A Song That Goes Around Chapter 2: ii, a x-men: the movie fanfic

ii.

Paris is lovely but crowded this time of the year. With the beginning of summer in the air, birds chirping in the trees in the park, tired businessmen wanting to find a place to drink coffee while glancing through a newspaper, giggling groups of girls cutting the last days of school and couples spending their romantic get-aways in the city of love, she's busier than ever at the little café where she works. Café-au-Lait is situated right in the middle of everything, and is always full to the brim with people.

Not that she really minds it. It's her second summer working here and this time she's more comfortable in her role as she scurries around the small round tables, delivering cafés noiresand baguettes and Croque Madames to her left and right. She laughs when the Frenchmen flirt with her and sometimes she even flirts back. She loves this country, loves the customs and strange little traditions.

She blames – or thanks, depending on how her day's been – Piotr for taking her with him to France for the first time and introducing her to this country. When they were still together he saved up enough money for two tickets and fifteen days at a hotel in the heart of the capital. He's always been a romantic and she appreciated the gesture, even if she didn't think it was her thing.

"You'll love it, Kitty Cat," she remembers him telling her. She also remembers rolling her eyes at the silly nickname rather than listening to what he's saying. "You'll fit right in."

And in a strange way, she does. The French are passionate: quick to anger and even quicker to love, and somehow she manages to fit in perfectly. She's even learned the language, and she's almost fluent now, too.

So it's been two summers and she's still here, sharing a cheap, crammed apartment with three other girls her age and working her butt off.

She's been in the States in between, of course. After all, that's her home, and she continues to go to school there and pay the occasional visit to her parents. But as soon as the first signs of summer sweeps in she's off – for some reason she keeps coming back.

When her shift ends in the afternoon and Pascal, who's taking over after her, confidently strides through the open door, she unties the apron around her waist and hands it over to the slightly younger girl. The pretty blonde, in return, leans over and delicately kisses the air next to both cheeks. They exchange polite words before Kitty's on her way.

It doesn't take very long to walk from Café-au-Lait to her apartment and just like always, two out of three of her roommates are already back.

Pretty Dominique is sprawled out on the only couch in the small living room, snoring lightly. She looks typically French, and only speaks this language, too. For the first two months, the two had problems communicating, but that's been solved since then. Her light brown hair spills over the edge of the couch and her legs are hanging off the other end, the couch's so small, and the girl's petite, too. The news is on, the level of the sound low, but she still catches some of the sentences in rapid French. They're talking about the mutant issue, which hasn't really reached Europe to the same extent as the US yet – she knows it's only a matter of time, and so does Dominique with her clairvoyance. For a couple of seconds, she contemplates shutting it off, but in the end she decides against it and continues into the small kitchen instead.

Lizzie, who's American, too, is baking again. She has a liking for cupcakes and scented candles, a combination that used to give Kitty headaches but doesn't anymore. The smell of both fills the entire apartment and even wafts down through the window they always keep open to the street below. Her bright red hair has been cut again, probably by herself, and she twirls around in the small space, singing some French song or another – non, je ne regrette rien, ni le bien qu'on m'a fait, ni le mal – under her breath. Lizzie is a walking contradiction, completely unpredictable as a person but steady as a rock when it comes to friendship.

"Katherine," Lizzie says when she notices her and holds out a spoon to Kitty. "I'm trying out a new frosting: it's supposed to taste like lemon, but I'm not really sure what I think about it. Help me out?"

She does and after having assured her friend that the frosting is amazing, like always, she heads into her own room and closes the door behind her. She shifts from the stylish clothes she wears to work into loose-fitting shorts and a colorful top before she picks out a book from her collection and settles into the chair by the window.

And if she feels lonely, she pretends not to notice.

The first time she sees him is two days later. She's working again and thankfully, it's a calm moment. Resting her elbows against the counter, she props her head up on her hands and watches the passersby absently. Her mind's busy deciding what she's going to wear tonight, because Dominique's invited her along to a party at her boyfriend Sébastién's place and she's been told one of his friends is sweet on her. She's not sure what she thinks about him, yet, but it doesn't hurt to get to know him a little bit better.

