A/N: I'm back with another every-four-months update! Apologies to my readers. I hope the story is still worth it to you...and, regardless, thanks to everyone who has read, reviewed, favorited and/or followed so far! I really appreciate it.
We're coming to the end now. There's only about one more chapter left, maybe two. If you stick with me, I promise I'll finish the story, even if it takes another four months to do it...hopefully it doesn't!
(Also, random question: I know at the end of the third movie Prof X transfers his conscious into a brain dead man. Does anyone know how he gets his body back?!)
Disclaimer: I don't own X-Men.
Kitty feels stagnant that first week, despite the work she does. It's like she's just waiting: waiting for things to improve, watching the ways they don't, hoping to catch the tiny ways they do. She watches Bobby disappear morning after morning to search for Rogue. She watches Storm drown trying to do everything at once, and Dr. McCoy try to shoulder some of the burden with varied success. She watches Warren, awkward and earnest, and Piotr, private and stoic, and Jubilee, the hesitant way she watches back. She watches for each detail that shows her the minute ways they all differ.
She watches and works on the Danger Room programs, works through everything Storm tells her to, the security system, the filing organization, all of it, and it still doesn't feel quite concrete. All this work, and everything feels the same.
Kitty gets a brief respite from this motionlessness when Dr. McCoy is around. Drifting into a conversation with him feels like breaking out of passivity—like building something instead of just watching the world pass by. She clings that feeling, holds on to it against all the connections she can't seem to make. Kitty hasn't had a decent conversation with anyone else since…since sometime before Alcatraz, it's becoming hard to remember. Storm's distracted, Bobby's never around, the most she and Piotr manage is a companionable silence. She and Jubilee both shy away from each other when playful banter deepens into something more meaningful. It's never concerned Kitty before, but it's making her lonely now.
But Dr. McCoy reminds her of the Professor when he quotes authors and philosophers, when he levels with her, when he asks her questions he genuinely wants the answers to. When he puts off work because she's just told him she hated The Fountainhead and he wants to know why. When he's interested in her opinion. When he treats her like an adult. When his optimism shines through.
Storm plans so many meetings for the X-Men that Kitty's planner is soon overrun with notations in red ink, times and places. "To touch base," Storm explains from behind a stack of books and papers—materials for the new substitutes Warren's found—but Kitty wonders if it's really necessary, if what the new headmaster actually wants is the people she trusts to be beside her. Kitty doesn't mind. Honestly, it comforts her too.
The meetings definitely seem more about morale than anything. They usually finish discussing their tasks within a few minutes—except for that one circled item that lingers at the bottom of Storm's notes, seeming to migrate from list to list.
But it isn't even in one of those meetings that Storm tells Kitty about the will. It's later, in the hallway, and Storm's half-in, half-out of her office, giving Kitty the important bullet points and rummaging through the box behind her desk. Kitty was on her way to the library, and she flips the pages of her math textbook back and forth as she listens. The sun is waning with that warm glow that announces the approach of summer; dinner is over and the halls are mostly quiet, ethereal. She was startled to hear the Professor's name. Most of the mansion's residents, students and teachers alike, have been avoiding it. But Kitty realizes she doesn't want to stop talking about him. She wants to remember, to keep him alive with her words.
Storm emerges from her office with an envelope, and there it is, Kitty's name on the stark white paper in that familiar script. She hardly knows whether to open it or keep it sealed, preserve that feeling that she hasn't come to the end of all that her favorite professor can say to her.
Before she can decide, Storm is pressing something else into her hands. "Keep it private," she cautions, and then she's disappearing back into her office. Kitty looks down at the book in her hands: Aesthetics and the Philosophy of Art. She swallows and flips it open. That familiar handwriting appears again on the inside cover, his name in faint pencil—and it's echoed again in the scrap of paper she finds pressed between the inside pages. For all the things I couldn't teach you: I wish you the courage to learn them on your own.
Kitty closes the book again slowly. She remembers that afternoon last summer, and warmth spreads through her chest and thaws her hesitant limbs, right down to her trembling fingertips.
