A/N: Here's a really long chapter for you guys! I think it might be the longest yet. Anyways, there's going to be one more chapter, but I think it's more of a mini chapter so don't have any high expectations. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't own X-Men.
Kitty sits up in the dark.
Afterimages linger behind her eyes, and she shakes her head furiously to dissolve them. Once her breathing slows, the perfect quiet permeates her consciousness. It's three a.m. and the vast majority of the mansion's residents will be asleep by now.
Kitty's limbs are restless. She phases straight through the twist of sheets and creeps out of her room and down the hallway.
As she approaches the lower levels, she can hear the soothingly familiar noise of the TV. Probably Artie, but she phases halfway through the wall and dips down into the floor as soon as she hits safe ground, just in case. After these years here, she has a decent grasp on the mansion's layout, on the floors and walls it's safe to phase through. There have been quite a few incidents in the past involving surprise encounters that she'd never like to recreate.
The hall below is dark when she drops down into it, until the motion sensors flick on and the space is flooded with light. This moment always stops Kitty's heart for a moment. She's not sure if she's afraid of being caught or of this time she takes for herself being interrupted. These solitary hours in the night have become important.
She takes a quick detour, as usual, into the locker room where she hastily pulls on her uniform. The room is shadowy and empty and Kitty doesn't like to spend too long in it. She leaves as quickly as she can before sneaking into the Danger Room.
Inside the high domed, blank room, she calls up one of the newest simulations. After debugging the code in a few of the old programs, Kitty started messing around, trying to create one of her own. Only after putting the finishing touches on her second project had she realized exactly what she was doing. It didn't change with the third simulation she wrote, or the one after that—and it still holds true for the one she's just finished, and for the new idea that's just forming in her head. She's creating them for herself. The things that scare her, the scenarios she never wants to be in, the people or situations she can't face: one by one, she writes them into reality. And one by one, night after night, she faces them. Over and over, until she feels like she can handle anything.
The basement is cold, and Kitty feels it seep through her leather suit. She flashes back briefly on the dream she'd woken up from. It's already fading from her memory, but just the thought of it is enough to make her shudder. This is one of those nights when she needs to feel strong.
The simulation launches, the Danger Room's smooth walls overlaid with the illusion of a vast, barren landscape. Nowhere to hide. Kitty waits, her heart thudding ominously, for the holographic image to complete. At several points in this field, deep holes are waiting, barely visible at a distance. She knows because she programmed them herself as random variables that crop up in different place each time. One moment of distraction and she'll fall.
It took so long before she made herself a simulation of falling. She tackled just about everything else before: tight, cramped spaces, mazes, even a replica of the battle on Alcatraz; but finally, not long ago, she decided she didn't want to hide from that particular fear any longer. She doesn't want to be haunted by it anymore.
The last pixel of sky fills in, and Kitty takes a breath. Her pursuers will emerge any minute now from the simulation's dark, crumbling edges. She steels herself, tucking her hair behind her ears, clenching her fists: her little rituals.
Maybe the whole team will run this simulation together someday. Maybe Storm will split them up, send small groups to attack from separate angles; maybe she'll have them rush the attackers as a group while she takes them out from overhead. Kitty's alone right now, running a session designed for an entire team, and even if she doesn't beat it today she knows she won't be as afraid the second time. If she ever runs this one with the rest of the X-Men, it will be after she's already conquered it alone. She's doing this for herself, but she's also doing it for them: the team, the younger kids, anyone out there that she might have to protect one day. For them, she'll better.
The familiar computerized shouts materialize behind her and she springs into action.
When Kitty stumbles back out, exhausted and covered in sweat, she feels strong. Even erasing the record of her run doesn't bring her down. It's been like this, lately. She doesn't need the details of her session noted and filed away because she carries the evidence in her body. Every one of these late night workouts leaves its imprint upon her, proof stronger than any electronic log.
