I am soo sorry for the ridiculous amount of time it took me to get this chapter done. I've no idea why. And after all this it's really just a nothing-much-happens-bridging chapter. Trust me, the next one will have much more excitement and/or romance!

2

John woke up rather dazedly, and gloriously slowly. He had never slept so well in as long as he could remember. It didn't matter that he was in a bed and couldn't remember how he had got there, since he was pretty sure last time he checked he was living rough.

He fumbled for the watch he somehow hadn't got round to pawning, and saw that it was nearly midday. He had slept for more than twelve hours, having finally dropped off at around eleven the previous night. And he felt like he could sleep another twelve hours in this bed. Clearly his body wanted him to compensate for all those sleepless and uncomfortable nights.

But there was something more tempting than sleep awaiting him. The smell was strong and ambrosia to his nose.

If he wasn't much mistaken, pancakes.

Possibly he was dreaming.

He stumbled up and to the door, practically falling through it and only regaining balance by gripping the doorframe.

"Morning," said a sweet, feminine voice from the corner. His eyes followed the sound and rested upon a freshly showered and dressed Kitty Pryde, smiling uncertainly at him and holding a plate enticingly out before her.

That was it then. He was definitely dreaming.

Might as well make the most of it. He went unsteadily towards her and flopped down in a chair, staring at the fare she had set in front of him. A pancake, with two fried eggs for eyes, a strip of bacon for a smiley mouth, and a rapidly-melting small square of butter for a nose.

Very Kitty Pryde.

"I think I might have gone overboard at the store," she said somewhat sheepishly, taking a seat a few feet from him and passing a glass of orange juice. "I've never really bought food for myself… I sort of forgot we were on a budget."

Hey, it was her money. He had never looked upon such an alluring meal. Tired as he was, he had wolfed it down in less than a minute. As soon as he was done, Kitty had whisked the plate out from under him and deposited it in the sink. Immediately she started washing up.

He watched her from behind, and knew she knew he was watching her, because her spine was rigid though she made a point of not acknowledging him.

"…Thanks for that," he said at last.

She gave a slightly nervous nod. He had the feeling she was involving herself so in the housework because she didn't really know what else to do with herself. He decided to leave her to it and stood up, making to go and get dressed, aware that his only wearing boxers was probably not making her any more comfortable.

"Oh—" she turned and faltered when he looked at her. "I got some other things too… I didn't know what you might need…"

His eyes fell on the bag on the countertop, which he picked up without looking inside. "Yeah. Cheers."

Once in the bedroom he went through its contents. There was a razor – for which he was glad – some deodorant – a hint, maybe? – and a toothbrush and paste.

He set the bag down again, staring at nothingness. Things might have made more sense in the morning, after a good night's sleep, but for all intents and purposes he was as in the dark as ever before. Kitty had given him a home, a bed, a very nice breakfast and now this. Her motives for any of it were as yet unclear.

Having dressed, he shifted aside the frayed curtains and took in the view. It was not particularly impressive. They were on the building's fourth floor and all this window offered was the sight of more grey concrete apartment and office buildings.

It was not in fact a bad area that Kitty had found – she had already been looking into this place when she made the pitch to him yesterday, only had been unable to move in on her own, being underage. It was not rich or expensive, mostly because it was a fair distance from the city centre, but neither was it as dangerous as the last neighbourhood he had called his own.

Back in the main room, he found Kitty hard at work again, this time with cushions.

Granted as he had been gone for about fifteen minutes, she had achieved significantly with the place's appearance. Apparently her trip to buy food had also entailed excursions elsewhere. There was now a patchwork quilt draped over the sofa, which hid most of the faint stains, and the cushions she was now fluffing did the rest. A photograph of some flowers hung on the wall where he remembered there had been a bit of a crack in the plaster. In the kitchen he saw the cutlery he had used earlier which was also new if plain and cheap, and a kettle was now plugged in too.

There wasn't an awful lot left for him to do.

"I'm gonna go see that landlord about the heating," he resolved at last.

That took about fifteen minutes. He found the landlord fairly easily, glued to the TV in the building's reception area. The man pulled his eyes away long enough to promise to look into it, but John doubted it would get done before the Batman and Robin rerun finished.

He made his way back to the apartment slowly. Kitty was there, shouldering her rucksack.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm going to do some laundry," she answered. "I took some of your clothes, I hope you don't mind."

If she wanted to do his dirty laundry she was welcome to it. He hadn't worn a freshly washed shirt for a dreadfully long time.

As she walked past him, looking almost reluctant to leave, he wondered at what point things had become so domestic that he was worrying about laundry. Probably at some time between moving in last night, and now.

