Disclaimer: I don't own X-Men.
Summer deepens and, slowly, begins to dip into fall. Piotr and Jubilee organize a final project for their class that consists of a canvas the size of a small room, a few dozen containers of paint (washable, of course), and free reign for any and all students. Even Bobby joins in. The end result resembles one of the elephant paintings he showed her online once, but Jubilee and Pete hang it proudly.
"Visionary," the Professor calls it as he rolls by one day, his face so straight that Kitty thinks he might be serious for a second.
The project's completion marks the beginning of another school year. Just days later, students are trickling back in, unpacking and catching up noisily with friends. The everyday chaos of the mansion unfurls again—the showing off, the powered-up arguing, the huge unruly games of Mutant Ball—and Kitty, content, settles back into the familiarity of it all.
The weekend before classes begin, she's on her way outside when Artie ambushes her and persuades her to be the third player for some video game he and Jason desperately want to play. The weather looks beautiful and all Kitty really wants to do is go hang out in (or maybe just under) a tree and read a little, but Artie's one of the most stubborn kids she knows and he seems especially determined today. So she shrugs. How bad could it be, really?
She dies immediately the first round and Artie and Jason both snort. Kitty glares at them, and the next time, it takes her twice as long before she succumbs. Soon she finds herself catching on. Maybe training has prepared her for something besides real life combat after all—even if it's just crushing a couple of boys at Call of Duty or Assassin's Creed or whatever the hell this game is. (She's honestly not sure.)
What feels like hours later Kitty's still curled on the sofa, hair falling across her face, fingers glued to the controller and eyes fixed on the screen. She's beginning to lose track of time on her quest to kick ass. As she deals Artie a devastating blow, Bobby and Rogue wander in, shyly discussing a movie they both want to see. Kitty smiles to herself because even though Rogue and Bobby have been dating for quite a while now, they still act like friends just discovering their respective crushes on one another. It's sweet in one way, sad in another; but they both seem happy so Kitty decides it doesn't really matter.
"Damn, Kitty," Bobby marvels, watching her progress. "Kicking ass. How come I never knew this about you?"
Kitty bites her bottom lip in concentration. "It's a recently discovered skill." She mashes a few buttons and Jason's character crumples and dies. Jason slides dramatically to the floor in response, face in hands.
"How long have you guys been playing?" Bobby asks suspiciously.
They all ignore his question. "Here," Jason says wearily, waving his controller in Bobby's general direction. "You can take over. I'm tired of dying."
Artie dumps his as well. "I'm asking someone else next time," he tells Kitty.
"Why? This has been pretty fun," she replies innocently.
The boys roll their eyes and troop out. With a shrug, Bobby hops over the sofa to play, and Rogue settles beside him with Artie's controls. Kitty finds herself embroiled in another furious fight. Rogue and Bobby do not mess around; apparently this is how most people here spend their time.
As they play, Kitty notices a ruthlessness in Rogue that she's never seen before, in the way she launches herself at her enemies and goes for the kill without hesitation. Rogue is rarely ever this animated, either: when she's being beat down, she lets loose entire strings of soft, accented curses; when she gets a good hit in, she whoops loudly and triumphantly and declares, giggling, "Suck it, bitches". Bobby just grins like he's seen this side of her before. Beside him, Kitty watches quizzically from the corner of her eye, marveling at this new development. It's always a surprise when she starts to see the hidden sides of the people around her.
The game is long and at a certain point, Kitty's legs start falling asleep and her body has settled so far into the sofa that it feels like it's trying to swallow her. She plows through to defeat Bobby one last time, although in the end it's Rogue who triumphs over her. Only then does she notice that it's grown dark outside.
Rogue yawns and turns the TV off. Blinking slowly out of a haze, Kitty uncurls her legs and shifts out of the sofa's grip. She feels tired and oddly sore, as if she'd just run through a hundred drills with Logan. Maybe there's a reason everyone here plays these things. Maybe the Danger Room is like being inside a giant video game or something.
She looks up to find them both smirking at her. "Katherine Pryde," Bobby drawls, amused. "I had no idea you were such a geek."
"I'm not."
"Right," he teases. "Whatever you say, Your Geekiness."
When Kitty reaches over to tickle him, Rogue just sits back with an approving grin and lets her.
