Title: Paint's Peeling
A/N: I hate writer's block. I had dedicated my entire winter break to writing and I wasn't able to write a single thing. So this all was pent up for months and came out in the span of a few days, so please forgive me if it aint up to par. Thanks for reading, review at will!
****** Paint's peeling off the streets again
And I drive and close my eyes in Michigan
And I feel nothing, not brave
It's a hard day for breathing again
The heat is chasing off all your friends
And their scattered bodies part to the shore again
And I feel nothing, not sane - Paint's Peeling by Rilo Kiley
*********
Kitty Pryde never liked to wait.
But here she was, sitting at the kitchen table, her four year old child asleep in the next room, waiting for her husband to come home.
Or at least waiting for some word from him. Maybe a call from Xavier's saying that the drive over had tired him out and he had decided to spend the night, but he was ready to come home now, all foolish concerns of paternity banished. Maybe a letter, or something equally impersonal and cowardly, full of insults and accusations or maybe even a confession and apology, saying that he had run away to Russia or back to Xavier's for just a while, just some time apart or that he was gone forever.
It didn't really hurt that much right now. Everything had sort of gone numb.
Rachel's second breakdown hadn't helped matters at all; even worse was the fact that her mental state brought Pete Wisdom, that old ghost, back into her life. Back into her life? Maybe that was giving him too much credit. At least back into her peripheral vision. The conclusions that everyone had jumped to, that Pete was actually Lilly's father and not Piotr, made her shiver. She remembered the desperate hope that she had had four years ago when she had wished that Pete was indeed the father. It seemed so far removed from her now, so alien. How could she ever want Pete as a father of her child? Once upon a time she did love him, yes, but she couldn't imagine he would ever love the idea of being a father. How could Pete's abrasive rudeness ever compete with the way Piotr was with Lilly, his tender devotion, the portraits he painted of her every Christmas, the intricate fairy tales he told her that rivaled the ones they used to tell to Illyana?
It didn't matter that Piotr had never made her feel the way Pete had. Piotr had always been her rock, her calm support-the things she felt for him were equally calm and safe. Pete on the other hand had lit her up. He infuriated her, he challenged her, he made her feel passion she never had felt before and had not felt since. That passion had been invigorating, intoxicating, even somewhat socially acceptable when she was eighteen and nineteen. But she was close to thirty now, a wife and a mother. It wasn't so much about her anymore. But even as she thought that, there was something inside of her that screamed with protest, her mean streak, selfish and young still, that she had suppressed for years now. Lately there hadn't even been battle for her to work that out with. While she was still officially the team leader, first Sam Guthrie and currently Bobby Drake had led the team in battle while Kitty sat on the sidelines with her Lilly. Kitty had too little happy childhood memories herself for her to leave her daughter at home with some babysitter so that she could work her issues out by fighting.
Piotr of course hadn't stopped fighting with the X-Men. For all of his sensitivity, he was still a product of communist Russia and could be awfully old fashioned; leaving the wife to stay at home with the children while he "worked" was common sense to him. Every time that he had gone off on a mission there was always that nagging doubt at the bottom of her heart that something would go wrong and Piotr wouldn't come home to her.
That doubt hadn't ever been stronger or more toxic than it was right now.
She wondered idly how long she should wait, how many hours was she supposed to sit in the kitchen with her now lukewarm cup of coffee before she was supposed to do anything. Slowly, analytically, her mind went over all of the possibilities and probabilities. She tried to figure which fate was worse. How would she feel if he had really taken off completely, skipped out with his tail between his legs, or if he was with another woman? The pain that she imagined she would feel was a dull, ugly blunt thing. It felt too insultingly commonplace to be hurt over the idea of the other woman after all the other types of pains she has been though, all the other kinds of hurts that one happened upon in a life like hers. That pain wasn't too commonplace for Piotr, she thought, slightly bitter and then upset at herself that she could be so petty. She grimaced as she took another sip of coffee.
Kitty had been sitting at the kitchen table for something that seemed between the time span of minutes and a lifetime. All she knew for sure was that it had been about fourteen hours since Piotr had gone, and just over eight since Pete had left with Rachel. Lilly was thankfully still asleep, looking peaceful even though she had chosen to curl up in her father's favorite chair instead of her own bed. The possibility to call Xavier and the Institute was now open to her, but something was keeping Kitty back from dialing the phone. That insecurity-driven fear that Piotr wouldn't be there at all and she would have to explain herself to someone, probably Xavier. And that wouldn't do.
Kitty was pulled out of her reverie by a sharp tug at her shirt. Looking down, she was surprised to see Lilly awake and alert, looking a million times better than Kitty probably did at this moment. Blinking down at her daughter, Kitty also realized that she wasn't sure exactly how long she had been sitting at the kitchen table, lost deep in thought. Time seemed malleable and unimportant suddenly.
"Mommy?" Lilly shifted her weight back and forth anxiously. "Where's Daddy?"
Kitty sighed before forcing a smile for her daughter and reaching down to mussing up Lilly's already messy bed head. "I don't know, sweetheart." More to herself, she added, "I wish I knew."
Lilly cocked her head. She had grown up in the world of the X-Men. Her favorite "uncle" was a three fingered fuzzy blue elf who lived with his wife and child in the demonic region of Limbo. Just the other day she had walked through her bedroom door and had set it on fire. The extraordinary was painfully mundane to her. And she knew that her parents and her extended family had saved the universe many times, even once when she was a little baby. When they could do all this, why couldn't her mom find her daddy?
Lilly bit her lip, thinking hard. Her mommy saved people, just like her daddy. Maybe if she said that her daddy was in trouble and needed to be saved, they could do and find him? She was, after all, a little worried about her daddy, even though she knew he was big and strong and could take care of himself.
"Mommy, shouldn't we go and find Daddy?" Lilly finally said, twisting her hair around her finger.
Kitty surpressed another sigh. She hated how cowardly she was being, waiting at home while Piotr could be anywhere. But since when had it been decided that he even needed her help? For all she knew, he never wanted to see her again. But, she thought, even if that was the case, she deserved at least a conversation before he disappeared forever. She had had too many people vanish out of her life. She felt a pang in her heart as she counted off those she had lost: Illyana, practically her sister; Doug, her kindred soul; Moira, who was like a mother while she was with Excalibur; her father and just two years ago, her own mother, estranged though she was. Years ago she would never had sat around waiting for so long without taking any action. Was her cautious behavior nothing more than indifference?
Kitty shook her head, rubbing the back of her sore neck. She was more than a little ashamed at how she was acting, of how far she had already descended into self-pity. Logan, Kurt, even Piotr himself wouldn't have behaved like she had. And looking down at Lilly, she could see that her daughter was also confused by how she hadn't done anything yet.
"You're right, honey. Come on, get in the car. We're going to go to the Professor's and see if he can find Daddy."
While ushering Lilly into her jacket and then into the car, Kitty couldn't help but notice that Lilly had suddenly grown quiet and pale. And maybe she was just imaging things, but as Kitty drove up to Westchester and glanced at her daughter in the rear view mirror, she swore that she saw Lilly shake as they grew closer to the Institute.
By the time they reached Xavier's, Kitty felt practically asleep. Looking at her reflection before just after she parked, Kitty studied her glazed over expression and the deep pockets under her eyes. She hadn't gotten a wink of sleep in the past twenty-four hours at least and it showed. Lilly didn't look very well either, her light dusting of freckles standing out stronger than usual against her abnormally pale skin. Kitty gathered Lilly up in her arms and her daughter clutched violently to her as the two made their way to the front door of the Institute.
She paused at the front door. She didn't want to knock. Everything in her body was screaming for her to either turn and run away or to barge into the mansion and demand her husband. But she was mentally and emotionally exhausted. Damn it all, let Xavier sense her and come to her, let him send someone but she couldn't lift her hand to knock on the door. It was hard enough to keep Lilly secure in her arms. Lilly sniffled quietly as Kitty shifted her slightly against her hip, her big blue eyes nearly filling up with tears. As Lilly affixed her eyes on her mother, Kitty's heart sank. How pathetic she seemed, a broken mother with a scared and lost little daughter, begging without dignity, lost without her husband. Just as she desperately wanted a friendly face to answer the door, she was very aware that anyone who saw her now would never be able to reconcile Kitty's past strength with her current broken spirit. Just as she was about to gather what strength she had left, swallow pride and knock, the front door swung open.
