Chapter Twelve: Guilt
Logan sat with Ororo, Bishop, and Hank in the War Room long after the other X-Men had been tucked into their beds. They had secured the building, ensuring that the damage from Pyro’s explosions would be fixable come morning.
The foursome wound up “talking shop” into the wee hours of the morning. Though neither of them said it, they had known it was a close call. Alison was still in the med-lab, sedated so she could escape the vast amount of pain she was in. Logan had to hand it to the girl, she was stronger than she looked.
Topics of choice this fine evening strayed from the battle, from the close call with Pete. From Jimmy’s trembling recounting, Alison had leaped in front of the fatal blow at the exact right moment. Bishop had said, on no uncertain terms, that it was only a second that mattered to the timeline.
Instead of rehashing a battle to fuel further nightmares for the young ones, they revisited everyone’s concern on the conception of Lucas.
“I am quite sure there is a medical explanation,” Beast was saying wearily. He glanced at the monitoring system quickly, ensuring Alison’s vitals were still stable.
“Hank,” Ororo broke in gently. Logan could see her hand entwined with their son’s and his heart skipped. She seemed to need constant physical contact with him now. “You looked at the scans yourself.”
“I know that, my dear,” he said, running a hand over his indigo face. “But there must be something… For goodness sake, your son is alive and sitting beside you at this moment.”
“I realize that,” answered the wintry mutant. “I am just concerned. How much time do we have before you cease to exist, son?”
The question was directed at Bishop, whom met his mother’s eyes unflinchingly. He turned, then, to Logan, as though asking permission. Logan nodded once, hoping his son could read everything he wasn’t saying in his eyes.
“About a month,” Bishop said softly. “The exact date isn’t concrete.”
“And we must keep in mind that there is a slight chance that you are already with child, Storm,” Beast reminded her gently.
“Yes, yes,” she waved him off testily. “We need answers here, Henry.”
Logan decided to weigh in, his eyes darting from his son to his mother. “Anyone even entertain the idea that this might be a miracle?”
Three sets of eyes locked onto Logan. The feral merely shrugged. “I’ve seen stranger.”
He felt her eyes on him and met her gaze steadily. Hope and fear and something he couldn’t name swirling through those chocolate depths. Logan didn’t know how to convey what he was feeling; the uncertainty, pain, and something that might have mirrored her hope, so he simply stared at her across the expanse of the conference table.
Ororo rewarded him with a slight smile, so faint one might have missed it. Her dark eyes snapped free of fear and she turned to their son.
“He does have a point,” she said quietly. “Perhaps you are my miracle.”
But Bishop winced. Logan groaned. “Oh, God. What now?”
The dark mutant sighed, running his free hand over his tired face. Logan watched him touch the “M” marking over his eye and felt anger stab through his concern. No one was marking his kid that way. It wasn’t right.
“I know you can get pregnant, Mother,” Bishop said softly.
“How?” Hank interrupted.
He looked between the other adults for several moments. There was a struggle inside of the young man, one that he was obviously going to wrestle with for some time. Storm squeezed the man’s hand, and he glanced at her, exhaling sharply.
“I have a sister,” Bishop said quietly. “I can remember your pregnancy and the day she was born.”
THUMP! Logan’s precarious perch with his legs resting on the table was compromised as he tried to sit up too quickly. He landed in an undignified heap on his back, deciding it wouldn’t hurt to just stay on the floor for a moment to collect his thoughts.
No one was even breathing, or so his ears told him. When he finally got to his feet, he watched as Storm opened and closed her mouth several times soundlessly. Luke looked ready to bolt under the weighted and disbelieving stares of those around him. Logan shook his head, the words “I have a sister” echoing through his mind.
“A daughter?” Ororo finally managed to break the silence.
“Yeah,” Bishop grinned slightly. “Lizzie. Shard. She’s, uh, the biggest pain in the ass on the planet, but we love her for some reason.”
“Huh,” Logan grunted. “Sounds like her mother.”
Ororo glared at him. He smirked hugely.
“This changes the perspective slightly,” Hank was murmuring. “Its obvious that somehow, Ororo will conceive and carry two children to term. I must talk this over with Forge in the morning.”
