Ariesque Presents:
Back in the Day: The Legend of Logan's Kin
Genre: AU/Romance/Drama
Rated: PG-13 for violence, language, and other suggestive parts; I will warn beforehand
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or lyrics of any songs I place in my story, although I do wish I did.
A/N: And thus, I continue. It's been such a long time, and that has been a very bad deed on my part, but for all those waiting around, waiting for this story's overdue resurrection...well, I hope it sufficed. At least enough for a review :D Some language to be expected.
17. Deception
Maddie's Saloon for Pleasant Chaps, Kentucky: 1877
There was a dull, tired ache in her legs that radiated as far as her back, but when Rogue tried to focus her thoughts away from the pain, all she could see was Piotr in her arms with Kitty Pryde on his mind.
The saloon was still bustling at this early hour, but as far as Rogue was concerned, she didn't need to be entertaining anyone anymore this evening. Not even Remy had stayed long enough to watch her dance—awkwardly, with her arms and legs covered good, she had been too focused on keeping her gloves on that she missed a few steps and hid behind the curtains long before the number was over. She did, however, recover enough to earn herself some tips—twelve eagles in all—and that was more than she expected for one night.
But somehow, something wasn't right. Somehow, she had done them all wrong.
She saw it in Tabitha's scornful scowl every time they crossed paths; how Bobby shook his head when he handed her some water; and Kitty Pryde herself, always polite yet skirting her shadow whenever she came near. Rogue knew she was at fault, but couldn't tell who deserved the apology.
All night, she had convinced herself that this was all Kitty's doing. If only she had never written such a letter, ending it before anything could begin; if only she hadn't ignored Piotr in the first place…
But Rogue was angry; defiant. Because she wondered what if he had never met Kitty Pryde at all; would he be able to see her any differently?
She knew. She knew, inherently in the farthest reaches of her heart, he meant more to her than he could ever mean to Kitty Pryde. Nothing was quite as painful as realizing this disparity. She drove her knuckles into her calves, if only to displace that sort of anguish in a different way.
The scent of cinnamon perfume caught her off guard and Rogue lifted her head to find Kitty Pryde herself staring serenely back at her.
"Surprised you?" She was standing by the wall, and Rogue did not understand how she had gotten through her locked door without breaking it down, but Kitty Pryde did not give her a moment to think it over. She stalked to the bed and sat down. They were on opposite ends of the room, but to Rogue, Kitty seemed worlds away from where she sat.
"Tuckered out, Miss Rogue from all that dancing?" she offered conversationally. But there was a weary note dragging her voice, like she was tired of the same game, finally ready to concede. "You reckon Mr. Rasputin enjoyed himself tonight? Remy mentioned you were all friends…" She cut off, looking somewhat embarrassed. She was being careful, Rogue realized; so painstakingly polite, if only to learn more or possibly even understand Piotr's coming.
It was that fierce, almost painful sort of disappointment that was not quite jealousy. It was different, much different—because she could not bring herself to hate Kitty. It was stunning and saddening all at once, and far worse than that throbbing running through her legs.
"He wasn't here tah see yah."
"I know." She said this quietly, but Rogue could hear the strain in her voice and was wickedly pleased. She wondered vaguely if Kitty had come to spout her childish regret and dissolve into dainty tears. But when she spoke, Rogue noticed quite the opposite. "He never did come by. He didn't keep his word." She looked at Rogue suddenly, her eyes cold and accusing.
Rogue was obliged to defend herself. "You act lahke he owes yah."
"It's not like that," she said sharply, wildly. It was the first time since Rogue had met Kitty did the dancer seem outwardly agitated. And seething. "He had me fooled, making me believe I…we…" She broke off angrily, her face drawn in frustration. "And then he walks in, out of the blue, not to apologize, not to see me, but for a mutant girl who can't even touch, to dance with her and pretend I don't exist…"
"That's a bit spiteful," Rogue interrupted, riled because Kitty had thrown her secrets back in her face. "He didn't care tah see yah after what yah done did tah him, writing him such a letter like that. Imagine, chasing yah down, only to figure yah loved someone else." She saw Kitty open her mouth to reply but blasted, "Didn't think it was worth it, when you played him like a fool. Yah got what you deserved, Kitty Pryde."