Standing in the doorway was a young woman, probably in her early twenties, a woman Kitty had never seen before. Tall and thin, the girl's pale skin was offset by her dark black hair pulled back in a messy pony tail with scattered strands of hair free of her black flower ponytail holder and long bangs flittering over the girl's gray eyes. The girl shifted in her black military cut shirt and short striped skirt, seeming momentarily nervous, before her thin pink lips pulled back into a soft smile.
Thrown off by this unknown face, Kitty suddenly realized that she had no idea about what to say. She stood for a moment, her mouth open, waiting for the right words and Kitty was very aware that she looked like a fish waiting to be caught by a baited hook.
She didn't have to worry about what to say for long because Lilly perked up in her mother's arms and beamed her patent adult charming smile up at the young woman. "Hello," Lilly said. "My name is Lilith, but you call me Lilly. We're looking for my daddy. Have you seen him?"
The young woman smiled charmingly at Lilly before she rose her eyes up at Kitty and the fear flickered across her face once more for a second. "Come on in, Lilly, Miss Pryde," the young woman said evenly before gesturing with her head and walking from the doorway into the mansion. Kitty placed Lilly down on the ground, knowing that Lilly was always on her best behavior whenever they visited the Institute and the Lilly quickly padded off to keep up with the young woman. Exhausted as she was, it took Kitty several moments before she realized that she hadn't introduced herself to the young woman. And how long had it been since she was called Miss Pryde? She felt a bit bad admitting to herself that she enjoyed being called that name more than Mrs. Rasputin.
Kitty followed Lilly and the shadow of the woman into the kitchen. While she looked around, she noticed that the halls of the Institute were particularly bare. She pushed open the doors of the kitchen and was even more surprised to see that the kitchen was completely empty besides the young woman and Lilly. Usually there were at least some traces of someone, whether it was a dirty breakfast dish left behind or an empty can of beer. Today, nothing. Kitty started to feel sick to her stomach.
The young woman was perched on top of the kitchen counter, her fishnet clad legs swinging back and forth. Once again, Kitty felt at a lost for words but was saved this time by the young woman as she leaned forward with another small smile.
"My name's Laila," she said, "and you've never seen me before because I just arrived at the Institute." Almost to herself, she added, "I don't plan on staying long. But I'm actually the only one here right now."
Kitty saw Lilly pout and resisted the urge to do the same. "Where is everyone?" Kitty finally asked. There was something about Laila that was making her nervous. The young woman seemed too calm, too in control to be a new student left alone in a mansion. And since when had Xavier decided to wheel himself along with the others on missions? Unless it was a field trip. But that didn't explain why Laila was left behind here.
Laila's face twitched slightly, again the nervous expression. "Maybe you should sit down, Ms. Pryde.. actually, what do you prefer to be called?"
Kitty didn't like the way this conversation was headed. "Call me Kat, please." She motioned to her daughter. "Come sit down with me, Lilly." The little girl nodded her head gravely and scampered to her mother's side.
"Can I get you anything to eat or drink, Kat?" Laila asked and Kitty knew instantly that she didn't want to hear what the girl knew.
"No, Laila, thank you." Kitty's voice was as tight and nervous as Laila's was and Lilly glanced back and forth between the two women, confused. "Please," Kitty didn't care about begging anymore, "please, tell me what's going on."
Laila sighed and pushed off from the kitchen counter and slid languidly into the chair across from Kitty. She leaned forward, her eyes intense, her mouth a hard, straight line. Closer to her, Kitty realized that she had a silver piercing on her left cheek; before, she had assumed it was just a dimple. "Look, I don't want to lie to you, Kat. I've been here barely a week. I don't know the inner politics of this place too well, how everything works."
Kitty also chocked in surprise. "Inner politics? This is a *school*."
Laila shrugged in a dismissive way. "Well, I guess what I'm trying to say is that I don't know if I'm the one whose supposed to say anything. It probably should be left to Xavier."
"But Xavier isn't here now, is he?" Kitty gritted her teeth. "Tell me what the hell is going on."
Laila shrugged and her eyes seemed suddenly very sad. "Your husband was here last night. I'm the one who let him in. He seemed distracted, confused, and he immediately went off to talk to Dr. McCoy and the Professor. He didn't say what about. He didn't seem angry or depressed, just curious. About half an hour after he went into Xavier's office, the mission alarm went off. Since Ms. Frost had taken the students yesterday on a weekend long trip to the Redwoods, only the active members of the X- Men and I were in the mansion. Xavier got everyone on the Blackbird and took off." Her mouth twisted. "I'm assuming Piotr went with them as well."
Kitty leaned forward sharply, looking with narrowed eyes sharply at Laila. "What are you, Laila? A telepath? An empath? Ever since we arrived here, I've been getting these odd vibes from you... these almost, and I know this will sound crazy, omniscient vibes."
Laila leaned back in her chair, allowing herself a small smile. "I'm a precog, actually."
Kitty clung onto this bit of information desperately. "So you can tell me what's going on, what's going to happen." The words 'what has happened' screamed in her head but stayed still within her. The temptation to ask Laila a question about the future that shed light onto the Lilly's paternity was great but glancing over at her daughter, Kitty realized that it didn't matter right now; she just wanted her family back and happy.
Laila's head cocked to the side and she chewed her bottom lip. "I technically could, but..."
"Please, don't give me that 'it'll change the future' line," Kitty hissed, her frustration boiling up. "I don't care if it does; I just have to know something. God, I need to know *something*."
Lilly blinked up at her mother, scared at the venom in her voice. Laila didn't even blink. "That wasn't what I was going to say, Kat," Laila said calmly. Her eyes flicked back and forth between mother and child. "Would you mind stepping out with me for a second?"
Kitty looked down at her daughter as she stood up, patting her shoulder. Her heart was down in her stomach. She felt like the women from World War II. Laila was the black car pulling up in front of her house with the men from the military. She moved as if in a trance. She knew what every step was taking her closer to and she didn't want it, she wanted to throw all of this all away, she would do anything if she just didn't have to walk out of this kitchen and meet Laila outside and hear what she had to say.
She knew what she was walking to and she walked to it anyway.
*************************
Cloe shook her head. She had been testing Rachel for hours straight now and she wasn't getting anywhere. Reaching up, she undid her bun and let her dark hair fall down heavy around her shoulders, massaging her sore neck.
"Hey stranger," a voice breathed into her ear.
Cloe jumped and spun, playfully smacking Will on his shoulder when she saw it was him. "Do you usually sneak up on people, Dr. Griffin?"
Will beamed a smile back, flipping a few of strands of her hair off her shoulder teasingly. "Only when they've been slaving away for hours, Dr. Olivia."
Cloe sighed heavily, tapping her pen against the metal gurney on which an unconscious Rachel lay. "I can't stop, Will," she spoke quietly, "I'm sorry, but I can't stop until I can figure out what's wrong."
Will shrugged, flicking his own pen against the clipboard in his hands. He paused for a moment, his eyes flicking over the numbers and figures before him. And then he sighed, shaking his head. "Cloe, you've been up for hours now, I flew in from Germany to be here, we need to rest." He rested his hand on her shoulder. "I know you don't like to hear stuff like this, but there's nothing we can do right now."
Cloe forced an exhausted smile. "You're just saying that because you're mad I pulled you away from your latest boy toy."
Will gave a short bark of laughter. "Who said I left him behind?" He leered at her, giving her a comical eyebrow waggle. "And if you run into a half naked blonde young man, don't let him hear you call him a 'boy toy'."
Cloe gave him the best she could manage, which was an authentic smile. "You have a reason to go to bed, Will. No reason for a single like me."
He shrugged, reaching out and grabbing Cloe's hand, spinning her around before grabbing her in his arms. "Maybe, Doctor, the reason you don't have a nice warm body to tempt you to bed is because you spend all your time working?"
She smiled, shaking her head, pushing him away gently. "We can't all be playboys like you, Will. Some of us are just married to our job." She shrugged as an apology.
"Ah well," he said, patting her shoulder. "I hope you don't mind that I'm going to be off to bed now." He rubbed the back of his neck, setting aside his clipboard. "I can't work without at least seven hours."
Cloe nodded. "That's fine. I'll be up for a bit longer. There are just a few more tests I want to run."