“Forge?” Ororo asked as Logan came over to place his hands on his son’s shoulders. The darker mutant looked up at him, smiling thankfully.
“Yes, he has a new invention he wants to test on Alison’s injury. A dermal regenerator of some sort. Alison was intrigued enough to give us permission.”
“She seems to be a dare devil,” Storm observed somewhat fondly.
“That she is,” Hank stood, checking the girl’s vitals again. “Her heart rate has jumped. Hmm, I think it is time for another round of morphine. Excuse me.”
As the big blue mutant left the room, Logan fell into the seat beside his son, looking between mother and child quickly. His mind was conjuring images of a white-haired little girl clinging to his legs, dancing on his toes. The mental picture made his heart ache.
“She’s more like you,” Bishop offered to break the quiet. He met his father’s eyes without apology. “Reckless, untamable, and damn loveable for it.”
“She and I must butt heads like a couple of rams during mating season.” Storm winked, grinning at her own joke.
“Just a little,” Luke chuckled. “Don’t be too hard on her, Mother. For all her faults, she’s got a heart of gold.”
“Hrmm,” the woman hummed, her eyes catching Logan’s gaze. “Sounds like someone else I know.”
Logan felt himself stiffen proudly at her comment. The obvious love in Bishop’s words made tears sting at the back of Logan’s eyes. His family was happy, loving, and closer than anything else, even during war. How had they managed that?
When Ororo tilted her head at him curiously, he amended his internal dialogue. Of course they’d managed it. They had probably promised one another that nothing would ever come before their family. The two of them would fight, tooth and fucking nail, to give their children some measure of happiness, even in the most bleak of times.
In that instant, he understood. Whatever had happened in the other timeline, Ororo and Logan had decided to ban together. They were warriors at heart; they would fight for anything to do with their children. Even in the face of death and destruction, they could fill a child’s earliest memories with love and affection.
Perhaps he hadn’t been in love with Ororo in that timeline. Had they faked it for their child’s benefit? Or was it real, coming to fruition in the months leading up to the birth? Logan studied her lovely face, her open gaze inquisitive and honest. He could love her, he mused. She drove him crazy, got under his skin, fought, refused to submit.
Hell, she was making him hard just looking at him.
As though she’d caught on to his internal monologue, she stood abruptly.
“I’m tired. I’m going to bed. Goodnight, Lucas.” She kissed their son’s forehead, raising a brow at Logan.
He knew that look.
Logan was on his feet in seconds. “Yeah. Me too. Night, son.”
Rushing around the table, he followed Ororo out of the room. He could hear his son swear and the dull thud of his head hitting the table.
“Oh, God. You two are so gross.”
Ororo must have heard this as well, for she laughed even when Logan grasped her arm, spinning her to crush her lithe, leather-clad body to his chest. She hummed against his seeking lips, a smile still curving that delectable mouth.
“Maybe we should start locking the bedroom door.”
He chuckled, a dark and husky laugh that made her shiver.
“Where’s the fun in that?”
~**~
Two days flew by for the bedridden Alison. The morning after the attack, a Cheyenne by the name of Forge had appeared. Though her chest had ached terribly, she’d chatted with him for several moments before he and Beast put her back under for the experimental procedure.
When she woke again, some of the pain was gone and her bruising lighter. Forge was enthusiastic about his new invention and thanked her heartily for allowing him to experiment on her. Ali had laughed, thanking him for ensuring her boobies no longer felt as though they’d been on fire.
He’d gawked at her before Hank ushered him out of the room.
Late afternoon found her surrounded by new friends. Magazines and fast food wrappers littered the med-lab floor, but Beast never complained. Ali sat up against the back of her bed, giggling and laughing with Kitty, Bobby, and Warren.
She’d had a steady stream of visitors all day. Even the reclusive Jimmy had appeared with a long-stemmed rose cut from the garden. He had attempted to apologize, but Ali was having none of that. They had, after all, managed to protect Piotr, even if her battered body protested the split-second decision with every breath.
