Kiss of Death

October 13, 2016:

Darcy and Pietro, after becoming an Apocalypse Horseman, meet again. Words are both spoken and unheard. A rose witnesses the encounter.

Darcy Lewis' Apartment

Darcy Lewis' Apartment


NPCs: None.



Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

Darcy's Apartment.


A rose is waiting on the table.

New York's breeze is fierce, while the rain hits heavily against the windows. Clouds hide the moon and stars and shadows reign in the streets. The rose, actually, is not the first. Last night another one was left in the same spot.

If anyone would ask, Pietro Maximoff has not been seen around his own apartment, nor at Xavier's Mansion. His phone is dead, and the coffee shops the speedster frequents have not seen him in two days.

But tonight, that cold breeze of outside has brought a black gust of wind. A mutant that has been running his entire life, is now sitting in the shadows in the SHIELD Agent's apartment. He ponders in silence, waiting.


Pietro: Love ya

Darcy had stared at that text for fifteen minutes before putting her phone down and taking a shower. When she got out, she stared at it for another ten more. More than once she started to reply. None of them made sense, and none of them were even the same. Some were confessions of starting to feel the same. Others were laughing it off like it he was teasing, with a helping of sass about him cooking tomorrow. Others were filled with mental vomit as Darcy freaks out about how could he do this to her, saying Love ya first. Still others were asking if that was a friendly love ya or the more serious I Love You, because the latter really ought to be said in fucking person you asshat.

Obviously, NONE of these replies were ever sent. All of them were deleted, and each time Darcy tossed her phone just on the edge of 'in reach'. One time, it hit the edge of hte counter and fell to the floor. Darcy left it there until after she finished eating a frozen dinner for lunch at the office. The next time, she tossed it onto the empty cushion on her loveseat, which only served to remind her that Pietro wasn't there talking nonstop during a netflix show. She kicked the phone onto the floor and left it there until it was time for bed. She plugged it in, tried another reply, then tossed it - still plugged in - onto the nightstand and rolled away.

By the time she got back to her apartment on day two of being Pietro-less, Darcy was unpleasant. Quiet and testy at the office, while being more aggressive during PT and combat training. She had been sent home from dercy practice for knocking a fresh meat girl into the cement wall and giving her a concussion.

The rain didn't help matters, for Darcy was like a wet cat. She pushed her way into her apartment, bumping and clattering and cussing at her skate bag as she fumbles with her key. She kicks the door shut behind her and tosses her bag into a corner and turns to hte table to toss her keys when she freezes.

Stock still, green eyes land on the single red rose.

Ten seconds, and Darcy yanks her phone from her bra, two button dials Pietro, and trades keys for rose. When it goes straight to voicemail, Darcy frowns and sets her phone down. She's going to turn on the lights. She's already turning to reach for the switch just beside her. It was the single lamp she leaves on to help her navigate soon as she walks in that let her spot the flower. But now she's starting to think he might be about somewhere, and so she's reaching for the lights.


Before Darcy can reach the switch, the lights are on already. Quicksilver had done this before, and an eager observer would briefly noticed the blur in his trail. But not tonight. It was just… faster.

Pietro Maximoff, or the mutant who now uses that name, is a new man.

His hair, previously silver, is now raven black. His eyes, deep blue as the far ocean, now burn in silver fire. The mutant's skin has always been pale, but nothing compared to its current tone. And his smile, always so soft, specially around Darcy, fights to pull a grin. His attire is purely black, with a shadowy cloak kissed by the rain.

The Transian has previously found himself fighting to find words when speaking to Darcy, always for good reasons. This time, however, not only his appearance has changed. And the reasons are not as pleasant as before.

He could have waited before showing her his new self. But that would not be fair. He has been honest so far, and not even Apocalypse will take that from him. He might be a killing machine, but not a killing machine who will hide more from her. He breathes deep.


Thunder. His voice is thunder. Resounding from everywhere, and nowhere, at the same time. Vibrating and carrying shadowy echoes. And still, for first time in two days, it doesn't sound aggressive. That's beyond anything he can do.