Will paused at the doorway, tired eyes peering cautiously at Cloe. "Don't overwork yourself, Cloe. Not to be crude, but she," he motioned to Rachel with his head, "isn't going anywhere."
He left then and Cloe listened as he walked down the hall and up the stairs until she couldn't hear him anymore. Alone with Rachel, she breathed deeply and collapsed into a chair at the catatonic girl's side. Cloe ran her fingers along the ends of Rachel's red hair, listening breathlessly to Rachel's breath and heartbeat, staring at the lines and creases of the girl's face. Looking at the twisted, angst-ridden expression on Rachel's face, Cloe felt a sharp pain deep within her. Here was a girl who was suffering from something that she shouldn't have, something that Cloe in fact should be suffering from. And it was one man, Charles Xavier, which somehow had a link in this, that had cured Cloe but had possibly driven Rachel sick. And what made it worse for her was that it seemed there was nothing Cloe could do, even if she knew for sure what was inflicting Rachel. Will and she had used every method they had to revive Cloe, from smelling salts to the latest technology. Nothing. Rachel continued to remain unconscious, not in a coma, but in something more akin to a deep sleep which she could be woken from. Except that there seemed nothing in medical science that could awake her.
Cloe stood, leaning over Rachel's prone form. After her first encounter with Rachel a few years ago, Cloe had studied the MI-X file on her and knew as much as anyone could about Rachel's intricate and complicated past. Here was a girl, about half a decade younger than her that had lived three different lives. Cloe knew that that kind of stress could push nearly anyone to a psychological break. But Rachel's breakdown didn't appear to be organic at all. Instead, it seemed forced, artificial, a hasty and scattered attempt at a convincing case of schizophrenia. But Cloe was more than aware that this conclusion of hers could in fact be a result of her feelings for Rachel, her empathy and her uncharacteristically fierce protection for the girl. Fixing a few of Rachel's stray hairs, Cloe found her hand running along the girl's face, admiring her cheeks, her lips, her neck, but her stomach twisting at the pain that was obviously written in those features.
Cloe knelt on the floor, grasping Rachel's hand in hers, looking as if she was praying or worshipping. "Please," she whispered, "please, just give me some idea about how to help."
"Hey."
Cloe spun around clumsily, knocking her legs together and landing on the floor with her legs crossed. She peered up at the slim, dark figure leaning in the doorway from between stands of hair. Pete stepped into the room quietly and slid on the floor in front of her, his legs crossed as well, his knees touching hers.
Cloe's eyebrows darted up. It wasn't like Pete to be like this, to pass up opportunities to mock her, or at the very least poke fun at her, without saying a word and then to lower himself on the ground and onto her level. She looked him over quickly, thinking back to the last time he had behaved out of character, years ago after receiving the invitation to Kitty and Piotr's wedding. He had been a shell, nearly catatonic, nowhere near as bad as Rachel was now, but certainly bad. He didn't seem to be in that state now, but he definitely wasn't himself. His face was drawn, his eyes exhausted.
"Pete," she said, stumbling for the right thing to say, "How are you?"
His washed out eyes held hers and she couldn't look away. His layers had all been burned away, she could see, the defensive sarcasm, the deceptive obnoxious behavior, all of it had been stripped away until there he was, a man in a ridiculously rumpled suit with only his intense instinct for self- preservation to keep him going.
"You told me to see ya," he muttered, his mouth barely moving. "Here I am."
Cloe had forgotten. As soon as the plane had touched down in London, she had instructed Pete to get some sleep and then come see her before she rushed off to attend to Rachel. She had meant it, but she honestly didn't think that Pete would have taken her up on the offer. Over the years, Cloe had come to know every member relatively well, whether it was from simple observation or from mandatory monthly meetings. But Pete had always remained a mystery for the most part. She had dozens of theories about his behavior, about who he was and why but they were all completely theories. While the majority of the team had been receptive to having a dialogue with her where they could validate these theories (it had taken Red nearly two years to get to that point), Pete was a stone that could not be moved. He made it more than obvious that the way he dealt with things was keeping them inside and not beating it to death. It was hard enough to make him show up on time if at all to their monthly meetings, it was a miracle that he had come of his own free will now.
"There you are," she mumbled, ungracefully scanning her brain desperately to find something to say. "Is there anything you want to talk about in particular?"
He shrugged, his fingers playing with an unlit cigarette. "How is she?" A brusque motion of his head made it clear that he was referring to Rachel.
Cloe sighed and instantly berated herself; how many times had she sighed in the past two hours? "Not good." She glanced over at Rachel, at her stile pale hand that lay hanging off the side of the stretcher. "She's in some kind of catatonic state, nothing I've ever seen before."
Now Pete was playing with his lighter. "Could it have something to do with those brain blocks you found years ago?"
Cloe blinked dumbly. When Rachel had first come into her care, a CT scan by Will had shown what Cloe and Will had called mind or brain blocks, small artificially created masses that were in Rachel's brain, moderating different nerves, and different brain functions. Neither of the two had ever been able to find out what exactly they were and had let the matter drop after Rachel healed and returned to America. There had never been an official report.
"How do you know about those?" she asked.
There was a ghost of a cocky grin on his face. "Come off it. I'm the leader of this motley bunch. I'm supposed to know everything that goes on here." He lit his cigarette and brought it slowly to his lips, his eyes burning with intensity briefly before returning to empty. "And while we're on the subject, why was it ever a secret?" He took a deep breath of smoke and blew it out evenly. "Practice what you preach, Doc."
In any other situation, at any other time, Cloe would have been livid. But she knew right now Pete didn't have it in him to be malicious. He had a point. While she had harangued him often for refusing to talk about what he felt, she herself had kept one of the most important, and distressing, factors of her life a secret, something she only shared with Will out of coincidence, something that was slowly eating her heart away. Her own CT scan had shown signs of mind blocks as well, though not as old as Rachel's. And she was pretty sure where she had gotten hers from. Years ago, around the time of her puberty, Cloe began hearing voices. She said nothing about them for weeks, enjoying this secret thrill of power. She had finally told her parents when the voices began to become threatening, alternating between telling her that she should kill and that she should be killed. This was right around the time when mutants were becoming public knowledge, and Cloe's parents instantly sent her over to Xavier's, all the way from Italy, for help. One quick scan of Cerebro determined she was not a telepathic mutant. But after some other sessions with Xavier and Cerebro she had returned home normal, and had never heard another voice again. Xavier had 'cured' her schizophrenia by blocking it, by trying to move the nerves in her brain to resemble a normal human. He wasn't able to destroy it, because it was essentially part of who she was, part of her genetic makeup. Instead, he was able to suppress it, bypass it for a bit.
Cloe had discovered all this after Rachel's CT scan and she had made Will promise to never speak of it again. Every night as she went to sleep, she burned with the knowledge that this disease was inside her, being held back for just a bit longer.
It hurt that Pete had brought this up. It hurt because she knew he was right, she was being hypocritical and a coward.
But that wasn't about to change tonight.
"It might have something to do with the mind blocks," Cloe said calmly, changing the topic back to the previous one. "The problem is that I have no clue how to remove them, save some tinkering by a high level telepath. And to be honest, I'm not too keen on that either."
"How did you fix her the last time?" She could see by the way that he stared at the embers on his cigarette butt that he didn't really care.
"Talk therapy. Which is impossible if you remain unconscious." She bit her lip, awkwardly shifting her weight on the uncomfortable floor. "What was it like to see Kitty again, Pete?"
He gave a short bark of laughter that held no amusement in it. "No more beating around the bush, eh?" He cocked his head, flicking his pointer finger against the cigarette, watching the embers scatter around the floor before cooling and disappearing. "It was bloody hard."
Cloe pulled her knees up to her chest, hugging herself tightly. She felt for this man, she did, but she couldn't help but be scared. She had seen him in battle, seen how ruthless he could be. And she was scared of how he would react if he let all of those repressed emotions out all at once.
