Saturday afternoon, Pietro and Nathan in the kitchen

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Pietro, suddenly in a much better mood than yesterday, makes himself a bit of a celebratory snack. He runs into Nathan in the kitchen, and the two of them touch on a number of different topics.

Daddy issues get to wait for another day, unfortunately. ;)



Pietro thanked the delivery boy and took perhaps a hair too much satisfaction in sending him on his way with a generous tip. He took an exploratory sniff of the small paper-wrapped package as he turned to head to the kitchen; it smelled like victory.

Well, that wasn't strictly correct; it smelled like paper and frozen raw meat. But he had paid for it himself, after a carefully-devised liquid nitrogen cooling system, a heavy-duty keyboard, and a strategic thirty-second commandeering of the mansion's entire Internet pipeline had finally gotten him past the safeguards on his bank account, and that entitled him to a small indulgence in metaphor.

There was nothing in the fridge down at the boathouse again; he'd promised Moira he would go out and change that this afternoon, but he didn't really think he ought to be doing that without having eaten something first. His appetite had been somewhat in abeyance yesterday, with the hangover. Nathan smirked humorlessly and pulled out a container that looked to have sandwiches in it. As he turned away from the fridge, he winced, tilting his head at the sudden, buzzing mental presence that was registering.

Hangovers also left his shields a bit ragged for days. "You sound like a wasp," he said to the man who walked into the kitchen carrying a paper-wrapped package. "Has anyone ever told you that?"

"Not a wasp specifically, no." Pietro smiled faintly as he set the wrapped steak down on the counter and went in search of a plate. "I did get compared to a smoke alarm once, but I was exerting myself.".

"Ugh, what a thought..." It struck Nathan that he was being a bit ungracious, and he gave Pietro a rueful smile. "Sorry. Just imagining the noise." He laughed a bit wryly. "You and I haven't actually officially met yet, have we? First I was off to Prague to watch the fireworks and I've been a little scarce since..."

"Well, I haven't exactly been a social butterfly myself," Pietro replied wryly. "I've run past your house several times, though, and I've been meaning to thank you for the loan of your newsfeed subscriptions. I should have them back to you shortly."

"No huge rush." Nathan pulled the lid off the container and examined the sandwiches. "I'm glad we had them available." He looked in the direction of Pietro's ankle. "Glad to hear you got things semi-sorted out with the authorities. I've had my own encounters with Val Cooper."

"Horrible woman," Pietro muttered, his fingers stabbing at the buttons on the microwave. "One wonders how she's survived so long in Washington with that kind of inflexible attitude. Though apparently expecting any hint of gratitude for my efforts was foolishly optimistic." He shot Nathan a look. "Exactly how badly has my father terrified you people that LeBeau gets a friendlier reception than I do?"

"Hey, you're talking to the wrong man here. I don't remember telling you to fuck off and die." Nathan selected a sandwich, and waved a hand at the cupboard with the small plates. It opened, one of the plates emerging and floating over smoothly. "That being said," he went on, depositing the sandwich on it and then turning back to the fridge, "think of it this way. You're not your father, but you're a handy target for blame. Doesn't make it any more comfortable, but it's a normal human reaction. One which I do not share, incidentally." He replaced the container of sandwiches and turned back, a jug of orange juice in hand. A glass came floating over to the counter, and he let go of the jug. It filled the glass, then returned to the fridge as Nathan sat down on one of the kitchen stools, in front of his sandwich.

"Ah, human reactions," Pietro muttered, tapping his fingers impatiently on the counter as he watched the steak defrost. "Still, you're right, that was hardly a fair question." His glance over at Nathan this time was tolerably amused. "But you've had your own share of run-ins with the intramural second-guessing squad, so I assume you can sympathize with my frustration."

"Yeah, that stung just a little. But they're young, and they're used to seeing us do things like stop riots. And tsunamis. Harder to understand a failure to act when you're looking at that sort of precedent." Nathan's voice was mild, his expression calm, but there was a flicker of something else in his gray eyes as he looked down at his sandwich. "I haven't been talking to the kids much," he said finally, and picked up his orange juice. "I made the offer, but none of them came to see me. Probably for the best. To the ones that were upset the truth would probably have sounded like justifications."

"I've been actively avoiding them, but I suspect you're right." Pietro scooped his steak out of the microwave and into a pan, and carried it over to the stove. "I could wish more of them followed Crystal's example."

"She approached you, did she?" Nathan's smile was absent, if a bit fond. "Interesting young woman. So is her sister. Medusa was with me in Prague."

"Yes--while you were gone, in fact, and we've spoken a few times since. One acquaintance from my years with my father that I'm quite happy to have renewed." Pietro bent for a whiff of the sizzling steak and added by way of explanation, "I met them both briefly a few years ago, in Attilan; they were an amusing diversion on a very boring afternoon. They seem to have grown well--or, at least, Crystal has, and if she was with you in Prague it's safe to say Medusa has as well."

"They haven't had the best of experiences here thus far," Nathan said a bit sourly, taking a bite of his sandwich. "Anyway. They're all good kids, really, second-guessing or no second-guessing. And they are kids, too - I find that keeping that in mind helps. That way you make allowances for the times they act their ages, and are pleasantly surprised the times they act like they're sixteen going on forty. Which happens more than you'd think. I don't think mutation generally allows for undisturbed childhoods." He couldn't help a different, softer smile. "Not that I intend to stop trying with my daughter, but the fact remains."