She's almost sure of what to wear when she recognizes a familiar tuft of hair outside. She notes it distractedly – maybe I'm not going to fit in if I wear that, that looks like John, the blue dress is probably better – until she realizes what's actually transpired.

Before knows it she's half-running to the door, startling the few people who're actually in the café because she just went right through the counter instead of around it, damn it, and in the back of her mind someone a voice that sounds freakishly close to the Professor's tells her that she needs to be more careful. But it doesn't matter because he's here and if she's not quick enough she might miss him.

"Katherine?" a surprised co-worker calls out, but she ignores him and pushes past.

And then she's out on the street and looking in the directing of where he disappeared to, but the crowd seems to have swallowed him whole. She stands there for a second, blinking sheepishly, snapping up small fragments of conversations – "Pourquoi ne pas lui comme moi?", "Oh, Steve", "Jag lovar, det var precis så det stod!"

She feels stupid, but this isn't the first time she's made this mistake. She's tapped enough guys on the shoulder and have her hopes crushed when she's seen them turn around to be able to brush it off like it's nothing. After a few more seconds she goes back inside, apologizes to the other waitresses, ignores the stares she gets from the customers and the fact that some have just put money on the table and then left – because she's a mutant; the kind of behavior that normally drives her crazy – and instead just tries to calm her beating heart.

Just take ze day off, Katherine, her boss tells her in her broken English, the accent slipping up here and there. You seem, ah, nervous, non? Kitty knows the word her boss searches for is actually 'anxious' and it's not that far from the truth anyway, so she agrees. A little free time can't hurt anyone, right? Besides, she doesn't remember the last time she actually had a whole day to herself without anything at all to do, so it's about time she gets one.

She sleeps in – doesn't get up until it's past noon – and doesn't bother going jogging in the morning like she usually does. It's been a good night, one without nightmares, so she doesn't really need it. Instead she gets spends half-an-hour in front of her wardrobe, which really just is her two suitcases, and tries to find the right thing to wear. Finally deciding on a light yellow summer dress and a pair of pretty, white sandals, she feels fresh and nice and ready for a day of fun.

Only she's not really sure what to do. As soon as she's free to do what she wants, she realizes why she keeps busy all the time. Her fingers itch and she feels off.

To keep herself from clawing at the walls, Kitty decides to eat breakfast somewhere else and she heads out with the sole purpose of finding a place she's never tried before.

She stumbles upon L'atmosphere and falls in love. It's slightly bigger than where she works while it still maintains that cozy French café-feeling, and the waitresses and waiters seem nice enough. Besides, it has an outdoor seating and the weather's warm. She sits down by one of the tables and put her handbag on the empty chair next to her. The sun burns hot on her face and she closes her eyes for a couple of seconds.

A pair of siblings – a girl and a boy, the latter maybe two or three years older, with the same features and the same dark brown hair – sits on a wooden box, their portrait being painted by an older man. The mother and father are standing behind him, their arms wrapped around each other as they encourage their children with smiles and soft words that she's too far away to hear. She watches as the painter draws the lines with a steady, unwavering hand. She's always found it fascinating, watching something grow on canvas, and this is no exception. She keeps an eye on the scene even as she gets a menu from one of the waiters and looks up every now and again to see what's happening with the portrait. She can picture it hanging on the wall in their home, the children appreciating it as they grow older.

Sighing contently, she lets her eyes drift from the painting to the small crowd around him – people who are as fascinated as she is, or perhaps charmed by the picture-perfect family.

She almost misses him, at first. He stands behind a pair of old ladies who chatter loudly with each other, and she focuses on them first before she realizes that there's actually someone behind them as well that's not part of the group. She stares in shock, almost sure that he'll disappear if she so much as blinks. When he doesn't, she almost convinces herself that it isn't him, that her eyes are playing her a trick again and after all, she can't really see the man's face from here. But then he glances around and she catches a look and she's sure.

"No way," she murmurs under her breath and maybe it's stupid to feel surprised because there's always been that feeling inside her like he's the one that got away – like they're meant to meet again.