Kitty can't stop thinking about the people they've lost.
She looks at the unopened envelope on her bedside table and thinks of the Professor.
She walks down by the med bay on her way to the Danger Room and thinks of Jean.
She works on projects alone in the computer lab and thinks of Scott.
She eats breakfast and watches Bobby leave day after day and catches herself thinking of him, too, as if he's becoming someone she's lost as well. Kitty knows it's cruel, but she wants to tell him to stop. Maybe Rogue needs him—or maybe it's really that he needs Rogue—but they need him here too. She needs him.
And after these thoughts that swim pointlessly in circles, she thinks of Logan. That night, right after the battle, the last time she saw him.
She should have just asked him to stay.
The envelope still sits on Kitty's bedside table. Four days later, and she still can't bring herself to open it.
Now, when she visits his room, hidden deep within the mansion, she feels the pull of it, the words he's written that remain undiscovered. But when she reaches for it, back in her room, something always stops her. She can't solve that final mystery. It's the last one she'll ever get.
If she reads the letter inside, there will be nothing left he can say to her. She'll have come to the end.
Sometimes it all feels hopeless. Some days everything she does, everything she's done and will ever do—it all feels futile, like struggling against a current that will inevitably erase it all. It's more powerful than any of them. If they rebuild, it will just destroy all their hard work, all over again.
When this happens, Kitty steps outside. In the sunlight, watching the younger mutants playing outside, she feels more disconnected than ever, but she's reminded why they have to continue on, why they have to rebuild.
For them.
Inside, the air is languid, undisturbed. It's a beautiful day out, and only a few of the kids are inside. Predictably, they're playing video games.
Kitty smiles at the sight of Jones, jaw clenched in concentration, more invested in moving his player to safety than he'd care to be seen. Yousef moves his controller lazily at the far end of the sofa, while between them, Artie flicks his tongue out with each attack. Kitty watches them wistfully for a minute.
She turns to leave her usual way, through the wall—but instead she smacks straight into it and sort of bounces off in a way she's sure would be comical to anyone but her. "What the—"
"Sorry," says a sheepish voice to her right, around a chorus of giggles. Kitty, flushed, whips around to see Jimmy, just walking through the doorway. His face is crestfallen, and it only takes an instant before she's sure hers matches.
In all the other upheaval, she'd almost forgotten about him. Storm mentioned him a couple times during their meetings in the early days, something about some close relatives with custody, but Kitty honestly thought they had come and gotten him by now. Guilt slumps heavy in her stomach. She brought him out of that building, she protected him. She's responsible for him and she forgot him.
And still—her muscles are straining to maintain their distance. She wants to draw closer, but her fear won't let her.
Jimmy must pick up on her tenseness because he takes a step backwards, and then two more, a carefully calculated equation. Kitty almost feels the moment his ability loosens its hold on her.
"You don't have to," she says, frustratingly aware of how unconvincing she sounds.
Jimmy looks at her, shakes his head. "I make you uncomfortable."
Her heart sinks even lower. She thinks of Rogue, how she'd shied away from Rogue's mutation, the rift her actions had opened—and she steps deliberately closer, measuring those three steps and taking them back. Jimmy's eyes widen slightly. He doesn't look anything like that scared kid she found, and the thought brings a faint smile to her lips.
And then they're talking. Jimmy tells her about his aunt and uncle, the paperwork they have to go through before they're his legal guardians. He tells her, hesitantly, how amazing it is to be surrounded by so many people like him, and how he hides away in his room sometimes because he doesn't like taking away that part of them. And he tells her about Jason and his pranks, and Jubilee and her teasing, and Dr. McCoy and his drawer of snacks. The more they talk, the lighter Kitty feels.
"Yo, Jimmy!" Yousef yells from the couch. "Come over and play with us, Artie keeps using his tongue to distract us."
