The enticing aromas of roasted turkey and a mixture cinnamon and pumpkin pie wafted through the air until it found its way out onto the grounds, where a soft breeze bore it swiftly to a small girl sitting alone under an ancient tree in the courtyard.

Kitty groaned inwardly as her stomach began to rumble like thunder before a storm. A quick glace at her watch told her that dinner wasn't going to be served for another hour at least. She took a deep breath, the scintillating aromas teasing her senses once again. Forcing all thoughts of food and thanksgiving dinner to a dark corner of her mind, she tried to concentrate on the novel that was splayed across her lap, but for the life of her, she couldn't get pass the first paragraph.

Finally, slamming the book in dismayed folly, she cast around the courtyard for something else to distract herself with. It only took a moment before she spotted Pitor resting against the trunk of another large tree. She felt her stomach leap and her cheeks burn bright red. There was something about Peter that made her feel so vulnerable and shy. Maybe it was his thick Russian accent, or maybe it was the charming smile that flashed across his handsome features whenever he saw her, but what ever it was, Kitty knew one thing for certain: over six feet of quite, brooding Russian, and her stomach started to do strange things.

She pulled the novel up to her face and peered over the top of it. There was a momentary surge of guilt as she realized that she was spying on her classmate, but she quickly brushed it off. Her eyes were glued to his face as his hands worked furiously over the paper.

He had his sketch book propped up on his knees and he was hastily drawing his latest masterpiece. His eyebrows were knitted in tight concentration as the tiny black pencil sailed across the blank page. Occasionally as small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, but somehow it never evolved into a full-blown smile. Kitty was waiting and hoping that he would look up and spot her, but he never did. He was so caught up in his drawing that he might've well have been in another dimension; one where Kitty didn't even exist.

A stab of disappointment laced its way through her limbs and found its way into the recesses of her heart. Sadly, she lowered the book back to her lap and stared at the blurry words. It was only as a hot tear trailed its way down her cheek and landed on the back of her hand that she realized she was crying.

It was stupid really; crying over a boy who didn't realize she existed. She felt like a fool. Pitor was a great guy but his head was always stuck in that sketch book. There were times when she wanted nothing more than to scream at him, to get his attention once and for all, but that wasn't Kitty's way. She was shy, too shy for her own good. And it didn't help that Peter had a bit of the shy bone either.

She glanced back up, but Peter was gone. She wondered where he had vanished to so quickly, but it didn't really matter anymore.

Another look at her watch told her that it was nearly time for dinner. Gathering up her jacket and the novel, she slowly climbed to her feet. As she rested against the tree, she could hear excited voices from the basketball court as the kids there realized that it was finally time for turkey. Pushing away from the tree, she walked forlornly back to her dorm, stopping only to wash her hands and change her shirt before she marched dejectedly towards the dining hall. A few kids ran around her, tossing her happy smiles and shouts of "happy thanksgiving" before bounding off down the stairs in front of her. She could smell the turkey and pumpkin pie stronger than ever, but she didn't feel remotely hungry anymore. The need for sustenance was the only thing that drove her to the hall. The pancakes and strawberries from early that morning were gone and her stomach was being stridently belligerent from the lack of food.

She wandered half-heartedly into the hall and saw with a jolt that, besides Scott and Logan, she was the last one to arrive. But an even bigger shock that rocked her world, and that felt like a punch in the face, was when she realized the only vacant seat was right next to Peter. Blushing and cursing like a madman, she slowly made her way towards the seat.

Peter glanced up from his sketch book as she pulled the chair back. A small red blush crept into his dark face and she hastily slammed the book shut.

"Hi, Kitty," he said with a friendly, open grin.

Kitty nodded in reply, her voice momentarily caught in her throat. When the words finally came they sounded depressingly small and squeaky to her own ears.

"Hey, Pete."

She lowered her eyes to her empty plate, wanting nothing more than to sink under the table and die of embarrassment.

