Fanfiction: The Interview
After rescuing the young Pietro and Wanda Maximoff from a mob of enraged villagers, Magneto interviews his newest member of the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants, Quicksilver.
Disclaimer:
Follows a work of fanfiction intended for entertainment purposes only, the creation and publication of which earns its author no monetary profit. All recognizable characters and referenced canonical events are property of Marvel Comics Incorporated. Or Disney, whatever.
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"Is Pietro Maximoff an alias?"
The young man looked up bemusedly, searching for Magneto's gaze in the shadow of his helmet for the first time since this interview began, perhaps for the first time since he and his sister were brought here only one day before, to the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants' secret headquarters. "No," he answered at last.
Magneto decided the other man had not understood the word. His patience would be endlessly tested if it proved necessary to simplify the English language when speaking to this one, and no better could be expected of his sister. They lacked education, purpose, discipline. Magneto lacked an army. "It is the name given at your birth, your legal name?"
"Yes."
In another lifetime, another continent, heavy with child and so radiant, his wife announced the name she had chosen for their son. How she smiled to say it. Pietro. But that child was born a daughter, and they named her Anya. Magneto banished the memory, sent candlelight flickering throughout the room with a wave of his hand and cape billowing after. "Your name is Quicksilver now. That is your alias, the only name you need here, and what I shall command you by. Do you understand?"
A pause. He did not care for it. "Yes."
Magneto leaned forward in his chair, seizing both corners of the thick table under gloved hands. "So tell me, Quicksilver - what happened to your family?"
The young man raised both hands from his lap to the table, building a deliberate little wall of crossed fingers in front of himself. Stalling. Defensive. "There is no one else. Only us." Not quite a lie - but there was more, there was pain and hardship and despair, priceless assets that Magneto would not let waste.
"You are Rroma, you and your sister." He knew so from the beginning, even before hearing them speak privately together in their native tongue through the night before. Of course there were hidden cameras installed in every room of this stronghold, that Magneto could know the whereabouts and doings of his Brotherhood at all times. "Two of your kind would not travel alone without due cause. What of your vitsa, your kumpania?" Quicksilver flinched, no doubt taken aback at this 'gadjo' familiar with Romani words, just as quick to obscure his startled expression with the motion of fixing a stray lock of hair behind one ear. There were ebony strands intermingled with silver. Magneto had dark hair when young, it turned as his powers developed, or as tradgedy befell, impossible to differentiate. "Come, this is not for your embarrassment, if you were exiled merely say-"
"No!" Cringing, he held up a hand that wavered very little. "Sorry. No, sir. It is not customary, but we left our clan on purpose - I mean, by choice." Magneto made no response. "We had these powers, even years ago, you see, we knew we were different, and feared for the worst to come of it, so we left. To keep the others safe." And there it was: plain untruth. He lacked the poise to be cunning. He lacked the fear to dare not attempt. Magneto stood, gesturing after a moment to the door.
"You may go."
"I - that was all?" Quicksilver stood, half-turned, hands outspread uncertainly, his confusion well justified. Magneto had called on him for an interview, an interrogation to determine his suitability to join the ranks of the Brotherhood, to stand and fight beside them in the coming War.
"What did you expect?"
"Well...more than my name. Sir."
Magneto covered the distance between them in two full strides. Candles dancing madly in his wake, he fairly towered over the youth, peering through his helmet framed in reflected firelight. Quicksilver would be able to see little else, perhaps his eyes alone, wreathed in flaming metel. To his credit, he did not shrink much. "And I expect the truth, unconditionally. If you are dishonest, then I cannot trust you, and you are of no use to me. Already you have wasted more than enough of my time. Tomorrow I will return you and your sister whence I found you. Now go."
"What? Wait, no! We swore alligiance to you, we owe our--" It resounded like lightening against the stone walls. Quicksilver hit the floor on hands and knees from a slap across the face no less hard and cold as the ground below. The next instant, Magneto had him hoisted up and pressed back against the table. The pulse of his neck beat into the Master of Magnetism's palm like wings of a scared little bird. He was bigger, stronger, more powerful - such a familiar, intoxicating sensation.
Bearing down more weight, he hissed, "Did you think because I saved you from that ignorant mob, that you are safe from me?"
Sadly, mistakenly, reluctantly persuaded by his sister's poor trusting heart, he almost had. "No, I-" wincing from the vice grip that would soon brake his arm, he grated out, "Magneto. Please. I'm sorry, I - there are things we do not share-"
"Listen to me, boy, listen well. I have no interest in your culture, your little Gypsy secrets, keep them and damn them." In another lifetime, another continent, desperate and heartbroken, he had wandered the old country for years, searching for his beloved Magda, turned away by her people intent as always on protecting their own identity, their own blood. They probably would have killed her themselves before seeing her return to him, an outsider, they probably thwarted his efforts at every chance, hid her from him. Deceivers. Betrayers. Humans. "To me nothing of yours is sacred, nothing is yours at all. To pledge alligiance is to give your word, your honor, your very life - and you have given it to me. Now be you utterly truthful, utterly loyal, or begone. Need I keep asking for your understanding, or will you signal me when I get too far ahead?"
He nodded as he could, and Magneto released him to slump coughing against the table while he returned to his own seat with sudden calm.
"I trust we shall never have this discussion again, but your sister, if she proves herself a useful soldier, will not be punished for your misdeeds in the future. I have no qualms discarding you while keeping her in my sevice."
Quicksilver lowered himself to sit, one bloodied hand pressed against a split lip, his breaths coming harder than he was choked, and slowly. Magneto took his look as pleasingly focused now, somewhat hardened. He might have glared a bit - an excuseable offense, considering circumstances. "I understand."
"Very good. So - what happened to your family?"
"They were killed."
"Speak up."
"I said they were killed, murdered by an angry mob, like-" his eyes lowered towards the floor splattered with his own blood, "just like the one you saved us from."
"How dreadful." Magneto sat back, reflective. He had no idea, when he hired some villiage bullies to incite a crowd into violence against the young mutants he had identified through Xavier's efforts, how perfectly things would fall into place. This lad must be positively traumatised - there he sat, seething mad, outcast in a world that had tried to kill him twice for bigotry and a small fee, staring motionless into space. His sister could have fared no better, despite her brother's protection, his coddling - who would, experiencing such travesty? To harness such anger, to control it, unleash it upon his enemies - what a weapon indeed. But first, to define it. "How did your father die?"
Quicksilver met his gaze at once, plainly exasperated. Of course it was an outrageous question, this was not about politenes. It was about boundaries, and limits, and control. Power. "They beat him to death. Right in front of me. I was twelve." His voice came lower than usual, steady and firm. Magneto noticed similar characteristics in his own tone, when under great duress.
His challenge thus met, Magneto shook his head slowly and mustered a tone of sympathy into his voice. "Terrible. Just wretched." When the young man did not blink, he continued, "And your mother - how did she die?"
After a few exploring dabs at the lip that had stopped bleeding already, he planted his stained hand as a fist on the table. "They forced her into our vardo - our home." He tested his lip again, retreating back to the fist. "They locked her inside and set it ablaze. She burned alive."
Magneto, self proclaimed Master of Magnetism, found himself speechless. The candles dispersed, morphing into people holding torchlights. The walls rearranged, forming an Inn before him, enfulfed in flames. He heard Anya wailing, smelt the smoke, saw Madga's frantic and tear-stained face. Then he took these ghosts, these visions, along with the tiny part deep inside of him that ached to comfort this innocent stranger, this strangely familiar stranger, and put all of it kicking and screaming into his hand and squeezed and squeezed until he went hard again, cold again. Metal. "Did you hear her scream?" He jerked - Magneto did not recognize a nod at super-speed yet. "Did you hear her scream?"
"OfcourseIdid!" Of course he did, he heard it even now. And smelt the smoke and felt the lickling flames and heard the desperate cries and the wicked jeering and watched helplessly his world crumble into chaos. Now he held his head in shaking hands, what little Magneto could see of his face, a contorted mess of rage and shame.
"It must be very difficult for you to live with." It must haunt him every day, wake him mid night, follow him wherever he runs. It would have destroyed a lesser man, it might yet drive him mad. It was the last thing Magneto would allow himself to acknowledge they had in common. There would be nothing personal here, not unless it served a purpose. This was business, this was war. Magneto braced himself for possibly the most horrible thing he could conjure to say. "I admit I do not know if I could have run away, myself, not even to save my own life. But you should not feel guilty overmuch - you had your sister to protect, after all." It was a reasonable assumption, given the boy's powers, and how else would they two alone have survived? It had the desired effect.
The young man slumped forward as though broken in half, smothering a sob. "I would have gone back, I wanted to go back, but I was so tired, I took Wanda in my arms and ran away, as fast and as far as I could, until I collapsed, I have never been more tired, I just collapsed, I-"
Less than half of it came out in English, which made no difference. Magneto was at his side as planned, hand upon trembling, thin shoulder. "You survived, Wanda survived - that is what matters. You could have done nothing more, nothing else, not then."
The shuddering form went still, stiffened. He was indeed thin, but muslce beneath, untapped strength. Raw and malliable wrath. A lost, tarnished little weapon, with an equally valuable twin that he could not live without, who would do whatever her dear brother said.
"You could have, in my place." Quicksilver twisted towards his savior. "You did. Yesterday."
"It is true. I did what you could not."
Magneto had not been looked upon in such a way for as long as he could recall, perhaps for ever. Was it envy? Admiration? Need? It would suffice, in any case. The youth blurted, "Help me. Teach me, train me! I swear to serve your cause, I can be as fast as the wind, strong as a hurricane, I can be whatever you ask of me, your soldier, your weapon - I am Quicksilver, I am yours. Just let me keep her safe, let me die with honor before harm befalls my sister - I promised our father I would."
Hidden within the darkness of his helmet, Magneto smiled. "As you wish."
*fin*