Preach all y'want, who's gonna save me? [BK 1a]

[Pyro]

In his charge

That was what Magneto had said. Bobby was in his charge now. Whatever that meant.

Okay, he knows exactly what that means, no use pretending, however much the pretence helps. The buck clearly and inarguably stops here. Which, he tells himself, works incredibly well if he’s going to pull this whole crazy thing off. Though that doesn’t help as much as it should, because as *big if*’s go that one is colossal. What it means now, and what’s going to stick, is this; he’s going to betray Bobby. The one person he actually gives a damn about outside of his own fucked up little concerns (okay, maybe that’s a touch of the romantic rubbing off… but whatever. That’s how it feels, and feeling’s what’s important here because once you bring sense into the question it all goes horribly pear-shaped). He’s going to desecrate that one pure thing (of course, it’s not really pure, but that doesn’t matter. It’s not the sign but the faith which gets you through, and even a sordid miracle is still enough of a sign for this sort of world, and more than a miracle in the religion of backalleys, backhanders and backstabbing), going to drag him back here and hand him over to Magneto and…

… and that doesn’t bear thinking about. So he’s not going to. He’s just going to…

John told himself he’d make it to his room before the mask broke. And until these few steps he knew he’d do it, because he’s good at these things. Very good. No one’s ever allowed to see him break, and no one gets to play with the pieces after, and no one gets to put him back together…

… except Bobby...

… and thinking about that makes everything shatter… only not enough for him, it seems, because he has to push things, first fist, then head, slamming down into the plaster first from simple (or as near to simple as this can get) frustration, then again and again from something he – despite everything else, still not having aged much since arriving at Xavier’s despite getting so much older - isn’t really yet adult enough to understand or cope with in any way other than this self-destructive bewilderment.

”Fuck!”

[Warren Worthington III]

Wanda returned to her father’s base shortly after her tour of the Institute, a few days after that strange “Holloween” event, and has been attempting to establish her proper next steps ever since. She has accumulated a great deal of data, but the overall pattern still escapes her.

She’s not sure why she returned here, really, but it seemed like the thing to do. If nothing else, it alleviates her father’s anxieties about her “loyalty”. Loyalty and control, these are the keys to her father’s psyche… he surrounds himself with those he can trust, and he trusts those who act as he wishes them to act. And he clearly prefers to “keep” his wayward daughter where he can remain aware of her movements.

All of which is, at the moment, fine with Wanda. Until she knows what path to walk, any place is as good as any other. Which is why she has been conducting a Ritual of Guidance in the room Magnus provided for her, to seek the will of the Powers in guiding her next steps.

When her attention is pulled from her Ritual by the slamming sounds from the hallway, she is at first irritated by the distraction. A moment later she realizes it isn’t a distraction at all, but precisely the sign she asked for, and she smiles. Very well, then. Let us see the future.

As she opens the door into the hallway, she hears John’s voice: "Fuck!". She simply cannot resist the urge to adopt the same facade she used on their very first encounter. She clears her throat to get his attention and adds, quietly, "Knocking on the door itself would be more traditional… though, I expect, less satisfying." She drops the façade upon seeing his face, however, instead placing her gloved hands on his shoulders and looking carefully through the windows of his soul.

Ah, she thinks, recognizing the pattern she sees. That explains a great deal. Not least of which, why he left so quickly during their last questioning session.

"I take it this has something to do with Robert, your young lover from the Institute?" She smiles invitingly, maternally, letting the trappings of sex fall away, leaving behind the open manner of the Red Priestess of the Sintisa as she steps out of the doorway, giving John room to enter. I’ve heard it all, her bearing seems to say, and will pass no judgment you do not wish passed. "If you wish to speak of it, I will listen, and no other will know of what passes between us."

[Pyro]

John freezes at what sounds like breath, hoping it’s just one of those sounds old houses make.

It’s not, though, and that realization deflates him.

