Pete Wisdom is saving the world...from itself. (mister_wisdom) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2012-06-19 03:30:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, kitty pryde (shadowcat), pete wisdom |
"It feels so real. So vivid."
Who: Kitty Pryde, Pete Wisdom
What: Hackers and Black Air and Dreams, oh my. Meeting at the pub.
When: Later, after the private messages with Kitty and his talk with Domino.
Where: undisclosed neutral ground pub, that is so sekrit, it's where everyone doesn't know it's name.
Rating: PG13, some language. Naturally.
Status: Complete!
Kitty arrived at the pub early. It looked nothing like the Crown, at least so far as she remembered what the Crown looked like. It looked run down. And unassuming. She supposed that's what mattered. She'd worn a shirt that hung down over her butt, to prevent it riding up and revealing the bruises on her stomach and sides. She'd put cover up on her arms and face, but there was really only so much she could do about the bruise on her temple or the split lip she'd gotten. She was just grateful she'd avoided a broken nose.
She headed inside, and ordered a beer, showing her ID, then picked the sort of seat that Wisdom would appreciate. There was the added bonus of dimmer lighting, which should help further obscure her injuries. She'd already done her 'splaining' to Xi'an, and wasn't in the mood to repeat it if she could help it.
On second thought, she ordered something a little harder. Fruity. But harder.
It was about five or ten minutes after the arranged time, that Pete finally walked through the door and had a look around. He looked his usual haggard, slovenly self, only a lot less smelly. The clothes were rumpled, his tie was askew, his hair looked like he'd been trying to pull it out and it was sticking up at all different angles. There was the shadow of stubble on his jaw, and the only smell wafting off him was of cigarette smoke and scotch. There hadn't been any real reason to clean himself up. It wasn't like it was going to do him any good, so why bother? He'd stopped caring about his appearance, years ago.
After a scan of the room, he caught sight of Kitty and started walking over, stopping only long enough to get a pint of lager from the guy behind the bar. He had already told himself to nurse that single pint, because he didn't think the conversation would last that long, and then he could leave, get Domino her happy meal (with a boy toy, not a girl toy), and drive to her flat to drink himself to oblivion and back again.
That was his plan and he's sticking to it.
"...'ello, Pryde." He moved so he was across from her, sliding the pint across the table as he was sitting. Once he was settled in, he gave her a looking at, noting that Kitty looked tired and a bit roughed up. Trouble in paradise? Could never tell. Some of those butch bitches could be brutal. But that was none of his business or affair anymore. As much as he wanted to say something, he had to let it go. "So. Where do you want t'start."
Kitty grunted at him, nursing her drink, and looking at him out of the corner of her eye, and found herself asking, "What's that look for?"
"No, Katherine. That's probably not where we should start."
Pete rolled his eyes up a little, taking out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, and setting them on the table. That whole what was that look for thing was about four years ago or so, over dinner or the likes. And it was there he would've said nothing or she would've said nothing and then awkward silence would've filled the area. Along with some sense that there should've been more said or some snarky banter or some vague something which seemed to be missing.
But he wasn't thinking about that any longer than necessary, and he meant to keep the conversation steered on track, all while keeping an eye on their surroundings. It was easier than keeping an eye on her.
"You mentioned Black Air and a bullet and saving the world. There's a whole fat lot of really wierd shite going on, lately. Did you know there's brief mentions of people stuck together? Well, there is." He started to light a cigarette. "This place is neutral, so no one's going t'be listening in or caring too much, unless we ask or they ask us questions. I'll tell them to get fucked if they do. So spill it, eh?"
Kitty shrugged a shoulder, unaware that she'd probably dodged a bullet so to speak, about explaining the extracurricular activities she'd gotten up to. Because she knew damn well Pete wouldn't have approved. Not that she wanted him to approve. The woman took another sip of her drink and looked down at it.
"My dreams, they can get really fucked up, Wisdom." She glanced up, looking him in the eye, "I'm a superhero. I went to a school that taught people like me how to use their powers. I've killed, I've watched people I care about die. I've been possessed. I've traveled to space, and traveled to alien worlds. I've fought aliens and demons and beings of pure evil. I watched sixteen million people die on tv. I've been a teacher, and I've fallen in love. I've my my mind raped and experienced what it's like to be a mother who's son was stolen away. I spent eighteen months in a box and yet it never happened. I know how my end comes, I know how I die. All for a dream of coexistence that became a nightmare. Cheers."
She toasted him and downed the rest of her drink.
Pete had long since stopped looking around at everyone in the room, to see if eyes met, so he could give them a warning glare to look away first before he said anything to make them look away. But nothing of the sort had happened by the time he'd stopped, halfway through what she was telling him, so he could focus on her. Furthermore, somewhere in there, he'd forgotten to smoke.
As much as he had been trying not to look concerned or worried, it was coming through anyway. Well, there went trying to keep the personal out of things. In a way, he knew that was doomed to fail, which was the entire reason that Pete ashed on the floor and then tapped a finger against his own lip while staring at her.
"So was you saving the world what resulted in the split lip, petal? Or was it any of that other stuff you've gone an' mentioned." He just about sucked down the rest of the cigarette, before he grabbed an empty shotglass off a nearby table to put it out. "After you answer that, then maybe I'm going t'ask you something. And tell you wot it is, that I think."
Kitty snorted, "I'm an emotional slut, what can I say. You, the robot, Xi'an, Ilyana, Rachel. Dreamed about all of you and how I felt about you. Between that and my son, I just.." She shrugged a shoulder, like it wasn't a big deal. And part of it was, and part if it wasn't, and right now she wasn't sure she cared.
"I had to do something. I was so angry. So I found a fight." She grinned, then, "And won, of course."
Then Kitty leaned forward, and added, "You know what's fun? Dreaming about therapy. I've got anger issues, apparently. Who would have guessed it!"
For a long moment, it seemed that Pete had forgotten to breathe. His eyes had widened a little and he was sitting perfectly still. He wanted to look like he didn't care, since it would've been easier that way. But, despite that, he suddenly smiled a little bit and nodded, like that...he could understand that. All too well. He'd understood that feeling, from a long time ago.
"I always told you, you had a mean streak," he finally told her, in a hushed voice. "So, Miss Superhero. Did you wear a spandex body condom and a mask? B'cos if you did, I'd have to laugh at you. While you took your anger out on others." He stopped and took a drink of beer, and said even more softly, "I bet it was a brilliant fight."
"Yes. A couple different kinds. The material is climate controlled and bullet proof." She gave him a smirk, "Way better than spandex. I just wore a mask and old jeans to the fight earlier. It could have gone better. It'll go better next time."
"You're going again?" Damn it. There was no way to tell her no, and the look on his face clearly said he was a little dismayed...and probably a lot more interested than he knew he should be. But that's what happened when one went around at a young age, looking for fights, even to the point of intervening on behalf of others if there was a pummeling that needed to be done. He lit another cigarette and motioned gestured toward her face with the wave of one hand, while saying, "Better wait until that's mended. It'll split again."
Was that an 'okay?' Because it sounded like it was. Pete looked as though he simply accepted this as something she needed to do.
Kitty smiled, replying dryly, "Thanks."
She was too young to be burned out, and she was older than she was in the dreamscape. That brought an amused laugh, "You know I'm older than I am in the dreams. I think I'm barely twenty in the most recent. Maybe even still nineteen."
She rested her hand on the table and stared at it, "I almost wonder if having that awesome power will be worth it in the end. Piotr died..Ilyana died. Jean. I lost Rachel for a long time. I gave up my childhood. My fucking school had a graveyard. I made you leave. I have a son who never existed."
Sweat formed on her brow, and then her hand went through the table. She pulled it out again, and turned her hand around, back and forth, staring at it, "Black Air is some kind of...intelligence agency. I was in the UK, with some others. We formed a group called Excalibur. Led by Kurt, and there was Captain Britain. Brian Braddock. You worked for the government. Were supposed to turn on us, but you didn't. Black Air didn't seem to be very nice folks. Made the CIA look like nice, decent people with puppies and kittens and rainbows."
Pete reached out one very warm hand, to briefly pat it over her's and make her stop doing that. This place might've been neutral territory, but that didn't mean people would stop gawking or not do a double-take if they caught sight of it.
All the while, he was watching her and listening, but when she started talking about Black Air, he began to very slowly shake his head, in the negative.
"No, look. They aren't intelligence, though. They're mercs, special ops. Those last resorts that goverments call in when they need shite done, then don't admit to calling them in. I've had t'deal with them before. I mean...Katherine, listen,” he paused and drew in a deep breath, rolling his eyes up to stare at the ceiling. He had to think of a way to put things, constructively. "If you keep going about, thinking this stuff...happened? Like you've said, you know how you'll die? No, you don't. Those are dreams. Things aren't matching up. This...right here, right now...it's real. Those other things...they could be implanted or the likes. We don't know. I've got Romany looking into it. But if you keep thinking this shite is going t'come true, despite your hand ghosting through the table like that? You're going t'drive yourself insane. Be happy with wot you've got, now."
Kitty replied, shaking her head, "I shared one with Xi'an. We were attacked by advanced, modular robots called Sentinels. Versions of Sentinels destroyed an island called Genosha, killing sixteen million people. I've shared dreams with three other people." She paused, then counted again, "Four, I forgot about MacTaggert. She's present on Muir Island. I've dreamed about Jubilee and her powers, the fireworks thing. Something is happening. I've met a fucking Jedi Pete. Lightsaber. Cut right through a dresser. The physics should be impossible but I saw it with my own eyes, I did it myself. It's like worlds colliding, bleed over, I'm getting memories from some other reality. I dreamed I was trained to be a ninja and when I woke up I knew how to do it, and I just had to retrain my body to react how I expected it to do."
Waving a hand, Kitty added, "Or maybe I'm talking out of my ass. I don't know any more."
She should have brought one of the comic books. But then he'd probably think she was really nutters. Her voice sounded strained. She sounded strained. Strained and tired and worn down.
"It feels so real. So vivid. The more dreams I have, the stronger they become and the more real they become. I think they're memories. And I've had so many. Years and years worth, there isn't a night that goes by where I don't dream about something." She exhaled, "There are people out there with the kind of power that make a nuclear weapon look like a toy, and it's just a matter of time before they wake up or explode."
That wasn't very comforting. Even so, Pete wasn't staring at her like she was insane, or that he needed further convincing. He was silently staring at her, like he believed what she was telling him. And he did, in some way, shape, or form. However, at the same time, there was the fact that it still didn't match up. He'd have to start asking questions, himself, and there probably wasn't much time left for asking questions, if Romany's cards were correct like she thought they were.
Sometimes, things came down to saving what could be saved. That was why he didn't waste much time, trying to get her to focus on him and the situation right now, not something that was in her head.
"You know...I don't want anything bad to happen to you," he said very slowly and carefully, as though he was treading on needles and eggshells. "I can't stop you from doing wot you need t'do. But despite these things feeling so real? Despite the fact that there's jedi and other things running about...which I believe you...all right? So you don't go nutters insane...you're going to have to treat it with some degree of care. Beyond punching things in the bloody teeth. Or your brain's going t'be the one that wakes up an' explodes. Do you see wot I'm saying or understand that?"
"I feel like I've already woken up and my brain has gone explodey." Her voice was quiet, resigned, though not without a bit of wry humor to it. She shook her head and added, "But I understand. But understanding, and feeling, and two entirely different things."
There was literally hundreds of things he wanted to say or do to try to make her feel better. He didn't do any of the things he was thinking of, because he knew that he couldn't do any of them. The only thing that Pete knew he could do, was listen, and drink, and smoke another cigarette.
"So wot're you going t'do, Pryde?" Pete decided that being casual was a great cover, to try to circle around that F word she'd mentioned. Posing the question this way might make her mull it all over, like the smartass that he knew her to be. "Kick everything's arse until you feel better, and hope you don't get your fist stuck in some bastard's face? How long can you see yourself doing that, before you realize...you can make other people bleed, but it's not going t'make things better. It's just going t'be broken noses, split lips, bruises, and a whole lot of blood hitting the floor."
Pete, of course, was speaking from experience. But he was doing so without volunteering any personal information. Which was very convenient for him to do. It was very safe, too.
"Why do you think I jumped on the idea of working behind the scenes. Hacking. It's something I'm good at, something I enjoy. A thrill. And it means I can still help, you know?" She wish she'd ordered something to eat, so she'd have something to do with her fingers. But that would mean she'd have to stay longer. She didn't want to deal with the awkward.
The awkward was gnawing at him, too. He wasn't sure he could stand much more of it, and he kept eyeing his pint glass as though he was calculating how long it would take to look casual while emptying it.
"Right. Well, as long as you stay private sector, you shouldn't have much t'worry about. Behind the scenes is probably best for you, Pryde. Safer that way. You know...more contained, less chance of a conflict." He was certain to point out, very quickly, "Not that I don't think you can handle yourself. I'll bet your fight was brilliant. Pity I missed it. Wouldn't have minded watching faces being smeared against fists and feet. But...maybe another time, or place, eh?"
"Heh...yeah." Kitty tapped her empty glass, as she thought about it, and absently rubbed at the raw knuckles on her right hand, "Easier said than done."
Because that was the truth. She'll insert herself in what she felt she needed to do, though she'd be cautious about it - too many close calls lately. It was still a part of her nature.
A magnet for trouble. She wondered if he realized he was asking the sun not to burn.
Since he'd only had the grand total of one dream and had decided he didn't like it enough, to want to have any further dreams? Pete didn't know the extent of her magnetism where trouble was concerned. He imagined she didn't want to do things like have brawls in pubs or street corners, or end up being driven off scenic bridges into swan ponds. He believed she didn't like those things, so that's why she left, and now she wanted to settle down with her soulmate and had someone to settle down, with.
Which was why he was eyeing her hands warily while she did that, followed by a shaking of his head. He wasn't sure what else he could do. It was easier, probably, not to admit that, or go blurting out anything related to that indigestion he was feeling, like had a belch caught somewhere behind his sternum.
