Disclaimer: Obviously, I'm making no money off this and the characters don't belong to me. If they did, Peter would still be alive, (and so would Betsy, Moira, Illyana, and Pete Wisdom. And Jean Grey would stay dead this time.), he and Kitty would be together, and I would allow her to be older than sixteen years old for the rest of her life.

Thanks go to: Alex & Mysterious Fan Girl for the reviews. Hope you guys enjoy the next chapter.

Remember: Reviews make the author very happy. The only way we improve is through constructive critique. :)

Chapter 4 - Tormented

She was exhausted, sweaty, and absolutely, completely miserable. Her waist length hair, pulled back in a simple ponytail, was plastered to her head, her leotards drenched, her muscles quivering like a mass of so much gelatin.

An hour and a half, going full tilt, pushing herself as hard as she could, and it had done nothing but bring her to the very edge of physical collapse. No matter what she did, it was never enough to clear her mind. All she wanted was a few minutes of peace, some time to think, a little quiet.

For the dying to stop.

Dear God. Moira. Gone.

Not to Legacy, as they all might have expected, but to an madwoman's bomb. She'd come so far, gotten so close to her goal, survived so much, only to have it ripped away by someone who didn't see the woman, the mother, the prize winning scientist, the friend. All Mystique had seen was another means to an end.

And so, the bitch had killed her. Because of Destiny's damned diaries. The Libris Veratitus. The Books of Truth. Ha!

The only truth she'd seen in them so far was their ability to drive everyone who possessed them mad.

Kitty thought of the five Diaries Mystique had given Professor Xavier before they'd shipped her off to that prison hospital, of the one copy she, herself, had given Storm, and she shivered. Too much had been lost in the name of those Books. What more would they claim before it was over

Because of Irene Adler's diaries, Moira was dead.

She was my friend. Like Doug, and Rachel, and Illyana, and Scott. And...oh, god...Pete.

Another friend lost. No chance to say goodbye. No closure. Just....gone.

It made her wonder who would be next. There was always a next.

Would it be Kurt? Ororo? Logan ? Betsy? Rhane? Or maybe Peter, or Rogue?

Whose grave would she be standing over in another month, another week, another year? What shape would the next empty space in her life take?

How would she bear it?

Kitty hadn't even been aware that she was crying, but the tears coursed down her cheeks in rivers as she finished her cool down exercises and collapsed to her knees on the floor. Unable to hold it all in any longer, she dropped her face down into her hands and wept silent, bitter tears.

I can't take it anymore. I can't. I just can't. I can't watch anymore friends die.

The words ran through her mind over and over again. A litany, almost like a prayer, against yet another blow to her fragile, crumbling world.

And, inside her head, the voice slithered, winding around the edges of her fraying mind, cajoling, seducing.

I can make it better, make it all go away. You know that I can.

As before, Kitty tried to ignore it, pretend she didn't hear. But it was persistent, wearing away at her, day by day, minute by minute.

All you have to do is call to me. Reach out to me. We can make everything right again. Together.

Her shoulders shook, her body trembled with her grief, and she knew she was weakening.

We belong together, you and I. Though you cast me aside, I forgive you. I will never leave you.

Please. Oh, please. Just go away. Stop tormenting me. You can't help me.

Oh, but I can. You only have to give me the chance. You need me as much as I need you.

Sweetly, seductively, it called to her, promising her everything she ever wanted, telling her that it could make everything all right.

In her mind, Kitty could see it, dancing brightly, tempting her to reach for it.

And she wanted it. It would fit into her palm as if it were made for her. She could almost feel it, cool and solid and smooth, as her fingers curled around it. Oh, how she wanted to give in to the siren's song, reach out her hand and take it up.

Because it could make it all go away, could ease her pain, take away her sorrows. With one simple gesture on her part, it would all be over.

All it would cost her was her soul.

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He had been standing there for a while. Exactly how long, he wasn't sure. How could she keep this pace up? She had to be exhausted.

