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By
Andrea and Persephone_Kore Andrea:
This is part of the “Pegasus Flight” series.
It takes place a few months after “Family”.
The first stories can be found here,
and I recommend you read them first.
Special thanks to PK, who both inspired this story in the first
place and then was wonderful enough to help me write it! PK: Andrea has now officially joined the ranks of the plotweaseled. Blame me. And Stryfe, of course. He's a Summers; you can blame him for anything. *text* indicates thoughts Peggy blinked a few times with her eyes shut before working up to a full-scale peek through the lashes. Something was wrong here. She didn’t remember getting into bed last night, yet here she was just waking up. It didn’t feel right. She
opened her eyes the rest of the way and propped herself up on an arm
to look around. Not familiar, though at least she was able to move.
Her vision started swimming after a second, and she dropped her head a
bit and groaned. "Is it just me, or do I keep getting kidnapped
lately?" "It's
the family," said a dry voice. She thought at first it was
Nathan's, especially as sarcastic as it sounded -- had they gotten
kidnapped together again? This was embarrassing! -- only as it
went on, it didn't sound... quite... right. "There seems to be a
propensity for kidnapped or otherwise missing offspring. Of course,
you can't have acquired it genetically -- but I suppose if you're
adopted in, you're fair game." Peggy
blinked her eyes furiously and tried to figure out where she was and
what was going on. The
room was too dark for her to figure much out, but she thought she
could detect a figure standing a few feet away. "Nathan?"
she called out uncertainly. If
he was free, why hadn't he released her already? "I--I can't get
free. What
happened?" There
was a low chuckle, and Peggy was struck with the sudden certainty that
this was not her brother.
"Oh, I know, my dear.”
There was, however, a gleam that looked an awful lot like his
eye. She averted her eyes quickly, then squinted just to the left of
the glow, where the right half of his face ought to be if he was
facing her. And if it was Nathan. Which apparently it wasn't. "Of
course you can't." The light flared brighter for a second,
wildly, and the smooth amusement cracked and fell on the floor in
pieces as the voice went on. "And I'm not Nathan!" Okay...Peggy
swallowed hard. *Please
don't let it be who I think it is.
Please don't let it be who I think it is,* she thought
desperately. "Stryfe?"
she asked, proud that her voice quavered only slightly. "Oh,
very good. I'm actually surprised they bothered to tell you about me.
Was that... our... dear parents, or has Nathan been telling
stories?" "I-I've
read about you. You did
try to kill the X-Men several times," Peggy retorted, a bit of
dry amusement sneaking into her own voice. "No
I didn't," the voice -- Stryfe -- retorted, sounding rather
indignant. "I'd have done better than try. I just... made
life more difficult. Once or twice." The light from his eye came
closer, and then the entire room brightened, slowly. Peggy saw a
glimmer of golden light around her calves and on the table around her
wrists -- apparently loose enough she'd been able to sit up a bit, but
not very. Then it vanished. She blinked. "Made
life more difficult?" Peggy repeated, cautiously stretching her
legs a bit. "You
shot the Professor in the head." "He
lived, didn't he?" Stryfe folded his arms and regarded her
defiantly. He wasn't wearing the helmet -- it was, in fact, sitting on
another table across the room. "So
he lived, and you say you weren't trying to kill him.
Sounds like you're just trying to admit you're not a
failure." Peggy
regarded her captor defiantly, hoping that he shared Nathan's temper
as well as his looks. Lesson
number one was that anger made you sloppy.
It wouldn’t be much of an edge against Stryfe, but it would
still be an edge. Stryfe
glared at her. "I could have used a normal bullet." "You
tried to kill Dad and Jean too. And
Nathan. Is it my turn
now?” Stryfe
folded his arms and answered in a very cold voice, "Nathan and I
have been trying to kill each other or, alternatively, make each
other's lives miserable for the past several decades of subjective
time. Of course, you seem to get along quite, quite well with
him." "It's
amazing how well you get along with people who aren’t trying
to kill you," Peggy replied flippantly.
As long as he was talking, he wasn't killing her, and she
thought that was a very good thing. "You're
a bit hung up on that, aren't you?" "Hey,
until a few months ago I'd never had anyone try to kill me!
Now it's happened...four times.
I'm sorry, but that's just not normal!" "No,
it isn't," Stryfe said thoughtfully. "At least not for the
family you seem to have joined. You should have started much earlier,
I think. Infancy, for this generation." "You're
a bit hung up on that, aren't you?" Peggy retorted, echoing his
earlier comment. "You
keep talking about me joining the family.
I feel like I'm in the Mob or something." Stryfe
snorted at her. "Well, what would you call it? Of course, I must
congratulate you; you're doing quite well. I was -- I can't quite say
born, can I? -- brought into existence as part of it, but no one ever
seems to have been interested in acknowledging this...." "Thank
you." The sarcasm
oozed from those two simple words.
"It's good to know I'm good at something."
Peggy paused for a moment, then added, "I don't mean to
keep harping on this, but don't you think that if you just would stop
attacking us all the time--" "Selective,
weren't they?" Stryfe hissed. "I see they told you enough of
what I’d done, but left out their own part -- such as what my
first 'sister' did?" He brought his voice under tight control.
"It was her idea to clone Nathan. They left me to die, did you
know that? At best I was a backup copy for their precious Chosen One.
At worst? I was a decoy!" His
voice broke into a snarl at the end, and Peggy tried not to flinch as
he leaned down into her face, their noses practically touching, and
grabbed her hair at the back of her neck. "They left me to die.
Or for Apocalypse, which is worse." She
felt the telekinetic grip that still surrounded her... waver. Stryfe
suddenly found himself nose-to-nose with a great white horse,
clutching a handful of white mane.
