"I didn't mean to.."
Lance stood rooted to the spot, breathless as he witnessed the results of his destruction. A horrible silence befell the soccer pitch, as if everyone had forgotten to breathe.
"Is she..?" Summers' voice rang out. No answer was needed. Just a grave nod from the Professor. Then the noise started. Rogue and Jean crying, Blue-Boy having to be restrained as he howled in German, Summers shouting that it couldn't be true- they could still save her.
He could hear clawing, scratching at the ground which had become her prison as the X-Geeks desperately tried to free her.
He saw the Wolverine haul her out of there, limp, lifeless and small. She hung like a doll over his shoulder. They left in a ghostly trail reminiscent of a funeral procession. He watched as they disappeared into the setting sun, a set of black dots on the horizon.
Kitty Pryde. So vibrant and perfect, beautiful and special.
And now dead.
*
He pressed his forehead against the wall, holding onto it with all his strength. It couldn't stop the tremour running through him, the dreadful fact that She Was Dead and He Had Killed Her.
He couldn't even remember how he had got home. He must have walked, blinded by unshed tears in a stupour of disbelief.
How could it have happened?
With an anguished yell, he stared at the hands which had caused him the greatest loss of his life. He bit hard on his lip as hot, burning tears threatened to escape. He wouldn't cry. He hadn't cried since he was a kid- he hated the weakness of it. Besides, crying wouldn't bring her back.
How could he have known, when he opened up the ground with his quake of destruction that she'd have slipped and fallen into the orifice? How could he have known that she'd hit her head at the bottom, unable to phase through and save herself before the ground crumbled on top of her?
Murderer! The rising taunt sang in his mind, making his blood boil. He loved her. He loved her and his powers took her away before he even had the chance to tell her.
Balling his hand into a fist, he drove it hard into the wall. It left a large hole and plaster crumbled to the floor around him. It was just another reminder of the damage he seemed to cause wherever he went and clutching his now bruised hand in the other he whimpered slightly.
"Lance?" Pietro stood at the doorway, looking small and uncomfortable. He was looking from the hole in the wall to Lance as if waiting for him to explode again.
"I- I brought you some Chinese shit." The slighter, white-haired boy held out a bag. Lance ignored it, staring at the floor. Couldn't Pietro understand that he wanted to be alone? What if he broke and Pietro saw?
"Lance?" Pietro repeated, trying to make him look at him. Slowly, Lance lifted his head and Pietro saw the deep pools of pain in his eyes, sparkling like diamonds with tears that refused to be shed. "You've got to eat, you know. It'll make you feel better."
Lance shook his head, biting his lip so hard he drew blood. Why wouldn't Pietro look away?
"Come on.. I ran all the way to Golden Wall for it."
"That's only up the street," Lance muttered.
"Just.. try some, OK? You need your strength," Pietro said softly, pushing the bag towards him. Food was the last thing Lance wanted but Pietro had said it would make him feel better. Maybe it would- maybe the trembling was just hunger.
He opened the bag, Pietro's eyes never leaving him. Since when did he care so much, anyway? He took out a container and a pair of disposable chopsticks. Seeing the container steaming, he knew that he really didn't want food. Couldn't face it. But if he just had a little, maybe Pietro would leave him alone.
With a hand that would not stop shaking, however much he willed it to, he opened the container. The smell immediately hit him- the sickly, greasy smell of unwanted food. It looked like worms- and the smell was so intense- crawling into his nostrils and making his stomach contract repeatedly.
In seconds, Pietro grabbed him by the shoulders and led him to the bathroom. There, Lance retched repetitively and painfully but to no avail. Pietro rubbed his back in small circles, telling him it was alright.
"Why- are you being- so nice to me?" Lance gasped as Pietro gently pushed a sodden strand of his brown hair off his face. "Don't you- know what I did?"
"I'm doing it because you need somebody right now," Pietro told him. "Deep breaths, Lance," he added, desperate to calm him down.
Lance stared at Pietro sadly, reminding him of a lost child.
"I need Kitty," he whispered pitifully, tears threatening to escape more than ever. He stared very hard at a spot on the floor. He didn't cry. He didn't cry. "Kitty's gone, Lance," Pietro said gently. "She's dead."
"No," involuntarily, a sob escaped from Lance and then another. The tears followed, spilling clumsily down his cheeks before he could stop himself.
Pietro just stared. He didn't know Lance was even capable of crying. He'd always seemed so strong. Yes, he got upset but he expressed it through anger, causing destruction wherever he could. Now he saw Lance doubled with grief, heart-wrenching sobs throbbing in his throat as he struggled to breathe. His face was red and a constant stream of tears dripped off it, making him completely unrecognisable.
Quietly, Pietro walked across to his devastated friend. Lance grabbed him and clawed at him, desperate for comfort before he sank to his knees and pulled Pietro down with with him, his low wail rending the air.
