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Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Stories in this Fandom are works of fan fiction. Any names or characters, businesses or places, events or incidents, are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Recognized characters, events, incidents belong to Marvel Comics <br>
Running for Home - 32. December 3, 2021
December 3, 2021
I had a visitor today. After classes were finished, I was working in my office, finally getting around to marking those essays I assigned the day Bobby and I dueled. They were shit, just as I expected. A couple of the students did surprise me, though, so maybe it wasn’t a complete failure. I’m still not sure what I want to do with these grades. I was contemplating calling Emma to see what she thought when there was a knock on my door. I told them to come in.
It was one of the seniors in my one Lit class – Cecily Kincaid. At least, I thought that was who it was until the door shut and her features melted away into that all-too-familiar scaly blue skin. I asked Mystique what the fuck she was doing here. She gave me a bemused smile and sat down on the edge of my desk, crossing her legs as if the position really hid anything. She produced an envelope from out of nowhere and tossed it down on my desk. She told me that before Destiny was killed in action, she had given Mystique a letter for me that she wanted me to read sometime around Christmas this year. Mystique never really questioned Destiny or her motives, at least not openly. They were lovers, and I knew it hit her incredibly hard when we couldn’t save her in Scotland. It hurt even more that Destiny had likely sacrificed herself to keep Mystique or perhaps even me from dying.
Mystique asked me how I liked being back in this place. She looked a bit wistful herself. I’d learned over the years that she had lived here for a time, long before the Brotherhood, before Magneto and Xavier had their falling out. I told Mystique that I’d surprised myself at how quickly I’ve adapted to this life. That I might even like this job. She looked at me slyly and then said ‘Irene never thought you were meant to be a soldier.’ Irene was Destiny’s human name, her birth name. It sort of caught me off guard, hearing it again. Mystique had only ever used it around me in the immediate aftermath of losing her, before she built the walls back up. I asked Mystique if I should be asking about how she was feeling, which elicited a laugh. She said she was feeling fine, just some heartache from the mix of good memories and bad.
She actually wasn’t here to see me, though she admitted she’d wanted to check up on me once she found out about my move here. The letter was originally supposed to be mailed. Mystique actually came to the school because she was dropping off Destiny’s great-granddaughter. She was a powerful precog, like Destiny, but also telepathic and to a small extent telekinetic. Her name was Ruth, and like so many of Destiny’s progeny and descendents that turned out to be mutants, Ruth bore her curse. She was blind, having never developed eyes in the womb. In that respect, she was very much ike her great-grandmother. Irene did have eyes, though. They just didn’t work. Destiny had told me once that, despite the fact that she did not seem to age, it was difficult for her to rationalize having any more children from future relationships when any that went on to express mutancy usually had one form of disability or deformity or another. I thought that it was perhaps one of the reasons why her relationship with Mystique may have been somewhat ideal. They were both women and both had either very slow aging, or had stopped aging entirely. And since they were both women, there was no possibility of children entering the equation unless they both decided it was time to take measures to make it happen. And if they had similar life goals and paths, all the better. I had always been a bit envious of them. I was envious of their closeness, envious of their trust in one another.
Anyway, Mystique asked me to keep an eye on Ruth even though that likely wouldn’t be necessary. She said Ruth was a responsible girl, even if somewhat socially awkward due to her gifts. I told Mystique I’d do what I could, but I wouldn’t be giving her any special treatment. She looked satisfied with that answer. I thought she was going to say something else, but she took a breath and her face became inscrutable once again. Mystique said she had to get going, and I nodded and asked her if she wanted me to walk her out. She raised an eyebrow and gave me a look and I laughed, knowing she knew I was only kidding. She’d never accept an offer like that. It was too much fun to gallivant around this School disguised as any number of people.
When the door closed behind her, I sat back down and let out a deep breath that I didn’t realize I’d been holding. I hadn’t seen her in more than five years. The last time was in L.A., not too long after Dom was convicted. She told me then that she never expected to see us living together, or that I would even attend his trial after what had happened. She told me I needed to consider my options deeply before I made any decisions about my life. I knew back then that she must have been referring to something Destiny told her, just by the way she was talking. But the concern in her voice, that was definitely hers. I mentioned I was applying to UCLA and a couple other schools to complete a journalism degree. She seemed pleased with my plans as I went into more detail. There have been times when I’d think I was beginning to understand that woman, but then she’d throw me a curveball completely out of left field. In this case it almost felt like she was trying to be my mother, even though I was already in my thirties. I won’t lie, though. I kind of liked that feeling.
I looked at the huge pile of essays on my desk, mostly marked now, and then down at the letter Destiny had left me. Open sometime around Christmas? Fuck. I don’t have the patience for that, but I got the feeling that Irene would somehow rise up from the grave, pull on my earlobe and give me a long talking to if I didn’t respect her wishes. Or maybe her great-granddaughter, this Ruth kid, will cause me some psychic hell. Who the fuck knows what’s inside of that letter. Maybe I’ll be lucky. Maybe it’s a gift from beyond the grave. Maybe I’ll get two Christmas presents this year, if Dom would just grow the fuck up and drop his bullshit lawsuit.
- 11
Authors are responsible for properly crediting Original Content creator for their creative works.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Stories in this Fandom are works of fan fiction. Any names or characters, businesses or places, events or incidents, are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Recognized characters, events, incidents belong to Marvel Comics <br>
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