El Diablo del Oeste

An X-Men Evolution Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own X-Men.

Chapter 11: Quickening

Prologue

San Francisco, days ago…

Boss Platt grunted with effort as he squeezed his bulk into the proffered chair, his distended belly hanging out over his legs. The ever-present cigar filled the room with its noxious fumes as Platt clutched it between two bulging, fat fingers, and he cleared his voice clumsily before beginning to speak.

"Now, Mr. Pryde," Platt said, his voice falsely civil. "Surely we can come to some sort of arrangement, eh? I'm sure I can give you a fair price. You can even stay and work for me, at Platts and Platts, Inc."

"I am not interested in your money, nor am I convinced of any semblance of honesty that you pretend to have," Catherine Pryde's father snapped back from behind his desk. "How many times are you going to come in here and try to take away what is ours? We have worked this mine for over a decade, and there is not enough money in the world to convince me to give it up, especially to someone like you!"

Platt scowled, and began to protest, but Mr. Pryde cut him off. "I've heard all about you, Platt," he said grimly. "Working your employees to death, withholding wages, hiring local goons to act as slave drivers, and that's just the beginning! I'd do better trusting a serpent rather than a single word that comes out of your mouth."

"I am not here to debate work policies," Platt replied, his tone beginning to grow harsh. "At least mys strategy is working! I must say that I find myself confused as to why you'd hold onto this land, especially since you've continued to drop steadily in profits for the past year and a half!"

"How did you know about that?" Pryde snarled.

"There is nothing that cannot be bought for the right price," Platt said smugly. "Though your initial profits from the first five years are still steep enough to keep you afloat for now, they won't last forever. Sooner or later, you'll have sell, and for a much lower price than what I'm offering. And besides," he added, "With the disappearance of your daughter out in the wilderness, there's no one else to hold the claim to this land, anyway."

"Catherine is…merely delayed," Mr. Pryde said. "She'll be here soon."

"I find that conclusion rather dubious."

Pryde waved a slip of paper in front of Platt's bulbous nose. "Then what is this, hmm?" he asked. "My wife and I received this letter from Catherine not two days back! She's on her way right now!"

"Impossible," Platt whispered, his face darkening.

"What?" The other man growled, not missing the utterance. "Do you know something about this?"

"Of course not," Platt groaned, getting up from his chair. "I'll leave you to your affairs, then, but I shall impart to you a word of advice before my departure ."

"I don't care what you have to say, but I'll allow you your opinion if for no other reason than to be out of your presence!"

"The world of business is no place for idealists, Mr. Pryde," Platt said sadly, shaking his head with mock pity. "You must be ambitious, driven, and most importantly, willing to do whatever it takes to achieve your objectives. You frown upon the way my company works, but the fact is that one's subordinates and employees are merely rungs on the ladder to the top. You mustn't be afraid to step on them."

Platt slammed the door loudly, and Pryde sank despondently back behind his hardwood desk as the unscrupulous fat cat marched back outside.

Deadpool was waiting for him, leaning against the far wall with the brim of his hat over his eyes.

"I take it that your little meeting didn't work out so well?" the mercenary snickered.

Platt turned to glare at him, and there was bloody murder in the obese man's eyes. "Idiot," he hissed, his tone venomous. "You incompetent, bungling fool! The girl is still alive, and Wagner too, the way our luck is going!"

"WHAT?" Deadpool's face showed a momentary flash of fear. "How? When?"

"It's YOUR job to know those things, not mine!" Platt snarled. "Take as many of your thugs as you can, and FINISH THE JOB! I want Pryde and Wagner dead, NOW! I swear, if you fail to deliver on your end of the deal again, you're sacked, do you hear me?

"And I can say for certainty that you WON'T like the severance package," he added ominously. "Now get out of my sight, you wretch, and don't even THINK of coming back until you have Wagner's head in your saddle!"

Deadpool, fearing the wrath of Kurt's likely vengeance, was speeding away on his horse before Platt was even through talking.

But they were both of them deceived.

Mr. Pryde glanced slyly at the "letter" that lay upon his desk, convinced that he'd given a satisfying performance as the envelope's contents had instructed him. Platt had no way of knowing that his competitor knew far more than he was supposed to.

And Platt couldn't have suspected that the handwriting upon the letter's surface was NOT Catherine's….

Now…

Deadpool had a bored expression on his face as he strode through the burning wreckage that had once been the Chief's encampment.

The bandits had come like a firestorm, descending upon the unsuspecting Indians with unholy joy as they slaughtered, raped and pillaged to their heart's content. Fully a third of the proud man's people had been butchered like cattle, their homes destroyed and their livestock stolen. There was absolutely nothing that could have drawn the Native Americans back here, and the survivors had barely escaped with their lives.

Deadpool hadn't pursued them. This was only a pleasant side trip that had happened to come his way, and thus served only as a distraction from the job at hand.

All around him, the cutthroats under Deadpool's command fought savagely with one another, snarling and brawling over the ruins in their bid for the choicest spoils. Like rabid wolves they tore into each other with a frenzy, and more than one man was sent to his doom over a piece of pottery or a quiver of arrows.

A wave of his hand brought one of the mercenary's chosen lieutenants to him. "Tell those weevils to finish whatever they're doin' an' let's be outta here," Deadpool murmured. "We got other things t'do, after all, an' I ain't gonna be waitin' fer any stragglers, hear? Any man who falls behind is gonna 'ave t'fend fer hisself."

"Right," the other outlaw said, touching the brim of his hat respectfully before turning about and roaring out orders lustily. The words had an immediate effect, and the assorted rabble fell all over themselves in their haste. After all, being abandoned in the wilderness was hardly a favorable position to anyone.

Their leader gave a sigh of pure joy as he mounted the saddle once more, and he didn't even look behind him as he nudged the horse forward. The sun beat down upon Deadpool's brow as he caressed the handle of his pistol lovingly, anticipating the pleasure of finally putting Wagner down for good.

The thunder of hoofbeats was so great that it made the earth tremble, and even Mother Nature herself seemed to shrink fearfully as the outlaw gang sped away from the bloodbath with Deadpool at the lead…

Meanwhile…

Catherine squeaked in surprise as Kurt kissed her with abandon, holding her close like some precious heirloom while his arms tightened around her. The grip was not uncomfortable, but rather firm and unyielding as a rock would be against the rushing tide. It was comforting, too, like the familiar embrace of a favorite pillow, or the well-thumbed pages of a beloved novel. Catherine's brain began to swim as she closed her eyes slowly, her very bones seeming to dissolve into putty whilst her knees quivered. It felt so…right, kissing him, some lucid part of her reflected. It felt as natural as walking and breathing.

Kurt drew her even closer, and Catherine could feel his thunderous heartbeat against her own as she pressed against him. The blood seemed to sing a joyous song as it coursed through her veins, and every part of her felt alive with electricity wherever Kurt's soft, furry hands touched. This feeling was…extraordinary. It was unlike anything either of them had ever felt before: Kurt was utterly mesmerized at how soft and precious Catherine seemed as he held her in his arms, and she, in turn, was overcome by the protected and safe sensation that Kurt's embrace gave her. She knew, with every ounce of humanity that she possessed, that Kurt would lay down his life without hesitation if it meant protecting his beloved Catherine.

The very air seemed to be still and quiet with awe at the simple yet powerful sight, a time-honored display of love and courtship that seemed to make the sun shine just a little bit brighter with the almost visible light it cast.

Kurt felt his heart soar to such a height that he feared it would come out of his throat. All of those dark and lonely years….If he'd known Catherine was waiting for him at the end of it, he'd have gone through all of it willingly. She had become so much more to him now.

She had become his world.

With visible reluctance, Kurt broke away and held Catherine's head to his chest, running his blunt fingers through her hair as he silently reaffirmed his undying love for her. Kurt then placed his chin on her shoulder, inhaling her scent like a wondrous perfume.

His voice was hoarse and rough with emotion.

"Catherine…" Kurt said simply, breathing the name like a magic spell.

"So I was wrong, eh?" A third, different voice, so sudden in its appearance, caused the two lovers to jump apart. Kurt's hand blurred toward his revolver-

-But alarm turned to confusion as the Chief smirked back at him. "See? I was right," he said, grinning. "She is your woman."