It's funny how the earth never opens up and swallows you when you want it too, she mused darkly.

A few moments later the clattering of dished brought her out of her stupor. Peter was calling her name and she looked up in expectance.

"Would you like a roll," he asked, his hand extended with a small basket of freshly baked rolls.

Kitty nodded and took the proffered basket. She grabbed the top roll and passed the basket on to Rogue with a soft, "thanks."

She watched out of the corner of her eye as Peter hid his sketch book under his leg and her mind drifted back to a few moments before. She found herself wondering what marvels lay hidden on its pristine white pages, what truths that Peter hid from the world. He spent so much of his free time drawing that Kitty often wondered why he didn't run out of things to draw. Just once, she wanted to peek into its pages and see Peter's world through his own eyes, but she would never invade his privacy like that. It wasn't her nature to pry. Sighing, she forced her thoughts away from the small red sketch book and back to the meal at hand. A piece of turkey had somehow found it's way onto her plate and a small helping of macaroni and cheese sat peaceably beside it.

"Where—"she began, but Peter cut across her.

"Corn?"

She nodded but he was already spooning the small yellow kernels onto her plate next to the macaroni. Taking the bowl from him, she dully passed it on.

Her heart fluttered annoyingly as he passed her the dish of stuffing and her fingers brushed against his hand. She quickly turned away to hid the betraying blush that marred her otherwise pale skin. Trying not to be too blatantly obvious, she avoided the green beans like the plague, watching as he passed them across the table to John instead.

She looked up the table and saw Jean laughing quietly with Scott, wondering if it was too late to calm Logan's vacant seat as her own. She was sure that if she continued to sit beside Peter she was going to make an ever bigger fool of herself before dinner was over.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, she picked up her fork and stabbed weakly at the slab of turkey. She knew from past experience that it was tender enough to almost melt in her mouth, but she wasn't in the mood to eat any longer.

Thanksgiving had always been a big affair in her life with tons of food and sweets, but nothing from her childhood could rival the dinners that Ms. McCoy fixed at the X Mansion. There was enough food to feed a small army and enough variety to fill up even the pickiest eaters. Kitty had always looked forward to the holidays here. The food and the camaraderie were always so palatable that she never wanted to go home for break. She knew that after everyone had had their fill and the plethora of desserts were dished out, that everyone would go outside to watch the annual student-faculty basketball game.

But first, they had to get through dinner which was proving to be a task and a half for Kitty. She kept bumping elbows with the big Russian. Awkwardly apologizing she tried to shift so that she didn't touch him while trying to shovel food into her mouth. The quicker she finished eating, the faster she could get away.

Screw desert, she mentally screamed as the last bit of stuffing disappeared into her mouth. She let her fork drop to her plate with a metallic clink before hastily beating a retreat.

"Hey, aren't you going to eat any pumpkin pie" she heard Rogue yelling after her in her heavily accented drawl, but Kitty didn't slow down until she was out the door and into the courtyard once again.

Breathing in the cool autumn air, she strolled back over to her tree and slouched down onto the dying brown grass. Somehow, through some act of divine providence, she had survived dinner with her pride and sanity mostly intact.

It felt good to be back out in the open expanse of the courtyard after being copped up in the small dinning hall with all of those people. Kitty wasn't claustrophobic, but the walls had seemed to close in on her and the din of a hundred or so laughing and joking people had been starting to grate painfully on her ears. At that particular moment in time, she wanted nothing more than to be alone with her thoughts and the cool night air…which was getting cooler by the second.

She shuddered as a drifting breeze sliced like knives through her thin sweater, kissing her bare skin; she belatedly realized that she had mistakenly left her jacket up in her dorm room. Pulling her knees tightly up to her chest, she vainly tried to stay warm but it didn't take her long to learn that resistance was futile. As she closed her eyes, trying to shut out the world, she heard the first of many gleeful shouts issuing from the other side of the courtyard. Apparently, dessert had been scarfed down in record time because the students were filing out to the basketball court in small groups.

