s just...” Well, how one would call a man who has been sitting on a bench near the building site for the past two days, watching his children like a hawk? She sighed. “Yeah, I guess he’s monitoring us, just in case.”

“That must be fun,” the girl teased and laughed, when Jean grimaced.

Curled up like kittens, they were both laying across the bed. Jean slid her hand under the duvet, gathering it under her head to form a pillow while Jubilee hugged her Mickey, eyes half closed.  

“I’m not against Scott, the twins, Kurt or Ororo, you know that, right?” Jubilee drawled and yawned.

“Mm-hmm.”

“It’s just sometimes you’re inclined to agree with something you disagree just for the sake of not arguing. And you’re a good child in the family.”

“What?” Jean wiped away a naughty tear that tried to run down her nose after she lost a fight to a yawn.

“No, seriously. You know how often people of our age sneak out of the house? Of course they don’t go all the way to a different state but...” Jubilee waved her hand. “Don’t feel that bad about the Professor. He is not the only one who has been through a lot lately.”

“I like to listen to some Jubilation wisdom,” the telepath said, a dreamy smile tugging the edges of her lips upward.

Her friend snorted lightly something along the lines of, “Of course you do,” then mumbled, “I think I came back right in time to help you with your “image restoration”.”

“I’m all ears.”

But all that was heard in the room beside the measured breaths was the occasional rustling of trees coming from the outside. The girls fell fast asleep.

....

“You know, when the mansion blew up, I found solace in the thought that your wardrobe was forever buried under its ruins,” Alan said from his chair seated in the western corner of Hank’s living room. “I could’ve not guessed it in a thousand years that you’ll manage to find the exact same clothes in such a short period of time. That is simply remarkable.”

“That…was  –” A taut line gathered between Hank’s brows as he watched his reflection in the mirror trying to tie a tie “– very rude of you.”

His friend waved it off. “Don’t take it to heart. Better drink some tea and take my advice: go shopping. Or at least borrow something from my closet.”

Perhaps taking the man’s advice was worth it. Not the part about the wardrobe but to have a cup of hot peppermint and thyme tea if it calmed Hank’s nerves at least a little. He had been so uptight since the Monday Raven walked into his laboratory and asked him on a date. The sun had set and rose two times already, inexorably approaching the day she had appointed. To some extent, the man regretted that he had opened up to her. What if the date goes horribly and it doesn’t work out? And what if it goes perfectly and the thoughts he had about his and Raven’s future come true? Right now, both prospects seemed equally terrifying to him.

“Here,” Alan said, coming over to Hank and handing him his cup of tea, and while the latter accepted it, taking a few hasty sips right away, the man tried to take off the tie.

“Hmm,” the scientist hummed, his face screwed up because the tea went down his throat like a lava, burning his insights. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” his friend drawled distractedly, his fingers struggling with the knot. “I’m trying to save you from making a terrible mistake.”

“But I love this tie!” Hank protested.

It earned him a very skeptically arched brow and something that one could view as an insult. “You look like you’re being strangled by a snake and everything below your neck is already drained of blood.”

Both men turned their heads to the mirror. Hank’s face was all red behind the glasses, the collar of his rose brown shirt was folded down, covering the sea green tie that hung crookedly from his neck. An average scientist. In contrast, Alan looked like he was ready to be photographed for a men’s magazine: his pistachio shirt set perfectly on his broad shoulders, two buttons undone, the edges tucked into a pair of classic black trousers, his shoes polished.

“If you’re still not convinced, let’s go downstairs and find a tiebreaker,” Alan offered and tapped the scientist on the upper arm as an idea popped in his head. “What about that girl you worked with at the lab?”

“Wanda?”

“That’s got to be her. Is she a new student or a lab tech?”

“None of it. At least officially.” Hank set the cup with tea on the dresser and tried to fix his tie. “She came here because of her brother, Peter. The speedster.”

Recognition sparked in Alan’s light blue eyes. “Oh, so the woman that came here with a little girl that is staying with them now must be their mother. They’re a very easy on the eyes family.”

“Yeah, I guess so. Though I’ve never met the father.”

A thin voice of Hank’s wristwatch reminded him that seventy-two hours had passed since he last injected his serum and until he decided to bring some more changes into his settled life, he’d better act.

“Maybe he is not in the picture?” Alan suggested, leaning against the wall with the mirror and watching his friend roll the sleeve of his shirt to pierce his skin with a syringe. Both men winced. “Maybe that’s why they cling to Erik.”

“Him? As a father figure?” The absurdity of the idea tickled the scientist more than the pale, yellow substance running through his veins, chasing the X-gene and blocking it for the next three days. Other than some grumbling concerning her brother, Hank rarely heard anything from Wanda about her family, never anything about her father. But to think that the twins would choose Erik Lehnsherr as his substitute? He shook his head. “Charles would be a better fit for that.”

“That’s not exactly how it works,” Alan said with a small smile. “Anyway, let’s go find Wanda. I’m sure she’ll help me talk some sense into you.”

When Raven asked Hank out on a date, he froze. He literally sat at his desk for half an hour, trying to process what had just happened. Then, he jumped to his feet and rushed to Wanda. At the door out of the laboratory he stopped though, his enthusiasm dialing down a few notches as his consciousness tsked at him. The days when the girl disregarded him were over, but that didn’t mean she was waiting for him with twinkling eyes and a listening ear.

The syringe went into the trash can as Hank said, “I don’t know. The things between us…It’s all fragile and I don’t want to push her.”   

“I knew, of course, that working at a school would involve dealing with some kind of drama, but when I thought about it, I imagined teenagers and their raging hormones rather than the teaching staff,” Alan drawled, feigned astonishment dancing around his eyes. Then, “You don’t talk about what happened and I don’t want to pry it out, so my only guess comes from the sideways glances a particular group of youngsters cast at you. Whatever happened between you and that girl, it seems like you were the one who went astray. If you want to make things feel right again, I suggest you come to her and share your good news, show her that you want her to be a part of these kinds of moments.”