She's out of her seat again, striding up to him. She should probably worry about the seemingly effects of seeing him are, because she's noticed a tendency to drop everything to pursue him. She puts it down to not being able to stop him from leaving the first or second time around and leaves it at that.

He's dressed in jeans and a jacket hangs loosely on his shoulders, and she wonders how on Earth she can wear clothes like that on a warm day like this without sweating to death. He's got a backpack slung casually over one shoulder and he's let his hair grow out again.

"John?" she asks hesitantly, slowing down her jog to a walk. "John Allerdyce?"

And he actually turns around in surprise to look at her, his eyes landing on her face. He seems to have trouble placing her for a while before his eyes widen. "Kitty?" he says, as if he needs conformation. "Shadowcat."

She winces at the formal name – something the X-Men had tucked onto her, not by her own choice – but then she nods. She doesn't know what to do with her arms and she's not sure where to look. "That's me," she says awkwardly and swallows, pressing forward a smile.

He returns it warmly and her stomach erupts in butterflies. Then he takes a step towards her and hugs her so close that she can feel his heartbeat thud against her chest. She wraps her arms around his back hesitantly and presses her face into his chest, breathing in his scent deeply. He smells like pine and mint and there's a distinct underlying smell of smoke as well, almost as if he's spent too much time in a club and the smoke from people's cigarettes still clings to his clothes, but she knows it's just him.

"I can't believe you're here," she says when he lets her go. "What are you doing in Paris? Where have you been all this time? You've missed so much! You won't even believe me if I tell you." He opens his mouth, but she misses it and is already half-way through her next sentence, so he closes it with a smile. "I was just about to grab something to eat over there, do you want to join – oh no, my bag!" she suddenly realizes before she turns on her heel and hurries back to the table.

It's still there on the empty chair and when she picks up her wallet, nothing's missing, thank God. Then she remembers herself and turns around to find him smirking at her, and she flushes. "Sorry," she mumbles. "I, uh, forgot I put my bag here."

"I figured," he points out.

"So…"

She tries not to make this awkward, but it's hard. The silence hangs heavy between them until he finally relents and tries to make it easier on both of them. "Should we sit?" he offers, and then he smiles when she does. It's amazing to see, she thinks. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. It's like clockwork – she smiles and he smiles only half a moment later, as if it's been triggered by hers.

She nods. "Sure."

The waiter who flirted with her doesn't look especially pleased with the new addition to her table, if she reads the clench of his jaw and the crinkles around his eyes right, but he still has a job to do so he comes over anyway and picks up the little computer that's succeeded the notepad. "Êtes-vous prêt?" he asks, his voice no longer easygoing and warm but professional.

There's a moment when John looks like he's panicking before he blurts out, "I can't speak French," to Kitty and she remembers that he doesn't like not being in complete control of a situation.

She can't help it – she giggles automatically, and he frowns at her. She pointedly ignores him. "Parlez-vous anglais?" she asks the waiter, and in return, he shakes his head fervently. That's a little stupid. Café-au-Lait has a policy of only hiring bilinguals, because there are a lot of tourists in Paris. Kitty's application was a little touch-and-go for a while the first summer, but she pulled through on strength of will alone. It's something she believes in: work hard enough, and you can do anything.

"Tough luck," she says to him now, amused. "He doesn't speak English. What do you want – I'll order for you," she takes pity on him and says.

He pulls his lower lip into his mouth and keeps it between his teeth as he thinks, and she finds it entirely too distracting for her own good. "Just some decaf coffee," he says after a moment.

She orders their drinks, and then looks back at John again. "Do you want anything to eat?" she asks, and when he shakes his head she orders a blueberry muffin for herself. The waiter nods and goes back inside the little café again. "No caffeine?" she directs at him, lifting her eyebrows.

He shrugs. "Makes me jumpy. Which is the last thing I need, really." She can't help but agree. "Fluent in French?" he asks, an amused gleam in his eyes.

"I took a class." She hesitates for a moment. "And I share an apartment with two Frenchmen – or women, I mean. It had to happen eventually, I suppose, especially since most people here seems to think English is for losers." He chuckles, and she presses on. "So, what have you been up to? What brings you to Paris?"

