The Warrior with No Name

By The Odd Little Turtle Named Froggie

(If Marvel made them up, that's who they belong to. If I made them up, mine--but I can share.

Reminders – experimenting in points of view. Let me know if something doesn't make sense or is out of character. Extra tidbit – I stopped collecting Marvel when they killed Colossus and only found out, by chance, recently--MARCH--that they'd brought him back. Still researching the issues of the past few years. Yes, years. I've got A LOT of catching up to do.

Comments, questions, input, spell-check always welcome.)

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April 4th

Dear Diary,

Me again.

Lunch with Peter was an interesting experience. I learned all sorts of things about him. But not from him. He was quiet for the majority of the time. Not that I blamed him. He was as red as Cyclops' ruby quartz lenses for most of lunch, too. I learned about Peter and his life mostly from David Brogan.

David's been trying get Peter to buy the tenancy from his mother. He would prefer Mrs. Brogan come to Connecticut and live with him. I hope if Peter does take over, that David doesn't put his poor mother into some nursing home. That would be just awful. She's such a sweet lady. And Peter seems to be very fond of both her and her son. Thank goodness they're both very open to mutants. Apparently the senior Mr. Brogan was a mutant.

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"So, you're from Siberia?" Kitty questioned, impaling a radish with her fork.

Kitty, Piotr, Mrs. Brogan and her son sat outside at a quaint café on Bruckner Boulevard round an unsteady square table beneath a brightly-patterned umbrella. The sounds, scents, and flavors of the city flowed in and around them. For all the rain it did the last few days, it was sunny and pleasant, though not without humidity making the air thick and hair heavy. Mrs. Brogan--she insisted Kitty call her Evie—sat in a wheelchair, her withered face marred with a bruise and a bandage over her temple.

Piotr shifted uncomfortably, throwing a look at David Brogan. David was in his mid-twenties, slender rather than tall, with an appealing face that seemed to only know how to smile. Piotr wished the man would shut the hell up and eat his lunch.

"Da." He shoveled food into his mouth to avoid elaborating. He saw David roll his brown eyes and regretted his hasty withdrawal from the conversation. David, his so-called friend, was going to add something embarrassing. Again.

"He's a Russian farm boy with a heart o' gold," David said, his Connecticut accent thick. Piotr would have snorted at the comment, but was afraid the food would come out his nose. He chewed quickly, his mind racing with something to say.

Kitty saved him by changing the subject. She directed a question at Mrs. Brogan. "Have the police had any luck with retrieving your things, Evie?"

"None whatsoever," Mrs. Brogan sighed. She flicked an imaginary speck of dirt from her dress, lined up the place mat with her dish, and arranged her silverware. Piotr had known the elderly woman long enough to recognize the signs of distress. He opened his mouth to speak, but again Kitty beat him to it.

"I saw Spiderman in the area that night," she said, took a sip of water. "I'll ask a friend of mine if Spiderman can help. He may have seen something, not realizing it was a robbery."

Mrs. Brogan flattened her palms against her dress. "How could he have not known?"

"Well, he may be a super hero, but I know for a fact that he's human," Kitty explained. "Not even he can catch everything. He may not have even been patrolling the area when the robbery occurred."

"Wait, you have a friend who knows Spiderman?" David inquired his eyes wide.

She ducked her head, examined her food closely. "Um, actually I know Spiderman," she admitted. "I just don't have his cell number. His roommate is in one of my computer classes."

"Amazing," David said.

Kitty felt instantly guilty for lying to them, but she wasn't about to reveal Spiderman's identity. She'd met Spiderman years ago and had fought beside him on many occasions as an X-man and even after she'd retired. In fact, it wasn't until she'd re-enrolled at Columbia that she'd really gotten to know him and his alter personality. Even that had been an accident. But glass does tend to shred masks. Especially when the mask in question is on the head of a superhuman dressed as a spider and said superhuman is hurled through a glass patio door at a frightening liquid speed.

She took another bite of her food, recalling Peter Parker and their chance meeting seven months ago. Boy, she was glad she had decided to add Super Fights to her renters' insurance policy. As she chewed and swallowed, she thought about the ridiculous price of renters' insurance in New York. It was almost as difficult to get property insurance in New York as it was to get it in Florida or other coastal regions. At least those states had hurricanes causing all the damage and not some super-powered schmo in spandex hell-bent on world domination fighting other super-powered schmoes in spandex hell-bent on stopping him. She was glad she didn't own real estate, please and thank you; she didn't even want to imagine the property taxes.

