* GIRL , EMPATH !

Pietro had been avoiding them since he’d gotten home. It was a few days before he felt clean enough. They were the only untainted things in his life. The only corner of his existence he hadn’t fucked up. Yet. Then again, maybe she’d seen. Maybe she decided he’d no longer be allowed to hold her, his daughter. Maybe Roza had begun to regret coming here. Why else hadn’t she sought him out since he came home? She hadn’t even presented Lupe to him yet, the way she was supposed to have been, and she hadn’t given the little girl his name either. It felt like he had one foot in and one out, like any moment she could take it away from him and then he’d have nothing good left.

He stands in their doorway, staring at the bassinet by the window where his daughter surely slept. The sun was blocked out by soft drapes surrounding the bassinet but he could still see her outline. So small, in a way that made Pietro’s arms ache to hold her. To cradle her close and keep her safe from the world and the ugly in it. He stares until Rozalia wanders into his eyeline and instead she’s all that fills his gaze. “Roza,” he says warmly, hands in his pockets as he leans against the frame. He keeps his hands there, out of view, and safe from soiling them. “Is she asleep?”

@rozalias

The sudden sound of his voice in the room makes her jump. She’d been so deep in though over the last few months that she didn’t even hear the door open. Not to mention the haziness that seemed to take root in her mind. The smile on her face is tender, he still is so precautions around their daughter as if any sudden movement from him would send them as far away from him as possible. “ Yes.” She responds back to him softly. Just looking at him standing there like that makes her feel anxious. He’s put his hands in is pockets like he’s got something to hide or to keep them concealed and avoid fidgeting. 

What would his mother think of him now? He can’t help but wonder. Sure she’d rejoice over this sweet and beautiful babe, an extension of her own womb and lifeforce, but how would she look at him? Would she look at him the same way she looked off everytime him and his sister had asked about their father? Pietro had never been an easy child, in fact he was the type of child that led to others swearing off having children at all. He was always in trouble, always in a rage, but his mother… She never once let him believe there was a bad bone in his body. You are not a bad child, Pietro. You’re just not making good decisions. The thought makes him laugh, run his hands down his face as he just keeps laughing. And laughing. God, why isn’t she running?

“Overwhelming,” he repeats before laughing again, clapping as he leans back into it. It takes a moment to settle but he can’t stop thinking about it. Running and running from his father’s legacy. From his own destiny. Today he was facing a daughter he didn’t even know existed. What was the fucking point of all that running then? He’d only ever end up here. Letting out a large breath, he sets his hands on his hips and finally looks at her. “She’s mine,” he says it definitively so that she knows he believes her. He should go to hold the baby, but he can’t shake the feeling like his hands are dirty. Horribly dirty, and not the kind he could wash off.

He does stand closer, feeling like there’s cement in his shoes as he crosses the room. Looking down at the babe, his eyes fall to the puff of white her mother had exposed. Her face looks so peaceful and soft. Her cheeks rosy despite her olive complexion. “And you…” he says suddenly before turning his gaze to Roza. “You are okay?”

he looks like he’s on the edge of some existential crisis. the senses of mania, confusion and idle but secondary panic swarm together to surround his thoughts and rozalia only sits quietly. her eyes blink at him waiting for his dramatics to stop though she knows this is only the beginning. realizing you’re pregnant by a man who was barely in your bed for a night is one thing. and it was certainly  enough to make someone go mad —— but this ? this was entirely different. being kept on the outside of something that could completely change the course of his life. make him the spitting and ruefully painful image of the man he’s been running toward away from his entire life. that’s always how it was. you think something in your life will change you, make you different. next thing anyone knows, you’re set out on some form of quest, rebellion. still — you end up right we’re you started. it’s enough to drive anyone insane. 

maybe pietro thought it would change the way he looked at himself in the mirror.  the way he saw her, the world, and what he’s been wanting from this life. this  was going to force him to grow up, something pietro thought he had already done out of pure spite, and in some aspects, out of simple necessity. he was wrong. ❝ i am fine, pietro. just a little tired. ❞ she sighs, staying on the bed. it’s impossible for her not to smile up at him as she stays seated on the bed. partly because the fact of not knowing if  approaching him to ease the situation a bit would be helpful, and mostly because her feet are killing her. it probably would have helped if they knew each other a bit better.  ❝ and you ? it looks like you are doing really well for yourself here. ❞ rozalia looks briefly around the room, hoping to not make him anymore uncomfortable in his own space than she’s already made him ( if that was even at all possible ).

