You'll Never Catch Me

Pietro stood in the back during the press conference, his hands behind his back as he kept his daughter behind him while his father gave his speech. He had kept himself apart from the rest of the group during the few days he had been there, trying to keep his daughter from getting swept up into the mutant madness.

He was also keeping a close eye on the antics of the Brotherhood. Because if they were going to cause trouble, he would have gotten Luna out of there instantly.

But things had been calm... well, as calm as they could be. And as Pietro listened to his father's speech, he made a decision to himself.

"Daddy, who's that man?" Luna asked, peaking out from behind her father's legs from time to time. Pietro knelt down to be eye level with her as Erik walked back to his table.

"Does he scare you, sweetie?" he asked, searching his six year old daughter's eyes. If he was going to do this, she needed to want it.

"No. He looks like you though. Is he your daddy?"

Pietro smiled. "Yes. he is. Which makes him your grandpa. Would you like to go meet him?"

"Can I give him a hug? He looks like he needs a hug."

"I think he would like that." Pietro stood back up and looked through the crowd for where his father had gone, then took Luna's hand and led her over to their table. Seeing Toad, Luna instantly hid behind Pietro's legs again, peeking out to look at the man curiously a moment while Pietro leaned over to put a hand on Erik's shoulder.

"Father. I have someone I want you to meet."

Pietro gave his father a very careful look, warning him not to try and do anything that would scare his child. The speedster was very protective of his daughter, which he demonstrated as he put a hand on Luna's shoulder and eased her a bit out from behind him.

"This is Luna. My daughter."

Blue eyes watched Erik from her father's kneecaps as she clung to his pants.

ooc: going back to the 1997 Quicksilver comic series for this. The underlying theme in that series is that Pietro speaks his thoughts into a voice recorder as letters to his wife, who he believes is dead for the first few issues...


Dearest Crystal,

Ever since you left with Wanda to go after Onslaught, my life has been a mess. Being the people we are and what we do, I always thought I would be prepared for the day I was told one of you left my life. Now I know that it's news I would never be able to handle, and to lose you both...

I'm barely holding on, my love. I can't sleep at night, knowing that there is no chance I can wake up to have you in my arms again. Knowing that our last moments were filled with painful accusations and hurtful words. If I only could have you back, I promise I would understand. I would help understand and fix what has gone wrong between us.

The only thing that keeps me going is Luna. She still doesn't understand that her mother is gone. She has snuck into my room in the early morning light and curled up in bed next to me. She asks where you are, and I can't tell her that you aren't coming back.

She's gotten so big now. So little, and yet she's so big. And smart, oh how much of our intelligence she has inherited. Bova managed to teach her to tie her shoelaces in just an hour.

When I look at her, all I see if your beauty reflected in her face, Crystal. And knowing that, I'm able to smile and know that there is still a tiny piece of you left here that I love with all my heart.

I love you, and miss you darling. Until next time, I remain your faithful husband, Pietro.

Pietro woke up first, hearing the soft cries of his newborn daughter from the other room. It took him a moment, as always, to reorient his brain from sleep to awake. In that time, he swore Luna's cries got louder.

"I'll take care of her," he whispered to his wife, Crystal, who just gave a soft moan and curled back up in the large bed they shared.

( He made his way into the baby's room... )

Years later, people would start to judge what kind of father Pietro was, leaving his daughter on the moon to be raised by his wife. And while he would try to defend himself, he knew exactally what kind of father he was. All he had to do was remember that night, that dance, and know.