Again, I fail at updating, but this is it, so there'll be no more worries about that. To everyone who has stuck with me and read and reviewed: thank you, and my quasi-eternal apologies for being lazy and a buffoon. This was an appropriate time to end this, though, and I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.

And let me just say to Fox, while I'm on my soapbox: I honestly don't care what the hell you do with the X-Men movies anymore, but if you or Marvel bring back a certain teenage rockhead (not named Petros or Rictor) then I will squee like a three-year-old girl trying her first lollipop. I promise.'

As usual, I own nothing.

Eleven: My Ride into the Sunset

-

Sometimes when you have a near-death experience it changes your outlook on life. The media loves these types of stories. The public adores them as well: everyone loves reading about the beauty of second chances as they sit in a too-small living room in a too-small apartment or house on a rare day off from a job they hate. Sometimes when you have a near-death experience, you fall into a tailspin. The media loves these types of stories even more than the feel-good stories. If there's anything the average reader loves more than knowing that there is a possibility of escape from the hellhole that is modern life, it's knowing that others have screwed up their lives and hopes and dreams even more than the average reader has.

Sometimes when you have a near-death experience, it makes you hungry.

Kitty thought of this as she sat in a diner with three S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, one humorless and two anything but. She'd heard that the first thing Tony Stark had asked for upon his return from captivity in the Middle East had been a cheeseburger. Lance was currently enjoying a Philly cheesesteak and Pietro was digging into a country-fried steak, but it was the idea rather than the specifics, really.

Drew ate nothing, content with her water. Kitty wondered what this said about the S.H.I.E.L.D. commander.

"We should be leaving," said Drew. Kitty deciphered this as: "Let's get out of here so I can ditch you amateurs. I've got places to go, people to kill, governments to overthrow."

Lance was unconcerned with timeliness. No surprise there. "S.H.I.E.L.D.'s paying for this lunch, right? Business expense?"

"You're on the clock until eight o'clock tonight, so I guess so."

"Good." Lance stuffed a last piece of bread into his mouth, took a few moments to chew, and then swallowed. "That was a good appetizer. I think I'll get some fried eggs. You like eggs, Drew?"

"I like eggs," said Pietro.

"Eggs are delicious," Lance replied, sneering. "Of course you like them."

But Pietro just smirked and it became apparent to Kitty that they had reverted back to high school and Drew was just an uptight teacher or a know-it-all sitting in the front row and they were the two losers doing their best to annoy her. For some reason this made Kitty happy to know that no matter what they'd gone through they'd still retained some sense of immaturity. Part of this happiness also stemmed from the fact that Lance was very openly uninterested in his beautiful superior who enjoyed low-cut tops and short skirts and strawberry lip gloss. (Kitty preferred peppermint.)

A drumroll from Drew's fingers against the surface of the table. "Everyone's staring at us."

"At least we took off the bloody clothes," Pietro said. His eyes locked onto the form of an approaching waitress. "Everyone in here would be really freaked out if they knew we were about to rob this place."

The waitress nearly dropped her tray. Drew held out her hand and offered the young girl several quiet words of reassurance while Pietro snickered.

"Why did you do that?" Drew asked as the girl walked away.

Pietro shrugged, a nonverbal "Why not?"

"I feel like I'm in Pulp Fiction," Lance stated. "Where's Tim Roth? Isn't he supposed to have shot this place up by now?"

"I always feel like I'm in a Tarentino movie when I'm with S.H.I.E.L.D.," Pietro remarked. "They clean stuff up like those gangsters in the movies. Make stuff disappear."

"We do currently employ the Wolf," Drew said. She flushed as everyone stared at her. "I have a sense of humor, kids."

Kitty thought one of the two would protest the condescending title, but neither did. Lance belched, though. "That was delicious. Where's that waitress? I want some eggs."

"Eggs are delicious," Pietro repeated. "I want to be Mr. Pink."

"I could've guessed that, 'Tro. It's good that you're finally embracing who you are. Pietro almost rhymes with metro, even."

"Very funny, jackass. I said that because he's the only one that lives in the end. And he runs off with the diamonds."

This was a topic for serious conversation, so Lance actually threw his body up and his elbows onto the table, a magnificent feat considering the large amount of cheesesteak affecting his center of gravity. "What about Orange? You never really see if White kills him."

"Why do you think the cops shot him? Of course he shot Orange. It was dumb of Orange to tell the guy that he was a cop, though."

"Maybe Mr. Orange actually had some moral code," Kitty injected. She found herself encountered by the same looks Drew had provoked only moments before. "It's one of Logan's favorite movies. And it's not nearly as bloody as everyone says it is."

"Yeah." Disappointment crossed over Pietro's face in a sigh. "It's badass when Blonde cuts off that cop's ear, though. Wish he would've gotten to set him on fire."

