Wanda? Braddock? Saturnyne!

A fragrant and surprisingly warm early morning ocean breeze stirred the lace curtains over Kassandra's bed as the unhurried notes of an acoustic guitar fell like gentle raindrops on her sleepy consciousness. Her bed- not a hard bunk in a cold brig that, if it had a window above water, would have looked out onto war-ravaged ruins? And where did the music come from? She wasn't allowed a CD player. This had to be a dream perhaps brought on by that hard knock she took on the head last night. She pulled around her one of the precious few comforts she'd been allowed, a plush blue blanket Nightcrawler sent her for Christmas. And the blanket wrapped itself more tightly around her, pressing its soft warmth against her surprisingly bare flesh.

What? What happened to the itchy government-issue pajamas? And if it was one of those dreams, she didn't expect to be plagued with them. Shyness notwithstanding, she did not have many body consciousness issues. Anyway, where was the audience? Why did she feel relatively safe and content, rather than insecure and vulnerable?

"Shhhh, du träumst," the blanket murmured in a low, familiar voice. "But how would you like to start the day, Liebchen?" Okay, that was just plain verrückt. Kassandra felt soft pressure settle on her hip. And an unfamiliar tightness around one of her fingers. Not one for jewelry, even if she was the daughter of a diamond heir and a Zulu tribeswoman, she almost never wore rings. Never on that finger, anyway!

The voice continued, attempting to sing along with the CD. "We could talk away the morning…." His Bavarian accent, coupled with the gentle delivery, made this otherwise goofy Frank Sinatra impression irresistibly endearing. The pressure took the shape of a familiar tridactyl hand and began to migrate slowly up, navigating the subtle curves of Kassandra's lean, modest form in languid, circular strokes. And what felt like another set of three long, thick fingers gently brushed her tangled, shoulder-length mess of dark curls away from her neck.

"…read the papers…"
"Sein Händedruck, und- ach!- sein Kuss!" Kassandra thought to herself, as she felt the first of a series of kisses on her neck. She'd have to put away that blanket. It was giving her dreams that would only intensify by contrast the cold loneliness of her sentence, but still…

"… oder 'misbehave.'"
"Mmmm…Kurt," said Kassandra, sleepily. His tail, which had been idly tracing its way up from her ankle, finally curled firmly around her thigh. She had never before had such a vivid dream that didn't leave her shaking and sweating in terror. This was almost as enjoyable for its novelty as well as for… the obvious reasons. Still, she muttered a weak protest. "A good Catholic shouldn't entertain these thoughts."

Kurt chuckled, gently turning Kassandra over. "Guten Morgen, Frau Darkhölme."

Kassandra's eyes flew open and about the room, resting briefly upon a photograph. Odd. She could not recall where or when it was taken at the moment. But Kurt stood behind her with an arm around her waist, all smiles. She could see a green bracelet tied around his wrist. She wore a plain black leather skirt, and a round hat that sat like a crimson halo upon her head- the isidwaba and isicholo of a Zulu bride. And an expression of happiness barely restrained by the desire to appear appropriately solemn. On her nightstand was a paperback copy of the book Toxic In-Laws. Then her eyes turned finally to Kurt, his smiling, tousled, early-morning charm everything she expected it to be, and more. Very real and apparently very much hers. Any protest that this must only be a dream died on her lips, happily smothered by his.

Kassandra could not think of any other way she'd rather be start the day, tasting his kisses, running her hands down his back, reveling in how paradoxically beautiful the firmness of his muscular physique under the softness of his velvety skin felt to her touch. But still, nothing about this felt quite right.

Kurt retreated. The way he felt his beloved wife's muscles tense beneath her own smooth, café au lait skin, quite the opposite of her usual response, and the confusion he could now see in her large deep brown eyes was indeed not right. Granted, things had been a bit awkward between them lately. They were only just getting accustomed to married life when a new assignment as well as the lure of living at least on the same hemisphere as Kassandra's mother and siblings induced them to pack and move across the globe to Hammer Bay. It was an ideal move, or so Kurt thought. Or it would be, anyway, if he and Kassandra could actually spend more time home together. Kurt and his mother, whom he still hoped might warm to his new bride, still worked together as special operatives in the elite mobile unit of the Red Guard and was often out on one mission or another. Kassandra, on the other hand, earned a commission answering directly to the royal family, and had, in her short time on that job, also earned the personal confidence of the princesses.

Together she and Kurt bought a nice, modest house on a bluff overlooking a stretch of beach where Kassandra liked to jog or take Kurt for long strolls. The house was just big enough for them, Kassandra's piano, a couple rooms they set aside for when they'd have children, and a large, deep walkout basement they'd already turned into a miniature danger room. Of course, they had access to the training facilities the palace and SHIELD had to offer. But for reasons so obvious the couple never had to speak of them, they both preferred to work out in the privacy of their own home whenever possible. It was also near enough to church, the palace, and the new SHIELD headquarters, which was important not only because Kassandra hated to drive, but because they also could be called in to work in literally a moment's notice.

They had all the best this life could offer, and yet Kassandra still was not content. Nobody could understand why. None of the many possible explanations seem to quite cover it. She and Kurt both guessed that it was due in part to when she took out that anti-mutant cult in Montana a few months before their wedding. Though she'd won medals for her bravery and leadership, which she would only bring out at the royal family's command, she'd seemed a bit traumatized afterward. That was understandable. Given Kassandra's background, she was actually quite sympathetic toward non-mutants, so naturally having to kill so many, even when they were shooting at her, would not sit well with her. And these suspicious nightmares and waking terrors that had plagued her ever since had been driving her a bit to distraction. Kurt felt awful that, as wonderful as their life was, there was nothing, not even taking a permanent position at headquarters, he could do to ensure her complete happiness, and she knew it. Kurt guessed that this was the reason for the emotional distance that Kassandra was beginning to display.

"How long have I been your wife?" she asked. She had great difficulty referring to herself as Frau Darkhölme. Of course she would be proud to add Kurt's name to her own, but since when did he go by… by that woman's name?

Questions like that coming from her meant either that she was teasing, or, most likely, especially based on her reactions and the talking in her sleep, she had just had another one of those dreams, and needed some gentle reorientation. He propped himself up on one elbow, softly caressing her neck and shoulder with one hand and her leg with the spade of his tail. "Three wonderful months and the dawning your last chance to rest before the festivities. Our first real day off together since-"

"I have to get to Mass!"
Kurt looked at her with increasing concern. As much as he liked waking his wife to that song any day of the week, he realized that "It's Sunday" wouldn't help on a rare weekday morning off if things like this kept happening. "Es ist Donnerstag. St. Marcella's doesn't have Mass on Thursdays any more, remember? Though you did have choir practice last night."

Last night. The church. Yes, Kassandra remembered something about that last night. Still disturbing. It was never like her to forget.

"Ist alles in Ordnung?" said Kurt.
Kassandra sighed, feeling her focus on the here and now improving as she drew closer and wrapped her free leg around Kurt's. "Ja. Danke. And I think you're right. I do need to talk to someone… someone else about- about what I'd been seeing. I'm tired of this confusion, and I don't want this to interfere any more. Aber jetzt, Ich vermute ein Bißchen 'misbehavior' konnte in Ordnung sein."

"Bist du sicher?" Kurt asked.
Kassandra nodded.

Kurt smiled. "Nur ein Bißchen? Das wird schwierig sein."
"Gestimmt!" Kassandra laughed, twining her legs around Kurt's waist as she found herself quite blissfully entangled in his arms and tail.

They spent the next hour simply enjoying each other that way. And if their coming together was any less momentous than the union of time and space itself, Kassandra did not want to know.

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Translations:

du träumst- you're dreaming

Sein Händedruck, und- ach!- sein Kuss! - more Goethe poetry that will only be mangled in the translation, from Gretchen's spinning wheel scene in Faust. "The pressure of his hands, and -oh!- his kiss!"

Aber jetzt, Ich vermute ein Bißchen 'misbehavior' konnte in Ordnung sein. - (roughtly) But now, I suppose a little misbehavior could be all right.

Bist du sicher? - Are you sure?
Nur ein Bißchen? Das wird schwierig sein. - Only a little? That will be difficult.