Disclaimer: Piotr and the like all belong to Marvel....woe is them. Kit,
however, is my lovely little brain child, and I doubt big Pete would like it
if you stole his little lady, so please, ask first.
Yes, I have finally written another Kit and Piotr story! I've been having
major writer's block where their concerned, but here ya go, I hope it's not
too bad.
Sticks and Stones
Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me. A
child's taunt, thrown out in a moment of anger, or of playful teasing.
Nearly all the children of the world know some variant of the phrase, and
most grow up to believe it.
They are wrong.
Words can hurt. Far worse then any stick or stone, or broken bone, words can
hurt. Words can cut deeper then any knife, and words can leave scars.
Deep, ugly scars, that may never be healed.
"You're so pathetic. Can't you do anything right?"
"Stupid little twit."
"Ugly brat."
"Disgrace."
"Bastard."
Ugly, ugly words. Words meant to hurt, to scar...and they succeeded in their
purpose.
"Please!" Kitrine Braddock sat up screaming. Tears and sweat mingled on
her face, and her breathing was labored. Her terrified plea woke her lover,
Piotr Rasputin from a peaceful slumber by her side.
"Kit?" He asked, his voice slightly muffled with sleep.
"Piotr!" Kit sobbed, twisting in the bed, and collapsing in his arms.
"What? What is it little one?" Piotr asked his ladylove.
"I...dreamed. About...Brian, Betsy...my father." Kit cried, her body shaking
with soul searing sobs.
"Oh, Kit." Piotr whispered, gathering her closer to his body, stoking her
soft brown hair and whispering soothing things into her hair.
Piotr knew, better then anyone, the pain that her family's continued
alienation of her caused the young woman. He saw how it tore at her soul,
how it kept her from the heights he knew she could reach...if she only had the
courage to try.
Even after her confrontation with her older brother, Brian Braddock, she
lacked the courage to stand and face her family. She still woke up
screaming from time to time. She still looked with envious eyes at other
families.
"What happened in this one, my Kitrine?" Piotr asked, still holding her
close.
"It was...it was when I found out that father wasn't really my father. We...we
were all at home, and I was playing with a doll someone had given to me. I
think...I think it was Aunt Mary that gave it to me. She never held Mother's
death against me, even though Mother was her little sister. I was playing
with it, and I was sitting by myself in one of the parlors."
The doll had black button eyes, and brown hair, and had a pink dress and
bonnet. She was so pretty, the prettiest doll I had ever seen. I named her
Jasmine, because that was the prettiest name I know. It was my mother's
name, you know. Jasmine Elizabeth Kitrine Braddock, that was what my
mother's name was, you know? I was named after her."
"I was playing with her in the parlor, and Betsy came in, and said she liked
my doll. I can remember smiling and thinking that maybe she would let me
play with her and all of her dolls. But then she told me to give her
Jasmine, that since she was older, she should have it. I...I told her no,
Piotr, that Aunt Mary had given her to me, and that she was my doll."
"Betsy's face got red and she said that Aunt Mary wasn't really my aunt
because I wasn't really part of the family. I...I remember crying, Piotr, and
asking her what she meant. I remember telling her that I was too part of
the family. Oh God, Piotr, she smiled at my so...evilly, and said that no I
wasn't, because she h-had heard Father calling me the bastard. I asked her
what a bastard was, and she said that it was some on with no family. She
said that Father wasn't really my father."
"I started to cry, and told her that she was lying. She laughed and told me
to go ask. I jumped up and ran out of the room and ran straight to Father
and asked him."
Kit stopped her narrative there and began to cry. Piotr wrapped his arms
around her shoulders gently and held her as she wept out all the pain and
rejection of nearly twenty years. Kit pulled back from him and wiped her
eyes, sniffing.
"I asked him if Betsy was telling the truth. Was he really not my father?
His face got red, and he glared at me, and, I swear I'll remember what he
said to my dying day, and he said that no he wasn't my father. I had caused
my mother's death, and I wasn't even his daughter. And then-and then he
called me a bastard, and if I hadn't looked so much like my mother, he would
have gotten rid of me a long time ago."