 Hank thought that maybe the man was right. Wanda had often teased his crush on Raven, but it came from a place of encouragement to act. He might’ve even heard her call him and the shapeshifter ‘Haven’, as if they were characters from some book and she was rooting for their story to finally take a romantic turn.

It seemed as if Hank’s indecision drained Alan’s steadfast patience because the latter reached out for him, putting a gentle but firm hand between his shoulder blades and veering him toward the door. “I’ll just drag you to Wanda and ask her opinion about that nice outfit you picked.”

“Wait–I don’t want to parade around the school like a peacock!” the scientist protested and actually tried to stall the procession, digging his heels in the hallway carpet.

“Oh please, in this –” his friend’s gaze swept over his clothes, disapproval swirling in his expression “– you’re a peahen at most.”

“Thanks for lifting my spirits. I might as well just swing by Erik’s in the morning,” Hank mumbled as they reached the stairs. Alan’s hand slid up to rest on his shoulder but it was still there for guidance rather than calming, pushing toward Wanda’s quarter with surprising strength.

“Hi, Mr. Alan!” a young boy chirped, making a U-turn around the men to run up the stairs. In a second a dozen children flooded the half-landing, exclaiming the same cheerful greeting once they ran by Alan who smiled down at each and every one of them. When he turned his head to look at Hank, the joy of seeing those impish little faces was still shining in his aquamarine eyes, crinkling the skin around them. With the daylight pouring from the window behind and lighting his white hair so it looked gold, he looked like an angel and it was honestly not hard to understand why everyone in the school felt affinity for this man.

“So, what were we talking about?” he asked, a light crease settling between his brows. “Oh, yeah.” He glanced down at his wristwatch. “I think we have better chances at finding Wanda in the cafeteria.”

“But Raven is going to be there too,” Hank protested again even though he stopped trying to wriggle out of his friend’s half-embrace and was now walking in lockstep with him through the hallway on the first floor. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see Raven, it was just that marching past her in a shirt and a tie to seek Wanda’s advice about the upcoming date night would surely add a certain amount of awkwardness between them.

His friend brushed off those concerns. “She has classes at this hour.”

It seemed like that scoundrel with that angelic face of his had everything thought of. Except for what Hank blurted out when both men crossed the cafeteria and stopped at the table where Wanda was sitting Erik and Charles.

“Hey! Would you–would you go on a date with me wearing this?” the scientist said to the girl, his palms going a little dump.

The Master of Magnetism, who occupied the chair next to her, choked on his coffee.

“Excuse me?” Wanda asked, staring up at Hank with her brows raised.

Alan immediately intervened, chackling rather factitiously. “Our dear friend meant to ask your advice on what he should wear on a date. He chose…this.”

“On a date?” The girl’s attention was torn between the news and Erik who was still coughing violently at her side. Charles was patting him on the back but to no avail, the man’s face was flashed, a vein popped out on his right temple. Heads began to turn toward them. Staying in the countryside, there’s little excitement, so one clings to whatever narratives one can get.

“Raven asked me out,” Hank said and the words made the corners of his lips quirk up a bit. He chanced a glance at the Professor. He and Raven weren’t as close as they used to be before Cuba happened, but she’d always been like a sister to him so naturally, the scientist was wondering if his friend had anything to say about the whole dating thing.

“And you’re going?” Wanda asked half-distractedly, moving her hand up and down Erik’s back as he tried to clear his throat. She was looking into his face with such care, Hank wasn’t proud of the feelings that it stirred up in his chest. It was as if they were in the laboratory all over again when the Master of Magnetism was his usual Mr. Sarcasm self and got a fair punch in the gut (sentinel’s hand – thank you), and she acknowledged only Hank’s ‘ungraceful’ behavior. Was she in love with Erik?

“He is,” Alan chimed in, patting his friend on the shoulder with an encouraging smile. “At least he intends to. And this is the look.”

At last, the girl turned her head to Hank and eyed him from head to toe. She got up from the table, paying a quick glance at the man at her side first, making sure he was fine, and came to stand in front of her former colleague. The scent of vanilla marshmallow slowly started to envelop the man, shushing away the cacophony of different breakfast smells. She reached out for his tie.

Alan couldn’t seem to stop himself from sharing his previous clever comparison with the others. “He looks like a peahen, doesn’t he?”

“Well, they may not look bright outside, but it doesn’t take away their beauty,” Wanda drawled, her gentle fingers working on the silken piece of fabric around Hank’s neck. The man held his chin up and froze, aware of all the curious eyes that were watching them. “I personally think that they’re cuter than their male counterparts.” She tapped the perfect knot lightly and stepped back from Hank. Her gaze swung to Alan. “I’m Wanda, by the way.”

Alan tipped her a nod. “Alan Edwards. I’m a chemistry teacher here.”

“Ooh, everybody’s favorite teacher! Nice to finally meet you, Mr. Edwards.”

Hank could bet it wasn’t the only thing she heard about the man, not after Peter dragged him to his quarter absolutely wasted but he bit down on that remark.

“Call me Alan.”

The two were smiling affably at each other while the scientist’s nerves were dancing jig. Thankfully Raven wasn’t around, indeed having a PE class with a bunch of teenagers. That much the man could see from the opened window of the cafeteria. Well, he saw the passing figures of the students who must have been assigned to run around the mansion, their faces sweaty and miserable, and there weren’t many people who could force those youngsters to exercise but Mystique.

“I didn’t actually respond,” Hank said, drawing back Wanda’s attention. “To Raven’s invitation. I think I didn’t even nod.” A look passed across Wanda’s face and the man suspected it had nothing to do with his poor courtship skills. “You think I shouldn’t go?”

