Preamble... I'm too busy for anything really long right now, but these vignettes are a compromise gesture :) There's no particular chronological order at the moment, though I may rearrange it at a future date. Each chapter is a stand-alone min-fic (you can jump right in here!), yet can also be read as fitting in with the rest of my Kitty/Kurt-verse (Parts of a Whole, A Different Sameness, Whole into Parts). I'm not sure how many chapters there will ultimately be, but until I decide I'm "done," I'll try to post one chapter/vignette per month (fingers crossed!).

One final thing: This was originally published with a "T" rating, but I've bumped it up to "M" since updating with new chapters.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the X-Men, so I don't make a thin dime writing about them.

As usual, reviews are great! Also as usual, a heartfelt thank you to all those who support and inspire—you know who you are ;)

The Beach

*set in the aftermath of Uncanny X-Men #150

Two hours had passed since Kitty came face-to-face with her first super-villain, and lived. She wasn't entirely sure how she'd survived, though she had an unsettling premonition dumb luck had a lot to do with it. The only thing Kitty remembered for sure from her encounter with Magneto was the pain, a pain unlike any she'd ever experienced, a pain that penetrated her limbs and blood and nerves even in her phased state. After that, she'd blacked out. When she awoke, she was cradled in Ororo's arms, and Magneto was long gone.

Now, the X-Men were taking their time repairing the Blackbird, enjoying a few precious hours of mid-afternoon rest amid the sand, tropical sun and palm trees surrounding Magneto's ruined base. For a while, Kitty had joined them. Gradually, however, the din of voices had overwhelmed her, and she'd had to get away, to find some quiet spot to think, for a moment, about how close she'd come to never thinking anything again. So she'd ventured some distance down the white sand beach, away from the base and the Blackbird and her friends, and found a comfortable spot leaning against the truck of a palm tree, shading herself under its faintly rattling leaves.

Staring out at the calm, turquoise ocean stretching out toward the cloudless, azure sky, Kitty marvelled at the stillness, amazed by the indifference of the water and the sky and the birds overhead. The tranquility was equal parts troubling and profound; she simultaneously pondered her own insignificance and thanked both indifferent nature and every god she could remember that she was still alive.

After a time, she knew she wanted company, but couldn't quite decide what type. She thought of Peter, conjuring in her mind's eye a vision of his blue eyes and black hair, his square jaw with its tiny dimple. In her mind he was smiling, flashing his perfect, straight white teeth. Yet, try as she might, she couldn't imagine that smile reaching his eyes; instead, they remained elusive, always looking elsewhere, above her head or behind her shoulder.

Ororo would be okay, except that Kitty was feeling more confused than ever about the nature of their relationship. Kitty found Ororo's presence comforting, yet she sometimes experienced a jitter of withdrawal afterwards that made her wonder at the nature of that comfort. Perhaps what she really experienced inside Ororo's arms or under her watchful gaze was a sense of awe, losing herself in Ororo's glorious aura.

Scott was an obvious impossibility, as was the Professor, whose attention was a nightmare at the best of times. Kitty knew exactly how such an exchange would play out: the Professor would ask her what was wrong, telling her he never read her mind without permission even as his cool, intense stare bored into her, suggesting quite the opposite. Logan's company was out of the question only because Kitty was forced to like him secretly; Logan and Kitty upheld a silent contract not to acknowledge their bond for fear of shattering it, Logan's studied disaffection allowing only mild teasing and the occasional furtive, honest glance.

In the end, the right kind of company came from the last place Kitty expected. She heard a shuffle of movement to her left, and looked up. As she did, the sun flashed in her eyes, turning the approaching body into a silhouette. For a moment, he was only a man, only loosely-set, square shoulders and flat pecs above a narrow waist of tight abs. His sashaying tail gave him away a split-second before his voice did; to Kitty, Kurt's warm, German-accented lilt was as unique as the sleek indigo fur that came into focus as he stepped into the shade, or the two-fingered hand that held out a bottle of water.

"I thought you might be thirsty," said Kurt. "Not very exotic, but it gets the job done."

Kitty looked past the water bottle to Kurt's velvet-coated midsection. He was wearing nothing but a pair of black swim briefs, and patches of his fur were dark and shiny with sweat. Kitty was suddenly and unwillingly conscious of the fact that she'd never seen Kurt so very nearly naked, so very close.

"Katzchen…?"

"Sorry," Kitty said quickly, blinking decisively as she accepted the water. "I just… don't think I've ever seen you sweat."

Kurt raised a sceptical eyebrow. "That's surprising, considering how rarely you see me when I'm not scrambling for my life, in the Danger Room or out of it."

Kitty bit the inside or her cheek, dropping her eyes to her toes, burrowing deeper into the white sand. She wanted a sip of water, but instead found herself picking the bottle's label with the edge of her fingernail.

In a small, uncertain voice she offered, "Maybe I just never really noticed."

"Probably because I'm so cool under pressure," Kurt assured her, dropping his shoulder against the tree trunk next to hers and folding his arms over his chest. "But seriously—fur and tropical temperatures really don't mix. I was designed for cooler climates."

Kitty didn't feel up to meeting his gaze, those reflectionless, glowing orbs that both repelled and penetrated. She wasn't scared of that gaze anymore—not really. Yet no amount of tropical heat could quell the reflexive shiver that spread over her body whenever she remembered the first time Kurt's eyes had filled hers, embodying all her childhood fears. Twin points of light in a face so shadow-dark it became one with the night, those luminous almonds had been all the imagined watchers in the dark: the monster under the bed, in the closet, at the foot of the basement stairs.

Yet the alternatives to Kurt's gaze were almost worse; there was only the endless, humbling expanse of the ocean, her own body, or Kurt's—that body that was so strange it almost demanded touching, if only to confirm under one's own familiar hands the reality of its strangeness.

Following an agonizing internal debate, Kitty settled for blurring her vision, fighting a distracted impulse to follow the single bead of sweat weaving its way through Kurt's indigo fur, snaking between the darker ripples of his abs toward the pitch-black crevice of his belly button.

"Do you really think that?" she asked.

"What?"

"That you were… designed."

"In which sense?"

"I mean, do you really think there's a purpose behind it. Behind us. Behind Magneto. All of it."

Kurt inhaled a deep breath. "I think… Life is something you're given. Purpose is something you make for yourself."

"What about mutants?"

"What about them?"

"Magneto thinks we're the next step in evolution. That someday, everyone will be like us."

"I don't know if anyone can know that for sure. Coming from Magneto, it sounds too much like a justification."

Kitty shook her head vaguely, hands tightening around the neck of the water bottle she still hadn't found the courage to open. "I know, I know. I'm not questioning whether I picked the right side, or anything. It's just that sometimes, I wish I knew what we were fighting for."

She watched Kurt's two-toed feet flex in the warm sand next to hers. The forked tip of his tail kicked up a small trail of white grains before bending around his ankle. Kitty wondered if he found it tiring keeping his tail off the ground, since it was slightly too long not to drag when hanging straight. Or maybe, she thought, a tail liked to work that way, perpetually making and unmaking the serpentine curves divinity or genetics meant it to form.

"When I first joined you guys," she continued, "I wanted to fight for people. For everybody, all the people in the whole world who can't fight for themselves. But most of the time, it seems like we end up fighting for ourselves, against other mutants. Maybe we're the next step in evolution, or maybe… Maybe we're just a mistake."

"Katzchen. Look at me."

A gust of wind stirred the palm leaves as she raised her head. In the flickering light, Kurt's eyes alternated between rich gold and pale white. They were still reflectionless, yet his emotions were plain, carved into the pucker of his blue-black eyebrows and the subtle wrinkles bordering his serious frown.

His voice was deadly earnest as he said, "One person's mistake is another person's opportunity. We can't help how we were born, just as we can't always choose our enemies, or even our battles."

"So what can we choose?"

All at once, his expression softened, fangs glinting, briefly, in a narrow ray of sunshine. "Well," he said, "our friends, for one."

Kitty forced a dry swallow, pursing her lips into a half-smile. "Yeah?"

"Pinky swear."

Kurt offered up the smaller of his two fingers, and Kitty, hesitating only slightly, wrapped her pinky finger around it, squeezing tightly. Seeing her tiny, pale finger engulfed by his large blue one, Kitty was assaulted by a sudden jolt of nervous energy that escaped as a snort of laughter. Kurt chuckled back as he released her, swiping the back of his hand across his damp brow before pushing his unruly hair away from his face, behind his pointed ears.

"Now…" he began, stepping away from the tree. "Perhaps we should rejoin the others. Ororo's started a campfire, and Logan's grilling rations on his claws. If you're lucky, you may even catch a glimpse of that rarest of spectacles—a Scott Summers' smile. And did I mention that colossal Russian you're so fond of also discarded his shirt some time ago…?"

Kitty frowned instinctively. "I'm not… fond of him."

"Oh. So you dislike him, then."

"No, I just…" she ground her teeth as she trailed off, grumbling. "You're the worst, you know that?"

Kurt cocked his head, grinning lopsidedly. "Would you really have it any other way?"

Making a gracious half-bow, he extended his hand, palm up. "My lady… Your public awaits."

Kitty chewed her lip. "I'm sorry, I just... I'm not quite ready, yet."

Kurt straightened, eyeing her. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah. But I'll get there. I promise."

"We'll be waiting."

"I know."

Kitty watched him retreat, heading back toward the crooked line of white smoke rising into the azure sky behind the Blackbird. Even walking in the sand, Kurt was an unsettling marvel of unconscious grace, aided, no doubt, by his singular feet. His tail was the crowning glory of his fluid, rolling gate, each slow curve sounding the rhythm of his supple limbs and lithe muscles. In all things, Kurt moved less like a human athlete and more like a cat on the prowl, some creature whose beauty was both easy and unaware, not sought but simply there, as a function of its being. Then he rounded the corner of the Blackbird, and was gone.

Kitty wrenched open the bottle of water, its label torn and dangling, and took a long, deep drink.