Wednesday afternoon: Pietro and Julio in the library.

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Julio heads to the library and finds Pietro using one of the public computer terminals. They rather spectacularly don't hit it off, but at least the library stays in one piece.



The computers in the library were, Pietro thought, just as slow--if not more so--as the one he'd been provided in his suite. However, unlike the one in his suite, they bore a signal distinction: they currently worked.

They weren't disgorging his funds, though. The high-speed authentication process he'd set up to prevent anyone who could, for example, perfectly mimic his face, voice, fingerprints, and retinal pattern required a much more nimble processor and a hardier keyboard. Ah well, it had been worth a try. He leaned back, flexing his fingers; maybe he'd catch up on his webcomics next.

The library was a good place to hide, if one were hiding, that is. Julio was merely looking for a copy of the book they were reading for English. Next month. Okay, so maybe he was hiding, so what? He just really didn't want to talk to anyone at the moment, was starting to go to great lengths to avoid his friends. He was still in a thoroughly foul mood and anytime the mask slipped he dreaded the inevitable questions. It was better to just take some space until he calmed down.

He passed by the computer bank on his way to the shelves, noticing the man sitting at them out of the corner of his eye. When he registered that the man was unfamiliar, he turned his head. And did a double-take.

You.

Years undercover had given Pietro a sense of when he was being watched that very nearly qualified as a secondary mutation. He glanced over his shoulder to see who it was, and grimaced. What a small building this was, some days. "Julio Richter. Is staring your entire agenda today, or is there something you want to say to me as well?"

A muscle in Julio's jaw twitched. He bristled at being addressed by name, not even having been asked for it or even offering it. "You would be his son, then?" Julio finally said, quietly. "Why are you here?"

"Interesting choice of words. We none of us get to choose our fathers, whether we--" Pietro smiled faintly. "--would or no. And I'm here for the company, clearly. I'm--" He sighed. "Suddenly not in the mood to spar. I'm here because when I needed help upsetting my father's plans on any number of occasions, Scott Summers was kind enough to provide it. Now that the best I can expect from my father is a quick and relatively painless magnetically-induced stroke, he's been kind enough to put a roof over my head. Is that plain enough for you, or should I use smaller words?"

"You say you upset your father's plans? That is nice." Julio was so angry that he was beyond yelling. His tone was light, conversational even. "So I guess it is okay for him to stalk and kidnap people, then? Or to murder innocents? Just what was it you were upsetting?" Julio raised his eyebrows, and gestured with one hand, "You say you are a bleeding heart, you work against him, yet somehow I do not buy that. What with the whole being forced to kill hundreds of people by him and all."

"Aaah," Pietro said in enlightened tones. "You're upset I didn't save you. That's the trouble with undercover work, you know--you only ever get credit for your failures." He gave Julio a serious look. "But as I say, I'm in no mood to spar with you, and I should remember it better. You're due your questions and your outrage." He cocked his head slightly. "But tell me: do you know what your father is doing at this very instant? Do you know everywhere he goes, everyone he talks to?"

"Right now? He is in Nicaragua on business. I just finished talking to him on the phone. I even know what he is selling, because he described it to me." At great length. In great detail. The boy walked over to the shelves and began to thumb through them, looking for a distraction and to keep his hands from shaking. "And I am not mad at you for not saving me. I am mad at you for letting over four hundred people die."

"And your father's word is something you can trust. How nice for you. Not all of us are so lucky." Pietro sighed. "I would have stopped him if I could. But the kidnap and torture of young mutants was not a subject my father chose to confide in me. I found out from the BBC, by which time, by any measure, there was nothing left I could have done."

"But you knew he kidnapped mutants. He had done it in the past. Why did you not keep better track of him? If you were supposed to prevent him from doing terrible things? I do not think I could have been saved, I was...fucked the moment he found me, especially if it was by someone who is not 'confided in' by his father." The bookcase next to Julio rattled. He stuck his hand out and steadied it.

Pietro laughed helplessly. "And how was I supposed to do that? I tried. I had him followed when I could, when it was unlikely he'd notice a recurring bioelectrical pattern. I spied on his communications. I couldn't exactly fit him with a GPS tracker, with his powers. I did everything I could, and it was never, ever enough. Sometimes it worked anyway, which is why you've never heard of Norilsk--and if this is the conversation I'm having after one destroyed city, I would have hated the one I'd be having if that had gone the other way. Sometimes it didn't, as you know. Maybe you could have done better in my place--but you weren't in my place. I was all there was." His smile was fey, and contained nothing even resembling humor. "And now no one is in my place, so if you wish to be angry with me, young man, be angry for all the people who will die that I could have stopped, if I hadn't told my father exactly how sickened I was by what he did to you."

Some days Julio wished that his English was better, or that everyone else spoke Spanish, so he could say exactly what he felt, when he felt it. As it was, he had to consider his words carefully. "How...noble of you," Julio said slowly, accent getting thicker, "to stand up to your father and tell him how... wounded you felt on my behalf." He put a hand over his heart. "I am touched. The hundreds of people who are dead I am sure would feel the same way."

Pietro shook his head tiredly. "I'm done trying to explain myself to an angry boy looking for a scapegoat. If it makes you feel better, Julio, then yes, it was all my fault. Because I am a horrible person, I was too lazy, or too weak, or too--help me out here, I'm sure you can think of something--and I didn't stop him from taking you, just like I didn't stop him from taking Dane, or Forge, or the Madrox boy, or any of the other people whose lives he's destroyed. I didn't stop him, therefore you are totally blameless. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

Julio gave Pietro a strange smile. "I ...am not blameless," he said simply. The look in his eyes belonged to someone much older. He turned to one side and pulled out the book that he was looking for, and tucked it under one arm. The boy walked past the computer banks, but paused in front of Pietro.

"I was not the first, and I will not be the last. If you are so...wounded on our behalf, perhaps next time you shall do something about it, yes?"

"That's what I've been saying all along. What you seem to fail to grasp is that sometimes, doing something simply was not possible, and sometimes what I could do wasn't enough." Pietro snorted softly. "Your world is very simple and I wish I lived in it."

"Do you enjoy being such an asshole?" Julio said finally. "I am not happy that you are here. No matter what you say your intentions were, you still worked for him. And people died. You claim to be such a great, noble, tragic hero, fighting against your father, and now you are hiding in our school library." He tapped the book on his palm thoughtfully. "My advice? The school is letting you stay as a favor, try to not be such a dick about it."

"So far in this conversation I have apparently said that I'm a bleeding heart and a great, noble, tragic hero. I have a fairly good memory for things I've said, though, and I don't remember those words passing my lips at any point. Except, of course, now." Pietro smiled faintly. "Your world really does sound very interesting, Julio. Nice talking to you."

Julio privately wondered if the reason why this man was on the run was his ability to make his listeners want to inflict great bodily harm on him with a few sentences. "Nice talking to you too," he turned to leave, then added, "~pigfucker~" under his breath. He now had a massive headache, and it had nothing to do with the man sitting at the computer.