PI - Kitty - logged June 6, 2002, 7 am Pacific time
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By the time Kitty actually makes it back to the flat, it's something after
the time Pete would normally be getting up. On his own. Without Kitty's
interference. The stairwell must be decidedly empty: she phases through
the door without bothering to open it. "'M home," she calls, sounding
almost as tired as she looks. She does, however, look /intact/, unbruised
- rumpled, definitely, and precisely like the black turtleneck and jeans
she's wearing got soaked through by cold rain and then dried on her, and
there's a faint accompanying whiff of hospital-disinfectant scent clinging
to her clothes and hair. But intact.

Thing of it is, all-nighters are hardly something Wisdom is unused to. No
one ever /likes/ the way they feel the next day, but when you're so full
of adrenaline that your fingertips are buzzing and you can't /go/
anywhere, you stay up and glare at the television. And argue with the
dragon. And pace a lot. And argue some more with the dragon. And flip
through channels, hoping to God there's nothing big on the news because
there's a good chance that's where your girl is, if there is. Regardless
of her needing Ray's contact information. And finally settle on the
History Channel, because dammit there's nothing else on and the news has
repeated four times over. And you drink a lot of coffee. And you open the
windows, regardless of rain, and you chainsmoke. And you thumb your nose
at the dragon because you had a carton hidden way way back behind the
Draino. And you pace some more. And when she walks through the door,
you're up sitting on the back of the sofa with your feet where you're
supposed to be sitting, and Lockheed's on the arm of the couch looking
pissed, and you're both watching Danger Mouse in a sullen mutual silence.
Until she walks in.

"Kitty!" He almost keeps going. But he clamps down on the questions,
still, because it's nearly lunchtime and she's just now home and Pete
/knows/ she'll tell him. Up off the couch he gets, stubs his cigarette out
and sets the tray down. Clearly /so/ worried. But not panicked.

Nothing big on the news - which may or may not be a good trade for the
dragon implying via evil glare that sooner or later you're going to run
out of hiding places in a flat this size. Kitty does /not/ actually leap
for Pete, but - straight that direction, toward him, not even a comment
till she has both arms around him and her face hidden against his
shoulder. "Eyepatches aside," she mumbles, "I am /so/ not a gerbil. Oh,
God, this was supposed to be a /normal/ night - I need coffee. And five
minutes to fall apart in. And then explanations. 'Kay?" Lockheed hasn't
gotten so much as a pat on the head as of yet; the dragon is, however, not
quite miffed enough to sulk. Or possibly not actually quite self-centered
enough. Though the latter may be unlikely.

"Right," says Pete, sounding remarkably calm; the only thing that betrays
how incredibly glad he is to see Kitty in one piece is how tightly he's
hugging her back. But then - that's also a given. "I'll make a fresh pot,
this's been sitting on the plate since sometime around three this
morning." At the base of my spine, just like a drink of cherry cola. Don't
scare me. You have to scare me. I know. "And you're far, far too brilliant
and lovely to be Penfold. Sit. Your dragon's been blaming me all night,
poke him with a stick or something. Whiskey in your coffee, love?"

Kitty leans her head back, taking the chance to kiss him while he's close
at hand - unutterably glad to see him, to have him there, to be able to
lean on something sane and reliable and /normal/. Someone. And eventually
she lets go long enough to breathe. "If I sit down, I'll probably start
tearing holes in things. I've been sitting for /hours/." Before she left
the - oh. Yes. "Yes. Hospital. No Ballantine, we got out before he was on
shift. Or Ray probably /would/ have shot him. God. Whiskey, yes,
/please/." Her hands trail over his back and arms, and she lets go of him
only reluctantly and with the unspoken promise that it's temporary. She
doesn't even dispute his comment about Lockheed, for once.

Which is one of the best indicators - not even her autopilot is defending
Lockheed's inability to talk? Pete kisses back, look, yes, I'm here and
real and yours, and it's not nearly a long enough kiss but hell, which
could be? "Pity he didn't. Though it would've been hellishly impractical."
Hand trailing off Kitty slowly and equally reluctantly, he moves off to
make said coffee. Decaf, ha ha, you've had enough sleep deprivation,
Pryde. "Hospital, no Ballantine. The nurse, then? I'm hazarding a guess
that since you needed Ray and Ray was upset enough to have shot
Ballantine, it was something to do with Seravina. Pre-coffee shot?"

Kitty doesn't answer the question yes or no - she did warn him: five
minutes to fall apart. She steps aside instead, stroking both hands over
Lockheed, reassuring herself a little more with the feel of his scales and
the sound of a concerned coo. Sad statement, really, when an alien
fire-breathing dragon becomes the symbol of stability in somebody's life.
"Seravina. Yes. Melanie was - there, right, I need to talk to her. I need
to find out when that woman's birthday is, Pete, I swear, she's
incredible. She - I found Sera in an /alley/, Pete, I almost /missed/ her,
she was lying there, bleeding, concussion, oh God. It was just plain luck
I even /saw/ her. She - I called you, got Ray, he played ambulance, we got
her to the hospital and to Melanie and he almost /shot himself/." She
gathers Lockheed up to hug against her chest, rocking the dragon more to
soothe herself than him. "In /front/ of her. She, she talked him down, we
spent the next couple of hours. Sitting with her. Except when I went back
to Ray's place to check on the, the dog and the turtle. Things. We need to
find Constantine. I promised. Later. Do you realize how much I love you?
When I can come home from things like this and you not only know half of
it already, but you make me coffee?" Hello, stream of consciousness.

Oh, make him feel mildly guilty about the deca-- he can't pull decaf on
her /now/. She's tired enough that it won't make any difference anyway. He
just listens, putting grounds into filter, filter into contraption, water
into pot, water from pot into contraption, whiskey into mug - it'd be nice
to have Bailey's for times like this - and cream and sugar out, not
reacting to rant, not reacting. My friends are fucked up, Kitty, I'm
sorry. There, mug doctored and coffee brewing; Pete comes back and
unceremoniously gathers Kitty back, pulling her close, leaning against the
counter. "'S what I'm here for. Well, this and getting mistaken for John.
What's he got to do with it this time?" Don't care about dragon! Don't
care if he bites me. Don't. "Actually. Tell me in order if you can. Sera,
Ray, Constantine."

Dragon is not biting. Primarily because the moment that Pete gathers
Kitty, Kitty half-reflexively shifts her hold on Lockheed to fold a hand
over the end of his snout, even as she's leaning into Wisdom. "Nothing to
do with it directly," she says, more than a little more coherent with the
renewed contact. "Sera - got attacked, she didn't know them. Guys, she
said. She broke one's nose. Someone named Marley - maybe got them off her,
punched - /through/ one. Hearing that didn't help Ray much... don't know
what was going on in his head. Ray's taking Sera to Chicago." Non
sequitur, hurray. "John didn't have /anything/ to do with it, directly,
for once. Sera just wanted me to take him a message." And the pained note
in that is a good sign that she's pulling herself back together. "I'm not
sure whether she thinks he'll blame himself, somehow, or whether she'd
promised him something that getting the /crap/ beaten out of her was going
to keep her from doing." And there it is: annoyed, half-amused
exasperation. Sera, Sera, Sera, priorities not all in order. Poor kid.
"Sorry. That wasn't exactly in order."

"Not a bit of it," says Pete absently, one warm hand settling around her  
waist, the other taking up residence on her arm, where he can gently
stroke, calming. He's already processing. "She broke one's nose, eh? Good.
I'm leaving the Marley thing until last because for Christ's sake I don't 
want to miss anything. Chicago, good. Getting them both out of here -   
I'd've /suggested/ that, but my suggesting leaving is usually followed by
a million and one arguments not to." Mild snark. Another case of
Cassandra-itis. "All right, it could just be she was supposed to meet him
for some reason and couldn't make it due to getting the living shit kicked
out of her. As long as it wasn't his fault. Which we still don't /know/,
'cos he has a rotten habit of letting his peripherals run away from him."  
Brief silence, and the coffeepot's making the guttering sound it does when
it's finishing brewing. Pete's voice is quiet, but businesslike. "Attacked
how, Kitty? Could you tell?"

Kitty doesn't actually stop leaning, for all that there's more of a pause 
before she answers, more thought put into the answer. And more sense in
it. "Mm. Beaten up, definitely. Concussion, throat hurt, assorted bruises
and cuts. Torn clothing." She pauses a moment, breathing carefully. Deep
breath, slow: inhale, hold, exhale. Not hyperventilating, not panicking   
now. "Touching her didn't panic her, but - I think Ray saw something I    
didn't. I can't be sure. I do know /Sera/ didn't believe it was John's  
fault, or related to him, and she's seeing things regarding him a bit more
clearly right now." Not that that's necessarily changed her mind, but -
well, Kitty's not really the best suited to throw stones there.

"There's also a possibility Ray couldn't see anything but red. But it's 
just one possibility among many." Pete's voice is measured and
considering, slow. "Another possibility is anything he might've thought of
when he found out about Marley. I actually don't know quite /what/ to
think, myself, about that. She's Lindsey's...ex-wife, I suppose, though
they haven't divorced. I imagine she's not particularly happy she's
already been replaced, especially not by a bloke. With wings. And - she's 
a nutter, but I can't see her punching /through/ anyone. As far as Ray 
goes - there's regret, from both of them, when the other's mentioned.
Regret among other things. And she's an immigrant's been here a while.  
John may know more about this, so when you take the message - mind if I   
come with? He's most likely at home." As he's talking, Pete picks them    
both up off of leaning on the counter, straightening, and keeps a hand  
loosely on Kitty, just long enough to tug her vaguely in the direction of 
the coffeemaker before dropping. And he's making her a cup of coffee over
the end theme to Danger Mouse. "You know, it's not as though we could
have, I don't know, five fucking minutes without worrying about something
exploding." Fully conversational.

Kitty comments, as she accompanies Pete toward the coffee (as if he needed
to tug her? - not that she's complaining), "Ray said Marley was gone. I
have no idea what he meant by it." She lets go of Lockheed in order to 
take that cup, glancing wryly back at the television in time to catch the
explosion that ends the credits. "Don't mind at all if you come with; I   
was going to ask you to, actually." Either to deliver the message, or to
talk to John in general. Pete knows this one. She doesn't. It's still
slightly weird to think of 'this one' when referring to John Constantines;
hasn't had enough exposure to distinguish them in her head yet. "Mmm. We  
seem to manage whole /hours/ without things exploding, actually. I mean,  
we're able to get sleep sometimes." Her glance up to him adds 'and other
things,' which means that Lockheed decidedly glares at Pete while Kitty   
isn't looking. Oblivious, Kitty drinks her coffee.

"Yeh, not /worrying/ about things exploding would be a marked
improvement," mutters Pete, pouring himself another cup, putting away the
cream and sugar and putting in Jameson's of his own. He smugs at the
dragon, then takes a sip of his coffee, testing; good. He snakes an arm   
once more around Kitty's waist, pulling her closer, sounds vaguely distant
when he speaks again. "I'll come with, then, but don't think - I mean, I
don't know him that well. All I can do is compare, and that's not knowing.
I /do/ know he'll answer me, and I'll know if he's lying." He takes
another sip, then puts the cup down and reaches up, rubbing at his eyes,
taking off the patch. "Gone. I don't know enough about that to make any
calls."

Kitty murmurs, "So we're down to the question marks," not put off by the  
distance in his tone. "Which means there's not much more we can do with 
what we've got, right now." She glances up and aside at him again,
watching his hand, and yes, both eyes. "Unless we call him and I give him
Sera's message straight out, and we go talk to him later - but again, the
Ray being tempted to shoot people bit makes me just a little wary of
telling him quite this soon. Besides, if I'm going to wind up yelling at 
him, I want to be coherent for it." She pauses, and eyebrows arch. "Which
means - I can't believe I'm saying this while drinking coffee, but ...    
bed?"

Turning his head to look at Kitty, clearly amused, the distance is gone   
from Pete's tone when he speaks again. "I was going to give you decaf, but
then you went and sounded pathetically grateful for me making you coffee
and I didn't have the heart. Am I going to regret caving, tomorrow?
Because I'd honestly rather you /actually/ sleep. Don't want you falling
asleep mid-rant at Conjob." He picks up his own coffee again, and tosses
the whole damn ngah-hot thing back with no flinching or anything. And as  
he's talking, as he's finishing his coffee, the hand he had around Kitty's
waist has completely unfairly begun wandering again. "You'd probably be
able to sleep easier if you took a bath first. Can run you one..."

Kitty eyes that lack of flinching with just a touch of amused envy - okay,
sometimes Pete's particular metabolism gives him unfair advantages. Ow,  
that would've hurt anyone else. "I /am/ pathetically grateful for you
making me coffee," she reasons, demonstrating with another (rather more   
careful) sip. "Decaf. You're an evil, evil man, Pete Wisdom. Mmm. What if
I promise to actually sleep /eventually/?" She sets down her own coffee in
favor of reaching across and taking hold of his tie with her free hand,   
tugging at it playfully.

Oh, entirely unfair. As though Pete had any right to complain about
cheating when he so clearly was. Setting down his own mug, Wisdom's other 
hand slides around her waist from the other side, and he pulls her closer
so she can't tug quite so well. And there's a bemused smile on his face.
"Not sure my ego can take it if you fall asleep midway, Pryde. Caffeine or
no caffeine, you're exhausted." He. Is. So. Worried. Clearly! "Let me run
you that bath, love, and see how you feel when you've finished, all
right?"

Kitty tosses her head, yet another gesture that would be far more
effective with longer hair, but she lets go of his tie to bring arms up
around his shoulders in turn. "I've only been going for thirty hours," she
retorts. "Your ego isn't at risk for another eight or ten." There's a
flicker of a smile, as if even that were halfway teasing. "'M /tired/, not
out cold. And ... I don't want to let go of you right now."

They always wind up with Pete with his back to the counter, don't they? He
grins lopsidedly, one hand trailing a warm ghost up Kitty's back and neck,
fingers finally running through and tangling in her short curls, stopping
when they meet the first slight resistance; the other hand maintains a   
solid, almost but no longer quite as possessive /presence/, there at the
small of her back. "Fair enough." And he leans his head down to kiss her, 
positively glorying in her unwillingness to let go. No matter how much   
Thundercats is on in the background.

That might say something about who thinks they need to cut off whose
escape routes. And the Thundercats can take care of themselves - they've
been doing so quite nicely for a couple of decades, after all. She kisses
him back, not /quite/ as long as might have been expected ... pulling
back, finally, just enough to murmur, "Something else bothering you, love?
Or just trying to take care of me?" Reassure first, /then/ ask - and leave
him an out if there /is/ something and he doesn't want to talk about it -
and stay close enough to pick up where that kiss left off if she's
imagining things. Old habits, new variations, and warm brown eyes glorying
in turn in the openness with which she can look up at him. Her head is
leaned back against his hand to let her watch him. Really - for this
moment, /everything/ she's aware of has to do with him. Even the coffee is
ignored.

There's a short, quiet laugh, and Pete shakes his head. "Hate it when    
things shake /you/. Love/hate relationship with this city. Don't
understand it. Hate continually picking up the pieces behind other people,
want to be able to stop them from always breaking in the first place.
Without breaking anything else in the process. It's nothing that doesn't
bother me anyway." But I told you so you'd know. Not going to keep
anything from you. His hand, cradling her head - it's not shaking even
slightly. So warm. And his expression is strange - eyes, one whole and one
scarred and blind but still so blue, gazing at hers seriously but with the
humor that almost never leaves them - a little sad and a little worried  
and a little fundamentally satisfied. "If we let -that- stop us, we'd
never get started, would we?"

Kitty studies his eyes, the whole one and the damaged alike - the scars
that she had to brace herself not to flinch from the first time she saw   
them now very nearly seem to reassure her, in a way. "Not when there's
just the two of us," she replies with a flash of humor all her own, "and a
few billion other people to try and keep an eye on. Yeah. So we do what we
can - and it worked, this time, didn't it?" Thanks to your insistence on
keeping information in your head rather than on paper, and thanks to our  
mutual unwillingness to risk being out of contact, and thanks in short to
both our insistence on being paranoid and prepared - and thanks to Ray  
being a scary bastard, and Sera being intact and whole and strong enough
to hold him together... "It's all right, love. We can't do everything,
maybe, but we do a good job between the two of us. We hold up our end."   
There's confidence there, in her tone and in her eyes, and love and relief
and something startlingly close to serenity for someone who proclaimed   
herself falling apart a few minutes ago - and an echo of laughter. So
proud of you. Found. "And trust me - maybe I got a little shaken, near
misses do that sometimes, but y'know. I get better." You steady me. "And
I've got a couple of ways in mind to make it up to you..."

And oh, that earns Kitty Pryde a startlingly sunny grin. "/Have/ you," he
says, clearly anticipatorily entertained. Found, yes - both of them, once 
lost, now found. And nothing and no one can stand in their combined way.  
The look Pete sees on Kitty's face, in her eyes, profoundly relieves him;
the tension begins, immediately, to ebb away. "Lay on, MacDuff. You've got
the keys. Fucking brill I'm the one what drives, eh?"

Kitty arches eyebrows up at him, amused, and reaches across to pick up her
coffee again - it's cool enough now that she can take the minimum time
about finishing it. Setting the cup back down on the counter, she murmurs 
back to him, "Well, then." And leaves the television on to occupy Lockheed
as, keeping one arm around Pete, she steers them both toward the bedroom.