return_to_nola

Sam had started the drive from Westchester to Connecticut quietly, shifting between X-related rumination and affection for Oliver. He would drift away on some thought or memory or other (a softball game, a funeral, a moment with a student, playing chess with Charles) and then return back to reality -- back to Oliver -- and reach out to him with some topic of conversation or other.

But as an hour turned into two hours, Sam was feeling more solid. His shoulders loosened, the knots in his muscles gradually uncoiled, and he found his smile more frequently. He even, at one point, sang along to the car radio. It was good to be going home, to be chasing a tricky Scott moment with a positive Sam one.

And now it was time for Oliver to meet the Scotts. When they arrived (they had pulled over to cast critical eyes over their appearances; Scott had changed his shirt and combed Oliver's hair), it was like stepping into a sunny patch of day, even though it was getting late.

Sam had grown up with just his mom and his aunt. His mom had bought the house when she was pregnant with Sam; they had lived here his whole life. It had never been weird that he raised by his mom and her sister; they loved him like parents and loved each other like best friends, and they were fun, outgoing, loving people. They were women quick to laugh, women who played board games like they were the coolest thing in the world, women who owned a karaoke machine and who still, even without Sam, hung out at the piano in the living room and sang songs together.

When they arrived, it was all a happy blur. Sam's aunt ("Call me Sarah", she had ordered Oliver with a hug and a kiss on each cheek) had greeted them with cocktails. Well, more specifically, a cocktail called "The Oliver," which was minty and zesty and disturbingly accurate. She was talkative and friendly, and she managed to take Sam and Oliver on a tour of the house -- excluding Sam's room -- in which she lovingly made fun of Sam in every single room. (If Oliver had been nervous about fitting in with this family, maybe this introduction would make him more relaxed).

And then Sam's mother had arrived home from work, and Sam, who now remembered a life where he had lost a mother in a horrific way, hugged her a little too hard and too long. But he was comfortable here at home, and he held Oliver's hand under the table at dinner and laughed as he accused his mother and aunt of cheating at a brisk game of monopoly (Oliver had been given first pick of player piece, because he was the guest).

Finally, though, they were alone again, and now, Sam could show Oliver his room. It was exactly as it had always been: neat and orderly, clean, a slate of neutrals. There was a Top Gun poster on the door, of course, and a keyboard stand and guitar stand next to it in the corner (the keyboard was in New Orleans, the guitar was exactly where Sam had left it). His bookshelf was stacked with books and model planes, and a few model cars; there was a framed photo of Sam, his mother, and his aunt on his desk (his mom must have kindly removed the photo of Sam and his ex that used to sit beside it). There was a corkboard with old pennants, photos of Sam in baseball uniforms or costumes, an invitation to a wedding he'd attended with his ex, his college acceptance letter, little slices of his quiet little life. The room was an oasis from the colour and happy noise of the rest of the house, and it was here that Sam leaned against the wall, finally fully loose-limbed and comfortable, and watched Pietro-Oliver meet baby Sam through his things. For once, there was a free and uncomplicated smile on his face. "So this is it."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

nola_quicksilver

"Wait, if we're living in a bar with everyone else, where will we have sex?" Oliver, of course, concentrated on the most important questions.

From:

nola_cyclops

Sam laughed. “There are rooms above the bar. Someone’s probably already having sex in theirs, people always are.”

From:

nola_quicksilver

"Okay, good." But another distressing thought had already occurred to him. "Do you think you'll be attracted to me as Pietro? Physically, I mean." Asking Scott to want to sleep with someone who looked like a younger version of Magneto was...possibly a big ask.

From:

nola_cyclops

“I’m also not saying you have to live in the bar and join my team—“ Though it wasn’t like Scott could abandon this last ditch effort. Oh, and Magneto had been on his hit list... but listen to the question, Sam. He smiled, and reached out to touch Oliver’s hair. “With your hair that does the thing? Yeah, I think I can manage. We’d get to learn each other all over again.”

From:

nola_quicksilver

"Oh, cool, so you'll be okay to come to Avengers HQ for an overnight?" Oliver rolled his eyes but pushed into Sam's touch. "With the hair, and with the face of your enemy's son." And as different men, older men, with different responses and nerve endings and everything. What scars would he find on Scott's body?

From:

nola_cyclops

“I’m pretty sure that building is rigged to shoot me the second it registers my DNA,” Sam had to agree. Almost every single Avenger classified Sam as a terrorist. Even Carol! The Avengers were the worst. “You’re not him, and Pietro’s face is nice. And he hasn’t always been my enemy, so it could be worse.” Sam did not mention that he had, you know, had sex with his dead wife’s clone as Scott, so really, what did facial similarities even matter. “You wouldn’t be able to look into my eyes,” Sam offered, like it was an obstacle of a similar size.

