Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

THEN

Mutants of the planet Earth. A new home welcomes you . 

“Whoa, what the hell was that?” Tabitha shouts, jerking forward on the gynecological exam table. 

“That’s your baby’s heartbeat,” the tech informs her— slowly, like maybe she’s a moron. 

“No, not that , the… the voice…” She trails off, listening as the voice tells her all about a magical place called Krakoa. It’s Xavier. And it’s only in her head— well, maybe every mutant’s head. But the sonographer can’t hear it. The message isn’t for humans, not yet. Chuck’s throwing a party and it’s invite-only. 

Swell. 

She leans back and listens to the ticking time bomb that is her baby’s heartbeat. 

NOW

There’s a pounding in her head. Maybe on her door. Why’s everything so fucking bright ? She’s really gotta stop doing karaoke night with Ali, because she stays up too late and drinks too much and at this point she can’t even remember the last time she woke up feeling good . Maybe a mimosa or three will help. Painkillers. Hair of the dog. She’s planning out a breakfast menu in her head when she gets to the front door of the hab. 

It’s Sally. Her eyes are all red, like she’s been crying or freaking out. Typical Sally. “What’s up, Skids?” Tab says, patting herself down to see if she has a spare pair of sunnies stuffed in her bra or the pocket of her jeans. It’s so fucking bright. “Urgent New Mutants business? I think Dani and Xuân are out—”

“It’s the baby,” Sally says, all in a rush. “Somebody broke into the Bower and took your son. He’s gone , Tabby.” 

There’s a lot to unpack here.

He’s not, technically, legally, her son. Not anymore. He’s a foundling of Krakoa. When the baby came, Tab did what her parents shoulda done with her and dropped him off at the Krakoan equivalent of a fire station— Stacy X’s sex temple-slash-orphanage. He gets plenty of love and food and care, and Tabby doesn’t have to give up her glamorous life of binge drinking and getting left off of team rosters. 

She woulda fucked up that kid. She knows it. The folks at the Bower have a way better shot at giving him a good life. 

Or they would, if they had better fucking security. 

“What d’you mean, you lost him?” She’s stomping toward the Bower alongside Sally, setting off tiny sparks like firework poppers with every step. “Just to be clear, isn't this the second time babies have been kidnapped from your little Cabbage Patch Nursery?”

“X-Force recovered those children,” Sally says. 

“Well, great. X-Force can recover this one, too.” 

As they get closer to the big MAKE MORE MUTANTS arch that serves as the entryway to the Bower’s nursery, Tabby can see Stacy X talking to somebody she should probably know. Windwalker. Windsong. Something like that. Stacy glances up and greets them as they approach— “Tabby! Sally! You two know Wind Dancer, right?” Wind Dancer. Right. 

“Hey,” Wind Dancer says, shaking hands with Tabitha and Sally, which just feels stilted and awkward and way too professional for the situation at hand. “Sofia’s fine.” 

“We were New Warriors together,” Stacy says, “but now she’s Krakoa’s ambassador to the Mojoworld.” 

Sofia’s mouth flattens into a thin line. “Yeah.” 

Given her line of work and her specific abilities, Tabitha is no stranger to having the world come crashing down around her ears. It’s still not fun, though. And she might not be a detective, but she can put two and two together. She’s not even all that surprised when Stacy X says, “Spiral took the boy.” 

“Since when is she into babynapping?” Tabby snaps. “I thought her whole thing was bodymodding. Is she gonna send him back here with eight legs? Turn him Asian?” Sally cuts a worried glance toward her. What-fucking-ever. 

“According to Stacy,” Sofia says, “Spiral was following Mojo’s orders. She said the child’s existence was copyright infringement.” This can’t be happening. This can't be fucking happening. Not now . “Unlicensed reproduction of Mojoworld Enterprises™ genetic material, that’s what she said.” 

Yeah. Naturally. It figures that every time she tries to do the right thing it just ends up blowing up in her face. 

“Boom-Boom, I know Stacy makes a point about not asking questions when people bring their babies here,” Sofia continues. “But in this case, we’ve really gotta know. Who is the father?”

Sally’s right there, but Tabby chooses to lean on a tree instead. It’s easier. If she tried to lean against Sally she might just bounce right off. Her legs don't feel entirely solid. She sags. “Shit.” Stacy and Sally and Sofia are all looking at her with concern, which is really stupid because the baby is the one who’s in trouble. This isn't even about her. It’s about the kid’s dad. She holds her head in her hands like that’s going to fucking help anything. “ Shit! ”

THEN

There were protesters outside the clinic. She kind of expected that. It’s not like she’s not used to protesters. It’s actually kind of refreshing, seeing signs calling her a baby murderer instead of mutie scum. Everyone loves a change of pace. 

There are counter-protesters, too, and a couple of sweet volunteers who offer to escort her inside. Like Abortion Girl Scouts. Tabby lets them take her inside and wishes they also sold Abortion Girl Scout cookies. 

Why wouldn’t they have free cookies at the abortion clinic? Seems like a missed opportunity. She writes all her shit down and sits in a squeaky vinyl chair to wait. There are all kinds of brochures and posters around the room— resources, guidance, support. All kinda boring. She’d kill for a Highlights . 

One brochure in particular does catch her eye, though— a picture of a pregnant lady looking stressed out, the words reading, Is the call coming from inside the house? Wondering what the fuck that’s supposed to mean, Tabby leans forward and tugs the brochure out of its caddy to read the whole thing. 

Is the call coming from inside the house? 

Don’t live in fear. Orchis offers prenatal genetic testing to determine whether your unborn child carries a potentially deadly X-Gene. 

KNOW THE FACTS. 

She stares at the brochure for about two minutes. Thinking. Then, she gets up and goes to the reception counter. “Hey,” she says. “Cancel the, cancel the thing.” 

“Sorry?”

“Cancel the thing, I’m gonna keep it.” 

Outside, one of the protesters stops her with a big smile on his face. “God bless you, ma’am,” he says. “God bless you for making the right choice.” 

“Aw, thank you,” Tabby says. “I figured… I wouldn’t wanna rob the world of one more dangerous mutant.” 

The smile melts off his face like wax. 

She grins and walks off with her head held high, priming a time bomb to toss up into the air. (Just to scare ’em, she swears.) She calls out to the throng, “I hope it’s gay, too!” 

NOW

Boom boom boom goes her fist on the door of the Lighthouse. “Shatterstar!” She keeps hammering away. “Shatterstar, I know you live here now!” 

The door swings open and she comes face-to-face with— 

Baby Shogo. Toddler Shogo. However old he is when he’s not being a dragon. He’s in Jubilee’s arms, but for some reason Tabby keeps looking at him instead of his mom. “What?” Jubilee says, looking pissed off. “What is it?” 

“Um. I have to talk to Shatterstar.” She twists a lock of hair between two fingers. “It’s urgent. It’s kind of the most urgent something can be.” 

Jubilee makes a face. “He’s on the beach.” 

“Oh. Good.” 

“With Ric.” 

Fuck . “Fine.” 

Jubilee snaps her gum. “What do you need to talk to Shatterstar for?”

“Shar-shar!” Shogo repeats happily. 

Tabby looks at the kid, then at Jubes. “None of your business.” 

“ Seriously ?” 

Tabby rolls her eyes. “We had a secret love child that nobody knows about, including him.”

“Fine, don't tell me, jeez.”

“Thanks, Jubes,” she calls over her shoulder, turning to go down to the beach. “Bye, munchkin.” 

“Bye!” Shogo calls after her. 

Down by the shore, Ric and Shatterstar appear to be locked in a stone-skipping contest. Before descending the ridge, Tabby watches ’Star toss a smooth pebble. It skips at least seven times and then plunks into the sea. He glances over at Rictor, visibly smug even though she can only see him from the back. 

Rictor responds by levitating a large boulder twice the size of him and sending it skipping off into the horizon, splashing down in the water every few yards before vanishing into the surf. 

“Hey,” Tabby says, shoes sliding in the sand as she walks toward them. “Guys. I need to talk to you.” 

“Oh, hey, Tabs,” Ric says easily. “¿Qué pasa?” He’s in a crop top and rolled-up jeans, druid markings bold and bright on his face, and he looks so… comfortable. It’s not a look she’s used to seeing on him. 

Just as well she’s about to ruin it. 

“Um,” she says. She’s back to fidgeting with her hair. Shatterstar regards her evenly, like he can feel the bad news simmering beneath the surface. “Okay. Okay.” Like ripping off a Band-Aid. “Ric, there’s something you should know.” 

’Star catches her eye then and shakes his head, just slightly. The messed-up thing about hurting people you care about is that sometimes once you start, you have to keep doing it ’til you’re all the way through. 

“When we thought you were dead,” she says, “Shatterstar and I slept together.” 

“No mames.” Rictor’s face twists and shifts a lot in the span of a couple seconds. “You’re… kidding, right?” He glances between the two of them. “Are you serious? ’Star?” 

’Star stares straight down at the ground, mouth pressed into a thin line.

The ground shakes a little, almost like a reflex. 

“What is this?” Ric asks, wheeling back on Tabitha. “No, what is this ? What are you saying? You and him ? Deja de estar chingando. No. ¿Tú cogiste a mi novio?”

“I don’t… I don’t speak that, Ric—”

The sand under her feet is getting a lot harder to stand on. 

“¿Se supone que eres mi mejor amiga y tú cogiste a mi novio?” 

“Okay, slow down , I don’t fucking hablo español, okay?” 

Shatterstar steps forward. “Julio—”

“No, what the fuck, you had sex with him like a year ago and just… decided not to tell me?” Rictor demands, jostling the earth beneath her. “How could you— why would you even— ?” 

“Like I said,” Tabby says, “we thought you were dead.” 

“I wasn’t dead! I was stuck in a pocket dimension where sex was illegal!”

“Well, it wasn’t illegal out here, and we did it.” Some people appreciate her bluntness. Rictor isn’t one of them. His hands burn green, and his eyes look wild for a moment. “You said, you said that if you died I could marry Shatty!” 

“I said marry him not fuck him !”

“ What ?” 

“A nice, sexless lavender marriage because I love you both and ’Star shouldn't be alone,” he explains. “Dios, did you even wait until my body was cold? Wait, no, because there was no body because I wasn’t fucking dead .” 

The whole time he’s yelling, Shatterstar just stands at his side, weighed down with guilt like a tired pack mule. None of Ric’s fury is directed at him, though. No, that’s all for Tabitha. Which is fine, really. She’s got years of experience when it comes to Rictor shouting in her face. It’s just that usually, she’s shouting back. 

She doesn’t want to shout right now. 

She doesn’t really want to do anything. 

“God, it is so fucked up, jumping a guy while he’s grieving—”

“Julio, I am an adult,” Shatterstar says, finally speaking up. “I understand you are angry, but Tabitha alone doesn't deserve the entirety of your ire.”

“You want some?” he yells, the ground rippling beneath ’Star’s feet.

“It’s only fair.”

“Guys!” Tabby yells, dropping to a crouch just to keep from being toppled as the ground continues to shake. Jesus, the whole island must be shaking by now. It’s a wonder Jubilee hasn’t come marching down from the Lighthouse to see what’s going on. “Calm down! It was one time. It wasn't even fun , Shatterstar cried for most of it!”

“And that didn’t clue you in that you should stop ?” 

“Julio, stop. Tabitha did not take advantage,” Shatterstar says. “I am capable of making my own decisions, and I am so deeply sorry that my decisions dishonored you and what you mean to me. But I was not seduced . I made a choice. I can choose whom I have sex with.”

“Yeah, I know,” Ric spits, “I remember Layla.” The ground ripples again, knocking Shatterstar back into the water. He stands ankle-deep, looking totally miserable. 

“Guys,” Tabitha shouts again, because this so wasn’t the point. Her biggest concern right now isn’t the mistake she and Shatty made, it’s the adorable little accident that came out of it. And if this is how Rictor reacts to the misguided hookup… 

Can’t be helped. One more Band-Aid to rip off, one more bomb to drop. She pushes herself to her feet. 

“All that catching up we did when you got back, and you didn’t think to mention this ?” 

“I am sorry, Julio,” ’Star is saying. “I knew it would upset you.” 

“¡El genio! You used your brilliant detective skills to figure out that I might be upset by this—” 

“GUYS.” It’s a missile and she lets it fly. “I got pregnant.” 

And the earth stands still. 

Shatterstar’s eyes are huge. 

“I got pregnant,” Tabitha continues, “and I had the baby on Krakoa.”

Rictor gapes. “And you’re sure it’s his ?” 

“Yeah,” she snaps, “contrary to popular belief, I’m not actually a whore, Ric.” Just a homewrecker, apparently. “He’s the only person I was with during that time.”

“Unless you bumped uglies with an Asgardian,” Ric spits, “because, you know, I’ve fallen for that one before—”

“You had a baby?” Shatterstar says. His voice is impossibly soft. He’s still standing in the water, and his gaze is fixed on her midsection. 

Her throat feels clogged all of a sudden. She coughs, trying to clear it. “Yeah,” she says. “Yeah. And… and I’m so sorry I didn’t say anything before now, Shatty. I’m sorry.” 

For once in his life, Rictor is actually at a loss for words. 

“Look, you guys can both hate me later,” she says, because they’re wasting time . “What really matters now is that the baby’s gone . Spiral broke into the Bower and took it.” 