"What're ya doin' 'ere, huh?" Kurt asked, his tone respectful but wary. "An' how'd ya find us?"

"It was not difficult," the Chief consoled him. "You may be a great man among others of your breed, bounty hunter, but no living person can outrun the best tracker of our tribe."

At a wave of his hand, the old man summoned a young brave from the surrounding forestry. "I believe you remember my son, Warpath?"

"Vividly," Kurt said dryly, meeting the warrior's gaze without flinching. "But ya still ain't answered my other question. I ain't inclined t'believe that our meetin' was a coincidence, see? Yer seekin' me out, an' I wanna know why."

The Chief's eyes grew sad. "We have come to offer our aid."

"Come again?"

"Three nights past, our home was set upon by outlaws," the Chief intoned gravely. "They slaughtered any and all in their path, and put our ancestral home to the torch. They killed so many of my people…" his eyes glazed over with grief for a moment. "Women and children, Nightcrawler. They killed the old, the young, and the infirm, laughing while they murdered my sons and daughters before I was singled out as leader. Then, one who called himself Deadpool interrogated me for information…about you.

Kurt's face turned somewhat pale as the old man continued. "I still owed a debt to you for sparing Warpath, so I lied and told him nothing. Deadpool went to get a branding iron to torture me, but I kicked him in the knee and used the hot metal to burn through the ropes that bound me and set the tent on fire. The distraction caused great panic among the wild men, and I used that distraction to make our escape."

"Our escape?" Catherine asked, shivers going up her spine.

"Yes…Our escape," the Chief thundered, raising his bulb-ended staff high in the air.

Catherine's breath caught in her throat at what happened next.

Slowly, deliberately, the last remnants of the Chief's tribe emerged from their hiding places, their steeds pawing the ground impatiently and snorting, as if lusting for blood. Stone-tipped spears, tomahawks, arrows bristled like the spines of some great hedgehog as the Native American host joined their leader, and the warriors' faces were turned into fearsome masks by the red, black and yellow war paint they sported. Their expressions grim, their weapons clutched tightly, the massed ranks of horseman and foot soldiers stood in silent support with the Chief at their head.

The old man shook his stick for emphasis. "Your enemies are now our enemies, Nightcrawler," he said. "I shall have vengeance for the slaughter of my people at the hands of the one called Deadpool. We shall see him die, for we have no other cause to fight for now." Then, accepting a stone dagger from Warpath, the Chief sliced a shallow cut along the length of his palm and let the blood drip into the earth. "With this, I make a pact of allegiance," he whispered. "With this, we swear to bring about Deadpool's demise."

The knife was thrust into Kurt's hands, and he knew instinctively what he had to do. The stained blade again drew a shallow, red line along the furry palm of Kurt's own hand, and he held his clenched fist outward so his own blood would join the Chief's upon the loamy soil. "Wid this, I return yer allegiance wid my own," he swore. "Wid this, I vow t'give ya th'revenge ya seek."

Then Kurt extended his hand, and the two men clasped each other by the forearm in a warrior's handshake so that each left his red mark upon the other.

"We have an accord," the Chief murmured.

Kurt didn't hesitate.

"Agreed…"

A/N: Hello, everyone! Before I say anything else, I want to apologize for the fact that this update took a little longer than usual. For those of you who were left wondering, I shall impart the reason for my absence with a single word: school. _ My classes this week have been busier and more demanding than I could have anticipated, and thus my studies have greatly cut into my writing time. I apologize, to all of you, for this inconvenience, and I thank you all for patience and, (I hope) your understanding and forgiveness. It just about KILLED me to leave you all hanging (Anahbell, this one goes out to you), and know that if I had found any possible time slots in which to update, I would have done my utmost to take advantage of them. Rest assured that I will NOT leave this story, or any other Historical KURTTY fic, unfinished. The next chapter WILL be up either Thursday or Friday, come Hell or high water!

Again, I can only offer my utter sincerity in this promise, and in this apology.

I remain, and shall ever be,

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque