Sanctuary (X-men x Reader) Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

Pietro looked around the room. The Brotherhood was lounging around the apartment.  He grimaced at the thought of needing to work with them again. Lance was moodily lounging on the couch. Toad and Blob were rooting through his fridge.
“You all know my sister,”

“Wanda?” Toad piped up from the pantry.

“No, my half-sister, the human.”

“What about her?” Lance turned his attention to Pietro.

“Well, it seems she’s dead.” Movement stopped in the room.

“Oh man,” Toad came out of the kitchen, “I’m sorry.” Pietro rolled his eyes.

“I didn’t call you here for condolences; I don’t really care. However, my father does. He wants us to ensure that the account of her tragic accident is true, and she really is dead. The news said she was in a car accident. She was planning on running a few days before the crash so it’s possible that the report is true. However, it does seem that if she was desperate enough she could’ve staged it and moved on. Our job is to look into every facet of the incident and find her, dead or alive. Blob you’re on backup for the beginning. Lance, you and I are going to interview doctors, reporters, the police, everyone who’s in connection with this. While we do that, Toad you’re going to get into her apartment and search it for anything that might mean she’s still alive. If we don’t get anywhere with talking we’ll move into using more forceful methods to get our info. If need be, we’ll be getting ash to test for DNA. We’re gonna start this slow, nothing threatening, nothing that’s going to leave suspicion on us. You understand?” Pietro glanced around the room. The men nodded, “Alright Lance, you’re with me. You two,” he turned to Toad and Blob who were eating his food, “get the hell out of my house.”

The two mutants grumbled and packed up food to go. Pietro turned to Lance, “Alright, we’re gonna start with the press, go put on your business suit.”

“Why?”

“Because, we are business men who just got in on a flight. I’m ______’s estranged brother and you are my best friend, helping me in a time of need. Meet me back here in an hour.”

~~~

You walked into the kitchen with your game face on. It was time to teach some cooking. You walked through the work stations that held two students each, only about twelve kids in all. You quickly tied your apron around your waist and turned the burners up high on your station. The students quieted down and watched what you were doing. You reached for the knife block and pulled the large butchers knife out with a slick “sshhhk!” Grabbing ahold of the sharpening rod you began to sharped the large knife.
*SHING*

“Ladies and gentlemen…”
*SHING*

“I want to impress upon you that the art…”
*SHING*

“…we will be learning over the next few weeks…”
*SHING*

“Is both dangerous…”
*SHING*

“and useful.”
*SHING*
You placed the rod back in its place.

“If I see anyone acting reckless, thoughtless, or disrespectful, there will be severe,” you stuck the large knife into the thick cutting board in front of you, “consequences. Am I clear?” The students began to nod. “I didn’t hear you. Am I clear?”

A chorus of yeses were called out.

“Lesson one, you will call me ‘Chef’ when you are in this room. So once again please: Am I clear?”

“Yes, Chef!” the chorus spoke as one.

“Good.” You grinned and threw some flour above the burner and watched as the fire jet shot up spooking the students. You grabbed a pan and drizzled olive oil on it setting it to sizzle over the burner. Grabbing a zucchini, you chopped it with the large knife sticking out of the board. In three seconds flat the perfectly cubed squash was sizzling in the pan.

“Ladies and gentlemen, in this class you will be learning the testament of fire and knives. Food is the universal language, it can communicate things you can’t say out loud,” you cracked some pepper over the pan, “And it will make your life better, though it will probably ruin fast food for you. We are here to profess our love for good food.” You took the zucchini off heat and slid them onto a plate, “Grab a toothpick everyone.” You came around with the lightly seasoned veggie. Everyone took a cube and ate it after letting it cool a bit. You returned back to your station.

“There is another cardinal rule in my kitchen: no mutant abilities.” A hand shot up, “Yes Bobby?”

“Why no powers, Chef?”

“There are several reasons. First, you are all still gaining control of your abilities, for the safety of the class we cannot risk someone losing control of, let’s say an ice beam, when there are several people, knives, and open flames around. Second, if you found yourselves unable to use your powers, I want you able to support yourselves. I’m trying to make sure that no matter what, you can eat well. And lastly, shortcuts don’t make good food. You need to respect your food, not cheat it out of its time. So, no powers. Now everyone, put on an apron; we’re going to focus on knife skills today!”

~~~

The tires of Pietro’s luxury car squealed as he turned into a space in front of the local newspaper’s publishing office.
“You’ve got our back story?” both men were in suits, Pietro a light gray that dulled his strangely silver hair, and Lance in a considerably more worn navy.

“Yeah, broken up step-brother of killed girl, best friend. Tired after an immediate flight. Estrangement due to arguments about money a few years ago. Your name is Arthur and mine is Drew.”

“Let’s go.”

They exited the vehicle and walked into the foyer of the office. A pretty, but bored, secretary looked up at the familiar creak of the door.
“Can I help you gentlemen?”
“Yes, we’re here to see a Ms. Herring? We called a few hours ago. It was a last minute appointment.” Pietro’s voice melted with charm. Lance stood awkwardly behind him. The secretary clicked through a few pages on her computer.
“Ah, yes. I’ll buzz you in. Through that door and to the elevator. You want the third floor, room 290. Ms. Herring is expecting you.”
“Thank you.” The men turned and walked through the glass door that led into the building.