The girl crossed her arms over her chest. “I think she ditched you too many times without once explaining her reasons, to expect that you’d come at the drop of the hat. Though it’s not like my opinion really matters.”

She sat back down at the table. Erik set a glass of what seemed to be apple juice in front of her and the scientist thought that he saw a smile settle on the man’s lips, the kind he had never seen on him before. It was a small tic, some lines around his mouth, but it changed his expression entirely, making one think of father’s love all of a sudden. That was before Erik’s eyes landed on Hank, cold and unfeeling. “Are you done now?” they said.

Alan cleared his throat.

“Of course it matters,” Hank said, his voice perhaps too quiet among other, more animated thoughts flying around the room.

“Oh, Namor!” Charles suddenly exclaimed. He had been stirring his already half-drunk tea with so much interest all this time, at some point the scientist even forgot that his friend was there too.

Hardly sharing the telepath’s enthusiasm, the young mutant silently approached the table.

“How are you doing? How’s the progress with the exercise?” Charles went on, trying so hard to bring some casualness into the whole encounter that Hank experienced a second-hand embarrassment. 

Dark complacency crept into Namor’s features. “It goes very well, actually,” he replied, even though his attention was all on Wanda. Their gazes clashed like the swords of two rival kings. “How’s your quarter? I heard it was slightly flooded.”

“Oh, no biggie. It’s seen worse things,” the girl said in a voice that was too sweet to be palatable. “Isn’t there any other place you need to hurry to?”

“Likewise. Seems like your spotlight is being taken away.” The young man jerked his chin toward the table on the opposite side of the cafeteria, further back into the corner with a tall window. Wanda turned her head just as her brother moved on the bench, making a space for Jubilee to sit with the gang. Judging by the way the team members’ eyes were focused on her, the girl had something interesting to say. 

Alan and Hank exchanged glances. That was the kind of drama the chemistry teacher was talking about earlier. The air was so charged with tension, it seemed that if one lit a match, the whole place would burst into blue flames right away.

Wanda’s hand fell back as if her wrist had suddenly become weak and the glass she was holding tilted to the side, apple juice spilling over its edge straight onto Namor’s khaki shorts. An ugly stain bloomed quickly on his groin area.

Hank could swear he heard a couple of gasps from the neighboring tables.

 The girl’s lips twisted in a sly, unabashed smile as she took in the young man’s appalled expression.

“Looks like there is a place you’re desperate to go to, love,” she crooned, set her glass on the table with a final knock and rose from her seat. “As much as I enjoy lounging around with you gentlemen,” Wanda bantered, looking down at Erik and Charles, “work calls.”    

She rounded the table, her hand briefly sliding over Erik’s shoulders in a caring caress, and headed toward the spot where her friends gathered.

“But if I were to come,” Hank called out, making Wanda turn around, “would it be a proper look?”

“Absolutely not,” the girl replied, walking backwards. “You look like you’ve been strangled by a snake and it hands proudly from your neck.”

Behind him, Alan burst out chuckling.

....

“Be careful,” Peter said, coming over to stand next to his sister, “that frown may get permanent and then people will start thinking that you are the older of the two of us.”

Arms crossed over her chest, Wanda was watching the gang and Jubilee putting the finishing touches on the canopy construction. During the construction process, they decided that building a full-fledged house with walls, roof and windows into a tree would look too alien against the background of nature. Plus, it was a whole lot of work none of the gang members was sure they could execute. So, instead they left the platform, fenced it off with branches tied tightly together, and were about to stretch a piece of waterproof fabric between the highest branches to give the place some protection from the vagaries of weather.

“They already do,” the girl said matter-of-factly.

Peter twinned her stance. “No way! Even with my gray hair? Why would they?”

“I dunno. Maybe because you snatch ice creams from kids’ hands at superspeed?”

The look of utter confusion on those little faces, Peter smeared in ice cream smiling wickedly… Actually, Wanda found it pretty hilarious, annoying at times but still something she could grin about.

“Whaaaat? Never in my life have I done anything like that.”

The speedster cast a sideways glance at his sister, guessing a good-natured eye-roll behind her brown sunglasses, but had to look away the next second because their golden frame caught the sunlight, blinding him.

“Any thoughts on Jubilee’s idea?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.

“Novel. Adventurous. Fun,” Wanda said in such a tone, she might as well have listed the ingredients of a cough syrup.

“And if we go beyond adjectives?”  

The girl turned her face to him with a counter question.

“What was that look in the cafeteria about?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the speedster drawled, his eyes narrowing, gears in his mind turning with a steam as he was thinking of what he could’ve possibly done earlier to spark his twin’s interest.

“You think me blind?” Wanda asked, giving him a flat look through those sunnies. “I saw you and Jean and something passing between the two of you.”

“Nothing had passed between us. I helped her to win over Jubilee and I guess she was just…grateful?” A wild guess popped up in Peter’s mind, his brows slowly went up. “Are you jealous because I missed the movie night?”

“No,” she answered a touch too vehemently and proceeded to cover it with a weak excuse, “I was just wondering if I’d have to tear Summers away from you and explain to Xavier that his best friend’s son wasn’t the instigator of anything indecent involving his protégé. That is all.”

The young man’s ego wrapped himself in a warm blanket and plopped down in a chair with a cup of hot milk and marshmallows.

“What do you think about Jubilee’s idea?” Wanda asked, looking back at the gang who had been struggling with the canopy.

