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master-sass-blast · 3 years ago

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Children of the Gods: Part Three, Chapter Two.

I had to input every single italic you see in this fic by hand because Tumblr doesn’t hold text format when I paste it innnnnn. *pained smile*

Please give this chapter some love, because that was fucking painful to do.

Summary: The aftermath of capturing Allison proves messy -both in dealing with the teen's evident trauma, and in all the skeletons in various closets that get unleashed soon after.

Pairing(s): Piotr Rasputin x Reader, Nathan Summers x Wade Wilson, Frank Castle x Karen Page, and Alexandra Rasputin x Nikolai Rasputin.

Rating: M for gun violence, depictions of death and injuries, depictions of emotional trauma, and gratuitous use of the word “fuck.”

Word count: 8.9k.

Set after “Children of the Gods: Part Three, Chapter One.”

Taglist: @marvel-is-perfection, @chromecutie, @super-darkcloudstudent, @girl-obsessed-with-things, @leo-writer, @emma-frxst, @sadstone-s

“What the hell were you thinking!”

“Ooh, careful there, Doohan,” Wade snarks, head rolling to indicate he’s rolling his eyes. “Get any more agitated and you’ll be saying all the no-no words.”

Scott scowls at Wade. “Stuff it, Wilson.”

“Every damn night, laser pointer.”

A mixture of grimaces, sighs, and groans go up through the crowd.

You’re all gathered in the medical wing of Xavier’s –the X-Force and nearly all of the X-Men. Allison’s off being examined by Dr. McCoy and Alyssa –to make sure she’s stable enough to be taken out of the handcuffs and the suppression band—and Frank and Karen are sequestered in a separate room until it's clear how everything's going to shake out.

Because, naturally, there’s been a wrench thrown in the situation.

Or maybe the whole damn toolbox, you mentally amend as Wade and Scott resume arguing.

“We cannot harbor a mob criminal here—”

“She’s thirteen, Summers!” Wade snaps. The eyes on his mask narrow into slits. “She’s not a criminal –and her parents’ choice don’t automatically make her guilty!”

“Murder, illegal theft and possession of firearms, assault, stalking, kidnapping,” Scott starts listing, ticking off each of Allison’s misdeeds on his fingers.

“She lost her family,” Nathan interjects, voice going to gravel. “Where the fuck were all of you when she needed support? Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do?”

The room goes silent. Many of the X-Men members look away or hang their heads slightly.

“We had no way of knowing that Allison was a mutant,” Ororo speaks up. “Without the proper information, we can’t help. It’s unfortunate, yes, but out of our control all the same.”

“But you know now,” Wade argues. “You knew with Russell. You knew with all the kids at Essex house. You turned your back on him and those kids, just like you’re turning your back on Allison now.” He scoffs, disgusted. “Same shit, different day. You’re all a bunch of cowardly cocksuckers.”

“We do have limits,” Professor Xavier speaks up from his chair. “Russell and the other members of Essex house were considered wards of the state. Legally, that meant Essex house had custody of them until they turned eighteen. We wrote petitions. We did as much as we could to bring attention to the issue. Unfortunately, it got swept under the rug or stonewalled by anti-mutant members of the legal system. As for Allison…” He sighs. “Taking in wards with criminal connections put the school at risk. Not just for fear of retaliation –as would certainly be a risk with Miss Ricci’s connections to the mafia—but also our funding and licensing. As an orphaned mutant, she is certainly deserving of our help—” he pauses to glare sternly at Scott and a few of the more stubborn, self-righteous members present “—but we have to consider the needs of our other residents and students, too.”

“I think we’re overlooking that Allison is here right now,” Jean pipes up. “Whether or not she stays with us is one thing, but we need to decide what to do for at least the next forty-eight hours.”

“She stays here,” you say automatically. “As far as we know, she has no other guardians, potentially even nowhere to go. I don’t think it’s gonna kill us to give her a bed and some food to eat.”

“Absolutely not,” Scott fires back –and, behind him, Angel and Iceman nod. “She’s far too aggressive to possibly put the students at risk.”

“She’s agitated and traumatized,” you reason, “but that doesn’t mean she’s going to lash out at people left and right.”

“Doesn’t she have a guardian of sorts?” Neena pipes up. “Artemis? Has anyone gotten ahold of them?”

“We reached out with the number Miss Ricci gave us,” Xavier explains. “The call picked up, but there wasn’t any verbal response for the duration of the call.”

Well, that bodes well. “What about her attorney?” you ask. “If we can’t keep her here, wouldn’t her attorney be able to arrange some sort of safe place for her to stay.”

“Thus far, we haven’t been able to reach her attorney.”

And that bodes even worse. You fight the urge to sigh or roll your eyes, and instead mentally curse monkey wrenches and whoever thought to invent the damn things.

“For the time being, I’ve contacted some of our external resources” –the glance Xavier shoots at both you and Piotr tells you that it’s your uncle and Alexandra—“to help with matters until the dust settles. They should be arriving soon, so—”

There’s a loud crash from down the hall, the sound of glass shattering, and an angry screech that sounds suspiciously like, “Fuck you, Castle!”

You give into the urge to sigh before booking it towards the sound of chaos and rage. Great. Now it’s an entire toolshed.

***

Subduing Allison this time, at least, is easier for several reasons.

First, she’s still wearing the repression cuff on her wrist. Without her powers –without a way to pop in and out of this existence, specifically—she’s much easier to catch.

Second, she’s tired. It’s not just the bags under her eyes or the sweat glistening at her furrowed brow. She’s stumbling unevenly, panting as she tries to exact her revenge.

Third, Illyana happens to show up at the exact same time with your uncle and Alexandra (and Nikolai as well, though he has less involvement in the “subduing process”).

Alex reacts fastest. She hooks one strong arm around Allison’s waist, then scoops her away from Karen and a hangdog-looking Frank. “Alright, that’s enough.”

Allison, however, doesn’t seem to agree. (Though whether it’s due to general teenage contrariness or trauma-induced rage, the jury’s still out.

…Actually, it’s probably both.)

“You don’t even get it, Castle!” Allison snaps with a manic grin, eyes wide and haunted. “You killed a good man. My dad was getting out! He was going to testify against them—”

Alex clamps a hand over the teen’s mouth, making her cut herself off with a garbled grunt. “I said enough.”

Allison thrashes in the older woman’s iron-clad grasp –to no avail, unsurprisingly. Her face scrunches up, then her jaw starts flexing. There’s a moment where her expression goes slack when Alex doesn’t react, then her nose scrunches up again and her jaw starts working harder.

Alex sighs, then starts carrying Allison back down the hall (she’s astonishingly unfazed by been chomped down on). “Come on. Let’s get you calmed down, malen’kiy.”

At the other end of the hall, Neena pokes her head into the fray. “Someone who calls herself Artemis is at the front door.”

Professor Xavier nods, then says, “Please escort her back to Miss Ricci’s room,” before wheeling after Alex and Artemis.

You look between Neena and the Professor –then, in the interest of going where you’re actually allowed to be (and not being bored out of your mind because you’ll be literally shut out of the room), you head towards the foyer.

…

“Do you think Frank was set up to stop the trial?”

Your uncle shrugs; the two of you have taken up a spot at the back of the room, where you can watch things unfold and gossip like the two old ladies you are in spirit. “It’s possible. It’s also possible that it was retribution for Allison being a mutant. The Ricci syndicate is notoriously… intolerant.”

You grimace. You certainly understand just how far people will go against their own flesh and blood for intolerance’s sake. “Blood and water.”

Your uncle nods, expression equally sour. “You fucking said it, punk.”

There’s not much point in hashing it out any further –both from the standpoint of “forbidden knowledge” and digging up old trauma—so you settle back into watching Artemis go through the mandatory security check.

She’s tall, with broad shoulders. Her hair’s dark, just starting to streak with silver at the temples, and her eyes are deep, intense, borderline black color. Her nose is slightly crooked –comes with the territory in this walk of life—and she’s dressed in black motorcycle wear and combat boots.

She honestly looks so fucking familiar.

You frown, brows pinching together as you try and place her face in your memory. Failing your own abilities at recollection, you lean over and whisper, “Is she one of your team members? I swear I’ve seen her before.”

“Uh –no,” your uncle replies (and it’s too fast and shaky, but you’re too caught up in figuring out whom the fuck you’re looking at to notice). “I mean –everyone has a doppelganger, right?”

“I guess.” You squint at Artemis, as though physically narrowing your eyes will help your brain puzzle things out—

And then Alex strides into the foyer –wiping the hand that Allison bit, and if you look close enough you’re pretty sure you can still see a few bloody teeth marks—and the cloud of confusion lifts from your mind.