The voice confirms that fate has a fucked up sense of humor, sending her, now. What, is he meant to confess to her? Yeah, that’s going to happen… even if she is the closest to a friend he has (and no, he’s not going to think of her in anything like those terms, because it’s a business arrangement for all its twisted pleasure, another riff on always the orange, never the robot) then that’s just… wrong. Sure, she might be on her way to winning every other little piece of him, but this one is his, thanks. No way he’s letting her in on…

< I take it this has something to do with Robert, your young lover from the Institute?[/color]
Oh, of course. He’d almost forgotten what sort of day this was turning out to be. Naturally she knows. He’d not yet figured out her powers, after all, so maybe she was psychic or something… though if so, she didn’t turn and tell Magneto, did she? He’s not going to read anything into that.

”This? No. I always beat myself up after talking to your dad…” he starts before trailing off, heart so clearly not in any attempt to deflect the question. Because it is about Bobby. It’s all about Bobby. And the fact that someone else understands that means a hell of a lot more than he can ever hope to articulate.

There’s always been something in Wanda which shouts leader, but it’s a different sort of leader from daddy dearest. More… oh hell, he doesn’t like where this thought leads, because thinking her like that after everything is gloriously twisted, but she’s more like a mother… except when she’s not. A maternal whore? Yeah, that kinda works. Sort of like a priestess in a bad occult thriller. Course he’s not going to draw any of these comparisons until much, much, later, because right now his head is filled with everything that’s happened, and what matters is that she puts her hands on his shoulders and in that moment is real and makes sense. Having a demeanor which says you can talk to me and eyes which say I’m listening, well, it’s a nice bonus, and makes confidences easier, but the fact that she’s not forcing anything, that he thinks he sort of understands how things work with her, and that talking suddenly seems a good idea (and he doesn’t know why that should be so, except that around Wanda it always feels right - in a way he can never recall, predict, or understand – that he should be of assistance and play nice) is the real deciding factor.

He doesn’t say anything then, just wordlessly accepts her offer with something which looks and feels oddly like defeat. Nor does he break down and spill everything. He just… walks in. And stands there. And looks down at his feet, and shifts awkwardly, and seems to wait for another cue.

[Wanda Maximoff]

> " No. I always beat myself up after talking to your dad… "

Wanda thinks carefully as she re-enters her suite. Her original intention to bind John to her with sex appears to have been derailed by (she smiles ironically) a higher power, but from the half-hearted tone of his denial she suspects he is eager to approach her as Mother-Confessor, which may accomplish her goals just as readily. And, she must admit, she is growing fond of the boy.

"Yes, I’ve noticed he does have a way of inspiring violence. I believe his intention is for you to channel it against targets other than your own body and defenseless architecture, however."

She gestures to the divan near the radiator, hands him an old quilted blanket she’d found in a closet when she’d established a space here and had had cleaned, smiles welcomingly. "Please, rest, make yourself comfortable… as comfortable as possible, in any case. " She refills the teacup she’s been drinking from – real tea, strong and bracing and mellow, not the insipid American overdeveloped variety – and places it in his hands before curling herself back up in her armchair.

"May I ask what about this particular conversation led to such a dramatic outburst? Or…" she lets her voice drop into a melodramatic whisper, conveying a superficial respect for the fact that some things in this house are not to be discussed, and at the same time a thinly veiled ironic tinge, subtly suggesting that her father’s concern with such things is fundamentally silly, "…is that a secret?"

[Pyro]

And this has to qualify as a whole new glorious sort of surreal, which would normally have entertained him, and still manages to raise a slight smile despite it all. Partly at how he’s adapting to the *stunned survivor* role, all quiet and unusually shaky as she offers him the quilt and the tea, weirdly placid and acquiescent as she guides him to the backless sofa thing they’ve never used as a seat before. Mostly, though, at her transformation, because she’s being so… nice. And not the usual power-games nice. This is real, and warm, and though totally alien also more like home than he’d have thought possible (albeit no home he’s ever actually known…). Somehow it makes perfect sense to spill his soul to her now, because this sort of thing puts her in the same sphere as people like Toni, and Josh (not quite Bobby, of course, because nothing comes close…), and though John is sure she has some twisted game in play which means the tenderness and concern is not the genuine most would term thus it’s still somehow deeply sincere and just… wow. He revises his *motherly* estimation, given her tone, to something nearer an older sister (which is somehow easier to deal with), though obviously an older sister with some sort of freakish power which makes her immense and matriarchal as well as intimate and accessible.