Kitty loves the start of classes: fresh syllabi filled with promises of interesting future lessons, intriguing new books (though technically all the books are used, hand-me-downs lined with the notes of previous owners), stacks of blank notebooks with their pristine pages waiting to be filled. There's a box in a storage closet full of folders and lined paper for the students who can't afford their own, and Kitty fills her notebooks so fast with cramped, detailed notes that she always grabs a few just before new classes. The thought of the knowledge that will soon line the empty pages always excites her.
In the computer lab Scott shows his students a new language that looks vaguely familiar to Kitty but still indecipherable. She loves the idea of decoding it, breaking it down into portions that she understands, then building it back up. She loves the idea of something so universal. By the end of class, a few loose commands are already sticking in her mind.
Storm teaches both Recent World History and the science classes that used to be Jean's territory, leading them hesitatingly, haltingly, but with slowly building confidence. The Professor, as always, covers Mutant Ethics and Literature. Kitty moves through them all eagerly, trudges through training, and finally, brain full and body tired, lumbers towards her bed, already looking forward to tomorrow.
Just a few weeks later, Kitty is recruited as an official member of the X-Men.
When the Professor asks to speak with her after class, she doesn't suspect anything unusual. When Scott, Storm, and Logan join them, she knows something big is happening. The anxiousness swirling to life inside her already knows what it is.
Storm speaks first. "Kitty," she says, "we think you're ready to start training with the X-Men."
By now it's obvious to Kitty what they're doing. Everyone knows Magneto is still out there, waiting for the right moment, planning out his next move with the precision of a master chess player. And of course the X-Men want to be ready for whatever is brewing, so they're trying to beef up on team members and for some reason she's the most qualified mutant they could find in the entire mansion.
And now they're all waiting for her to say something, but suddenly Kitty's out of breath.
She knew this would happen someday—but now? It's still too soon. She thought she'd have years to prepare herself, make sure she was ready for this. Maybe part of her even thought it would never happen at all.
This is too rushed. She knows they've only asked her as a last ditch effort, that maybe they would have waited years if there weren't a threat looming on the horizon. This is all going to go badly—she's going to trip up and get scared and run and someone's going to get hurt because of it. She's going to let these people she respects down.
"I'm not ready," she rasps.
Storm's expression hardens a fraction. "Kitty, we're here to prepare you," she insists. "We're not going to send you out alone or untrained."
You already did, once, Kitty thinks bitterly, then quells that thought.
"We need all the help we can get," Scott puts in quietly. Beside him, Logan grunts in agreement. "Don't make this harder than it needs to be, kid," he adds warningly.
Storm is nodding, her expression analytical, as if she's calculating the right move to be make everything fall into place, to make Kitty bend to her will. Kitty's never truly appreciated before how steadfast Storm can be. "You'll make a good addition to the team, Kitty. Please don't let us down." Maybe unconsciously, she repeats Scott's words: "We need all the help we can get."
Kitty locks eyes with the Professor. He remains silent—she realizes he hasn't said a word this whole time—but he looks at her as if he's looking right into her. He may not be reading her mind (she knows from Mutant Ethics that he doesn't treat his mutation lightly, doesn't delve carelessly into people's thoughts without good reason), but he's reading her and his ability to do that is just as scary. Unconsciously, she steps back.
"This isn't right," she says hoarsely. There's a panic gathering inside her that seems endless; it takes all she has to keep herself from sinking through the floor. "None of this—it's not right. I can't—"
Around her, the other X-Men watch her with varied expressions. They're all looking at her, studying her, trying to read her—their attention is focused solely on her. Kitty falters, draws back.
"Kitty, look," Storm says, commanding, "We know it's not ideal. But—"
"I'm not a hero," Kitty states quietly, and she finally lets herself fall through the floor before anyone can respond.
She falls, and for just a second she wonders if she should even stop. They say the best way to deal with your fears is to face them. And her real fear is falling…isn't it?
Then the moment breaks and she stumbles to the floor below and runs through obstacles and walls and the odd surprised student until she emerges into the sunlight.
The breath still sticks heavy in her chest. Kitty tries to focus, slow herself down. She considers herself a rational person, mostly, but when all this fear she carries inside seizes her, she spins frantically out of control.
It's a beautiful day: sun spreading across the grounds, the greenness of summer still hanging in the air. A couple students are hanging around the basketball court, passing a ball around aimlessly. The mansion's other occupants have yet to emerge. Kitty can picture them threading out of their classes: gossip, books and papers being shuffled around, the everyday display of mutations, habit by now, natural as breathing. Someone is waving at her from the basketball court; she squints and thinks she recognizes Theresa. She raises her own hand in response, then notices the way it's shaking—almost imperceptible, but still there.
