El Diablo del Oeste

An X-Men Evolution Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own X-Men.

Chapter 10: The Moment You've All Been Waiting For

San Francisco

Boss Platt clutched a rolled cigar between two chubby fingers, rolling it idly as he lounged about in his luxurious office. The noxious tobacco fumes wreathed the whole room in smoke, and so great was the stench that even Deadpool made an effort to breathe lightly as he delivered his report.

"It's about time you got back," the businessman snapped haughtily. "I hired you to get rid of the girl, not to go sightseeing!"

"Yer more'n welcome t'hires some'un else," Deadpool glared right back. "Assumin' they don' rat ya out t'the law. I done what ya paid me to, Platt, now gimme th'rest o' my fee!"

With a look of extreme reluctance, the corpulent Platt slid a hefty bag of silver dollars across his desk. "The girl's dead?"

"Yeah, an' Wagner, too," Deadpool snickered. "Th'vultures will take care o' what's left o' him."

"And you're sure about that?"

"Wagner may be good, but 'e ain't immortal," the mercenary snorted. "I done dropped an entire mountainside on top o' him. Ain't no way he's gittin' up from that, an' th'girl neither."

Platt stood with a grunt, his belly wobbling pendulously. Deadpool had to refrain from snickering at the comical sight. "Then I think we should pay the Prydes a visit," his employer said, his eyes sparkling with greed. "I think I can get them to sell…one way or another."

Deadpool tried not to laugh out loud at Platt's pathetic attempt to look like anything other than an overstuffed pig, and made a show of holding the door open wide. "After you…boss."

The searing California heat made Platt shield his eyes as he struggled to heave his bulk into the carriage, mopping his brow with a piece of white cloth that resided in his coat pocket as beads of sweat began to roll down his skin. Platt hadn't been outside of his office during business hours in more than ten years, and the environment did not agree with him.

Finally, after a moment's grunting and pushing, the unscrupulous man at last seated himself in the stage's interior. The wooden wheels began to turn as the driver cracked the whip, and moments later, all that remained of the two men's presence was a rapidly disappearing cloud of choking dust…

Meanwhile…

In the wilderness of the Western mountains, Catherine Pryde's cooking was hardly getting any better. Kurt was of a mind to shoot himself if he had to endure another day of his companion's culinary atrocities, and this hardly improved his mood. The fact was that, with Kurt out of commission, the supply of available food was drastically reduced, and at the most inopportune of times to boot. The only thing that Catherine and Kurt could do was to endure on a subsistence diet until his injuries healed.

And, frankly, one can only eat squirrel for so long.

Aside from the food situation, which was beginning to grow dire, Catherine found herself, with each passing day, falling more and more under the peculiar spell Kurt seemed to cast upon her. The revelations that had followed the cataclysm in the canyon had had an enormous effect on her, though just what that effect happened to be Catherine was unsure.

Kurt's face, she thought, her mind flashing back to that one, singular moment when Kurt's long-kept secret had been so suddenly exposed. Blue skin, dark fur, fangs so white that they glittered like scimitars in the noonday sun. A tail, spaded and lashing, writhing like a wounded serpent before her astonished gaze. And those eyes, those golden, glittering eyes, had looked into Catherine's own with a despair and hopelessness that made her heart wrench.

Kurt had fully expected her to leave him to his fate, Catherine knew. That he had seemingly thought so lowly of her was at first insulting, but then she remembered how hard his upbringing had been. For most of his life, Kurt had, by and large, seen only the worst of what humanity had to offer. His faith in his fellow man had been so eroded that, even after all they had been through together, he still assumed that Catherine would abandon him and scorn him like everyone else.

But, slowly, Catherine sensed Kurt's ingrained cynicism and distrust beginning to fade. More and more, he was actually smiling. In slow degrees, the coarse, gruff edges that made him so cantankerous were beginning to vanish. Catherine was, at last, starting to see the man Kurt truly was, the person who had for so long been buried beneath all of those layers of loneliness and hurt.

She liked this new Kurt much, much better, and in more than one way.

Though he was certainly…different, Catherine felt that, in retrospect, Kurt's unique features were far less horrific than he'd made them out to be. He was actually…

He was actually rather handsome.

There was really no point in denying it further. Catherine was falling head over heels for the cowboy who had so suddenly come into her life. His build, his smile, the way his strong arms grasped her like a fragile flower…

The thought of being in Kurt's embrace, for real, made Catherine weak in the knees. She was now certain, and utterly convinced, that Kurt was the only man for her. His barest touch made her skin feel so alive, and her stomach was quivery with anxiety whenever Kurt sat next to her. Everything about him seemed appealing, and Catherine could find no faults with Kurt, no matter where she looked.

To her, at least, he was perfect. Kurt was strong, determined and driven, yet capable of kindness and tenderness that seemed most uncharacteristic of a man of his trade. Just thinking about Kurt made Catherine's heart beat just a little bit faster, and her every waking thought was of him.

There was no room for a wealthy city boy in Catherine's life, she knew. Her affections belonged only to the mercenary, the outwardly cantankerous yet surprisingly deep gun-for-hire who had stolen her heart and her breath away.

There would be no gentleman callers. There would be no arranged marriages.

There was only Kurt.

The only problem was how to go about telling him all this. Kurt was just about the most antisocial person Catherine had ever met, and it was very likely that he'd dismiss her feeling as nothing more than fanciful delusions. Catherine couldn't bear the thought of this happening, and thus she had sadly and quietly resolved not to risk her new friendship with Kurt by trying to turn it into anything else.