From:

nola_quicksilver

The Avengers could also be very forgiving and compassionate about perceived lapses into villainy, as Quicksilver knew very well. But regardless, he'd still rather be as close to his lover as possible, of often as possible. "But I'd know you were looking into mine," Oliver replied, taking Sam's hand and kissing the knuckles.

From:

nola_cyclops

“Always,” Sam replied, because it was true. And he smiled, because Oliver had his hand and had kissed it so sweetly. After a moment, because he truly hadn’t thought about it, “Huh. As Scott, I hadn’t had sex in a long time. And by that I mean, long before I died, not to mention after being revived.” Did it all even still work now he was alive again?!

From:

nola_quicksilver

"I hadn't since before my divorce, so it's been a really long time for me too," Oliver confessed. "Maybe the first time we'll just be so grateful for another pair of hands that it'll feel like instant chemistry even if it isn't."

From:

nola_cyclops

God, no wonder Sam and Oliver had intense, incredible sex. Scott and Pietro were both well overdue. “We’ll still have chemistry,” Sam assured him, even though he couldn’t truly know that, could he? “The love will fuel it.”

From:

nola_quicksilver

"Are you really that much of a romantic or are you just saying what we both want to be true?" Oliver asked, amused.

From:

nola_cyclops

“A little bit of both,” Sam admitted laughingly. “I know it might be awkward or strange if we’re suddenly confronted with those lives again, and all that baggage we carry can get in the way, but I’d bet a lot that the first time we kiss in those bodies the world falls away.” They both needed it more. Scott and Oliver were lonely, complicated, broken men. They could find solace and new hope in each other, right?

From:

nola_quicksilver

Oliver smiled. "And then we'll drag each other to one of those disgusting bar bedrooms?" He was really going to have to urge Scott to upgrade.

From:

nola_cyclops

“Exactly. But only until the mission is over.” An ‘end the X-Men’ mission, the kind of plan that never seemed to actually take.

From:

nola_quicksilver

"And then what?" Oliver asked softly. He knew this was a hard part.

From:

nola_cyclops

“I honestly don’t know.” That was nowhere near as hard for Sam to admit as it was for Scott, who was always, always supposed to know. “I know that after everything, I am probably not the future of mutant rights. I stood down from leading our X-team, though I’m still acting like the leader, which everyone hates. This mission was designed to be the end, to neutralize the problems for which we were responsible and then stop, somehow. I wasn’t sure I would survive,” he admitted, “Which I guess I was okay with.” And that, also, was why it wasn’t a long-term plan.

From:

nola_quicksilver

"But that's changed now. You have a future with me." Oliver's voice was firm. It was not a question. "What's one thing you would like for yourself, in a future without the X-Men? One concrete thing."

From:

nola_cyclops

“I...” One concrete thing? Honestly... Sam wasn’t so sure that question had an answer. Except Oliver.

From:

nola_quicksilver

Maybe he needed an example. "Like, for me, I'd want a home with at least two bedrooms," Oliver explained. "Nothing insurmountable, right?"

From:

nola_cyclops

It would be an adjustment, Pietro the Avenger and Scott the... not anything. “Right. We could have that.”

From:

nola_quicksilver

"And you would want..." Oliver tried to wait patiently.

From:

nola_cyclops

This should be easy, right? He could have anything, except he was famously recognizable as a famously reviled mutant and probably wanted on various charges. But even if that all eased, and he had relative freedom, the regular kind you could have in a world that hates and fears you, what would he want to do with it? What could he add to their lives?

From:

nola_quicksilver

Oliver stroked his hair. "Sam, it can be anything. A toaster oven. A yoga studio within walking distance. A new hat. Just something little you want for yourself."

From:

nola_cyclops

Sam knew, and it could make his heart burst, or break, that if all he wanted in their other new life for sure was a toaster oven? Oliver would show up with it first and foremost. “I always wanted to read Ulysses,” he finally decided on. It was a pathetic answer from being back in the shoes of a man who had forgotten how to want anything that wasn’t mutant related.

From:

nola_quicksilver

Oliver didn't think it was pathetic. "That's perfect," he breathed in relief, touching his forehead to Sam's. Because nothing meant something more than not being sure of survival—nothing meant he'd been sure of it, or even counted on it. "You'll relax and be a book nerd."