Lance laughed. "You are one sick sadistic son of a bitch, aren't you? I'm not sleeping in the same house as you any more. You might be watching me sleep or something."

"Sadism isn't the same as sexual perversion, dummy."

"Whatever. Perversion is perversion."

"At least I don't get all high and mighty when we're in a freaking gunfight," Pietro countered. He shared a conspiratorial glance with Drew. "Did you hear this lug over here during that fight? He wouldn't kill anyone. He shot to disarm and he bashed some guy's face in but he wouldn't kill anyone when our lives were threatened."

"I put a bullet through a guy's skull," Lance muttered, all humor gone, hidden somewhere down in his stomach with the steak and grilled onions. "I shot a guy in the wrist." Some trace of a smirk. "And I put a bullet in between a werewolf's eyes. But that doesn't mean I have to go around killing everyone just because I've got a government pass."

"Doesn't mean you have to act like a pussy, either."

"I did what I had to do."

It was hard for Kitty to resist from grabbing Lance's hand. His cheek had never looked more kissable, nor his shoulder more comfortable.

"You both have your points," said the government-issued bombshell. "Alvers, I know you have hang-ups about killing people when it's not strictly necessary, but I know Fury doesn't have the time to deal with your ethical dilemmas. I'm surprised he even has enough time on his hands to have any sort of regular contact with you at all, but that's probably because of the politics of having an all-mutant team. It's fine to have some mercy as long as it doesn't affect your reflexes. You need to be ready to kill instantaneously without spending a moment debating the merits in your head. That moment could be the difference between life and death."

"Fair enough," said Lance. "But if I've got another way to incapacitate someone I'm gonna do it. So you know."

"In most situations that's fine. But Maximoff, you also need to know that not every situation calls for shooting your way out of hell, even if you've been given the go-ahead by S.H.I.E.L.D. brass. Sometimes it's best to use stealth. Sometimes it's best to show a little mercy. Far too often I've seen good kids enter S.H.I.E.L.D. and slowly lose themselves to the process. They become killing machines, but they're not even people any more. After a while they begin to become erratic. Ever since Vietnam we've been doing a lot of studies on the psyche of our soldiers and operatives. You may have heard some of the controversy over the mental condition of the soldiers of this war. We need our operatives to be emotionally and physically healthy. If we determine you've become too bloodthirsty, we'll take you out of action. There are times for mercilessness, but those situations are fortunately rare."

Pietro said nothing and shrugged.

"I want some eggs," Lance said.

"I guess this conversation is over."

Lance's mouth stretched back in a pseudo-smirk.

Eventually Lance got his eggs and an uneasy dialogue continued without Lance to act as buffer between Drew and Kitty. Even with their history, Kitty still felt more at ease with Lance than she did with Pietro. Maybe you couldn't help but establish (or reestablish) some sort of bond when you ran through bullets together.

Drew paid the bill and they headed out for the SUV. Pietro took the front, which was no shock – typical hyper-competitive behavior – and the one-time couple shuffled into the backseat. Drew took her seat in the front and started the ignition, looking at Kitty through the mirror.

"Should I drop you off at their hotel or is there someplace else you need to go?"

"My dorm would be nice," Kitty said. She gave Drew the address and the agent typed it into the fancy silver GPS with her neatly trimmed fingernails.

The conversation that had thrived in the diner seemed to die in the leather confines of the hybrid. The affluent lakeside area of Chicago passed by them in a flurry of brick and low-hanging trees. Kitty thought of her parents, blissfully unaware that their daughter had just spent the last hour and a half in the company of so-called secret agents and black market bullets.

Slowly the brick turned into concrete and skyscrapers jutted out of the ground like the cemeteries of giants buried six hundred feet below. Somewhere lay Northwestern's Chicago campus; the Hancock Center; the Sears Tower and Soldier Field. Kitty's dorm, however, was much more unassuming, and Drew somehow pulled into a parking space that had never been there before with a jarring halt.

"Before you leave, I would like to request that you keep this under wraps," stated Drew without looking backwards. "I understand that you may be compelled to tell some of your old friends what has happened, but with the exception of Xavier himself, I ask you to refrain. I'm not overly concerned that your knowledge will compromise this operation, so don't think we're following you or anything. S.H.I.E.L.D.'s learned our lesson about the loyalty of X-Men. But this is an important mission, and it's necessary that it remains covert. Your own safety is affected by this."

"I understand," Kitty said. "My lips are sealed."

"Good."

Lance was determined to stare out the window rather than at her, and Pietro had dozed off against the window, so Kitty stepped outside without fanfare.

Then, abruptly: "Our flight's not 'til later. Want to grab dinner?"