Even as the thoughts ran through his mind, she slowed, beginning to wind down. Peter watched intently as she moved seamlessly into the cool down exercises they had all learned as some of their very first basic training with the X-Men.

Long, dark chestnut locks curled every which way, damp with sweat. Waist length hair, like a cloud of chocolate silk, floated and swung with her movements around a delicate, heart-shaped face with high, prominent cheekbones, and large, luminous, slightly almond-shaped eyes.

Her leotards clung to her even more closely than normal, drenched as they were from her exertions, delineating every line and curve of her slender, perfectly proportioned figure, her long, graceful, dancers' legs.

She was an exceptionally lovely, though Peter knew she did not think of herself in those terms. Having grown up in the shadow of Ororo, Rogue, Jean, Betsy, and Rachel, all of them stunning, flamboyant creatures, Kitty had never given herself credit for her own delicate, serene, beauty.

She had always been sensitive about her looks, and the young Russian mutant had never really understood it. To him, she was, and always had been by far, the fairest of them all.

The beauty was still there. Indeed, it had only intensified with age, but the serenity was gone. Now, her perpetual expression seemed to be anger, tinged with a heartbreaking sadness.

Moira's death had been yet another blow and it had hit her hard. The two had been close while Excalibur was based on Muir Island. Peter had often felt that the Scots doctor had looked on Kitty as another daughter.

They had been much alike, both strong and stubborn, with a fierce temper when angered, and just as fiercely loving and loyal to those they were close to. That they were both highly intelligent, though their interests resided in different fields, was just one more thing that they shared in common.

Thinking of Moira, who had been his friend as well, despite the many things he had done over the years that would have given her a perfect excuse to hate the very sight of him, Peter felt the sting of tears behind his eyes.

She had been a good woman, a good doctor, a good friend. The Scots doctor had devoted her life to helping the people of the world, mutants and humans alike. And her payment for that help was death at an assassin's hand.

Mystique's hand.

It simply was not right, not fair, that the shape-shifting murderer still be alive when Moira was dead, when Rhane was stripped of her powers and her mother, her world devastated.

But when had this life they lived ever been fair? To any of them?

Watching the young woman before him, seeing her pain, the man known as Colossus, the X-Men's powerhouse, the nearly indestructible Tin Soldier, felt his all-too-human heart crack.

I have lost too many who were friends. I have lost my entire family. Please...do not let me loose her as well. It would be more than I could possibly bear.

At that moment, Kitty turned in his general direction and he saw the tears flowing freely down her face, saw her fall to her knees, burying her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking as she sobbed quietly.

He was on the floor beside her before he even realized he'd crossed the room. She had to know he was there at this point, but she made no move, gave no sign to acknowledge his presence. Tentatively, he reached out one large hand, laying it gently on her shoulder.

"Katya...?"

Peter never got a chance to say another word. Before he could react, before he could even register the movement, she whirled on him, knocking him flat on his back. It was pure blind luck that he saw the next blow coming in time to stop her.

Time seemed to stand still as he lay there, her fist caught in his hand, Kitty kneeling over him, jaw clenched, battle ready, face a mask of barely leashed fury and and a horrible, desolate pain.

"Don't...touch...me." It was hissed out between gritted teeth, as she glared down at him and he blinked up at her, stunned. "Just leave me alone!"

As quickly as it had happened, Kitty was gone, running out of the Danger Room and leaving him sitting on the floor, dazed and confused, staring at the space where she'd been.

What on earth had just happened?

Certainly she had been upset, distant, recently, and even more so the last few days, but this had been something totally different, a reaction completely out of proportion to anything short of an attack by an enemy.

Kitty had been far beyond upset. What he'd seen on her face had been a cold, lethal fury the likes of which he'd only seen in Wolverine. She had wanted to strike out at him, hurt him.

Her eyes had blazed with it. Literally.

For a split second, Peter could have sworn her eyes actually glowed red, tongues of flame leaping out of their dark golden depths. But, it had been there and gone so fast, he could not be sure.

No. That is simply ridiculous. It had to be my imagination.

A cold weight settled in the pit of his stomach.

Didn't it?

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Kitty ran back to her room, phasing through walls, furniture, whatever got in her way, as if all the hounds of hell were on her heels.

Thankfully, there were very few people up and about this time of morning, but she still received more than one startled look. She paid them no mind.

The very last thing she wanted right now was to attempt a conversation, to try and deflect her friends' worry and concern, yet again. It would only end in her lashing out at someone else.

Dear God. Had she just attacked Peter?

What was happening to her?

Silly question. You already know the answer, girl. You just won't admit it.

Not even slowing her stride, she phased straight through the door of her room, stopping once she was inside to make sure it was locked.

She scrubbed her palms furiously across her eyes, futily trying to push away the tears that were still spilling down her cheeks as she struggled for control. This had to stop.

Kitty felt as if she were losing her mind.

Maybe I am. It would be so much easier that way.

Oh, but she knew better. That's what was so very frightening. Insanity would be imminently preferable to the fate that awaited her.

She had made a horrible mistake, going into the Danger Room, thinking she could dance again, thinking there was any way to purge this horrible, consuming blackness inside her.

Believing anything could be like it used to be, even for a little while.

Not even bothering to take off her ballet slippers or change out of her sweaty leotards, Kitty curled up into a ball on top of her comforter, squeezing her eyes tightly closed., her slim body shaking and shivering, though it was far from cold in her room.

Sleep. I need to get some sleep. I'll be better once I get some rest.

If she said it enough, maybe she could believe it. Maybe it would be true.

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Peter slowly made his way into the kitchen, not really expecting anyone else to be up and about quite yet, his mind still occupied with the mornings events in the Danger Room.

Surprisingly, he found Kurt already at the stove, putting together breakfast for himself and Rogue, who was seated at the large kitchen table, staring morosely into her coffee. In his experience, he had never found the Southern woman to be an early riser and he wondered what had managed to rouse her out of bed at this hour.

"Ah...Guten Morgen, Peter." Kurt turned from the stove briefly, gesturing with the spatula he was holding to encourage the big Russian to enter, before turning back to his cooking. "Can I interest you in some scrambled eggs? Or, perhaps some bacon? "

Peter shook his head absently, heading straight for the coffee pot.

"No, thank you, Kurt." Opening a cupboard, he took out a mug, filled it with coffee and sat down at the table across from Rogue. "I think coffee will be more than enough this morning."

The normally jovial elf was drooping visibly, Peter noticed, despite his obvious attempts to keep it from showing. Even his almost constantly active tail was limp and still. The days coming events were weighing heavily on everyone.

"Ja. I feel the same. I have no idea why I am cooking all this. I feel nauseous just looking at it."

"Busy work, fuzz ball. Just busy work." This from Rogue who, until now, Peter had been half convinced was actually asleep. "We all deal with it in our own way. You cook. Logan prowls 'round the grounds all night. Ah get up at the ungodly crack of dawn and stare at a cup of coffee." She turned slightly toward Peter, not really looking at him, as she nodded a greeting. "Mornin', Petey."

"Good morning, Rogue."

"Ah ain't really figured out what might be good about it, but if Ah do, Ah'll let ya know."

"I would appreciate it."

Silence reigned once again, the only sound the occasional pop and sizzle of the cooking food, or the clatter of Kurt's spatula against the pans. Peter joined Rogue in staring into his mug of coffee, occasionally twirling it slowly around in a circle on the table, but not really drinking any.

He wasn't especially fond of coffee anyway.

His mind kept going back to Kitty, to what had happened in the Danger Room, trying to make sense out of something that he saw as completely senseless. He replayed each scene, picking through everything that had happened, trying to find a clue that would tell him why she had behaved in such a way.

She had to have known he was there. Maybe not at the very first, but he knew her well enough to know that it would not have taken her more than a few seconds or so to register his presence. Logan had trained her too well for it to be otherwise. There was no way he could have surprised her, probably not even if he'd tried.

So, what could he have done, what could have been going on in her mind, that would cause her to react in that fashion?

And her eyes. Peter could not get that image out of his mind. The more he thought about it, the more he became convinced that he had actually seen that sudden, brief change of color, from golden brown to flame red.

Even more disturbing was the feeling that it was familiar, that he had seen it before, in someone else.

No matter how hard he tried, though, he could not get a handle on the memory. It skimmed at the very edge of his consciousness, refusing to let him get a firm hold on it. But that ball of cold, lead weight was still settled in the pit of his stomach.

"Petey?"

Rogue's voice brought him back to the present and he was surprised to find her staring at him, her forehead creased in what may have been puzzlement, concern, or simply her lingering bad humor at finding herself awake and out of bed at this time of morning.

"Hmmm? Da, Rogue, what is it?"

"What'd ya do to your eye?" Her green eyes were narrowed, apparently zeroed in on his left eye and he reached up reflexively to touch it.

"Why? What is wrong with it?"

Kurt, turning from the stove, a large platter overflowing with scrambled eggs and bacon clutched in one three-fingered hand, bent toward him to get a look for himself.

"Mein Gott, Peter. Have you been in a fight?"

"What are you talking about? Of course I have not been in a fight," he replied somewhat impatiently as he continued to probe the area around his left eye with his fingers, finding it somewhat tender to the touch.

"Well, whatever you've been up to, Sugah, ya got the beginnings of a real nice shiner going there."

"Shto?!"

Kurt set the platter down on the table as he took the chair next to Peter and proceeded to examine his bruised eye more closely.

"Rogue is right. I'm afraid you are going to have a rather prominent black eye." He pressed lightly at the rapidly purpling skin around Peter's left eye with one thick finger, causing his friend to wince. "Don't you remember how you did it? It must have happened very recently. The skin is just now beginning to discolor."

An image of Kitty whirling on him, striking out at him, flashed through his mind and Peter made a concerted effort to keep his face as blankly neutral as possible. Under no circumstances could he tell Kurt and Rogue what had happened.

They would immediately, out of concern for her, go to Kitty and confront her about the incident and he had every idea that was the very worst thing that could happen right now. Besides, he wanted a chance to talk with her first, before anyone else became involved.

"I was in the Danger Room earlier. I...fell." Peter left it at that, unwilling to elaborate despite the odd looks he received from both Rogue and Nightcrawler.

"On your eye?" Rogue clearly wasn't buying into it.

"I must have accidentally hit myself in the eye." It was said in a way that made it clear he considered the matter closed and, after taking a sip of his rapidly cooling coffee, Peter went back to staring at the murky brown liquid.

Well, I will give him this. Kurt thought, raising his eyebrows slightly at Peter's assertion. He actually said it with a straight face.

The German mutant had no idea what had caused Peter's injury, but he would bet his pointy, blue tail that it hadn't been falling in the Danger Room and hitting himself in the eye.

Peter might be a large man, but he was not, as a rule, clumsy. And he was acting rather peculiarly. It wasn't like Peter to be so reticent, but it was obvious that he didn't want to talk about it and just as obvious that there was more to it than he was letting on.

In the lingering silence, it quickly became apparent that their friend was not going to voluntarily elaborate upon the circumstances of his injury. Kurt's glowing, golden eyes briefly met Rogue's sea green ones across the table in silent question.

She didn't look any more convinced than he was, and appeared just as puzzled, but he saw her shrug almost imperceptibly, a signal to let it go for now. The last thing any of them needed at the moment was more stress and grief.

Rogue reached across the table, ostensibly to lay her hand on Peters, but suddenly realized she wasn't wearing her gloves. So, she offered him a small smile instead, pushed her chair back and stood up.

