It had been a long, long road. One full of hardship, and of strife ("No," she corrected herself, "Stryfe."). One where loss was a daily experience, whether it be your family, your closest friends, or more. "More" apparently consisted of those who claimed to love you.
She often reminded herself that at least the experience was still there. "After all, how many people get to lose their Wisdom?" She snorted disgustedly at her own pun. It wasn't an especially good one, as if that weren't already obvious.
Just as bad as the advice she'd once given him: "Covet your Pryde," had been the teasing murmur, a slight smirk crossing her lips. They'd been alone at the time, and so he had answered with a warm smile.
"Always, love," was the later response. By her recollection, that had been a particularly memorable night. Just as memorable as another evening; the one he proposed, something close to a year later, though it had initially been done as an act of desperation.
Either way, it'd been one of the better experiences in her life. Particularly when he'd showed her the ring. She easily remembered the pleasant feeling of surprise, as if that weren't an understatement, at the sight of the soft blue diamond, and staring, speechless, for several long moments. When he'd gently prodded for an answer, she'd given an enthusiastic yes.
It had been almost immediately afterwards when things began to fall apart, she mused, temporarily snapping back to the present as sounds of metal going through drywall filtered through to her ears. A momentary distraction, that.
Marriage had been such an appealing thought at the time... Or at least before the fights. It'd started when her "mother" showed obvious disdain at the match, having progressed from there. The arguments gradually became more and more intense, until they would both be sobbing, screaming at one another from opposite sides of the room, proving her mother right -- that loving one another wasn't enough, after all.
He'd drowned himself in drinking, then, becoming beyond moody, and near reclusive. She hid in her room, burying herself in work, in the silent safety of code and programming.
They finally gave up. In what started as a trip to his room (no longer theirs, it hadn't been for some time) to apologize, she found him packing. The reality of it hit her like nothing else before. They stood motionless, studying one another until she was suddenly at his side, holding his hand. She remembered kissing him lightly, whispering "I love you," and dropping the ring into his palm before leaving.
He hadn't followed. Didn't make chase and whisper the same, asking that they give it one more chance. Instead, he sailed out of her life, back to England, and eventual death by a not so random gunman. That short time spent as a hero changed him more than anyone ever knew, until actions that had always been subtle turned into something obvious and pronounced.
Burying the initial tears, she did the same and left the island where they'd met. Back to the States. To that inescapable part of her life which resided in upstate New York.
Life had gone on since then. A part of her had also died. Once her anger dissipated, the spirit, the passion which had so enamored Logan, Belasco and Ogun was gone. Ororo had been thrilled beyond belief when she gave in and married. Logan and Kurt, on the other hand, worried. She knew that they understood. They always had. Which was why she left the kids with Logan before telling her husband.
"I have to leave for a few days. For England. Logan has the girls."
He hadn't bothered to look up from the empty canvas, to gaze over the hollow shell his wife had been for so long. Even though she knew he'd kept tabs on her... it hadn't changed a thing. "Why?"
"I've been asked to attend a wake. To deliver a eulogy." Inwardly, she marvelled at how dead her voice sounded. Rather like him. Her husband had pieced it together from there, surprisingly enough. His watery blue eyes -- not quite so vivid as another pair she could recall -- had flashed in irritation. Jealousy? Maybe.
She went against his permission, but still remembered the swing he'd taken at her. He must've been drinking. Metal through drywall. The sound had rung out through the apartment. She was suddenly glad that she'd the foresight to leave the girls with Logan, after all.
Metal through drywall. It was a sound she often found herself replaying. The sound of a marriage shattering. That thought alone was oddly relieving. She knew Logan would keep her children safe, and that her husband had most likely turned to his mistress by now, the blonde woman who looked so much like Illyana. No worries, then.
And so here she was, at the wake. A slim brunette with expressive brown eyes, standing behind the pulpit. A small sea of world weary faces stared out at her. She began.
"As if it weren't already obvious, I'm here to talk about Pete. My name is Katherine Rasputin..."
Romany smiled tiredly to her from the crowd. A wash of memories suddenly overtook her, and a decision was made.
"My name is Kitty Pryde. Pete and I loved each other very much."
It had been a long, long road.