Disclaimer: Do I own the X-Men yet? Hmm…let me check. Nope, they're still not mine.

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Part three in the series "Is There a Place for Us?" Kitty's turn again.

Author's Note: This story is semi-AU, meaning it isn't completely alternate universe, but it doesn't really go along with the show completely either. Basically, it takes place after "Hex Factor," and ignores anything that may come after it. (Which it sort of has to, seeing as at this current time, the two part season finale has not yet aired.) Anyway, it diverges from what is sure to be the path the show takes by having Lance leave town following the battle in the mall between the Brotherhood and the X-Men. (I just don't see the writers doing that…)

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Reflecting on Memories Encased in Old Leather

By: Addie Logan

 

I went on a date. Aren't high school girls supposed to go on dates? It wasn't a big deal.

He was just a guy in my English class. Most of the girls around Bayville think he's pretty hot, and I'm no exception. I couldn't help but squeal when I told a friend of mine that he wanted to go to the movies with me. She squealed right back, in the time-honored, teenage girl sort of way.

I went to the mall with Jean. She helped me pick out an outfit so I'd look my cutest come Friday night.

Even the date went well. We got along. He kissed me at the end of the night, and it was a good kiss. He didn't drool in my mouth or try to swallow me whole.

I should've been in my room, sitting on my bed, sighing happily, and gushing on the phone to one of my girlfriends about what a wonderful night it was.

So why was I sitting on the roof of the mansion instead?

It didn't take my genius I.Q. to answer that question, just noticing the jacket I'd chosen to wear out here.

It was the jacket I never wore in front of the X-Men. The one I only wore when I knew I'd be alone and needed to feel more than just physically warm.

It was Lance's jacket.

It brown leather. Bomber style. I think it had been his father's at one point. He'd let me borrow it one night when we'd snuck out and stayed gone longer than we meant to. It got cold, and Lance shrugged his jacket off without a thought, putting it on me. I'd tried to refuse it at first, saying he'd be too cold without it. He leaned down, and whispered in my ear, his voice husky:

"I'd rather give you my jacket and stand naked in the snow than watch you as much as shiver."

I think I warmed up then, even without the jacket.

I rub my fingers over the old leather, Lance's touch imprinted in my mind. I can still taste his kiss, and the memory makes me glad I'm not trying to stand.

I know what was missing from my date tonight. The boy was nice. I liked him.

Nothing about him made me weak in the knees.

A tear rolls down my cheek and I angrily swat it away. Lance left six months ago. I shouldn't still feel this way. We were never really anything. Just two people yearning to be, but held apart by circumstances.

They say you can't miss what you never had, but oh God, I miss it so much.

Maybe I just want what could've been.

I think back over the date again, and suddenly I'm angry at Lance. If it wasn't for him, I'd be happy right now. I'd be on the phone to a girlfriend, giggling, painting my toenails pink. I'd be like every other girl my age, still innocent to the ways of deep, weak-in-the-knees love.

Instead, I'm here on a roof, wrapping myself up in leather-encased memories and wishing Lance hadn't left fingerprints on me with every touch.

In a way, it's like he stole my innocence with soft, chaste touches. He never pushed me too far, never asked for more than the chance to hold me, yet he brought me out of childhood just the same.

High school dates are the fantasy world of little girls, and I'm not a girl anymore.

Six months ago he called and told me to give him a reason to come back. At the time I couldn't.

I still can't, though as time's gone by, my reasoning's changed. Why should I have to give him a reason? He should know what he did to me, should've seen the look of surrender in my eyes every time he as much as glanced my way.

He had to know how I loved him. How could he not when it ran so deep?

Sitting outside alone with only an old leather jacket and memories to keep me warm I wish I'd told him.

Could I have given him a reason?