Hey guys! I'm back again with a double update as I missed Wednesday! I confess, I wasn't entirely happy with this chapter so I had to tinker with it, but the timing was good so you get a double update! I've moved into Uni and start lectures tomorrow but I have Wednesday's off so updates should still be the same! I hope you enjoy this double feature! Let me know what you think!

I wear this crown of thorns
Upon my liars chair
Full of broken thoughts
I cannot repair
-'Hurt', Johnny Cash

CHAPTER TEN

X.x.X

"What were you thinking?" The Professor explodes at you- deservedly, you must admit- in his office when you all get back. You had just enough time to step foot through the door and watch as Jean, Storm and Peter were carted off to medical before one of the kids tells you the Professor wants you.

"I was thinking that Marco was about to crush Scott's skull," you reply calmly.

"I'm sure he was handling it-"

"Everyone was down, Charles, I saw a shot and I took it," you argue back.

"We don't kill, Katherine," Charles shoots back sternly, and you can't help but feel like you're thirteen and talking to him for the first time. But you're not. You've been here over ten years, and you've earned your place.

"I know," you stress. "That's why I didn't. I knocked him unconscious which was the only way we could stop him."

The Professor looks at you evenly. "That's not how the others see it."

"Yes," you exclaim, "I slipped up. I nearly killed him, but I didn't," you stress. The Professor makes a noncommittal noise.

"That's what worries me. That you could have."

You sit down in one of the chairs in his office, sighing. "Look, Charles, maybe. Maybe I could have. But I didn't. Things are different now, here, and….I need to accept that and try and go by the way things roll here."

The Professor relaxes. "I'm glad that you've come to that conclusion. But we don't kill, Kitty. We're the good guys."

You tilt your head in acknowledgement, but have to disagree. "What if there are no good guys?" you ask, and you are distinctly aware that while you may do good deeds and fight 'evil'- you aren't a good person. You're selfish and self-centred, stubborn and at times uncaring about how others feel- but you're working on it. Charles is looking at you, not doubt examining every thought.

"Perhaps we'll just have to wait and see," he concludes, "it is times like these- times we are tested- that make or break us, Kitty. And really only you have the power to decide which it will be."

You stand to leave heading for the door when he speaks again. "I suppose, as your head teacher, I have to praise you on your- innovative work today," he says begrudgingly. "It got the job done and stopped endless damage. That fighting style is- well it's unique," he admits and you have to smirk. "But I will have to advise you don't try anything like that again," he warns and you turn to look at him.

"With all due respect, Professor, it's not a choice. If it came down to saving a life of my teammate or theirs, I would choose my people every time."

X.x.X

The walk to medical is a long and solitary one, but necessary. You can't leave things the way you did with your team, you don't like that taste of regret in your mouth. You pass Logan coming from medical, who grabs your arm to stop you before you go. "I would have done the same thing, kid," he mutters to you, "if I was able to get through his armour I would have done the same damn thing."

You gave him a small smile- it's a small comradery that the two of you alone share. Logan knows what it's like, that fight for survival and the willingness to do what needs to be done- before he releases you and walks away. You watch him disappear around the corner and not for the first time wonder how he's coping so well. But then again- Logan has watched empires rise and fall, lived through more wars than he would ever tell and suffered more pain than any one person should. He was adaptable in a way you could only ever hope to be.

Strengthening your resolve, you stand in front of the doors and they sweep open revealing Hank McCoy in a doctor's coat, pacing between three beds containing Jean, Storm and Peter, with Scott in a chair beside Jean. Jean's ankle has been bandaged and was propped up as she chatted to her husband. Storm was having her eyes examined by Hank who was shining a light into them before giving her nod and a pat on the shoulder. No concussion then, you suppose. Your eyes drift to the third and final bed, a distance away. Peter was shirtless, his torso wrapped bandages and determinedly not looking at you. Your heart sinking, you go to stand between Jean and Storm's beds to explain what happened as best you could, explain that it was a slip up and it'll never happen again. Scott especially looks wary, but you'd never caused much trouble and were an established member of the team. You weren't entirely sure what the main story about you was that was going round- be it depression, a break or relationship troubles, or a quarter life crisis- but they obviously hold this into account and you get away with it. Scott thanks you for having his back and you leave it at that.

Knowing the next conversation you're about to have with be infinitely harder, you take a deep breath and notice that Jean has put a soundproof barrier between you and Peter and the rest of them. You shoot her a smile over your shoulder before phasing through the curtain to Peter. Peter is struggling to sit up and gingerly put on a hoodie, grimacing. "Woah, woah, woah," you intercept, hurrying towards him, "where do you think you're going?"

He doesn't look at you when he answers curtly, "home."

You gently shove him back down into the bed, examining the bandages at his ribs carefully. "And whose discharging you?" you demand.

Peter shrugs you off, mumbling "me."

"Yeah, no way," you retort. "You have a broken rib. You. I don't even want to think about how hard he must have kicked you," you shuddered and can't help but think that the unstoppable force met the immovable mountain today.

"I'm fine," he mutters and you reach for him.

"At least let me help you-"

"I think you've done enough," Peter says sharply and your hand drops.

"Peter-" you start. To explain. To deny it. To stop him.

"No, Kitty. You may miss your old life, but you crossed a line."

"He was going to kill Scott-" you protest, and he gives you a look.

"So you almost kill him? An eye for an eye is it now? That is not how we operate, we have never operated like that and you know it."

You throw your hands up in the air, frustrated. "I screwed up, I know. How many times can I say it?"

"You would have done it, wouldn't you?" he asks quietly. He doesn't elaborate. He doesn't have to. You look away, ashamed. You would have. You both know you would have.

"That wouldn't have been the first time, would it?" he asks and you swallow hard and look at him.

"No," you whisper, "that wouldn't have been the first time someone died because of me."

Peter examines you and then looks away. "You're really not her, are you?" he asks finally. "You're really not Katya."

You can barely look at him it hurts so much. Peter had never looked small until that moment. He looked like he was about to shatter- and you were going to give the final blow.

"No," you say eventually. "No I'm not."

Peter turns away from you in the bed, saying "I want to be alone right now."

For once you're able to give Peter what he wants.

X.x.X

"No!" You shout desperately, "Leave him alone!"

Your yells fall on deaf ears, though you know your words weren't carried away by the torrential rain- the men surrounding you simply didn't care. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Yes it was summer and it's raining, but that's not what you mean. You had just closed up the bookstore you'd been working in all summer- you'd needed a reason to stay at the Institute during the summer, so between your job and summer college classes in Computing and Physics to bulk up your resume and 'get a jump start on college' your parents had to let you stay- to find the vicinity empty. This was odd, as Peter had suggested walking home together- he had art supplies to get at the nearby shop. Peter's timekeeping skills were usually fine, so when five minutes had past you began to get restless. Figuring he must have gotten caught up talking to the shopkeeper, Dimitri, you head in the direction of the art supply shop.

Shivering from the biting rain that's pierced your jacket, you walk quickly in the direction of the art store, but slow to a halt when you hear the unmistakable sounds of a fist crunching a nose. You hear a groan, and you approach the mouth of an alley with caution. You take in the sight quickly- three men- two tall and lean, one of average height and bulky- surrounding Peter who had his hands out- in surrender, palms up, not in fists- and his face was bleeding.

"Come on, Tin-Man, do it. Show us what you got," the stocky man sneered, and Peter grimaced, deflecting a blow.

"I don't want to hurt you," he urges, and you hear sharp laughter.

"Give us a challenge, Tin-Man. Or was all that at Alcatraz just for show?"

Your eyes narrow and you surge forward into the alley. Peter sees you first, his eyes widening fractionally as you rush up the alley, tapping the stocky guy on the shoulder before phasing through him and punching him in the face. Hearing another one charge at you while the first stumbles and powers forward again, you throw yourself out of the way as they collide together. "Looks like we've got ourselves another mutant," one spits out. You scramble to your feet to see Peter fending off blows. The tallest guy knees Peter so hard he bends double, and you can't help the yelp that escapes your mouth. You jerk forward- to help him, to protect him, to beat the shit out of that jerk- when an arm wraps itself around your throat tightly. You're about to phase out when you hear the click of a gun. "Uh, uh uh," one tsks, and with horror you realise that the gun isn't pointed at you, but it's trained on Peter. He's half crouched, ready to spring but now frozen. "One move, ghost girl, and tin man gets a bullet to his brain."

You freeze completely and Peter narrows his eyes and is about to break free of the hold that one of the men has on him when the arm around your throat tightens. "You move, Tin-Man, and Davy here cracks her neck."

A feeling of panic takes hold of you, not for your life but for Peter's. You can phase out of your captors arms but can Peter dodge a bullet in time? Can he armour up in time with a bullet flying towards him at that speed? You see Peter eying up the gun and know he's wondering the same thing. "You muties think you're so tough," one snarls, "You think you're heroes. You think you're special. All you are is a bunch of kids playing God."