Kitty watched from her tree as a few of the kids started shooting baskets and practicing layouts. She knew how the game would end long before it ever began; all the students knew. Every year the teachers would put up a good show, but the students always came from behind to win by a sheer landslide. Some said the game was rigged, and some said that the teachers just got tired in their old age, but whatever the reason, everyone agreed that it was great to see them finally lose at something.

At present, the teachers had taken to the court in last minute preparations. Scott and Hank McCoy, Ms. McCoy's son who was also know to the students as Beast, were dribbling down the court, one-on-one. Scott made a two point shot for the basket but Bobby jumped in from the sidelines and the game officially begun. She watched in sad amusement as Dr. Grey and Storm jumped in to rescue their teammates as Bobby and John took off down the court with the stolen ball. Jean jumped to block Bobby's shot but the younger boy pivoted and tossed the ball to Mac, a small green boy with a shock of bright orange hair. Up and over, the ball sailed cleanly through the air and slipped with a whoosh through the red, white, and blue netting. The crowd cheered as the first point was scored, but the game didn't slow down for them to savory the small victory.

After about ten minutes, the crowd sat booing as the teachers had come from behind and were a comfortable fifteen points ahead. Kitty was only half watching the game, half scanning the crowd for the unmistakable Russian, but her search kept coming up empty. She sighed in disappointment, resigning herself to the fact that he had probably escaped to the art room to finish some sketches. Turning her attention back to the game, she tried to forget all about Peter, but in the back of her mind he was the only thing she could think about. Him and that damned sketch book! Once more, she scanned the crowd for him, and once more she came up empty and more disappointed that before. Giving up, she lowered her head until her chin rested on her knees and watched as John and Mac ganged up on Storm as she tried desperately to pass the ball along to Beast. Failing as John intercepted it in midair, the students gained another point, effectively closing the gap between them and the teachers as the scoreboard flashed 22-22.

"Katya?"

Kitty nearly leap out of her skin at the voice somewhere far above her head. She whipped around, nearly giving herself whiplash with the effort, and found herself gazing up into the dark features of the big Russian. Her heart leap into her throat and her stomach did a weird sort of back flip.

"Uh, hi, Peter," she managed to stammer out.

Silently, she cursed herself for being so tongue-tied and flustered.

"May I join you," he asked politely, indicating the leaf covered ground beside her with his red sketch pad.

Her eyes lingered on the book, but she forced herself to look away.

"Sure," she answered meekly as she stared intently at her shoelaces.

He sat down heavily and brought one knee up to his chest, the other leg he stretched out straight in front of him. Sighing, he brought the sketch book to rest on the ground between them.

Kitty felt a lump forming in her throat at his close proximity and she tried to gulp it down, but the harder she concentrated on it, the bigger it seemed to grow until she was sure she'd suffocate from it blocking her airway.

"You look cold."

She swallowed hard and glanced over at Peter, surprised to find him peering intently at her.

"I—I, uh, I left my jacket in my room," she muttered, mentally kicking herself for stating the obvious.

He nodded, seeming to ponder her predicament for a moment before sitting up and removing his jacket.

"Here," he said, draping his jacket around her shoulders.

Startled, Kitty felt her color rising again and hastily averted her eyes. "Thanks," she mumbled incoherently while casting an awkward smile in his direction.

She pulled the black leather tightly around her shoulders, nearly disappearing beneath the vast amount of material. She could distinctly smell Peter all over the jacket and it reminded her faintly of cinnamon and peppermint; plus it was still warm from having been on him.

Peter smiled and leaned his large frame back against the tree. Kitty threw him an appraising sideways glance. The taunt muscles of his stomach could clearly be seen against the tight fabric of his dark blue sweater and Kitty had no trouble imagining him shirtless, six pack abs and all.