She watches the shift happen in Rictor— the way he flickers from angry to determined. The way he always looks when there are children in peril and he can do something about it. He squares his shoulders and lowers his chin. 

“Spiral took the child?” Shatterstar says. He kneels and pulls the swords out from the duffel at his feet. And Tabitha thinks, Damn, he still doesn’t go anywhere without those things, does he? “To Mojo?” 

“Yeah,” she says. “Yeah. Apparently she said something about… copyright infringement.” 

“Yes. Of course.” And then, too fast for her to stop him or say anything, he swings the swords, tearing a wound between dimensions. The light is blinding, and she knows when she shuts her eyes she’ll still see the vivid X his blades cut burned into her vision. 

“’Star, wait !” Ric yells, but it's too late. 

He’s already gone. 

Chapter Text

THEN

Shatterstar’s high metabolism and healing factor mean it’s almost impossible to get him drunk. Which is, really, just, fucking pathetic. The one thing Tabitha can offer him and she can’t even get that right. 

She tries, anyway, making sure he has two swallows for every one of hers from the whiskey bottle she bought this morning. Washing it down with malt liquor, just to be sure. And after about an hour, she’s certainly feeling a little less weepy over the fact that the X-Men are all gone and the world is in shambles and her best friend is dead. 

Ric had to be a big fuckin’ hero. Moron. 

“Thank you,” Shatterstar says thickly, gesturing with the hand holding the whiskey bottle. “Thank you for this.” 

“Of course, man.” She slumps and slides a little closer to him on her shitty couch that sags in the middle. “We gotta— we gotta take care of each other, right?” She tips her head back and shuts her eyes, not quite drunk enough for everything to spin when she does that. Not quite drunk enough. 

“I miss it,” Shatterstar admits. “I miss being a weapon. This… the pain I feel… I can’t bear it, Tabitha.” He sobs, stuttering and staccato, the sound of a bad engine. “I want to be a thing again.” 

She hasn't prayed since she was eight years old, but Jesus Christ, the look on his face makes her want to believe in something again. The broken man on her couch needs somebody looking out for him besides her . 

She knows what he really needs. He doesn't need God, or a shoulder to cry on. He needs Rictor . 

“You ever had a jawbreaker?” she asks him, wiping at her eyes. “They’re these big hard candies with a really thick shell, and… and, but, once you see the inside it’s all beautiful colors and. And, y’know, candy.” She sniffles. “And back then, back on X-Force, y’know, none of us could crack you open. But then Rictor came and he wore you down, and… and there was so much of you, Shatty.” She tucks her head against his shoulder. “You can’t take that for granted. You can’t… you can’t just bury all the stuff he brought out in you. It was there the whole time, and… and he wouldn’t’ve wanted you to… just…” She grabs for her bottle, scrubbing away her tears as she sips. 

His only response is to let out another sob, crackling like an old tape. 

“It’s okay,” she promises, even though it isn’t. With the hand that isn't holding the whiskey bottle, she pulls his head down to kiss him on the forehead. “You’re okay.” She kisses his cheek and he leans into her, like a sunflower reaching for light, or like— like those turtles, the ones that hatch on beaches and walk toward city lights instead of the moon, mistaking bright billboards and speeding cars for the safety of the sea. 

He should be walking into the ocean instead of pressing closer to her on the couch. 

She kisses the top of his cheekbone, tastes the salt of his tears. Everything seems to get sucked out of the room then, everything but the sound of their breathing. His hand finds her knee— less a come-on, more the actions of a man grasping at straws, trying to prove that the body beside him is something more substantial than TV static. 

Later, she doesn't remember whether she went for his mouth first or if he went for hers. Or maybe they both made the same bad decision at the same time. It’s electric like a short circuit, that first kiss, wrong and real. 

“ Distract me ,” he pleads. 

“Shatty. This is a bad idea.”

“I know.” He noses at her jaw. “Please let’s do it anyway.” He kisses the space beneath her ear, presses his lips to her neck. Tabby tips her chin back and lets him. 

“Okay,” she breathes. “Okay.”

NOW

The place where Shatterstar stood moments ago hangs in the air like a scar, the empty vacuum of the space he should fill. Tabby could never get used to that, if she were dating the guy. At least when Sam would jet away he’d leave a vapor trail. Shatterstar just leaves emptiness. 

“Damn it,” Ric shouts, kicking up a pile of sand. He turns toward her, eyes frantic. “The Gate. There’s a Gate to Mojoworld, on Krakoa.” He tears off, letting her race after in his wake. Sand kicks up behind him with every footfall, and it’s a challenge not to trip on the dunes as Tabitha struggles to keep up. 

She follows Rictor through the Braddock Isle Gate and onto the main body of Krakoa. 

There are plenty of mutants around. X-Men, even. They could launch a full-scale attack on Mojoworld to get this baby back. That would, of course, necessitate telling people that she got knocked up and handled it exactly as well as everyone would have expected of her, but. Well. There are things more important than a long-ruined reputation. 

“Should we try and get backup?” she suggests. 

Rictor glares at her. “I don’t even want to bring you .” 

She rolls her eyes and keeps stomping alongside him, beelining for the Gate that leads to the Mojoworld. Sofia usually keeps a rotating guard— a “welcoming committee,” she calls it, because all the refugees fleeing Mojoworld deserve to be met with open arms, but known enemies like Gog N’MaGog shouldn’t be able to just wander onto the island. 

Right now, the “welcoming committee” consists of Surge and Hellion. After Tabby’s time, but she’s definitely done shots with the blue-haired one before. She thinks. “Hey,” Hellion greets them. “Everything okay?” 

“No. Get out of my way,” Rictor says, cordial as ever. 

Tab tries to flash the kid an apologetic smile on her way through the Gate, but she’s pretty sure it comes off more like a grimace. 

And then they’re in Mojoworld. 

First time she ever came here, Tabby had two impressions— first, that a lot of things about Shatty suddenly made sense. Second, that it kinda scares her how easy it would be for her to adjust to a place like this. It’s loud and shallow and empty and bright, all sparkle and no substance. All the world’s a stage, the people merely props. 

She could play this place’s game so well , if she ever wanted to. 

It’s not a very fun thing to know about herself. 

She and Ric emerge on a busy plaza, surrounded by flashing billboards advertising programs like Arize & Shine and X-Treme Disemboweling! Rictor stumbles a little, blinking in the bright lights, and Tabby remembers what Sally once told her about the first time Ric saw Times Square. There are screens everywhere , a hundred different commercials and paid content and sponsorship deals blaring down at them. Shiny people with shiny smiles and empty eyes watch them, trapped behind pixels and performance. 

“Fan-fucking-tastic,” Rictor says, head on a swivel as he tries to get his bearings. “And now ’Star is God-knows-where, and since Spiral’s involved, God-knows- when .” 