This day was not as scorching as the previous two, nevertheless, even from afar one could see how Jean’s and Scott’s faces shone, coated in sweat, while Kurt kept taking off his cap to fan himself, his blue-black hair stuck to his temples and the back of his neck. Jubilee probably already regretted offering her help, stopping every now and then to let out an exhausted, “Poof,” and shake her T-shirt in an attempt to create at least some circulation of air around her heated skin. Only Ororo seemed to have no problem with New York’s summer, or maybe she used some kind of technique to cool the air around her, Peter wasn’t sure. He himself was waiting for the moment when he could take a shower, so cool water would run down his slightly sunburnt skin, sending goosebumps all over his body, and then lounge on the bed like a star.

“All these words that you’ve said, but with a note of enthusiasm in the voice,” the speedster quipped.

“I do have enthusiasm,” Wanda said and braced her hands on her hips. It was an attempt to fight the heat rather than to back up an objection. “It’s just throwing balls with paint at each other doesn’t seem like a totally sound idea to me if we’re still speaking about gaining Xavier’s trust.”

“I think she might’ve said that you’ll shoot with paintballs?” The speedster’s face was scrunching up more with every word he said.

“Even better. He’ll see a bunch of bruised youngsters and immediately change his mind on putting them on the bench for the next five years,” the girl said, her words imbued with sarcasm.

There was a consistency Peter traced in his twin’s judgments that made something in his gut sink. Whenever she talked about the X-men team he aspired to become a part of, she usually distanced herself from it, going with “they”, “a bunch of youngsters” or something along these lines. It pushed him to blurt out, “What are you planning to do after Oxford?” He didn’t dare to look at Wanda but from the corner of his eye he noticed how her spine straightened. “I mean, graduation is nearing and – You could come here after you’re done with this stuff. The school isn’t far from home, we could go see mom and Lora on the weekends. Whenever we want, really.”

The girl’s hands slid into the back pockets of her denim breeches, her head dipped but her hair was teased up and wrapped up with a red scarf so the hesitance that crept into her features couldn’t pass unnoticed.

“Graduating one school to go to another wasn’t really my plan,” she said, her voice suddenly quiet, as if weighted down by guilt. “I was thinking that maybe I could travel for a while. Try foreign cuisine. Practice my German. See a bunch of historical places before some other cataclysm would threaten them.” Wanda smirked but the spark of amusement wasn’t really there. Her gaze was still trained down, glued to her red Converse. “I’ve saved up some money so–so you and I could, I don’t know, go to Rome or visit the village Bubbeh grew up in?”

Peter was just starting to feel like he belonged here and he felt that if he left now, it would go away. He yearned to stick around as much as his twin didn’t want to be tethered to one place after years of putting their family first and dedicating the rest of herself to her education. One careful glance at him was enough for his twin to understand that he wasn’t down for her offer. They fell silent, stepping back from the conversation and looking around at the world through the haze of the realization that they were at an intersection and as soon as the green light would light, they would go in different directions.

The tree house was going through quite a commotion too. The gang must have put too much effort in stretching the canopy over the platform because when Kurt tried to fasten it to the tree trunk, the material resisted and knocked him down. Ororo, Jean, Scott and Jubilee fell victim to the domino effect shortly after. Buried under the heavy vinyl, they fussed under it like a bunch of cockroaches. The association brought a few childhood memories that made Peter shiver.     

“On the other hand, I feel like you may find more adventures here than we’ll ever do in Europe,” Wanda drawled a conclusion, gazing at the sight of their struggling friends with plain amusement. 

Peter’s lips spoke the words before his brain told them to, exposing one more thought that was nagging at him on the bad days. “I feel like you’re building a playground for me to be busy while you’re gone.”

Slowly, as if she wasn’t sure what she had heard, his twin took off her sunglasses and turned fully to him. Concern gathered between her brows, drawing deep lines on her skin. “Is it really how you feel?”

“No,” the young man hastened to deny but made the mistake of looking into her eyes. He could never lie to her and it was stupid of him to try to do it now. “Yeah, maybe.”

“Why am I hearing about this for the first time?” A note of hurt rang in Wanda’s voice. “You’re not a child who needs to be entertained, Peter. You’re a grown man whose potential is wasted on delivering pizza and languishing in the basement, finding outlets in household chores and such nonsense.” She closed her eyes for a second, shaking her head. When she opened them again, the look in them was clear and persistent in the sincerity of expressed feelings. “I’m sorry I made you feel this way. All I ever wanted for you was happiness and I thought that this place and these people –” she waved toward the mansion on their right “– could finally give you that.”

“I’m happy. Delivering pizza at superspeed has its advantages. I get money and free Pepperoni all at once,” the speedster tried to joke it off. “Sorry,” he said, scrunching up his face apologetically at the sight of Wanda’s head thrown slightly back and her jaw set. “But you don’t need to worry about me. You said it yourself, I’m a grown-up. I think it means that I can take care of myself and –”

“You two,” Scott’s annoyed voice cut Peter off, making him and his sister whip their heads toward the tree house, “are you gonna chill in the shadow all day or get your asses up here and help us at last?”

The twins sent him an identically flat look.

“Don’t think we’re done here.” Had Wanda said those words to someone other than her brother, it could’ve been considered a full-fledged threat, so serious was her tone.

The speedster expected nothing less from her, rolling his eyes as soon as the girl turned her back to him.

Once they reached the tree, he let her go first, partly (mostly) because watching her struggling to push up and keep her feet on the knots to climb up the rope was simply hilarious. The breech they’ve chosen was truly gigantic, its trunk thick and uneven at the bottom didn’t give them the chance to build steps into it, but it was also bifurcating, meaning that it was perfect for rolling out a fair square which was what the young constructors did. Having reached the tree fork, one would need to climb a short ladder nestled securely on the heavily angled part of the tree before they would find a door cut out in the floor of the platform. Wanda flipped that door open with her head and made her way up onto the platform, breathing heavily. Peter, who was right behind her, refrained from grabbing her ankle for fear that she would simply kick him in the nose. Up in the tree house, their friends were sitting around a crumpled canopy, looking tired and somewhat defeated.