“Oh!” you gasp quietly. “That’s why she looks familiar! She looks like Alex.” You look from the Rasputin matriarch, to the other black-leather clad woman, then back again. “She looks… a lot like Alex, actually.” You laugh softly –coincidence is a hell of a thing—then keep rambling when your uncle doesn’t say anything. “Two women who love the color black and carry enough weapons on their person to stock an army. You’d think the universe broke the mold with Alex, huh?”

Your uncle shifts from foot to foot next to you, but says nothing.

“You really weren’t kidding about the whole ‘doppelganger’ thing, huh.” You cock your head to one side, then frown as another epiphany starts growing in your mind. “Actually… she kind of looks like you, too.”

Your uncle makes a quiet, pained choking noise. “Punk—”

“Yeah, she’s got more of your build…”

“Punk.”

“And her lower lip has that weird lopsided curve like yours—”

“Punk—”

You peer closer at Artemis’s face. “Actually, her nose looks like you took yours and Alex’s and mashed them together—”

“Punk.”

You finally look up at him and take in the pale, wide-eyed, tight-lipped expression on his face. “What?” When he doesn’t say anything, you look at Artemis, then Alex, and then back at him—

Oh God.

Holy fucking shit.

You stare up at your uncle, agape. “Wait a second –you and—”

“Okay, shut the fuck up!” he hisses, panicked, before dragging you out of the foyer and into the nearest hallway.

“You and Alex had a baby,” you blurt –albeit in a voice no louder than a harsh whisper. “Artemis is your and her lovechild!”

He winces, then holds up his hands. “I can explain—”

“I don’t think you can!” you hiss. “Why didn’t you tell me that I have a cousin who happens to be my husband’s half fucking sister! Oh God, does Piotr know? Do any of the Rasputins know?”

“I…” He trails off, then cringes. He rubs the back of his neck. “I’m not sure, actually.”

You stare up at him, dumbfounded. “You’re not sure. How are you not sure? Nick knows who you are –what, you think Alex just kept a whole child from his knowledge—”

“I mean, he probably knows that there was a baby at one point—”

“The baby is in this fucking house!” you snap in a quiet growl, arms flailing wildly. “She’s a full grown adult who probably pays taxes and has a 401k going! Why wouldn’t Alex tell her husband—”

“Look,” your uncle interjects, cutting you off. “As far as Alex knows… she thinks she’s… dead?”

You gape. Then, as quietly as you can manage (given the circumstances), you exclaim, “What the fuck!”

“Keep your voice down!” your uncle hisses, gesturing wildly in panic. He looks over his shoulder, then when he’s certain no one overheard you, he sighs and looks back to you. “Look, it’s a long story—”

“I’m sure it fucking is!” You cross your arms over your chest when he winces. “How is it that you know your secret lovechild is alive, but Alex doesn’t? What, did she just abandon her?”

“No, no—”

“Didn’t think so. So what the fuck happened?”

He sighs, shoulder slumping, and runs one hand through his already disheveled hair. “Look –long story short, the people who ‘made’ Alex took the baby—”

“Artemis. Her daughter. Your daughter.”

He purses his lips, but concedes with a nod. “They took her away after she was born and told Alex she was dead –and that’s actually what prompted her to get out, but that’s another story for another day—”

“Okay, hang on a second.” You squeeze your eyes shut and hold up one hand. “Alex thinks her baby is dead –probably one of the most traumatic things in her whole life. You’ve known that she’s alive…” You open your eyes again and fix your uncle with a stern stare. “Okay, how long have you known for?”

He grimaces and shifts uncomfortably. “…well, the US took her, but she didn’t present early, so they turned her loose into the foster system because she didn’t have potential as an ‘asset’—”

“How fucking long?”

He ducks his head, carefully avoiding your gaze. “…tracked her down when she was ten.”

Your eyes widen –and then you slug him in the shoulder. “You fucking colossal asshole!”

He panics again, motioning for you to keep it down while checking over his shoulder. “Shut the fuck up!”

“No! Not only have you lied to Alex for decades—”

“She never asked—”

“A lie by omission is still a fucking lie!” you snap in a gravelly whisper. “So, not only did you lie to her, but you also abandoned your daughter to the mercies of the US foster care system!”

“My life wasn’t safe to keep a kid around!” he hisses back at you. “I couldn’t take care of you, and I couldn’t take care of her! If anything, it was safer for her if the government thought I didn’t know she was alive!”

You sigh, pinch the bridge of your nose, and wave dismissively with your other hand. “Okay –fine. That still doesn’t justify the whole lying thing, but whatever. Does Artemis know that you and Alex are her parents?”

“…Yes. She tracked me down when she was in her twenties and I told her the truth.”

“Well, it sounds like determination runs in the family,” you mutter. “But at least you two have kept in touch…” You look up, see your uncle’s grimace, and sigh. “You didn’t keep in touch with her.”

He shoves his hands in his jacket pockets. “I didn’t know how to handle it.”

“Pretty sure ‘not like that’ is a good answer.” You sigh again, then shrug and put your hands on your hips. “Well, you’ve probably solved your own problem. She’ll probably just tell Alex who she is just to spite you, assuming she got the ‘petty vengeance’ gene too.”

Your uncle’s eyebrows spike to his hairline, and his expression goes through the five stages of grief in a matter of seconds. “She –she can’t—”

“She can and she probably will.”

He hunches over, crouching, and grips the back of his head. “Shitfuckshitfuckshitfuckshitfuck—”

“Myshka?”

You and your uncle both jump, then whirl in unison and give your husband your best convincing, “we’re totally not talking about long lost, hidden family members and other poor life choices” smiles that you can each manage.

(Consider that you don’t look like you just shit your pants, you win.)

Piotr’s forehead wrinkles with concern. “What… is everything alright?”

“Just fine, baby,” you assure him, subtly kicking your uncle so he relaxes. “Just talking about what happens next.”

Piotr nods after a moment, likely picking up on that whatever’s going on right now isn’t life or death and that you’ll fill him in later. “I actually came to find you,” he says, gesturing to your uncle. “Professor Xavier still cannot reach Allison’s lawyer. He has asked for your assistance.”

“Right. Absolutely. On it,” your uncle says with a none-too-convincing smile. He shoots your husband a pair of finger guns, then books it out of the hall and towards the medical wing of the mansion.

Piotr stares after him, then shoots you a confused frown. “Is he okay?”

You shrug. “He’s doing about his usual.” You decide to further sidestep the issue by ambling over to him and giving him a gentle hug. “How are you?” Are doing okay?”

Piotr wraps his arms around you and kisses the top of your head. “I am fine now. Just a little sore.”

“Me too.” You nuzzle your cheek against his burly chest. “We really should invest in that hot tub we keep talking about getting. It’d be great for post-mission recovery.”

“Hot tubs are expensive, myshka,” he chuckles.

“Yes, but we’re not getting any younger. It’d be a good investment in taking care of our bodies.” You tilt your head back and grin up at him. “I thought you were all about that life.”

He sighs and shakes his head, feigning exasperation, but his amused smile is a dead giveaway. “Whatever shall I do with you, myshka?”

You grin wider. “You could kiss me.”

Piotr grins back, then dips his head and presses his lips against yours—

Mikhail appears next to you out of thin air. “Ah. Gross. Big meeting is happening. All hands on deck.”

Piotr rolls his eyes when his elder brother teleports away once more, then looks back down at you and strokes your cheek with his thumb. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine, baby.” You unwind your arms from his massive trunk of a torso, then slide your fingers between his as the two of you walk towards the medical wing.

…

“—I am telling you, Charles, not being able to reach this kid’s lawyer is a bad fucking sign.”

You and Piotr walk into a conference room to find your uncle and Professor Xavier locked in a heated argument.

Wade, Nate, and Neena are leaning against the table to watch, occasionally leaning over to whisper bits of commentary to each other (or, in Wade’s case, speak at normal volume).

In the corner of the room, where a couple of armchairs are positioned, Nikolai sits with his two other children; they’re speaking in hushed Russian, but none of them seem too concerned about everything else going on.

“As I previously stated,” Xavier says, words clipped, “we cannot release Miss Ricci without speaking first to her attorney. The X-Men operate as a special law enforcement service, and failure to comply with criminal and civil statutes will have enormous consequences for the Institute—”

“There’s going to be a bunch of fucking ‘enormous consequences’ for the Institute,” your uncle interrupts, growling through clenched teeth, “if you don’t evacuate this building right fucking now! Fuck’s sake, Charles –you hired me as a security advisor; just listen to me.”

