Chapter 6: Sins of ours, sins of others'

Kitty woke up to the signal of the nine o'clock news in the local TV channel after spending the night on the couch downstairs. Considering Lance's state she had decided to leave him alone in the bed. Slowly she got up, hair unkempt, clothes rumpled, neck grown numb. There was a beautiful scent of buttered eggs invading her nose, and her stomach twitched with hunger. Stretching her limbs, she smiled. Apparently her aunt was bustling in the kitchen. She'd just got up when she caught a few words of the news. It was said a homeless had been found dead early in the morning by a passer-by. Cause of the death unknown, though probably murder.

Murder.

Kitty didn't need the picture flashing on the screen to feel, to know who the victim was.

Something terrible collapsed on her, smashing, squeezing, squashing her mind so much that she got short of breath. It can't be… it can't… he couldn't be…, she continued to repeat on and on, and was scared that he maybe, possibly committed something unforgivable and irreversible. Lance and his anger had once led to an almost-death, she of all people knew it far too well; and this time his temper was mixed and influenced by alcohol.

"No," she moaned desperately, clutching her head.

But the most dreadful, most shocking and confusing and powerful feeling that hit her was not terror, nor disapproval or estrangement. It was pure, disastrous and steady determination of her staying by his side, to stand by him, to fight for him, to forgive him. It was all so unbelievable. He somehow, somewhere, by stealth, changed her. There was nowhere the old Kitty Pryde who could judge people with clear mind and insight as she had been taught. He had done everything and he was everything that should have alienated her but there was no common sense anymore, no parental instructions. There was no murder, no sin, no laws and no fears in the world of her where she finally found herself and found the strength, the courage to fully accept him. And maybe, even to love him.

Lance was still sleeping at one o'clock when she slowly opened the door to the room with a tray in hand. He woke up as she placed the tray on the bedside table.

"Cover your eyes," she warned him softly upon drawing the curtains apart. White fresh light penetrated the room.

Lance groaned, struggling to sit up. Kitty settled down on the edge of the bed, watching Lance silently. He was almost as pale as the pillows around him, eyes tired and still a bit bloodshot. He apparently did his best to avoid her gaze.

"How you feeling?" she inquired. Lance bowed his head, letting his hair fall in his eyes.

"Crappy but it serves me right," he admitted, rubbing his temple.

"I cooked cabbage soup for you, umm, supposed to be great against hangovers." She passed him the tray. "Hopefully it's better than my cookies, I tasted it, fits to eat," she smiled.

"Uh, I've only heard about those cookies… they're legendary," he shook his head, his smile obvious.

Kitty chuckled briefly.

"I don't deserve it. You know, you should have just left me there," he remarked after a short silence.

"Yeah, maybe," she smiled sadly. "But, like, I may have that silly habbit of collecting drunks everywhere around the city and cooking them cabbage soup."

Lance smiled weakly and for the first time he looked up at her for a long, aching moment before turning back to his food. Kitty followed his movements, examining the part of his face that could be seen behind the dark curtain of hair, tracing the line of his hands with her eyes.

"What did you do last night?" she asked quietly. Lance moaned into his plate.

"Ain't it obvious?" he sighed. "Drinking nonstop and staggering from a pub to another. I ain't proud of it."

There was a long, tense pause before Kitty collected her courage to speak up again. "Did you meet… him?"

"Huh? Who?" he looked confused. Kitty tried not to roll her eyes.

"You exactly know who."

"Uh, Kitty, not again!" Lance grumbled. "No, I didn't meet him!"

"Didn't you kill him?" she breathed.

Lance tossed up his head. His face showed an expression of surprise and uncertain amusement as if he had the idea Kitty was only joking. When he didn't see her smiling, his face darkened.

"Hell, no! I said I didn't meet him."

"You're sure?"

"What kind of stupid question is that?" he huffed, astonished.

"You were drunk, maybe you can't remember," she remarked, still feeling the lump in her throat.

"I do remember I didn't hunt for him, nor meet him. But he's just lucky for that," he added gloomily.

"Don't talk this way," Kitty gasped with a frightened look in her eyes. Lance examined her for long, his eyes a narrow line.

"You're strange… What's…?" he trailed off, suddenly reeling back. "He's dead?"

"Yes, it was in the news."

Lance leaned his head back against the pillows. He is dead. He closed his eyes. What was he supposed to feel? Happiness? Indifference? Rage? His eyes flung open.

"Kitty, I didn't kill him, I swear." He almost pleaded, but all at once his brow darkened. He pressed his lips together so tightly that they became a white line. "Though I probably would have… but not before I tell him what a fucking bastard he was… and kill him in a long, painful way."

"Lance, please, don't talk this way!" she squeezed his hand hard. "I… don't wanna see this hatred in your eyes," she whispered.

He looked up. Whether minutes or hours passed by, none of them knew. Slowly, his face lost its cruel, tough edge and became a way more filled with sorrow and tiredness. And the loss of so many things.

"Don't worry, Kitty, this hatred was towards him, and now with him it's gone."

She smiled warmly, and considering the tray between them she pulled him into a chaste hug. He was stiff and faraway, though his head found its place at once in the hollow of her shoulders. And still, she was mourning. Probably I'm just losing you right now.

"You are called Dominik?" she asked suddenly recalling the memory.

Lance freed himself from her arms, pursing his lips. "He said that? It's true. But I dropped it for the other at age of eight. I didn't wanna be called the way my damned parents had called me."

Kitty grabbed the tray to bring it away though she didn't move to stand up.

"I'm sorry," Lance said quietly, fixing his eyes and fingers on the wrinkles of the blanket. "I'm so sorry for having shouted at you, hurt you and everything."