But Kitty did not understand. "I never wrote him any letter." Rogue turned her head to witness this new treachery and lash back on her lies, but Kitty's expression was genuinely confused. And though Rogue wanted to retort, she realized that maybe Kitty was telling the truth and somewhere along the way they had all been deceived.
Both girls sat in bewildered silence, neither one knowing where to begin or whom to blame. Rogue felt guilty; it had felt to so good finally letting Kitty have it, but now it all seemed utterly useless, shameful almost. And when she looked back at Kitty, she found the girl staring at the dead dandelions on her sill, her face forlorn and worried.
And then from the window, a shout that startled both girls and shattered the stillness. Rogue was the first to respond, throwing open the shutters and immediately catching sight of Remy LeBeau under her window, riding a horse she had never seen before.
"Rogue!" He yelled, and she threw open the glass to lean out just enough so that she could clearly see his face turned towards hers.
"Don't tell me yah done stole another hoss, LeBeau."
"I've got a good reason this time," he said, half smiling at her, but his words were urgent. "There's been an earthquake at Slicker's! Petey was caught in it; they's saying he's down there!"
Something caught in her chest and Rogue had to hold the windowsill tighter to keep from falling straight down.
"Remy?" This was from Kitty, who had joined Rogue's side. She leaned herself out the window so that half her body hung over the sill. Remy actually smiled, out of relief or amusement, Rogue couldn't tell.
"Juss de femme I was lookin' f'." His seriousness caught Rogue off-guard. "He needs your help, chere. This ain't between us anymore; we need to get him out, alive or not."
Rogue noticed how quickly Kitty blanched at the news; and scorn raided her soul because she was not solely needed.
But the dancer did not waste any time; she grabbed Rogue's gloved hand and pulled her through the door, and they were moving so fast, Rogue wasn't sure how she could be gliding—flying! down the stairs and out the back door, where Remy was waiting with another horse he just happened to find. But there was no time for explanations; Kitty hurriedly took the steed and expertly steered clear of the saloon with Remy and Rogue quick on her heels; and not a moment too soon, heading towards Slicker's mine where Piotr was buried.
18. Lance Explains
Slicker's Mine, Durham, Kentucky: 1877
I must've been knocked out cold, 'cause the next thing I know, I'm staring into nothing, my eyes snapped open and wide, trying to make out the blankness all around.
It's the noise, I tell you, that rock slide of someone—something digging that brings me right to my senses. It rattles the ground, knocks things out of place, but it ain't me doing the work. My powers quit the moment my hands were buried under this here rubble.
So I listen for awhile, listen to the sounds of earth and rocks and that crazy digging, noises underground where nobody above wants to hear. I listen for as long as I can stand, but the more I'm awake, the more I can feel my ribs crunching down, closing in on my lungs, making it that much harder to breathe. I remember seeing a lady crushed flat by a carriage once; her dress caught and she went right under, and there was this terrific crunch, so loud, and then suddenly, I hear my own body crunch, not unlike the sound of that lady going under, and Jesus, it scares the shit right outta me. I start talking like a mad man, half-afraid of dying and terrified all to pieces to see myself through to the end, and it's funny, wanting to live and die at the same time; my soul split between two worlds. I can hear myself chattering, not understanding a word I'm saying, and then, all of a sudden, it all stops at the same time. The senseless talk, tumbling rocks, digging noises. All gone in one, tiny blip.
I'm amazed; honest to God, I'm fucking astonished. S'ppose I never heard the world so damn silent. It's fucking eerie, is what I'm saying. But what really makes me nervous is when the noise returns. Only it's more like crunching gravel underfoot. And it's getting closer.
I hold my breath, and someone else breathes in my place. I look up, which is foolish, granted I can't see an inch in front of me.
"Alvers?" The darkness asks in my direction. It sounds powerful and thick with an accent I swear I've heard before. I listen closely and hear his heavy breathing, his heaving lungs that ache for air and come up with nothing but coal dust and dirt. Granted I should know.