Piotr frowns and curls one hand over your shoulder. “What is happening?”

“What’s happening,” a new, strong, feminine voice interjects from the hall, “is that we’re leaving.” Artemis shoulders past your husband –a feat not easily achieved by many—with Allison in tow, then holds up the teen’s arm that has the repression cuff still attached. She glares at Xavier (and God, she really looks like Alex when she does that), then spits out through gritted, bared teeth, “Get this fucking thing off my kid.”

There’s a longsuffering sigh in the hall, and then Alex steps into the doorway. “She has that cuff on for her own safety –as I already told you—”

Artemis whirls, face contorted by a vicious scowl, and snaps, “I didn’t fucking ask for you input!”

(Boy, if that doesn’t just scream ‘repressed trauma and mommy issues.’)

Your uncle looks like he’s about to pass out again, but Alex seems remarkably nonplussed. She merely raises one eyebrow at Artemis, as if to say ‘that’s all you got?’

There’s no way she knows, you think as you watch the two stare each other down. Not with how much she cares about her kids. There’s no fucking way—

“Actually, we’ve got bigger problems,” your uncle pipes up, voice quavering slightly before he clears his throat. “We can’t reach your kid’s shark.”

“They have other clients,” Artemis retorts, upper lip curling in a derisive sneer. Her dark eyes smolder with barely constrained hatred as she tosses a withering glance in his direction (daddy issues, too, this chick won the whole lottery). “Or maybe they got stuck in traffic.”

Your uncle narrows his eyes at that (and now the two of them look so much alike, overcome by ire as they are). “You cannot possibly be that fucking stupid.”

Artemis sucks a breath through her teeth, eyes widening with rage and hurt. “You fucking dick—”

In the corner of the room, Illyana bolts upright before going stock still. Then, she gasps and reaches out towards her mother. “Mama!”

(The way Artemis’s face mars with a pained grimace makes your heart ache.)

Alex tenses, eyes glowing gold as she starts scanning the horizon (presumably checking for heat signatures). “Gde?”

The room goes quiet –and then you hear it.

The sound of engines rumbling –multiple engines—and car wheels crunching against gravel. Doors thumping open and shut, followed by footsteps. Hushed voices.

You scamper over to the nearest window and float up, just enough to see several men clad in black and Kevlar and carrying rifles stalking towards the front door and around the sides of the house in groups. “Guys with guns. Lots of them.”

“Then get down!” Nate hisses before yanking you back from the window.

“Lights out,” Alex orders before hitting the switch herself. “Get everyone to a reinforced room.”

“There’s a safe room at the end of the hall,” Xavier says before wheeling himself towards the door.

Allison clings to Artemis’s sleeve, much like a baby koala. “What’s going on? What’s going to happen?”

“Go with the Professor,” Artemis says. She quickly –but gently—frees her arm, then clasps the teen’s face with both hands. “Look at me. Listen to the Professor, and stay put until I come get you. Okay?”

Allison’s forehead puckers, and her lower lip starts trembling. “But—”

“Is alright,” Nikolai interjects with a kind, reassuring smile. He gently ushers Allison towards the door, then down the hall before she can protest further.

A few doors down, Karen pokes her head out of the room where she and Frank have holed up. She frowns as she takes in the chaos. “What’s going on?”

“Mafia men with guns!” Wade chirps as he half-skips, half-jogs towards the mansion’s entryway. “Tell your boy to suit up!”

“There’s a safe room at the end of the hall,” Neena adds as she runs after Wade.

Frank squeezes around Karen and kisses her temple before falling in line behind the two assassins.

You step to the side so Karen can run past you, then turn and press a hasty kiss against Piotr’s cheek. “Love you.”

He kisses your cheek in return, equally as brief. “Ya tozhe tebya lyublyu.”

And then the two of you run towards the danger bearing down on your home.

***

In all the firefights you’ve been in, there’s always this moment of silence. A calm before the storm. A moment where everything goes still, while both sides wait for the other to make a move.

You duck behind a wall as the mafia gunmen continue hammering away at the front door, tucking yourself in a shadow. Your stomach tenses, breathing going quick and hard as your mind starts putting a plan together. Don’t want to risk collapsing part of the house by doing a pressure vacuum. Best option is to probably knock them to the ground so the others can jump them.

The door rattles. The wooden portal splits on one side, sending jagged splinters poking out into the air.

You slow your breathing, forcing yourself into a calm, focused state. Wait for them to get past the entryway so you can hit as many of them as possible.

In the back of the house, near the kitchen, you hear glass shatter.

They’re in. You clench your fists at your sides, watching as the front door slowly gives way. Three… two… one…

The door breaks open, swinging inwards as the first gunmen step into the foyer—

And then the door snaps off its hinges and slams into the men, taking them out like bowling pins.

Strike, a small, inane part of your brain giggles.

Shouts go up through the house. You can hear the sounds of rushed footsteps, shattering glass, and what sounds like people being bodyslammed through tables (and, given the type of people fighting for your side, it just might be that). Gunfire pierces the air –and is accompanied by the telltale, metallic plinks of the bullets ricocheting off your husband’s armor.

Angry screams emanate from the front step. Men barge in, firing down the hall, towards some unseen target (likely Alex or Nate, given the door trick).

You wait until as many men are piled into the foyer as possible, then send down a downdraft that blows out the windows on either side of the door.

The gunmen tumble to the floor, swearing in a mixture of English and Italian.

Nate, Wade, and Neena swoop in. They descend upon the mafia men like a pack of wolves, breaking bones, dislocating joints, and cracking skulls as they disarm –and, in some cases “un-alive”—the gunmen.

“It’s raining men!” Wade sings as he runs one of his katanas through the gut of one assailant. “Hallelujah! It’s raining men!” He ramps off a nearby wall, then t-bags another man before stabbing him through the temple. “Amen!”

You crouch, tracking the movement of the scuffle. You tense when you see a couple of the men jump Nathan, then charge towards the railing and dive over when a few more try to break past to run down the hallway. You flip in the air, land in the hallway ahead of them, and unleash a blast of wind right in their faces.

The mafia men fly out through the front door. They sail over half the front drive, then bounce off the gravel surface and roll several times before coming to a stop.

You let out a harsh breath, then dart down the hall towards the kitchen when you hear glass shattering and the sound of Frank bellowing angrily.

The kitchen and rec room are a mess. Glass shards from shattered windows coat the floor, glittering before being crushed underfoot. Doors are cracked from having people slammed into them. The rec room couch is overturned –and is sagging suspiciously on one side, hinting at a cracked frame. The entertainment system is shattered, with smoking bullet holes littering the TV, speakers, and media systems.

Frank has one of the guys pinned down over the sink. He’s snarling as he uses the lip of the sink to choke the guy out. There’s blood smeared his lips and chins, trailing back up to his chin.

Another gunman stalks in through the dining room, gun trained on Frank’s head.

You whip a blast of air at the second man, sending him sailing into the wall so hard the drywall cracks.

He drops to the ground, unconscious.

There’s some terrified shrieking –and then a gunman is punted up and out of the basement stairwell. He sails through the kitchen window headfirst, crumpling in a heap in the hedges outside.

Your husband storms up the staircase, teeth bared in an angry snarl. The waning daylight glints off his metal exterior, almost making him look like some sort of avenging angel. He stops short when he sees you, though; his irate expression vanishes, replaced by concern. “Ty v poryadke?”

You manage a smile and flash him a thumbs up—

And then a truck with a Gatling gun strapped to the roof rolls up to the back door.

“Get down!” Frank hollers before tackling you to the ground behind the kitchen island.

The room explodes into chaos. Bullets plow into the walls, sending up spurts of drywall dust in their wake. Wooden doorframes and floorboards crack, unleashing cascades of splinters in every direction. Glass shatters, raining down upon everything in its reach.

Frank positions himself over you, shielding you as fragmented bullets rain down upon your both. He cups your head with his hands, doing his best to protect you from the hellfire.

Over the din, you can just make out a loud, angry bellow –and then the sound of bullets hitting metal. Heavy, deliberate stomps make the floor shake.

The gunfire cuts off. A shriek pierces the air just before you hear what sounds like a car being tossed into a tree.

(As you’ll discover later, that’s precisely what you heard.)

Frank lifts his head, then carefully rolls off you. He crouches next to you and holds out a hand. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Your ears are ringing, and you’re pretty sure you’ve got glass shards and splinters in your hair, but you’ve been worse. You take his hand, flinching when you hear the sound of more gunfire outside.