"I've just travelled, a lot," he says, and scratches the back of his head as he tries to find the words. "I wanted to see the world, and I have. France was next on my list when I got tired of Hong Kong." He frowns. "You live here?"

"During the summers," she nods. "Piotr – you remember Colossus?" He makes a sound of recognition and she continues. "Yeah, it's all his fault." She smiles a different kind of smile – the rueful smile of someone remembering a past relationship. They aren't right for each other, but she still remembers him fondly. She was happy with Piotr, for the first time in a long time. Shaking off those thoughts, she looks back at him. "Have you been writing anything lately?" she asks, because it's something they had in common back when they were both still living at the mansion in the aftermath of the war and John was being "rehabilitated" and Bobby was busy being physical with Marie.

"Yeah," he answers after a moment of hesitation. "I have." He pats his backpack – and the laptop inside, she guesses – with a fond expression. "I've got a half-decent story right now. Need someone to read through it and catch the faults, but I think, uh –" he flushes and won't look her in the eye, "– I think I'll try to get it published."

"That's great," she gushes, and she really means it. He's a natural when it comes to writing, and he likes doing it, too. "What's it about?"

He clears his throat, clearly uncomfortable, and is saved by the tray a waitress puts down on their table. She smiles at them before she continues along, and Kitty stirs her coffee. She's come to love the strong taste of French coffee – but it's an acquired taste, and not everyone likes it: John takes a large gulp and she waits for him to splutter, but he doesn't.

They sit in silence, and to her surprise, it's not even awkward silence. They're perfectly comfortable and for a second she pretends they're normal, friends having lunch together and not mutants whose whole lives have been turned upside down, mutants who have had to fight for their survival (she doesn't – can't – think on different sides, but it's still there, nagging at the edges of her mind).

Chitchatting is easy but not very satisfying, and before she even knows what she's doing the invitation to come back to her place is out her mouth and his eyes grow darker. She swallows – it's too late to back down now, she's too stubborn to take it back anyway. Anticipation churns in her stomach as she watches him pay, "like the gentleman I'm not," he jokes, probably because he knows she's nervous and tries to make it easier for her.

He gives her plenty of options to back out on the way back to the apartment, but she's waited enough for this as it is.

It's a somewhat pleasant surprise when she wakes with an arm around her the next morning – she didn't expect him to stay when she fell asleep the night before. It's strange, more complicated than if he's gone, but nice and she's careful not to disturb him when she slips out of the bed and throws her bathrobe on. She strolls into the kitchen where Adelaide and Dominique are seated by the small table.

Addie raises her eyebrows. "So, who's the guy you brought home last night?"

"Addie," she hisses, terrified. She's only had flings around before and they've all been gone come morning, so she shouldn't be surprised that they're curious. "Don't even –"

"What?" her friend says, eyes wide, the picture of innocence.

Dominique hides her smile into the newspaper she's reading.

"John's an –" She pauses, not really sure how to describe it. Dominique has heard of the Battle, but she's never talked about it and she probably won't recognize the name, either. She breathes in and continues. "He's an old friend."

Addie snorts. "Seems like more than just an 'old friend' to me," she points out.

"Je suis d'accord," Dom adds, and then asks if she likes him.

How is she supposed to answer this question? Luckily, she's saved by the man himself. He raps his knuckles against the doorframe once to make his presence known and then Addie and Dominique are drooling over him because he's wearing his jeans but no shirt.

"I think I heard my name in there," he says as he walks over to her, wrapping his arm around her waist. "My name and a lot of mumble-jumble." He nuzzles his mouth to her neck and the butterflies in her stomach are alive again. Damn, she thought she's rid of them. "Morning," he breathes.

"Morning," she replies, and then flushes when Addie winks at her. "John?" He makes a sound in the back of his throat. "This is Adelaide and Dominique, two of my roommates – guys, this is John."

He smiles and offers both of them his hand. He even tries to charm them with some offhand, failed French words of 'nice to meet you' and they giggle, already putty in his hands. She's sure they won't mind if he sticks around.

