“What?”
“Yeah, she was asking me all kinds of questions yesterday about. . . about us.” Kitty bit her lip and turned away from him, her fingers trailing through his arm. “Don’t worry, I didn’t tell her anything. I figured it was for you to tell.” There was the slightest tremor in her voice, and Colossus winced. She acted so normally to him most of the time that it was easy to pretend that nothing had ever been wrong between them, that their friendship was the same as it had always been.
Friendsip, hah! a voice in his head scoffed, Piotr Nikolaievich, you are a fool. But he ignored it, as he usually did.
“Kitty, I am sorry,” he said. He reached out to put a hand on her shoulder, but remembered that he could not, and drew it back. It would not have comforted her anyway. “I will speak to Callisto, and she will not ask you any more questions.” He turned to leave, but stopped when Kitty passed through him and hovered in the air directly in front of him.
“Peter.”
She looked worried and solemn, and he sighed. “Don’t worry, Katya, I will be careful,” he said. She nodded and stepped aside, and he left the room without looking back at her.
It was not Callisto’s usual time to read to Jessie, but Colossus checked the infirmary anyway. She wasn’t on the ward, but neither was Jessie. A cold dread settled around his heart.
“Peter!” Moira called to him from Kurt’s bedside, and Peter hurried over to her.
“What happened? Where is Jessie?”
“Easy, lad, easy,” Moira replied. “We’ve taken her back to the isolation unit. Poor bairn, she started to wake up, and then things began to fly around the room. That was about an hour ago. Callisto is with her now.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Colossus said. “I was just looking for Callisto.”
Moira, seeing his grim expression, clucked her tongue at him. “Here, now, boyo, don’t go storming in there after her. You’ll upset her, and that might upset Jessie. Mind you be gentle wi’ her, she needs that right now.”
Colossus’s jaw tightened, but he had to admit she was right. He gave a grave nod. “Do not worry, Dr. MacTaggart. I will remain calm.”
Moira lifted an eyebrow and gave him a hard look. “See that you do,” she said, and turned back to her patient. It was obviously a dismissal, and Colossus turned away and headed for the isolation unit.
Callisto was sitting next to the bed, leaning with her elbows on the mattress, holding Jessie’s hand in both of hers. She looked emotionally wrung out, as though she were weary of clinging to hope. She sat up when she heard Colossus come into the room.
“Comrade Callisto,” he said, “What happened? Is Jessie all right?’
Callisto closed the book on her lap. “Her body adjusted to the sedative, and they had to change the dosage. Jessie’s a scrapper, though, she’ll get through this.” But Colossus heard in her voice that, for the first time, she didn’t believe it.
“So, what brings you here, Tin Man?” Callisto asked. “If you came to listen to me read, you’re too late.”
“Actually, no,” he replied. “Kitty said that you were asking questions about me. She would not have told you this, but what you were asking was . .. painful for her. I would prefer that you ask such questions of me.”
“Well, well,” Callisto said, one comer of her mouth lifting in a humorless half smile. “You’re her knight in shining armor, are you?”
“I simply prefer that you ask me directly if you have questions about me,” Colossus said gravely.
She stared at him for a moment, studying him, then seemed to come to some decision. “All right, if that’s the way you want to play it. What’s up with you and the kid?”
“If you mean Kitty, nothing is ‘up’ with us.”
Callisto gave a short, low laugh. “Right. That’s the reason she looks at you like you hung the moon.”
“My relationship with Kitty is . . . complicated,” Colossus said. He looked away, focusing on the medicine cabinet. “Kitty is older than her years in many ways. She believed that she loved me, and I felt... I believed ... I thought she was too young to understand those feelings truly, and I was determined to wait until she was older to tell her how I felt. But then an entity called the Beyonder transported many of Earth’s heroes to another world to study us, and I met Szaji.” He stopped, remembering,.
“You fell in love with her,” Callisto said. “What happened?”
“She died.”
For a moment neither of them spoke. The cardiac monitor’s steady beep-beep-beep filled the silence between them, and Colossus focused on it, letting the grief swirl around him and drain slowly away.