Frank peers over the lip of the island. “Reinforcements. At least five more cars headed our way.”

You suck in a breath. “Piotr—”

“Is holding his own for now,” Frank says.

“I’m gonna help him,” you rasp out. “Make sure everyone in the house that’s not on our side… stays down. And that we’ve still got all our people.”

Frank nods, then runs off towards the foyer.

You catch your breath, then creep towards the back door (better safe than sorry). You flatten yourself against the wall next to the doorway, then peer around the broken frame.

Piotr’s facing off against the new influx of cars. He’s got one hand on the hood of one Range Rover, arm extended out like he’s fending off a five-year-old. With his other hand, he flips another SUV over, causing the thing to land on its roof and putting the vehicle squarely out of commission.

Your stomach sinks when five more Range Rovers tear across the lawn, leaving deep, muddy tracks in their wake –and are followed by three more trucks with Gatling guns attached to the roofs. You sprint out the door, take a flying leap over Piotr, then send out a shockwave of air when you land on the ground.

A few of the cars fly backwards, rolling across the lawn like tumbleweeds. A majority of them, however, manage to stay upright or bump into each other and recover.

Your eyes widen when one of the Gatling gun operators aims directly at you. Shit.

Piotr leaps in front of you, whirling so his back is to the gun. He curls his body over yours, shielding you as gunfire rains down on you both.

You grit your teeth, grunting. You can feel the impact of the gunfire resonating through your husband’s metal body. Worry clutches at your heart when Piotr lets out sharp, ragged groans; he’s largely invulnerable in his armor, not to mention his sense of touch is severely dulled, but you know that with shit like this he’s still feeling some sort of pain –and there’s nothing you can do. You’re both pinned down, and as powerful as your shockwaves are, they’re not enough to stop or even skew the trajectory of a bullet—

Blue light washes over both of you. The sound of the gunfire wanes, replaced by warbling, pinging noises instead.

You peer around Piotr’s side to see Illyana standing between the two of you and the oncoming cars. She has her arms outstretched, palms facing the onslaught of adversaries. A shimmering, sky blue shield with various magical incantations floating through it surrounds all of you, stretching into the sky for at least forty feet.

Illyana grunts. She’s being shoved backwards from the force of impact from the bullets. Her feet are digging into the ground, leaving ruts as she tries to hold her stance. “We need new plan!”

“How about ‘stay alive?’” Piotr shouts back as he digs shrapnel out of the grooves on his arms.

Wade, Neena, Nate, and Frank come barreling out the back door, faces streaked with soot and blood. They dive for the ground, covering the backs of their heads and necks with their hands—

An explosion goes off inside the mansion. The shockwave shatters windows on both the first and second floor, blowing out window frames and trim.

Piotr covers your body with his once more. He cups your head with his hand, shielding you from the falling debris and the worst of the shockwave.

You cough and hack as smoke billows out the broken windows and doors. You do your best to make a vortex to suck the smoke away and send it up into the air. Your lungs burn, and your ears are ringing like a bell from all the gunfire and the explosion—

Four more gunmen emerge from the smoke pouring out the back door.

You snarl, then whip blasts of air at them, slamming them into the exterior walls of the house.

One of them goes down, while the other three are merely stunned.

Mikhail comes barreling out next. He lets out a guttural battle cry, then sucker punches one of the men in the back of the head before aiming a blast of rust colored energy at another’s gut.

The man screams as he sails into the air, arcing over the tree line and disappearing somewhere in the canopies.

The third man aims his gun at Mikhail –then staggers and drops to the ground when a beam of golden energy sears through his chest.

Alex storms out of the smoke with Artemis and your uncle trailing close behind her. She glares down the remaining gunmen and cars, teeth bared in a vicious snarl. Blood is flecked across her face and spattered over her leather jacket. “House is clear!”

“Yeah, except now we’re about to be cleared out!” Wade hollers back. “As in, ‘all sales final, no returns, no exchanges!’”

“If we could make plan,” Illyana screams, voice strained with the effort of holding the shield, “would be very great!”

You look over to Alex –and see her eyes widen. You whirl towards the gunmen just in time to see one of them aim a rocket launcher at all of you. “Oh, for the love of—”

The first hit is technically deflected by Illyana’s shield, insomuch that the projectile and the shield both shatter the moment they meet. The force of the magic breaking sends out a shockwave of blue energy that flies backwards into all of you, knocking those who managed to get up back off their feet and stunning the rest of you.

You groan, head reeling. Your vision clears slowly, casting double images when you move too quickly. Shit.

You can make out Piotr, just next to you. He’s lying face down on the lawn, grunting and moving in slow, clumsy movements. He turns his head, brow furrowing when he sees you, and reaches out towards you.

You extend your hand to grab his –but he’s just out of your reach, no matter how far you strain. Your body feels heavy with fatigue and pain; everything inside you is screaming to get up, to fight, to keep moving because death is knocking right on your door, and you’ll be damned if this is how you go out—

Alex recovers first –no surprise there. She shoves herself to her feet, seething and growling like a feral beast. She hurls a blast of energy at one of the cars –and, from the sounds of the carnage, makes a direct hit. She storms towards the sea of mafia men like an avenging angel, hell bound on vengeance and blood.

Audible gasps go up from the amassed assassins.

You lift your head to see several of the gunmen backing away from the mansion and crossing themselves with shaking hands. You chalk it up to Alex being Alex, and make to drop your head back against the ground once more—

And then you see Allison standing in the ruined doorway.

She’s glaring down the gunmen with a viciousness that doesn’t suit the youthful roundness of her face. Her brows are knit together, and her mouth is twisted into an ugly scowl. Her eyes are glowing a brilliant shade of blue and give off little wisps of azure colored smoke. Her skin and hair are smoking as well, creating an aura around her body. Blood drips down from her nose and onto her shirt –which is stained with ash and soot. There are burn marks and indents on her wrists from where the repression cuff and the handcuffs used to be, respectively, but the restraints themselves are gone.

The ground begins to shake. Two patches of cerulean light appear underneath the grass, growing larger until they form swirling vortexes of magical energy. The ground begins to crumble at the edges of the portals, eroding away and growing wider until they make gaping tunnels that channel so deeply into the earth there’s no telling how far they truly go.

You recoil when the smell of sulfur and smoke blenches forth from the tunnels. Shit, did she hit a gas line? Fucking dammit, like this day can get any worse—

Echoing, blood-chilling howls emanate from the tunnels.

Your eyes widen –and then your heart starts working overtime when you see two, then four massive hellhounds (like the ones Allison summoned at the mall) crawl out of the tunnels.

Shrieks of terror sound from the gunmen. Several take off running, while others try to shoot the beasts.

The hounds snap and snarl at the gunmen, then charge at the group. Two of them go off after the runners, while the other two start lunging after the assassins like they’re rabbits.

You stare at the chaos in disbelief –and then a set of strong hands grab you underneath the arms.

“Get up.” You uncle tugs you to your feet, keeping you steady when you stumble. “You can’t be in the flow of traffic for this.”

Behind you, Allison is panting like she’s run a marathon. The aura of blue smoke is growing around her, trailing into the air and floating over the ground. Veins of light spread across her face and arms, glowing the same shade of vibrant blue as her eyes. Her breathing grows louder and more ragged, until she’s growling and shaking with each exhale— and then she screams.

Much like the first confrontation in the cemetery, all those months ago, the scream unleashes a shockwave of blue energy. This time, though, the shockwave is far from a decoy for escape. It washes over you, the X-Force, your uncle, the other Rasputins, Frank, and Artemis harmlessly enough –then slams into the mafia forces and vehicles like the wall of a hurricane.

Alex charges after the shockwave, carefully trailing behind it. She waits until it clears the first line of gunmen, then slams her fist into the face of the man closest to her. She blocks his attempt to strike her, then twists his arm –dislocating the shoulder, which makes him shriek in pain. Then, she wrenches his rifle away from him. She shoots him once in the center of his forehead, then turns the firearm on his fellow men and keeps firing.

Mikhail and Artemis go after the one surviving Gatling gun. Mikhail teleports onto the truck bed; he sweeps the back of one man’s jacket over his head, effectively blinding him, then kicks the other man present in the balls before shoving him over the side of the truck.

Artemis, on the other hand, stops a few feet away from the truck. She uses her telekinesis to rip the Gatling gun off its mount, then yanks the driver out through the windscreen –headfirst, no less—and dumps him on the lawn.

He doesn’t get back up.

“Come on,” your uncle says, pointing towards the further reaches of the property, where some of the gunmen are still trying to outrun the hellhounds. “Let’s give the dogs a helping hand.”