He turned the cigarette upside and down idly, watching the spiraling smoke. "I was damn embarrassed of myself. She calls in the middle of the night, gives no real good explanation and I jump up and fly across the sodding ocean with nothing to show for myself but teammates who can barely stand me. And there she is, with a bleedin' child no less, and I hate her because she still has some hold over me. She has power over me. You know, when I first saw her yesterday, I didn't know if I wanted to slap her or kiss her but by the end of our little visit, I'm fairly sure that the violence would have won out." His mouth twitched into a grin for a moment before he scowled again. "I hate how petty she made me, wishing that the overgrown tin can of hers was out with another woman, not carin' how much that would destroy her. God dammit, it's been nearly a decade, and I've done nothin' but regressed. The things she did to me, the viciousness, I'm not sure that I would ever forgive her." His eyes flickered up to Cloe's, tremulous. "The thing that really gets me, though, is I know if ever really asked for forgiveness, I would give it to her in a second."
Cloe was rapt. Never before had she heard Pete talk about things so personal. "Do you still love her?"
His head twitched a bit at that. "Look, its bloody embarrassing enough to be here saying all these things. Don't make me answer that question."
She shrugged in acceptance. "Fair enough." She paused for a moment. "You talked about Kitty's child. Do you want to get married, have a family?"
He snorted, shaking his head. "Isn't that always covered in the 'bleeding embarrassing questions' clause?" When Cloe didn't say anything, he sighed. "I used to, I suppose. A long time ago. I'm too old now."
"Pete, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't surprised and happy about how you're opening up." Cloe looked into his eyes earnestly. "But I need to know if this is some one of a kind deal. If you're going to go back to your room later, either beat up some guy or have sex with some girl to get out all of your tension and then the shell is back up. Because I will be friggin pissed off if that's the case."
Pete stared at her, his dim blue eyes wide with shock and a bemused grin pulling on the corners of his face. Suddenly he lunged forward and Cloe instinctively raised her arms up, her heart seizing with the idea that he was attacking her, her mind racing to figure out what way, if any, she could protect herself.
Instead, his hands curled around her head, his figures lacing into her dark strands of thick hair and he pulled her head forward just as he pushed his face towards hers. And caught her lips in a deep, hard kiss.
He held it for a few more moments before releasing her with the same gusto that he had grabbed her, drawing back with a large grin on his face and a gleam in his eye. Cloe sputtered, too shocked to form an articulate sentence as she watched Pete almost triumphantly get to his feet, towering over her.
"There," he said, beaming down at her, "All the tension is out. So don't be friggin pissed off." And then he turned and walked out, his walk less weighted and sulky, or could that be her imagination? She was still reeling for the kiss so it was hard to say.
Slowly she made it back to her feet, still blinking in shock. She felt her way to her desk and caught a glimpse of her reflection in a metal table. Her hair was unkempt, her eyes deep and her mouth was red and might become bruised. She could feel it coming from deep inside of her until she couldn't hold it back any longer. And there, alone at three in the morning, Cloe began to laugh hysterically.
A few more moments, a dozen more chuckles, a shake of her head and Cloe made it to her desk, smiling. As she sat there before a stack of forms and papers she realized that Pete had managed to do the impossible.
He had called her a hypocrite and made her feel free in the same single swift jarring motion.
She giggled and allowed herself to giggle. After all, she had spent hours in her lab, had just been kissed by a man obsessed with his ex while she was obsessed with her catatonic patient.
She was allowed to go a little loopy.
**********
She sat at her new desk, shifting through the pile of cards, separating the blank invitations from the condolences. After her pen had run out of ink, she had spent the next hour or so out of the house, scouring drug stores, supermarkets and office supplies stores for another pen that worked just as well, if not better.
They had told her that she would do things like this. She was disappointed to prove them right.
She staked the letters addressed to her on her left, quickly leafing through and putting them in alphabetical order. She figured that everyone who sent a condolence deserved an invitation and she was going to go about this the right way.
Amanda popped her head in from the next room. "Kitty," she said softly and Kitty's mind was off, thinking about the state of her name. Everyone she knew well from her younger years still insisted on calling her Kitty, while the rest complied with her older and 'more mature' name Kat. There had been some attempts, mainly by Rachel, to call her Kate instead but Kitty had refused. That name had been lying ahead of her, waiting, since she was thirteen and she hated the idea of this inescapable future. The future where she had been married to Piotr and he had been killed.
Not much was different in this future. Just the letter 'e'.
"Kitty," Amanda called again, bringing Kitty back to the present, as much as she didn't want to. "I'm going to take a trip out to the store," Amanda continued. "Do you need anything?"
"No," Kitty said evenly. "I have my pen."
Amanda nodded gravely and disappeared and Kitty wondered idly if by store Amanda had been referring to some shop in Limbo. Ever since Amanda and Kurt had married, the two had spent the majority of their time in Limbo, occasionally fighting off demons but mostly lying low. While at first Kitty had been mad at Kurt for abandoning this dimension for Limbo, the two eventually worked out a system where Kitty could contact Kurt and Amanda though the small link that she still had with the Soulsword and then Kurt could instantly teleport to her side. She hadn't even needed to contact them this time. Her grief had nearly caused the Soulsword to burst.
Almost as if on cue, Kurt entered the room, his son Christian who was just a few months young then Lilly gravely tottering behind him and his nearly year old daughter Helen in his arms. Christian instantly walked up to Kitty, tugging on the long denim shirt that she wore.
"Christian," Kurt said warningly, peering at his mischievous son though his own bloodshot and cloudy eyes. Kitty hadn't thought he would be taking this as hard as her. She had forgotten how close the two had been.
Christian ignored his father, gazing up at Kitty with squinting brown eyes. "Aunt Kitty," he started, his voice bigger than his tiny frame, "I trying to play with Lilly. She used to be fun, but now she cries too much." Blinking up at Kitty, he pleaded, "Fix her?"
And then Kitty lost it. She was drowning in a whirlpool of her own tears and sobs and she was grateful for the rest, the unconscious oblivion.
******* Kali paused, crouching in the shadows. She could sense him coming, could feel him even, feel his fear. Kali had been worshipped for hundreds of generations, partly for her fear manipulation abilities. Millions had prayed to her so that they would remove their fear. And now here she was, hiding, waiting for the kill and feeling the fear of the approaching man enliven her. In turn, she made a small gesture with her hand and increased the man's fear to a near-terror level, enough for his legs to shake but not enough for him to run and not fulfill his job. She was too involved for her prey to flee before she had her chance.
She bared her teeth, feeling the surge of power as she transformed into her goddess form. Her extra four arms emerged, her skin turned blue and she smiled. She lived for this.
She jumped upward, one of her left arms grabbing an overhead pipe and she used it to propel herself though the air. She landed and held herself up in the corner directly across from the door that the man was staggering up to. Her ear twitched as she heard footsteps falling behind her and she knew she was running out of time.
But it didn't matter. The man was at the door now, his sweaty hands fumbling for the precious cargo he had slung over his shoulder. In what seemed like one single instant, Kali was at the door, tearing it open, barring her teeth at the man and grabbing the important goods, smiled and slammed the door in his face.
Hugh padded into the room, stretching his arms over his head. He grinned sleepily at Kali. "Terrorizing the postman again, Kali?"
Kali grinned sheepishly and shrugged, shuffling through the mail. "He keeps coming back so I figure no harm done." She shook her head and the blue skin and extra four arms instantly disappeared. "I've been going stir crazy around here with nothing to do."
Hugh nodded slightly, taking a sip of his steaming coffee as he sat on the nearby long couch. Kali hurried over to him and perched on the couch arm rest.
"Hugh, we've got a problem." Her voice was ice cold.
"Kali, I know how you feel, but you're just going to have to accept it that I'm going to get more fan mail than you-"
"Shut up," she hissed. Hugh's head popped up from studying his coffee and looked at Kali, confused. He could swear he saw the woman shaking.
"What is it?"
"It's a card," she whispered. "From Xavier's."
Hugh bit his lip, taking a long drink of coffee. "It's too early in the morning to deal with all of this," he muttered.
Kali frowned and then made up her mind. "I'm not going though this again, dammit. Let's open it now."
Hugh rolled his eyes. "Great," he mumbled as Kali tore though the envelope, "I'm sure that will make things better." He heard the rustling stop and he looked over at Kali.
Her face was white, her jaw slack. She had what looked like an invitation in front of her, holding it out almost at arm's length as if it would attack. She had stopped shaking, but her limbs had grown very rigid.
"What is it?" Hugh asked nervously.
"It's an invitation," Kali said, her voice tense. "An invitation to Piotr Rasputin's funeral."