Gulping the lump back down, she let her gaze linger for a moment longer before bringing it to rest on his face. He was watching the game with only a mild amount of interest and she suddenly found herself wondering what had brought him out here with her. She wanted to ask, burning to know, but she knew that Peter did everything in his own time; including answering questions. Instead, she lowered her gaze until it fell back onto the small red book. Her fingers itched to touch it, to open it and flip through its pages and get a mute glimpse of Peter's world.

Almost as if reading her thoughts, Peter reached down and took the small temptation away from her. Holding it up, close to his chest, he peered down at her with an amused look creasing his handsome features. A feeling of shame suddenly descended on Kitty and she lowered her head until her chin was resting on her knees again. She thought that Peter was going to leave then, disappearing back into the mansion with out a word, but he surprised her.

"Would you like to see," he asked, his heavily accented voice rumbling like thunder near her ear.

Curiosity and a sense of eager urgency seized her, but she dared not screw this up. She gave him a non committal shrug and coy smile. "Only if you want to share, Pete."

His grin widened and he scooted closer to her, until his leg bumped gently into hers. A small gasp caught in her throat at the touch, but neither she nor Peter moved away. Instead, he laid the small book into her hands with an embarrassed smile.

"The first few are not my best work," he said assuring as she gently fingered the fringe of the page. "But I only draw beauty."

Quelling her excitement, she gave a small nod of acknowledgment before flipping the cover back.

If this wasn't his best work, she was afraid to see it. The picture that gleamed up at her made her best stick people look like…well…stick people. Poorly drawn stick people at that.

"It's lovely," she mouthed as she turned the page.

A woman stared up at her; her small cardigan flapping gently in an unseen breeze. The intricate pattern in the woman's small hat and the loving attention to detail sent a surge of wonder through Kitty. The ghost of a smile lingered on the old woman's face as she held a coffee cup halfway to her lips.

"My grandmother," said Peter, his voice infused with a hint of sadness. "She loved her tea."

Kitty smiled. "She's lovely," she said, his use of the word "loved" not escaping her notice.

Turning the page, she found another picture of Peter's grandmother staring up at her. This time she was obviously at a beach. Kitty could clearly make out a peer in the distance as a few gulls flew overhead. The same ghostly smile lit her face as she stared sadly out over the crashing waves, her gnarled hands, folded together, resting on a cold railing.

"She loved the ocean best of all."

"Where is she," murmured Kitty, her curiosity getting the best of her.

Peter ran a shaking hand through his hair as a sad smile flittered across his face before being replaced by blank stare.

Seeing that she wasn't going to get a response, Kitty turned the page. A jolt, like being slapped in the face, coursed through her. There, immortalized forever in a thousand different shades of gray, was a small tombstone bearing the words Anastasia T. Rasputin and a phrase in Russian that she couldn't translate. She knew without asking that this was Peter's grandmother, the woman from the preceding portraits. Her eyes fell to the date and a cold shiver of ice ran through her veins as she realized that this woman, whom he obviously loved better than anything else in the world, had left him only three weeks ago.

"I'm so sorry, Peter," she said, looking up to meet his gaze.

He shifted his gaze away but not before Kitty saw a certain amount of moisture had formed within those deep brown pools.

"She was a wonderful woman," he admitted, his voice so low it was a harsh whisper. "She raised me once we left Russia. I—I." He stopped, not sure of what to say or how to go on. "I loved her so," he finished simply, the rest of his sentence suddenly seeming unnecessary.

Kitty felt a tug on her heart but was unsure of how to comfort Peter. She wanted to throw her arms around him, but wasn't sure how he might construe that. Instead, she settled for laying her small hand over his much larger one and squeezing it comfortingly. He looked at her, his eyes wide, but she merely gave him a smile. After a moment, he returned the gesture, though his smile contained none of the warmth it once had.

"What does it say," she inquired, pointing to the Russian phrase engraved on the headstone.

"Мать всех матерей, она была любима всеми" said Peter in Russian, then, in English, "Mother of all mothers, she was loved by all."

It wasn't exactly the kind of sentiment that Kitty had been expecting, but it obviously meant much more to Peter than it did to her. She gave his hand another squeeze.

Flipping the page, she saw the X Mansion come to life in vivid detail. In each successive picture she found a vast array of students going about their daily lives at the institute. Bobby and John were arm wrestling in the Drawing Room, Jubilee and Rogue were laughing in the courtyard on their way to class. Another page depicted, in near perfect attention to detail, the Professor admonishing John for setting fire to Storm's rosebush garden; a cup of tea, earl grey, steaming in the background. There was the fountain and a view of the world from his dorm window. Here and there the world in which they lived came to life, immortalized forever on the pages in Peter's sketch book.

As she drew near the end of the book she felt as if she had lived for a time in Peter's world. If only for a moment, she had glimpsed his life through his drawings, seen through to his soul and what made him tick. Her feelings were mixed as she turned to the last few pages. She wasn't sure whether to be happy or sad. She knew she should feel privileged for Peter had never shown this book to another living soul, but by the same token, she felt a little saddened by the things she had seen.

But it was what the next page held that made her feel suddenly ashamed of her feelings of sadness. She stared at the small figure on the page and the image of her own face stared back at her. Wearing a bright yellow sun dress that had been colored light gray, she was dancing across the living room. She knew instantly that this had been draw about a week ago. She was singing karaoke with Rogue in the Drawing Room, but mysteriously, Rogue was missing from the picture.

Smirking, she turned the page to find yet another picture of herself. This time, she was sitting in class, intently absorbing whatever it was the teacher was saying, but there was no one around her in the picture. She sat alone, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she bit on the end of her pencil, one arm thrown around the empty chair beside of her.

She glanced up at Peter, but the big Russian was staring stridently at some point in the distance.

Turning to the last picture, she nearly dropped the book onto the dying grass. The date in the corner read 22/11/2007. Today. Her face whipped up in surprise to find Peter's face only inches from hers.

"Peter…I…"

This was drawn earlier, when she had been spying on him in the courtyard while she sat alone in a ring of leaves beneath the very tree they were currently sharing.

"I only draw beauty," he reiterated, his voice low and husky.

Looking into his eyes, Kitty knew that she had been wrong earlier. Terribly, horribly, wrong. Peter did know she existed; he was just to shy to approach her. Maybe he wasn't sure how. But his feelings were apparent from his drawings, so perfect and drawn with such careful effort that they could almost leap off the page and be real. His affection for her transcended the pages on which he had drawn her. She could see it written clearly in his eyes now.

She realized at that moment that she was still clutching his hand in her own. It felt warm and strong in her grasp. Peter was so close that she could actually feel his hot breath on her cheek.

Slowly, she closed the sketch book and let it lay on her lap.

"Thanks, Peter," she managed out, his mind spinning in a million different directions at once.

Peter shook his head, "no, Katya," he said, pulling her name back into his mother tongue. "Thank you."

She looked up, wanting nothing more than for him to lean down and kiss her senseless. But Peter, ever the gentleman, merely smiled brightly at her. Deciding that it was now or never, Kitty summoned up every shred of courage she could muster and, reaching up to grasp the back of his head, brought his lips down on hers in a tender, yet somewhat awkward kiss. At first, Peter didn't respond, but before long, he had thrown his arms around her waist and pulled her close to his chest, kissing her as if this was all he had ever wanted in life. Every fiber of her being screamed in happiness, never wanting to come up for air, but it was inevitable. Her lungs cried out for air and she finally had to oblige them.

As they broke apart, Peter still held her close. He smiled at her and she felt her heart melt completely beneath those beautiful, bottomless pools of brown.

"Happy Thanksgiving," he murmured as his lips descended on her for a chaste kiss.

Kitty beamed up at him, "Thanks, Pete."

Wrapping in his warm embrace, she laid her head on his chest, content to let the world pass them by, even if only for a moment.