We breathe the same shitty air.
"Fuck," I say, mostly because I want him to hear it. I want him to know I'm alive. "It's you, ain't it? Still in one piece, Rasputin?" I look around and the darkness is so complete, I can't see him. I can't see a damn thing.
That's when I remember everything, where and when and how and why. A quick stab in my heart, and it all returns: Kitty Pryde standing on the second floor of her saloon, the train rides, Rasputin's shadow thrown against the far wall, the mine, God Almighty, the mine. I remember and I start to laugh because I don't know what else to do; this whole mess was my fault to begin with. Did it all by myself; wouldn't Kitty be so proud.
She'd be proud I did it for her.
I guess I laugh a little too loud, because the next thing I know, the Russian is standing next to me, somewhere close. He breathes a little too loud to be discreet.
"Caught me, Rasputin. Cornered and buried and nowhere to go." My voice sounds strange; clogged and thick and worried. For awhile, and as far as I know, he does nothing, just stands close and breathes. There is tension, I know now; if he were a fuse, we'd both be blown to pieces in a wink. I shift, if only to break the awkward silence. Reckon what's there to say to someone you tried (and failed) to kill, who could just as easily kick in your face? And all I can do is wait until he gets close enough to aim correctly.
That's why I'm so surprised when he suddenly talks to me.
"Can you move?" Feigned concern. It's touching, I think.
I try, just for the hell of it. "Nope." Seems as if I'm buried up to my shoulders. But my response seems to break the tension almost instantaneously; I suddenly hear rocks scatter, the ground shifts, and I realize he's digging. Digging for my bones.
It surprises me, honest. We are said arch rivals. Enemies from the beginning. Did I mention I got us in this mess in the first place? He should be beating me to a bloody pulp by the way things are going...
"You're wasting your time, you know," I manage to say. My lungs creak with coal and it takes a lot just to talk. But I don't want him to help, Goddamnit; last thing I need's his sympathy. "You might just send the rest of this cussed place to hell and finish us off for good."
"I will worry about that," he says simply. And he doesn't stop digging.
"S'ppose you're wonderin' what I was doing in your mine," I say, if only to fill the emptiness with my unfamiliar voice. When he doesn't respond, I take it upon myself to talk for the both of us. "Never thought I'd be reduced to this, a miner like you, digging the earth for scraps. If the Gang ever found out 'bout this, they wouldn't let me live." My voice is not my own; it's as if I'm listening to myself in a completely different body. "But you should've seen us! We could ride those iron horses til the cows came running home."
Seems like only yesterday that we were the dreaded Brotherhood Gang. There were rumors of how burglary was in our blood, just as mutation was in our genes. The Boys were looting the West blind long before our voices cracked.
"We were some pumpkins in the West. The world was after us, you know," I say, not really knowing why I think he even cares. "Wanted by sixteen states and three territories for rooking (not to brag or anything), but no matter how many patrolmen or police they sent, nothing could hold us back. We were worse than demons, they said. We was mutants."
I'm suddenly aware that Rasputin's stopped digging. There is a contrast in the different shades of black; I can decipher his shape, the way he stands, so massive it fills my frame of view. He bends over, taps something on the ground and asks me. "Feel that?"
"Feel what?" But right when the words leave my mouth, I realize he's dug out my legs, and I can barely make out my shapeless limbs under me. A flash of something—jealousy, hatred—blinds me and I cuss because those are the first words that come to mind. That he might just live and I probably won't. And I'm scared shitless because that jumbled mess of uselessness belongs to me.
"Right." I breathe in coal until I can actually taste it in my mouth. "Holy fucking shit." I can feel time lurch and the ground spins from underneath me, but I cannot lose it. Not here. Not now. And just when I know I'm really gonna be sick, I hear Rasputin start up again, as if nothing has happened, shuffling through the dirt, digging deeper for the rest of me.
