The Warrior with No Name

By The Odd Little Turtle Named Froggie

(Marvel. They're Marvel's. I just put them in an alternate setting. No badgers harmed during the writing of this scene.

Kiotr ahoy.

My husband refused to beta this before I posted so if you see anything that's just plain wrong, let me know, will ya?

My thanks go out to everyone who has been following. Input always welcome.)

#

April 5th

Dear Diary,

Well, this is it. One whole year. One whole miserable year. How am I going to manage the rest of them?

I've got mixed feelings about having Peter and Illyana in my home today. Pete, Rahne, Betsy and Meggan all gone because some idiot wanted to prove a point and blow up the damn underground transit. I haven't figured out what the point was, yet.

What was I thinking? Why did this happen today of all days?

#

Kitty's world greatly differed from Piotr's. Where Piotr's apartment had been three bedroom, two bath with a spacious living room and kitchen, the Illinois native's apartment was a one bedroom, one bathroom with a tiny kitchen (seriously, only one person could stand in there comfortably), a midsize living room and a small veranda with a view of the building's common area. Where Kitty's tiny apartment held photos of friends and had comfortable furniture, Piotr's had held stark abstract artwork and had sleek contemporary furniture. Even Kitty's towels were plusher than his.

Sitting there on Kitty's fold out couch with his sister fast asleep beside him, Piotr hated the fact that Kitty's apartment building had a security guard and his didn't—hadn't. He and David had been insisting the Brogans' building have a little security for years, but Mrs. Brogan had been adamant in her decision. It was too late to do anything about it now, but it wore on his nerves almost as much as the warring dragon and cat who sat trying to stare each other down.

"Would you two give it a rest?" he asked the two animals impatiently as he dug through his duffle bag in search of comb. He found he'd neglected to put that or an extra shaving kit in. He wasn't surprised that neither of them paid him any attention, only focused on each other, combatants looking for a weak chink in the other's armor. At least Lockheed had stopped blowing fire at poor Mikhail.

Kitty peered over the bar from where she was frying eggs for their "breakfast". "Are they still at it?" The mingling of eggs and toast scents made Piotr's mouth water. He hadn't eaten since yesterday evening. They hadn't gotten settled last night—this morning, Piotr mentally corrected—until five-thirty. Breakfast was served at a quarter till one. Any earlier, he was sure he would wake up a complete bear and, he didn't think Kitty deserved that. Illyana was still sleeping, curled into a tight ball under the plush sunny yellow blankets. Her long lavender and blue streaked blonde hair cascaded all around her, on the pillow, over her face, about her shoulders. He had no intentions of waking her up. She had been through too much.

"Unfortunately," he told the brunette in the kitchen, his eyes sliding to her face, the bemused expression adorning it. A grin slowly formed on his lips as she rounded the bar, and he took in her attire. He had been too tired to really notice last night—this morning, he corrected himself again. Kitty's curly brown tresses framed her heart-shaped face, hit her shoulders and tumbled down her back to her shoulder blades, and she was dressed comfortably in gray sweats and a big light-blue shirt that said First Love beneath an NES gaming console. Her womanly curves were well-hidden behind the bulk of her clothing as the shirt looked big enough to fit him. Her slender toes were polished a pink that was reminiscent of Pepto Bismol, and she had a silver toe ring on her right foot that Piotr thought was sexy as hell. Her eyes bothered him though. The whiskey-colored orbs looked hollow, haunted, much like they did when he first met her a few days earlier. He hoped it wasn't because they were troubling her.

Kitty snatched up her dragon and set him on the bar, gave him a chocolate chip cookie from her faerie cookie jar. The creature grabbed the proffered treat and eyed Mikhail as if to say, Neener, neener. The cookie was gone in less than five seconds afterwards. Mikhail simply sauntered into Piotr's lap and bumped him in the stomach. He stroked her back as she purred, her tail twitching irritably.

He cast his gaze about the little apartment, eying the picket signs in the corner near a worn desk with papers scattered across it. The foremost sign read, Registration today. Gas Chambers Tomorrow, in red and black lettering. Piotr was about to say something when Kitty handed him a plate full of scrambled eggs, four pieces of golden brown toast, and a fork.