She's been training on her own, too, outside of the Danger Room. The session she had with Logan is still noted in her planner in the purple ink reserved for her physical X-Men duties. She's made a point of going, lately, running through sequences and drills that Logan taught her. Maybe it's routine, or denial, or an unwillingness to forget that pulls her there at the exact same time her session's always been, but Kitty doesn't think it matters. She's pulling her life back together.
It didn't seem like so long ago that she couldn't imagine that things would ever be able to work out. She's getting back into the rhythm of things now, and it's a different rhythm, but it's one that's working. The pieces are slowly coming back together, defying all her expectations.
One morning she wanders into the kitchen for a late cup of coffee and Rogue is there, nursing a cup of her own. Kitty freezes. She's been holding out hope for Rogue to come back, but apparently some part of her didn't think it would happen.
"Rogue?"
The other girl looks up, startled. That's when Kitty notices her ungloved hands. Rogue catches her looking and fixes her with a defiant stare. "Marie," she responds firmly. "It's Marie now."
"Marie," Kitty amends. She wants to smile, make her teammate feel welcome, but the atmosphere in the kitchen is cold and holds her back. Ro—Marie holds her gaze, and it seems as if she's waiting for something. "Did I—did I do something to upset you?"
Marie opens her mouth slightly before hesitating, as if she's mulling over her choices. Finally, she says, "No. No, you didn't."
Her tone makes Kitty think her answer is more significant than it seems, but she's unable to add up the signs. Instead she runs through the whole spectrum of nervous gestures as she heads for the coffee maker: biting her lip, tapping her fingers, tugging at the hem of her shirt. She pours herself some and measures out two precise spoonfuls of sugar.
"I've been away for a while," Marie says out of the blue, choosing each word deliberately. She cups her mug in her hands, drawing its warmth through her bare skin, then adds, "I've had a lot of time to think."
Kitty nods.
"I wasn't sure I was coming back."
"Why?"
Marie shrugs with false carelessness—an affectation Kitty knows well. "Things weren't really going my way." A pause. "I didn't think anybody would understand." She flexes her hands, traces the handle of her mug. Her expression is withdrawn, pensive; the real conversation is taking place in her mind, and only fragments of it are rising to the surface. "I still don't."
"It's your decision," Kitty tells her carefully.
The other girl laughs, a sound swirled with bitterness. "People can say that all they like. It doesn't change what they really think."
Kitty looks away uncomfortably. She pulled away from Rogue once, and she doesn't think that will ever be forgotten, even if it's been forgiven. Now she's pulling away from Marie, too, away from the truth in her statement. Nothing to do but—just like with Jimmy—close the gap. "I'm glad you came back," she says quietly, and means it.
"Really?" Marie asks skeptically, her eyes narrowed.
Kitty squirms a little, feeling childlike. She doesn't know how to tell Marie how brave she thinks she is—and, ironically, maybe she'll never work up the courage to say it. "Maybe we're not close," she replies instead, "but we're friends."
Marie shrugs again. She seems unconvinced. "Well." Bringing her coffee cup to her lips, she takes a tentative sip. "Here I am."
"Welcome back," Kitty offers, sincerely. Marie returns her cautious smile with one just as wary, and Kitty turns away to add milk to her coffee. After a minute of uncertainty, she brings her mug over to Marie and takes the seat next to her. The two girls glance uneasily at each other, but then Kitty starts telling her about an elaborate prank some of the kids pulled on Artie a couple of days ago and Marie laughs and asks what else they've been up to, and just like that, they're talking. It's polite, and it's trivial, but for now, it's enough.
Marie's return to the mansion is met with mixed responses, but for every negative voice there's a supportive one. Kitty sees Dr. McCoy introducing himself to her and smiles to herself: he'll be good for her. He's been good for all of them, in all his ways—especially in the way he's still here, even though there are probably a hundred more pressing problems for him to deal with. It means a lot, the way he sticks around.
Kitty knows he can't stay forever, but she catches herself hoping, on occasion, that Marie will, in his stead. It's not that they're close—if she's honest with herself, they're more good acquaintances than friends—but she just wants to keep them all together, these people that have surrounded her for years. She wants to hang on to all of them as long as she can.