"Sure," she said, smiling at Lance. The window was now ignored. "Later, though. I've got some stuff to take care of. Call me."

"Okay. Bye."

Kitty swung the door shut and the car shot backwards, stopped, and then sped forward down the street. It occurred to her that she had never told Drew her name or that she had been an X-Man, but then again, Drew had never asked about her at all, and it was safe to assume that as a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent she was already well aware of the identities of all once or current X-Men.

Kitty set off for her dorm room with a sense of purpose. She didn't even notice the stairs as she ascended them: her mind was set on another subject entirely. The last three months suddenly seemed so trivial. In the heat of battle once more, Kitty had felt more at home than she had since she'd left Xavier and the X-Men. Perhaps there had been some unwanted mental side effects from saving the world from a maniacal time-traveling mutant.

Alison was not there to greet her when she entered their room, which was for the better. Kitty went straight for her desk. Her physics textbook sat in front of the keyboard, and they glared at each other for a moment before she picked it up and tossed it forcefully behind the chair. It skidded into the wall with a pleasant thud.

She waited several seconds for her desktop to load before finding a little-used program and opening it. The wireless connection was often very shaky, but thankfully today everything seemed to be running at full speed, and Kitty checked her webcam to make sure it was positioned correctly. After several diagnostics tests, the computer began the slow process of connecting with the other end, and eventually Kitty was greeted with a welcome sight.

"Kitty," said Professor Xavier, staring into his own computer screen. "What a pleasant surprise. I see that the program's working."

"Yes, Professor," Kitty replied. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"No, not at all." Xavier smiled as if someone had just delivered a very funny joke. Not too many people smiled at Kitty like that. "I was actually paying some bills, so I guess you are interrupting something. But don't worry, I'm not at all irritated. Feel free to interrupt me every time I'm stuck doing these calculations."

"Will do, Professor. Listen, I know it's kind of random, but let's just say this call has been a long time coming and some events today have kind of spurred me on. I know what I'm about to say is going to seem impulsive and kind of petulant, but I know deep down this is something I need. You probably need some background for all of this, so let's just say it started two days ago when Lance and Pietro showed up in town."

Xavier's eyebrows arched upward, crested above the smooth wrinkles of his lightly tanned forehead. "Lance, you say?"

"Yeah, Lance. I know, we kind of had a fight when I saw him on Friday. Long story." Kitty attempted a chuckle. It was almost genuine. "But anyway, it turned out they were working a mission for S.H.I.E.L.D. at some place called the Hellfire Club."

"I've heard of it. Are you sure you're cleared to tell me this?"

"Drew said I could, but only you."

"Good." Xavier's eyes narrowed and he sighed. "I've heard of this place many times before. I was actually invited to be a member but it was just as I was starting the Institute so I declined the invitation. For a while I regretted my choice – I began to think that perhaps the Club would be full of potential financiers for my cause – but recent developments have caused me to be glad of my decision. I'm aware that many of the Club's members are involved in dangerous affairs."

"I actually don't know much, since I didn't ask, but apparently it's pretty serious. Pietro told me they'd be there on Sunday, so, being the total doofus I am, I went there. I decided to go looking for them behind some armored door, since I figured Lance and Pietro would probably be attracted to something like that, and I nearly got my head shot off. Turns out Lance and Pietro had set off the alarm. We pretty much had to shoot our way out."

"Yes?"

"Not me." Kitty bit her lip. "I don't like that stuff. Pietro, though, is a total psycho. He got off on shooting people and stuff. Lance tried not to kill if it wasn't necessary."

Xavier smiled. "Yes, that's no surprise. Pietro's violence is disturbing, but also not a surprise. His father, after all… but if Erik can change, so can Pietro. Lance will be a sobering influence on him."

"Yeah, I hope. We don't need a Magneto Junior on our hands," Kitty said. "But anyways. We got out of there fine, but that leads me to my point. The thing is, I've been having a lot of second thoughts about university. Everyone here is so different. My roommate, I thought she was an idiot at first, but she's actually pretty smart, and she's one of the only ones around here that can stand me. My professors are mostly all right, and I like the subjects I'm studying, but it's just not been fun."

"That was to be expected, Kitty," said Xavier in a tired voice. "You should have gotten used to it at Bayville High."

"I know, I did. Don't get me wrong, it's not that. I could deal with all of that if I felt like I actually needed to be here." Kitty pressed her palms to the desk and straightened her back. "I'm having second thoughts, and it has nothing to do with the mean people around here. I'm going to college to major in physics, but what am I planning on doing with a physics major? You know what I see myself doing in four years? I see myself either going back to the X-Men or taking some other role in the fight for mutant rights. When I hear everyone talking about the latest mission or the good you guys have been doing – not just in battles, but diplomatically! – it makes me jealous. All of this seems so unimportant right now. Maybe I want to go to college and study physics or diplomacy or international relations, but more than anything I want to be in the middle of the fight. I feel like I'm wasting four years, and that I've still got a lot to offer to the X-Men."

