The Warrior with No Name

By The Odd Little Turtle

(Characters owned by Marvel. No copyright or trademark infringement intended. Story elements owned by me.

Boredom warning: It's seven pages long with dialogue. It's definitely a comic book story. LOL There wasn't really a clear place to end it properly. Anyway, this should tie up a few loose ends and create a few more.

Input, tips, pointers, suggestions welcomed. Thanks in advance.)

#

Damn Emma. Scott said that she was just as much a victim as me. It was her powers! And Logan agreed. If she had done it to him, he would have carved her into the little pieces. The hypocrite. He doesn't even remember his past and some of the stuff he remembers is mostly mind-screw material anyway.

I don't remember part of the imagined three years. I remember Wisdom and the loss I felt from waking up from the mind-rape and realizing that, no, Pete hadn't faked his death for MI: 13, and Michael never existed.

At least Ororo took my side. I should probably call her. I haven't talked with her since I was living in Chicago. She doesn't even know I came back to New York.

#

Logan lit his cigar, puffed on it, drawing the smoke deep into his lungs, enjoying the kick of nicotine. The wind whipped through the trees bringing the scents of the forest on the Xavier Institute grounds to his hypersensitive sense of smell. He shoved his hands in his pockets and gaze across the Breakstone Lake as he leaned against a tree, taking in the view as the sun dipped on the horizon splashing the blue afternoon sky with a little orange.

Exhaling the smoke, he thought idly about the last few days. Thanks to a jacked up message from the book of a dead fortuneteller, Stormy's team was searching the ends of the earth for Kitty Pryde. She wasn't in Chicago like they thought she was. Thanks to Charlie being so arrogant, the Danger Room malfunctioned and killed a student by not doing anything to save him. Slick and the White Queen were off on a mission to who-knows-where following the damned sentient Danger Room entity. And thanks to Logan's own promise to Petey Pureheart, Logan hadn't gotten to go on either of the missions. By the time he'd gotten back to the mansion from dropping his Half-Pint off with her older brother, the two queens had already left for parts unknown.

The shrill ring of his cell phone hurt his sensitive ears, and he had a good mind to toss it in the lake. Very few people had his number. Chuck, Petey Pureheart, Stormy, Kitty, and Yana were among the few. He took the annoying device out of his breast pocket, looked at the number. It wasn't a number he recognized. He wished it were one of his girls. It would have been nice to talk to one of them.

"Ya better have a good reason," he answered the phone gruffly, "or else."

Kitty Pryde's musical giggles cut across the distance warming his heart significantly, the grouchiness abating immediately. "Hello to you too, Logan," she said.

A grin split Logan's face at the sound of her voice. "Well, I'll be damned."

#

Piotr smiled down at his American friend. "Or we could do that," he agreed. They were almost touching. He had but to lean in properly and take Kitty's lips with his. His pulse quickened at the thought.

Illyana sat up from her position on the fold out couch, her blue eyes narrowing. If Piotr wasn't careful his Katya was going to hurt him. Just like Anya. Anya shouldn't have kept Zilya's illness a secret from him. His ex-wife shouldn't have kept Zilya from him period. "Or you could just tell her about you and all your girlfriends since then, and we could go get a hotel," she suggested disgusted they were sitting so close together.

Piotr looked up sharply, his eyes cold with hurt, his face red with embarrassment. "Illyana!"

Illyana turned her attention back to her program and ignored him. He released a low groan and rubbed a hand over his face. He looked at Kitty.

"I apologize for my sister's rudeness," he said, his eyes sliding to his sister's face and back again to Kitty's eyes. "We are both grateful for your hospitality."

Kitty shrugged, began to clean his scrapes with peroxide, more or less relieved that the desire she had thought she had seen in his eyes had left with his embarrassment. It bothered her that he had kept certain things from her. "That's what friends are for." There was an awkward and pregnant pause. She shouldn't have felt anything if he had a girlfriend. But she did. And it hurt that he hadn't told her. "So. Did you have anywhere else to go?"

