Tuesday afternoon, Scott and a backseat driver

[x-ccelerate.livejournal.com]

(backdated due to computer problems)

While out running errands on a windy Halloween, Scott discovers that his car is a little more occupied than he'd left it. He reassures himself that it's not a trick, but it's anyone's guess whether or not an unwashed paranoid speedster could be considered a treat.



Scott grimaced as he stepped out of the pet food store and was nearly knocked over by a gust of wind. It was one of those cold, blustery fall days, and he was starting to wish he'd dressed a little more warmly, having had to jump in and out of the car several times on various errands this afternoon. This was his last, however, and he wondered idly if he could coax some cider out of Lorna when he got back to the mansion. This really was the weather for it.

Switching the bag from one hand to the other, Scott fished his keys out of his pocket and clicked to unlock the doors as he approached the car, just a random vehicle from the mansion's garage. Reaching the car, he opened the door, and promptly grabbed it for support as another powerful gust of wind seemed to come right at him. "Okay, this is ridiculous," he muttered, sliding in and pulling the door shut behind him. "Time to go home, before I see Dorothy and the Munchkins flying by..." He'd had enough Oz-related hallucinations for one lifetime.

He started the car and began to pull out of the parking space - only to step on the brake, hard, as he became abruptly aware of the figure in the back seat.

"Well," he said after a moment, and continued to pull out of the parking space as if nothing had happened. "Hello."

Hunched down well below the level of the windows, Pietro favored Scott with a glare only slightly spoiled by his haggard, long-past-unshaven appearance. "Do you have any idea how long I've been waiting for you to run an errand alone, Summers? I thought I was going to die of old age before you remembered the rest of the world." He uncoiled briefly, flickering a glance out the back window before dropping back into his furtive crouch. "You haven't forgotten how to spot a tail, I hope?"

"There are all these people back at the mansion who frown on me spending too much time alone off-campus," Scott said dryly, checking for a tail and seeing nothing. "You'd think I'd gotten myself into some sort of trouble this summer or something. Speaking of forgetting things... a razor?"

Pietro's expression soured even further. "All of my various caches and boltholes had basic hygiene supplies, of course. Unfortunately, Mystique is rather cleverer than I'd given her credit for, and after outracing three different explosions in as many days, I decided to stop pressing my luck. The beard is nothing; I think I would quite cheerfully kill for a pair of clean socks."

... well, shit. That was pretty clear an indication of what had happened, all things considered. Scott's hands tensed slightly on the steering wheel, but he forced himself to relax. And kept an eye on the rearview mirror.

"I'm assuming this means you're coming back with me to the mansion," he said, not quite lightly. "We have an ample supply of clean socks, and clothes. And hot water, come to think of it."

"I realize Xavier's isn't a church, but if you'd like to mock up some sort of altar I'll be happy to drape myself across it crying sanctuary, yes." Pietro closed his eyes for a moment, though none of the tension left his face. "I think I can definitively say, without exaggeration, that the last . . . nearly four months now, I suppose, have been the longest of my life."

Four months? Scott did the mental math, then sighed. "San Diego."

"Well, no one can say I didn't warn him." Pietro's tone was flat, almost dead. "This time last year, in fact, I told him: if he ever again compelled an unwilling mutant to kill for him, he would never see me again. After San Diego--well. One would think I'd have learned better after all this time, but I lost my temper, and said just enough that he realized what I've been doing behind his back these last few years. I could actually see the process in his eyes, shock to disbelief to fury . . . fortunately for my continued health, I made it out of his effective range before he regained the presence of mind to stop me. Not a race I care to run again."

Scott winced, just at the mental image. "Well," he went on, again in that slightly forced light tone, "thanks for showing up largely intact. Your sister would have killed us both, otherwise." He took the next turn, checking the rearview mirror again. "The boy from San Diego, Julio... he's doing as well as can be expected, I think. There's a lot of anger there."

"Yes, and that's another thing," Pietro groused, but he failed to elaborate, shaking his head. "At least I'll be able to see her more regularly than I have. It's been too long." He paused. "I'm . . . glad to hear the boy's all right. He's luckier than some."

"I'm surprised any of us made it out of there, to be honest. Luckily I had three insane telekinetics who actually listened to me when I suggested to them that the tsunami needed to be heading in the opposite direction." Scott fell silent for a long moment, then shrugged to himself, almost irritably. "I always figured it was a race," he said more quietly. "To see which happened first - you finding a way for us to stop him, or reaching the end of your rope."

