Pietro Maximoff (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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om_main2013-03-22 02:57 pm
om_quicksilver) wrote in om_main2013-03-22 02:57 pm
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Philip and Pietro, Friday afternoon
Philip and Pietro spend a sunny afternoon with comics, amazeballs bubble tea, the birds and the bees --spy style!-- and family secrets. Aka: Phil actually talks about himself, and it makes Pietro feel less fucked.
Though his fingers were stained with print, Pietro was all smiles this afternoon. He clutched a small sheaf of Phantom Speedster comics to his chest, all of which he'd located in the depths of the comic local comic shop's arcane quarter boxes. Sure, they were worth sweet fuck all, but he was excited; he'd owned some of them as a kid, back in the good times, but, well. Fire. A pair of lucky Phantom Speedster underpants (he'd acquired more, since they seemed so effective) must've had their luck multiplied by Laura's rhinestone lightning bolt shirt beneath Pietro's leather jacket.
Or that was what he was telling himself, anyhow.
Though he wanted to dart like wild, Pietro controlled the impulse and instead strolled up behind Phil, who was still perusing the vintage selection--the ones older than a decade and worth more than a quarter. "Find anything decent?"
"Yes and no," Philip said as he lifted another issue, squinting at it through the protective bag. "Decent, but not enough to put them in storage with the rest of them. I'm not sure I want to get more clutter in my room with only decent." The 'clutter', of course, being a laptop, e-reader, and a suitcase full of clothes. "How about yourself?" he asked with a nod towards the books Pietro was holding.
"Just some stuff I had as a kid. You know. Things get lost." Pietro held them up with a grin so the Phantom Speedster insignia would be obvious, and inspected the partially obscured cover of Philip's 'decent' comic. "Feel you on the clutter thing, though. What's this dude? I don't remember him from your cards or anything."
"Hmm? Oh, the Son of Revenge. He'd hook up with the Commandos now and then, superhero stuff. From Atlantis, super-strength, a chip on his shoulder that you could bludgeon someone with. They had a few like that in later years, with stories that just got wilder as time went on. He had some sort of revival in the 70's, I think." Philip replied. "Interesting story, but again not really worth taking up the space."
Pietro winced at the title. (There was a sticker over part of the "Revenge" so he hadn't quite made it out for himself). "Shit," he said, voice gone a touch bitter in spite of his best efforts. Topical title is super-topical. "If it was cheaper I'd buy it just for the read."
He glanced sideways at Phil, considering, as he had been all day, if he could bring up the subject and how. If he was one to believe in signs, that would've been, like it. Gaze fixed on the cover, he asked, as casually as possible. "What kind of revenge does that refer to, exactly?"
Philip was hardly unobservant himself. He'd noticed the wince at the comic's title and Pietro was a bit, hmm, muted was the word he'd choose. "Revenge on surfacers," Philip replied promptly, though he was watching carefully. "Atlantis is sunken, regular humans are terrible people that abuse the seas, that sort of thing."
"Welp. Can't argue with that." Pietro shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Probably a pretty common thing for the oppressed. Revenge fantasies."
"Very common," Philip agreed. "Having power over those that harmed you or yours is a very powerful thing." Maybe the shifting was from Pietro being restrained for so long, but Philip really wasn't sure. "Did you want to go do something else? I think we've seen everything here there is to see."
A powerful thing. A thing Pietro had thought of plenty of times before. Admittedly, he wasn't that into revenge. But his sensibilities when it came to who was in power and who was getting stepped on to achieve that power... well, it was in his blood and in his upbringing. There was no avoiding it. And he'd never want to. Just...
Right. They could talk about it later. Not here. As fast as his brain was, all it was doing right then was going back and forth. Still, if anyone would be able to say something practical on the subject, well. Now was the time.
Pietro nodded. "Lemme pay and we can get out of here. You ever had boba?"
Because suddenly Pietro had the urge for super-sweet milk tea with tapioca balls in the bottom. What? That shit was awesome.
"Not that I recall, no," Because Philip knew what it was, of course, but... just no. He'd seen the candy colors the stuff came in and couldn't quite reconcile himself to drinking it. "But if you want something, I'd be happy to make the trip?"
"Totally." Pietro was already on his way to the cash register. "And you have got to try that shit .I know it looks radioactive, but seriously, it's amazeballs. Actually, that's what they should call the little tapioca pearls: amazeballs." He smiled, well satisfied with this idea, as he dropped his Phantom Speedster comics for Comic Book Guy. (Who did, in fact, look a lot like Comic Book Guy--except he was smiling and not being a pretentious douche.)
"I'll take your word for it," Philip said with a smile. He didn't have anything to buy himself, but he was content enough to wait for the moment. Questions could wait until they were out of earshot regardless.
Of course, Pietro had no plans of letting Phil take his word for it. Ten minutes later they were next in line for boba nai cha, and Pietro asked, "Green tea or lychee?" He fidgeted a little with his comics as he stuffed them into his messenger, but this time it was just impatience, not so much with the discomfort. He'd decided on a course of action. And possibly a way to bring it up with Philip without betraying his promise to Erik to keep the story in the family.
He figured Phil, of all people, would understand.
"Green tea, please," Philip said as he watched the others in line. He'd told the truth that he hadn't done this before, but it looked simple enough to manage. The tricky part was those oversized straws really. "Do you do this a lot?"
"No, which is kinda sad," Pietro admitted. He stepped up to the counter--Jesus, take long enough?--and ordered, "One lychee and one green tea. Thanks." Then he paid and waved Phil over to wait behind the other, mostly teenage patrons.
"I totally should, but the sugar makes me a little ridiculous. More ridiculous. You know. Bad interactions." He held out one hand and shook it back and forth--really slowly, for him, but it'd look fast to the normals. And Phil would get the point. "Guess we all have our weaknesses."
And he didn't know Philip's. Yet.
Philip nodded as he watched the crowd with one eye and Pietro with the other. "Most people do." He gave a significant look at the crowd then, with the, do you really want to do this here, expression.
Pietro laughed at that; Oh Philip, you're so adorable. Their tea popped up, two decent-soxed plastic cups with absurdly large neon straws: one with a pale greenish liquid and a bright purple tube sticking out, and one pale pinky-orange with a bright pink tube. Pietro handed off the green-and-purple one and nodded Phil out of the shop, away from the crowd. As the door closed behind them, he said, "Don't worry. Contrary to popular belief, I have a filter. And a long ass time between when I think something and it comes out of my mouth.
"At least, if I want any of y'all to understand it." He started toward the park, sucking a tapioca bead up through his straw with some milk tea and--ahhhh, yeah, that was the stuff.