A/N: I hate writer's block. I had dedicated my entire winter break to writing and I wasn't able to write a single thing. So this all was pent up for months and came out in the span of a few days, so please forgive me if it aint up to par. Thanks for reading, review at will!
****** Paint's peeling off the streets again
And I drive and close my eyes in Michigan
And I feel nothing, not brave
It's a hard day for breathing again
The heat is chasing off all your friends
And their scattered bodies part to the shore again
And I feel nothing, not sane - Paint's Peeling by Rilo Kiley
*********
Kitty Pryde never liked to wait.
But here she was, sitting at the kitchen table, her four year old child asleep in the next room, waiting for her husband to come home.
Or at least waiting for some word from him. Maybe a call from Xavier's saying that the drive over had tired him out and he had decided to spend the night, but he was ready to come home now, all foolish concerns of paternity banished. Maybe a letter, or something equally impersonal and cowardly, full of insults and accusations or maybe even a confession and apology, saying that he had run away to Russia or back to Xavier's for just a while, just some time apart or that he was gone forever.
It didn't really hurt that much right now. Everything had sort of gone numb.
Rachel's second breakdown hadn't helped matters at all; even worse was the fact that her mental state brought Pete Wisdom, that old ghost, back into her life. Back into her life? Maybe that was giving him too much credit. At least back into her peripheral vision. The conclusions that everyone had jumped to, that Pete was actually Lilly's father and not Piotr, made her shiver. She remembered the desperate hope that she had had four years ago when she had wished that Pete was indeed the father. It seemed so far removed from her now, so alien. How could she ever want Pete as a father of her child? Once upon a time she did love him, yes, but she couldn't imagine he would ever love the idea of being a father. How could Pete's abrasive rudeness ever compete with the way Piotr was with Lilly, his tender devotion, the portraits he painted of her every Christmas, the intricate fairy tales he told her that rivaled the ones they used to tell to Illyana?
It didn't matter that Piotr had never made her feel the way Pete had. Piotr had always been her rock, her calm support-the things she felt for him were equally calm and safe. Pete on the other hand had lit her up. He infuriated her, he challenged her, he made her feel passion she never had felt before and had not felt since. That passion had been invigorating, intoxicating, even somewhat socially acceptable when she was eighteen and nineteen. But she was close to thirty now, a wife and a mother. It wasn't so much about her anymore. But even as she thought that, there was something inside of her that screamed with protest, her mean streak, selfish and young still, that she had suppressed for years now. Lately there hadn't even been battle for her to work that out with. While she was still officially the team leader, first Sam Guthrie and currently Bobby Drake had led the team in battle while Kitty sat on the sidelines with her Lilly. Kitty had too little happy childhood memories herself for her to leave her daughter at home with some babysitter so that she could work her issues out by fighting.
Piotr of course hadn't stopped fighting with the X-Men. For all of his sensitivity, he was still a product of communist Russia and could be awfully old fashioned; leaving the wife to stay at home with the children while he "worked" was common sense to him. Every time that he had gone off on a mission there was always that nagging doubt at the bottom of her heart that something would go wrong and Piotr wouldn't come home to her.
That doubt hadn't ever been stronger or more toxic than it was right now.
She wondered idly how long she should wait, how many hours was she supposed to sit in the kitchen with her now lukewarm cup of coffee before she was supposed to do anything. Slowly, analytically, her mind went over all of the possibilities and probabilities. She tried to figure which fate was worse. How would she feel if he had really taken off completely, skipped out with his tail between his legs, or if he was with another woman? The pain that she imagined she would feel was a dull, ugly blunt thing. It felt too insultingly commonplace to be hurt over the idea of the other woman after all the other types of pains she has been though, all the other kinds of hurts that one happened upon in a life like hers. That pain wasn't too commonplace for Piotr, she thought, slightly bitter and then upset at herself that she could be so petty. She grimaced as she took another sip of coffee.
Kitty had been sitting at the kitchen table for something that seemed between the time span of minutes and a lifetime. All she knew for sure was that it had been about fourteen hours since Piotr had gone, and just over eight since Pete had left with Rachel. Lilly was thankfully still asleep, looking peaceful even though she had chosen to curl up in her father's favorite chair instead of her own bed. The possibility to call Xavier and the Institute was now open to her, but something was keeping Kitty back from dialing the phone. That insecurity-driven fear that Piotr wouldn't be there at all and she would have to explain herself to someone, probably Xavier. And that wouldn't do.
Kitty was pulled out of her reverie by a sharp tug at her shirt. Looking down, she was surprised to see Lilly awake and alert, looking a million times better than Kitty probably did at this moment. Blinking down at her daughter, Kitty also realized that she wasn't sure exactly how long she had been sitting at the kitchen table, lost deep in thought. Time seemed malleable and unimportant suddenly.
"Mommy?" Lilly shifted her weight back and forth anxiously. "Where's Daddy?"
Kitty sighed before forcing a smile for her daughter and reaching down to mussing up Lilly's already messy bed head. "I don't know, sweetheart." More to herself, she added, "I wish I knew."
Lilly cocked her head. She had grown up in the world of the X-Men. Her favorite "uncle" was a three fingered fuzzy blue elf who lived with his wife and child in the demonic region of Limbo. Just the other day she had walked through her bedroom door and had set it on fire. The extraordinary was painfully mundane to her. And she knew that her parents and her extended family had saved the universe many times, even once when she was a little baby. When they could do all this, why couldn't her mom find her daddy?
Lilly bit her lip, thinking hard. Her mommy saved people, just like her daddy. Maybe if she said that her daddy was in trouble and needed to be saved, they could do and find him? She was, after all, a little worried about her daddy, even though she knew he was big and strong and could take care of himself.
"Mommy, shouldn't we go and find Daddy?" Lilly finally said, twisting her hair around her finger.
Kitty surpressed another sigh. She hated how cowardly she was being, waiting at home while Piotr could be anywhere. But since when had it been decided that he even needed her help? For all she knew, he never wanted to see her again. But, she thought, even if that was the case, she deserved at least a conversation before he disappeared forever. She had had too many people vanish out of her life. She felt a pang in her heart as she counted off those she had lost: Illyana, practically her sister; Doug, her kindred soul; Moira, who was like a mother while she was with Excalibur; her father and just two years ago, her own mother, estranged though she was. Years ago she would never had sat around waiting for so long without taking any action. Was her cautious behavior nothing more than indifference?
Kitty shook her head, rubbing the back of her sore neck. She was more than a little ashamed at how she was acting, of how far she had already descended into self-pity. Logan, Kurt, even Piotr himself wouldn't have behaved like she had. And looking down at Lilly, she could see that her daughter was also confused by how she hadn't done anything yet.
"You're right, honey. Come on, get in the car. We're going to go to the Professor's and see if he can find Daddy."
While ushering Lilly into her jacket and then into the car, Kitty couldn't help but notice that Lilly had suddenly grown quiet and pale. And maybe she was just imaging things, but as Kitty drove up to Westchester and glanced at her daughter in the rear view mirror, she swore that she saw Lilly shake as they grew closer to the Institute.
By the time they reached Xavier's, Kitty felt practically asleep. Looking at her reflection before just after she parked, Kitty studied her glazed over expression and the deep pockets under her eyes. She hadn't gotten a wink of sleep in the past twenty-four hours at least and it showed. Lilly didn't look very well either, her light dusting of freckles standing out stronger than usual against her abnormally pale skin. Kitty gathered Lilly up in her arms and her daughter clutched violently to her as the two made their way to the front door of the Institute.
She paused at the front door. She didn't want to knock. Everything in her body was screaming for her to either turn and run away or to barge into the mansion and demand her husband. But she was mentally and emotionally exhausted. Damn it all, let Xavier sense her and come to her, let him send someone but she couldn't lift her hand to knock on the door. It was hard enough to keep Lilly secure in her arms. Lilly sniffled quietly as Kitty shifted her slightly against her hip, her big blue eyes nearly filling up with tears. As Lilly affixed her eyes on her mother, Kitty's heart sank. How pathetic she seemed, a broken mother with a scared and lost little daughter, begging without dignity, lost without her husband. Just as she desperately wanted a friendly face to answer the door, she was very aware that anyone who saw her now would never be able to reconcile Kitty's past strength with her current broken spirit. Just as she was about to gather what strength she had left, swallow pride and knock, the front door swung open.