But Jimmy leaves that same week. His aunt and uncle arrive to pick him up, wearing dark clothing and triumphant if subdued smiles. Kitty purposefully introduces herself to them, a not-so-subtle attempt to make sure Jimmy will be left in good hands. But they seem so happy to see each other: Jimmy's face lights up instantly and his smile glows as bright as the sun, and their smiles nearly match his. The aunt asks Jimmy all the right questions and the uncle wants an entire tour of the school, the classrooms and the grounds and everything. Kitty's facial muscles ache from holding her smile too long.
The bittersweet moment comes when Jimmy packs his sparse possessions into the trunk of the sedan parked out front. The steps are littered with students already waving goodbye, shouting out a chorus of well-wishes and playful teasing. Dr. McCoy is in the back, calming a few of the rowdier students, while Storm is near the car talking lowly with Jimmy's aunt. His uncle closes the trunk and Jimmy runs around to throw his arms around Storm for a moment before clambering into the backseat. Kitty laughs to herself. He's a bit like Jones: sometimes she forgets he's just a kid.
Marie sidles up beside her as the car is starting up. Jimmy has his window rolled down and his entire arm is sticking out of it, waving goodbye. Kitty is waving, too, along with the mob of students blocking half her view. After a minute spent idling, the car slowly rolls forward, along the drive, into the road, and out of sight.
"He's a good kid," Marie says, watching them leave.
The din around them gradually decreases as students begin to peel off and head back inside. Kitty nods in agreement, thinking of how she saw Marie and Jimmy talking in an empty classroom just yesterday. She feels a little like a parent dropping her kid off at boarding school. "He might be back," she muses, thinking of the extensive tour Storm had given his relatives, and how Jimmy had told them, "This is a good place," followed by a loose paraphrasing of the school's mission statement. "In the fall."
Marie makes a little humming noise from the back of her throat in response. From her spot on the driveway, Storm turns and walks back up the stairs. "We'll see," she tells them, evidently having overheard, and holds open the mansion's doors to herd the two of them and the remaining stragglers inside.
Just inside the entryway, a small pack of kids is gathered, watching Jason animatedly explain something to Bobby, using his hands and expressions more and more as the speed of his talking increases. Bobby is standing there watching with his arms folded sternly, not looking too impressed. When the door opens, he looks over and locks eyes for a brief moment with Kitty before his gaze drifts over to Marie and Storm. The institute's new head walks purposefully over to confer, while Marie shoots Bobby a shy smile and waits on the sidelines. The two of them seem a little awkward around each other again—as if they've been taken back to the first few clumsy, tongue-tied, self-conscious days of their relationship. Kitty leaves them, phasing idly on her way to the library.
Things with Bobby are…quiet. They offer each other tiny smiles now when they pass in the hallways, but they still haven't really spoken. Kitty wishes he would talk to her: she wants to drain away some of whatever it is that sharpens the folds of his face, that makes him so silent and withdrawn, even now that Marie's back. She misses the way it used to be, the easy way they used to just be together. Sometimes she misses it more than anything.
The special reports and hastily put together documentaries and discussion panels on the 'Mutant Attack on Alcatraz' and the history of mutations and the 'mutant problem' and mutant rights and mutant-targeting legislation and mutant anything slowly dwindle and sift away until only the odd two-minute segment crops up, and even that becomes one of those headlines that creep along the bottom of the screen during a TV news segment before disappearing. Kitty watches the story fade from collective memory. She has no doubt that before long, a new bill or a riot somewhere will provoke the next spurt of media coverage, but for now, she watches the absence with conflicting feelings.
As the reports diminish, the promise of summer grows stronger and stronger until it's upon them. Classes end and the substitutes leave. Storm puts the X-Men to work writing 'help wanted' ads for new teachers, and during a particularly lively meeting she announces the upcoming return of one Kurt Wagner. The meeting ends on a memorable high note.