"Toute personne qui utilisé le mot 'mumble-jumble' dans un conversation est acceptée par moi," Addie comments. She hopes he stays.

"Bet that was about me." John flashes a smile and walks to her again, and then he arches an eyebrow. "Katherine?" he questions, amused. "I seem to recall you almost clawing my eyes out when I called you that."

Her eyes widen and she clears her throat. "Sounds better in French than Kitty," she mumbles under her breath.

He laughs and then he leans in and kisses her gently, cupping her chin with his hand, and she tries not to think about how heartbreakingly right this feels. Because she's somewhat of an expert when it comes to John, and give or take a few days, but this is when he usually leaves.

"I want to take you out."

Her stomach jolts, but she doesn't take her eyes off the mirror as she applies the mascara. She's not sure what he means and she waits for him to continue or repeat himself. Instead he looms in the corner of her eye, leaning against the doorframe and watching her with a tilted head and a thoughtful expression.

When she's done, she turns to him and frowns. "What?"

He smiles. "I don't think I've ever watched a woman put on makeup before," he admits. "It's pretty new to me, that's all." Relationships, her mind supplies. Relationships are pretty new to him.

"You were saying," she says before she can smile, "about taking me out?"

He shakes his head as if trying to clear it. "Yeah, right. I want to take you on a date." He pauses when he notices her expression. "Is – is that okay?"

She swallows, tries to decide how lenient she can be with her heart when he's just going to leave sooner or later. If he wants a date now… that'll make it more real, she supposes. Not like the dream it feels like now. Reality is harder to face.

"Are you okay?" he asks hesitantly, his eyes studying her closely.

"Quit with the X-ray eyes, Clark Kent," she tries to joke, and it almost falls flat. "I'm fine."

He doesn't believe her – she can see that he doesn't believe her. Still, he smiles and slides his hands into his pockets. "Really, Kit-Kat?" he drawls. "Superman? Come on, I'm more like the Human Torch, for obvious reasons." He turns his hand and they watch as the flame from the candle she's lit up next to her bed is drawn to him like magnetism. He flicks it between his hands for a couple of seconds before he closes a fist over the flame, effectively killing it. Then he winks at her.

She giggles and turns back to the mirror, tries to ignore the sick feeling that's starting to creep up inside her. "Whatever you say, Johnny-boy."

The sound of her cell phone's shrill signal – the alarm she set earlier – breaks the silence that's fallen over them. She scrambles over to the windowsill to shut it off.

"What is that horrible sound?" he asks, his nose scrunched up.

"It's the theme song to Raiders of the Lost Ark," she points out distractedly. It's time for her to get going or else she'll be late for her shift atCafé-au-Lait. She splays her hand out across his chest as she passes him, reaches up to peck him on the lips. "We'll talk about it later," she says.

She hopes it'll never come up in a conversation again, skids around the subject and pretends she's still dreaming.

They meet Jack, Dominique's boyfriend, on a Saturday.

Dominique's been talking about him for as long as Kitty has known her, and he's finally coming back from England where he's visited his family. They have dinner together in the small apartment – Kitty cooks: they eat chicken and rice – and talk about their lives. Both Addie and Lizzie are strangely absent and it ends up feeling more like a double-date than two people having dinner with a couple.

Still, she keeps a brave face and laughs politely when Dominique makes some joke on her boyfriend's expense and tries not to show how distressed she's feeling when John's fingertips burn a trail down her thigh.

As the two boys strike up a conversation, the two girls finish up the dishes in the kitchen.

Jack seems nice enough, and she tells her friend that. Dominique's a lucky girl. The blonde turns and tilts her head to the side, grinning.

"Tu vas de la chance, aussi," she says. "Avec John."

Kitty startles, not prepared for getting the sentiment back, and then she breathes out and tries to explain that she's not actually dating him the same way Dominique and Jack goes together.

The way Dominique looks at her, it's almost like she pities her.

She takes free from work a few days and they rent a car, drives down to the French Riviera. He says you can't say you've seen France until you've been on a beach in the south, so she agrees. It's mostly because she's tired of working.

