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Although David has been in Westchester since shortly after breakfast time, his call to Kitty had suggested meeting now — a good time for a late lunch. He's returned to the cafe where they last met up, and it's highly doubtful the employees there even recognize him: he's shaved and not wearing a suit, instead wearing a simple black t-shirt and a pair of jeans. He looks almost human.
His attention is a bit split: on the one hand, he has a pen in one hand as he finishes up the last of his translations for the stack of manilla file folders sitting between himself and his red-haired companion. And on the other, there's occasionally offering a quietly murmured explanation for what she's seeing in print.
*
Heather is feeling a bit victorious about the whole beard and suit thing. She's had budget meetings that were easier than suggesting that David shave the dead squirrel off his face. It's not so much the beard as the principle of the beard, of course. And she didn't call it a dead squirrel out loud. Heather is barely recognizable from her workday self: plaid shirt with pearl snaps, rolled at the sleeves, red bandana to hold back her long, loose hair, jeans, and work boots. Practically her weekend uniform back home.
She's doing a decent job of reminding David of all the things that civvies don't know. This is why she did a lot of the interfacing with politicians back in the day. Last year. Feels like forever ago.
"I think you're almost done," she says, paging through some of the recent translations to make sure they're clear. At least she has a grasp of things now. "This is…intimidating." She's trying not to think too much about it, hopes David's okay with going through it all.
*
Unlike David, Kitty is 90% certain the employees recognize her. Which is probably why she comes in staring at the ground with a hood drawn up over her brown curls. Her face is already beet red, her hands are tucked casually in her pockets, and her usual near-smile has been traded for a very pensive frown. She sucks on her bottom lip as she slides across from David. Her shoes are super interesting.
Until she glances up to see David without the beard and not in a suit. Hazel eyes flit to Heather with an air of suspicion as Kitty clasps her hands and sets the on the table. But as a waitress comes by, she sinks back into the hood, feeling ever sheepish about the way she'd broken down here just a week ago.
Her throat clears, "Hi David." She stares at her hands. "David's friend." She lifts her chin, granting a good look at her very red face, and she clears her throat again, "Uh. I'm Kitty(?)" it sounds like a question. "Nice to meet you," she manages a hint of a smile before a waitress walks by again, prompting Kitty to tuck her chin to her chest to hide in the crowd.
*
David seems fine going through all of it, but probably because it's giving him the opportunity to learn things. Codify them. Translating things like this requires a dispassionate and critical mindset, and he's very good at that. He'll feel things later. For now, writing.
He looks up when Kitty slides into the seat across from them and he offers her a small smile, eyebrows raising. "Katherine. You don't need to hide in there," he notes, gesturing at her hood with a waggled finger. "Have some tea."
Ah, but he did promise introductions, didn't he. He gestures between the two. "Heather MacNeil, this is Katherine Pryde," whose name appears in the files they've been working on all morning. Oh. "Kitty, this is Heather. We used to work together." He pauses a moment and adds, in a very gentle voice, "You can trust her. She can help."
*
"Hi, Kitty." Heather offers Kitty a handshake across the table. "It's good to meet you properly. You handled things very well yesterday, by the way. Thank you for that. I'm pretty sure they didn't cover katana-wielding men in weird pajamas in school when I was your age." She gives Kitty a warm smile. "David's right. Tea fixes nearly everything, it's a good idea."
*
"I kind of do," Kitty replies to David's remark about not needing to hide. "I know you probably don't believe me considering the first time we met, I basically assaulted you," her throat clears, "but I am fiercely private. And I'm Jewish — I have pride!" But even if Kitty has Pryde (pun intended?), she sighs and pulls the hood down, exposing her curly brown hair.
Following the introduction, Kitty glances between the pair. Her eyes rest on David and then Heather. Heather and then David. A strange almost-knowing smile pulls at the edges of her lips. In many respects, she looks like the cat that swallowed the canary, but then, rather casually, while grasping her tea cup, she observes, "You look like a person for once."
The hand is taken, and given a firm handshake. "Good to meet you. And… thanks. I mostly was trying to look after… Laura and the blondes." There's a smirk at the thought of katana wielding men, "Well, to be honest, I had no idea what I was doing. I just know that I can make people… not hurt others. If I'm quick."
*
That knowing look from Kitty is met with a suspicious narrowing of David's eyes that does not at all match the warmth in his voice. "Until very recently, I have always looked like a person, thank you very much. I happen to like how I look in a suit." He sniffs once, feigning hurt feelings.
He returns his attention to his writing to allow the pair of women a moment to themselves. He's very nearly done.
*
Heather laughs at David's pretend dismay. "I think it's time someone took yesterday's particular suit back behind the barn, so to speak," she says to Kitty. Or down to the apartment building's incinerator. "If that was you making it up as you go along, yesterday," she goes back to the whole Wade fiasco — which should probably be numbered or dated because there are bound to be more of them — with a thoughtful expression. "You're going to be quite effective once you get some training under your belt. Whatever you did, I'd love to see it again some time." She could do a lot with someone who can pass through things or make them incorporeal. "I expect we'll get that chance going forward. If there's anything I can do to help you with that, let me know."
*
"The suits were terrible," Kitty offers back to Heather as she finally takes a long sip of the tea. "I told him as much some time ago. Admittedly I kind of liked the beard," there's a pause, "but only because he insists on calling me Katherine. I told him he's old." She grins at Heather, "Only my parents and teachers call me Katherine. Everyone else calls me Kitty." Pause. "Or Katya." Her cheeks hue pink, begging the question: who on earth calls her Katya.
A sheepish grin follows the remark about her training, "Well. I'm not completely without. About… a year ago I took off to Japan to save my father — " she lifts a hand. That's a story for another day. "But I really haven't been able to keep up with any of it here. Plus no one wants to have a mini-ninja at their disposal. Especially one trained by demon-like-legends." She coughs when she realizes she's oversharing again. "I would love help with training. Honestly." Her fingers drum on the table. "You see, I can walk through walls. So my situation is a bit… unique."
*
…ah. There. With a satisfied sigh, David sets his pen aside and quietly closes the notebook he'd been writing in. That's better.
"I'm not old. I'm only forty-four," David notes to the pair of them, just a touch defensively — which might be a surprise to both of them, since he honestly doesn't look any older than Heather. "I just happen to think it's a pretty name. But if it will get you to spare my wardrobe," he sighs, holding up both of his hands, "then 'Kitty' is shall be."
As the two begin to go back and forth about training, David's eyes slide to the side to watch Heather askance, and now he's the one smiling like a cat swallowed the canary. "Easy," is all he says, his tone light.
*
"Things are obviously very different in America," Heather muses, glancing over at David. Canada does handle these things differently — or it did. It used to be a place she felt good about serving. Still. She can't imagine a situation where someone with Kitty's skills wouldn't be of value. "I'm sure we can work on something if you'd like some practice time. I'm getting rusty myself. Not that I was ever a star of any kind." She gives Kitty a little shrug and spreads her hands out, palms-up. "I'm hopelessly average. What I lack in, well, anything special, I try to make up for with hard work."
*
"Forty-four is old enough to be my father. You know that," Kitty squints, "right?" Because that is a thing. "Because my parents are — well. Around your age." She smirks. The Prydes wouldn't appreciate their ages being outed. "Both of them. Mom's a bit younger than dad though. I think that's common," she glances between David and Heather too knowingly. Subtlety is not Kitty's forte.
Towards Heather, however, she nods. "I would love that. Honestly. I need… help." Her smile tightens. "I am probably below average." Her eyes squint. "You see, while I have a few talents, I also am kind of… clumsy, I guess?" She shrugs.
The files are regarded with a squint. "How's the work going? Good reading?"
*
"I wouldn't say good, but… useful," David says before he pushes the notebook across the table towards Kitty, very much not taking the bait. He is not in high school, thank you. Harrumpf. "One set of translations, as promised. Which reminds me."
David shifts in his seat in order to dig out his wallet, quickly riffling through a few business cards before he extends one across the table towards Kitty. "I… I met a journalist yesterday," he says slowly, voice low. "He said he'd print a story that mattered. I told him it wasn't solely my decision to make."
*
Kitty's face pales. The statement has her fingers curling tighter around her teacup. Her body stiffens. Her eyes turn to the fluid in the cup, and she gives it a small swirl as she frowns lightly. "He could get hurt," she says softly. She forces her gaze upwards, "I've already gotten a lot of people hurt." She turns her head to look at Heather for a moment before looking back to David. "Present company included."
*
The card remains extended and David closes his eyes, sighing quietly. "You did not get me hurt. I got me hurt. Heather can tell you it was not the first time," he says wryly, finally opening his eyes again. "…I did warn him. I also told him that if he did print it, I would do everything I could to keep him safe after doing so. And I meant it."
*
"Some people take their chances like this, not because they're involved but because it's right," Heather says. It's almost as though she's given this talk before. "And, yes, we might get hurt, but it's more important to do the right thing. I know isn't my first rodeo. I bet I was younger than you when I first got in over my head. And David's been doing this — on purpose — for far longer than I have." She pauses, her expression clouding. "After a while, you can't not do it. It's who you are. So if someone offers, and you think they know the score, you should let them help."
*
"I don't believe you," Kitty returns softly, finally peeling her hands away from her teacup to take the card. "Jean got hurt. Logan got hurt. Akihiro got hurt. And I can't help but feel — " like she brought it on the lot of them. "I could've been a good little weapon in the Armoury." And screamed in her own mind while having no control over her actions. "And stayed there. Without getting people I care about hurt." Of course, then the girls would all be stuck there too. A glance is given towards Heather and the frown deepens. Her eyebrows draw together lightly, "What does he want to write, exactly?"
*
"Kitty. Do you really believe, knowing what you do now, that no harm would have come to your friends by way of the Project if you had stayed in New Orleans?" David asks the question in a very gentle voice, tinged with doubt.
He watches her with a deep crease to his brow, and once her fingers have closed on the business card, he releases it and allows his hand to fall lightly to the table. "That, we will not know unless we reach out to him. I gave no specifics."
*
"The press can be a useful tool, if wielded carefully." Heather has enough experience with that. "An expose at the right time can throw an entire chain of command into disarray, disrupt loyalties, reveal cracks in the wall that you can occupy with even greater wedges. It can even bring a machine too big to stop otherwise to a grinding halt." Heather watches Kitty with a great deal of sympathy. "It's always easy to second-guess yourself, or imagine that nothing bad would have happened if you'd done something different. I do it to myself all the time; every day lately. All any of us can do is make the best choice in the moment."
*
A long sigh emits from Kitty's lips and her gaze turns down to the tea. And to the tea, she replies, "I don't know." Except she does. The Project is far bigger than anything she'd anticipated; there's no question about that.
She clears her throat. "I think an expose might be okay. Maybe." She sucks on the inside of her cheek. "I don't have to say anything, do I? I know this is probably really strange to hear, but I actually do have parents. And they read the paper and get up in arms if they see or hear anything that could, I don't know, mean that I'm in trouble at all." She lifts a hand, "I mean, I am an adult, but lately they've been questioning my decisions quite a bit."
*
Though David's eyes remain on Kitty, his hand does drift over to rest on Heather's shoulder when she expresses her own sympathy and doubt. No look. No comment. Just a silent, steadying hand.
"All I intend to do is make myself available to him and allow him to make copies of the files," David replies. "I am willing to withold the ones that have names. Especially yours. But I did not want to do this without seeking your blessing." He offers her a small smile, lifting a shoulder in a shrug. "And if I do not have it, then I will make my apologies and continue to pursue it outside the press. With help." His eyes glance askance at Heather.
*
"Whether he wants it or not," Heather adds wryly, to remind David as much as to inform anyone else. "Mentioning the names of the — affected — isn't the lever anyway, unless they're very famous. The bad actors, they're the ones who get named. It's almost better if the people who have been hurt are anonymous, because then people, average people, begin thinking: what if it was me. Nothing motivates people like fear and motivated people are the fire under every polician's ass. From there, as they say, the shit rolls downhill. Secrecy dissolves, budgets are cut, it all goes to hell. Which is precisely where these people belong."
*
Kitty frowns and sips her tea. "N-no," she finally states. "If you're giving him the files, he needs all of them." Her eyes turn up to David. "I will not be a number. I'm not 153. I'm Katherine Anne Pryde. I can walk through walls. And I was forced apart so thoroughly I thought I was going to break and wouldn't ever become solid again."
She frowns further. She nods at Heather though and offers, "Right. So, if the files go, all the files go, but with the express agreement that names are left out of any publications." She presses her lips together tightly, "Do you… do you think people will care enough?"
*
"Are you certain?" David watches Kitty with a very small, worried frown, his head tilted fractionally to one side. "I will not do this if it will put your life through even more upheavals than you've already been forced to put up with. You've endured more than enough. We can do this without risking names coming into it." Because even if leaving names out of the published stories is a requirement… yeah, no. David's not going to take that on faith.
*
"I think people will care. David's right, that we can deal with this without releasing the files." Heather looks thoughtful, fiddles with her ring for a moment while she considers. "But we should be prepared to use the press if necessary. If not to expose it before hand, as a spin in case things go south. We can't risk public sentiment going against mutants any more than it already has. If something does go wrong, it'll be too easy to spin it against vulnerable people. And then, people might not care if they thing it was deserved somehow."
*
A quirk of a frown draws Kitty's features downwards at Heathers assertion. "I think… I think the sentiment isn't likely to get better soon." Of course, that's just her take. "Not when pyjama wearing katana-wielders pop out of nowhere into peaceful protests. Not when the Bugle continues to assert that Spider-Man is nothing but a menace." Her eyebrows lift. "Not when a 'hero' supposedly destroyed an apartment building for no reason while others saved people, yet the saving isn't the headliner in the story."
She frowns. "No, things are inevitably getting worse." But she shakes her head at David, "My family in Poland were reduced to numbers. I won't be. Neither will those I associate with. We are people. I have a name. I have a face. I have an identity. I will not have any of those things taken from me. Not ever."
*
Very slowly, David nods his head. That settles that. "Okay. Then I'll hold onto these," he says, resting a hand on top of the stack of manilla folders next to his own nearly-forgotten cup of coffee. "And I'll arrange to meet with Mr. Allerdyce again. You are welcome to come, if you want to," he notes lightly, though from his tone, it seems like he isn't really expecting her to. "If not, I'll handle it while you and Heather handle that." He gestures to the notebook, then looks between the two women with a tilt of his head. "Fair?"
*
"You're not nearly the hazard around the press that Mac was," Heather says with a little grin. David isn't holding press conferences, either, of course. "Wherever you need me on this, I'll be. You know that."
*
There's a small nod that follows David's question, "Fair." With a light chuckle she shakes her head, "I don't want to meet a reporter unless I absolutely have to. Although… would it help the story at all?" And then with the thoughts of what she and Heather will handle, she shrugs. "Well, I already spent ample time with you, Old Man," Kitty shoots David a cheeky smile. "Would be good to get to know some younger blood." Grin.
*
Would it help the story at all? David considers this. "Probably not," he admits, glancing to Heather as if seeking confirmation — or dissent. "A more compelling narrative, maybe, but I think we can make do." As for the Old Man crack, he just rolls his eyes and slouches back in his chair, making a grab for his coffee. "Heather. Please. Tell her I'm not old."
*
"I would if I could, David." Heather reaches over to pat his hand, laughing at him. "You wear it well, but. It's best to be honest about these things. It's not a bad thing, though. Some people find the elderly quite attractive." She's one to talk, of course.
*