"Nyet," he denied, but a pleased smile tugged at his lips. "And, before you ask, I haven't had a girlfriend in about six months."

She found herself grinning, relief twining its way around her heart, relieving a buildup of pressure there. "I wasn't going to ask." That couldn't be jealousy. They were friends. One didn't get jealous of a friend. Besides, he had been reluctant to even begin a friendship with him. She surmised now it was because of his previous marriage.

She finished his chest and looked over his forearms where the cat had dug into him the worst. Clicking her tongue, she dabbed him with a peroxide soaked cotton ball. He cringed and tried to get away from her ministrations. Kitty took a breath. He'd given her information about himself, and, though reluctant, she knew she should return the favor.

"Your cat and my son have almost the same name," she blurted as she grabbed his forearms to keep him still. He ceased struggling at her words. Her faint smile held a touch of sadness when he blinked at her. She was able to add more solution to the cuts, so surprised at her admission was he.

Piotr looked down to find the woman's eyes haunted, hurting, and he instinctively knew that she had lost her son. His chest tightened, remembering the Professor's telephone call telling him of his daughter's diagnosis, and suddenly Piotr wanted to hold Kitty, be held by her. Yet, he kept his distance, the solution burning the cat scratches on his arms. He didn't know what to say. Unfortunately, Illyana said it for him.

"Where's your son?" the teen-ager asked, her tawny eyebrow rising in suspicion.

Kitty stiffened at the question, her lips becoming a thin line, pain etched into her delicate face. She wiped away the bubbling solution before answering, "Technically, he's dead." Piotr felt icy fingers seep into every pore.

"Technically?" Illyana cocked her head to the side, her verbal question replicating his internal query.

Kitty nodded, and the big Russian man winced as she applied antibiotic ointment to a particularly deep cut. "Michael was invented by an enemy and used against me while was my team in Genosha." Her hands shook as she applied a bandage, her anguish almost overcoming her control. "She used my fear of losing my son to use my powers to infiltrate Magneto's stronghold. I ended up freeing what was left of Cassandra Nova's body. Professor Xavier had hidden it in an underground bunker that no one, not even me, was supposed to be able to get into." Kitty gave a choked, desperate laugh. "I have three years of memories of a son that never existed and a husband that never married me. My fiancé, Pete Wisdom, died in the Genoshian subway bombing last year with a few of my teammates. Their bodies weren't even cold yet when the mind-f—" Kitty looked at Illyana before correcting herself, "the psi-attack happened."

Tears threatened to overtake her. Kitty pushed to her feet and padded into the kitchen, started some popcorn. A sensation of desolation and intense sickness swept over her. She took several calming breaths, drawing on the skills she had learned from her possession by Ogun. That fact—possession by a demonic martial arts warlord, not once, but twice—Kitty decided she would take to her grave. No one would know. No one would know about the innocents she murdered during his possession. The loss of Michael and Pete was nothing compared to the knowledge of her complete impotence, that she had no control over her actions.

I'm not gonna puke. I'm not gonna puke. She continued the mantra, listening as the strong masculine voice floated into the kitchen over the music and dialogue emanating from her television set. He wasn't speaking to her, but to his little sister. Though she didn't understand the Russian words, they filtered through her brain, and Kitty took comfort in the rich timbre of his voice. She looked at the brown paper sack sitting on the counter, snatched it up, and took out four of the five candles from within, sitting them on the bar. Maybe she could get through this without losing her sanity after all. Tugging her white towel around her closer, she forced a smile on her face and returned to the living room.

"So, Illyana, you go to Xavier's huh?"

#

David Brogan couldn't believe what he was hearing. He blinked, once, twice, pursed his lips.

"Peter and Illyana Rasputin are the beneficiaries?" When the hell had that happened? He was sure that his mother—

"Yes, sir," the nasally voice sounded from the receiver at his ear.

He groaned and sank into the single chair his hotel room offered. "How am I supposed to rebuild?"

"I'm not sure, sir."