The two of you reach out, creating a wind current that slices through the air and slams into the stragglers.

The men careen into nearby hedges –and the hellhounds have it from there.

The familiar sonic blast of Nathan’s gun rips through the air. The shot slams into the last remaining SUV, rendering the vehicle to little more than glass shards and mangled metal.

The back lawn and gardens fall silent, save for the sounds of groans of pain and the hellhounds chewing on various gunmen.

Mikhail takes a fall off the back of the truck bed. He flops onto the ruined grass below, limbs splaying like a rag doll’s. “Alright. Is time for nap. Wake me… never.”

Illyana scoffs from where she’s sat next to a smoldering bush. She picks up a nearby stone, then chucks it at her eldest brother’s head (and hits her target, no less). “There is still clean up. Bezdel'nik.”

Mikhail flips her off, then groans as he rubs the bridge of his nose.

“She’s right,” Alex lectures her eldest as she picks her way through the carnage. She nudges one body with the toe of her combat boot, then shoots him through the temple when he groans.

“Mama!” Piotr gapes at her, expression scandalized. He sputters, looking between her and the body at her feet.

“Chto? Vy khotite yego zhivym? Chtoby on mog dolozhit' svoim khozyayevam? Chtoby on mog obrushit' adskiy ogon' na etu shkolu i vsekh, kogo vy lyubite? No –no.” She holds up her index finger and stares sternly at Piotr when he tries to argue. “You do not leave enemies on your six o’clock, medvezhonok. First rule of survival.”

Piotr swallows hard, then says softly, “X-Men do not kill.”

Alex shrugs. “And I am not an X-Man.”

“We’ll handle it,” Nathan says. He holds his hand out for Alex’s rifle, nodding when she hands it to him after a moment’s hesitation.

(Wade and Frank are already working their way through the sea of dead and wounded. Frank’s traversing the chaos methodically, sticking to minimal shots to kill the survivors, while Wade’s alternating between singing “Dancing Queen” and getting post-mortem revenge.

“You shot my dick off inside!” Wade gasps as he peers down at a –slightly chewed on—corpse. “Extra bullets for you!” He then shoots the dead body several times before resuming his pitchy serenade.)

“What now?” Allison asks, staring out at the carnage with a slightly shocked expression.

“‘What now?’” Artemis repeats, laughing incredulously. She stomps towards Allison, pulling a pack of tissues out of her inner jacket pocket. “What the hell are you even doing out here? You were supposed to stay in the safe room—”

“They had cameras in there,” Allison says with a roll of her eyes, as if that justifies her decision to join the fracas. “You guys were getting your asses kicked.”

“We would’ve handled it.”

“Yeah, except you weren’t,” Allison fires back. She scrunches up her face when Artemis starts wiping the blood off her face, but otherwise takes the mothering without any complaint.

“It’s not your responsibility to deal with this shit,” Artemis says, voice and expression softening for a moment. She cleans up Allison’s face –then scowls. “And where the fuck are your cuffs? How did you even get out of them?”

Allison shrugs. “I used my powers to short the repression cuff out and ash it off.”

Illyana’s, Alex’s, and your uncle’s heads all snap around to stare at Allison.

“Are you kidding me?” Artemis hisses through clenched teeth. “You could’ve fucking killed yourself!”

“Or caused magical paradox that ripped hole in space-time continuum,” Illyana snaps.

“Ruptured blood vessels in your brain and caused an aneurysm, made the cuff deliver a lethal electrical shock, turned your magic against your own body and rendered yourself to ash,” your uncle continues, ticking off items on his fingers.

“Well, I didn’t do any of that!” Allison snarls, glaring at the others while Artemis keeps cleaning up her face. “And I made sure you losers won the fight –so fuck off!”

“Get her something to eat and drink,” Alex says. “Her blood sugar is bound to be low after pulling a stunt like that.”

Artemis glares at Alex and opens her mouth to respond—

Across the yard, Wade lets out a pained shriek. “My balls are not fetch toys! Bad Fido! Bad!”

Your eyes widen as you watch one of the hellhounds swing Wade around by his legs. You bite down on your lip, holding in a shock-induced laugh.

“Where’s this mutt’s off-switch –hey, hey! No!” Wade wriggles in the hellhound’s mouth, panicking as another beast bounds towards him. “My spine is not a tug toy! Can someone get rid of Fido and Rufus before they rip me in half!”

Allison snorts –then, before anyone can stop her, holds out her hand and flicks her wrist.

All four hellhounds melt back into the ground, disappearing to the depths of hell from whence they came.

Artemis swears under her breath, then catches the teen when she stumbles. She moves frantically, grabbing more tissues as blood starts pouring out of Allison’s nose once more. “You fucking idiot. Why the fuck did you do that? When are you going to fucking learn that you’re not invincible—”

Allison lets out a sharp, hoarse laugh –then passes out.

…

The wreckage inside the mansion is heartbreaking.

You stare at the ruined furniture, the scorched walls, the splintered doors, the ruined rec room and kitchen, and you have to wonder what was the fucking point?

Part of you understands that the mafia came prepared for war; they were going up against powerful mutants, so –naturally—they would want to be prepared. Having the strongest, most powerful weapons available increased their chances of success. Logically –from a strictly tactical standpoint—it makes sense.

Glass crunches under your shoes. You stare down at a litany of fallen picture frames, heart wrenching as you stare at the ruined pictures of graduates, students, and workers inside. We’re just a school. We work with kids. What was the point of trying to wipe us out?

Piotr ambles up behind you. He puts his arms around your shoulders and kisses the top of your head. “Cleaners and repairmen will be here in less than one hour.”

You feel numb. You place your hand on his arm. “That’s good.”

“We have back ups of pictures,” he murmurs. He kisses your cheek. “Insurance to cover replacing damaged items. We will be fine.”

“I know.” You sigh, leaning back against your husband’s chest. “We’re just a school. What… what was the point? Why try to wipe us out?”

“I do not know.” Piotr kisses your other cheek, hugging you reassuringly. “Perhaps they believed we knew information about ‘family business.’ Or that we were protecting Allison for some reason.”

“She’s just a kid,” you argue, voice breaking as your grief and exhaustion wells up and threatens to overtake you. “She’s only thirteen…”

Piotr says nothing, merely holds you closer.

You sigh—

And then a door slams. Hurried stomps echo down the hall. There’s creaking as a door opens again, followed by more footsteps and exasperated shouts.

Allison storms past you and Piotr, heading towards the kitchen. Her jaw is set, fists clenched at her sides.

You and Piotr look at each other –then follow after her, if only to be sure that nothing else is going to explode today.

She slams her hands down on the island counter –and, on the opposite side, Frank and Karen both flinch and stare at her warily.

Allison glares at Frank, jaw working convulsively. Her shoulders heave with each breath she takes. Her eyes shine with unshed tears, making the bags underneath seem darker and deeper by comparison. She trembles, expression flickering wildly between grief, white hot rage, and the neutral mask she’s trying so desperately to hold. She sucks in a breath that sounds more like a pained sob, then stares Frank down and spits out through gritted teeth, “You leave my people alone, I leave yours alone. Deal?”

Frank sighs. He nods, expression heavy with grief and eyes shining with remorse. “Yeah, kid. You got a deal.”

Allison clenches the edge of the island so hard her hands go white. She lets out a strangled, angry laugh as the tears finally start to fall. She ducks her head briefly, then glares back up at Frank. “I fucking hate you.”

Frank grimaces, but nods and says, “I know kid. It’s okay. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

“That ain’t worth shit.”

“I know… believe me, I know.”

Artemis –who’d previously been watching at the kitchen threshold—steps forward and puts her arm around Allison’s shoulders. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s go.”

Allison clenches her teeth together, but still lets out a choked sob. She presses her lips together, looking around the room to try and regain her composure, to stop the flow of tears. She manages a deep breath, then takes one last look at Frank and snarls, “If I have to see your fucking face again, I’m ripping out your guts,” before storming out of the room.

Frank, to his credit, doesn’t respond (though you suspect he feels too guilty to even consider arguing). He merely hangs his head, expression that of a kicked dog.

Karen leans against him. She interlocks her fingers with his, murmuring in his ear (likely about how it isn’t his fault, and while it looks like that may technically be the case, you’re glad you don’t have to walk the spider’s silk of a line those facts lie upon).

What a shitshow.

Piotr puts an arm around your shoulders and gently leads you out of the kitchen. “Come on, myshka. Let’s go find spot to rest.”

…

Frank and Karen leave shortly after “making the deal” with Allison.