Jimmy smiles shyly and turns to go before pausing and meeting Kitty's eyes. "Thank you for coming to help me," he says to her. His eyes aren't distant: they're right here. His voice is steady, and he might be quiet and a little reticent but he isn't afraid. Kitty sees it in everything about him. And it stays that way when he admits, "I didn't think anyone was coming to get me. I thought I was going to die."
Then he's grabbing the fourth controller and squeezing in beside Artie. Laughter bubbles up from the sofa, and the tranquil sounds of virtual fighting float toward Kitty. She stands near the doorway and a strange affection rises up within her. It feels warm, familiar. Peaceful.
She visits the Danger Room again that night, fights with renewed purpose. But the session finishes and she erases it from the records and then it's gone. As if it never even happened. Kitty stares at the space where her level and time were noted, just a few seconds ago, and a sort of numb despondency overtakes her.
So she trudges to the kitchen for a snack. To her surprise, Bobby's sitting at the counter, a six-pack of beer resting off to his left. He's broken one off from the pack and is nursing it. It makes him look much older.
"Bobby?"
He looks up, startled. "Kitty. Jesus."
Silence settles over them too quickly. Kitty hesitates, wondering whether to turn away, before Bobby detaches another beer from the pack and pushes it wordlessly towards her. She accepts it, taking the stool next to him. "Where'd you get these?"
"Logan's stash. He left a lot of things behind when he took off."
Kitty reaches for the bottle opener lying off to her right, then thinks better of it and phases the cap off her beer. "Do you think he's coming back?" she asks hesitantly.
Bobby shakes his head. "I don't know," he says, and for the first time Kitty can't read him at all. It unsettles her, the flatness of his voice, the lack of expression, the way he won't make eye contact: she doesn't like how he's changed. Maybe he doesn't like how she's changed, either. If her change is even visible. If her change is even real.
Bobby takes a pensive swig of beer; Kitty follows suit and just manages to choke hers down. He catches her expression and a corner of his mouth quirks upward, but he doesn't comment. She wishes he would.
"Have—" Kitty pauses, knowing she shouldn't go down this road—she knows the answer anyways—but desperation gets the best of her. "Have you see Rogue?"
"No."
Before she can stop herself, she blurts, "What about John?"
She regrets it even before his head snaps up and she receives the full force of his furious expression. "Why would you say that?"
"I just thought—"
"Well, don't," he hisses, and she edges backwards, almost falling off her stool. "Just—" He turns his head, and she can see him clenching his jaw. "Can we not do this right now, Kitty?"
She can't answer him. Instead, she takes a deep, shuddering breath, trying to calm herself. Her chest feels tight, and suddenly she's so cold. She's lost too many people already. She can't lose him too.
It surprises her when Bobby turns back towards her. His face falls farther than it already has. His eyes look too old, his face too worn.
"Sorry," he says hoarsely. Lines appear at the corners of his mouth, his face distressed. "Sorry, I—I didn't—"
Kitty nods, but it's too much, and to her embarrassment she's crying a little, the barest of tears streaking across her cheeks. She draws away, but Bobby reaches out to catch her hand, and he looks so miserable it startles her. "I'm sorry," he repeats. "Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry," and his thumb runs over the back of her hand so gently it's as if he hardly knows he's doing it. She can't look away from him, and her tears feels so cold, not warm like they're supposed to. They feel like frost.
She doesn't know how long they stay there. Bobby keeps muttering that same word like a mantra, and she keeps nodding, and his hand stays atop hers long after her tears have stopped falling.
Kitty wakes up to a bright light flaring through her eyelids. Raising her groggy head from the countertop, she lifts a hand to rub the gritty feeling from her eyes. All she catches is a flash of Artie lowering a camera before Bobby bolts up and chases him, trying to grab it.
Kitty rests her head tiredly in her hands, watching them run out of the kitchen and down the hallway. They trade insults and threats the whole way until their voices fade from earshot. And alone in the kitchen, with the half-finished beers and the impression of Bobby's thumb lingering on the back of her hand, the sounds of playful fighting echoing in her ears, Kitty's almost surprised to feel herself smile.