"There are all kinds of obfuscating," Philip said with a shrug. "So," he said after fiddling with his own drink for a moment. The texture of the things at the bottom was... interesting. "Son of Revenge, hmm?"
Because really, he could dance around it, but why?
Pietro had never thought of his superspeed-speak as obfuscating, but he supposed it could've been. (Which was probably why he and Tessa got on so well--well, apart from the fast brain thing. And other shared interests. Ahem.) He was pondering the possibilities when the "Son of Revenge" bit popped out--and that caused him to yank a hand through his hair and suck hard on the straw. Besides, Laura would say he should consider all the angles before acting. So he did all over again, with a faint, "Mmm-hmm."
When he was rewarded with another amazeball, he chewed thoughtfully. Slowly. Until they were in the clear--away from any interested ears. Then, "Seems like something that's coming up, lately. WWII references. And now more kids from the Facility. I'm not trying to compare the two in any real way; I'm just talking about the inevitability of some angry superpowered kids with chips on their shoulders. And how that usually goes."
"Poorly," Philip supplied. "Actually, you don't have to include abilities. Any group with a grudge, real or imagined can cause problems, big ones at that. It would take almost nothing for someone out of control to be labeled a terrorist in this day and age. And I'll be very upfront here, the prospect is terrifying. I don't think most of the students would realize what that means, not really."
"Agreed," Pietro admitted, then sucked thoughtfully on his giant pink straw again. Chewing another pearl, he went on, "I'm not sure anyone who hasn't actually needed--or even had revenge like that can, though. I don't think anyone knows what it's like, or what they're capable of, til it smacks them in the face. But... I don't know. What do you think?"
Dude had a grandfather who was a spy. He had to have some weird ass stories, at least, right?
"I think there are a lot of reasons that people do things, whether they have noble reasons or not," Philip said. He was looking down at his drink, not Pietro and obviously trying to choose his words carefully. "I think that you will never be able to tell by looking at someone what they're capable of, I think that even when you know someone really well, there's always going to be an element of the unknown. And you never know what might tip somebody over the edge. Which I suppose when you think about it, it's depressing, but it doesn't make it any less true."
He paused then and looked up at the other teen, measuring. "My grandmother shot my grandfather, you know. Three times. He's pretty proud of the scars."
Pietro had been nodding in agreement to Philip's thoughtful response--yeah, seemed about right, and what some called 'depressing' he called 'reality'. At the story of Gun-toting Grandma, his eyebrows went up and a tiny smile pulled at one corner of his lips. Still, it was tinted with an obvious wryness, his pale gaze serious enough to belie the apparent flippancy in the words: "Wow. Grandma sounds like a huge bad ass. And here I thought it was grandpa who was doing all the damage. Was that revenge, or just a job well done?"
Because that was the thing that bugged him. Taking out the Facility dudes--that shit had to happen for the sake of safety and protection for mutants everywhere. No one else was going to save them; they had to save themselves. It would also be justice, which was why he really, really hoped Laura could be involved; she deserved her retribution and maybe a little bit of closure or whatever, if that was ever really a thing.
But revenge. Just pure revenge? That was a different thing. And listening to Erik tell his story, Pietro hadn't been able to deny that if someone dared to take Wanda away from him...he would do the same. Even knowing it was wrong.
Really, though... where was the fucking line?
"Well, that depends on your perspective. From her bosses' standpoint, it was a job poorly done, though Grandma kept it a secret for years. From my perspective, it was well done, otherwise I wouldn't be here. You'd never suspect, not in a million years if you met her, that she was one of the best before she retired. She just looks like, well, a straightlaced, older, Englishwoman." That she still took contracts now and then, that wasn't something Philip thought he should share.
"But her and Dedushka both, they've done a lot of things over the years that weren't for any better a reason than it was their job to. My mom probably has too, or that's my guess." He paused again, groping for the words and not entirely sure he was succeeding with them. "When it's all over, you need to be able to look at what you've done with your life and live with it. That's something not a lot of people think about ahead of time."
"That's easier to do when it is your job," Pietro said, thoughtfully sucking at his straw again. And no, he had not missed the Russian word for 'grandfather' in there--with a name like Maximoff, there had been plenty of Ruska and Russian phrases mixed in with the Kalderash at home. "Though I'm sure even then you'd have regrets. And occasion not to follow orders." That corner of his mouth picked up a little farther, and he nodded, acknowledging, you know. Philip existing.
So weird. If someone had told Pietro three years ago he'd be having this conversation and thinking it was--well, it was a big deal, but it wasn't the least bit scary or incredible to him, anyhow, he wouldn't have believed them. (Seriously, though, how much CIA--KGB?!--was in this kid's family, anyhow? No wonder he was so out there.) "But I get that. I get taking orders from an organization that's entrusted with the safety of--of your people. I think that's the kind of shit you'd ultimately look back on and be able to live with. Mistakes and all. Like--both your grandparents. I guess." And hopefully his mother, but hey, Pietro knew better than to say shit about someone's mom.
"Revenge is the same way when it comes down to it. Why are you doing it, what's it for, what are you trying to accomplish?" Philip said as he stirred his drink around a little again. "Mind you, I was encouraged to think it wasn't a good idea at all, that sort of thing usually ends in paperwork, tears and explosions," he said dryly, giving Pietro a sidelong look. "But it comes down to the reasons, it doesn't bring people back but..."
Philip took a deep breath, this was one of those things he'd been warned about. He knew his worldview was different and that some people might react poorly to it. "Sometimes, the bad guys need to be put down and there isn't another way. Sometimes."
"That is exactly how I feel," and Pietro didn't mind that he sounded relieved. "It's like this thing with the Facility. No one else is going to take them down--we're all we have, so we kind of need to. If there's some revenge involved..." That wasn't really why Laura wanted it--at least, Pietro didn't think so--but neither of them had denied that it'd be a good thing for her. "Well, good."
Philip didn't see it as revenge himself, it was much more on the order of practical from his perspective. Then again, he wasn't as close to the situation as some of the others were. "I think," he said slowly, picking his words with care. "The most dangerous thing about the idea of revenge is that it can blind you to the details. Case in point, this Facility. I do agree that something needs to be done about them, but cautiously. We don't know who they have arrangements with, what sort of contacts they have. We go in without a plan and we could end up the bad guys, regardless of facts. That doesn't help anyone."
"Right," Pietro agreed again. Okay, see, if he made this about his own shit, it was way easier to handle. Well, helped that Phil had a brain on him, too. "The revenge thing should be incidental, like a kind of bonus to neutralizing the threat, that kind of thing."