“Kitty took it badly, I suppose?”
“She took it better than I expected.”
They fell silent again. The monitor continued its beeping.
“Look, Tin Man,” Callisto began, but before she could continue the heart monitor burst into a frenzy of beeps, a wild, irregular pattern. An alarm klaxon began to blare,
Callisto leaped for the IV line and punched a button on the sedative delivery mechanism. Several CCs of the medicine poured into the IV. Jessie, just beginning to convulse, relaxed, and Colossus gave a sigh of relief. But the next instant the child’s back arched so fiercely that she touched the bed only with her head and heels, and the monitor went berserk again. The chair Callisto had been sitting in began to vibrate, the medicines in the cabinet rattled on their shelves, and the bedside table began to rock back and forth.
Colossus grabbed Callisto and, lifting her bodily off the floor, carried her out the door. She struggled to get free, and cursing him, shrieked for him to let her go back to Jessie, but he ignored her.
At that moment, Moira MacTaggart arrived at a dead run. She barely spared a glance at them on her way to the isolation unit. Colossus set Callisto down and followed her
Colossus reached the door first, and caught the cardiac monitor as it came flying through. Moira ducked underneath his arm and went to Jessie’s side, reaching for the sedative delivery. Colossus dropped the monitor as it burst into flames and went to stand beside Moira, shielding her with his bulk and batting away as many airborne items as he could.
The sedative had no effect. Moira was about to deliver another dose when Callisto barrelled into the room and grabbed her arm.
“No!” she shouted. “She can’t take three doses that fast, it could kill her!”
Moira shook Callisto’s hand from her arm. “Spending her power like that will definitely kill her,” she said fiercely. “The sedative is her only chance.” They stared at each other as the EEG machine began to rattle on its table. Colossus picked it up and hurled it through the door. It exploded in the air.
“All right,” Callisto said at last, “do it.” Her face was bleak, and she turned away as Moira pushed the button again.
For a second Jessie relaxed, but only for a second. Her mouth opened and she gave a high, wailing scream. Every loose object in the room rose into the air, burning or exploding, and the window wall began to tremble. Colossus grabbed Moira and Callisto and pushed them to the floor, covering as much of them as he could with his body as the entire window wall exploded. Jessie’s scream broke off, and she slumped to lie flat again.
Everything fell to the floor, rattling and thumping and crashing, and then the crackle of flames was the only sound besides the klaxon.
Colossus stood, then helped the women to their feet. They all looked down at Jessie, lying unnaturally still. Moira reached out and put her fingers on the child’s throat, but it was merely a formality. They’d all seen death too many times not to recognize it.
Callisto picked up Jessie’s limp hand, cradling it in both of hers. “Poor kid,” she said. “You didn’t deserve this.” She reached up to close the child’s eyes. When she turned to face the others, her expression was cold and hard; it was the old Callisto, the Morlock leader whom no emotion but anger touched.
“I should never have let you give her that last dose,” she growled at Mo
ira. “I should never have brought her here.” She stalked off, knocking aside the medical team who got in her way.
Moira sighed. “She shouldna blame herself. There was nought she could have done.” She laid a hand on Colossus’s arm. “Go after her. See that she doesna break anything of importance, will you, lad? I’ll take care of things here.”
Colossus nodded and went after Callisto.
He found her in the Battle Room, running a training scenario. He stood in the observation bay that looked down on the room and watched her as she fought. She wasn’t graceful, precisely, but she had an economy of movement that held its own beauty. She spun from opponent to opponent, dodging blows and landing her own, never stopping any of them, but slowing them down considerably. She held her own until one huge lout—who looked, Colossus was dismayed to note, somewhat like him—grabbed her from behind in a choke hold. She used her elbows and feet and even her teeth against him, but he was holding her off the floor and she had no leverage. After a few moments her struggles slowed, then ceased as the oxygen to her brain was cut off, and she slumped in the fellow’s grasp.
At that point the simulation should have shut itself off and the solid holograms should have vanished, but neither of those things happened.