They ride with their windows rolled down. Her hair gets caught in the wind even if she's pulled it back into a ponytail and he laughs as she tries to get it out of her eyes.

She gives up and giggles.

There's a warm, pressing feeling in her stomach, and as she looks over to where he sits, one hand casually on the steering wheel, the other running through his own hair, her chest tightens. She wonders if it's love – dismisses it as hunger.

The sun is burning hot. They park the car and spend two hours wandering around the market that runs parallel to the beach, before they end up resting in the sand. She's fingering the pearl bracelet she's bought with a thoughtful expression.

"It's nice," he offers, popping himself up on his elbows and smiling up at her in a way that reminds her of the Cheshire cat from Alice in Wonderland. "You were right to buy it." He takes it from her fingers and slips it over her hand, letting it rest against her tanned skin. "See: a perfect fit."

I can't explain myself, I'm afraid, her mind supplies, for I am not myself, you see.

"Yeah," she offers, sweeps the sticky locks of hair away from her face. "Yeah, I like it."

He closes his eyes and lies back down again. He makes a sound of contentment and then he breathes out. She turns over, rests her hand against his chest and listens to his heartbeat. She feels sunk drunk and dazed, her skin burns slightly even if there's no telltale redness and she feels sad, inexplicably.

"We should get going," he says, regretfully.

She shakes her head. "No." He cracks one eye open to look at her, and she looks back at him. "No. Let's just stay. At least for a little while longer." She's not sure what he sees in her eyes, but he doesn't disagree.

Eventually she lets the feeling go and they start their travel back. She keeps the bracelet on, even if it's slightly too big. When she looks at it, she feels the breeze in her hair, smells the ocean, gets a faint taste of the strawberries they bought at the market in her mouth and feel his skin against her own. It's all nice memories, and so she keeps it with her at all times, even when she works.

Until one day when it slips off her wrist without her noticing it and skids across the floor. When she does notice, it's too late: it's gone and it's a busy day at work, so she doesn't have time to look for it.

Kitty doesn't really believe in signs, but she's come to look at the bracelet as their relationship. It can't be long now, she thinks, and goes back to work.

He buys her flowers that evening.

"But what place did you like the best?" she insists for the fourth time.

He rolls his eyes. But he caves, just like she knows he will. "I liked Japan," he begins slowly. His hand is caressing her naked arm absentmindedly as he thinks. "Tokyo was too crowded for my taste, though. And Thailand was nice –"

"Thailand?" she questions, scrunches her nose up. She hasn't heard about Thailand yet, and she's managed to squeeze stories about almost every place he's been to out of him.

He winces. "Yeah. I was a bartender there for some time. It was pretty okay, I guess – but the tourists were practically killing me. All European, and really annoying, too." He shakes his head. "Not to mention that girl who turned out to be… well, she wasn't a girl, anyway."

"No way." She chokes back a laugh that bubbles up.

"Don't mock me," he whines, but there's a smile playing on his lips, too. "I did some Thai boxing there, too – got some money out of it. It's mostly for entertainment, but at least I managed to kill some energy. It was the first place I went after –"

After he left. They still haven't talked about that.

"My body was still itching for a fight," he explains. "It was a good way to vent my anger. Still, I can't say that was my favorite."

"Then which is?" she enquires curiously.

He watches her for a long time, until his eyes grow dark with desire. He pushes her over on her back and rolls on top of her, presses gentle kisses to her neck. "Can't you tell?"

She leaves him at the apartment one night, sneaks out when he's dozing off on the couch to reruns of Paradise Hotel and strolls through the evening. She's learned to avoid the streets without any people, because she knows that's where the accidents happen, and so she's fine.

Somehow – she can't quite remember how – she finds herself at a party. She's thinking about leaving, but then a guy who's quite good-looking offers her a beer.

It can't hurt, she thinks. I'll only stay five minutes.

"… and then it went BOOM and you should've seen it, pieces of the bridge flew everywhere, it was so crazy –"

"Kitty?"

Recognizing the familiar voice, she breaks off in the middle of her tale (read: slur) to stare up at him with wide eyes. She has no idea how he's found her, especially since she wandered at random, but he's here and he's watching her with narrowed eyes.