I try to focus on positive things, memories so engrained in my head. I remember Pietro with lightning legs kicking up dirt tornadoes and the Scarlet Witch wielding a gun with no bullets. Train schedules and makeshift maps; riding cross-country with nothing but the clothes on my back and a song in my head.
And that's when things made sense.
Memories, hung up like a laundry line, one after the other, flipping through my mind until I lose track. I've moved past the West, where my reputation was made, and find myself traveling back East where I left a mutant girl to a saloon with nothing but my word.
I loved her once; that I know for sure. It's that sort of satisfactory, necessary kind of feeling I found with Kitty Pryde that kept me coming back every few weeks, because no matter which way you see it, she was good for me. Granted she couldn't cook a damn thing, but she was hopeful and genuine and every man deserves a girl like that. So we ran away together, and I filled her head with weak promises that I broke every chance I got. And I never thought she'd see through my lies until the day I gave her gingersnaps as a gift and she nearly lost it. She had finally seen just how detached I was from the rest of the world. So she told me. She told me how she wouldn't eat for days on end, how she had gotten so bad, she'd faint on stage and Tabitha would have to cover for her. How it used to mean so much, to have me there, a telegram from the West—anything. I didn't know what to say. I was wheeling between disgust and surprise, finally noticing how she did look thinner after all, with that faded, dreary sort of look you'd see on a dead person.
And then she told me about Petey; good ol' quiet, sensitive Petey with the watercolors and the portraits and talent, such talent. She had stayed with him for awhile, I can't guess how long, but it was sure long enough to have a change of heart, so they say. She credited him for a lot of things, too much, if you ask me, and the more she talked, the worse I got, angry, so angry I was seeing white.
I cut her off. I asked her if she loved him. But I didn't really want to know.
The question had thrown her, I could tell. Color flooded her face, color I'd seen only when I kissed her, and then it dawned on me maybe she hadn't thought about it either.
And this is what she said to me; she said, "I love you, I do, Lance. But I can't love the man you've become."
Funny how she was always good for me; because I could never be good enough for her.
And it all comes back to me at once: the guilt, the unanswered telegrams, the humiliation of rejection that makes me curse everything from God to my parents. And Rasputin, of course. "You know how long she loved me? Do you?" Something tells me I shouldn't pick fights with the one person I actually need, but I never could help myself. "Years. I was the one who brought her here in the first place. She loved me; but what do you know? You probably never even seen her naked." He draws in a sharp breath, and I snicker. "Do you really think she's only a dancer? I mean, c'mon Petey; she works in a saloon. S'ppose she's got favorite customers of her own that pay for a little extra something…"
It takes me a moment to realize Rasputin has stopped digging again. For a moment, and for a moment only, the silence returns, and I m suddenly very alone and very afraid.
And then the fear materializes.
Rasputin grabs my collar, jerks my head back so quickly my eyes actually roll back, throttles me as far as my body will give. If he moved my lower body, I would have never known it. He's got a good grip around my neck, and I cannot think about anything except how cold his hands feel; cold as steel…
"Why you?" The question comes out as a snarl, jolting me back to reality mostly because I hadn't expected it. "Anyone she could possibly love, so why you?" And although his colossal hands are around my neck, threatening to snap my spine if he wasn't careful, I don't react. At least, not right away I don't. Because I hear how his voice cracks with each word and drags with desperation; how his grip quivers badly because after all this time, it's all he's ever wanted to know.
And I don't know him at all, but I know this pain. It's like the air he breathes. It's the same as mine.
"She never told you?" I can tell my question jars him a little. His grip loosens and he stammers between Russian and English.
"Nyet. Told me what?" I don't answer right away; I like that sort of element of surprise, and let it sink in good before I tell him.
"She gave me the mutton a few months ago. Said we had grown too far apart, or some shit like that. I gave her gingersnaps from Arizona and she threw them at me. For someone with skinny arms, she sure can throw." His hands fall away; reckon he's contemplating what I've just revealed. "Said she moved on. Naturally, I figured she done run off with Remy. But then she told me about you. Petey this and Petey that."
Piotr pauses, and I know he's running this new information through his head. "She talked about me?" He asks quietly.
