19Disclaimer: "Did everybody see that? Because I will not be doing that again." –Captain Jack Sparrow
A/N: This story was written at the request of Dark Lord of the X-Men. The protagonist, Nicholas Braddock-Wilson, is his creation, and thus any compliments about him should be directed in The Dark Lord's direction. I've had so much fun writing Nick. Even though I don't usually write OCs as main characters in fanfiction, Dark Lord's description and character profile for him was so interesting, and the premise for the story was so engaging, I agreed almost instantly. And I'm glad I did, because I've had a marvelous time. Dark Lord, I am so sorry that it has taken so very long to finish this story, and I hope that it turns out to be worth the wait.
And now, without further ado, I present to you all:
"I Think I Saw a Movie Like This Once"
Part I: The One with the Stargate, the Date Crashing, and All the Hot Aunts
S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters is silent. Silent and dark. All of the agents and dignitaries and consultants and Tony Stark have gone home for the day. The only people still in the building are the night guards and the truly dedicated and insomniac scientists in the basement labs. There are only four security guards, who patrol the grounds with the complacency that comes from being security for a government agency rumored to employ assassins. Surely, they think, only the truly stupid or truly insane would break into S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters.
They're half right.
As Security Guard #3 rounds his corner of the perimeter, a shadow detaches from the side of the building, high above him. Clinging silently to a fire escape, the shadow waits until the guard is directly below and then drops.
The shadow lands silently behind Guard #3 and reaches out to tap the unfortunate man on the shoulder.
"Shh," he says soothingly when the hapless guard whirls around. "We wouldn't want to wake anybody up, now would we?"
The guard opens his mouth, presumably to answer the question but more probably to sound the alarm and the figure reaches out and very delicately pushes against a pressure point in the guard's neck. The man goes limp.
The shadowy figure catches Guard#3 as he sags, unconscious, to the ground.
"There," he says, "that wasn't so hard, was it?"
000
Nicholas Braddock-Wilson strolls into S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters with a definite air of entitlement. This is, after all, his home away from home.
When, about nineteen years ago, Betsy and Wade Braddock-Wilson announced that they were going to be parents, S.H.I.E.L.D. had flipped their metaphorical lids. Tests had to be conducted, paperwork had to be filed. Wade Wilson was not supposed to be able to father children. Clearly, there was something nefarious going on.
The very day the baby was born, Betsy and Wade started getting "requests" from S.H.I.E.L.D. scientists to have him brought in for testing. After about a week or so of this, Deadpool and Psylocke paid a midnight visit to S.H.I.E.L.D. director Nick Fury, with little Nicholas strapped to Psylocke's back like a Native American papoose. They left with a one year agreement to allow S.H.I.E.L.D. to run tests on baby Nick, and a thinly-veiled threat of a fate worse than death if one hair was harmed on the infant's head. And a pack of Oreo's that Wade found in the cupboard.
So for the first year of his life, Nicholas Braddock-Wilson spent most of every day at S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters being poked and prodded by scientists who were trying to figure out the mystery of his existence.
Not, of course, that Nick remembers any of this, but he figures it's the thought that counts.
Or something.
S.H.I.E.L.D. is up to something. The communications his mother's scanner has been picking up lately have become increasingly more mysterious (and thus, more interesting) with every email exchanged. Nick wants to know what the agency is up to. Never mind that it's technically none of his business. He is his father's son and he'll make it his business if he wants to! The fate of the world could be at stake here!
Also, Nick is bored.
He pauses by the elevator in the main lobby and frowns when it doesn't respond. Reaching out with careful tendrils of telekinesis, he finds and flips the elevator activation switch behind the front desk, calling the car up the shaft.
He spends the ride down into the basement humming the theme song to The Lone Ranger.
The labs are dark. Nick cups his hands around his eyes and peers through the glass of Lab #1. Not seeing anyone, he reaches for the door handle, only to find the door locked and a keypad lighting up and requesting he input a pass code.
Nick's mum keeps the controls of her private jet pass coded. If he can't hack a pass code, he can't fly to Argentina and surprise Laura on her mission, which is an opportunity that should never be passed up. Nick can crack a code in under ten seconds.
The keypad light goes green. Nick grins and strolls into the lab.