"Exactly. It's nothing I have direct experience with obviously but, well, I've heard a lot of stories." A lot of stories, Philip reflected and from wildly different perspectives. "They ranged from somebody loosing it and ending up in jail to, well, a lot of people ending up dead. My family stopped censoring themselves a couple years ago when it looked like I was getting serious about picking a direction and joining up. "
Pietro chewed and swallowed a tapioca ball before asking, "Like. WWII revenge stories?" He wasn't even trying to pretend he wasn't totally interested. Phil wasn't stupid, he'd totally connect the dots. But. Well. He was a fucking child-spy from a spy family apparently. And he was on Pietro's side. So. Fuck it. He needed this conversation.
"More like people they worked with going off the rails and, well, let's say changing up what they're doing without warning. That makes for great movies, real life, not so much," Philip said. He took another sip of his drink and glanced over at the other teen. "I can't say I've heard a lot of personal stories about World War II but there were quite a few that got trotted out as lessons. I'll bet you've heard some that I haven't."
"Definitely heard a few quality ones." Pietro ran his free hand through his hair, jacking it up a little worse than usual and having an even harder time than usual finding a fuck to give about it.
But something had clicked into place in his mind, so he tried it out loud: "I think that's the thing though. The rails. When it's an organization of some kind, government or--or even just us" --he gestured to himself, to Phil, then around in general to indicate 'Xavier's' or maybe just 'mutants'-- "there are rails.
"Like one dude going after people one at a time is somehow different, in my mind, than, say, Mossad taking down the same people. Even though I might agree with the idea that those people need to be taken down. I mean, a Mossad agent can still go off the rails, but someone's there to, like, hold them accountable. Eventually."
Pietro didn't particularly like thinking that way, and his face screwed up to show it. Damn the man, and all that, but... yeah, that was his problem. If Erik had told them he'd been working for the CIA or yeah, even Mossad, Pietro would've been just impressed. Doing it on his own was a little, um, batshit.
All the worse because, bereft of other options... the more Pietro thought about it, the more he knew he'd do the exact same fucking thing. God, this made no sense at all.
"The purest intentions can be warped if no one has your back," Philip summed up. "You start out meaning well, and somewhere along the line, things can just start to slip. Maybe a little, maybe a great deal, depending on what kind of person you are." Philip was not, by any means, stake his life positive on anything in their conversation, but he was filling enough enough of the pieces, he thought especially in light of the little non-conversation he'd had with the headmasters.
"I do hope you know that that wouldn't be the situation with us," he said simply.
"I'm counting on it." Pietro accompanied this with an uncharacteristically serious look in Phil's direction, holding his gaze for a long moment. Thinking once more, Because I think I'm the crazy kind of person, buddy. Apparently it's in my blood, if that's a thing. Then, a little more lightly, "But you're wise beyond your years, with the wisdom of strange-ass generations of espionage on your side. And Tessa--well, she has her reasons too. So I guess we're in good hands."
"They aren't strange. No," Philip said, holding up a hand to interrupt any commentary. "They really aren't, compared to some of their co-workers I've met. Dad was downright boring most of the time."
And look at him, he'd gotten that out with barely a wince.
"Everyone's family is strange, but one thing I will say for my own: boring is about the last thing we'd ever be," Pietro said. Between the hexes, the green hair, the missing children, the Roma traditions, the war history... yeah. Boring wasn't a problem. Ever.
"I have a hard time imagining anyone in your family could be boring, either--even if you go out of your way to look it." Pietro cracked a smile again, glancing up and down at Phil's, ah, ensemble. Buttoned-up, as ever. And freakishly tempting. Seriously, movie night needed to happen fast before someone else noticed.
"Standing out means that people ask questions and I had to do a lot of compensating when I was the new kid all the time," Philip said. "The best way to never get caught is just to be the person no one would ever suspect, you know? I guarantee you, you'd never pick my mom out of a crowd. I'm kindergarten compared to her."
He poked the straw at the dregs of his drink, squishing the tapioca balls that were left. "You do know I'm probably not supposed to tell you most of this, right?"
Pietro nodded, fighting a little smile at the oddly childlike fidget with the drink, there. He wasn't gonna insult the guy with some stupid platitude about how friends kept secrets and blah blah. It was true--by being a pal and letting some of that out, he'd made Pietro's life a little easier. But also, "I wasn't supposed to tell you--well, everything all of those questions implied. I'm sure you've got a pretty good idea that this didn't come from a hypothetical place, amiright?"
"I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about," Philip said and he gave it his best, deadpan, there was nothing at all to see here, voice. Admittedly, it didn't sound as good coming out of a teenager as he hoped it would when he was an adult, but Philip did hope that Pietro would understand why he'd said it that way. If there was one thing Philip was good at, it was secrets.
With a chuckle, Pietro clapped him on the shoulder companionably. "Thaaaat's right. Just two dudes wandering through a park drinking bubble tea and looking badass. Move along, people, nothing to see. Keep it up and someday soon you'll be making the rest of your family look like kindergarten, not the other way around."
He sucked up another pearl, chewed, and swallowed quickly--considering whether or not to take advantage of this charitable mood on Phil's part and ask about his mutation. But no, that part of the conversation did seem to be closed now, so he'd just... save that for later. Instead he asked, "How's the training with Laura going?"
"Painfully," Philip said with a grimace. "Which is a good thing when it comes down to it. I'll never be able to match her, but that's not the point."
"We started hanging in the Danger Gym, now that's a thing." Pietro grinned a little at Phil's response, but yeah. He understood. So well. "The pain she's capable of inflicting is just one of her many charms. But our powers kind of edge out some of each others' advantage, so it's good."
A sideways glance. A raised eyebrow. It wasn't asking if he didn't do it out loud. Except Pietro knew very well that with Phil, it was. How do your powers fare against her--as in what the fuck are they?
"Well, worse for me is I don't have any kind of that." A little self deprecating shrug went along with the statement, Philip knew he wasn't all that extraordinary, relatively speaking. "What I do have is a lot of defense hammered into me over the years, but that's about it."
Dammit! Pietro sucked down the last of his milk tea, resigned. "I don't think there's anyone in this house who could match her, sparring-wise, except maybe Benjamin. And the reasons for both of those--well. Yeah."
Not only would no one want that, but Laura (and Ben, though Pietro only knew him through Ali, really) would be the last to want it for anyone else. That was kinda the point. "Still, there are worse ways to spend an afternoon than having your ass kicked by a beautiful girl.
"I haven't really thought about it that way," Philip said honestly. He took the moment then though, thinking back to their training and the odd positions they found themselves in occasionally. Huh. "Are you going to think I'm impaired because it never occured to me?"
