Author's Notes: I thought I'd jump in and help Nightcrawler's Shadow and Carefree-Luminary with filling up one page of Kurrty fics in the Wolverine and the X-Men category. Of course, this is pretty light romance (if at all), but I hope it counts.

also, it sucks, forgive me.

Shadowcat

She ran a pale hand over his spine, watching his muscles involuntarily contracting and contorting with her touch, and then bury his face farther in the backs of his hands. His tail snaked around her lap gently.

He was like a cat. A large, blue furred cat, but a cat nonetheless. His face looked so peaceful, long, even breaths brushing past his parted lips. Long tendrils of deep blue hair- slightly darker than his fur -draped over his pointed ears, which she knew to be cold. Just like her cat, Princess, his ears were always cold during the winter. Her eyes followed his neck to his lean chest.

There was an immense power in that chest-not only was he physically strong (contrary to his slim figure), but he had the most powerful heart she knew. He would hold her close and always knew just what to say after her off periods in her relationship with Piotr. He would just murmur words after she had a nightmare, mostly in German, but his gentle voice calmed her nonetheless. He was able to forgive and forget far easier than anyone she knew- he'd even patched things up with his mother.

His spaded tail tickled at her side, the tip twitching lightly in sleep. That tail told her so much about him- if he put on a fake smile, he could fend off most of the Institute, but she knew better. He tail could be abnormally still when he was upset, or lashing like a whip in anger, though she had only seen it lash when someone hurt a teammate on the battlefield.

Four long, thin and frozen toes curled up under her, and she suppressed a yelp. Princess did the same thing, pushing her cold paws onto her bare skin to warm them. Briefly she wondered if he only did it to antagonise her- or he if consciously did it at all.

She moved his blanket over him more thoroughly, noticing how uncomfortable his position looked. He would have been facing her if his head wasn't buried under his forearms, knees touching his forehead. Those frigid toes were under her folded legs, and his tail draped around her leg, spade dragging on the floor. For him, though, this position was comfortable and a fairly normal occurrence. He was rather cat-like in that aspect, as well.

She stroked his cheek, feeling that minky fur that covered him. Unlike the other male mutants in the mansion, he didn't have facial hair- or any other bodily hair, for that matter. A laugh played at the edges of her lips as she imagined her "cat" with whiskers- he'd probably grow actual whiskers!

But if he was a cat, what would he be? A siamese was a lot like him in appearance and in personality- long and lanky, annoying but sweet, athletic and playful. He seemed to be amused by the smallest of things at all times; catching fireflies with the younger mutants was just about the funnest thing he'd ever done.

Sadly, she remembered why- he never had a proper childhood. He had confided in her, out of breath, after the sun finally went down, that he had never done anything like that before, having spent most of his time on the circus' caravan site, never wandering very far from his foster mother.

Maybe he was more like a black cat, with his piercing yellow eyes against his dark fur, but misunderstood and unfairly prosecuted. It hurt to remember the things he'd told her about. He was subject to terrible nightmares about when he strayed out of the camp, and one night he finally told her what has happened.

He had been caught, and ran and ran until he was exhausted. Then they caught him, hitting him with shovels, pitchforks, torches, anything they had handy. Then they tied him up and pelted him with stones until the fire started. He told her he couldn't remember what had happened next, that he was sure he died, but instead Margali was over him, speaking in hurried German with tears in her eyes.

She knew that he could remember what happened, but she never questioned him about it. The way his voice cracked, and the way his hands began nervously wringing each other, and most importantly, how deathly still his tail became... It was something terrible, something that he tried very hard to forget. She had made the mistake of asking him about it, and regretted it immediately. Those burning gold eyes froze, and he released her from his grip. He backed up, mumbling something in unintelligible German, before apologising and teleporting away.

Trying to rid the possible scenarios from her mind- which was desperately trying to understand why anyone would hurt him, why he never got angry at them- she touched her hand to his buried face. His face was in the crook of his elbows by now, and he was in a tighter ball, whimpering. Another nightmare.

He had them often; villagers bringing torches down upon him, shouting and yelling cries of "Demon!" and "Freak!" and other insults she didn't like to associate him with. Even his codename was an insult; a worm, writhing and crawling under the feet of schoolyard bullies with magnifying glasses. He was graceful, blending into the shadows like her codename. She was the one wriggling under him, flailing around like some worm while he stalked the shadows.

Though he never admitted it, Cyclops' constant reliance of his skills as a scout tore at him, and manifested itself into nightmares more often than not. "Scout" was synonymous with "disposable" in her cat's mind; if he never returned from the mission, there was trouble, and they would work around it.

The grumpy old badger understood him pretty well, though- after becoming leader, Logan never sent him out to scout if he didn't volunteer. She thanked him for it after their first mission. She got a mumbled "sure, yeah," but he couldn't help but give a glimpse of understanding.

Maybe he shared his crippling self-consciousness with the surly Canadian- the two were good friends, having known each other since the younger of the two joined the team. But Logan probably wasn't as shocked by his words as she was. The curled up boy in her lap actually thought at one point he was a demon, let the villager's cries get to him. He felt stupid and useless in the team- the only non-educated member, unable to use a pair of simple scissors "normally."

But the most haunting was when he asked "Why?"

"Why do you listen?" He asked it as if it were completely heinous to even be touching him, let alone listen to him. When she answered with a shrug and an "it helps," he replied, voice quavering.

"Nobody ever vants to help me." The finality in that statement stunned her into silence. What where Margali and Jimaine? Her heart stopped as the thought that maybe they only existed to comfort him- or her- crossed her mind. The circus might not have even existed, for that matter.

No, he wasn't a cat. He was a human, same as her or Cyclops or Wolverine or, though she hated to admit it, the Scarlet Bitch. He was a human with religion, and scars, and feelings and morals and hope and-

"Kätzchen?" A groggy voice interrupted her from her furious thoughts.

"Hey Kurt. Feeling any better?" Kitty kissed his feverish forehead after she asked.

"... Not much." He groaned and rolled over, giving her a tired Chesire cat grin as he patted at the large bandage wrapping around his midriff. "You?"

"Doesn't hurt." She shrugged. "I think you got most of the blow."

Still recuperating from the sentinel fight from the previous morning, the two X-men sat in a comfortable silence, punctuated with their steady breathing. Before letting her companion sink back into another catnip to repeat the cycle of nightmares, Kitty brought herself to break the silence.

"Hey, Kurt?"

"Hm?"

"When we get married, can we take my name?"

His brow furrowed. "No offense, but I don't zink zat 'Kurt Pryde' fits me too vell."

"No, Shadowcat. Nightcrawler's just not working for you, Fuzzy."

Kurt let out a small smile before nodding, returning to his comfortable sleep.