After the substitutes leave Storm looks through their grades and fudges some paperwork, and everyone gets a decent grade, even Marie, who's racked up an unbelievable number of absences. Storm insists on holding a graduation ceremony, and Dr. McCoy enthusiastically agrees. They drag out last year's supplies and round up a reasonable number of folding chairs. Kitty helps set up the tent, Jubilee recruits a team to work on the decorations, and Piotr drives into town for a cake. On the chosen Sunday, wearing last year's black gowns and ill-fitting caps, facing a modest assembly of parents on chairs and a larger and more raucous group of students sitting on the grass, the graduates look happy—Bobby and Marie included. Kitty cheers loudly as Storm calls their names one by one, and Jubilee surreptitiously tosses off fireworks. The ceremony hardly lasts ten minutes and there's no speech besides a few casual words from Storm, but it's perfect.
After, they gather under the tent for slices of the enormous cake Piotr brought. Kitty's surprised to see Bobby talking to a couple who look like they could be his parents; they don't seem to be arguing, though, just talking. Everyone mills about, eating cake and laughing with each other, sunshine falling golden over them. Kitty wishes it could last forever.
She's already in the locker room, half in her suit, when she realizes she didn't wake from bad dreams. She didn't wake from dreams at all.
Kitty pauses in that comical pose, pajamas tangled around her head, one suit leg caught on her ankle. Now that she considers it, the last few times she's come here in the night she's woken of her own accord. She's forging her own way now, instead of letting other forces shape her.
It's a moment of strange pride.
As she pulls her shirt over her head and drops it into her locker, she tries to remember the last time she actually had one of the dreams, the ones that startle her awake and press upon her chest. It surprises her that she can't come up with the answer.
In the Danger Room, testing herself, she calls up the simulation of Alcatraz. The resemblance is a little rocky—she based it on memory alone—but it's still instantly recognizable. Kitty frowns as she takes in her surroundings. The scenery isn't calling up any disturbing flashes from her dreams, and the thrill of fear she feels quickly dissipates. She takes up her preferred battle stance. It puzzles her that she isn't feeling triumphant anymore, but rather…bittersweet, maybe even a little dismayed. As if she's lost something. As if she'd planned to keep torturing herself forever—as if she'd never wanted to forget.
The simulation plays out and Kitty tries to push aside these feelings and fight. She can't deny that her heart isn't in it as much as it used to be, though. It's good exercise, but today that feels like all this is.
She's a little distracted, which is why she doesn't notice Bobby until he makes a strangled noise that somehow manages to rise about the din. Whipping around, she sees him standing rigid near the rock-strewn edges of the replicated island, while a simulated Bobby continues to fight in her periphery.
"Bobby?"
His eyes race wildly over the scene before focusing on her. "What is this," he says, loudly enough to carry over, but frighteningly deadpan. Kitty stares at him for a second before a programmed mutant rushing by almost knocks her over, snapping her back to the present. She calls out the command to end the simulation. Gradually the room powers down until it's just her and Bobby, standing some distance apart in an empty chamber.
Kitty hesitates only an instant before crossing over to him. "Bobby?"
His jaw is clenched so tightly, she can see the muscles stretched taut. "What did you do?"
"It's Alcatraz," Kitty answers, carefully keeping her voice calm.
"Why?" he hisses.
"Because…" she shifts from foot to foot, then very consciously straightens to her full height. "Because it's something that scares me. And I don't want to be afraid of it anymore."
Bobby shuts his eyes tightly and doesn't respond. His fingers curl into stiff fists, then uncurl. Kitty hears his breathing start to even out.
"Bobby," she repeats, quieter this time.
He won't open his eyes. "How?" he asks. "How can you—"
The question trails off, but Kitty thinks she understands. "It wasn't easy," she says. "But I needed to."
His eyes open, then, and in sharp contrast to the haggard look she's becoming accustomed to, he looks so suddenly young. "Kitty, I—" His mouth opens and closes, forming silent words, and Kitty recognizes the slight panic hidden there. She lowers herself to the floor, cross-legged, and pats the space beside her. "Sit."