"I forgave you, Lance Alvers, long time ago," she touched his chin, and leaning closer she kissed him on the forehead. "Or never even was angry with you."

Later that afternoon Lance left the bed. Still having a minor headache, he was slightly dull and moody though he did everything to hide it from Kitty. She pulled him to a nearby market where they bought a short yet well-shaped pine-tree. Kitty wanted them to have a normal Christmas together, a calm and intimate one, and he appreciated her efforts all the more when he thought of her being Jewish and normally celebrating Hanukah instead of Christmas.

It really was a nice evening. Her aunt was in her bedroom, leaving the two youths alone. Lance felt he could have relaxed and slid into happiness if not for his whirling thoughts.

It appeared to be so simple to spend the time like that. Too bad, it made him recall his childhood when Christmas didn't mean more than the other days in the year – a pile of trash. He always had used to sneer at the sappy Christmas scenes on postcards and movies, thinking they were for weakling goody little boys with well-combed smooth hair and rosy cheeks. He had steeled himself, trained himself to gain the belief he didn't need intimacy, nor love or warmth. And now he was proved to be so dead wrong. It was like life laughed into his face, holding a mirror for him to see what a liar he was, how he had methodically blinded himself with self-delusion and faked toughness. He had never been taught how a normal, decent family worked; his family seemed more real than anything in life, and it never occurred to him to query whether it was average. He had no clue that it could work otherwise, he considered it a legend of fairy tales.

These all little things about Christmas now appeared to be creeping under his skin, filling his bones with delight and ease and life. While pretending to be busy helping Kitty, Lance was lost in watching her as she was doing a bit of handwork around the Xmas decorations, dressing walnuts into silver paper, drying orange-peels and tying ribbon to cinnamon shavings. They hardly shared a few words, yet everything was so peaceful.

Suddenly Kitty frowned, gazing behind him. The television was switched on and as Lance turned around he saw what had evoked the change in her mood. He sneered as the news informed about the man who was found dead early in the morning that he was murdered by a fellow homeless, probably for money.

With disgust, Lance switched the TV off, throwing the remote control on the couch, tossing the room into tense silence.

"Funny, I became an orphan for the second time, right? And in what a splendid way!" he snorted, before pausing shortly. "How ironic. This is the infernal jurisdiction for the damned. He maybe, partly was killed for the money he'd got for telling you about his mistreatment against me. I wish he would have realized it."

Kitty was silent, though she ceased her activity. It grew dark outside and only a reading lamp next to Kitty illuminated the room, leaving the far corners in darkness. She lifted her gaze up at Lance who was still standing petrified in the same stance as minutes ago.

"I shouldn't be here," he said hoarsely, his hands disappeared in his pockets.

"Lance…" she sighed, placing the scissors she had been using down on the table. "The same old case again?"

"Maybe it is but not less true."

"Or not less easy to run away than trying to face the difficulties."

She crossed the physical distance between them but crossing the mental seemed much harder.

"I do not run away. I'm trying to… protect you."

"Thanks, but I totally don't need it. Don't you think I can decide by myself what I really want?"

"Sorry but it doesn't seem like you know what this all thing is about… You don't feel the weight of where I came from and ain't aware of the future I could ever achieve… Just look at… look at that filthy bum…"

Kitty interrupted him. "No, you are the one who apparently don't understand that I don't care who your father was! I also don't care who you were two years ago. Don't ever look back… remember? You said that to me a few days ago. And you were right. I say everyone changes, Lance, even I changed, I'm not entirely like I was two years ago. I'm leaving my past behind, so you could do that too."

"Yeah, you're leaving. That's why we're still here," he scoffed slightly, without the intention to offend her.

Kitty yet looked confused. "How do you mean it?"

Lance sighed, tousling his hair unintentionally. "I just say we're here 'cause you ain't ready to leave and still hope your parents would change their mind."

Taken aback, she remained silent for a short tick. "But at least I keep trying," she retorted finally. "You must not blame yourself for your father's guilt and life. You ain't him."

"Yeah, but I'm gonna be. See? Just way down the line. The same scum as he was. By the first trouble resorting to alcohol. It's in my blood or stuff."

"Exactly… if you let it be. It's always too easy to use it as an excuse for every failure," she snapped, then her voice softened as she said: "Let's try it from another aspect. What do you think it tells about me if I seemingly, according to your opinion, don't have the right mind to choose anyone else but you? What does it reveal about my knowledge of mankind? When you disparage yourself like this you simultaneously disparage me myself as well."

"I… I've never meant this," he shook his head tiredly before sinking in the nearest chair. Kitty stepped next to him, hugging his head to her chest, and kissing his hair lovingly. Her heart was aching for him. For them.

"Why can't you accept the fact that I want you of all people? Why ain't you brave enough to face you ain't that trash of world you think you are? Why is it easier to hide behind banners about degradation of yourself and holding your hands up high that you told you ain't no good?"

"No expectations, no disappointments," he moaned almost ashamed and shyly pulled her into his lap.

Kitty encircled his neck with her arms. "Would you try it for me? Would you try to accept yourself? Would you give you, give us a chance?" she asked, leaning so close to him that she could have counted his eyelashes.

Lance glanced at her, feeling his incapability to reject her bind him. He was so weak, so indecisive. He attempted to kiss her but ended up kissing only her palm, as she put her hand between them. "Answer it, honey," she whispered, her lips playing around the tip of his nose like the sweetest temptation.

"I… I would," he groaned huskily. "I swear I would."

There, it was said, eventually. It was said, and that was the easier part of the task. Somehow –or for that very reason- he didn't feel relieved, only a faint determination flared up in the depths of his trouble.

Kitty flashed him a bright smile that made his guards collapse, and all his doubts were momentarily washed away when she finally found his lips with pure overwhelming passion.

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