"I just figured you and her ended up together, so I swore one day I'd kill you, just to settle the score."
"Well that turned out pretty well."
"There's no need for sarcasm." Or irony. Because a few weeks ago, I thought I could bury Piotr right under the rubble with me. I definitely did not count on him trying to dig me out while talking about the girl between the two of us. "You'd do the same, or something near close to it. She's the kind of girl you'd kill for."
His silence speaks volumes; I know he can't disagree.
"She was supposed to join the Brotherhood," I tell him, and it's like I'm in a different body all over again. "She was supposed to make her powers work for her, for us. But just like Wanda, her heart was in a different place. Lost from the beginning, that's what the Witch was. And what does Wanda do when she finally finds what she was looking for? She upends the entire Brotherhood and walks out on us, simple as that. I'll never forget the day she dropped her guns and let us have it. Fuck, it sure ain't fair; kind of like dying in some lonely mine in the middle of nowhere."
"Do not say that," Rasputin suddenly interrupts. He sounds shaken, as if he hadn't expected me to die after all of this. "I will get you out. Someone will come."
"It don't look good," I say, and it's the truth. The blood's gone thin in my head and the world's slowly starting to spin. "But I appreciate your trying." S'ppose all I wanted was to bring the world down with me, only to have it come down on me.
"Help will come."
I snort. "Get this straight: I was s'pposed to kill you. Kill us. Quickly."
"Help will come," Rasputin says again, pretending not to have heard me. He is suddenly at my side, and reckon I'd rather be trampled by a million buffalo or drowned in a river than be caught in a mine, but I'm mighty glad that I ain't alone just for this once.
"She made fools of us," I say, and again, he does not disagree.
The darkness shirks and I lean my head back because I'm tired, suddenly, so tired. The air stiffens dangerously and I start to gasp. Gasp for air I know ain't there to take. But then I hear something coming from behind the walls. An echo. A voice.
"What's that?"
Rasputin stands; stiffens. "Help."
And I know it before she enters, that Kitty Pryde has finally arrived. Fancy that.
And two suddenly become three.
19. Rescued
Slicker's Mine, Durham, Kentucky: 1877
Piotr sat staring into the darkness, silent in his armored skin, listening to Lance's ragged breathing and was at the very least, comforted. As long as Lance breathed, Piotr knew he lived. The moment it all stopped…now that was the time to panic.
But until then, Piotr waited with his back against the wall with nothing more to do than listen into the darkness. He had finished unearthing Lance's body, cringing when he lifted Lance and placed him flat on the surface. He did not know the science behind being crushed, nor what bones could have been broken, but when Lance began to yell, he damn well knew it sure must be mighty painful.
He closed his eyes, tried to think of ways of getting out of this mess, but for all he knew, the roof could cave in and they'd both be done for. There was no way out. Their only hope was help to dig them out.
And it was dismal, he knew, to hope like this, but it was the only thing keeping him from ramming the walls in, praying for death to be quick.
His mind wandered, back to a time when he dreamed of a girl who broke his heart. He had begun to hate those feelings, horrid and wasteful and bitter because he believed they had an ounce of worth, but now, all he wanted to do was tell her. Just to tell her he loved her. Deeply. And it was a waste, because now she would never know.
The darkness rang; Piotr looked up and found that silly; he couldn't see a thing. But a new sound, like an echo, like a voice, a human voice, calling out his name. And when Lance asked about it, Piotr found the answer automatically: help. He found his footing, made a mad dash and collided with the wall closest to this new noise. He banged the wall; coal immediately tumbled from the impact of his fists.
"Here! In here!" He pounded the wall to prove it. His heart beat furiously, resounding and pulsing in his mind; he was found! The voice called to him, again and again, and he waited and yelled until someone reached the wall from the other side. But there were no shovels or picks to draw him through, just a lithe creature phasing through the wall and knocking into him.
"Piotr?" His heart almost stopped because he knew it was her. It just had to be. He could sense her fear, her inhibitions, and he was transported back to the day she arrived on his front porch. He put a safe distance between them, but Kitty drew nearer, her hands tracing the walls, feeling for substance. So Piotr let her come to him. And she said his name, over and over again, until he knew she was standing so close he could hear her quivering breath.