"Breakfast in bed," she joked lightly. "Coffee?"

It was a new experience, eating breakfast in a woman's apartment. Piotr didn't really know what to make of it. "Please. Black."

"Scoot over, chair hog." She handed him the cup, taking a seat beside him on the edge of the mattress, plate in hand.

He took a bite of his breakfast and broached the subject of the picket signs. "You are against the Registration Act?"

Kitty nodded, also took a bite and said something he didn't comprehend. He didn't comprehend because as soon as her mouth moved, his gaze was riveted on her lips as she chewed, the way her pink tongue darted out afterwards in search of morsels, and he thought of nothing more than his tongue 

following hers back inside her mouth. He found himself wondering what she tasted like, and his heart did a curious flip. The sound of her silvery, low voice affected him almost as much as her mouth, her tongue, her white teeth, her slender neck as she ate. His instinctive response to her was so powerful it caught him off guard. He was very glad the plate hid his attraction to her especially since the thin cotton sweats he wore helped very little in way of hiding anything. She was killing him. He inhaled her spicy scent and wanted to take her right there as she spoke about American politics.

What the hell? This was Kitty. His friend. Not some eager bimbo from a bar. He couldn't act this way around her. Piotr blinked a few times, trying to clear his thoughts, desperately trying to listen to what she had to say, and actually hear what it was she was saying. He tried so desperately, in fact, that he completely missed a question.

"What?" he asked, only wanting to know why she'd stopped speaking to him.

Her right eyebrow rose a fraction. "I asked you what you thought about Jacoby's bid for presidency," she told him, then sighed. "I'm boring you, aren't I?"

"What—no," he said honestly. She was beautiful and fascinating, enchanting even—a far cry from boring. He scrubbed a hand over his face. "I have been trying to follow what you've been saying for—" He looked at the vintage Star Wars clock on the wall, was dismayed that so much time had passed since she had given him his plate—"a while now, but you are distracting me, eating provocatively."

Kitty blinked, dropped her fork incredulously. She was almost to the point of sputtering incoherently. She couldn't believe he would accuse of her of—Oh, my God. "Provocatively?"

"Yes." He stuffed a forkful of fluffy yellow eggs into his mouth, chewed thoughtfully.

"I don't eat provocatively."

"Katya, I am man," he said, as if he were trying to convince her. "You are a woman. You eat provocatively." His gaze slid to her full lips. "Very provocatively." His voice, accented, deep and sensual, sent a ripple of awareness through her.

She arched an eyebrow, fighting the dynamic vitality he exuded, not knowing with what to be more frustrated: his audacity or her susceptibility. "All women eat provocatively?" Damn chauvinist.

He shook his head, his eyes dark. "No, for some damnable reason, it's just you." He hadn't meant to sound angry, but did anyway. Kitty looked hurt and confused. Not knowing what else to do, he got up and put his plate in the sink. He stood there, his back to her, as water splashed into the sink and over the plate. Running a hand through his black hair, the large Russian man turned to face her, peering over the bar at her as she sat rigidly on her pull out couch, his sister curled next to her. Kitty's pink lips were pulled into a frown, her dainty eyebrows knitting together.

"I did not mean to snap." He gave an apologetic shrug. "Everything is catching up to me."

She gave a short nod. It was understandable. The man had lost his friend and home to a fire. And the big lug didn't seem to know how to handle relationships very well either. Not that they were in one as they both only wanted friendship, but the relationship between Piotr and his sister seemed strained. Inexplicably at that moment the forced memories that Emma had pushed on her surfaced and a cherub face with deep brown eyes and blonde hair appeared in her mind's eye.

She cleared her throat, took a sip of coffee. "Would you mind getting the dishes?"

"My penance?" If he caught her expression, he said nothing about it. He grabbed her plate anyway.

"If you say so. You guys used up all the hot water last night. I call dibs on the shower today."

He snorted. "Now you're being deliberate."

"Pardon?" What the hell is he talking about?