He could say more, of course. He could speak his heart and tell her stories of how an X-Man lost his soul in exchange for the only thing he cared about. He could speak of love and hope and pain and a future that is not there. That will never be. And even if he doesn't, there is still nothing hidden, for his eyes, now crystalline silver, tell every story in their own way. No word is left unspoken, but no word, for now, is heard.


An inch. her hand moved an inch, and suddenly the lights were on. Darcy had missed that. She wasn't sure when she'd gotten used to that, moving into a room with him chattering near her and lights suddenly being on; when she had gotten used to starting to move toward something and it suddenly being there. She turns to face him and inhales a tiny sharp inhale. Her eyes widen faintly at the changes: the black hair, the silver eyes, the forced grin.

The forced grin was the worst.

Her name rumbled at her, sent a cold chill down her spine for reasons she couldn't find words to explain if she had wanted to dwell on the reasons. The lack of aggression in the notes of power in his voice was noted in that one of the many reasons for the cold wave passing through her was NOT fear.

Green eyes lock on silver, shifting back and forth as if reading, indeed reading, the words not given voice.

And Darcy replies… just as wordlessly.

She's not fast. She's not a blur. But she's been on edge for 48 hours.

Her right hand balls up. The arm cocks back, and Darcy punches Pietro right in that false grin.

One second. Maybe enough time for the Speedy Mutant to take a half step back to recover, and Darcy's moving forward again; flinging her arms about his neck and yanking him in to kiss that mouth she might of bloodied. She doesn't know if she did. Surely she'll taste it. Right now, this is the only way to express all the conflicting emotions of the last few days which have been frosted by this sudden, unexplicable change, that has her terrified. Not OF Pietro…

Terrified FOR Pietro.


Pietro has dodged many things. And lately, as Death, he has dodged a good amount as well. Bullets, lasers, magic, but there is something he would never dodge. Even if it hits him. Darcy.

And that, the fact she has punched him successfully, when any other mortal being would have failed, steals a smile from the Apocalypse Horseman. A smile that suddenly meets a kiss, something he would never dodge either. His arms receive her in a tight embrace… Is it really happening? Is this a dream? Even if it was, it is a dream he will never want to end. There is no waking up. Not tonight.

In a way, saying he would have done anything to kiss her again is an understatement.

He has.

He died and returned, and if he can wordlessly say it, there is something his heart is shouting:

It was worth it.

The kiss is long and a testament of conflicting emotions, a storm of feelings that rages stronger than the rain outside. And when it is done, his hands slide to hold those of Darcy, and the mutant loses himself in her eyes. Yes, not even Apocalypse will silence his heart, and not even death will stop a sigh and a smile that is slowly drawn as it meets a tear that comes from silver eyes, so blue, deep inside.


Hands in his, Darcy's gaze never leaves Pietro's. The sigh, the smile, the tear… the blue. Darcy's own green eyes mist over.

Something happened. Someone did something.

"Who's ass am I kicking?" she says softly, fingers curling tightly, possessively. Her lips, normally full and smiling, are thin and pressed into a line that her SO might be proud of. There's no question or doubt in her tone. Whomever, whatever, she has to kick around, Darcy is going to. No idea how, yet. But, she's creative. She'll think of something.


Death, as the speed demon is now known, cleanly understands the question. How much time has it been? How could it be measured in days, minutes or hours, when all he can remember are smiles, laugher, food, movies, so many memories that started with that coffee, that day. That day…


Pietro is loyal. He really is. He has proven it beyond doubt. He has killed and poured innocent's blood in the name of his new lord. He fought the Avengers and friends, mainly that, friends, blindly following the orders of his master. His new life was a tainted gift, but he knew what he was signing for. The mutant was given a new opportunity, in exchange for Darcy's life and safety. And he would do it again.

Whatever Apocalypse has done to him, Death is now his loyal servant.

But he understands Darcy's question. He understands it so well… And there is only one answer.


He echoes himself, this time smiling softly.

The wind rages outside, and it is soon met by a black blur, of silver eyes and blue heart, who dashes to an uncertain future. But there is something he knows for sure. There is something he always knew.

It was worth it.

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