Standing in the doorway was a young woman, probably in her early twenties, a woman Kitty had never seen before. Tall and thin, the girl's pale skin was offset by her dark black hair pulled back in a messy pony tail with scattered strands of hair free of her black flower ponytail holder and long bangs flittering over the girl's gray eyes. The girl shifted in her black military cut shirt and short striped skirt, seeming momentarily nervous, before her thin pink lips pulled back into a soft smile.
Thrown off by this unknown face, Kitty suddenly realized that she had no idea about what to say. She stood for a moment, her mouth open, waiting for the right words and Kitty was very aware that she looked like a fish waiting to be caught by a baited hook.
She didn't have to worry about what to say for long because Lilly perked up in her mother's arms and beamed her patent adult charming smile up at the young woman. "Hello," Lilly said. "My name is Lilith, but you call me Lilly. We're looking for my daddy. Have you seen him?"
The young woman smiled charmingly at Lilly before she rose her eyes up at Kitty and the fear flickered across her face once more for a second. "Come on in, Lilly, Miss Pryde," the young woman said evenly before gesturing with her head and walking from the doorway into the mansion. Kitty placed Lilly down on the ground, knowing that Lilly was always on her best behavior whenever they visited the Institute and the Lilly quickly padded off to keep up with the young woman. Exhausted as she was, it took Kitty several moments before she realized that she hadn't introduced herself to the young woman. And how long had it been since she was called Miss Pryde? She felt a bit bad admitting to herself that she enjoyed being called that name more than Mrs. Rasputin.
Kitty followed Lilly and the shadow of the woman into the kitchen. While she looked around, she noticed that the halls of the Institute were particularly bare. She pushed open the doors of the kitchen and was even more surprised to see that the kitchen was completely empty besides the young woman and Lilly. Usually there were at least some traces of someone, whether it was a dirty breakfast dish left behind or an empty can of beer. Today, nothing. Kitty started to feel sick to her stomach.
The young woman was perched on top of the kitchen counter, her fishnet clad legs swinging back and forth. Once again, Kitty felt at a lost for words but was saved this time by the young woman as she leaned forward with another small smile.
"My name's Laila," she said, "and you've never seen me before because I just arrived at the Institute." Almost to herself, she added, "I don't plan on staying long. But I'm actually the only one here right now."
Kitty saw Lilly pout and resisted the urge to do the same. "Where is everyone?" Kitty finally asked. There was something about Laila that was making her nervous. The young woman seemed too calm, too in control to be a new student left alone in a mansion. And since when had Xavier decided to wheel himself along with the others on missions? Unless it was a field trip. But that didn't explain why Laila was left behind here.
Laila's face twitched slightly, again the nervous expression. "Maybe you should sit down, Ms. Pryde.. actually, what do you prefer to be called?"
Kitty didn't like the way this conversation was headed. "Call me Kat, please." She motioned to her daughter. "Come sit down with me, Lilly." The little girl nodded her head gravely and scampered to her mother's side.
"Can I get you anything to eat or drink, Kat?" Laila asked and Kitty knew instantly that she didn't want to hear what the girl knew.
"No, Laila, thank you." Kitty's voice was as tight and nervous as Laila's was and Lilly glanced back and forth between the two women, confused. "Please," Kitty didn't care about begging anymore, "please, tell me what's going on."
Laila sighed and pushed off from the kitchen counter and slid languidly into the chair across from Kitty. She leaned forward, her eyes intense, her mouth a hard, straight line. Closer to her, Kitty realized that she had a silver piercing on her left cheek; before, she had assumed it was just a dimple. "Look, I don't want to lie to you, Kat. I've been here barely a week. I don't know the inner politics of this place too well, how everything works."
Kitty also chocked in surprise. "Inner politics? This is a *school*."
Laila shrugged in a dismissive way. "Well, I guess what I'm trying to say is that I don't know if I'm the one whose supposed to say anything. It probably should be left to Xavier."
"But Xavier isn't here now, is he?" Kitty gritted her teeth. "Tell me what the hell is going on."
Laila shrugged and her eyes seemed suddenly very sad. "Your husband was here last night. I'm the one who let him in. He seemed distracted, confused, and he immediately went off to talk to Dr. McCoy and the Professor. He didn't say what about. He didn't seem angry or depressed, just curious. About half an hour after he went into Xavier's office, the mission alarm went off. Since Ms. Frost had taken the students yesterday on a weekend long trip to the Redwoods, only the active members of the X- Men and I were in the mansion. Xavier got everyone on the Blackbird and took off." Her mouth twisted. "I'm assuming Piotr went with them as well."
Kitty leaned forward sharply, looking with narrowed eyes sharply at Laila. "What are you, Laila? A telepath? An empath? Ever since we arrived here, I've been getting these odd vibes from you... these almost, and I know this will sound crazy, omniscient vibes."
Laila leaned back in her chair, allowing herself a small smile. "I'm a precog, actually."
Kitty clung onto this bit of information desperately. "So you can tell me what's going on, what's going to happen." The words 'what has happened' screamed in her head but stayed still within her. The temptation to ask Laila a question about the future that shed light onto the Lilly's paternity was great but glancing over at her daughter, Kitty realized that it didn't matter right now; she just wanted her family back and happy.
Laila's head cocked to the side and she chewed her bottom lip. "I technically could, but..."
"Please, don't give me that 'it'll change the future' line," Kitty hissed, her frustration boiling up. "I don't care if it does; I just have to know something. God, I need to know *something*."
Lilly blinked up at her mother, scared at the venom in her voice. Laila didn't even blink. "That wasn't what I was going to say, Kat," Laila said calmly. Her eyes flicked back and forth between mother and child. "Would you mind stepping out with me for a second?"
Kitty looked down at her daughter as she stood up, patting her shoulder. Her heart was down in her stomach. She felt like the women from World War II. Laila was the black car pulling up in front of her house with the men from the military. She moved as if in a trance. She knew what every step was taking her closer to and she didn't want it, she wanted to throw all of this all away, she would do anything if she just didn't have to walk out of this kitchen and meet Laila outside and hear what she had to say.
She knew what she was walking to and she walked to it anyway.
*************************
Cloe shook her head. She had been testing Rachel for hours straight now and she wasn't getting anywhere. Reaching up, she undid her bun and let her dark hair fall down heavy around her shoulders, massaging her sore neck.
"Hey stranger," a voice breathed into her ear.
Cloe jumped and spun, playfully smacking Will on his shoulder when she saw it was him. "Do you usually sneak up on people, Dr. Griffin?"
Will beamed a smile back, flipping a few of strands of her hair off her shoulder teasingly. "Only when they've been slaving away for hours, Dr. Olivia."
Cloe sighed heavily, tapping her pen against the metal gurney on which an unconscious Rachel lay. "I can't stop, Will," she spoke quietly, "I'm sorry, but I can't stop until I can figure out what's wrong."
Will shrugged, flicking his own pen against the clipboard in his hands. He paused for a moment, his eyes flicking over the numbers and figures before him. And then he sighed, shaking his head. "Cloe, you've been up for hours now, I flew in from Germany to be here, we need to rest." He rested his hand on her shoulder. "I know you don't like to hear stuff like this, but there's nothing we can do right now."
Cloe forced an exhausted smile. "You're just saying that because you're mad I pulled you away from your latest boy toy."
Will gave a short bark of laughter. "Who said I left him behind?" He leered at her, giving her a comical eyebrow waggle. "And if you run into a half naked blonde young man, don't let him hear you call him a 'boy toy'."
Cloe gave him the best she could manage, which was an authentic smile. "You have a reason to go to bed, Will. No reason for a single like me."
He shrugged, reaching out and grabbing Cloe's hand, spinning her around before grabbing her in his arms. "Maybe, Doctor, the reason you don't have a nice warm body to tempt you to bed is because you spend all your time working?"
She smiled, shaking her head, pushing him away gently. "We can't all be playboys like you, Will. Some of us are just married to our job." She shrugged as an apology.
"Ah well," he said, patting her shoulder. "I hope you don't mind that I'm going to be off to bed now." He rubbed the back of his neck, setting aside his clipboard. "I can't work without at least seven hours."
Cloe nodded. "That's fine. I'll be up for a bit longer. There are just a few more tests I want to run."
Will paused at the doorway, tired eyes peering cautiously at Cloe. "Don't overwork yourself, Cloe. Not to be crude, but she," he motioned to Rachel with his head, "isn't going anywhere."
He left then and Cloe listened as he walked down the hall and up the stairs until she couldn't hear him anymore. Alone with Rachel, she breathed deeply and collapsed into a chair at the catatonic girl's side. Cloe ran her fingers along the ends of Rachel's red hair, listening breathlessly to Rachel's breath and heartbeat, staring at the lines and creases of the girl's face. Looking at the twisted, angst-ridden expression on Rachel's face, Cloe felt a sharp pain deep within her. Here was a girl who was suffering from something that she shouldn't have, something that Cloe in fact should be suffering from. And it was one man, Charles Xavier, which somehow had a link in this, that had cured Cloe but had possibly driven Rachel sick. And what made it worse for her was that it seemed there was nothing Cloe could do, even if she knew for sure what was inflicting Rachel. Will and she had used every method they had to revive Cloe, from smelling salts to the latest technology. Nothing. Rachel continued to remain unconscious, not in a coma, but in something more akin to a deep sleep which she could be woken from. Except that there seemed nothing in medical science that could awake her.
Cloe stood, leaning over Rachel's prone form. After her first encounter with Rachel a few years ago, Cloe had studied the MI-X file on her and knew as much as anyone could about Rachel's intricate and complicated past. Here was a girl, about half a decade younger than her that had lived three different lives. Cloe knew that that kind of stress could push nearly anyone to a psychological break. But Rachel's breakdown didn't appear to be organic at all. Instead, it seemed forced, artificial, a hasty and scattered attempt at a convincing case of schizophrenia. But Cloe was more than aware that this conclusion of hers could in fact be a result of her feelings for Rachel, her empathy and her uncharacteristically fierce protection for the girl. Fixing a few of Rachel's stray hairs, Cloe found her hand running along the girl's face, admiring her cheeks, her lips, her neck, but her stomach twisting at the pain that was obviously written in those features.
Cloe knelt on the floor, grasping Rachel's hand in hers, looking as if she was praying or worshipping. "Please," she whispered, "please, just give me some idea about how to help."
"Hey."
Cloe spun around clumsily, knocking her legs together and landing on the floor with her legs crossed. She peered up at the slim, dark figure leaning in the doorway from between stands of hair. Pete stepped into the room quietly and slid on the floor in front of her, his legs crossed as well, his knees touching hers.
Cloe's eyebrows darted up. It wasn't like Pete to be like this, to pass up opportunities to mock her, or at the very least poke fun at her, without saying a word and then to lower himself on the ground and onto her level. She looked him over quickly, thinking back to the last time he had behaved out of character, years ago after receiving the invitation to Kitty and Piotr's wedding. He had been a shell, nearly catatonic, nowhere near as bad as Rachel was now, but certainly bad. He didn't seem to be in that state now, but he definitely wasn't himself. His face was drawn, his eyes exhausted.
"Pete," she said, stumbling for the right thing to say, "How are you?"
His washed out eyes held hers and she couldn't look away. His layers had all been burned away, she could see, the defensive sarcasm, the deceptive obnoxious behavior, all of it had been stripped away until there he was, a man in a ridiculously rumpled suit with only his intense instinct for self- preservation to keep him going.
"You told me to see ya," he muttered, his mouth barely moving. "Here I am."
Cloe had forgotten. As soon as the plane had touched down in London, she had instructed Pete to get some sleep and then come see her before she rushed off to attend to Rachel. She had meant it, but she honestly didn't think that Pete would have taken her up on the offer. Over the years, Cloe had come to know every member relatively well, whether it was from simple observation or from mandatory monthly meetings. But Pete had always remained a mystery for the most part. She had dozens of theories about his behavior, about who he was and why but they were all completely theories. While the majority of the team had been receptive to having a dialogue with her where they could validate these theories (it had taken Red nearly two years to get to that point), Pete was a stone that could not be moved. He made it more than obvious that the way he dealt with things was keeping them inside and not beating it to death. It was hard enough to make him show up on time if at all to their monthly meetings, it was a miracle that he had come of his own free will now.
"There you are," she mumbled, ungracefully scanning her brain desperately to find something to say. "Is there anything you want to talk about in particular?"
He shrugged, his fingers playing with an unlit cigarette. "How is she?" A brusque motion of his head made it clear that he was referring to Rachel.
Cloe sighed and instantly berated herself; how many times had she sighed in the past two hours? "Not good." She glanced over at Rachel, at her stile pale hand that lay hanging off the side of the stretcher. "She's in some kind of catatonic state, nothing I've ever seen before."
Now Pete was playing with his lighter. "Could it have something to do with those brain blocks you found years ago?"
Cloe blinked dumbly. When Rachel had first come into her care, a CT scan by Will had shown what Cloe and Will had called mind or brain blocks, small artificially created masses that were in Rachel's brain, moderating different nerves, and different brain functions. Neither of the two had ever been able to find out what exactly they were and had let the matter drop after Rachel healed and returned to America. There had never been an official report.
"How do you know about those?" she asked.
There was a ghost of a cocky grin on his face. "Come off it. I'm the leader of this motley bunch. I'm supposed to know everything that goes on here." He lit his cigarette and brought it slowly to his lips, his eyes burning with intensity briefly before returning to empty. "And while we're on the subject, why was it ever a secret?" He took a deep breath of smoke and blew it out evenly. "Practice what you preach, Doc."
In any other situation, at any other time, Cloe would have been livid. But she knew right now Pete didn't have it in him to be malicious. He had a point. While she had harangued him often for refusing to talk about what he felt, she herself had kept one of the most important, and distressing, factors of her life a secret, something she only shared with Will out of coincidence, something that was slowly eating her heart away. Her own CT scan had shown signs of mind blocks as well, though not as old as Rachel's. And she was pretty sure where she had gotten hers from. Years ago, around the time of her puberty, Cloe began hearing voices. She said nothing about them for weeks, enjoying this secret thrill of power. She had finally told her parents when the voices began to become threatening, alternating between telling her that she should kill and that she should be killed. This was right around the time when mutants were becoming public knowledge, and Cloe's parents instantly sent her over to Xavier's, all the way from Italy, for help. One quick scan of Cerebro determined she was not a telepathic mutant. But after some other sessions with Xavier and Cerebro she had returned home normal, and had never heard another voice again. Xavier had 'cured' her schizophrenia by blocking it, by trying to move the nerves in her brain to resemble a normal human. He wasn't able to destroy it, because it was essentially part of who she was, part of her genetic makeup. Instead, he was able to suppress it, bypass it for a bit.
Cloe had discovered all this after Rachel's CT scan and she had made Will promise to never speak of it again. Every night as she went to sleep, she burned with the knowledge that this disease was inside her, being held back for just a bit longer.
It hurt that Pete had brought this up. It hurt because she knew he was right, she was being hypocritical and a coward.
But that wasn't about to change tonight.
"It might have something to do with the mind blocks," Cloe said calmly, changing the topic back to the previous one. "The problem is that I have no clue how to remove them, save some tinkering by a high level telepath. And to be honest, I'm not too keen on that either."
"How did you fix her the last time?" She could see by the way that he stared at the embers on his cigarette butt that he didn't really care.
"Talk therapy. Which is impossible if you remain unconscious." She bit her lip, awkwardly shifting her weight on the uncomfortable floor. "What was it like to see Kitty again, Pete?"
He gave a short bark of laughter that held no amusement in it. "No more beating around the bush, eh?" He cocked his head, flicking his pointer finger against the cigarette, watching the embers scatter around the floor before cooling and disappearing. "It was bloody hard."
Cloe pulled her knees up to her chest, hugging herself tightly. She felt for this man, she did, but she couldn't help but be scared. She had seen him in battle, seen how ruthless he could be. And she was scared of how he would react if he let all of those repressed emotions out all at once.