S.H.I.E.L.D. laboratories are set up in a Russian nesting doll pattern –to get to the next one, you have to go through the one before it. Nick ghosts silently through Lab #1 and into Lab #2. Both are dark and empty. Frustrated, he spins on his heel and then he sees the light.
Literally. There's a light on in Lab #3.
Nick grins. Finally. Progress.
He pulls off his mask and uses one of the glass boards in the lab as a mirror. His blond hair sticks up in all directions from the mask (Mask-head, his inner voice giggles.) and his blue eyes narrow in concentration as he runs a hand through the mess, trying to tame the static.
And then he pushes open the door to Lab #3 and walks in.
"Hi," he says, flashing what he hopes is a charming smile at the young scientist who is staring at him incredulously. Given that he has it on good authority that his smile usually looks like a crocodile's, he can't really blame her for looking so startled.
("Nick," Laura had said, "you look like a crocodile when you smile like that."
"Oh. Sorry."
"No, don't be. I like it.")
"You can't be in here!" the scientist manages finally.
"Why not?" Nick asks, feigning innocent confusion.
She glares at him, apparently unaffected by his charm. "Because this is a government building and you're not authorized to be here!"
Nick pouts. "But –" he cuts off abruptly because he's just now noticed the giant swirling vortex in the center of the room.
"Dark Lord of the X-men," he breathes. "You're building a Stargate?"
(That was most emphatically not a delighted squeal, thanks very much.)
"A Stargate?" the scientist sputters, momentarily distracted from duty by professional outrage. "Excuse me, young man, this is not science fiction! This is a top secret government project –and you really shouldn't be here," she finishes with a groan as Nick's face lights up at the words "top secret".
"No, you can't…"
He ignores her and slips by her work table to stand in front of the Stargate (whatever, Nick is totally gonna call it that).
"What does it do?" and no, Nick does not sound awed, his interest here is purely scientific and has nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that his dad had gotten him the entire boxed set of Stargate: New World for his last birthday.
"That's top secret," the scientist says, sounding both exasperated and, begrudgingly, like she's started to relax. Like she's thinking Nick is just some dumb kid who unwittingly stumbled into S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters. Because that makes sense.
Nick can't really blame her, though, since that was sort of the point and also he's been cheating a tiny bit and using his minor telepathic skills to influence that opinion.
"Can I touch it?" he asks.
"What? No!"
And then three things happen at once:
Nick reaches out with one hand to brush the blue of the vortex with his palm…
The scientist leaps forward with a shriek, grabbing for and missing Nick's arm…
And Nicholas Braddock-Wilson is whisked out of his time and into another.
000
Betsy Braddock is enjoying her date with her boyfriend, Wade Wilson. So far, everything has been going well.
Naturally, Betsy is suspicious.
It isn't that she doesn't usually enjoy her dates with Wade, but it's rare that they actually go out anywhere, and for everything to be going smoothly, well. It isn't unheard of, but Betsy's still holding her breath. This is a nice restaurant. It's not even a Mexican restaurant. Wade is really pulling out all the stops tonight. There are no chimichangas in sight.
Also, there is a distinct lack of ninjas, which automatically puts this date at the top of the Top Ten Best Dates Betsy and Wade have ever had.
Betsy sips at her wine and smiles at her boyfriend. Wade grins back, a real grin, not the slasher-smile he sometimes wears when he's killing things. This grin is for her.
She lets herself relax and enjoy the moment while it lasts.
It lasts for exactly ten more seconds and then the teenager falls through the ceiling.
Betsy, being the calm, professional X-Woman that she is, leaps out of her seat with a shriek. The kid flails, sprawling across their table and getting food everywhere. Other patrons shout. Waiters threaten lawsuits.
Wade reaches around the kid and picks up another of the complimentary dinner rolls.
"You look familiar," he informs the strange teenager, who is now staring at him in shock –as if Wade is the weird one here! Who is it that's lolling about on a table top, here, hmm?
A thought occurs to Wade and he frowns.
"Have I threatened you before?" he asks suspiciously, holding up a butter knife pointedly. If it were anybody else, this wouldn't be the least bit menacing, but Wade has a gift for turning completely harmless objects into instruments of terror, so a butter knife is basically a much smaller katana in his hands.
For some reason, however, this question just makes the kid start laughing hysterically. Wade is sort of offended.