Allison and Artemis hang back for a bit to talk to Xavier. You don’t get all the gorey details but from what you can tell, it’s essentially an offer to help train Allison’s powers so she doesn’t hurt herself rolled in with a warning to keep her nose clean, stay on the straight and narrow, etcetera etcetera.

The sun’s just starting its descent from the sky before the two of them walk out of the meeting room.

Allison is wearing Artemis’s jacket and looks downright haggard.

Artemis has her arm around the teen and is gently guiding her while she talks to Xavier (though, perhaps the term “talk” is too generous, considering most of her responses are nods or terse, one-to-two word replies).

The rest of the Rasputin family, you, Piotr, and your uncle are all gathered in the foyer to make sure Allison and Artemis leave without too much trouble (or causing more trouble themselves).

Your uncle is sweating bullets and looks like he just shit his pants; he’s glancing between Alex and their daughter so fast it’s a miracle he hasn’t given himself a headache yet.

Now or never, you think, watching him with pursed lips. Tell your secrets before they’re told for you.

Alex kneels down next to Allison. “Are you okay?”

Allison’s gaze doesn’t leave the floor. “The fuck do you think?”

She quirks her mouth to the side. “Not all that good.” Alex ducks her head lower, trying to catch Allison’s gaze. “You remember what we talked about?”

Allison’s eyes narrow. She moves her gaze away from Alex. “Go to hell. I know what I know.”

“Sometimes… it’s better to not,” Alex says. She stares at Allison for a moment longer, then pats her shoulder before standing and walking away.

Artemis stares after Alex, expression morphing rapidly between fury and shock. She sputters for a moment before snapping, “What –that’s all you have to fucking say?”

Alex pauses, turning slightly so she can see Artemis. She raises one eyebrow, otherwise looking unbothered. “Is there something else I should be saying?”

“You don’t have anything to say to me?” Artemis presses, crossing her arms over her chest. “Nothing at all?”

“Is there something you want me to say to you?” Alex fires back, smirking slightly.

Artemis stares at Alex for a long, hard moment. She shakes her head, eyes welling up with tears, then turns her glare onto your uncle. “You really didn’t fucking tell her.”

“What?” Alex’s expression sobers, going wary as she looks between your uncle and Artemis. “What didn’t you—”

“This really isn’t the time or place—” Your uncle tries.

And here it goes.

“I’ve gotta do all the work, then,” Artemis snarls with a vicious smile. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense, considering I’m not your favorite,” she tacks on with an angry glare towards you. She storms towards Alex, one hand outstretched, with a cruel, angry smile stretched across her face. “Hey, mom. How’s it going?”

Alex’s eyes widen. She stares at Artemis, eyes tracking over the younger woman’s face. “What…”

“You fucking heard me.”

Illyana, Piotr, and Mikhail look at each other, then at Alex, then at Nikolai. They explode into confused Russian, gesturing between their parents, Artemis, and your uncle—

Realization dawns in Alex’s dark eyes. Her expression trembles, tears welling up in her eyes as she stares at Artemis’s face.

And then she uses her telekinesis to yank your uncle over and decks him.

#sass writes #piotr rasputin x reader #colossus x reader #nathan summers x wade wilson #frank castle x karen page #alexandra rasputin x nikolai rasputin #love me some soap opera style drama #and frankly so does marvel #and honestly if marvel can have whatever tf infinity war and endgame were i can have this #probably shouldn't have built alex's whole backstory and have it be outside the scope of this series bUT OH WELL #deadpool fanfiction #x men fanfiction

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261197writingideas · 7 years ago

Text

TRAFFIC

ACT ONE

SCENE ONE

Two teenage boys sit in a car. They’ve been driving for three hours to a rave in Brighton. JAMES, the driver, is extremely high and has been for the past hour he holds a spliff in his steering hand as he changes gears with his left. They move about half an inch further on the road. The car is thick with smoke and NOAH can barely see through the fumes.

JAMES: What? He looks over at NOAH.

NOAH; You're fucked.

JAMES: scoffs-Am not.

NOAH: You're fucked and we're about to die.

JAMES: Are we speeding down at a hundred miles per hour?

NOAH: sulkily No.

JAMES: spurred on No, we’re not. My nan could drive through this and she’s dead.

NOAH: Alright-James.

JAMES: Pushing up daisies on an Irish farm god bless ‘er.

NOAH says nothing, looking pointedly out the window. JAMES caresses NOAH’s neck.

JAMES: Oh come on. We said no more moods.

NOAH: I’m not in a mood.

JAMES: Yes you are-

NOAH: No I’m not.

JAMES: Fine, you’re not.

They sit in silence for a few minutes. JAMES looks worryingly over at him.

JAMES: Noah-

NOAH: -When we die pause I'll send you a postcard from heaven.

JAMES: What-?

NOAH: You'll be sent to a special hell for bad drivers where; no one indicates before they turn and cyclists never wear high-vis.

JAMES: Is this your attempt at humour-

NOAH: I'll send you a nice post card with no personalised message just a computer-typed signature.

JAMES:- Because it's depressingly poor.

NOAH:-Then, you'll regret killing the only person with enough patience to put up with you.

JAMES looks over at NOAH incredulously and laughs.

JAMES: You're mad.

NOAH: Yeah, and you're fucked.

A family pull up a few cars behind them. They’re on their way to HELEN’s mother’s house in Exeter. A few weeks previously, HELEN found out that her unborn son was dead and that she’d still have to deliver him naturally. TED, her husband, is in the driver’s seat and he watches her. Every now and again, he looks at her belly and feels sick every time she catches him. In the backseat are their two kids. SAM who’s eleven and MEGHAN who’s fifteen.

SAM: I spy with my little eye something beginning with.... he looks around him at the dreary, grey day, stretching up on his fingertips to see out of the main window. T! He says triumphantly.

MEGHAN: That's so easy Sam. She rolls her eyes.

SAM: Then what is it he says petulantly.

TED: hopelessly fake, positive tone Traffic!

SAM: No, Dad. That was a trap- I knew someone would guess that.

TED: Well, it's the only thing I can see. He leans to the side to get a better view of the cars For ages actually. He looks over at Helen, she stares out at the rain, she's barely breathing.

MEGHAN: It's obviously trees. They're everywhere.

SAM: Nope, wrong again. You'll never get it Meghan. Mum and dad might but you won't.

MEGHAN: What's that supposed to mean?

SAM: Triumphantly like he's quoting something you lack imagination.

MEGHAN: You didn't.

SAM: Didn't what. He smiles.

MEGHAN: You read my letter! I can't believe you read my letter! Dad- he read my letter- I'll kill you. I'm actually-how dare you!-

MEGHAN takes off her seatbelt and starts hitting her brother moving to his side of the back-seat.

SAM: Ow! Ow-get off me! Just because you're a bad writer doesn't mean- he laughs, she punches him squarely on the arm, OW! DAD! TED: Now- guys- come on. You know I can't do anything from here. He helplessly thrusts his left hand towards the back-seat trying to pat them away from each-other, Meghan accidently hits him.

Ouch Meghan for gods' sake.

SAM: See! See- Dad, you raised a savage he laughs as he swats her hands away, she pinches him really hard on the same arm. Fuck Meghan! That's gonna bruise! TED: What did you just say Sam. The car goes silent.

HELEN: Tarmac. The silence turns electric as they all look over at Helen. It’s the first time she’s spoken since they started driving. She smiles briefly. I spy with my little eye something beginning with T...It's Tarmac.

We move to the third car, a bright pink Volkswagen Beetle. In it, a girl called BRIDGET who’s barely twenty-two sits with a box of chocolates cradled in her lap. She tries to eat noiselessly while HARVEY who she’s on the phone with, finishes a funny story.

HARVEY: Bridge are you still there?

BRIDGET: mumbles in assent, looking at her phone, her mouth stuffed with chocolate.

HARVEY: - I can't hear you- are you-are you eating?

BRIDGET: gulps noisely. No.

HARVEY: chuckles Yes you are.

BRIDGET: No I'm not. I told you, it's Lent and during Lent-

HARVEY: I know what Lent is Bridget. I also know that you're lying through your teeth...your chocolate stained teeth. He laughs. Poor Jesus.

BRIDGET: What?

HARVEY: How's he ever supposed to come back with shoddy followers like you. He laughs.

BRIDGET: Harvey!

He laughs

BRIDGET: I don't know what you're laughing at. If I recall correctly I'm actually doing you a favour-

HARVEY: Yes, yes I know I'm sorry-

BRIDGET: As you very well know I actually hate driving on the motorway, it really stresses me out and you making fun of me when you're not even here to keep me calm-

HARVEY: I'm in hospital!-

BRIDGET: -Really shows how little you value what I'm doing for you.