A few seconds later, he sinks down next to her and pulls his knees to his chest. This posture makes him look so young, Kitty thinks. She waits, as she's been doing, for him to speak first. And this time, he does.
"It could have gone very differently," he says.
"Alcatraz?"
He nods. "I was at Alkali Lake, too. It's the same thing, always. You never know how it's going to end until it does." He rolls the threadbare hem of his old t-shirt between his fingers. "This is what I signed up for."
"We have to take the chance," Kitty reminds him, "that it could end badly."
"You don't get it," he retorts sharply. "It did end badly. And here you are, reliving it like it's no big deal. On purpose! As if…as if…" His fingers stiffen around the fabric of his shirt as his voice catches on the end of the sentence. Kitty watches him, wide eyed.
"As if I've come to terms with what happened?" she supplies. "As if I've made my peace?"
He makes sudden, startling eye contact. "As if you don't care anymore," he counters, lowly. "As if it doesn't matter to you what happened and what's probably going to keep happening—as if this life we've chosen doesn't bother you at all. As if you're not scared." Releasing a slow breath, his accusing stare turns inwards. "Like I am."
"Bobby," Kitty says gently. She's slightly shaken by what he's said—by how he's wrapped up so many of the thoughts she's had in a nice little package. "I made this because I was scared."
Without even looking at her, he shakes his head. "You're not. Not anymore."
Kitty frowns. "No. I'm not scared of this—" she makes a vague gesture around the room before remembering the simulation is gone, "—what's already happened—anymore." She takes a breath and pulls her legs in tighter to herself. This is something she's realizing, piece by piece. "But I'm still afraid of the future, and I'm always going to be. Everyone is. The best I can do—the best we can all do—is make sure our fear doesn't control us." She laughs a little, through the unexpected wetness coming to her eyes. "I'm scared all the time, Bobby. You remember how it was: it used to hold me back. And it took so long to get past it, but the thing is, I'm still scared. I just don't let it stop me anymore, because I believe in what we do." She taps her fingers reflexively against her thigh. These thoughts have been building up in her these past few weeks, but she recognizes they've been brewing for far longer. It's a truth that's been forming her entire life, but only now is it finally coming into view. "I'm scared just like you, Bobby. Of course I'm scared. But I believe in what Professor Xavier was trying to do and now that he's—now that he's gone, I have to help carry on his dream. We all do."
"I'm stuck," Bobby mutters. His eyes are shut tight again. "I can't get past it, I can't move forward." His voice drops so much in volume that Kitty barely catches it when he adds, "I'm not like you."
These words take Kitty back painfully to the day she was asked to join the X-Men, and the deep certainty she felt: that she wasn't like them. That there was something fundamentally different, inferior, about her. She swallows. "You're better than me," she tells him quietly. "You just don't see it yet."
Bobby just chuckles bitterly, and this time Kitty doesn't hesitate. She reaches out confidently and lays her hand over his, and to her surprise, he doesn't pull away. "I didn't figure all this out on my own. And you don't have to either."
"You can't help me."
Kitty ignores the sting of that statement. "Yes, I can," she insists. "Run the simulation with me."
"What?" His eyes snap open. "No. No way."
"Run it with me," she repeats, and squeezes his hand. "I'll be right next to you, Bobby. I'm right here."
He stares at her for a minute, working through this idea silently. "You're crazy," he huffs.
"Tool of the trade," Kitty says wryly. "Is that a yes?"
"This doesn't seem like a good idea." He draws his hand away from hers, picks at the worn knees of his pajama pants. "It's not going to help me."
"Just try it. Just this once, with me."
Bobby pulls his knees in tighter and rests his chin on them. With him in that pose, Kitty can very clearly picture him as a child, the way he must have been. She hides her smile and waits patiently. There's no clock anywhere in the Danger Room and no watch on her wrist, but sunrise must be approaching by now. How long until Storm or maybe even Dr. McCoy come down for a morning session? She doesn't care much anymore about being discovered, but she wants to do this for Bobby, and she wants to do it privately. She wants to help him, and she doesn't know how except to show him how she helped herself.
She's still lost in these thoughts when Bobby's "okay" cuts through her reverie.
"Okay," Kitty echoes, and when she stands she offers him a hand to pull him up.
That's the first time. As Kitty cues the simulation up, she draws a parallel to the sessions they used to run together back when she was new to the X-Men, when it was Bobby helping her through it. In some ways, they've come full circle.
Now, some nights they meet, some nights Bobby comes and wakes her up, and they go to the Danger Room together. She knows they don't have to do it at night—that if she told Storm about it, the leader would probably give her permission—but something about the quiet of nighttime, the sensation that no one is watching, feels right for what they're doing.
The third time they meet, Kitty asks Bobby why he'd come down to the Danger Room that night. Between fending off attackers, he tells her that he'd been wandering the whole mansion, walking from one end of each floor to the other, covering the whole floor plan. This is what he does when he's feeling stressed or anxious. "It helps calm me down," he explains, with an iced kick to a simulated assailant approaching from the right. "It grounds me, like—reminds me where I am."
The idea feels particularly lovely to Kitty. As she phases an opponent's feet through the floor, she turns the thought over and over in her mind. What a beautiful thing: to remind yourself that this where you are.
After the sessions, Kitty sneaks upstairs to grab them some sodas and sometimes a bite to eat. If Storm knew they were bringing snacks down here, she'd have their heads for sure. But Jones will see them if they sit in the kitchen, and Kitty values this time alone. She doesn't know if it's helping Bobby the way she hoped it would, or if it's doing anything at all. But, slowly, pieces of him are coming back to her.
"Cheers, Captain Pryde," he'll say, clunking his soda against hers. Or he'll make a dumb joke about the apple she's brought him, or remind her of some prank he pulled back when she was still new. At first, Kitty sees quite clearly that this jocular manner of his is overcompensation, just a different way to hide. But he begins to settle back into it over the days, over the weeks, and she sees it become natural again. She sees him returning to himself.
With everything else that's been changing lately, this is what makes her know with sudden certainty that they're going to be okay. They're all going to be okay.
Summer activities are starting, after some delay. Jubilee somehow managed to procure an entire box of water guns, and Stevie and Theresa have decided to attempt to teach a dance class for the few weeks before Stevie goes home. For the more skeptical students, Storm has planned out a couple more conventional camp activities. Kitty reads over the list posted on the bulletin board in the hall and shrugs. Maybe she'll try a little bit of everything.
She's outside playing soccer with some of the other students, failing miserably but still having fun, when they hear the motorcycle. Most of them slow to a halt, and Elena barely notices when Jamie takes advantage of her distraction and kicks the ball into the goal she's guarding. They all exchange looks.
The game gradually starts back up again, though Kitty catches a few players glancing back towards the door every now and then. She's guilty of looking as well, but as ten, then twenty, then thirty minutes go by and no one appears, she forgets about it. The game is immersive, and Kitty has to concentrate hard to not be as terrible as she could be. She still sucks at sports.
The game ends with a round of high fives rather than handshakes. No one has been keeping score, except for Kitty, who's been keeping score of herself. She's scored zero goals, tripped four times, and accidentally passed to a player on the opposing team more often than she'd like to admit, but, surprisingly, she actually enjoyed herself. The sun has dipped into that afternoon glow she loves, everyone around here is on an adrenaline high and laughing, and she's exhausted but happy. It's times like these that she looks forward to.
They're all heading inside for ice cream when Logan walks out. He looks tired—he's probably gotten mobbed by a bunch of kids—but his ridiculous hair is still exactly the same. Kitty is so startled to see him that she trips—number five today. Part of her honestly thought he wouldn't come back.
He stands just in front of the door, his posture some combination of awkward and casual. The students that Kitty is with go up to meet him with varying levels of enthusiasm, and he returns their greetings with obviously false indifference. Kitty hangs back without really knowing why. But Logan looks up anyway, past the others, and meets her eyes.
"Hey, kid."