He turned the cigarette upside and down idly, watching the spiraling smoke. "I was damn embarrassed of myself. She calls in the middle of the night, gives no real good explanation and I jump up and fly across the sodding ocean with nothing to show for myself but teammates who can barely stand me. And there she is, with a bleedin' child no less, and I hate her because she still has some hold over me. She has power over me. You know, when I first saw her yesterday, I didn't know if I wanted to slap her or kiss her but by the end of our little visit, I'm fairly sure that the violence would have won out." His mouth twitched into a grin for a moment before he scowled again. "I hate how petty she made me, wishing that the overgrown tin can of hers was out with another woman, not carin' how much that would destroy her. God dammit, it's been nearly a decade, and I've done nothin' but regressed. The things she did to me, the viciousness, I'm not sure that I would ever forgive her." His eyes flickered up to Cloe's, tremulous. "The thing that really gets me, though, is I know if ever really asked for forgiveness, I would give it to her in a second."
Cloe was rapt. Never before had she heard Pete talk about things so personal. "Do you still love her?"
His head twitched a bit at that. "Look, its bloody embarrassing enough to be here saying all these things. Don't make me answer that question."
She shrugged in acceptance. "Fair enough." She paused for a moment. "You talked about Kitty's child. Do you want to get married, have a family?"
He snorted, shaking his head. "Isn't that always covered in the 'bleeding embarrassing questions' clause?" When Cloe didn't say anything, he sighed. "I used to, I suppose. A long time ago. I'm too old now."
"Pete, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't surprised and happy about how you're opening up." Cloe looked into his eyes earnestly. "But I need to know if this is some one of a kind deal. If you're going to go back to your room later, either beat up some guy or have sex with some girl to get out all of your tension and then the shell is back up. Because I will be friggin pissed off if that's the case."
Pete stared at her, his dim blue eyes wide with shock and a bemused grin pulling on the corners of his face. Suddenly he lunged forward and Cloe instinctively raised her arms up, her heart seizing with the idea that he was attacking her, her mind racing to figure out what way, if any, she could protect herself.
Instead, his hands curled around her head, his figures lacing into her dark strands of thick hair and he pulled her head forward just as he pushed his face towards hers. And caught her lips in a deep, hard kiss.
He held it for a few more moments before releasing her with the same gusto that he had grabbed her, drawing back with a large grin on his face and a gleam in his eye. Cloe sputtered, too shocked to form an articulate sentence as she watched Pete almost triumphantly get to his feet, towering over her.
"There," he said, beaming down at her, "All the tension is out. So don't be friggin pissed off." And then he turned and walked out, his walk less weighted and sulky, or could that be her imagination? She was still reeling for the kiss so it was hard to say.
Slowly she made it back to her feet, still blinking in shock. She felt her way to her desk and caught a glimpse of her reflection in a metal table. Her hair was unkempt, her eyes deep and her mouth was red and might become bruised. She could feel it coming from deep inside of her until she couldn't hold it back any longer. And there, alone at three in the morning, Cloe began to laugh hysterically.
A few more moments, a dozen more chuckles, a shake of her head and Cloe made it to her desk, smiling. As she sat there before a stack of forms and papers she realized that Pete had managed to do the impossible.
He had called her a hypocrite and made her feel free in the same single swift jarring motion.
She giggled and allowed herself to giggle. After all, she had spent hours in her lab, had just been kissed by a man obsessed with his ex while she was obsessed with her catatonic patient.
She was allowed to go a little loopy.
**********
She sat at her new desk, shifting through the pile of cards, separating the blank invitations from the condolences. After her pen had run out of ink, she had spent the next hour or so out of the house, scouring drug stores, supermarkets and office supplies stores for another pen that worked just as well, if not better.
They had told her that she would do things like this. She was disappointed to prove them right.
She staked the letters addressed to her on her left, quickly leafing through and putting them in alphabetical order. She figured that everyone who sent a condolence deserved an invitation and she was going to go about this the right way.
Amanda popped her head in from the next room. "Kitty," she said softly and Kitty's mind was off, thinking about the state of her name. Everyone she knew well from her younger years still insisted on calling her Kitty, while the rest complied with her older and 'more mature' name Kat. There had been some attempts, mainly by Rachel, to call her Kate instead but Kitty had refused. That name had been lying ahead of her, waiting, since she was thirteen and she hated the idea of this inescapable future. The future where she had been married to Piotr and he had been killed.
Not much was different in this future. Just the letter 'e'.
"Kitty," Amanda called again, bringing Kitty back to the present, as much as she didn't want to. "I'm going to take a trip out to the store," Amanda continued. "Do you need anything?"
"No," Kitty said evenly. "I have my pen."
Amanda nodded gravely and disappeared and Kitty wondered idly if by store Amanda had been referring to some shop in Limbo. Ever since Amanda and Kurt had married, the two had spent the majority of their time in Limbo, occasionally fighting off demons but mostly lying low. While at first Kitty had been mad at Kurt for abandoning this dimension for Limbo, the two eventually worked out a system where Kitty could contact Kurt and Amanda though the small link that she still had with the Soulsword and then Kurt could instantly teleport to her side. She hadn't even needed to contact them this time. Her grief had nearly caused the Soulsword to burst.
Almost as if on cue, Kurt entered the room, his son Christian who was just a few months young then Lilly gravely tottering behind him and his nearly year old daughter Helen in his arms. Christian instantly walked up to Kitty, tugging on the long denim shirt that she wore.
"Christian," Kurt said warningly, peering at his mischievous son though his own bloodshot and cloudy eyes. Kitty hadn't thought he would be taking this as hard as her. She had forgotten how close the two had been.
Christian ignored his father, gazing up at Kitty with squinting brown eyes. "Aunt Kitty," he started, his voice bigger than his tiny frame, "I trying to play with Lilly. She used to be fun, but now she cries too much." Blinking up at Kitty, he pleaded, "Fix her?"
And then Kitty lost it. She was drowning in a whirlpool of her own tears and sobs and she was grateful for the rest, the unconscious oblivion.
******* Kali paused, crouching in the shadows. She could sense him coming, could feel him even, feel his fear. Kali had been worshipped for hundreds of generations, partly for her fear manipulation abilities. Millions had prayed to her so that they would remove their fear. And now here she was, hiding, waiting for the kill and feeling the fear of the approaching man enliven her. In turn, she made a small gesture with her hand and increased the man's fear to a near-terror level, enough for his legs to shake but not enough for him to run and not fulfill his job. She was too involved for her prey to flee before she had her chance.
She bared her teeth, feeling the surge of power as she transformed into her goddess form. Her extra four arms emerged, her skin turned blue and she smiled. She lived for this.
She jumped upward, one of her left arms grabbing an overhead pipe and she used it to propel herself though the air. She landed and held herself up in the corner directly across from the door that the man was staggering up to. Her ear twitched as she heard footsteps falling behind her and she knew she was running out of time.
But it didn't matter. The man was at the door now, his sweaty hands fumbling for the precious cargo he had slung over his shoulder. In what seemed like one single instant, Kali was at the door, tearing it open, barring her teeth at the man and grabbing the important goods, smiled and slammed the door in his face.
Hugh padded into the room, stretching his arms over his head. He grinned sleepily at Kali. "Terrorizing the postman again, Kali?"
Kali grinned sheepishly and shrugged, shuffling through the mail. "He keeps coming back so I figure no harm done." She shook her head and the blue skin and extra four arms instantly disappeared. "I've been going stir crazy around here with nothing to do."
Hugh nodded slightly, taking a sip of his steaming coffee as he sat on the nearby long couch. Kali hurried over to him and perched on the couch arm rest.
"Hugh, we've got a problem." Her voice was ice cold.
"Kali, I know how you feel, but you're just going to have to accept it that I'm going to get more fan mail than you-"
"Shut up," she hissed. Hugh's head popped up from studying his coffee and looked at Kali, confused. He could swear he saw the woman shaking.
"What is it?"
"It's a card," she whispered. "From Xavier's."
Hugh bit his lip, taking a long drink of coffee. "It's too early in the morning to deal with all of this," he muttered.
Kali frowned and then made up her mind. "I'm not going though this again, dammit. Let's open it now."
Hugh rolled his eyes. "Great," he mumbled as Kali tore though the envelope, "I'm sure that will make things better." He heard the rustling stop and he looked over at Kali.
Her face was white, her jaw slack. She had what looked like an invitation in front of her, holding it out almost at arm's length as if it would attack. She had stopped shaking, but her limbs had grown very rigid.
"What is it?" Hugh asked nervously.
"It's an invitation," Kali said, her voice tense. "An invitation to Piotr Rasputin's funeral."