A low, grumbling hum of the jet engine. The rush of the outside wind scraping against the metal exterior. 

We sat in silence. I could practically see the anxiety circling itself around the room. 

Jean's eyes landed upon Mystique's face. She finally said, unable to bear the ear-splitting silence any longer, "Were you scared? That day in DC, were you scared?" 

That day in DC. My brain flashed backwards to Peter's basement, his hair messy in the back and his blue t-shirt with the yellow cuffed sleeves. The way his skin had soaked in the energy of his music and slipped it back out onto mine. His lips exploring my neck and trailing off until...

The goldfish. Lorna. I had revived her goldfish, Garfunkel as the news was droning on. And then we had seen it. We had seen Raven save the president all blue and scaly and golden-eyed. And the world had loved her. Had loved us. 

It was the day we stopped being called freaks. 

Raven's voice tugged me back from the memory, "No. But I was scared on my first mission. I was on a plane like this with my friends. About your age." She laughed a bit, "We used to call ourselves the X-Men." 

Kurts face contorted into confusion, "What happened to the rest of the kids that went with you? The X-Men."

I felt a sharp pain stab Raven's chest and radiate there like a knife, "Hank and I are the only ones left. I couldn't save the rest of them." The shine of her eyes dulled, "I told you, I'm not a hero." 

Jean remarked, "Well, you're a hero to us. Seeing you that day on TV changed my life." 

Kurt chimed in, "Mine too." 

Peter snapped the gum in his mouth and added, "Mine too. I mean, I still live in my mom's basement but..." My shoulders drop at the phrase, "Everything else is...Well, it's pretty much the same. I'm a total loser." 

I still live in my mom's basement. The phrase hurt. It made me think of all the times he has rejected moving in with me, fabricating excuses and reasons to avoid the question. 

Maybe I'm not good enough? 

My head reeled as I began to dangerously overthink. I quickly unstrapped my belt and locked myself in the aircraft bathroom, bending over the sink then peering back up to my reflection in the mirror. A million insecurities came flooding in like a toxic, acid rain. 

There was a quick moment's passing of almost hyperventilating. Then I heard a knock on the bathroom door. 

"Firefly?" Peter's voice was muffled by the barrier, "You okay?" 

"Yeah," I lied. 

"No, you're not," he replied. "Will you let me in?" 

"There's like one square foot of space in here," I remarked. 

He didn't respond. I only heard next a couple of clicks, then the sliding of metal. The door slid open to reveal Peter standing there, a bobby pin in his hand. He stepped forward and cramped into the small space with me, pressing his chest against mine. The door slid shut again behind him. He peered down at me. I tried to ignore his heartbeat thumping against mine. 

"What's up?" he asked, tucking some of my hair away from my face. 

My eyes traced along the outline of his sneakers, "Why don't you want to move in with me?"

His pupils went wide, "I...uh." Peter scratched his neck, "I do. But..." 

"But what?"

"I..." he hesitated. I'd never seen him struggle so hard to say what was on his mind. 

"You don't..." I almost choked on my words, "want to have a future together?" 

"No! No! No!" he placed his hands to my face, "That's like...oh my god. No. All I want is you. I want us to be...forever." 

"Then...what is it?" I sighed and whispered insecurely, "I can't read your mind, Peter." 

He took a deep breath. I could feel the fear building in his chest. "Look, I've been to scared to move in with you because..." Peter ran his fingers through his silver hair as he admitted softly, "because I can't take care of you." 

His face flushed a deep red, embarrassed. He kept his eyes glued to the floor. My shoulders untensed in relief. 

I placed my index finger beneath his chin and gently moved his face up to meet mine, "Peter. You don't need to buy me a house or get a unbearable day-job to take care of me." I rubbed my thumb over his cheek, "Besides, if you did get a day-job I'm pretty sure you would probably stab your eye out with a plastic fork." He chuckled a bit and peered deep into my eyes. I added with a kiss to his cheek, "It's not all on you. I take care of you and you take care of me. That's how this deal works. And that only requires you to be here. Next to me. Everything else is for us to wing together as we go. Like we always do." 

"We'll never live in a mansion. Or be able to afford tickets to all the Zepplin concerts," Peter warned. 

I shook my head and enlaced his fingers in mine, "I don't want any of that." I pressed my hand to his chest, over the drum echoing out inside of it. My palm glowed a bright yellow as I told him, "I only want this." 

He moved in closer to me, his mouth brushing mine before fully colliding. In that moment I could feel our entire future playing out before us. 

"I love you," he said, wiping a tear quickly from his face, "I want to find our own place together."

"I love you too, Peter." 

Peter smirked from the corner of his mouth as he whispered into my ear, "You know, we are alone. If you want we could..."

Hank's voice called from outside the door, "Hey guys! Seventh wonder, twelve o'clock." 

Peter rolled his eyes and I patted his shoulder, "Maybe next time, Quicksilver. We have an apocalypse to stop." 

Peter muttered behind me as we filed out of the bathroom and strapped back into our seats, "Stupid Blue Monkey."