Fanfiction: Speed of Silence, Sound of Silence (X-Men: Evolution)
Title: “Speed of Silence, Sound of Silence”
Status: One-Shot; Complete
Fandom: X-Men: Evolution
Characters: Pietro Maximoff (Quicksilver); Erik Lehnsherr (Magneto), Mystique, Gambit, Sabretooth
Disclaimer: I would love to own X-Men: Evolution, but sadly, I don’t.
Rating: PG 13
Beta: The great snare-chan! Thank you so much!
Summary: Quicksilver forgets about the golden rule when it comes to fighting, as he speeds around, wrecking havoc among the shouting guards. - He feels invincible... But he soon learns he isn’t and then someone has to step in...
Genre: Oyako (father and son) ”fluff” (as fluffy as those two can get, anyway)
Speed of Silence, Sound of Silence
Pietro spins around at top speed, knocking his attackers down with well placed jabs. It's easy. These soldiers guarding the lab are only human, after all.
He weaves in and out between them as a white, speed-lined blur with absolute ease. It's so effortless, Pietro feels detached from his environment, caught up in the sphere of high-speed silence he creates around himself while on the move.
Bullets mean nothing, they crawl slowly towards him through the air. Hands reaching for him are laughable, smacked away by Pietro's momentum alone. It's exhilarating. It's an adrenaline rush, and soon everything is a blur; he is surrounded by streaks of color.
Quicksilver forgets about the golden rule when it comes to fighting, as he speeds around, wrecking havoc among the shouting guards. - He feels invincible...
XXX
Magneto never forgets. His focus is spread as wide and far as the borders of this skirmish reach: on his followers, the building with its glass front, the guards in their vests, the scientists who try to flee in a helicopter with their equipment, - and on his fool of a son.
Magneto multitasks with ease, not needing to rely on his eyes alone to see. He can map out his environment based on the resonance between the metal surrounding him and the magnetic field he himself emits.
It allows him to stop bullets with a flick of his hand, to sidestep debris blocking his path and to keep hold of the helicopter all at once. It comes to him like second nature, with exhilarating ease. Only Magneto is not in the habit of celebrating a victory before it is secured. And although allies and foes alike might beg to differ, he is not so arrogant as to rely on his mutant abilities with blind faith.
Gambit and Sabretooth both have his back. The attack on the facility is planned out to the last detail; Plan B is ready and an escape route waits to be used should worse come to worst...
But even then, fate and luck share a taste of foiling even the best laid plans... And that knowledge, garnered from past experience, keeps Erik Lehnsherr wary and alert.
XXX
It's a rock. A tiny pebble, really. He didn't see it because everything is a blur, although it shouldn't be. He got carried away. Testing out his limits here, of all places, wouldn't win him a medal.
Stupid -!
Pietro crashes with the force of a cannonball, barreling soldiers away like bowling pins. He hears their bones crack and the hollow thump when their helmets hit the ground, but can't bring himself to care, although maybe he should. He comes to an abrupt stop at a wall that crumbles down around him; debris explodes everywhere.
The impact jars Pietro down to the marrow, but the density of both his bones and muscle fibers absorb the brunt of the force. His head flops back into the dust and suddenly the stars shine in the night sky above him, whirling around lazily.
The blood rushing in his ears and pounding in his skull is so loud it drowns out everything else: The bright explosions of Gambit's charged play cards, Sabretooth's enraged roar, and the shouts of the last guards left standing.
Pietro doesn't hear it as a gun is cocked, but sees it as he stares into the barrel that points straight between his widening eyes. He can't get up in time, he knows, but instinct propels him into a jerky motion - the debris on his legs are too heavy and his effort too unfocused to do any good.
”Pietro!”
The shout is almost drowned out, but Pietro hears it far clearer than the bullet. Hears the anger, concern and an undercurrent of fear - after all those doubts and questions without answers, which strain their relationship, the emotions his father’s voice conveys are a strange gift. And the timing sucks so much that Pietro's trademark ”luck” must be at work.
”Shit,” he mumbles and stares up at the guard; defiance brightening his eyes.
He's the quickest guy around here, but death speeds closer in slow motion...
XXX
There is no decision to make or if there is, then it is decided from the start. Magneto releases the helicopter from his hold, three months of careful work for naught. He feels the field collapsing around it and shifts his focus instantly to the bullet that will kill his son.
Everything shrinks down to that tiny, vibrant piece of metal; its momentum and destructive power, its frequency humming sharply against his senses. It stops as if caught by an invisible hand; its tip is already breaking skin. A single drop of blood draws a trail down Pietro's brow and colors a strand of his white hair a pale red.
Something slams into Magneto. Farther away, Gambit's staff felled the guard that loomed over Pietro, while Sabretooth whirled by to dispatch the man that had attacked Magneto in his moment of distraction.
Their objective is long gone and Magneto feels hot blood running down his side...
Carefully charged up debris explodes with minor force, freeing the stunned Pietro - and Magneto calls for his Brotherhood to retreat.
XXX
Pietro rubs at the spot on his brow and sinks deeper into the couch's cushions. He just sits there, not yet ready to deal with the myriad of thoughts and emotions bubbling around inside him.
He dares to risk a peek at his father. Mystique is at his side, dabbing away half-dried blood from the wound. Magneto had extracted the bullet with a simple gesture and a short lived grimace of pain before dropping heavily in the chair. The sight of sutures, a steady blue hand guiding a needle through his father's skin, makes Pietro feel sick.
He shudders, the movement gaining high-speed by accident, and rattles the couch. The noise is loud enough to reverberate through the whole mansion that serves as their current hideout. He stills himself and ducks his head, feeling the blood rush into his cheeks and eyes boring into him.
”Take these.”
Pietro looks up in time to see that his father's side is freshly bandaged. Mystique sets down a tablet at his elbow, and on it stands a carafe with water, a glass and some yellow pills.
”Of course,” Magneto agrees, then his gaze flickers over to meet Pietro's. ”Leave us now, if you would.”
Mystique looks between them, posture and golden eyes radiating disapproval. But then she nods, probably having come to the conclusion that Magneto can dish out the lecture she longs to give just as effectively. She stalks out of the living room, the bloody, torn clothes and swathes in her hands - Pietro's gaze is glued to them until the door closes behind her.
Because it was his fault.
Some months ago, he had not known how to feel about having contact to his father, nothing to say about joining the Brotherhood and being constantly around him. This man that he remembers as cold, distant, uncaring - and underneath that are older memories of a loving father. Maybe, because of their rarity, those are more precious than the others.
And now he doesn't know how to feel for nearly getting his father killed, or himself, despite the clear guilt and a deep ache Pietro prefers not to name or question because it feels like a hole eating at his insides.
”Pietro.”
His voice is as calm and cold as ever. The self-assured power it carries compels him to look up. Seeing the expectant gesture, he rises without thought. In a blink, Pietro stands before his father - the man he only calls ”Magneto” or ”Sir” to his face.
He's not prepared for the hand that touches his brow. Its fingertips are calloused, but the contact is so gentle that a shiver shoots down Pietro's spine.
”Dad, I-”
Magneto stands up abruptly, disregarding his wound without visible repercussions and moves towards the door. ”You are unharmed. That is all that matters... my son.” His quickening stride screams of his wish to escape this moment that is as far removed from a lecture as it can get.
That defines their relationship in a nutshell. Will they never be able to move beyond this?
Magneto opens the door, but then turns around to look back, his gaze a silent question why Pietro does not follow. It leaves him with a hopeful flutter somewhere deep inside. He speeds over in a flash, grabbing the pain medication on the way because naturally, this quick glimpse at a new possibility is not enough to pass up the chance of hassling his father into taking the pills. He has Mystique at his back on this, after all. That's so rare an occasion it shouldn't be wasted - and Pietro could have sworn the water in the glass distorts a tiny smile, as Erik Lehnsherr knows this and complies.