"Ah'll just getcha somethin' for that eye. Maybe we can head off some'a the bruisin'." Going to the refrigerator, she opened the freezer compartment, reaching inside as she looked back over her shoulder at Peter. "If Ah didn't know ya better, boy, Ah'd swear one of the girls 'round here took at pop at ya."

Rogue was already turning back around, and didn't see Peter's unexpected reaction to her attempt at some mild humor, but Kurt did. Instead of lightening the somber mood, as she'd intended, Peter paled slightly and the fuzzy blue mutant's curiosity immediately deepened, mixed with a little concern.

Before Kurt had a chance to pursue this interesting new development, something sailed by his nose and Peter's hand automatically snagged it out of the air before it could hit him in the face.

The big Russian mutant stared down at the package of frozen broccoli and cauliflower, then back up at Rogue, dark brows knit in confusion.

"Is this for my eye, or are we making lunch now?"

Rogue snorted, swatting at his hair on her way back to her chair. "Smart ass." She took the bag of frozen vegetables out of his hand and placed it, none too gently, over Peter's injured eye. "There. Now hold it up so it don't fall off."

Peter did as he was told as Kurt made a valiant effort not to laugh in his friends face. He was, however, not doing a very good job, if Peter's baleful, one-eyed glare was any indication.

"Was there not an ice pack in the freezer? I feel like an idiot."

Rogue shook her head, rolling her eyes, as Kurt made an odd strangled sound.

"Sorry, Petey. No ice packs. But, ah think there's a pack of frozen carrots, if you'd rather have another flavor. Or, Ah could always go wake up Bobby. Ah'm sure sure he'd be happy to ice up your head for ya."

Peter groaned, propped his elbow on the table and, still holding the frozen food against his injured eye, lowered his head in something like embarrassed resignation. Rogue, eyes twinkling and obviously much more awake now, raised her head and winked at Kurt. After that, he couldn't hold the laughter in any longer.

"Forgive me, mein freund," Kurt gasped out. "but you do look somewhat...how can I put this....interesting." This had Rogue's lips quivering as she tried to suppress her own mirth and Peter glaring at him again, the man's air of injured dignity sending him into a fresh fit of guffaws.

Finally, albeit reluctantly, the corners of Peter's mouth curved up slightly. At least his embarrassment had an up side. It had served to dissipate some of the lingering pall that had been hanging over the room , taking their minds off their troubles for the moment and putting everyone into a slightly better mood.

"What's so funny, Elf?", Wolverine inquired as he strolled into the kitchen, going directly to the coffee pot and pouring himself a cup. When he turned back around, Kurt just gestured toward Peter.

Logan pulled out the chair next to Rogue, across from Nightcrawler, and glanced at Peter before taking a hefty swig of black coffee, his expression never changing. "Pete, ya mind telling me why yer wearin' frozen peas on yer head?"

"Broccoli," Peter corrected, automatically, as he continued to stare at the tabletop with his one good eye.

Rogue, who had just taken a sip of her lukewarm coffee, lost it at this point, spewing Sanka across the table and all over Kurt. This prompted a stream of German expletives from the startled teleporter, his automatic reaction being to leap up from the table to avoid the oncoming liquid, tipping his chair over with a loud crash in the process.

"Oh, Gawd! Kurt, Ah'm sorry." Rogue apologized as she collapsed into helpless laughter and Kurt ran around the kitchen grabbing paper towels to clean up the mess on the table as well as on himself.

Despite the ensuing chaos, all Peter could really manage was a half grin, while Logan remained stone-faced, regarding Peter with an inscrutable look.

"Ya gonna answer my question?"

The question was asked in the mildest of tones, but it was clear to Peter that Logan expected an answer.

"I had an accident in the Danger Room earlier."

It wasn't exactly a lie. Peter had no reason to believe that Kitty had done it on purpose. But he had an idea that Logan knew perfectly well it wasn't exactly the truth, either. It was extremely difficult to hide anything from a man who could, literally, smell the truth a mile away.

