Title: You've Got To Go There To Come Back
Author: Iris, "sleepall-day" at Livejournal
Rating: Fairly tame, around PG-13.
Timeline: Directly after Alcatraz events of X3.
Summary: After the fight at Alcatraz, Pyro is found and brought back to Xavier's mansion. For his criminal actions he has been given house arrest at Xavier's School and he must learn to adjust.
Disclaimer: I don't own X-Men or any Marvel characters used in this fanfiction. This story is just for fun, and any resemblances you find to actual people, living or dead, shows that you have strange friends.

Chapter 9: "That's why I'm the puppet."

The next morning, I rolled out of bed. Really. "Ugh, damn it," I said, rubbing the spot on my head that I'd knocked on the floor. That day I had another appointment with Amelia Voght, and I'd been sleeping in as usual all the mornings in between. Getting up early was not a strong suit of mine.

"So, I hear Potential Boy's been making some real progress doing some damage control!" Amelia said brightly. I couldn't tell if there was a hint of sarcasm or not, since she usually spoke with a pretty dry tone.

I'd already planned out our meeting the night before. She had to keep in pretty good contact with the adults at the school due to my counseling, so she'd be up to date. She'd ask about the way I'd saved Charlie, and the rehabilitation program I had to do for community service, and I was going to be the model criminal with her again so she'd have nothing but nice, clean reports to hand to whoever she was working for.

"Oh, yeah. If you're talking about the castler," I said.

"What?" she said, puzzled.

Oh. I'd said that out loud. "Yeeeah…" I said. "You know, that kid Charlie?"

"Of course, Storm told me all about him," Amelia said. "What did you call him?"

Last night, Charlie's power had made me think. I was reminded of the time that Magneto taught me how to play chess. I did know how to play, but I never really got a chance to as a kid, so he was helping me brush up on the rules. He always liked to make a lot of chess analogies and it bugged me a little bit that I didn't really know how to play. Especially since he made it seem like such an intelligent game and was all aloof about it. If it weren't so immature to do so, he may have said something like, "I know how to play and you don't!" So I'd asked him to teach me. And after a couple of games, I thought I'd almost had him in check, until he did a weird move with two of his pieces.

"Hey! Are you cheating?" I'd accused him. Mystique laughed.

"My, my, do you believe that I would resort to cheating to defeat you?" Magneto chuckled.

"Well, then what did you just do?"

"This, son, is called castling. One must not have moved either the king or rook, and there must be no pieces between them. Then the player may move the king two squares to the rook, and the rook goes on the opposite side."

It looked like he'd made it up, so I glanced at Mystique, who looked up from her book and nodded at me. "Hard to tell with him sometimes, isn't it?" she said sympathetically. I shrugged and kept playing. The man obviously didn't believe in going easy on anyone, so I lost, of course, but it had been fun. I mean, my dad certainly never played board games with me.

At any rate, Charlie's mutant power wasn't like castling – not exactly – but in my head it was similar enough. The king and rook in chess don't go to the spot the other had been, but they do sort of switch positions, and I related Charlie's form of teleportation to it.

"Oh, well, I sort of thought that Charlie's teleporting was sort of like the way you can castle in chess," I explained to Amelia. "It's like it except that in chess they don't go in the exact spot the other piece was in."

"Ahhh, cute," she said.

"Not really, it's just kind of dumb," I said, resenting the use of the word "cute."

"No, hey, don't say that about yourself," Amelia prodded.

"Whatever," I sighed, looking heavenward.

We talked some more about a variety of things, and Amelia was happy with the way I'd been spending more time out of my room. Then, of course, she said, "And how are you feeling about the rehabilitation program you're meant to help with?"