“Bozhe moil The safeties are off!” Colossus bolted out of the observation room and down the stairs. The door was locked, and he slapped his hand over the palm plate. Several agonizing seconds later the door slid open and Colossus ran inside. The big hologram was still holding Callisto, and Colossus shouted, hoping to distract it. The hologram turned, and Colossus hauled back and hit it as hard as he could. The hologram’s eyes rolled up in its head and it dropped Callisto. Colossus caught her.
“End simulation!” he shouted as the rest of the holographic goons started toward him. They flickered out and he sat down, cradling Callisto in his lap.
After a few seconds she began to cough, and sat up.
“What the hell are you doing here?” she rasped, pushing herself off his lap.
“You turned off the safeties. One of the holograms was killing you.”
“So you charged in here to rescue me,” she said acidly. “How sweet. But what made you think I wanted rescuing?”
Colossus made no reply, and she shrieked and flew at him, aiming a kick at his chest. He turned so that her foot brushed him and slid off.
“Comrade Callisto ..
“Why can’t you just mind . . . your. . . own . . . business!” Every word was punctuated by a blow, and Colossus shifted so that none of them landed squarely; if they had, she’d have shattered bones. His easy avoidance of her fists and feet seemed to enrage her further, and she dealt him blow after blow. He continued to avoid them, leading her around the room in what almost seemed like a dance.
When the rain of blows finally started to slow down, and she began to miss completely, he stopped his evasion and scooped her up in his arms like a child.
“That is enough,” he said gently, and held her still when she struggled. “You need to rest now.”
Ignoring her protests, he carried her out of the Battle Room.
By the time they reached Callisto’s quarters, she'd stopped struggling and lapsed into a sullen silence. She refused to open the door, so he took her wrist gently and set her hand over the palm plate. The door opened, and he carried her inside and set her down on the bed.
Without looking at him, she lay down, cradling the wrist he had held to her chest. He could see red marks where his fingers had rested, even though he’d been as careful as possible not to hurt her. He sighed and pulled the blanket over her. She turned away from him to face the wall.
He sighed. “Comrade Callisto,” he said softly, “Do you not think we have suffered enough losses already?”
Her reply was to pull the blanket tighter about her.
Colossus sat down on the floor next to the bed. She had just suffered the last in a series of devastating losses, and whether she acknowledged it or not, she needed human comfort. He looked at his hand, the organic steel gleaming in the light. It was, he knew, warm enough to the touch, but it was hard, and hardly comforting. And he had barely learned to master his strength again in this form. Even if he could convince her to let him offer comfort, he was liable to hurt her.
Closing his eyes, he tried again to change from armored to human form. The pain was as intense as ever, but this time he was able to keep it from overwhelming him. He gave a mental push and the transformation was complete
He sat up, and found Callisto leaning on her elbow, looking at him. “I knew you’d figure it out sooner or later, Tin Man,” she said. Then her eyebrow lifted and she looked him up and down. “Aren’t you cold?” Peter felt the heat rising in his cheeks. “Er, well, yes,” he stammered, suddenly conscious of just how little he was wearing. “Perhaps I should go and, er, get dressed.”
“Spoilsport,” she said, and the flush spread down Peter’s neck. She laughed and made a shooing motion, “Go on, before you freeze. Or die of embarrassment,” she said. Peter went, gratefully.
He paused at the door and turned back to her. “Would you mind,” he said gravely, embarrassment forgotten, “if I came back once I am dressed? I would like the company.”
“I think I would like that, Piotr Nikolaievich,” she said.
It was only after he got to his quarters that it occurred to him to wonder how she had learned his real name.
An hour and a half later, after a trip to the dining hall and then back to his quarters to collect his sketchbook and pencils, Peter arrived back at Callisto’s door. It was open, so he stepped inside.
Callisto was asleep. Rather than wake her, he settled down in the chair to wait until she woke. She looked so different in sleep, so peaceful, that he pulled his sketch pad onto his lap and began to draw.
