Disclaimer: Marvel's, not mine.
Notes: Well, canon is as canon does. As in, canon couldn't be found in this with a canon-searcher and pointy things. Thanks to Drea for the hee. As this note might imply, this fic is nothing but silliness. Not that there's anything wrong with that.
Dedication: To Dia. Happy birthday! =)
Stryfe gave Alex an odd look. "You're in a mental institution..."
"...to relax. Yes. I told you four times already. Honestly, no wonder they chose Nathan over you."
Stryfe sniffed, disapprovingly. "I thought we had a deal: no mentioning The Brothers."
"Yes, but that's self-serving on your part, Scott is your father as well as my brother. And you know this, as you aren't a complete idiot, even if you walk around wrapped in tinfoil like you're a Christmas present or something."
"Hey! Do you want to talk about bad fashion choices? Let's talk about head-gear."
"Fine. Let's," Alex said, one eyebrow arched. Stryfe patted at his own head, suddenly self-conscious, feeling the spikes. Thank Apocalypse, his own head-gear prevented Alex from seeing what some might construe as a blush. It wasn't one, of course, it was... a tactical diversion.
From something, Stryfe was sure of this.
"I never said I wouldn't kill you."
"Security would get you in a second."
"And this would matter, how?"
Alex took a step back, eyes wide. "You... do you realize what you just *did*?"
"I threatened you?"
"No. Or, well, technically, yes, you did. But you, you sneaky devil you, used 21st century syntax."
He glared half-heartedly at Alex. "I did no such thing. Plus, I threatened your life and shouldn't you cry pitifully for your dead mother by now?"
"Now you're just being mean."
"I'm evil. That's what evil master-minds do."
Alex yawned. "I'm bored."
"Sure you are. That's why you're visiting you insane uncle during visiting hours at the hospital. Real evil master-minds come when they damn want to. I know, I was one."
"...I'm sorry? Is that the great Stryfe's brilliant comeback? 'Bah'?"
"I haven't had time to work on my verbal acrobatics of late. Too busy."
"Taking over the world?"
"No. I was dead."
"Oh! Me too."
"I hate it when that happens."
"Beats the not getting better way of normal people dying."
"The Strong do not stay dead for long."
Alex laughed. He laughed so hard he had to lean on the wall. Stryfe looked at him, uncomfortable. What if he was having a seizure or something?
"Oh, god," Alex wheezed, wiping at his eyes.
"You're a telepath. You figure it out."
Stryfe glared at him. "Are you making me fun of me, Summers?"
"Don't pout, Stryfe. It's not becoming of the Strong."
"I will leave, you know."
"I know, only seven more minutes of visiting hours left."
Stryfe gave him a look. "Do you have an unmarked mutant-ability to tell the time?"
"Yes," Alex deadpanned. "It's called a clock. On the wall behind you."
"Oh." Stryfe shuffled his feet. "If you ever need someone to break you out of here..."
"I won't turn to you, 'cause you're evil and out to destroy all that is good and pure in mankind?" A pause. "I'm a free patient. I can leave whenever I will. Thanks for the offer, though."
"You're, ah, welcome."
"Stryfe?" Alex frowned, tilting his head. "That's a very off-putting name, you know. Have you ever considered changing it?"
Stryfe looked at the clock behind him. Exactly six o'clock. The visiting hours were over. He should go. Not that he was afraid of the scary women with the needles, he wasn't. He was simply abiding to the rules. The Strong did that.
"I'll see you later, Shiny."
"I swear by all that is holy, one day, Alex Summers, I will kill you."
Stryfe teleported away as Alex giggled, not at all Summers-like. The Summers didn't giggle, as far as Stryfe was considered. A maniacal chuckle was appropriate sometimes. It was indeed a good thing his helmet didn't show his face, or one might have seen that Stryfe was smiling.
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