I mustered what I hoped was a believable amount of enthusiasm, and so it began. I was really excited that I was going to be meeting new people. I was so grateful to the X-Men and the other students who were helping me clean out the old, battered room that had taken a lot of Cyclops's abuse, accidental or not. I was extremely impressed by the way the bust-open wall hadn't collapsed yet, without crushing Jubilee to death, whose room was directly below the old meeting hall. And I loved the vacuum-deprived floor covered in so much dirt that if someone spilled some seeds, we would have a garden the following spring.

Amelia raised an eyebrow at me and said, "You know, I'm good enough at sarcasm myself to be able to detect it. And by the way, they used to have the greenhouse right above that room. That's where all that dirt came from."

"Ah. One mystery solved. Now onto why Jubilee hasn't been crushed yet." Click, went my lighter.

Amelia buried her face in her hands to stifle her laughter. "You're horrible!" she said, but she was laughing. "John, it's not that bad. You could be in jail right now," she reminded me.

"Yeah, but at least there I wouldn't have that inkling of hope that I could get out of there. Here I'm nothing but the puppet of the school staff members and the attorney general and the Secretary of Mutant Affairs himself, and all kinds of high-up-there politician-bureaucrat figures and the judicial system of the State of New York. A puppet, I tell you. They just stick their hand up my butt and I do what they say," I burst.

Amelia was looking like she was trying very hard not to laugh. "You're not telling me you'd rather trade that –" she pointed at my anklet "-for jail?"

I gave a heavy sigh, and said, "That's why I'm the puppet."

After the session, which went fairly well, I thought, I had to go back up to that very room so that I could help finish the job. Amelia had gone to talk to Storm about the program they were trying to set up, and would be back later. Most of the clean up was done, and now we had to start on reconstruction. I strode over to the open wall and admired it. "This is a structural nightmare," I declared loudly.

"Oh, yeah? And what do you know about architecture?" Bobby demanded.

"Nothing," I admitted. "I'm just going by the fact that the beams are visible." Apparently since there was nothing he could do about my being here, he had resorted to picking little fights with me here and there.

We worked mostly in silence for the next hour or so, except to receive instructions from Wolverine, who actually had to go find out for himself how some of the reconstruction how to be done. I figured he was more familiar with destruction, anyway, so this didn't surprise me too much.

By the time I'd arrived, all the stuff that had been on the floor – the broken boards, dirt, glass – had been swept and cleared out. So we worked on strengthening the cracked walls and started filling in the open wall. We finished for the day when we'd done all we could, since we had to wait for some more materials to arrive. But Wolverine told us that the room would probably be done in only a couple more days.

Bobby and Warren were hauling an old desk, presumably from the basement, up the stairs, when Colossus stepped in, saying, "Let me take care of that," and picked it right out of their hands. A few other assorted pieces of furniture were also brought in, and Storm and Amelia arrived soon afterwards to talk to me about the rehabilitation program. It turned out that, contrary to what I thought before, I wasn't expected to exactly run this program, just participate in it. This suited me a lot better, but I thought it made it sounded a bit more like it was going to be Storm's little pet project or something.

I pulled a chair over and sat in it with my feet on the desk. I told Storm, "So, basically, you want me to make you little X-Men. Miraculously transform angry, abused kids into passive, happy humanitarians like you people."

I could tell I was trying her patience when she held her breath for a second and heaved a sigh, saying, "John, this is not an impossible job. It's going to be rewarding. You'll see. You'll be able to experience more of the world even from the inside of this building by working with different kinds of people."

I grumbled and tried to end the conversation with, "The world is not the same thing as the inside of a mini-X-Men factory."

Warren hopped on the desk I was sitting at and said, "Boy, whoever said life was a picnic must've gotten the ideas for rain and ants from you."

"Why, thank you."

Kitty had also been there helping with the rebuilding that morning. She only said a quick hello to me when I'd arrived, and when everyone finished she scurried back to her room. Probably to study. Or play on her computer, or whatever it was she did. I, on the other hand, spent the rest of the morning in the kitchen, even though I wasn't making any food. I guess it was really the only place in the mansion outside of my room that I felt fairly comfortable in, and Time For Dinner was usually watching some sports game in the room right across from it. Soccer and rugby had been pretty much the things to do when I was a kid growing up in Australia, so I didn't care too much for the baseball that Time For Dinner was usually tuned to, but hey, I'm a guy. I'll watch sports if it's on.