But he figured it was better than worrying about where your next meal was coming from.

"And I'm gonna go for a walk," he said just as she left, and she nodded to show that she had heard him.

He took a random route once outside, not knowing this area at all. And as he trudged past a seemingly endless stream of identical grey box buildings, he decided there was little point in trying to get to know it.

Was this what his life was going to be like, from now on? He would get a dead-end job in a factory or something, coming home every night to Kitty. At least their breakfasts would be smiling.

Kitty was an enigma. She never had been before. He remembered her as one of the least complicated kids at an institute where everyone had a story to tell. She was the embodiment of Xavier's ideals and romantic hopes. She had been a genius too, with every prospect of a pretty good life before her, aside from the whole mutant thing. John could sit around, making nothing of himself, hoping fruitlessly that perhaps Magneto would return to him someday having miraculously recovered his powers… but nobody would miss him. Kitty was being wasted, however.

He had come full circle now, and arrived back at their room at almost exactly the same time as Kitty. She looked almost scared as he approached, but succeeded in hiding it fairly well beneath a brave face.

"I was thinking we might… might as well go look for some jobs."

…

Kitty was not as bad company as he would have anticipated. The main reason for this was that she didn't seem particularly eager to make conversation.

Being out with an attractive young girl also appealed to the conceit in John. As Magneto's henchman he had been feared, and as a tramp he had been repulsive. Now when people watched from the corners of their eyes, he knew it was because both he and Kitty were so good-looking.

These were the main reasons he didn't suggest they split up. Why she didn't, he couldn't say, but she certainly seemed quite jittery and remained quite close to him as they walked along. What the hell was her problem? He almost opened his mouth to ask her outright, when she pointed and said,

"Look! Help wanted, over there," and she made a beeline for the café with the sign in the window.

…

"What a horrid man!" she pouted as they stepped back down onto the pavement. Now it was nearing five o' clock and night was closing in.

"If you want a job you're gonna have to lower your standards," John shrugged, though he knew she wouldn't have lasted a week in there. The proprietor had been lecherous toward her, rude toward him, and dismissive of them both when it was revealed they had no references. The building had also been a bit grubby and the customers a bit shady-looking.

"I don't see why," she replied. It was clear to them both she was lying.

A wintery breeze blustered by them, rustling their hair and coats. Kitty instinctively shivered and sidled closer to his side. "Perhaps we should go home."

In all honesty, John wasn't too keen on an evening spent at home with a girl who not only probably hated him but was also in a state of misery. But did he have a choice?

"What's for dinner?" he asked as they trudged through the snow. It came across as a bit brazen but was better than what he really wanted to say, which was 'Can I take some of your money and go to a pub?'

Dinner turned out to be microwave-heated Chinese. Not quite on a par with breakfast but considering he had missed lunch and, oh, pretty much every meal for the past few months, he was a bit hungry.

They ate in the living area. He sat on the sofa, she on the floor with her legs crossed.

All was silent until she unexpectedly broke it.

"You're so thin." The sadness in her tone startled him.

"Yeah, so're you," he grumbled through a mouthful of sweet-and-sour sauce.

She tilted her head and raised an eyebrow. It was the first real sign of sass he had yet seen in her, and maybe reassured him a little bit that she still was Kitty Pryde. "But seriously. Where have you been since… since…?"

"Pretty much where you found me," he shrugged, not liking the way the conversation was going but so indebted to her he was obliged to answer her questions. Still, he couldn't look up to meet the gaze he knew would be pitying.

"We thought you were dead," she murmured after a few moments.

"That's nice to know."

"I'm sorry. Just – some of us were really sad."

He wanted to look at her now, but was reluctant to show any signs of caring. "What a shame for them."

He did glance up in time to see her cheeks flare with colour. "You're so ungrateful! You don't know when you've got it good. The X-Men, they were good! They could have been good for you. And you throw it all away. Now look at you! And when people care, you throw it back in their faces!"

If she hadn't been so hungry too, she might have stormed off.

"I don't owe anyone anything," he seethed, not quite bringing himself to add, 'except you.' "If they're so great, why did you leave?"

She couldn't avoid the question forever.

He saw the cogs turning.

She hesitated.

"I had to escape." She sounded uneasy.

"What from?"

Now she looked on the verge of tears and he wondered how wise he had been in pursuing the issue.

"I… I have to go to bed!" And with that, she leapt to her feet and bolted to the bedroom, phasing straight through the door.

He wouldn't ordinarily have tidied up after himself, but this was still really her home though it might have been officially in his name (St. John was still safe – it was only Pyro who was a fugitive). As he collected the cardboard boxes, he listened to the faint sounds of sobbing coming from behind the closed door.