Gone
“Absolutely not” Peter said crossing his arms, reluctant.
Convincing Charles to let them throw a dance for all the students of the institute was the easy part, somehow. Convincing Peter to let Summer go dress shopping with the girls was the hard part. More like the impossible part.
“If she’s going, I’m going” he says
“You’ll slow us down with that leg” Jean argues and at that, he props both hands on his hips and give her a look.
He still has a cast on. His leg better, not all the way healed, but not bad enough to stop Peter Maximoff from going where he wants to go. Even if what he wanted to do was waste an entire evening limping around, bored out of his mind, while the girls tried dress after dress only to buy the first one they tried, nothing could ever stop him.
“Have you ever seen me slowing anyone down, Jean?” And it sounds like he took personal offence at it.
“Honey” Summer tries, resting a hand gently on his arm. She never calls him that “I want the dress to be a surprise to you.” She understands his reluctance, he understands her desire to go.
“I’ll act surprised” he says small, softer, to her.
“We can take care of her, Peter” Jubilee offers
“She can take care of herself” says Ororo.
And it’s true. Summer had managed just fine before he came along. She had defeated Tracker before. More than once.
And she’s so excited for that dance too. It’s on her list. She’s the reason they’re doing it in the first place. He can’t possibly rob her of the whole experience, can’t stop her from having everything be exactly the way she dreamed it.
Peter sighs. He should know better than trying to argue with a woman, let alone four of them. Happy wife, happy life, he remembered.
“Okay, fine” they all squealed “But don’t let her out of your sight!”
Summer rises on her toes and kisses his cheek “I love you”. She meant to say thank you, but he likes those three words better. It almost makes up for the uneasiness he feels on his chest.
He fights a smile, his arms still crossed, as she all but hops away with her girlfriends. He’s glad she has so many friends, glad she has things to look forward too, but he can help his feelings, can’t help but be overprotective.
When you find something you love that much, you hold on to it, tooth and nail, and pray to anyone that would hear that this person can stay in your life forever.
Peter had no idea how long it would take for four women to dress shop – an eternity, he imagined -, but an hour after they left, he was already seating at the stairs in front of the institute, waiting for them to come back. He knows it’s not reasonably enough time, and yet he hoped it wouldn’t take much longer; he was never that fond of waiting, never good at it. He had talked himself out of following them twice already, and he could feel the need for a third one brewing.
Peter had already tried everything. Every distraction known to man. Every certified way to keep Peter Maximoff entertained. Not even pranking Scott kept him distracted long enough. Nothing seemed to work. Nothing took his mind out of her. Nothing made him worry less. Ugh, when did he become so clingy?
When he finally spotted the red convertible car approaching, it was much different from how he’d imagined it would be. He imagined he’d be able to hear their laughs from miles away, over some very loud pop song. He imagined Summer jumping out of the car and into his arms. He imagined she’d excitedly tell him every single detail about her evening with the girls, a word-by-word replay of every second they spent apart, and he was dying to hear it.
It was nothing like that.
Summer wasn’t there.
Jean tried to tell him what happened, but he wouldn't hear it. As soon as Tracker’s name spilled out of her mouth, he was out of there.
It had been weeks since they’ve last seen Tracker at the gates, but Peter knew deep in his soul that he wasn’t really gone, knew he hadn’t just given up. Knew Peter himself wouldn’t give up on her, let alone some secret institution that had trained her for that long.
Peter only came back to the institute later that night, exhausted to the bone. He collapsed on the floor of the entrance hall, crying like a baby, because he couldn’t find her. Peter had checked everywhere. Every nook and cranny in this town and the neighboring ones, the main roads and the shitty muddy unknown ones. He passed brownstones and modern buildings, trees and parks, pizzerias and bodegas. And yet, he refused to rest, refused to eat, to sleep, until she was found.
He ran until his bad leg gave out and then he dragged it around the rest of the day.
To add insult to injury, it rained, as if the skies also suffered her loss, as if they didn’t want him to cry alone. It didn’t change the fact that he felt very much alone.
He can still remember the days – all of a couple months ago – when Summer Summers wasn’t a part of his life. Peter had been alone for most of his life, and it never really bothered him. But then she came around, showing him how much he was missing, and it was foolish of him to get used to someone so quickly, but now he couldn’t picture himself moving on without her. He couldn’t be alone again, he just couldn’t.
When he got back to the institute, the rain had somehow died, but the sky was still dark and angry, as if this were just a short pause and the worst was yet to come. Except the worst had already happened. Summer wasn’t here. And if the sun decided not to bother rise the next day because of it, Peter would understand.
Peter was the visual representation of how powerless they all felt. Charles had spent hours on the Cerebro for nothing, Hank had been checking surveillance cameras all day, Peter had run for miles. Scott had punched a whole into a wall. Jean had cried.
And Summer was nowhere to be found.