Hours later, when his hand began to cramp and the picture to blur on the page, Peter put down his pencil. Though she had stirred several times, Callisto had not waked, and he was ready to fall over from exhaustion himself. He stretched his hand and rubbed his eyes, and looked at the drawing.
He had drawn her sleeping, one hand curled under her cheek like a child. The hard planes of her face had filled out with regular and sufficient meals, and her mouth, usually drawn tight, was fuller.
All in all, it was a good likeness, even though it scarcely resembled the waking woman. The woman in the picture, though, was the one who had read to Jessie, the woman he thought of as his friend. Yes. A good likeness.
Peter pulled the drawing from the sketch pad and left it on the dresser. He’d told Callisto he’d be back, and he wanted her to know that he’d kept his word. Quietly he left the room and headed for his own quarters, and bed.
He was in the dining hall eating breakfast—a huge breakfast—the next morning when Callisto stormed in, the drawing he’d done of her clenched in her hand.
“What the hell is this?” she demanded, brandishing the paper at him. Heads turned in their direction.
He blinked, a forkful of eggs halfway to his mouth. “A drawing, Comrade Callisto,” he said. When she didn’t say anything, he added, “Of you.” '
“This is not me,” she said through her teeth, and ripped the paper in two. “I look nothing like this.” She emphasized each word by ripping the pieces again.
Suddenly Kitty’s head and shoulders appeared in the middle of the table.
“Sit down!” she hissed at Callisto. “People are staring.”
“Kitty,” Peter said sharply, “I can deal with this on my own.” “Yeah,” Callisto added, “Butt out.”
“Well, excuse me for trying to help,” Kitty said huffily, and walked through first Peter’s plate and then Peter himself, her chin high in the air. Peter winced. “I hate it when she does that.”
“Poor baby.” Callisto did not sound very sympathetic.
He sighed. “Please, Comrade Callisto, sit down.” He looked at her, waiting, and after a moment she sat, reluctantly. “Thank you.”
&nbs
p; “Why did you draw me like this?” she said in a low, fierce voice, and shook the ragged quarter sheets at him. “I am nothing like that woman. Nothing!”
“I drew you that way because I saw a woman capable of compassion, of gentleness,” he said. “Forgive me if I made an error.” He tried to keep the anger out of his voice, but was not entirely successful. He’d left the drawing for her, after all, and she was entitled to tear it up if she chose. But he didn’t understand how she had so misconstrued his intent.
“Compassion and gentleness are for people who don’t have to scramble just to feed the ones who depend on them. People who live in the human world. Where I live, compassion and gentleness will get you killed.” '
“Is that really how you see yourself?”
“Yes. And if you had any brains, you would too. Don’t try to glamorize me, Tin Man. I’m not all sweet and pretty like Kitty. I’m a Mor-lock, and I always will be.” She pushed away from the table and stalked out of the dining hall.
Peter was just pushing his own chair back from the table when Kitty stopped him.
“Wait, Peter,” she said. “She doesn’t want company right now.”
He leaned back in his chair. “The last time she stormed off like that, I found her in the Battle Room with the safeties off. I am not so sure that lettting her go off alone when she is this angry is a good idea.”
“That was right after . . . after Jessie died, right?”
Peter nodded.
Kitty laid her hand over his arm. He couldn’t feel it, of course, but it was comforting all the same. “She wasn’t thinking straight then, from the grief. This is different. Right now, she’s just mad.”
“Still. .Peter frowned. “I do not like it, Kitty.”
She jerked her hand back. “Why are you so worried about her?” she said sharply. “This is Callisto we’re talking about, here. She led the Morlocks for years. Why do you suddenly have this urge to protect her?”
Peter opened his mouth to deny it, but found that he could not. He did feel that Callisto should be protected. Which, on the face of it, was ridiculous. He’d seen her take on opponents who were bigger and stronger than she, and leave them lying in the dust. But opponents she could hit with her fists were not what she was fighting now. She was fighting her own emotions, and that was a battle for which she was ill-prepared.
Legends Page 14