For a long time Xavier studied her, and Kitty briefly wondered if he was reading her mind before remembering that they were far too apart for that, no matter how misleading the webcam could be. "Very well. I've heard the others speak about your troubles at college, and I thought it might be something like this, but I hoped against it. Going to college is a wonderful experience, and it can change you as a person. If you want to return, you may, but I hope you've thought this out and you're not doing this for… other reasons."

"Professor, I don't even know if Lance and I are on speaking terms or if that's just because of the camaraderie from getting shot at," Kitty said as bluntly as she could. "I miss my other friends, but honestly I was looking forward to meeting new people and all that. I just need to be home making a difference. It's become clearer and clearer to me that Bayville, in some sense, is where I belong. I think… I think that I still want to go to college. I want to take classes, at least. I like school. But I want to focus more on diplomacy, I think, and I want to go to a school in New York where I can stay close to the action. I want to be an X-Man again."

"And I believe you." Xavier smiled once more. "Your parents really aren't going to like this."

"They can deal with it. I want to be an X-Man, if you'll have me. I want to go to college and be an X-Man, if time allows."

"I wholeheartedly agree," Xavier replied. "Some of my other students, I've thought that they've done wonderful jobs for the X-Men, but that their interests ultimately lie in other things. You, however, have seemed different from the start. I think you're more ambitious than Jean or Scott – I think at one point or another you will make a wonderful politician, and I mean that as a compliment – but the mutant cause is extremely important to you. I thought you'd become an X-Man once more, and I looked forward to the day. I'm sorry it had to come under such circumstances, but I'll begin looking into college transfer opportunities and get back to you. We can pick you up tomorrow if you're ready."

"I'll talk to the office," said Kitty. "My tuition's already paid, so that's not good, but who knows. Maybe we can work something out. Thanks, Professor. I know I seem like I'm making an impulse decision, but I'm really not. This is what I know is right."

"I don't need to read your mind to believe you. But I'll have someone call you later tonight, perhaps Rogue, as soon as I know more. Have fun on your last day as a student there."

"I will, Professor."

Xavier's smile seemed to be permanent. "Goodbye, Kitty."

"Bye, Professor."

The video cut off, and with it seemed to go the interminable pressure that had been building up inside of Kitty. She danced around the room as she began packing up her clothes and possessions, which wasn't a very hard job since she'd never really fully unpacked, almost as if she had been waiting for this moment to arrive. In a way she had, and that just strengthened her own belief that she had done the right thing. She was going home. She was going to be an X-Man again, to make a difference again. Never before had she felt so impulsively sure of her own rightness.

Once you own it, nothing can own you.

A scared high school freshman, a grinning senior. Fast forward three years; a confident, intelligent young woman and an embittered youth. Fast forward another three months and you got something in the middle: a scared girl who had never been so confident in herself and a notoriously headstrong man who was still an angry kid prone to fits of unpredictability and laughter. They were the perfect pair.

She ran her fingers over her right palm, where the gun had rested in her hand. I'm gonna rock your world. Gunfire all around her. The vague thought in the back of her head that she should banish all morals and shoot back. The thought vanishing as she witnessed the restraint of the supposedly rash man beside her, doing his best not to take another life for nothing.

This is the real you, isn't it?

He grinned at her as he handed her the ice cream cone he'd paid for with the money he'd been earning from his government work. It was summer and one of the first times in a while he'd been able to buy her something. The bills were paid on time, for once.

He led her by the hand down the street and into an uncertain future.

You're with me now.

-

"Take off your pants and put these on."

"What've you got in there, Drew? Assless chaps?" Pietro winked at her and Lance began to anticipate seeing a fist fly from the driver's seat into the passenger's face. Then he remembered that Drew was far too robotically calm for that to happen. But a guy could dream. "I don't know. It feels like we're moving a little fast in this relationship."

"Maximoff, I've castrated a man before. Don't think I won't do it again." It was funny how smirks could just vanish without a trace. "Now, take off all your clothes and put these on. I don't want anyone to connect you with your inducer images, so, unfortunately, that means you two need to change. That's the price of stopping at that diner. Now do it before things get violent."

"Uh, here you go, Lancey," Pietro said as he handed Lance a pair of jeans and a shirt. "Stop looking so hesitant. You heard the lady."

Pietro finished first, unsurprisingly. Even though there was generous legroom in the back compared to his old Jeep, Lance had a lot of trouble changing his pants. Somehow, though, he managed, and he was just zipping up his zipper as they pulled in front of the hotel.