"That so? Tripped and landed on yer eye, did ya?"

There was no trace of humor in the question, no real inflection at all, but there was a subtle accusation in the words, none-the-less. Peter heaved a tired sigh, his heavily muscled chest rising and falling abruptly with the effort.

"Logan, I have had very little sleep and not the best of mornings. I would prefer to talk about this later."

The boy did look pretty rough, Logan noted. Even without the bag of vegetables on his face.

The gruff Canadian was smiling inwardly, trying not to let it show on the outside. He'd bet his claws that Rogue had been the one to sucker the kid into that one.

Just as well. We could all use a little break after the last few days.

Kurt and Rogue were just finishing their cleanup detail and he knew that Peter wouldn't discuss this in front of them. Neither would Logan. Much as he might want to take pity on the boy, let it pass for now, he didn't much like the ideas running through his head and he wanted a straight answer from the kid.

"Sorry. No can do, Petey." He finished off the last of his coffee, eyed the plate of eggs and bacon indecisively for a moment, the slid his chair back and stood, pulling a stogie from his pocket. "I'm goin' out on the patio to have a smoke. When yer done here, why don't ya join me."

It was obviously not a request. Thankfully, Rogue and Kurt seemed oblivious to the conversation between the room's other two occupants, being otherwise occupied with cleaning up after Rogue's coffee spewing episode.

Peter waited until they were finished, both having wandered upstairs to shower and change for the flight to Scotland, before heading out the kitchen door after Logan, pausing along the way just long enough to throw his improvised ice pack back into the freezer.

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Early Spring mornings in upstate New York tended to be cool and crisp, the air fresh and clean, chilling the lungs as it he breathed it in.

It was mornings like this one that always reminded Peter most of his home in Siberia, Russia, the Ust-Ordinsky collective farm where he lived as a child. That was why it had always been his favorite time of year.

Any other morning, Piotr Nikolevitch Rasputin, more commonly called Peter by his - mostly - American friends and team mates, would have been up at sunrise and happily puttering around at some outside chore or project. Most likely, he would have been working in one of Ororo's many plant and flower beds, or out in the surrounding woods chopping down a tree for firewood to warm these cool mornings.

Not that they needed the wood for heat. There was a perfectly adequate heating and cooling system for the mansion, but they all enjoyed a nice, warm fire on cold nights and the accompanying chilly mornings. It had been a tradition since before he'd come here at the age of fifteen.

He'd been horribly homesick at first, feeling extremely out of place in this country where everything was so completely different from what he was used to. It had been tempting to just give up and go back home, to a people and a life that felt familiar, safe.

But he'd stuck it out by sheer force of will and gained a second family in the process.

Regardless of what he may have lost due to Charles Xavier and his Dream, Peter knew that he had gotten at least one priceless gift out of the deal. He had friends who understood him, a place that he could always call home, a family that would be there for him until the end, no matter what.

They had proven that. In his case, more than once. He owed these people more than he would ever be able to repay.

That didn't mean he wouldn't at least try, in every way he could.

Regardless of his feelings for Kitty, or hers for him, he would do everything in his power to help her because, if nothing else, she was his team mate, part of his family.

But he did not want to have this conversation with Logan, who considered Kitty to be , for all intents and purposes, his daughter and especially not before he'd had a chance to talk with the young woman in question, face to face, and try to work it out between them.

Still, he would do it. It did not mean he had to like it.

They sat on the back patio, mostly bare at this time of year except for the scant few chairs that had been left there through the winter, facing toward the sunrise. Their chairs were angled slightly toward one another, both men silent, Logan puffing intermittently on his cigar, Peter staring out toward the bright blaze of color just over the horizon. From long experience, he knew Logan would speak when he was ready, and not before.

"What happened?" Logan asked at length, his low, gruff voice carrying easily in the stillness of the early morning.

"I was having trouble sleeping so I went down to the Danger Room. Katya was there. She was dancing." He turned toward the shorter man sitting beside him. "I have not seen her dance in a very long time."