“Are you alright?” Wanda asked Kurt, kneeling next to him.

His head was cradled in his hands and his tail that was laying on the floor seemed to tremble, so when he said, “Sicher,” trying to put on a reassuring smile.

The girl looked up at her brother.

“Come on guys,” Peter drawled, his gaze swept around the tree house, leaving no one unnoticed. “Now is not the time to relax our efforts. We’re so close to the finish line!”

“I don’t need a finish line, I’m finished,” Jubilee responded. She was sagging against the railing, and even her usually wavy ponytails seemed unable to share the speedster’s enthusiasm, drooping over her bare shoulders.

“Me too,” Scott echoed from across the platform. “Besides, we no longer have a canopy.” Sluggishly, he lifted a part of vinyl material up in the air, showing the torn edge.

“You know, I can forgive Jubilee’s dispiritedness. She’s working off others’ flubs,” Peter said, pointing at the girl. “But you Scott?” He shook his head disapprovingly. “I thought you were made of sterner stuff.”

Scott drew his outstretched legs to his chest and rose to his feet, coming to stand face to face with the speedster. He was lower than the silver-haired young man and his expression was hard to read because of the glasses that covered half of his face, but his chest was puffed out, giving his whole appearance a defiant look.

A lopsided grin twisted Peter’s mouth. “And you said you ran out of energy.”

They had a staring contest for a moment, the rest of the gang watching them carefully, until Scott’s pique began to subside. “You know, I hate you at times,” he grumbled but stepped back.

Clearly it wasn’t a truthful statement, not entirely at least, and, for the most part, those were teenage hormones talking, lighting up like matches from one sharp word, but what was said still scratched something in Peter’s chest. Neither he nor his father were to blame for the death of the elder Summers. Yet, the fact that they were both present at the school when it happened still haunted the young man, every now and then making him wonder what it was like for Scott to live in this school built practically on the grave of his brother. The speedster wasn’t sure that he was made of stuff stern enough to do the same if they’d switched places.

“You two look like gobblers,” Ororo noted and Wanda smirked, covering it up with a cough.

“You’ve never even seen one,” Scott said pointedly, crossing his arms over his chest.

The Storm Ruler gave him a flat look. “I’ve seen pictures in the encyclopedia.”  

“Have you switched from physics to zoology? Can I ask you to hold up your end of the bargain already?”

“Shut up.”

 Jubilee leaned to Jean to ask, “Is it always like this?”

 “Okay. Listen up, people,” Peter called out and clapped his hands, drawing everyone’s attention. “We need to finish this project today. Any ideas about the canopy?”

“Let’s cheat the system,” Wanda offered. “Do we really need a full-on tree house? Look around.” The young people obediently took in the sight of their surroundings. They were standing on the pale cream planks arranged on a well-knit frame fenced by the twigs tied with twine so skillfully (Ororo’s work) that damaging it seemed nearly impossible. The smooth gray branches around the platform were dotted with dark green leaves, their veins were visible under the rays of the sun, demonstrating the incredible life-giving energy flowing through them despite the oppressive heat. On the north side, the tree seemed to open its arms, yielding to those who longed to see Charles Xavier’s lands. The tree house was nestled not that high up, but ahead one could see a clearing with trimmed grass that flowed into a small, windy grove, and if one strained their eyes a bit, they could see a stone fence running across, drawing the boundary between the outside world and the school environment. “The crown is dense enough to shield from the sun, and in rainy weather no one would be allowed here anyway.”

“Actually…yeah!” Scott agreed rather vehemently. “It’ll look more organic without the roof.”

“Spoken like true lamazoids,” Peter said on an exhale that couldn’t be more reproaching.

“Und ich unterstütze das auch,” Kurt finally spoke, lifting his head to look first at Wanda, then Scott for his gaze to stop on Peter. “Bauen Sie kein Dach, meine ich.” (And I support this too. Not building the roof, I mean.)

“I don’t know what it means, but I don’t like it,” the speedster stated. “How is it a tree house if it doesn’t have a roof?” The more he looked into the faces of the young mutants, the more heat circulated through his body. Suddenly, there was no tomfoolery or banter left in him, only the passion to do the thing that’d matter more than for a moment. “Do I need to remind you what is at stake here? Or does the prospect of lounging on the couch a few hours more motivate you better than getting in the X-men team and learning how to make the most out of your powers?”

His sister tilted her head, a ghost of a smile hovering over her lips as she watched him.

“Maybe we could use the same materials for the roof as we used for the railing?” Jean suggested, casting a sideways glance at Ororo.

An errand lock of white hair fell out of the girl’s mohawk when she nodded, picturing the final result. “It’ll look like a hut in the forest. Kids may like it a lot.”

“Now we’re talking!” Peter exclaimed triumphantly. “Ororo and Jubilee will stay up here to start it off.” Fast as a bullet (there was no way to go faster, his hair had already lost its volume and began to stick to his temples), the young man went down to pick up a bundle of the remaining sticks and a coil of rope and came back up. For the first time, his friends didn’t flinch from the gust of wind he brought, but closed their eyes with a bit of pleasure. He dropped the bundle on the floor. “Scott and Wanda will go look for additional supplies, Kurt, Jean and I will provide water and snacks.”

“No way I’m gonna climb up and down that rope with a bunch of sticks under my arm like a monkey,” Wanda notified and from the slightly impudent expression on her face it was clear that it would be easier to move a mountain from its place than her. Though she put out her hand in a conciliatory gesture as she added, “No offense to those who will. “

Peter conveyed his displeasure to her with a look. Was it necessary to undermine my authority now? it said.

My palms will be all blisters from this rope, she flung back. It’ll be better for you if I sit here, trust me.

“Fine,” the speedster grumbled. “Wanda and Ororo stay here, Kurt and Scott go look for more twigs, Jubilee, Jean and I –” He gestured back with his thumb where the mansion was.