Maybe, between the two of them, the important things are those left to silence. And as long as that is true, they have a start etched out from which they can always move forward when they are ready.
End
Status: One-Shot; Complete
Fandom: X-Men: Evolution
Characters: Pietro Maximoff (Quicksilver); Erik Lehnsherr (Magneto), Mystique, Gambit, Sabretooth
Disclaimer: I would love to own X-Men: Evolution, but sadly, I don’t.
Rating: PG 13
Beta: The great snare-chan! Thank you so much!
Summary: Quicksilver forgets about the golden rule when it comes to fighting, as he speeds around, wrecking havoc among the shouting guards. - He feels invincible... But he soon learns he isn’t and then someone has to step in...
Genre: Oyako (father and son) ”fluff” (as fluffy as those two can get, anyway)
Speed of Silence, Sound of Silence
Pietro spins around at top speed, knocking his attackers down with well placed jabs. It's easy. These soldiers guarding the lab are only human, after all.
He weaves in and out between them as a white, speed-lined blur with absolute ease. It's so effortless, Pietro feels detached from his environment, caught up in the sphere of high-speed silence he creates around himself while on the move.
Bullets mean nothing, they crawl slowly towards him through the air. Hands reaching for him are laughable, smacked away by Pietro's momentum alone. It's exhilarating. It's an adrenaline rush, and soon everything is a blur; he is surrounded by streaks of color.
Quicksilver forgets about the golden rule when it comes to fighting, as he speeds around, wrecking havoc among the shouting guards. - He feels invincible...
XXX
Magneto never forgets. His focus is spread as wide and far as the borders of this skirmish reach: on his followers, the building with its glass front, the guards in their vests, the scientists who try to flee in a helicopter with their equipment, - and on his fool of a son.
Magneto multitasks with ease, not needing to rely on his eyes alone to see. He can map out his environment based on the resonance between the metal surrounding him and the magnetic field he himself emits.
It allows him to stop bullets with a flick of his hand, to sidestep debris blocking his path and to keep hold of the helicopter all at once. It comes to him like second nature, with exhilarating ease. Only Magneto is not in the habit of celebrating a victory before it is secured. And although allies and foes alike might beg to differ, he is not so arrogant as to rely on his mutant abilities with blind faith.
Gambit and Sabretooth both have his back. The attack on the facility is planned out to the last detail; Plan B is ready and an escape route waits to be used should worse come to worst...
But even then, fate and luck share a taste of foiling even the best laid plans... And that knowledge, garnered from past experience, keeps Erik Lehnsherr wary and alert.
XXX
It's a rock. A tiny pebble, really. He didn't see it because everything is a blur, although it shouldn't be. He got carried away. Testing out his limits here, of all places, wouldn't win him a medal.
Stupid -!
Pietro crashes with the force of a cannonball, barreling soldiers away like bowling pins. He hears their bones crack and the hollow thump when their helmets hit the ground, but can't bring himself to care, although maybe he should. He comes to an abrupt stop at a wall that crumbles down around him; debris explodes everywhere.
The impact jars Pietro down to the marrow, but the density of both his bones and muscle fibers absorb the brunt of the force. His head flops back into the dust and suddenly the stars shine in the night sky above him, whirling around lazily.
The blood rushing in his ears and pounding in his skull is so loud it drowns out everything else: The bright explosions of Gambit's charged play cards, Sabretooth's enraged roar, and the shouts of the last guards left standing.
Pietro doesn't hear it as a gun is cocked, but sees it as he stares into the barrel that points straight between his widening eyes. He can't get up in time, he knows, but instinct propels him into a jerky motion - the debris on his legs are too heavy and his effort too unfocused to do any good.
”Pietro!”
The shout is almost drowned out, but Pietro hears it far clearer than the bullet. Hears the anger, concern and an undercurrent of fear - after all those doubts and questions without answers, which strain their relationship, the emotions his father’s voice conveys are a strange gift. And the timing sucks so much that Pietro's trademark ”luck” must be at work.
”Shit,” he mumbles and stares up at the guard; defiance brightening his eyes.