~Don't. Touch. Me,~ Peggy sent very slowly.
She jerked her head up and out of his grasp.
~So you were left a helpless little baby.
Poor you. Yes, you
went through something terrible, but it was hardly Nathan's fault!
He was a baby too!~ ~And
Dad and Jean barely got out with their lives that day!
I -have- read the history.
They didn't know you existed, so you can't blame any of -them-
for what happened! Get
off your pity party!~ Just
what he needed, a telepathic flying horse. Stryfe realized his mistake
and hastily seized on her legs and wings with his mind, squeezing just
enough to hurt, eye flaring. ~Can't I? They must have known -- or
else Rachel didn't bother TELLING them, and how exactly do you plan to
exonerate her?~ Peggy
cried out in pain and reared up.
~I don't know! But
-I- didn't do it! I never
even met you before today! Why
are you taking it out on ME?~ ~You
were there.~ ~And
you're insane,~ she retorted, rearing up and striking him with her
front hooves, half-blind from the painful grip he had on her wings.
She spun around and tried to kick in the door with her back
hooves, desperate to GET OUT! Stryfe
took a half-step back under the force of her kick against his armor,
and renewed the grip he'd obviously been careless with again, throwing
the pegasus to her side on the floor and pinning her wings flat.
"Was that ever in question?"
"It needs repeating," Peggy said in resignation after
she'd shifted back to her human form.
"So...what are you going to do with me?"
She tried to sound brave, but she knew it came off more as
bravado. Stryfe
began to answer, then paused and, with what Peggy viewed as somewhat
sarcastic courtesy, walked over and offered her a hand up off the
floor. "I haven't decided yet."
*Not much of a pre-planner, are you?*
Peggy bit back the sarcastic retort, but pointedly ignored the
offered hand. She stood
on her own and brushed her pants off self-consciously.
"You could let me go?" she offered, perfectly
reasonably.
"I usually do plan more than this," he answered her
thought, a little absently. "The opportunity in this case was
fortuitous, though. A chance to snatch you away from under Cable's and
the X-Men's very noses, and not even have them notice." "They'll
come for me."
"What makes you think that?" he inquired
solicitously, with a faint, maddening smile. "B-because
they will," she faltered.
"Dad will always help me." She raised her chin
in defiance. "And I'm an X-Man.
X-Men always help each other." "Ah,
yes, Cyclops is so very skilled at keeping track of his
offspring." "He'll
come." Peggy's voice
was hard and implacable, her expression no less so. “Peggy,
my dear girl. He doesn't even know you came home. You and Nathan
slipped the security system to avoid waking anyone up, remember?
Nathan thinks you're with them, they think you're with him, and he's
not the most communicative sort. And no, you won't get anywhere by
screaming mentally until someone hears you. I shield better than
that.” Peggy
seemed to wilt like a week-old flower, her eyes sinking back into her
head. "It doesn't
matter," she said, but she didn't sound convincing even to her
own ears. "They'll
find me." "Well,
perhaps eventually. I'll grant that they probably won't be twelve or
thirteen years about it; they seem to be relatively fond of you." *They'll
find you!* she told herself firmly.
*Nathan's mission won't take -that- long, and even if it
does he's bound to check in soon.*
She ignored the niggling doubt that reminded her Nathan was
hardly regular about contacting the mansion, and she was supposed to
be with him for days yet...days before anyone else would worry. "Nathan's
almost as secretive as I am," Stryfe pointed out. "More so
in some ways." He shrugged. "At any rate, I should have the
pleasure of your company for some time. After all, once they notice
you're missing they have to figure out where you are." "They've
always managed to beat you before.
You're just making them mad this time." "They
don't know it was me, now do they? Although I suppose Nathan might
guess -- but they do have so many enemies." He gave her another
infuriating smile. "In the meantime, I suppose I can find out
whether you're preferable to my other 'sister.' And perhaps even what
exactly provokes Cyclops to choose a child." “I
don't know," Peggy said quietly.
"I never understood why he did.
But I am a Summers now. This
is the fourth time someone's tried to kill me in barely a year,
remember? I can take care
of myself." "Really.
And what exactly would you do to protect yourself if I decided to set
you on fire telekinetically? Or make you shift to pegasus-form and
tear your wings off? Or simply turn off your mind?"
Peggy paled even further, until the only bit of color about her
was her bright blue eyes. "If
you were going to do that, you'd already have done it," she
answered, praying she was right. "Very
good." Stryfe patted her on the head. She resisted the impulse to
duck. "Unless, of course, I were sufficiently provoked -- but I
believe we're clear, now, on the fact that if I were trying to kill
you you would be dead?" Peggy
remained silent. If he
was just trying to get under her skin - well, it was working
but she didn't have to show him that! He
sighed. "Are we also clear on the fact that I'm quite as nosy as
your average telepath, with fewer scruples than the ones you've met
tend to claim?" Peggy
thought something very rude she'd heard from Remy when she wasn't
supposed to be listening. “That
was mild. I can tell you what some of Nathan's mean, though, if you
like." If
she wasn't in the middle of a kidnapping situation, that would
actually be intriguing. Nathan
had taught her a few phrases in Askani after she'd asked once, but
he'd never tell her the good ones.
Stryfe smirked and she abruptly remembered (again) that he was
nosy. "Or my own.
Then I really might have to let you go, just to see his reaction when
you actually used one...." "Okay,"
Peggy agreed quickly.