The game ended and Time For Dinner left, and I started thinking about how I really didn't know that kid very well. I guessed that was why I still didn't like to join her while she was there. I usually just eyed the TV from the kitchen island. I never even talked to her, really. But I had talked to Kitty lately, probably more than any of the other kids except for Warren, who I wasn't sure counted because he talked to everybody. Especially now that he'd gotten over some of his shyness – not to mention, awkwardness that his father had invented the cure. Probably because he was too preoccupied with Betsy to care what people thought anymore.

At any rate, at least Kitty didn't seem to be afraid of me, and she wasn't dropping all kinds of hints that I should be eating my meals in Chez Correctional Facility instead of taking up so much room in the kitchen… well, actually, Bobby had only said that once, but that really ground my nerves, and I nearly slapped him with the frying pan I'd been holding. The flame under the pan was rumbling, too, but I would have preferred just giving him a blow to the head. I could swear that red light on my anklet starts beeping every time I want to beat him up, but that's just me being paranoid. I can't believe I managed to stay calm, though, and even though I wanted to tear his head off, I smirked at him. I'd just told him, "Ha! You'd be begging me to stay here if you'd had a taste of my apple pie last night – except I wouldn't have let you had any even if Tinhead hadn't eaten all of it." Bobby just gave me a disgusted look at the thought of begging me to do anything, and took his food and left.

That had been a couple of days ago. Today, I'd been in the kitchen all morning and hadn't seen anyone come in or out. I knew that some people had gone out to eat, but I was pretty sure Kitty hadn't left with them. Maybe I should make her something. Then again, maybe not. She'd probably just think I was being weirdly cheeky or something.

Before I knew it, I was making cheeseburgers, scolding myself the whole way. She's going to think you poisoned it or something, Pyro! I said to myself. To which I responded, Oh, shut up. So what if I want some company? And then, I really have to stop talking to myself. See, this is why I need someone else to talk to! Then I wondered, What if she didn't like burgers? Wait. Everybody had to like burgers. Didn't they?

I knocked, and Kitty was in her room. She said, "Come in," without even asking who it was – then again, maybe it's just antisocial jerks like me who ask, and then say, "Stay the hell out!" depending on who it is. Nah. I couldn't see Kitty being an antisocial jerk.

"Hey, Kitty-cat, you had lunch yet?" I said, leaning into the room without walking in.

"No, not yet," she said, ignoring the pet name. She was concentrating on something on her computer.

"I made you some food," I said, trying to sound casual.

That made her look at me. "No, you didn't!"

"What? Yeah, I did! What did you think I was going to do, take you down to the kitchen and say, Ha-ha, no food!" I replied.

She laughed weakly and said, "No, I just mean – really? I can't believe that you did."

"So, come and see for yourself. Aren't you hungry?"

"I guess so… I just had a lot of things to do today," she said, turning back to her computer.

"Can't you forget that thing for a few minutes?" I said.

She looked at me reproachfully, and then softened her expression. "It could wait, I guess," she said, and then added, "Let me just save this first."

She did, and then followed me down to the kitchen. "You've really been getting into this, haven't you?"

"What, making food? Cooking keeps me busy," I said, not about to admit I'd been enjoying it.

"You made cheeseburgers?" she said, approaching the stove.

"You don't… like burgers?" I said disbelievingly. Damn it! Everybody liked burgers! I'd screwed up.

"No, I like them, I just can't eat cheeseburgers," she said.

"Why not?"

"It's the meat and cheese. Meat with dairy isn't kosher," she explained.

Ohhh. "You're Jewish?"

"Yeah. You didn't know?" she replied playfully.