"We don't want any trouble," Peter says evenly, "how about you just let us go."

"Let you go? What? So more people can die because of you?"

"We didn't want to hurt anyone, we were trying to protect you-" you exclaim before being cut off by the arm tightening.

"Like we needs you to protect us," the stocky one sneers. "We need protected from you. You're scum."

Peter narrows his eyes, and glances from the gun to you. You see the panic in his eyes- hidden, if you didn't know him you wouldn't see it- and he tries to communicate with you through his eyes. You know he's trying to tell you to run, to get away and just get out of here, but you can't and you won't, because he'll get hurt. You shake your head slightly and widen your eyes at him, trying to convey that you're staying and you can get out of this. Vaguely unscathed. Peter huffs and you see him hold up two fingers at his side, then do what looks like a bizarre form of rock paper scissors- but you know better. Hoping this will work, you blink twice to confirm you understand and immediately you both bounce into action.

You phase out of the man's arms as Peter breaks free from the hold he's in, and you dive for the drunk with the gun, struggling to grab the gun off him. The other man is trying to pull you back and you feel his hand tear at your jacket, but you ignore him and kick the gun out of the drunk's hands. The second grabs your legs and drags you towards him and you writhe and try to grabble at anything to gain purchase, his hands working their way up your legs and you grunt, digging your thumbs into his eyeballs as he leans on top of you, his weight pressing you into the concrete until it wasn't. Then he's on his hands and knees stuck in the ground and you're reappearing a few feet away. You whirl to see Peter with his back to you, grabbling with the largest man, and to your horror you see the drunk aiming unsteadily at Peter's back, his very human back- he still didn't want to hurt these thugs.

You launch yourself at Peter as fast as you can, hoping to beat the bullet that's sure to come. You have to stay solid until you get to him, otherwise you'd just go through him. You throw yourself at him protectively, enveloping him in your arms and you feel the bullet whizz through you both with only a slight searing sensation in your shoulder. When all the bullets have been fired and all there is is the sound of empty shells clicking, Peter head-butts the first guy and you untangle yourself from him as he charges at the one with the gun, his fist colliding with his face, knocking him to the ground.

Peter turns back to you quickly, and calls to you, "Are you alright?"

You nod, leaning against the brick wall, grimacing. "I'm fine."

Not really, you got grazed by a bullet, were assault, feel like you could sleep for a week and know you're going to be covered in bruises for at least a month, but you're still here.

Peter stalks towards you, kicking the man you had trapped in the ground as he goes. "Then what the hell were you thinking?" he exclaims.

"I was helping you! And why the hell were you not kicking the crap out of them?" you demand icily, hurt by his disgust.

"We don't do that, they were idiots. And you could have got yourself killed!"

"If I had ran away, you would have been killed, you big idiot!" you snap, standing up right.

"I could handle it," he said tightly, and you snort and march towards the mouth of the alley and start heading home.

"Yeah, that's what it looked like."

"What is that supposed to mean?" he asks sharply, his footsteps falling beside your own.

You keep your arms crossed over your chest as you answer. "When I arrived you had been cornered by three bums, not exactly a good image," you mutter and Peter barks a laugh.

"There's a difference better having power and knowing when to use it, Pryde," he retorts and you roll your eyes.

"Yeah, like that isn't some philosophical bullshit, Rasputin."

You can feel Peter glowering at your head. "I'm an X-Man, Kitty, you're still a student. You aren't fully trained, you could have got yourself killed."

"I saved your life!" you exclaim, frustrated. "A 'thank you' would be nice, or maybe even a 'good job' or a 'sorry you got shot'-"

"Sarcasm gets you nowhere- wait, you got shot?" he asks sharply and you realise your mistake. Stupid mouth.

"No, I'm fine," you insist. Peter stops, blocking your path.

"How bad is it?" he demands and you shrug your good shoulder.

"It grazed my shoulder, it was a clean shot. Plus it literally just grazed me before I phased. I'll live."

Peter pauses in his tirade and examines your shoulder before being satisfied that you wouldn't bleed out before you got home. He continued walking but more slowly, eying you up. "Let's get you home," he says shortly, scanning ahead of him.

"I'll be fine," you insist.

"I know," Peter says ruefully.

You're halfway home before he says "thank you."

Without a second thought you say "you're welcome," and you know you'd do it all over again.