It was a rainy Monday afternoon, and Piotr was taking advantage of having the place to himself, setting up a stool and an easel on a drop cloth in the natural lighting through the patio window. He was lost, deep in the artistic process, mixing colors, layering colors, framing the subject on the canvas to perfectly match the vision of his painting he had in his head. He was focusing on laying the background coloring down when he suddenly heard an unattractive, frustrated grunt from the small apartment foyer. His eyes darted up from the painting to see Kitty struggling with her damp raincoat, before finally phasing it off and throwing it into the closet.

Which is when she finally noticed that she wasn't alone. She shoved her soggy hair out of her eyes and blinked at him, "Sorry. I didn't think anyone would be home."

Piotr blinked at her, his eyes drawn to the large red stain on her stark white uniform t-shirt. "Is that..."

"Ketchup. I don't want to talk about it." Kitty frowned, shucking her wet shoes. "I thought you'd be at work?"

"I am." He inclined his head slightly to the easel and Kitty crossed the living room to plunk herself down on the gray sofa behind Piotr's workspace as she unclipped the name tag from the unstained side of her shirt.

"No, like at work. Aren't you supposed to be painting models or something?" She asked with a tired smirk.

"No." Piotr turned back to his painting, dipping the brush into a deep brown color he'd previously mixed as he spoke, "They are dancers. And the director asked me to leave."

"Why?" Kitty knit her brow, tugging the hair tie out of her wet locks.

He sighed trying to keep an adequate amount of focus on his painting, "He said I was too distracting."

Kitty's eyebrows perked up and she grinned like the Cheshire cat, "Distracting?"

He glanced back at her from over his shoulder and instantly recognized the mischievous look on her face, "It is not-"

"Oh, I'm too distracted by the sexy Russian painter to pirouette!" She lilted dramatically with the back of her hand resting on her forehead, "He is so strong and masculine, and I am but a tiny little dancer!"

"It was not like that." He knit his brow, keeping his back turned to her and his eyes glued to the painting as he worked on highlighting the stage.

"Please tell me you at least took advantage of the situation and asked one of these tiny dancers out." She tucked her legs up underneath her on the couch and propped her elbow up on the arm rest. "They were probably tripping over themselves to get at you."

Piotr pressed his lips into a thin line and released a deep sigh. His focus was lost, the mood had passed. He looked at her through the corner of his eye and gave in to his newest roommate, concluding that this was a good time to take a break, "I might have."

"Pete! You dog!" She chucked him on the shoulder playfully, "Tell me about her! Is she a ten?"

"A... ten?" He raised an eyebrow, setting his paintbrush down to wipe his hands off on a rag, "I do not follow..."

"You know, like, on a scale from one to ten. Where would she rate?"

Piotr shrugged, "An eight?"

"A solid eight, not bad." Kitty nodded thoughtfully, "I bet she really fills out a tutu, hmm?" She wagged her eyebrows suggestively and Piotr chuckled with the shake of his head,

"John has been a bad influence on you."

"Oh please," She tossed a hand in the air and rolled her eyes, "I've been living with hormonal guys since I was fifteen."

"She is attractive." Piotr conceded, "Her name is Anya. She is Russian."

"Of course, a Russian ballerina." Kitty thunked her forehead with the heel of her hand, "I'm sure she's not the only one in the company."

"No, she is not."

"So what made her stand out?" Kitty rested her chin on her fist, smiling at Piotr expectantly.

"She is very outgoing." He explained blandly, "She made me feel comfortable. I was reminded of home."

"That's so sweet!" Kitty sighed with a starry, far off look.

"I asked her out for dinner next Wednesday." Piotr continued, "It is her night off."

"Where are you taking her?"

"I do not know yet. I am sure Remy will know a nice place we can go."

"Yeah, I'll bet." Kitty grumbled, "He's probably like, a master at the first date. I bet he's got a list of rules for a first date too, freak."

"He is not so bad, Katya." Piotr said as he stood up, gathering his painting supplies in the process, "He is just slow to adapt to change. That is all."

"And you're not?"

"No. I have learned to... what is the term... roll with the punching."

Kitty swallowed a giggle and shook her head, "Roll with the punches."

"Yes! That is it." He folded up his easel and tucked it under one arm, lifting the work in progress up with his free hand. "I am no stranger to change."

