An Unsung Hero--semi-illustrated (COMPLETE!!!! Now includes

[Rowena]

Disclaimer: I dont own the X-Men. Please dont sue me or steal my story. Thank you and have a pleasant day.

NOTE: Ive been hinting about this story here and there and I figured I might as well start posting it now even though its not quite done yet. At the moment it looks like itll have a bit more than 20 chapters but Im only on Ch. 18. I will finish it, though, I promise!

NOTE II: This story isnt a exactly a sequel to The Day the Earth Stood Back (if you wish to read it look up in the Writing Critiques section or else check it out at Fanfiction.net under Rowena Zahnrei) because it was actually started first, but it isnt a prequel either. I guess its more like a distant cousin from an alternate reality. It features Alice and the kids somewhere near the end, but its basically Movieverse with original characters added. This one’s weird too, but it’s far more somber than ‘Earth’. Make no assumptions!

As always, comments and constructive criticism are more than welcome!


An Unsung Hero
by Rowena


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FOOTNOTE 9887354467392: AN UNSUNG HERO; CHAPTER ONE – CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Historian’s Note: The following is the historical record of Twyla Todd and her involvement with the X-Men of Earth 816 between April 5 and April 20, 4067 OST (Otherworld Standard Time). All facts herein have been researched and authenticated by Rowena Zahnrei, Head Historian of the Omniverse and Second Advisor to the Supreme Omniversal Guardian Roma.

Chapter One

Twyla Todd groaned and shifted her position once again. Her fingers were numb, her arm threatening to fall asleep. Shaking the tingling appendage in an attempt to bring it back to life as quickly as possible, Twyla rolled over onto her side and stole a glance at the glowing digital clock sitting on the table by the side of her bed.

1:30 AM

This time her groan was far louder. Sighing through her clenched teeth, Twyla silently cursed herself for her procrastination and irresponsible self-indulgence. She had frittered the entire afternoon and evening away in gleeful satisfaction, immersing herself in her favorite science fiction stories. She had been completely oblivious to the passage of time until her mother had passed by her door just over four hours ago...

"You will be asleep by eleven, wont you, Twyla?" Mrs. Todd asked in her stern mothering voice.

Twyla jumped at the unexpected intrusion, slowly becoming aware of her true surroundings as the futuristic landscape of the story faded from her mind. "Wha--? What?" she stammered, slightly disorientated.

"Twyla," her mother said, her thick Virginia accent holding a warning. "For the past three nights now youve been going to bed past midnight. Im not going to watch you ruin your health. Youre fourteen now. I shouldnt have to be telling you this."

While her mother spoke, Twyla became aware that the light had gone from her window. There were stars outside. With a gasp, she turned to her clock.

"Oh, my God!" she exclaimed in horror, jumping up from her bed and dashing to her backpack. "Its 9:30! Ive still got to write that stupid journal entry on The Republic! And I havent even started my Latin!"

Twylas mother sighed, her dark eyes reflecting her annoyance. "Twyla, if you knew you had homework why did you spend the entire day reading those stupid sci-fi books?"

Twyla felt her back stiffen. She turned to her mother, her expression defensive. "They are not stupid! Theyre about robots, Mom."

Mrs. Todd had had enough. "If they start to interfere with your studies, robots or not, those books are going to the shredder. You need to get your priorities straight, Twyla. Whats more important to you? Getting good grades, getting into a good college, having a real life and a career, or wasting your time on that trash youve become obsessed with lately?"

"Theyre not trash." Twyla glared down into the depths of her battered backpack, furious at her mothers words and angry at herself for losing track of the time. Silently fuming, she pulled her Latin textbook and her worn, dog-eared copy of Platos Republic out of the bag and tossed them onto her bed. She then began digging for a pen. She did not look up at her mother.

Mrs. Todd shook her head at her daughter, completely unable to fathom what a bright, intelligent girl like her could possibly see in that technobabble nonsense she insisted on stuffing her head with. "Dont stay up all night," she snapped as a parting shot. Then, she turned and continued on her way down the hall...

Twyla scrubbed the sleep from her eyes and struggled to focus on the textbook in front of her.

"I am such an idiot," she grumbled to herself, grasping her pen in her newly awakened fingers and carefully copying the Latin sentence into her notebook. "God, I hate parsing. Its too late for this. Maybe I should pretend to be sick tomorrow." She snorted as she brushed a few errant strands of long, frizzy hair from her face. "I dont feel so great right now, come to think of it."

Her eyes strayed longingly to the colorful book lying on the floor beside her bed. She felt warm and dreamy as her mind began to fill with images from the text, her imagination latching onto her favorite characters and preparing to take them off in new directions. With a small gasp, she caught herself before she fell asleep and shook her head in disgust at her weakness.

"Work, Twyla," she grunted. "Work comes first."

Forcing her attention back to her homework, Twyla seethed with agonized frustration as she stared at the sentence before her. "Regem malum tolerare numquam debemus," she read out loud. "What the heck kind of word is numquam?" She rolled her eyes. "Like I really care at practically two in the morning." She clutched her face in her hands and executed a muffled scream. "I am such an idiot!"

Just then, there was a sharp pop and Twyla suddenly found herself in total darkness. She froze, terrified, the silence of the sleeping house buzzing in her ears. Slowly, she reached out for her lamp, flicking the switch on and off. When nothing happened, she glanced down at her clock, wondering if there had been a power blackout. The red numbers were glowing dimly in the darkness. The power was still on. Blinking, Twyla realized her light bulb must have died.

"Wonderful," she grumbled, slipping off the bed and stretching out her aching muscles in the darkness. "Five more sentences to go and my light bulb goes out on me. I am never getting to sleep tonight."

Twyla dropped to her hands and knees as she crawled silently to the hall closet where the light bulbs were kept. Her mother was a very light sleeper and she always left her door open. If she should hear Twyla creeping around the house at such a late hour, Twyla knew she would never hear the end of it.

The long hallway was illuminated by a surprisingly strong night light. Twyla quickly chose the right kind of bulb for her lamp and crawled back to her room, fervently praying that her mom wouldnt hear the small creaks the floor made as she put her weight on the aging boards.

Closing her door behind her with a sigh of deep relief, Twyla reached out into the darkness, feeling for her bed. She followed its edge to her lamp and quickly set about unscrewing the still warm bulb.

As she did, she became aware of a strange, tingling sensation traveling up her arm. Ignoring it as merely a sign of her extreme fatigue, Twyla rested her finger against the edge of the now empty socket as she reached for her replacement bulb.

All at once, her world exploded.

Twyla screamed a scream of pure terror. She feared she was being electrocuted. Powerful waves of energy rolled up her arm and into her violently trembling body, causing her every cell to glow with an inner light of its own. Twyla could feel the power building behind her eyes, at the edges of her fingertips. It was as if she had become a sponge--no more like a vacuum cleaner--sucking helplessly at the electricity coming from her lamp. Fractal sparks exploded all around her, power wrapped around her thumping heart, filling her mind with a strange sensation not unlike elation. The power she was absorbing was as intoxicating as it was overwhelming. She felt she could never get her fill of it.

A violent scream from behind her snapped Twyla back to her senses. With a forceful wrench, she pulled her finger from the lamp, turning to face the source of the scream.

Mrs. Todd stood just outside her daughters doorway staring in utter horror at the impossible sight that met her gaping eyes. Twyla was standing by the window, her hand clutching her lamp, her body illuminated with the same brilliant red glow that is seen when one puts ones hand over a lit flashlight. Her eyes and fingertips seemed to be aflame with a blinding white light.

"T-Twyla?" Mrs. Todd gasped, weak with denial and disbelief and at the point of fainting.

Twyla spun to face her mother, pulling her hand completely away from her lamp as she felt the energy within her churning and building into something more, something dangerous, something that threatened to burst from her at any moment.

"Mom, get out of here!" she shrieked, her voice raw, her tongue crackling with electricity as it moved against her teeth. "Now!"

Her mother just stood there, stunned, her eyes wider than Twyla had ever seen them. Her dark skin had turned the color of ash. She suddenly seemed so small, so helpless.

The churning energy was building up behind her eyes. There was no way she could contain it, let alone control it. Helpless, she found herself engulfed by the strangest sensation she had ever experienced as all the energy she had absorbed into her body exited from her eyes and fingertips in an exhilarating rush of raw power. Her mother didnt even have time to scream before the blinding beams burst through the wall beside her, knocking her off her feet and setting the old, wooden house instantly ablaze. Twylas world erupted into gleaming, flashing fractals; angular, beautiful lines and patterns of light that stretched off into infinity. Completely overwhelmed by the power and emotions that swirled and tossed within her deceptively fragile frame, the young girl ran from the burning house, screaming in mad exultation. In her power-flooded mind, Twyla Todd had become a god.


Hows that for a beginning? No Kurt so far, but dont worry! Hell be in the next chapter!

[SheCat]

Wow. Great stuff, Rowena. You never fail to impress.

For more than the first half, Twyla reminded me of me so much. You nail 14 year old girl so well. Reminds me of my Mom and our arguments about comic books.

[Wolvertique]

Boy. She's going to have fun when she realizes what she did, isn't she?

[Rowena]

I used myself as a model for Twyla's procrastination. I'm always reading Isaac Asimov stuff--hence the robots.

Twyla's going to have a big part in this story. I'm glad you seem to like her so far!

And now, here's:

Chapter Two

Wolverine froze, his sharp, animalistic senses on full alert. He had been tracking his quarry for nearly an hour now, and so far his target had remained surprisingly elusive. He would catch a glimpse of him here, only to run into a shadowed branch instead. He would hear movement above him and pounce, only to catch a nearly dissipated cloud of sulfur right in his face, making his sharp eyes tear and dulling his sense of smell. Wolverine was beginning to grow dangerously frustrated, but despite his growing annoyance he grunted with grudging respect for his opponent's unexpected skill. Only one other had ever been able to evade him this long, and he had been possessed of the same skills, training, and powers as Wolverine himself.

The difficulty of this chase had been completely unexpected. It was taking place on the familiar, well-maintained grounds of Professor Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters and his opponent was the shyest, quietest, most reserved guy he had ever met. Even now he was beginning to doubt that he would be able to bring this chase to a satisfactory conclusion, and that thought disturbed the fierce, compact Canadian as much as the challenge it implied exhilarated him.

It had been Chuck's idea that he participate in this so-called 'exercise'. After the tragic death of Jean Grey, the brilliant, beautiful woman Wolverine had fallen for almost the moment he first met her, the fierce Canadian had gone off on his own, trying to deal with his grief by distancing himself from the school and his fellow X-Men--particularly Cyclops, who had been Jean's fiance. He had stayed with the team for as long as he could stand, helping with the reconstruction of the mansion and even going so far as to lead a few tutoring sessions on the grounds until the classrooms had been completed, but the whole time he had felt as though he was being suffocated. The memory of Jean was everywhere, and the team he had joined was not the same without her presence. Although many of the students had been unsure as to whether he'd ever come back, the Professor had known that he would. And he had, after nearly eight months of aimless wandering and hopeless searching--for what, he did not know.

This 'exercise' was an attempt by Charlie to take Logan's mind off his troubles. Professor Xavier had assured him that tracking Nightcrawler through the grounds would be just the challenge he needed. At first, Wolverine had scoffed, laughing out loud at the very idea. He had met Nightcrawler only briefly during the terrible adventure that had claimed the life of the woman he was now certain he had loved, but even so he hadn't been particularly impressed by what he'd seen.

The strange looking blue man with the long tail and the scarred face had been painfully shy. He had clutched his worn rosary like a lifeline, cringing and praying whenever danger struck. Wolverine had gathered that the man had once been with some circus in Germany, but to his mind that was hardly impressive news. It would have been more surprising to learn that someone who was as obvious a mutant as Nightcrawler had not been raised in a circus. No, the shy, deeply religious man had not made much of an impression on Wolverine, and he had seriously doubted that tracking him would pose any challenge whatsoever--especially since the strong scent of sulfur his teleporting left behind would make his trail so easy to find. But, he had agreed, more out of boredom and depression than anything else. Now, however, to his surprise and deeply embarrassed chagrin, Logan was almost ready to admit that the Elf had stumped him.

Wolverine turned his head, sniffing the breeze for the distinctive scent of his quarry. Nothing. There was a sudden rustle of leaves above him, but when he snapped his head up all he saw were two squirrels chasing each other through the branches of a tall maple.

A low chuckle from behind caused Wolverine to spin around so quickly he nearly lost his balance. His temper growing to the point where he almost feared losing control, he lunged at the dark, nearly invisible figure with a roar, his long, adamantium claws projecting violently from his knuckles with a metallic SNIKT!.

Just before his claws made contact with his opponent's chest, the shadowy figure vanished in a BAMF of sulfur-scented smoke only to reappear in a similar puff hanging by his tail from a thick branch high in a nearby oak tree, still chuckling.

"What took you so long, mein Freund?" the dangling shadow grinned, his amused tenor voice tinted with a distinct, German accent. "I thought you were supposed to be good at this game of hide and go seek! If I had not laughed at that priceless expression on your face when you were startled by those two squirrels, you would still be searching for me, ja?"

Wolverine growled again, louder than before. His eyes shone with a murderous light and his teeth were bared. Alarmed by his attitude, Nightcrawler swung down from heights of the
tree, falling into an easy crouch on one of the lowest branches. His golden eyes lost their amused glow as his mood sobered, his voice suddenly serious.

"I know a thing or two about being tracked, mein Freund," he said softly, his dark, indigo face haunted by memories. "'Demon' hunting parties tend to employ many very fierce dogs. The pungent smell of brimstone that accompanies my teleporting is like a beacon to them, lighting my trail. I have learned how to use the winds to my advantage, as well as the necessary skill of moving swiftly and silently through the treetops."

He tilted his head slightly, not quite smiling. "My training as an acrobat has helped me more with that," he said, a touch of pride in his voice. Then he sobered again.

"These things have saved my life on many occasions," he told Logan. "They are skills I learned of necessity rather than by choice." He paused for a moment, looking down at his thick, three-fingered hands. When he looked back up, his luminescent eyes had regained something of their former gleam. "Please do not be angry at yourself or blame me for using them so well against you during this exercise. After all, I won fair and square! I got you, you did not get me!"

The impish grin was back, lighting the almost invisible face with a warm glow. Wolverine's eyes flashed again, but he relaxed his stance, withdrawing his adamantium claws back where they came from.

"I could 'a killed you, Elf," he grunted.

Kurt raised an eyebrow. "Nein," he shook his head. "You would have had to catch me first."

At that, Wolverine's dangerous scowl cracked, transforming into a broad, toothy grin. Nightcrawler grinned in kind, his tail swishing with relief. For a moment he had been afraid that his teasing had truly angered the shorter man. He leapt down from his perch with the grace of an Olympic gymnast, executing a perfect landing just beside the burly Canadian. As he straightened, Wolverine reached out a strong, blunt hand and clapped Nightcrawler on the shoulder. "I don't know about you, Elf, but I could sure use a beer. Whadda ya say?"

Nightcrawler cocked his head to one side, confused. "But I thought Herr Professor had forbidden the use of alcohol in his school."

Wolverine's grin took on a wicked cast and he shrugged. "What Charlie don't know don't concern me." Noticing his companion's uncertain expression, he sighed.

"Come on, you ain't gonna go all 'guilty Catholic' on me, now, are ya, Elf? It's just a couple of brews. Charlie's got no--"

Nightcrawler shook his head with a smile as he held up a three-fingered hand to interrupt his friend. "No, it is not that. And I would never turn you in. I don't agree with that rule myself. Americans tend to have a very strange attitude when it comes to alcohol. It was just the realization that I have not had a beer in so long that the prospect of an American beer is actually looking good. It surprised me."

Logan's eyes widened in shock at his companion's unexpected response. "Wha--?"

"I know you drink that weak, watered down stuff. Don't get me wrong, Herr Logan. I am grateful for your kind offer, but one day, mein Freund, I must introduce you to genuine, German beer. Once you have tried that marvelous brew, you will never go back to the pale, American variety."

Logan looked at the dark man in amazement, a new respect gleaming in his eyes. Nightcrawler was standing in a relaxed, erect posture, very different from the hunched cringe that had been his normal pose when Wolverine first met him. Looking at him now, the slender man seemed more mature somehow, more confident, and his glowing yellow eyes held an amused self-assurance that Logan had not seen in them before.

"Ya know, Elf," he said, his tone thoughtful, "you're the last person I would 'a expected to talk like this. I mean, when we first met you were so shy and withdrawn, and so pious it was actually startin' to make me sick to my stomach! I never expected you to have a wicked streak, or even a sense o' humor. And now, I find that not only do you enjoy drinkin', but you're actually willin' to go behind Charlie's back to do it."

He fixed Nightcrawler with a sharp, appraising look that made the acrobat suddenly feel very uncomfortable. "There's more to you than I thought, circus boy," Logan said, his eyes slightly narrowed. "People don't often surprise me like this. I'm gonna have to keep an eye on you."

Nightcrawler raised an eyebrow, an almost invisible gesture in the shadows cast by his gently curling hair. He looked like he was going to say something but changed his mind instead. Then, he shrugged with a small smile.

"When we first met, I was not quite myself," he said, his lashing tail betraying his discomfort as he spoke. "I had been kidnapped and tortured, my body used against my will to make a political statement. I had nearly killed the President of the United States, and I was terrified." He averted his eyes for a moment, turning instead to the rising cresent moon as he went on.

"Then," he said, "suddenly, I was surrounded by strangers with amazing powers and technology, thrown into a jet the likes of which I had never seen, and put into one life-threatening situation after another." He shook his head, still slightly incredulous as he thought back on his first meeting with the X-Men.

"Now, I am shy at the best of times," he admitted, turning back to Wolverine with a small, self-depreciating smile. "It is a side effect of growing up looking as I do. But I recognized how important it was that the mission succeed and I forced myself to help you all."

He sighed slightly and turned his amber gaze to where the lighted windows of the mansion were shining through the dimness. When he spoke again, his voice was soft with warmth and sincerity.

"Now, I have found a home and people who care about me despite what I look like. Though I was never fortunate enough to attend school myself, I have been given the opportunity to become a teacher. Here, I can help others like myself learn to accept themselves for who they are, to look at the world with tolerance and compassion, and to see themselves and others through different eyes.* In some ways, I am more comfortable here that I was at the circus. Here, I have a chance to change the world for the better, to work for the day when normal humans and mutants will share the world in peace." He looked up at Logan with impish eyes.

"And you wonder that I am not the cringing, whispering, terrified little man you thought I was? Seven months is a long time, mein Freund." He grinned, his pointed white teeth gleaming in the moonlight. "I should challenge you to a duel sometime in the Danger Room. Then you would certainly get a surprise!"

Logan wrinkled his brow. "A 'duel'?" he emphasized. "You mean with 'swords'?" Logan shook his head, incredulous. "You're jokin' with me, Blue. You don't seriously expect me to believe that you are a fencer?"

"I am a master swordsman," Nightcrawler retorted, proudly drawing himself up to his full height, his tail swishing behind him. "As well as being an Olympic class acrobat. If you were surprised by the simple little game of hide and go seek we just played, I can't wait to see your face at the opposite end of my foil."

A slow smile grew over Wolverine's face. Charlie had been right. In less than an hour, he had found sparring partner and a drinking buddy in a place he never would have thought to look.

"You know somethin', Elf," he said, a touch of humor in his flinty eyes. "This just might be the start of a beautiful friendship."

Nightcrawler shook his head, his impish grin threatening to split his shadowy face. "Humphrey Bogart, 'Casablanca'. One of my all time favorite films. Coincidentally, mein Freund, much of the action takes place in a 'bar'..." he said suggestively, wagging his eyebrows.

Logan laughed. "Right. Come on, Elf, I'll show you my stash."


What did you think?

[Wolvertique]

FYI, Scott was Jean's fiancé, not her fiancée, unless he was female. Can't let that one slide.

Would Wolverine really drink watered down American beer? I always saw him as a foreign beer drinker myself.

Otherwise, fine so far.

[Rowena]

I didn't know there were two spellings. I fixed it, thanks!

I think Kurt was just ribbing him. I doubt Wolverine drinks watered down beer. In my opinion, he was so surprised that Kurt was teasing him that he forgot to come back with a smart retort. That, and I couldn't really think of one. I'm allergic to alcohol and know nothing about beer.

Thanks again!

[Rowena]

Chapter Three

The two friends had just begun their return trip to the mansion when, suddenly, Kurt froze in place and pressed his hands to his head, his golden eyes wide.

Wolverine turned, concerned, until he heard it as well--a commanding, cultured voice ringing out from somewhere within his head.

*Come to my study at once. A matter of great urgency has just come up.*

"D-did you hear that?" Kurt stammered, still recovering from the shock of the intrusive experience. "It sounded like the Professor's voice in my mind."

Logan snarled. "Yeah. Shocked the spit outta me too, the first time Charlie tried that trick with me. He only does it when there's somethin' real important goin' on. We'd better get a move on. We're gonna be the last ones there as it is."

"I can get us there in an instant," Nightcrawler offered. "If you don't think it would make you too queasy."

Logan looked uncertain for a moment, then shrugged. "Well, I guess if Storm and Chuck got through it OK, it can't be all that bad. Just watch where you put that tail, eh, bub?"

Nightcrawler nodded as he snaked his tail around the shorter man's waist and put his arm across his broad shoulders. "Ready?" he asked.

"Shoot." Logan responded.

Nightcrawler's face took on an intense expression of total concentration, then, suddenly, the two of them were jerked out of the garden. There was a moment of raging disorientation, then, just as suddenly, the two of them appeared in a far corner of Professor Xavier's large, plush office, some three feet above the floor. Nightcrawler landed gracefully, but Wolverine stumbled a bit, reeling with nausea from the jolting experience.

Nightcrawler noticed his friend's discomfort, his voice reflecting the concern on his face. "I am sorry. It was much harder to 'port with you than I had expected. It must have something to do with the weight of all that metal on your skeleton. Are you all right?"

Wolverine grunted and fell into a chair, rubbing his temples. "Yeah, fine. Just don't ever talk me into doing that again, got it, bub?"

Nightcrawler nodded, his expression contrite. "Ja, ja. I got it. You are sure that you are OK?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Now get off it. We came here for a reason. I, for one, would like to know what that reason is."

He got up from the chair and strode over to the main part of the office where Professor Xavier was sitting behind his large, mahogany desk talking softly with Cyclops, who had arrived first. Nightcrawler shoved his large, three-fingered hands into the pockets of his long coat and took up his usual position in the corner, using his feet and tail to stick to the wall just below the ceiling. It was much more comfortable for him to sit up there than it was to sit on one of the high-backed wooden chairs that furnished the Professor's office. For someone with a tail, that kind of chair was nothing short of torture. They were too narrow to perch on, yet too broad to turn around and straddle.

Kurt looked up with a broad grin as the door to the office opened and Ororo Monroe, code-named Storm, came in, followed closely by several of the older students--Rogue, Bobby, Piotr, Theresa, Jubilee, and Kitty Pryde. He waved cheerfully to the students, who grinned at him in return before taking their seats. Then, he focused his deep, yellow gaze on Ororo and his grin warmed noticeably. "Guten Abend, Fräulein," he said, his color deepening slightly as he blushed.

"Hello, Kurt," Ororo smiled back, walking over to his unique perch. "I heard that you and Logan went out on a tracking exercise earlier this evening. How did it go?"

Kurt glanced down at where Logan was sitting, obviously listening with great interest to every word they said. He shrugged. "Perhaps Logan would like to tell it. You know I am not one to blow my own trumpet, if that is the expression I want."

Ororo turned her curious gaze to Logan, who was scowling pointedly in response to Kurt's broad, unrepentant grin.

"So, I underestimated the Elf a little bit. You can be sure that won't happen again."

Rogue looked over to him in shock. "You mean, you didn't catch 'im?"

Logan's scowl deepened. Before he could answer, though, Kurt broke in. He'd seen Logan squirm enough. He didn't want Rogue to think any less of her chosen hero because of Kurt's teasing. "Not exactly, meine Freundin," he assured her kindly. "You see, I laughed and gave myself away so it wasn't really fair. However, I am sure that Herr Wolverine would have caught me if given but a little more time."

Rogue seemed satisfied with that. With a sly smile, she turned to Logan. "Ah suppose that leaves things open for a re-match," she drawled in her thick, Mississippi accent.

"Anytime," Logan growled good naturedly. "Only next time I won't go so easy on ya, Blue."

"Nor I on you, mein Freund," Kurt beamed, his eyes twinkling mischieviosly at the look Logan shot him.

"Ahem," came the Professor's voice from behind his desk. All the conversations in the room came to an immediate stop as every X-Man turned his or her attention to their founder.

"Now that you are all here..." he said, looking pointedly around the crowded room as though he were taking attendance. Hank McCoy had joined the group mere moments before from his post in the infirmary, which was located in the lower levels of the mansion. He had taken over as the resident doctor for the X-Men shortly after Jean's death.

Professor Xavier continued after a short pause, "...it is time for us to get down to business. Cerebro has detected a new mutant, a young girl who has only just come into her mutant 'gifts'. From what I can tell--which is not much at this point--it seems she can absorb vast amounts of electricity into her body. The effect of this has been, well, explosive to say the least. Her name is Twyla Todd and she lives in Seaford, Virginia, a small town right on Chesapeake Bay."

"What happened, Professor?" Kitty Pryde asked, absently brushing a strand of long, brown hair from her eyes.

"Yeah," Jubilee added, igniting a small, colorful spark and allowing it to dance on her fingertip. "You said explosive. Did she, like, blow up her house or something?"

The Professor sighed sadly. "Unfortunately, Jubilation, you are not far from the truth. Her house did indeed burn to the ground, and her mother has been taken to a specialized hospital in New York City where they are working to treat her serious burns, although I am afraid that at this point they are not holding out much hope for her recovery. The girl herself has gone missing and at this point is presumed dead by the local police. However, using Cerebro, I have been able to track her down. Her experiences have been very traumatic for her and she is hovering on the brink of severe depression. I fear she may try to end her own life unless we get to her first."

"Mein Gott," Nightcrawler breathed from his position on the wall. "If I may ask, Herr Professor, how old is this girl?"

"Fourteen," Professor Xavier answered quietly.

"Gott im Himmel!" Kurt exclaimed, his golden eyes wide with concern. "And she is contemplating suicide? We must find this poor child at once! I volunteer to go, Herr Professor."

"As do I," said Storm from her chair just below Nightcrawler.

"Me too," Logan added.

Professor Xavier held up a hand with a small smile. "As pleased as I am to see such enthusiasm, you all must be aware that we cannot simply go in without a plan. We don't wish to frighten the poor girl, or anyone else who might be nearby for that matter. This must be a silent operation. Cyclops and I have already worked out a course of action, so I will turn this meeting over to him so he can explain it to you all."

Scott Summers stood up, carefully adjusting his specially made ruby-quartz glasses as he turned to address his colleagues.

"First of all," he said brisquely, "we decided it would be best to keep our party small, so only five of you will be going. Rogue, you're going because from what we can tell your powers are the most similar to Twyla's. She might find that reassuring."

Rogue nodded. "Ah understand, Mr. Summers. Ah'll do my best."

"I know you will." He turned his head. "Storm, you'll be piloting the Blackbird, and--"

"And I will provide enough cloud cover to shield us." Storm nodded. "Yes, Scott, I know."

"Good. Next, Nightcrawler. You'll be co-pilot and should expect to be on hand to teleport Twyla out of danger should she try something rash."

"I pray it will not come to that," Kurt said sincerely, fingering the ever-present rosary twined through his belt-loop.

"As do we all," Professor Xavier added. Nightcrawler favored him with a small smile.

Cyclops continued. "Wolverine, you'll be going in as back-up in case anything goes wrong. Shadowcat, you're closest to Twyla's age and she might feel comfortable talking with you. Also, if anything should happen you can phase her long enough to get her out of harm's way. Does everyone understand what will be expected of you?"

The chosen X-Men nodded.

"Good. You will leave tomorrow morning, as soon as Twyla wakes up. Hopefully, approaching her in the morning will come as less of a shock to her. The Professor will let you know where to find her when the time comes. You have your instructions."

He looked to the Professor, who shook his head slightly, then turned back to his teammates. "This meeting is adjourned," he said. "Good luck, guys."

With that, Scott strode out of the room, followed by several curious, concerned glances.

"He still hasn't gotten over Jeanie's death, I see," Wolverine noted quietly.

"None of us have," Storm said. "We all blame ourselves, but Cyclops especially. He attacked her while under Stryker's influence. He feels that if he hadn't weakened her so, she might have survived. He will not allow himself to be consoled."

Nightcrawler jumped down from his unique perch and placed a comforting hand on Storm's shoulder. Storm tilted her head, brushing her dark cheek against his long, thick, indigo fingers.

"Ach, meine Liebling," he said in his softly accented voice as he crouched down beside her, "Herr Summers lost a part of his soul, a part of his Self when he lost Doktor Grey. We cannot expect him to heal from a wound like that so quickly. Though it hurts us all to see him this way, he is getting better. We can only offer him our support, our friendship, and our prayers."

"Well said, Kurt," Professor Xavier nodded from his wheelchair. "And now, as it is getting late, and I shall have to get up very early in the morning, I wish you all a good night. Please do not stay up too late and remember to turn off all the lights in here when you leave."

"Yes, Dad," Logan sneered sarcastically in response to the Professor's tone. The others snickered slightly, and even the Professor smiled.

"I'll see you in the morning," he said, skillfully maneuvering his chair through the door.

"Good night, Professor," the remaining X-Men called after him. The children and those who had not been called to duty had already left for their own beds. Storm yawned and rose to her feet. "I suppose that I will turn in as well. Good night, Logan," she said, then she turned to Nightcrawler, a warm smile spreading across her dark face. "Good night, Kurt."

Kurt smiled back, shyly averting his eyes. Stepping gracefully forward, he took her hand in his and raised it to his lips. Storm flushed as he kissed her hand, then met her blue eyes with his yellow ones. "Gute Nacht, Liebchen."

With a final smile, Storm withdrew her hand and left the room. Kurt stared after her, oblivious to the loud throat-clearing noises Logan was making for several long moments. Then, as if shaken out of a reverie, he turned to his remaining colleague.

"Ja? Pardon?" he asked, the remains of a smile still lingering on his scarred face.

"So," Wolverine smirked, his eyes knowing, "when did you two become an item?"

Kurt looked startled, his yellow eyes wide. "An 'item'?" he asked. "I do not understand. We are very good friends, of course, but there is nothing more to it than that."

"If you believe that, you're foolin' yourself, kid. You love her, I can see it as clearly as I can smell it."

Kurt blushed violently, though his indigo skin managed to hide most of it. "N-nein," he stammered, "No, it is just--"

"What is it just?"

"She doesn't need that right now," Kurt blurted out, his accent thickening in his discomfort. "She is still hurting from losing her best friend. If she is reaching out to me now in her pain, it is because she is trying to fill that gap, to soothe her loneliness. It is not love. It cannot be. She needs to heal, and once she does she will realize that she could not..."

Kurt trailed off, sinking back into the hunched, cringing posture Logan hadn't seen since returning from his travels. For some reason, that angered him.

"What? That she couldn't possibly love you? That's bull, Kurt, and you know it. Why would you even say something like that?"

Kurt looked everywhere but at Logan, uncomfortable and embarrassed.

"She is so beautiful!" he confessed, the words thick and painful. "So strong. Her anger fills her and I long to help her, she is like an avenging angel, a vision from Heaven itself! While I..................it is impossible!"

"Why don't you give the girl a little credit?" Logan retorted. "Aren't you the one who's always sayin' how important it is for people to look beyond appearances? And, who knows? Maybe your appearance is what attracts her to you!"

Kurt's eyes widened until they were practically circular. He paled slightly and took a step back, his tail swaying slowly back and forth. "Wha--what did you say?"

"I said that Storm is attracted to you, Elf," Logan said slowly and clearly, as though he were speaking to a child. "I could read her as easily as I can read you. You're just too deep in denial to see what's right in front of your face."

Kurt took a deep, trembling breath, then closed his eyes and let it out slowly as he lowered himself into a frog-like crouch. He kept his eyes closed as he began to speak.

"All my life I have wished for a family of my own," he said softly. "To the tribe that raised me, family was everything. The strongest bonds were the bonds of blood. I had no such bonds. They took me in as an infant because my appearance drew the curious, and once I showed a talent for acrobatics I became the star attraction of their circus. But even though I loved them and they cared for me, I did not 'belong' to any of them. They raised me in common, and some were kinder than others."

Slowly, he opened his eyes, turning their golden light towards Logan. "When I was a child, I would spend hours dreaming of the mother and father I never knew," he admitted. "But, as I grew older, I began to want my own family, you know? But then, I would think, who would ever want to have a family with me? And if there ever was someone who did, what would the children look like? Would they even survive, or would they be too grotesquely mutated even for that? If they were mutants, and they did survive, they would have to live through the same pain, the same suffering that I did while growing up, and I would never wish that on anyone, least of all my own child."

He shook his head, picking morosely at the carpet. "So, because of what I am, my dreams of having a loving family of my own become a nightmare before they even begin. It has always been this way." After a long pause, Kurt straightened, slowly rising back to his full height.

"But, now I am here," he said, as though it were a revelation. "For the first time in my life I am among others who are like me, mutants who have gone through much of what I have gone through. I believe in Professor Xavier's Dream of a world where mutants and normal humans live together in peace with all my heart. It is a dream I have cherished in my soul for as long as I can remember. And now, at last, God has given me the opportunity to help make it a reality. And, even more than that, you tell me that meine Liebe, my beautiful Sturm feels for me as I feel for her?" He looked over to Logan, his eyes tentative and fragile, filled with an uncertain hope.

"Do you think that it could be possible, that she would wish to marry 'me'?" he asked softly, his painful hope lancing through the question like a sharpened spear. "Do you believe that my beautiful Ororo could share my dream?"

Logan sighed, sorry now that he had ever broached the subject. He should have left things as they were, allowed events to develop as they would. The whole Catholic thing should have clued him in that Kurt would be one of those rare 'marriage first' guys, despite his looks. Now, Kurt was looking at him with those 'eyes', and he knew whatever he said would fall flat.

"You're going to have to talk to her about all this family shi--stuff," he said weakly, knowing he was passing the buck but not sure what else he could do.

Kurt sighed and sank back down again, one thick, blue finger tracing the design on the plush carpet. "Ja, I know this. That is why I cannot tell her. Not yet, anyway. She is suffering, like Scott and like you. She is still in too much pain for me to feel comfortable discussing my feelings with her, even if what you say is true. Until she is ready, the most we can be is good friends. Until that time, we will both just have to wait and see what happens, ja?"

Logan nodded. "Ja."

[Rowena]

Chapter Four

The pre-dawn flight went smoothly. The small team reached Virginia by 0500 EST. According to the Professor, Twyla Todd was already awake and on the move, apparently on her way to the nearest train station.

"Her father lives in Philadelphia," Kitty said from the back, where she was reading off her laptop's monitor. "Do you think she could be planning to go there?"

"Anything is possible," Storm replied. "All I know is that we must head her off before she can board a train."

"Well, according to the website, the earliest train to Philadelphia leaves in fifteen minutes," Kitty informed her. "That doesn't give us a lot of time. Assuming that's where she's going in the first place."

"We are not assuming anything," Storm said, her voice calm and controlled. "What we are doing is looking for a suitable place to land the Blackbird. Please try to find us one, Shadowcat."

"Right," Kitty said, typing rapidly. "OK, according to this really cool satellite photograph, there's a big park about seventeen miles from here. It's only a few blocks from the train station. We should be able to land there and still get to the station in time to get to her."

Under the expert ministrations of Storm and Nightcrawler, the Blackbird silently zipped across the pre-dawn sky, reaching the park in a matter of moments.

"Ach, I can see the train depot from here," Nightcrawler said as Storm shifted the plane into hover mode in preparation for a vertical landing.

"But, it's pitch black out there," Rogue said. "How can you see--"

She broke off when she noticed Nightcrawler was pointing to his golden eyes with a smile.

"Night vision, remember?" he said. "The darkest night has always been as clear as day to me."

"OK, so what can you see?" Rogue asked from her seat in the back.

"Well, there aren't many people around yet. However, there is one person walking on the tracks, probably looking for loose spikes or..."

He trailed off, his eyes widening with alarm. "Mein Gott!" he exclaimed. "The train!" Before any of them could react, Nightcrawler was gone in a flash of smoke, leaving behind only the acrid stench of sulfur.

*******

Twyla Todd was screaming. Not because of the oncoming train--although, as a Catholic, she was well aware that suicide was the only sin she could never be forgiven for, she welcomed the prospect of her approaching demise. She was screaming because she had just looked into the blue face and yellow eyes of what looked to her to be a demon right out of medieval folklore. He had appeared from out of nowhere in a brilliant flash of fire and brimstone. And now, he was reaching out to her with his horribly malformed, yellow-taloned fingers.

"I am sorry, Fräulein," the demon said in a surprisingly soft, yet authoritative voice. "But the train is coming and I must get you out of here."

With those few, hurried words, the demon pulled her into a tight embrace. The girl's eyes opened wide with horror as she felt what could only be a tail wrap snugly around her waist. The blue, misshapen creature smelled of strong soap with an undercurrent of brimstone. That faint smell almost caused her to lose her mind.

All doubt was gone. She knew what he was, what he had come to do. She had been trying to commit suicide. What else could such a creature have come for but her soul?

Her screams were wild now, frantic, animalistic with horror. She worked to wriggle her hands free, wanting nothing more than to claw at the demon's frighteningly scarred face, but before she could make a move, she felt a sudden, gut-wrenching jerk. She struggled frantically, trying to break out of the demon's secure grip. She managed to work one hand free, using it to grab the demon's arm for leverage as she pulled the other from his tight hold. But, in her terror, she had forgotten her power. Before she could pull her hand away, she had already felt the creature's life energy flowing into her fingertips through his dark, leather-like uniform.

At her touch, the demon's eyes opened wide and he gasped, his grip loosening. Twyla knew she had felt the sensation of motion a moment before even though she couldn't see where she was going. Now, all that stopped. The intense silence was unbearable, it pounded in her ears. With a panicked wrench, she pulled her trembling hand away from the demon's arm and he collapsed at the knees, panting and shivering, his scarred face wearing a fearful expression that mirrored her own. Twyla stepped back from the demon, pushing his now limp tail away from her waist in disgust, and looked around.

This was a place out of the collective nightmares of humanity. It was pitch black, yet it clearly burned with a dark flame. There was a strange power in the air, unlike anything Twyla had ever felt before and the stench of brimstone was overwhelming. She could feel the alien energy of this horrible place soaking into her pores. It was a negative energy, an energy without light and warmth, an otherworldly sensation that made her realize that she was no longer on the Earth she had known. She looked down at the demon, who was struggling to his feet, terror painted clearly across his narrow features, his eyes darting around in something nearing panic. Clearly, his strange, golden eyes could see through the blackness to the otherworldly landscape it shrouded.

"Fräulein, what have you done?" he asked in a shaky voice, his German accent more pronounced than it had been before.

Twyla spun on him, despite the fact that she could sense no kind of ground under her feet. "What have 'I' done!?" she screamed. "'You're' the one who brought me here!" Then, her resolve broke and she began to cry.

"Oh, God, oh God! Please! I don't belong here! I am so sorry I took my life so lightly! Please, please, please, don't make me stay here! I'm not dead! I'm not, I'm not!"

The demon was looking at her with a strange expression on his dark face. He fidgeted, his eyes glowing with deep discomfort. "You believe that I have been sent to bring you to Hell because you wished to end your life?" He shook his head, his bright yellow eyes softening with compassion.

"Ach, Liebling, nein. I am not a demon, I am just a man, though I am a mutant as you can see." He smiled self-depreciatingly, and Twyla caught a glimpse of his sharp, white fangs.

"My name is Kurt Wagner," he told her. "This horrible place we are in is the dimension I must pass through when I teleport from one place to another. That is my mutant gift. Usually, I never see this frightening place, I pass through it too quickly. But you did something that stopped our progress and unless you trust me now, we will both be trapped here. Come to me now, and I will take you to safety." The demon reached out his weird, three fingered hands to her, his luminous yellow eyes gentle and pleading, his slight smile surprisingly kind.

Twyla spun away from his outstretched arms, her dark eyes flashing. "You are a liar and a trickster just like all the stories say!" she shrieked. "I will never believe you, Devil! I love God!"

The demon's expression was one of startled hurt. He looked as though she had struck him across the face with a metal gauntlet, but Twyla didn't care. She wasn't about to be tricked into feeling sorry for this scarred monster so he could steal her soul away. She would fight.

The demon took a step closer to her on his dinosaur-like tridactal feet. That was all she needed to set her off. With a feral scream, she lunged at the creature, kicking, punching, and clawing. The startled demon grabbed her wrists, holding her off with a strength that belied his slight, slender frame.

"Please, Fräulein, I do not want to hurt you. But we must leave this place and in order to do that you must trust me!"

"Trust you! Famous last words, Devil!"

But he was no longer listening to her. Now that he had a good grip on her, his luminescent eyes took on an intense, focused look. Before she could break away, Twyla felt the same gut-wrenching jerk that had brought her to this unholy place and she tried to scream.

The sensation of movement was back, but it felt different than before. The demon seemed to be having a much harder time doing whatever it was he was doing. Then, suddenly, it was over and she found herself lying on cold, damp grass, her face bathed in the first rays of early-morning sunlight. She rolled over and leapt to her feet, the world spinning around her. She felt nauseous. She shook her head to clear it and turned to her demonic kidnapper, who was lying on the grass beside her, curled up in a blue ball with his tail wrapped tightly around his chest and his eyes closed as he worked to gather his strength and catch his breath.

Twyla wasn't about to give him the opportunity to recuperate. She lunged at the creature, her hands closing around his exposed, indigo neck. The demon's unearthly eyes flew open and he gagged, but Twyla wasn't about to let go. She was determined now. She pressed a knee against his chest, concentrating on her hands and ignoring the frighteningly human expression on the creature's face. Then, her power kicked in.

The world exploded into blinding, multi-colored fractals as it had that first night when she had destroyed her house and her family after trying to screw in a lightbulb. Her anger, fear, and pain overwhelmed her as she felt the creature's life-force flow through her body. But, their connection was deeper than that. She could see to his very cells, sense their workings, knowing instinctively how it all fit together, like a giant puzzle. She could read his genetic code, his strange, inhuman, demon DNA, and she found she could manipulate all she saw merely by thinking about it. The power of life itself was at her fingertips and it intoxicated her; she reveled in her strength. She laughed as she played, no longer caring it was blasphemy to see herself as a god. With this power, no demon could ever touch her again.

She broke the connection only when she realized her victim was close to death. She didn't want him to die, not yet. She wanted to see what a demon looked like striped to the very essence of his being. How would this creature of darkness react when he realized it was she who had done this him? That it was she who now held the power of life and death over the messenger of evil who had come to steal her soul?

She came to herself and stood up, elated from the exertion and dimly aware that her dark skin was glowing again. She took a few moments to collect herself, to breathe in the chill morning air, to get a bearing on her surroundings, to calm her racing heart. Then, she turned her glowing gaze to the unconscious demon at her feet.

Once, during a camping trip, Twyla had been told that some demons were made of mud that had been formed and animated by the powers of evil. Though they looked and acted like living beings, they could never be truly alive because they had not been created by God. Now that she had stripped this demon down to the basic truth of his being, it was such a creature that she was expecting to see. However, that was not the sight that met her eyes as she looked at the unmoving form before her.

To her shock and her unmitigated horror, Twyla realized she had made an unforgivable mistake in her assumptions. Kurt Wagner was no demon. The young man she saw sprawled at her feet was fully human. And there, lying next to him in the grass, half-in and half-out of his pocket, was a well-worn rosary.

Twyla gasped, reaching out with tentative, glowing fingers to touch the smooth beads. A sharp shiver ran down her spine and she pulled away as though the rosary had burnt her. Taking in a trembling breath, she turned away, her eyes stinging with unshed tears and a terrible realization piercing her heart. It was she who was the monster now.

The whole episode, from the strange man's initial appearance on the train tracks to this moment when he was lying helpless and unconscious on the grass had taken barely a minute in real time. Twyla stood, still stunned by her revelation, as a sleek, black aircraft came to a landing in the grassy clearing behind her. Twyla turned, shading her glowing eyes against the glare of the sun as a ramp lowered from the jet and several strangely dressed people who could only be mutants rushed out. One of them, a young woman with pure white hair, dressed in a form-fitting pseudo-leather costume which included a cape, rose into the air, flying towards the pair at a speed that would rival Superman. She alighted gracefully beside her, looking into Twyla's dark, glowing face with concern. When she spoke, it was with the faintest hint of an African accent.

"Are you all right, child?" the mutant asked her, looking deeply into Twyla's glowing eyes. "What happened?

Twyla couldn't bring herself to answer. She could only point to her victim, the ultimate evidence of her crime of passion.

Storm followed the dark girl's glowing finger and gasped, her mocha-colored brow wrinkled with sudden confusion tinted with fear. "Bright Goddess!" she exclaimed, kneeling beside her unconscious friend and lifting his pale wrist. Twyla thought at first that she meant to take his pulse, but instead she pushed back the sleeves of his uniform as though she were searching for something. Her blue eyes narrowed with deep confusion when she couldn't find what she was looking for. Then, they widened in alarm as she turned to Twyla.

"What have you done to him?" she demanded, on her feet and advancing on the young girl before Twlya could even register the question. She cringed, watching in amazed horror as the tall woman's eyes clouded over and her snow-white hair seemed to lift of its own accord.

"I...I...I--" Twyla stuttered, falling awkwardy to her hands as she backed away. The tall woman clenched her teeth, apparantly working to control herself, then she spun away from Twyla, going back to kneel beside her unconscious friend. Twyla could only cry, the hot tears flowing freely from her glowing eyes as she curled herself into a ball of guilt and misery. "I'm sorry," she whispered, clutching her knees tightly to her chest and rocking back and forth on her heels. "I am so sorry..."

[Rowena]

Chapter Five

Storm knew she should be ashamed of the way she had come so close to losing control when she confronted that glowing little girl, but looking into the pale, unconscious face of her dearest friend she just didn't care.

"Oh, Kurt," she whispered, so softly it was barely audible, taking his limp, five-fingered hand in hers and pressing it first to her lips, then to her chest.

"He's alive!" she called out to her rapidly approaching companions. Wolverine was the first to reach them, with Shadowcat and Rogue close behind. The two girls looked curiously at the glowing girl, then turned their attention to their teammates.

Wolverine actually gasped when he saw Kurt, his adamantium claws retracting as he bent down to brush an errant curl from the man's pale forehead in a surprisingly tender gesture. He knew at once that this was no hologram. Kurt had told him before they left the mansion that he wasn't bringing his image inducer on this trip. He disliked the bulky wristwatch and all it stood for, preferring to meet new mutants with open honesty rather than a holographic lie.

Squinting his flinty eyes, Wolverine peered closely at his friend's face. It wasn't quite the same as the holographic image projected by the image inducer. Comparing the two in his mind was like comparing a digitally animated figure to living, breathing reality. The familiar features were all there--the long, Roman nose, the high cheekbones, the narrow, elfish chin--but it was shocking how different he looked without his natural indigo coloration. His scars were completely gone, his pale skin smooth and unmarked but for the slightest, shadowy hint of a beard. He seemed smaller, somehow, more delicate. Even his scent had changed. The musty odor of sulfur and his unique mutancy...Logan could only describe it as 'blueness'...that had always clung to him was gone. He smelled like any other ordinary human now.

"My God, Elf," he rumbled, his sharp, flinty eyes narrowed with concern. "What happened to you?"

"Nightcrawler!" Shadowcat exclaimed, coming up behind Wolverine and diving for her friend's other hand. She looked up at Storm, her eyes wide. "But he didn't take his image inducer with him... How did this happen?"

Storm turned to Twyla, who was sitting hunched in glowing ball a short distance away, still rocking miserably on her heels. "I believe 'she' had something to do with it," Storm said bitterly, her eyes clouding over slightly with barely contained anger. "I think she must be this Twyla Todd we were supposed to 'rescue'."

Wolverine said nothing. He was staring down at his transformed friend with a strange look in his eye. Then, slowly, he reached out and gathered the unconscious Kurt up in his powerful arms.

"Come on," he said. "Let's get that girl and go home." Without another word, he turned and headed back toward the jet.

Rogue looked to Kitty, who nodded nervously. Slowly, with Storm watching their backs, the two young X-Men approached the dangerous girl they had come to save.

"Hi," Kitty said gently, crouching down to Twyla's level. "My name's Kitty. Kitty Pryde. What's yours?"

Twyla was in no mood for small talk. "You and your friends have come to take me away, haven't you?" she asked, looking up at the slight, brown- haired girl before her.

Kitty looked uncomfortable. "Well, not exactly. We've come to make you an offer." She smiled. "I'm a student at a school for people like us, for mutants, up in New York. My friends and I came down here to ask you if you would like to join us."

"And what is it that you do at this mutant school of yours?" Twyla asked, her words sounding more bitter than she really intended.

"Well, for one thing, we could help teach you how to control your powers and how best to use them to benefit mankind." Twyla raised an eyebrow at her and Kitty smirked. "I know it sounds corny, but it's really true. On top of that you learn all the regular, basic school stuff like algebra and history and all that."

"I always wanted to be a lawyer," Twyla said softly, her eyes downcast and distant. "Will your school teach me how to become a lawyer?"

Kitty shrugged. "I don't see why not. I'm into computers, Kurt's an acrobat, we've got quite a few doctors and geneticists, I'm sure we can find room for a lawyer. So, what do you say?"

Twyla looked as though she were about to speak, then she turned her head away in shame. "But, what about your friend? You saw what I did to him. Aren't you afraid to take me with you?"

Kitty reached out a hand to touch her shoulder, but before she could make contact, Twyla flinched away in a gesture that was strikingly reminiscent of Rogue.

"Don't touch me!" Twyla exclaimed, leaping to her feet. "Don't you see, that's how I did it! I touched him and I changed him and I enjoyed it! I'm a monster, how can you want me to come with you?!"

"Ah know you must feel like a vampire, sugar, but you're not really a monster," Rogue said softly, coming up behind Shadowcat, who was still startled at Twyla's sudden outburst.

"Look at me, honey," Rogue insisted. "Because of my power, ah can never touch another living thing. If anyone touches my skin, ah absorb their memories, their powers, whatever makes them 'them'. Dear Lord, ah put the first boy ah ever kissed into a coma! And ah enjoyed it. Ah hated myself for it afterward, but ah can never deny that ah enjoyed the feelin' of power it gave me while the contact lasted. For the longest time, ah thought ah was the worst kind of monster, but ah learned the hard way that ah didn't have to be one if ah didn't want to. Ah could use my powers to help people rather than to harm them. And you can learn that too, if you'll agree to come with us. We can help you, sugar. Will you trust us?"

Twyla looked up at the expectant mutants, her eyes blurring with tears of self-hatred and shame. "That's what he said," she gestured fiercely to the plane where Wolverine had carried Kurt, "and I didn't. I didn't trust him at all. I hurt him so badly. I changed him and I know can't fix that. I don't know how I know, but I just do! And, I don't want to do that to anyone else. I don't want to lose control like that ever again. I don't want to....to 'kill' anyone else, like my.....my.....my mother--"

She broke off, collapsing into a fit of violent sobs. "I burned my house to the ground," she cried, shaking with the intensity of her emotions. "I don't even know how I got out. But Mom was gone and I couldn't find her and she must be dead because I didn't find her and it's all my fault and I don't deserve to live!"

The two young X-Men looked at each other, unsure whether it would be safe to touch her, to try to lend her some comfort in her agony through their physical presence. Slowly, Rogue approached her, carefully running her gloved fingers through the girl's long, frizzy hair without coming into contact with her glowing, chocolate skin.

"There, sugar, it's good to cry. It's good to let it all out."

Twyla continued to sob for another five minutes while Rogue knelt beside her, gently stroking her hair and murmuring reassurances in her ear. Slowly, the girl's trembling stopped and her sobs quieted. She looked up at Rogue through swollen, puffy eyes.

"I am so sorry," she said.

"It's all right, honey," Rogue reassured her. "We don't hold nothin' you did against you. We're here to help you, not to judge. So are you coming with us?"

Twyla nodded, rubbing at her streaming eyes with the heels of her hands. "Yeah," she said with a sniffle. "I'll go with you."

Rogue smiled and rose to her feet. "Then come on, kid. Let's get out of here."

Twyla stood up, brushing the clinging grass from her jeans, and followed her new friends over to their sleek, black jet. If she was to make amends for her sins, she knew she would have to start now. And she had a feeling that the first step would be to trust these strange, powerful people who had come to take her away from the places and people she had known all her life. It was time to start anew, and these people were offering her the undeserved promise of a clean slate. She hoped she would prove worthy.


NOTE: Hank's not blue and furry yet. He looks like he did in that news broadcast at the bar where Mystique jabbed Magneto's guard with her long, icky needle in X2.

Chapter Six

[The pain was unbearable. He could feel his fingers splitting, dividing, tearing themselves in half. His ears, eyes, skin, gums, teeth, hands, feet, spine, and tail were all on fire. Somewhere, far above the pain, he could hear horrific screams, screams of agony that chilled the very soul. A small corner of his mind that had somehow managed to remain detached from the torture the rest of his body was going through told him that those were his screams...

Light exploded from behind his eyes; the pain grew stronger as he grew weaker. Blood pounded in his screaming ears as he felt his energy being drained away by some powerful outside force. As the pain reached a crescendo, the brightness that enveloped him went out. For a long, long time, he knew nothing more...]

Kitty Pryde straightened from her slouched position at the sound of groaning from the bed beside her. She turned her head, shouting for the doctor.

"Hank," she called, "I think he's waking up!"

The X-Men had taken it in turns to sit beside their unconscious friend during his stay in the infirmary. None of them wanted him to wake up alone, afraid of his reaction once he realized what had happened to him. It had been nearly two days since Twyla's attack in the park, and Kurt was only now starting to regain consciousness.

As Dr. Hank McCoy, a man whose intelligence and wit matched his enormous size, came charging through the door, Kurt groaned again and opened his eyes, wincing as he awakened to the throbbing pain of a headache. Slowly becoming aware that he had company, he turned his head and smiled in recognition, though he was still too weak to move much.

"Hallo, Kätzchen," he said to Kitty, his accented voice soft and hoarse with exhaustion. His eyes flicked up to the towering figure above him and his weak smile broadened. "Hi, Hank. What am I in for this time?"

Hank found, for possibly the first time in his career, that he was at a loss for words. Since first discovering what had happened he had been trying to frame an explanation that would help his friend deal with the drastic physical changes he was faced with. However now, actually confronted with the realization that Kurt was completely unaware of his transformation, Hank found he was unable to speak. It was a new and unsettling experience for the normally verbose mutant. Fortunately, Kitty spoke for him.

"How are you feeling, Elfie?" she asked softly, her face twisted into what she hoped was a warm smile.

"Ach," Kurt moaned, leaning his head back against the pillows. "Like I was trampled by a raging mob. My head's all fuzzy, and I can't seem to 'see' right. Even my teeth feel strange." He sighed and blinked up at her. "It's hard to explain. Everything seems so flat somehow. It is like, I can see you with my eyes, but I can't feel how far away you are. Does that make sense?"

He winced again, squeezing his eyes shut and raising the thumb and forefinger of his slender, five fingered hand to his forehead. "Maybe it has something to do with this pounding headache. I hope it's not a concussion." He tucked his hand under the back of his curly head and opened his deep, blue eyes, his gaze questioning.

"What happened to me?" he asked. "What am I doing here? The last thing I remember I was 'porting that girl away from the path of a moving train."

"You saved her life, Elfie," Kitty assured him, "That girl turned out to be the mutant we were after. She's here at the mansion now, and she's very grateful. But...I'm afraid there was some kind of accident."

Kurt looked up at her, his focus sharpening. "What kind of an accident?"

Kitty looked up at Hank, at a loss as to how to explain. Hank looked back at her helplessly, folding and twisting his oversized hands in discomfort.

Kurt sat up in the bed, looking from one to the other, a strange, cold feeling growing in the pit of his stomach.

"Was?," he insisted, his voice growing stronger. "What is it? What is wrong?"

Kitty flinched. "You've been unconscious for two days, and..." She trailed off.

"You're fine, Kurt," Hank assured him quickly. "You're in top condition, as healthy as an ox."

"Then why are the two of you looking at me as though I have just contracted the plague?" he asked suspiciously.

Kitty reached down and took his hand in her own. Kurt followed her gaze, and his eyes widened in surprise. Then he looked up at Hank, confused.

"Why am I wearing my image inducer?" he asked. "I don't believe I brought it with me when we went down to Virginia. If we were going to recruit a new mutant, I would not think I would need it. You know how I hate this thing."

"Oh, Kurt," Kitty burst out, tears glistening in her eyes, "you're not wearing an image inducer. This isn't a hologram. Somehow, that girl you saved, that Twyla, she did this to you. You're a normal human now, a flat scan. You're not a mutant any more."

Kurt laughed brightly, shaking his head in denial. "Nein, Kätzchen," he smiled. "Don't be silly. If I've been changed into a normal human, why is it that I still can feel my..." he trailed off as he turned around in bed, looking for his familiar spade-tipped tail. Not seeing it at first glance, he felt for it with his free hand, his face paling dramatically when he didn't find it.

"Hank, I can't find my tail," he stated, his tone completely flat. "I can feel it moving, I know that it is there, but I can't find it."

"I'm sorry, Kurt," Hank said, his voice heavy. "There's no easy way to say this, but your tail is gone. It's not a trick or a hologram. What you're feeling must be close to what a man who has lost an arm or a leg feels--a ghost of your tail, if you will. It isn't really there. You're a normal human now and you're just going to have to learn to accept it."

Kurt looked up at him, a peculiar smile twisting his pale features. "I don't quite understand," he said, sounding oddly as though he was on the brink of laughter. He raised his hand to the level of his eyes, watching in fascination as he bent each of the five fingers in turn. "How is this possible?" he asked, starting to giggle. "What does this mean?"

Still wiggling his fingers as if in a daze, Kurt slid off the bed and started to move towards the mirror hanging over the sink. However, his balance was seriously impaired, and after two or three awkward steps he began swaying back and forth, his arms wheeling wildly, his blue eyes wide with fear and confusion as he started to fall.

Hank caught him before he reached the floor, raising the smaller man to his feet and helping him back over to the bed. Kurt sat there, rocking slightly, his wide, blue eyes unnaturally bright as his soft, incredulous chuckling swelled into frantic laughter. Kitty backed away from him in alarm, looking to Hank to snap him out of it.

Hank grabbed his slender friend by his narrow shoulders before he could erupt into full blown hysteria. Shaking him, he caught the terrified man's over-bright eyes in his own serious gaze, willing him to calm himself, to think this though.

"Kurt, calm down," he ordered. "I know this must seem a bit overwhelming right now, but-"

"Nein!" Kurt snarled harshly, twisting free from Hank's grasp. "You do not know! How could you know!" Tears began to leak from Kurt's blue eyes. His pale face was cast in an expression of unspeakable loss.

"I've lost my 'balance'!" he cried, desperately willing his friend to understand what that meant to him. "I can't even judge 'distances'! It is as if I have been blinded! I can see shapes, but they are without dimension!"

He tore his fingers through his tousled, ebony curls, his eyes wild with fear. "Never before have I been unsure on my feet," he stated. "I never wobbled on the highwire, even as a child. All that is gone now! You saw what just happened! I can not even walk across a room!"

He shook his head with a violent shudder, his terror and denial plain to see as he tentatively wiggled his bare, pink toes. "I am a stranger to this body," he said flatly. "I am no longer an acrobat. I am no longer an X-Man. I am nothing!"

"Kurt," Hank started, somewhat alarmed at where this was going and trying desperately to think of a way to reassure him without making the situation worse. But, before his brain could kick into gear, Kurt spoke again in a tone that nearly broke Hank's heart.

"What can there be for me like this?" he whispered with a frantic, terrified hopelessness. "Who am I, Hank?" Kurt pulled his knees up to his chest and buried his face in his pale, perfectly normal hands, giving himself over to despair. "What do I do now?"

The question was muffled and indistinct, but for some reason, it angered Kitty.

"You're, like, normal now. That means you can do anything you want," she snapped in a rather bitter tone. "You're still Kurt Wagner, even if you aren't, like, a mutant anymore. You don't look all that different. And, you'll get your balance back. You just have to, like, get used to walking without your tail, that's all."

At the mention of his tail, Kurt curled himself into an even tighter ball. Kitty's anger faded, but it was replaced by a rapidly growing annoyance.

"You're still an acrobat, Kurt." she said, a bit more gently. "You just need some time to adjust."

Kurt didn't even raise his head to acknowledge her words. After a few more moments of watching him sob into his hands, Kitty turned on her heel and walked away.

*******

Wolverine, Cyclops, Storm, Rogue, and Bobby raised their heads from their poker game as Kitty phased through the wall. Piotr looked up from the corner where he was busily capturing the scene before him in his ever- present sketch-book.

"Any change?" Scott asked, his concern clear despite the red, multi-faceted glasses that hid his deadly eyes from view.

Kitty nodded, her jaw set. "Yeah. He's awake."

The tension that had gathered in the small room lessened considerably, but the expression on Kitty's face made Storm uneasy.

"How is he?" she asked carefully, her blue eyes boring into Kitty's own.

Kitty sighed and flopped down in the nearest overstuffed chair. "He's not taking it very well," she said. "When I left he was crying. He wouldn't even listen to me."

Wolverine growled, chomping hard on his unlit cigar. "Knew this would happen," he muttered. Storm nodded, her stern face softening.

"My poor Kurt. I can only begin to imagine what he must be going through," she said with deep sympathy.

"Why?" Kitty demanded suddenly, straightening in her chair. "I don't get it. He's normal now! He can go outside without being afraid he'll, like, be attacked by some crazy mob or something! He doesn't have to hide anymore! You'd think he'd be happy about this. So he'll be, like, a little wobbly on his feet for a few days as he gets used to walking without a tail. He'll get used to it. Why is he so upset?"

Piotr and Rogue nodded slightly, a similar pain gleaming in both their eyes. Scott unconsciously reached up to touch his glasses.

"Ah sometimes think ah would give anything just to be able to touch someone again," Rogue whispered. "To kiss someone without bein' afraid of killin' them. To have a normal relationship, a normal life..."

She turned away, rubbing her arm quickly across her eyes to prevent her tears from falling. Bobby reached out to touch her shoulder, and she carefully laid her head on the thick fabric of his jacket, scrupulously avoiding all skin contact.

Piotr remained silent in his corner, his face drawn, his eyes distant, and his thoughts wistful.

"Kurt is not simply facing the loss of his powers here, though that will be hard enough for him to deal with," Storm broke in, her voice sharp and cold. "Our friend has undergone an extreme physical transformation. The psychological blow of this change will be even more traumatic than the physical aspects. He will be questioning his very identity."

She turned to Kitty, her dark face hard. "You say you cannot understand his feelings. Answer me this, then. You have been white all your life, correct?"

Kitty gave her a confused, incredulous look, caught off guard by the unexpected question. "Well, yeah."

"Imagine that one morning you woke up to find yourself black. Or blue? Or orange? You still maintained your own features, but the color of your skin had changed. How would you feel?"

Kitty shrugged, suddenly very uncomfortable. "I--I don't know... Scared, I guess. But I don't think I'd, like, totally freak out like Kurt did."

Storm nodded. "Perhaps. But, we are not merely dealing with surface appearances.

"Imagine this," she went on in the same lecturing tone she used when teaching her history classes. "You are a black girl living in the South sometime before the Civil Rights laws were passed in this country. Your entire life, you have been shunned and hated, even feared, simply because of how you look. Yet, despite all the hate, all the fear you see in those around you, you are proud of who you are and of your achievements. You accept yourself for who you are, you like yourself as your God made you. Your appearance, your uniqueness, has become an integral part of your identity.

"Now, suddenly, you wake up one morning to find yourself white. Tell me how you would feel?"

Kitty stared at her, blue eyes wide, her voice trembling slightly as she spoke. "I...I don't know," she she repeated. "I guess I'd be scared of how my friends would react... And my parents would probably freak out worse than they did when they found out I was a mut--" She cut herself off as a sudden thought occurred to her.

"Wait a minute, are you saying that's, like, how mutants are being treated today?"

Storm didn't respond, but her eyes softened as she went on. "Now, add this," she said, keeping to her topic. "You are a great concert pianist. Since childhood your musical talent has been the cornerstone of your self- image. Now, your livelihood depends on your abilities. But, imagine you are in an accident. Your hands must be amputated. You can no longer play the piano. How would you feel?"

"Is--is that how Kurt feels about his tail?" Kitty asked, her eyes wide and bright. "That he can't be an acrobat without it?"

Storm came over and placed a comforting hand on Kitty's shoulder. When she spoke again, her eyes were warm. "Now you are beginning to understand, child." After a moment, she straightened, her face drawn with concern. "I must see Kurt," she stated. "You are all welcome to join me if you wish."

[Rowena]

Chapter Seven

Hank McCoy watched in silence as his patient slid off the bed onto his feet. At first, he leaned the majority of his weight on the bed, but slowly, he became confident enough of his footing to ease off until he was standing by himself, without support. Hank resisted the urge to clap.

"There, you see?" he said brightly. "I told you you could do it."

Kurt shot him a scathing glare, his normally pleasant features twisted into a scowl. Hank ignored it.

"Now, try taking a few steps towards me."

Kurt's scowl deepened. "I can't believe this," he muttered darkly. Slowly, he took a careful step forward, still wobbling but no longer in danger of falling. He raised his arms slightly as he came to a stop, consciously working to maintain his balance as he stood in place.

Hank watched him closely, his eyes concerned. "I believe I have discovered your problem, my friend," he said.

"What?" Kurt snapped. "That I cannot walk?"

"No, 'why' you cannot walk. Look at how you're standing."

Kurt glared. "If I move my head I will lose my already precarious balance."

"Not to worry," Hank assured him, striding quickly across the room. "I have just the thing." He came back rolling a portable three way mirror before him, its reflective side turned away from the wobbling Kurt. Hank positioned the mirror in front of his patient, but before he turned it around he looked at his friend in concern.

Kurt's scowl had changed to a look of wide-eyed trepidation. This would be the first time he would see the full result of his transformation. Hank just hoped it wouldn't be too shocking for him.

"Ready?" he asked.

Gathering his courage, Kurt nodded. Hank spun the mirror to face him and waited for the reaction.

Kurt did not recognize the man in the mirror. His skin was pale to the point of being pasty, especially seen in contrast to his darkly curling ebony hair. His blue eyes appeared huge in his slender, narrow face. He seemed a pathetic figure; surprisingly young, small, thin, weak, and unsteady on his feet. Kurt dropped down to a crouch, his hands resting on the floor between his knees, almost like a frog. This was a habitual pose for him. In his true form, it seemed perfectly natural. The pale man in the mirror looked ridiculous. Kurt shuddered.

"That," he said, pointing disgustedly at the figure in the mirror with two fingers, "is 'not' me. He is a pale little shrimp of a man, a pasty worm." Kurt's scowl returned, deeper than before. "This man is a nightcrawler in truth."

"Then, at least it's good to know your pseudonym remains an apt description, no?" Hank quipped with a grin. Kurt shot him another glare. His grin faded. "Though, I am sorry you believe it no longer seems to connote the sinister aspect for which it was chosen."

Kurt didn't respond. He closed his eyes tightly, as if in pain. Hank made to move toward him, but after a few moments his patient slowly began to rise to his unsteady feet.

"You brought this verächtlich thing here for a reason," he snapped curtly. "It might as well make itself useful. Tell me, Herr Doktor, just what exactly is wrong with how I am standing?"

"Well, look at yourself," Hank said with a small gesture. "What do you think?"

Kurt turned back to the mirror, his jaw set. The pasty man who met his eyes looked a perfect idiot. He was standing on the balls of his feet. His knees were bent awkwardly and he was leaning forward in an oddly threatening manner. His arms were held out at his sides, swaying back and forth in an attempt to help him keep his balance. Despite himself, Kurt laughed at the image before him. But, it was a bitter sound.

"You are right," he said, turning his eyes to Hank. "I look quite the fool."

"I never said that, Kurt," Hank said seriously. "What you look like is someone who is very much missing the counterbalance he has relied upon his entire life."

Kurt drew in a sharp breath at the reminder of his loss. "You mean my tail," he said bitterly, swallowing hard to keep back the angry tears.

"Look at the man in the mirror, Kurt," Hank said, trying to direct his patient's attention away from his pain. "How would you expect him to stand?"

"Straight," Kurt grumped. "Not like he was doing a dismal impression of a Tyrannosaurus Rex."

Hank shot him a disapproving look, which Kurt ignored, and went on. "So, try to make your reflection match your perception of how he should look."

"You mean indigo blue and devilishly handsome?" he said with an ironic smile that did not reach his embittered eyes. "I'm afraid that's a bit beyond my capabilities, Hank."

Now it was Hank's turn to glare. "You know what I mean, Kurt."

Kurt sighed deeply and turned back to face his pasty reflection. Slowly, carefully, he straightened his posture, lowering his heels to the floor and unbending his knees. Surprisingly, although he had feared this position would make him even more unstable, he found he had actually stopped wobbling. The man in the mirror seemed marginally less pathetic now. He looked taller, broader, more formidable. For the first time, Kurt began to see a hint of something he could recognize in his new reflection.

"Better?" Hank prodded.

Kurt looked at him. "Ja, actually. It is."

"Good. Now, try taking a step forward."

Kurt did, maintaining his new posture but still off balance as he moved. Hank grunted.

"Was?" Kurt snapped, annoyed at how unsteady he still was.

"Your gait," Hank said simply. "You walk toe to heel. This is probably natural to a man with tridactal feet, but generally, normal humans don't walk on their toes. They tend to roll their foot from heel to toe, thereby maintaining a constant center of balance despite their movement."

Kurt glared. "Until two days ago, Hank, my heel 'was' a toe."

Hank could only nod, sadly.

Kurt sighed deeply, his shoulders sagging. "Who would ever have thought that such a basic thing as 'walking' could be so difficult?" he complained.

Hank laughed. "It's a actually an extremely complicated process. What surprises me is that so many people manage it so well. Now, come on. Try walking heel to toe."

Kurt sighed again, but did as he was told.

*******

Kurt was just finishing his third lap around the infirmary when Ororo entered the room, followed closely by Logan, Piotr, Scott, and Kitty. Hank welcomed them with a warm smile, but Kurt froze in place as if in shock, his expression one of acute discomfort. Flushing a brilliant scarlet, he hunched his shoulders and turned away, avoiding their involuntary stares.

Logan was the first to speak. "Hey, Elf," he said, his gruff tone slightly softer than usual. "I see Hank's already givin' you a workout so I guess it's no good my trying to take you up on that duel, eh?"

Kurt turned and fixed his bitter, blue gaze on his friend. "Workout," he snorted in disgust. "This is teaching me how to 'walk'. Apparently, normal humans do not walk on their toes, all hunched over like something out of a bad monster movie."

Ororo shook her head, her eyes flashing. "You never looked like that, Kurt," she said, her voice stern. "You were always so graceful, your movements so fluid. You had the walk of a dancer."

"Or an acrobat," Kurt added. "Ja, I know. But, the key word here is 'had'. Without my tail I am so awkward that it has taken me all this time to learn to walk well enough to circle this room. Can you imagine how long it will take me to relearn how to do something as basic as a handspring, or even a cartwheel?"

"You seem to have walking down pat now," Kitty chipped in with a hesitant smile.

Kurt snorted again as he headed toward his bed, his gait slow and hesitant. "Yes," he said harshly, his tone causing Kitty's smile to vanish. "You see how 'pat' I have it down. Perhaps, in a few weeks, I will be able to make it all the way to my room without falling over, ja? It's not like I can just teleport myself there, not anymore."

"Kurt," Storm said gently, walking over to his side, "you have just undergone a traumatic physical transformation. You can not expect to be able to simply jump out of bed and continue as if nothing has changed. It will take time to adapt to your new circumstances, but it will happen. Never forget that we care for you, Kurt. Now and forever, you are one of us, a member of our family. Do not allow this bitterness you feel right now to overcome the hope and optimism you always shared with me when I was doubting myself and my place on the team. Don't let this transformation make you lose sight of who you are. To us you will always be Kurt Wagner, no matter your outward appearance."

Kurt looked up at her, the cold bitterness gone from his blue eyes. They were now rapidly filling with tears as he all but collapsed into her willing embrace, sobbing like a lost child.

"Ororo, meine Liebe, I feel I no longer know myself," he sobbed as he broke away, his blue eyes filled with desperation. "I look in that mirror and I do not recognize the man I see before me. It is the most frightening experience I have ever had, to look in the mirror and see a stranger looking back at me. How did this happen? Why did God 'allow' this to happen?"

Ororo shook her head and lowered her eyes, sadly. "I can't answer that, Kurt," she said. "All I know is that you have real friends here, who care about you deeply. We want to help you, Kurt. Please, don't be shy of us or push us away in your pain."

Kurt's eyes were tearing up again and he sniffed deeply. "Danke, meine Freundin," he said, his voice soft and sincere. "I will take your wise words to heart." He turned to include the rest of them in his gaze, brushing the unshed tears from his eyes.

"Thank you all for coming to see me. I deeply appreciate your kind concern for me. I know I have not been in the best of moods."

"That's perfectly understandable," Kitty smiled from where she was standing beside the massive, though silent, Piotr. Piotr nodded.

Deeply touched, Kurt favored his friends with his broad, characteristic grin. As they returned it in kind, delighted to see his mood improving at last, Kurt caught a glimpse of his smiling face in the mirror. His eyes widened in sudden recognition. "Oh, there you are!" he exclaimed in surprise.

Kitty looked at him in confusion. "There who is?"

Kurt turned to her, with a slight chuckle. "That man in the mirror," he said, with a small, self-depreciating smile. "I just realized it was me."


Chapter Eight

Twyla was still in awe of the amazing place in which she found herself. Professor Xavier's mansion was truly enormous, and new additions and appendages were still either being planned or else were already under construction. Despite its size and grandeur and the rich feel of old money that permeated it, however, it managed to maintain a warm, cozy feel. Twyla truly felt she could learn to like it here, if only she could overcome the guilt over what she had become and the shameful way in which she had chosen to use her new-found powers.

Unlike many of the other students at Professor Xavier's school, Twyla was not assigned a roommate. The man who had shown her around--Mr. Summers, the one with those strange, multi-faceted red glasses--had assured her it wasn't because of her powers but because she had arrived so late in the semester. Many of the children at the school had powers that were potentially devastating to those around them, including Mr. Summers himself. She had been stunned when he told her of the trauma he'd gone through as a young teenager when his eyes suddenly began shooting force beams and there was no way he could stop them.

Then, there was Rogue. Rogue was one of the older students and already she associated more with the adults than the rest of the children. Of all the mutants residing in the mansion, Rogue's powers seemed the most similar to Twyla's. Mr. Summers suggested she get to know Rogue, to talk with her. Twyla agreed, though with trepidation. She had rather liked Rogue when they spoke at the park, but she wasn't sure she was ready to talk quite yet.

The two days since her arrival had been little more than a hectic blur. This was good, since it kept Twyla's mind off her crushing guilt and gave her something to focus on. She had spent the time signing up for classes, self-defense training--which was required at Professor Xavier's school--and being assigned chores. Every student, and faculty member, at the school had to do their share of keeping the mansion livable. The chores were done in rotation so no one was stuck with one chore for too long. For her first week, Twyla had been assigned cooking duty with Rogue, Bobby, and Jubilee with Miss Monroe as their supervisor and she was actually quite pleased about it. She had always enjoyed cooking, especially during that warm time just before Christmas when she had always helped her mother bake cookies. She shivered and swallowed back tears. That warmth was gone forever now, and it was all her fault.

Signing up for classes was far more difficult. It was nearing the middle of the spring semester so classes were already well underway. Twyla had to find and choose the ones that seemed closest to the classes she had been taking in her old school so she wouldn't feel too left behind. Unfortunately, her favorite class, the one she had always felt would give her a head start when she started her studies to become a lawyer, was taught by the one person she felt she could never face. Kurt Wagner was the school's sole Latin teacher. The only bright point was that Professor Xavier would be taking over Kurt's Latin classes until he was released from the infirmary. But, even that small relief was tainted by the painful knowledge that it was she who had put him there.

A sharp tap on her door snapped her out of her dark musing. "Come in?" she called, hesitantly.

A girl of perhaps fifteen was standing in her doorway. She sported long, tangled, strawberry blond hair and dark, brown eyes. "Hi," she said with a pronounced Irish accent. "Professor X sent me to get you. He wants to have a talk with you."

Twyla suppressed a shudder. If she was this nervous about meeting the school's founder, perhaps having him for a temporary teacher wouldn't be such a relief after all.

Sliding off the bed, Twyla nodded silently and slouched over to her. She tried not to take offense when the girl nimbly moved out of her way as she passed by. She continued to keep a safe distance from Twyla as she walked with her down the long, richly carpeted hall toward the main flight of stairs.

"My name's Theresa, by the way," the tall girl said as they walked. "Theresa Rourke. But, most people round here call me Siryn."

"Why's that?" Twyla asked curiously, peeking up from her dejected slouch.

The girl grinned. "You ever read The Odyssey?" she asked.

Twyla shook her head. "No, but I always meant to."

"You should," Siryn proclaimed. "It's good. Anyway, in the story there are these women whose song would ensnare any man who sailed by their island, drawing them to be dashed to pieces upon the rocks. My power is not quite that cool, but I can create enormously powerful sonic vibrations that can shatter steel. If I do it right, I can even use these vibrations to fly. So, like the Siryns, my voice can be deadly. My dad's got it too. His name is Banshee."

"Wow," Twyla said, impressed. "That's a really interesting power." She turned her head and sank back into her dejected slouch. "I don't have a nickname," she said. "I'm just plain Twyla Todd. I suck energy out of things and people and can do even worse stuff. Do you know of any mythological monster that can do that?"

Siryn grimaced, suddenly uncomfortable. "Yeah, I heard about what you did to Nightcrawler. How did it happen? Or don't you want to talk about it?"

"No," Twyla said with an unmistakable air of finality. "I don't want to talk about it."

Siryn raised her hands in mock defense. "OK, OK! But, seriously, though. Don't worry about it. I'm sure Mr. Wagner will forgive you. I have him for German and Film Analysis, and he's the nicest guy I ever met.”

At Twyla’s disbelieving expression, Theresa’s eyes softened. “Seriously,” she assured her, her tone still light. “He can forgive anybody anything. I heard he even prays for the soul of that awful man, Stryker, who kidnapped and brainwashed him some months ago. If he can forgive what that horrid man did to him, he will certainly forgive you for what was surely an accident."

Twyla sighed deeply, fixing her gaze firmly on the polished, hardwood floor. "Even if you're right, he's not the only one I've hurt," she whispered, surprised to see a tear splash on the floor beside her as she and Siryn came to a stop.

"Here it is," Siryn said with a small gesture to the door behind her, her richly accented voice gentler than before. "Professor Xavier's office. I've got to go now or else I'll be late for Danger Room training. I'll see you around, OK?"

Twyla shrugged. "Yeah, OK," she said listlessly, then reached for the door. Siryn watched until the door was closed, then hurried away down the corridor.

*******

"Ah, Miss Todd," a bald, imposing man called out from behind a broad, mahogany desk at the far end of the large, exceedingly tasteful room. He spoke with a cultured English accent even though Twyla had heard he was born in this very mansion. The man went on.

"I am sorry I was not here to welcome you upon your arrival. There was an important Senate meeting I had to attend, though I was instrumental in pinpointing your location earlier that morning. Please," he said with a kindly smile, gesturing to one of the high-backed wooden chairs just in front of his desk, "sit down."

Feeling hugely intimidated by the large room, the plush surroundings, and the imposing man who seemed to dominate it all so easily, Twyla slouched her way over to the nearest chair and sat down quickly.

"Well," the Professor said, still smiling, "how do you like it here? I trust you are not finding it too difficult to adjust?"

Twyla shook her head. "No, sir," she mumbled. "It's very nice here."

"Have you met any of our students?"

Twyla nodded. "Yes, sir. They're very nice."

"Is your room satisfactory?"

"Yes. It's very nice."

"That's nice," the Professor said, his bright eyes sharpening and his tone changing. His voice was still warm, but the chipper friendliness had vanished.

"Twyla, I asked you here for a reason. Can you guess what that reason is?"

Twyla tried to vanish into the back of her chair, her eyes focused firmly on one of the swirling designs that colored the plush carpet under the professor's desk. "I suppose it's because of what I did to your friend," she said, her trembling voice barely above a whisper.

"Hmmm." She risked a brief glance at the Professor's face. His lips were pursed and his brow was furrowed. Quickly, she dropped her head again.

"And, can you tell me how that happened?" he asked in the same tone as before.

Twyla shuddered at the memories, trying hard to force them back, to keep the images out of her conscious mind.

"I--I... I guess I panicked,” she said. “I mean, he came out of nowhere in a puff of blue-black smoke! He smelled of brimstone, and the way he looked-- -" Twyla broke off and took a deep, shuddering breath. "I thought for sure he was a demon come to claim my soul for the Devil."

"And, why would you think that, Twyla?" the bald man asked, his sharp eyes apparently curious. "What could you possibly have done in your brief fourteen years to warrant such fears?"

Twyla looked up, surprised. "You mean you don't know?"

"Enlighten me," the man smiled softly, not giving anything away.

Twyla sighed deeply and watched her swinging feet as she made her painful confession.

"I was trying to kill myself,” she whispered, not daring to meet the Professor’s eyes. She dreaded what she might see there. “I didn't want to go on the way I was. Mr. Wagner came to save me before the train could hit and I panicked. He was so nice about it, but I wouldn't listen to what he had to say. I was so convinced that he was a demon, that he was trying to trick me into letting my guard down so he could steal my soul. I touched his arm and we were suddenly in this awful, dark place that reeked of brimstone. It crackled with this weird energy that just soaked into my skin. It felt awful, all cold and backwards. It's really hard to explain.” She sighed, her shoulders drooping even further as she continuted.

“Anyway, when he saw where we were, he was all shaky and frightened. He told me something about dimensions and teleporting and he reached for me to try to get us out of there. That's when I lost it completely. I had never been so freaked out in my entire life, and once I realized we were back on Earth, lying in some park, I looked over to him and...and seeing him curled up there, all weak and helpless—I don’t know but it just made me want to hurt him more! I jumped on him, I think I was trying to strangle him, but before I knew it my power started up. I had never felt so strong, so powerful, and I loved it. I really did. I could do anything, just by thinking about it. I felt...it felt so good.”

Her legs stopped swinging as a violent shiver ran down her spine. “I’m a monster,” she said, her soft voice completely devoid of emotion. “A horrible, cruel, mindless monster."

Slowly, Twyla looked up at Professor Xavier, her eyes empty. "So, there it is," she said simply.

After a stretch of silence had passed between them, the professor spoke again.

"Twyla," he said, his voice somber. "From what I could gather from your story about your state of mind at that time, your reaction to Mr. Wagner is perfectly understandable, and I am sure that if Kurt were here he would agree with me on this. What concerns me is what you were doing on the train tracks in the first place. You are an intelligent, ambitious young girl. You have your entire life ahead of you. You don't seem to me to be the type who would resort to suicide to solve your problems."

Twyla gasped, nearly choking on a sob. "But I--" she started, then she broke off and tried again, her words falling from her mouth in a desperate rush.

"It was my fault!," she exclaimed, jumping up from her chair. "Mom told me to go to bed, to stop wasting time reading science fiction when I should be doing my homework, but I didn't listen to her! And then, when I tried to change my lightbulb in the middle of the night so I could finish my stupid Latin, that's when it all started! My finger got stuck in the lamp and I thought I was going to be electrocuted but instead my skin started to glow and my mom came in to see what was wrong and I blew a hole through the wall! Everything was catching fire and I couldn't control it.”

Twyla’s voice started to tremble as tears streamed from her glowing eyes. “I didn't even stop to see if my mom was OK, to get her away from the fire and smoke, I just ran away,” she cried, her dark face a study in shame and agony. “And I didn’t even care! I didn't care about anything but that incredible power I felt. It was only after it went away that I realized what I'd done. I went back to find my mom, but the house was just a pile of cinders! Even the television had melted. I went to the hospital to see if she had been taken there, but she wasn't there. She wasn’t anywhere!”

Twyla took in a shaky breath, her entire body trembling now. “I killed my mom and I burned down my house all because I didn't listen to her when I had the chance. I thought I was so much smarter than her, that she was treating me like a little girl and I didn't have to listen to her because I knew better. If I hadn't tried to change that lightbulb, none of this would ever have happened! I'm a murderer and an arsonist and I am too dangerous to be allowed to live!"

Twyla broke down into hysterical sobs, collapsing at the knees onto Xavier's expensive carpet, her small frame shaking with the violence of her guilt and self-loathing. Unable to crouch down and comfort her physically, the professor reached out with his mind, caressing her troubled spirit with soothing thoughts. After a long time, Twyla's sobs began to lessen and her shoulders stopped shaking. She was exhausted and emotionally drained, but somehow, she felt better. Slowly, she looked up into the bright, compassionate eyes of Professor Xavier.

"Dear Twyla," he said, his cultured voice soft and intense, "Your pain is deep and your feelings are completely logical and understandable. But, you must remember, no matter what you may have done in the past, you are a member of our family now and your life is precious to us. Our job here is to help you learn to control and focus your powers so that terrible accidents like the ones that brought you here will never happen again. It will take time, and it will certainly not be easy. It will be expected that you will make many more mistakes before you can safely control your powers. But, Twyla, even in the depths of the darkest despair there is always room for hope. The people here, at this school, are your friends. Talk to them. Share your feelings with them. And, remember, Twyla, my own door is always open."

Twyla sniffed, her heart still heavy with pain but her mind somehow lighter. "Yes. Thank you very much, Professor. I will remember."

"Good. Now, I believe you've pulled kitchen duty this week. I suggest you make your way there now before you're missed or else I will have to answer to Miss Monroe." He smiled.

Twyla straightened. "Oh. Um, where is the kitchen?"

The professor's smile broadened. "I will show you," he said. Twyla gasped as a detailed map of the mansion suddenly appeared in her mind, accompanied by Xavier's calm voice.

"Just follow the red arrows and you'll be there in no time," he said.

Twyla nodded and favored him with a grateful smile. "Thanks, Professor. And I will be back. You've given me a lot to think about."

With those parting words, the young girl was gone. The professor sighed and maneuvered his highly advanced wheelchair out from under his desk. He knew he should have told her about her mother's condition, but she was so fragile at the moment. He didn't want to get her hopes up just to have them dashed again if (but more likely when) her mother died. Twyla’s situation was complicated further still by the fact that Xavier still hadn’t been able to reach the girl’s father. It struck the Professor as odd that Twyla hadn’t asked about him. Still, from what he had been able to learn about her family, her parents had gotten divorced before Twyla was even born. Thinking about it now, it suddenly occurred to Xavier that there was a real possibility Twyla and her father had never met.

Shaking his head, he pushed Twyla's problems to one side. Now, it was time to check on Kurt.

[Rowena]

Chapter Nine

As Professor Xavier rolled silently into the infirmary, he was met with a very interesting sight. A slight, slender young man was standing on his hands, his back curled until his feet were dangling just over his tousled, dark brown curls. His skin was so pale it almost looked as though he had never seen the sun, though his cheeks were flushed with effort. If it hadn't been for the singular position he had twisted himself into, Professor Xavier realized that he would have been hard pressed to equate this young man with the gentle blue mutant he had come to know and respect over the past seven months. The narrow, elfin features remained the same, but without the scarred, indigo skin, the sharply pointed ears, and the long, flexible tail, the overall effect was so different as to be almost unrecognizable.

As the professor watched, the young man slowly stretched his body until his bare toes were pointed towards the ceiling, his back straight and stiff as an arrow. Then, suddenly, he pushed off with his lean, muscular arms, letting his legs fall into a slow cartwheel that rapidly gained speed as he turned and twisted around the room. Finally, he launched himself into the air, performing a perfect backflip before landing gracefully on his feet.

Xavier raised his hands to applaud the young man's impressive display of skill, but a sudden series of sharp, bitter thoughts pummeling his mind stopped him in mid-motion.

*Sloppy* the thoughts reprimanded harshly. *Unforgivably sloppy. Your balance is still off, your legs are shaky, your timing is atrocious, you've never performed this badly! Star attraction indeed. If Margali could see me now, she'd be sorry she ever took me in. You're worthless, Wagner, completely worthless.*

Blinking in surprise at the force of the disgust behind those thoughts, the Professor decided it was time to announce his presence before they could go much further.

"Hello, Kurt," he said, his voice as warm as he could make it. "I'm pleased to see you up and about."

Kurt jumped at the unexpected voice behind him, clearly startled, but he smiled when he saw the Professor.

"Guten Tag, mein Herr," he said with a slight bow, the cheerful tone of his voice belying the frustrated anger fueling his thoughts. "Please don't tell Hank what I was just doing," he said, his expression concerned, but his blue eyes twinkling with mischief. "He wants me to take it easy. He has actually threatened to keep me in here for an entire week if I 'overextend' myself, as he put it, and you know how much I loathe inactivity."

Xavier matched his smile, rolling forward to close the space between them. "Your secret is safe with me, my friend," he assured him. "But I don't see any reason for you to stay here. If you're feeling well enough to perform the astounding feats I just saw--" there was a dark flash of incredulous disbelief from Kurt at the word 'astounding' though his expression remained light. Professor Xavier noted this but did not allow his voice to pause as he finished his sentence "--you have no business lounging around in the infirmary."

Kurt grinned. "Do you mean you've come to spring me out of this joint?"

Xavier chucked slightly. "I'll speak with Hank. I'm sure he'll see things my way."

Kurt nodded. "Sehr gut. I hate hospitals. For some reason, they always seem to put me on edge." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "Maybe it's the smell?"

"What smell?" Hank asked, his large frame suddenly looming in the doorway to his adjoining office.

"Ah, Hank, just the man I wanted to see," Professor Xavier smiled, rolling over to him. "I was just talking with Kurt and we were wondering if you felt he was well enough to return to duty."

Hank looked hesitant for a moment, then bent down slightly towards the Professor. "Charles, can I speak with you in private?" he whispered.

Kurt tilted his head, and looked strangely annoyed. Xavier realized that he was surprised that he couldn't hear Hank's whisper from his position across the room. He sighed as he realized Kurt's pointed ears must have been much more than just for show. The poor man was going to have a great deal more to adjust to than the Professor had originally anticipated.

"We'll be right back Kurt," the Professor assured him.

"Don't go flipping and bounding around the room while we're gone, OK?" Hank added. "You're still not accustomed to this form yet and I don't want to see you do yourself an injury."

Kurt flopped down onto the bed and, with careful deliberation, laced his long fingers together in front of his narrowed eyes before shoving them briskly under his head. "Ja, ja, ja," he muttered. "I'll just lie here like a good little patient, OK?"

"Very well," Hank nodded. Then he turned and walked back into his office, the Professor trailing close behind him.

"I know what you're going to say, Hank, and I want you to know that I agree with you."

The tall mutant looked down at his friend and mentor, his broad arms crossed. "Then you agree he should remain here until he has become more fully adapted to his new physiognomy."

Xavier shook his head. "Quite the contrary, I'm afraid."

Hank's eyes bugged from his head. "What? But, Charles, surely a transformation of this nature--"

Xavier held out a hand to cut him off. "Hank, Kurt is taking this harder than either of us could have imagined."

"But he seems to be adjusting quite well."

Xavier nodded. "That's part of the problem. His strength in this case is deceptive, he could break at any moment."

Xavier sat back in his chair, steepling his fingers as he fell into 'lecture mode'.

"The way Kurt deals with his problems is to pretend they just bounce off him when in reality they strike him to the core," the Professor explained. "He's been trained as a performer. I've often caught the thought running through his mind in times of stress--'The audience pays to forget their troubles, not to see yours.' This is how he's been taught to deal with his troubles from his earliest days. The cheerful attitude I just saw was an act he's putting on, the smile he shows to the public, a mask of safety that he can hide behind." He shook his head, a slight frown twisting his lips.

"I fear the longer he stays here, the harder it will be for him to break through that protective mask and truly face the rest of the school," he said. "He's terrified of the reactions of his students, as well as his friends, to his new form, and without his physical mutations he's feeling inadequate to the challenge of carrying out his duties as an X-Man. I feel that the sooner he gets back into his normal routine, the sooner he will realize that he can."

Slowly, Hank began to nod. "I understand what you're saying," he said. "But he is no longer possessed of super-human agility, speed, or strength, to say nothing of his powers of teleportation. I am afraid that if he goes back to his usual routine too quickly he will either cause or be victim to an accident and end up back here in worse shape than he was when he first arrived."

Xavier sighed. "Of course, there is that risk. But Kurt is a professional." He looked out into the med-lab where Kurt was sitting up in bed, grimly juggling four plastic pill bottles and an enema bulb. Hank shook his head disapprovingly, but it was clear to the Professor that Kurt was struggling to get a feel for his new fingers.

"We'll just need to have faith in him."

*******

Kurt looked up when Professor Xavier came back into the room. "So, mein Herr, what is the verdict?" he asked, catching the pill bottles two to a hand and placing them on the table next to the enema bulb. "Am I getting out of here?"

Xavier smiled at Kurt's mental image of himself as Hank's unwilling patient. Kurt was tucked tightly into the hospital bed and dressed in classic prisoner stripes, his blue, three-fingered hands clamped tightly over his large, pointed ears and his tail lashing in agony while Hank stood at his side, perpetually spouting long strings of complicated English words with far too many syllables. Xavier was not surprised or concerned to see that Kurt still mentally perceived himself as a mutant. Something of that image would most likely remain with him for the rest of his life, as would the sharp pain he felt over the loss of his tail. And it would be up to Xavier and the rest of Kurt's friends to help him deal with it.

"Yes, actually," he replied, his amusement evident in his tone. "In fact, as it is nearly time for supper, you can accompany me to the dining hall."

Kurt was off the bed and standing by the door almost before the words were out of Xavier's mouth.

"After you, then, mein Herr," he said with a theatrical bow. As he slid his bare foot forward, the door slid open. Xavier noted the state of his feet as he passed through the door, his brow furrowed in thought. Kurt concentrated on keeping up a steady pace as he walked beside him.

*...heel, toe, heel, toe, heel, toe...*

Xavier picked up on the mantra as well as a sustained flash of frustrated annoyance as Kurt walked carefully down the hallway.

"Perhaps we should stop off at your room so you can change into something a bit more comfortable?" Xavier suggested.

Kurt was wearing his newly laundered uniform, which somehow seemed larger and looser on his slender frame than it had been. Hank had told him about the extra muscles that had been a part of Kurt's mutation. They had been instrumental in controlling his tail and allowing Kurt his super-human agility. Now they were gone, it came as no surprise to the Professor that the young man felt his earlier performance in the medbay to be 'sloppy'. No doubt, although he was still amazingly flexable, he had never felt so stiff in his life.

Kurt flushed in embarrassment in response to Xavier's suggestion, the red creeping up beyond his hairline and down his neck. Xavier suddenly wondered if he had flushed so deeply as a mutant. His scarred, indigo skin had made it so difficult to tell...

"Ja, that might be a good idea." Kurt said with a very small smile. "Although..."

He trailed off, flushing even deeper. Xavier stopped, concerned at his companion's sudden burst of anguished mortification.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

Kurt hung his head, peering down at the professor through his long lashes. "It is just that all of my trousers have, well..." he took a deep breath, his voice dropping to a pained whisper. "...tail holes in the seat. And now that my...my tail is..."

Xavier nodded his understanding. "I'm sure Scott would let you borrow something of his, at least until you have made the appropriate...adjustments...to your own trousers. You two seem to be about the same size."

Kurt's head drooped further. He felt physically pained at the thought of having to sew up the tail-holes he had so carefully made. "I would hate to impose, ja?"

"Nonsense," Xavier said, keeping his voice light and bright. "In fact, I have already asked him and he would be honored to be of assistance. He'll meet us at his room. Oh, and he has also offered to lend you some shoes, if they fit you."

Kurt blinked, then slowly raised his head. "Shoes?" Slowly, a smile spread over his pale face. "You know, I have always wondered what it would be like to be able to wear real shoes. With socks and everything." He flushed again, but not as violently this time. "It is very difficult to find shoes to fit a foot with a toe on the heel, ja? It is very uncomfortable."

Xavier raised an eyebrow. "I can imagine."

Kurt looked down at his bare feet as they started moving again, heading now for Scott's quarters. They looked so strange to him, with those ten knobby little pink toes. They could barely grasp the carpet, let alone a trapeze. How could he fly with feet like these? How had his circus family done it?

He sighed deeply. If they had done it, at least Kurt knew it was possible. All it should take was practice. And Kurt was never one to shrink from the prospect of hard work.


Chapter Ten

The dining hall was already full of laughing, talking, eating students when Kurt, Scott, and the Professor entered the large room. Hunching his shoulders, unconsciously trying to make himself as unnoticeable as possible in Scott’s slightly baggy clothes, Kurt carefully lifted a warm plate from the pile at the edge of the long buffet table and politely offered it to the Professor.

"Thank you," Xavier said as he watched Kurt gingerly pry another plate off the pile and hand it to Scott, concerned at the odd, awkward way he held it in his slender hands. He seemed to be unsure of what to do with his center fingers and tended to use them only in concert with his first finger and his pinky.

Scott noticed too, but accepted the plate without comment and moved on to the food platters. Kurt took a plate for himself and hunched nervously at the end of the line, fingering the rosary in his pocket and praying no one would approach him until he had at least reached the teachers' table. He had never felt more exposed, and he was in no mood to deal with questions, no matter how well meaning.

The first two platters were filled with vegetables. Kurt watched closely as Scott ladled seasoned peas onto his plate, trying to figure out exactly how he used his fingers to clutch the large serving spoon. He had always done it with his thumb against the side of the handle, his first finger resting on top, and his second finger curled securely underneath. Now, just like so many other things, he was sure the way he had always done it would no longer work.

Just to be safe, before reaching for the spoon, Kurt slowly set his plate down on the table. Then, carefully mimicking Scott's movements, he awkwardly took the handle in his own, pale hand. When he was sure he had a good grip on it, he dipped the spoon into the peas and wobbled them slowly to his plate, his brow furrowed in concentration.

Sighing with a mixture of frustration and relief--he hadn't dropped a single pea, but he was sure he’d looked like an idiot--Kurt plopped the spoon back into the peas and slid his plate over to the next tray. Carrots. Well, since he didn't have night-vision anymore he supposed his eyes could use all the help they could get. Carrots, on the plate. Mashed potatoes? He was getting pretty good at using the serving spoons by this time, so why not?

Next--the main dish. They were having char-broiled sirloin steak with blue- cheese sauce tonight, with optional veggie-burgers for those like Kitty and Ororo, who didn't eat meat. Yet, in order to earn his steak, Kurt would have to conquer a new challenge: serving tongs.

Scott had already been and gone so there was no model for him to emulate this time. He would just have to teach himself. Kurt straightened. No problem for the Incredible Nightcrawler!

Kurt grimaced as he reached out and realized his fingers were pairing themselves of their own accord into a tridactal shape. NO! He thought back to the man in the mirror. He would do this right, or he wouldn't do it at all.

After splaying his fingers as far as they would go, he relaxed his hand and reached for the tongs again. This time, his hand cooperated, the fingers wrapping around the tongs as naturally as they always had. There, it wasn't so hard after all.

Kurt chose a steak and squeezed the tongs. He nearly squished all the juice from the meat with the force of his grip, but he got it to his plate without spilling a single sloppy drip on the white tablecloth. Kurt was nearly grinning by the time he made it to the buttered rolls. Some utensils, a napkin or three, a shiny, red apple for his teeth, and Kurt was ready to perform one of the most difficult balancing acts of his entire career--walking all the way across the dining hall to the teachers' table while carrying his dinner plate.

Kurt’s almost-grin vanished, replaced now by a slight frown. The bitter irony was far from lost on the former star of the Munich Circus. Firmly repressing a dark scowl, Kurt carefully began his trek across the crowded hall.

*...heel, toe, heel, toe, heel, toe...*

As he moved he could swear he felt his tail swishing along behind him. Unconsciously, he shifted his posture, only realizing what he’d done when he began to weave and sway like a drunken man, his uncertain balance nearly causing him to topple into a stack of extra chairs by the wall. Several peas rolled off his plate to bounce and splatter on the immaculate floor. Kurt ground his teeth and concentrated on walking. Never had he felt so foolish.

Several of the students he passed gave him curious looks, but no one waved or smiled or called out to him as usual. True, he hadn't wanted attention, but even so the way they seemed to be ignoring him stung him more deeply than he would have expected. By the time he finally reached the teachers' table, he was feeling surly and churlish and he had lost much of his appetite. Not that he'd had much of one to begin with. Hank had told him that without his mutant gift of teleportation, his metabolism was no longer as high as it had been. Perhaps that too had something to do with his present mood.

Kurt slid into his usual seat at the corner--next to Ororo and across from Logan--without looking at any of his friends. Instead, he busied himself by carefully arranging his napkins and utensils beside his plate. He knew his manner was unforgivably rude, not to mention childish, but he didn't care. He was feeling miserably exposed, shunned, and painfully embarrassed and he wanted nothing more than to just teleport to his room and hang from the ceiling with a good book. However, even that simple escape was denied to him now. With his uncertain balance, he could barely stick to the floor anymore, let alone the ceiling.

Ororo and Logan shared a look, then turned to their sulking friend. Kurt was struggling with his knife and fork, sawing awkwardly at his meat, grumbling and muttering under his breath in German as he fought to coordinate his unsure fingers.

“Kurt,” Ororo offered gently, “would you like me to show you—"

"I can do it!” Kurt snapped.

Ororo straightened, startled by the vehemence of his tone. Kurt noticed, his surly expression crumbling as he dropped his utensils to his plate and his eyes to the floor.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I didn’t mean to—“He sighed. “I didn’t mean it like that, meine Freundin. Thank you for your offer.”

Ororo shook her snowy head and scooted her chair closer to his, reaching out to gently turn his head to face her.

“Kurt,” she said, once she held his blue gaze. “You have nothing to apologize for. You have every right to feel angry.”

Kurt swallowed, breaking their locked gaze and turning back to his plate. “Tomorrow is Tuesday, am I right?” he asked, firmly changing the subject.

Logan nodded. “All day.”

”That is my long day. All my classes meet.”

“Are you sure you feel up to facing the students, Kurt,” Ororo asked. “I'm sure everyone would understand if you wished to take a few days off--"

"Nein," Kurt shook his head. "What kind of an example would that be for the children?" Ororo furrowed her brow, but before she could speak Kurt went on, gesturing with one hand toward the crowd of chatting, laughing, eating students before them.

"All of them are dealing with traumatic transformations of one kind or another," he said. "My present situation is not much different. I have been physically changed, but I am not ill. I am perfectly capable of carrying out my duties as a teacher."

"No one is doubting that, Kurt," Professor Xavier said with a small smile. "In fact, I agree with you entirely."

Hank sighed slightly, crossing his knife and fork over his plate. "But you know how kids are, especially teenagers," he said, looking straight at Kurt. "Are you prepared to deal with their..." Hank trailed off, circling his hand at the wrist as he tried to come up with a politic way of expressing his thoughts, "...curiosity?" he finished.

"Hank," Kurt told him, "I have been dealing with such 'curiosity', as you put it, all my life. To tell you the truth, I'm actually more worried about writing on the board than I am about my students' reactions to my...erm...new appearance."

"Writing on the board?"

Kurt smirked, wiggling his fingers at Hank. "Too many fingers!" he exclaimed. "I can barely use a knife and fork! I would hate to see how my already atrotious handwriting has suffered." He shook his head, regarding his hands with a slight frown. "How can anyone function with such an unruly crowd of digits at the ends of their hands!"

"Perhaps you could consider sitting in on a typing class," the Professor suggested. "Not only would the exercises allow you to develop better coordination, but you would also gain a valuable skill--one that was all but closed to you previously."

Kurt furrowed his brow, considering. "I had not thought of that," he said, vainly attempting to find the most practical way to hold his knife and fork. "Though it would probably be a good idea," he observed with a somewhat sheepish smile.

Ororo returned his smile, lifting up her own utensils in demonstration. "Here," she said, "try holding them like this."

As he had with Scott and the serving spoon, Kurt emulated Ororo's grip. He still felt rather awkward as he cut his steak, but after a few slices he began to get the hang of it.

"See," Ororo told him, her eyes gentle. "All it takes is a little practice."

Kurt looked up at her with a smile, but he did not respond. Every move he made, the flat, dimensionless feel to everything he saw, the odd tingle where his tail should be, the strange, sympathetic way Ororo was looking at him...all these and more were constant reminders of his transformation and he didn't like it. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't just grin and joke and pretend nothing had changed. Everything had changed. And, though he was loathe to admit it even to himself, he was terrified of how his students would react when he stepped up in front of the classroom in the morning. They had been told what had happened, of course, but that didn't mean they would recognize him...

"Hey, Kurt," Logan's voice broke into his musings. "Where'd you go, Elf?"

Kurt blinked and looked up at his friend. "Huh?" he asked. "Was?"

"I asked if you want to get in some extra Danger Room practice," Logan said. “’Cause I’ve got this new sim—“

"I think it would be better to give Kurt some time to adjust to his new body before you start throwing it around the Danger Room, Logan," Hank scolded, his eyes narrowed.

Kurt shook his head, suddenly feeling very tired. Ororo noticed the change in his posture.

"Kurt, are you all right?" she asked.

Kurt sighed deeply. "Ja, I am fine," he assured her. "I'm just a bit tired, that's all." He looked up to address everyone at the table. "If you will all excuse me, bitte," he said, "I think I will head up to my room. It has been a very long day, and I have a lot of sewing to do."

There were several confused looks at that last remark, but Kurt didn't expand on it.

"Would you like me to come with you?" Ororo offered, concern clear in her blue eyes.

"No, danke," he said with a very small smile. "I think I would rather be alone. I will see you all tomorrow."

And with that, Kurt rose from his chair and walked slowly and delibrately from the crowded room, the worried looks from his friends boring into his back as he turned a corner and vanished from their view.

[Rowena]

Chapter Eleven

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

Kurt groaned loudly and rolled over to slap the annoying alarm clock into blessed silence. Stretching the kinks out of his sleepy muscles, Kurt found his tail was cold. It must have slipped out from under the covers while he was asleep. Stifling a huge yawn, Kurt made to wrap his tail around his leg to warm it. He sat up in a panic, however, when nothing happened.

“What the...” he exclaimed, turning his head back as far as he could in a fruitless search for his tail. But, at the sight of the pale, five-fingered hand propping him up on the mattress, he froze.

“Ach, Gott,” he moaned, collapsing back onto pillow and running his hands down his face with an anguished sigh as his memory caught up with him. He was still a ‘normal’ human. No miraculous transformation had occurred in the middle of the night, as he had childishly hoped would happen. His tail was gone, vanished without a trace. It was now nothing more than a tingling ghost at the base of his spine.

Kurt groaned again and kicked the covers away with his stiff, ten-toed feet. He needed a shower and a shave and he really needed to brush his teeth. Running his tongue over his strangely flat, smooth teeth, Kurt swore that no matter how upset he got in the future, he would never forget to brush his teeth again. His mouth tasted awful and his teeth felt downright disgusting.

He had an unsteady moment as he rose to his feet, swaying slightly until he remembered to stand with his heels flat on the ground. Rolling his eyes with a scowl, Kurt marched across the room to his bathroom, the now- familiar mantra sounding in his head as he walked. *...heel, toe, heel, toe...*

The face that blinked back at him from the bathroom mirror was tousled and bleary, the bristly stubble on his cheeks and chin surprisingly dark against his pale skin. The prominent contrast startled him. Previously, it had been all but impossible to see his indigo bristles against his scarred, blue skin. He’d only had to shave when his stubble began to give his face the illusion of fine, almost fuzz-like fur. Now, it looked like he’d have to make it an every day habit.

And, here was something new. A reddish mark from his pillow ran up the side of his right temple. It didn’t hurt, but it was annoying. Kurt rubbed at it absently as he prepared for his shower. He had just about twenty minutes before his first class began. That should give him plenty of time to steel himself to face the stares. He’d have time for breakfast after class ended at nine.

Kurt took great care in choosing his wardrobe that morning. He had always taken great pride in his appearance, and now that he was a 'normal' human he felt he had to make an even greater effort to make himself presentable to his students. Sorting through his suits was rather like sorting through the costumes he had worn at the circus. What kind of impression did he want to make today?

He finally settled on a blue shirt that brought out the color of his eyes with a tan jacket and matching, newly sewed up trousers that somehow made his pale complexion seem just a trifle darker. He had a brief struggle with his tie as he fought to make his extra fingers cooperate with his wishes, but after a few false starts he managed to tie a decent knot. The shoes he had borrowed from Scott completed the ensemble.

Examining his new reflection in the mirror, Kurt couldn't help but smile. He looked the very image of a teacher. Straightening his shoulders, he could feel the confidence his 'costume' supplied settling over him. He could do this. He could face the stares. After all, he'd survived the first time, when they really did have something to stare at. Now he was 'normal', he had nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to hide.

With a sudden stab of guilt, Kurt looked down at his pale hands with something akin to revulsion. He felt like a traitor to all mutantkind, having thoughts like that. He'd never had anything to be ashamed of. He had been blessed with amazing gifts, gifts it seemed he had taken for granted all his life. It was only now that he was forced to live without them that he was truly starting to realize the full extent of the blessings that God had bestowed upon him at birth. Kurt squeezed his eyes shut to hold back the stinging tears.

*Mein Gott, I miss my tail!*

Kurt jumped slightly as his watch beeped to warn him he had five minutes to get to his classroom. Grabbing his briefcase, Kurt dashed out the door and down the hall. With a flash of panic, he suddenly realized that he had no idea how long it actually took to walk from his quarters to his classroom in the opposite wing of the mansion. To be honest, he had never made the trip.

*You can't teleport anymore, Dummkopf,* he berated himself as he pushed and picked his way through the teeming mass of students that threatened to thoroughly clog the stairway. *You should have taken that into account before you started preening in front of the mirror. I'd hoped to get there before the students arrived. So much for that plan.*

Despite getting caught in the human traffic jam, Kurt managed to make it to his classroom with over a minute to spare. Barely half the students had arrived, and more continued to trickle in as Kurt set his briefcase down on his desk and started rifling through his notes for the morning's lesson. Turning towards the board, he picked up a piece of chalk, holding it awkwardly in his strange, narrow fingers.

Suddenly realizing he'd left the notes he needed on his desk, he reached out for them with his tail, surprised when nothing seemed to happen. Spinning around, Kurt roughly stifled a groan of anguished annoyance as he reminded himself for the second time that day--he didn't have a tail anymore. Grumbling darkly under his breath in German, Kurt snatched the paper from the desk with his hand, then turned back to the board. He wrote with slow, deliberate movements, trying to forget his embarrassing struggle with his eating utensils at dinner the previous evening.

"HOMEWORK" he spelled out on the far edge of the board, disgusted with the weak, wobbly look of his lettering. "CHAPTER X, SENTENTIAE I-XIV."

The noise of morning chatter and scuffling feet outside the door had died down by the time he finished writing. Setting down his chalk, Kurt turned to face his class with a bright smile. Before he could say a word, however, he was surprised to see several raised hands. Nodding to the nearest one, he said, "Yes?"

Jamie Madrox lowered his hand. "Are you our new substitute?" he asked. A faint cloud of wondering murmurs backed up the question as the rest of the hands dropped.

Kurt felt as though the floor had fallen out from under him as he looked out at the sea of expectant faces before him. He saw expressions ranging from curiosity and confusion to disinterest. He did not see recognition. His heart started to pound in his chest and he felt his breathing quicken.

His students didn't recognize him.

He couldn't panic here, not in front of the children, he couldn't teleport, he couldn't run. With great effort, he struggled to calm himself enough to reply in the most characteristic manner he could manage.

"Ach, I see my disguise is too good," he said, placing a theatrical hand over his heart. "It has fooled even the brightest among you." He turned to Jamie with a smile. "Nein, Jamie, I am not your substitute. I'm much worse. What you see before you is your actual teacher, in the flesh. This is not a trick or an illusion."

At the gasps and startled murmurs set off by his words and distinctive accent, Kurt winked conspiratorially to the children. "Yes, it's a fact. All the rumors you have heard are true. By some strange quirk of fate, the Incredible Nightcrawler has been transformed into the dreaded Herr Wagner of Introductory Latin 101. Be warned--your worst nightmare is about to come true!"

There were a few scattered giggles at his dramatic tone. Slowly, his students were accepting the realization that the dapper young stranger before them was actually the Herr Wagner they had come to know so well over the past months. Kurt let them have their moment of amusement, then he rubbed his hands together with the wickedest grin he could manage under the circumstances as he prepared to carry out his threat.

"Now, if you would clear your desks of everything but a pencil, bitte, I believe we have a vocabulary quiz scheduled for this morning."

The collective groan was all the proof he needed. He had successfully broken the ice. The students knew him now. He smiled in relief as he walked down the rows passing out lined paper. Then, taking up his position at the front of the room, he waited patiently while everyone scribbled their names at the head of their papers. As his eyes flicked over the students, mentally taking attendance, he noticed a new face in the crowd, huddled in the shadows of the far left corner. He stared at the dark, faintly glowing girl for a moment, wondering why she seemed so familiar. Then, with an involuntary gasp, his memory came flooding back.

...Fräulein, what have you done?...

...I will never believe you, Devil! I love God!...

...Please, Fräulein, I do not want to hurt you. But we must leave this place and in order to do that you must trust me!...

...Trust you! Famous last words, Devil!...

"Herr Wagner!"

"Hey, Mr. Wagner!"

"Kurt, man, are you OK?"

Kurt slowly opened his eyes and found himself staring into the worried faces of his students. Shaking his head to clear the last vestiges of the memories that had threatened to overwhelm him, Kurt favored them with a reassuring smile.

"Es tut mir leid, meine Studenten," Kurt apologized, running his hand through his short curls as he straightened back up to his full height from where he’d all but collapsed against his desk. "I am very sorry. It's just...I've been through a lot these past few days... I am sorry if I worried you."

Looking relieved, the students returned to their seats, waving off his apologies as unnecessary. Kurt had never felt more affection for them, the youngest members of his new extended family, than he did at that moment. He couldn't hit them with a quiz after they had been so kind.

"You know," he said out loud, "I think we can forget this quiz."

The cheers that announcement brought on were so loud that Scott, teaching in the classroom across the hall, slammed his door shut. Kurt winced with an amused chuckle, then turned back to his exuberant students.

"I'm sure you all studied anyway. If you all perform well during the remainder of this class, I shall award each of you with ten well deserved points. Keep the paper, though. It'll save me the trouble of passing it out again next week.

"Now, please get out your workbooks and let's see about getting some translations on the board. Who remembers the differences between how you use the ablatives of means, accompaniment, and manner?"

As the students rummaged through their backpacks, Kurt hopped up onto his desk and sat with his legs swinging off the edge. Normally, he would crouch there in order to give his tail free reign to move where it wished as he taught the lesson. Today, however, he sat in a more conventional manner, his long legs crossed at the ankle.

The room was settling down and several hands were already shooting up in response to his question. Looking at his students, he felt a wave of pride growing within him. They seemed to be handling his transformation better than he was. His warm smile faded, however, when his eyes rested on Twyla Todd, the glow that had filled his heart rapidly chilling to anger.

A cold shudder passed through him. He was startled and disturbed by his reaction to her. He had expected to be able to find some understanding of her point of view, to be able to forgive her for what she had done to him. But seeing her there, her cold, glowing eyes fixed sullenly to her desk, her jaw set in what could be either discomfort or disgust, he found he just couldn't. She had attacked him in cold blood when he was at his weakest, not even giving him a chance to speak. She was undisciplined and she was dangerous and Kurt didn't want her anywhere near him. And that realization shocked him.

He took a deep, calming breath, his hand reaching reflexively for the rosary at his belt. *Oh, my God, I am sorry for my sins...*

Looking back at the small forest of hands, Kurt forced a smile. "Ah, Rahne! What can you tell us about these pesky ablatives?"

*******

It had been a very long day. Latin, then German, then Film Analysis, followed closely by the after school activities he had volunteered to preside over: fencing and gymnastics. Previously, Kurt had joined in with the students as they practiced, providing demonstrations and acting as a partner to those who had none. Not today, though. Today he'd stood on the sidelines, acting more as an advisor or a coach, shouting out advice and encouragement where needed. He hadn’t even picked up a sword. He’d been too embarrassed of what his students might think--let alone say--when they saw his uncertain grip.

Kurt usually ended the school-day with energy to spare, but tonight he felt utterly exhausted. Keeping up a chipper face for the students, fighting to cover the feelings that were threatening to tear him apart, coming up with polite excuses to avoid the concern from his friends—it seemed everyone he ran into wanted to ‘talk’. Every action he took was a forced reminder of his transformation. The last thing he needed was to talk about it!—it was very tiring work. What he needed was a few hours of solitude to spend with a good movie. Lucky for him, Jones, the boy who never slept, had decided to spend the night playing videogames, so Kurt had the television all to himself. A good adventure movie would be just the thing to help him forget, at least for a while...


Chapter Twelve

Ororo Munroe was deeply concerned for her friend. Kurt had been avoiding her all day. Every time she had approached him, he would suddenly find he needed to be somewhere else. He was going to be late for a class... He had left something in his room and really needed to get it... Did you hear that? I think someone's calling my name. I am sorry, Liebchen, but I must go... The excuses were as pathetic as they were false.

Kurt had never been a good liar, and even without his tail his fidgety feet, twiddling thumbs, and flushing face easily gave the game away. She didn't think he had met her eyes once all day. Whether or not he was aware of it, he was doing just what she had warned him to avoid. He was pushing her away, bottling his emotions up inside in a vain attempt to avoid the truth. His forced smiles and falsely chipper attitude were really starting to get on her nerves.

"Why don't you give the Elf a little space, 'Ro," Logan said, peering at her over his forbidden beer. "I'm sure he'll talk when he's ready."

Ororo looked up at him in surprise. "How did you know I was thinking about Kurt?" she asked, twirling her glass of carrot juice between her palms.

Logan tapped his nose. "I always know when you're thinkin' about Kurt."

Ororo was confused. "What does your nose have to do with--" She cut herself off when she saw the look on Logan's face, then she scowled. Logan smirked and set down his beer.

"Yeah, I know how you feel about the kid," he admitted. "Can't hide somethin' like that. Except from Kurt, himself, of course."

Ororo drew herself up. "Just what are you implying with that remark, Logan," she demanded.

Logan shook his head and took another swig of beer. "Kurt told me somethin' the night before the mission," he said once he'd swallowed. "It got me thinkin'."

"What did he say?" Ororo asked, curious and concerned.

Logan shook his head. "That's somethin' Kurt's gotta tell you himself," he said, causing Ororo's scowl to deepen. "But I can tell ya this."

He leaned forward, looking straight into his friend's crystal eyes. "The kid's crazy about you, 'Ro," he said. "I'm sure you've noticed. He's shy, but he hasn't exactly been subtle about his feelings."

Despite herself, Ororo smiled, reflecting back on all the small things that may not have meant much at the time, but taken together said a great deal. All the shy little smiles he gave her during meetings, the way his eyes lit up when she approached him, the way he kissed her hand, the way his tail sometimes wrapped itself around her leg at dinner. She truly believed he had been completely unaware of what his tail was up to, and she had never said anything about it, secretly afraid that he would stop if she did.

"If you ask me," Logan went on, "that's why he's been avoidin' you."

Ororo furrowed her brow. "You're saying that Kurt is avoiding me because he likes me?" She shook her head. "He's a grown man, Logan, not a teenager."

Logan shrugged. "Take it as you will. But think about it. And be careful. That's all I'm gonna say."

Ororo regarded the gruff Canadian for a few moments, but when nothing else seemed to be forthcoming, she rose and carried her empty glass to the sink.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Logan," she said as she turned to leave. "Thank you for your advice."

Logan just grunted and grabbed another beer, flipping the page of his newspaper with a loud crinkle.

*******

Ororo had just left the kitchen when a familiar theme wafted to her ears from the direction of the rec room. Someone was watching 'Galaxy Quest'.

Curious, Ororo poked her head into the dark room, half-expecting to see Jones sitting cross-legged on the sofa. Strangely, the sofa seemed to be empty. Reaching a hand across the wall, Ororo flicked the light switch. As the room was bathed in sudden light, there was a startled yelp and a loud thump. Ororo let out a small cry of surprise, then rushed into the room, already apologizing and hoping whomever she had startled was not hurt.

"I'm sorry, I just wanted to see if there was anyone watching the TV, and-- "

"Nein, nein, it is all right, Fraulein," Kurt's muffled voice came from behind the far side of the sofa, cutting her off. "It was my own fault."

Kurt's slightly tousled head popped up from behind the sofa, a sheepish smile on his pale face. "I was crouching on the arm of das Sofa here, and when you turned the lights on I was startled. I tried to teleport, but lost my balance instead."

Ororo grimaced. "Are you all right?" she asked.

Kurt chuckled and climbed over the arm of the sofa to sit properly on the cushions.

"Only my pride was bruised, danke. And how is meine leiblings Fraulein this evening? You seem troubled. Is something bothering you?"

Ororo stared at him, shaking her head in disbelief as she moved to sit down beside him. "Yes, something is bothering me," she told him bluntly. "You are. You've been avoiding me all day, and I want to know why."

Kurt blinked at her, then his lips tightened and he turned to face the television screen. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about," he said, but his accented voice was strained.

Ororo glared at him, then turned away, frustrated and more than a little hurt. "Fine," she said shortly. "Fine, if that's the way you want to play it."

She stood, brushing the wrinkles from her skirt. "I'll leave you to your movie," she said. "I'm sorry I disturbed you."

Kurt stubbornly kept his eyes fixed on the flickering screen, but all he could see was Ororo's angry face burned into his memory. As she left the room, Kurt could feel his strange, sudden flash of inexplicable anger dissolving, to be replaced by deep shame. Leaning his forehead against his palm, Kurt squeezed his curls tightly between his fingers, the slight pain helping him to hold back his bitter tears as he ground his teeth together and took in a deep, shuddering breath through his nose.

Why had he done that? Why did he lie to her when he knew she only wanted to help him? His behavior had been reprehensible. He could never expect Ororo to forgive him for the way he had treated her.

Kurt found he couldn't face the movie any longer. The amusing adventure had lost its appeal, and Kurt was in no mood to laugh. He wanted to be anywhere other than where he was.

Usually, when he was feeling like this, Kurt would teleport to his special spot on the roof. Now, the thought of his private refuge was just another painful reminder of all he had lost. With an angry growl, Kurt stood and kicked the sofa hard with his shoe, knocking it violently back against the wall with a loud THUMP that was far from satisfying. His thinking spot might as well be in Mongolia for all the good it could do him now. The only way for a 'normal' human to reach the roof was with a ladder, and Kurt had no intention of going through all the trouble of finding one.

With no one to talk to and nowhere to go, Kurt flicked off the television and the DVD player and shuffled out into the hallway, slouching his miserable way back to his room. It really galled him how long it took to walk from one place to another. Teleportation had spoiled him.

He still had one refuge left, one source of comfort that had never yet failed him. As he closed his door behind him, locking out the rest of the mansion, Kurt rubbed the beads of his ever-present rosary between his slender fingers. Falling to his knees, Kurt propped his elbows up on the bed and leaned his forehead against his folded hands, struggling to soothe his aching soul by offering up the most heartfelt prayers he knew.

Less than an hour later, he fell asleep like that, his legs folded under him and his pale, tear-dampened cheek resting against his interlaced fingers.

*******

"Have none of you been studying? What I have asked is a basic question, one you all should know by heart by now. Every hand in this room should be raised. I will ask you this one more time, and if again none of you respond, I will make this a pop quiz!

"What are the endings for first declension nouns? We'll start with the nominative case. Anyone?"

The students shifted uncomfortably in their seats, their eyes darting about the room as though the answer would somehow materialize on the walls. Several began to surreptitiously flip through their books. Kurt let out an exasperated sigh and threw down his chalk in frustration. It broke in half, the center shattering into dusty fragments on the floor.

"Very well," he snapped, his accent lending a clipped tone to his words. "Don't say I didn't warn you. Clear your desks of everything but a pencil and take out those papers from last week. This quiz will count for ten points."

The students stared at him in disbelief. Kurt glared back, his blue eyes hard.

"Are you deaf today as well as stupid? I told you to clear your desks. Now do it!"

Taken aback by the real anger behind his tone, the students leapt to comply with his orders, sharing bewildered, angry glances among themselves. Kurt stalked back and forth before the board with his hands clasped behind his back, resting them against the place his tail should have been.

Once the rustling died down, Kurt stopped his pacing with a sharp, almost militaristic turn and crossed his arms across his chest. "You have three minutes to complete this quiz," he told him. "Starting now. Begin."

Rahne raised her hand. Kurt turned to her, his eyebrows raised in sarcastic amazement. "Oh, so now you choose to participate. What is it, Rahne?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Wagner," the Scottish girl said, "but I dinnae quite understand what it is we're supposed to be doin'."

Kurt ground his teeth, then gestured to the board. "You are supposed to fill in this chart," he told her. "Like I've been asking you to do for the past fifteen minutes. I want all the case endings to the first and second declension nouns. It is all on the board. You have two minutes."

"But that's not fair!" Ray called out. "You were talking for that first minute!"

"One minute and fifty-four seconds," Kurt said, looking at his watch. "Fifty-three seconds. Fifty-two seconds."

"All right, already, we get the point!" Then he mumbled something under his breath. All Kurt could catch was something that sounded like, "...freaking Nazi..."

Kurt spun on him, his blue eyes blazing. "What did you just say," he demanded, his voice cold and his face contorted with outraged fury. None of the students had ever seen him like this, and truth to tell, most of them were terrified.

Ray sat back in his chair, defiantly keeping his mouth clamped shut. Kurt's glare hardened as he pointed at the boy with two fingers. "All right," he snarled. "You. Out. Out of my classroom. You can go to the Professor or to the devil for all I care, just get out!"

With a disgusted sneer, Ray gathered up his books and papers and strode from the classroom. The rest of the students cringed in their seats under Kurt's furious, blue gaze, thoroughly intimidated and desperately trying to turn their concentration to their quiz.

Kurt scowled and stalked over to sit behind his desk, ruffling through his briefcase in search of his notes for his next class. A few students shot him annoyed looks at the noise he was making, but Kurt honestly didn't care. If they had just done what he told them in the first place, they wouldn't be having this quiz.

Having found what he was looking for, Kurt closed his briefcase with a snap, then he glanced at his watch. "Time's up," he announced. "Pass your quizzes up to the front of the room, bitte. Jamie, you collect them and bring them to me. While he's doing that, the rest of you get out that passage we've been translating. I want three volunteers to put the last three sentences up on the board. If I have to ask twice, this passage and the next one will be assigned on top of your regular homework. Am I understood?"

"Yes, Mr. Wagner," the students mumbled. After some hesitation and a few dark mutters, three of the students detached themselves from the group and huddled together at the end of the board that was farthest from their teacher. If Kurt noticed this, he gave no sign.

Twyla hunched miserably over her desk at the back of the room, her glowing eyes fixed on her half-translated Latin passage. She had watched in silence as over the past week the kind, funny man Mr. Wagner had been deteriorated into the bitter, angry man now scowling at the front of the room. The one time he'd looked at her directly, he had nearly fainted. The anguished expression on his face was now burned into her very soul. She still hadn't been able to bring herself to talk with him, and it was getting more difficult to approach him by the day. For a man who had by all accounts been willing to forgive anybody anything, he sure had a short fuse now.

Mr. Wagner's own temper wasn't even the worst of it. His anger and frustration seemed to be contagious. The entire school was on edge. The other students and even some of the teachers were blaming his sour mood on her, and she couldn't fault their logic. This whole situation was her fault. She only wished she knew a way to fix things. Unfortunately, at this point, repairing the damage she'd caused seemed impossible.

Sighing deeply, Twyla blinked, surprised when she opened her eyes to see a small dot of wetness spreading slowly through her ditto. Looking back up to the front of the room, where Mr. Wagner was now ordering the students to define the functions of each word in each of the three sentences on the board in that awful, sharp tone he had recently developed, Twyla made a difficult decision. She would talk to Mr. Wagner, no matter how hard it was for her or how angry he got. She would make a pest of herself, bugging him until he finally stopped avoiding her. It was time she started taking some responsibility for her actions.

Taking a deep, strengthening breath, Twyla risked a glance at her classmates and grimaced at what she saw. Hopefully, she could reach him before the students rose up in a mutiny.

[Rowena]

Chapter Thirteen

"Kurt, we have to talk."

Kurt closed his eyes, squeezing his pen tightly in his hand. Professor Xavier rolled the rest of the way into the small, cluttered office, taking up a position on the opposite side of Kurt's desk.

"If it is about Ray, Herr Professor, I can--"

"It's not just Ray," Xavier interrupted. Kurt winced, but still did not look up. The Professor shook his head.

"Kurt," he said, "I know you don't what to discuss this, but the situation is beginning to get out of hand."

"Why can't everyone just leave me alone?" Kurt snapped, looking at the Professor for the first time. "Why can't I have two blessed minutes to myself?"

"We are concerned about you," the Professor told him, his dark eyes gentle, yet sharp. "You haven't been behaving like yourself lately--"

"I haven't been myself lately," Kurt muttered darkly under his breath, shooting a deadly glare at the wall. Xavier heard him. Realizing this track was getting him nowhere, he decided to shift the subject.

"Scott tells me you re-took your piloting exam on the simulator," he said conversationally. Kurt turned back to him, his blue eyes wary.

"Ja. So?"

"He also told me you passed with flying colors, so to speak," he said, smiling at his little joke.

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Then Herr Summers must have been exaggerating," he grumped, slouching in his chair. "My score was significantly lower than last time."

"Yet it was still well above average, Kurt," Xavier told him. "It was a very impressive performance, considering--"

"Yes, I know," Kurt snapped. "You don't have to say it."

Xavier regarded the angry young man before him with calm, understanding eyes. Leaning back in his chair, the Professor steepled his hands in front of him.

"You haven't scheduled any sessions in the Danger Room," he observed. "In fact, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were deliberately avoiding it."

"Perhaps that is because I am," Kurt said bluntly. "You saw me that day in the medbay." He frowned. "Besides, I did run through my training course. Five times. Three different days."

Xavier straightened. "You didn't record it," he said, slightly concerned. "How did it go?"

Kurt scowled down at his desk. "I fell," he said. "Five times."

Xavier sighed. "Kurt, you know that is only to be expected. Given time--"

"I did not tell you why I fell," Kurt interrupted, turning his bitter, blue gaze to the Professor. Xavier gestured for him to go on.

"I fell because I was doing so well," Kurt told him, his accented voice flat.

The Professor narrowed his eyes, confused. "I'm afraid I don't quite follow," he said. Kurt sighed.

"As an acrobat," he explained, "I knew my body and all that I was capable of. I knew my limits and I knew how to stretch them. It took me a lifetime to learn that kind of control. When I began my training session, I had expected that I would need to learn to control my body all over again. You cannot imagine my joy when I realized I had retained almost all of my former abilities.

"As the session progressed, I truly began to enjoy myself, so much so that, for a moment, I was able to forget what had happened to me." A muscle in his jaw twitched, but he went on.

"The first time I fell, it was an honest mistake. I tried to grab a bar with my foot and I slipped."

Xavier nodded. Kurt smirked. "I laughed about it," he said, "then I tried again. The second time, my performance was better. So, I decided to stretch myself a little." He snorted in disgust. "I would have pulled it off, too, had I not tried to shift direction with that ghost that once was my tail."

Xavier lowered his head, beginning to understand where Kurt was going with this. "I suppose something similar happened the other three times?"

Kurt nodded. "Ja. Each time I swore I would not allow myself to be fooled by that ghost. And each time I forgot myself and ended up in the net." He sighed, squeezing his eyes closed with an anguished scowl.

"Doktor McCoy was right," he said, his voice tight. "I am a danger to myself and to all my teammates the way I am now. If I forgot myself during a fight or on a mission, I could either cause or fall victim to an accident, an accident that could possibly take the life of someone I care about." Kurt frowned, his eyes darkening with self-loathing. "I am no use to anyone like this." He stated it like a fact.

"That is not true, Kurt," the Professor retorted, his voice stern. "And you know it. You have an important function here. You are not only a teacher, you are a mentor and a friend, someone the children look up to and respect."

Kurt raised an eyebrow. "Respect?" he repeated incredulously. "I behaved like an ogre today. For the past several days, actually. Whatever respect they may once have had for me must have long faded by now." He lowered his head, a deep shame filling his eyes.

"They still care about you, Kurt--"

"Oh, really?" Kurt snapped, his blue eyes blazing with a fury fueled by pain. "If they care about me so much, why do they stop their conversations when I walk by? Why do they avoid me at lunch? No one invites me to play cards anymore. None of the children ask me to tell them stories, or to watch cartoons with them. Now I am 'normal', I have become an outcast all over again!

"I am sick of being the freak! I am sick of the stares, of the people talking about me behind my back! I am sick of everyone telling me they know how I feel, or that I am ungrateful, or how happy they would be if this had happened to them! I have had to put up with being a freak all my life and I do not want to deal with this anymore!"

Kurt pounded his fists down on the desk, causing his various knick-knacks and picture frames to shudder in sympathy with his outburst. Drawing in a shaky breath, he rubbed viciously at his stinging eyes with his sleeve.

"I am also sick of crying," he sniffed angrily. "I have cried myself to sleep every night since this happened. It's pathetic."

Xavier was silent for a moment, allowing Kurt time to collect himself. Once the young man had calmed down, Xavier spoke up.

"Have you thought about leaving the mansion for a few days?" he asked gently. "Maybe going to the city, attending a show?"

Kurt stared at him, his blue eyes wide. "Leave?" he repeated.

"You have been focusing on what you have lost," Xavier told him. "And I do not mean to belittle what you are going through. But have you considered any of the benefits of your transformation?"

Kurt stared at him, a strange, stricken expression crossing his narrow face. "But...but I can't...!"

Xavier frowned at the thoughts his friend was projecting. "There is no need to feel so guilty about this, Kurt," he told him sincerely. "You will not be betraying anyone by allowing yourself to get some enjoyment out of what has happened to you."

His eyes sharpened as a sudden realization dawned on him. "You will certainly not be betraying yourself by accepting what you have become," he said firmly. "If anything, you will be doing yourself a great service."

Kurt trembled slightly, then shook his head. "Nein," he exclaimed. "No! I mean--I am not ashamed of what I looked like before," he blurted out. "I liked my appearance! I liked who I was! I was never ashamed of being a mutant!"

"No one is saying you were," Xavier assured him.

"I was proud of it!," Kurt went on, as though he hadn't heard. "But...but if I, if I begin to think about it..." He looked up at the Professor with an odd look in his eye.

"I no longer even carry the mutant gene," he told him, his voice soft as though he were saying something confidential. "And when I think that--it never will happen, but when I consider..." He trailed off, flushed and embarrassed and filled with a guilty shame.

Xavier's eyes widened in sudden understanding. "It is a relief to know that, if you ever were to have children, they would not be born mutants," he finished the thought.

Kurt swallowed and lowered his head, curling himself up into an awkward, miserable ball in his chair. The Professor regarded him for a moment, then wheeled over to place a fatherly hand on Kurt's shoulder.

"Is that what has been bothering you?" he asked gently. Kurt pulled his legs up tighter, resting his forehead against his knees.

"You are the telepath," he mumbled. "You should know."

Xavier shook his head. "After all the horrible experiences you have had, after all the abuse and cruelty you have had to endure simply because of your appearance, you seriously believe that we would hold such feelings against you?"

"Well, don't you?" Kurt asked, looking up from his knees. "How is that thought any different from all those people who want to control the mutant population, or those scientists who are trying to isolate and destroy the X- gene before it can be passed on? I am just as bad as any of them."

Xavier chewed thoughtfully at the inside of his cheek, considering his next words carefully. “I know we are speaking hypothetically at the moment,” he said, “but suppose you did have a child and you learned that child was a mutant. What would be your reaction?”

Kurt sighed. “All right,” he mumbled, his expression still miserable. “I get it.”

“What do you get?”

Kurt rolled his eyes slightly. “My fears stem from protectiveness rather than hatred. I would do all in my power to keep that child safe from harm, to teach them to use their powers responsibly. You are right, and I am a fool for behaving so childishly and allowing these feelings to eat at me in this way.”

Xavier shook his head. “You are anything but a fool, my friend,” he told him. “A fool would never have been so honest with himself.” He smiled slightly. “Now, do try to cheer up,” he said. “I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but ever since you started moping this entire school has been on a short fuse. All this ill temper is beginning to give me a terrible headache.”

Kurt smiled for the first time that day, even chuckling a little. The Professor grinned, clapping him on the back then wheeling towards the door.

“That’s the spirit," he said brightly. "Oh, and Kurt, there will be a meeting in my office at the end of classes. I would appreciate your attendance.”

“I will be there, mein Herr,” Kurt assured him. “Is it anything we should be concerned about?”

For a moment, the Professor appeared pensive. “Perhaps,” he said. “I will know more this afternoon.”

Kurt nodded. “Very well, then. Have a good day, Professor. Thank you for coming to see me. I believe this talk has helped me a great deal.”

Xavier smiled at his friend, relieved to feel the bitter guilt and pain that had filled the young man ebbing away to be replaced by far less disturbing emotions, and even a touch of familiar humor.

“I was glad to be of service,” he said. “And remember, Kurt. My door is always open should you need me. And you shouldn’t hesitate to confide in your friends. They are worried about you as well, particularly Ororo and Logan.”

Kurt winced. “Ach, Ororo,” he moaned. “I was so horrible to her, and I know she has not yet forgiven me. How can I ever face her?”

“I’m sure you’ll find a way,” the Professor said, a knowing look in his eye. “Good day, Kurt.”

And with that, the Professor was gone.


Chapter Fourteen

Kitty Pryde walked into the language lab, her head filled with ideas for a new computer program she really needed to talk out with Doug--her computer science partner--and her arms filled with German homework.

“Hi, Kitty,” Jamie smiled up from the front desk. Apparently, he was the lab monitor this week.

“Hey, Jamie,” Kitty smiled back. “So, like, where can I sit?”

“Computer Three is free,” Jamie told her, quickly typing her name into his own computer and handing her a small, laminated card with a ‘3’ on it. “Right there, next to Mr. Wagner.” He pointed.

Kitty scrunched up her face. “Couldn’t you, like, get me a different computer?” she asked, leaning in close and keeping her voice soft so no one else could hear. “I kinda don’t want to sit next to him, if you know what I mean.”

Jamie scowled. “That’s not very nice,” he whispered back. “Besides, I already typed your name into the records and I don’t know how to delete the file.”

“I do,” Kitty told him with a frown. “I’ll show you—“

“No.” Jamie shook his head firmly, standing protectively in front of his computer with his arms crossed. “If you ask me, the reason he’s been so mean lately is because everyone’s been avoiding him. If you smile at him, he’ll smile back. He smiled at me just like always when I signed him in just now.”

Kitty stole a glance at her teacher’s back, considering Jamie’s words. Then she sighed.

“Oh, all right,” she grumped. “But I don’t know if I’ll be able to do any work with my teacher, like, right there and everything.”

Jamie rolled his eyes. “There’s a divider, Kitty. If you lean forward, you won’t even see him. Besides, it never bothered you before.”

Kitty scowled. “That was before. Back when he was, like, nice.”

“He’s still the same guy, Kitty,” Jamie scolded. “Just pretend he’s wearing his image inducer. That’s what I do.”

"Were you even, like, in his class today? If you ask me, that Twyla kid changed way more than just his looks."

Jamie shook his head a little sadly. "Come on, Kitty," he urged. "Just go sit next to him? He needs a friend."

Kitty sighed deeply, then nodded. “OK, Jamie” she said. “Here goes. But if he, like, bites my head off, you owe me big.”

Leaving Jamie to settle himself behind his desk, Kitty strode boldly up to Computer Three, dropping her books on the table beside the keyboard and adjusting the chair’s height to accommodate her. Kurt looked up from his computer screen, but when he saw who it was he turned back quickly, leaning in close to the screen and praying she hadn’t noticed him. His evil mood had carried over into his German class from his earlier Latin class, and in a fit of temper he had ended up assigning the students extra homework. He was probably the last person on earth she wanted to see, let alone sit next to.

“Hey, Mr. Wagner,” Kitty said softly, taking her seat. “How’s it going?”

Kurt flinched. Busted, as they said in the movies. Wincing slightly, Kurt lifted his head and blinked up at her as if just noticing her presence for the first time. Trying not to be too obvious about it, he carefully gauged her expression. To his surprised relief, she didn’t seem angry or annoyed with him. Kurt risked a tentative smile.

“It is going well, danke,” he said, keeping his voice as soft as hers. It was the study period and the language lab was rather crowded. Kurt didn’t wish to disturb the students. Rolling back slightly, he swiveled his chair and turned to face her directly.

“Katzchen,” he said, “I wish to apologize for my behavior this morning. I should not have overreacted as I did.”

Kitty smiled slightly, more relieved than surprised at Kurt’s complete shift in attitude. “Yeah, well, I guess we kind of, like, deserved it. I mean, we had gone over those vocabulary words before, and, like—“

Kurt cut her off with a shake of his head. “Nein,” he told her, “you did not deserve it. There is no excuse for losing my temper as I did. I have never behaved so unprofessionally as I did this morning."

Kitty shrugged, the contrite shame in Kurt's large, blue eyes making her feel slightly uncomfortable. "Yeah, well, don't worry about it." She grinned wickedly. "I'm sure if you laid off the homework for a couple of days and, like, canceled Friday's quiz everyone would, like, forgive you in an instant!"

Kurt chuckled. "Although that is probably true, I am afraid I cannot do that. But, I was thinking of counting the extra homework I assigned this morning as a bonus quiz. You know, if you do well on this assignment I would count it in place of your lowest score. How does that sound to you?"

Kitty pretended to consider that for a moment, then broke out with a genuine smile. "That could work too," she said. As Kurt smiled back, Kitty stole a glance at his computer screen.

"So, like, what are you doing?" she asked.

Kurt turned back to his computer, suddenly looking rather embarrassed. "I am searching for theater tickets," he told her.

"Need any help?" Kitty offered. Kurt smiled at her, a small, appreciative grin.

"Ja, actually," he said. "I do not quite know what I am doing. I have never really used the Internet before. I have watched others, but watching and doing are two entirely different things."

Kitty scooted her chair closer to him and started tapping at his keyboard. "It's really easy," she assured him. "Here, let me show you. You've started that typing class, right?"

"Ja, but all we have been doing is typing j-k-l-; and f-d-s-a over and over and over. It is very boring, you know."

Kitty laughed. "Yeah, typing classes totally stink, but it's, like, a really good skill to have and everything. Now, what was it you were looking for?"

Jamie watched from his place at the front of the room as Kitty and Mr. Wagner talked and laughed together just as they always had, his heart filling with a warm satisfaction to know his favorite teacher was finally starting to feel better.

"Hey, Jamie! Some crowd in here today, huh? Mr. Wagner strike again or what?"

Jamie looked up at the boy who had just entered, sighing slightly at the dark expression in his brown eyes. Here we go again, Jamie thought to himself, pulling up a new file on his monitor. "Computer Five is free," he said, handing the boy a small, laminated card with the number '5' printed on it. "It's right there. Next to Mr. Wagner."

The boy looked as though he had just swallowed his tongue. Jamie smiled. "I already signed you in," he said unapologetically. "Sorry."

*******

"Guten Tag, Ororo."

Kurt shook his head. "Nein, too formal." He took a breath and tried again.

"Hallo, Ororo, how are you this afternoon? I'm sorry I gave you the cold shoulder last week. Perhaps this will warm you up?"

Kurt groaned and shifted his bulky package in his arms, quickening his pace as he strode down the long hall to Ororo Munroe's history classroom. The final class of the day would be letting out in a few minutes and Kurt wanted to catch her before she left for the meeting in the Professor's office.

"Very suave, Dummkopf," he berated himself sarcastically. "What about, 'Hey, Liebchen, you wanna go out?'" He snorted. "Ja, that will work."

Slapping his forehead with one, slender hand, Kurt moaned miserably into his package.

"Ach, she will never forgive me. I totally blew it, I know it! She came to me, and I pushed her away. I hurt her and now she is angrier than ever."

Kurt shook his head again and sighed deeply, his shoulders drooping slightly. He had been feeling so confident just a few moments ago, his good spirits rejuvenated by the unexpected approach of nearly all of his students in the language lab, one after the other. They had all been angry at first, but once he had apologized and talked with them for a short while, they had forgiven his odious behavior surprisingly quickly. Earning the forgiveness of Ororo Munroe, however, was an entirely different matter all together, as Kurt was just starting to realize.

"This is stupid. She won't want to talk with me. What am I even doing here?"

Kurt's self-doubt had almost grown to the point where he was ready to turn around and head straight back to his room, when his morose thoughts were cut off by the soft bell which signaled the end of class. Pressing himself against the wall and hugging his fragile package protectively to his chest, Kurt waited for the main outpouring of students to rush by before gathering up whatever shreds remained of his courage and completing his journey to Ororo's classroom.

Ororo had her back turned to him when he entered, rearranging a stack of papers on her neat desk. Straightening his shoulders, Kurt performed possibly his bravest act to date. He cleared his throat, alerting Ororo to his presence.

"Erm," he started as Ororo turned to look at him, her crystal eyes darkening when she saw who it was.

"Hello Kurt," she said, her voice cold and her tone brusque. "Did you want something?"

"Erm," Kurt said again, feeling an embarrassingly deep flush rising in his face but completely unable to suppress it. She had taken up her 'goddess' pose; tall, imposing, and aloof. Kurt refused to give in to his intimidation. Taking a deep breath, he plowed ahead.

"I wanted to apologize," he said, the words tumbling from his mouth in a rush. "For last week. And for waiting so long before apologizing to you. And for my atrocious behavior in the meantime, particularly with the students."

She was just looking at him, her expression unreadable. Kurt swallowed and went on. "I don't expect you to forgive me," he said. "At least, not all at once. But I wanted you to know that I take full responsibility for any bad feelings my temper may have caused among the population of this school and I am working very hard to remedy the situation."

When she continued to stare at him, Kurt shrank slightly and made to turn away, leaving his package on a nearby desk. "Erm, this is for you," he said awkwardly. "You can use them as you wish, go with whomever you want. I'll just be going now. I'm sorry to have disturbed you."

Slowly, Kurt made his way to the door, his shoes clacking softly against the hardwood floor as he walked. Even after he had left the room, his ears continued to strain for any sound that might suggest she was calling him back, that she wanted him to return to her. His heart sank to the sub-basement, crumbling into aching fragments when no such sounds were forthcoming. A slight shiver ran down his spine and he swallowed, fiercely blinking back his stinging tears.

Straightening his shoulders and setting his jaw, Kurt quickened his pace, heading straight for the Professor's office. Professor Xavier needed him, and he wasn't about to let anyone else down. Mutant or not, he still had his duties to perform. From this moment on Kurt would work to earn Ororo's forgiveness, despite the painful knowledge that he would never win her love.

*******

Ororo Munroe stared alternately at the package on the desk, then at the empty doorway, her heart tight in her chest and her mind swirling with conflicting emotions.

He'd done it again, just as he had that time in the Blackbird shortly before the tragic events at Alkali Lake. Slowly, Ororo raised a hand to where he had brushed his thick, indigo finger against her cheek all those months ago, his deep, accented voice ringing in her ears, her mind's eye full of his glowing, yellow eyes; his shadowy, scarred face... "Someone so beautiful should not be so angry..."

Just as he had that day, Kurt had managed to pierce through her toughest shields as though they didn't exist, his sincere, blue eyes taking her protective anger and turning it on its head, leaving her feeling off balance and painfully exposed.

She'd had an entire speech prepared. She had been ready to chew him out royally, to really let him know how his behavior was affecting his friends. But, his anguished expression, the way he flushed red right up to his hairline...these things tugged at her heart like nothing else, leaving her confused, frozen, and utterly speechless.

Her breathing slightly ragged, Ororo slowly stepped forward, carefully tearing the thin tissue paper from the package Kurt had left her, gasping softy as she revealed a careful arrangement of blooming bramble and lesser bindweed. The wild, thorny bouquet was humble gesture of humility and a gentle plea for forgiveness, and as Ororo tore away the last of the tissue paper she found the whole thing was bound with bittersweet for sincerity.

"Oh, Kurt," she whispered to herself. "You make it so hard for anyone to stay angry at you." A slight, affectionate smile tweaked at the edges of her lips. "Even when you deserve it."

Carefully lifting the flowers, Ororo suddenly noticed an envelope tangled in the torn tissue paper. Opening it gently, Ororo's eyes widened, her small smile growing into an excited grin. Somehow, Kurt had managed to obtain two fifth row center tickets to the new Broadway production of Giuseppe Verdi's Egyptian opera, 'Aida'. They must have cost him a small fortune!

Rushing to the door, Ororo leaned out into the hallway, her long, white hair spilling across her shoulders.

"Kurt!" she called out, her voice echoing slightly as it shot down the long corridor. But it was too late. He was already gone.

*******

Kurt barely looked up when Ororo arrived at the meeting, nearly five minutes late. He knew that if he looked at her, if he saw that cold, emotionless expression on her face, nothing could stop him from breaking down. It was embarrassing enough putting up with the teasing from the others when they saw him sitting properly in a chair with his feet on the floor rather than crouching at the edge of the seat as he had been wont to do during the earliest days of his transformation. He didn't need to start crying in front of them too.

"So glad you could join us, Ororo," the Professor said dryly from his place behind his desk.

"My apologies, Professor," she said, taking her seat. Xavier's eyes flicked briefly from Ororo to Kurt, his brow furrowed slightly at the polarity of their emotional states. Clearly there had been some kind of miscommunication somewhere. Now was not the time to discover the cause of this disturbing development, however.

Turning to Scott, Xavier made a small gesture with his hand. "Please, continue, Scott," he said.

Scott nodded curtly. "As I was saying, there have been at least seven reported incidents of this nature so far and as of yet, no one has any idea what could be causing them. The latest involves a narrowly averted traffic accident on the New Jersey Turnpike. Eye-witnesses claimed that the two trucks involved actually duplicated themselves. One pair crashed--a very messy accident, possibly fatal. The second pair managed to miss each other. When the drivers from the second pair rushed to approach the accident, both the trucks and their injured drivers vanished without a trace. Three 911 calls and about thirty eye-witness accounts are the only evidence the authorities have been able to uncover to show that this strange occurrence even happened."

The Professor nodded, then turned to the rest of his gathered X-Men.

"Although we have no conclusive evidence so far, it is possible that a telepath is behind all this," he told them somberly. "It is also probable that if this telepath is powerful enough to cause mass illusions on this scale, he or she can also avoid detection by Cerebro. If a mutant is behind all this, he or she will have to be found and stopped before the human population is roused to a panic. Already several news broadcasts throughout the country are blaming these occurrences on mutants. That's why we must act now."

"We will be heading to the scene of the latest incident within the hour," Scott said. "The Professor will be joining us on this mission. Storm and I will pilot the X-Jet. Wolverine, you'll be our tracker. Stay on the alert for any unfamiliar scents or other clues that could lead to uncovering the identity of our mystery mutant."

Wolverine grunted his acknowledgment, bristling slightly at Scott's tone. "I know what to do, One-eye. Ya don't have ta spell it out for me."

Scott tightened his lips, then turned to Kurt.

"Kurt," he said.

Kurt looked up, his head tilted and his eyes narrowed slightly. Scott had called him Kurt, not Nightcrawler. But, Cyclops always used code-names when handing out assignments...

"It will be up to you to watch over the students while we're gone."

Kurt straightened, his eyes wide. "Wa--was?!" he exclaimed, confusion and hurt warring with anger in his shocked, blue eyes. "But--but I--"

"This is probably the most important assignment of all, Kurt," Xavier tried to reassure him, leaning forward in his chair, his eyes understanding, yet stern. "The safety of the children and this mansion will be your responsibility."

"It ain't as easy as it sounds, bub," Wolverine spoke up, sympathizing with Kurt's reaction to being left behind. "Remember what happened last time they got me to do the babysittin'"

There was a collective murmur as everyone recalled the devastation left by Stryker's attack on the mansion seven months ago. Kurt sighed.

"I understand, Professor," he said softly. "Without my powers, I probably wouldn't have been much use to you anyway. You already have two excellent pilots. I would just be in the way."

"Kurt, you know that's not true," Cyclops said, a bit sharply. "We just thought that after what happened last time--"

"Ja. What happened last time." Kurt clenched his teeth and rose to his feet, running his thumb over the fingers of his fist.

"Well, if it's all right with everyone, I'll be in the kitchen," he said with false brightness as he picked his way through the small crowd to the door. "With all of you going away, somebody has to see about dinner."

"Kurt," Ororo started, rising herself. Kurt turned without really focusing his gaze on anyone in particular. He was smiling, but his expression was disturbingly blank.

"I'll see you all when you get back," he said. "Good luck, everyone."

And with that, he was gone.

Ororo shook her head, heading for the door with every intention of going after him.

"Storm!" Scott called out. Ororo spun on her heel, turning a glare on their team leader as she crossed her arms over her chest.

"What?"

"You can talk to Kurt later, Ororo," Scott told her, a bit more gently this time. "But right now, we need you here."

"But we can't leave with Kurt like that! I have to--"

"You can sort things out with Kurt later," Xavier assured her. "Right now, though, this mission must take precedence. Kurt understands this, and I know you do as well."

Still scowling, Ororo returned to her chair, casting one last look at the door before turning her eyes back to the briefing. Her mind, though, remained fixed on Kurt's expression, and the ludicrously expensive theater tickets she still had to find a way to thank him for.

[Rowena]

Chapter Fifteen

Twyla Todd looked up from her book report, staring into the crowded rec room from her lonely corner table without really seeing, deep in thought as she searched for the best way to phrase her next sentence.

"So, why is he still here?"

Twyla turned her head to face the boy who had spoken, not really interested in knowing what he was talking about, just open to any distraction.

"Well, maybe he has a contract with the Professor or something," an Asian girl answered. "I don't know. Why does it matter anyway?"

The boy scowled. Twyla racked her brain in a vain attempt to remember his name. Billy? Bobby? Bobby sounded right...

"He shouldn't stay here," he said bluntly. "He's not a mutant anymore."

Twyla's eyes flashed, their glow brightening in anger as she suddenly realized they were discussing Mr. Wagner. She opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off by one of the boys from her Literature class--Artie, she thought his name was. He was stretched out on the carpet where he had been working on a book report of his own, the book itself--'Shoeless Joe', by W.P. Kinsella--resting at his elbow. It seemed she wasn't the only one who had overheard this conversation.

"What are you talking about," Artie lisped, his dark, forked tongue making it hard for him to speak clearly. "He's still Mr. Wagner! What does it matter if he's a mutant or not?"

"Yeah," a girl spoke up. Amara? There were so many students here, Twyla could never hope to learn all their names. "I thought this school was about fighting prejudice!"

The first boy's scowl deepened. "It's not prejudice!" he protested. "You can bet that if I lost my powers I'd leave here in a minute. I wouldn't even look back."

"Oh, yeah?" the Asian girl smirked, raising one narrow eyebrow. "And where would you go?"

"Home!" the boy exclaimed, his lip curled in exasperation and pain. "My family would take me back." He lowered his head, his voice suddenly soft. "I know they would."

"What about Rogue?" the Asian girl asked, her tone teasing and suggestive.

"What about me?" the girl in question spoke up from the doorway, weaving her way through the chatting study groups sprawled out on the floor as she headed towards her boyfriend. "What are y'all talkin' about?"

"Just the mission," Bobby covered quickly, scooting over to make room for her on the small loveseat as she moved to sit down beside him.

"You know we have that test tomorrow," Rogue said, only slightly bitter about being left behind. "And, Bobby Drake," she scolded, "we're not supposed to discuss what happens during official meetings with anyone who wasn't there."

"Aw, come on!" the Asian girl prodded, a slight whine coloring her voice. "I've been going crazy trying to guess what's up."

"Sorry, Jubes," Bobby smiled.

"Anyone want to play cards?" Rogue interjected, lifting the small, battered box from the table and sliding the sleek pack out into her hand.

*I do,* Twyla thought mournfully, turning away from the other teens to focus once again on her homework. They wouldn't invite her to play, even if she did ask them. They probably hadn't even noticed she was sitting there, even though she was only a few feet away, her dark skin glowing dimly.

"If it's poker, I'm in," Jubilee said, dragging her chair closer to their table. "Please say we haven't lost all the chips."

Bobby leaned forward to search through the table's long drawer, fishing out colored, plastic poker chips by the handful and dumping them on the tabletop. Rogue and Jubilee proceeded to stack them by color.

"I think we're missing some red ones," Jubilee pointed out, peering dolefully at the tiny stack she'd made.

"We could always use checkers pieces," Rogue suggested.

"And lose them too?" Bobby smirked. "Nah, I think we can get by with what we ha--"

"Guten Abend, everyone."

Rogue looked up with a bright smile at the soft sound of the hesitant, accented voice coming from the doorway. Bobby turned away slightly. Rogue had been crazy about the German ever since he had saved her life during the mission to Alkali Lake. It was almost as bad as the whole Wolverine hero-worship thing, and Bobby wasn't at all sure that he liked it--especially now Kurt was human. It just wasn't fair that most freakish among them got to be normal, when he didn't even want it! Ever since he had realized his parents truly had disowned him, that he never could go home again, that all his letters would be returned unopened and his e-mails deleted unread, Bobby's whole attitude towards his mutantcy had begun to change. Seeing Kurt as he was now made him feel like even more of a freak than his family took him for, and he couldn't stop the bitter, childish voice inside him from crying out against the unfairness of it all.

The rest of the gathered teens greeted the newcomer with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Kurt smiled in return, flushing slightly as he stood awkwardly just inside the room, his eyes nervous and his expression doubtful as he noticed everyone had stopped what they were doing and were now staring at him, almost as though they expected him to evict them from the room.

"Please, do not stop what you were doing on my account," he told them with a false laugh, desperate to lighten the atmosphere.

"Hey, Kurt!" Rogue called with a beckoning wave. "Y'all wanna join us? We were just about to play some poker!"

"No, don't invite him..." Jubilee hissed with a wince, but she trailed off as Kurt's face lit up like a lighthouse beacon shining through a fog, a broad, genuine smile spreading across his narrow face.

"Ja! Sure!" he exclaimed. Then, he caught himself and struggled to recover his teacherly dignity as he crossed over to them. "I'd like that," he said shyly. "If you're sure you don't mind being seen with me. I haven't exactly been endearing myself to the student population of late."

"Of course we don't mind, right guys?" Rogue glared at Bobby and Jubilee, daring them to protest.

"Yeah, sure, pull up a chair," Bobby sighed, turning his head towards the window and rolling his eyes slightly. Whatever Rogue wanted, Rogue got...

Kurt's smile faltered slightly when he caught the expression on the teen's face, but he did as he had suggested.

"So," he said conversationally, taking his seat and scooting up to the table. "How is everyone this fine evening? No troubles or concerns?"

"Nope," said Jubilee. "Everything's fine, Mr. Wagner."

Kurt turned to her with a small smile. "Please, we are not in the classroom and there is no need to be so formal. You may call me Kurt."

Despite her earlier reluctance to play cards with a teacher, Jubilee found herself returning his smile. "OK, Kurt," she said easily. "Who's dealing?"

Twyla couldn't concentrate on her report, not with HIM so close by. She had promised herself that morning that she would find a way to approach him, to work to find some way she could make up for what she had done, but now he was there all she could do was stare miserably down at her half-finished homework. She couldn't even bring herself to look at him. It was pathetic. SHE was pathetic. A dangerous, irresponsible, pathetic, mutant coward.

*Just ask to join their game,* she told herself, her heart twisting at the sound of Kurt's laughter. *The worst they can do is say no. And then, you'll be no worse off than you are now--no, you'll be better off because at least you would have tried!*

Twyla sighed deeply, squeezing her eyes shut as she sought to gather up every last scrap of her rapidly waning courage.

*Just turn your head and look at them,* her mind ordered her. *You don't even have to stand up. Just ask. It's easy. Just four little words: May...I...Join...You.*

Twyla groaned softly and buried her head in her arms. "I can't," she mumbled, a dry sob causing her shoulders to shake. "They all hate me. Especially him."

*You can! They only hate you because you've been hiding from them, refusing to accept responsibility for your actions. Only you can change that.*

Twyla sighed again, turning her glowing gaze to the ceiling and offering up a short prayer for courage and guidance.

*OK,* she told herself firmly. *I'm going to do it. Just as soon as this hand is over.*

*You're stalling, Twyla.*

*No, I just don't want to interrupt them.*

*Right.*

As it turned out, her internal argument was moot anyway because at that moment, Bobby spread his cards out on the table.

"Straight," he grinned, reaching out to scoop up the chips he'd won.

"Ha!" Kurt grinned. "I warned you he wasn't bluffing," he told the scowling Jubilee playfully.

"Yeah, well, I'll get him next time," the Asian girl promised.

*Now, Twyla!* her inner voice prodded her sharply. *It's now or never!*

"Um, excuse me?"

Four heads turned to her as one, each twisting into a different expression as they caught sight of who had spoken. Twyla cringed in her chair, pressing her back up against the wall as though its rigidity could somehow give her strength. To her surprise, it was Mr. Wagner who was the first to speak.

"Yes, Twyla?" he asked her in the exact tone he used when addressing her in class--formal and distant and without a trace of the playful humor he had just been displaying. He was clearly uncomfortable but, to his credit, he was struggling valiantly to look past his initial reaction to her.

"Um," Twyla said again, pressing harder against the wall. "I was sorta wondering if, maybe, I might, perhaps..."

"Just spit it out, girl," Rogue said, her tone more encouraging than her words. Twyla nodded. Rogue had been one of the very few who had been kind to her since her arrival at the mansion. She was also the only one she'd met so far besides Professor Xavier who seemed able to understand even half of what Twyla was going through.

"Can I play?"

The plaintive words were out before she'd realized she'd spoken. The stricken look on Mr. Wagner's face, however, made her wish she'd kept her silence.

The four card players looked at each other, then turned back to her. After what seemed like an eternity, Twyla was stunned to her sneakers to find Mr. Wagner was smiling at her.

"Of course you can play, Liebling," he said. "Just bring your chair over here and Rogue will deal you in."

Rogue nodded, shuffling the deck with a smile of her own. "Here," she said, patting the tabletop. "You can sit next to me."

Twyla blinked, then rushed to comply, abandoning her half-finished book report with no regrets.

Even though Twyla was on her very best behavior, it was clear as the game progressed that Kurt was growing increasingly uncomfortable. Though, whether it was because of her or something else, Twyla couldn't tell. Finally, after Jubilee had won two hands in a row, lording her victories over Bobby, Rogue decided it was time she asked him about it.

"Is somethin' wrong, Kurt?"

"Was?" Kurt asked, looking up in surprise. "Nein. No, nothing is wrong," he assured her. "I just remembered I needed to do something, that's all, and I was wondering how best to go about it." He tilted his head slightly, shooting her something of an appraising look.

"If I leave this room, can I trust you and Bobby to watch over things while I'm gone?"

"Of course you can," Bobby said. "We'll be fine."

Kurt nodded. "Sehr gut. If I don't return here by ten, will you make sure everyone gets to their rooms in time for curfew? Tomorrow is a school day, after all."

"Sure thing," Rogue assured him. "Where will you be if we need to reach you?"

"I'll be in the Danger Room, testing out a new simulation Logan wanted me to look over. Dankeschon for doing this."

"It's no problem. Really."

Kurt shot her a brief smile, then rose to his feet.

"Bye," Bobby waved absently, turning back to his cards. Kurt waved back, then left the room.

Twyla sighed and bit her lip as she watched him leave. She'd barely even broken the ice between them. Shaking her head, Twyla rose to her feet as well.

"I'm afraid I have to leave the game too," she said apologetically. She really did regret leaving just when she was starting to feel comfortable around the small group. "I've really got to finish my book report."

"Hey, we understand," Rogue smiled at her. "School comes first. See you tomorrow?"

Twyla turned to her, somewhat surprised by the question. "Yeah," she said, a slow smile creeping across her dimly glowing face. "Yeah, sure."

"OK, then. Bye."

"Yeah," Twyla nodded, gathering up her homework materials. "Bye!"

And with that, she was gone, determined to follow Mr. Wagner to the Danger Room whether he wanted her company or not.

*******

A dark form among the shadows, a whisp of smoke in the air. Something wasn't right. Where was he? This wasn't where he had meant to go...

The feel of this place was off, somehow. The very air felt wrong. He stretched out with his senses, trying to determine the layout of this large, empty space he had appeared in, peering through the pitch blackness around him with sharp, glowing eyes. He stood on the balls of his feet, tense and alert, silent as a ninja.

Someone was coming. Someone was just beyond the door.

Slinking over to the nearest wall, the dark figure began to climb, somehow able to stick to the sheer metalic surface as though it had been coated with an adhesive. When he reached the high ceiling, he stopped, hanging head-down as he waited for whoever was outside to enter.

The shadowy figure blinked, wincing slighlty as a bright light flooded the room, half-blinding him for a moment after such complete darkness. Barely a moment later, the large, electronic door slid open to reveal a slight, slender man with curly, dark hair and a long, pale face. Something about his profile seemed disturbingly familiar... But even this felt wrong. What was going on?

The man was obviously unaware of his presence and clearly didn't pose much of a threat to him, so he decided to remain for a while, watching to see what this man would do. What he needed right now were answers, not a fight. Though, if a fight were to come, he would most certainly be ready...


Chapter Sixteen

Kurt sighed as he stood over the control panel, scrolling through the various programs until his eyes fell on the one he was searching for. Logan had told him about this particular training program about a week ago, shortly after the 'incident' in Virginia, in an attempt to goad the Elf out of his miserable funk. It hadn't worked, and Logan had left Kurt to himself without comment. It had been the poker game that had reminded him of Logan's request, albeit indirectly. Kurt had seen far too many movies not to mentally link poker to smoky pool halls and beer. That connotation, in turn, had made him think of Wolverine, prompting yet another in a series of sharp stabs of painful guilt as he recalled how coldly he had behaved towards his friend. So many sins in so short a time, so many things to make up for... But at least he was making a start. When Wolverine came back from the mission, Kurt would be ready with a full report.

Kurt selected the file and tilted his head as a short message appeared on the control screen.

[Hey, Elf.

Knew you'd get around to this sometime.

You know how Cyke and the Prof are always going on about how if we're gonna be working as a team we've gotta know all about each other's strengths and weaknesses? Well, here's a sim that should help with that, though I guess I'm gonna have to update it now, huh. We're all in it, all our talents and vulnerabilities--even mine. Every good fighter must know his weaknesses so he can work to improve them. God, listen to me, I sound like a teacher already. Anyway, appreciate any advice you could give. And remember, Elf--human or not you still owe me that duel.

Logan]

Kurt smiled slightly, shaking his head with the smallest of chuckles. As enjoyable as the poker game with the students had been, Kurt had found early on that he was having trouble staying focused. He had felt so useless, unable to stop thinking about the meeting or worrying about the potential dangers his friends would be facing. At least now he would be doing something productive with his time while his friends were out saving the world without him.

Still, now he'd had a chance to consider it, he had to admit the X-Men had left him behind for good reason. His poor attitude, coupled with the disturbing results of the few, unofficial training sessions he had run through, were certainly not signs that he was physically or psychologically fit for mission duty. Kurt would have to work very hard to prove himself from this point on, and not only to Scott and the others. Mostly, he would have to prove to himself that he was still a valuable member of the team. And he knew from experience that when it came to his own performances he was the most demanding, most unforgiving judge of them all.

With all the worries and concerns that had built up over the past week weighting him down, Kurt had found he just couldn't continue with the facade of normality the poker game had initially provided him. His roiling emotions needed a physical outlet. Hopefully, Logan's training program would prove challenging enough to take his mind off of his pain--and the additional concern that was Twyla Todd.

Kurt scowled, tearing a slender hand through his curls. Enough of this already! He'd come in here to forget, to safely and productively release his pent-up anger and frustration and to do his friend a long overdue favor. Kurt activated the program with a few vicious jabs at the touch-pad, tapping his foot as he waited impatiently for it to load.

["Please state number of players,"] a feminine voice spoke out, echoing slightly in the cavernous space.

"One," Kurt said brusquely.

["Choose your opponent,"] the computer prompted in its calm, even monotone. ["Limit: five per player."]

Kurt blinked, then grinned in startled amazement as dozens of holographic figures began to appear before him in small fizzes of colored light. All the students were there, as well as the X-Men themselves. Even Professor Xavier had been included, though Kurt had to wonder why. He rather doubted the computer could simulate his considerable telepathic abilities--but then, he honestly wouldn't put anything past the impossible machines the Professor had developed. All this technology was so far removed from his own experience; even after eight months it was still almost like magic...

"Unglaublich," Kurt smiled as he walked down the line, deeply impressed at how realistic the holograms seemed. But for their slightly cartoonish skin tones and their unnatural stillness, they were all but indistinguishable from the real thing. He had no trouble recognizing Jubilee, Kitty, Rogue, Jamie, Scott, Logan...

Kurt averted his eyes as he passed by Ororo. Even the sight of her hologram was painful, the calm, emotionless expression on her mocha face tearing at his heart. Quickly he moved on to the next one--and stopped short with a shaky, wide-eyed gasp.

It had been more than a week since he had last seen that face looking back at him. The golden eyes, the intricate scars, the slightly hunched posture... Kurt swayed on his feet, a strange, dizzy, dislocated feeling taking hold of him as he stared at the image of his former self. The long toes, the tridactal hands, the pointed ears...his tail...

Kurt swallowed with some difficulty, his breaths coming short and fast. Slowly, tentatively, he reached out with a slender, trembling finger to gently touch the hologram's indigo cheek, alarmed and disturbed by the contrast between light and dark...

["Choose your opponent,"] the computer repeated. ["Limit: five per player."]

Kurt gave a start, snatching his hand away and turning to stare at the ceiling. "Was?" he asked, his voice weak. "Ach, yes, of course."

Whatever spell had overtaken him was gone now, and Kurt turned back to his hologram with an appraising eye. He had originally planned to choose Logan as practice for that duel, but now he was starting to change his mind.

Fighting with himself, there was a novel idea. Well, perhaps not so novel. After all, was that not precisely what he had been doing for the past week as he struggled to come to terms with what had happened? The Professor had been painfully accurate when he'd pointed out Kurt's fears of betraying himself by choosing to accept what he had become. Now, Kurt was curious to know how he would measure up against his mutant self. He wondered what Logan believed his weaknesses to be, and if they matched his own perceptions...

["Choose your opponent,"] the computer started again. ["Limit--."]

"I choose the Nightcrawler," Kurt said firmly, an ironic smirk playing across his narrow features as the other holograms faded away, leaving only the image of Nightcrawler. What better way to prove himself than to physically fight and conquer his own, personal demon once and for all?

Kurt's eyes hardened at that thought. Yes, he had been his own demon, haunting his own nightmares since his earliest days. The dark, misshapen figure he saw before him had been a thorn in his side his entire life, a torturous burden he should never have had to bear. As a child, it had earned him the cold derision of his peers, the hatred of their parents, the terrified screams of the uncounted men, women, and children he had unwittingly frightened just by being himself. He had been hunted because of that form, tracked down like an animal, beaten and bullied, his bones broken and his faith shaken to the point where, as a young teenager, he had actually attempted suicide.

That emotional nadir had come shortly after his physical appearance had caused such a panic in one, small, secluded town that the townspeople had very nearly succeeded in burning him at the stake. Only the timely manifestation of his mutant powers had saved his life--although the form those powers had taken, the stench of brimstone and the bright flash of teleportation, had seemed at first to confirm his worst fears; that he had become a demon in truth. That shattering experience had prompted his decision to tattoo his body with angelic symbols in the desperate hope that such a drastic step would be enough to convince himself and others of his humanity, that the sight of those sacred symbols etched into his skin would finally put an end to the screams that had followed him for so long...

The dark, malevolent form standing before him had caused him more anguish and heartache than Kurt could bring himself admit, even in prayer. The delicately intricate scars that had marked his body were nothing compared to the deep, painful gashes that still seared his heart. Unlike the physical scars, those gashes had never fully healed.

["Nightcrawler has the mutant gift of teleportation,"] the computer began to recite, interrupting his dark thoughts, ["along with the ability to become functionally invisible in shadow, to cling to sheer surfaces, and--"]

"Yes, yes, I think I should know my own powers," Kurt cut it off in impatient frustration. "Just give me a sword and start the program."

["Choose a weapon for your opponent,"] the computer droned. ["Nightcrawler is a master fencer, and with his prehensile tail--"]

"Give him a sword as well," Kurt nearly shouted, not wanting to hear about his tail. The base of his spine tingled almost painfully in sympathy to his emotional reaction. Kurt resisted the urge to rub the spot, taking in a deep, calming breath through his nose, then letting it out slowly.

He was going to have to focus, to clear his mind of all distracting thoughts and emotions if he was ever going to stand a chance against his mutant self, even a holographic copy like this one. He sighed, running his fingers nervously through his hair. Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea after all...

A sword appeared in mid-air just in front of Kurt. He straightened, regarding the sleek weapon for a long moment. Then, his jaw set and his blue eyes narrowed in firm resolve, he grasped the sword by the hilt and lashed it back and forth a few times, allowing himself to get a feel for the surprisingly realistic holographic weapon.

["Select level of difficulty,"] the computer spoke up again. Kurt rolled his eyes, itching for the program to begin and annoyed by this further delay. ["Beginner, Intermediate, or Advanced."]

"Advanced," Kurt told the computer with a frown. If he'd still had a tail, it would have been lashing wildly by this point.

["You have chosen the Advanced level of difficulty. Warning: The Advanced level is representative of your opponent's actual level of ability. Do to the potential danger, only a faculty member can authorize the use of this level. Voice print and retinal scan required."]

Kurt's eyes widened in incredulity, and he clenched his teeth with a growl as he strode back to the control panel, lashing his sword in lieu of his tail.

"Kurt Wagner," he enunciated clearly and precisely into the proper microphone.

["Voice print verified. Kurt Wagner, please prepare for retinal scan."]

"Ja, ja, ja. Verdammt safety precautions..."

As he bent over the scanner, however, Kurt experienced a sudden flash of panic. His eyes had been changed along with everything else. Would his retinal scan still match up?

The pale, blue light made his eye tingle in discomfort, and he rubbed it as he waited nervously for the results. What if the computer didn't recognize him? Would that set off an alarm? Kurt had no idea what to do if that should happen. He didn't have a clue how to turn off an alarm! The students would surely be sent into a panic, and... Ach, Gott, had it always taken this long for the computer to--

["Retinal scan verified. Match found. Kurt Wagner: Language Studies and Film Analysis. Begin program."]

Kurt barely had time to process his relief before he became aware of a flicker of movement behind him. Spinning in place, he saw the holographic Nightcrawler was now standing in the center of the large, cavernous room, holding its sword at the ready. A slow, wicked grin began to spread over Kurt's narrow features.

"Did you hear that, mein holographic Doppelganger?" Kurt asked wryly, crossing over to his opponent. "The computer has verified that I am indeed Kurt Wagner, despite my current...ahem...condition." He stopped several feet from the hologram, his posture loose, erect, and confident as he brandished his own sword, his wicked grin broadening. "That means that you, mein Freund, are going down. En guarde!"

*******

The match started off normally enough. The hologram leapt to life the moment Kurt touched its sword with his own. They began by keeping to the official rules of fencing--no teleportation or acrobatic tricks. Very soon, however, the fight took on a more serious tone. Kurt seemed determined to vanquish his holographic foe, but the hologram had an advantage over the lithe human--it possessed Nightcrawler's super-human agility.

Kurt Darkholme watched in fascination from his place among the shadows of the high ceiling, fingering the hilts of his own swords where they rested, strapped securely across his back. He had gathered by this time that he had somehow teleported into an alternate reality, one in which his alternate self--Kurt Wagner--had somehow been transformed into a powerless flat-scan. That would account for the 'wrongness' his highly attuned spatial sense had been warning him about since his arrival. Despite the urgency of his situation, however, he decided he would wait until the end of the match before announcing his presence and asking the assistance of this human Kurt Wagner.

As he watched the fight progress, Darkholme couldn't help but feel for the man down below. He was clearly giving it his all, droplets of sweat trailing down his determined face as he lashed out against the scarred hologram again and again.

Darkholme frowned, squinting curiously at the pale man's opponent. Strangely, the blue figure didn't seem to have any fur. Aside from the rather disturbing scars--odd-looking symbols and swirls Darkholme did not recognize--his indigo skin was as smooth as any flat-scan's.

Darkholme scratched thoughtfully at the stubbly bristles poking through the fine, fuzz-like fur on his own tattooed face with a thick, tridactal hand. Even the hologram's eyes appeared different from his own. They were the same color as Darkholme's, but where his were a solid yellow, the hologram's had dark pupils. There were other differences as well. Those thick, yellow nails looked decidedly unhealthy, and where Darkholme's teeth were straight and even save for a set of sharp fangs, the hologram's were jagged. Then, there were the sharp, bony ridges just below the spade of its tail. Darkholme's tail was smooth, with fine, velvety fur. Judging by these physical differences, as well as their last names, it was quite possible that they had different fathers, although from the blue skin and yellow eyes, Darkholme would have to guess they had the same mother--the shape-shifting mutant known as Mystique.

"VERFLUCHT!"

The harsh cry echoed savagely throughout the cavernous room. Darkholme winced slightly and rubbed at his sensitive, pointed ears. It seemed the hologram had won that match. It was to be expected, really, but the slender human down below didn't seem to be taking it at all well. Darkholme smirked.

"Computer, start again!" the pale, angry man snapped in his familiar, German accent, his narrow face turned toward the ceiling. His deep, blue eyes were focused on almost the exact spot where Darkholme was crouching. Darkholme froze, knowing that as long as he remained perfectly still he would remain all but invisible among the shadows of the ceiling. The human didn't seem to notice him.

The next match was far more vicious than the first. Darkholme watched in enraptured fascination. It was very rare for him to get a chance to watch such skilled fencers spar. Although his own reality was torn by war, Darkholme was something of an anomaly in his preference for swords. In battle, most other warriors preferred to rely on guns or their own mutant powers.

The human Kurt Wagner was shouting now, screaming in German, Romani, French, Swedish, and several other languages Darkholme didn't know as he battered against his opponent's blows. He could get the basic gist, though.

Darkholme furrowed his fuzzy brow and clenched his teeth, averting his glowing eyes from the raw fury twisting his double's pale face. He knew all too well the feelings fueling that bitter anger. That man was taking out all his self-loathing, all the deeply buried self-hatred he had worked to suppress his entire life, on the hologram of his former self.

It hadn't been easy, growing up looking the way he did. Watching this...display...was almost like watching one of his childhood nightmares come to life. Once again it seemed as though the demon was winning, threatening to overpower his humanity just as it had always tried to do in his dreams.

Darkholme had long since grown out of those fears and come to terms with his inner demons. He'd had to, or he wouldn't have survived in the harsh world in which he lived. He'd had to learn early on to harden his heart, to take things as they came, to live in the moment and to adapt to new situations in a heartbeat. It seemed this man, however, still had a long way to go before he could find peace with himself.

Kurt Wagner was close on the heels of his hologram as it flipped and 'teleported' around the room in a strategic attempt to evade the human's wild, emotional attack. Yet, for all his fury and pain, Kurt still retained enough of his wits to plan out a strategy of his own. He would work with his opponent's weaknesses rather than try to battle his strengths, using them to bring him down. And one weakness he knew Wolverine would have picked up on was Kurt's penchant for teleporting in above an opponent.

BAMF!

This was his chance. The hologram had just performed one of Kurt's best moves, flipping and somersaulting towards his opponent, then teleporting out just before he made contact. Kurt usually followed that move by teleporting in from a completely unexpected direction--only this time, the holographic Nightcrawler's opponent was ready, just waiting for the nearly instantaneous--

BAMF!

Kurt lashed out with a roar, making contact with his opponent's shoulder, then ducking away as the hologram dropped to the floor. If that hologram had been real, Kurt's fierce blow would very likely have cost it its arm.

Kurt stood over the hologram and watched as it vanished, breathing heavily, sweat dampening his curly hair. For a long moment, he didn't move, his drawn, exhausted face completely devoid of any expression. Then slowly, very slowly, Kurt Wagner sank to his knees, pulling his rosary out of his pocket and pressing it to his forehead. It took Darkholme a few seconds to realize that the man was crying.

Kurt Darkholme knew the word for what that man was going through. It was called catharsis. He had released his inner hatred with an almost reckless abandon, probably truly acknowledging its existence for the first time in his life. He had fought his oldest fears, and he had won. Kurt Wagner would never be bothered by that particular demon again, but he would be useless to Darkholme for quite a while yet. Hopefully, there were others in this strange place he had come to who could help him get back to his own reality. With a frustrated sigh, Darkholme shook his head and teleported away. Kurt didn't notice, too wrapped up in his roiling emotions to hear or see anything beyond his tears.

*******

Twyla Todd had never seen anything like that in all her fourteen years. The two fencers had been little more than a blur of motion and flashing swords. She had never seen anyone move so quickly, or with such determined skill. And with Nightcrawler's hologram 'teleporting' all around the room, literally bouncing off the walls and even the ceiling, Twyla found it astonishing that Mr. Wagner could even keep up. Yet even without his powers he had been able to meet the Nightcrawler move for move, screaming in languages Twyla couldn't even identify, let alone understand. It had been terrifying to watch, yet it had also been exhilarating. When Mr. Wagner finally brought the vicious match to an end, somehow managing to catch Nightcrawler's hologram just as it was coming out of a split-second teleport, it had been all Twyla could do to hold back her applause.

But, strangely, Mr. Wagner didn't seem happy about his victory. Twyla watched in concerned confusion as his expressionless face crumpled and he sank to his knees, sobbing with a soft intensity that frightened her even more than the blazing fury of mere moments before.

Twyla stood in the observation room, peering down into the brightly lit Danger Room through the thick windows as she debated whether she should go to him. From up there he seemed so small, his sword lying on the floor where it had fallen from his hand after he had struck the final blow. He was so alone in that large, empty space, rocking slowly back and forth as he sobbed into his hands...she had to go to him.

Straightening her shoulders in an attempt to convince herself of her resolve and courage, Twyla Todd left the observation room and headed for the small elevator that would bring her to the main level, and Mr. Wagner.

[bluefooted]

Very nice story so far. Extremely well-written. I must say I'm a little worried about the introduction of your 'alternate Kurts' - there seemed to be enough story material already going on - but I trust you have some good reason to make it that much more complicated. Just wanted to say that it's really, very well done!

[Nova]

great story, I really like the plot so far. i can't wait to read anything else that you may wright. you seem like a great writer.

[StarLightCrawler]

oops i for got to post after reading it last night. I like it so far. I realy liked the part where he fights himself as he use to be. I also kinda worry to the intor of the "other" Kurt. Umm if i was not mistaken what not chapter 16 already up? I don;t see it now:?

[Rowena]

Thank you so very, very much!!!!!!!

I do have a reason for introducing all these alternate Kurts (there will be more of them in coming chapters). I love complicated and convoluted plots, and this one certainly qualifies! It's all planned out, I've just got to finish writing it!

Chapter 16 is just above. The chapters got a bit mixed up when I was re-posting them, but I think I fixed the problem. Now, here's Ch.17! I hope you like it!


Chapter Seventeen

Kurt Wagner had never known he could lose control like that, that he could harbor such dark, overwhelming emotions in his heart. Such anger, such rage--all directed inwards, against himself--it was as shocking as it was frightening.

He had never seen Wolverine loose control before, but he had heard the students talking about the way he had attacked Stryker's soldiers when they invaded the mansion all those months ago. The Wolverine had become a violent killing machine, lost in a mindless rage as he tore into soldier after soldier with his claws. Kurt had to wonder if the raw, disturbingly violent outburst he had just experienced had been anything like the anger Logan was constantly struggling to control.

Kurt had believed he'd worked past his self-destructive tendencies long ago, that he had learned to accept his appearance as part of what made him unique and special in the eyes of God. Despite his self-inflicted scars and his (thankfully) unsuccessful suicide attempt, as he had grown older he had come to treasure his uniqueness, ultimately abandoning the adolescent urge to conform as stifling to his individuality and to his creativity as an aerial artist. To realize that all the old fears, all the old pain, all the insults and beatings and cruelty he had been forced to endure over the course of his short life had been lurking within him all along-- But no longer. And never again.

Kurt lay flat on his back, ignoring the instinctive impulse to roll onto his side to avoid pinching his tail between his body and the cold, metallic floor. As he kept having to remind himself--he didn't have a tail to squash anymore. Besides, he was too exhausted to move. He had finally released the only demon that had ever truly haunted him--and it was a powerful, dizzying relief to know that it hadn't been his appearance after all. It had been his own self-loathing, the manifestation of the anger he had directed against himself rather than against those who had hurt him because of what he was.

Unable to comprehend the bigoted hatred of the various townspeople he had encountered as the circus traveled around Europe, the young Kurt Wagner had blamed himself for their cruelty towards him, believing it was his failings, his misdeeds that made them hate him so. With a child's logic, the boy had reasoned that he couldn't blame others for what must have somehow been his fault. All this confused despair had ultimately grown into a dark, hideous monster that had festered within him for far too long. Now it was gone--really gone, not merely suppressed in some dark, seldom used corner of his mind--Kurt had never felt lighter, freer, in his life.

Maybe he would go into the city, sit in the park, watch the people as they passed by. The Professor was right. He had been cooped up inside the mansion for far too long. What he needed was some fresh air and a change of scene. He only had two classes tomorrow, early in the morning. That would give him the rest of the day to relax, and to finally come to terms with everything that had happened to him over the past few weeks.

Kurt rolled over, looking down at his blurred, puffy-eyed, tear-streaked reflection in the polished, metal floor.

"I don't hate you, you know," he told the blotchy-faced man, feeling deliriously silly as he did so, his accented voice trembling slightly with the aftereffects of his intense emotional outburst. "I did once, but I don't anymore. It was never your fault, but I forgive you anyway. Although, I do wish you were still blue." He sighed, almost giggling as a sudden thought occurred to him.

"Perhaps I could buy some yellow contact lenses when I'm in the city tomorrow, ja? Dye my hair? But that wouldn't be the same, would it?" He shook his reflection's head. "No, you are right. I always did prefer the natural look."

He grinned with a deep sniffle, tracing his reflection's rather melancholy smile with one long, slender finger as yet another tear splashed to the floor beside him. He was amazed that after all that crying, he still had tears left.

"Mr. Wagner?"

Kurt shot to his feet so quickly it was a miracle he didn't sprain something. He rubbed at his eyes with his sleeve, struggling futily to remove all signs that he had been crying.

"T-Twyla," he stammered in surprise, blinking at the faintly glowing girl as his bleary eyes struggled to focus.

"Yeah," Twyla acknowledged, shrinking slightly. "Look, I know I'm probably the last person you want to see right now, but--"

Kurt straightened, his eyes wide and his head tilted slightly. There was something familiar there...something about her words, the expression on her face, her plaintive question at the poker game...

Suddenly, the understanding for which he had been praying so long hit him like a ton of bricks.

"Ach, Gott," he moaned, lowering his head in shame as he closed his eyes with a painful sigh.

"Mr. Wagner?" Twyla asked, taking a hesitant step forward. "Are you OK?"

Kurt looked up, shaking his head with a small smile. "Ja. Yes, I am, Twyla. Thank you."

To Twyla's surprise, he closed the distance between them, crouching to her eye level with a gentle smile. She tried not to wince at the position he had bent himself into. He must have incredible leg muscles to stand like that.

"And what about you?" he asked with genuine concern. "I am afraid we have not been as welcoming towards you as we should have been, myself especially. I have been blaming you for an accident that was not your fault, and you have had to suffer for it. Can you forgive me?"

Twyla stared, not certain that she had heard him right. "What?" she asked. "Me, forgive you? But--but it was my fault!"

Kurt sighed and lowered himself to the floor with an uncanny grace, gesturing for her to join him. After a moment's hesitation, she did, sitting cross-legged on the chilly metal.

"You were terrified, hurting, desperate," Kurt said once she'd made herself comfortable. "Your powers had just manifested, you had no idea what they could do let alone how to control them. Add that to my sudden appearance and your perfectly understandable reaction--"

"But I said such awful things! I didn't listen to you, and I was so scared and there was just all that power! It felt so incredible, but it was so awful at the same time! I became a total monster, you have no idea--"

Kurt held up a staying hand. "I know, Liebling," he said softly. "But, I want you to know that I don't blame you for what happened. I did once, but I don't anymore." He smiled, a slight twitch at the corners of his lips as he glanced down at his blurry reflection in the floor.

Twyla felt at a complete loss. "But..." she said helplessly, "why?"

Kurt looked over at her. "Because you came here tonight," he said simply. "Because you are taking responsibility for your actions. If you really were a monster, as you feared you were, you never would have sought me out like this."

"Oh," said Twyla, considering that novel idea for the first time.

"Are you happy here, Twyla?" Kurt asked, taking her off guard.

"Who, me?"

Kurt looked around the room, a grin spreading across his narrow face. "I don't see anyone else in here with us," he pointed out.

Twyla giggled, embarrassed that she had said something so stupid. Then, she sighed. "Am I happy here," she repeated slowly, playing absently with her shoelaces. "Well, it's not like I really have anyplace else to go. My Dad, wherever he is, clearly doesn't want to be found, and my mother..." She lowered her head. "Well, she's not dead, which is a blessing, but she is still in critical condition. The Professor took me to see her over the weekend, but she still hasn't woken up."

She sighed again, then looked up at him. "But, I think I'm happy here. I mean, I hadn't really thought about it."

Kurt nodded. "Well, have you made any friends?"

Twyla considered. Her initial impulse was to say no, but after the poker game she wasn't so sure.

"Rogue has been very nice to me," she said after a long pause. "And Jamie--he helped me with my Latin homework once, and he always smiles when he sees me. And Siryn...though I can't recall her real name."

"Theresa," Kurt told her. "Rourke. She's in my film class."

"Yeah, she said that," Twyla smiled. "She's the one who showed me how to get to the Professor's office. He's been really nice too. Besides taking me to the hospital, he's been helping me figure out the nature and extent of my powers, and why I'm still glowing."

Kurt tilted his head, his brow furrowed slightly. "What do you mean?"

"Well, the first time I...with the light bulb?"

Kurt nodded his understanding, gently urging her to continue. She nodded.

"Well, all that energy I'd sorta absorbed made me glow like mad. And then, after it all...um...went out again...I wasn't glowing anymore."

Kurt nodded again, cupping his chin in his palm as he recalled the first time he'd ever seen her. "You were not glowing on those train tracks, only after you...erm," now it was his turn to pause in discomfort, searching for the words that would be least likely to bring back vivid memories of the incident, "...touched my arm," he finished.

"And it still hasn't gone away," Twyla said, holding up her dimly glowing fingers in demonstration. "But the Professor thinks he has an idea that could explain why."

"Oh?" Kurt asked, leaning forward in curiosity.

"Yeah," Twyla nodded, scooting closer to him. "He and Dr. McCoy have been running all these genetic tests and things, and they think my mutation hasn't finished yet." She sighed in frustration, trying to think how best to explain. "It's really hard to describe all this, seeing as I can barely understand it myself," she said, a bit apologetically. Kurt smiled.

"That is quite all right," he assured her. "When the Professor and Hank get together, I often find myself wondering whether I've suddenly lost the ability to understand English. If you ask me, scientific jargon should have a linguistic category all its own. Technobabbleese." Twyla giggled, and his smile broadened. "Just do your best to translate."

"OK, I'll try," Twyla said, sobering quickly. "It seems that the time I spent in that other dimension, the one you...erm..."

"Used to teleport through," Kurt finished for her, firmly suppressing his emotional reaction to those words. "Go on, bitte."

"Right," Twyla said, relieved she hadn't had to come out and say it herself. "Well, it seems that the weird negative sort of energy I absorbed in there triggered something called a secondary mutation. Dr. McCoy says it's possible that this would have happened anyway at some point, but that energy made it happen sooner for some reason."

Kurt nodded thoughtfully. "Do they have any idea what form this secondary mutation will take?" he asked, regarding her with some concern.

"Not yet," she said. "But whatever happens, I'm probably going to be glowing like this for the rest of my life. Not to mention sucking up energy from my surroundings like a human vacuum cleaner." She smiled, a bit sheepishly. "That's what makes me glow like this in the first place," she explained. "I can't turn it off by releasing the energy anymore. I just keep on sucking in more and more. Kinda stinks, huh?"

Kurt shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. At least you'll never get lost in the dark."

"Oh, ha," Twyla retorted. "Small comfort."

"I thought I might as well make an attempt," Kurt smiled, rising gracefully to his feet without using his hands. Twyla tried to copy him, but ended up falling back. Slightly embarrassed, she got up in her usual way.

"Mr. Wagner," she asked.

Kurt looked down at her. "Bitte, Madchen," he said, "when we're not in the classroom, you can call me Kurt. I know the Professor doesn't like it when the students address the teachers by their first names, but he isn't here right now. Besides, such formality all the time makes me uncomfortable. If I can call you Twyla, you can call me Kurt."

Twyla tried very hard not to giggle like the schoolgirl she was. "OK, Kurt," she said, not quite sure how she felt about addressing an adult as an equal, especially when he was so agile and talented and she was so...not. Praying that her glow would hide her blushing cheeks, she asked, "Do you think that, maybe, you could show me how to use swords like you?"

Kurt froze, his expression one of horrified shock. "You...you saw that?" he croaked, his normally pleasant accent suddenly as thick as mud.

Twyla bit her lip hard, mentally kicking herself for bringing up the subject. How could she have forgotten how upset he'd been? He'd been crying on the floor, for goodness sakes--

"Um, just the end," she said awkwardly.

Kurt blinked at her, his frozen expression melting into one of astonished incredulity. "You mean to say that you saw that and you still decided to come in here?"

Twyla cringed slightly. "Um, yeah?"

Kurt stared at her for a moment longer, then he straightened, stroking his chin as he gave her a mock-appraising glance. Twyla straightened herself, struggling not to smile.

"How would you like to join my after school fencing club?" he asked her at last. "I think you have what it takes to do well there."

Twyla's eyes widened. "I'd love to! But--but I don't know the first thing about fencing!"

"I'm sure we can fix that right now," Kurt smiled at her, bending down to pick up his holographic sword, then holding it out to her.

"Here, you take this. I'll get the computer to make me another one."

Twyla considered the sword as Kurt walked over to the control station, grasping the hilt in her hand and swishing the blade back and forth a few times.

Kurt returned a few moments later with an identical sword of his own. "Now I can show you a few basics," he told her with a friendly smile. Twyla found herself returning it, relieved that he wasn't angry with her for spying on him.

"The first thing you have to learn is how to stand," Kurt instructed. "Watch me."

High above the Danger Room, peering through the windows of the observation booth, Logan and Storm watched as Twyla emulated her teacher's movements, sharing a smile as Kurt and Twlya laughed together, clearly comfortable in each other's company.

"So, Kurt wasn't idle while we were away," Ororo smiled with soft affection, her eyes focused on the impromptu lesson going on below.

"Looks like the Elf was more successful in his mission than we were with ours," Logan grunted. "It's good to see 'im laughin' again, anyway."

"It has been far too long," Ororo agreed, her expression distant.

Logan regarded her, his flinty eyes narrowed as he shifted his unlit stogie from one side of his mouth to the other with his tongue. "Why don't you go down to him?" he asked her.

Ororo straightened, dropping her hand from where it rested against the glass. "I wouldn't want to interrupt them," she said coolly. "Not when they've just started to become reconciled."

"Somehow, I get the feelin' the Elf wouldn't mind," Logan observed with a slight frown. Something was off here. Ororo smelled of fear; a fear so old and so familiar that it almost blended with her usual scent. It was a fear stemming from her childhood, spent as an orphaned pick-pocket on the streets of Cairo until the manifestation of her mutant gift, the power to control the weather, had transformed the street-wise child into the savior of the tribes who struggled to survive in Kenya's parched savanna; a goddess made flesh. It was the fear of getting close to someone, and of letting someone get close. It was the fear of abandonment, of vulnerability, of getting hurt.

"What are you afraid of, 'Ro?" Logan challenged her. Her posture stiffened as she slipped into her 'goddess' pose, turning to Logan with cold, distant eyes. "Kurt would never do anything to hurt you and you know it."

"I am not afraid of Kurt," she told him firmly.

"My ears are hearin' one thing, but my nose is tellin' me different." His eyes narrowed shrewdly. "Or maybe not. Maybe it's yourself you're afraid of."

"That is not true," Ororo retorted, but her voice was somehow softer than before.

"Then what's the problem? Just go down there and tell him how you feel! Make it easy on us all."

"I can't. Not now."

"Why the hell not?"

"Because."

Logan raised an eyebrow, not about to let her off with such a pathetic non-answer. Ororo sighed, her shoulders drooping ever so slightly. Suddenly, the untouchable goddess seemed almost vulnerable. She turned away from him, away from the window, focusing her gaze on the bare wall.

"I am afraid," she admitted, rubbing her arms as though she was cold. "Afraid of being smothered, of somehow losing...who I am. He would want marriage, and I don't know if I can live like that. If I can give enough of myself..."

She sighed in frustration, lowering her head until her snowy hair obscured her mocha features from Logan's view. "I love him," she stated matter-of-factly. "I can admit that. But I don't think I could give him what he wants. I don't want to start something that neither of us could finish." She shook her head, starting for the door.

"He deserves better than me."

Logan blinked, incredulous. She couldn't actually believe the crap that was coming out of her mouth... "'Ro--" he started. But, Ororo cut him off.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Logan. If you talk to Kurt, tell him..." She shook her head. "On second thought, don't tell him anything. I'll talk to him myself after classes tomorrow. I...I just need some time to think. Good night, Logan."

And with that she was gone, leaving Logan alone with his thoughts as he turned to face the two laughing figures far below.


Questions? Comments? Criticisms? Please leave a message after the BAMF!

[Cherrydoom]

I was skeptic at first (I usually don't enjoy any original-character fics), but I think your story has redeemed the whole genre for me I've really enjoyed (..who am I kidding; loved! ) reading the whole thing and I hope you update more soon! The plot is one I actually hadn't thought of before.. And the addition of Darkholme makes it even better for me... he's one of my favorites!

Can't wait to see more!

[Rowena]

Hi! Wow, thanks so much for that awesome review! I'm really glad you like my original characters, because a few more are making an appearance in this chapter. Remember way back at the beginning I said Kurt's family from 'The Day the Earth Stood Back' would show up in this story? Well, here they are!

NOTE: If you like Alice, Marta, Suzie, and Edmund and want to read more about them, please take a peek at 'The Day the Earth Stood Back' by Rowena Zahnrei at fanfiction.net. And remember...if you peek, please leave a review!


Chapter Eighteen

"Hey, Elf. Where are you off to in such a hurry?"

"Oh! Guten Morgen, Logan," Kurt grinned, stopping in his tracks. Digging into the pocket of his jeans, he pulled out a small key chain, complete with key. "I am headed out for a day in New York City--sans holowatch, broad-brimmed hat, long, ugly trench coat, gloves, uncomfortable boots, hood, scarf, and yes, even sunglasses. I will be back for the conference this evening, however, so if you see the Professor you can tell him not to worry."

Logan leaned casually against the door frame. "Why don't you ask 'Ro along?" he asked. "She only has a few classes today."

Kurt's smile faltered. When it returned, it seemed a pale reflection of its former self. "Nein," he said. "I wouldn't want to bother her. I haven't seen her since the meeting yesterday, and, well..." He sighed. "I tried to apologize and it fell rather flat. If she doesn't want me around, I will not force my presence on her. I would never want to make her feel..." He trailed off, searching for the right word.

"Smothered?" Logan suggested with a strange look Kurt couldn't quite figure out.

"Ja," Kurt nodded. "Besides, I'm just going because I must get out of this mansion for a while. You can understand, can't you?"

Logan nodded. "Yeah, kid. Go enjoy yourself. Don't do anything I would do."

Kurt snickered, his eyes recovering something of their former gleam. "Jawohl," he smiled. "Getting into a rowdy bar fight and taking a swipe at a burly motorcycle gang member with my claws is definitely out. I think today I'll stick with people-watching in Central Park."

Logan scrunched up his face. "People-watchin'?" he repeated.

Kurt shrugged. "People have watched me long enough. I think it's about time I watched them, nein?"

Logan raised an eyebrow, a smirk spreading across his rugged features. "Hey, whatever makes you happy, right? Knock yourself out."

Kurt grinned, his expression genuine this time. "Auf Wiedersehen, mein Freund. I shall see you upon my return."

"Bye, Elf. And thanks again for reviewin' that sim for me."

"It was my pleasure mein, Herr. And do not worry, I haven't forgotten about that duel."

With one last, jaunty smile, Kurt continued on his way to the garage. Logan shook his head as he watched his friend's departing back. Then he turned and headed towards the kitchen to rustle himself up a late breakfast.

Suddenly, he stopped, his nose twitching as it detected a familiar smell. No, it had to be his imagination. He'd just left Kurt, and the Elf's problems were still in the forefront of his mind. Still, for a moment he could have sworn that he'd smelled the distinctive, sulfurous stink of teleportation coming from the direction of the kitchen...

*******

"Excuse me?"

Kurt looked up, slightly disoriented. He had been deep in thought, watching a small group of boys playing baseball some distance from the bench he had claimed for the afternoon. Now, he turned his rather startled gaze to the woman who had spoken.

His jaw dropped. She was stunning, with dark, sparkling eyes and a thick braid of shiny, black hair that reached almost to the small of her back. And, to crown off the entire lovely vision, she was smiling at him.

Quickly regaining control over himself, Kurt rose politely to his feet, returning her smile with one of his own.

"Guten Tag, Fraulein," he said with a slight tip of his head. "Was there something you wished of me?"

The woman seemed rather taken aback, a light flush rising in her pale, coppery cheeks. She had the complexion of a princess out of an Indian fairy tale. When she spoke, however, it was with a distinct northern English accent.

"Oh...no, I..." She laughed, deep and rich. "I was just wondering if you wouldn't mind if I sat down. I didn't really want to sit on the grass. It's still a bit damp from the rain last night."

Now, it was Kurt's turn to flush. "Oh. Of course," he said, feeling rather foolish. He gestured to the bench. "Please, Fraulein, be my guest." He smiled, a bit shyly. "I would consider it an honor to sit beside a lady as lovely as you."

The woman stared at him, then broke into a grin. Kurt noticed that her white teeth weren't quite straight. Somehow, that slight imperfection only made her smile seem all the more enchanting.

"You are a charmer, aren't you," she laughed. Kurt lowered his eyes in an attempt to hide his blush.

"So, are you here on holiday as well?" she asked as he joined her on the bench. Kurt blinked.

"Was? Ach, no." He smiled again. For some reason he just couldn't seem to stop smiling at her. He hoped she didn't think him strange.

"I am a teacher," he explained, "at a private school in Westchester. I only had two classes today so I thought I might as well take the opportunity to see the city, you know?"

"You're lucky you can do that," the woman told him, apparently a bit envious. "As for me, I'm only here for the week. Come Saturday I must pack my bags and head off back to dear old England. I'm a graduate student at a university near London."

"But, your accent suggests you are not from London originally." Kurt observed. "I would guess you are from much farther north...Northumberland, perhaps?"

"Yes," she grinned, deeply impressed. "That's it exactly! Have you been to England?"

Kurt nodded. "Yes, a few times. I...I traveled a great deal as a child."

The woman raised her eyebrows. "But, you are originally from...Germany? I'm sorry, I'm rather horrible with accents. You could be from Austria or even Switzerland for all I can tell."

"Nein, nein," Kurt chuckled at her embarrassment. "Germany is correct. I am actually from Bavaria, near the Alps."

The woman gasped slightly. "Oh, that must have been lovely," she said. "I've never been, myself, but I have always wanted to see the Alps--although I'd probably kill myself if I tried to ski. I'll bet you are an expert skier."

Kurt lowered his head, twisting his fingers in his lap. "Nein. Actually, I didn't really get out much. But, you are right. It was a very beautiful place to grow up."

"Your parents were in business?" the woman asked tentatively.

Kurt tilted his head, confused. "Was?"

"The constant traveling, not getting out much...I assumed your parents--"

"Oh!" Kurt exclaimed, understanding. Then, he laughed. "Ja, I suppose you could say that. Show business, if you want to know the truth. My mother runs a circus."

The woman's eyes widened. "You're kidding," she stated.

Kurt placed a hand over his heart. "On my honor, I swear it is the truth!"

The woman regarded him, not quite ready to believe him. "And what did you do at this circus?" she smiled. "Set up the tents? Clean up after the elephants?"

Kurt laughed again, delighted with her disbelief. Usually, when he told people he had been with the circus they pretty much said, "Figures," and left it at that. The reaction he was getting now was a completely new experience for him.

"Ach, nein," he told her. "I only had to clean up after the elephants when I was in trouble. For the rest of the time, I was the star acrobat."

The woman sat back, her arms crossed over her chest. "Now I know you're pulling my leg."

"Why do you say that?" Kurt asked, really curious.

"Well," the woman said, "for one thing, why would the star acrobat of a European traveling circus decide to become a teacher in New York? I mean, most boys want to run away from school to join the circus, not the other way around."

Kurt shrugged. "Perhaps I felt I could do more good as a teacher than I could as an acrobat," he said simply.

The woman squinted at him, shaking her head slightly. "My God," she said, a small smile spreading across her face. "You really are for real, aren't you?"

Kurt returned her smile, a mischievous gleam glowing in his blue eyes. "Jawohl, meine Dame," he said with a slight bow. "And, I can prove it."

"What are you going to do?" the woman exclaimed as he jumped up from the bench.

"The Incredible Nightcrawler, former star of the world-renowned Munich Circus, is going to treat you to a private performance, absolutely free of charge," Kurt grinned, carefully scoping out his surroundings, his mind filling with possibilities. "Mother Margali would probably kill me for this, but I don't mind dying for the smile a beautiful woman."

The woman gaped, then giggled, flushing deeply as he winked at her. Kurt spread out his arms, taking up a dramatic pose.

"The eye is quicker than the nose," he proclaimed, falling into a string of carefully planned cartwheels as he scooped up three rocks and an abandoned baseball from the ground. Then he leapt to his feet, beginning at once to juggle his finds. "Notice how my fingers never leave my hand," he grinned as he tossed the ball and the rocks higher and higher into the air.

The woman laughed brightly, clapping her hands. Kurt beamed, spinning in place, then falling to one knee as he smoothly caught all four objects before they reached the grass.

"Wunderbar!" she exclaimed. Then she laughed again, a little apologetically. "That's all the German I know. But truly, that was marvelous!"

"Dankeschon," Kurt chuckled, rising to his feet with a sweeping bow. Then he looked up at her with a sly wink. "But as they say in America: You ain't seen nothin' yet."

A small crowd had begun to gather by this point, and more people were starting to take notice. Kurt tilted his head slightly, rather surprised but enormously pleased to see they were smiling as they pointed him out to their friends and family members. This was much better than the screams he was used to.

"Damen und Herren," he called out, his grin broader than ever now he had a proper audience. "Before I begin this next dangerous and dazzling feat of daring do, attempting to astonish you all with my amazing acrobatic skill, I must advise all those present not to try this at home. Especially you," he smiled knowingly, pointing directly to the small group of boys that had been playing baseball a few minutes before. They smirked at him, but were too curious to see what he was going to do to make a smart comeback.

There were a few chuckles, then a low murmur broke out among the growing crowd as Kurt leapt, flipped, and tumbled his way over to a nearby tree, nimbly climbing to the highest branches with an effortless grace.

"Can you all see me?" he called down to his audience, standing on the narrow branch with his arms at his sides.

The gathered spectators shouted a collective affirmative, interspersed with several cracks about the dangers of a sudden gust of wind. Kurt waved to them all, then crouched down on the branch and began to swing.

"No feet and no tail," he muttered to himself as he launched himself off of the branch, catching hold of the next one and raising his knees over his shoulders, stretching out his legs before flipping down to the branch just underneath. "Concentrate on your arms," he coached himself, firmly ignoring the tingling ghost itching at the base of his spine. "One more branch, then the double aerial somersault. Keep it simple, just like back home in the forest. Use your tail and you're out."

The growing crowd gasped as Kurt flipped down to the final branch, his body taut and straight as an arrow as he swung a complete three hundred sixty degrees, once, twice, three times, building up momentum before launching himself high into the air, tucking in his legs as he performed a perfect triple aerial somersault before coming to a graceful landing a short distance from the trunk of the tree.

"So, I did a triple instead of a double," he smiled to himself as he soaked in the enthusiastic cheers and applause of his audience. "I couldn't make it too simple, after all."

"That was just...incredible!" the dark-eyed woman exclaimed, running over to him as the crowd started to disperse. Several cameras flashed and Kurt looked up, flushed and grinning.

"That is why I was known as the Incredible Nightcrawler," Kurt told her. "But even that was just a simple exercise. You should have seen me in Munich. I had a tail back then."

The woman laughed, and Kurt let her think he was joking. It was no use explaining, anyway. She would never understand, and even if she did, she probably wouldn't want anything to do with him once she knew he had been a mutant.

"Um, excuse me Mister...?"

Kurt and the woman turned to face the man who had just spoken. He was tall and gangly with glasses and a thick mop of brown hair, and he was holding a young girl by the hand. Kurt grinned.

"Wagner, mein Herr," Kurt told him. "Kurt Wagner."

"Mr. Wagner," the man repeated, apparently a little embarrassed. "Well, the thing is, my daughter, here, was wondering if she might have her picture taken with you."

The little girl looked up at him with big, brown eyes. "You're really handsome," the girl stated, taking his hand and pressing it to her cheek. Kurt's eyes widened and he flushed deeply, his flustered discomfort only growing as the dark-eyed woman laughed behind her hand.

"I think you might have some trouble with her in years to come," she giggled. Her father flushed almost as deeply as Kurt.

"Cara!" he scolded, reaching for her free hand. She shook him off and latched on to Kurt even tighter. "That's no way to act! You're embarrassing the poor man."

"Nein," Kurt chuckled, gently easing his fingers from her painfully tight grasp and taking her small hand in his. "It is quite all right."

"Is she your girlfriend?" Cara inquired with all the brazen curiosity of a six year old.

"Huh?"

Kurt and the woman stared at each other for a long, uncomfortable moment, then they both burst out laughing.

"No," Kurt shook his head. "No she-- We just met," he said, rather awkwardly. "In fact, I don't believe we've even been properly introduced. An unforgivable lapse of manners on my part."

He turned to the woman with a small smile. "My name is Kurt Wagner," he told her, as formally as he could with a six-year-old attached to his hand. "And, what is the name of the lovely woman for whom I made such a spectacle of myself a few minutes ago?"

"Alice," the woman smiled back. "Alice Dhoraji."

Kurt's smile deepened and he reached for her hand, gracing her knuckles with a gentle kiss. "A beautiful name," he observed, finding her eyes with his own. "Fitting for such a stunning young woman."

Alice bit her lip and turned away, unwilling to let him see her blushing face. Cara tugged on Kurt's hand.

"Hey," she complained, "what about me?"

Kurt grinned, bending down to lift her into his arms. "You are beautiful as well, my bold young Madchen. So, your name is Cara?"

The girl nodded, reaching out to play with his curls. Kurt looked up, struggling not to laugh.

"I'm Cara Johnson," she told him, "and I'm in first grade."

"My goodness," Kurt said. "Beautiful, and intelligent as well. And I get to have my picture taken with you? Why, I must be the most fortunate man alive."

Cara giggled. "Don't be silly," she told him. "You're the one who can do all those tricks."

"Cara," Mr. Johnson called out, raising his camera to his eye. "Smile!"

As Kurt and Cara smiled for the camera, Alice noticed a tall woman watching their small group from a short distance away. This woman had long, white hair tied back with a colorful scarf. Her regal poise and confident posture suggested power, but the expression on her mocha face was tentative and uncertain, almost fragile. Furrowing her brow, Alice turned back to Kurt, surprised to find herself worrying about whether he knew her or not.

"Come on, now, Cara," Mr. Johnson was saying. "It's time to go home. We've bothered poor Mr. Wagner for long enough."

"But, Daddy," Cara started.

"Nein, Liebling, your father is right," Kurt told her with a gentle smile. "I have taken up too much of your time, and I am sure you have a great many important things yet to do."

Cara sighed in resignation, then leaned in and pecked him on the cheek. Kurt's eyes widened as he set her down, surprised and touched by her innocent gesture of childish affection.

"You move too quickly for me, my young Madchen," he smiled, taking her small hand and bending low as he graced it with a courtly kiss. "After all, we've only just met."

Cara giggled brightly and ran back to her father, who smiled at Kurt with a mixture of apology and gratitude.

"Thank you for being so understanding," he said.

"It was my pleasure, mein Herr," Kurt assured him. "You have a very charming young daughter."

"Hear that, Daddy?" Cara asked, taking his hand and digging her heels into the ground, swinging slowly back and forth. "Mr. Wagner says I'm beautiful and charming."

Mr. Johnson tried to grimace, but it came out closer to a smile. "You know I'll never hear the end of this now," he said to Kurt.

Kurt shrugged with a helpless smile as he waved in farewell.

"Auf Wiedersehen, Cara," he called after her. "Be good for your father, now."

"Bye, Mr. Wagner," Cara waved back, skipping backwards until her father turned her around and the two of them disappeared around a corner.

Kurt was just turning back to Alice, still chuckling softly to himself, when he noticed a flash of white out of the corner of his eye. A woman with long, white hair was walking down the pathway. Even though she was moving away from him, he recognized her at once.

"Ororo!" he called out. "Ororo!"

She didn't seem to have heard him. He shook his head, turning to Alice with an almost frantic expression of apology.

"I am very sorry, Alice," he told her, "but I--"

"No," Alice said. "I understand. Go after her."

Kurt still seemed uncertain. "You are sure you don't--"

"Thank you for the show," she smiled at him. "It was truly a pleasure meeting you. But if you don't go now, you'll never catch her."

Kurt nodded, his blue eyes bright. "I assure you the pleasure was mine. Farewell, Fraulein. Perhaps, one day, we shall meet again."

Alice sighed and leaned back against the trunk of the tree as she watched Kurt race after the tall, queenly woman with the white hair. He would have a girlfriend.

*******

"This isn't right. Not right at all. Where are we?"

Kurt Wagner shook his head, looking around the park through narrowed, golden eyes. "It looks like Central Park," he said. "But you're right. Something is off."

"What?" Suzie asked, looking around herself. "Nothing looks off to me."

"No, it's more a feeling," Marta tried to explain to her younger sister, her fuzzy, indigo tail twitching in agitation. "A feeling of...'wrongness'. There's a word for it somewhere, I just can't think of what it is."

She turned to her father, hoping he could explain better, but Kurt appeared just as confused as Marti felt.

"Where's Auntie Jean and the others?" Edmund spoke up, pulling on his mother's arm with his sky-blue tail. "I thought we were going to a birthday party."

"We were," Alice told him, peering at her uneasy husband with concern. "What is it, Kurt?" she asked, moving up beside him. "Did something happen during the teleport?"

"I'm not sure," Kurt said, his voice distant as he tried to stretch out with his spatial sense in an attempt to identify the strange feeling that was making his fuzzy skin crawl.

"Hey, Mum," Suzie spoke up, her golden eyes curious in her pale face. "Who's that lady? She looks a lot like you."

Alice Wagner looked in the direction her daughter was pointing, then she froze, her jaw dropping.

"Erm, Kurt, love," she said, her voice wary.

"Yes, Liebchen," he asked, turning to follow her gaze. "Mein Gott!" he exclaimed. "That woman could be your twin!"

"No she couldn't," Suzie pointed out. "She's way younger than Mum is."

Alice would have shot her a look, but at that moment the young woman in question noticed that she was being watched. The Wagners stayed where they were as she approached them, her dark eyes wide with curiosity.

"Excuse me," she said, "but, I couldn't help but notice your amazing costumes."

The Wagners looked at each other in something close to bemusement, then turned back to her.

"Costumes, Fraulein?" Kurt inquired politely. The woman's eyes widened further.

"Oh, and you are German as well?" she said. "I just met a young man from Germany. He used to be with the circus. Kurt Wagner."

She flushed at the startled, uncomfortable expressions her words sparked. "I wouldn't have mentioned it, really," she hurried on, "but, you see, he said his costume had included a...well, a tail, and I couldn't help but wonder if perhaps..."

She trailed off as she caught sight of Alice, standing beside Kurt with her son's pale-blue tail wrapped around her leg. She took a startled step backwards, then looked up into Kurt's face with a sharp, searching stare.

"Oh, my God," she whispered. "You could be his twin." She took another step back, shaking her head in frightened disbelief.

"Those...erm, those aren't costumes, are they?" she managed to choke out, slowly raising her arms in an unconscious, protective gesture. Her breath quickened, her eyes darting to each of their faces in turn as she continued to back away.

"I believe that now would be a good time to leave," Kurt whispered to Marti, slowly taking his wife and son by the hand and gesturing with his chin towards the top of a tall skyscraper nearby. Marti nodded, wrapping her spade-tipped tail around her sister's waist.

BAMF!

Alice Dhoraji gasped, falling backwards onto her hands as the five Wagners disappeared in a flash of sulfurous smoke.


So, what did you think of this chapter? There'll be more of the Wagners in the next chapter, then on with the continuing saga of Kurt and Ororo! Plus, some clues as to why all these alternate Kurts are starting to show up! Stay tuned!

[Cherrydoom]

I really enjoyed this chapter! I love how Kurt's finally had some fun... and he seems to be getting back to his old self now! About the new characters being introduced... they sound very interesting, and I must read that fic they're from I'll be sure to review it when I'm done. 'Til next time!

[Rowena]

Sorry, this isn't an update. I just wanted to thank you for your review! Getting feedback on my stories really makes my day! Thanks, and I hope you like 'Earth'!

[StarLightCrawler]

I liked the chapter anddidinot like it at the same time. I like how Kurt(the human looknig one) got to have some fun and show off. Though i realy don;t like how all the diff Kurts and other keep showing up. I know will come out interesting but kind confused(sp) me a little.

[Rowena]

Yeah, all those alternate Kurts popping up is a bit confusing at the moment, but pretty soon it will all be explained. Believe it or not, this whole mess is vital to whether or not Kurt ever gets his powers back!

NOTE: I planned out and started this story long before I actually started posting my stuff on the internet. Rowena Zahnrei is a character of mine, and since I liked the name so much I used it as my screen name. I'm just saying all this to avoid any confusion. (I really do have very long hair, though!) Thanks for reading! And now, here's:


Chapter Nineteen

Marti stumbled as she forced her way out of the teleport, nearly toppling over and taking Suzie with her.

"Hey, watch your tail!" Suzie exclaimed as she broke out of her sister's grasp and struggled to regain her balance. "I know vertical teleports are harder, but that was really awful! What the heck just happened there?"

Marti shook her head, holding up one thick finger as she worked to catch her breath. Suzie scowled.

"I don't know," Marti gasped out at last, running a fuzzy, tridactal hand through her springy, red curls. "I don't know what happened. It was weird...like something was pulling me, slowing me down." She looked at her sister, her green eyes wide. "Didn't you feel it?"

Suzie seemed uncertain, her golden eyes narrowed in her pale face. "I did feel something," she said slowly, "but I wasn't--"

"Wait a moment," Marti interrupted, looking around the bare, deserted rooftop with growing alarm. "Where are Dad and Mum and Edmund?"

Suzie swallowed, then ran over to the high brick wall, jumping up to peer over the edge into Central Park far below.

"I don't see them anywhere," she called back to her sister.

"You don't suppose they didn't make it through...?"

Suzie looked over to Marti, a cold dread clutching at her stomach as she took in her older sister's frightened expression. She frowned, hating the helpless feeling that was taking hold of her with every fiber of her being.

"All right, that's it," Suzie snapped, unconsciously channeling her fear into anger as she jumped down from the wall and marched over to her sister. "If you have any idea what's going on here, spill it now. I don't have any 'special spatial sense'. I can't feel what you can feel and I can't see what you can see! You're the teleporter. You tell me what's wrong!"

Marta's green eyes flashed at her sister's tone, but despite her first inclination to snap back at her in kind she worked instead to control her own anger and fear, struggling to put all the strange feelings and impressions her senses were throwing at her into words.

"This place," she said, indicating the entire bustling city with her arms and her tail, "is wrong. This is not the New York we know. Everything about it...the air, the people, the height of the trees...is wrong."

"Yeah, you said that," Suzie scowled. "But what does that mean?"

Marti sighed, carefully chewing at the inside of her cheek as she thought.

"Something happened during the teleport," she said. "Both teleports, this one and the one to Central Park. Usually we pass through that other dimension in an instant. It's as effortless as thought. This time, though, it was like there was something in there with us...something huge and powerful. It was dragging us toward it, away from where we were trying to go. The pull was almost irresistible, like a magnet or something. It was all I could do to break us away."

Suzie shivered, her scowl dissolving as her golden eyes widened. "And you think maybe Dad is still--"

A loud BAMF cut Suzie off in mid-sentence, causing both girls to turn their heads as one. Kurt, Alice, and Edmund stumbled unsteadily out of a thick cloud of sulfurous smoke, coughing and breathing heavily. As the smoke dissipated, Kurt fell into a crouch, holding his nose with both hands.

"Here, love," Alice said, crouching down beside him. "Use my handkerchief."

"Danke," Kurt muffled through his hands as he took the proffered handkerchief with his tail. Marti and Suzie gasped as the white cloth became stained with a rapidly spreading red the instant their father pressed it to his nose.

"Mum! Dad! What happened," the girls exclaimed, rushing over to their parents.

Kurt and Alice looked up at their concerned daughters, a deep relief shining in their eyes.

"Thank God you made it out of there!" Alice cried as she leapt to her feet and pulled them both into a close embrace. Kurt was still too weak to rise, pressing the bloody handkerchief even harder in an attempt to staunch the flow of his heavy nosebleed.

"Mummy," Edmund's weak, plaintive voice called out from the wall he was leaning against. "I think I'm going to be sick."

Alice hugged her daughters once more before breaking away to help Edmund. A sickening retching sound soon followed. Suzie made the mistake of looking over at her brother as she and Marti lowered themselves to the flat rooftop beside their father.

"Oh, eeew!" she moaned, scrunching up her face in disgust. Marta ignored her, turning her attention to her father.

"You were in there for so long," Marti said with concern. "Are you OK?"

Kurt nodded, wrapping his tail around Marta's hand with a reassuring squeeze. He sniffed slightly and gingerly wiped his nose with the soiled handkerchief.

"I think it's stopped now," he said, his voice still slightly weak. "I don't believe I have ever experienced a more strenuous teleport. For a moment there, I was truly afraid we wouldn't make it out."

Marti jumped up into a crouch, her tail lashing behind her. "So, you felt it too!" she exclaimed. "That weird force pulling at us, dragging us off course!"

"I did not only feel it, Liebling," Kurt told her, his expression as somber as his lightly accented voice. "I saw it." He narrowed his golden eyes. "Or, at least a part of it."

Suzie tilted her head. "What was it?" she asked.

Kurt shook his head, his lips tight. "Whatever it was," he said, "it was incredibly powerful." He turned to Marta. "I want there to be no more teleporting until we find out more about this anomalous force," he said firmly. "Am I understood?"

Marti nodded, raising her hands in a placating gesture. "Jawohl, Papa. I don't want to get stuck in that creepy place any more than you do!"

"Gut," Kurt nodded sharply. Then, his expression softened. "Now help me to my feet, there's a Liebchen. That teleport took more out of me than I thought."

"Should we contact Uncle Scott?" Suzie asked anxiously as Marti took her father's hand and pulled him up from the rooftop.

Kurt thanked Marta with a smile, then turned to Suzie.

"Liebling," he said, "wherever we are, this is not the world we know. Somehow, that strange force must have displaced us from our own dimension."

"Displaced!" Marti exclaimed as if hit by a sudden revelation. "That's the word I was looking for!"

Kurt and Suzie looked at her for a moment, then went back to their conversation as if there had been no interruption at all.

"That woman we saw in the park has to have been an alternate version of your mother. And, judging from her...erm...reaction to us, I would assume that either mutants do not exist on this world or that they exist but are in hiding, much like our own world when Professor Xavier first founded the X-Men."

"So, it's like that 'Star Trek' episode," Marti said. "You know, the one where they end up in an alternate universe and the alternate Spock has that awful beard?"

Kurt nodded. "Essentially, yes. But, the point is that we have no way of knowing if the X-Men exist on this world."

"There's a phone booth down on the corner," Alice said, walking over to them with Edmund in tow. The pale-blue boy still seemed a bit green around the gills, but he was looking up at his parents with an expectant curiosity that assured them both that he would be just fine.

Kurt tilted his head, then nodded. "Good plan, Liebchen," he said. "Take Suzie with you. I'll remain here with Marta and Edmund."

"Wait a moment," Suzie protested. "I don't get it! What good will a phone booth do?"

"You and Mum can look up the Xavier Institute in the phone book, Dummkopf," Marti sneered. Kurt gave her a sharp look. Marti drooped her shoulders.

"Sorry," she said. "But why do I have to stay up here? I want to go too."

Kurt sighed, his golden eyes darting to Alice as his tail curled and uncurled in discomfort. Alice shook her head.

"You know why as well as anyone," Alice told her, her dark eyes narrowed as she recalled the horrified look on her double's face when she realized the Wagners were not wearing costumes.

Suzie smirked. "If it makes you feel any better," she said to Marti, "I'll go like this."

The rest of her family gasped as Suzie morphed herself into a perfectly human version of Marta, complete with short, carrot-red curls, green eyes, and ten pale, fuzzless fingers.

"Don't you dare, Ingrid Susan Wagner," Marti exclaimed, angry enough to shoot flames from her eyes if it had been within her power to do so.

"Kinder!" Kurt snapped, his voice sharp and crisp. The two girls turned to him, both speaking at once.

"Dad, tell Suzie that she absolutely can not--"

"You have to admit she was asking for it--"

"That is enough!" Kurt crossed his arms over his chest and peered down at his quarreling daughters with his sternest expression. With a sigh, Suzie changed back to her own, pale form; the smirk gone from her face but still glowing in her golden eyes. Marti glared at her, her long tail lashing in frustrated fury.

"That was uncalled for, Ingrid," Kurt scolded, narrowing his eyes at Suzie. "But, now that you have gotten that out of your system I will say this again. Marta and Edmund, you are staying with me up here on the roof."

Edmund nodded. Marta rolled her eyes.

"Marta?" Kurt prompted.

"Yes, all right!" she scowled. "I'm staying up here."

Kurt kept his eyes on her a moment longer, then turned to Suzie. "Suzie, you will accompany your mother--as yourself. Just change the color of your eyes and hair."

"What color?" Suzie asked, fingering her long, azure hair.

"Whichever is easiest," Kurt told her.

Suzie turned a look of pure concentration on her mother. A moment later her blue hair had become a deep, rich brown, as had her golden eyes. Her pointed ears were now rounded, and her pale skin was a light, creamy copper.

"Sehr schon," Kurt smiled in satisfaction, admiring the effect. Suzie looked almost like a smaller version of her mother like that, the only major difference being that she had inherited Kurt's nose.

"Well, wish us luck," Alice said, opening the door that led into the building.

"We'll certainly need it," Suzie added.

At that, Alice sighed, shaking her head. "Even if the X-Men do exist here, it will still take a lot to make them believe we are who we say we are,” she said. Kurt walked up to her, a soft smile brightening his dark face.

"If anyone can persuade them, it is you, meine Liebe." He leaned in to kiss her cheek, then stepped back.

"Don't worry," he told her. "Even if we can't look to the X-Men for help, we will certainly be able to think of something. I truly believe that someone, somewhere is looking out for us. Otherwise, how could we ever have come this far?"

Alice smiled at him, a smile of pure affection, then she turned and started down the stairs with Suzie close behind her.

*******

Rowena Zahnrei, Head Historian of the Omniverse and Second Advisor to the Supreme Omniversal Guardian Roma, stood on the balcony of the large, ornate conference room, watching as the landscape far below her shifted and faded, then shifted again. The howling wind blew her long, brown hair out behind her like a cape, giving her the odd, almost weightless feeling that if she spread out her arms, the wind would lift her away.

"...and we've had another report of a dimensional cross-over, again to Earth 816. Whatever it is that's causing this mess must originate from there. I believe that someone should be sent there to investigate this crisis at once, before the barriers between the timelines disintegrate completely!"

Rowena sighed as she listened to the debate raging on inside. The fabric of the multiverse was unraveling at the seams like an old, frayed quilt, and it was taking Otherworld along with it. Turning away from the shifting landscape, Rowena slipped back into the room, focusing her attention on the tall, lean, prim man who had just spoken.

"Was it another teleporter?" she asked him.

Horatio Cringebottom looked at her, somewhat surprised by the interruption. "Why, yes. A family of mutants from Earth 723."

Rowena nodded, twirling her thick hair behind her back as she mixed this new data in with the rest of her stewing thoughts. The Supreme Ominveral Guardian Roma looked down at her from her elegant throne, her large eyes narrowed in her rounded, youthful face. Rowena straightened her shoulders and stepped forward, her long hair swirling behind her as she moved.

"Mistress Roma," she said, "I volunteer for this mission."

"Historian," Roma responded, her tone regal but her expression curious. "I hear your request, but to send one of your rank and position on a mission such as this is most irregular."

"If you please, Mistress, so is this situation," Rowena pointed out. "My office records all things as they happen. Not a nanosecond is left unaccounted for. Ever since this crisis began, my senior staff and I have been reviewing all the myriad actions and events that ultimately led up to this present moment in a search for a cause. Impossibly, we have found nothing concrete, only vague notions and speculations. That leaves us with only one conclusion."

"And, what is that?" Roma inquired.

"Whatever is causing this crisis must be working backwards through time. Otherwise, we would have found something as we sifted through past events."

"You mean, this threat has its origins in the future?" Roma asked, frowning slightly as she sat back in her throne.

Rowena nodded. "Yes, Mistress. And I also believe that these instances of teleporters being drawn across the dimensional boundaries to Earth 816 could be the clue we have been hoping for, the one that can lead us directly to the cause of this crisis."

"What do you mean?"

Rowena sighed, biting her lip as she struggled to put her swirling thoughts into words. "It just strikes me as odd that so many teleporters are ending up on Earth 816 specifically, and in so short a time," she said. "There have been fifteen cases of this sort in as many hours! There has to be a connection, a correlation of some kind. I request that I be sent to Earth 816 to find out just what this correlation is."

Roma regarded Rowena through her large, bright eyes, her brow furrowed with concern and worry.

"Historian Zahnrei, although I am loathe to send one of my chief advisors away from my side at this time of crisis, I must admit that in this case, you are best qualified for a mission of this nature. However, I must ask if you are certain that your department will be able to continue its vital function without your presence."

Rowena looked up at her, the determination in her brown eyes barely covering her own worry.

"With respect, Mistress, to you and to my position, if this threat continues to spread, keeping our cohesive history of the multiverse up to date will be the least of our worries." She indicated the fading, shifting landscape beyond the conference chamber, her expression grim.

Roma nodded somberly. "Then go with speed, knowing that all of our hopes go with you. The fate of the entire multiverse rests on your shoulders."

Rowena smiled, but only slightly. "Be assured, Mistress," she said firmly, "I will get to the bottom of this."


Chapter Twenty

It was a real struggle for Kurt to keep his posture erect as he closed the distance between himself and Ororo. An embarrassing and painful tumble in the Danger Room had taught him that it was pretty much impossible to run on all fours without the unique make-up of his tridactal feet and the counterbalance his tail had provided. But, even so, it was incredibly difficult to change the habits of a lifetime.

Suddenly, Kurt stopped short, a nervous chill gripping his stomach, his heart pounding in his chest as an uncomfortable thought occurred to him, sobering him at once. He could feel his posture shrinking, the excitement and confidence of just moments before twisting into an all too familiar self-doubt. What if she didn't want to see him? What if she just stared at him as she had in her classroom, aloof and cold, an untouchable goddess. Or worse, what if she just kept on walking, as if he wasn't even there?

Slowly, ever so slowly, Kurt sank down in to a crouch on the slightly damp grass, watching as the space between them widened with every brusque step she took. Had his angry, frustrated outbursts truly cost him his dearest friend?

Kurt picked at the grass, his curly head bowed. He was behaving foolishly, he knew. He probably looked ridiculous as well, crouching like this in huddled ball. Quickly, he rose to his full height, standing straighter than he ever could as a mutant. He had to know the full extent of his sins before he could find a way to make things right again. He had to talk with her, and he had to convince her to talk with him. He could still see her in the distance; it wasn't too late to catch her before she left the park. But, he couldn't approach her empty handed, and his previous attempts at a peace offering had failed dismally.

Kurt looked around, his eyes landing on a bright patch of color under a nearby tree. Tulips and daffodils. He walked over to them, bending down slightly to get a closer look. The tulips were fresh and perfect, recent blooms with a few sparkling droplets of moisture clinging to their soft, fragrant petals. The daffodils were almost past their prime, though, their yellow petals slightly faded and browning at the tips. Would Ororo like these? Or, would she be upset with him for picking them, dooming the lovely plants to an untimely death?

"Kurt!"

Kurt spun on his heel at the sound of his name and looked back the way he had just come, startled from his musings. His jaw dropped when he saw who had spoken. Impossible! He had just seen her walking away from him! Kurt shaded his eyes and turned, searching for the woman he had just been following. She was gone. But...there was no way she could have left the park so quickly, let alone ...

"Kurt! Kurt Wagner!"

The voice was unmistakable now. Kurt turned back to face the rapidly approaching Ororo Munroe, and found himself startled once again when he realized she was wearing a different dress and her hair was loose about her shoulders rather than tied back with a scarf. Could he possibly have mistaken her for someone else? But, he had been so certain that it was her...

"Kurt, are you all right?" Ororo asked, her crystal blue eyes dark with concern. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Kurt swallowed and blinked a few times, shaking off the unsettling surreality of the moment and allowing the dawning realization that Ororo was actually there, talking to him without even a hint of anger, to sink in.

"Ororo," he said, a small smile creeping across his face. "I'm sorry...you just startled me, that is all." His smile turned a bit sheepish as he confessed, "I was just thinking about you."

The concern left Ororo's eyes, to be replaced by an amused warmth. Kurt felt his heart still, apprehension warring with incredulity as he cautiously watched her brightening expression. Was she actually smiling at him? Could it be she forgave him after all...?

Ororo lowered her head slightly. If Kurt didn't know any better, he would say she appeared shy. But, surely that was impossible...

"I was thinking about you as well," she said softly, not meeting his eyes. "I should have said something earlier, I know, but what with the mission and classes, and then finding out you'd gone to the city..." She looked up now, her eyes tentative and searching. "I just didn't have a chance to say thank you."

Kurt's mind was an expansive void of swirling blankness, completely unable to process her words or the meaning behind them. "Thank me?" he repeated.

"For the tickets," Ororo explained. "And the bouquet." She shook her head. "Oh, Kurt, you didn't have to go to all that trouble for me. I would have forgiven you anyway."

Kurt blinked, the void in his mind swirling even faster, making him feel slightly dizzy and lightheaded. "Forgiven me? You...you mean, you forgive me? You...you aren't...angry anymore?"

Ororo smiled, stepping closer to him and taking his hand in hers. "Kurt, I forgave you the moment you stepped into my classroom," she assured him, her tone sincere but her eyes somehow nervous. Kurt forgot to breathe.

Suddenly, Ororo broke away, running her hands through her long hair, avoiding his gaze once again.

"If either of us should be angry right now, Kurt, it's you," she told him, her voice hard and flat. "I have been perfectly horrid to you since you came here. I knew how you felt about me. I've known for so long...but I never said anything, did anything..." She scowled in angry shame, a familiar self-loathing darkening her eyes. Kurt shook his head, reaching out to stroke her cheek with two slender fingers.

"Nein, Liebchen," he whispered, his accented voice barely audible, pained to see that look haunting her beautiful eyes. "How can you say that? You were never cruel to me. You are the kindest, dearest woman I have ever known...my best friend." He smiled gently. Ororo reached up to press a hand to his fingers, leaning her head into his touch, her eyes closing slightly. Then, she shook her head, brushing his hand away.

"No," she said. "No, I'm not. I've hurt you! I've caused you so much pain, and you do not deserve to be hurt like that. Kurt, I've been so selfish and cold towards you...I've allowed my fear to come between us for so long...! And I--I just don't understand how you can stand to be around someone like me!"

Kurt's ears had stopped working long before Ororo reached the end of her outburst. He stared at her in mute shock, an ancient wound searing his heart.

"You were afraid of me?" he asked her, unable to keep the hurt from his voice.

Ororo blinked, alarmed at how he had misinterpreted her. "No!" she exclaimed, causing the heads of several passers-by to turn in vague curiosity. She reached for his hand again, pressing it to her heart. "No, Kurt, never!"

Her eyes grew slightly distant, a small, almost dreamy smile quirking the corners of her lips as she went on. "From the moment I first saw you, suspended upside down in that church, I knew there was something special about you. I..." she flushed slightly, turning her gaze to the ground, "I had never seen a more striking man, and I...I just didn't know how to react to you."

Kurt tilted his head. "Striking?" he repeated, not quite sure how she meant that.

Ororo's smile broadened and she nodded. "It was so sudden, and so strong, and...and I'd never felt that way about anyone before," she went on. "I really didn't know what it was or how to deal with it, but I just couldn't get you out of my mind. And the more we were together, the better we came to know each other, the more beautiful you became."

Kurt's eyes widened. "Beautiful?" He shook his head slightly, his eyes filled with wonder. "You...you thought I was beautiful?"

Ororo bit her lip, a flush rising in her mocha cheeks as she nodded. Kurt stared at her for a moment, slowly understanding that she was telling him the truth. All this time, and she had felt for him exactly as he had felt for her. But then, why had she never said anything? What could a woman so beautiful and intelligent possibly fear if it wasn't his appearance?"

"Then," he said, sliding a finger under her chin and gently raising her eyes to his. "Then, what were you afraid of?" he asked, his voice soft. "You knew I would not reject you. I would never hurt you, Ororo."

Ororo took in a trembling breath, her crystal eyes filling with tears. Kurt pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her in a tender embrace, showing her it was all right to cry. He stroked her soft, snowy hair as she spoke into his shoulder.

"Everyone I ever loved has left me," she told him, squeezing him with a fierce desperation as she cried. "My parents were killed when I was a small child, and I was taken in by one of the many bands of pickpockets that roamed the streets of Cairo. I watched my dearest friends die of malnutrition, and from the beatings we received if we were caught or if our take was too small. I saw men beat their wives and children. Those who fought back often ended up dead, while those who didn't were broken, subservient. I swore then I would never allow myself to get close to anyone again. I locked my feelings away behind a shield of anger. I thought I was protecting myself, but it wasn't until I met Charles Xavier that I realized that I had constructed my own prison. I've been living with those shields for so long now that it is terrifying to be without them."

She pulled back, sniffling slightly as she looked up at him, her eyes gleaming with unshed tears and...something else. Slowly, she placed a tentative hand on his cheek, tracing his jawline as she watched his expression. Her fingers missed the intricate patterns of his scars, but she wasn't about to bring that up. She wanted to show him she accepted him, then and now. She didn't want to hurt him any more than she already had.

"You are the first person who has ever been able to cut through those shields," she confessed with some difficulty. "For the first time since I was a very small child, I found myself unprotected from my own emotions. And that is what terrified me."

She shook her head with an baffled expression, absently smoothing his unruly curls. "I have no idea how you do it, Kurt--you're doing it right now, in fact!--but you are the first man to ever touch my heart. The Professor couldn't, at least, not all the way. Not even Jean could pierce my shields completely. And when she died..." She shook her head, banishing the memory with a sharp intake of breath. Then she turned back to him, staring deep into his eyes. "But you..."

She trailed off, lowering her eyes and her hand.

"Ororo..."

She looked up, pensive and frightened as she gazed into his expressive face, seeing her reflection mirrored in his blue eyes. They were eyes so full of love and concern that she felt she could lose herself in them. And for the first time, she found she no longer feared that feeling.

"Kurt..." she said, her voice breaking slightly with emotion.

"I love you."

There was a moment of complete silence. For a few interminable seconds, it seemed all the ambient noise of the bustling city and the crowded park had melted away around them. Then, without any warning at all, they both burst into wild peals of laughter.

"We both spoke at once!" Kurt giggled, leaning his hand against the tree for support. Ororo nodded, unable to speak through her own laughter as she bent forward, clutching her aching sides.

"Oh!" she gasped out at last, "I can't believe how good that felt! I have been so stupid--"

Kurt shook his head, still chuckling. "Nein, Liebling. It is I who have been stupid. I never even dared to hope you could love me as I love you...that you could ever think of me as more than a friend, a colleague..."

"If I hadn't come today, you never would have said anything, would you," Ororo said in mock-accusation, her laughter dwindling into more manageable chuckles as she finally managed to catch her breath.

Kurt shrugged, embarrassed. "Well, I thought you didn't want to see me. I would never want to make you feel...ach, what is that word Logan used?"

"Smothered?" Ororo suggested, a sly look crossing her face. So, Logan had spoken with Kurt after all. That reminded her, she would have to thank the gruff Canadian for that kick in the pants. But, that would come later. Right now, she had a beautiful man to reassure.

Kurt was nodding, his narrow face reddening slightly. Ororo felt her heart melt and did nothing to stop it.

"Kurt," she said, straightening to her full height. "Come here."

Kurt looked over at her in mild surprise, but did as she said.

"Before this goes any further, let's get one thing straight," she told him. "I know that you are a devout Catholic, and you are aware that I am not a Christian."

Kurt nodded a bit nervously, wondering if she was going where he thought she was going. ...I love you but you can't expect me to agree to a marriage in your church. Even the idea of marriage is too confining...

"I have been considering this for a very long time, probably as long as you have," she continued. "And this morning I decided that if our relationship ever comes to the point where our love would tempt you to betray the teachings of your faith, I would be willing to marry you. If we share an open, honest partnership, a ceremony designed to affirm such a bond should only make it stronger." She looked at him, suddenly concerned. After all, she knew practically nothing about these matters. "Am I right?"

Kurt beamed, his relieved elation causing him to seem slightly taller than his five feet and nine inches. "You would really want to marry me?" he asked, his deep voice cracking slightly with emotion. Then, his smile fell, weighted down by a sudden concern. "Because you know I would never want you to do anything that would make you uncomfortable--"

Ororo chuckled at his sincere expression, feeling a warm burst of love fill her heart, causing her to close the distance between them.

"Well, perhaps not today," she said with a mischievous smile. "But I can certainly see it happening in the future. I do love you, Kurt, religion and all."

"I love you too--"

Kurt's words were cut off by a sharp gasp as Ororo leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. There was a slightly awkward moment--both of them surprised by the reality of what she had just done--then, they closed their eyes, melting into each other's embrace. It was a long time before they finally parted.

"Mein Gott," Kurt breathed, feeling slightly light-headed and rather weak in the knees.

"Bright Goddess," Ororo chuckled, kissing him again. He responded quickly, gently tightening his embrace. This second kiss was even longer than the first, and several passers-by let out a few wolf whistles and ribald shouts. But, Kurt and Ororo didn't hear them. For them, the world stretched no farther than the joyous light in the other's eyes. Even when they finally broke the kiss, they continued to hold each other, reveling in the warm contentment merely being together brought them. It was Kurt who stepped back first.

"So," he said with a laugh taking her hands and kissing her knuckles, "now we've got all that out of the way, what do we do now?"

Ororo glanced at the sun, her connection with the earth giving her a more accurate sense of the time than any watch. "It is not quite three o'clock," she said, "and the Professor is not expecting us back until the meeting at eight this evening. That means we have plenty of time to do whatever you like."

Kurt smiled. "This is my first time in the city without the children," he admitted. "I wouldn't know where to go. Perhaps, you could choose our itinerary?"

Ororo looked thoughtful for a moment. What she really wanted was to go shopping for evening clothes. She had two tickets to the opera and nothing to wear! From what she'd observed, though, most men were less than thrilled with the prospect of spending an afternoon shopping for clothes. Still, it couldn't hurt to ask...

"Well," she said, feeling a bit apprehensive, "if we are going to put those ludicrously expensive theater tickets you bought to proper use, I, for one, am going to need a suitable dress."

To her surprised delight, Kurt's eyes lit up at that suggestion. "A marvelous idea, meine Liebe!" he grinned. "And, would I get to help you choose?"

Ororo smirked at his wicked smile. "Only if I get to pick out a suit for you."

Kurt took her hand, laughing brightly. "Then, what are we still standing here for?" he asked, tugging her hand with gentle insistence until she was walking beside him on the pathway. "I have never seen inside those huge, famous department stores, but I have heard how grand they are." He looked down at his feet.

"Oh, and I will need some shoes as well. These are Scott's, and while I am very grateful to him for lending them to me, they are a little small."

Ororo raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything. Perhaps it was just the novelty of seeing a new place, but for now Kurt was not only willing, but eager to go shopping with her. She didn't think she could recall a time she had ever felt so happy. Judging from the look in Kurt's eyes, it was clear he felt the same way--and it was because of her. She only wished she hadn't waited so long to finally tell him how much he meant to her. Just then, she realized Kurt was still talking.

"...some dinner, and perhaps some dancing?" he asked, his excitement plain to see. "There should be time, I believe."

"Dancing?" Ororo repeated, her eyes widening as she caught on to his meaning. "Oh, I don't know, Kurt. I have watched others dance, but have never joined in myself. I wouldn't know what to do."

Kurt laughed. "That is quite all right, Liebchen," he assured her warmly. "It would be a pleasure to teach you."

Ororo still looked doubtful. Kurt shook his head, a playful gleam in his eyes.

"Nein, Liebchen, none of that," he said. "Watch this."

Raising the hand that was holding hers, he spun her around until she was in his arms, then spun her back again, dipping her into a graceful pose.

"There," he said, kissing her softly before allowing her to straighten. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

Ororo laughed, threading her hand through the crook of his elbow. "Nein," she said with a smile that matched his own. "I think we could manage to squeeze some dancing into our schedule for this afternoon."

"Sehr gut!" Kurt beamed, though this smile faltered slightly as he felt the ghost of his tail longing to wrap itself around Ororo's slender waist. "First shopping, then dinner, then dancing. What could be better?"

"A night at the opera, perhaps?" Ororo suggested.

"Ach, ja," Kurt nodded. "All that time in the dark with you by my side...romantic music swelling in the air..."

Ororo stared, then burst out laughing, affectionately squeezing his arm with hers. "Kurt Wagner, if I live to be a hundred, you will never cease to amaze me."

Kurt raised an eyebrow. "And is that a bad thing?"

Ororo smiled. "Absolutely not," she stated, leaning in to give him a playful peck on the cheek. "It's one of the things that made me fall in love with you."

Kurt flushed, a broad, unabashedly goofy grin spreading across his face.

They walked like that, arm in arm, as they left the park and were swept away on the steady current of pedestrians crowding the busy sidewalks of the city.



Hope that was OK!
Until next time!

[Nova]

that was really good. i like your idea of alternate Kurts. keep up the good work:)