"Impaired, no. Tunnel vision, yes. But to be fair, there are few things that will hold my attention like a beautiful girl who can kick my ass." Pietro chuckled. "The first time I met Laura, it was because I surprised her in the woods and she tackled me. I prrrrrobably shoulda known I was never gonna get over it right there and then."
Surprisingly enough, or maybe not, that prompted an actual grin from Philip. "Never get over it, hmm?"
"What can I say, I have impeccable taste." Pietro raised his eyebrows and grinned right back--in a way that was half dopey, half evil. "Hers is more questionable, but god, please don't tell her that."
Not like it'd ever come up, but hey, that was part of the joke.
"I would never dream of it," Philip said solemnly. "And as I am the last person that should ever give relationship advice to anyone, there's little to no chance I would try."
"Always a good policy. Gotta get your heart broken a few times first, right?" Pietro pretended to consider. "Plenty of good-looking mutants around the house--see, that could be almost as excellent a distraction as Sharktopus, for you..."
For a few seconds, Philip pondered deflecting again. Then again, he'd already spilled half of everything to Pietro... "It didn't really occur to me. I haven't exactly been in one place long enough to really date. And I have some, well... quirks."
Though Pietro's first instinct was to ask if that was spy-talk for "kinks", he reined it in. If only just barely and due to the blessing of superspeed brain. "Okay, this, I gotta hear. I mean, I got plenty of quirks myself, but not sure we're thinking of the same thing."
"I'm an uncompromising believer in safe sex," Philip said bluntly. "As in, it is an entirely non-negotiational point. And while I do understand that my dictating such a thing might be problematic, it's not worth the risk. I also had a few non-standard additions to the birds and the bees talk."
"Safe sex is good sex," Pietro agreed, unfazed and equally blunt. Yeah, okay, his extremely limited number of oral partners thus far had not insisted on condoms or dental dams, but if they had, like hell he would've complained. "Anyone who wants to negotiate about it can go fuck themselves.
"But please, enlighten me as to the non-standard clauses. That sounds fascinating."
"I apparently came close to utterly ruining my mother's career. Don't get me wrong, I know she cares, and I was never made to feel like she regretted it, but Mom was fairly upfront about that when the talks started," Philip said. "For that matter... I don't know how my grandparents work. The only thing I can think is there has to be blackmail to end all blackmail. For other people, not between themselves," he clarified after a moment.
"For the rest, well," he said as he ticked points off on his fingers. "The birds and the bees, the bees and the bees, and assorted other combinations thereof. Oh, and just because they say they love you, that doesn't mean they won't try to kill you," Philip deadpanned. It was hard to tell from his bland expression whether that last one was a joke or not.
Pietro's eyebrows had gotten progressively higher as the explanation proceeded, but by the end he was grinning. "You know, Phil, I'm not sure who's more fucked up. You, or me for thinking it all sounds pretty reasonable. I am all about families being honest about assorted combinations.
"At least your grandparents probably weren't blackmailing each other. But since you already think love doesn't preclude murder, there's nowhere to go but up, amiright?" Though he was still grinning, it was as much anyone's guess if Pietro was joking or not, too. Mainly because he was and he wasn't at the same time.
Also, he was definitely more fucked up, because this only cemented his idea that Wanda should hook up with Philip. His only concern before had been that she might eat him alive. Now, he was pretty sure dude was more durable than expected. Excellent.
"But not really conducive to dating," Philip said with a shrug. "It doesn't help that I don't have the slightest interest in anything long term. Which only makes sense as we're in high school, in my mind, but some people have some really odd ideas."
Oh wait. Possibly a deal breaker, depending whether, "You mean you're all about playing the field? Or you're just not into high school puppy love being the end-all be-all?"
"Definitely the later," Philip said firmly. "As for the first part, well, it would depend on what, hypothetically, we decided we were doing. I wouldn't cheat, if that's what you're asking."
"That," Pietro said thoughtfully, "is a complicated issue. I mean, I don't think of myself as a cheater, but what is cheating, really? Is it just violating a standing verbal agreement with someone?"
Or is it purposely avoiding creating a standing verbal agreement in spite of proclaimed emotional attachment just so you can keep screwing around? Eames and Me. Or is it doing that with the added bonus that you can avoid too much emotional attachment because eggs all in one basket means broken? Me. and. Laura.
"As I said, for me it'd depend on what we decided we were doing. As long as everyone's clear on what's going on, that's the important thing. When you start lying..." Philip shook his head at that. "And before you say it, yes, I know I'm a hypocrite for talking about the evils of lying. I've come to terms with that."
"Teach me your ways, Obi Wan. I want to learn." Pietro's smile was crooked.
"What, to lie? Sure, if you can turn back the clock roughly ten years," Philip said. "Long, long years of practice there, Pietro."
"I've never been a good liar," Pietro admitted. "Though whether that's because Wanda always knows or just that I'm shit at it is anyone's guess.
"But I'd like to know how to come to terms with being kinda a hypocrite. Like the whole thing where I'm trying to draw the line between revenge killing and killing for the sake of some... greater good. I dunno. Seems like a fine fucking hypocrite line."
"I don't know," Philip admitted. "I've never lived any other way, so I don't know what it's like to have something hit you in the face like that."
"Weird as hell," Pietro assured him, shaking the remnants of his bubble tea. "For me and all of mine. Speaking of, let's do that movie night thing soon so we can talk about something inane instead of something so heavy for a while."
"That's fine. I didn't expect this to come up at all," Philip said with a pointed look.
"Don't take it as an accusation." Pietro laughed. "The topic of choice was all me. This is just one of my usual attempts to force fun on you."
"No, sorry, I meant giving you as much detail as I did," Philip said. "And just that it really needs to be kept between us for now. But if it helped you figure some things out, that's all to the good."
"It did--at least, it helped me feel less crazy. I'll take it to the grave," Pietro said. A slight pause, then something he wouldn't normally have thought to admit. Somehow, he just thought Phil ought to know, or would rather know, or something. "Though, I do tell Wanda everything. Otherwise it's like not letting my right hand know what my left is up to. But I could just sorta... send her your way, if you'd rather?"
And he actually did not mean that in a 'hook my sister up' way.
That was a good question and needed some thought, Philip thought to himself. After a few moments, he nodded. "No details, if you would. If she has specific questions, I can figure out what to tell her from there. But she's your sister, trust your judgement."
"Telling her something is the same as telling me--and that goes the other way. We're not all that alike, in some ways, but we have the same policy there. And with each other." Pietro clapped him on the shoulder. "Thanks, man."
"Not a problem. Did you want to head back now or do something else?" Philip asked as he looked around for a place to toss his cup.
