Categories > Cartoons > X-Men: Evolution > That Stupid School Project
The streets were lit by the tall lamps as Ororo and Pietro walked up them in the winding maze that would lead the sullen boy home. The sounds of laughter drifted on the air in defiance of the anger that was eating Pietro from the inside out. Ms. Monroe was quiet as she walked beside him lost in her own thoughts.
Pietro glanced quickly at her. She was watching the stars over head. The pale light from the bulbs above showed him that her jaw was clenched, even though her face was calm. There was nothing about her face to betray any emotion, but there seemed to be an aura of anger radiating outward from her tall figure.
Pietro wondered if she was angry with him. She did have every right to be, after all. It would be nice in a way if she was. He knew that his parents wouldn’t be angry, only so worried that they would have at least thirty more white hairs when he got home. They would keep closer tabs on him after this.
Pietro ground his teeth. He hated his family. He hated the way they tried to watch him every moment of the day. He hated the way they tried to keep him away from his friends. He hated the cage that they trapped him in every time something like this happened. He hated the fact that they loved him.
He tried to let his frustration just melt away into the night the way he had imagined when he was younger that Ms. Monroe did.
Pietro reminded himself that he was lucky that the Maximoffs cared about him so much. He could be stuck with complete and utter bastards for foster parents like Lance, or he could still be living with his real father. This thought always made him see the Maximoffs in a positive light.
After all, they were really concerned about his well being. They tried their best to see that his father stayed away. But sometimes it wasn’t enough. And their overzealous protection was just as much of a curse as it was a blessing.
The two people turned onto the street where the Maximoffs lived. It was not the best part of town, but it could have been a lot worse. The yards, for the most part, were overgrown and every house on the block could use a new paint job, but no one locked his or her door at night either.
They came opposite to a mail box with Monroe carefully lettered in the side. Pietro paused here, but as Ms. Monroe showed no sign of slowing down. He shrugged and trotted to catch up with her as she turned into the house next door.
Pietro resisted the urge to turn and run as he stopped by the mailbox at the top of the driveway. Unlike Ms. Monroe’s the name wasn’t painted on the side. Maximoff was scrawled in black permanent marker on the front. It was one of the first things that Pietro had done when he had first come to live here when he was eight.
Ororo knocked on the door. She wondered briefly if she could trust Pietro not to run off. The tiny shake she gave herself was almost imperceptible. This wasn’t eight years ago, Pietro was not a wild, lonely nine year old any more.
The door opened to reveal the worried features of Marya Maximoff. She smiled with relief when she saw Pietro.
“Django,” she called excitedly, “Django, he’s back!”
They heard stomping from somewhere upstairs and in a few moments the brown features of Mr. Maximoff joined his wife’s in the door way.
“What were you doing?” he said sternly, but the relief and worry in his eyes discredited the tone.
“Django, don’t scare the boy,” Mrs. Maximoff had tears in her eyes, “Come on in Pietro. Oh, thank you Ororo for finding him.”
Ororo felt her hand being held and then Pietro brushed quickly past her, eyes on the ground. He stopped just in the doorway to hug his mother briefly, and then he went inside.
Django nodded to Ms. Monroe curtly. He was a short dark man with a fierce pride. It hurt him deeply that his own son trusted their neighbor more than the boy trusted his family. On the other hand, he was grateful to Ms. Monroe for getting Pietro to come back.
“Thanks,” he began to close the door.
Ororo grasped the edge of the door with more force than he would have thought possible for a woman who did no heavy labor. She held it open where the door was, neither forcing it any further open, nor allowing it to be closed.
“Django, Marya, I think we need to talk about something. There was a reason why Pietro was missing today.”
Django nodded resignedly. This was the one thing that he had no wish to involve some stranger in. Pietro did not deserve to have this shame brought to light.
“We know this already. Come in.”
The door was held open for her. Ororo Monroe crossed the threshold as stately as any priestess.
Pietro glanced quickly at her. She was watching the stars over head. The pale light from the bulbs above showed him that her jaw was clenched, even though her face was calm. There was nothing about her face to betray any emotion, but there seemed to be an aura of anger radiating outward from her tall figure.
Pietro wondered if she was angry with him. She did have every right to be, after all. It would be nice in a way if she was. He knew that his parents wouldn’t be angry, only so worried that they would have at least thirty more white hairs when he got home. They would keep closer tabs on him after this.
Pietro ground his teeth. He hated his family. He hated the way they tried to watch him every moment of the day. He hated the way they tried to keep him away from his friends. He hated the cage that they trapped him in every time something like this happened. He hated the fact that they loved him.
He tried to let his frustration just melt away into the night the way he had imagined when he was younger that Ms. Monroe did.
Pietro reminded himself that he was lucky that the Maximoffs cared about him so much. He could be stuck with complete and utter bastards for foster parents like Lance, or he could still be living with his real father. This thought always made him see the Maximoffs in a positive light.
After all, they were really concerned about his well being. They tried their best to see that his father stayed away. But sometimes it wasn’t enough. And their overzealous protection was just as much of a curse as it was a blessing.
The two people turned onto the street where the Maximoffs lived. It was not the best part of town, but it could have been a lot worse. The yards, for the most part, were overgrown and every house on the block could use a new paint job, but no one locked his or her door at night either.
They came opposite to a mail box with Monroe carefully lettered in the side. Pietro paused here, but as Ms. Monroe showed no sign of slowing down. He shrugged and trotted to catch up with her as she turned into the house next door.
Pietro resisted the urge to turn and run as he stopped by the mailbox at the top of the driveway. Unlike Ms. Monroe’s the name wasn’t painted on the side. Maximoff was scrawled in black permanent marker on the front. It was one of the first things that Pietro had done when he had first come to live here when he was eight.
Ororo knocked on the door. She wondered briefly if she could trust Pietro not to run off. The tiny shake she gave herself was almost imperceptible. This wasn’t eight years ago, Pietro was not a wild, lonely nine year old any more.
The door opened to reveal the worried features of Marya Maximoff. She smiled with relief when she saw Pietro.
“Django,” she called excitedly, “Django, he’s back!”
They heard stomping from somewhere upstairs and in a few moments the brown features of Mr. Maximoff joined his wife’s in the door way.
“What were you doing?” he said sternly, but the relief and worry in his eyes discredited the tone.
“Django, don’t scare the boy,” Mrs. Maximoff had tears in her eyes, “Come on in Pietro. Oh, thank you Ororo for finding him.”
Ororo felt her hand being held and then Pietro brushed quickly past her, eyes on the ground. He stopped just in the doorway to hug his mother briefly, and then he went inside.
Django nodded to Ms. Monroe curtly. He was a short dark man with a fierce pride. It hurt him deeply that his own son trusted their neighbor more than the boy trusted his family. On the other hand, he was grateful to Ms. Monroe for getting Pietro to come back.
“Thanks,” he began to close the door.
Ororo grasped the edge of the door with more force than he would have thought possible for a woman who did no heavy labor. She held it open where the door was, neither forcing it any further open, nor allowing it to be closed.
“Django, Marya, I think we need to talk about something. There was a reason why Pietro was missing today.”
Django nodded resignedly. This was the one thing that he had no wish to involve some stranger in. Pietro did not deserve to have this shame brought to light.
“We know this already. Come in.”
The door was held open for her. Ororo Monroe crossed the threshold as stately as any priestess.
Sign up to rate and review this story