Calm down, she tells herself. Calm. Down.
"Half pint."
Kitty whips around, calmness forgotten. Somehow, Logan's snuck up on her, usually not an easy feat. She scowls up at him. It's childish, but she feels like a runaway train—so out of control, she can't stop herself anymore.
He returns her scowl with a look of deadly calm. It takes Kitty a minute to realize that his composure is a pretense, a loose-hanging mask. Uneasy, she shifts, deepens her scowl. It's her disguise, maintained even as Logan's own begins to dissolve.
"That was pretty rude, up there," he growls. "What's going on with you?"
"I don't need you to tell me off for being rude," Kitty huffs. "I'm not a kid."
"Hate to break it to you," Logan retorts, voice laden with sarcasm, "but you're acting just like one."
Kitty doesn't know how to respond. She doesn't want this. Any of it. She just wanted to read a little outside, grab some dinner, maybe watch TV with Bobby and Jubes. She didn't want to be saddled with this.
But these words in her head sound like the words of a child.
"I know," she mutters finally.
Down by the basketball court, Theresa's been joined by a few other students for a pickup game. Sam keeps using his mutation to help him dunk, and judging by the faint sounds of shouting drifting over, no one's too happy about it. Kitty tears her eyes away from them and meets Logan's gaze instead. "But I can't be an X-Man. I don't have it in me."
"Bullshit, kid," Logan says loudly, narrowing his eyes. "You could be a great X-Man if you really wanted to. You're being selfish. The team needs you and you're letting them down."
Tears prickle at Kitty's eyes—she pushes them back furiously. "I'm doing this so I won't let them down", she hisses.
"You think this has been easy for us?" His tone is suddenly so cold. "We've lost so much. You don't have any idea what we've had to do. You think it was easy for us to pick some half trained kid to join the team? And you—you're just sitting there, letting us take care of you and hiding whenever we need help." He's gritting his teeth, now, and staring her down, and Kitty is so angry she's stiff, but his words are digging into her and the hurt has her trembling. His voice low and dangerous, he adds, "I have news for you, kid. You are letting us down."
He turns as if to leave, and Kitty shouts "You don't understand!" at his back. Her anger feels embarrassingly desperate. She can hear herself, can hear how childish she sounds. But, god, she's only fifteen and she's scared. She's not ready to go out there, to have people actually counting on her.
But she can't say any of this. It all just hangs there in her mind as Logan turns back to her. "No," he growls. "You don't understand." Then he's gone.
She stands there for a beat, and then she's gone too.
Hidden within the leaves of her favorite tree, Kitty thinks for a long time. About what Logan said, angry or not. About what it really means to grow up. If she's done it yet, or if she really is still only a child.
She did just climb a tree to get away from someone. That seems about as childish as it gets.
Kitty huddles closer to the tree's trunk and curls into herself. Maybe Logan was right. Maybe this is all selfishness. Maybe she has it all wrong.
She's still just a coward, and maybe she always will be.
The sun sets and the light dims, dipping into evening, and she still doesn't have anything figured out.
Kitty creeps into her room, later, without running into a single person. Avoiding people is one thing she's good at. She's found that it isn't too hard to translate her natural quietness into shadow-like stealth.
She sits on her bed and thinks about going to sleep, just blocking out everything until a new day begins. But it's far too early for sleeping and her mind is racing. She just wants to run and run and run, but she settles for pacing around her room, tracing a crescent around her bed and back. This room which usually feels a little too big now feels impossibly small.
She thinks about just sucking it up and going to apologize. It would be humiliating, sure, but at least she'd be able to clear the air, clear her conscience a little. At least there'd be a little less turmoil in her mind.
Except that nothing's really changed. She still can't. Bravery still eludes her.
The knock on her door, deep and resonating, shakes her out of her thoughts. As tempted as Kitty is to ignore it, she knows that won't help. She's done enough wrong for one day
Logan's outside. "Look, kid," he says awkwardly, "about earlier. I was angry, I got a little carried away." There's an uncomfortable pause: they both shift, Logan looks away for a second. "Come take a walk with me. Let's talk."
Side by side, in silence, they end up back outside. Kitty keeps her eyes straight ahead, afraid her voice will betray her. To her right, she hears Logan say, "Have a seat, half pint."