"What is going on?" Betsy snaps. "Wade, who is this kid?"
"No idea," Wade replies cheerfully, not noticing the shocked and slightly hurt look that crosses the teenager's face at the dismissal.
Betsy's hands fly to her hips and she glares at her boyfriend. "Wade! Do you even care?"
"Care?" his face, scars hidden from the other people in the restaurant by an image generator, is puzzled. "About what?"
Now she looks mad, and her own image generator is starting to slip, affected by her telekinesis. Her purple hair, piled up on her head in a curling up-do, is starting to show through.
"One evening, Wade! Just one evening, can't we go out and have one normal date? Is that too much to ask? It isn't the general stuff that comes from being mutants –that I understand. That I can live with."
She's nearly screeching by this point. The glasses on the table are starting to rattle. The strange teenager has slid from the table and is standing next to it looking vaguely perplexed and somewhat more amused.
"It's the stuff that follows us around, specifically. To be even more specific, they follow you around. S.H.I.E.L.D. agents! Omega Red! Ninjas! Especially the ninjas! I swear, it's like you have some sort of ninja magnet!"
She pauses. Wade looks half-contrite, half-amused.
"I don't think I can deal with this anymore," she says slowly.
The amusement drops from both the kid's and Wade's faces instantly.
"What does that mean?" Wade asks quietly. Both he and Betsy have completely forgotten about the teen.
Betsy gathers her coat and purse. "It means I'm leaving," she said. "Goodbye, Wade." Turning on her heel, she marches out of the restaurant.
Wade freezes, then reaches into a pocket of his coat in an almost trance-like state and fishes out a black ring with a skull engraved on the side. Staring down at this, he frowns hard.
Behind him, the kid chokes. A yellow box had just appeared above Wade's head. None of the others in the restaurant notice it, but Wade glances up and sighs when he sees the words being written in the box.
THIS IS THE WORST PROPOSAL IN HISTORY.
"Don't you think that's an exaggeration?" Wade says to the box.
NO.
Sigh. "You're right."
GO AFTER HER.
"I should –" Wade hesitates, uncharacteristically. "I should let her cool off."
FINE. BUT THEN GO GET HER.
"If she'll have me…" Wade mutters, stalking out of the restaurant and leaving the teenager behind.
And Nick just stands there, shocked speechless by the fact that he has just accidentally caused his parents to break up before he was even born.
000
Okay, Nick, think. Think logically. One, I'm in the past. Two, S.H.I.E.L.D. has a time machine that's not fair I've always wanted a time machine but Mum said they hadn't been invented yet, stop. Focus, Weapon XI! Three…
Three, I just watched my parents break up, thereby ending my existence before it could even begin.
Conclusion…
"This sucks," Nick announces to the air. He is currently in front of the X-men Institute, which thankfully is in the same exact place he is used to it being.
Rocking back and forth on his heels and toes, Nick chews on his bottom lip and considers his options.
He should go to S.H.I.E.L.D. The smart thing to do would be to go to Nick Fury and beg for help. That would be the responsible thing to do. He grimaces.
This is unacceptable. He is Nicholas Braddock-Wilson! He is Weapon XI for goodness' sake. He is a highly trained combat expert who wears his katana like comfortable extensions of his body. He is currently packing no less than seven different types of weaponry all over his body. Ninja all over the world tremble at the sight of him. Well. If any of them ever actually caught sight of him, then they would tremble for sure. Nicholas Braddock-Wilson does not whine. He is a tough cookie.
But Nick's parents have just broken up in front of him and he is just turned nineteen years old and alone in a place that, for all its superficial familiarity, is foreign to him. The part of Nick that will always be childlike and slightly more needy than he'd like to admit is sniffling pathetically. He wants his parents. Mum would kiss his head and teach him to break things with his mind. Dad would take him out and let him run wild through the streets of NYC until whatever is bothering him has been dragged out of him, kicking and screaming, and been beaten to death in an alleyway.
Nick has the best parents, no lie.
But those parents are currently not available, and their younger counterparts certainly aren't in a comforting mood.
That means that Nick needs to get his advice from another source. And when Mum and Dad can't help…
Uncle Jimmy is the next best thing.
Leaping up and grabbing a handily protruding spike sticking out of the stone wall of the Institute (he takes a moment to bless Oncle Remy's paranoia and preparedness), Nick scrambles up and over the wall.