The only person she had not seen was the man she’d foolishly leapt in front of. Piotr, by all accounts, had retreated into his bedroom, answering insistent knocks for no one. Ali frowned at the thought, wondering why he’d gone into hiding. She wasn’t one to brandish heroics around like a badge on her sleeve, but a thank you wouldn’t have gone unanswered.
Thumbing through the celebrity tabloid Kitty had given her, she glanced around again. Bobby and Kitty were talking quietly over their findings in a tattoo magazine. Angel shook his head at them both while preparing some kind of medication for Ali. She rolled her eyes. That boy needed to lighten up in a big, bad way.
Her eyes widened as she came across a photograph of David Beckham, throwing her head back to laugh at the blurb beneath.
“Listen to this!” She demanded of her companions as the med-lab door hissed open. “David Beckham purchased a vibrator for his wife with the outrageous price tag of 2 million dollars.”
“Good God!” Kitty exclaimed, leaning over to look at the article. “That’s just nutty.”
Ali laughed harder. “If I’m spending 2 mil on a sex toy, it’d better be a life-sized, fully functional Wolverine sex-bot.”
“Really?”
She looked up, grinning wolfishly as the man himself arched a dark brow at her. Instead of being mortified, as many would be, she winked impishly.
“Well, yeah. I mean, it’s two million bucks, Wolvie. If I’m spending that kind of dough, it’s gonna be worth it.”
Storm, whom had entered with the feral mutant, arched her light brows and grinned at Ali.
“I would have to agree,” she said, much to the younger mutants’ surprise. “But then, I have the real thing which is always preferable.”
“Show off,” Ali grumbled good-naturedly.
“Ok,” Bobby interjected, looking slightly green. “Can we stop talking about Wolverine and sex? I’m gonna have nightmares.”
“Shut up, Iceboy,” Ali laughed. “It’s common knowledge that Wolverine is completely shaggable. Right, Kitten?”
The brunette blushed brightly as several sets of eyes swung toward her, but she shrugged.
“Sure, why not?”
“Ok, this is getting disturbing. Be quiet.” Logan insisted, pulling a cigar from his pocket.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Storm continued with a mischievous smirk. “I could give them details, Logan.”
“Share!” Ali demanded through her laughter.
The light-hearted moment was broken when pain shot through her chest. Ali gasped with the force of it, coughs wracking her body. Kitty was on her feet in an instant, bringing a small steel basin over for Ali to spit into.
Everyone nearby halted all movement, watching as she hacked into the basin. Her chest ached and her head spun, making Warren glance at her monitors quickly.
“That’s enough fun for you today,” he ordered briskly. “Everyone without medical training, get out.”
“War…” Ali attempted, stopping when another coughing fit washed over her.
“Nope. Out.” He stamped his foot, angelic wings twitching with his determination. “Yes, even the senior X-Men. She needs to rest. You can see her later.”
Giving in to her “nurse’s” demands, Ali weakly waved goodbye as everyone filed out of the room. Kitty squeezed her hand quickly, the last to exit the room. Angel swept up to the bed, fiddling with monitors and injecting pain medication into the IV taped to her hand.
Ali fell back against the pillows, fighting for breath.
“You all right?” the blonde man questioned, brushing a lock of hair from her face.
“No,” she admitted, glancing at him. “I mean, what I did…I still think it was right.”
“But you’re angry,” he finished when she halted. “That he won’t even come to say hello.”
Ali looked down at her hands, picking at her chipping nail polish. “Is it so much to ask?”
“Not at all,” he assured her with a fond smile. “I can go up, try to shame him out.”
She shook her head slightly. “No. Just leave it.”
“Only if you’re sure…”
“Yeah,” Ali’s voice softened as her medications began to take effect. “I’ve got no doubt in my mind that he’s carrying enough guilt and shame to fill the Grand Canyon.”
Sleep claimed her before the words had even left her lips. She drifted off with Angel beside her, falling into dreams she would never clearly recall.
~**~
In the dim light of gathering dusk, he sat on the edge of his bed. His elbows rested on denim-covered knees, his hands limp between his thighs. His shoulders slumped with defeat, the weight of everything that transpired pushing on him so heavily it took his breath away.
Shadows played against his face as he sat, unmoving. His careful study of the floor had not ceased since he’d come into his room the previous day. Sleep eluded him, dreams consisting of naught but horrible nightmares.
NO! PIOTR!
Dark eyes flinched, heavy lids covering them for a moment. The image of her body hitting the wall, his own terror reflecting in a futile call of her name would not leave him. It clashed with vivid recollections of being flattened to the grass in warm sunlight, of heady, stolen kisses in the security room.
Doesn’t work with me, comrade.
His chest rose and fell with a long, shaky sigh. Tearstains had long dried on his cheeks, the wetness replaced by salty residue as his body refused to produce more. Why had she done this? What was she trying to prove?
Breath hitched in his chest, catching until he released it in a slow exhale. His gaze flicked to massive, deadly hands. He’d been prepared for death; a part of him might have even welcomed it. Anything for the team, for the family Storm and the Professor had offered him that cold night in Russia. At least he could have protected someone else. Oh, he knew how Fate liked to work. Tit for tat. A life for a life.
He could sacrifice himself without thinking twice. Everyone died. Mortality had never frightened him. It was part of the balance. When Bishop had revealed his fate, Piotr accepted it without alarm or fear. Whatever was meant to be would be.
Never, not under any circumstances, would he willingly sacrifice another. Piotr could not even contemplate it when it came to her. He was ready for death, but not for it to take her. The image of Pyro’s nearly fatal projectile slamming into Alison’s chest still brought the threat of tears to his eyes. It terrified him. In that one moment, the nearly indestructible Colossus felt true fear.
Heavy lids covered his eyes again. That fear had reflected in the deep jade of her eyes. She’d been afraid for him. Had anyone looked upon him with such emotion before?
No. Usually everyone accepted that Piotr was damn near invulnerable. He was to bust through walls and deflect bullets. No one in his or her right mind would offer to protect him. Piotr Rasputin was the protector. But that little slip of a girl dove in front of death for him, ever altering the timeline once more.
Lifting his head as someone began to bang on his bedroom door again, Piotr began to study the ceiling.
“Piotr Rasputin! You son of a bitch! Open this goddamn door NOW!”
Kitty. Again.
Her call went unanswered.
The slender brunette continued her relentless pounding. Piotr sighed heavily, his heart aching in his chest. He should have been down in the med-lab when she first woke. A real man would have been by her side through it all; a rock during the worst of the pain.
How could he face her?
“PETE! You spineless coward! Get off your ass and come out here! I swear by all that is good and frickin’ holy, I’m gonna drag you to the med-lab. She saved your life, you ungrateful swine.”
Enduring Kitty’s verbal abuse, Piotr felt his chin dimple, emotion crumbling his face once more. There was nothing to say to Alison…or perhaps too much. He had told himself that keeping her away was for her own good, to shield her when Death came for him.
There was nothing to that statement any longer. No looming demise colored his vision. In fact, he could see too far. Lost, adrift without the comfortable buffer of knowing one’s fate left Piotr with a vacant place inside of him. What was he to do now?
Have some faith.
Without his permission, a fresh set of tears slipped from his tired eyes. Dropping his head forward again, Piotr’s eyes closed once more. Faith. What did he have faith in?
He couldn’t face her. His heart could not take the reality of beautiful, vivacious Alison confined to a medical bed. For the last several hours Piotr had attempted to make his feet move, to carry him down to the med-lab. They stubbornly refused his half-hearted commands.
“Pete? Pete, come on.” Kitty’s voice was soft, almost sympathetic.
“Its ok to be upset,” she attempted. “But you can’t hide in there forever.”
Piotr’s voice obstinately refused to work. The memory came back again, slamming through his mind with all the force of a hurricane wind. His breath caught in his throat. Silent sobs shook his shoulders, even as he heard Kitty move away from the door.
This was ridiculous. He barely knew the girl. And yet, she had made him laugh, given him the best kiss in the history of the world, and saved his life. He wanted to thank her, but the guilt crushed his very soul.
When he’d come down the stairs just days ago, spotting the striking blonde covered in tattoos, his heart had tripped for maybe the third time in his life. She’d turned those enormous green eyes on him and it had taken every ounce of strength in his body to not stutter like an enamored schoolboy.
