Gehenna: Epilogue

by Luba Kmetyk

Epilogue

Kitty phased back in through the bolted door as quietly as she could manage, wryly noting what a truly *impressive* area warning system an old, creaky floor could be. As she'd half-feared, half-hoped, Wisdom was still lying sprawled on the ratty old mattresses, although the newly empty whiskey bottle lying by his dangling hand and the relatively fresh vomit stains on and around him showed he'd come to at least partially during her absence.

She had to struggle with herself to suppress the pangs of guilt at the thought of what Pete might have thought at waking up and finding her gone, not knowing why or where. Kitty had to believe that, no matter how many times he'd told her to just go away and leave him alone, he really did need... want... hope for her to stay. But she'd needed the break, desperately, and the long talk to Logan had helped her regain her rapidly eroding perspective, something else she'd sorely needed.

After checking on the unconscious Englishman, she phased back out into the hallway and grabbed the bags she'd left there, bringing them in with her. Setting them down by the door, she went through the tiny flat quickly, gathering up the most obvious trash and stacking it all off in a far corner by an overflowing, completely inadequate dust bin. Holding a double-armful of empty bottles and crumbled Marlboro wrappers, she almost started crying, suddenly reminded of the first time she'd ever cleaned up Pete's habitual mess, their first day together back on Muir. But she choked the incipient sobs back firmly, telling herself that any relationship needed work, and compromise, and sacrifice, and that she wouldn't trade what she had with Pete -- good *and* bad -- for anything or anyone else.

With a renewed sense of purpose, she returned to the dark-haired figure lying on the makeshift bed. First she phased off his trousers, grateful for once for her unflashy but often mundanely useful mutant power, then the shirt and tie came off. She debated for a long moment before carrying them over to her rubbish stack. Pete would doubtless claim they were salvageable, but it was his own stupid fault he wasn't in any shape to argue the point with her. On second thought, she picked up the soiled shirt again, and used it to wipe up the fresh vomit. There wasn't actually that much -- it had been so long since Wisdom had eaten he didn't have anything except the liquor in his stomach to upchuck.

On her way back, Kitty had decided she might not be able to do much about the condition of the room, but she could definitely do something about the condition of her man. Now, bending over his limp form again, she phased off his soiled vest and pants, adding the pathetic little bundle to the growing heap of trash, a bit ashamed to be happy he hadn't been wearing any of her favorite colored boxers. The bags by the door contained packages of fresh underwear and a new white shirt she'd just bought, phasing into a small shop and leaving money by the till. Pete could wear those when he was ready to get up, and she'd worry about new trousers for him then.

She'd brought some towels also. Soaking one at the stained, rusty wallsink, she started washing her companion off thoroughly while he was still passed out and in no shape to object. If Logan thought Pete was living in shit because he was feeling like shit, then maybe cleaning him up would make him feel better. It was worth a try, at least -- if nothing else, it gave her the comforting illusion of something active and positive she could do.

Once he was as clean as Kitty could get him, she fetched a new bedsheet out of her clandestine shopping and covered the bare, filthy mattress he was sprawled on, manhandling Pete's flaccid body until he lay atop it. Except for the difficulty of maneuvering his completely uncooperative deadweight, it wasn't that hard. Never a big bulky man, now his wiry form was thinner than ever, and her sleekly-muscled frame considerably stronger than her slender figure suggested.

Taking off her own clothes, she rolled them up in one of the now-empty shopping bags, then lay down next to her lover's unconscious form, pressing herself tightly against his back. She slid one arm around his waist to hold him close, slipping her other arm under his head to act as a pillow -- wincing at the thought of the pins-and-needles sure to result. Nuzzling her face into his neck, kissing the sharp ridge of his shoulder blade, Kitty let herself doze off until jerked awake by his thrashing and shouting in yet another nightmare -- or hallucination.

Just as she had so many times in the past few days, she wrapped her arms and legs around his flailing body, crooning soft, wordless reassurance. But this time he didn't jerk away, this time -- either because she'd been right about cleaning him up, or because he could somehow sense her newly-gained understanding, for the first time since he'd gone on his drinking binge Pete turned into her embrace, finally seeking and accepting her comfort. And as she cradled her sob-wracked lover against her, Kitty finally let herself believe everything would be all right again.

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