FFic: Stepping Stones: True Prologue
Stepping Stones
By The Odd Little Turtle Named Froggie
(Marvel owns the characters. I, sadly, do not. Not making a profit, but input is nice. Star Wars is used as a reference only and all characters, phrases of that particular fandom are trademarked by Lucas Films Ltd., et al. Also, I make no claim to any other goodies found.
This is a Kiotr AU and has nothing to do with past, present or future continuity in X-Men or Spider-Man comics and specifically takes place in the 80s and 90s. Thus, AU. No BND/OMD (or whatever the initials are)/Back in Black. No secret wars, no messiah babies, and no Limbo. No time travel, but the timeline jumps around (You know me!). Re-added Excalibur. All villain appearances were put into a cup and shaken. Woo! Yahtzee!
Special thanks goes to Author376 for all the great advice and back and forth comments, and to everyone at the Live Journal Kiotr Community for the encouraging words/suggestions/etc.
Input is always welcomed and appreciated.)
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Prologue
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Present Day…
May 3rd, 1990
1:45 pm
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Piotr Nikolevitch Rasputin frowned into the mirror, blue eyes eying the pink ribbon around his neck as he tugged at the collar of his rented tuxedo shirt. He wondered if his neck had expanded within the ten days since he’d placed his order at the rental shop and tried again to tie the baby pink bow tie and again failed miserably. This was what, the fifth try? Maybe his fingers were too thick? He gazed down at his large square hands, the calloused pads of his finger tips. He eyed the tie as it hung there limply.
Kill me now.
Maybe it was the color. What was it with Kitty Pryde and pink? The artist in him said that pink was a natural color and was an excellent shade for sunsets, sunrises and the color of Kitty’s lips. The male in him said that pink was girly and everyone would laugh at him. He ran a thick hand through his jet black wavy hair, yanking at the ends to get it to stand up again when it fell. He hadn’t gone yesterday with Peter to get a haircut-why? He thought, irritated.
He turned and looked at his butt in the mirror, a frown turning his lips down once again. Kill me quickly. That much was not supposed to be showing. He knew he would turn red if Mary Jane reached out and pinched him as he walked down the aisle. The woman seemed to thrive on his discomfort. So did her husband now that Piotr thought about it. Snagging his suit jacket, he shrugged his arms into the sleeves and gave thanks that it wasn’t as snug as the shirt or pants. He turned watching himself button the jacket, once again giving thanks that the jacket fit and covered him.
Glancing at the clock, he realized that he only had fifteen minutes to finish up before he escorted the Matron of Honor down the aisle. Again, he attempted to tie the bow and ended up with only one half looped, the other was hanging awkwardly.
The sound of the soft explosion of air entering a vacuum and the stench of brimstone told him that Kurt Wagner, the Best Man, had made his appearance. Stepping to the side slightly, Piotr looked over his shoulder into the mirror and met the golden eyes of his friend. Kurt looked sharp for a fuzzy elf, Piotr smiled, though the smile didn’t reach his ice-spoked eyes. The blue/black furred mutant was dressed in an identical black tuxedo with a baby pink bow-perfectly tied-tie and a baby pink cummerbund. The black patent leather shoes were especially designed to fit his strange two-toed feet.
“Only ten minutes to go, mein fruend,” the Bavarian mutant told him, his Swabian accent soft, and his tone patient. “The mamas are very exact in the timing of this thing.”
Piotr’s lips tugged downward as he turned and faced Kurt. “Tell that to this damnable tie,” he rumbled, his own Russian accent a contrast to Kurt’s.
Kurt smothered a grin with his hand, pretending to scratch his chin as he tip-toed to become more or less eye-level with the pink monstrosity. “Peter, you’re supposed to tie it,” he said, reaching up and batting the larger man’s hands away, “not make origami.”
“We did not do clip-ons because?” Piotr prompted looking thoroughly disgusted.
“Hush, I’m trying to figure out what you did to it.”
“I tied it.”
Peter Parker, Piotr’s best friend, walked through the door at that moment. “Tied what?”
Piotr pointed to the evil pink piece of fabric at his neck. Peter merely grinned, put his camera to his eye and quickly snapped a picture.
“For prosperity!” he exclaimed and ducked back out of the spare bedroom that Piotr had been told to change in.
“I will get you, Parker,” called after him, sounding angry though his friend’s antics had lifted his mood somewhat. The smile faded once he looked down at Kurt’s grim features.
“What?”
“That’s no tie,” Kurt said, imitating Obi-Wan’s grave voice in Star Wars, “that’s a knot.”
Piotr groaned and Kurt only cackled.
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2:03 pm
The day was pleasant and warm. From the rolled sides of the white canvas pavilion, a breeze ushered in just the right amount of coolness to keep the wedding guests comfortable within the enclosure. Piotr took a deep breath as the ushers pulled back the double curtain the crowd before him rather daunting. The many rows of white folding chairs held guests of all shapes and sizes and backgrounds. They were split in the middle by the aisle with a strip of pink carpeting. He could see Peter Parker snapping photos of the crowd and the Justice of the Peace.