"Why did he say that Piotr? I was only a little girl...I couldn't have been
more then five or six. I can still remember the way that he glared at me,
the way his face turned red with anger. I stepped back away from him, and
then I turned around and ran back to the parlor to get Jasmine."
"When I got there, Betsy was playing with her. I told her that I wanted her
back. Betsy said no, that she was HER doll now. I started to cry and
screamed at her to give me back my doll, Jasmine was MY DOLL. But Betsy
never would, just kept playing with her."
"Then Brian came in, and I asked him to make Betsy give me back my doll. He
laughed and asked why would he do that? Betsy was his twin, and I wasn't
even his real little sister. Betsy had already told him about what Father
had said. I...stomped my foot, and screamed the Jasmine was my doll and I
wanted her back."
"Brian turned bright red, just like Father had, and then turned around and
smacked me across the face. I cried out and fell down, putting a hand up to
my face. When I pulled it away, it was wet with blood. I stared at it for
a long time...I didn't really know what it was. Betsy...just laughed and she
and Brian walked away, and left me sitting there."
"Betsy never did give me back my doll."
Kit took a deep breath, and let it out slowly; her eyes still bright red
from crying. Piotr reached down and wiped away some of the tears on her
face, unaware of the same wetness on his visage. Kit looked up at him and
sighed gently, burying her face in his muscular chest.
"I never stomped my foot again either. I never did anything they didn't
want me to, ever again." Kit told him, sniffing.
"Like what?" Piotr asked gently, his fingers still entangled in her hair.
"I...wanted to be a psychiatrist." Kit told him. " I wanted to be a painter.
I wanted to get married, I wanted to be a mother."
"My Kitrine, you still can!" Piotr told her, cupping her face with two
hands.
"I can't. I'm too old now." Kit told him, her face once again wet with
tears.
"Kit, my love...you're only twenty one years old. That is not too old to
change! You are just getting started in living your life." Piotr told her
gently, his dark eyes shining.
"I'm scared." Kit whispered.
"I know. But my Kitrine, you can do anything you want to." Piotr told her,
his voice firm and his touch gentle.
"Do you really believe that Piotr?" Kit asked.
"I always have. You give the strength and the will to do so much...I would
not be a man if I could not believe in you as much." Piotr told her.
"You believe in me?" Kit asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Da. I always have, since the moment I laid eyes on you." Piotr whispered.
"I love you so much, Piotr Rasputin." Kit told him, her eyes blurring.
"Not as much as I love you, my Kitrine."
****
"Do you really have to leave?" Kit asked Piotr then next morning.
The young lovers were standing in the airport, waiting for Piotr's flight.
Normally, the Midnight Runner brought him back and forth to see Kit, but it
this time Piotr had flown out on a commercial flight. His teammates on
Excaliber had needed the hydroplane, and instead of waiting, Piotr flew out
on the next flight.
"Da, I really have to leave." Piotr said, his voice sad.
Kit smiled, and looked up at him with huge sea green eyes. "I know. I just
figured I'd ask."
Piotr laughed and swept her into his arms and kissed her firmly. " I will
call you when I get to Muir."
"You promise?" Kit asked, her eyes soft.
"Of course." Piotr said softly.
"I love you."
"I love you too."
Piotr sighed as he stepped onto the plane, and turned around once more to
wave at Kit. It was getting steadily harder to leave her, even with their
constant correspondence.
Kit blew a kiss at him, and watched with teary eyes as the door shut. She
turned to the window and watched the plane carrying her beloved Piotr taxi
and then lift off.
She stood and watched it for a long time, the longing to see him again
burning in her veins already. It was so hard to let him go; knowing that he
could die at any moment.
****
Some days later, Kitrine received a package in the mail. There was no
return address, and the handwriting was none that she recognized. Curious,
she tore the brown paper off and opened the box.
Inside was a small doll with black button eyes, brown hair, and pink dress
and bonnet.
Kit stared at it for a long second and put her hand to her mouth. Who had
sent this?
****
A world away, in Westchester New York, Betsy Braddock stared out the window.
Memories of her younger sister danced within her mind, and she began to cry
silently.
"Please forgive me, Kit. Forgive me."