It felt like ages until the stranger turned, and his patience diminished by the second. The only thing that kept him from moving was the child on his bed, undoubtedly innocent in whatever was happening here and he wouldn’t put them at risk. He kept his feet on the ground, bearing down hard to keep himself from making any sudden movements to startle the other into action. It felt like the air in here had thickened immeasurably. Like they were on the brink of something, hanging on by a thread. The darkness in him lavished in this, lavished in the fact that his life was only continuing to fall apart. That this could be something horrible, terrible, something irreparable. What have you done now, Pietro? What have you brought upon your family? It whispered, echoed in the chambers of his mind as he stared at the sleeping child. At peace, undamaged. Who would bring something like that into the world?

But then she turns and the puzzle pieces don’t fall so much as crash. They tumble from his head to his feet, his stomach dropping and the world shifting from underneath him. Penelope. He found he didn’t want to know her name, and he’s ashamed of that. He stares at the little girl with a fear in his eyes, one that he could have learned to deal with if he had known before she was born. But now, so suddenly all he could think of was how this could go wrong. He’d failed Wanda and Klara, and he wasn’t doing a bang up job with Lorna. What the fuck was he supposed to do about this? “You’re sure?” And as shitty as it sounded, it was the first thing he could come up with. They had to be sure. “Absolutely sure?” It wasn’t that he didn’t recognize her, because he did. He’d been injured, she’d helped him. He’d thanked her the way he knew best. He wondered how many times his own father’s story went like that. Brushing his hand down his face, he pushes down the urge to run. To get away from this. Instead he takes a step forward.

the storm that brews within him is strong. dark grey clouds are heavy in weight with rain and they hover above, making it impossible to see a way out of this. doubt, fear, and guilt. each emotion could ring through the sky, like rolls of thunder and rampant in his head space. the ground rumbles, it’s a slight warning. the very earth was on verge of swallowing them both whole. but then who would take care of her , their child ? 

the situation they find themselves in is certainly a complicated one, and with the way she’s brought it upon him so abruptly, she’s very much aware that she can’t fault him for his feelings. nonetheless, rozalia strongly believed that he would want to at least know his daughter. pietro already witnessed from a first hand account what happened to growing up not only without a father, but one who didn’t even know he existed. no matter how uncomfortable the air between them was at the moment, she wanted to at least give pietro the chance his father never had.  penelope would grow up to know she had a mother who loved her, but she still deserved the chance to grow up with a father in her life.

turning back to her daughter, she can’t help but laugh a little at his inquires. her hands are soft as she adjusts seat to pull back a cover. another small chuckle escapes her for a brief moment before she moves some dark hair. ❝ fără îndoială. ❞ she says in their shared language, hoping to give him some small bit of calm. the movement reveals a small tuffet of silverly hair, contrasting starkly around the surrounding stands, indisputable. her gaze turns back to him with a small smile. he looks like a scared cat, caught with his tail between his legs. ready at a second’s notice to split and make a run for it. what would the world think if they could see this ? pietro maximoff  : scared shitless, by a baby.  ❝ i know this is, overwhelming . . . ❞   somewhere in the the middle of that sentence, hangs a ❛ but ❜ though she think’s better of it and her mouth fumbles shut again. ❝ i thought you would want to know. ❞

When Pietro had first arrived at the institute, nearly a year ago now, he’d wondered what the hell Wanda had been doing in a place like this. They’d lived an isolated life, wary of others and of assimilation, and then Wanda had done an about face. She wanted things they’d never thought they needed, things away from him. Things more than him. It bothered him still, seeing her shine around all these strangers. Seeing her speak with that fake accent, the beautiful melody of her voice hidden. She wanted to be American so bad, she’d abandoned who they were. He was still bitter, yes, but he was beginning to see a grand design beneath all of this. Finding Max in this state wasn’t a coincidence. Lorna appearing at the mansion wasn’t a coincidence. Erik’s appearance at the Summit was fate, cruel and twisted fate, if he ever saw it. They would be together again, the lot of them, and Pietro didn’t know what that meant. He didn’t want to know where this path would lead them. Especially after seeing Lorna and Erik stand side by side at the Summit. Knowing his corruption, and madness, would soon siphon into her like an unavoidable plague. It had destroyed him, and he wouldn’t let it destroy her.