“Smile, True Believers,” Peter was saying enthusiastically as the flash went off again and again.
The tall Russian man immediately looked to the bride’s side of the room for Peter’s red-haired wife, and spotted her near the aisle back three rows from the mother of the bride. He couldn’t see her front from where he stood, but knew instinctively she had a delicate hand over her over-extended belly. It amused Piotr that, as he stood there waiting for the mother of the bride to be seated, Peter was taking more pictures of his lovely wife than the other guests. She finally held up a hand, and he made his way over to the groom’s side. Where he snapped pictures of a man who looked remarkably like John Lennon.
The music changed tempo, and Piotr unconsciously tensed as the rows of guests turned and looked back at him and the woman on his arm. He tugged gently at his collar.
“Relax, Little Brother,” Ororo Munroe, the Matron of Honor, whispered. With long elegant fingers, she caressed his arm through the black tuxedo. He nodded, slowly relaxed, knowing that transforming in front of everyone in a panic attack would ruin not only his rented monkey suit, but also the bride’s day.
He took another breath and gazed down at the tall woman beside him. Ororo’s white hair was entwined with flowers and pearls and pulled up high, tendrils curled and framing her face. The paleness of her hair and soft pink color of dress contrasted with the darkness of her milk-chocolate complexion. A single strand of pearls made her throat look warm and shapely above the low-cut bodice. The puffed sleeves and sequined bodice shimmered with each step as the lights reflected off the mini-rhinestones and sequins adorning the flowing gown.
As they began to walk slowly down the aisle, Ororo’s long dress rustling, his blue eyes grazed the crowd, from the bride’s side to the groom’s side. He smiled at the blue fuzzy man who had already made his way to the Justice of the Peace and now stood beside the elderly man in black robes. Kurt Wagner had already escorted the mother of the bride to her seat. The petite ash-blonde woman now sat sniffling on the bride’s side, dabbing a kerchief at the corners of her eyes to keep her make-up from running.
Piotr’s gaze shifted to the groom’s side where Captain Britain, his wife, Meggan, and his twin sister, Betsy sat. The fair-haired man looked regal in his red uniform. Meggan wore a green taffeta dress with a large ruffle over one shoulder and Betsy looked sultry in her lavender off-the-shoulder cocktail mini-dress, exposing long straight legs. The two women smiled happily as he and Ororo glided past.
The smell of freshly cut flowers from Ororo’s bouquet and Ororo’s exotic perfume and random blink of the camera flash was nearly overpowering, and Piotr’s head began to swim.
“Breathe, Peter,” Ororo encouraged in a whisper, a small smile on her ruby red lips, as he guided her to her designated spot on the bride’s side.
“Can’t,” he told her deadpan, just before turning to take his stance on the other side, “tie is too tight.” It was all the regal African woman could do not to laugh. He took his place by Kurt as the music again changed signaling the procession of the bridesmaids and Peter Parker adjusted his position to get a better shot of the first couple through the lifted curtains.
The X-Man Rogue and the MI-13 operative Remy LeBeau walked slowly towards the altar, Rogue’s gloved hand on Remy’s extended arm, his hand over hers. Rogue wore a white long sleeve body suit under her rose-colored dress-it matched Ororo’s dress-white matching boots and gloves. The only exposed skin she had was the tiny ribbon between her French twist up-do and the back of the mock turtle neck of the body suit, her diamond-studded ears and her face. Piotr suspected the Southern Belle was hot under that garb, but knew that she did it to protect everyone from her powers. Remy had pulled his shoulder-length brown hair into a tail at the nape of his neck and looked more comfortable strolling down the aisle in tuxedo than Piotr felt. Piotr then noticed that the operative was sans the pink tie. Piotr frowned, cast a glance at Kurt who was also frowning.
“Kätzchen’s going to kill me,” he whispered, golden eyes glowing with anger. “I even tied the thing myself.”
Piotr nodded and turned his attention back to the procession just as his little sister, Illyana, and her escort Pete Wisdom entered. His Little Snowflake looked like an angel. The fifteen-year-old’s golden locks were pulled into a French twist with her bangs curled in wisps in the front. Her rose-colored dress was the same style as the other’s but it seemed to twinkle more under the false lighting of the pavilion and the flash bulbs of Peter’s camera. He knew that Illyana had detested the puffy sleeved dress but had acquiesced only because Kitty had asked her. She smiled at her brother, her blue eyes matching his. Her escort looked less rumbled than Piotr had ever seen him. In fact, he had somehow been able to transform himself into someone who looked appropriate for the occasion. The spy, the head of MI-13 and also the co-leader of the British mutant superhero team, Excalibur, also looked more nervous than Piotr had ever seen him. He didn’t think that Wisdom could be ruffled by anything. Piotr took perverse pleasure in knowing that something could shake him.
The final bridesmaid, Xi’an Coy Mahn, walked in alone, also dressed in a rose-colored dress that matched the other bridesmaids. Her short black hair was cut in an angle that followed her sharp Asian cheekbones, but was short and stacked out in the back. Peter edged closer to snap another picture as Remy guided Rogue up the dais, making sure she smiled by saying something naughty in French before taking his place on the other side of Piotr.
“Where’s your tie?” Kurt demanded in a whisper.
“Aw, now, now, diable bleu,” Remy drawled quietly, a cocky smirk on his face, his red-on-black eyes glittering with mischief. “Dis Cajun don’ do pink. ‘Sides, I’m jus’ here f’r de fine cuisine. Elle semble délicieuse.” He cast his gaze at Rogue who returned it before looking away with a sniff.
Piotr cleared his throat before Kurt could throttle the irritant. “Your sister will eat him for breakfast,” he said quietly. “He will not know what hit him.” The thought of Rogue cold-cocking the arrogant spy was the only thing that kept Kurt from defending his half-sister’s honor in front of everyone.
Wisdom took his place next to the Justice of Peace and Piotr’s heart kicked. That was his place. He didn’t dwell on it as the music changed again once Xi’an had taken her place next to Illyana and Rogue. The bride and her foster father were preceded by two tiny flower girls and two stout ring bearers.
There was a collective sigh and several patrons took out their cameras to get the photo of the first pink ruffled little girl. Rachel Summers, Jean and Scott's youngest child, had her fiery red hair pulled into pig tails. The little three and a half year old toddled forward as only a child of that age could, slowly taking rose petals from her decorated basket one at a time, and put them on the floor. Once she lost her balance and nearly toppled head first, but she was close enough to her mother so that Jean could scoop her up and help her on her way.
Angelica Blaire, the daughter of Pete Wisdom and Alison Blaire, was the second little flower girl. Her dark brown ringlets bounced as she did as well as the pink ruffles of her dress. She had the same enthusiasm for dramatics as her mother. A few years older than the redhead, she skipped in and flung flower petals out of her basket with gusto. They flared into the air and onto the floor--and onto to the guests, much to everyone's delight or dismay. Her father scolded her once she reached the dais.
Christopher Nathan Summers, the oldest of the Summers' siblings, with a head of thick, dark-brown hair and cool blue eyes, looked very handsome in the miniature version of a tuxedo as he concentrated on the blue pillow he carried, never taking his eyes off the ring in the center. He walked slowly and carefully, biting his lip in effort. Jean again left her seat when she saw that the five year old was holding things up. She guided him to stand on the groom’s side. Kurt thanked her and she returned to her seat.
Piotr’s heart swelled with fatherly pride as he watched his six year old son, Petya, walk out holding a pink pillow. Though Christopher and Petya had gotten into a fight initially, Petya had finally given into allowing Christopher the blue. Kitty was Petya’s favorite person. When he had been told that the pink pillow held her ring, he eagerly agreed. Absently, Piotr searched the guests for Nereel, Petya's mother. His blue eyes met her jade green ones as the dark-brown, Mohawk haired woman sat placidly next to the mother of the bride. Piotr returned his attention to his son, noting the similarities and differences between him and his son. The boy had inherited his black hair and nose, but his jade-colored eyes and thin mouth were his mother's. Both he and Nereel were confused as to where the boy had gotten his rather large ears, but if Piotr’s size was anything to judge by, they were both confident he would grow into them.
The music changed tempo once again as Petya reached the dais and grinned up as his father, one front tooth missing. The guests stood, welcoming the bride and her foster father, and Piotr's breath hitched at the sight of her. Face obscured by a veil, his heart ached as he watched the bride glide gracefully down the aisle on the arm of her soon-to-be-step father, Logan, the X-Man and part-time Avenger known as Wolverine. Kitty Pryde shimmered in the staccato flashes of Peter Parker’s expert photography. From head to toe, she was dressed in white in a dress that matched the general design of her bridesmaids and Matron of Honor’s dresses, though the cathedral length train made the gown very different from anyone. The only color was the brown of her hair pulled into a series of ringlets that held the back of her veil in place and pinks, greens and reds of the large bouquet of flowers in her hand.
It surprised Piotr that Logan wore a tuxedo (“Under protest, dammit!”), and he wondered how Kitty had managed to convince the feral Canadian and what, if anything, she had blackmailed the shorter man with in order to get him to do it.
Logan pulled back her veil and revealed Kitty’s beautiful heart-shaped face. The woman Piotr had known for eight years took his breath away. Her make-up was perfect, her pale pink lips parting to reveal brilliant white teeth as she smiled at the man whom she called her foster father. Kitty’s gentle eyes shimmered with unreleased tears as Logan leaned close and spoke in a soft but gruff voice before kissing her cheek tenderly. She threw her arms around his neck and they embraced, the father-daughter moment causing a series of sniffles throughout the enclosure. Even Piotr got choked up when he heard Kitty’s voice. “I love you, Logan. No matter what.”
Piotr’s heart turned over in near pain as Logan dutifully placed Kitty’s hand in the bride-groom’s hand as he remembered when he first met his best friend, Kitty Pryde, at the age of fifteen…
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(Thanks for reading.
Don’t worry. I haz plot. More on the way. I would love to know your thoughts on this in the meantime.
Me no Frenchy: Babelfish translation: Elle semble délicieuse. “She looks delicious.”)