It was even easier to drain another fourth of his pint to get it closer to the bottom, and ask a more work related question, "Wot'd you look up for the FBI? I've been in a information exchange, but so far, only our information has gone t'them. The sooner I'm done with this case, the sooner I can leave." Maybe he meant that in more than one way. "So if you have any information about Cerberus or Black Air links or any some such, I'd appreciate a run down."
He couldn't imagine her saying no to a deal like that. It would probably be easier if he wasn't around, anyway.
Kitty didn't believe in soulmates. She had an inkling now - there were too many people she loved, to have her soul mated to just anyone. But she never had, even when she was with Pete.
"Cerberus stuff, mostly. Like I said I had a hunch about Black Air but they're squeaky clean. Well as clean as a group like that can get. Too clean if you ask me."
That was true, actually. Pete used 'soul mates' in a sarcastic way, like people sappily gazing into eachother's eyes, and sentences unfinished, and skipping around thinking of fine wine and flower bouquets. All of which were things he wouldn't do, with anyone. Or rather, he wouldn’t get a chance to do. That thought made him smile a little grimly for a moment, as he lit his upteenth cigarette.
"But there was a link between the two, yeah? I mean, how would you have gone from one t'the other, like that. Did it look like they had their files scrubbed, b'cos that's the same sort of shite that Fat Bastard was saying he kept dredging up, as far as financial transactions and things bein' sent overseas or wotnot. I mean, if you noticed anything, so I can get out of everyone's hair here, I'd really like t'know."
"Armachan was real good at wiping things," Kitty replied. "That nearly took..a friend out." She wasn't about to give up Tali. She suspected she was Admiral, and well, yeah. "I dug into Harper's above board company. There wasn't a damn thing that could be pinned on him."
"Did you happen to find anything relating to a laboratory, at all, or a woman named Caroline," he asked, already feeling like it was like trying to push a boulder up a mountainside, with this case. "Anything at all, even a mere mention, if you can recall that, off the top of your head."
"My friend gave me a bunch of files, that I've already handed off to the FBI. This eugenics program and the poor girl that's involved in all of that. The only thing I remember about a Caroline was that she was a scientist there."
Well there went that link. Pete sighed like he was exasperated at another dead end, and polished off the remains of his beer. Then he ashed into the empty glass, in an obvious hint that he didn't intend on drinking any further.
"Well. That's that. I already knew about the eugenics an' the girl. Cheers though, for letting me know. And, Kitty?" He paused and looked around to make sure that no one was watching again, or looked suspicious. "Maybe you'd be better not letting these dreams, wotever they are, take o'er everything. If there's summat going on, deal with it when someone explodes. Otherwise...you need t'go forth, do your nice job, have a nice life. All right?"
"I can't promise anything, Wisdom. It's too ingrained in me to try to do the right thing, you know? I'm gonna do what I have to." She flicked the glass in his general direction, playfully, "Things are so weird now that I..that I need that 'nice life' as you put it. To keep me grounded. To keep me from turning into that bitter, angry forty-year old woman in a nineteen year old body."
Kitty snorted, "Xavier's dream chewed me up and spit me out. It wasn't really his fault. But there you have it."
He didn't even move for the glass. In fact, if it fell over and rolled or skittered or made a noise, he didn't stop it from happening. He simply stood up, abruptly, like he hadn't heard what she last said, and looked like he was angrily smoothing some wrinkles out of his sleeves by smacking them with his hands. He almost wanted to say 'enjoy being a boring forty year old like the rest of the drudges' but that's apparently what she wanted, and - really - he was sort of comforted (inwardly) by the fact that she'd go forth, turn forty, and have her grounded foundation with someone else.
It's what she wanted, isn't it?
That seemed like a good closing note, to end on.
"Yeah. There I have it. Going now, Pryde. Good luck with...all that. See you around."
What's done was done. He didn't wait to see if she was going to say or do anything. The wallet was flicked open, he threw a few dollars down on the bar as he passed by. It was like he was paying for any collateral smoke damage, before he began to head toward the exit.
"Wisdom!" It felt important, that she needed to say this. It had been on her mind ever since she'd dreamed about him leaving and if nothing else happened and she never saw him again.....
You said you loved me.
"I never lied about it. I meant it when I said it."
An abrupt turn on his heel, and Pete was pointing back at her, in an instant.
"I don't know wot you're talking about. If it's wot I think it is, then I'm going t'say summat also. If it wasn't a lie, then why'd you leave? That means you didn't mean it at all. And we said no personal shite."
With that, he turned back around. The tattered edges of his old trenchcoat swayed fitfully around his retreating feet, before he was out the door and safely outside.
Kitty chewed on her lip. Maybe he'd understand what she'd meant, if he ever dreamed about it.
If he dreamed about that, it would only make it worse. So it's a good thing he didn't ask further. He was already getting into a very borrowed Domino-mobile to drive off and return said vehicle to its rightful owner. In one piece.