SUMMARY: Most of the X-Men are killed in a horrible battle. Trying to convince the depressed Professor Xavier that the Dream still has merit, the few that are left gather a few new trainees—and one of them’s Pete Wisdom! Convincing a young Pete Wisdom that he should give up a new, interesting career with Black Air to join a band of super-hero idealistic misfits is enough to let anyone, especially Xavier, know that the Dream still matters. But knowing how well Wisdom gets along with people, will their be more corpses to add to the numbers?

DISCLAIMER: Me own nothing. Me making no money. You no sue me. We get along fine. D’accord? Entendu. Merci! So read already!

They had all—minus Scott, who claimed he had "work" to do, and the Professor, who wanted to let the "children" all relax, and who did have work to do—gone to Harry’s Hideaway for a celebration—non-alcoholic, of course, for everyone but Logan and Pete. Bobby had hardly stopped slapping hands and laughing and congratulating them since they’d arrived.

"I tell you, that was priceless! I mean, wowee, buddy! You guys are so getting great! We’ll probably be training all together as a team by tomorrow! And Emily, if I didn’t tell you yet, that was so cool when you just crushed it! Shoulda seen Scott’s jaw hit the floor! And Jer—man oh man almighty, that…"

While the exuberant Bobby Drake was busy making Emily blush and Jeremy’s head expand to fill the room, Pete slipped away to avoid any similar treatment. He stood in his usual place. Every pub—or bar as the states called them—had them: the dark, shadowy ones, the smoky recesses where you just became another shadow. He watched the place instinctively, cataloguing and assessing everyone without seeming to look around him at all as he nursed his scotch. Somehow, though, Kitty Pryde managed to sneak up on him, although his training kept any surprise off his face (he hoped).

"Hi."

"’Lo, luv." Pete swallowed so loudly that she must have heard it. He cleared his throat, mouth suddenly dry. "So, uh…how’re you then?"

"Oh! Oh, I’m good. I mean, yeah. Fine. Um. How are you?"

"Right. Fine." Pete noticed he was fidgeting and pulled out a cigarette—he hated fidgeting—and lit it, with a lighter not a hotknife. The silence seemed to last forever.

"So, uh, this is Harry’s."

"Yeah." Why couldn’t he think of anything to say? Okay, so he could think of a lot to say, but nothing that he could or would. "It’s alright."

"Yeah." Kitty chewed on her lip nervously. Probably tryin' ta think of some way ta avoid me, Wisdom though to himself bitterly.

"So, ah, ya want anyhtin’ ta drink?"

"Uhm, no, I…I think I’ll head home soon. I’m…uh…I have…I’m kinda tired. You know." Argh! She kicked herself mentally, nice going, Kitty! Now he probably thinks you’re, like, three years old, can’t even stay up late!

"Well, here, I’ll walk ya back."

"Oh, no, I’m fine, I wouldn’t want to—I mean, you’re—that is, I wouldn’t want to make you—I mean you can stay, I’m fine—that is…um." Kitty flushed faintly.

"Well, unless ya don’t want me to—" Pete began.

"No, no! Not that! I mean, I’d love—I just wouldn’t want to—you know—impose or anything—"

"Oh, well then! I’ll just settle me bill quick, if you’re ready ta go."

"Yeah, yes! That’s be…that’d be great." Calm down, Kitty, she counseled herself, don’t act so darn excited!

"Right then. B’sides," he managed a smirk, "you can keep me from gettin’ lost." Pete turned away to get Harry’s attention.

Kitty’s eyes went wide. Ohmigod! He remembers catching me on the roof! And…does that mean he cares? He cares enough to remember? Right? Oh, why are things so darn complicated? she moaned to herself.

"Ready, luv?"

"Yeah, sure! I mean, of course, yes…" She pulled her mouth shut before she said anything else that would embarrass her as they walked to the door. She waved at Wolvie to let him know that she was going back. He nodded, impressed that Wisdom would be enough of a "gentleman" to walk her back. He knew his pun’kin could take care of herself, but nobody else did, and that was really the problem—they wouldn’t know not to bother her, but with Wisdom there, Logan had a feeling that nothing short of ten men with combat training would dare to do so—unless their was inebriation involved—and it’d be their mistake. He grinned ferally into his beer and turned away, deciding to watch the awkward bonding between the three kids.

Pete and Kitty were both silent as they exited Harry’s. Wisdom had even held the door for Kitty—prompting, of course, an agonized inner dialogue on both parts.