Outside the windows, the sun is strengthening. Summer is edging closer and closer, bringing with it the promise of syrupy heat and strong unfiltered light. Despite the weariness that weighs on her limbs, Kitty phases past the mansion's walls, away from her bedroom and the computer lab and the hidden office room, all her little prisons. Outside, pure sunlight falls in layers on the gardens. It flows like a waterfall from trees to hedges to grass, leaving only traces of shadows where it doesn't reach. Stepping into it, she lets its warmth lap over her.
Aimlessly, Kitty wanders the grounds. She walks without any clear direction, weaving through hedges and circling paths, but she isn't surprised when she ends up in front of the graves. Three thick, plain stone blocks with their minimal engravings, their utter blankness. They have a pull like a magnet, like a dark space in the back of her mind that calls her there. She's drawn back to that space even when she isn't paying attention. Three stone blocks, three minimal engravings, and only one body.
She knows Jean is dead, just as she knows the Professor is dead, despite not having been a witness. But Scott's death feels just as empty as the ground beneath his gravestone. Kitty wishes they had found a body. Then she could stamp out the vain hopes that form so freely in the back of her mind. Then she could have closure.
Maybe that's why she hasn't really mourned him yet.
Scott was her mentor, her teacher, her leader. He taught her to consider every angle, to focus, to be strong; he's part of the reason she is who she is today. When she first came to the school, he was a leader, confident and strong and commanding. But Kitty also saw other sides of him: she saw him try to teach the students about motorcycle maintenance and car repair, she heard him crack really bad jokes to Jean on more than one occasion when he thought not one was listening, and there was one memorable incident when she phased downstairs for some tea after a sleepless night and caught him watching the unauthorized N Sync documentary. And he was more than these episodes, too—he's more than any of her memories of him. He's more than she'll ever know.
He's more than this smooth chunk of stone.
Kitty stares at the tiny flame flickering at the base of the Professor's grave. She doesn't know what she would have done for him—for all three of them—but it wouldn't be this. Then again, does it even matter? There's nothing there. No matter what their graves look like, they'll always be ugly because of what they represent.
And this whole school is their grave, in a way. It echoes with their ghosts. Kitty doesn't know if she'll ever be able to see the school past what isn't there.
Gentle footsteps break through these thoughts. Without even looking, Kitty recognizes the quiet presence that settles at her side, grounding her. Together, they gaze at the headstones wordlessly, and her swirling memories slowly begin to recede.
"I appreciate everything you've been doing, Kitty," Storm tells her after a few minutes, breaking the easy silence.
Kitty bites her lip, keeps her gaze fixed firmly ahead. "It isn't enough."
"It's not up to you to fix everything by yourself."
"Not everything," Kitty counters. Her fingers scrape against the fabric inside her pockets. "Just—more."
Storm shifts next to her. Gently, she replies, "We all wish we could do more, Kitty."
Kitty doesn't answer. The scene that's playing out should have been different: two people quietly and peacefully coming to terms with their loss, resolving to look toward the future. But the glimpses of peace she's caught in the past few weeks have been fleeting, and few and far between. She doesn't feel the serenity required for such a scene. Instead she feels, with renewed strength, everything that's out of her control.
A faint breeze blows past her and Storm, rustling through the headstones and playing with strands of their hair. It falls away as quickly as it picked up. Kitty looks beyond the graves, into the rows of flowers and shrubs, the greenery that surrounds them; she listens for the muted sounds of students playing, their excited voices calling to one another. Even as she does this, her gaze is refocusing, drawn back again and again. The tombstones dominate the place in which she stands, in a way that has nothing to do with size.
"I miss them," Storm says finally.
Kitty's chest feels tight as she looks at those hunks of stone. She realizes she's still hoping they'll be something they're not. They can't be anything for her. They're just markers.
"I do, too."
After a beat, she feels Storm's hand rest on her shoulder.
That night, Kitty reaches for the envelope on her bedside table, and, with careful fingers, opens it and pulls out the letter inside.