He folds his knees up, sitting cross-egged on the divan. His hands are wrapped around the teacup though he’s not yet drinking it – the pool of warmth feels nice, somehow, and staring down into the murky brownish depths is easier than making eye contact.

”You know that one perfect thing everyone’s always looking for? I think… I think I found it. Found something where it doesn’t feel stupid to think about it like that at least. And now” – he pauses, draws breath, tries again – ”And now your dad wants…”. The second attempt is not much more successful, a shudder robbing him of speech as he’s absolutely not going to cry around her and paralysis seems the only way of accomplishing that.

[Wanda Maximoff]

> " You know that one perfect thing everyone’s always looking for? I think… I think I found it. Found something where it doesn’t feel stupid to think about it like that at least. And now [..] and now your dad wants… "

Wanda wants to laugh at this adolescent self-absorption – “one perfect thing,” indeed! – but she doesn’t, doesn’t even allow the suggestion to appear on her lips. This role requires sympathy and attentiveness. She wonders for a moment whether, given her earlier role, it also requires the pretense of jealousy, or at least disappointment, but discards the idea promptly… she’d never pretended to be emotionally involved in the first place, so there’s no need to continue any such semblance. Good… that simplifies this.

Also good, in that judging from the intensity of this boy’s reaction to what she can only assume is his new lover, she never really had a chance to own his soul that way. Not that she has any complaints… it was a useful source of both information and entertainment, while it lasted. But now it’s time for a different strategy.

She waits a few moments to see if he’s going to finish the sentence, then adds " …wants you to destroy it, of course, or place it under his control. The very existence of something you consider valuable that he does not control is a problem for Magnus, that much is clear. So… he intends to kill your lover, then?" She frowns, knowing somehow that that isn’t quite right. " Or… what?"

[Pyro]

John blanches at the mention of killing, though it’s a momentary lapse at most before the color of everything else that’s going on returns. Wanda’s got it, of course, the way she always gets things. For all Magneto claims this is about the camps, it’s not, is it? If it was it could be anyone other than him, and any target other than Bobby. This is personal like a blade between the ribs.

”No. It’s worse than that. If he just wanted to kill Bobby I could… do something. Keep him safe. Somehow” and somehow he knows that’s not true, that nothing would stop Magneto, but he also knows that it wouldn’t stop him trying… or at least he hopes it wouldn’t. Up until that last conversation with the Boss he could have been sure. Now, thinking about it, Magneto would probably want him to do the deed, and he… John shudders. Better not to go down that road.

”He wants” – he takes a draught of the tea, and it’s good, very good, and makes him wish these were still the mythical good old days when a cup of tea solved everything. Running one thumb around the lip of the cup, biting his lip, he sets the cup down on the floor near the divan before continuing – ”Wants me to hand Bobby over to him as *leverage* in some mission.”

Said like that it sounds so simple, so relatively innocent, and he can’t help the dark twisted laugh which rises. Such a small thing, really, to be stealing his sanity like this. The laugh twists, and he swallows it down before it can turn into the tears which want to rise.

[Wanda Maximoff]

> " If he just wanted to kill Bobby I could… do something. Keep him safe. Somehow. He wants me to hand Bobby over to him as *leverage* in some mission. "

Wanda mulls that over for several silent moments. She must move carefully here, ensure her feet are on the correct path before she steps.

Apparently Magnus intends something that the Institute would seek to stop – presumably something involving the death of innocents? – and wishes a hostage to prevent them from doing so. Naturally, the Institute will attempt a rescue – the nurturing Earth-mother Wanda went “shopping” with would do no less.

Which gives Wanda an opportunity to establish herself as an ally of the Institute without offending her father’s sensibilities… let the boy be taken, then covertly assist in his rescue. Yes… that has potential.