He waved his hand in air as if trying to convey… something. "You. Me. Male, female dynamics." He turned, added soap to the running water, found he couldn't face her questioning odd-colored eyes. "You're being deliberately seductive."

Kitty made a rude noise. "I don't know the first thing about being seductive. I only called dibs on the shower."

"Meaning you are the first of either us to get naked."

She made a choking sound. He peered over his shoulder, a smug grin that was purely male plastered to his face.

"Peter, that's just obscene."

He shrugged, unapologetically, turned back to the dishes. He added the pans and silverware. "Again, I am a man, you are a woman. Men are visual. I'm an artist. I visualize better than most."

"Okay," she said standing. "I don't care how cute you think you are, but I'm going to—go get clean and get ready for the day."

Cute? She thought he was cute? Piotr frowned. He wasn't some cuddly stuffed animal. That irritated him. He stood a good foot taller than she did. It would take two Kitty's standing side by side to take up his muscular frame. He could bench-press a city bus without breaking a sweat (Though he did not take into account that, in his armored state, he couldn't sweat.). He watched her retreat, her hips swaying enticingly and forgot all about being irritated.

#

Kitty walked with stiff dignity to her bedroom to retrieve an outfit to wear for the rest of the afternoon. There was no way after what Piotr had just said that she would walk out of the bathroom in only a towel. Her thoughts lingered on his expression, the one of pained tolerance as he had said, For some damnable reason, it's just you.

Just me? she wondered, the conversation continuing to plague her thoughts. Provocative? Seductive? The smoldering flame she had seen in the depths of his eyes had startled her. Katya. He had a nickname for her. For a long moment she felt as if she were floating and double checked to see if she had unconsciously activated her power. She sighed and pretended not to be affected by the man. Kitty grabbed undergarments, a pair of jeans and a black tee shirt that fit her better. This one read, I poke badgers with spoons. She didn't have to be into Riff's until ten tonight. Only a four hour shift. Thank God. She could just wear this and tell Sal she wouldn't be bar dancing tonight.

The moment she entered the hall her whiskey-colored eyes met crisp blue ones. A new and unexpected warmth surged through her. His compelling eyes riveted her to the spot, and her heart lurched madly in her chest. Then his gaze raked boldly over her, dropping from her eyes to her shoulders to her breasts and downward and her womb clenched.

Male, female dynamics. His words came back to her. She frowned, and he had the decency to look sheepish. Her temper flared, and she stormed into the bathroom. So what if he was attracted to her. He was a guest for a few days until he got his shit together and got out. That was it. They were friends. Friends. She was strangely flattered by his interest. And irritated, too. Didn't he want to be friends? Hadn't he been hesitant to exchange numbers with her? He needed to make up his damn mind.

She was furious at her vulnerability to him. Mourning, Pryde, remember? You lost someone you love one year ago today? She bit back a growl as she looked at her angry face in the mirror. Yikes. That face would scare anyone away.

So, was he flirting or just being a jerk? This called for a bubble bath. No shower could ease the tension in her shoulders.

#

Piotr wondered what was taking the woman so long. She hadn't taken nearly as long at his apartment. The water had stopped running over twenty minutes ago. He sighed and passed a hand over his face, through his short black hair.

Alarm froze him. What if she'd fallen getting out and had hurt herself? He felt momentary panic and rushed down the hall and threw open the bathroom door. "Kitty?"

Steam rushed out and Kitty shrieked, sloshing water from the tub as she scrunched up under the bubbles of her bath. Only her head and the tops of her knees remained visible above the white foamy suds. She'd been shaving; the image of a long tanned leg extended and the tops of her breasts were firmly planted in his brain that no amount of telepathic blocking could ever hope to rid.

"Peter!" she finally yelled after he did nothing but stare at the bubbles. "What the hell's wrong with you?"

He didn't answer, didn't shut the door, only looked at her enigmatically. A bubble bath. She hadn't fallen and hit her head. She was safe. Tension fled his body and he finally met her eyes. They were like two twin daggers ready to strike.

"You are safe, then?" he asked, his voice giving away his previous fear.

She nodded and added, her eyes narrowing dangerously, "But you're not."

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(Input welcomed.)