The instant his feet hit the grass, he freezes. When nothing explodes or leaps out from the bushes to tear his throat out, he relaxes and straightens up from his crouch.
Slightly disgusted, he sets out across the lawn. Honestly, it's like they aren't even trying. No lasers, no spinning saws, no adamantium claws buried to the knuckle in his chest cavity?
Laura must not be home.
Nick reaches the front porch of the mansion and stretches out one long gloved finger to push the doorbell. It buzzes, high-pitched and sharp. In Nick's time, the Institute's doorbell sounds like sleigh bells. For some reason, the difference is extremely depressing.
Before he can do something absolutely mortifying, like start crying, a voice echoes from inside the mansion. "I'll get it!"
Nick finds himself smiling suddenly. He knows that voice.
He is opening his mouth to call out a greeting when the door swings wide and he completely forgets how to speak.
Kitty Pryde stands before him, but she is a Kitty that he has never seen before. She has a familiar bob cut that swings around her chin, and bright blue eyes that sparkle with warmth and welcome. Her pink shirt shows off a thin strip of skin between her skin-tight jeans and the hem.
All of this is all very familiar to Nick. This is how Kitty looks in his time.
Except for the fact that she is young, younger than Nick has ever seen her, even in pictures. She can't be any older than Nick himself and he can hardly keep himself from staring because who knew that Aunt Kitty had a blue, glittery eye shadow phase?
"Oh, hello," Kitty was saying, her face lighting up in a welcoming smile. "Are you here to see the professor?"
"Uh, no, not really," he manages. "I need to see Uncle Jimmy, actually?"
"Who?" she asked, looking very confused.
"Oh, uh, Logan. I need to see Logan," he stutters.
"Oh!" her face clears and she steps back to allow him inside. "Come on in. We're in the middle of dinner. Are you hungry?" she asks as she leads him through the halls.
"Actually… yes," he answers with some surprise. It makes sense though. His last meal was a long time ago. Like, twenty years.
"Great, you can join us!" Kitty grins over her shoulder at him, casting a gently admiring look up and down his tall, well-muscled frame. He swallows hard and she turns back and puts a bit of flirtatious sway into her walk.
Nick is suddenly faced with the uncomfortable realization that this girl is hot.
Aunt Kitty. I've called this girl "Auntie" my whole life. She is not sexy, she's… my aunt!
And she is hot, his inner voice supplies helpfully. Nick resists the urge to slap himself in the face.
"Hey, everyone!" Kitty says, entering the kitchen. "This is… um, actually, I don't know your name?"
"What? You let him inside without even asking his name?" a thick Southern accent judges incredulously. Nick turns to look because that's Tante Rogue's voice and then whoa.
"What are you wearing?" he blurts out before he can stop himself.
Rogue raises one highly indignant eyebrow. "Excuse me?"
Nick sputters. Rogue's face is heavily made up in dark purple eye shadow and lipstick. Her clothes match the make-up, all dark purple and black. The real clincher though, was the necklace.
"Is that a chain-choker?" he asks.
"So what if it is?" Rogue challenges. Dazed, Nick turns a betrayed look upon Remy LeBeau, who is sitting quietly next to Rogue and appears to be stifling chuckles.
"And you! This…"
"Remy thinks it's kinda hot," Remy shrugs.
Nick's face turns red because, okay, yeah. It is hot.
"I –" he starts, only be cut off by Logan, who growls.
"Enough. I suggest that you tell us who you are and why you're here before you dig yourself any deeper. Bub."
Nick breathes a sigh of relief. It's just like home.
000
They gather in the living room, sprawling across chairs, couches, and the floor in order for everyone to squeeze in.
Remy and Rogue are seated on one of the loveseats, with Kitty in between them and Kurt, blue and fuzzy, perched on the back of the seat. Piotr sits on the floor in front of them. Jean and Scott have their own loveseat, where they sit holding hands and looking generally nervous. Bobby, Ray, and Sam are all trying to sit on the same chair, and Logan is standing in the center of it all with his arms crossed over his chest looking vaguely murderous. This does not worry Nick, because vaguely murderous is Logan's default expression.
No, what Nick is currently worrying about are the four girls who are all sitting on the other couch, staring at him unabashedly.
