A/N: It's a short chapter, I know. I felt it was more effective that way.
Thanks to Cora, the anonymous reviewer, and everyone else!
Disclaimer: I don't own X-Men.
Floodlights pierce the night, dissipating mist, illuminating the clashing forces below. There are so many mutants there, more than Kitty has ever seen together at one time. It's a scene she wasn't expecting.
Holding onto Bobby, she jumps. She feels him tense and knows she's doing the same because they're free falling, falling, and Kitty's heart pounds, shadowy and damp and rattled—and then they pierce the ground and they're rushing below, dark swallowing earth closing in before she slows them down, moves up with all her strength.
She hates phasing underground, knowing that almost no one will ever be down there in quite the same way she is. It makes her all the more aware how easy it would be for her to be trapped down there, lost. Buried.
They break the surface, back into the full noise of fighting, and Kitty exhales with short-lived relief. As she absorbs the scene, that relief begins to dissolve. "Don't ever do that again," Bobby says, a little shakily, at her left, and Kitty wasn't too big a fan of that herself but this really isn't the time. She's a little breathless at the chaos they've landed into, adrenaline making her heart race, and the soldiers scattered around them heft guns she strongly suspects are full of the cure and every time they move unease shoots through her and hundreds of mutant powers she's never seen before rage in front of her and how is all her hair in her face already and—
Kitty tries to take it all in as fast as possible, the way she's been trained. She won't deny she's anxious, but at the same time, things are falling into place. Every strategy they reviewed, every nightmarish Danger Room session, every training exercise drilled endlessly: they were all for a reason. She feels it consciously when she shifts into her battle senses.
Wolverine is running among the soldiers, giving orders like he's suddenly in charge, but no one argues. There's a sudden aura of authority about him. "Everybody get together," he shouts, gesturing at the team, "and hold this line!" He gives Kitty a look that says so many things: it says this is what you've been training for. And you're going to be okay, right? And you can do this, I know you can. And she holds his gaze and dips her chin into a firm nod. She knows she can, too. And she will. This time, she will.
It's still for a few tense moments. They all breathe in frosty clouds, muscles taut, waiting. In those seconds that seem to stretch on for hours, Kitty is glad for Bobby at her side, giving her strength, even if he doesn't know it.
Then Magneto, positioned above like a king, shouts his command. A wall of mutants—a veritable army—rushes towards them.
Kitty tunes out everything else. The wave is upon them and suddenly she's executing the maneuvers she was running through mentally not so long ago. The passing time becomes a blur. She's in full combat mode, focused, alert, assessing each opponent as they race towards her, calculating the right moves to make them fall. Working to her advantage is the fact that most of Magneto's army seem completely untrained: random mutants who know how to throw a punch but not how to fight. Kitty knows better than to underestimate the power of anger, but she also knows how to counteract an opponent who fights emotionally. Their moves are sloppy, not well thought out. It isn't hard to throw them off balance.
She's dimly aware of the others in her peripheral vision, taking out ten for every one she knocks down. Compared to her, her teammates are all fighting machines, but she doesn't let it bother her. She knows by now that her ability lies elsewhere, that there are other situations in which she would outlast them all.
Still, as she knocks an opponent away and trips another following on the former's heels, she can't help thinking she'd be of better use elsewhere. So when a huge mutant—Juggernaut, she remembers from the emergency briefing—bowls over a crowd of soldiers and barrels straight through the outer wall of the lab, Kitty knows that's where she's needed. She hears Logan call after her as she races toward the building, but he's soon preoccupied again. This is a real mission, and they have to leave her to handle herself now.
Inside, the halls are empty and quiet, the uproar outside muted. Kitty races along them confidently. As formidable as the Juggernaut appears, she isn't afraid of him. This is a challenge far more suited to her: she's better equipped to handle one-on-one situations, and she also suspects it won't be too hard to outthink him. It's dangerous to underestimate an opponent, she knows, but he doesn't strike her as the sharpest knife in a drawer. And at first he appears to prove her right. It isn't terribly hard to lose him.
Still, it might just be luck that she finds the kid first. She's running at top speed through every wall she comes across and suddenly she's in a room of blinding white, in stark contrast to the gray hallways. When she sees him it takes her breath away for a second. He's just a kid. This is the source of the cure? This is the mutant Magneto wants killed?
Seeing him huddled by the nightstand in his room of white, making himself small, it's almost impossible to believe that he was the start of all this.
Kitty feels doubly determined to protect him. She's holding on to him to phase him with her when her palm, and then the rest of her body, connect solidly with the wall. It's so unexpected that she does panic for a second.
"Your powers won't work with me," the kid—Jimmy—explains. And she releases a breath as the panic dissolves. Of course, she thinks; how could she have been so stupid? Knowing the cause, she immediately begins working through her options, adjusting her strategy. He negates the abilities of mutants around him—but how big a radius? Maybe she can use his ability to her advantage.
The noise of smashing draws closer, and Jimmy's fear is palpable. She just hopes he hasn't lost confidence in her, because she's going to get him out of here. She is.
The Juggernaut crashes through the wall opposite them then and, like a cat toying with its food, pauses a minute, gloating, eyeing them. Kitty's plan solidifies as she eyes him back. She's never been one for trash talking—why waste your breath when you need it?—but for now, she needs to provoke him.
Amazingly, it works.