How could Mother do this to him? He made a mental note to call the attorney and make sure she didn't will any of the properties in Kentucky or Texas to the Rasputins. Those oil property overriding interests would come in handy if he couldn't get the insurance money just yet.

"When did Evie Brogan change the policy?"

"March twelfth, sir."

"Of this year?"

"Yes, sir."

How did this get past him? That was only a few weeks ago. Surely, Peter wouldn't have—

"Are you sure it's her signature?"

"We're investigating everything, sir." Well, that wasn't very helpful.

"Keep me posted, will ya?"

"Yes, sir."

David rattled off his number and hung up. He needed the money now. He had so many bills to pay. There was his loan shark, the utilities, those stupid kids, and then there was a race coming up soon. He wanted to put money on that. Just because he was going through a losing streak didn't mean anything. He just needed some money right now. Getting his mother's insurance was the easiest he could think of. He ran a hand through his short brown hair, tugged it lightly. What was he going to do? Damn it, the last time he had checked, he was the beneficiary.

He grabbed the phone book and searched for the fire marshal's number, getting irritated when he couldn't find it fast enough. Giving up, he chucked the large book across the hotel room.

When Peter had called him earlier and told him what had happened, David had tried to remain as calm as possible. Of course, Peter had the bedside manner of a moose. That was just Peter's nature. David had known Peter for ten years now, and Peter had always been direct when it came to anyone's emotions. David figured it was because Peter was Russian.

David dialed information and waited impatiently for the voice to ask what city he wanted to call. "New York, New York. Fire Marshal's Office." Peter had given him the Fire Marshal's name earlier. Of course, he couldn't remember the man's name now. Naturally. David hadn't lived in New York in years, nor had he ever had to make a call to the Fire Marshal. He didn't even know if he should have just asked for the New York City Fire Department.

His thoughts turned back to his friend. As time wore on, Peter had become more aloof, especially after Zilya's death, turning more to alcoholic binges and strange women for comfort. Even Illyana, one of Peter's primary focuses, hadn't been able to get through to him.

David paced the room waiting to be connected with the Fire Marshal. No one questioned Peter on what he was feeling, especially David. Illyana had done it once, and David and his mother had been forced to call child services afterwards. Peter had wrecked his apartment in a drunken rage and scared his thirteen-year-old sister half to death (as well as most of the tenants on the third floor). Peter had paid for the damages, even did the repairs himself. Evie Brogan had taken pity on the man and allowed him to stay, saying that he'd been there so long that Peter was part of the family. David did not however think it was fair that because she considered the Russian a member of the family that Peter and his little sister got David's three million dollar insurance money.

The walls expanded and contracted in minute quivers before David could get his anger under control. He took deep breaths, focusing on the table next to him. The force of his anger arched out, splitting a rift down the center of the table with a sickening crack before David's anger abated.

Finally, David was connected with one of the fire investigators. He sighed, intent on getting all the details of his mother's death he could.

#

Piotr watched Kitty retreat to her kitchen and then looked at his sister, his blue eyes icy. Running a hand through his black hair, he spoke softly to her in Russian. "That wasn't very polite. You should have kept your mouth shut, Snowflake. She's obviously been through a lot."

"How was I supposed to know?" Illyana whispered tersely back to her brother. "I had heard there were problems in Genosha with Storm's team. Why didn't you tell me she's an X-man?" Maybe Katya was ok for her brother after all. She knew that Logan had been trying to get her brother to rejoin since M-Day.

"Do X-men live in apartments in Brooklyn?" he questioned, pulling his shirt on and getting to his feet. "Should I tell her about Zilya?" he wondered out loud.

"Her loss isn't the same as yours, Piotr."

"Illyana, a loss is still a loss," he told her, looking down at his baby sister. "It still hurts, and I haven't had anyone understand that pain before."

Having regained her composure, Kitty walked back into the living room. "So, Illyana, you go to Xavier's, huh?"

"What of it?" Illyana asked haughtily.