Stryfe laughed. Somewhat to her surprise -- and apparently his
own, judging from a very brief flash of expression as he finished --
it actually sounded amused, rather than mirthless taunting. "No
promises, of course." Peggy
had a brief flash of Nathan saying almost the exact same thing, and
before she could think better of it, blurted out, "You two are
more alike than you think." "Are
you trying to be provoking again?" Stryfe inquired
rhetorically, eyes narrowing. "And yes, I know. It's a useful
thing to remind him of occasionally, as he finds it cause for horror,
whereas I simply resent it." Peggy
winced. She really
hadn't meant to say that. "Uh,
sorry." "Now
that's a new one." "Huh?"
Peggy asked in confusion. “I
believe that's the first time any of... our relatives have actually
apologized to me for anything." "Well,
as you keep pointing out, I am adopted."
"That might explain it," he replied sourly. "So
might the fact that except for that, you're the only one I've actually
encountered who hasn't DONE anything significant to me." "Well,
I'll kick your head in if I get a chance."
Stryfe sighed. "You
won't." He held out
his hand and the silver helmet floated across the room to him.
"Try not to break anything," he said dryly, strolling
out. Peggy
glared at his retreating back. "I
might kick your head it. Well,
I could," she grumbled. ***** “I
certainly hope you’re enjoying my hospitality, my dear,” Stryfe
said pleasantly as he entered Peggy’s cell later.
A shoe came flying across the room at him.
"That was uncalled for," he said, sounding almost
hurt as he deflected the projectile effortlessly. "What
kind of kidnapper are you?" Peggy retorted angrily. "Don't
you know any of the rules? You
don't just walk off and leave!
You're suppose to hang around gloating or start torturing or
something horribly cliched like that."
"Would
you prefer I torture you?" Stryfe asked, his eye glinting
dangerously. "Well
try something! Don't
just leave me here to starve!" Stryfe
looked at her in bemusement. "It's
only been three hours." "And?"
she shot back, glaring. "If
you don't know what you're going to do with me, you could at least feed
me!"
He continued to stare at her, and took off the helmet,
apparently in order to stare more efficiently. The recently projectile
shoe floated off the floor and into the other metal-gloved hand.
"I suppose that would be an option, yes. I did kidnap you before
breakfast."
"Well." Peggy wasn't really expecting him to aquiese
so quickly. "So...do
you have a kitchen?" Stryfe
gave her the sort of look normally reserved for those who asked
whether rain fell downwards. "Yes, I have a kitchen. I also have
an automated unit that might remind you of Star Trek, but it's not in
this base," he explained, a bit condescendingly. "Would you
like an omelet, or hay?"
"That depends," Peggy replied cooly. "Are you
making the omelet?" "It's
a gas stove. I try not to let captives near anything explosive." "I
promise not to try to kill you until after I've eaten," Peggy
promised firmly as her stomach gave an embarassing rumble.
"I just know that hay is preferable to...some people's
cooking." "And
whose would that be?" "Bobby,"
she said instantly, starting to tick off the numbers of her fingers.
"Rogue, if it's not fried.
Jubilee, Betsy, Warren..."
She broke off, shuddering.
"Honestly, it's safer to fight Magneto than eat anything
Warren's cooked." She
looked up from her hands to see Stryfe shaking his head and laughing
quietly. "Well, he was Apocalypse's Angel of Death. I suppose
that makes an odd sort of sense." He gestured resignedly with the
shoe, glanced at it, and tossed it back to her. "Don't throw that
at me again, either." He turned and swept out the doorway, cape
brushing the jambs, and raised a hand above shoulder-height to beckon
to her. "You might
as well come along."
Peggy slipped her shoe back on, blushing a little at the fit of
pique that had inspired her mad throw.
Honestly, who threw a shoe?
"Thank you," she said quietly, tagging along in his
wake.
He cast her a mildly surprised look over his shoulder -- past
the spikes -- and guided her to... what looked like a relatively
normal kitchen, with a table in the middle of it. "Sit down. And
don't move." Peggy
sat. Stryfe proceeded to
disappear. He had some misgivings about forgoing his usual image, but
she already knew what he looked like and while it was certainly possible
to cook in full armor, it wasn't the most practical alternative unless
actually in the field. Not
that the armor was particularly uncomfortable -- he was entirely
accustomed to it, and it was designed not to restrict motion (except
for obvious things like avoiding putting one's eye out on the spikes)
-- but it wasn't designed for cooking.
Peggy
looked up in considerable surprise when he returned to the kitchen in
sweats. For one thing, it was entirely contrary to any mental picture
she'd ever associated with Stryfe. For another, it was warm enough in
this 'base' of his that she was perfectly comfortable in her shorts
and tank top. "Uh...A-are
you cold?" she asked inanely, trying to blank her mind.
All she could think of was that with him dressed like this, she
could easily picture herself having breakfast with Nathan in any of
his safehouses. "No."
He gave her another odd look -- she could start a collection -- and
calmly de-shelled a dozen eggs while a pan meandered out of the
cabinet and in his general direction. Apparently Jean was not the only
telekinetic who occasionally ignored the usual order of cooking, such
as getting a container for the eggs before breaking them. First
Nathan, now Jean. What
was wrong with her? She
was being held prisoner. She
had to concentrate on what was important now, not start getting
homesick! She tried to
think of what Scott would do in this situation.
Of course, she doubted Scott had ever been in the situation of
having Stryfe cooking an omelet for him, but that was beside the
point. Her stomach
rumbled again and she flushed. "Um...do
you need any help?” "No."
He turned and raised an eyebrow at her. "Not working fast enough
for your tastes?" He would have to mention taste, she thought
plaintively. "I'm
just a little hungry," she said, trying for tartly and ending up
with plaintively instead. "So
I hear." Peggy watched him add all her favorite things to put in
an omelet, and wondered whether this qualified as being nice, or
cruelly taunting. "Fast
metabolism," she added defensively, wondering why on earth she
was defending her appetite to her kidnapper. "Of
course," he replied dryly. "Especially with the mass-change
involved in your shapeshift, I'm sure." "If
you're trying to say I eat like a horse," Peggy responded with
equal dryness, "go ahead." "Well,
that's another possibility." He was sure she heard that
particular joke quite often enough, and was under no delusions about
it being remotely original. Although he was involuntarily amused by
her suggesting it that way. "If you want instant oatmeal in the
meantime, however, go ahead. Regular wouldn't be done before the eggs
anyway." She
eyed him warily, trying to figure out if he was serious, but when the
packet of instant oatmeal and a bowl floated out of nearby cupboards,
she took the opportunity. She
jumped up and began mixing the oatmeal quickly.
She repressed a smile. She'd
never thought of him as an apple-cinnamon person.
This girl, Stryfe decided, was strange. So was the fact that he
was cooking for her, except that without the automated setup the
alternative was letting her starve, and even if he did decide
to kill her that wasn't his planned method. And she was surprisingly
polite, except for the shoe. And the accusations, of course. And the
loyalty to Cyclops. Then again, he'd probably be fairly loyal too if
Cyclops had ever actually treated him as a son. Peggy's
expression was sheer bliss as she took her first bite of steaming
oatmeal. "Mmmm,"
she moaned involuntarily. She
took a few more bites, then smiled sardonically and looked up at
Stryfe. "I didn't
think you were one for bad puns," she commented idly, spooning up
another bite. Stryfe
glanced up from the omelet at her. "Hmmm?" Peggy
took another bite. A big
one. "Oatmeal.
Oats," she explained, licking off a bit of oatmeal on the
corner of her mouth. "Eat
like a horse." "Ah,
that. Well, it seemed more fitting than toast." "I
like toast," she replied idly. "Quit
complaining," Stryfe growled at her, "or I'll eat the omelet
by myself." "I
wasn't complaining, I was commenting.
You're not much on conversation, you know." "Do
you habitually try to engage your captors in conversation?" he
inquired a bit sarcastically, bringing the pan over to deposit about
half the omelet on her plate. Her
eyes lit up at the wonderful-looking omelet.
"Yes, actually."
She shrugged. "I
figure, why not try to make the best of things?"
Stryfe kept the other half of the omelet, studied the table for
a moment, and decided that the missing component was a fork. Or two
forks, since Peggy was using a spoon. He remedied this before looking
at her oddly again. "You're a very strange girl." “You're
a very strange kidnapper," she countered, finishing the rest of
her oatmeal with gusto and moving on to the omelet.
"Most wouldn't make me breakfast."
She took a bite of the omelet and her eyes closed in pure
rapture. "Ohhhhhhh,"
she moaned. "You
really made this? This is
incredible!" Stryfe
swallowed his own bite of egg concoction while eyeing Peggy with
considerable suspicion that she was making some sort of bizarre joke.
She was, apparently, perfectly sincere.
Well... that was nice. Irritation gave way to a rather
flattered feeling and amusement. "Peggy, you watched me
make it," he pointed out. "At least, until you were
entranced by the oatmeal." Peggy's
cheeks colored slightly. "I
was trying to pay you a compliment.
This is very good. Honestly.
If you ever decide to give up trying to ki--uh, making our
lives difficult, you could try your hand at being a chef."
Stryfe hesitated over this for several bites, discarding
several sarcastic comments that didn't quite seem to fit (given that
he had just been complaining about being left for Apocalypse, and they
tended to involve the irony of said High Lord's prince turning his
hand to professional cooking), then relented. "...Thank
you." Peggy
almost dropped her fork. Stryfe
was thanking her? She
stifled an automatic urge to look out a window for flying pigs and
instead shoveled a huge bite of omelet in her mouth.
It really was good. "I
don't think I've ever seen anyone elevated to minor levels of ecstacy
by breakfast before, though, unless they were actually starving prior
to that...." He considered for a moment, then added, "On the
other hand, Wildside was occasionally known to compose doggerel odes
to pizza toppings." "Why
eat if you're not going to enjoy it?" Peggy retorted.
"And why learn to cook so well if you don't want to be
elevated to minor levels of ecstacy by breakfast?" "To
your first question, because starving to death is unpleasant. To your
second, cooking is a survival skill, especially if you don't trust
anyone else to do it."
"But this isn't just some gruel I'm choking down to
survive. This is an
amazingly good omelet, so I'm going to enjoy it.
And you didn't answer my second question.
Cooking is a survival skill.
Cooking well is not." "...Granted,
but why bother doing it badly?" "Oh,
now I see." Peggy
applied herself to the omelet for several minutes, as Stryfe waited
impatiently. Finally he
gritted his teeth and asked, "What do you see?" She
smiled at him. "You're
a perfectionist." "Well,
yes." He shrugged. "And as I generally am the one to eat my
own cooking, there's no particular point in making it
unpleasant." "A
perfectionist and a hedonist?"
Peggy's eyes were dancing with laughter.
"Not your usual combination. "Just
because Nathan's masochistic...." Peggy
couldn't help it. She
burst out laughing. Stryfe
gave her a look somewhere between aggrieved and satisfied, and
continued eating his half of the omelet.
Still giggling a bit, Peggy finished her omelet with a few neat
bites. "He does take
himself too seriously," she admitted.
"But I think it runs in the family." "Oh,
really." Most people who had spent any length of time around
Stryfe would have recognized this as a dangerous tone. "Look
at Dad," she said simply, grinning as she piled her bowl on her
plate and carried them both to the simple sink set into the
countertop. Stryfe
stared at her back for a second, and had worked up a stone-faced yet
ferocious expression and was approximately doubling the ambient light
on his own by the time she turned around. "Did you just compare
me to Cyclops?" Peggy
winced, put the dishes in the sink, and started to run the water
without turning around. "I
compared Nathan to Cyclops. You
did the rest." "I
beg your pardon." "Don't
you have any soap?" Peggy
grabbed a sponge and started scrubbing away oatmeal fiercely. "That
is not what you said the first time." Stryfe took the bowl
away from her telekinetically and deposited it back in the sink, then
turned her around by the shoulders. "No,
it was a question. It's
hard to wash dishes without soap."