"I guess moving halfway across the world does that to a guy, hmm?" Kitty said, following him to his room, the farthest down the hall, right next to Pyro's and across from the bathroom. She opened the door for him and he set his painting on a new easel, putting his other one away in the closet. Kitty's eyes scanned the room in silent awe,

"You've done all these?" She asked, looking at what appeared to be hundreds of paintings, hanging on all four walls of his room, standing stacked against the dresser the way one would store CD cases or books, rolled up canvases inside the closet piled one on top of another. "All of these?"

"These are ones I have not sold." He said simply, "Sometimes I get attached."

"Wow." Kitty breathed, stepping into the room, mesmerized by all his work. "Do you just paint?"

"No, but painting is my preferred medium." He replied as he continued tidying "It is more enjoyable for me."

"You're so good." Kitty said in awe, "I had no idea you were so good."

Piotr shrugged sheepishly, "I still have very much to learn."

"Yeah, but it's not like you're a novice here or anything. You're like, an actual professional."

"The dancers paintings will be on display for the opening night of the show. It is not exactly an art gallery, but it is a start." Piotr explained from the bathroom where he diligently cleaned off all of his painting tools.

"You get paid to do this. You get paid to do something you love." Kitty frowned, "It's impressive."

When Piotr returned with his clean brushes in hand, he knit his brow at the expression on her face and began packing his supplies away, "Are you alright?"

Kitty nodded in spite of her frown and sat down hard on the edge of his bed, "I just feel like I'm stuck. I mean, I made all these changes thinking that it would be better in the long run and look at me." She threw her hand towards herself with an unamused laugh, "I'm covered in ketchup."

Piotr nodded in silent understanding.

"I don't just want to be good at something, and settle with that." She turned her attention back to the paintings on his wall and shook her head, "I want to be really passionate about something. Why can't I be passionate about something?"

"You are not passionate about hamburgers?" He asked with a grin.

She looked back at him and pressed her lips into a thin smile, "You're joking. That's fun. Kick a girl while she's down, why don't you?"

Piotr dried his hands on his jeans and shook his head, "There is nothing wrong with earning an honest paycheck."

"I don't even have that anymore." She chewed the inside of her cheek and knit her brow, "I got fired. I got fired from an easy ass job. I wasn't even good at that."

He crossed the room and sat down next to her on the edge of the bed, "What happened?"

"There was this teenager showing off for his friends," She began, tangling a hand in her matted, wet hair, "He was throwing the ketchup bottles up in the air and trying to juggle with them... long story short, I was too slow."

Piotr knit his eyebrows and blinked at her, "You got fired for that?"

"My former manager is really big into the whole 'the customer is always right' thing." She winced as she tugged her fingers through the knots in her hair, "Realistically he was just looking for any excuse he could find to fire me."

Piotr let out a resigned breath and shook his head, "I am sorry."

Kitty shrugged with a forced half smile, "Yeah, me too."

"You are better off. You do not need to work for someone who does not treat you properly."

She let out a laugh and shook her head, "That's the thing, big guy. I kind of do. I have to take any job I can get at this point. Otherwise I'm..." She trailed off, turning her attention to her soggy socks. "Just a failure."

They were silent for a few minutes while Kitty stared at her feet, idly brushing her wet hair with her fingers before Piotr finally said, "I do not know what to tell you." She looked up at him and he frowned, "I am not very good with... words."

"You don't need to tell me anything." She piled her hair over one shoulder and gave him a reassuring smile, "It's just nice to talk to someone who isn't going to say 'I told you so Kitty!', which is exactly what I'm sure Rogue will do in a non direct way."

"You do not need to worry about money." He offered, "Remy is all talk. He would not kick you out."

Kitty scoffed, "We'll see about that." She smiled, dropping her gaze to the name tag in her hand. "I should go change out of my uniform, I'm making your room smell like ketchup and grease."

He gave her a mute nod, watching as she stood, fidgeting with the name tag until she disappeared into the hallway.

There really is nothing quite like a warm shower on a dreary rainy day. Especially if you're having a crumby day to begin with. So Kitty figured a nice, long, steamy shower would be a good way to clear her mind. She took her time soaping up and rinsing off, standing under the stream of hot water with nothing in particular on her mind until her skin was pruny and red. When she was finally finished, she threw on her fuzzy green, terry cloth robe and gathered her dirty clothes off the floor without taking a second look at them, folding them up quickly and draping them over her arm. She stepped out into the hall and padded down towards her door when she heard,

"You leave any hot water for the rest of the building?"