The way back out is harder. Kitty actually has to use doors and stairwells to get down, and with all the adrenaline coursing through her, it feels extremely clunky and slow. Her heart races much too fast for her feet. These limitations frustrate her, especially now, in this situation. She doesn't know if she can outsmart the Juggernaut again, and even without his mutation he's a daunting opponent.
But there's nothing she can do about it, so they continue on this way, Kitty trying to map out the building mentally to avoid any wrong turns and not always succeeding. The more mistakes she makes, the faster they have to move. Jimmy, to his credit, keeps up with her without complaining, even when she's all but dragging him behind her. He must really be scared. But she would be, too, if she were defenseless, sitting in a room waiting for her own execution.
They make it out somehow—into utter chaos. Kitty has no idea what's happened out here while she was inside, but the battle is dissolving fast, unraveling into pandemonium of a different kind. She and Jimmy both pause a minute, trying to make sense of the scene before them. Then Kitty catches sight of Jean—the Phoenix—blazing with unnatural light. The rising wall of water, the fires, the structures that creak and groan and collapse: it's a display of power. And any minute now, the Phoenix could let it all detonate.
Kitty jolts out of her reverie and runs, Jimmy in tow, with renewed energy. She can see Storm ahead, shouting directions and gesturing forcefully, and the familiar glint of Wolverine's claws not too far from her. Only two of them, but she can't afford to stop now and look for the rest. Already she can hear the distant sound of the jet roaring to life.
Scrambling up the rocky slope, she catches sight of Bobby, unharmed, and releases a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. He helps her and Jimmy up as they race towards the Blackbird. Everything is rising into dust and ash, now, the water reaching ever-growing heights, wind whirling around the too-bright lone figure in red. Kitty clambers into the jet behind Jimmy, noting each teammate's face with relief. Everyone's here…except for Logan. As the jet rises under Storm's steady command, Kitty looks below and sees Logan approaching the Phoenix, and then she can't look anymore.
Her hand finds Bobby's. When he squeezes it tighter, she opens her eyes. The waves have calmed, the swirling wind and ash have settled. Only the barest hint of movement comes from down below. Kitty glances at Bobby, at Piotr, at Dr. McCoy, and finds she knows what's happened. And she knows it needed to happen, that there wasn't any way around it.
But most of all, she knows that doesn't make it any easier.
The jet ride back to the mansion seems to drag on for hours longer than it should. No words are exchanged; the only sounds are the steady chorus of breathing and the occasional noises that come from the cockpit. The silence makes Kitty's ears ring. She is still decompressing, trying to wrap her mind around everything she's witnessed today, everything they've all been through. So much has happened so fast.
She tips her head back against her seat and closes her eyes and takes comfort in the presence of her teammates around her. She's tried to be thankful for the lack of empty seats—for the extra one they've even managed to fill. But it isn't quite enough.
She doesn't know how to explain it. And the darkness behind her eyelids is morphing into something speed-blurred and bottomless: it's all falling falling falling
Kitty jerks in her seat and snaps her eyes open and to her left Bobby is watching her. He doesn't say anything, just quirks his mouth a little. It's the tiniest of offerings. It isn't even a smile, but Kitty takes it, mirrors it back. The years she's been at the institute have taught her something, solidifying that nagging feeling in the back of her head that she can't remember ever not having: that some things can't be fixed. That sometimes nothing is enough. But she takes what Bobby gives her then, because another thing she's been learning is that she can make whatever she wants of what she's been given.
Through the rest of that endless, stagnant ride, she occupies her mind with trivial little tasks: reviewing the periodic table, mapping out the American governmental system, reciting lists of formulas. It seems irrelevant in comparison to what they're flying away from, but it makes Kitty feel in control. And for now, that's what she needs.
That night, for the first time in years, Kitty wakes up falling.
Startled awake, she finds herself phasing straight through the living room ceiling and falling onto the couch next to a very surprised Logan. He jumps about a mile and the remote falls out of his hands.
Kitty scuttles back immediately. Her face is flushed from embarrassment and shock; she thought she was done with this. "Oh god, sorry, Logan. I didn't mean to…"
Logan regains the power of speech and stops staring. "You almost gave me a heart attack," he grumbles. "What happened there?"
"I, um…" Kitty shifts uncomfortably. "I had a nightmare."
Now he just looks amused. "Do you always fall through the ceiling when you have a nightmare?"
"It hasn't happened in a long time." Kitty answers. She looks down at her hands. How could this have happened again?
"But it used to."
"Yeah," she mumbles. "That was how my mutation manifested."
Logan's quiet for a while. Kitty glances at the TV; it's playing a nature documentary. They both watch in silence for a few minutes. It's oddly reminiscent of their first conversation.
The lion cubs are observing their first hunting lesson when Logan speaks up. "Are you okay?" he asks. It's quick, and he doesn't look at her, but Kitty hears the gentleness behind his words. She's not sure how to answer.
"Are you okay?"
"Fair enough," Logan acknowledges gruffly, and they lapse into another mostly comfortable silence.
They watch lions stalking prey, competing for dominance, raising their children. It's strangely soothing to watch the animals. At least it's better than the images that were playing behind Kitty's eyelids.
The documentary ends and Logan stands. "You should get some sleep," he says. He's walking away when he turns back and adds, with unexpected fondness, "You did well today, half pint."
The barest hint of a smile plays on Kitty's lips. "Thanks," she whispers, and when she looks up, she's alone.