Peggy tried very, very hard not to tremble.
He was strong; she could feel it in the iron grip on her
shoulders. "And what
I said the first time was that I compared -Nathan- to Cyclops, not
you. If you'll recall, we
had just observed that Nathan was a masochist while you chose to learn
to cook well. But it
helps if you have -soap- to clean up afterwards."
"Persistent, aren't you? Stop trying to change the
subject." Peggy blinked hard and tried to focus on something that
didn't give her purple afterimages. "I'm Nathan's clone,
remember?" The loathing in that, oddly enough, didn't seem to
fall mostly on Nathan's name. "And?" Stryfe
stared at her as if she'd suddenly grown an extra head.
"What do you mean, 'and'?" "Nathan
can't cook to save his life. X-Force
banned him from the kitchen entirely.
And he doesn't like omelets.
He lives off coffee and I haven't seen you drink any yet.
While you’re both stubborn and entirely too touchy
sometimes, I'm not seeing a whole lot of similarities.
You don't have the same lives.
Just because I say something about Nathan doesn't mean I'm
saying it about you!" "So
you'll deny me any connection to the family as well, is that it?"
Peggy
stared at him in disbelief. "Will
you make up your mind?" she growled.
"Being part of a family doesn't mean being exactly like
everyone else in it! That
doesn't stop you from being family!
My God!" She
threw up her hands in disgust - or at least as much as she could with
his hands still gripping her shoulders so tightly.
She was going to have bruises, she knew it. "Sometimes
you're just related to who you're related to, and that's that.
Deal with it. You
think I like claiming any relationship with my father?"
Despite all her best efforts, tears sprung into her eyes.
"But I've still got his nose and his chin and his blood
in me for the rest of my life. We're
family, as much as I hate to admit it.
But sometimes you can choose your family too." Stryfe
hesitated, unexpectedly disconcerted by her reaction. "And I'm
sure you'd have left me out of your adoptive one, given the
option," he remarked. She continued her slightly damp glare at
him. "What did yours do to you?" She
shrugged, trying to look casual.
"Not much. Experimentation,
torture, maiming, too early of a curfew." "You're
being flippant." "You're
being nosy." "I
don't have to let you tell me." Peggy
paled and slammed up every last vestige of telepathic shielding she'd
learned since joining the X-Men.
"No," she said softly, not sure if it was a command,
statement, or plea. Stryfe
narrowed his eyes and very delicately tore the shielding down,
painlessly and indeed imperceptibly, until her mind was laid wide
open. Then he let her see what he'd done, and smirked. "You need
to work on that." Peggy
trembled and shut her eyes, never truly afraid until now.
She whispered something very softly.
It might have been "please".
She opened her eyes and looked into his eyes.
"He was an evil man.
I don't use that term lightly."
"So am I." "If
you were evil, you wouldn't have made me breakfast," she replied
steadily. "You're
not nice, but you're...not like him." "Your
logic obviously also needs work," Stryfe replied, rather bemused
by this point. He let go of her shoulders to cross his arms.
"Legacy." She
rubbed her shoulder, her gaze never leaving his.
"I never said you weren't insane.
Just not evil." "I
assure you, I was well aware of what I was doing." This wasn't
technically true of the point of release, as it had been on a psionic
dead-man's switch. It applied to his setting it up, though. "Then
why haven't you killed me? Or
hurt me at all?" Her
hand brushed unconsciously over her scarred cheek.
"And why have you restricted yourself to just making life
more difficult for the X-Men instead of actually trying to kill
them?" She threw his own words back in his face.
"You're a sick, sadistic person sometimes, but I still
don't think you're evil." "I
think your definitions need work," he retorted. "Give
me a break. I'm 17 and
haven't even finished high school yet.
My definitions make perfect sense to me, and you're not
evil." "Tell
that to Nathan. Or Colossus." "I'm
telling it to you." She
finally broke his gaze and turned back to the sink.
"Why does it matter to you if I think you're evil or not,
anyway?" "That's
a good question," he muttered. "And the detergent's in the
upper cabinet nearest your left." "Thank
you," she said stiffly, reaching up into the cabinet and pulling
down the soap. "Can you bring me your plate?" The
plate nudged her elbow lightly in passing, then settled into the sink
without so much as a clink. Peggy
scrubbed the dishes firmly, rinsing off the remaining food particles.
She worked in silence and Stryfe seemed content to let her,
though she could still feel him looming just over her shoulder.
"Thank you for breakfast," she said finally. "I
wasn't planning to starve you." She
shrugged, putting the frying pan upside-down on the sideboard.
"I appreciate that." "What
were you expecting?" "Sinister
didn't feed me. My--the
Friends of Humanity barely did. I
didn't have a lot else for comparison." "Sinister
is an idiot," Stryfe declared, casually dismissing what was
usually acknowledged as a brilliant if generally amoral and frequently
sadistic scientific intellect. "Your what?" "My
what?" "You
said 'my,' then switched to the Friends of Humanity. Your what?" "Oh.
I didn't realize I..."
She shrugged, rinsing the forks off and turning off the water.
"My biological father worked for the Friends of
Humanity." "Ah.