“We’ll find him,” Tabby swears, crossing the sidewalk so she can wedge herself against a concrete wall. Being out in the open makes her feel way too seen, not that there’s much of a way around that in the Mojoverse. “Spiral has her own studio, right? We can start there.” 

“Well, look at you, coming up with a plan.” 

“Look, I’m sorry , okay?!” she says, crossing her arms tightly around herself. An electronic sign nearby urges them to subscribe to Minor Domo’s new streaming service. “I fucked up. What else do you want me to say?” 

“Nothing. I don’t want to hear anything from you.” He paces up and down the street, like he can’t decide which direction to take. A hologram pops out in front of him and reminds him to record tonight’s episode of Extreme Clone Makeover . “Spiral’s studio is that way,” he says, pointing, because apparently Rictor’s able to make sense of all of these signs and lights. Tabby remembers, with a shock of cold, that Ric once spent over half a year in Mojoworld’s past, fighting for his life gladiator-style. “You can come with or stay here, but I’m going.” 

He takes off.

Obviously, Tabitha follows him. 

She has to hustle to keep up, and he's clearly not trying to slow down for her sake. “You know I care about him too, right?” Tab spits out, sick to death of all of this. “I’ve actually known him longer than you have, technically, and it’s not like I’d ever actually want to come between you or something but don't act like I don't get to have my own feelings about him and this whole fucked up situation.”

Ric’s lip curls, but he doesn't say anything. “It’s not like I’m trying to steal him away,” she goes on, “it’s not like I even could . You're his whole world, Ric. But I’m still his friend.” 

“Yeah? You let all your friends hit it raw?”

“What the fuck is the matter with you?”

“What’s the matter with me ?” he demands. The sidewalk trembles beneath their feet. “You fucked my boyfriend and you didn't even have the common decency to take a goddamn morning-after pill. That’s what’s the matter with me.” His eyes finally swivel to the right to see the group of outrageously dressed teenagers filming their argument. “Hey! Cut the fucking cameras!” 

“No way, dork, this is some fekting juice ,” the kid says, pushing his video camera closer to Rictor’s face. “C’mon, viewers wanna know— are you and your boyfriend still together? Did Blondie get an abortion?” 

“Bro,” one of his idiot friends says, slapping him on the back of the head. “You can’t say ‘abortion’ on MojoTok, you’ll get zarked.” 

“Whatever. Moving on. Chat, sound off in the comments whether you’re Team Twink or Team Bimbo.” 

Boom-Boom blows up his camera. The look on the kid’s face is kind of funny, his eyebrows all singed off where the camera exploded in his face. 

“Hey!” he yells, stomping after Ric and Tabby as they leave the streamers behind. “Hey, that was private property! You owe money!” 

“Owe him what?” Tabby quips back. Lobbing a bad joke over her shoulder isn’t nearly as fun as lobbing a time-bomb, but she figures she’s already made enough of a spectacle in the street. “I don’t even know Money.” 

She can feel Rictor’s eyes on her as they continue down the promenade. “That was a little extreme,” he says. “Destroying a guy’s camera on Mojoworld is kind of like breaking his oxygen tank.” 

“Are you fucking for real? He was being a dick. He called you a twink! You haven’t been a twink since Napster was still a thing.” 

“I mean, he’s just saying ‘twink’ because he’ll get canceled if he says ‘faggot,’” Rictor reasons. “Although— here, ‘canceled’ means literally killing somebody dead, so, maybe not actually canceled but. You know.” 

“I’m not gonna feel bad for destroying his camera,” she snaps, but her stomach is churning. “It’s kind of my thing. It’s— it’s all I do.” She breathes in deep. Everything on Mojoworld smells like ozone and secondhand vape. They were fighting, weren’t they? They should get back to fighting. It’s easier to yell stuff at Rictor than to say it at a reasonable volume. “All I have ever done is destroy things,” she says, which is true but it's not really what she meant to say. Her face feels hot. She hopes to God she doesn't start crying. “And Shatterstar… he was so sad . He just sounded so… broken . I thought I could do something good. And all I did was destroy stuff even more.”

Rictor rolls his eyes. “He would've been fine. Eventually.”

“You were gone .” Fuck, fuck, fuck. Don’t cry. Don’t fucking cry. “And not like ‘broke up for the third time this month’ gone, you were dead . And Cable was dead. And Sam went back to space.” He still looks skeptical. Like there’s something so ludicrous about Shatterstar falling apart over him . “You’ve never seen him without you.”

“I know that he’s—”

"You know him better than anybody but you've never seen him WITHOUT you,” she snaps, voice cracking, a short fuse with nowhere to go. “You've never had to pick up the pieces after YOU leave. You've never seen him fucking losing his mind and mumbling crazy shit about Boston and not letting anybody touch him because YOU WERE THE ONLY ONE ALLOWED TO TOUCH HIM.”

She watches his jaw working. He’s never punched her in the face, but one time he kissed her and it kind of felt like that. She wishes he’d go back to yelling— anything but this contained fury, magma beneath the surface. Without saying a word, he hops onto the People Mover that’s headed toward the top streamers’ village. The Hype House to end all Hype Houses. Tabby follows. 

Their cab judders forward, too slow and too fast all at once. 

“I know I was a bad friend to you,” she says, quietly. “Broke bro code, or whatever. And after, when I got pregnant— I should’ve told ’Star. I know that. I can own that. But that one night— whatever comfort it gave him, being able to think about something else besides the love of his life getting obliterated— I wouldn't take it back, if I could. You can hate me for that, but it's true.”

It feels good to say it, even if he does break her nose or shake her all to pieces. 

She’s not really sure why she keeps thinking he might. Rictor’s not violent like that. The flinch she keeps holding back probably has more to do with her than with him. Whatever. She can deal with that once they’ve got the baby back, or never. She wonders, idly, if they have vodka on this planet.

Chapter Text

Mojoworld never gets better. It just rebrands. 

Dazzler and Magik and the others— they freed all the slaves. This season’s slaves, anyway. Got Mojo to legally recognize Krakoa and stop overtly exploiting the mutants who call it home. Hurray. 

Shatterstar knows not to expect this brief period of fairness and equality to last past November sweeps. 

He stalks through the streets of his homeworld and tries not to breathe in the fumes. 

A child. Tabitha told him she had a child. 

It seems ridiculous, outlandish, like a distant dream he can’t quite grasp between his fingers. A child. It’s crazy. Children are supposed to take planning, precautions. On Mojoworld, couplings are planned seasons in advance, genetics taken into consideration, probabilities computed, audiences polled. Breeding the old-fashioned way is hardly reliable; programmers more commonly rely on artificial reproduction and cloning. 

