DISCLAIMER: Kitty Pryde, Pete Wisdom, and the X-men are the property 
of Marvel Comics. This story is my idea, simple as it is. If they
don't want me to write fan-fiction then they need to come up with
better stories so I don't have to. 

Denise Keppel came up with Kitty's alias Ariel, I swiped it form
her and didn't ask permission. I thought of Deerfield by my self.
Also I think Pete's age is closer to forty than thirty. 



November 22, Oh What A Night!
By A.C. Buswell IV



	"Thanksgiving alone... well, not as bad as I thought,"
Kitty said to herself as she pulled her turkey TV dinner out of the
microwave. "Mhmmm, preservative-laden reheated cranberry sauce."
She considered making the Homer Simpson drooling sound aloud, but
thought better of it.

	Kitty sat down on her bed, wearing only an oversized
Catbert T-shirt, and tried to enjoy her TV dinner while watching
the Muppets. "Yup, this is the life. I'm happenin' in a far-out 
way now." She pondered her decision to go back to school -- sure,
Katherine Pryde had a degree in Physics with a Computer Science
minor, but her new identity, Ariel Deerfield, was not so lucky. 
She ate her meal in a backdrop of Muppet Mayhem and pondered her
decisions, the what-ifs of her life. Or, more importantly, the
whys. The whys kept eating at her; they were cancerous thoughts
nagging at her conscience and threatening to devour her soul: 
"Why did Illyana die? Why did I leave Excalibur? Why did I think 
I needed to start over with a new identity? Why in the hell did 
I give him up?"

	The last thought made her quiver. That had been her biggest
regret lately. No college guy compared to Pete. She tried to keep
to herself, although she couldn't resist joining the Dance Club and
taking Gymnastics.

	"Gymnastics," she giggled -- the Gymnastics coach had tried
so hard to get her on the team after she did a practice routine.
Kitty sighed, that had made her forget... forget him. 

	She giggled again, at the thought of Pete being here -- the
cynical, blunt ex-special operator loose in the very bastion of
political correctness; a college campus. And she thought of how her
neighbors would react; the snobby cheerleader across the hall would
be so jealous -- imagine, `Egghead Ariel' with a man nearly forty! 

	She finished eating as a Muppet was shot out of a cannon;
she hadn't been paying attention to the TV at all. Too busy
reminiscing. She cursed herself for dwelling on what couldn't be
changed. And tried to be distracted by the TV; instead, she fell
asleep with moist eyes. 

	It was midnight when she was wakened; some one was knocking
on her door. Panic hit her; no one knocked on her door at midnight.
And it was Thanksgiving; it was either drunken frat boys, or real
criminals. Either way... She ran to her drawer and dug out her
pistol: a Colt Auto Pete had acquired for her. The pistol just fit
her small hands. She made sure a round was chambered and the safety
off, then she pulled the hammer back. Cocked and unlocked; ready to
rock. She airwalked to the door, lightly stepping on the air just
inches from the floor, careful now to make a sound. The pounding
continued, as she edged her way to the door. Her hand reached the
doorknob and she put her eye to the peephole. 

	She nearly fainted at the sight: Pete Wisdom. He looked
tired and worn, his eyes were bagged and bloodshot, he had the look
of the dead. She carefully unbolted the door and swung it open.

	Neither said a word. Pete looked at her in the doorway -- 
he had always liked her in her oversized t-shirts, her shapely legs
showing from mid-thigh down. She motioned him in, and he accepted
without a word. The loft was nice, a big open room. 

	"I heard you'd struck out on your own."

	She said nothing; she was desperate to have him stay, but
didn't want to beg. Her pride kept her from saying what she really
wanted. "I heard you were dead."

	"Didn't believe it, did you?" he asked.

	"No, it was too easy."

	Pete sighed, he didn't want to play the pride game anymore.
"Look, Kitty, I'm tired, so tired... I am tired of being alone, of
pretending I don't care. I just can't do it anymore, I want you...
I want you back."

	"So that's it?" she retorted, not believing the words
coming from her mouth.

	"Yeah, that's it. I am too old for games anymore."

	She looked at him -- he was tired. He looked worn out,
cold, and spent. His hands shook as he took them out of his
pockets, he was on the verge of mental exhaustion. 

	"I want you back too," she said. And she walked to him and
hugged him. 

	Pete nearly collapsed on her. It was done, their embrace
said what words could not, and that night they were both thankful.



Yeah it was simple and sappy, but I am thankful for all of Luba's
hard work and thought she'd like this.