Terry and Sean - Backdated

[ax_siryn]

Severely backdated because I suck, but Terry and Sean have some more father-daughter bonding time! And finally come out to each other as mutants.


Everything was so magical here! Terry had come to New York with Tom in February of the last year, having missed the festivities... and honestly not in a potentially festive mood, anyway. But this was perfect. The stalls were beautiful, with all their lights, their wooden toys, their winter accessories, their gorgeous jewelry, and the air was crisp with the cold and full of wonderful smells. Terry had been drawing her father - her father! - towards one of the stalls selling hot drinks when the ice rink beyond them caught her gaze, and she turned a hopeful gaze on her dad.

"Let's rent some skates?"

Sean laughed. "Oh, darlin' I haven't skated since I was in school. And I was shit even then. But why not? It's Christmas. Good time of year to make a total ass of yerself." Especially when your daughter looked that happy, it was.

"I've never skated at all," Terry told him, using her hand on the crook of his elbow to draw him along towards the rink, now. "I'll probably fall more often than not." She wanted to tell him about Otabek, and Yuri, but only just stopped herself in time. How could she have explained that she knew a couple of international figure skaters? It was for the best that Otabek was not here to see this, much as it put a smile on her lips to think of him. She'd tell him all about it anyway.

“Who’s gonna hold me up then?” Sean asked with faux indignation, laughing as he went. When they reached the counter he ponied up for two pairs.

It wasn't long before Terry had laced up her skates, and she stood, a little wobbly on the rubber-covered ground. "All right," she said as she found her balance, and waited for her dad to join her so they could head into the rink. "Any advice for me? ...or last words."

"Try not to let your ankles bow outward. It feckin' hurts."

"They don't feel like they can bow at all in those things," Terry admitted, grimacing at the stiffness of the skates' boots. She pulled her gloves back on and made it to the edge of the rink, wobbly but still in one piece, then turned back to her father. "You're not allowed to take the piss, by the way."

Sean cocked an eyebrow. “May as well ask me not to speak. What kind Irishman d’ye take me for?” He tried to stand and nearly failed, but made it into the blades. Feckin torture devices.

"The sort who owes his daughter," Terry replied without thinking. She only realised how much was packed into the words as she heard them come out of her mouth, and she immediately blushed. "But fine," she added, hoping he wouldn't say anything. "Take the piss." She moved onto the ice, still holding herself to the partition. And a good thing she was, since her feet tried to slide from under her and it was only thanks to her grip that she didn't end up on her arse. "Oh, no, this is horrible."

Sean’s face heated up like she’d smacked him, but he took it in silence with barely a wince. Instead he just followed her out into the ice, wobbling dangerously. He reached for her arm, moving over the ice at a snail’s pace. “Just start out slow now...”

Terry's hand caught his, and she made a face. "How do I... Oh." Pushing to the side to move forward, all right. She was doing so very awkwardly and hesitantly for now, and keeping a death grip on Sean's hand.

Sean tried to keep up. "That's an impressive grip ye've got there, Terry. Ye do take after yer ma."

"Ah, sorry," she said, immediately easing up on his hand. "This is a bit frightening." In that very cool way that made her smile as she said so. It made her think of flying in Warren's arms, except... less, obviously. Less everything.

“You like a good scare?” Sean guessed with a huff of a laugh.

"It can be fun," she agreed, her smile going up yet another notch as she thought back to that flight. Of course, that was the moment one of her feet slid from under her unexpected, and she tried to catch her balance by using their linked hands...

The sudden shift of balance, made Sean squat to try and keep them both upright... but he failed. A moment later, they were both flat on their asses on the ice, Sean laughing.

Terry was laughing with him. "I'm so sorry!" she said, although she hardly sounded it. "That was my fault." And ow, her bottom hurt. She was still laughing as she precariously climbed back to her feet. "Maybe holding on to you wasn't the smartest thing to do."

"Course it was! What's the fun if we don't both end up on our asses a few times?" Except the ice was cold through his jeans, dammit. Sean clambered to his feet and reached for her hand again. "Come on, we were just getting the hang of it."

***

American pubs lacked the nooks and crannies so perfect for a quiet chat or a loud fight, but that was for the best. The ones that tried to approximate it went too big, too shiny, too neat. They were missing the decades, centuries of nicotine and alcohol stains and scents in the wood, that ever-present dusty layer on the tellies (not to mention the wrong kind of football, and Sean wasn't thinking of soccer either).There was something manufactured about them, like a Disney version of the real thing.

So when he went to a pub in the states, he liked to go to one that didn't bother with all that. It was nice enough, but it made him feel displaced, as if he'd stepped into a parody of his own life. This time, it was a fine establishment with suitably low lights, a good roast beef on the menu, and Guinness on draught. (It tasted fine in the States--assuming the place did the storage and pour right, and this one did.)

Once he'd ordered drinks--ostensibly for himself--and the server walked away, he pushed Terry's across the table to her and said, "There. That'll warm up yer backside." His was still cold from skating.

"Will it do anything about the bruises on my backside?" Terry asked with an impish grin, bringing the pint of Guinness - with a shot of blackcurrant - all the way to her side of the table. "Thank you." Having an Irish father was entirely better than having an American father on several levels, she thought, and alcohol? Alcohol was one of those.

"Make ye forget 'em," Sean suggested with a chuckle. "But let's not go that far. It's only our second real dinner together, and all. Don't want to make too many poor choices."

"Save that until the third or fourth dinner?" Terry asked innocently, after taking a sip of her beer.

"See, ye already know me a little bit." Sean took a long drink, eyes sparkling, but then his expression sobered. "Speaking of. I don't want to scare ye off, but I want ye to know everything while deciding whether or not to let me into yer life. Is that something ye want?"

Terry frowned a little at his very, very cryptic words - and tried to pretend that that was still a question. She couldn't imagine turning her back on him now, but if there was something awful he had yet to tell her... "What kind of everything?"

Might as well have it out. "I'm a mutant," he said, then watched her for a reaction.

For a second there, Terry froze. What? Was he for real? All of her old doubts surged back to the fore. Was he telling her this so she would tell him about her, was he really after the school in the end? She stared at him, and then asked, "What do you do?"

So she was a bit freaked... or maybe, just maybe, that little question in the back of his mind was answered? Maybe she was too? "It's a bit complicated, but it involves sonic control. Sound waves, vocal modification."

Maybe he already knew about her. Did parents pass their mutations along to their children? Magneto and his children would hint that no, no they didn't. But maybe sometimes they did? Simon would have known. "Prove it, then," she asked of him, unable to entirely keep the hope from her eyes.

Sean cocked an eyebrow, still wondering, but suddenly feeling a little better. He nodded and upended his pint. It was a sin to drink it like this, but needs must, just in case he was too emotional right then for fine control. After a few seconds, he put down the glass, wiped away the Guinness mustache with the back of his hand, and opened his mouth. The frequency he emitted wasn't audible to human ears, but he felt it--and so did the glass. Terry's quivered too, but Sean's shivered violently.

Just before it hit breaking point, he stopped and looked to Terry expectantly.

Terry had a hand in front of her gaping mouth, and there was a bit of a shine to her eyes, but when she pulled her hand away, it was to break into a wide, bright smile. "I'm the same."

Sean grinned, too. He couldn't help it. "I had to wonder. What do ye do?"

"I mean I'm the actual same," Terry explained, and laughed a little giddily. What were the odds? "I've been working on it for months. A - a friend's been helping. How long since you manifested?"

"Ages now," Sean admitted, still looking just as pleased. "Didn't know such a thing could happen, back then. A friend of mine, Dr. MacTaggert, helped me out."

"You know Dr MacTaggert?" Terry asked, her surprise obvious.

"I did. She didn't know me, exactly--not my real name, but--" Sean cocked an eyebrow. "She's the friend helping ye?"

"She isn't," Terry shook her head. "Well. She's helping too, in a way. It's... I was so frightened you might be after information on..." She trailed off with a frown. "Does G2 know you're a mutant?"

"My immediate superior does, but it's not on the official books. An... arrangement of sorts." Sean cocked an eyebrow. "After information on you? As a mutant? Oh, darling, I'm sorry if you thought that."

"Not... not just me," she admitted quietly, praying that she wasn't making a mistake. Lord, I'm not sure I believe in you, but if you exist, please... "There's a few of us all right."