She peeked around the corner into the living room and frowned at Remy, who was perched on a stool in the island as he idly sifted through a stack of mail. She glanced at Pyro behind Remy in the kitchen, furiously cleaning something in the sink, before turning her attention back to Remy.

"Puh-lease, you take way longer in the shower than that. Probably in there manscaping."

"I really like your razor by the way." He looked up from the mail with a smile, "It really gets in there-"

"Ew!" Kitty shrieked, "That's totally not funny!"

"What?" Remy shrugged with a smirk and tossed one of the envelopes back onto the counter, "I make sure I clean it out when I'm done with it."

Kitty put her head into her free hand, clutching her clothes tighter to her chest with a groan, "That is so wrong."

"There!" Pyro exclaimed triumphantly, holding a wet, white t-shirt up to his face for closer inspection, "I think I finally got it all out. The key is to blot the stain out, y'know?"

"He reads a lot of Martha Stewart." Remy informed her, tossing another envelope onto the counter.

Kitty cocked her head as she looked at the white t-shirt, which appeared to be a women's shirt, before dropping her eyes to the pile of clothes hanging over her arm. "That's my shirt."

"Yeah. And now it's clean." Pyro grinned. "See?"

Kitty looked back up at Pyro with wide eyes, "Why are you cleaning my shirt?"

"Petey told us you came home with ketchup all over you, and trust me love, I know how much of a bitch ketchup is to get out once it's set-"

"That shirt was in the bathroom with me, Pyro." Kitty stated, "You can't go in the bathroom when I am in the shower!"

"It's not like I peeked or anything." Pyro shrugged. "I just thought you'd need your uniform clean for work tomorrow. Nobody wants a waitress with bloody ketchup stains." He scrunched up his nose and frowned, "That's unprofessional."

"Yeah well," She stomped over to the kitchen in her damp, bare feet and snatched the shirt out of Pyro's hand. "I'm not going to work tomorrow. I got fired."

Pyro blinked at her for a moment before finally saying, "Well, probably because of your temper."

"Or because you're wasteful with ketchup." Remy added with a grin, "Wet t-shirt contest; you're doing it wrong."

"With ketchup!" Pyro laughed with an abrupt snort, "That's funny!"

Kitty whipped around to eye Remy, "That's it? No comments on how inconvenient this is for you?"

Remy looked up at her and shrugged, "I don't care how you get money, just as long as you have it in time for rent." He looked back at his stack of mail, "Besides, I'm sure you'll find another job. Walmart's always hiring."

"Boo." Kitty stuck her tongue out, "The florescent lights are way too harsh, and that blue smock does nothing for my skin tone."

"Yeah, that's a great way to job select." He muttered sarcastically under his breath. "You could put that on your resume."

"Or," Kitty began sweetly, "I could give you my resume to take into Chili's..."

Remy scoffed with a chuckle, "That's not gunna happen." He leveled his eerie gaze at Kitty and knit his brow, "You're a horrible waitress."

Her shoulders slumped and she nodded, "Yeah, I am."

"Why don't you ask Pyro to take a resume into work for you?" Remy suggested, tapping the stack of envelopes in his hand on the counter with a grin.

"Yeah you know," Kitty turned to Pyro with a scrutinizing eye, "I've always wanted to be a... telemarketer?"

"Knock it off." Pyro pouted.

"Private investigator." Kitty continued guessing at Pyro's mystery profession, "Space cowboy!"

He grunted from the back of his throat and scowled at the two grinning back at him, "That's not even a thing."

Kitty nodded knowingly at Remy, "Secret space cowboy."

"Or, maybe I'm a pimp. Then I could hire you myself, hmm?" Pyro offered a smart ass grin as he rolled his sleeves back down.

"Yeah yeah, point taken." Kitty grumbled, being reminded of the grim reality of her situation as she trudged back to her room.

Pyro rolled his other sleeve down before taking a glance at the envelopes on the counter, and after a few moments of comfortable silence, Remy looked up at Pyro and gave him a single nod,

"You took her underwear too, didn't you."

He shrugged in return, "They were just sittin' there."