Logan nodded as their eyes met briefly. "Yeah, that much I already know. Me and 'Ro were up in the control room fer a while. Don't seem like anybody's been gettin' much sleep the last couple'a nights."

"She seemed fine, at first." Peter shrugged. "Not happy, but about the same as is usual for her lately. As she was finishing up, she suddenly became very upset, began crying. I went to her, put my hand on her shoulder."

"And?" Logan prompted, when the younger man's voice trailed off and he didn't continue.

"The next moment, I was on my back on the floor and she was swinging at me again. I managed to block her. After that, she ran out of the room."

Logan's only outward reaction was a slight raising of his eyebrows, but his mind was working furiously. "And that's all ya did? Nothing else?"

"That is all."

"Damn." Logan sighed heavily.

"If it makes a difference, " Peter added quietly. "I do not believe she did it intentionally."

The older man snorted derisively saying, "I'd flamin' well hope not," then shook his head in disbelief. "Girl's got better control than that. Or should have."

"She has lost much recently. Now, Moira is gone as well and we still do not know what happened to her after the satellite crashed, other than she spent some months in Genosha. At least," he corrected, "I do not know. Perhaps she has spoken of it with you or Ororo, but Katya rarely confides in me any more."

"Wha'da ya expect, Pete? You wasn't exactly rushin' to confide in her when you were havin' problems. Matter o' fact, best I remember, you rejected her pretty hard."

Logan watched as Peter's face fell, his eyes dropping to the ground, and had a moments regret that he'd been so harsh. But every word he'd said had been the truth and he wasn't one to beat around the bush on anything. Experience had taught him that if you didn't face up to the cold, hard facts of life and deal with 'em, one day they'd pop up and bite you in the ass.

"I had thought we put that behind us, had repaired our relationship to the point where we were friends once again. Apparently I was wrong."

"Damn right you were." Seeing the shock on his friends face at his unhesitating agreement, where Peter had obviously expected reassurance, Logan gave an amused snort. "Didn't expect me to disagree with ya, did ya, Kid?"

"Are you saying there is nothing left between us at all? That I cannot even hope for her friendship?"

Kid sounds pretty dejected, Logan mused, feeling a little sorry for the the younger man despite himself. That didn't mean he was going to take it easy on him. "What I'm sayin' is that ya might'a pushed her away just one time too many, Petey. Ya hurt her. Bad. I ain't sure she'll ever put that completely behind her. Kit's loyal, sometimes to a fault. You, me, 'Ro, the Elf, Rogue...we're her family. She'd go to hell and back for any one of us." His dark eyes pinned Peter with a pointed gaze. "More'n once, she has. Fer you, 'specially."

To his immense credit, Peter had the good grace to flush. Wolverine took it as a positive sign that the boy was finally turning into an actual grown up.

"I am well aware of my mistakes, tovarisch. And I regret them more than you can know. Which is why I would like to try and be here for her now, as she tried so many times to do the same for me."

He was completely sincere. Logan knew that. But the kid still didn't get it.

"It ain't about you, Petey." His voice quiet but firm, when he spoke again. "And what you want don't really matter in this case. Yer right. Kit's lost a lot, and it all started with you. I'm glad ya finally got yer head straight, figured out what's important, but that ain't necessarily gonna make things magically all better. She'll always be yer family, probably try to be yer friend, but yer the one's gotta accept that things between the two o' ya may never get to the point where she'll trust ya enough to let ya close again. Ya hurt her too much, too many times." As Peter watched, a shadow passed over Logan's face, there and gone in moments. "Some things, ya can't make right, even when ya want to. Even when ya try yer best."

Peter seemed to consider it for a moment before he nodded thoughtfully "Da. I suppose I should be grateful that we are even on speaking terms."

