Wes watched the girl hold Connor on her lap so carefully, so lovingly. For someone not quite thirteen years old, she certainly had a maternal touch.
She glanced at him over Connor's head. "You don't have an enviable set of options," Valentine Wiggin noted. "You can try to return to your own universe--and create a possibility of my brother following after you, to a world of magic and might where his power truly would have no limit. Or you can stay here, and have a destined child grow up under Peter's control."
Wesley felt the cold metal of a silver blade within his jacket. "Then I will have to find a third option, one that does not involve your brother gaining access to any mystical power."
The expression on Valentine's face was sad even as it was merciless. "I'm afraid we can't let you do that," she said, softly--both of her, as suddenly, his vision began to blur. He lost his grip on the knife in his jacket, then lost his seat on his chair as the room began to spin out of control.
"The wine," he managed to croak out. "It was poisoned."
The last sound Wesley heard before he died was the laughter of a young boy.
* * *
"I told you, sis, that it'd be necessary. Didn't I?"
Val didn't bother to hide her disgust as she turned to her brother. "I hate you, you know."
Peter smiled. They both knew she might as well have said that she loved him, that they meant the same thing in the end. He gave his sister a quick kiss on her temple, then turned to the baby on her lap. "Hello, Connor," he said. "Welcome to our family."
Val bounced her new baby brother on her knee, and Connor just looked at Peter and giggled.
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