Title: Deconstructing Gods, Chapter 1
Author: Vi (violetfairygirl on livejournal)
Rating: PG-13, for this chapter
Timeline: After X3
Summary: When the dust settles, will the lines be drawn in the same places?
Disclaimer: I don't own X-Men, nor am I affiliated with X-Men or Fox Studios in any official capacity. Nor does this make me any money, sadly enough.
Author's Note: This is my stab at sorting out the giant mess that is John and Kitty post-X3. It's going to deal primarily with relationships, namely Kitty and John and Bobby and Rogue. Also, be warned-I might be playing a little fast and loose with the timeline here.
WARNINGS: Angsty! Of course.

The silence was thick as they waited in the office that had once been Professor Charles Xavier's. It belonged to Headmistress Ororo Munroe, now, but there was very little of her in it. A couple of pictures, her nameplate on the desk, and that was all-she hadn't had the time or the heart to change much more than that yet.

Kitty Pryde, Piotr Rasputin, and Bobby Drake sat in front of her, each in a different position but all with the same look of shell-shocked weariness on their young faces. The woman they called Storm ached for them, but at the same time she was relieved at their reaction to their first major battle. It meant they finally understood the enormity of the burden they had chosen to shoulder.

Ororo leaned back against the desk and opened her mouth to say something, but before she could form a coherent sentence Logan opened the door and stepped inside. His eyes were grieving, but his movements reflected none of that-grief could come later. There were too many other things to take care of right now.

Kitty was the first to speak. "Is he still alive?" she asked, voice cracking with exhaustion and emotion.

Logan nodded, but didn't speak. Instead he walked over to the desk Ororo was propped against, and threw a couple of small objects down on it. They rolled slightly before coming to a rest against the brass nameplate stand.

Pete and Bobby recognized them right away, closing their eyes and exhaling sighs of mixed relief and regret.

"What are those?" Kitty asked, a hint of panic rising in her throat. Logan picked up one of the little cylinders and tossed it at her. She caught it easily, and turned it over in her hands.

There wasn't much to it-a number stamped into the plastic along the side, a small opening at one end that looked like something had been snapped off.

Then Kitty saw the tiny logo for Worthington Industries under the number, and she realized what it was she held. She froze, and it slipped from her fingers and landed in her lap, the hole where a needle had once been affixed staring up at her like a single accusing eye.

"Oh, god." Kitty looked up again at Logan. "Did they-did it-"

He nodded. "One in the back of his neck, one in his side just under his ribs."

She stood up, knees shaking in a way they hadn't since she first started her training sessions in the Danger Room. "I have to see him."

Bobby and Piotr looked up at her in horror. "Kitty, he tried to kill us," Bobby said. "Don't be stupid."

"He tried to kill you," Kitty muttered, "and you went back for him anyway. Don't call me stupid."

"Kitty, let Dr. MacTaggert finish-" Logan started, but she was already gone, phasing through everything that stood between her and John Allerdyce.

XXXX

He was so still, so pale. In sleep his features had relaxed from their usual unwavering hardness, making him look even younger than she knew he was. He was shirtless, clad only in a pair of loose-fitting gray pants, and Kitty could see bruises beginning to form from the battering he had taken in the chaos.

Her eyes followed the length of his arms, and she winced when she caught sight of the restraints that bound his wrists. Necessary, she knew, but a harsh reminder of exactly which side he'd been on.

Moira MacTaggert strode into the room, raising an eyebrow at Kitty's presence but hardly seeming surprised. "Come to check on the patient?"

"We fought before he left," Kitty said, not really caring that Dr. MacTaggert would have no idea what she was talking about. "I called him a coward. Asked if he was going to hide behind his lighter all his life."

The older woman may not have known what she was referring to, but she understood the sentiment behind it. "We make our own choices, Kitty," she said quietly. "No one else gets to take responsibility for them."

A tear slid off Kitty's cheek and landed on John's forearm. "Is he going to be okay?"

"That would depend on your definition of 'okay', but physically, he should have a full recovery." The doctor's eyes landed on the bandage just under his ribs. "As full as it could be, now." Kitty nodded, and the silence turned awkward. "If you'll excuse me, Kitty, I have to finish up my work here before I have to get on a plane in a day and a half." Her tone was lighthearted, but it did little to disguise the exhaustion in her voice.

Dr. MacTaggert left the room, and Kitty looked for a chair. Finding none, she leaned against the wall by the door and slid down it slowly to sit vigil on the floor.

Despite her racing thoughts, sleep was quick to overtake her.

XXXX

He sees it coming just a second too late; feels the heat at his palms fizzle as icy hands catch his wrists, sees Bobby's translucent head rushing at his face. Hears his old friend's voice, dark with anger and grief.

"You never should have left."

Now it's dark, cold and dark but he can still feel Bobby's hands holding down his arms, and now his feet, and he knows he has to get up because the world is being washed away mere yards from where he lies.

But Bobby won't let go of his wrists or his feet, and now everything is being broken down into dust and ashes, and he can't move, he can't run...

"NO!" He burst out of his dream like he was surfacing after almost drowning, lungs heaving and limbs fighting against the restraints on his wrists and ankles with every ounce of strength he had left. His fingers curled, clawing at air, then burrowed into his palms as his hands contracted into fists. The white and silver boxes of equipment around him gave shrill warning shrieks.

Kitty came to bleary consciousness at his scream, yanked from her own restless dreams into John's waking nightmare. Before she could gather her wits enough to yell for help, Dr. MacTaggert and Logan rushed into the room.

"I'll get his leg!" Logan put a hand over one knee and a hand on John's hip, holding at least that portion of his body still. It was an effort, despite Logan's strength.

The doctor plunged a syringe into his upper thigh and he gave a strangled gasp, and Kitty could see his hands slowly relax and open as his breathing slowed. Dr. MacTaggert stroked his hair maternally, lips pursed as she crooned reassuring noises over him.

Logan and the doctor turned to find Kitty standing in the doorway, arms crossed tight over her torso as though she were trying to keep her organs from tumbling out.

"What did you give him?" The question was quiet but firm, and the feeling behind it was clear: no more needles. No more quick fixes.

"It's just a mild sedative, Kitty. Just to keep him from hurting himself." Dr. MacTaggert wouldn't meet her eyes as she left the room.

Kitty turned accusing eyes on Logan, who made no pretense of caring about the general wellbeing of her former classmate. "We need to know what he knows, Kitty."

"So he's just here as a prisoner of war, then." A quiver shimmied out of her throat on the word 'prisoner'. "I thought the war was over."

"Maybe it is." Logan met her gaze and held it. "But it takes a lot of time to rebuild. Even without obstacles."

Kitty narrowed her eyes and phased through him to stand next to John again. He was sleeping once more, his face relaxed from the horrible contortions it had been twisted into. "We're just kids." The words sounded ridiculous even to her.

"Not anymore." She didn't turn to watch him leave; only listened to his footsteps retreat down the hall.

The tears came quietly as they always did, rolling down her face like rain.

Not anymore.