Oh my god, Kitty wondered as she smiled uncertainly and walked past the black-swathed arm and out of the bar. Does this mean he like me? Enough to break out manners in public, in front of people, like Logan? And no wisecrack or derogatory little sarcastic comment? Or does he think that I’m just some fragile little kid he has to take care of? Is that why he’s walking me home? So that I don’t get hurt? I did kinda look stupid when I landed on him at the boathouse. Oh man—he probably thinks he has to take care of me or something. Maybe so Logan doesn’t flip? Oh darn oh darn oh darn darn darn!

Wisdom instantly regretted holding the door for the young American. Oh fook—wot am I, some bleedin’ old gent? Prolly thinks I’m some kinda bloody old-fashioned chauvinist or somethin’ now, she does. Wot am I doin, bloody broadcastin’ it? Wot if she figured it out? Oh shit, prolly get a bleedin’ ‘ell of a kick outta that one she would. Laugh herself ta sleep tonight she will, her and that bleedin’ purple rat of hers…

Granted, Harry wasn’t the most strict or puritan of people, but he still drew the line at letting minors get drunk. And if you couldn’t find some way to convince him you were old enough, he drew the line at letting them drink at all. And when Harry had rules, he had rules. You didn’t break them, or you’d end up out the door with a bootprint on your butt.

Unless your name was Logan.

See, Logan was a special buddy of his. Not only did the guy take care not to hurt bystanders in his brawls (which were the best-fought ones Harry saw, and some of the most entertaining), paid for the damages without complaint, helped take care of trouble, had some of the best stories, lost to Harry sometimes at pool, and kept whatever group he came in with in line. Not only that, he was a good friend. So the kids he was with today, some of whom Harry’d seen before, some he hadn’t, were all guaranteed as good a time as Harry could grant.

And when they tried to "convince" him of something, he believed them, of course. Honestly, Logan’s friends would never lie about their ages…never.

About halfway back to the mansion, the two relaxed enough around each other to enjoy themselves more, and laughter escorted them out of Salem Center. The laughter attracted the attention, though, of some rather disreputable people loitering nearby. Pete noticed the "ambush" ahead, and his right hand slipped into his trenchcoat’s pocket. Kitty didn’t pay any attention to them until she heard the lewd comment directed her way. Apparently, a tall, skinny-looking dark-haired young man and a young teenage brunette weren’t intimidating enough for the troublemakers to take their inebriated selves elsewhere.

Pete relaxed slightly when he saw that it was just a few wanna-be-gang losers—but only slightly. Appearances, after all…

"Hey, beanpole," one of the wanna-be punks yelled, "how about you step aside and give the gal a real man?" Kitty gaped at the rude gesture that accompanied the comment; Pete ignored it, having seen—and given—far worse.

Pete quirked his eyebrows once in a way that he knew was insulting. "Who d’you have in mind, then, mate?" he asked quietly, a slight smile on his lips. "None ‘round here—‘less I missed somethin…?"

The jerk frowned as his friends laughed and flicked offensive hand-motions at Wisdom and Kitty. Before he could say anything, Wisdom continued calmly: "Fag, mate?"

The buzz-cut young "tough" colored beet red and glowered. He looked like he was going to start steaming shortly, unless he spontaneously combusted first. "Alright, you Australian freak—" the kid began.

Pete held up a hand, still projecting slightly amused calm. Kitty looked like she was either going to turn and run to Logan and blurt out everything or pound the spit out of the guys and then use them for tap-dancing or practicing karate. Her face was beat red—and she couldn’t possibly have known what half the lewd comments and motions meant, although a few were quite descriptive and graphic. "First of all," Pete said evenly, "I’m from England, not Australia. Get your accents—and your slurs—right, or ya just look like a pathetic git—wait, my mistake, right? Seein’ as how ya are and all—" The group of boys crowded at that, and the particular "punk" Pete was directing the comment to went even redder, if that was possibly, his eyes all but disappearing into slits between his chunky cheeks. "So does that make ya the saddest piece of shite in the bunch of ya losers, or are ya one of the better ones? ‘Cause, honestly, call me a stupid Englishman abroad, I can’t tell." Pete casually pulled out a cigarette, offering the pack to the boys clustered in front of him. "Fag, you lot?"

"What’d you call us, man?" one of the "toughs" yelled over the other exclamations, practically showing the boys next to him with spittle between a cracked front tooth and a tongue ring.

An eyebrow raised slightly and the corner of his lips quirked into a thin smile. "My mistake," Wisdom smiled darkly at the gang, "forgot yer slang fer a tic. Asked if ya wanted a cigarette." The smile widened into a humorless smirk. "Fairly obvious yer getting that yerselves…" Kitty clapped a hand over her mouth. She either wanted to elbow him, hard, or burst out laughing, Pete wasn’t sure which.