"Have you ever been rescued by Spiderman?" David asked her and all eyes fell on her.

She shook her head. "Can't say that I have," she lied. When she was fourteen, Spiderman had caught her out of the air after Doc Ock had gassed her. She'd been trying to disrupt his bionic arms with her phasing ability. But that was definitely not dinner conversation. Kitty regretted ever bringing up Spiderman.

"Do you think he's a mutant?"

"David, dear," Mrs. Brogan placed a hand on her son's forearm, nervously looking around the outdoor café, "not so loud."

It was Piotr who spoke up then. "Spiderman was bitten by a radioactive spider. The radiation from the spider venom penetrated his genes, rearranging the coding. Most medical journals classify mutants in a totally different category." He grinned sheepishly at the awestruck stares. "I have a friend who is a geneticist. Dr. Henry McCoy."

"Wow, Peter, you know Hank, too?" Kitty asked.

Piotr studied the chicken salad on his plate with great interest, gave a small nod.

"So you guys just happened to meet each other two nights ago and you just happen to have mutual friends?" David questioned, his dark brow sweeping up in a gesture Piotr knew meant he wouldn't believe a thing they said otherwise.

"Funny how that works," Kitty stated, her eyes challenging.

"Peter told us what happened, dear," the elderly woman said, reaching across the table corner and giving Kitty's hand a reassuring squeeze.

Kitty grimaced. "I'm still trying to forget. I'm glad New York still has a few decent people though." She gave Piotr a genuine smile.

"Well," David said, a big grin on his face as he leaned back in his chair, "if Peter doesn't ask you on a few dates, I'll definitely take you. You won't have to worry about getting left anywhere. I'd stick to you like glue."

Piotr tensed as Kitty laughed. Jealousy, cold and black, incensed his heart for no reasons that he could possibly conceive. She wasn't his woman. She could see anyone she wanted. Even David.

Who claimed to be happily married.

"I don't know about that," Kitty said as Piotr tried desperately to quell his rage. "I think I'll be steering clear of anything called a 'date' for a very, very long time. Especially if it has 'blind' attached to the front of it. I've just got to tell my friend Sal to stop setting me up all the time. She thinks that just because she's in a relationship, I need one too."

"Blind dates are the worst," David agreed.

Piotr arched a heavy brow. "Wasn't Amelia a blind date?" he asked. "You married her."

David ducked his head, eyes averted.

"Peter, how is your sister?" Mrs. Brogan asked pleasantly.

Piotr began to relax immediately, thinking of his baby sister. "She is very well. Her grades have greatly improved since last semester." He retrieved his sketch pad from the backpack on the back of his chair, flipped it open and found a picture. He gave it to the elderly woman sitting across from him.

Who needed photos when you can just draw everyone? Kitty wondered.

"My, she's grown," Mrs. Brogan said thoughtfully. "She'll be a married woman before you know it. Is she still enrolled in the private school upstate?" She passed the book to her son, who appraised the image.

"Da. I thought they were going to expel her last year. I didn't think anyone was going to get through to her." David passed the book back to Piotr, and he in turn passed it to Kitty. The image was that of a young girl, a teenager, with long straight hair, a cherub's heart-shaped face, flashing feminine eyes, a button nose and a Cheshire smile. One manicured eyebrow was arched mischievously. She stood with her hands on her hips, her feet braced apart, confident. Her beauty was tempered with youth, but Kitty could tell that she was going to be a knockout when she got older. Piotr would definitely have his hands full with her gentlemen callers.

"She's very pretty," she commented as she handed his sketch pad back.

"And she lets me know that every time I see her," he said with a smile. He frowned suddenly. "Illyana Nikolievna is fifteen, knows everything and is going through some odd kind of teenage growth period. What is the word?" He pursed his lips. "Everything is black, lipstick, makeup, clothing, nail polish. She wanted to dye her hair black, but I told her I would never speak with her again if she did."

"Goth," Kitty supplied.

"That is the one."

Kitty eyed him questioningly. She waited until he took a sip of his soda before asking, "So how many piercings does she have?"

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(I'll leave the rest of the conversation to the wonderful imaginations of the readers. grins

Anybody else believe in Magik?)