Sticking his cigar back in his mouth, Logan took a long drag, puffing out a cloud of white smoke into the clear morning air. To someone passing by, they could have been discussing something as trivial the weather or the latest fashion, for all the outward concern the feral Canadian showed. But Peter knew it was just his way. Wolverine rarely allowed his feelings to show unless he was preparing to fight.

"Like I told ya, she's loyal to a fault. But, if it makes ya feel any better, she ain't really talkin' to the rest o' us, either, 'bout whatever's goin' on with her. But, I'll tell ya this, there's more there'n meets the eye."

"I agree. So, what do we do about this?" He gestured toward his injured eye, which had become noticeably darker while they had been talking. "I would appreciate it if you would give me a chance to speak with her before you say anything..."

Peter broke off abruptly as Logan burst out laughing, glaring at the older man as he tried to decide what he'd said that he could find so funny.

"I ain't yer daddy, Pete. And I ain't gonna play referee between the two o' you. Ya wanna find out why she socked ya in the eye, ask her yerself."

Peter knew his mouth had to be hanging open as he stared at the older man in shock.

"But...I assumed that is why you wanted to know what happened. So you could talk to her about it, confront her with her actions of late."

Still chuckling, Logan shook his head.

"Yer a big boy and Kit's a big girl. Work out yer own problems." Seeing his companions confusion, Logan grinned. "I wanted ta mostly make sure you hadn't stepped outta line." This only made Peter look more incredulous. "Oh, don't get me wrong. I'm gonna have a nice long talk with our 'Cat, but it ain't gonna be about you, or yer eye. Like I told ya, it ain't always about you."

With that said, Logan surged to his feet, heading for the kitchen door, calling back over his shoulder, "See ya on the plane, kid."

"Logan?" Peter called out to him just before he reached the door and Logan stopped, turning back to the young Russian. "May I ask you a question?"

"I ain't promisin' ta answer it," He shrugged, carefully stubbing out his half-smoked cigar and sticking it back into his shirt pocket. "but go ahead."

"Neither of you have ever talked very much about it and I have often wondered....What, exactly, happened to you and Katya in Japan all those years ago? Kurt, Ororo, and I have often speculated, as she came back very much changed."

Peter instantly knew he had made a grave mistake. Logan's entire body tensed, his face hardening as a steel wall seemed to slam down behind his eyes. The tall Russian had only had that particular look directed his way one other time, but the he immediately recognized it. Logan, his friend, was gone. What looked out at him now, from eyes as cold and unfeeling as death, was the Wolverine.

"Sorry, but that ain't my story ta tell. Ya wanna know, ask Kit. Maybe she'll tell ya." Dark, dangerous eyes bored into him and Peter nearly flinched under their scrutiny. Only his many years of training kept his instinctive recoil from showing. "But remember this, you be careful what ya wish for. Some things, yer better off not knowin'."

With that cryptic, and slightly threatening, comment, Logan started to turn away again, but suddenly thought better of it. He continued to scrutinize the man before him, as if trying to weigh out something in his mind, before speaking again.

"Now, let me ask you somethin'. What, exactly, do ya want outta Kit, Petey? What do ya expect ta get from her? Don't get me wrong, I ain't sayin' it's a bad thing that ya wanna help her, but I gotta wonder what's in it fer you. 'Cause ya need to know, I ain't gonna stand back and watch ya hurt her again."

Peter let out a short bark of bitter, humorless laughter, returning Logans steady gaze.

What do I expect from Katya where I am concerned? The only thing I have any right to expect. Absolutely nothing. I simply want her to be happy, to return to some semblance of her former self."

Logan nodded, seemingly satisfied with Peter's answer, and turned to go back inside. As he did, he heard the rest of what his friend had to say, unsure if the other man had actually meant to say it out loud or not.

"But, what do I want from her, tovarisch? The same as I want to give her. Everything."

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A/N: Ok, I know there's been a lot of internal monologue and discussion between the characters, but I swear, things actually start happening next chapter. Just needed these chapters to start setting it all up. This story is rated R and will start to earn that rating very soon now. Thanks for reading and reviewing!