That saucy smile and velvety voice captured his attention, no matter how he had tried to distance himself. Watching her “touchdown” dance had made his breathing accelerate. When she’d come around that corner in the middle of battle, her face reflecting so much relief at seeing him…
“Ali…”
The broken whisper of her name seemed so loud in the silent room. Piotr stared down at the floor as dusk faded into night. No matter how he wanted to, he couldn’t face her. It was his fault. Everything was his fault.
~**~
“Kitty?”
Bobby Drake knocked on her open bedroom door, poking his head inside cautiously. He found no immediate sign of the brunette mutant, but her open invitation to her room allowed him to come inside.
Since Alison’s arrival at the mansion just over a week ago, he’d seen very little of Kitty. She was Ali’s constant companion; often found in the room they shared listening to music and laughing into hysterics. Bobby didn’t think Kitty made friends that easily. Her brilliant mind and penchant for being overly bubbly wasn’t a big attractor for some reason.
He could see, however, how Alison would latch onto her. They were similar souls. Giddy, optimistic, borderline silly. Kitty had needed a friend since Jubilee had chosen Marie’s side in what was less-than-affectionately called the “Bobby Wars”. Kitty had lost a good deal to Marie’s jealousy.
Not that it was completely unfounded.
Bobby finally found Kitty, which made an instant smile curve his mouth. She was half-inside her closet, muttering curses as she searched for something, one foot booted and the other merely socked. He glanced at the beds on either side of the walk-in storage space. Ali hadn’t had time to personalize her space, but Kitty’s spare sheets of a rich gold were rumpled on the new girl’s bed.
Of course, though he liked to think of himself as committed to Marie, Bobby happened to be male. As such, he could not resist the powerful urge to tilt his head, gazing openly at the rounded rump peeking out from the closet. Bobby licked his lips, his hands itching to grasp that denim-covered bottom.
She really needed to stop being so damn cute.
“Kitty?”
“Hang on!” came the muffled response. “I think I lost my mind back here, along with my other boot.”
Bobby glanced around the immediate area quickly. Spying her favorite boot lying innocently beneath Ali’s bed, where it had obviously been tossed at some point, he bent at the waist to scoop it up. He moved up beside the closet, leaning one shoulder on the wall and grinning down at Kitty’s half-invisible form.
“Oh? This boot?” The shoe dangled from careless fingers, like a treat for the searching kitten.
She popped out of the closet like someone had shoved her. Her good-natured glare was infectious, making Bobby’s widen.
“I think this boot hates me. Seriously.” Kitty sighed as she took it from him. She sat on the edge of her bed, pulling her shoe on quickly.
“When your boots start having issues, it’s time to reevaluate your priorities.” He said sagely, garnering himself another adorable glare.
“You’re a barrel of laughs today, Drake,” Kitty rolled her eyes as she laced up her boot. “You been down to see Daz yet?”
He shook his head, sitting on the edge of the musician’s bed. “Nope. Just got out of the Danger Room with Wolverine.”
“Pete show up?” Kitty questioned instantly, her brow furrowing with concern.
Bobby shook his head. He didn’t know what had happened between his friend and Dazzler, only that the wake of it had left him buried in his own demons. The man had not left his room since ensuring Ali would make it through the night. No one had so much as seen him eat.
“Damn,” Kitty said, blowing a wayward chestnut lock from her eyes. “I was hoping he’d have come out of seclusion by now.”
“You know Pete,” Bobby answered. “He’s a weird guy.”
“Yeah,” the girl shrugged, dropping her foot onto the floor with a muted thud.
They stared at each other across the scant feet that separated the beds. This happened more often than he wanted to admit. He’d find himself at a loss for words, content to merely watch the play of emotions over her beautiful face.
It wasn’t right, harboring this…whatever it was for Kitty while still trapped in a relationship with Marie. He inwardly winced at his own wording. When had being involved with Marie become “trapped”? He couldn’t recall, but that’s how it felt.
She was free to go dashing off to Germany at a moment’s notice, but heaven forbid he enjoy a boy’s night out with Pete and Warren. To be brutally honest, it was getting on his damn nerves. And the more he thought about the concert, enjoying the simple company Kitty provided…well, it wasn’t constructive to his staying with Marie.