Rahne Sinclair once showed herself to him, naked and pregnant and beautiful. He remembers her swollen belly, bulging in a way that should have looked invasive or unnatural but didn’t, not at all. On TV people always say that pregnant women glow, but he doesn’t remember a glow about her. He remembers the gravity. The density of her, and how she pulled everything toward her— Monsters. Jack Russell. Rictor. 

He’s seen Tabitha naked now, but he never saw her pregnant. He would have liked to. He would have liked to go with her to appointments and hold her hair back when she had morning sickness. He would have liked to go over baby names with her. 

(It occurs to him, now, that he doesn’t even know this baby’s name. He didn’t think to ask before he took off.) 

The resentment burning in his chest is aimless, really. Even if Boom-Boom had wanted to tell him, he hadn’t been there to be told. He’d been busy carving through genetically engineered slaves on Mojoworld’s most-streamed live feed. He’d been busy getting famous, again, the way Dazzler does a comeback tour every four years to stay relevant. 

He looks up at an animated billboard now and sees his own face glaring back down at him. It’s been months since he left, but Mojoworld still reveres him. He is still relevant. His relevance isn’t even in remission. He would kill to be a has-been. To be washed up. The phrase “washed up” at least implies being clean of blood. 

Shatterstar grumbles and pushes his hair out of his face and focuses on finding the master programmer’s office. That’s where Mojo will be, and where Mojo is, Spiral is bound. He blocks out the bright lights and pushes forward. 

Everything is advertisement here. It feels like one of those websites that Julio tells him not to go on. Except instead of sultry promises of lonely singles in his area, he sees migraine-inducing ads for weaponry, new television programs, massive multiplayer online roleplaying games, energy drinks, sleeping pills, lipstick, long-lasting hair dye, life insurance. His own face is being used to sell a good deal of it. Want luscious locks like top streamer Shatterstar? Buy the official ShamStar Shampoo Pack™ for just $99.99 Mojo Bucks!

Sometimes he thinks about hacking it all off. Jimmy Proudstar once told him that hair holds memories, and he’s got plenty of memories he’d like to lose. But there’s still something comforting about wearing his hair long again— he likes to fidget with it when his fingers are idle. He likes the rituals of brushing and braiding it. 

And Julio likes his hair long. 

There is an elevator that ascends from the MojoCity promenade up to the higher levels where the master programmer’s office sits. There’s supposed to be an access code required to take the elevator up that high, but it’s easy enough for Shatterstar to channel a vibrational frequency through one of his swords and render the security system moot. 

As he starts to rise, he sees the screen inside the elevator flicker on. He recognizes the ring, and the warrior in the center of it. This isn’t a live broadcast, just a rerun. Something to entertain whoever ends up in this elevator. 

Time is strange here, but by Shatterstar’s estimate, this footage was originally livestreamed and recorded six months ago. 

The opponent onscreen is dead, lying very still in the center of Shatterstar’s arena. Shatterstar grinds his teeth and stares at the screen, watching himself approach the body. 

“Another triumph for the one, the only, SHATTERSTAR,” a commentator rattles off. “Ohh, they’re loving this in the chat. We’ve got audience members calling for corpse defilement. What’s that there— ‘Cut him up, Shatty,’ ‘Give Arize something messy to put in the clone-mother.’ ‘UNF I am so wet right now,’ jeez, okay, this is a family show, folks. ‘He’s so babygirl. I love when he’s covered in blood,’ and he certainly is that. Chat, you might not be able to bathe in the blood of your enemies but you CAN feel like a star by ordering your very own jar of Shatterstar Bathwater, check out the link in my bio to learn more.”

Breathing gets harder. The change in altitude, he tells himself. This is a very long elevator ride. 

“Aaaaand there he goes, folks, you’ve got your corpse defilement! ”

Onscreen, the champion bends over to slice his dead opponent from groin to sternum. Then, he reaches a hand in and pulls out a fistful of viscera, glistening in the brilliant spotlights. He proceeds to stuff the intestines in the dead man’s mouth like he’s prepping a pig for a barbecue. 

Breathing too fast, heart in his throat, stomach several floors below. Shatterstar sags back against the inner wall of the elevator, feeling his chest fall and rise like a mechanical thing. Another automaton in the machine of Mojoworld. 

His hand dives into his pants pocket and wraps around a stone Julio gifted him several weeks ago. Julio would forgive you , he tells himself, watching the desecration on the screen. Julio has already forgiven you for this . 

The “for this” is important, because he knows that Julio is angry with him at the moment. Angry that he had sexual intercourse with Tabitha. It’s a known infraction, common enough to be a sitcom trope— the betrayal of sleeping with your lover’s best friend. He’s broken trust. Become disloyal. Found a way to hurt his beloved that doesn’t require knives or blades or gnashing teeth. Shatterstar has always been exceedingly proficient in destroying things. 

He’s reminded of his fumbling forays into asking for an open relationship, back when they were on X-Factor together. This is different. It isn't as though he wanted to be with Tabitha in that way instead of with Julio, or even in addition to. It isn’t as though he wanted Tabitha so badly, and once Julio was gone he was free to make his move. 

What he wanted, in the wake of Julio’s apparent death, was to become nothing.

To die, or something even cleaner. To be gone. To be scraped clean like a palimpsest. 

Tabitha held onto him too tightly for him to slip away the way that he longed to do. 

The thing on the screen smiles at the camera, teeth bared and bloody. 

Julio may never forgive him for impregnating Tabitha, but this… this, he forgives. Julio has never faulted him for the things he’s done for fame. Maybe because he knows that Shatterstar never really wanted to be famous at all. He just wanted to be alive. 

The elevator dings.

It’s showtime. 

Shatterstar stomps onto the landing, drawing his swords. 

Even though Spiral certainly has a head-start, he’s not all that worried about being too slow to catch her before she reaches her master. Something he’s realized in all the years he’s known Spiral (or not known Spiral, really) is that for a time traveler, she has a phenomenal sense of time blindness. The woman has never been on time for anything. She finds distractions, procrastinates, takes the long way around. She’s always going so fast to get to nowhere. 

So he’s not surprised when he emerges onto the metal catwalk that leads to Mojo’s control room and finds Spiral just a few yards ahead of him, the child held in two of her arms. “Spiral!” Shatterstar shouts, striding forward. “I won’t let you deliver that child to Mojo.” 

Even from behind, he can tell that Spiral is rolling her eyes. She rolls everything else, too— her wrists, her neck. And then she turns to face him, white eyes flashing with anger beneath the brim of her helmet. “Not this one, no?” she says, voice cold. Brittle. “But the last one was fine?” 

He shivers, despite himself. It was Spiral who helped him send Dazzler and Longshot’s baby— himself— to the gladiatorial slave pens of the Mojoverse a hundred years hence. She had been so angry with him for asking her to help. She had done it anyway. It had been a strange experience, fighting both her and Rictor to make sure his childhood was as miserable as it was supposed to be. 