"Lance," Pietro whispered as he gathered the broken boy into his arms. Lance sobbed desperately, burying his head in Pietro's chest. He was shaking so violently now that Pietro could feel his bones jumping within the flesh and pulled him tighter to him, murmuring whatever words of comfort he could find.
After a while, the violence of Lance's grief was dying down although the tears wouldn't cease. Pietro gently tucked a finger under Lance's chin and tilted his face up towards his.
Lance was a mess. He soft, chestnut eyes were now red rimmed and raw. His mouth hung open and his nose was running into it.
"I didn't mean to," he said thickly, panic rising in him again. "I loved her!"
"Sssh," Pietro soothed, lightly kissing Lance's forehead.
"I murdered her-"
"It wasn't your fault," he told him gently, bringing his lips to the tears and kissing them away.
"I did- I-"
"Lance, it wasn't your fault," Pietro repeated more firmly. Lance sniffed, looking up at him disbelievingly. He still seemed so endearingly child- like.
"I loved her," he said again, in barely more than a whisper. His eyes were huge, wet, glossy pools in an otherwise passive face.
"I know you did." Pietro squeezed his hand, taking care not to touch the bruised knuckles. He noticed a wince of pain cross Lance's face, unrelated to the grief and recognised it immediately. He'd seen it before.
"Headache?"
Lance nodded, watching as Pietro removed a pill bottle from his pocket.
"Figured you'd need these," he said kindly, giving Lance the bottle.
"This pain can get better," Lance reflected as he swallowed two of the pills. "But.. but this won't."
Pietro could see fresh tears welling in his eyes again and wondered how Lance could possibly cry any more.
"It will," he told him, slinging a brotherly arm around his shoulders. "I'll get you through, bro. God.. sounded corny, huh?" he added, evoking the smallest of smiles from Lance.
"Thanks, Piet," Lance said with a new respect for him. "I'm tired. Think I'll turn in."
"Yeah, you've had it hard," Pietro told him as he and Lance walked back to his room. He watched by the door as Lance sprawled out on to his bed, exhausted with grief.
"Thanks, Piet," he repeated hoarsely. "For standing by me."
The boy at the door just smiled.
"Hey," he said. "Don't you know what Brotherhood means?"
Then he turned out Lance's light and his footsteps were heard retreating down the hall.
His words ran through Lance's jumbled head. Yes, he knew what Brotherhood meant and it made the lead weight of his pain and grief in his chest loosen, just a little.
Tonight he'd lost so much, but he couldn't help feeling he'd gained something too.
Lance stood rooted to the spot, breathless as he witnessed the results of his destruction. A horrible silence befell the soccer pitch, as if everyone had forgotten to breathe.
"Is she..?" Summers' voice rang out. No answer was needed. Just a grave nod from the Professor. Then the noise started. Rogue and Jean crying, Blue-Boy having to be restrained as he howled in German, Summers shouting that it couldn't be true- they could still save her.
He could hear clawing, scratching at the ground which had become her prison as the X-Geeks desperately tried to free her.
He saw the Wolverine haul her out of there, limp, lifeless and small. She hung like a doll over his shoulder. They left in a ghostly trail reminiscent of a funeral procession. He watched as they disappeared into the setting sun, a set of black dots on the horizon.
Kitty Pryde. So vibrant and perfect, beautiful and special.
And now dead.
*
He pressed his forehead against the wall, holding onto it with all his strength. It couldn't stop the tremour running through him, the dreadful fact that She Was Dead and He Had Killed Her.
He couldn't even remember how he had got home. He must have walked, blinded by unshed tears in a stupour of disbelief.
How could it have happened?
With an anguished yell, he stared at the hands which had caused him the greatest loss of his life. He bit hard on his lip as hot, burning tears threatened to escape. He wouldn't cry. He hadn't cried since he was a kid- he hated the weakness of it. Besides, crying wouldn't bring her back.
How could he have known, when he opened up the ground with his quake of destruction that she'd have slipped and fallen into the orifice? How could he have known that she'd hit her head at the bottom, unable to phase through and save herself before the ground crumbled on top of her?
Murderer! The rising taunt sang in his mind, making his blood boil. He loved her. He loved her and his powers took her away before he even had the chance to tell her.
Balling his hand into a fist, he drove it hard into the wall. It left a large hole and plaster crumbled to the floor around him. It was just another reminder of the damage he seemed to cause wherever he went and clutching his now bruised hand in the other he whimpered slightly.
"Lance?" Pietro stood at the doorway, looking small and uncomfortable. He was looking from the hole in the wall to Lance as if waiting for him to explode again.
"I- I brought you some Chinese shit." The slighter, white-haired boy held out a bag. Lance ignored it, staring at the floor. Couldn't Pietro understand that he wanted to be alone? What if he broke and Pietro saw?
"Lance?" Pietro repeated, trying to make him look at him. Slowly, Lance lifted his head and Pietro saw the deep pools of pain in his eyes, sparkling like diamonds with tears that refused to be shed. "You've got to eat, you know. It'll make you feel better."