"Johnny!" she cries out, compensating for his silence by being twice as loud. The alcohol's gone straight to her head, she realizes when she tries to stand up and stumbles, but the guy – she can't remember his name for the moment, but she's pretty sure it'll come to her – steadies her and chuckles. "You're here!"

"Yeah," he replies, just a little darker. "I'm here. Why don't you just come with me, okay? Come on, Kitty…"

She tilts her head to the side and frowns. "What? But it's a party!"

He takes a hold on her free arm and tugs a little harder, his words sounding a little harsher. "You need to sober up," he says, and she swallows down the disappointment with the bile. The aftertaste is bitter, so she drowns it with beer. "Come on –"

"Who the fuck are you?" the guy she's been hanging out with the last few hours – hours? has it really been hours? – demands, reaching forward to give John a slight push in the chest.

She can see the anger burning behind his eyes and tries to dampen it. The last thing they need is another scene where he loses control – if that happens, all the trust he's earned over the years will be gone in the blink of an eye. "Oh, this is John," she exclaims in a try to distract them when she remembers her companion's name. "John, this is Bobby! How funny is that?"

"Hilarious," is all he says. "Let's go." He tugs at her arm again, impatient.

"Dude, she's staying here –" Bobby says.

(The still sober part of her points out how ironic it is that Bobby and John yet again are fighting over her. There's only a pretty brunette missing, else this is a scene taken straight from her high school experience.)

"Like hell she is," John snaps, and with him hell does, too.

Bobby draws back an arm and punches him, straight in the jaw. He stumbles backwards before he steadies himself but Bobby has already launched himself forward – only she's in the way and she freaks and so he passes straight through her.

There are frightened gasps from all around her. "Mutant freak!" – "One of them!" – "Grab her!"

She's already half-way towards the exit when John jumps back at Bobby, fingers slipping through her like she's air, and then she's out on the street. She rests a hand to the wall and throws up, the vomit burning her throat.

Another evening that doesn't turn out like she expects it to.

She hears him calling after her, but she doesn't stop. She keeps her head down, keeps her arms wrapped around herself, and wonders when exactly she became such a mess. Once upon a time she was the tidiest girl at the mansion, and now… The tears feel strangely cold against her cheeks, and she can't feel anything else. She's just numb.

He has to jog to reach her and she can hear his feet against the pavement. Then he's caught up with her, is past her and whirls around to face her.

"God, would you stop? Talk to me!"

She shakes her head, swallows. Looks up and notices the blood on his face, the split lip and the bruised eye. It has to sting like hell. "You should get that looked at," she suggests quietly, but he sets his jaw stubbornly and she knows that's not going to happen until he gets the answers he wants.

There's a brief pause before he speaks again.

"Were you going to go home with that guy?" he asks, and his voice cracks at the end in a way that tugs at her gut.

She can't answer because she's not sure. There's the possibility that means sobering up and then there's the possibility that involves waking up in a stranger's bed. "I – I don't know!" she cries, hides her face in her hands. "God, I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry, John, I just don't –"

"What are you sorry for?" he demands hotly. "Are you sorry that you let me stay? Are you sorry that I even came to find you at all?"

"What?" she asks – practically gasps the word. "What are you talking about?"

He laughs humorlessly. "I'm talking about the way I called Bobby to find out where you were hiding your scared ass and then tracked you down so that I could finally be with you, goddamn it!" he shouts, and then he hits the wall next to him hard – hard enough to make his knuckles crack unpromisingly. "That's what I'm fucking talking about! But you're so – damn, you're so freaking unreachable. It's like I have you and I don't… you're not even here, not really. What the fuck are you so afraid of?"

The words don't reach her, because they can't be true. She doesn't believe him. She can't.

"I'm just sorry!" she shouts instead. "I'm sorry that all I ever do is fuck things up and that everything I do is wrong and…" she breaks off, reality finally catching up to her, and her shoulders hitch up as she gives a sob.

