As hard as he tried, Charles Xavier wasn't able to save all the souls he brought to his school. There were many that rejected his teachings and sought more extreme solutions to the problems we all faced as mutants. John Allerdyce was one of these students. As Pyro, a member of the Brotherhood, he was a terrorist in the name of mutant rights; at Alcatraz, he fought against the X-Men, against the very same people he had once attended class with.
It was a surreal and life-altering experience, to be pitted against someone I had known not as an opponent but as a classmate. Only a year earlier I might have gone so far as to call him a friend, though he would have denied it to his dying breath, even in those simpler times.
We call those who wish us harm "villains," and those who protect us "heroes," and we assume that it has always been and will always be this way. But Erik Lensherr was not always a villain, and John Allerdyce was not always a terrorist. Piotr Rasputin, Robert Drake, and myself have not always been heroes. The hardest lesson I had to learn was that in life, there will be good and there will be evil, but the two will not remain constant.
Pyro was the infamous killer, John Allerdyce was a lost boy. I could not tell you which of them was the reality, and which of them was the façade.
Pryde, Katherine. Heroic Menace: My Days With the X-Men. Chicago: Mythical Press.
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"I brought you another ice pack," Kitty said, and John opened the one eye that wasn't almost swollen shut to peer at her standing over him. He handed her the bit of plastic and blue gel in his hand that was already becoming lukewarm and accepted the cold one she carried.
John tried to sit up, but only made it a couple of inches before the pain radiating through his torso forced him back down. "Fuck, I think she cracked a rib."
"Good," Kitty retorted. "Keep that in mind the next time you want to shoot your mouth off about someone who's taken hand-to-hand techniques with Logan." Her comment made him laugh, which led to a dry cough and another spasm of pain. "Here, I have a couple more painkillers for you, too." She helped him to a sitting position and he took the pills with a swallow of water.
"Thanks," he muttered as he settled back onto his pillow. "Think you could get me a handle of vodka to wash them down with?"
"Sorry, no." She paused and pressed her lips together. "Is there anything else you'd want, though? Like…to pass the time?"
He was silent for a while, long enough that Kitty thought maybe the drugs had put him under, but he spoke up just as she was preparing to leave. "A chess set."
"A chess set?" The incredulity in her voice set him on edge. "You play chess?"
"Yeah, I play chess. Shows what you know about me, huh?"
"Well, excuse me for losing track of what you do and don't do while you were off doing your terrorist thing. I didn't even know you knew how to play anything that didn't involve a d-pad and a fatality combo."
"Settle down, Kitty-cat." The painkillers had taken some of the edge off his voice. "Magneto taught me how. Said it would help teach me strategy and restraint." He spoke the last three words in a mocking impression of the older man's voice. "Like I don't know anything about restraint."
"You don't know anything about it, John."
He lifted the icepack a couple of inches to glare at her with his uninjured eye. "I made it through two and a half years here without killing anyone. You tell me that's not restraint."
"Fine. Chess set. Whatever." She rolled her eyes again, an expression that was becoming more familiar with every visit to John's cell. "You going to play against yourself?"
"Nope." Even with the icepack concealing his features, Kitty could feel the smug look in his eyes. "I'm gonna teach you to play."
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"Open the door, Rogue." Bobby rapped on the door again, then tried the knob when he got no response. Locked. "Rogue, if you don't let me in I'm gonna go get Kitty to phase me through it, so you might as well-"
The door was yanked open from the other side, revealing his ashen-faced girlfriend. He waited for the barrage of self-righteousness, the demands to be left alone, but instead she retreated from him and flopped back onto the bed on her stomach. "If you're here to tell me that was a stupid thing to do, I already know."
Bobby closed the door behind him and sat next to her, being careful not to sit too close. "Then why'd you do it?"
"Would you believe me if I said it seemed like a good idea at the time?" she mumbled, her face pushed into the quilt.
"Not really. I used to feel like I could understand you, but lately…" he let his words trail off.
There was a sob in the back of her throat, but she buried it under a sharp retort as she sat up to face him. "Lately, what? I'm different? I've changed? Well guess what, Bobby, I have." The corners of her mouth twitched with tears, but she twisted them into a scowl.
Ice blue eyes pierced her with a wounded stare. "Why are you so mad at me?"
The question stopped her dead, blank eyes blinking as all the rage and frustration drained out of her body.
"I don't know," she whispered.
A knock at the door made both of them jump, and they looked up as it opened just enough for Storm to lean into the room to address Rogue.
"We're prepared to speak with you now," she said, glancing between the young couple, "in the office, when you're ready."
"Can Bobby come?" Rogue blurted the words before Storm could shut the door, and both her teacher and her boyfriend looked at her in surprise. After a moment of thoughtful silence, Ororo nodded her head and exited the room.
Feeling like a little girl who'd been sent to the principal's office, Rogue let herself be pulled off the bed, lacing her fingers through Bobby's and clutching tight as he led her out the door.
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