xp_logs | Quentin & Hope (Summers), Monday afternoon

xp_erverse posting in

Quentin suffers another unexpected shapeshift and makes Hope's day (week, month, year?) even worse.

It had been a really fucking weird month. The failed X-Men mission in Europe, the war in District X, the mirages springing up with everyone he came near. Quentin was sorely tempted to fuck off to nowhere again just to leave everything alone until it settled without him, but Arthur's castigation was still living in his head rent free.

Yet when it comes down to it, you're there for me and the rest of us. You will stop pretending you're less than who you are. Hiding behind your ego.

Fuck.

He was so stuck in his head that he nearly walked straight into someone else. And so wrapped in his own angst that he didn't even have a biting retort for the walking speed bump.

"Oh, sorry!" The small girl who had nearly walked into Quentin took another step to the side. There were mild but uncharacteristic shadows under her eyes, and the remnants of healing bruises prominent against pale skin. "I, um, I wasn't looking."

"It's fine, don't worry," he muttered, taking a moment to recognize this was the girl who'd made it a fucking weird year. The alt universe power mimic, if he remembered correctly. Jean's granddaughter. Hilarious as that was, it brought a weird, indescribable feeling to his gut. She didn't seem to look much better herself. "Everything okay?"

"Oh, yeah," Hope said, unconvincingly. "I was just, um - going to check on Felix." Satisfied with her excuse, she added: "I'm Hope. Summers. Not the one who turns into a ghost."

"Quentin. I'm familiar with the other Hope, she works for me. I . . ." His stomach lurched again and suddenly he felt too small for his body, like he was in the middle of a pubescent growth spurt. And did Hope get smaller or was he just farther away from her now?

Hope's reaction showed in the sudden, hot flush up her neck and into her face, her eyebrows coming together in confusion. "Dad? Dad! Where have you been?" She blinked, looking around for the other man, but the words - as always - came rushing out, unstoppable. "Someone else was just here. But - but where were you? I didn't know where to go when I couldn't find you, why didn't you tell me anything, when are we going home - do you know how everyone's doing? Hey, answer me!"

Oh no, it was happening again, like with Marie-Ange and the Starsmore kid. What was going on? Quentin is a psychic, not a shapeshifter. Why was he swole with a robot arm and a militaristic outfit adorned with bandoliers and pouches? "I am nobody's father, I promise you. Never gonna happen." His voice came out like his own but deeper, gruff. He sounded like he had a cold.

"Dad?" Hope's voice wavered, hurt and confused. "What's wrong? What's going on? Just tell me, we can fix it."

He backed away, hands up to ward her off. "I wish I knew what's wrong so I could fix it! I've lost count of how many times this has happened and I'm getting fucking tired of it!"

Hope, quick and motivated, darted forward, grabbing his wrist. "Dad, I - Dad?" Her voice quivered as the skin gave strangely in her grip, too soft. She didn't let go. "What's wrong with you?"

His stomach rolled again, threatening to unleash the bodega breakfast sandwich and bag of gummy bears he'd eaten earlier, but the nausea and feeling of being stretched out ended when she touched him. His hand was back to normal. The pouches were gone. He was back in his Louboutins and not tiny-footed boots.

Glaring at Hope, he pulled his arm free and stepped back. "You, stay away from me!" He fled before she could say another word.

Hope stared at her hand, the tension and adrenaline in her body coming back out as she started to shake. Tears hung on her lower lashes, threatening to drop, as she stepped back - once and then again before she hit the wall, her hands coming up to her chest protectively.