“Whew,” Jubilee let out and giggled. “I really didn’t want to deal with the twigs and stuff.” She put out her hands, palms down. “I just had my nails done.”

Peter reminded himself that the girl didn’t intend to become part of the team, and Ororo and Jean didn’t seem like ladies who followed fashion trends.

Unsurprisingly, Scott rebelled. “Who made you a bigwig? I can scutter commands too.”

Hands held up, the speedster made two demonstrative steps back, basically saying, “You go, boy.”

Scott’s posture projected readiness and authority, but it was slowly slipping away as the team blinked at him expectantly. “Err, well, everything has already been said,” he drawled awkwardly. “Places, people.” He retreated from the tree house faster than the speedster and his girl friends.

While the boys combed the groves for building materials, Jean searched her room for an Elton John cassette, and Jubilee and Peter combined flirting and making sandwiches. Left alone, Ororo and Wanda dealt with the ruined canopy. The Storm Ruler almost convinced the latter to commit a reckless stunt – to jump off the tree house with a piece of cut vinyl as a parachute – but Maximoff wasn’t that deranged under the heat. 

Building the roof took longer than the gang expected; the finishing touches were made when the sky was already lit up with fiery colors and mosquitoes began to buzz in the youngsters’ ears. But the blood, sweat, tears and arguing were now behind, ahead were all the memories young students would be able to make there.

Peter leaned over to the boom box, switched the tape to the other side, and a frisky melody poured from the speakers.

It’s getting late have you seen my mates

Ma tell me when the boys get here

“Wouldn’t it be ironic to finish this ‘fix the fuck-up’ project to this?” the speedster said with a smirk.

They turned up the volume and began to dance, feeling their tired and sweaty bodies experience a new surge of energy. They twirled, stomped their feet, holding their hands in the air, shook their hair and laughed, singing along to Elton John. They replayed the song over and over again, engrossed in jubilation and would’ve probably danced the night away if it weren’t for the hunger churning in their stomachs and the muscles that though moving, still echoed with a reminder of how long and hard the day had been. It was time to return to the mansion.

....

Erik. Somehow, Erik had always been a catalyst of so many things in Charles’ life. Even the telepath’s relationship with the Maximoffs, a part of whose family his old friend turned out to also be, started with him and got a fresh start again because of him.

Truth be told, when the Professor expressed his sincere hospitality towards Lora Maximoff, he certainly did not mind hosting another child, but there was also a certain scientific interest in it. He was fascinated with Peter first, then there was Wanda, and they both were Erik’s twins from an ordinary woman Charles had a vague memory of. So, when the youngest part of that puzzle arrived at his mansion, he couldn’t help but indulge once more in his own desire to crack the nature of that family. With that being said, he did not anticipate things to go the way they did.

Perhaps it was worth giving Peter’s words a more serious approach. The young man warned him, even if it was just a joke, that having their whole family together (aside from Mrs. Maximoff, Charles now believed it would be total mayhem then for sure) might not delight him as much as he imagined.

With growing insistence, music and lively chatter were sipping through the closed doors of the study.

“Would you ask your children to come over, please?” the telepath said, turning in his seat to glance at Erik who was perching on the beveled windowsill.

“Why wouldn’t you do it yourself?” the man asked back, no bite in his tone and yet it was rather challenging, teasing.

 “Your reluctance to let anyone into your head must have been so powerful, your children were born with the most amazing anti-telepathic abilities,” the Professor deadpanned. Trying to get into Peter’s head was big-budget. The feeling was as if he were a child who, unaware of the danger, stretched out his hand to a raging tornado and it instantly sucked him into its whirlpool. The flow of the speedster’s thoughts was as fast as his movements, causing the telepath a headache and slight nausea. And he believed it was only being like that because he didn't press further and pulled out of that silver-haired head in time. With Wanda it was different. More often than not, he was looking through the “static noise” to see that the foreseers from the TV programmer did a number on him, the “broadcasted” picture turning out unremarkable in its normalcy. On other days, like when her room was flooded or when Benjamin awoke a few nightmares, trying to communicate telepathically with her felt like slamming into a concrete wall – painful, useless and left one with an unnecessary sense of their own stupidity.

Erik tilted his head, seemingly satisfied with the answer he’d got. Silence fell in the foyer, the door to the study silently opened on its own. A moment later a head peeked timidly in.

“Were we too loud?” Wanda said, her face scrunched up in an apologetic grimace.

Peter’s tall figure grew behind her, a boom box perching on his shoulder. The young man’s gaze slipped in, taking in Charles at the desk and stopping on the Master of Magnetism. “Oh man, I thought my speaker died,” he drawled, annoyance and relief tangled together in his voice. “What’s the buzz kill about? What did we do?”

His sister smacked him in the chest with the back of her hand, the motion so swift and honed, it was more of a reflex than a thought of response.

“Not everything has to revolve around us. I’m sure Mr. Xavier’s simply curious as to what caused the buzz.” Wanda’s gaze drifted from the Professor to his left where Erik was standing silently with his arms folded over his chest. It was soft and careful, but unmistakably searching for confirmation of the said words. However, the telepath didn’t feel the lightest tap on his mind, wondering if the girl was holding back her powers or if he made a wrong conclusion, taking her for someone like him or Jean. Or maybe her work was so artful, his mind could not recognize it, a thought that frightened and intrigued at the same time. Wanda’s eyes met his again as she said, “I’d like to tell you that we just finished building the tree house and it’s waiting for your assessment.”  

There was an amicable smile playing on her lips, tinged with tiredness that edged Peter’s features too. Just a little, lingering in the lines around his mouth and in the corners of his eyes. It’d be nice for them to plop down onto a soft sofa with a sandwich in hand and relax watching Star Trek or whatever the young people preferred those days. Charles didn’t want to do it but he had no choice other than to wedge in their plans. “I’m afraid your brother isn’t entirely wrong, Wanda. It is about you,” he said.