And what of John? Were it anyone else, she would point out the contradiction in his willingness to defy her father in one case but not the other. But she has learned to anticipate John’s contradictory logic in the course of their questioning sessions; she knows he’s simply afraid of defying Magnus in anything but the hypothetical mode, and his twisted logic is merely an attempt to rationalize that fear.

But clearly he wishes to rebel in this. Which makes this Wanda’s opportunity to drive a rift between John and Magnus… all she has to do is support his desire and suppress his fear long enough for him to do something unrecoverable from.

Ought she? After a moment, she decides not to. First, it would deprive her of the opportunity to forge a link to the Institute. Second, it would be too obvious, too public a rift – at the end she would have John’s loyalty, yes, but he would no longer be a lever on her father. Whereas if she allows him to act against his lover, knowing he commits a sin in so doing but rationalizing his way around it, the rift remains private… and she still has John’s loyalty.

Yes… that is the proper path.

"I see," she responds noncommittally. "And will you?"

[Pyro]

“I can’t not”

The answer is out almost too quickly, too forcefully. Far too certain, which means of course that he himself is far from firm and trying to convince himself of the *facts*. Because there’s no reason not to be sure, is there? He’s just spent the last however long working from the assumption that this is the only way… and it is the only way. It is. It has to be. Because if that logic collapses then what he’s doing loses all justification and becomes just…

No. Don’t think about that. This is the only way. Anything else is madness. (not that this is sane, he knows that well enough. It’s just a sort of insane which won’t end with… whatever. It’s an insane he can live with)

Unless… Wanda might have a way out. Maybe. The fact that she feels the need to ask means that she at least sees some vague alternative. And if she can spot some flaw and talk him round, then he’ll have an excuse to back away. If not… restating the litany his is a good idea can’t hurt, giving the words voice making them more real and harder to escape in the event that no convenient route out is provided.

”If I don’t… he’ll kill me. Fuck, he’ll kill Bobby, because he can’t let anything I won’t burn stay standing.” He pauses at that again, stumbles around for the next few words, as if the enormity of the mere idea robs him of breath, of coherent thought… ”And if he’s here… Magne.. erm, Magnus has to keep him alive, right? He can’t make a bargain based on that and then kill him. It’s the only way, right?” There’s an almost childish plea hidden in the words, although not even he is clear exactly what he’s pleading for, or who he’s pleading with, whether he’s looking for a reason to stay his hand or something to force it.

[Wanda Maximoff]

The plea in the boy’s voice is obvious, and familiar to Wanda – as with many who seek to confess, he wishes either absolution or chastisement, for someone else to take on the moral burden of decision. As he always has, she knows, except until now he has allowed her father to play that role. Now he seeks alternatives… and apparently the cause is this young lover of his.

She’d spoken to him briefly at the “Halloween” event, before it had degenerated into chaos. He seemed earnest, and sincere, and to genuinely care for John, but she had not had any significant opportunity to sound the depths of his soul. Now, seeing the severity of the effect he has had on John’s psyche, she regrets that… he would be easier to predict if she understood the forces acting on him better.

Ah well. She knows enough for the moment, certainly – enough to know that, much as she would like to offer guidance, she cannot do so now. It is necessary not only that he do this, but that he suffer with the guilt of it, unable to project responsibility onto her, or onto Bobby. If she can arrange that, the guilt will build up until he projects it onto Magnus, creating the rift she needs between them.

"It appears you have made your decision, then." She is careful not to allow any hint of judgment, positive or negative, to express itself in her voice or mannerisms.

She would have preferred a different mechanism… she’s grown fond of this boy, he reminds her somewhat of one of her grandsons, and she knows full well the emotional torture she is consigning him to. She has done worse things in five decades of active life, and no doubt will do still worse before her soul is freed of its burdens. But her oath has been given… she must follow this path to its end.

On the other hand, there are some things she is free to do. "There is little I can say for sure, John," and she notes unsurprised that there is no longer ambiguity regarding which name to use, which face she speaks to, as there was when she first arrived, " …but I do not see your lover’s death emerging from this thing. And I will do what I can to prevent it, while he is my father’s prisoner. " That much she can say with sincerity – the boy’s death would not suit her purposes at all.

