Inbox: Ximilia

[singlelogbridge]

// Wei Wuxian

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XIMILIA

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[singlelogbridge]

[The pictures of the children catch his attention immediately and his eyes widen as he takes them in, hand landing on Gwen's to still hers from moving on. His gaze flickers between the picture and her, and he fixes her with a curious look.]

More family? [He knows she doesn't have any siblings, and their physical features speak of different parents than Gwen's he thinks, but the resemblance is undeniable.]

[construing]

〈 gwen's eyes return to the photo of max and charlotte. her mouth quirks in a little smile. she taps the memory and the photo of the two takes up the phone screen. 〉

In another universe. That's Max, 〈 her thumb moves over each in turn, 〉 and Charlotte. And in convoluted, comic book-type fashion, 〈 casually hangs up that lampshade, 〉 they're my kids.

〈 the photo is pushed aside by another. 〉

And Spiders, like their mom and dad.

[singlelogbridge]

[It's not even close to the answer he was expecting and his jaw falls open for a moment before his eyes zip back to the picture and he takes it in more carefully. Even having a better grasp of parallel universes now, it's still difficult to wrap his mind around it. Though he has to admit, it's not so difficult to wrap his mind around Gwen as a mother.

One of his fingers hovers over the screen and he smiles warmly at the two children, searching for the telltale signs of Gwen in their features.]

Wow. That must have been weird. [He laughs lightly and shakes his head.] And amazing. [He turns his smile on her.

There's a deep ache inside of him that he pushes aside for now, opting instead to simply ask—] Their dad's a Spider like you?

[construing]

〈 she nods. 〉 Miles. The Spider-Man of his universe. I think I have a picture from that day…

〈 she flips through the rest of the memory. a couple more shots of max and charlotte including one that is clearly a selfie of the two kids after they stole gwen's phone; a much older spider-ham; the rest of the team from earth-8; and, of course, spider-woman and spider-man. the very last is another selfie: gwen and miles, both their masks off, smiling gently into the camera and looking like they got no sleep. early dawn paints them both. gwen has her head on his shoulder; miles' rests lightly over hers. 〉

It was very, very weird. Especially because we were just friends when that all started. We still are, 〈 she amends. 〉 Our Earth-8 selves made a life for themselves, but we're still trying to figure our own shit out, much less, 〈 she flaps a hand vaguely, 〉 anything together.

[singlelogbridge]

They're very cute. [The temptation to tease about this "Miles" is there, but the knowledge of other earths and other Gwens tames the urge. If he believes that his Gwen isn't meant for that fall from the bridge, then it would be hypocritical to tie her to the fates of other Gwens in this way too. And anyway, the ache inside of him hasn't abated and it leaves him feeling strangely fragile and unmoored. Instead of saying anything else, he only takes one more look at the children in the small thumbnail after Gwen has flicked away from the image of their parents.

After a moment of silence, he extracts himself from her side and rises from the bed.]

Wait here just a minute. [Without another word, he heads to his desk, unearthing a sketchbook from the towering piles of paper and books, and then making his way back over. He sits down next to her again with the sketchbook in his lap and turns his head to give her a shaky smile.]

Of course I don't have a picture, but...[A little shrug, and then he's flipping open the book and passing a number of pages until he lands on an ink sketch done of a child who couldn't be anymore than four years old. He holds the sketch out for her to take.]

This is my a-Yuan.

[construing]

〈 she takes it carefully, mindful suddenly of what he’s sharing with her. with context, it isn’t hard to glean. she has seen this little boy before. a line sketch—one of many wei wuxian has made. he has remarkable talent. her hand hovers over the darkened lines of the little boy’s face, not touching the page. 〉

Aww. Look at those cheeks! I could just eat him!

〈 a sweet face and a sweeter smile (and a hair that desperately wants a comb, but she keeps that one to herself.)

she looks from the drawing to wei wuxian whose expression is as soft as she has ever seen it. and okay, no, she has to ask— 〉

So, how old were you when you…? 〈 found him. adopted him. pulled him out of clay fully formed. whichever. made him is a possibility, but considering how he cannot look at her bare shoulder without turning three different shades of red… 〉

[singlelogbridge]

[He wouldn't have been able to joke before Zewu-jun's news, and even with it, there's still a weight in his chest. Still, the old words come easily.]

Gave birth to him? Seventeen.

[He grins.]

[construing]

〈 or that. 〉

You shed the baby weight fast. You need to drop that routine.

[singlelogbridge]

[It was all the starvation. 😌 Anyway, he grins at her for a moment longer and then chuckles under his breath.]