Funny, how he had done everything in his power to shut her out, only to have her so near, she could break his heart all over again.
Her arm suddenly collided with his shoulder; as she staggered back, he reached out automatically.
"Piotr?" She gasped, relief cracking her voice. And then she did an amazing thing: Kitty threw her arms around his neck, her hands clamping unto his collar, and buried her face under his chin. Piotr was taken aback, his senses hit all at once by her cinnamon scent, the violence of her grasp, the creak in her lungs begging for breath. But he took her in, slowly and generously, until he could remember. He remembered why he loved her, mostly because he never truly could forget. "I've got to get you out," she said, her voice echoing in the hollow of his chest. And when she fell back, her hand remained in his.
"Wait." He tugged her towards the ground, until he reached Alvers whose limp body was cold upon touch. "Lance," he said, prodding for his shoulder, giving it a good shake. Kitty let out a tiny gasp as Lance groaned, suddenly coming to life. "Lance, Kitty is here. We're saved."
Alvers did not respond. And when Piotr heaved him unto his shoulders, he noticed how weighty Avalanche had become, his limbs dangling lifelessly around him. Kitty said nothing when she reached for his hand again; she grabbed unto Lance's arm and together they walked as one, quietly, quickly, through the darkness.
20. Last Request
Slicker's Mine, Durham, Kentucky: 1877
Remy watched the sun rise behind the Kentucky Mountains as Rogue restlessly paced before him, worrying her gloves and furrowing her brow until he knew she would surely go mad. They were standing towards the back of the mine, where no other miners were present. Remy had sent Kitty ahead after instructing her where she would most likely find Piotr. And as he waited, he smoked his cigarettes wonderingly, absently admiring the way the sun hit the girl in such an angle that she actually glowed. He was ready to admit he had been all wrong from the beginning, when she suddenly looked up, her green eyes ablaze, threatening to set him on fire.
"Why're yah starin' at me?" She demanded, angrily, and Remy dropped his gaze to the ground. She had caught him off-guard; reckon he didn't like it much.
"You clean up good, chere." Rogue gazed at him, and he swore she blanched, but then she wrinkled her face into a scowl.
"Don't patronize me," she said, turning away, and he grinned because he knew she was embarrassed. But for once, he was only half-lying, and it made him uneasy. "Our friends are in danger, an' all yah can think of is…" She did not finish, and Remy was glad she chose not to continue.
So, to lighten the mood, he resorted to his reliable, defiant badgering again. "How long you planning on wringing your hands...surprised they haven't fallen off yet."
"Ah'm surprised you're not," she said, although she had seen him go through a few cigarettes as the minutes fell away until hours went by with no sign of Kitty or Piotr. "What if she can't find him? Didn't yah say Peter was in there deep?"
"I said that, sure. But Kitty's come through before and we're standin' right close to where he mines…"
Rogue cut him off. "Ah cain't believe we're not in there, helping her look."
"It wouldn't do them any good…"
"What if Petey's pinned in some place she cain't reach?"
"Kitty will find him. I told her where t' go."
Rogue glowered and grumbled, "Yah shouldn't have asked her to come."
Remy glared at her in complete disbelief. "I know what I'm doin', chere, an' she's the only one who could get him out. Besides, y' don't even know her powers."
"Cain't be dat fancy." There was a sharp edge in her voice that made Remy realize something he had been missing all along.
"Ga lee. Y' like him. Is thet what dis is all about?" There was incredulity in his voice that pressured Rogue to explain herself.
"What if Ah do? Ah didn't know Ah needed your approval tah lahke him."
Remy frowned, not because she was grating him into pieces with this argument, but because jealousy wrenched at his heart and he looked away, probably too quickly he realized too late. She didn't mean a thing, he kept telling himself. Not a thing.
"How can you like him?" He found himself asking, actually wanting to understand. "Petey Rasputin! Of all people…"
"He's attractive. And sensitive." She narrowed her eyes. "And nothing lahke you."