She leans back into her chair, with the air of someone changing the subject. " Will you tell me of him? I know that he is Ice, as you are Fire… and it is clear he has touched your heart in its secret places… but tell me, what manner of man is he, and what does he become for you?"

[Pyro]

< I do not see your lover’s death emerging from this thing. And I will do what I can to prevent it
If this were any of the myriad sorts of normal, he’d be able to hug her right now. Or maybe not, this being him, and she still being regal and untouchable and above such things. But he’d at least be able to mumble some sort of thank you, show his relief and utter, overwhelming gratitude. As it is, all he can do is bite his lip, and nod, and offer a brief quirk of a smile before it fades away, but it’s still a pretty eloquent thanks as these things go.

< Will you tell me of him?
John starts at her question – it seems madness, and an odd sort of torture, for him to wax lyrical like some infatuated schoolkid given the situation – but even so the spark just thinking about what he has (or, let’s be blunt, had, given the way things are going to play out... but he’s not going to think about that) with Bobby kindles is unmistakable, a weird lightening though everything is still obviously playing heavy on him, and a softening of the harshness lurking behind dark eyes as if he’s just about starting to concede that maybe it’s okay to hope, that it’s not going to kill him to want something better because maybe, just maybe, he’s almost found it. And it all takes on this whole new edge, of course, bittersweet and tragic, because it’s not going to work out that way, but damned if he’s going to let that show.

He’s wanted to talk about Bobby before, because this whole crazy thing is almost too big to keep in. It’s just that… the opportunity has never presented itself. It’s always been awkward, thinking about what manner of man he is, and what he becomes for John when no one else is looking. But whether the change is down to the monumental shifting which has let them be cosy and comfortable with each other like a *real* couple, or knowing that it doesn’t matter what he says because words sure as hell aren’t going to be the thing which breaks this, it’s… natural. Thinking about it, it’s neither of those, really. What matters is that Wanda’s question is… different. There’s been no shortage of people asking him about Bob, but those are always loaded questions; whether coming from his old friends’ (Are you coming back?) or his new family (Are you going to jump?) there’s always something bigger and wilder and scarier lurking behind the words. But with Wanda there’s none of that. Sure, he’s not naïve enough to think it springs from genuine interest in affairs of his heart, but whatever use she’s intending for this information there’s a welcome freedom – whatever he gives, it’ll be something she wants to hear.

And so… he talks. And it just… happens, really, without any real thought. Like a proper confessional, pouring out his soul, though of course he wouldn’t want salvation from this particular sweet sin even if Wanda could offer it.

”Bobby’s… a kid, I guess. A kid playing superhero. Thinking he can take on the world purely because he’s the good guy – and he really, really is, he’s just… so bloody good – and it’s weird, because somehow he makes you believe that yeah, he really can. ‘s’got it in his head that he wants to save me… can you believe that? It’s mad, and he doesn’t care. However messed up it gets, however much I used to kick back. Like he doesn’t care it’s impossible because he just wants to prove that he tried, and fuck, he actually cares enough to try, can you believe that? Cares that much. About me.” He pauses there, with a slow sad smile, as if he still can’t quite accept it himself. ”And I screw him over so much, and it has to hurt, because he’s soft like that” – there’s no malice in the word ‘soft’ (and neither was there in ‘good’ before), just an odd affection – ”And he won’t let go. And the crazy thing is that I’ve stopped wanting him to”

And no, none of that makes any sense, and it isn’t the whole story, or even the beginning of it. He’s just babbling. But it’s real.

”I guess… what it comes down to is… it’s so ridiculously simple. He’s everything I’m not. Everything I can’t make myself be. And when I’m with him… it’s somewhere I’ve never been, and this whole crazy thing makes sense. Because I’m not a weapon, or an enemy, or a problem, or whatever. I’m just… his. That’s all. And… I love him, Wanda.” – a short, bitter laugh, because it’s so stupid, and simple. Three little words – ”That’s all. I love him so fucking much, and it really, really hurts.”