“How can you just go along with this?” he asks. 

“You think I do this lightly? Stupid boy .” 

There isn’t time to argue with her. He swings one sword toward her and she meets it with one of her own blades, blocking him from reaching her. One of her other swords slices toward him and he ducks, pulling back to avoid getting slashed. He is known for his expert swordsmanship, but it’s hard to compete with Spiral’s dexterity. Even with two arms occupied holding the baby, she’s still got four more, each of them grasping a sword. 

Metal clashes, echoing around the chamber. The lights keep throwing strange shadows on Spiral’s face, her twirling arms, her blades. There are so many screens up here— every streaming channel accessible within the Mojoverse, all blurring together into one big nothing. Shatterstar does what he does best, and fights. 

Facing off against Spiral always feels a little like dancing, which is a shame. He’s a far better fighter than he is a dancer. He doesn’t know how to keep up with the steps, only the carnage. And she never goes easy on him. The tip of one of her swords catches him across the cheek now, bringing with it a hot burst of pain as blood dribbles down his face. “You don’t have to do this,” he reminds her, blocking her next attack. “You can make a different choice.” 

“We don’t get choices .” She’s truly a fascinating fighter. If he weren’t so concerned for his own life, and the life of the baby in her arms, he would just be admiring the way she moves. She moves like something so much more and so much less than human. A spider. A hurricane. 

His own swords buzz in his hands, extensions of himself. The upside of always feeling like a weapon is that your weapons also feel like you. Shatterstar meets her swinging swords with his own blades, holding his own against Mojo’s master-at-arms. It’s a novelty, fighting for the life and wellbeing of his child. He’s fought for his own life, for those of his friends, his teammates, his tenants, Julio. He’s fought for other people’s children. 

Never his own. 

It’s strange. Invigorating. He realizes he wants to talk to Longshot about it, but Longshot doesn’t have any memory of fighting for him. Shatterstar’s not even sure if Longshot remembers X-Factor Investigations, at the moment. Shatterstar’s not even sure where he is. Another “child” of his lost in the wind. 

Spiral dances toward him, a buzzsaw with her blades. “We are wretched, owned things, Shatterstar,” she says. “You know this.” 

“Yes,” he says. “But my child will not be like us.” She brings one of her blades to his throat. He keeps his voice even. “And we do get choices. You chose to save my life once. You chose to give Ginny Guzman a safe harbor. And you chose to help me and Adam save Sofia.”

“You are not your father, Shatterstar,” she says. 

“Well, actually—”

“Shut up. You aren't him. You can't inspire me to do the ‘right thing’ with a fancy speech.”

“I’m not asking you to make the right choice,” Shatterstar says. “Just make a choice. Do something other than what the script says.”

Her sword is still at his neck. And then, after a long moment of deliberation, she pulls it back. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t. Easier if you did.” 

“Well.” 

They both sheathe all their weapons, a show of peace that takes too long and will probably last too long. “What was he planning with the child?” Shatterstar demands. 

“I don’t even know if he knows.”

His eyes fall on the baby in her arms— tiny, and asleep, like the kid has no idea a whole swordfight just occurred. 

“It’s a boy, by the way,” Spiral says, shifting the baby in her arms. “Mazel tov.” 

“Thank you.” His eyes don’t want to stay on the baby, gaze sliding away every time he tries to focus. It’s like looking at the sun, or sticking your head out the window of a moving car. His eyes hurt. His chest feels like crushed gravel. 

He hears the skittering of metallic spider legs a second after Spiral does. 

“He’s coming,” Spiral hisses, shoving the child in Shatterstar’s arms and shoving them both behind a large fabric banner advertising MojoMunch™ Chicago-Style Popcorn in collaboration with NBC’s Chicago Med and NBC’s Chicago Fire (New seasons streaming now!) “Hide.” 

“This didn’t work out very well for Polonius,” Shatterstar whispers back. 

“I will endeavor not to stab you.”

And so, holding his son for the very first time, Shatterstar keeps his mouth shut and listens behind the curtain for Spiral and Mojo. 

“I did as you asked, my lord,” Spiral says. Her words are more stilted, more carefully rehearsed, when she speaks to her boss. Shatterstar’s sure his voice would do the same thing, if he’d ever been permitted to speak with his handlers back in the day. “I fed the boy to Arize’s clone-mother so that his genes might multiply and bring forth a whole generation of warriors and performers to exploit.” 

Mojo lets out a long displeased sound of pincers snapping and lips flapping. “Spiral, you ignorant slut! That is not what I asked of you.” 

“It isn’t?” Spiral says, feigning innocence. “You’re so hard to understand sometimes, with all that clicking.” 

“No, I had such plans for the child! I meant to raise him entirely on a soundstage, always being filmed, and have him convinced it was the whole world. I saw it in an Earth documentary starring James Carrey.” 

“Mm-hmm. Amazing idea, your brilliance,” Spiral says. “I’m sorry, my lord, I could have sworn you said to feed it to the gene slop. My mistake.” 

“You’ve been making an awful lot of mistakes , lately, my dear,” he says. Shatterstar can’t see what’s happening, but from Spiral’s sharp intake of air, it sounds as if Mojo might have grabbed her. “Maybe Arize can help you regain your focus.” 

“No, sir,” she says. “No need.” 

“Then act like it.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

The child begins to stir in Shatterstar’s arms. Holding him while he slept was one thing, but holding an awake baby feels entirely different. He’s so squirmy . Mojo eventually stops patronizing Spiral’s ear off and click-clacks away, off the catwalk, toward some other poor creature to exploit. 

Shatterstar cradles the child close to his chest, close enough that the smell of baby shampoo is almost overwhelming. “Shh,” he whispers, holding the boy as firmly as he can. “It is alright.” He bounces the boy up and down a little, rocking from side to side the way he’s seen on television. Of course, there aren’t that many babies on the television shows he watches— sometimes, a character has a baby because they’re at an age where many audience members are having babies, and the program wants to remain relatable. Sometimes, an actress gets pregnant and they write it into the show. 

Spiral twitches the banner back, eyes burning with fury. “How could you be so foolish?” she demands, gesturing toward the child with two of her hands. “After everything the Cadre Alliance did to get you away from Windsong, you go and do this ?” It’s funny— she talks with her hands the way Julio does. She’s just got more of them. “You were careless .” 

Then Spiral does something he never imagined she’d do; she hands him a roll of condoms. A closer inspection reveals that the brand name is Mojan . “Mojo makes contraceptives?”

“Babies are bad for ratings, Shatterstar.”

The baby in his arms fusses. Shatterstar hums at him, jostling him a little to try and quiet him. “We should get out of here,” he says. “Before that vehjka comes back.” He moves away from the wall, matching pace with Spiral as they hurry toward the elevator. “Here,” he says, trying to pass the child back to her. 

