I love the old comics, so this is going on sometime after Uncanny X-Men 148.
I don't own Kitty or Kurt. They're Marvel's /Disney's.
Just say it.
She knows she' been a proper prick, and that she acts like a child that she worked so hard to prove she was not. She knows what the right thing would be for her to do. She feels like crap for not managing to bring herself to do it.
They never tell you that, being grown up, one has to deal, among other things, with cleaning after their own mess. Neither that cleaning one's own mess can be so gut-wrenching.
She walks in the living room, all casual and uncaring, in all intention to sit somewhere close to him, for change. Because he's alone, as she knew he'd be - who else would have the stomach to watch Zorro for eleventh blasted time - and the sofa he currently occupies is large enough for three. No excuse for her to slink away from him, as she's been doing for months. Nowhere to hide. Nothing to do to justify herself.
As for him, he's crouching on the sofa as if getting ready to jump into the screen, all tense, wiry muscles, swishing tail and glowing, focused eyes. He didn't notice her. He's staring at the dark-haired lady shoving her breasts under Zorro's face, and Kitty doubts he'd notice her if she was waving two big, red flags, cheerleading right in front of his nose.
Still, it might be worth a try.
Her heart does a funny little leap; her knees suddenly don't feel as firm as usual.
She follows the swishing motion of his tail; left, right, left, right…of all things that were unusual on him, it was his tail that had always made her the most wary of. Not the glowing, pupil-less eyes; not the blue fur, or those sharp-looking fangs. It was that blasted, ever-moving tail, that seemed the most unnatural on him, so unfitting for a human being, giving her creeps with the way it would wrap itself around a glass or mug and bringing it to his lips, as it was the most natural thing to do, or with the way it would casually handle the remote, while the man's hands were occupied with a bowl of popcorn and a bottle of beer. It gave her chills. And the fact that he was so unaware of sticking out like a sore thumb was what put her off the most. It just felt…unnatural. She had a feeling she'd be much more comfortable with him growling and hissing and constantly crawling on all fours, perhaps scratching his ear with his foot, than with seeing those inhuman eyes looking at her with such intelligence and emotion. It felt hideously out of place.
She didn't know what creeped her out more; the eerie movements of his tail, or the eerier feeling of herself being a perfect c*nt.
Enough of this, she decides. After seeing how Caliban turned out, she'd promised herself to set this right. No more of this ridiculous brattiness. She knows he's a good guy. Peter loves him; Wolvie loves him; Ororo loves him; everybody loves him… even she likes him, dang it…but still she can't help herself liking him much more with her eyes closed.
You're such a bitch, Pryde.
"Hi…Kurt", she forces herself to utter in a very quiet, high-pitched, girly voice, and she's certain she hadn't sounded this pathetic since she was seven.
And he flinches. Her heart twists.
Her heart skips a beat, too, and feels like it's going to somehow get all squished inside her, because Kurt not only flinches, flashing those glowing eyes at her, but his tail wraps itself around his legs and grows awfully still; his shoulders hunch, as if he's trying to be as small as possible, as nonthreatening as he can be, and he gives her a surprisingly warm smile, considering the fact he seems to be putting great effort into showing his teeth as little as possible. His toes curl; his hands instantly hide in his lap.
It sickens her; she's sickened by herself, by how she'd made this young guy, this good, warm, playful guy instinctively turn into a walking, talking, self-conscious shadow of himself at the sight of her. He knows every weak spot, he'd picked it all - the poor fella must be quite used to that - and he tries to make his
unique traits as unapparent as possible for her. Only for her. He never acts this way around others, when he thinks she's not looking; only when she's around, and close to him.
Compose yourself, Pryde.
"Well, hi yourself, Katzchen", he says brightly. "Can I consider myself fortunate enough to have acquired another fateful admirer of Zorro the Avenger to watch this splendid performance with?
Just say it.
Say it: I'm sorry, Kurt, for having been such a bastard to you.
You can do it. Just say it, dang it.
Hel-loo…Earth to Katherine Pryde! Remember why you're here. Say "I'm sorry". Can't be that painful.
Say something, then, Pryde, for God's sake…
"Um, ah, well…"
Great start. An "A" for coherence.
Just say it.
"…thought…I might…watch it a bit with you, if you don't mind."
"My dear lady, I'd be honored", he smiles, not showing his teeth much, and huddles in the corner of the sofa when it becomes apparent that, uncharacteristically, she was going to share the sofa with him. He handed her the bowl with popcorn …with his hand, not with his tail, as she'd seen him doing with Peter more than once. Dear God, was she that obvious?
Say it, she thinks as she takes the bowl and stuffs her mouth full of popcorn, so she has the excuse for not talking.
Kurt is still huddled like a cat on his end of the sofa, his tail is still rigidly wrapped around his legs. But there's a small smile on his face, and she hates herself for being incredibly grateful that she can't get a view of his fangs from where she sits. It's an adorable smile, she knows, beautiful by any standard, and she's a childish, shallow prick for not being able to appreciate it.
They watch Zorro in silence, and as the minutes tick by, Kurt gets more and more absorbed in it; more and more relaxed. His tail is still wrapped around him, but not as rigid as before, and his entire body subtly, slowly shifts in his seat, with fluidity and grace even Kitty can admire, like a young feline enjoying the warmth and the softness of the sofa, and Kitty -Sprite, she recalls, as professor had named her - suddenly had the vision of a dark blue cat in shadow.
Cat in shadow…shadow of a cat…
You're thinking gibberish, only so you wouldn't think of the first reason why you're here.
But he passes her some pineapple juice, eyes fixed on the TV, and she can't bring herself to break this relatively comfortable silence.
God, Kurt, I'm so sorry.
She'll have the time and the opportunity to tell him that. Yeah. It doesn't have to be now. There's a plenty of time on their hands, and right now, Zorro and popcorn and pineapple juice will have to suffice.
I'm sorry I'm such an idiot, Kurt. I'll make it up to you. And I'll tell you one day how sorry I am. Promise.
One of these days, she assures herself.
One of these days.