Worst Twins Ever.

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I'd like to say that when Pietro and Wanda are reunited, it's a touching and emotional moment that really celebrates the deep bond they share. Unfortunately, these summaries are supposed to be accurate.

They do love each other, though, deep down. I promise.

Er, really deep down.



Alone in a private suite, showered and clean-shaven, dressed in something that wasn't a dirty, nearly skin-tight stealth suit, reclining on an actual bed . . . it was almost possible for Pietro to consider relaxing. The thought was almost alien.

Then again, it was probably going to be impossible to relax in a house full of mutant teenagers. His too-brief glimpse into the archives of Xavier's little online journal system had definitely given Pietro that impression, though he'd have to rebuild the poky little adding machine that had come with the suite into something capable of decent processing speed before really digging in. Tomorrow, maybe. After he'd slept. Pietro was very much looking forward to getting a night's sleep.

Wanda barely took the time to knock on the door. After all, she figured there wasn't much that he could be doing now that would embarrass either of them. But the knock was more to catch her breath than anything else, considering she'd sprinted from Scott's office to the room they had her brother in.

"~It is a good thing, brother of mine~," she said dryly as she shut the door behind her, hands on her hips, "~that I happen to know a certain teleporting mutant who is easy to bribe or it would have taken me over an hour to get here.~"

Pietro cracked one eye open and rolled it at her. "~And even at that you were still slower than me.~" He sat up, stretching idly. "Though it's a good thing for you I recognized your elephant thundering even over that ungodly racket from downstairs. I find I'm a little hair-triggered these days."

She sniffed, tossing her head back a bit. "I am not exactly shaking in my boots at that idea," she scoffed. Taking a good look at him, she frowned. "You look like hell, you haven't been eating properly, have you?"

Pietro had spent what sometimes seemed like half their childhood looking at Wanda as if she were particularly dim; it was comforting that some things hadn't changed. "I've been on the run from Father since July, Wanda," he said irritably. "My priorities about food were more-or-less limited to stealing from places where I wouldn't be able to mistime a security camera's frame rate and get caught on film. That didn't leave me with very many options."

"Please," Wanda waved a hand, "I have seen you in action and you probably could have done better but you do tend to err on the side of paranoid more often than not. Why did you not contact Scott or the Professor sooner? They certainly would have given you the rest you clearly need." The you idiot part was left off but clearly still there.

"What a brilliant idea! I don't know why I didn't think of that myself!" It was possible Pietro's tone could have been more caustic, but only because he'd had lots of practice. "That's certainly a much better plan than giving Father a chance to calm down from his blind murderous fury, remember that he has other priorities, and stop breathing down my neck before I show up exactly where he'd expect me to go."

"Are you really that self-centered to believed he'd attack the school?" Wanda blinked and sighed. "You could have done it sooner than now," she pointed out. "But, your decision after all. Though I suppose I'll have to visit the school more often now while you stay here. I might just bill you for the gas."

"You weren't there," Pietro said soberly. "You didn't see him. I thought it best to take no chances." He scowled suddenly. "Though I'm sure he'd be simply overjoyed to see you. What lovely father-daughter bonding sessions you could have over the best way to murder former Nazis."

"Thank you but, no, I have already had my fill of father-daughter meetings for quite some time," she returned airly. An eyebrow twitched slightly. "I will have you know that I personally have a very low body count, thankfully, and ironically enough that was an X-Man mission. But I see news certainly does travel."

Pietro shrugged. "I've had you under surveillance since you popped back up on Father's radar. It was the least I could do. And Father, of course, had been keeping an eye on Strucker for some time. I believe you and your . . ." His lips twisted. "'Think tank' deprived him of the pleasure." His voice thickened with disgust. "And don't insult us both by pretending you think 'I didn't pull the trigger myself' is anything more than the flimsy rationalization of a terrorist desperate for justification." Pietro shook his head. "All the pain and fear, all the effort I spent to keep you safe from Father, and now that I'm finally free of him you might as well have joined the Brotherhood yourself."

"For one, let us both remember that I never asked you to attempt to protect me from him or his little band of merry mutants," Wanda spat, all the light heartedness draining away with a rush of cold anger. "And my world view changed a little, Pietro, what with the elder God toying with my brain. You were never happy that I was with the X-Men, either, and if I left my life up to you, I would be stuck back at Cambridge teaching under armed guards!"

"Oh yes, heaven forfend I try to help you in any way. What's the world coming to when a brother tries to look out for his sister in what small ways are left to him. Surely next the skies will fall." Pietro vented a raw, angry chuckle. "And really, now, you're seriously presenting your choices to be Cambridge, the X-Men, or a terrorist cell? If that's the kind of critical thinking skills you're sporting these days, I wouldn't look for that doctorate any time soon."

Snorting, hands clenched at her sides, Wanda responded, "Terrorist cell? Please, I think you may have spent a little too much time with "daddy" and are confusing things. There are shades of grey out there or have you forgotten?"

"Of course," Pietro said, his voice sharp and mocking. "Those so-convenient shades of grey. Please, Wanda, allow your older brother a moment to give you the benefit of experience: all that particular argument boils down to, in the end, is 'it can't be wrong if we're the ones doing it.' I expected better from you."

"Oh for the love of God, you're older than me by one minute! Would you drop that before I drop you out of the window? And you cannot expect anything of me when you have not exactly been around for...what is it now? Oh, yes five years! Five years!"

"Five years in which you were avoiding my mistakes, a state of affairs which apparently no longer appeals to you, since you seem to be diving right on in." Pietro sneered. "Father would be so proud."

She shut her mouth with an audible snap and then straightened, staring down at him. "Maybe he would be at that...but then again, so would mother. She always did want me to be more proactive." Turning on her heel, she started for the door, her brother be damned.

"I very much doubt she would have applauded murder," Pietro snarled to her retreating back.

"Or of a son who sought out a man she spent every day being terrified of," Wanda said softly.

Pietro looked stricken for a moment, then his expression blanked. "When you wake up one morning and can't look yourself in the mirror anymore . . . remember I warned you." He paused for a moment, and the bite returned to his voice. "The doorknob turns, Wanda. That's a twisting motion with your wrist."

"Yes, because it was always easier for you to leave, wasn't it?" she asked bitterly, throwing the door open. "I would tell you where to find me but, well, it won't make much of a difference, will it?"

"You'll notice I'm not making you promise to stay," Pietro retorted, stretching back out on the bed. "As long as we're dredging up old grievances. You've made it very clear that you want to make your own mistakes without any interference from me, so go make them."

Wanda looked over her shoulder for a second, a smirk hiding whatever she was feeling behind it. "Oh brother dear, haven't I always done so?" she asked simply, turning around and leaving the door open...knowing that it would bother him far more than slamming it shut behind her.

Pietro flung an arm backward in a momentary blur, and a gust of wind slammed the door shut. So much for relaxation.