Hence the experimentation, torture, maiming, and early curfew?" "You're
quick," she said acerbicly, brushing past him and sitting back
down at the table. "Now
what?" "Cheer
up. Your adoptive one isn't likely to try to possess you." Peggy
blinked. "Huh?" "Well,
I may not be fond of him, but I can't see Cyclops going that
route...." Peggy
jumped to her feet and slammed her hand against the table, her
expression absolutely furious. "Of
course he wouldn't! He
would never hurt me! Don't
even--" Stryfe
blinked at her. "I just said he wouldn't. What are we
arguing about?" "Well--nothing,
then." Peggy coughed
uncomfortably and sat back down. "How
did you meet him, anyway?" "He
was a prisoner." "You're
not feeling forthcoming today, are you?" "Most
big brothers looking for a little family chat don't resort to
kidnapping," she retorted. "Would
you have talked to me otherwise?" he inquired, perfectly
reasonably. "Depends
on how you asked." She
sighed and blew a strand out of her hair in exasperation.
"He was a prisoner at an FOH compound.
I lived there. Happy?" "Not
especially." Peggy
closed her eyes and pursed her lips.
"My biological father was a researcher.
He was experimenting on mutants.
Scott was one of his subjects.
I helped him escape. End
of story." "Obviously
not." "Look,
can we just get on with it? Whatever
you have planned? I don't
really feel like discussing this with you."
"It can
hardly be the end if he adopted you afterwards, can it?" "You're
right. I helped him to
escape. He adopted me.
End of story." “Based
purely on comparative obstinacy, I admit I'd never have guessed you
weren't a genetic relative."
Peggy's mouth twitched up at one corner.
"I guess there's a reason he adopted me after all." Stryfe
snorted. "There has to be more to it than that." He turned
and left the kitchen. Peggy thought she remembered something like a
living room in that direction. After
waiting a few moments out of sheer obstinacy, she stood and followed.
Stryfe was sitting in a very comfortable-looking chair,
watching her with an unreadable expression.
She sat down calmly across from him. The
chair she'd picked, somewhat to her surprise, was exactly as
comfortable as Stryfe's looked. She snuggled into it. Stryfe finally
raised an eyebrow at her. She
mimicked his expression exactly and crossed her arms.
There was a very faint twitch to Stryfe's mouth, and his eye
flared slightly as he proceeded to fold his own arms as well. After a
few more moments of standoff, he turned to look at the bookcase and
tugged a volume to his hand, apparently ignoring her. Peggy
leaned back in the very comfortable chair and closed her eyes.
Just to be perverse, she started singing bad French songs Remy
had taught her very loudly in her head.
Stryfe did look at her. Then he raised shields and went back to
his book. A short time later, he peeked at her mind again. She was
still at it, of course. She couldn't tell when he wasn't listening. He
considered the situation briefly and then countered with one of
Wildside's previously mentioned odes to pizza toppings. The one that
compared feta cheese in consecutive lines to starlight in autumn, and
the inside of a slug as enjoyed by a turtle.
Only by virtue of long practice schooling her expression did
Peggy manage to keep a straight face when Stryfe's mental voice
entered her head with the ode to pizza.
She thought he'd've just put up shields by now.
She started humming "This is the song that never
ends" very softly. Stryfe
determined that the situation was quite ridiculous enough as it was,
and making it more so would be superfluous but not especially
detrimental. He joined in. Peggy
fought to keep her expression bland.
She opened her eyes to look at Stryfe, but he was apparently
absorbed in his book. She
smirked inwardly, and began to sing, "I love you, you love
me..." Stryfe
looked up at her and said gravely, "You do realize you're
delusional, child." She
smiled at him in perfect innocence.
"And your point is..? Stryfe
tapped one shoulder where the spikes would usually be. "Not
wearing any right now." He then went back to his book, wondering
why in the world he was in a better mood than he had been in weeks.
Especially considering that any song bringing up associations of
happy, loving families or small children usually made him grumpy,
whether they'd evoked the level of popular disdain that particular one
somehow did or not.
Peggy stared at him for a second, then started laughing.
It started out as a muffled choke, then grew to a polite
giggle, but soon was bursting out in a roaring, full-bellied laugh.
Stryfe looked up at her again, rather mystified. Of course,
this only exacerbated matters. Peggy
laughed until she could barely breathe.
Every time she started to get control of herself again, she
would make the mistake of looking up at Stryfe's puzzled face and
would lose it again. Eventually
it mostly faded to silent shaking, and she finally managed to stop.
Carefully not looking at him again, Peggy leaned back
against her comfortable chair again.
She stared intently at her hand, as if her fingernails held the
key to the secrets of the universe. Stryfe
was pretending to read again -- well, he was reading; he was
pretending to ignore Peggy again. In fact, he was carefully monitoring
her progress. At a carefully calculated moment, just when he thought
might be the most propitious one, shortly after she had settled down
and was endeavoring to remain calm, he looked back over at her and
said mildly, "It wasn't that funny." Peggy
struggled desperately not to laugh, but it was too late.
She laughed until there were tears in her eyes.
Finally she leaned over the chair and attempted to glare at the
mutant across from her. The
effect was spoiled by the occasional chuckle that managed to get
through her control. "Oh
yes it was." Stryfe
looked pleased with himself. "Was that a horselaugh?"
"Was that a joke?" Peggy asked in amazement,
still giggling. "Oh,
come on! Even an Evil
Megalomaniac has to think that was funny." "I
thought you said I was insane, not evil. Although why the two would be
mutually exclusive is beyond me...." He caught himself halfway to
grinning at her and managed a slightly off-kilter smirk instead.
"What, am I not supposed to have a sense of humor?" "Only
when you're torturing people," Peggy informed him solemnly.
"And since my thinking you were evil seemed so important
to you, I thought I'd play along." "Well,
if I do let you go I'll have to pin a note to you suggesting Cyclops
do something about this evaluating people based on whether or not they
feed you...." "It's
a perfectly rational system," Peggy protested, a bit miffed.