There's a bench just to the side. Kitty sits stiffly, and after a moment, Logan joins her.
He lets out a quick breath. "Storm wanted Charles to talk to you. But he said this wasn't something you needed to hear from someone you looked up to. Sent me instead. And while that was…pretty insulting, actually…I'm here and you're stuck with me. So I'd appreciate it if you'd just listen."
Kitty nods silently.
"Okay." He pauses, as if contemplating which words to use. "I know we said we needed all the help we can get." The words hang there for a minute before fading. "In a best case scenario, we probably wouldn't have asked you for another couple of years, at least. But since we don't really have that option…you're our best bet, half pint. You're probably the most talented mutant we have to choose from right now. You've basically mastered your mutation, and you can fight well with or without it. You train hard, work hard, you're smart, you can think on your feet. We picked you for a reason."
It looks like complimenting her is taking a lot out of him. Kitty's tempted to laugh, but she opens her mouth to argue instead, even before what he's said really sinks in. Logan notices this and cuts her off.
"Hey. Look. You're usually so determined. You always want to help out, and I've never seen you back down from a challenge. So why are you backing down from this?"
She takes a breath. "I'm not like you guys. I'm not cut out to be a hero."
Logan frowns deeply at her. "You keep telling yourself that shit, half pint, someday it's gonna come true."
She just shakes her head. She can feel him peering at her, trying to understand her. Somehow, this helps.
"Kitty", he says. He never uses her real name. She doesn't think she's ever heard him say it, not once. "You can talk to me."
Finally, haltingly, Kitty speaks. "When Stryker's forces invaded the mansion," she begins, hoarsely, "when I woke up to soldiers in my room, I just—I ran. I ran and I didn't even stop to help anyone." She pauses. Her mouth feels too dry and she can't find a voice any stronger than a whisper. But Logan is quiet. Listening. "I'm scared that…that when it really counts, I'll do it again."
In the silence that follows, her words seem amplified, and she wants nothing more than to take them back. They make her feel so small. Then Logan interrupts the echoes, his own words careful and measured. "You're always going to be scared, kid. You just have to learn not to let it control you."
"I…I don't know how."
"That's what we're here for. Let us help you." His tone is gruff but gentler than she's ever heard it. "Listen carefully, half pint. I said it already, but I'll say it again. We picked you for a reason."
Kitty swallows. She's really doing this, isn't she? This is really happening.
Logan stands up, then. "If you tell anyone I said so many nice things about you, I'll deny it," he informs her.
"I know. Thanks."
Kitty doesn't watch him walk away. She watches her hands instead, tapping on the neatly painted edge of the bench, illuminated by the mansion's harsh outdoor lights. The day has swept through her like a hurricane and now it's blown itself out. The winds have settled. All that's left is for her to accept what remains.
When she walks back inside, a bunch of kids are up watching TV. It is Friday, but they're on the younger side and Kitty's pretty sure she recognizes the movie playing as Psycho—a questionable choice.
"Should you guys really be watching this?"
"You could chaperone," Artie suggests slyly.
"He means a scapegoat," Jones explains, matter-of-fact. "For when Storm comes down to check up on us."
Kitty's still a little rattled from the day she's had, but not enough to recognize what's going on here. "Right…I don't think so."
"Don't you like Hitchcock?" Jones points out.
Kitty does have a soft spot for Hitchcock movies, a tendency she guesses Jones has picked up on. She likes thinking of them as the precursors to modern horror movies; it interests her to see the progression from creepy black and white suggestions of horror to the current trend of fast cutting and flat-out freaky imagery.
"I'll stay. But seriously, when Storm comes down, you're on your own."
She isn't quite ready to face Storm yet, scapegoat or not.
"Fine," grumbles Artie.
As Kitty settles in, she notices that the movie's just recently begun. On screen, Norman Bates and Marion Crane are making awkward small talk—talk too small for the things Norman is saying. "I think that we're all in our private traps," he muses, "clamped in them, and none of us can ever get out. We scratch and—and claw, but only at the air, only at each other, and for all of it, we never budge an inch."
Marion suggests, softly, "Sometimes we deliberately step into those traps."
Kitty feels her heart seize a little. These words have never carried significance for her before. She's never really paid attention to them.
Norman says something—lost in thought, Kitty misses it—and Marion, with a look of concern that Kitty interprets as simple politeness, replies, "Oh, but you should. You should mind it."