HARVEY: extremely fatigued. Yes Bridget, I'm eternally grateful.

A short pause.

BRIDGET: -And whatever confectionary treat I may or may not be eating to help me through this, frankly, traumatic experience is no concern of yours.

A longer pause.

HARVEY: Did you just use a religious event as a cover-up for eating chocolate in my car?

BRIDGET: Remind me never to do anything for you ever again.

HARVEY: Yeah-noted. You start abusing Christianity whenever you do.

A shorter pause.

BRIDGET: guiltily And anyway you're selling the car.

HARVEY: laughs That's really not the point Bridge.

Back in the family car, Sam’s asleep. He snores softly, MEGHAN texts furiously on her phone while Ted hums to Michael Buble and HELEN watches her daughter through the wing mirror.

HELEN: Who're you texting Nutmeg?

MEGHAN looks up

MEGHAN: No-one.

HELEN: That's an odd name.

MEGHAN: sighs It's nothing important. She sounds a little put-out We're just planning our presentation.

HELEN: her mouth perks up with the attempt at a smile But you like him.

MEGHAN: I don't like him at all. I'm- I'm focusing on other pursuits. I don't have time for boys they're all idiots.

TED: He calls over Michael Buble Hear hear.

HELEN: Other pursuits. Helen echoes, nodding slowly

Meg, in a nutshell, aspires to be an odd mash-up of Caitlin Moran, Glenda Jackson and Oprah.

MEGHAN: Yes, like writing and learning the piano and my GCSE'S. In fact, I'm on strike.

HELEN: raises an eyebrow On strike?

MEGHAN: nods From boys.

HELEN: From boys.

MEGHAN: Yes.

Pause

HELEN: So, what's his name?

MEGHAN smiles.

MEGHAN: Go away mum.

HELEN: she shrugs It's just- your grandmother's house is in the middle of nowhere.

MEGHAN: So?

HELEN looks at her through the wing mirror.

HELEN: No service.

MEGHAN looks horrified.

MEGHAN: You're joking.

TED: We can always train a carrier-pigeon.

MEGHAN: You've got to be joking.

TED: Or, a raven! Like in Game of Thrones. Y'know I've heard they're actually faster.

MEGHAN: Dad can you shut up about birds. How am I supposed to live stream the UN Women's convention?

HELEN: Two words Meg. Dial-up.

TED chuckles, he looks over at HELEN relieved. For a moment, when he watches her smile, he can pretend everything's fine.

MEGHAN: I don't understand, what-what's dial-up?

TED goes to share a laugh with HELEN but she’s taken her seatbelt off and is opening her car door.

TED: Helen! The rain-we’re on the motor-

HELEN runs as fast as she can to the car in front of them. From the tarmac she picks up a fallen teddy bear and taps on the passenger window. Cars melding into the traffic miss her by an inch.

HELEN: Excuse me-

CAR PASSENGER: What on earth-

HELEN: This- this bear fell out of your car. You don’t want him to start crying I-

The woman in the passenger seat snatches the teddy bear and peers worryingly out of the window to TED and the children in the car behind.

CAR PASSENGER: Are you mad? Get out of the rain!

The passenger rolls up her car window and their driver moves them the inch available along the motorway. HELEN looks at their car as they drive away. The little boy peers out the back window and waves the teddy at her. She loses sight of him through the rain. TED drives up to her and calls across through the passenger window.

TED: softly Honey. Get in the car.

She doesn’t hear him. Cars behind start beeping as he continues to wait for her.

MEGHAN: Mum? Come on. Mum you’ll catch a cold.

Ted opens the passenger door, the sound shakes HELEN out of her reverie and as if on auto-polite she gets back into the car. The slamming car door wakes SAM up.

SAM: Is that a service station sign? I'm starved. He yawns.

All of them but HELEN look at him. His smile falls.

Back to the first car, JAMES has turned up the radio, Arctic Monkey's 'R U Mine' is playing and he's banging on the steering wheel, thrashing his head about. His hair bobs up and down and NOAH joins in. They roll the windows down, letting the wind whip past and through them, NOAH loves that moment of panic when the air travels too fast past you for you to breathe. And in that split moment, when he glances over at JAMES, his eyes closed, leaning against the seat, his face flushed and teeth glinting, NOAH realises he loves him.

JAMES: I GO CRAZY COS HERE ISN'T WHERE I WANNA BE

AND SATISFACTION FEELS LIKE A DISTANT MEMORY-

AND I CAN'T HELP MYSELF ALL I

WANNA HEAR YOU SAY IS R U MIIIIINE

beams over at NOAH R U MIIINE

NOAH: in a fake falsetto operatic voice Are you mine tomorrow! JAMES throws his head back laughing

NOAH: in the same style Or just mine tonight!

The guitar solo comes on and they both thrash themselves around, they both know the whole riff and switch between the drums, the lead guitar and the bass. At the same moment, they both close their eyes just as a car comes into the motorway from the split-road, they miss each-other by a breath as JAMES turns sharply to the right and into the other lanes of traffic, amidst beeps and muffled exclamations of anger, JAMES goes up a side road back on the left bank of the motorway and pulls up on a side-road. JAMES slams on the brakes. The momentum pulls their heads forward and whips them back against their seats. NOAH takes off his seatbelt and slumps against his seat, panting heavily. JAMES absent-mindedly touches his neck where his mother's necklace used to be.

JAMES: out of breath and shaking Are you alright?

NOAH looks over at him. Then, suddenly, he reaches over, grabs JAMES by the face and kisses him. JAMES struggles against his seatbelt and takes it off hurriedly. Pulling NOAH to him the second it's off.

JAMES: Noah-

between kisses

NOAH: I hate you. Kisses him I really hate you.

JAMES: What-

They break apart for a moment.

NOAH: I can't- I don't feel safe with you. I don't think you know how to-

JAMES: angrily What?

NOAH: lost for words I think you need help.

JAMES: rolling his eyes Noah-

NOAH: It's sick.

JAMES: Fuck you.

NOAH: like it pains him You can't go two hours James-

JAMES: Fuck you.

NOAH: You sold your mum's-

JAMES: he roars in NOAH'S face FUCK YOU! Once again, their faces are a breath apart, JAMES pushes him away and NOAH, losing some kind of battle within himself, pulls him in and kisses him again.

Back to the Volkswagen Beetle, BRIDGET's eating again but this time she's on the phone to her friend CECE.

BRIDGET: I’m pretty sure I’m in love with him.

CECE: I don't know why you're acting like this is news.

BRIDGET: deflated, Well-what do you mean?

CECE: You two have been living out a Richard Curtis film for the past two years.

BRIDGET: You're not funny Ce, I'm really in a vat of deep shit.

CECE: incredulously You're the most- dramatic person I've ever met. Is it really so bad?

BRIDGET: Yes, it is so bad Cece. I can't think of anything worse.

CECE sighs For heaven's sake why?

BRIDGET: Because the second boys know how you feel, all your power is gone.

CECE: That's ridiculous.

BRIDGET: The ball's in their court and you have nothing to bargain with anymore.

Pause

CECE: I don’t know how to apply reason to that. I’m trying.

BRIDGET: Oh, Cece I'm serious.

CECE: Yeah so am I. You're being ridiculous.

Longer pause

BRIDGET: Sometimes...I honestly think I- pauses, not sure whether she wants to admit it I think I live for him. Like, when he's not around everything's sort of, still. And then, when I see him, someone presses play and I'm alive again.

CECE: Oh, Bridget.

BRIDGET: with the confidence to carry on But the worst part of it is the injustice. How am I spending eighty percent of my time and energy analyzing everything he says, counting down the seconds till I see him. Taking ten minutes to pluck up the courage to call him or text him. Driving across the bloody country to see his sister who, between herself her dog and her crustacean of a husband, should take over from Cerberus and guard the gates of hell. Pause, like it’s all dawning on her. I’m on the motorway which terrifies me more than she does, driving a car that’s straight from a cartoon. Pause And he-he's not thinking about me at all. Pause Isn't that just- the worst thing you've ever heard?

CECE: Oh, Bridget don't-

BRIDGET: I'm pathetic.

CECE: You're not pathetic.

BRIDGET: I'm Bridget Jones with no Colin Firth.

CECE: Honestly-

BRIDGET: And no hot sex with Hugh Grant at the beginning.

CECE: No-one says hot sex Bridget.

BRIDGET: What?

CECE: It's embarrassing.

Pause

BRIDGET: I have a free pass now Cece. As an official Pathetic Person, I have allowances.