He's the quickest guy around here, but death speeds closer in slow motion...
XXX
There is no decision to make or if there is, then it is decided from the start. Magneto releases the helicopter from his hold, three months of careful work for naught. He feels the field collapsing around it and shifts his focus instantly to the bullet that will kill his son.
Everything shrinks down to that tiny, vibrant piece of metal; its momentum and destructive power, its frequency humming sharply against his senses. It stops as if caught by an invisible hand; its tip is already breaking skin. A single drop of blood draws a trail down Pietro's brow and colors a strand of his white hair a pale red.
Something slams into Magneto. Farther away, Gambit's staff felled the guard that loomed over Pietro, while Sabretooth whirled by to dispatch the man that had attacked Magneto in his moment of distraction.
Their objective is long gone and Magneto feels hot blood running down his side...
Carefully charged up debris explodes with minor force, freeing the stunned Pietro - and Magneto calls for his Brotherhood to retreat.
XXX
Pietro rubs at the spot on his brow and sinks deeper into the couch's cushions. He just sits there, not yet ready to deal with the myriad of thoughts and emotions bubbling around inside him.
He dares to risk a peek at his father. Mystique is at his side, dabbing away half-dried blood from the wound. Magneto had extracted the bullet with a simple gesture and a short lived grimace of pain before dropping heavily in the chair. The sight of sutures, a steady blue hand guiding a needle through his father's skin, makes Pietro feel sick.
He shudders, the movement gaining high-speed by accident, and rattles the couch. The noise is loud enough to reverberate through the whole mansion that serves as their current hideout. He stills himself and ducks his head, feeling the blood rush into his cheeks and eyes boring into him.
”Take these.”
Pietro looks up in time to see that his father's side is freshly bandaged. Mystique sets down a tablet at his elbow, and on it stands a carafe with water, a glass and some yellow pills.
”Of course,” Magneto agrees, then his gaze flickers over to meet Pietro's. ”Leave us now, if you would.”
Mystique looks between them, posture and golden eyes radiating disapproval. But then she nods, probably having come to the conclusion that Magneto can dish out the lecture she longs to give just as effectively. She stalks out of the living room, the bloody, torn clothes and swathes in her hands - Pietro's gaze is glued to them until the door closes behind her.
Because it was his fault.
Some months ago, he had not known how to feel about having contact to his father, nothing to say about joining the Brotherhood and being constantly around him. This man that he remembers as cold, distant, uncaring - and underneath that are older memories of a loving father. Maybe, because of their rarity, those are more precious than the others.
And now he doesn't know how to feel for nearly getting his father killed, or himself, despite the clear guilt and a deep ache Pietro prefers not to name or question because it feels like a hole eating at his insides.
”Pietro.”
His voice is as calm and cold as ever. The self-assured power it carries compels him to look up. Seeing the expectant gesture, he rises without thought. In a blink, Pietro stands before his father - the man he only calls ”Magneto” or ”Sir” to his face.
He's not prepared for the hand that touches his brow. Its fingertips are calloused, but the contact is so gentle that a shiver shoots down Pietro's spine.
”Dad, I-”
Magneto stands up abruptly, disregarding his wound without visible repercussions and moves towards the door. ”You are unharmed. That is all that matters... my son.” His quickening stride screams of his wish to escape this moment that is as far removed from a lecture as it can get.
That defines their relationship in a nutshell. Will they never be able to move beyond this?
Magneto opens the door, but then turns around to look back, his gaze a silent question why Pietro does not follow. It leaves him with a hopeful flutter somewhere deep inside. He speeds over in a flash, grabbing the pain medication on the way because naturally, this quick glimpse at a new possibility is not enough to pass up the chance of hassling his father into taking the pills. He has Mystique at his back on this, after all. That's so rare an occasion it shouldn't be wasted - and Pietro could have sworn the water in the glass distorts a tiny smile, as Erik Lehnsherr knows this and complies.
Maybe, between the two of them, the important things are those left to silence. And as long as that is true, they have a start etched out from which they can always move forward when they are ready.
End