Lance shook his head, biting his lip so hard he drew blood. Why wouldn't Pietro look away?
"Come on.. I ran all the way to Golden Wall for it."
"That's only up the street," Lance muttered.
"Just.. try some, OK? You need your strength," Pietro said softly, pushing the bag towards him. Food was the last thing Lance wanted but Pietro had said it would make him feel better. Maybe it would- maybe the trembling was just hunger.
He opened the bag, Pietro's eyes never leaving him. Since when did he care so much, anyway? He took out a container and a pair of disposable chopsticks. Seeing the container steaming, he knew that he really didn't want food. Couldn't face it. But if he just had a little, maybe Pietro would leave him alone.
With a hand that would not stop shaking, however much he willed it to, he opened the container. The smell immediately hit him- the sickly, greasy smell of unwanted food. It looked like worms- and the smell was so intense- crawling into his nostrils and making his stomach contract repeatedly.
In seconds, Pietro grabbed him by the shoulders and led him to the bathroom. There, Lance retched repetitively and painfully but to no avail. Pietro rubbed his back in small circles, telling him it was alright.
"Why- are you being- so nice to me?" Lance gasped as Pietro gently pushed a sodden strand of his brown hair off his face. "Don't you- know what I did?"
"I'm doing it because you need somebody right now," Pietro told him. "Deep breaths, Lance," he added, desperate to calm him down.
Lance stared at Pietro sadly, reminding him of a lost child.
"I need Kitty," he whispered pitifully, tears threatening to escape more than ever. He stared very hard at a spot on the floor. He didn't cry. He didn't cry. "Kitty's gone, Lance," Pietro said gently. "She's dead."
"No," involuntarily, a sob escaped from Lance and then another. The tears followed, spilling clumsily down his cheeks before he could stop himself.
Pietro just stared. He didn't know Lance was even capable of crying. He'd always seemed so strong. Yes, he got upset but he expressed it through anger, causing destruction wherever he could. Now he saw Lance doubled with grief, heart-wrenching sobs throbbing in his throat as he struggled to breathe. His face was red and a constant stream of tears dripped off it, making him completely unrecognisable.
Quietly, Pietro walked across to his devastated friend. Lance grabbed him and clawed at him, desperate for comfort before he sank to his knees and pulled Pietro down with with him, his low wail rending the air.
"Lance," Pietro whispered as he gathered the broken boy into his arms. Lance sobbed desperately, burying his head in Pietro's chest. He was shaking so violently now that Pietro could feel his bones jumping within the flesh and pulled him tighter to him, murmuring whatever words of comfort he could find.
After a while, the violence of Lance's grief was dying down although the tears wouldn't cease. Pietro gently tucked a finger under Lance's chin and tilted his face up towards his.
Lance was a mess. He soft, chestnut eyes were now red rimmed and raw. His mouth hung open and his nose was running into it.
"I didn't mean to," he said thickly, panic rising in him again. "I loved her!"
"Sssh," Pietro soothed, lightly kissing Lance's forehead.
"I murdered her-"
"It wasn't your fault," he told him gently, bringing his lips to the tears and kissing them away.
"I did- I-"
"Lance, it wasn't your fault," Pietro repeated more firmly. Lance sniffed, looking up at him disbelievingly. He still seemed so endearingly child- like.
"I loved her," he said again, in barely more than a whisper. His eyes were huge, wet, glossy pools in an otherwise passive face.
"I know you did." Pietro squeezed his hand, taking care not to touch the bruised knuckles. He noticed a wince of pain cross Lance's face, unrelated to the grief and recognised it immediately. He'd seen it before.
"Headache?"
Lance nodded, watching as Pietro removed a pill bottle from his pocket.
"Figured you'd need these," he said kindly, giving Lance the bottle.
"This pain can get better," Lance reflected as he swallowed two of the pills. "But.. but this won't."
Pietro could see fresh tears welling in his eyes again and wondered how Lance could possibly cry any more.
"It will," he told him, slinging a brotherly arm around his shoulders. "I'll get you through, bro. God.. sounded corny, huh?" he added, evoking the smallest of smiles from Lance.
"Thanks, Piet," Lance said with a new respect for him. "I'm tired. Think I'll turn in."
"Yeah, you've had it hard," Pietro told him as he and Lance walked back to his room. He watched by the door as Lance sprawled out on to his bed, exhausted with grief.
"Thanks, Piet," he repeated hoarsely. "For standing by me."
The boy at the door just smiled.
"Hey," he said. "Don't you know what Brotherhood means?"
Then he turned out Lance's light and his footsteps were heard retreating down the hall.
His words ran through Lance's jumbled head. Yes, he knew what Brotherhood meant and it made the lead weight of his pain and grief in his chest loosen, just a little.
Tonight he'd lost so much, but he couldn't help feeling he'd gained something too.