Unexpectedly he pulls her into a hug: simply puts a hand on her back and another in her hair and presses her face into his shoulder. She's relieved as she hugs him back, clings to him tightly as his shirt soaks up her tears.

When she's done sobbing, he pulls away slightly to look her in the eyes. His are worried, but he smirks anyway as she lifts a hand to wipe the mascara marks of her cheek.

"Don't worry," he says evenly, and she wonders how it is that he's so calm again. He used to be the one easily upset – now it seems it's the other way around. "Punching people out is kind of my thing, don't you think?"

A laugh gets stuck in her throat and she nearly chokes on it. "Not really," she disagrees. "You're not like that. Did you win?"

"Win what?"

"The fight," she clarifies. "Did you win?"

He ponders the question for a while. "Well, I didn't exactly loose…"

"Good. I'm sorry I left you. Are you hurt?"

"It's okay – I mean, no, I'm not hurt, not really: I've had worse."

She kisses him without any warning. And somehow it feels just right.

When autumn starts to set in and the summer season slowly dies, it's time for her to book her flight back to the States. She doesn't hesitate before ordering tickets for both of them. She's still a little scared, but she wants him with her. Honestly. Even if Mr. Logan will tease her mercilessly.

She'll miss France.

"We'll be back next year," he promises.

During her last day of work, Pascal heads over to her and picks something up from her pocket. She holds her hand out to her and smiles brightly.

"I zink yoo dropped zis," she says in her broken English.

It's the bracelet she lost all those weeks ago. She's not sure what to think – she's slightly shocked. Pascal explains that she found it while cleaning out Café-au-Lait and wanted to give it back before Kitty goes back to the US.

"Thank you," she breathes, taking the bracelet from Pascal's outstretched hand.

She doesn't wear it again, but keeps it with her just because.

Saying goodbye to Dominique and Lizzie – Addie's in Champagne, visiting her grandparents – hurts at the same time as it's a relief and she's not surprised. They're close friends, almost as close as sisters, but she can't wait to get back to Jubes and her other friends at college.

"I'll have to find a job," John muses out loud as they settle into the taxi. "I hope I can get something close to campus."

She doesn't listen as he goes on, rests her head on his shoulder instead. He's got one arm wrapped around her, keeping her close, while the other's gesturing for the cab driver. The radio's playing some song or another in the background, and she feels inexplicably happy all of the sudden.

"… I can't forget you when you're gone; you're like a song, that goes around in my head…"

Looking up, she entwines her fingers with his and presses a kiss to his lips. "I love you," she tells him sincerely, cutting him off in the middle of a sentence about how he's looking forward to getting back home again and for the first time, she doesn't care whether or not it's proper telling him that.

His smile makes it all worth it.

"… all afternoon long it's with me, the same song…"

AN: This piece was the hardest to write. I was trying to show how Kitty really does love Pyro, but at the same time she's terrified of actually loving him and keeps thinking that he's going to leave again. Eventually, I was becoming annoyed at her – thus Pyro confronted her about it. I hadn't actually planned that he'd tracked her down, but when I started writing that scene after the party she went to, it just felt right. It made much more sense to me than them just running into each other randomly in Paris did. I love it when stories write themselves out.

There's a bunch of mentions of other things in here. The song Kitty's roommate Lizzie's humming in the kitchen is Edith Piaf's "Non je ne regrette rien". Youtube it. "Oh, Steve," was for my own enjoyment and is a tribute to Maria Montazami, Swedish Hollywood-wife. (Right after is a sentence in Swedish, by the way.) Kitty and Pyro banter about Superman/Clark Kent and the Human Torch/Johnny Storm, Kitty's ringtone is the soundtrack of Raiders of the Lost Ark, the Indiana Jones movie. She thinks about Alice in Wonderland, the book by Lewis Carroll/Charles Lutwidge Dodgson (I've always hated that book: the Disney movie scared me senseless). There are a couple of mentions of the final battle in the third movie. And the song at the end is "Like a Song" by Lenka, the song that started it all and got me writing. I now hate that song, for obvious reasons, but nonetheless, you should listen to it.

We've got one more piece to go, but it's simple, I promise. I'll probably upload it sometime tomorrow.