"Oh, I do," Norman replies, with a nervous laugh, "but I say I don't."
There's a pause on screen. Kitty clenches her fingers into fists. She knows it's just a movie, but the words ring true. And she knows, with certainty this time, that she doesn't want to be trapped anymore. She's done with that—she's done with her fear controlling her.
From now on, she's the one in control.
It's an odd setting for such a realization. The famous shower scene arrives and the kids around her either scream or keep their eyes fixed on the screen, probably trying to catch a glimpse of Marion's naked body. Kitty rolls her eyes. Then she hears footsteps marching down the stairs, and the students all scatter. Switching off the TV, Kitty follows suit. On the way back up to her room, she resolves to show them all the rest of the movie someday. It's a crime to stop watching it so early on—the real action has hardly begun.
Those are her only thoughts before she drifts into sleep.
All weekend, as if they'd agreed on it, the X-Men give her space. Kitty's glad for it. She needs the room to compose herself, to recharge, and it helps to have the time on her own.
Bobby finds her on Sunday, though; he sidles up to her in the library and bumps her shoulder in a friendly way. "Hey. You okay?"
There's concern on his face, real concern. "Yeah," she tells him quietly. "Yeah, I think I am now."
He sits next to her. "I was worried."
"You shouldn't have been," she mutters. "I was being stupid."
"Kitty." His voice is so serious, she looks up in surprise. "You weren't being stupid. You were just scared. It's okay, I get it." He levels his gaze with hers and admits, "I've been there."
She stares in confusion. "Really? But…" It's hard to imagine Bobby feeling the same way as her, reacting the same way. He always seems so composed in the face of something serious; always so calm and collected and prepared. "I knew you were nervous, but…it was your dream. You seemed so happy."
"Everyone has their moments of doubt. That's why it meant so much to me when you told me I'd be a great X-Man—even if you didn't realize it at the time. That's why I want to tell you: you'll be great, too."
Kitty's smile rises, unbidden. She leans over and he lets her rest her head on his shoulder. "Thanks, Bobby," she whispers.
"Yeah, anytime," he replies, a little awkwardly. It makes her smile broaden. She closes her eyes, and then, as if he's more comfortable when she can't see him, he says, "I'm here. You know, if you ever need to talk." He pauses, and adds quietly, "I care about you, Kitty."
Without hesitation, she murmurs back, "I care about you, too."
When Monday comes, Kitty is prepared. The professors don't act any different around her or mention anything at all, except for Storm, who informs her in a businesslike tone of a meeting she's supposed to attend after classes. "To discuss your future," she says, but Kitty gets the idea. When she agrees, Storm gives her the most fleeting of smiles, but it's enough.
Professor Xavier doesn't say anything to her in his class, either, but all throughout their discussions, he keeps catching her eye—or maybe her mind?—for just a sliver of a second. So she waits.
The Professor lets all the other students leave before wheeling himself across from her. She searches for the kindness in his face that always makes her seek him out, and finds it there: a gentle, open benevolence only made more determined by the time and struggles he has weathered. "Kitty," he says. "I want to apologize. It was not our intention to frighten you."
She shakes her head. "You don't have to apologize. It was my fault." With a deep breath, she adds, "Logan talked to me, and…I think I'm ready."
The Professor's eyebrows raise a few inches. "Logan is doing far better than I thought," he remarks wryly. Kitty can't help but laugh.
She's so glad to be in his company.
"There is something I wanted to tell you, regardless," he continues, his expression turning serious. "We would not have asked you if we did not think you could do it."
Kitty recognizes those words as the ones he told her just before her first unofficial mission. And then, he amends them: "I would not have agreed to ask you if I did not think you could do it. I have faith in you, Kitty."
Just days ago, this kind of statement would have panicked her even further; her mind would have wandered to countless scenarios in which she proved him wrong, let him down. But by now, she's almost starting to believe it.
Later that afternoon, Kitty waits outside Storm's door for her meeting to begin. The mansion is still in the way that only Monday afternoons are, that beginning-of-the-week exhaustion permeating through the hallways. The hum of drowsy conversation sounds like humid buzz of summer.
She's early. And as she waits, Kitty notices that she doesn't feel in the least bit afraid. Instead, she feels…determined. Self-possessed. Tranquil, almost. She's ready to talk, ready to accept. She's ready to take on the challenges ahead of her.