"The people who've kidnapped me never feed me.
The X-Men let me eat as much as I wanted when I first came.
Anyone can release a virus or attack the mansion or kidnap
people. Only the real
sickos will starve you while they do it."
Stryfe put a hand to his forehead. "I am so glad I
am not responsible for you."
"Well..." Peggy's
voice trailed off.
"Well what?" Stryfe asked impatiently.
“I was just thinking...this is your place and you did
bring me here. You could
say you're responsible for me now."
Stryef waved a hand dismissively. "Not in any obligatory
sense. Nor for your education, or ability to survive attacks from
anyone else in the event that I let you out of my sight." "Oh,
so you'll protect me from attacks as long as I'm still in your
sight? How gallant." "If
I feel like it." "I'm
honored." “You
should be. At this point I probably would." Peggy
blinked, actually surprised by that.
If he was trying to throw her off-balance, it was working.
"Want to make sure someone else doesn't get the credit
when Dad and Nathan find me?" "They
won't." "They
will," she asserted calmly. "See,
I told you you were delusional...." "Isn't
there a saying about how crazy people shouldn't question other
people's sanity?" she replied, gritting her teeth. "Probably,"
he agreed amiably.
Peggy rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath. "Seriously,
though, I think I would." He sounded a little surprised by this.
"Which is rather odd." Peggy
looked at him curiously. He
actually seemed serious. "Yes,
it is," she agreed slowly, "but I'm glad you would."
It was, Stryfe reflected, even stranger that he'd actually
decided to tell her this. Possibly it was a result of not having
either the MLF or Zero around to talk to -- not that he'd tell the MLF
anything too interesting or that Zero was much of a conversationalist,
but apparently he was in the habit of saying things to someone....
He'd have to go back to keeping a journal; that was dangerous.
"Oh, good. You do have a sense of self-preservation." She
raised an eyebrow. "That's
a stupid thing to say. Of
course I do." Her
mouth quirked up a bit and she added, "It might not always work
very well, but it's there." "Ah,
of course. You should try to have it tuned; those things are
useful." "I'm
training," she protested defensively. "Ah." "I
didn't exactly plan on being a superhero growing up, you know.
I have a perfectly adequate sense of self-preservation for
anyone who isn't a Summers." "But
that's nowhere near good enough once you are," he pointed
out. "Although, if any young idiot shows up with a golden bridle,
I promise to incinerate him for you."
"You're trying to make me laugh again, aren't you?"
Peggy accused, grinning. "I
didn't picture you as a mythology buff." "I
try to be at least somewhat culturally literate. Although reading
Greek myths was primarily an act of useless rebellion." Peggy
tucked her tongue firmly in cheek.
"Rebellion? You?" "Apocalypse
never liked the language...." Peggy
nodded, remembering how she'd taken up art one summer just because her
father derided painters so often.
It had been all the rebellion she could handle at the time.
"I know the feeling," she said quietly. Stryfe
was about to make a scathing retort when he caught a glimpse of the
memory and realized there was a parallel. "Do you."
The mask drew back into place over Peggy's face, smoothing out
all expression. She was
quiet for a long moment, then shifted in the chair and hugged her
knees to her chest. Her
expression was startlingly open for a brief moment.
"No one can know exactly how someone else feels, even if
they're a telepath. But...sometimes
there are similarities." "I
suppose so." Stryfe looked away from her for a moment. "You
know, I finally realized why he never bothered to teach me to behave,
or let Ch'vayre do it. Even if it might have been less of a nuisance.
It wasn't simply that he didn't care. He didn't want there to be
anyone who'd be bothered once he took over."
"You mean when he took over...you?
He didn't want you to have anyone close enough to you that
they'd try to stop the transfer?" "Or
object afterwards, I suppose. Although I'm not sure what they could
have done at that point." "Seems
logical. I mean, logical
to someone who'd raise someone for the sole purpose of taking his body
over later." "I
suppose." "Well,
at least you got some good Greek lessons out of it."
She smiled slightly and admitted, "I never was a very good
painter." "You
could try switching styles, I suppose." "No,
I'm really bad. My stick
figures don't even look like stick figures."
She sighed theatrically. "I
haven't painted since I came to the mansion, actually.
Without someone to annoy, it didn't seem to matter." "What
do your stick figures look like?" "Like...bad
play-doh sculptures." Stryfe
considered this. "I'm not quite sure how you would manage
that." "I've
never been quite sure myself." “Well,
that's no help." He shrugged and settled back in the chair.
"What do you do as hobbies that aren't prompted by annoying
people?" "Cook,"
she replied with a grin. "I'll
have to assume you're good at it, then. Either that, or you don't
share...." "Yes
to both. I'm very good,
but I rarely share." "Neither
do I. Feel special." She
grinned again. "You
share your cooking with me, you offer to incinerate mythological
figures for me...I'm going to start thinking you like me." "I
don't like anyone." "That's
too bad." "Why?" "It
just sounds lonely, that's all." "So?"
He tensed. "It's
a little like eating bad cooking.
Why be lonely when you don't have to be?" "Who
says I don't?" Peggy
shrugged. “Well, if you
insist.” She blew a bit
of hair out of her face again and looked around the room. “So
are we going to just sit here and snipe at each other all day?” “Did
you have something else in mind?” Her
eyes lit on a chessboard on the far side of the room.
“As a matter of fact…” ***** “Check,”
Peggy said triumphantly, moving her bishop into position and grinning
at her partner. Stryfe
moved his knight to block absently, studying the girl across from him
meditatively. She’d
been his “guest” for three days now.
For three days, he’d had Cyclops’ daughter and Cable’s
beloved little sister at his mercy.
