Disclaimer: All characters appearing in this story are the property of Marvel Comics and are used without permission, but no harm is intended and this story is not offered for profit or any monetary or other material exchange. This story was written and is offered only for fun and in grateful appreciation of many years of pleasureable enjoyment of the very fine works of the creators of these characters. Do not reproduce or archive without permission from the author.
PAVED WITH GOOD INTENTIONS, by Nemo Inis
"That's good."
"Ja."
Two men lay on their backs in the warm grass of an unmown hill. One was short, very thickly built with dark hair slicked back; in faded jeans, an open chambray workshirt and boots, a cigar clamped absently in his teeth and an open bottle of beer in his hand, his head pillowed comfortably on one arm. The other man was shockingly impossible: clad in red gym shorts, he was completely covered in a nap of short, thick blue fur, as though his skin were navy horsehide. A long tail stretched out beneath him, the fleshy barb on its end slapping lazily back and forth between his two-toed feet. Distantly, the sounds of far young voices, perhaps raised in raucous play, could be heard on the wind. Between the two men sat an open case of beer, two bottles missing. Kurt loosely held the second bottle on his stomach
"Could be cold, though."
"Nein. It's exactly as it should be."
Logan glanced wryly at the other man, "You lived with the Brits too long, boy. Ruined ya"
Kurt snorted lazily from under the cap laid over his face, "Unbedingt nicht."
Logan stretched in the grass and smiled into the sky. "I'm takin' the day off tomorrow."
"Ja, you should."
"And I decided, tomorrow's my birthday."
Under the cap, Kurt's eyes popped open. "Really? Why tomorrow?"
Logan waved his beer in the air. "As good a day as any. And I feel like it. Gonna go someplace dirty and loud and get as shitfaced as I can. Comin' with me?"
"I am honored to be invited."
"Can't think of anyone I'd rather get blind drunk with than you."
"Of course."
Morning found Logan in the school's spacious front hall, on his way to the kitchen. Kurt came limping down the stairs, still in his robe and pajamas, hair untidily rumpled and obviously uncharacteristically late out of bed and not yet showered. He cradled a battered accordion file, stuffed with documents, in his arms as though it was something very valuable. In a hoarse voice, he croaked out, "Logan, I am sorry, but I may not be up to going out with you tonight."
"You look like crap, elf. What's wrong?"
Kurt coughed wearily into his sleeve, "I woke in the middle of the night, coughing and feverish. The fever appears to have broken but I am exhausted and feel as though someone has pummeled me all over with a baseball bat. I am so sorry, Logan."
Logan sniffed, "You don't smell sick, so it's probably not the flu. Maybe you'll get over it. Sleep and I'll check back with you later to see how you're doin'. Need anything?"
Kurt nodded, "Actually, there is something that I need," he paused, "I hesitate to ask you."
"What is it? You know, you can ask me anything, pal. I'm liable to do it, and if not, I'll tell ya."
He paused again, "I do need help with something but I know that you must have plans for today. I can't think of who else I could trust to ask this of."
Logan frowned, "Just spit it out."
Kurt sighed, "Please, say no if it is too difficult. I would certainly understand and not blame you in the least for refusing. I was to deliver some documents to the INS office in the City. It is a delicate matter and somewhat important to me. I would not want there to be any problem, you understand, but I don't feel I could make it all the way there and I am uncertain of the reception I would receive."
The other man snorted and shook his head. "I don't bother with that crap myself. Don't know why you do. Why the hell do you care if the US government approves you being here?"
Kurt shrugged, "I find it useful to have resident alien status and I like following most of the rules. Call me an idiot, if your will."
Logan grinned and held out his hands for the file, "All right, you're an idiot. Give it here. Where do I take it?"
Nightcrawler heaved the heavy file into the other man's hands, "I am unsure of the room, but I believe it is something like the Office of Review. I'm sure they can tell you exactly where at the information desk, or handle it for you. Logan, I really can't thank you enough for this."
Logan headed out the door, "Shut up, already. I'll see ya later."
Kurt leaned against the door and watched his friend march across the porch and around the corner of the building to the garages. A moment later, Logan barreled out on his motorcycle. Kurt waved and watched him ride down the school drive. Scott Summers walked up behind him to peer over his shoulder.
"Where did you send him?"
Kurt smiled lazily out the door, "To the INS."
Scott nodded, pleased, "Great idea. That ought to keep him out of our hair for a few hours."
Kurt shut the door, shaking his head, "Ach, you fortunate, sheltered Amerikaner. He will be there all day."
The lobby of the INS offices was a cold, cavernous, foul-smelling and tired place. Far across the faded tile lay a bank of windows, some few manned by clerks at the end of improperly long, curling lines of people trapped in a tortured and exhausted conga from which there was no escape. The air was filled with a muttered and complaining sussuration, punctuated by the cries of children and occasional arguments in many languages.
Logan found a line which appeared to end at a window titled, "Information." He got in it and resigned himself to an hour's wait. He pulled a cigar out of his pocket and rammed it between his teeth. A fat security guard ran over to tell him that smoking was not permitted in this or any other federal building. Logan returned the cigar to his pocket.
"How much should we get, Kurt?" Alex Summers stood in the driver's side door of the van.
"What do you think? It's a party, Alex, with all this Chaosgruppe. For Logan."
Alex swung up into the driver's seat, closing the door behind him. In the passenger seat, Jean Paul Beaubier muttered, "There are two groceries in town and the microbrewery. Everything they have."
"But where is your application?"
Logan scowled at the woman behind the information window, "It ain't mine. I'm just dropping this off for a friend. Can't ya just look at it and tell me where it needs to go?"
The woman glanced distastefully at the red accordion file in front of her window. "Is that your application?"
Logan felt a slow, flushed heat crawl up his neck. "I told ya, this ain't mine. I'm just dropping it off!"
She glared at him in exasperation, lips thinned angrily to a clenched white line. "Sir, you must bring your application and supporting documents to each appointment."
"I don't have an application! This ain't mine!"
She sighed and shook her head, "You're at the wrong window, sir. You must go to window two to get an application," her eyes narrowed, "is that a Canadian accent?"
Scott walked out of his room and hurried around the corner to the stairs. The wrapping paper was kept in the supply closet in the pantry and he was in a hurry. He looked down at the book in his hands and walked straight into Ororo, coming the other way. They were both knocked to the ground. Scott got to his knees and reached down to retrieve his book. Ororo quickly grabbed the other end of the large, hardcover volume.
"Excuse me, Scott, I believe that is mine."
Surprised he looked up at her, "No, it's mine."
She pointed over his shoulder, "There must be some mistake. There is another book behind you. Perhaps that is your book."
Scott twisted around to see the book on the floor behind him. Sure enough, it was the collector's edition of "The Zen of Ikebana." Thoroughly confused, Scott picked it up, then turned to hold it next to the book he and Ororo held together, the collector's edition of "The Zen of Ikebana."
Ororo burst out laughing, "Did you get that for..."
Scott nodded, laughing himself, "Great minds think alike?"
"Oops!"
"Kitty, can you help Bobby with the decorations?"
"What, Kurt, you're afraid he might be lacking in taste and imagination?"
"Mmmm, something like that."
"I'll do it, but don't worry, I think he and Logan use the same decorator. He can't hurt too much."
Kurt's cell phone rang and he flipped it open, nodding to Kitty. Listening, he quickly adjusted his voice to a weak, hoarse whisper.
"Oh, hallo! How is it going? No! I am so sorry! I never imagined it would be so difficult! I really would not have burdened you with this if I knew they would be so troublesome. Mmm-hmm. Mmm-hmm. I don't want to cause you any more trouble, mein Freund, just forget it. It is obviously too difficult, even for you, " cough, cough.
Kitty covered her mouth with her hands, doubling over.
"I will come down. Mmm-hmm, mm-hmm. No, please, it is too much for you - I will come down and handle it myself. I beg you to please be patient a little while longer and I will get there as quickly as I am able," cough, cough.
Kitty pulled a pillow from the sofa and pressed her face hard into it.
"Oh, no! You're right, I'm sure I'm too ill to 'port but someone will drive me, or if I am lucky I may be able to find a cab after a while willing to take me. It's not so easy but I think easier than the train for me today," cough, cough.
"No, no, I will come down to handle it myself. I appreciate your help but I should have known how frustrating and difficult this sort of thing is for you. I should not have asked you to do something you cannot." Cough, cough.
Kitty ran from the room.
"Ah, are you sure, Logan? If you insist. I cannot tell you how I appreciate your effort in this. I owe you."
Logan stood in the line he hoped lead to window number two.
A very pregnant woman four people ahead of him, possibly an African Muslim, stood crying silently and staring at the floor. An old woman who might have been her mother held her hand and petted her shoulder and frowned at the line. In the line next to him, a young couple bickered and snapped at each other in angry French. Logan watched them carefully, as they seemed frequently on the edge of violence.
Logan decided to get a chair for the pregnant woman when something landed heavily on his foot. He looked down. A baby of indeterminate race or gender sat on his boot. An earthy, nauseating miasma rose from the child and his or her overflowing diaper. Logan's head snapped up, scanning the room for the child's parent. There were many parents with children in every line, none of them appeared to be missing a baby.
A thin, angry hiss escaped his throat.
"What is that you have there?"
Rogue started and threw herself over the large, very old looking book on the table in front of her. Professor Xavier could see that she had obviously been wrapping a present for Logan. She blushed and sighed, easing back into her chair. "I - I found it online and ordered it. It's a book of really old poems in Japanese."
Xavier directed his wheelchair to the edge of the table to look down the on the beautiful book, its fraying fabric cover embellished with Japanese characters painted in gold. It lay the on the wrapping paper; white cranes on a red background and a raffi "ribbon" underneath. "It's very lovely. What is the title?"
Rogue smiled hopefully, relaxed, and picked up a piece of paper from the table, "Narrow Road Through the Deep North, by Matsuo Basho."
Xavier smiled back reassuringly at her and patted her arm. "I'm sure Logan will be very deeply moved."
Charles sat and held the tape for her while she returned to wrapping the gift.
"Sir, this is not your application."
"No! I'm dropping this off for a friend and I just need to know where it goes!"
"I can't do anything with you if you don't have your application. Next!"
"Listen here! This is the fourth line I been in! I just need to know where to drop this off! For someone else! I'm startin' to lose it here! You people are drivin' me nuts!"
"You people? Wait, is that a Canadian accent?"
"Michigan!"
"Hallo, it is Kurt! Ah," cough, cough.
"Logan, you are done? No? What has happened? Mm-hmm, mm-hmm. Ach, mein lieber Freund, I am so very sorry to have done this to you! It was not my intention to subject you to these people and this terrible trouble. I will face it and handle it myself," cough, cough.
"No, no, I will be there as soon as I am dressed and can find a ride to relieve you of this. I am so sorry to cause you this apparent difficulty. Sick, and outre' as I am, I'm sure I will do a better job of handling this in person," cough, cough.
"No, no, I - what? Are you certain, Logan? I know you can, I didn't mean -- yes, of course. If you insist. Of course you can. I cannot thank you enough. I owe you so very much for this. I am in your debt."
"Hanna, it is very beautiful, perfekt!"
Kurt leaned over the huge cake with the school's cook.
"Nonsense, dear," Emma Frost sauntered into the kitchen, "if you really love him, you'll pop out of it in a g-string."
Kurt gave an indulgent, patronizing chuckle. "I am so very sorry to disappoint you, Emma, but I own no such article."
"I am all astonishment," a perfect, ash brow arched over one immaculately mascara'ed blue eye, "Let me call the pet store for you, dear. I'm sure they can help."
"Please, please help me. I just gotta drop this off for a friend. I don't know where it goes."
"Of course sir. I'm happy to help you. Let me take a look at it and see what you need. I'm sorry if you've had a rough day here, it can be hard."
She was young and pretty, with dark red hair and soft green eyes. Logan sighed involuntarily and relaxed, admiring the fall of one stray lock, curling out around the milky-smooth curve of her long neck. Yeah, he thought to himself, hard.
She smiled at him as she pulled out the sheaf of documents. "You're Canadian?"
He almost answered without thinking but then a little twinge set the hairs on the back of his neck up. "Uh, Wisconsin."
She wasn't listening, frowning at the documents. "There must be a mistake. This isn't your application."
"No, no, I told ya -"
"I can't do anything for you without your application. Where is it?"
"I don't have an application, I just need -"
"New applications are at window two. Glad I could help you."
She shoved the file back through the window at him. "Next!"
"Bobby, man, it's awesome."
"Yep. It sure is."
"You should be proud of this one."
"I am, Warren, I am."
"This is a work of art."
"Kitty helped."
Kitty staggered up the steps from the lawn, arms loaded with folding lawn chairs. "God, no! Please don't give me credit for that!"
Warren and Bobby turned their heads to frown at her, then shook them and turned back to the eight-foot ice pagoda, studded with an entire van load of beer bottles, which squatted in the center of the veranda.
"Trust me," Warren nodded, "he'll love it."
"Hallo, it is Kurt" cough, cough!
"Logan? What? No!" cough, cough!
"That is it! I am coming down there myself! It is obvious now that I should not have sent you to do this, it is too much for you! You are not able to handle this, I will have to handle it myself. What? No, no, I - Logan? Logan? Are you there? Logan?"
Kurt snapped his phone shut. A mischevious smirk lit his face. "If you insist!"
Rachel Summers sat pertly at the utility table in the school's shop. A roll of plain, blue wrapping paper and a selection of cheap, adhesive-backed bows lay on the table before her. She dumped out the contents of a plastic shop bag, quickly fishing through them to find a Zippo ligher, decorated with wooden panels embossed with a bronze Harley-Davidson logo. She laid it in the center of a square of wrapping paper and reached for the tape.
The door opened. Cain Marko stepped in and looked down at the lighter on the table. His brutish face wrinkled into a petulant glare. "Shit," he barked.
He dug one huge hand into his pocket and held out its contents to Rachel. A Zippo lighter, decorated with wooden panels embossed with a bronze Harley-Davidson logo.
"Shit," said Rachel.
Logan paced the halls a little too quickly. Twice he almost ran other people down and bounced off the walls a few times. At the end of the hall, a white-haired man in glasses sat in a window labeled, "Review". Logan could no longer remember the exact name of the office he was supposed to go to but was certain it had this word in it. He stumbled to the counter.
"Listen, please help me! I been here all day! I'm just doin' a friend a favor! I need to drop off documents for him! It's nothin' to do with me! I just need to know where to take 'em!" He held the file out toward the man behind the counter.
The man looked down at the file and then at Logan. He reached over and pointed with his pencil at a small plastic sign that stood on the counter, "This window closed. Will reopen at 4:00 pm."
The man turned and walked away. Logan looked at his watch. 3:00 pm. He leaned against the wall and slid down to sit on the floor. The lights went out in the hall. He sat on the hard floor in the dark and waited.
Gambit sidled in through the kitchen door, moving so slowly and carefully that he made no sound. He was halfway through the door when he spied the cake. He smiled and carefully bent at the waist, lengthening the stretch of his body before he even reached out a hand toward the cake. At the start of his hand's extension, a large metal spoon came swinging out from behind the door and smartly clipped the back of his hand.
"Ow!"
The door swung the rest of the way open. The school's cook stood behind it, stone faced and armed with various large kitchen utensils. Remy gave her a hurt look from behind one wayward lock of hair, hot eyes pouting. "That hurt, chere," he breathed through his mouth and raised the back of his hand to lick the sore spot and suck wetly on it, standing hipshot in the doorway and allowing his unbuttoned shirt to fall open over one warm, tanned nipple as he stared at her.
She narrowed her own flinty eyes and shook her head, brandishing the spoon and gritting out through clenched teeth, "Don't even try it, bub."
At one minute to 4:00 pm, another white-haired man appeared behind the counter. Logan stared at him a second, eyes red, stomach rumbling angrily, mouth dry and bladder nonetheless full. He pulled himself up and stumbled to the counter, holding out the file.
"I'm deliverin' this for a friend. I don't know exactly where it goes! I been here since nine am this morning! I don't need nothin' for me, I just need to deliver this for someone else! Please help me figure out what to do with it!"
The man nodded and took the file. Logan jittered back and forth, barely able to contain himself as the man read the documents inside. "Sure, this is the right office for this."
Logan gave a loud whoop and clapped his hands together. "Thank you, god!"
The man looked at him, "But, you're not Mr. Wagner. You're Canadian?"
Logan stiffened, "Montana!"
The man looked at him a moment, unsure. "Oh, all right then. You're just delivering this for Mr. Wagner?"
Logan nodded enthusiastically, "Yeah, that's it! He's sick and couldn't come down himself so he asked me to do it."
"I don't understand," the man looked back at the documents, "His mother's not arriving until October. He really didn't need to rush. You let him know he can just mail in everything on this from here on out."
Logan froze, "Mail? Mother?"
"Sure," the other man pulled at his lip, staring down at the documents spread before him. "Since Madame Szardos is not indigent, is still employed and with sufficient ties to her own country to indicate an intention to return there after her visit, and as Mr. Wagner had sufficient resources and income to support her in the event she that she became disabled or unable to return home to Germany, she isn't considered a risk on the public's dime. Tell him he doesn't need to be concerned, she's basically approved to visit the US. I don't see anything that could come up as a problem. She ought to get her VISA any time in the next couple of months, plenty of time to make her reservations."
"His mother's comin' to visit. This is to get a VISA for his mother to come visit. It's not a rush."
Something in Logan's tone made the man at the counter look up, a frightened light in his eyes. "Yes, sir," he gulped, "that's what it is."
Logan stared at him, a blast furnace of molten rock burning in his eyes. The little man stared back at him, unable to move, frozen in terror. He trembled. The bitter odor of urine filled the air.
Logan put his hat back on. His eyes crackled in the shadow under its brim. "Much obliged."
He turned and left. Behind him, the little man whispered, "Wait, this needs to go to Albany!" and then, "I'll send it for him."
"Katzchen, hand me the staple gun, will you?"
Kitty hefted the requested object from the table and airwalked up to Kurt, hanging upside down from the façade over the veranda, a streamer of bunting trailing from one hand as he reached for the staple gun with the other. The tinny, electronic strains of die Fledermaus leaked from his pocket. "Scheisse."
Kurt handed the staple gun back to Kitty and pulled his phone from his pocket, allowing himself to stretch out full length upside down, hanging from his feet's sure grip on the ceiling, free arm across his chest. "Ja?"
Incoherent screaming exploded into his ear. Kurt paled, as much as it was possible for him to do so.
"Logan, Logan - wait - no - I - you don't understand!"
Kitty watched, concerned, until the volume of the screaming suddenly burst and Kurt cringed away from the phone into a squat against the ceiling, holding it out. From the speaker, a small but low, growling voice could be distinctly heard, "You - AAARRHR! You- NNNYAAAH! You little, KRAUT, GYPSY, FUCK!"
The phone went silent. Kurt closed it and smiled shakily. "Perhaps I have succeeded too well."
Kitty folded her arms and stared up at him. "Oh, Fuzzy, how do you want to play this?"
He shrugged and gathered the bunting. "Let us continue. Hopefully he'll come in, see everything and be shocked and surprised out of his anger. He will understand. Ja?"
Kitty pulled the bunting out of his hand and began moving along the ceiling, stapling it in draping folds. "That fast, huh? That'd be a record. I think we should hide you."
"Ha, ha. Perhaps I could pop out of the cake?"
Kitty smirked. "Only if you wear a g-string."
Logan sped up the school drive, taking the corner too fast and laying it down on the gravel in the back parking pad. He kicked down the stand as he was swinging off and strode shakily and single mindedly into the house and through the entry hall.
Paige came out of the kitchen and the movement attracted him. Logan pivoted to head for her. She saw him and froze, backing out of the door. To her credit, she faced him down with a stone expression, staring straight into his eyes.
"Where's that fuckin' German?"
She gasped a little at that but recovered quickly. "I don't know."
Logan stepped in close to her and ran his nose up her neck, sucking in her scent. He could smell her fear but she was telling the truth.
She stared back at him. "You been drinking?"
"No," he stepped back, "but that's a damned good idea."
He kicked open the door to the kitchen and headed for the fridge. A beer, a beer would cool him down a little. Then he could talk to Kurt and see what the fuck he had to say for himself. He opened the refrigerator.
An inhuman, bellowing scream tore through the house. In the headmaster's office, Kitty started and leapt to her feet. Bobby and Warren jerked involuntarily, hands dropping the presents they were wrapping.
"How'd he get here so fast?" Kitty whispered.
"What the hell was that!" Warren's voice was a squeak.
"Oh, my god, that came from the kitchen," Kitty turned to Bobby, "Did we use all the beer?"
Logan shot out of the kitchen, heading for the front door at the next best thing to a run. Jubilee ran out in front of him. "Hey, old man, what's your problem?"
"Get the hell out of my way, baby girl," Logan hissed, "I'm in the goddamned worst mood I can remember and I'm the hell out of here!"
"Have you been drinking?" She challenged him, hands on hips and in his way.
"Not yet. Move yourself."
He waved a fist at her, the bike keys dangling from his grip. Jubilee darted forward and snatched the keys out of his hand, turning and racing down the hall to the stairs.
He doubled up, bellowing in rage and went after her, "What the hell are you up to, girl! Give me my GODDAMNED KEYS!"
Jubilee ran up the stairs to the second floor, racing around corners with Logan pounding behind her. "No way, old man! It's not good for you and you're setting a bad example for me! You need to stay in and read a book or something!"
Logan howled inarticulately and ran faster. Jubilee found the stairs to the first floor at the end of the hall and raced down them. Logan pounded down after her.
Before them, the doors to the veranda were closed. Piotr Rasputin stepped out of the hall after Jubilee, fully armored and blocked Logan's path. "Stop, Logan!"
Logan snarled and ran up and over him without slowing down. Colossus turned but was too slow to reach him. As Jubilee neared the doors, they opened to disgorge Nightcrawler, who snatched her in behind him and closed the doors. He stood straight and resolute in front of the doors, staring at his friend, hands open in a peaceful and supplicating gesture. "Logan..."
Logan's eyes rolled, "You! You! This is all your fault! You played me and fucked up my day! You lied to me!"
Kurt stepped back, hand on the doorknob, "Logan, I can explain. I am very sorry but you'll understand and agree with me that -"
He got no further. Logan screamed and leapt at him, landing on his chest and knocking him back through the door and over Jubilee, who cringed behind them. The two men flew through the air, through the delicate ice and beer pagoda which exploded into flying bottles and a million shards, into Emma Frost, who stood on the other side, and finally into the huge sheet cake behind her.
Logan pulled himself to a standing position. Noting the shocked group of people gathered around the remains of the cake. He could make out an H and part of his name still in the cake. A large pile of frosting-splattered presents stood next to it. Kurt had landedface down on Ms. Frost and pulled himself carefully off her. She was covered with frosting, her eyesblazed with rage,slitted as a cat's, her breath hissing as she stared at the two men.
Kurt struggled to his knees, face obscured by frosting. He held out a hand to help her to her feet.
"Fraulein Frost, I am not one to be so churlish as to complain of such a happy accident but I hope you will accept my most heartfelt and abject apologies for what has just happened."
She glared back at him, face mottled in her anger, then looked at his hand as though a dog had just vomited it up. The room was deadly silent. Logan giggled.
Emma arched a brow and laid her hand in Kurt's, "Just this once, you inexplicably charming Teutonic troll, I accept."
Logan laughed and began to sing. "Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me!" and was pelted with cake and icing.
The End