The elevator dinged, and the doors opened to a floor of cubicles and wall offices. The cubicles buzzed with activity but Pietro and Lance paid them no mind. Taking the lead, Pietro walked to the office and knocked. The door was opened by a plump woman in a black pencil skirt and a deep blue top.
“Oh, hello! You must be Arthur Cain. Come in.” She held the door open to an orderly office. The two men sat in the chairs in front of her desk and she took a seat behind it, “Now, how can I help you? You were interested in the crash that happened a week ago?”
“Yes. _______ ________, the girl in the crash, she was my step-sister you see.” Lance patted Pietro’s shoulder. The journalist’s face fell.

“Oh, I am so sorry. We looked for family but we couldn’t find any in her records.”

“It’s alright. She had me removed from all of her documents. We don’t see eye to eye on a lot of things. We had a fight about three years ago and we haven’t… hadn’t talked since. I was just hoping you could tell me, since you were at the scene, could you tell me about the crash. I- I need to know.”

“I am so sorry for your loss Mr. Cain. I can tell you what I saw and what I found out. Most of it is in the article but I can fill in here and there. I can give you the number for the coroner and one of the officers who were at the scene as well. Have you gone to the police yet?”

“Yes, although they weren’t all that helpful. Talking to the officer directly would be wonderful.”

“Alright, I’ll tell you what I saw.”

~~~
The two men left the publisher with a slip of paper. Lance looked at Pietro and chuckled, “Ya know, you should’ve been an actor.” Pietro raised his eyebrows.  

“Oh?”

“You sold the sob story like a pro.” Pietro looked at Lance for a moment, holding his gaze. Then he broke it and slid into the driver’s seat.

~~~
“That will be all for today. Bobby and Forge you both stay behind. The rest of you are free to go.” The class filed out of the kitchen talking and giggling. The two you called out sat sullenly behind.

“What are you gonna make us do chef?” Bobby drummed his fingers on the counter.

“It’s very simple, the most useful thing to make you two do is dishes.” You grinned as they both groaned out loud, “Now come here, you’ve got to learn how sometime. We’ve got a three sink system to make sure we clear health codes.”  

After ten minutes of explaining and checking up on their washing ability, you left the couple to finish scrubbing. You rubbed down the counters where the class had been and began to reorder the supplies they had used. As you were straightening up, Xavier rolled into the room.

“Hello Ms. ______! How did your first class go?”
“Hello! It went very well, Professor. Though we had a few moments of mischievousness, they’re getting their energy out by learning the important art of washing dishes.” Charles chucked as he glanced at the sinks to see the boys sullenly washing up.

“Well I’m glad to know you have a firm grasp on your students. I do, however, have a request from some of the senior staff. They were wondering if you could keep a station open for a member of staff to drop by during your lessons. I know Hank and Ororo were both interested in dropping in between classes. Do you think you could work that into your classroom?”

“That sounds like a lovely idea, Professor. It wouldn’t be a problem at all. I would just have to ask that only one or two drop in at a time, I wouldn’t want to waste resources every class.” You stacked some stray dishes that had been left on counters.

“Very good, I’ll let the staff know. Have a lovely day, _________, I’ll see you at dinner.”

~~~
Magneto paced in his study, the executive toy on his desk going mad with the frustrated energy in the room. Grief was a strange thing. He couldn’t sleep but not out of sadness. He was angry constantly, at Pietro, at Wanda, at Mystique. At himself. And most of all at you. Why hadn’t you been blessed? If you had developed a mutation, any mutation, his plans would’ve developed so much more smoothly. And this death, if it really was your death (was he in denial?), was simply putting more of a wrench in his plans. A knock sounded at his door.

“Enter.” His voice was cold; he continued to pace. Wanda stepped into the room, “What is it?”

“You are troubled, Father.” Wanda’s voice was low and her comment was more of a statement than a question.

“My daughter just died.”

“You are not grieving for her. You grieve for your plans, and your strategy. She was taken out of play before you needed her.”

“Do all my children believe I am completely heartless?” Wanda snorted.

“Magneto, you are a great many things, a general, a revolutionary, a strategist, a judge, an idealist… however, Father… doesn’t quite make the list.” He simply kept pacing, “You’re doing better with Lorna, in case you’re wondering. Although, that’s hardly a surprise given her mutation.”

“Are you just here to critique my parenting style, or do you have something relevant to discuss?”

“I’m here about this witch hunt you’ve initiated for the dearly departed. Let’s say she is alive, and let’s say Pietro, miracle of miracles, finds her: what are you going to do? Drag her back here and keep her imprisoned? She won’t help you then. She will always keep running, or she might attempt something more nefarious, either on herself or you. She’s not a predictable agent anymore. I could go into her head but that won’t work in the long run. It would keep her docile, not the spokesperson you need to change the world. And if she gets away, she will speak against us. If you simply let her go, she might stay small and quiet, out of fear. So, if you find her, drag her back here out of whatever third-world nation she’s holed up in, will you kill her yourself? That’s the only thing I can imagine achieving out of this.” Eric finally stopped pacing. He turned to look at his eldest daughter.

“I want to know where the players are, if Pietro finds her he will report to me. If she is holed up in some hut I will know and make a decision. If she is hiding under my nose, I will know and that knowledge, Wanda, is what gives me the ability to win.” He settled into the large chair behind his desk.

“I still don’t know why you gave this to Pietro. You know he’ll fail you somehow. He’s a loose cannon.”

“A loose cannon, Wanda, spinning in the right direction, can still wreak havoc on our opponents.”

“Or blow us to pieces.” She paused and sighed, “Well goodnight, Father. You should try to get some rest.” Wanda left the room, the heavy door falling quietly behind her. The executive toy gently fell to a stop.

For the first time in a week, Magneto slept soundly.