There were two visiting chairs standing in front of Charles’ desk. Most of the time they languished unused, safe for the time when a new student arrived and their parents sat down there to converse with the Professor or sometimes an exhausted teacher plopped down onto one of the leathered seats, grumbling about their students. Surprisingly, the youngsters themselves didn’t appear in this room that much often. Until the Maximoffs arrived at the mansion. One of them had been sitting in the chair on the right for the better part of the last hour. Having heard the voices of her older siblings, Lora curled up into the soft cushions so the twins didn’t notice her at first. She leaned over the armrest to look at them, her lower lip drawn between her teeth. Peter’s brows went up whereas his twin’s face fell.

“What did you do?” Wanda asked, her tone a bit accusatory as she stepped into the room.

The speedster followed her suit, closing the door behind him and setting his boom box near there.

“Why do you think that I did something?” the little girl exclaimed, scowling.

“I know for a fact that the sweet boy I left you with would never do anything that would bring him here,” Wanda countered. She stood in the middle of the study, her arms crossed defiantly over her chest yet her eyes were scanning her little sister from head to toe, making sure she was alright. “That’s why the second seat is vacant, isn’t it?”

“I sent Benjamin to the cafeteria,” Charles said with a small nod.

Peter came over to Lora and hunkered down next to her chair. “What happened?” he asked, looking up into her face.

The girl’s lips sealed. She lowered her head, eyes trained down on her hands, her fingers picking at her right thumb as if meeting her brother’s eyes was a daunting task. Pointless silence hung in the room.

“She hit a boy at the playground,” Erik reported without a preamble.

A fresh memory of a crying boy holding a package of frozen beans to his groin emerged in the Professor’s head.    

“He pushed Ben!” Lora’s ringing voice cut through the air like a rapier, fencing. Her gaze flashed to Wanda first, then swung to Peter. “I couldn’t just watch it so I punched him in the private bathing suit parts like you taught me!”

Wanda’s brows shoot up. “Are you teaching her violence now?”

“These were self-defense lessons, okay?” the young man said pointedly, his head slowly turning toward his sister. “You know how these kids are at school. I didn’t want her to feel helpless if someone started bullying her.”

Charles chanced a glance at Erik. The sun behind his back had almost set, its last rays keeping the shadows that were inexorably gathering around off his face. What years did the twins attend school? Late 60s – early 70s? Back then nobody talked about mutants as they did now, and children could indeed be cruel, so the telepath imagined that school days in the life of an active silver-haired boy rarely went smoothly. He didn’t need to imagine what such thoughts did to his old friend though – his face was all sharp edges honed by sorrow and regret.

“Don’t scold Peter!” Lora jumped in her sibling’s conversation, battling her sister’s icy stare-down. “It’s not his fault that I got in trouble.”

“You can’t answer violence with violence! Yes, that boy shouldn’t have pushed Benjamin but you punching him in the – punching him wasn’t right either.” Wanda’s head tilted to the side, her eyes narrowing a little. “Unless there’s something else we don’t know.”

For the first time in the hour that the girl sat in the study, she looked hesitant.

A crease formed between the Professor’s brows. Perhaps he looked at this situation one-sidedly. It was difficult with children. Getting into their heads seemed even more wrong than with adults, and at the same time they were good at hiding the truth.

Peter covered Lora’s knee with his hand. “Monkey, listen to me,” he began softly, drawing her attention. “I know you think you’ll grass on this guy if you start talking and that you can deal with it yourself, which you can, but Wan and I and the Professor –” Charles almost flinched, surprised to hear “Professor” instead of a chopped of “Prof”, unsure if he was even comfortable with it at that point “– need to know what happened so it wouldn’t happen again.”

“He said I shouldn’t be here because I’m not a mutant and that – that – because –” Lora stammered, looking back and forth between her older siblings.

“Now is the time to remember a lesson I gave you: If you have something to say – say it,” Wanda prompted.

The little girl looked down but the Professor saw how her cheeks reddened as she mumbled, “And because I’m a kike.”

It felt as if darkness hadn’t been creeping in but rather swallowed them all of a sudden. Charles reached for the lamp sitting in the corner of his desk, but the yellow light that flashed like the last match in the hands of someone stuck in a cavern didn’t help with the sticky feeling brought by the four-letter word.

Peter rubbed the back of his neck. “I bet he doesn’t even know what it means.”

“These things usually come from the family,” Erik said with grim conviction. “He might not fully understand what it means but he used it with intention.”

“I know how it works,” Wanda said matter-of-factly. “For that he needed to know that she was Jewish and unless he’s a hound, it’s not that easy to tell.” Then, as she took her sister in, her brows began to knit and she made a step forward. “Is that–Is that my pendent?” Her finger drew an imaginary chain around her neck. “Did mom give it to you?”

Peter took a closer look at Lora too right when her hand went to her chest, covering something that didn’t catch Charles’ eye at all thanks to her pink T-shirt dotted with cartoonish mushrooms.

“This isn’t some trinket to pilfer, Lora!” Wanda snapped. “Bubbeh gave it to me as a gift!”

“I’d have put it back,” her sister warded off. “You wouldn’t have even notice.”

“Monkey, it’s not good to sneak things,” Peter said gently as he straightened up and stretched his legs. “Especially from your own sister.”

Lora gave him a flat look. “That’s interesting coming from you.”

“Watch your tone, young lady,” Wanda checked her.   

“And you don’t pretend to be Mom!” The little girl hopped off the chair, her hands tightened into little fists at her sides.