Jubilee, Amara, Tabitha, and Rahne. Four women who he calls "aunts," all four of them smoking hot.
Why were all his aunts so hot in the past? Even Jean is gorgeous. Nick feels personally betrayed.
"So lemme get this straight," Logan is saying gruffly. "Your name is Nicholas Braddock-Wilson, you're from the future, and Betsy and Wade are your parents."
Nick forces himself to ignore all the hot aunts and nods. "That's right."
Scott scoffs. "I don't believe it."
Nick rolls his eyes. "Why not?"
"Because!" Scott sputters. "Time travel isn't possible!"
"You know," Nick says thoughtfully, "that's what I thought before I crashed my own father's proposal to my mother!"
Kitty squeals. "He was going to propose!" She claps her hands and beams at Nick, who gives her a sickly look.
"Yeah, and then she broke up with him when I fell onto their table at the restaurant because the Stargate dropped me out of the ceiling."
There is silence for a moment. Well. Almost silence. Nick can hear Uncle Bobby whispering to Uncle Ray, "Dude, S.H.I.E.L.D. has a Stargate! How cool is that?"
"They broke up?" Jean says in a small voice. Nick nods, suddenly exhausted.
"I… I need help," he admits, hating to do it but having no idea what else he can do. "I have to get them back together. I… they're my parents."
They all stare at him with what looks like pity, or, in some cases, simple sympathy. Nick suddenly wishes desperately for Laura. Laura would not look at him like he was pathetic or act like she was sorry for all his woes. Well, she would look at him like he was pathetic, but that is fairly usual for Laura and has nothing to do with how she actually feels about him.
It is Remy who breaks the silence.
"So we play matchmaker," he says, like it's the most natural thing in the world. "We get Betsy and Wade back t'gether."
"And how do you think we're gonna do that, Swamp Rat?" Rogue asks, the nickname rolling off her tongue with affection that Nick can practically see. He wonders if they're actually a couple yet. He doesn't remember what year they got married, but he's fairly sure it was after his parents.
"Yeah, Remy," Kurt speaks up for the first time, "I do not think this is something that can be solved just like that." He snaps his fingers and Nick thinks, not for the first time, that Uncle Kurt has really cool hands.
"Why not?" Remy asks, shrugging.
"Because," Jean says, sounding slightly condescending in an unfortunate way that doesn't even mean anything –it's just the way Jean talks to everybody who isn't Scott, Storm, Logan, or the Professor, "you can't just make people fall in love, Remy. Life doesn't work that way."
He frowns. "They're already in love, Jeanie. They're just being silly right now."
"Then why do we need to do anything?" Jubilee points out. "Why can't we just wait for them to get back together on their own?"
Nick winces. "Mum was pretty mad," he says. "I… I don't know if she'd even talk to Dad if he tried."
"That is just weird," Rogue said, wrinkling her nose. "You calling them mom and dad."
Nick smirks at her, one of his first smiles since falling through the vortex. "You think so, Tante Rogue?" Her eyes widen and a blush spreads across her face as she sneaks a glance a Remy, who is grinning so broadly Nick can almost count his teeth, probably thinking of the one reason that Nick would use the French term for Rogue and reveling in his plans for the future.
"Ahem," she clears her throat. "So, we have to get Betsy and Wade to realize that they're perfect for each other and can't break up just because of all the weird stuff that happens to them because of Wade's issues. How do we do that?"
Everyone looks at Remy, leaning forward in seats or, in Logan's case, raising one eyebrow in mild irritation (which, for Logan, is practically hanging on every word). Remy looks around at them all and rolls his eyes in mild disgust.
"Honestly, it's like y'all ain't ever seen a romantic comedy before."
A/N: It's finished, it's finished, it's finally finished, do you see it? It's done! Ahhhhhhhh!
Dark Lord, if you would like to let me know how often you want updates, I am prepared for anything.
A note about time: I am setting the "past" portion of the story in 2006, 3 years after the end of the X-men: Evolution series. Presumably, Nick is born in 2007, and the "future" portion of the story takes place in 2026, when Nick is 19.
Additional, No-Longer-A-Spoiler Disclaimer: I do not own the Stargate franchise. Also, Stargate: New World does not actually exist. Sorry, Stargate fans, they haven't made any new series yet.