"Nope…" I said, turning to the stove. "Didn't know. Maybe because your last name's not Cohen."

"Hey!" she cried disapprovingly. When I turned around I saw that she was smiling crookedly, teasing me. She waved a finger at me and said, "You know that I would so chastise you for that comment, except that my parents are friends with approximately three different Cohens? No relation, of course."

"Sorry," I said. "I'll give it to that… that freak who eats everything," I said, throwing my hand in the air.
Kitty burst out laughing, and I had to laugh with her. I don't think I've ever made her laugh like that before, nothing beyond her little crooked smile. I hadn't said anything witty or clever, just dumb, but even so, I'd made her laugh.

"You know, that's not the only thing she does," Kitty said.

Obviously there was no question who I was talking about. "That Time For Dinner kid," I said. "She eats everything. That's about all I know."

"You should get to know some people better while you're here, John," Kitty said, suddenly a touch more serious.

"Nah, probably not. I'll just settle for minding my own business," I said. "Here," I added, handing her a new, cheese-free burger.

She looked genuinely surprised. "For me?" she said.

I rolled my eyes at her. "Yes, you! And I wasn't even supposed to have any food at all down here, too, remember?"

"Aw, thanks a lot, John. That's so considerate of you," she said with a smile.

"I'm not considerate of others. I had too much food anyway, and it's not like I made it for you," I said, in a failed attempt at feigned annoyance.

"Yeah, whatever," she said.

"What about everything else? Is it okay for you to eat?" I asked.

"Well, it doesn't matter, if you didn't really make it for me anyway," she joked, but she grabbed the package the meat had come from, and showed it to me. "This little circled U means kosher," she said. It was tiny.

I peered at it. "I hadn't even noticed that," I told her. "Actually, I think I've seen them before, but I always thought they were something like that registered trademark letter."

"Nope. Oh, and sometimes it's a circled K," she added.

We ate in silence the way we had the last time, and I realized I had a lot to learn. I guess there were a lot of things I didn't know about Kitty. She didn't know a whole lot about me either, which was probably a big part of why she was bothering to talk to me. Maybe if we talked more, I'd leave out the parts about all the people I'd hurt, even before I'd joined Magneto.

"So, where're you from?" I said, breaking the silence.

"Chicago. Well, I lived in a suburb outside of Chicago, in Deerfield," she answered.

"Hey, kind of like me," I said casually. "I lived in a suburb called Fairfield outside of Sydney."

"Sydney… Australia?" she said, looking up at me.

"Ooh, Kitty-cat knows her geography!" I said.

"You're kidding, right?"

"Again, you're eating my food," I pointed out.

"You don't sound Australian at all," she said.

"That's right, I don't," I said, hoping to leave it a mystery. She didn't need to know about my leaving home a few times before leaving for good, all the while trying so hard to lose the accent.

We were able to talk for a few more minutes, and she stuck around even after we'd finished eating. I was vaguely annoyed, though, when Charlie wandered into the kitchen, interrupting a story that Kitty had been telling about her family.

"Hey, John. Hey, Kitty," he said.

"You guys met?" I asked.

"Oh, yeah – I was helping him set up his room the other day," Kitty explained. So that's where she'd been.

Charlie nodded, and said, "Hey, John? Do you know where I can find Storm? I don't know where she is, and, well, I don't really know anyone else too well yet."

"Haven't seen her since I was upstairs. She might still be there," I said. "Why?"

"Ah. Things have been kind of… hectic. There's something important that I probably should have mentioned earlier, but, well, after the attack it's been hospital, pack up, move in, and all that kind of stuff and I forgot," he said with a concerned look on his face.

"Well? What is it?" I demanded.

"Right before the attack got really bad, one of the leaders of the group of people mentioned that there's going to be another, bigger attack by the Friends of Humanity. I don't know where."

Kitty gasped. I goggled at him. "And why aren't you telling someone about this now! Someone who can actually do something about it? It could be here!"