“God forbid,” her sister parried, those big green eyes of hers burned with exasperation. For a moment, it even seemed to Charles that something scarlet like a flame flared up in them, so powerful were the girl’s feelings. “But in her absence, you’re my responsibility and I’m not going to –”

“It’s been sitting in your jewel box for years –” Lora pulled at the chain on her neck and the pendant flashed in the poor light of the desk lamp, giving a glimpse at a silver star of David the corners of which held a golden candelabrum with eight brunches – “and I missed you so I decided that if I take it, you wouldn’t even notice. How would you? You’re never home!”

“I’m studying at university, not chilling in Costa Rica!” Wanda yelled back.

A pained expression settled on Peter’s face as he watched his loved ones quarrel.

Even though it was the Professor’s office, he felt out of place and so did Erik. His lips parted in those silent seconds between the girls’ heated lunges yet not a word left his tongue, the same hesitance his son experienced seemed to cut him off.

“You left me! And so did you!” Lora hurtled accusations at both of her siblings, her voice strangled, eyes glistening. “You ran away from home as soon as you had the chance. You just left and forgot about me just like my dad!”

She darted to the door and broke out of the room, the thumb of her footsteps fading quickly in the hallway.

“It’s been a long time coming,” Wanda said on a weary exhale and turned her head back to her twin to catch him mutter, “Shit,” shaking his head, eyes closed. She walked around the chair and collapsed onto it, sinking against its round back.

Charles’ heart sank too. No matter how strong a telepath he was, not everything in life was subject to his power. Some might say that he could have intervened, killed the painful words in the bud, but the fact was that it was almost impossible to rewrite human emotions. They could be smoothed out, embalmed in a fair layer of distorted memories or thoughts, or they could be locked somewhere far away, but one way or another they came out stronger than they ever were. He hated every minute of the quarrel he had to witness but he had no power over how quickly it flared out and burned through, searing through kinder souls. “She doesn’t mean it,” the telepath said to the twins, pouring every ounce of warmth he had within him to ease out the heaviness he could see weighing them down.

The girl answered with a small, forbearing smile. “At least she cares if I’m around,” she drawled too offhandedly to believe it was anything else but the cover of how much she was actually hurting.

“Of course she does,” Peter replied vehemently, taking a seat in a twin chair next to her.  

“I don’t blame her if she doesn’t. I left for Oxford when she was only five, so by now she’s used to having a real brother who’s always there and a distant sister, who comes to visit on Holidays,” Wanda added, telling it to the Professor. “I mean, how many days is it?”

The question was rather rhetorical but the silver-haired young man didn’t hesitate to reply, “Ninety-seven usually,” definitely having given the matter a thought before.

Wanda once said to Charles that even twins need some time apart but she didn’t see Peter or her little sister for the better part of the year, which, the man guessed, must have become a recurring topic of discussion in the family in one way or another. The girl’s expression went tauter than it was before which didn’t go unnoticed by her brother.

  “Sorry our little breaks the rules,” the young man said to the Professor, propelling the conversation. “I kind of warned you though.”

“It won’t happen again,” Wanda put in, determination woven in her words.

Charles, on his part, gave them a promise too. “I’ll talk to Malcolm. What he said is unacceptable in this school or anywhere else.”

“It’s ironic though,” Erik drawled, shadows dancing on his face. “You opened this school when you saw how our kind is treated and now those who you stood up for return the favor to humanity.”

The telepath opened his mouth to say something (preferably witty), but Wanda spoke first, reminding that they weren’t debating over some abstract matter, “I’d appreciate the irony if it weren’t my sister.”   

“You’ve met her father in New York. Hasn’t he expressed any desire to see his child?” the Master of Magnetism asked, his gaze going back and forth between the twins, studying them warily. He, who only recently learned that he had unwittingly missed two decades of his children’s lives, didn’t seem to understand the man who chose it. In that Charles was on the same side as his friend. Even though he wasn’t very close with his father, he knew that not having him around at all would leave an everlasting gap in his life. He imagined that a parent who was missing out could feel it even stronger, the pain and guilt from letting down the ones who needed them the most.

“Over my dead body,” Wanda replied darkly.

“Wan,” Peter drawled with a placating look.

“Don’t you even start it,” she warned him, her nails dug into the leather arm pad of her chair. “The decision stands.”

“Even if changing it might mean making Lora happier?” the young man pushed.

The girl fell back onto the right armrest, as if his question surprised her so much, she had to look at him from a distance to make sure it was her brother sitting next to her. “That’s where I don’t get you,” she said, frowning. “Why do you keep defending him? Weren’t those years enough for you?” An expression shot across her face, one of a person who said too much. The telepath had an impression that Wanda was restraining herself from casting a glance at Erik. Something important was being discussed right in front of them. It hooked one up and stirred unease in the very core, but was too elusive to catch. “You think that since Lora’s his blood it’ll be different for her, but I feel like you’re choosing to believe in the best which isn’t viable.”    

It was no longer a reproach, but rather pity. Wanda’s features softened, then she turned her face to Charles, a polite, blunt smile already put on. “Sorry for this soap opera episode,” she said. “I hope Benjamin is doing alright. I thought that he and Lora could become good friends, but now I see that I should’ve thought twice before bringing them together.”

“He’s a timid boy, I believe this experience might even prove… useful to him,” Charles mused.

The girl arched her brows. “Does our little Triumvirate have a bad influence over the Professor?” she quipped, her gaze drifting to Erik and Peter before setting on the telepath’s face, eyes twinkling with light amusement.

“Anyway,” she said, rising from her chair, “we’ll have a conversation with Lora.” She tipped a polite nod to Charles and headed to the door.

“Where are you going?” Peter asked, twisting in his seat.

“To dinner.”

“Aren’t we supposed to look for Lora?”

“She needs to cool off.” Wanda reached out the door, her hand already on the handle (when did it close?) when she added, her words sprinkled with weariness, “And so do we,” and walked out of the study.