I was seventeen when I took him in, but I was only one of many in charge of his care. His family...[He frowns and sighs, wondering how to explain without getting into everything.]

They were refugees. There was a terrible war, and they were civilians on the losing side. After everything was over, people called for the extinction of their family line. So I defected. I took them and I hid them and that's how a-Yuan became partly mine. [He runs his fingers over the drawing and sighs.]

His parents had passed even before the war so when we lived as refugees, we all took care of him together. Mostly me, Wen Qing, Wen Ning, and Granny Wen. He was a good child. The best. So easy and so sweet. [A pause] Zewu-jun says he grew up well.

[construing]

〈 another piece to fit into the puzzle that is wei wuxian. her expression softens. "defected," he says. knowing how much he loved his sister and brother…she cannot imagine what it cost him to leave the life he knew, his family to become a fugitive himself. simultaneously, she cannot imagine him doing otherwise. 〉

How old is he now?

[singlelogbridge]

Close to twenty I think. Maybe just over. [He sighs and leans back on his hands, his gaze finding the drum set on the ceiling.]

He grew up happy and safe. I didn't know. Zewu-jun told me on the last mission. This whole time I thought...well. [He shrugs.]

He was really the best. Absolutely adorable, and so loving. And so gullible. [He was FOUR.] I hope he's still gullible.

[construing]

〈 nope, sorry, she stopped listening after “maybe just over.” 〉

Twenty? 〈 a pause. 〉 How old is Xichen?

〈 in her shock, switching back to one-name basis. 〉

[singlelogbridge]

Hmm? [He frowns and does some quick calculations in his head.]

I suppose in his late 30's or early 40's now. I'm not exactly sure.

1/2

[construing]

I thought he was my age. 〈 said in the same tone as someone realizing they accidentally unleashed the evil from box it had been locked inside. 〉 Like older than me, sure, but not old-old.

[construing]

Who else is old? Is Huaisang? Are you?

〈 there is one correct answer here, and wei wuxian better land on it before she physically throws him. 〉

[singlelogbridge]

[Happily skipping past the trauma under the surface here—]

I'll be twenty in October. And Huaisang...uh. He's younger than Zewu-jun, we would be the same age if I wasn't dead, but I'm not sure how long it's been for him. Several years at least. So he's...maybe 30? You'd have to ask him.

[He pauses.] Did I never tell you that cultivators don't age at mortal rates? Zewu-jun will probably live to be a couple of hundred years if he dies a natural death. Huaisang a little less because his golden core isn't as strong.

[And then, delighted] You just called Zewu-jun old.

[construing]

〈 can’t focus on his glee, busy with a tiny crisis. 〉

No, you didn’t, you dick! Oh, God, I thought I couldn’t tell ages anymore.

〈 she presses a hand to her chest. 〉

[singlelogbridge]

[Cheerfully.] Oh, well. We do! And both Zewu-jun and Nie-xiong would certainly be considered young in cultivator circles.

Not children of course, but still inexperienced.

[construing]

〈 gwen squints at him. 〉

No.

〈 she holds up her hands in front of her and shakes her head firmly. 〉

Huaisang, I can give you. But Xichen is fucking old. I thought he was an old soul, no. He’s just old.

[singlelogbridge]

[An old soul...?]

Aiya, this rudeness! [He's absolutely loving it.]

Don't you know we should respect our elders, Gwen?

[construing]

〈 american zillennial says, 〉 No.

[singlelogbridge]

[That gets a laugh out of him and he leans against her side, eyes catching sight of the sketchbook again and going soft.]

I can't believe my a-Yuan is near twenty. That's...he might be older than me, can you believe it? I wish—[He stops himself, lets out a soft sigh, and then continues against his better judgment.]

I wish I could have seen him grow up. It's enough that he did. More than enough. But I would have liked to have seen it.

[construing]

〈 every parent does. the last words her mom spoke to gwen were about love, she knows. her dad has always told her how proud her mom would be of her. but she wonders…

wonders about several things, in fact. 〉

Wei Wuxian? 〈 she waits until he looks at her before asking, 〉 What was the deal you made?

[singlelogbridge]

[His eyes shoot to hers and he freezes, his shoulder stiffening as he meets her gaze. He holds it for a moment and then looks away, his expression gone distant.]

If my regret is undone, the battle that took my sister's life will never happen.

[construing]

〈 a prickle of unease spreads across her skin. she cannot rightly tell if it originates with her…or with venom. 〉

You made a deal about the battle?