Tuesday, Pietro and Terry

[x-ccelerate.livejournal.com]

More farewells. Terry's goodbye gift to Pietro has strings attached in more than one sense, and they talk about going home.



Terry finished the copies on the last of her sheet music and collected them into a folder, labeled neatly for just this purpose. Jogging because she still had a great deal to do today, she headed up to Pietro's room where, if her timetable was correct, he should be for at least another 15 minutes before he got restless and had to run to Seattle or something. She knocked once on his door. Any more than that was a waste of effort, he'd have already decided whether or not to answer. "Mr. Maximoff?"

"Come in, Terry," Pietro called carelessly from the couch. "I'm just finishing up today's stack of books. You've got good timing, or I've let myself fall into an embarrassingly consistent routine."

She laughed as she let herself in, "I'll let you wonder. It doesn't do me any good to give away my secrets. I brought you something." Terry waved the folder by way of demonstration. "I have to leave my harp here, shipping her is risky and it's easier just to buy a new one. I thought you might like to learn."

Pietro gave her a look that was about two shades shy of being grateful by way of dubious. "You're going to want to make me promise to learn it slow, aren't you?"

Terry's lips twitched in what was almost a smirk, "I'm going to make you promise to treat her like a lady. She's been a friend for a long time and she means quite a great deal to me. She's not fragile, but you do have to treat her with care and respect."

Pietro rolled his eyes. "Fine, fine, I promise not to kill your harp by playing it too fast, even if the inefficiency chews a hole in my brain." He smiled faintly, reaching for the folder. "What's this, then, custody papers?"

"And the forms for your blood test, insurance, deed to your soul if anything happens to her..." she handed the folder over and pulled her hand back quickly when she realised it was shaking. Nerves. What a ridiculous thing right now. "It's not inefficient. It's the proper way to treat a finely crafted musical instrument."

"So is not making it sound like a tortured animal, and the faster I learn to play the sooner I'm done doing that." Pietro flicked a glance from her hand up to her face. "Something the matter?"

"No, nothing. Just be kind to her." Terry smiled and folded her hands together. "She doesn't mind sounding a little ugly so long as you don't hurt her."

"I won't, I promise." Pietro opened the folder and made a pleased noise, paging through the sheet music inside. "Plenty to learn on here." He stopped suddenly, tapping one of the sheets as he gave Terry a surprised smile. "This one I'll save until I can do it justice, though, I think. The composer's worth my best effort."

Terry laughed, the sound shaky and timid, her shoulders hunching in slightly. "It's probably good to start with. It's much easier technically than the rest of them. You don't have to treat it like it's Chopin. I thought you might like to hear it is all."

Pietro's smile turned into a grin. "I do want to hear it. The way it's meant to be heard. I can find recordings of Chopin anywhere; this is special. Thank you."

"Alison helped. Smoothed the rough edges." Terry tucked her hands in her pockets, rocked back on her heels. "You have to send me more music to pay me back for it though," she added with a sudden smile.

"I might have known." Pietro chuckled, then looked thoughtful. "Actually, what if I bring it by in person? I've been thinking it's past time I visit my family--my mother's side, I mean--and that puts me nearly on your doorstep."

Terry's expression grew distant for a moment while she shuffled through her mental schedule and then she grinned, "Sure that would be a great idea, provided you're not turning up hoping for a bed. We're going to be doing some work on restoration and I've no idea how much of the place will be livable. When's the last time that you went home?"

"The day after I finished university. A week later I started looking for my father, and then . . . I found him." Pietro shrugged. "Since then, either it hasn't been safe or I wasn't sure of my welcome."

"That's a long time. You're going to have to listen to so much gossip. You'll have to tell your uncle I said hello." As was typical, Terry skimmed over the harsher side of what Pietro had said. Her mood was too good to be rocked by talk of his father.

"Oh, gossip, yes. And introductions to all the new cousins, and of course as mandated by universal law my aunts will collectively decide I haven't eaten a single thing since I left . . ." Pietro smiled ruefully. "Summers may have to send in a rescue squad."

"And then you'll have to explain why you aren't married and the father of several children." Terry pretended to ponder this, "I know! You should take Ms. Maximoff with you and throw her to them first! Then you can escape while she makes the roof fall in."

"Ah, no," Pietro replied mournfully. "This is the trouble with matriarchies, you see. Wanda inherited charge of the caravan when our mother died; if she really wants to she can dump them right back onto me. Besides, she's likely busy doing something stupid and unethical for LeBeau."

Laughing would be mean. Laughing would be mean... Terry stifled her giggles. "If I haven't heard from you by July, I'll ask Sean to send out a search party."

"Thank you," Pietro said with great dignity. "I appreciate the thought." Then he shot her a dirty look. "And you do realize that after lying to Mystique for three years I can tell when you're laughing at me on the inside, don't you?"

Terry's blue eyes went even more limpid and guileless. "I'm not laughing at you, Mr. Maximoff. It would be rude." She beamed at him, clasped her hands behind her back and did everything but manifest a halo over her head.

"You're very good, Terry." Pietro beamed right back at her. "Unfortunately for you, the Romani invented looking innocent."

That did it. Terry held out a mere three more seconds before breaking down into helpless giggles, bouncing lightly on her toes. "Sure they did. That's why no one ever believes it. A wee colleen like myself, on the other hand, has the advantage of often actually being innocent."

Pietro snorted. "These girls you're talking about clearly can't be too much like yourself, then."

"I'm very innocent. Naive even. Positively a babe in arms." Terry wrinkled her nose, crossing her arms and tapping her fingers thoughtfully, "Except for the lock-picking part. That's probably not normal." She giggled, apparently amusing herself even if she was alone in that.

"You know, I don't think it is. Imagine." Pietro's expression went reproachful for a moment. "You and Crystal are determined to make sure I'm bored here, aren't you? Why is it nearly all of the people I can stand around here are the ones who leave for long periods?" He smirked. "I suppose it's the sanity."

Terry's smile was soft, "I'll miss it here, I won't lie to you. But it's time to go home." She tucked her hands in her pockets, shrugged a little, "Do you ever wonder if you've been gone too long? That you'll find out that home isn't anymore?"

"I haven't stayed away this long just for their health," Pietro replied wryly. He sighed, fidgeting slightly. "Though in some senses . . . it already wasn't home for years before I left. Especially after Wanda and I went off to university. We were the first, so they sent us off with all possible fanfare--and then on breaks I'd go back home, and how do you talk about aerodynamic physics with people who maybe know a little algebra? They wanted to hear about it, but all they actually heard was that I was getting an education and they could be proud of me. The caravan didn't feel that small even after I manifested."

She nodded slowly. "But you're still one of them, aye? You're part of the culture anyway, even though it's been so long and you've so changed?" Her expression slid toward worry then snapped back with almost an audible twang. She check her watch and squeaked, "Hell. I've got to go. I still have a million things to do today and I can't do them at superspeed like some people."

"I suppose I'll find out, won't I?" Pietro shook his head. "You go on, then. I'll see you in a few weeks."