Piotr's voice was tight with warning. "Snowflake."

Kitty smiled, all vestiges of her earlier torment gone. "It's okay, Peter." To Illyana, she inquired, "The Professor still away?"

Illyana nodded. "Ms. Frost and Mr. Summers are the headmasters. You went to school there? You're an X-man?"

"I used to be," she told the young Russian. Piotr didn't miss the look on Kitty's face at the mention of the headmasters. "I graduated from Xavier's when it was still called Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. After that I played the American liaison to a British team of super heroes, if you can believe it. I lived there for six years. When they disbanded and the professor went public, Storm, most of the British team and I went to France and set up the X-Corps Paris Headquarters. I've only been in the States a year now." The microwave beeped, and Kitty went about putting the popcorn into three separate bowls. "Your turn."

"I'm an X-man in training," Illyana said proudly, "but Piotr doesn't want me to be. He says that it's too dangerous."

"He's right, y'know," Kitty agreed as she passed out the bowls full of fluffy buttered popped corn. "I had to take a break from all the…excitement."

The young Russian nodded. "Do you know Logan?" She ate a few kernels of popcorn.

"Who doesn't?" Kitty chewed thoughtfully on a handful of her snack, hoping Piotr's sister would drop the subject. Thankfully Piotr spoke and changed the subject for her.

"I think anyone who has lived in Westchester knows Logan," he said, then cleared his throat. "Kitty, you are Jewish. I do not know much about your religion as I was brought up Atheist, but I do know that those candles—" He pointed to the four small glass encased candles on the bar—"are for mourning loved ones lost. Anya lit one for her mother."

Kitty felt her heart sink, suddenly not thankful at the subject change. Her eyes darted around the room, avoiding his piercing, knowing gaze. He sighed and pointed to a picture on the wall as he returned to his seat next to his sister. "That picture was taken at Gospodin Xavier's, but I only recognize you. What are their names?"

No answer. He stretched his long legs on the fold out bed, leaned against the back of the couch, the bowl of popcorn sitting in his lap.

"One of them is Ms. Sinclair," his sister said, helpfully, and Kitty's face paled. He gave his sister a warning glare. She quickly went back to watching her movie, stuffing her mouth with popcorn.

"Tell me about your ex," Kitty said suddenly.

Piotr pursed his lips, scowled. "I do not wish to discuss her." He folded his arms across his chest.

"Well, you certainly got cranky, Bear King." Kitty sank onto the couch on the other side of his sister and crossed her legs Indian style. "Rahne was my best friend."

"You weren't at Ms. Sinclair's funeral last year," Illyana accused.

"No," said Kitty, sadly, "I was on a mission in Madripoor with Logan. We couldn't get away in time."

Illyana stiffened. "Logan was with his pet pupil Shadowcat. He told me himself."

Pet pupil? Kitty wondered. What the hell?

"I didn't say Shadowcat wasn't there, now did I?" Kitty suddenly felt defensive. She sighed and ate another handful of popcorn.

The blond with lavender and blue streaks admitted, "Logan wants me to be as good as Shadowcat in martial arts."

Kitty didn't think it was a good idea to let on that the aforementioned Shadowcat was herself. She had no idea why Logan didn't call her by her real name when he referred to her. So she said nothing. Her conscience could go to hell. She trusted Logan's reasoning, whatever that may be.

"How good are you?" she questioned good-naturedly.

"I could kick your ass," Illyana boasted, and Kitty had to bite her tongue.

"Illyana!" Piotr protested, but the brunette threw up her hands, leaning around his sister to meet his gaze.

"It's okay, Peter."

"No, it isn't." Piotr looked at his baby sister, spoke in Russian to her. "Just because I don't have a room to send you to, does not mean that you can act this way. Katya has bent over backwards for both of us. You will show her respect or I will ask Logan to double your training load, and I will ask your teachers to double your class work."

Illyana narrowed her eyes at him angrily.

#

(Hope that clears up some things. Questions, input, etc. more than welcomed.)