Loose ends
"There seems to be a problem, Mrs. Pryde..." the soft voice drawled in the quiet intensive care unit. "There's no record for previous residence within the last five years. No bank accounts in your name, and no steady job. In short, Mrs. Pryde, you cannot afford the treatment you require."
The form on the bed hardly shifted. It had been a woman, once, before acid burns had caused the removal of both arms and severely damaged her face. Those were the worst injuries. There were lesser burns across most of the woman's upper torso. It was amazing she'd lived at all.
"You've obviously been underground, or nomadic as you would...tell me, who were you hiding from?" there was the barest hint of a smile in the voice now, a grim good cheer that the hospital atmosphere couldn't drown. "Me? I'd be flattered if I truly thought you cared." Kit shifted slightly in the shadows, the privacy curtain floating easily through her phased form as she eyed her mother.
The injured older woman shifted as well, moaning softly in fear as she saw her daughter, a living ghost in the world. "...mmmmmnnnnnno!"
"Shhh, shhhh, no need to get excited. What, did you think I'd come all the way here to hurt you?" Kit laughed again. Of course, she'd traveled here to follow up on Logan's work the day before. Check for survivors...and maybe kill her mother if it was necessary. "This war isn't even started yet...but I think it has enough martyrs don't you?" she wouldn't give her mother that power. Never again.
"...k-k-k-kath..."
"Yes mother, it's me. I had to come." her face was cold, withdrawn, but her voice leaked all the 'good daughter' warmth it should. "It's my job to take care of you. Your bills are covered of course, through an anonymous, untraceable donor." because Kit wasn't kind. She wasn't kind at all.
"...don...don't..." Mrs. Pryde tried to sit up further, to rant, to scream...
Kit's eyes traced over the machinery keeping her mother alive and smiled "Don't put myself out? Of course not. I assure you, you are going to have the best of care. There's one doctor, one doctor, in the world that can make you functional again I hear." she lifted a finger to her chin, trying to remember the name.
"...doc...?"
"Oh, yes, I remember now. A Dr. Hank McCoy. A genius in the medical field. Regenerative research is a specialty of his." Kit buffed her nails on her shirt, proud.
"..NO!"
"Oh, yes, there is that little 'public mutant' fact isn't there? Well, he is the only one who can fix you mother. I've already gotten your case to him. Don't you worry any about the bills now you hear?" she twitched the blanket straight across Mrs. Pryde's feet, then turned to leave, her time almost up.
"...wha...wai...no! NO!"
"Ah, of course..." Kit half-turned, her smile sheer poison now "If you can't bear the shame of a mutant's touch, and the punishment God saw fit to serve you, well, you always know where to find the knives don't you?" there it was, the same choice her mother had given her every night her father had beaten her. Her mother had given her a knife and Kit's wrists still showed the marks of attempted redemption, or freedom. "Good bye mother."
Kit ghosted out of the guarded ICU by slipping down three levels of broom closets, hospital layouts followed patterns that made it easy. Then she walked out of the children's ward with the rest of the volunteers as technicians ran through the halls trying to understand why the security cameras throughout the building were showing snow.
Her mother had been the last stop on her little damage control tour. It was time to head home and see what the rest of the fallout would be...
The form on the bed hardly shifted. It had been a woman, once, before acid burns had caused the removal of both arms and severely damaged her face. Those were the worst injuries. There were lesser burns across most of the woman's upper torso. It was amazing she'd lived at all.
"You've obviously been underground, or nomadic as you would...tell me, who were you hiding from?" there was the barest hint of a smile in the voice now, a grim good cheer that the hospital atmosphere couldn't drown. "Me? I'd be flattered if I truly thought you cared." Kit shifted slightly in the shadows, the privacy curtain floating easily through her phased form as she eyed her mother.
The injured older woman shifted as well, moaning softly in fear as she saw her daughter, a living ghost in the world. "...mmmmmnnnnnno!"
"Shhh, shhhh, no need to get excited. What, did you think I'd come all the way here to hurt you?" Kit laughed again. Of course, she'd traveled here to follow up on Logan's work the day before. Check for survivors...and maybe kill her mother if it was necessary. "This war isn't even started yet...but I think it has enough martyrs don't you?" she wouldn't give her mother that power. Never again.
"...k-k-k-kath..."
"Yes mother, it's me. I had to come." her face was cold, withdrawn, but her voice leaked all the 'good daughter' warmth it should. "It's my job to take care of you. Your bills are covered of course, through an anonymous, untraceable donor." because Kit wasn't kind. She wasn't kind at all.
"...don...don't..." Mrs. Pryde tried to sit up further, to rant, to scream...
Kit's eyes traced over the machinery keeping her mother alive and smiled "Don't put myself out? Of course not. I assure you, you are going to have the best of care. There's one doctor, one doctor, in the world that can make you functional again I hear." she lifted a finger to her chin, trying to remember the name.
"...doc...?"
"Oh, yes, I remember now. A Dr. Hank McCoy. A genius in the medical field. Regenerative research is a specialty of his." Kit buffed her nails on her shirt, proud.
"..NO!"
"Oh, yes, there is that little 'public mutant' fact isn't there? Well, he is the only one who can fix you mother. I've already gotten your case to him. Don't you worry any about the bills now you hear?" she twitched the blanket straight across Mrs. Pryde's feet, then turned to leave, her time almost up.
"...wha...wai...no! NO!"
"Ah, of course..." Kit half-turned, her smile sheer poison now "If you can't bear the shame of a mutant's touch, and the punishment God saw fit to serve you, well, you always know where to find the knives don't you?" there it was, the same choice her mother had given her every night her father had beaten her. Her mother had given her a knife and Kit's wrists still showed the marks of attempted redemption, or freedom. "Good bye mother."
Kit ghosted out of the guarded ICU by slipping down three levels of broom closets, hospital layouts followed patterns that made it easy. Then she walked out of the children's ward with the rest of the volunteers as technicians ran through the halls trying to understand why the security cameras throughout the building were showing snow.
Her mother had been the last stop on her little damage control tour. It was time to head home and see what the rest of the fallout would be...