"Let's drop in and see if Curtis is at the music shop?"
"Sure, I don't have anything planned." Philip said as he tossed his cup. "Go ahead and lead, I don't know a lot of places around here yet."
Though his fingers were stained with print, Pietro was all smiles this afternoon. He clutched a small sheaf of Phantom Speedster comics to his chest, all of which he'd located in the depths of the comic local comic shop's arcane quarter boxes. Sure, they were worth sweet fuck all, but he was excited; he'd owned some of them as a kid, back in the good times, but, well. Fire. A pair of lucky Phantom Speedster underpants (he'd acquired more, since they seemed so effective) must've had their luck multiplied by Laura's rhinestone lightning bolt shirt beneath Pietro's leather jacket.
Or that was what he was telling himself, anyhow.
Though he wanted to dart like wild, Pietro controlled the impulse and instead strolled up behind Phil, who was still perusing the vintage selection--the ones older than a decade and worth more than a quarter. "Find anything decent?"
"Yes and no," Philip said as he lifted another issue, squinting at it through the protective bag. "Decent, but not enough to put them in storage with the rest of them. I'm not sure I want to get more clutter in my room with only decent." The 'clutter', of course, being a laptop, e-reader, and a suitcase full of clothes. "How about yourself?" he asked with a nod towards the books Pietro was holding.
"Just some stuff I had as a kid. You know. Things get lost." Pietro held them up with a grin so the Phantom Speedster insignia would be obvious, and inspected the partially obscured cover of Philip's 'decent' comic. "Feel you on the clutter thing, though. What's this dude? I don't remember him from your cards or anything."
"Hmm? Oh, the Son of Revenge. He'd hook up with the Commandos now and then, superhero stuff. From Atlantis, super-strength, a chip on his shoulder that you could bludgeon someone with. They had a few like that in later years, with stories that just got wilder as time went on. He had some sort of revival in the 70's, I think." Philip replied. "Interesting story, but again not really worth taking up the space."
Pietro winced at the title. (There was a sticker over part of the "Revenge" so he hadn't quite made it out for himself). "Shit," he said, voice gone a touch bitter in spite of his best efforts. Topical title is super-topical. "If it was cheaper I'd buy it just for the read."
He glanced sideways at Phil, considering, as he had been all day, if he could bring up the subject and how. If he was one to believe in signs, that would've been, like it. Gaze fixed on the cover, he asked, as casually as possible. "What kind of revenge does that refer to, exactly?"
Philip was hardly unobservant himself. He'd noticed the wince at the comic's title and Pietro was a bit, hmm, muted was the word he'd choose. "Revenge on surfacers," Philip replied promptly, though he was watching carefully. "Atlantis is sunken, regular humans are terrible people that abuse the seas, that sort of thing."
"Welp. Can't argue with that." Pietro shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Probably a pretty common thing for the oppressed. Revenge fantasies."
"Very common," Philip agreed. "Having power over those that harmed you or yours is a very powerful thing." Maybe the shifting was from Pietro being restrained for so long, but Philip really wasn't sure. "Did you want to go do something else? I think we've seen everything here there is to see."
A powerful thing. A thing Pietro had thought of plenty of times before. Admittedly, he wasn't that into revenge. But his sensibilities when it came to who was in power and who was getting stepped on to achieve that power... well, it was in his blood and in his upbringing. There was no avoiding it. And he'd never want to. Just...
Right. They could talk about it later. Not here. As fast as his brain was, all it was doing right then was going back and forth. Still, if anyone would be able to say something practical on the subject, well. Now was the time.
Pietro nodded. "Lemme pay and we can get out of here. You ever had boba?"
Because suddenly Pietro had the urge for super-sweet milk tea with tapioca balls in the bottom. What? That shit was awesome.
"Not that I recall, no," Because Philip knew what it was, of course, but... just no. He'd seen the candy colors the stuff came in and couldn't quite reconcile himself to drinking it. "But if you want something, I'd be happy to make the trip?"
"Totally." Pietro was already on his way to the cash register. "And you have got to try that shit .I know it looks radioactive, but seriously, it's amazeballs. Actually, that's what they should call the little tapioca pearls: amazeballs." He smiled, well satisfied with this idea, as he dropped his Phantom Speedster comics for Comic Book Guy. (Who did, in fact, look a lot like Comic Book Guy--except he was smiling and not being a pretentious douche.)
"I'll take your word for it," Philip said with a smile. He didn't have anything to buy himself, but he was content enough to wait for the moment. Questions could wait until they were out of earshot regardless.
Of course, Pietro had no plans of letting Phil take his word for it. Ten minutes later they were next in line for boba nai cha, and Pietro asked, "Green tea or lychee?" He fidgeted a little with his comics as he stuffed them into his messenger, but this time it was just impatience, not so much with the discomfort. He'd decided on a course of action. And possibly a way to bring it up with Philip without betraying his promise to Erik to keep the story in the family.
He figured Phil, of all people, would understand.
"Green tea, please," Philip said as he watched the others in line. He'd told the truth that he hadn't done this before, but it looked simple enough to manage. The tricky part was those oversized straws really. "Do you do this a lot?"
"No, which is kinda sad," Pietro admitted. He stepped up to the counter--Jesus, take long enough?--and ordered, "One lychee and one green tea. Thanks." Then he paid and waved Phil over to wait behind the other, mostly teenage patrons.
"I totally should, but the sugar makes me a little ridiculous. More ridiculous. You know. Bad interactions." He held out one hand and shook it back and forth--really slowly, for him, but it'd look fast to the normals. And Phil would get the point. "Guess we all have our weaknesses."
And he didn't know Philip's. Yet.
Philip nodded as he watched the crowd with one eye and Pietro with the other. "Most people do." He gave a significant look at the crowd then, with the, do you really want to do this here, expression.
Pietro laughed at that; Oh Philip, you're so adorable. Their tea popped up, two decent-soxed plastic cups with absurdly large neon straws: one with a pale greenish liquid and a bright purple tube sticking out, and one pale pinky-orange with a bright pink tube. Pietro handed off the green-and-purple one and nodded Phil out of the shop, away from the crowd. As the door closed behind them, he said, "Don't worry. Contrary to popular belief, I have a filter. And a long ass time between when I think something and it comes out of my mouth.
"At least, if I want any of y'all to understand it." He started toward the park, sucking a tapioca bead up through his straw with some milk tea and--ahhhh, yeah, that was the stuff.
"There are all kinds of obfuscating," Philip said with a shrug. "So," he said after fiddling with his own drink for a moment. The texture of the things at the bottom was... interesting. "Son of Revenge, hmm?"
Because really, he could dance around it, but why?
Pietro had never thought of his superspeed-speak as obfuscating, but he supposed it could've been. (Which was probably why he and Tessa got on so well--well, apart from the fast brain thing. And other shared interests. Ahem.) He was pondering the possibilities when the "Son of Revenge" bit popped out--and that caused him to yank a hand through his hair and suck hard on the straw. Besides, Laura would say he should consider all the angles before acting. So he did all over again, with a faint, "Mmm-hmm."
When he was rewarded with another amazeball, he chewed thoughtfully. Slowly. Until they were in the clear--away from any interested ears. Then, "Seems like something that's coming up, lately. WWII references. And now more kids from the Facility. I'm not trying to compare the two in any real way; I'm just talking about the inevitability of some angry superpowered kids with chips on their shoulders. And how that usually goes."
"Poorly," Philip supplied. "Actually, you don't have to include abilities. Any group with a grudge, real or imagined can cause problems, big ones at that. It would take almost nothing for someone out of control to be labeled a terrorist in this day and age. And I'll be very upfront here, the prospect is terrifying. I don't think most of the students would realize what that means, not really."
"Agreed," Pietro admitted, then sucked thoughtfully on his giant pink straw again. Chewing another pearl, he went on, "I'm not sure anyone who hasn't actually needed--or even had revenge like that can, though. I don't think anyone knows what it's like, or what they're capable of, til it smacks them in the face. But... I don't know. What do you think?"
Dude had a grandfather who was a spy. He had to have some weird ass stories, at least, right?
"I think there are a lot of reasons that people do things, whether they have noble reasons or not," Philip said. He was looking down at his drink, not Pietro and obviously trying to choose his words carefully. "I think that you will never be able to tell by looking at someone what they're capable of, I think that even when you know someone really well, there's always going to be an element of the unknown. And you never know what might tip somebody over the edge. Which I suppose when you think about it, it's depressing, but it doesn't make it any less true."
He paused then and looked up at the other teen, measuring. "My grandmother shot my grandfather, you know. Three times. He's pretty proud of the scars."
Pietro had been nodding in agreement to Philip's thoughtful response--yeah, seemed about right, and what some called 'depressing' he called 'reality'. At the story of Gun-toting Grandma, his eyebrows went up and a tiny smile pulled at one corner of his lips. Still, it was tinted with an obvious wryness, his pale gaze serious enough to belie the apparent flippancy in the words: "Wow. Grandma sounds like a huge bad ass. And here I thought it was grandpa who was doing all the damage. Was that revenge, or just a job well done?"
Because that was the thing that bugged him. Taking out the Facility dudes--that shit had to happen for the sake of safety and protection for mutants everywhere. No one else was going to save them; they had to save themselves. It would also be justice, which was why he really, really hoped Laura could be involved; she deserved her retribution and maybe a little bit of closure or whatever, if that was ever really a thing.
But revenge. Just pure revenge? That was a different thing. And listening to Erik tell his story, Pietro hadn't been able to deny that if someone dared to take Wanda away from him...he would do the same. Even knowing it was wrong.
Really, though... where was the fucking line?
"Well, that depends on your perspective. From her bosses' standpoint, it was a job poorly done, though Grandma kept it a secret for years. From my perspective, it was well done, otherwise I wouldn't be here. You'd never suspect, not in a million years if you met her, that she was one of the best before she retired. She just looks like, well, a straightlaced, older, Englishwoman." That she still took contracts now and then, that wasn't something Philip thought he should share.
"But her and Dedushka both, they've done a lot of things over the years that weren't for any better a reason than it was their job to. My mom probably has too, or that's my guess." He paused again, groping for the words and not entirely sure he was succeeding with them. "When it's all over, you need to be able to look at what you've done with your life and live with it. That's something not a lot of people think about ahead of time."
"That's easier to do when it is your job," Pietro said, thoughtfully sucking at his straw again. And no, he had not missed the Russian word for 'grandfather' in there--with a name like Maximoff, there had been plenty of Ruska and Russian phrases mixed in with the Kalderash at home. "Though I'm sure even then you'd have regrets. And occasion not to follow orders." That corner of his mouth picked up a little farther, and he nodded, acknowledging, you know. Philip existing.
So weird. If someone had told Pietro three years ago he'd be having this conversation and thinking it was--well, it was a big deal, but it wasn't the least bit scary or incredible to him, anyhow, he wouldn't have believed them. (Seriously, though, how much CIA--KGB?!--was in this kid's family, anyhow? No wonder he was so out there.) "But I get that. I get taking orders from an organization that's entrusted with the safety of--of your people. I think that's the kind of shit you'd ultimately look back on and be able to live with. Mistakes and all. Like--both your grandparents. I guess." And hopefully his mother, but hey, Pietro knew better than to say shit about someone's mom.
"Revenge is the same way when it comes down to it. Why are you doing it, what's it for, what are you trying to accomplish?" Philip said as he stirred his drink around a little again. "Mind you, I was encouraged to think it wasn't a good idea at all, that sort of thing usually ends in paperwork, tears and explosions," he said dryly, giving Pietro a sidelong look. "But it comes down to the reasons, it doesn't bring people back but..."
Philip took a deep breath, this was one of those things he'd been warned about. He knew his worldview was different and that some people might react poorly to it. "Sometimes, the bad guys need to be put down and there isn't another way. Sometimes."
"That is exactly how I feel," and Pietro didn't mind that he sounded relieved. "It's like this thing with the Facility. No one else is going to take them down--we're all we have, so we kind of need to. If there's some revenge involved..." That wasn't really why Laura wanted it--at least, Pietro didn't think so--but neither of them had denied that it'd be a good thing for her. "Well, good."
Philip didn't see it as revenge himself, it was much more on the order of practical from his perspective. Then again, he wasn't as close to the situation as some of the others were. "I think," he said slowly, picking his words with care. "The most dangerous thing about the idea of revenge is that it can blind you to the details. Case in point, this Facility. I do agree that something needs to be done about them, but cautiously. We don't know who they have arrangements with, what sort of contacts they have. We go in without a plan and we could end up the bad guys, regardless of facts. That doesn't help anyone."
"Right," Pietro agreed again. Okay, see, if he made this about his own shit, it was way easier to handle. Well, helped that Phil had a brain on him, too. "The revenge thing should be incidental, like a kind of bonus to neutralizing the threat, that kind of thing."
"Exactly. It's nothing I have direct experience with obviously but, well, I've heard a lot of stories." A lot of stories, Philip reflected and from wildly different perspectives. "They ranged from somebody loosing it and ending up in jail to, well, a lot of people ending up dead. My family stopped censoring themselves a couple years ago when it looked like I was getting serious about picking a direction and joining up. "
Pietro chewed and swallowed a tapioca ball before asking, "Like. WWII revenge stories?" He wasn't even trying to pretend he wasn't totally interested. Phil wasn't stupid, he'd totally connect the dots. But. Well. He was a fucking child-spy from a spy family apparently. And he was on Pietro's side. So. Fuck it. He needed this conversation.
"More like people they worked with going off the rails and, well, let's say changing up what they're doing without warning. That makes for great movies, real life, not so much," Philip said. He took another sip of his drink and glanced over at the other teen. "I can't say I've heard a lot of personal stories about World War II but there were quite a few that got trotted out as lessons. I'll bet you've heard some that I haven't."
"Definitely heard a few quality ones." Pietro ran his free hand through his hair, jacking it up a little worse than usual and having an even harder time than usual finding a fuck to give about it.
But something had clicked into place in his mind, so he tried it out loud: "I think that's the thing though. The rails. When it's an organization of some kind, government or--or even just us" --he gestured to himself, to Phil, then around in general to indicate 'Xavier's' or maybe just 'mutants'-- "there are rails.
"Like one dude going after people one at a time is somehow different, in my mind, than, say, Mossad taking down the same people. Even though I might agree with the idea that those people need to be taken down. I mean, a Mossad agent can still go off the rails, but someone's there to, like, hold them accountable. Eventually."
Pietro didn't particularly like thinking that way, and his face screwed up to show it. Damn the man, and all that, but... yeah, that was his problem. If Erik had told them he'd been working for the CIA or yeah, even Mossad, Pietro would've been just impressed. Doing it on his own was a little, um, batshit.
All the worse because, bereft of other options... the more Pietro thought about it, the more he knew he'd do the exact same fucking thing. God, this made no sense at all.
"The purest intentions can be warped if no one has your back," Philip summed up. "You start out meaning well, and somewhere along the line, things can just start to slip. Maybe a little, maybe a great deal, depending on what kind of person you are." Philip was not, by any means, stake his life positive on anything in their conversation, but he was filling enough enough of the pieces, he thought especially in light of the little non-conversation he'd had with the headmasters.
"I do hope you know that that wouldn't be the situation with us," he said simply.
"I'm counting on it." Pietro accompanied this with an uncharacteristically serious look in Phil's direction, holding his gaze for a long moment. Thinking once more, Because I think I'm the crazy kind of person, buddy. Apparently it's in my blood, if that's a thing. Then, a little more lightly, "But you're wise beyond your years, with the wisdom of strange-ass generations of espionage on your side. And Tessa--well, she has her reasons too. So I guess we're in good hands."
"They aren't strange. No," Philip said, holding up a hand to interrupt any commentary. "They really aren't, compared to some of their co-workers I've met. Dad was downright boring most of the time."
And look at him, he'd gotten that out with barely a wince.
"Everyone's family is strange, but one thing I will say for my own: boring is about the last thing we'd ever be," Pietro said. Between the hexes, the green hair, the missing children, the Roma traditions, the war history... yeah. Boring wasn't a problem. Ever.
"I have a hard time imagining anyone in your family could be boring, either--even if you go out of your way to look it." Pietro cracked a smile again, glancing up and down at Phil's, ah, ensemble. Buttoned-up, as ever. And freakishly tempting. Seriously, movie night needed to happen fast before someone else noticed.
"Standing out means that people ask questions and I had to do a lot of compensating when I was the new kid all the time," Philip said. "The best way to never get caught is just to be the person no one would ever suspect, you know? I guarantee you, you'd never pick my mom out of a crowd. I'm kindergarten compared to her."
He poked the straw at the dregs of his drink, squishing the tapioca balls that were left. "You do know I'm probably not supposed to tell you most of this, right?"
Pietro nodded, fighting a little smile at the oddly childlike fidget with the drink, there. He wasn't gonna insult the guy with some stupid platitude about how friends kept secrets and blah blah. It was true--by being a pal and letting some of that out, he'd made Pietro's life a little easier. But also, "I wasn't supposed to tell you--well, everything all of those questions implied. I'm sure you've got a pretty good idea that this didn't come from a hypothetical place, amiright?"
"I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about," Philip said and he gave it his best, deadpan, there was nothing at all to see here, voice. Admittedly, it didn't sound as good coming out of a teenager as he hoped it would when he was an adult, but Philip did hope that Pietro would understand why he'd said it that way. If there was one thing Philip was good at, it was secrets.
With a chuckle, Pietro clapped him on the shoulder companionably. "Thaaaat's right. Just two dudes wandering through a park drinking bubble tea and looking badass. Move along, people, nothing to see. Keep it up and someday soon you'll be making the rest of your family look like kindergarten, not the other way around."
He sucked up another pearl, chewed, and swallowed quickly--considering whether or not to take advantage of this charitable mood on Phil's part and ask about his mutation. But no, that part of the conversation did seem to be closed now, so he'd just... save that for later. Instead he asked, "How's the training with Laura going?"
"Painfully," Philip said with a grimace. "Which is a good thing when it comes down to it. I'll never be able to match her, but that's not the point."
"We started hanging in the Danger Gym, now that's a thing." Pietro grinned a little at Phil's response, but yeah. He understood. So well. "The pain she's capable of inflicting is just one of her many charms. But our powers kind of edge out some of each others' advantage, so it's good."
A sideways glance. A raised eyebrow. It wasn't asking if he didn't do it out loud. Except Pietro knew very well that with Phil, it was. How do your powers fare against her--as in what the fuck are they?
"Well, worse for me is I don't have any kind of that." A little self deprecating shrug went along with the statement, Philip knew he wasn't all that extraordinary, relatively speaking. "What I do have is a lot of defense hammered into me over the years, but that's about it."
Dammit! Pietro sucked down the last of his milk tea, resigned. "I don't think there's anyone in this house who could match her, sparring-wise, except maybe Benjamin. And the reasons for both of those--well. Yeah."
Not only would no one want that, but Laura (and Ben, though Pietro only knew him through Ali, really) would be the last to want it for anyone else. That was kinda the point. "Still, there are worse ways to spend an afternoon than having your ass kicked by a beautiful girl.
"I haven't really thought about it that way," Philip said honestly. He took the moment then though, thinking back to their training and the odd positions they found themselves in occasionally. Huh. "Are you going to think I'm impaired because it never occured to me?"
"Impaired, no. Tunnel vision, yes. But to be fair, there are few things that will hold my attention like a beautiful girl who can kick my ass." Pietro chuckled. "The first time I met Laura, it was because I surprised her in the woods and she tackled me. I prrrrrobably shoulda known I was never gonna get over it right there and then."
Surprisingly enough, or maybe not, that prompted an actual grin from Philip. "Never get over it, hmm?"
"What can I say, I have impeccable taste." Pietro raised his eyebrows and grinned right back--in a way that was half dopey, half evil. "Hers is more questionable, but god, please don't tell her that."
Not like it'd ever come up, but hey, that was part of the joke.
"I would never dream of it," Philip said solemnly. "And as I am the last person that should ever give relationship advice to anyone, there's little to no chance I would try."
"Always a good policy. Gotta get your heart broken a few times first, right?" Pietro pretended to consider. "Plenty of good-looking mutants around the house--see, that could be almost as excellent a distraction as Sharktopus, for you..."
For a few seconds, Philip pondered deflecting again. Then again, he'd already spilled half of everything to Pietro... "It didn't really occur to me. I haven't exactly been in one place long enough to really date. And I have some, well... quirks."
Though Pietro's first instinct was to ask if that was spy-talk for "kinks", he reined it in. If only just barely and due to the blessing of superspeed brain. "Okay, this, I gotta hear. I mean, I got plenty of quirks myself, but not sure we're thinking of the same thing."
"I'm an uncompromising believer in safe sex," Philip said bluntly. "As in, it is an entirely non-negotiational point. And while I do understand that my dictating such a thing might be problematic, it's not worth the risk. I also had a few non-standard additions to the birds and the bees talk."
"Safe sex is good sex," Pietro agreed, unfazed and equally blunt. Yeah, okay, his extremely limited number of oral partners thus far had not insisted on condoms or dental dams, but if they had, like hell he would've complained. "Anyone who wants to negotiate about it can go fuck themselves.
"But please, enlighten me as to the non-standard clauses. That sounds fascinating."
"I apparently came close to utterly ruining my mother's career. Don't get me wrong, I know she cares, and I was never made to feel like she regretted it, but Mom was fairly upfront about that when the talks started," Philip said. "For that matter... I don't know how my grandparents work. The only thing I can think is there has to be blackmail to end all blackmail. For other people, not between themselves," he clarified after a moment.
"For the rest, well," he said as he ticked points off on his fingers. "The birds and the bees, the bees and the bees, and assorted other combinations thereof. Oh, and just because they say they love you, that doesn't mean they won't try to kill you," Philip deadpanned. It was hard to tell from his bland expression whether that last one was a joke or not.
Pietro's eyebrows had gotten progressively higher as the explanation proceeded, but by the end he was grinning. "You know, Phil, I'm not sure who's more fucked up. You, or me for thinking it all sounds pretty reasonable. I am all about families being honest about assorted combinations.
"At least your grandparents probably weren't blackmailing each other. But since you already think love doesn't preclude murder, there's nowhere to go but up, amiright?" Though he was still grinning, it was as much anyone's guess if Pietro was joking or not, too. Mainly because he was and he wasn't at the same time.
Also, he was definitely more fucked up, because this only cemented his idea that Wanda should hook up with Philip. His only concern before had been that she might eat him alive. Now, he was pretty sure dude was more durable than expected. Excellent.
"But not really conducive to dating," Philip said with a shrug. "It doesn't help that I don't have the slightest interest in anything long term. Which only makes sense as we're in high school, in my mind, but some people have some really odd ideas."
Oh wait. Possibly a deal breaker, depending whether, "You mean you're all about playing the field? Or you're just not into high school puppy love being the end-all be-all?"
"Definitely the later," Philip said firmly. "As for the first part, well, it would depend on what, hypothetically, we decided we were doing. I wouldn't cheat, if that's what you're asking."
"That," Pietro said thoughtfully, "is a complicated issue. I mean, I don't think of myself as a cheater, but what is cheating, really? Is it just violating a standing verbal agreement with someone?"
Or is it purposely avoiding creating a standing verbal agreement in spite of proclaimed emotional attachment just so you can keep screwing around? Eames and Me. Or is it doing that with the added bonus that you can avoid too much emotional attachment because eggs all in one basket means broken? Me. and. Laura.
"As I said, for me it'd depend on what we decided we were doing. As long as everyone's clear on what's going on, that's the important thing. When you start lying..." Philip shook his head at that. "And before you say it, yes, I know I'm a hypocrite for talking about the evils of lying. I've come to terms with that."
"Teach me your ways, Obi Wan. I want to learn." Pietro's smile was crooked.
"What, to lie? Sure, if you can turn back the clock roughly ten years," Philip said. "Long, long years of practice there, Pietro."
"I've never been a good liar," Pietro admitted. "Though whether that's because Wanda always knows or just that I'm shit at it is anyone's guess.
"But I'd like to know how to come to terms with being kinda a hypocrite. Like the whole thing where I'm trying to draw the line between revenge killing and killing for the sake of some... greater good. I dunno. Seems like a fine fucking hypocrite line."
"I don't know," Philip admitted. "I've never lived any other way, so I don't know what it's like to have something hit you in the face like that."
"Weird as hell," Pietro assured him, shaking the remnants of his bubble tea. "For me and all of mine. Speaking of, let's do that movie night thing soon so we can talk about something inane instead of something so heavy for a while."
"That's fine. I didn't expect this to come up at all," Philip said with a pointed look.
"Don't take it as an accusation." Pietro laughed. "The topic of choice was all me. This is just one of my usual attempts to force fun on you."
"No, sorry, I meant giving you as much detail as I did," Philip said. "And just that it really needs to be kept between us for now. But if it helped you figure some things out, that's all to the good."
"It did--at least, it helped me feel less crazy. I'll take it to the grave," Pietro said. A slight pause, then something he wouldn't normally have thought to admit. Somehow, he just thought Phil ought to know, or would rather know, or something. "Though, I do tell Wanda everything. Otherwise it's like not letting my right hand know what my left is up to. But I could just sorta... send her your way, if you'd rather?"
And he actually did not mean that in a 'hook my sister up' way.
That was a good question and needed some thought, Philip thought to himself. After a few moments, he nodded. "No details, if you would. If she has specific questions, I can figure out what to tell her from there. But she's your sister, trust your judgement."
"Telling her something is the same as telling me--and that goes the other way. We're not all that alike, in some ways, but we have the same policy there. And with each other." Pietro clapped him on the shoulder. "Thanks, man."
"Not a problem. Did you want to head back now or do something else?" Philip asked as he looked around for a place to toss his cup.
"Let's drop in and see if Curtis is at the music shop?"
"Sure, I don't have anything planned." Philip said as he tossed his cup. "Go ahead and lead, I don't know a lot of places around here yet."