Spiral stares at him. “Shatterstar,” she says, “here’s a tip— when you finally get the kid back from the kidnapper, you don’t give it back to the kidnapper.” 

“But— I—” 

“You’ve never held a baby before,” she realizes. 

He frowns. “I live with a toddler now,” he says. Like he’s got to prove something. “But… no, never one this young.” 

“Just do like you’re doing. Support his head,” she says. “You’ll be fine.” She ducks into the elevator with him hot on her heels, struggling to figure out the proper way to hold his infant son. When the elevator starts to descend, that same rerun of his arena fight flashes on. Spiral smashes a blade against the screen, shutting it off pretty effectively. 

“... Thank you.” 

“Whatever.” 

It’s a long way down. Spiral crosses two, then four, then all six of her arms. She taps her foot. “Seen any good movies lately?” she asks him finally. 

“I—”

“I just watched Human Centipede . Detested it.”

The baby’s eyes are huge. Shatterstar finds himself not wanting to look away from them. “Oh?”

“Mostly,” Spiral goes on, “I’m just angry I didn't come up with the idea first.”

“Oh.”

Chapter Text

THEN

Shatterstar isn’t answering his phone.

Which is, you know, fine. Tabitha doesn’t really want to talk to him. It’s just, she probably should. Considering. 

The pregnancy test glares at her from the bathroom counter. She considers blowing it up. It would be satisfying, probably, but it wouldn’t actually solve anything. Which is usually the case with her time-bombs. 

It’s crazy. She really wants to call Ric. Wants him to yell at her for being a shitty friend. Wants him to tell her what to do. 

What the fuck to do. 

For an insane moment, she thinks about calling her dad. 

Then she moves past the moment and tries Shatterstar’s cell again. 

NOW

“Did you know he was coming back here?” Rictor asks. They’re walking toward Spiral’s Showcase™ Streaming Studio-Home, trying and failing to ignore the lurid LED monitors projecting a whole variety of body modification procedures, blood and viscera displayed like new cosmetics.  

“What? No, of course not,” Tabitha swears. “I had to tell him Spiral took the kid, but… I didn't know he’d react like this, tearing off without waiting—”

“No, not… not today,” Rictor clarifies. “Before.”

“Huh?”

“You said you and ’Star slept together right after the whole Transia thing, and Stryfe and Ahab,” he says. “Which means you were the last person to see him up until Lorna and Rachel found him back on Mojoworld.”

“Oh,” she says, her voice small. “I didn't know that.”

“He didn't say anything to you? Didn't mention plans to come back?”

“No.” She wraps her arms around herself. “I would've stopped him if he had, I swear.”

Rictor just shakes his head. “You and I both know there's no stopping ’Star when his mind is made up.”

Spiral’s studio looms in front of them. Tabby leans on the front door buzzer. A bright female voice— not Spiral— chirps back at them: “Do you have a scheduled slot?”

Rictor rolls his eyes. Tabby leans closer to the speaker box. “Yeah, we’re here from, uh, the Metaverse. We heard Spiral was into AR now.”

“I don’t see you on the schedule.”

Tabby primes a time-bomb in her hand, counts it down. “I’m sure you can squeeze us in.” Boom. 

Upstairs, ads for Headshot TV (We’re your new family!™) cover the walls. Spiral’s staff are all scattered around the place, people with too many arms and too many legs and too many eyes. It’s hard to tell who was just born that way and who’s a victim (willing customer?) of Spiral’s Body Mod Shoppe. 

Tabby and Ric march into the main programming room, only to find no Spiral and no baby. “Where’s Spiral?” Tabby demands of the nearest person she sees— a bored-looking girl with platinum blonde hair. 

“She's not here.”

“Who are you?”

“Ginny.”

Ric scowls. “Madre de Dios, this chick is on a child abduction spree.”

“I’m nineteen, dick.”

“And?” 

The girl rolls her eyes and— reaches. And all of a sudden, the whole room looks different. Wavery, wavy… Tabby blinks. What was she thinking about, again? What’s she here for… ? To do whatever Spiral wants, right? It’s so cool, being somewhere where everyone is passionate about what they’re doing. And what they’re doing is so cool, even if she can’t quite remember what that is. 

Rictor’s saying something. She loves Rictor. He totally gets her. She’s scared she made him angry, before, which would be bad because then he wouldn’t want to be her friend anymore. “What the hell did you do to her?” he’s yelling, and oh, he’s touching her. Not in a creepy way. Just holding her up, like she’s too drunk to stand. 

Is she drunk? She hasn’t had anything to drink today, she doesn’t think, but she’s been drinking a lot. Started after the baby was born. Easier not to worry when you’re too drunk to think all that clearly. Easier to shrug off the guilt when there’s always another vodka-cran to latch onto. Like a mosquito, sucking down every drop she can get. Buzzing and buzzing and never staying still for too long. 

Her hands cling at Rictor, moving without her really telling them to. It feels right, to be hanging onto him, to have him hanging onto her. Should she kiss him? No, right? She thinks maybe she kissed him before and it was bad, but they don’t have to kiss to be together, to be one living breathing being, existing in each other’s orbit, two moons spinning and spinning and spinning. Never staying still for too long. His hands on her feel more solid than the earth, warm and familiar and always there to catch her when she falls. 

“This is amazing,” she mumbles, pressing her face into the crook of his elbow. 

“You’re okay,” Rictor says quietly, a hand running through her hair. It’s heavenly. “It’s okay.” Which, like, yeah, obviously. It’s so okay. Things feel more okay now than they ever have before. No matter what, she knows that she’s a part of something, and as long as that’s true, she doesn’t have to worry. “Cut it out.” 

“What’s your deal?” Someone else is speaking. The girl. She’s young, and pretty. Something tells Tabby that this girl likes her and thinks she’s cool and smart, and that makes her feel good. It’s nice to have younger friends, like Roxy and Cessily and Laura. Makes her feel like she’s still got time. “Why aren’t you drinking the Kool-Aid with her?” 

There’s Kool-Aid? She hasn’t had actual Kool-Aid since she was a kid. ’Berto used to break down walls all the time when he was impatient, and it always reminded her of the Kool-Aid man. They’d be in a crisis situation and he would bust down a wall with his solar-powered strength and she would just think, Ohhhh yeah! 

“I’ve got stronger psychic shields than the average bear.” 

The average bear, he’s so fucking funny. Has she ever told Ric how funny he is? Probably, right? He’s always making her laugh, even when she wants to cry. He’s the first person she wants to call when things go wrong, because she always knows he’ll crack a stupid joke about it and have her laughing about something that should be ruining her. Christ, does she love him. 

“Spiral abducted a child,” Rictor says to the girl— Ginny? “We’re here to rescue it. We don’t have any other beef with her; we just want the kid back.” 