If Sean looked surprised--well, he was. At first he wondered how he hadn't known there might be some kind of organization. But she hadn't said that, precisely... and anyhow, he hadn't looked. "There's a lot of activity in America now; I shouldn't be surprised."

Terry was frowning in thought as she turned her pint in her hands. "I'll have to ask Dr MacTaggert first. About you. But I'd like to tell you everything, afterwards."

Sean nodded. "Fair enough. She won't know me as Sean Cassidy though. Tell her..." He frowned slightly and lowered his voice. "Tell her yer da is Banshee."

Terry let out a soft chuckle. She'd considered that codename, but turned it down because... "Bit morbid, isn't it?"

He laughed too. "The intelligence community isn't known for being especially optimistic."

Slowly, Terry's smile faded. The reality of her father's job felt like it was hitting her for the first time, not in terms of how it might endanger the school, but how it might have endangered him. She took a drink of her beer, then looked up into his eyes. "How close have you come to dying?" He'd said he didn't care if he lived or died, after her mother's death. It was a very sobering thought.

Sean gave a slight sigh and tilted his head. "Well. Close, if ye really want to know. Too close.

"But I'll be more careful now. Thinking of finding a new line of work, even."

"Yeah?" Terry asked, brightening up. "Like what?"

"Something that involves less getting shot at," Sean said with a faint chuckle, waving for the server. He needed another, and Terry could stand one too, he reckoned. "Or at least, getting shot at for a more personal reason than national security. Maybe looking into mutant security of some kind."

"Mutant security?" Terry echoed, but fell quiet as the server approached. That was not a conversation anyone needed to overhear.

Sean ordered some more, ignoring the server's side eye in Terry's direction. She toddled off fast enough, anyhow. Once they were alone again, voice low, Sean nodded and carried on. "As more and more come out, my services might be useful here and there. Already we've got some of the rich and famous leading the pack in the US. Bound to be more."

Terry ignored the server just the same; she had the ID if he wanted to see it, anyway. She nodded slowly as her father explained. "Yeah." She could even put him in touch, but... she wasn't going to say anything about that yet. "But you'd be careful?"

"I've had me years of being a tearaway fool," he promised with a glint in his eye.

"All right," Terry said quietly, with a hint of a smile. Then she chuckled as it hit her all over again. "I can't believe we've got the same mutation."

"It'd be interesting to know if it happens often. Though I don't suppose we can, until your generation starts settling down." Sean cocked an eyebrow at her, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his eyes. "No boyfriends yet, I hope. Or girlfriends, for that matter."

She shook her head at his second option, but she could feel a slight blush rise in her cheeks as she thought of Remy. "There is a boy. But we're not settling down." She didn't think Remy was the settling down type, but she also didn't think she ought to tell her father that.

"Oh, a boy." Sean smiled and leaned back in his seat, a twinkle in his eye. "Well, you just tell him yer da's the equivalent of CIA, yeah?"

"He knows," Terry told him with a bit of an eyeroll.

"Does he know we carry guns?" Sean asked, now just trolling a touch.

That... was not something Terry had thought about. Of course they would, it made sense for them to. But... "Are you carrying now?"

Sean shook his head. "Left it in the safe."

Terry nodded a little in acknowledgement of that answer. It felt good to know. She was uneasy enough with how much harm their mutation could do; no need to add guns to the equation. Guns were associated with the Real IRA in her mind, too, and they'd cost her her mother. Her father too, in a way. "I don't like guns very much." They certainly had no place in their father-daughter bonding time.

"Me neither, darlin," Sean promised. "The moment I change jobs officially, I'll be putting mine up for good, no fear."

That made her feel better, and she gave him a small smile, then nodded. "You're just the perfect dad, aren't you?" As perfect as he could get with that lifelong absence, until now, but she couldn't even really be mad at him for it. She still resented him, because how could she not? But she knew it wasn't his fault, rationally.

Sean smiled wryly. "I wouldn't know. I mean to try, though."

"You're not doing too bad, so far," she told him, reaching out to lay a hand on his forearm.

Sean covered her hand with his and squeezed. “Never heard higher praise in my life.”