After speaking with Hank, trying to ensure just that, he makes his way up the stairs. His body is buzzing, the need to zip about the mansion nearly impossible to ignore. The people here moved too slow, they stopped for idle chatter everywhere. In the hallways, the staircase, in doorways. All these places meant for movement and they just stood still. It didn’t matter how fast he was, he couldn’t speed up time. He couldn’t make the world move at his pace, and some days he couldn’t handle it. He needed to be alone. Closing the door behind him, he clicks the lock into place and sighs with relief. Shutting them all out, shutting out their stillness and their calm. With a large deep breath, he turns to head to his bed and rest his aching body but the figure in his room gives him pause. His first instinct is to pin them down, and he’s about to move when he recognizes the sight of a car seat on his bed. A babe, a beautiful one. “Want to tell me what you’re doing here?” he asks, accent heavy with his apprehension. He still can’t see the stranger’s face, and he waits with baited breath for them to turn.

what was already a small fleeting sense of calmness is gone as it is violently ripped away from her. much like the air from her lungs that becomes hitched at her throat, and chestnut eyes go wide with what feels like such a sudden intrusion. but this is what she wanted, right ? it’s been so long since they’d last seen each other, longer than she’s realized, — or let herself admit. would he think her selfish for keeping this from him for so long ? time seems to have etched itself into his very vocal chords. she thinks to herself. meanwhile, in the sparsely lit room stood atlas’ most formidable opponent. though unlike the titan, the burdens that have befallen pietro are self imposed. as he seems so intent in carrying the weight of the world for those he cares most about. rozalia cannot help the sharp pang of guilt that rises from being the thing that only adds to the weight.

the tissue that surrounds her heart begins to burn from lack of oxygen, and the tension in the atmosphere only adds to the moderate discomfort. what could she say ? his voice sound so tired, and weighed down by all the things he’s had to go through. ❝ penelope. ❞ it’s all she can manage to say, and the name leaves her mouth like a prayer, barely a whisper. with each time her daughters name leaves her rosebud lips she recites the many countless promises she’s made to her daughter. i promise to protect and love you. i promise to fight for your rights in this world and never let you feel like you are something that does not belong. these are but few, and she hears the voices of her parents in the first two, but they fade away towards the end. it’s another tang to her heart strings. rozalia finally turns to match his gaze, letting out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. she’s hoping that he still recognizes he because after all, she's always been one who was easy to walk away from —— and true to his powers he was gone the next morning, in the flutter of a heartbeat. ❝ penelope. ❞ her voice breaks but still manages to carry a firmer pitch in tone this time. she’s to caught up in her own emotions to even bother noticing the tears that are forming at the brims of her eyes.

rozalia looks up at the school and just feels hope, there’s a slight smidgen of unease mixed with it but part of her wants to cling onto hope ——— no matter how many times it’s been taken from her before. with everything that was going on with the current state of the affairs of the mutantkind, it seemed like hope was the small ember of a fire that was fighting so hard to stay alive. but if no where else, Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters was the place to be ? her hand is nervous but determined when she knocks against the wooden door, the other holds penelope in her carrier. when a young girl, possibly no older than sixteen opens the door her eyes go directly to penelope she quickly steps aside to let them in. a certain blonde who seems older than most of the kids in the hallway enters the hallway and a good portion of them seem to avert their eyes as she strides past them without even the slightest form of acknowledgement. as if she had something, anything better to do than have anyone pull her aside for a moment. a brief wave of nausea as the woman quickly walks past them all. ❝ miss ? ❞ her voice calls out to the woman as she turns to follow her.  ❝ i am looking for pietro. pietro maximoff ? ❞ she meets the woman’s eyes hesitantly and feels utterly exposed. when the woman reluctantly gives her directions to pietro’s room and rozalia mentions a quick thank you before rushing off to find the room.

she is relieved to find it empty as she walks in and sets penelope’s seat down on the bed. despite rozalia having gone over this situation nearly a hundred times, thinking and searching for some kind possible explanation of how this all happened. it was simple wasn’t it ? the act is sure, but who could have thought that one fleeting night could have changed their lives forever ? and how could she explain the amount of time that had gone by or why it took her so long ? by the time morning sickness crept over her, pietro had already been gone for weeks and she was left without any way to contact him because she didn’t think she’d ever need to see him again. nine months later she was screaming for dear life ——— literally as she brought another life into the world from her own. she looks over at her daughter who remains still, fast asleep in her car seat. rozalia remains completely unaware of the door opening as she wraps her finger within the tiny fist of her child.