A Change Is Gonna Come

[swiftargyros]

Characters: Hank McCoy, Wanda Frank, Pietro Maximoff
Date & Time: September 30th, mid-morning
Setting: NYC
Summary: Those first steps are always a doozy.
Rating: PG-13 but subject to change
Status: Semi-Closed

Comments

[chaosmagus]

Wanda huffed a tired laugh. She had hoped neither of them would notice, at least not until they got to this Mansion of Henry’s. The capital M was practically audible in his voice; what was this place? Where was he taking them? It didn’t really matter; it was a little late to change their minds, and they did need medical attention. Pietro did, at least. He hit solid metal at a high rate of speed. She was just a little battered. A bit of gauze and she’d be right as rain.

“I’m fine. I’ve had worse.” She wasn’t entirely certain if that was the truth at the moment, between the reaction setting in and the injuries themselves, but it would do to hopefully deflect attention until they were at their destination. “And I’m not the one that hit a robot with his face,” she added, as a little of the worry she’d felt crept into her voice.

Somehow the fact that there was a first aid kit in the car didn’t surprise her. She didn’t concern herself with trying to find it, though. She would be fine until they got where they were going. Curling up more into the passenger seat, Wanda tilted her head and gazed out the window, watching the scenery pass by at increasing speeds as Henry merged onto the motorway.

[swiftargyros]

Bending down made the world spin but there was no other way to rescue the slim metal case emblazoned with a large red cross, jammed snugly beneath the passenger seat. Pietro mumbled a creative string of expletives in a muddled, regional bastardization of his native language as the drumming behind his eyelids went into double tempo. His father would have belly laughed at the sheer ingenuity of the cursing and probably stored it away for his own use later. They were a generous family in that respect, sharing the triumphs of one another.

His long fingers moved with slow deliberation as he unclasped the hinge holding the lid down and lifted it, revealing a neat assortment of basic medical gear. Pietro squinted at the various sundries, prodding at square edges of sterile packs and soft bundles of gauze before he found what he was looking for. He tugged the little antiseptic wipe in it's plastic packet out and leaned forward, tapping Wanda on the shoulder with it.

"Ovde. Biti ljut na mene, a ne glavom," Pietro said, letting the wipe drop onto the girl's lap. Before she could protest he tossed over a sheet of gauze and some tape and then, duty fulfilled, he leaned back and covered his eyes with his hand. Leaning against the door the Serbian could still keep track of the various turns they were making but at least this way he didn't have to contend with the glaring daylight.

[donotmockme]

Hank did not say anything else for the rest of the trip, though he did start to catalog the known features of the newest recruits. There was no doubt that the boy was Serbian, he spoke with too perfect of an accent, and the girl? She may have been, but she didn't carry herself in the same manner as the boy.

They cared about each other's welfare, but not in the manner of lovers- family perhaps? He would have to run some tests, there was no question about that.

Many, many tests.

[chaosmagus]

Wanda glanced back in surprise as something poked her in the shoulder. It was Pietro with an antiseptic wipe. She almost smiled as he dropped it into her lap and followed it with gauze and tape. Rolling her eyes in amusement she gathered the items in her lap. “Нисам љут на тебе, идиоте.,” she told him quietly. “Могли бисте да су постали сами убили, то је све.”

Her fingers were slick against the plastic packet of antiseptic wipes, and it took several long, fumbling moments before she was able to tear it open. Successful at last, she pressed it to the cut disappearing back into her hairline, hissing at the sting.

Henry was rather quiet, and she appreciated it. It gave her a moment to gather herself, and start cataloguing her injuries as well as paying attention to where they were going. She could help but wonder if this was going to end up being a bad idea. It’s just temporary, she reminded herself tiredly.

[swiftargyros]

The upholstery of the Lincoln was cool against the bare patches of Pietro's skin - his palms, the pale stripe of an ankle where his trouser leg had hitched up, the pulse point on his wrist when he let his arm dangle down into the footwell. It was a comforting anchor to the passing scenery, a point of focus that Pietro held onto through the fuzzy maw of his headache. There was a vicious ache in the right side of his face. When he brushed the back of his knuckles against the skin, it felt soft and infused with water, swollen indelicately. It probably looked a picture, too.

"This is a nice automobile," Pietro mumbled, mostly for the sake of keeping his conscience tethered in the moment. He couldn't see the speedometer from here but he estimated that they'd been driving for nearly an hour and at a pace which was frustratingly slow by his standards (which meant they'd most likely been following the posted limit.) There was traffic to consider, of course, but Pietro could hazard that they'd gone perhaps seventy or so kilometers. Had he been up to it, the same journey would have taken him a quarter of the time, running at an easy pace.

Any difficulty that the Serbian was having at keeping his muddled mind straight, however, was soon solved. Within a half hour they Lincoln was cresting onto a road that, while paved, was notably more rural than the highway had been. The lightly forested scenery gave way to rolling fields and then they turned up an asphalt lane that Pietro had assumed was another road but actually turned out to be a drive. It wasn't until they were through a massive, ornate iron gate (it reminded him of the government buildings back in Belgrade and his stomach pinched uncomfortably) and a few miles along that the first glimpse of their destination was caught.

Pietro gaped. This was what a mansion was? Why, it was nothing less than a bloody palata! Certainly not one that would be found in the capital but the stately sprawl of architecture wouldn't have been out of place amongst the fine, provincial estates of the House of Karađorđević.

"Maw!" Pietro clucked, staring in incredulous amusement. "Kakokurac je ovo mesto ostao neprimetan?"