Chapter 1: Through the Wind and The Rain

Pyro stood behind Magneto's desk in the Brotherhood's underground headquarters. He remembered when there were hundreds of mutants here, waiting for their chance to destroy the humans. He slumped into the metal chair, leaned his elbows on the desk, head in hands. The cold of the metal bit into his skin even through his jacket and long sleeved shirt. Most of the Brotherhood had hated the all-metal hideout, complaining that it was too cold. Pyro had never minded though; the cold was something solid, something he could hold on to and focus on. It had been three months since Alcatraz. Three months. He still couldn't believe it. Three months since Magneto had been given the Cure, the Brotherhood had nearly fallen completely apart, Dr. Grey had been killed, and since he had seen her. Pyro leaned back in the chair. He hated thinking about her. He hated realizing that he thought about her. Back at the school, he'd thought about her every day. After he left, he thought about her more than once a day. He didn't know why. Well, yes he did, but if anyone was a master of denial and suppressing their emotions, it was Pyro. As far as he was concerned, he didn't know why she haunted his thoughts, and he probaboly never would. Not that it mattered. Not that she mattered to him. Because she didn't! Absolutely not! He didn't need anyone. Hadn't needed anyone since... Pyro shook his head sharply, and leaned forward to examine the new computer in front of him, searching for the right e-mail accounts. He had to stay focused on the task at hand. He was the leader of the Brotherhood now. He couldn't afford to be distracted, especially not be little girls with soft brown eyes and a pixie's face who barely reached his shoulder. He remembered how out of place that delicate figure had looked at Alcatraz.. Kitty, who had never hurt a fly, was standing in front of the lab, prepared to fight, actually fight! As insane as it seemed, even then, and he'd never told anyone about it, a very very small part of him had wanted to whisk her away, and put her on the next flight to one of those art museums in New York she loved to visit. He'd wanted to spare her from the battle, to save her somehow. Pyro scowled. What was the matte with him anyway?! He shouldn't be thinking that sort of crap! She was nothing but a little girl, and she had been downright annoying, too. At least she was when he'd been at the school. Pyro kept clicking on the computer until he'd selected all of the Brotherhood members in the e-mail address book. He began typing a letter to the entire group. He could hear the rain starting to patter outside as he clicked the "send" button, trying to ignore his memories of a pretty girl. He could see his reflection in the metal of the desk, but it wasn't clear. Because of the ripples in the metal, he looked distorted and disfigured, only a shadow of what he actually was showing through.
Kitty Pryde stood in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in Manhatten, staring at the Monet in front of her, a museum guide map clutched in one hand. It was the Garden at Sainte-Adresse, one of her favorites. No matter how many times she visited here or at any other museum, the Monets were always her favorites. She moved on through the other galleries. She stopped at a rather unsettling image. The Rape of Tamar by Eustache Le Sueur. Kitty shuddered as she looked at it. The violence in the painting disturbed her, and she quickly turned and walked away. She strode over to one of the windows and stared out at the city. Ever since Alcatraz three months ago (had it really been that long? she wondered), she couldn't stand anything that was violent or hurtful in any way. Kitty reached up her hand and traced swirls across the cool glass. She knew that her teachers and friends at the school were worried about her, about how "poorly" she was coping with the trauma of Alcatraz. Kitty thought that was bull, and they were full of it. She was tired of watching people die and get hurt; there was nothing wrong with not wanting to think about that kind of stuff! Most days she suceeded in her quest for a serene atmosphere around her. It was inside that she was having trouble. She kept having nightmares about Alcatraz. They always frightened her. And they always reminded her of him. The nightmares only haunted her nights. He haunted her every waking moment, and most times her nights as well. She'd been able to see him there, standing in front of the bridge, held aloft by a pile of rubble. He'd looked taller than before, and his hair had been different. Kitty knew that he was different. After all, there he was, prepared to fight them kill them if he needed to. He'd tried to kill Bobby. Everyone had seen it happen. Everyone but her. Maybe that was why she still couldn't believe it. Why she still hoped that the boy with the chip on his shoulder and eyes the color of the ocean would come walking back through that mansion door and start picking on her again, she had no idea. So many people had died. She didn't want to think that John had died, too. Kitty sighed and leaned her forehead against the pane of glass as the rain began pouring down. She could see her face in the glass, with the rain reflecting onto her features, and it looked for all the world like she was crying.