That kid, she’s supposed to care about that kid. Her kid? That’s nuts, she can’t have a kid. She can’t even take care of herself. Did she have a kid? Does she… oh, God. Oh God. 

“Russell,” she mumbles, mouth still pressed against Rictor’s sleeve. 

“Well, she’s not here right now,” Ginny says. “You can take it up with her when she gets back.” 

“Fine,” Ric snaps back. “But stop fucking with my friend.” 

Ginny groans, the kind of gagging-sighing sound Tabby knows she’s done herself to Cable a zillion times, and then— and then she’s back, lucid and way too sober for this shit.  “Fuck,” she whispers. She practically leaps out of Rictor’s arms. “Fuck. I’m sorry.” 

“You’re good,” he promises. 

She rubs at her eyes, pressing until she sees stars. “Don’t do that again,” she says, directing it toward the girl. 

“You’re no fun,” Ginny says. “Most people love what my powers do.” 

“Yeah, well.” She’s actually scared she loved it too much. “When is your boss getting back?” 

“Now.” 

Spiral appears suddenly in the center of her Studio-Home, arms spinning around herself as she teleports into place. Her hair settles around her face like she’s a supermodel, and her impeccable timing makes Tabby wonder if she’s got her whole studio bugged. 

“’Star!” Ric yells, focusing on the figure coalescing behind Spiral. 

“Russell!” Tabby yells, focusing on the baby in Shatterstar’s arms. She sprints forward, reaching for the baby. She gave him up. She gave him up months ago. But she still cares. She’ll always care, probably. Shatterstar gives him up to her easily enough. “Hey, hey, you’re okay,” she whispers, tucking him close to her body. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you, baby.” 

“Russell?” Ric says, arms wrapped around Shatterstar. “As in Benjamin Russell?”

“As in Russell Collins, dipshit,” she says. 

She watches a lot of emotions flash across his face— none she can exactly name. But then he goes back to hugging his boyfriend, and that’s fine. That’s fine by her. The baby is safe in her arms again. That’s all that really matters, at the moment. 

It’s a shame that that’s the moment Mojo chooses to show up. 

THEN

“Does he have a name?” 

Sally’s cradling the newborn in her arms, gazing down at it with the kind of glowing affection Tabby thinks she should probably feel. All she feels is tired. She got Stacy X to give her every drug in the book, and now that they’re all worn off she’s just spent. 

She still hasn’t held the kid. She’s scared to. They just cut the cord; she can’t afford to get attached again. 

“No,” Tabby says. “I don’t know. I didn’t think of one.” 

Sally’s so good. She doesn’t even react, just keeps smiling down at the little guy. “That’s okay,” she says. “I’ve been looking at a baby names website since I started volunteering at the Bower. I’ll come up with someth—”

“Russell,” she says. Unaware she’s even going to say it until it’s already out of her mouth. “His name is Russell.” 

Sally’s eyes are shining when they meet hers. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

It’s Krakoa, and it’s wonderful and magical and everybody comes back to life as long as they’re useful to the X-Men. Nobody’s bothered to resurrect Rusty Collins yet. But maybe this way, at least, there’s a little piece of him here on the island. This way, at least, his memory might stick around. 

NOW

“SPIRAL! You really thought you could conceal the boy from me? ME?” Mojo is horrible up close, all demanding eyes and shiny drool and spider-legs clacking against the floor. Always hungry for ratings and bodies and attention. Shatterstar and Spiral both draw their swords. “He is my genetic and intellectual property.” 

“Fuck off,” Tabby yells, holding her boy close. “He’s my son. Whatever claim you have on Shatterstar’s DNA doesn’t extend to me or my son.” 

“Oh! Dear girl! Sweet little bird-thing… How unbelievably stupid you are,” Mojo rants and raves, occupying far too much of Spiral’s studio. Out the corner of her eye, Tabby can see Spiral stepping in front of Ginny, shielding her from Mojo’s view. “Everything that Shatterstar is and was and will be, I own. Including his offspring.”  

“Tabby was right,” Rictor says. “Fuck off.”

Mojo’s greedy eyes flash toward Rictor. “You bring a Mojoworld product into your home, you need to accept the terms and conditions.” He spins his attention around. “Spiral. You lied to me.” 

Even with all her swords at the ready, Spiral looks disarmed. Vulnerable. In an instant, she slides from supervillain to subservient. It hurts to watch, like seeing a pop star trip and fall on stage. Spiral’s supposed to be a cold, cruel megabitch. She’s supposed to be sexy and evil; she’s not supposed to look scared. “It wasn't a lie,” she says, grasping at straws. “It was… a surprise! A plot twist.”

“... In what way?”

Spiral’s eyes flash, looking between Mojo and Shatterstar and Rictor. “How do we know that Shatterstar even is the boy’s father?” 

Tabby opens her mouth to point out once again that she's basically a hundred percent sure, unless she’s the mutant Mother Mary, but a pointed look from Spiral shuts her up. 

“Boom-Boom had a baby. This we know for sure,” Spiral goes on. “But who’s to say whether that baby was a result of an ill-advised hookup with Shatterstar here… or a brief fling with her old high school sweetheart, Rictor?” 

Ric shoots her a look that Tabby can clearly read as You gotta be fucking kidding me. But Mojo’s eating it up. 

“There’s a chance that you, in all your benevolence and brilliance, have no real claim on the child,” Spiral says, tilting her chin up. “But while he is here, in your domain, you can still squeeze some damn good entertainment out of him. The people want mutants on their TVs? This kind of mutant drama can’t be scripted. I knew you would want to capitalize on their interpersonal strife for the good of your magnificent ratings. And I came up with the idea to—”

“No, don’t tell me, I know! It’s brilliant! It’s so brilliant that only my glorious self could think of it,” Mojo declares, spittle flying from his lips. “We will… we will, ah…” 

Spiral stares at him. Her mouth twitches. “Conduct,” she says, filling in Mojo’s many blanks, “a paternity test…”

“Conduct a paternity test, yes, yes!” 

“Live,” Spiral says. “On air. And broadcast these mutants’ reactions to the results.” 

“Of course! It’s genius,” Mojo raves. “I’m so glad I thought of it.” 

“Your finger is truly on the pulse of the public,” Spiral says. 

“We need to go LIVE,” Mojo demands, skittering around the studio as he starts yelling things at Spiral’s various staff— which, given that Mojo owns everything and everyone in Mojoworld, are really Mojo’s staff. “I need comfortable-looking chairs! Lights! More lights. Signage, someone in graphics needs to slap a logo together. IT’S SHOWTIME, you disgusting little insects.” 

Everyone snaps into action because when your evil tyrant tells you to do something, you fucking book it. 

“What’s going on?” Ric hisses at Spiral. 

She curls her many hands into fists. “Follow my lead.”