Fractals

Fractals Chapter Sixty Five (NC-17)
Disclaimers Apply

A/N Goddess Foxfeather, Queen of Mad Plotbunnies, BUSIEST WOMAN ALIVE ™, Prophetic Muse, Hamster Witch and Uberbeta… *squeak* We’re getting your cold weather here! InterNutter, TC, Maxwell Pink and Dracena are loverly and wondermous for archiving/hosting! :) ProPhile: Any day now… Morgan: Finally!!!! Readers/Reviewers: *glomp* Thank you so much for reading/reviewing! Almost done… Ish.


“Professor Xavier…”
The name rustled through the gathering like wind across dry leaves. The man himself seemed oblivious, moving inexorably towards the front of the room where Magneto stood, looking unflappable in his dark red tie and black suit, the woman on his arm who could only be Mystique, pale and creamy and fiery red all at once. Reporters recognized him, especially those from the print media, from his charity balls and fundraising activities for the school. His numerous appearances over the years at events in the city had made him recognizable if not exactly well known. He ignored the tentative requests for a sound byte or even an interview from a few bold party guests and instead continued at a steady pace towards his goal. He was dressed as well as could be expected, in the clothes had left the Institute in, and felt mildly out of place but he would be damned if he let this happen when he could do something to stop it. The collar at his neck was not tight but it felt heavy. His shirt did not cover it and it was only a matter of time before someone noticed it and questioned him or Magneto. “Pardon me,” he said clearly and politely when someone would not move. They stood in his way a moment longer, turning slowly to face him. It was all he could do not to snap and accuse the young man in front of him. “Excuse me, Mister Olsen, I believe I have some business to attend to and you are, unfortunately, in my way.”
Jimmy nodded shakily, not mistaking the glare on Professor Xavier’s face for anything other than pure, angry malice. Clark and Lois had not arrived yet and for this, he was grateful. He needed to get out, and fast, no matter what he had promised the old man. He could not stand the thought of being there one second longer, his brain screaming at him for managing to get into this mess in the first place. “S…sorry!” he hissed, stepping back and directly into someone’s chest. “Gah!”
“Don’t worry about it,” the person murmured, turning just enough for Jimmy to see their face. It was a tall blond man, younger than himself, looking nervous as a rabbit. He smiled thinly at Jimmy and disappeared into the group of party goers before him. Pietro hated this with a passion. He knew he would be caught. There was nothing he could do about it. He was shaking so hard it was all he could do to hold the tray of food steady. His father was distracted with Professor Xavier’s arrival so all he had to do was make it past the man by the door… “Doctor Essex,” he nodded, looking as if he were on a mission. “Nice party, huh?”
“Pietro,” he said smoothly, holding out a hand to stop him. “How many times must I tell you? Call me Nathanial?” He smiled charmingly and took a stuffed mushroom cap off the tray. “Don’t be long. The denouement is at hand.” The heavy black holo watch winked from his wrist at Pietro, reminding the teenager just who he was dealing with.
He nodded and hurried into the kitchen, past the caterers discussing the strange incident with Martha and the concussion, what ever that meant, and he went straight to the dumbwaiter on the back wall. He slid the tray in and pressed the button that closed the door on the Victorian era device. His father had developed an odd proclivity for Victoriana and Pietro found this disturbing on new levels each day, especially since the arrival of Doctor Essex. He leaned against the wall, pressing his forehead to the humming metal as the dumbwaiter ascended to the room above. Once Kurt had food in him, Wanda promised, they would leave. And fast. No one mentioned Pietro’s odd turn for the compassionate nor did anyone question it aloud. They simply followed and accepted his efforts earlier, promising to leave the collars on but not active until they cleared the grounds. His heart was racing faster than normal and he was so distracted, he almost missed Fred sitting in the corner, taking up so much room the caterers had to shift their operations down a bit. “Hey,” he said nervously, trying to look casual.
Fred snorted. “Sneaky bastard.”
Pietro narrowed his eyes. “Who?” He stood his ground, the roaring in his ears making him suddenly dizzy. Fred looked as if he wanted to rise but thought better of it. If it was at all possible, he had gained weight over the past year, becoming even more immovable than before, and slower, too.
“You, Pietro… I know who it’s for…” His voice was softer than most would expect, slower too. It was like the words had to fight their way up his throat from his chest and it was an effort to emerge from his mouth.
“It’s for,” he thought rapidly, “for one of the party guests. They didn’t feel well so Father directed them to his private study upstairs. Mystique…”
“Liar,” he smirked. “It’s for fuzzbutt and your sister and Tabby.” He did heave himself up then. Someone, Tarot, was calling their names, sounding agitated. They should be with the guests, mingling. Fred hated to mingle. Mingling meant standing and standing meant effort and effort meant being tired and being tired meant needing to sit down and sitting down meant getting yelled at to mingle… it was a viscous cycle. “Don’t look so freaked out,” he muttered. “I ain’t that smart. They just got sloppy. Saw ‘em skittering by when I was in the elevator comin’ down.”
Pietro winced. The elevator had the old fashioned glass panels in the door, letting whoever was inside see whoever was outside. “Fuck.”
“Don’t worry,” Fred mumbled, wincing as Tarot’s shrill voice pierced the kitchen, “Ain’t tellin’…”
Pietro stared—Fred was blushing! “Dude, you have a thing for my sister?”
“Shut up. I’ll sit on you.”
“THERE YOU ARE!” Tarot shrilled. “COME ON!”
Pietro winced. “Fine, fine. We’re coming…” He glanced sideways at Fred. “You want to do this?”
“Nope. Don’t gotta choice, do we?” He began his slow lumber towards the door, kitchen staff parting before him.
“Maybe we do,” Pietro said slowly. “Maybe…”