CECE: Right.

BRIDGET: I can say hot sex and re-watch the first hour of Titanic and the last hour of the Notebook in an alternating pattern for hours on end.

CECE: You didn't-

Pause

BRIDGET: That was a particularly bad day.

CECE: gives up Well- why don’t you just tell him how you feel? Outright so there can be no miscommunications. If you're already in the valley of the pathetic-

BRIDGET: -I am.

CECE: Then you have nothing to lose have you?

All four of them bundle out of the family car and from the service stop they can see the traffic go on endlessly. As they walk across the entrance, toddlers play noisely in playpens and harassed looking parents try to fit all their belongings back into their now suddenly smaller cars. Sam runs towards the McDonald's sign while MEGHAN goes straight for a modest Waterstones. With a start, TED realises that he and HELEN are alone. The gulf between them that the kids help cover up once again becomes achingly vast.

TED: watches another father try to negotiate his toddler into his jacket I don't miss that.

HELEN: chuckles humorlessly I do.

Together, they watch the pair.

HELEN: Did you sign the form for Sam's-?

TED: nods Stonehenge trip yeah-before we left.

HELEN: Good.

A WOMAN sitting near them peers at the pair, suddenly as if appalled with herself, she stands up.

WOMAN: Sorry, would you like my chair? Her eyes linger on HELEN'S enlarged belly.

HELEN: Oh no, no. That won't be necessary.

WOMAN: No, really, I insist. With my lot I couldn't stand for more than a minute before my ankles started aching.

TED: Thank you we're-

WOMAN: How far along are you? Looks like it won't be long now.

HELEN: Really its-

WOMAN: Oh! And do you know if its a boy or a girl? Or are you traditional?-

TED: Honestly don't- he peers over at HELEN, terrified.

HELEN'S face blanks, as if her personality's been wiped away. She fought it from the moment she felt the WOMAN's eyes on her belly. She fought it the second she heard toddlers screaming. She fought it the second colours starting swimming from coats and clothes and toys, blurring together, blending till they were grey.

WOMAN: looks worryingly over at TED Is she alright?

TED: Takes Helen's arms and sits her down in the offered chair. He glares at the woman, furious. Not in the slightest.

WOMAN: a little disturbed as HELEN continues to stare into nothing I’m sorry did I?-

TED cuts rudely across her, calling SAM and MEGHAN from his Android.

TED: Guys, come back as soon as you can please. I’ve texted you our orders. We’re in the seated area.

HELEN stares at the WOMAN across TED as he furiously taps at his phone.

HELEN: He’s not an angry person I assure you.

TED: Helen-

HELEN: He’s just under a lot of stress right now. I’m a handful. She smiles a little.

The WOMAN gets up and leaves, sitting on the other side of the area. TED looks over at HELEN.

TED: You didn’t have to say that. He smiles we scared the nice lady away.

HELEN: Why not? It’s true. Chuckles humorlessly I ruined you.

TED puts his arm around her.

TED: You didn’t ruin anything.

HELEN: whispers, like she’s been trying not to say it You said- you said it ‘d be too dangerous to-

TED: Don’t say that. He pulls her towards him.

HELEN tears up

HELEN: And I pushed it. I didn’t list-

SAM and MEGHAN come running towards them, SAM collapses in the chair next to HELEN and leans his head against her shoulder. MEGHAN holds a Waterstone’s bag and all the McDonald’s packages but one which SAM has and promptly tears into.

MEGHAN: Yeah, thanks Sam. Let me carry everything.

SAM: His mouth full of chips. You’re older.

MEGHAN: acidly So?

SAM: he shrugs Your arms are longer.

MEGHAN sits next to TED, looking at him imploringly.

MEGHAN: He is an idiot, isn’t he? I’m not just hearing things?

TED laughs gruffly.

TED: Thanks for the burger Nutmeg.

SAM: Mum? What’s wrong? Why are you crying?

They all follow HELEN’s eyes, she stares at the little boy with the teddy bear from the car earlier, asleep in his mother’s arms a few rows in front of them.

SAM: D’you think bump will look like him?

MEGHAN and TED look at each-other worriedly. HELEN plays with SAM’s hair and wipes her eyes with her other hand.

HELEN: It’s not nice to let your sister carry everything you know-

SAM rolls his eyes

SAM: For God’s sake-

HELEN: It’s not fair is it?

SAM: gruffly No.

HELEN: And what right have you to read someone else’s mail? And not only that, but to make fun of her aspirations and goals? It was brave what she did Sam.

MEGHAN: Mum-

HELEN: And we’re all going to have to be brave for a bit.

SAM: Yes Mum.

HELEN: And what do you want to apologize for?

SAM: Her existence?

MEGHAN leans over and hits him on the head. TED shakes his head.

TED: That’d be our fault, pal.

MEGHAN: Ew, Dad-

SAM: shrugs I forgive you, we all make mistakes.

HELEN chuckles.

SAM looks up at her.

SAM: Well done for getting it right the second time though.

MEGHAN: Over TED and HELEN’s laughter Sam, do you even know what you’re talking about?

Cut to earlier that day, BRIDGET rings HARVEY. She’s breathing deeply to calm her nerves.

HARVEY: Yes, Bridget.

BRIDGET: Oh-hi.

HARVEY laughs.

HARVEY: What’s up-everything good? Or have you given up on food and started on heroin?

BRIDGET: she rolls her eyes haha very funny-

HARVEY:- I’m a funny guy.

Pause, he waits for her to speak. She opens her mouth but keeps hesitating.

HARVEY: Bridge?

BRIDGET: like verbal diarrhoea Do you like chicken?

Pause, BRIDGET mimes shooting herself.

HARVEY: I-yes. He laughs nervously

BRIDGET: Good, good. Me too.

HARVEY: I know.

BRIDGET: So, on a scale of 1 to 10, how much do you like chicken? I’m-I’m a solid ten.

HARVEY: Yeah, I’d say the same.

Pause

HARVEY: Bridget what are you actually on?

BRIDGET: -I like chicken so much I reckon I could eat it…when I get back.

She peers out the side of the car at a cross-roads and starts inching across the road

HARVEY: Right.

BRIDGET: Would you-

HARVEY: Eat chicken with you?

BRIDGET: I-deflates yes. Lets out the breath she’s been holding And-and maybe love me back? Its just, uhm, I imagine this is what torture feels like- y’know, loving someone and-and them not-not feeling the same so…So if you could that’d be…

Pause

BRIDGET: That’d be great.

Longer pause, Bridget stops at a red light and softly beats her head against the steering wheel.

HARVEY: That depends.

BRIDGET: braces herself On-on what?

HARVEY: Will you starts chuckling stop eating chocolate in my fucking car?

BRIDGET beams, the light turns green and she doesn’t check her mirrors before she drives

Back to the first car, NOAH and JAMES are back in the traffic and they’re sitting in complete silence. Neither wants to be the first to speak but JAMES can’t help it. He reaches into the glove compartment and chucks a jewellery box at NOAH.

NOAH: What’s this?

He opens it, inside is a key.

JAMES: I didn’t spend it on packet, I knew it was worth enough to get my own place.

He looks over at him after pulling the handbrake up.

JAMES: That’s meant to be your key.

NOAH: Meant to be?

JAMES nods

JAMES: Depends on how long it’ll take for you to get over shit that happened years ago. Looks over at him again. I’m not the same person I was then, Noah.

NOAH sighs

NOAH: I know you’re not.

JAMES: Do you? Because not feeling safe around me isn’t at all encouraging.

Pause, NOAH looks out the window.

NOAH: I guess it’s not-it’s not really about you.

JAMES rolls his eyes.

JAMES: For god’s sake Noah, this isn’t a teen drama.

Longer pause, Noah looks at JAMES.

NOAH: I’m in love with you-

JAMES:-What?

NOAH: shrugs, in a small voice And it’s not the safest feeling.

JAMES keeps his eyes glued to the road, it suddenly becomes impossible to look NOAH in the eye.

JAMES: Okay.

Pause, NOAH smiles to himself looking down at the jewellery box.

NOAH: And I’ll keep the key thanks.

JAMES: Good.

NOAH: Great.

Longer pause, the silence now is unbearably sweet. NOAH spots a few ambulances and the wreckage of a car on the side road. Ahead of the car crash the traffic completely dissipates.

NOAH: Oh, it was a car crash.

JAMES: Hmm?

NOAH: The traffic, look over that side.

JAMES looks over.

JAMES: Shit that looks awful.

NOAH chuckles

NOAH:Is that-was it a pink beetle?

FIN

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