"I assume you can make it up to your hotel room without me," she said in an attempt at droll humor. "You'll be contacted about your flight arrangements in the coming hours. Stay around the hotel, and get your bags packed right away. I'd recommend keeping a gun on your person at all times."

"I've always got some guns on my person," Pietro replied. He rolled up one of his sleeves and grinned. "You just got free tickets to the gun show!"

Lance thought the world might be ending. Maybe that was just wishful thinking. "Sweet Jesus…"

Drew's mouth betrayed half a chuckle, but her S.H.I.E.L.D. training cut in after that and Pietro was the only one left smiling.

"Ah, you guys suck. But we got you that flash drive, didn't we? We did our jobs."

"As much as I hate to admit it, you did," Drew conceded. "You did it in a completely unprofessional manner, but you got the job done."

"Exactly!" Pietro jutted his cheek out towards his superior officer and tapped it with one long finger. "C'mon, Drew. Just one kiss on the cheek for all my hard work."

Drew considered the open cheek. She grabbed his face with one hand and turned it towards her so the two stared at each other eye to eye. For one brief moment of hope Lance thought she was going to slap Pietro silly.

She didn't. Leaning forward, she pressed her lips to Pietro's greedily. His eyes remained wide open in shock.

Two seconds later she withdrew, and now it was her turn to smirk. She lightly patted Pietro's cheek as a smile came over his face.

"There you go," she said.

"I knew you liked me," boasted Pietro.

Drew licked her lips, but the smirk did not dissipate. "I don't know. You could definitely use a lot of practice. Use some of the money we're paying you and hire a hooker. At least she'll pretend to like it when you kiss her."

She threw a glance at Lance and he thought he caught the most discreet of winks. He returned the gesture with a beaming face.

"Toodles."

She pushed Pietro's face out of the window and drove off, leaving the silver-haired mutant gobsmacked. Lance could hold in his laughter no longer, and with one exhaling breath let his friend know just what he'd thought of that little spectacle.

"Shut up, you sound like a hyena," said Pietro grumpily. "At least I got a kiss."

"Apparently you didn't give her back much in return," Lance chortled.

"Shut up." Pietro wore a scowl for their entire walk into the hotel. Finally, he brightened, as if he'd stumbled upon one piece of candy in a cesspool of shit. "She used her tongue, you know."

"Oh, is that why you were staring at her like an idiot?"

"She used her tongue," Pietro said again. "It was delicious."

"What? I like tongue and all, but delicious?"

"I hate you, you no-good white trash scumbag," Pietro said as they pushed through the hotel lobby.

Lance followed his friend into the elevator. "And I hate you, you vain prepubescent excuse of a man."

"I love you, man," Pietro sighed, throwing his arm around Lance's neck.

"Feeling's mutual, 'Tro."

They found their room and along with it Lance found that sifting sense of fear that always used to encroach upon his mind before a date with Kitty. And, it occurred to him as he sat on top of his bed without any shoes on, sipping a Sprite, he had just asked Kitty to have dinner with him.

"You gonna call Kitty?"

Pietro had the most annoying habit of reminding you of things that most preferably would have remained forgotten.

"Yeah," Lance said. "In a second."

That second dragged on into minutes and nearly into an hour. At the fifty-eighth minute, midway through a Jeopardy rerun, Lance grabbed his crotch with one hand and pulled his cell phone out of his pants pocket with the other.

"Why did you just grope yourself?" Pietro asked over his magazine (Vogue – Lance had snickered when he'd first seen it).

"Making sure I still have my balls," Lance replied. "I do. So I guess it's time to man up and call her, huh?"

Before Lefty and Righty were formally excommunicated from the Province of Alveronia for cowardice in the face of womanhood, Lance pressed down for his contact list, hit 5 twice for K, and pressed the big scary green phone button.

Three and a half seconds later the call connected with the best damn greeting a guy could ever expect: "Hey!"

There were other contenders for the title – "Oh thank God you called, I'm so horny right now," or "I've got great news, I'm not pregnant!" being two of the favorites – but in Lance's eyes there was nothing better than the old classic. He didn't know for sure, but he imagined that when Christian Crusaders had sent letters back to their wives in Italy and France and all that shit, their wives had probably started off their replies with the medieval Romantic language version of "Hey!" (Of course, Lance thought, the husbands and wives probably went on to leave out in their letters that they were each respectively banging other people, but the analogy still stood.)

"Hey!" wasn't like "Hello!" or "Hi," even. "Hey!" meant, Hello, I've been waiting to talk to you all day! I'm so glad you called! "Hey!" usually ended up in a great conversation, sometimes lasting fifteen minutes, sometimes lasting two hours.