"So Crystal's . . . well, not said, but the lines aren't difficult to read between. I gather there's been a certain amount of jumping to conclusions on all sides." Pietro flipped his steak and tried to ignore the way his mouth was watering. "I was never very good with children, even when I was one, but you're unfortunately right about mutants' childhoods." He gave Nathan a wry look. "And aren't you in the wrong line of work for that? Though who knows what will happen by the time she manifests."

Nathan choked on his sandwich. He recovered, taking a sip of his orange juice before he answered. He's new. I'd actually forgotten. "She manifested in the womb," he said dryly. "Telepathy and telekinesis. She was five months when she started to fly, actually."

Pietro's head whipped around, his expression wavering between amazement and angry disbelief, finally settling on amazement. "You're not actually joking, are you. That's incredible. And probably more than a little nervewracking." He snorted humorlessly. "And I'm suddenly very glad this is the first I've heard of it, all things considered."

"Well, Moira has the proverbial genes to die for, and I, for all my personal failings, am the child of two mutants myself." Nathan sighed and took another sip of his orange juice. "Rather glad to know this is the first you've heard of Rachel's gifts myself, although I know that's no assurance that your father doesn't know. She's very strong," he said, changing the subject, "for fifteen months old. Charles has installed a psionic circuit-breaker - he adjusts it frequently. We don't want her powers growing out of proportion to her ability to, you know, talk, walk and manage abstract thought. As it is her tantrums are fairly terrifying."

"I can imagine." Pietro shook his head wonderingly. "Still . . . what an amazing opportunity. So many of us have our powers thrust upon us at an already turbulent point in our lives . . . she will never know what it's like not to have hers. The confidence, the sense of identity most of us struggle toward for years, she will always possess." He chuckled. "I think I rather envy her."

"Her mind is..." Nathan stopped, smiling again. "It's hard to explain to a non-telepath. The structure of it, the way her powers work... it's so totally unlike anything I've ever seen in another psi. Charles says the same. There's no... blurring, no fuzziness, despite the fact that she's linked to Moira and I. She's... herself," he said, then gave a helpless shrug. "Her mind is perfectly, clearly formed, yet there's no isolation from the thoughts around her, either. I've begun to think lately that she doesn't process sensory input in the way the rest of us do... and now I really am rambling. Sorry?"

"Not at all." Pietro smiled wistfully. "When I first joined my father, before his insanity was quite so all-consuming, we spoke often about different kinds of mutation, the way they manifested, what they could do. I was a ravenous student, and I've kept the interest since, even though . . . he stopped being so eager a teacher." He sprinkled a little pepper onto his steak. "I'm not surprised she's a psi, to have manifested so early--it seems to be one of the more stable mutations, if not always present in the most stable of minds. I've often wondered if some form of psionic ability might be the basis for a true posthuman species, and the rest of us are just odd little evolutionary experiments along the way."

"It's kind of freaky at times, watching her with Charles. The two of them just stare at each other, and I think there are whole levels of communication going on there that even I miss." Nathan laughed suddenly, his expression turning mischievously. "And then she burps or spits up and starts reminding me of your average toddler again. By the way, she does unlock doors - telekinetically, that is. So if you see me outside looking like I'm stalking something, that would be Rachel."

Pietro looked vaguely unnerved at the prospect. "Ah. I'll keep that in mind, though I probably just would have decided you were insane . .. and this is done" He lifted the steak back onto the plate and sat down at the table, smiling slightly. "A little celebratory feast, in honor of being able to afford celebratory feasts again. Mystique and my father didn't get quite everything."

"Glad to hear it. I know circumstances dictated that you didn't have much of a chance to make preparations when you made a run for it." Nathan shrugged, his smile lopsided. "I may have quizzed Scott."

"Better him than anyone else. Summers has been very helpful over the years." Pietro's hands blurred above his plate, and the steak slid apart into bite-sized pieces. "And I had preparations in place. The important ones were still viable, in point of fact." His lips thinned. "Mystique simply managed to uproot more of the surface layers than I'd quite planned for. Still, it could have been worse."

"That's usually the case. And you've got time to regroup here, if nothing else. I wish I'd had that after leaving Mistra." His gaze flickered back to Pietro's ankle. "Of course, I'm not sure I would have wanted enforced time to regroup," he said with a certain amount of humor.

Pietro raised an amused eyebrow. "What, and here I thought you volunteered for it. If I cared to, I could leave Cooper behind by finding a nice friendly non-extradition country. I doubt there's a border short of death that would stop MacTaggart from dragging you back here."

"Mauritania was a no-extradition country, too, and that didn't stop Val," Nathan said, another glimmer of evil humor in his eyes. "Besides, if you ran off I'm almost positive Scott would go after you - for your own good, if nothing else. He seems determined to make sure you get set up properly in your new legitimate life, and he's developed a rather ruthless streak since his unfortunate ordeal this summer."

"It's just as well I'm staying then. Besides," Pietro said cheerfully around a bite of steak, "if I play nice with the not-so-friendly government agent, maybe they'll let me have a front-row seat at my father's execution. That's worth a few indignities along the way."

"Ah, fathers," Nathan muttered, half-in amusement, half-darkly. "Someday I should tell you about mine. We have more in common than you'd think."

Pietro snorted. "My condolences."