Remy rolled his red eyes and mocked her with a smile. "Fancy dat."
"Oh, Ah'm sorry. Ah forgot: yah wouldn't get it."
"No, you're de one who doesn't get it. He's in love with Kitty Pryde, in case y' haven't figured it out. He's loved her all this time, regardless of what he says." He took a long last drag off his cigarette before flicking it into the air. "An' y' can't change thet."
Rogue knew he was right, but her judgment was clouded by her seething, blinding rage. She charged head first into Remy, knocking them both to the ground. He threw her off, laughing until she threw her fist into his face so hard, that his Stetson flew off and Remy fell back in a hazy, painful daze. Rogue was momentarily satisfied, vaguely hoping she had permanently rearranged his face, until the crunch of gravel underfoot distracted her. She looked up to see Kitty and Piotr, both covered heavily in black soot, the sunrise bathing them in brilliant gold. She struggled to her feet to abandon their brief tousle, leaving Remy groaning pathetically on the ground, and approached the couple hesitantly, the grief Remy placed still fresh in her heart. And that was when she noticed the body hanging from Piotr's shoulders; she stopped to watch as he lowered it to the ground and into Kitty's arms.
She ran to Piotr, but saw the way he gazed at the two, resuming a sizable distance away from them. Rogue crept closer, slower now, her heart leaping into her throat, wanting so badly to say his name, but afraid to break the silence first. So she stopped in her tracks and stared on as Kitty cradled the body in her lap.
From her position, Rogue could see his features and was surprised to find him familiar…and when Kitty stroked his hair from his face, she realized he was from the Brotherhood Gang, the one who shook the earth and took his burglary business too seriously. Lance Alvers, she recalled. The Avalanche. She watched quietly as his eyes opened slowly, gradually. There was a sort of bleak look in his eye, but when he saw Kitty he managed a smile, his lips a dreary sort of blue.
"Kitty." He gripped her hand weakly. "Been awhile."
"'Course it has," she half-laughed, tears running loose down her face. "You've done a stupid thing, Lance Alvers." She brushed her hand against his cheek as the wind picked up her curls and strung them into the air.
From the corner of her eye, Rogue saw Remy limp towards the scene; soon, he too stopped in his tracks a few yards away.
"You sorry now?" Lance grimaced and smirked, the sides of his mouth crinkling. "Rasputin made it out?" Rogue noticed how Piotr tensed upon hearing this, how a look of shame crossed his face because he knew things had not gone according to plan. How he had cheated death and lived while Lance lay dying in Kitty's arms.
Kitty nodded, her face brave. "Got out all right, sure."
"Good." He swallowed hard and blood trickled down the corner of his mouth. "Thought I'd go quick. Being crushed ain't so fun." Lance closed his eyes. "I did it for you," he added, a new tone in his voice: crisp, clipped, as if he really wanted her to know it.
Kitty gripped him tighter. "I didn't think you'd actually do it. Stupid, stupid move." But she bent down and kissed him gently.
"Stay with me," he said, and she nodded almost instantly, rocking him back and forth in her arms. He stayed strong until the wind died and a hushed sound filtered through and became nothing but sad, stunned silence.
They buried him at noon, out beneath the wildflowers with a single marker for his grave.
Response to Reviews for Ch. 9:
Goldylokz: Thanks again for the faithful reviews! I hope you liked the chapter, despite it's long hiatus...
Doesn't Matter: Hmm, wonder who you sympathize with now, after Lance is out of the picture...I thought a retrospective and guilty Lance would do for a POV; the bad-guy persona was made just a little more complex :D Huzzah!
Secret Agent Smut Girl: Thank you! I credit my writing muse, but it's been lagging for some time, as you can see.
ShadowFax999: How can you be so sure Logan will return *raises eyebrow*? Then again, it could be because he has super human healing abilities. That could be a dead give away.
As someone once sang, if you love me, won't you let me know? Please review!
And the question remains...will Piotr finally be with the girl of his dreams? Or are their other plans in their futures? Stay tuned!