And what had he done? They’d
played chess. Oh, not all
the time. They’d both
sat and read together, the silence oddly comforting.
They’d had lively conversations, so long as neither of them
mentioned their mutual family members.
And they’d eaten. The
girl was rather insistent on regular feedings, so he’d simply given
in and cooked for them three times a day.
Yesterday he’d even allowed her to make their evening
meal. He’d kept a
careful eye out to make sure she didn’t try to cause mayhem in the
kitchen, but she hadn’t attempted anything but some sort of pasta
concoction that was really quite good. Was
he losing his edge? By
all rights, this girl should be, at the least, a heap of gibbering
terror on the floor right now, not calmly facing him across the chess
board. Why did he feel so
reluctant to reduce her to that state? “Checkmate.”
He looked up in surprise to see Peggy smiling smugly at him,
then looked down to analyze the board.
True, he hadn’t been paying much attention to the game, but
he still should be winning. Yet
she’d managed to manuever him so his king was alone and unprotected,
unable to make any move without falling prey to one of her pieces. Stryfe
stared across the table for a moment, then reached out and turned his
king on its side. “I
concede.” *****
“Robert, if you ever again attempt such a foolish action, I
shall not be responsible for Rogue’s actions,” Storm warned her
teammate sternly as Scott walked into the kitchen for a drink after
his latest session in the Danger Room.
“What did you do now, Bobby?” he asked curiously.
“Nothing!” Bobby protested innnocently.
“Rogue’s just…too sensitive sometimes.
She can’t take a joke.”
Scott took a long drink of water, then suggested, “If you
have so much free time on your hands, Iceman, I could always schedule
you for a few extra sessions in the Danger Room.
I think tomorrow morning’s free.
At 6.”
“All right, all right!” Bobby exclaimed, throwing up his
hands in defeat. “I’ll
apologize to Rogue, okay?”
“In trouble again, Iceman?”
They looked up to see Cable standing in the doorway, his
uniform ripped and burned on one leg, his face scratched, sooty, and
very tired. “I hope you
don’t mind; I wanted to catch something to eat and some sleep, and
you’re closer than X-Force.”
“By the Goddess! You
look terrible, Nathan,” Storm exclaimed.
Scott turned very pale and demanded, “What happened?
Is Peggy all right?”
Nathan looked confused. “What
are you talking about?”
“Peggy. Your
sister,” Scott said slowly, starting to turn red now.
“You’re supposed to be looking after her, remember?!”
“I’ve been in Mongolia,” Nathan said tiredly.
“Something came up. That’s
why I brought Peggy back early. That
would’ve been…Wednesday night.”
“You didn’t come back on Wednesday,” Scott said in a low,
dangerous voice.
“It was late and Peggy didn’t want to wake anyone up, so
we…snuck around the security system.
It was…a challenge,” he finished lamely, wanting to say
“It was fun.”
But Peggy wasn’t here Thursday morning.”
Scott and Nathan stared at each other, horror slowly dawning on
both their faces. “Then
if she’s not with you…” Nathan said slowly.
“…And she’s not with you…” Scott continued.
“…Where is she?” they finished together. *****
The mansion had swung into full alert mode several hours later.
Nathan recounted every last detail of his time with Peggy,
searching for any clues, while Jean swept the area with Cerebro for
the hundredth time. Scott’s
expression was tightly controlled as he searched the computer for
information on villains with possible grudges against him, Peggy,
Nathan, or the X-Men in general.
Unfortunately, it was a very long list.
“Whoa!” Warren exclaimed suddenly, looking at the monitor
more closely. “Scott,
something just popped up on the scanners.
Massive energy burst just outside the grounds.”
Jean’s head shot up as well, green eyes wide under the silver
Cerebro helmet. “Scott!
It’s her!”
Everyone rushed outside, to find Peggy casually strolling up
the main driveway. “Are—are
you all right?” Scott demanded frantically.
“Hi, Dad,” Peggy said with a bright smile and a wave.
“Hi, Nathan. How
did your mission go?”
“Where have you been?” Nathan growled.
Peggy opened her mouth, then hesitated and finally laughed.
“I’m not sure if you’d believe me.”
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a neatly-folded
piece of paper. “This
is for you,” She said, holding it out to Scott.
“What on..?” Scott muttered as he opened the note.
Cyclops,
If you insist on taking responsibility for this girl, at least
teach her not to judge a person’s character based on whether or not
they feed her. It could
get her into trouble. I
may not be in such a good mood next time.
Stryfe Scott stared at the note for a long moment, then looked back up at Peggy, dumbfolded. “He fed you?” was all he could think of to say.
Peggy nodded, repressing a grin.
“He’s a surprisingly good cook.”
Scott stared at her.
“Who is?” Nathan demanded.
“What happened?”
Scott handed him the note wordlessly.
Nathan scanned it quickly, then his eyes bugged out and he read
it again. “He let you go?!”
Peggy did smile now. “He
thought it would annoy you.” She
looked at Scott and added, “And confuse you.”
“Let me get this straight,” Scott said slowly.
“Stryfe had you prisoner and let you go because
he thought it would confuse me?”
Nathan rubbed his chin, an odd half-smile on his face.
“Actually, knowing Strfye, it actually makes an odd sort of
sense.”
“I think I confused him, actually,” Peggy said, still
smiling. “He always had
the oddest expression whenever I was talking to him.
Nathan grinned ruefully. “I
know how he feels.”
Peggy eyed him and said something in an oddly lilting language.
Nathan whipped his head around and stared at her wide-eyed.
“Where the flonq did you learn that?!” he
shouted, turning red.
Peggy smiled innocently at him and walked calmly up to the
house. She’d almost
made it when she started to laugh. The End
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