It killed her inside that Catherine could be so near him and not give voice to her feelings. Words could not even begin to describe the anguish Catherine felt at being so close, and yet so far from what she now desired more than anything else in the world.

Her eyes became sad, and this did not escape Kurt's notice.

"What's wrong?" he asked, in his usual gruffness. "Why're you goin' about mopin' like that?"

"Nothing," Catherine replied, a little too quickly. "It's…it's nothing. Really."

"Yer lyin'," Kurt stated flatly. "An' yer doin' a bad job about it, too. If'n yer gonna tell a lie, then tell a good one."

"You worry too much," Catherine said, trying to keep herself calm. "There is nothing that is troubling me." At least, nothing I could tell you about.

"That so?" Kurt asked, his golden pupils searching her own.

"Yes."

"Bullshit."

"Kurt!"

"Whaddaya think I am, stupid?" Kurt asked her skeptically. "I bin doin' this job long enough to smell a liar, so don' keep tryin' t'deny what ye already know good and well. I'm gonna ask ya agin: what the hell has ya down like that? It's my job t'worry 'round here, not yers, see? So whatever it is, jest fergit about it fer now."

Believe me, I'd like to, Catherine told him silently. Aloud, she said, "It is nothing that concerns you."

The cold and terse response made Kurt's shoulders sag somewhat, and Catherine mentally kicked herself. "Fine," he said simply, his own voice now distant. "Suit yerself."

Great, now he thinks it's his fault, Catherine thought despondently. Is there nothing I can do right when he's around? His presence…distracts me so. I want to impress him but…

But we're from different worlds, he and I, she realized. I could never fit in his, and he in mine. We're too different from each other for anything to happen between us. We have nothing in common!

The truth, to quote the old saying, certainly hurts, and this was no exception. The small exchange between them had, in its stark honesty, eroded any hopes Catherine had of a relationship with Kurt.

The young woman stood suddenly, and without a word she withdrew some distance from the camp so as to be alone with her thoughts and her misery. Anything to put some distance between herself and him, Catherine knew. Looking at Kurt was far too painful right now.

Catherine never noticed Kurt slowly rising to follow her.

She sat down upon the forest floor, strewn with dried leaves and pine needles, and Catherine promptly drew her knees up to herself as she tried vainly not to cry. "Why did I even bother?"

"I ask myself that question a lot, ya know."

Kurt's voice made her stand and turn around, and though bandaged and bruised, Kurt stared back at her with a steady gaze. "Especially since meetin' you," he added, the corners of his mouth turning upward in a dry smile. "Ya bin far more trouble than I ever coulda thought, ya know that?"

"You're too kind," Catherine replied bitterly.

"No, I ain't," he said, his voice hushed. "That's yer department, I think. I ain't never bin inclined t'give anyone charity up till now."

"Just go away."

"Why?" Kurt asked, his voice growing accusing. "First off, yer keepin' secrets. Now, I ain't gotta problem with that, seein' as how I kept more'n a few of my own, but now you bin've goin' outta yer way to avoid me, like ya did jest now! An' I'd like t'know why! I ain't done nothin' t'deserve this, Catherine! I didn't say nothin' offensive back there so far as I know, so why're you actin' so cold-like? What'd I do?"

Catherine felt her heart break. She'd never taken the time to consider how she might have seemed to him as she dwelled on her newfound feelings, and now she hated herself for it. "Kurt…I…"

"Save it," he told her, waving his hand. "I ain't gonna force ya t'tell me anythin' ya don't want to, but I would at least like t'know what it is that's bin on yer mind fer while. I…I wanna help you," he finished, somewhat lamely. "I don' enjoy seein' ya like this, all mopey-like."

"I appreciate that," Catherine said, sniffing slightly. "And I'm sorry for acting the way I did. It's just…"

Her voice broke off. Catherine couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence.

Kurt held onto a nearby tree for support, and he favored one leg over the other as he limped closer to her. "Lemme guess," he said slowly and cautiously. "Yer feelin' confused, right? Ya got all o' these…feelin's, an' ya don' know what in the hell t'do about 'em. Ya hate keepin' em all bottled up inside, but yer also afraid o' what'll happen if'n ya don't."

She gazed at him bewilderedly, and Catherine's face turned scarlet as Kurt gently too her hands in his own. His own face had turned a much deeper shade of blue as well, and the navy color grew even darker as Catherine asked, bewilderedly, "How did you…?"

"How did I describe what yer feelin' so well?" Kurt asked quietly.

"Y-yes."

His eyes bored into her own with an almost burning sensation, and Kurt was more sincere about what he said next than anything he uttered before or since.

"Because I'm feelin' like that too," Kurt whispered huskily, his voice rough and raw with the force of his words. His velvety hand cupped her cheek gently, and Catherine felt her vision swim as he gently pulled her a little closer.

Then, with an almost endearing hesitation, Kurt leaned in and kissed her.

A/N: D'awww! Ain't that sweet! I thought the time had come to accelerate things a little, and I'm not just talking about our two heroes! In coming installments, Boss Platt puts the squeeze on the Prydes, and Kurt and Catherine come to terms with their feelings before they receive aid from an earlier acquaintance! And PLEASE REVIEW! If you have ANY ideas or suggestions, LET ME KNOW!

The conclusion of this story lies just beyond the distant horizon…

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque