Summary : The X-men's ride home didn't exactly go as planned. Part four of my Kimble series. You will need to read the other parts before beginning this, see my profile for details.
Notes : Rated M for language, violence and sexual situations.
AU but only because I chose to change a few things in my dear friends' histories for simplification, nothing drastic so please forgive. I wrote this for a friend who didn't read the comics so there is a bit of back history and explanation on who everyone is and what their powers are. I've been working on this story for years so I do ask that you don't use any of my non-Marvel universe characters without my permission. I love my Siskans as I do my children.
Still with me, kids? My hit counter tells me there are less of you than before, but I'll still carry on for a little bit. (I told you this thing was long!) Anyhoo, I dragged you through all that business with the Clan to get you here. This is one of my favorite pieces and I come back here often when I find my inspiration waning. Why? Heh, because here, everything changes... Please read and review, I love to hear from you!
3-2-2011 ~ Just a quick note to say that I have just revised some of the material in this book since it was first posted years ago. I didn't change any of the events, I just wanted to clean up any spelling and grammar mistakes I could find and well, try to make the writing itself a bit better. I plan to do this with all of the stories I have posted but since I have such a huge collection of books, it will take me a long while. I apologize now for any inconsistencies you may encounter going forward, there will be a point where my revisions have left off and you'll probably notice it as you read along. Please forgive me. – Squeekness
10-13-13 - Added (break)s as needed.
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(One)
Kurt Wagner, a most peculiar young man, was warm in the May sunshine, planting flowers. It was an odd thing, to see a person who looked as he did doing such a pleasant and simple thing – Kurt was covered from head to toe with velvety indigo fur, a much shorter and darker version of Henry's own. Kurt liked to joke that he wasn't furry so much as 'plush', a phrase that only brought on a round of good natured teasing which he never minded all that much. He was demonic in appearance, having the pointy ears and sharp teeth, with a complimentary prehensile tail that came in handy in a tight spot. He also had three fingered hands, something that may have looked a bit odd, but actually increased his grip and flexibility. He had the uncanny ability to blend into the shadows and in dark places, was almost invisible. His striking outward appearance had earned him the Codename Nightcrawler.
Appearances aside, his primary mutation was the ability to teleport. Now that was a handy thing, the ability to transport not only himself across short distances, but others as well. He could be counted on to get his teammates in and out of a tight spot. He had trained long and hard to hone his craft and he was a valuable asset to the team.
Kurt's physical appearance may have been flashy and strange, but his clothing wasn't. He was dressed in simple black, almost priestly in it's severity. In fact he had come close to joining the priesthood on several occasions, his strong, personal faith taking him on many strange paths. Today, however, the clothing was simply keeping the grass from staining his knees as he bent to his task.
Tomorrow was Memorial day, a day of remembrance, and he wanted to keep the cemetery looking fine. He had an assortment of flowers all neatly arranged for planting - pansies here, marigolds there. He loved to plant fresh young flowers, to beautify this world with gifts from the Father, but today, he couldn't stop his eyes from staying to a small square staked off with sticks and tape in the corner where the memorial statues were placed.
It didn't happen often, but there had been a disastrous mission or two where more than one person was killed and the bodies not recovered. In those instances, the students used their various talents to create and erect lovely granite statues in honor of the departed. It hadn't been widely discussed, but that area in the corner had been staked off with three unrecovered teammates in mind.
As quickly as the strange disappearances had started, so too they had ended, the last one a mere two weeks after Logan, Henry and Remy were gone. Still no one had claimed responsibility, an odd thing considering how many militant factions there were out there operating in their world, both mutant and human alike. One particular new mutant terrorist had been especially active, a cheery fellow named Jael who simply loved blowing up buildings and racking up his body counts. No one had seen his face or knew where he was, but he was quick to make sure everyone knew he was the one reaping such bloody havoc. In this case, the X-men waited for news, but even Jael didn't come forward on the disappearances. It was disappointing, at least Jael was a physical being that would be tracked down eventually. He had a name. Whoever had stolen their teammates was a faceless, nameless ghost and with each passing day, it grew less certain the missing X-men would return.
Of the three missing teammates, Kurt missed Logan the most. His priestly intentions aside, Kurt loved nothing more than to sit alongside that seasoned warrior as they both had a few frosty mugs of beer and debated the secrets of the universe. Not that Wolverine was all that talkative, but there were moments, occasionally, after a difficult mission when Logan needed some kind of justification for the hard facts of life. People were mean, people were cruel, and for all of their efforts, bigotry against mutants still continued. Nightcrawler often acted as Logan's conscience, trying to get the feral mutant to think a little more about his actions. He was teaching Logan that killing wasn't always the best first option and his words, spoken with patient understanding, had been working their way in. The effects of those conversations had been seen by all, Wolverine had been slowly becoming more tactful and less violent. Kurt hated to think of all that work wasted. At best, he could only hope that if his dear friend was dead, that God had appreciated Logan's efforts enough not to judge him too harshly.
Nightcrawler was as complicated as his dear friend. He loved the action of a good mission but at the same the time, craved the solitude and contemplation of the holy life. He was torn at times and it was this uncertainty that kept him here as an X-man, serving both as a teammate, but also as a natural confidant and councilor to many. It was in this capacity as unofficial confessor that had kept him busy the past few weeks. The disappearance of Henry, Gambit and Wolverine had affected a large number of the senior staff and in their mourning, they had come to him for comfort. This he did not mind, he was well suited for it and it pleased him that he could help ease their pain.
The X-men team here was large and the talent best divided into squads. Logan was quite active and crossed over into many squads, one of them being Kurt's group. Kurt was obviously closest to the members of his own squad and the first to come to him was Storm, their resident weather witch. She was a longtime team member and had come on the same time Kurt had. She was a lovely African American, her chocolate skin complimented by her shock white hair and soft blue eyes. Once, on a mission that had taken her undercover as a jewel thief, she came home with a real one of her own, one Remy LeBeau. They had become fast friends on the mission and at first, no one had questioned her judgement. Gambit's powers had complimented the team and everything worked out well until Remy's terrible secret had come out.
Storm had been a major participant in an outreach group the Professor had set up to try and reach the surviving Morlocks of the Massacre. She had been there first hand, witnessing the aftermath of that horrific crime, and in helping the unfortunate, had come to feel that the Morlocks were in some way her own. The discovery of Gambit's involvement in that crime had been shattering to her. She simply couldn't equate her playful heroic thief with the heartless monster who had lead those vicious killers down into the tunnels. Their friendship had strained to the breaking point. While she didn't denounce Remy to his face, even after his return from exile, they were no longer close.
The next to seek out Kurt's patient and compassionate ear was Jean. Jean Grey Summers was a powerful telepath, though not on a par with the Professor. She was also telekinetic and an active team member. Jean was one of Xavier's oldest students, a fiery redhead with a strong spirit. She was the wife of Scott Summers and they had a good marriage, but it was well known that Scott had a rival for her affections in Wolverine. There had been a spark between Logan and Jean, one that had never been acted on, but it was there just the same. Jean missed Logan in her way and had come to see Kurt, seeking his kind and gentle ear. Kurt was safely neutral and never passed judgement, a man with an endless ear for listening. Just his ability to let her unload her pain with passive patience had made her feel infinitely better. She was coping well with the loss.
Also part of Kurt's squad was Bobby Drake, the class clown. Everyone had to have one, the guy who couldn't keep still and was always joking around, breaking the tension. Bobby was an original student of the Professor's, but he was also one of the youngest. He was the least tragic of their little squad, he looked like a normal human but could create and control ice from the ambient moisture in the air. If he worked hard enough at it, he could even transform his body into a living, moving statue of ice as well. Of the group he was taking the disappearances the best, he just seemed to be acting on the principle that the three of them would just waltz in that front door, casually asking what they had missed on X-files while they were gone. Bobby was fresh and blonde, his hair spiked and a clean shaven face except for a tuft of blonde fuzz on his chin. He had to be different and never failed to make Kurt smile, even through the bad times.
Kurt finished with the pansies and grabbed a crate of marigolds, moving on to another marker. History was taught here at the school and some events couldn't – or shouldn't – be erased. There was also a large memorial here in memory of all the Morlocks who had been killed in the Massacre. The Massacre had taken place five years ago, but for the last three, just before Memorial Day, someone had gotten to it with fresh flowers before Kurt could. At first Kurt couldn't figure out who it was, Storm perhaps, but after that fiasco in Antarctica, well, by then everyone pretty much knew who it had been. Even during the six months Remy had been cut off from the team, he had still stolen his way over the fence to tend to the marker, it was the first sign Kurt had been given that their dear friend had in fact survived that most severest of sentences. This was the first year in the past three that it hadn't been tended to, an agonizing reminder that Remy might not be coming back at all this time.
Kurt sighed and gently whispered this soft prayer for his missing friends,
"May the Lord bless you and keep you;
May the Lord make his face shine upon you and be gracious to you;
May the Lord turn his face toward you and give you peace."
Not all of Kurt's squad members had taken the loss as he had anticipated. Of all the ones closest to the missing, the one that troubled Kurt the most was Rogue. He had fully expected her to be one of the first to come to him for comfort but oddly, she had not approached him at all. Always concerned, Kurt had kept a watchful eye on her. He understood that the relationship she shared with the Cajun thief was not one of those smooth and steady rides like Jean and Scott were having. Rogue and Remy were one of those two months on, two weeks off kind of couples, coming together and separating with the same amount of passionate energy. They were loud at times, especially when they argued. It might seem pleasant enough on the surface, just a game to the spirited thief, but Kurt was aware that there were times that Gambit staggered into the Institute after a night of binge drinking, an unhealthy masochistic gleam in his eyes. Kurt would often try to get Remy to open up, they shared a common Catholic background, but since Antarctica, Remy was shy when it came to personal matters.
Before this last mission Kurt had been especially hopeful for the couple, they'd had the longest streak of together time, just over three months without a fight. They had seemed especially close and affectionate, spending a lot of time together. This made Rogue's present behavior all the more puzzling.
Rogue was not sulking or off crying in a corner somewhere. She had been moody for a week or so, but then she did an odd thing. She had cut her long, flowing hair quite short and went shopping, buying a whole new wardrobe. Kurt had raised an eyebrow at this but had said nothing, perhaps this was the way she grieved, but he couldn't help but sense she was feeling something other than loss for her dearly departed. She looked, well, almost relieved he was gone.
Kurt tried to tell himself he was mistaken, but he feared for his friend's return. If by some miracle, the small team returned, what was Gambit going to find?
In times of trouble it was only natural to turn to their leadership and so Kurt had been keeping an eye on the Professor as well. Charles had been doing his best to watch over them all and was keeping up a good face, but everyone knew he was worried. He would see them through this, he always did when one of their own had died, but Kurt was hoping it wouldn't come down to that.
Kurt sighed again and shifted on his knees, feeling the tension in his legs from kneeling for so long. He smiled, thinking he should be used to this. Planting flowers was the same as saying a prayer and so he spoke another, whispering soft words of gratitude for his blessings and yet, offering a humble request for the safe return of his friends. He had no desire to see yet another marble statue standing in the place of the missing. If only they knew where the three had gone, that alone would make this so much easier. Kurt couldn't help but frown. If they were still alive, where had they gone and what could they possibly be doing right now?