"I saw the replay; that was impressive." But Pietro smiled bitterly, and the amusement in his voice became something razor-edged. "A race, yes, and one of the only ones I've ever lost. Though I suppose I was impressive too, in some ways: stumbling over a routine hurdle on the backstretch, landing in just precisely the right way to receive a career-ending injury. If filial betrayals were televised, I'm sure it would have merited a few replays of its own."

"... well, you beat that metaphor into the ground. Congratulations." Scott shook his head as an SUV pulled out and passed him at far too high a speed on this particular stretch of road. "Look, we'll get back to the mansion. I think a shower and something to eat are first on the to-do list. Possibly sleep, too. Then the bald gentleman in the wheelchair is likely going to want to talk to you."

Pietro flinched as the SUV roared past, hunching down until he was practically wedged behind the passenger seat. "I'm sure he will, and for that conversation I'll postpone the sleep." He took a steadying breath. "There's . . . some risk, to my presence at the school. I won't deny that. My father will have expected me to show up here, sooner or later. But that's what these past months have been about--waiting, letting his temper cool, letting him find other priorities. I haven't so much as caught a whiff of Mystique on my backtrail for weeks now, or I would never have approached you."

"Mystique's had some other things on her mind." Scott caught the look Pietro was giving him in the mirror and smiled faintly. "I'll give you the whole story later. As for risk... unless your father actually shows up on the doorstep I think we can handle it." His tone grew more brisk as he went on. "The mansion's as secure as it can be, without being an armed camp. Mystique wouldn't be able to slip in again, and as understrength as the team is lately, we could still stand off most serious threats."

"Mm. I'll take a quick look around when I have a chance, see what improvements I can suggest." Pietro managed an expression somewhere between a smile and a grimace. "There's no excuse to get sloppy simply because my father doesn't retain my services anymore. But if any serious threats present themselves, I'll just go. I may not agree with Xavier's philosophy, but that school represents something too important to hazard for my sake."

"We can cross that bridge when we come to it, Pietro." There were open fields on either side of them now, as they left even the outskirts of Salem Center behind. "If nothing else, we owe you a place where you can stop for a while and catch your breath."

"So glad to see I won't have to remind you," Pietro replied sardonically. "Very disappointing, if I'd had to play that card myself."

"Well, I'd hate to disappoint you. It would pain me deeply," Scott said, his expression utterly deadpan as he turned down Greymalkin Lane. "You might start thinking about how you'd prefer us to introduce you to the kids."

"Ah yes," Pietro said in tones perhaps better suited to discussing plague-carriers, "the kids. I'm sure everyone would prefer I have as little to do with them as possible, but given that I'll get no peace at all if we make me mysterious enough to be interesting, let's simply stick to the harmless parts of the truth: I'm Wanda's brother, staying at the mansion as Xavier's guest, or whatever the formal arrangement." He snorted. "I'm sure some suitably lurid account of my recent past will make the rounds of the rumor mill soon enough, but I don't actually feel obligated to explain myself to all comers."

"Relax. Although some of them might feel it necessary to feed you, just to warn you up front." Scott smiled a bit wryly, taking another look at Pietro in the mirror. "You do look like hell."

"I'm aware of how I look. No doubt I will be even more aware once everyone has finished telling me." Pietro returned Scott's smile dryly. "You are all cordially invited to relive my last few months--including the multiple crosscontinental sprints on little food and less sleep--and see how well you hold up."

"I'm sure I'd be a quivering semi-coherent mess, in your place." He really did not need to pick up quite so much of Pietro's paranoia, Scott thought as he checked the rearview mirror again. They were nearly to the school. The chances of problems this close were slim, and if something happened, the team would take precisely two minutes to get to them.

Pietro snorted. "Flattery does not become you, Summers, true or not." He stretched uncomfortably. "And I am beginning to wonder if showing up at the front gate as a trick-or-treater might not have been the better plan. This is a damned uncomfortable backseat."

Scott paused to let the gates open, then drove through, onto the grounds. He smiled briefly at Pietro in the mirror as he pointed the car at the garage. "I can't see you in a costume. We'll take the elevator up to the staff floor once we get inside." He was already thinking very loudly in Charles's direction. It wouldn't hurt to have the Professor very briefly check to make sure this was indeed Pietro... although he didn't honestly think Mystique was this good a mimic.

"Ask Wanda," Pietro advised. "I'm sure she has pictures somewhere." He slid out of the car as soon as the garage door fully closed, and favored Scott with a very dry look. "So, do I pass muster?"

Scott listened for a moment as he got out of the car. "You do indeed," he said, then gestured at the door. "Shall we?" He could come back for the pet supplies.

"By all means. The sooner the better." A quiet whoosh of air, and Pietro was standing near the elevator, staring at the doors. Without turning to look at Scott, he added "Don't get used to hearing this, Summers . . . but thanks."