When Kitty said, "Hey!" Lance knew it would be a great conversation.

"Hey, Pretty Kitty," he said, and for a second he convinced himself that they were just two kids in high school and the rest of the world didn't matter so much. "So you promised me we could go to dinner together, and you know I always collect on my promises."

"You do," she replied. He thought – he hoped – that he caught the trace of levity in her voice that he'd so desperately missed these last few months. "So, do you have any bright ideas?"

"Actually, I've got one. Remember my hotel?"

"How could I forget? It's only like the nicest place I've ever been in my life."

He chuckled. "Yeah, you're preachin' to the choir. Anyways, there's a pizza place down the block, I think. I figure that'll do."

"We always did love pizza," Kitty murmured. "What time's your flight?"

"No effing clue. Typical S.H.I.E.L.D. They're not so good at getting memos around. I should probably be back here around seven, I think… that's a safe guess. Probably. Why don't we say we'll meet up at that place in two hours? I know we just ate and everything, but that gives us a little time to get our stuff together and, uh, digest."

The beginning of a laugh. Lance wanted nothing more than to pursue that isolated strand, to exploit it, but there would be plenty of time for that later. "Okay. Two hours. You better not be late, Alvers."

"I'm never late, Pryde." Lance grin stretched all the way to the phone. "I'll see you later."

"Yeah, later. Bye!"

He hung up and placed the phone back in his pocket. His delusions of grandeur were broken by a snort.

"Isn't that sweet."

"Shut the hell up."

"Aw, is Lancey-poo getting angry?"

"Shut the hell up, Pi, or I will crack your collector's edition DVD of Dreamgirls when we get back home."

Pietro turned to the TV with a frown, grumbling, "I was just messing with you."

Lance laughed and turned his attention back to Alex Trabek.

-

"Once, just once, Alvers, could you try to be early?"

"Sure, Mr. Penty," Lance said as he sat down in his desk. Todd hid his snicker in a cough, hurriedly wiping off the resulting goo from his desk.

"Well, let's see it, then," said Penty, a balding man of about fifty, although his heart was about twenty years ahead of his age – he'd suffered two heart attacks. "Someday something will be important enough to you that you'll show up early. Hopefully."

Poor old Penty would've been proud of Lance if he'd been around to see this spectacle (and if he'd even remembered who Lance was). Here Lance was, sitting on a bench outside a pizzeria, five minutes early.

Something was important enough, apparently.

Lance whistled a Pixies tune and thought about that fat bastard Penty, wondered if he'd dropped dead from another heart attack. Probably not. The dude just didn't seem to die easily. That wasn't a bad thing – as far as uptight white Baby Boomer teachers went, Penty wasn't that terrible. His class was boring as hell, but he didn't seem to appreciate detention as much as some of Lance's other teachers had.

His reverie was cut short when his eyes were drawn toward the sidewalk not ten feet away from him. His whistling trailed off on a high note as he sat facing the thing that was important enough for him to actually get his ass somewhere on time for once. He meekly whistled one last note. Some part of him had lamented the fact that he'd never resolved the song, and now he'd satisfied that bizarre urge.

"You look great," he said.

"Thanks." He wanted to tell her that no gratitude was required. He hadn't meant to say it, after all; it had just slipped out. And she did look great, hair let down and her old favorite pink blouse on under her jacket, and those jeans that hugged her narrow hips. "You're early. You're never early for anything."

"I'm always on time for jobs," he replied, and for the most part it was the truth.

"But you're never early for anything!"

He didn't see the point of arguing, since she had him beat. "All right, I'm early. Pietro was annoying the freaking shit out of me. You caught me."

She took a step forward at him and he pressed his back up against the bench before realizing he was more caught than he had previously guessed.

"We should go inside," she muttered.

"Inside. Right-o." She offered him a hand to help him up, and he took it. "The finest pizzeria in all of Chicago."

"How would you know?"

Lance held open the door for her and she shuffled inside. "The sign says so."

They were led to a comfortable booth by the hostess and Lance took his seat across from Kitty. She flipped through the menu, blissfully unaware of his unrelenting gaze focused on her eyelashes.

"What are you thinking about getting?" she asked.

"Pizza."

"Well, they have different kinds, you know, it's a totally new concept and everything but –"

A waiter cut off Kitty's pleasantly sarcastic diatribe with his arrival. "Hello, may I take your drink orders?"

"Water," Kitty said.

"Water," Lance echoed. The waiter nodded and hurried away.

"Today was pretty crazy," Lance said after a long silence.

"It was," agreed Kitty. "It's been a long time since anyone's tried to kill me. Reminds me of high school."

They were driving in his Jeep as Bayville twisted and reformed all around them. His eyes were glued to the road, knowing that if he took one glance at that damn skirt he probably wouldn't be able to look away.

She laughed at one of his lame jokes during physics, leading McCoy to inquire, "Any problems back there, you two?" Lance shook his head but the grin didn't go so easily, and neither did the temporary lightheadedness.

The last bell rung and he waited for the rest of the class to dart out the door before lazily making his way out of the room. She was waiting for him at his locker, eyes alight and lips dark pink.

Her dress lay somewhere in the corner of his room, his boxers somewhere in a heap with his suit. As his head rested on her bare shoulder, gleaming with sweat, Lance silently thanked the rest of the guys for going to that after-prom party and getting wasted enough not to make it back home.

"I know you won't be able to believe this, but I miss high school," Lance said.

Kitty's face belied her surprise. "Really?"

"Yeah. I mean, I know we were being used by Magneto and Mystique – and, I know you'll hate this, but Xavier some, too – but it was so much different. It was easier. Everything…" He looked to the salt then the pepper then the paprika. He remembered setting the table for parents that never came home. "I didn't like my childhood much, but man, high school… I hated school, but I actually met some pretty cool friends, not like back in Northbrook where it was me and guys that helped me steal stuff. Don't tell Todd or Pietro, but we've actually had some really great times."

"I'm so telling both of them."

"Great," he muttered, but he still smiled. "We had all that shit going on, mutants versus mutants and then mutants versus Apocalypse and everything, but it wasn't like this. I like my job, but it's just so damn serious. Back then, nothing was that serious. Remember when I got on top of the bleachers at that soccer game and told everyone we were mutants?"

"Yeah, that wasn't your best idea," Kitty laughed.

"Of course not! I was a dumbass high school senior, but it was great! It was… I don't know. Less pressure. Something."

"It was more innocent," Kitty finished for him. "Riding around with your friends, watching Evan skateboard or Jean play soccer or Bobby just be a doofus. Having snowball fights."

"Yeah, that stuff. It was just different."

Kitty leaned forward and he could smell her perfume. Vanilla? Strawberry? "Is there anything else you miss about high school?"

"Sorry I'm late, do you have your orders ready?"

Kitty drew back and smiled primly at the waiter. "Oh, stay right there, I'm sure we can work this out. What do you say, Lance?"

"All veggie?" he suggested, deliberately testing her.

"Hm, no," she said, and her eyes told him that she'd known it was a test. "Last time we had that you didn't really like it very much. How about half veggie and half meat lovers, medium crust?"

"That's actually a very common order," replied the waiter, grinning. He set off to go back to the kitchen.

"I hope you don't mind the smell of the meat," said Lance.

"I don't." Kitty smiled at him. "We both like it differently. It's cool."

"I guess." The plastic covering of the booth squeaked when he shifted his weight. "This place doesn't let you fill up your own fountain drink or go up to order your food. Stuff's different than in Bayville."

"Different doesn't mean worse. Although I do miss Bayville, yeah."

"So do I." At her expression, he elaborated, "Well, I live there and all, but I'm pretty much on the move all the time for work, and when I am home I'm usually sleeping in the house or too tired to go out and do anything. It's not like high school."

"You really do miss high school," Kitty mused.

"I do." He took a long gulp of his water – wishing it was alcohol, as his courage had vanished – and sighed. "Okay, don't tell anyone about this, but I've kind of got a plan for the future."

Kitty pretended to be shocked. "Who are you and what have you done with Lance Alvers? First you're early and now you're thinking about the future?"

"Shut up, Pryde," he mumbled, grinning. "Anyways. Like I was saying. I've been thinking… I know I wasn't the best student and all, but I actually do like high schoolers, right? I like kids that understand the world but aren't so – so corrupted by it yet. Yeah. Well, I've been thinking the past month or so that maybe, when I get some time, I'd like to go finish my GED, get that out of the way. Then, in a couple of years, I might go to the community college, get my basics out of the way, and from there… well, I don't know. I don't think I'm really cut out to be a teacher, really, but there are some subjects I liked. English wasn't half bad, and science is kind of cool when you talk about the Earth and stuff – obviously I'd like that. Maybe I wouldn't want to be a teacher. Maybe something else. What I'm saying is, I've just been thinking, somewhere down the line I'd like to quit this S.H.I.E.L.D. superagent stuff and settle down, get my degree, and work with kids. I don't know how. I'll figure that out. It's a pipedream, but hey, a guy can dream, right?"

"Wow," murmured Kitty after the longest wait in Lance's life.

"That bad, huh?" he asked, grimacing.

"No, it's not bad at all!" she exclaimed, realizing he'd mistaken her intentions. "I mean, it's great, Lance! I think that's an awesome idea. It'll be hard and time-consuming, but I think – well, I think you probably can't do this S.H.I.E.L.D. stuff forever, and even if you could, it just seems to take such a toll on you – not you, I mean, everyone – oh, you know what I mean."

"You don't think it's totally stupid?"

"No!" She paused and smiled at her hands, unable to meet his eyes. He frowned. "You probably won't like this, but if you got your GED I bet Professor X would love to have you on staff while you worked at your degree. You'd get to work with kids without all the requirements and necessarily being a 'teacher,' but you'd also have time to go to school. And you'd be where the action is. I think you'd like that."

Lance wanted to vehemently deny this possibility, but the more he pondered it the more appealing it became. "I… I don't know. I'm not a big fan of Xavier's, but it would be a pretty ideal situation, wouldn't it? You have to understand, this is all way down the line. I like my job right now, for the most part, but I just don't want to do this forever. I don't know. I'll think about it."

"Good! You should." She finally looked up at him, but her shyness was still evident, holding her back in some foreign way. "I've been missing the Institute a lot, actually."

"Yeah, well you're in college, aren't you?" he asked, and for the first time he didn't feel bitter when he said it. Somewhere during his great epiphany it had hit him that going to college must be just this for Kitty – a dream. The only difference was that she was living it. "You're doing what you want to do. I'm sure you'll get over it."

"I don't think I will." She straightened her back, a telltale sign that they were about to have a Serious Talk. "I've been thinking about it a lot. College is interesting and all, but I don't want to keep doing what I'm doing right now. I want to be back home, fighting for the mutant cause. I just feel really useless."

"You're not useless," Lance said, trying to console her. "You can do stuff in the summers and in four years, right?"

"It's not just nostalgia, Lance. What I'm telling you is that I'm coming back to Bayville."

He nearly knocked over his glass and spluttered: "What?"

"I've already discussed it with Professor X and my college counselor. I'm going to look into transferring into a school near Bayville so I can be part of the X-Men again."

Kitty had that fire in her eyes that told him that this was a decision she would not go back on. But still he needed to know one thing, and he knew there was no pussyfooting around it.

"You're not doing this for me, are you?" he asked bluntly.

"No," she said, without acting at all affronted. "I'm not."

"Good."

Her gaze made him feel nude. "Would you want me to say yes?"

"No. I want you to be happy. I've been a real dick, but I realize that now. I haven't handled this well, and it's time to grow up." He swallowed and grabbed his water. His throat was suddenly dry. "It's not… it's not that I don't care about you. I love that you're coming back. But it needs to be on your terms."

"I'm glad you said that." Her gaze only intensified. "Because there are some other things we need to discuss. I want to approach them on my terms."

Her hand found his.

"Our terms."

She squeezed his hand.

"I… I need to know if you're really coming back," Lance finally said.

"I am," Kitty replied.

"Then I'm ready," he said. "I know we're screwed up, but I'm ready. I want this."

"So do I," she said.

And that was that. There had been so many unspoken words that had separated them; it was only fitting that unspoken words would bring them back together.

Lance marveled at the warmth of her hand. Some things he never wanted to forget.

"Your pizza?"

They broke contact to let the waiter set the tray down on the table. Before the waiter could leave, Lance tapped him on the arm.

"Hey, can I ask you something?" When the waiter nodded, Lance leaned forward, grinning. "Is this place really the best pizzeria in Chicago?"

"The best in America," the waiter grinned back.

"Well, there's one in Bayville, New York, that's pretty damn good," Lance replied. His eyes flitted to Kitty. "We'll call you in a couple weeks to tell you if this place passed the test."

"I look forward to it, but I know that we'll win!"

The three laughed and the waiter went off. Kitty waited several moments before jutting her head out above the tray, a tantalizing foot from Lance's mouth.

"You sure you want to go back there?" she asked quietly. "We've got some bad memories."

"I'm not letting bad memories stop us any more," stated Lance. He grabbed both her hands in his, balancing them over the two-faced Italian pie. "I'm not letting anything stop us any more."

"Anything?"

"Anything," Lance affirmed. "Nothing's ever gonna stand in our way again. Nothing, Pretty Kitty. Our lives, they're not anyone else's any more. We own them now. We own this."

Once you own it, nothing can own you.

Kitty murmured, "You always had such a way with words."

"I bullshit my way through life," Lance said. He smiled. "Now we're bullshitting our way together."

"Together?" she asked.

"Together," he said. "We make our own rules now."

This is the real you, isn't it?

"We're not pawns any more. We're not going to stand down because we're told to, we're not going to screw up because we're both too chicken to admit we're wrong. We're in this for keeps. Together."

Kitty smirked at him and stole a quick kiss. As her lips left his, she quietly muttered in his ear, "Shut up and eat your pizza."

Lance laughed and kissed her back.

-