One of the thugs shouted some dire imprecation, reacting faster than the others, and jumped at Wisdom. The others shouted rude comments, egging their comrade on, yelling for him to beat the snot of the stuck-up Englishman—and many other colorful imprecations. Wisdom let the boy get a swing in, sidestepping the blow and catching the wrist, using the momentum of the boy’s punch against him.

The shouts died out to a mutter when Pete straightened up slightly with the thug’s arm and wrist bent back painfully in one hand, a knee in the small of his back forcing it to arch painfully, and the other hand anchored tightly on a cluster of nerves at the base of the punk’s skull. The teenager wasn’t screaming in pain only because all he could do was whimper.

A block later, Kitty finally dissolved into the laughter she’d been struggling to hold back. She leaned on Pete for support and clutched her stomach. They shushed each other and ducked down an alley, not interested in provoking anything else—but unable to completely restrain their laughter. After a short, blunt lecture on "manners"—and what happened when certain bounds of propriety were overstepped by idiots—the so-called "tough guys" had all slunk off quickly with their tails between their legs—one of them supporting his pained buddy.

Their laughter subsided slightly, and they suddenly became aware of how close they were. Her chin tilted up towards him slightly and they leaned towards each other more, his arm snaking around to support her waist, hers inching around the back of his neck. Before contact, however, Pete cleared his throat and straightened, and Kitty blushed deeply, hopping back a step.

An awkward silence later, they were back on their way.

The silence didn’t last long, but the conversation died again in the hallway.

"So, uh, thanks," Kitty began, her voice trailing off. She didn’t want him to leave. She didn’t want to go to bed. She wanted him to…No! she yelled at herself, stop, don’t you dare think that! She hoped fervently that the blush she felt didn’t show up on her cheeks. Don’t go there, Kitty, she chided herself mentally. Just…don’t. Not a good thought—especially in a house with a telepath!

"Um, yeah, sure luv, no problem…." Pete replied, running out of words.

Their eyes met and time seemed to slow to a crawl. Without conscious thought, Kitty stepped forward slightly and Wisdom leaned down. His fingertips lightly brushed her cheek and a thrill of electricity coursed through her. He tipped her chin up slightly, staring into her deep, endless brown eyes. Kitty’s breath caught in the back of her throat as his intense blue eyes caught hers. Her pale lips parted slightly and she leaned forward, eyelids dropping slowly.

Their lips met, softly, a feather-light touch. Then pressing closer, gently… The world seemed to swirl around them, shrinking.

After an eternity, they separated, far too soon.

"G’night, luv," Pete almost whispered, eyes locked with Kitty’s. Her lips moved, but no sound emerged. Then he was gone, and she sank back weakly against the door to her room. The hallway seemed to sway around her and she closed her eyes, pressing herself against the sturdy solidness of the door. Her heart was pounding somewhere in the back of her throat. Her light coat seemed unbearably heavy on her shoulders, dragging her towards the floor. Her knees were weak and wobbled slightly.

Oh god, she thought, oh god…Pete… Her mind seemed to be reeling as much as the hallway. With trembling fingers she fumbled with the doorknob, then gave up and stumbled through the door, intangible. She collapsed on her bed, phasing out of her shoes and coat. She clutched her pillow with trembling fingers and tried to slow her breathing. Tried to fight the image of his eyes, his soul, meeting hers, out of her head; tried to ignore the feeling of his lips on hers, and go to sleep. But she could still feel that gentle caress… Her fingers brushed her lips slightly. Something burned, deep within her soul. She struggled, finally giving up sometime in the wee hours of the morning, dropping into a light sleep filled with dreams of a pale, dark haired man with deep blue eyes…

"Dammit," Pete breathed to himself on the other side of his door. Without bothering to throw off the trenchcoat, he poured and knocked back a long drink of scotch. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it with his finger, not bothering to struggle with his lighter. He sank down in a chair, shoving his hair out of his eyes, trying to get the sight of her eyes out of his mind as easily. He could still taste her kiss on his lips…

He couldn’t believe he’d done that. What had he been thinking?

He hadn’t, that was the answer. He’d seen those beautiful, golden brown pools you could drown yourself in and fallen right in. He didn’t know what she did to him. Why he couldn’t stop thinking about her, why he could stop seeing her, couldn’t get her eyes out of his head, couldn’t stop thinking about the feel of her lips on his, couldn’t stop seeing her all the time…Why he though he might be…

Pete Wisdom was scared…