“Bobby?” Kitty asked cautiously. She’d never mentioned it, but he felt the rift growing between them. If he didn’t do something soon, he’d end up losing his best friend.
Slowly, Bobby stood with a strained smile. Damn it. Why couldn’t he just pull his balls together and tell Marie it was over? Why did it have to be so damn complicated? He wanted Kitty, he thought she wanted him. He didn’t need all of this damn drama.
Wincing again at the thought that Marie enjoyed her drama, Bobby headed for the door.
“Lets go check on the invalid before she makes Doctor McCoy change his fur color to ‘Blush’.”
When he reached the bedroom door, Kitty’s hand found it’s way into his. Bobby paused, his free hand on the knob. He knew he should leave. Drop her hand, rush to the lower levels and make Ali laugh for a while with some old X-Men stories. That’s what he should do.
Too bad he couldn’t actually do it.
“She’s doing a number on you, isn’t she?” Kitty said quietly.
“Kitty…”
“No,” she cut in, leaning up to put her chin on his shoulder. Instinct made him turn his head, just slightly, so he could see her out of the corner of his eye.
“We shouldn’t.”
“Probably not,” Kitty agreed. “But I’m tired of waiting. She’s not here, Bobby. And bitchy of me as it is, I don’t care anymore.”
They were silent for a long moment, one filled with unfulfilled promises and tension thick enough to stand on. He swallowed hard, inhaling the dizzying scent of her perfume. She was warm against his arm and back, drawing the icy mutant closer. Their breathing hitched, heartbeats raced, nerves stood on anticipating edge.
By God, he wanted her.
“Close the door, Bobby,” she whispered enticingly.
For once in his life, he didn’t question the impulse. Without a word, Bobby closed Kitty’s bedroom door.
And locked it.
~**~
He gingerly peeled back the bandages, his thumb caressing her swollen lip as much as he dared. She smiled at him, allowing that thin veil to come down, revealing the vulnerable woman beneath the warrior.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, reaching for the sterile solution and a fresh bandage.
“Doesn’t hurt,” she replied, settling against the pillows. “What did he say when you told him?”
He sighed, cleansing the stitched wound from the blonde X-Man’s hands. “He’s disappointed, but something’s brewing. Everyone can feel it.”
“Well,” she winced as he hit a sensitive spot. “We knew going after them would bring their wrath eventually.”
“Yeah,” he nodded, setting the sterile gauze aside to inspect the clean wound. “Just didn’t think he’d take it so well.”
“He’s planning something,” she replied, violet eyes open and curious. “He wants to get his hands on Bishop.”
“I know,” John replied, placing the sticky bandage over her stitches carefully. “I do too, you know?”
Betsy regarded him quietly for a moment as he moved on to her wounded hands. He kept his touch light, a bit shocked to be tending her so carefully. They’d never really had this kind of relationship. Something about the altercation at Xavier’s mansion left him rattled, though. She seemed to understand his need to comfort and allowed it.
“You carry guilt for hurting the girl?”
He did not reply.
“She did beat the shite out of me,” Betsy teased.
Pyro grinned briefly. “Yeah, but you asked for it. How’d you let her get one up on you?”
Betsy shrugged as he finished his doctoring. She beckoned him closer with a crooked finger. He slid up her body, curling into her embrace on the creaking bed. Her long, nimble fingers raked fondly through his hair, the two of them finding a moment’s peace in the tempest of brewing war.
“I didn’t want to hurt her, or Pete,” John admitted quietly.
“You may have to, before the end.” Her words were soft, pointed, and held the subtle hint of empathy.
“I know.”
“Shh,” she quieted him, drawing him closer. “Sleep. We will decide what must be done in the morning.”
“Yes, dear,” he murmured, kissing her cheek. “We’ll find a way to get to Bishop.”
But Betsy had already drifted off to dream. John watched the steady rise and fall of her chest, reaching up to gently touch her cheek. She really was beautiful. His screaming Amazon and delicate Princess.
John lay back against her pillow, staring up at the ceiling. If he fucked up again, he had no doubt that Magneto would enjoy killing him.
