I forgot to update... Sorry for the mistakes, this one has more than any before, I guess.

A/N: Lance's POV.

Chapter 11: Ropes

I had thought I was prepared for it. For seeing her again. For hearing her again. Deep inside I even hoped I would realize I had been clinging onto a mere memory, a mere dream that only beautified what I actually had and it's never been anything I should be yearning for. But the realization hitting me was the old sinking feeling of losing someone. And losing them all over again.

Every word and minute in the park rusted me like acid inside.

She was moderate, polite to the ways like to someone she'd been in quite good terms with but somewhat shallowly. I didn't want to think of how close she had been to me. Closer than anyone ever. And I didn't want to believe that it was only a deception from my side that I'd been close to her too. I couldn't shake off the feeling that she'd never really seen me, no matter how many times I managed to fool myself that she had. Partially it was my fault. Exposing the human, fragile side of me wasn't something I could easily do. And this whole superhero bullshit didn't help it either; while we were becoming soldiers, we slowly forgot how to be honest. Speaking of honesty, I still believe I was the only one for a long time who she didn't have to lie to; and I was also the one because of who she had to lie to everyone else. And instead of forging us together, it set us apart.

In the park it wasn't the Kitty who had said she didn't want to see me again. When I'd thought of her those years, she always wore that cold, alienated face that I hated so much, that made me run amok. The one that conveyed I was nothing for her. No matter how hard I tried to think of the times when she could look at me in other way, all I could remember was the day when she pushed me out of her life. I don't know whether it would have been better if she was that Kitty this time. Just to be a reminder that I shouldn't enter the swamp of wild hopes.

I kept searching for our trace on her face, in her eyes but all I could see was what a perfect and whole life she had led without me. I could only see what an ugly obstacle I had been for her. She went on with her life, grew confident and more beautiful while I died every freaking minute. All those days I had spent far from her seemed to be a useless struggle.

After she left I stayed on the bench for hours, frozen and stonelike like a gargoyle, annihilated. I was full of conflicting emotions that mixed together into a hateful, maddening mass and I couldn't think straight, couldn't give names to those feelings, thus sorting them out was impossible. I finally set off for home because loving her and hating her at the same time engulfed me in an unbearably painful way, tore me into sheds inside, and I wanted to believe in the faint illusion that it would ease if I walked till I couldn't move a finger anymore, out of the world.

The guys told me about the big Russian who used to be Magneto's man but now belonged to Xavier's crowd. Everyone surely was very satisfied that they could completely convert him, turn him into an obedient X-man. I had a bitter taste in my mouth. It was something I never managed to do. Something I failed in. I suppose it was the only way it could work. Now he could peacefully be with Kitty. There were no suspicions, no accusations, no pointing fingers at one another. No attempts to make them apart. I whould really like to know if he had to fight all those accusations I had to, but somehow I doubt it. We always had this thing with Summers about kicking each other's ass that ruled out every rational thought in our heads. I wonder if being an X-man would have been enough. This was all it takes? Giving up everything I was for Xavier's sublime, majestic dreams, believing in, fighting for his purposes? Joining the queue, so I could fit their conception of an appropriate partner for one of them? Losing everything I was? Even if I wasn't anything worthful, No, I couldn't be a puppet in a venomous and obscure game again.

I was hanging around places where she'd most definitely show up. I didn't plan to speak to her. Not even going near her. It was a form of dependence. A daily dose I needed to carry on though I was fully aware of what kind of an irreversible damage it was causing in me. Balancing over the edge of a chasm. Tightrope walking, blindfolded, and knowing from experience how deep I could fall. I think I wanted to see her with that tin-brained Russian. It would have been something like an electroshock therapy, intended to burn this toxic affection out of me. I knew if I wanted the best for myself I would have left as long as it didn't grow fatal. But I was always lousy in knowing what the best thing to do was.

I caught sight of her only once. She was with her friends, letting them drag her along the streets. And I was spying from the shadows like a menace, like I did years before when in a fateful summer I got in my head that I undeniably wanted her, no matter we were enemies. No matter she hated me more than anyone, and honestly, not undeservedly. Mystique had been gone then and I was in charge. And I decided. I could have spared me so much misery if I stayed out of her way, if I resisted that incredible urge.

And I would have spared me the only moments of happiness in this crappy life…

All those ropes that had spun around us in the very first moment and all along pulled me closer and closer to her still existed, I felt them, they cut into my flesh, they were invincible and immortal.

And they were bleeding.