Part the Third: O Tannenbaum
"...Wie oft hat nicht zur Winterszeit, Ein Baum von dir mich hoch
erfreut..." Kurt sang under his breath as he finished brushing his fur.
Yes, he was fully aware that it was about a week before the American
holiday of Thanksgiving, but that was the time when none of the stores
were interested in making Yuletide profits. It was the perfect time to
go Christmas shopping - or, in the case of Kitty, Chanukah shopping.
He had everything prepared, heck, he'd been saving since last
Christmas for this. This year, it was going to be *perfect*.
Kurt bought out his shopping list from it's hiding place and, just
like Kris Kringle, checked it twice. Yes. He *did* have everyone. Good.
Kurt folded it back up and placed it with absent-minded precision on his
dresser. He crossed the room and dug into the back of his closet,
hauling out the big jar he'd been saving his money in. It was one of
those jars traditionally seen in how-many-gumballs-are-in-the-jar
competitions, only half of its volume was taken up by change, and the
other half was practically bursting with wads of dollar bills.
It represented an entire year's worth of secret economies, little
chores and, Kurt had to admit, diving into gutters for discarded
pennies. He should definitely be able to afford everything with *this*
lot.
Kurt placed the jar on top of his list, ready for that afternoon. His
plan was, as soon as he got home, to dump his books from his bag, stuff
the jar in, and take off to get everything on the list.
Well, okay, maybe he'd stop into a bank to get the verdammt heavy
change counted first.
Whistling Christmas carols as he went, Kurt headed down towards
breakfast. He never thought to lock his door, in fact, he didn't even
close it properly. It never crossed his mind that the jar would prove a
temptation to some.
After all, his friends wouldn't steal from him.
That afternoon...
"Kurt, could you like, *stop* singing Christmas carols for like, five
consecutive seconds?"
"Okay, Katzchen. Just for you."
Sigh. "At *last*..."
"Dreidel, dreidel, dreidel..."
"AAAUUGH!"
Kurt kept on laughing, right up until the moment he opened his door.
The jar was empty.
Nothing else was disturbed. Hardly a thing had been touched, except
the jar.
Which contained two fragments of paper and a nickel.
Jean almost didn't notice Kurt in the kitchen until he sighed. There
was a very morose looking elf, almost hidden behind a giant glass jar.
He was playing with a nickel, making it spin like a top.
"What's up?"
"Someone took my Christmas shopping money," he said. "All I have left
are two IOU's and a nickel..."
Now she felt scummy. "Okay. It's no big deal. Here," she fished a note
out of her wallet and shoved it into the jar. "There's the ten bucks I
borrowed, back." She went back to drinking her coffee.
"Jean..." he was still sad. "I had ten *thousand* dollars in there."
Her mouthfull of coffee wound up decorating the fridge. Kurt helped
her into a chair and patted her back until her throat was clear.
"I'm sorry," he murmured. "I should have waited."
"How--" Jean coughed again. "How in blazes did you get ten *thousand*
dollars?"
"Saved it."
"In a jar."
"Ja."
"And the IOU's?"
"The Professor borrowed twenty dollars in change, and Kitty needed
five dollars for lunch." Kurt sent the nickel spinning and sighed. "So
much for the perfect Christmas..."
"Kurt, it's *Thanksgiving*."
"I know. It's just that all the things I wanted to get for everyone
aren't so expensive right now."
Now she felt *really* scummy. She should have known the elf wouldn't
save up that much money for just himself. Jean emptied her wallet into
the jar. "I know it isn't what you had, but it's a start, right?" She
smiled in an effort to cheer him up. "I'm gonna go and beat up Scott for
you, 'kay?"
Kurt watched the nickel roll to a stop. "Scott? Why Scott?"
"Because I know for a fact he had two hundred bucks he didn't have
yesterday."
"Oh." A pause while he picked up the nickel and sent it spinning
again. "Maybe he couldn't find paper to write the IOU?"
"Maybe he's just a big jerk," Jean snarled as she stormed out.
Scott saw Jean and had his force ten smile on in a microsecond.
"Jean," he said, remaining chipper in an effort to get that frown off
her face. "Want to go out to the movies? I can get us into those luxury-
class cinemas you always wanted to see. My treat."
{Whack!} she slugged him on the jaw. "You mean *Kurt's* treat, you
dirty thief!" She had him in a very painful half-nelson in a matter of
seconds. "You give that money back to him right *now*, or I swear I'll
tear your arm *right* out of its socket!"
"Okayokayokayokay.... Uncle! I give up! I'll give it straight back, I
swear!"
Jean let him up with a simple, "That's better."
Scott flexed his shoulder. "Ow... I didn't think you'd get so bent out
of shape about this. I mean - two hundred bucks. Like he was going to
miss it with that much cash in the bottle..."
"Scott, sometimes you can be a real asshole, you know that?"
"What? What'd I *do*?"
Jean showed him, and she was in no mood to be gentle about it.
"*OWWW*... *Jean*..."
"I'm *not* sorry. You deserved it."
"Okay. Consider me a recruit to the cause." Scott lead the way into
the kitchen and emptied his wallet into the jar. "There's the money I
owe you. Plus a little interest."
His eyes flicked up, briefly. "Danke." Then he went back to staring at
the spinning nickel.
"Jean explained it all," said Scott. "Don't worry. We'll get your
money back, and then some."
"It's not about the money," sighed Kurt. "It's about the perfect
Christmas."
Logan was more interested in the can of soda than whatever was bugging
the elf. He just wished the boy would stop twirling that damn *coin*
around. It was getting annoying.
{twirrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrllrlrlrlrlrl...tink}, then the faint {ch-
swip} of it being picked up again before it was sent spinning.
"Elf," Logan warned. "You're starting to tick me off with that."
"Sorry." He reeked of defeat, sorrow and loss. "Someone took all my
Christmas money."
Logan, who'd borrowed some after the other kids had nearly finished
raiding it, shrugged it off. There hadn't been that much in the jar when
he saw it. "So learn to lock your door."
Silence. Blessed, divine silence.
Then the muffled sounds of someone trying not to cry and failing
miserably at it.
Logan ran his hand down his face. _What *now*?_
Kurt had only stopped playing with the nickel because he was crying
his little yellow eyes out.
It wasn't that he exactly *disliked* the elf; heck, he was one of the
few people around here whose words matched his scent. Sure, there was
the odd, boneheaded move in an attempt to make others like him, but that
was typical teenager stuff. Background noise, as it were. It was just
that fuzzboy - well - smelled funny.
Humans smelled one way, animals smelled another, and that, until Kurt
crossed his path, had been that. Now there was a big blue "except"
walking around and messing with Logans instincts.
Just like right now.
His scent was practically *screaming* out, "help me" to the world at
large, just like Logan's more animalistic instincts were screaming,
"strange, don't trust". A third part of him, the thin civilised veneer,
just saw a weeping child.
"Aw, *hell*..." Logan sighed, sat beside him and put a tentative hand
on his shoulder. "What'd I say wrong?"
He should have known better. Any question to a teenager in that state
just opened the floodgates for a stream of barely intelligable babble
and, Logan cringed at the thought, more crying.
His ears, being more sensitive than others, were able to pick out more
words than anyone else. Apparrently, in the world of Kurt, locks were
used by people who didn't trust anyone. If he didn't trust anyone, what
was the point of having friends? And he'd been planning this Yuletide
since the last one and things were just *so* unfair and he didn't want
to lose his friends. He didn't want to wreck Christmas. Or Thanksgiving,
for that matter.
_Half the mansion steals ten thousand dollars off the kid and *he*
doesn't want to spoil anyone's holiday. Gotta love how that mind works._
"FYI, kid, I needed a hundred bucks 'cause the garage don't take
plastic. I *was* gonna pay you straight back."
Nod. Whispered, "I never said you weren't."
Too damn trusting. Kid was going to have his heart broken again and
again if he didn't wise up. "Way I figured it, you've earned yourself
some interest." Logan started emptying his wallet.
"It isn't *about* the money," Kurt sniffed. "It's about broken trust."
"Kid, if you ain't bent out of shape about the cash, the friendship'll
heal. Trust me on this. You'll be over it soon enough." _I *hope*..._
Logan got up and made to leave before the elf could break up again.
Behind him, he could barely hear Kurt whisper, "It isn't about me,
either." He picked up the nickel.
Logan headed for the Danger Room. He *needed* to break something
replaceable, right now.
Jamie narrowly avoided running straight into Logan by stopping on his
toes and winmilling his arms to stop him falling. There was one thing
his mutant 'power' *had* taught him, and that was how to avoid being
accident prone.
"Logan!" He said breathlessly. "HaveyouseenKurt?
Igottafind'im'causeIdidsomethingterribleandIgottamakeitbetter (gasp)
andIgottagoseeKurtright*now*!"
"Kitchen," said Logan, and mumbled something unprintable about a
nickel.
Jamie broke into a run, hoping and praying that Kurt was still there.
Oh heck. He looked mad. Jamie had practically hidden from the blue-
furred boy for his first week at the institute. He *did* after all, have
a knack for making people mad at him, and Kurt looked just the sort to
avoid making mad at all costs. Then he'd found out that Kurt was just as
shy and quiet as he was - kind of. Only with a little bit more
confidence because he could actually *do* things instead of screwing up.
"KURT!" Jamie practically screamed out of relief that he was still
there.
Kurt shrieked and ducked under the table. Then he identified who had
yelled and came back out. "Whoops," he laughed. "Old habit."
"KurtI'msosorryI'llneverdoitagain," he said, getting his facts
established in the first breath. "OnlyEvansaiditwasokayand *he*
tookawholelotbecausehesaidhesawScotttakesomeandthenhesaidhowyoumusta--"
"Jamie," Kurt interrupted. "Slow *down*. Mein English is not that
good."
"I'msorryI'msorryI'm--mwfl..." A fuzzy hand covered his mouth.
"Slow. Down."
"I'm sorry," Jamie panted. "I thought I had to appologise real fast
before you got mad at us or something."
Kurt sighed and offered a seat. "I don't get mad," he soothed. "I get
morose."
"Okay. I didn't *wanna* take it, 'cause it's stealing and everything,"
Jamie pulled a wad of bills out of his pocket. "Only we all heard Evan
in your room and we came to see what the noise was about and he was
digging through your jar? He said it was okay 'cause *Scott* took some -
he'd seen it - and you only left stuff out in the open to share
*anyway*. He said he was taking some for novelty value and it wasn't
*really* stealing if we planned to give it back, and everyone was taking
some, and I guess I just wanted to fit in. I didn't even count it to see
how much I had."
Kurt was just watching him. No comment, no judgement, just patience.
Jamie put the money back in the jar. "I felt really sick about it all
*day*... It felt so bad I wanted to cry. You're not mad are you?"
Kurt shook his head. He even had a little tiny smile on his face.
"Nein, kleiner Bruder. Not at all."
Another thing about the Institute, sometimes it taught things that
were never intended to be learned. Thanks to Kurt, Jamie was picking up
some of the more unsavoury corners of the German language, as well as
some stuff he could actually use in mixed company.
"Climbing what?"
"Kleiner Bruder," Kurt corrected. "It means, 'little brother'."
"You mean that?"
"Of course. I've got nothing but sisters at home. Always wanted a
little brother."
Jamie grinned until his face threatened to crack. "All *right*!
Wait'll I tell the others! Hey guys!" He took off at a run.
Kurt had to smile at the boy. He was always so - entheusiastic - about
his emotions. Had he ever been like that? Probably. There was even a
suspicion that he still *was* like that.
Well, if he could forgive Jamie for wanting to be like the others,
maybe he could forgive the others and work his way up to Evan. Evan
*had* lead the others into it, after all.
But then, Kurt had left the money out in the first place, and Evan,
being Kurt's friend, knew his habits. It wasn't often that Kurt left
anything of his on public display. He was a neat kid, made that way by
the fur.
Nothing like a fur coat to make you really *sensitive* about dirty
things and, therefore, mess.
Ergo, he didn't leave anything out unless he intended for it to be
used.
Such a pity his best friend took that as an open invitation.
Kurt picked up the nickel and sent it spinning again. Round and round
and round...
Just like his thoughts.
Evan crept as quietly as he could towards Kurt's room. So far, so
good. There was no sign of the 'crawler here, either. Just as well. He'd
hate to have to explain this to him.
Or anyone else for that matter.
It was his stupid fault for putting a thousand-dollar bill right up
against the glass in the first place. If Evan hadn't seen it, he
wouldn't have wanted to hold it. Or see what else he had in there. Or
get caught by the new gang just as he'd got out a sampler.
_Quit stressing,_ he told himself. _All you gotta do is put things
back the way they were. No big deal. I just have to talk the other kids
into it. Just like I did before. No big deal. Just be *real* quiet and
don't make waves. Don't get caught._
He nudged Kurt's door open. Cool. No-one was there. He made a break
for the dresser, only to discover it was empty.
_No big deal. No big deal. Just act nonchallant and try to find out
which way he went. No big deal. Chill. Calm. Nonchallant. Think. If I
were a blue fuzzy mutant with a big-ass jar full of cash, where would I
hide?_ No help there. The answer was irrevocably, 'wherever I wanted
to'.
"Chill, man," Evan whispered to himself. "It's not a big deal..."
"Not yet," said a voice behind him. Rogue. "But then, we ain't got
started yet."
_Crap._ He turned, hands held up in surrender. The gang was all there.
Scott, Jean, Rogue, Aunty O. The new kids. The Professor. Logan. Mr
McCoy... All glaring at him.
"Icanexplain..." he said.
{Snikt} "You don't have to explain it to *us*, Porcupine."
They frog-marched him downstairs and plunked him down in front of
Kurt, who was apparrently trying to get the answers out of the Universe
by spinning a nickel. Repeatedly.
"You have to explain it to *him*."
_Oh crud..._ "Hey... Kurt. Buddy. Fancy meeting you here. So what's
shaking?"
Kurt picked up the nickel from where it had fallen and set it spinning
again. He was in one of his famous only-Kurt-can-do-that postures;
leaning on the table, chin barely clearing the table top. One knee
currently higher than his shoulder, the foot clinging to the chair with
all three 'toes'. That included the sort of dewclaw-looking thing he had
out the back of his ankle joint. The other leg kind of wove itself into
the chair legs. Knee around one leg, ankle hooked around the one behind
it, and two toes gripping the leg diagonally opposite to the one his
knee was around. His tail alternately whipped in the air, and curled
itself around the only chair leg unclaimed by any other body part.
_Damn, he looks depressed._ "Look, I'm sorry about the cash, okay? You
shouldn't leave your door open like that, man. Anything could happen."
"Locks are for people who don't trust anyone," murmured Kurt. He sent
the nickel spinning again.
_Ouch._ "For what it's worth, I only meant to shut the door for you.
Then I saw the jar and I just had to check it out, you know?" Silence.
He was watching the coin spin. "You had a one *thousand* dollar bill in
there. I mean... god*damn*..." Glare. "Sorry." Kurt was one of those
religious sorts. He got offended when people blasphemed in front of him.
"I'd never seen that much cash in my *life*, man. I had to touch it. I
had to see if it was real."
"It was real," Kurt sighed. "It took me a month and a lot of work to
get. The others were faster. I think because the Professor got what I
was up to, but --" he sighed. "I thought we were friends."
"We *should* be," Evan tried to smile. It failed. "I just wanted to
hold it a little. Only the new mutants came by and asked me what was up
and if I put it back, I'd have looked like I was *guilty*, so I kinda
lied a bit and then they all started helping *themselves*, and I
*really* couldn't put it back *then* and - honest to God, I was going to
give it back just now, I swear. Here. Look." He held out his little
sampler of large bills. "I've been having paranoid convulsions all day
with this stuff in my pocket, bro'. It was a *nightmare*. Getting caught
with this is like grand larceny or something. If I'd have got ripped off
by Pietro..." he shook his head. "Man, I am just glad to get this *out*
of my hands." He shoved it back into the jar with a little bit more
force than necessary. "See? Back where it belongs. No harm done. Still
friends, right?"
The coin came to a stop. Kurt picked it back up, put it on its edge,
and started rocking it back and forth under his finger. "Friends trust,"
he said, the coin going to and fro in front of him. "You could have done
any number of things, today."
"I know, I know. I know. I could have just shown the other kids the
bill and just put it back. I could have made everyone put it back. I
could have agreed with Jamie. I could have confessed at school, today. I
could have just shut the fucking door in the first place and not even
bothered with the stupid fucking jar!"
"*Evan*!"
"Sorry, Aunty O. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for my whole messed up *life*."
The coin was still going to and fro underneath Kurt's finger.
"I'm sorry, man."
To and fro. To and fro. Kurt was staring at it as if it represented
something. Maybe it was the only money left after everyone was done
dipping into the jar. The noise it was making was starting to fill up
the world. Evan wished he'd set it spinning again. Or drop it. Or let it
go flying off under the fridge. *Anything* but just rock it back to and
fro. To and fro.
"We're still friends, right? You're not mad at me?"
Sigh. To and fro. To and fro. And stop. "I don't know. I guess -- I'm
afraid I won't *see* my friends any more. I'm afraid I'll just see a
bunch of thieves. My faith, my friends... they're everything to me. I
don't want to lose both in one day."
_Make the hurting stop._
"That would ruin everything for everyone," Kurt said.
_*Please* make the hurting stop..._ Evan lost his patience. "Oh, for
Pete's sake... just *look*, man. Get it *over* with."
Sigh. Kurt closed his eyes and straightened up, then he looked at the
assembled X-men. Then he grinned. "Ach, who was I kidding? Of course
we're friends."
"All right! Gimmie three!" Slap. Point. Order was restored to the
universe.
"So, said Kurt as he threw the nickel into the jar with the rest of
the cash. "Who wants to help me haul *my* shopping for a change?"
This is Jaques. He's a neat man who sells neat things at three times
their ordinary price to *extremely* neat people who arranged for the
purchase of discrete body ornaments for the sort of people who hired
people to carry their money for them. He used to be called John, but
that was before he got *Class*.
He's about to get an object lesson in life.
The very discrete and expensive alarm at the door when off, serenading
the arrival of a client with a brief passage from Vivaldi. Jaques looked
up from his Sotheby's brochure to identify the client type and had to do
a double take when he didn't find a match.
There were riff-raff in his store. Three teenage punk kids. One had
dyed his hair blue, and as for his negroid compatriot - a born
pickpocket, by the look of him - Jaques was sure there wasn't a polite
word for that shade of blond. Then there was their female companion.
She wore enough makeup to sink a barge and the sullen expression of a
typical Goth.
Goths who had, prior to today, been content to simply smear their
makeup on his display window.
The dyed-blond street punk whistled the rest of the overture whilst
looking at the display cases. The Goth peered closely at an array of
rings and sighed mournfully.
"Wow," said the Goth. Her accent traced her origin to a rather -
socially and economically inept portion of the South. "You really
shoppin' here, Kurt?"
"Depends on whether they have what I want or not," said blue-hair. He
was from Germany, and not high-class Germany either. He sounded - rural.
"Can you be helped?" sneered Jaques. "If you require your parking
validated, may I suggest the Pay'n'Save just down the avenue. I'm afraid
much of the merchandise in this establishment may be a little - beyond
your means."
"That's what *you* think," sang the pickpocket, sotto voice.
To his surprise, the German leaned on the counter and smiled. "Ja. I'm
looking for some jewelery fit for a Princess," he said. "I've only ever
shopped for a Countess before, so I'm a little down on the ettiquite.
But, I guess we could start with Faberge and work from there, right?"
Jaques didn't even twitch. "And which of your compatriots has the
hidden camera?"
The Goth sniggered. "I'm startin' to wish I had one right now."
"Me too," giggled the pickpocket.
The rural German was pawing at a display at the counter. "That one,"
he pointed at the ring, "Looks about the right size for Katzchen.
Workmanship's a little on the shoddy side... Got anything on a higher
level in the same kind of style?"
"*That*," announced Jaques, "is Girmaunt."
"Nope," said the German. "It's Girmaunt's sick bastard cousin. *Look*
at that joinery, man. The welding could be used for a backscratcher."
The Goth began to laugh behind her hands. Her pickpocket friend was
grinning.
Jaques, purturbed, bought out the case and stared at the ring through
an eyepiece. How the *German* managed to spot it was beyond him, but the
hallmarks were completely wrong. It was in the *style* of Girmaunt, but
with none of his finesse. "I *must* have a word with my procurer."
"Don't fire the man. It's easy to be fooled into believing in the work
of an apprentice, ja?"
*Now* Jaques twitched. That was what *he'd* been told by the procurer.
"Quite."
"If you have any *genuine* Girmaunt, I'd love to see it," grinned the
German.
"I *doubt* you could afford it."
"Believe in miracles," said the German.
"You are under video surveillance," he told them. "If you touch
anything, I will summon the constabulary."
The pickpocket and the Goth burst out laughing.
Whatever their charade was, surely the price tags on the *good*
merchandise would surely scare them off.
Malcom, the security guard for the back room, caught his mood. "What's
up?" he asked.
"Riff-raff," sniffed Jaques. "They *claim* they want to *purchase*
something."
"Humour them," suggested Malcom. "Things get rowdy, I'll bop 'em onna
head."
_I need asprin,_ Jaques sighed as he grabbed the lowest-priced tray of
Girmaunt and bought them out for the German and his laughing
contemporaries.
"I trust *this* meets sir's - standards?" He withdrew the velvet cover
with a flourish.
The German boy had two fingers over his mouth and a frown on his face.
"Mmmmm... Too gaudy. This is neuveaux riche stuff," he squinted, "*and*
pure apprentice work. If you don't *have* any Girmaunt or Faberge, just
tell me, man. I can find someone who has them."
Jaques wished he would, but his professional reputation was at stake.
This - hill-boy - had just thrown down a gauntlet, and Jaques wasn't the
sort to let it lie. "Just a moment, sir," he grimaced a parody of a
smile. "I must have grabbed the wrong tray in my haste."
Another chorus of laughter chased him into the back room. Only once he
was out of sight, did he rain curses down on their little uncivilised
heads. "They want quality, do they?" he growled, siezing trays left and
right. "Well, let's *give* them quality. Picky little unwashed barefoot
*oiks*!"
He summonned his usual demeanor before emerging with his selection.
"*These* are the correct trays," he announced, uncovering them.
"Whoah..." breathed the pickpocket.
"Yow," said the Goth.
"Now *this* is more like it," grinned blue-hair. He plucked a tiny
gold ring from one of the Girmaunt trays. It was fashioned in the shape
of intertwining vines with tiny gold leaves and flowers sprouting from
them. Blue-hair dug into a pocket and produced an extremely common
measuring tape, and slid the ring over its metal-clad end. "Perfekt," he
grinned again. "Just perfekt... Katzchen would *love* this." He placed
it on one of the velvet covers. "Now for Princess Aquilla."
Jaques felt a cluster of his neurons implode. "Then - who is
'Katzchen'?"
"Just this girl he wants to go out with," said the Goth.
"Yeah. Kurt's *totally* whipped," sniggered the pickpocket.
"Clappe," murmured the German, peering at the trays. He picked out a
set of earings. "Now. If *these* are fit for a Countess, what would be
satisfactory for a Princess?"
Jaques got the sinking sensation that they were serious. The blue-
haired German boy had, indeed, picked out something a Countess would be
happy wearing. "In that case, sir," he said, voice wobbling a bit, "you
would have nothing less than the house of Faberge. Might I suggest
these?"
"Ja... Work of a Master, there..." He picked one up, lettng the light
glint off it. "Maybe - emeralds. They'd suit her complexion better."
"And K-man doesn't even *like* the Princess," said the pickpocket. "So
what's with the earrings?"
"It's a quasi-insult," informed the Goth. "Whenever his home town's
too poor to send the Count an' Countess anythin' much, they send her
earrings. Usually, it's a matched set for the both of them. Cufflinks,
tie pin, sash brooch for him, and earrings, necklace, bracelet and
brooch for her."
"Oh." The pickpocket looked over the trays on offer. "*Heyyyy*...
Auntie O would *love* one of those..."
"Evan," sighed the German. "Those are low-end. Your aunt's a Lady of
Class."
"Yeah, but this is her style, man. Simple and elegant. Pity I can only
afford half of it."
"We'll team up," Offered the German. "I can spare a few hundred
bucks."
Jaques' cerebellum fused.
"Ditto here," said the Goth. "My credit's good. Just lemme get to an
ATM. Y'all *do* give cash discounts, don'cha? 'Sides, I want that
genuine fake Girmaunt fo' myself."
*Cash*. They were going to pay cash. On unstable ground, Jaques could
only be certain that money was a good thing. Especially at this time of
year.
"Sure," he said, reverting to his old, old self. "Not a problem..."
"Great." The Goth took off at a run. "Wait up, okay?"
"Uh. K-man? I think we broke him."
"He'll feel better when he hears the till ring," said the German. He
set out a pair of elegant emerald earrings on the velvet, right next to
the little gold ring, then rather reluctantly picked up the pendant that
the pickpocket had chosen. "You're *sure* this one."
"Are you *nuts*? Aunty O will be over the moon."
The German shrugged. "You know her better I do, I guess. These three,
and the fake Girmaunt for my half-sister, Rogue. Separate boxes, if you
please."
Jaques looked out the door in the direction of the Goth, then back at
the German boy. "Er..."
"Their mom got around a lot," said the pickpocket. "We didn't even
find out until recently."
The German sighed. "My world is growing ever full of sisters," he
said mournfully. "At this rate, I'll have to ask a girl for a DNA sample
before I ask for a date."
"Oh yeah," said the pickpocket. "I can hear that dialogue. 'Ja, I like
you und everysing, but - mein mutter got around you see, und - I got to
make sure you're not meine schwester first. Okay?' That is just *so*
sad."
"So's your accent. It sucks," the German swept his bangs back. "*I*
sound *far* sexier than *that*."
"Shyeah. Right."
"Native teutonic charm, man. I ooze it from every pore."
"Is *that* why you've been washing out so much with Kitty, then?" the
pickpocket teased. "You *oozed* too much?"
"Shut up."
"Maybe y'all aught to *ooze* a little less. Be more appealling to the
girls who don't like so many lubricants."
"Shut *up*..."
_Calm. Keep calm,_ Jaques told himself. _I am standing here and
smiling while two people I would ordinarily have escorted out talk girls
whilst they wait for one to get back from the ATM. This is riff-raff
having a riff-raffy conversation in *my* decidedly *un*-riff-raffy
store. On the other hand, the German punk seems determined to actually
*pay* for this stuff, as opposed to pulling a gun and stealing it. He
knows his stuff. He must at least *know* money._
_But they're unwashed *oiks*,_ part of him persisted.
_True,_ he said. _But they're unwashed oiks with *money*._
A hand waved in front of his face. "Hey. Yo. I said we're ready to
*pay*, now."
"Maybe we did break him," said the German. "How much is it all. With a
cash discount?"
Jaques did a quick tally of the wholesale prices and added a naught to
the end.
The German snorted contemptuously. "You wouldn't even get that at an
auction on a wet day," he said. "Be serious."
Blink. He *did* know his stuff. Jaques knocked off the naught.
"Right. Das ist better," the German plunked his backpack on the
counter and unzipped it. "Let's see, now... ein, zwei, drei, vier,
funf... Oops. Overcounted." He placed two thousand-dollar bills
nonchallantly on the counter, then dug out a thick roll of hundreds.
"Hey, what about us, K-man?"
"I figured it'd be easier if I just paid for everything und you pay me
back what you can."
"Deal," the Goth stuffed a handful of money into the mouth of the jar
in the German's bag.
Jaques' personal compass blew up, spun, and came around pointing due
Money. Here was a lad who casually carried around thousands of dollars in
a *jar* in an old school bag. Anyone *that* casual about cash *had* to
be Old Money.
Which explained the clothes. They were so rich that they could afford
to look poor. They just didn't *care*.
Jaques drooled at the thought of being that affluent.
"We *did* break him," said the Goth. "He ain't reached fo' the money
yet an' he's kinda foamin' at the mouth."
"Are you all right?" asked Master Kurt.
"Terribly sorry, sir," said Jaques with genuine and heartfelt aplomb.
"My mind was elsewhere. I'll just fetch the boxes for these pieces and
then wrap them for you. Would you like a copy of our brochure?"
"Nein, danke," said Master Kurt. "If I want anything else, I'll come
by und ask."
Jaques' brain melted into a happy pink morass at the thought.
His friend, young Master Evan, laughed out loud. "Man, those earrings
are sure gonna teach Amara for callin' you a bootless filthy gypsy."
"Ja," said Kurt. "Not bad for a - what did he say, now? Oh ja. A picky
little unwashed barefoot oik."
Jaques' knees went out from under him just as he handed across their
purchases. "Terribly sorry," he murmured, face going white. "A natural
mistake, considering your -er- casual attire."
Kurt zipped up his bag and plucked the shopping from Jaques'
unresisting fingers. "But I *am* a picky little barefoot oik. *And* a
bootless gypsy. I just happen to wash regularly and have money today."
Jaques had to remember to breathe.
They had to hold each other up in order to stop collapsing from
laughter. All they could manage was iterations of, "Did you see his
face--?" before what little decorum they'd scraped together collapsed.
Then they bumped into Jean.
"You three are *evil*, you know that?"
They burst out laughing in reply. Broadcasting on all channels. Every
telepath within a five mile radius would be having a hard time keeping a
straight face.
"*Do* share it with the others," gasped Kurt, "but don't let certain
people know what they're getting, ja?"
And so it went.
A great deal of snooty businesses got a lesson in not judging, lest
they be judged themselves, and Kurt's collection was getting rather -
ecclectic. Some bags only held construction materials and tools, because
he knew that the gift he wanted to give didn't exist yet. Or that no-one
would make it.
Some of his purchases were just - baffling. What on Earth was he going
to do with a calligraphy set, a sheaf of expensive paper, and a few tiny
stamps? Or, who was going to get them?
_Heck,_ thought Rogue, _for all I know, he's bought my present right
in front of me._ But it was hard to tell for certain. Kurt was a subtle
master of manipulation. He came up with good ideas that "coincidentally"
got them separated for up to half an hour without noticing it.
One time, they'd gone for ice-cream, and only noticed when Kurt didn't
order his usual double death-by-chocolate with fudge in a waffle cone.
He'd turned up with a few extra bags from Radio Shack and just handed
her the genuine fake Girmaunt with a cheery, "I know you don't
celebrate, sis, but; happy birthday."
He'd wrapped it and put one of those goddamned cheery puffy bow-things
on it.
"You can use the wrapping for target practice if you want," he
offered.
"Thanks," Rogue drawled. "I'm gonna learn to throw knives at *this*."
"You're welcome."
"You two," announced Evan, "have a very *sick* relationship, you know
that?"
"I like sick," said Rogue. "It's fun."
"Whatever makes you happy," Kurt sang.
*Somewhere* during Kurt's shopping trip, everyone else got the idea of
sneaking around and getting everyone else's Christmas presents as well.
Which meant, with seventeen mutants running around, that things got
insane.
There were people sneaking every which way and sniggering a lot. And
people trying to duck behind cashiers when they spotted other people.
And a lot of faux excuses and trying to get rid of people who completely
refused to take the hint. People teamed up on other people, and the
teams broke up when they had to get stuff for others in the team.
The interpersonal dynamics, in a word, were complicated.
It wasn't until everyone was escorted from their shopping venue of
choice and on their way back to the Institute that Kurt dropped another
bombshell.
"I'm sorry, Jean," he said. "But I inadvertantly lied to you. I didn't
have ten thousand dollars, it was more like--"
{SCREEEEEET!}
"Ow!" Scott rubbed his forehead from where it hit the wheel after he
stood on the brake. "Kurt, could you not *do* that when I'm driving,
thankyou?"
"Sorry. I didn't know you seized up when you heard big numbers."
"Just big *money* numbers," said Evan. Then he muttered, "*Damn*."
Thanksgiving was a blast, what with everyone trying to grill everyone
else on what they were getting for Christmas. The sneaking continued,
though, as various people tried to enlist help from other people on the
gift for a third party.
At least everyone was relatively quiet. Except for the evil laughter
in wierd corners.
The first day of Chanukah dawned, and Kitty would have slept through
that dawn if it wasn't for a certain morning serenade:
"Katzchen, Katzchen, Katzchen, it's Chanukah today. Katzchen,
Katzchen, Katzchen, with Katzchen I will play!"
"Mmmmrrrrrggghhh..." Kitty managed, glaring at him through half-opened
eyelids. Like, what was his *problem*?
"Second verse! Same as the first!"
"I'm up. I'm up. Quit singing, I'm up." Kitty lurched upright and
glared hot liquid death at the fuzzy elf. He was wearing his hologram
and had perched on the end of her bed. She *knew* he was clinging there
with his long toes, but he *looked* like he could topple off at any
second. "What's with the holo'?" she yawned.
"House guests," he said. He was being deliberately oblique just to
tease her. He vaulted off her footboard and somersaulted out the door.
"Ten minutes, Katzchen. If you're not dressed by then, I'm taking you
down as you are." He shut the door from the outside.
Kitty stuck her tongue out in his general direction. Stupid
hyperactive elf. She was halfway tempted to strip down to nothing and
see what happened. Except he'd probably faint. And she'd be too
embarressed.
After a couple of false starts, she got her street clothes on and
stumbled downstairs. "All right," she yawned again. "What's the fuss all
about?"
A camera flashed in her bleary eyes.
"Happy Chanuka, Princess," said Dad.
_What the--?_ Kitty squealed and ran into her parent's arms. Of course
Kurt would have guessed that she was homesick. He was the one amongst
all of them who was the furthest from his home.
Mom had one of those silly little puff-bow things in her hair. "Your
friend Kurt has quite a way of talking to people and getting them to do
things," she grinned.
"Yeah. I think his technique is like, keep talking about it until you
like, totally give in."
"Liar," said Kurt. "I wheedle. I do *not* nag."
"So, um, what's with the stupid hair ornament?"
"Apparrently," said Dad, "we're you're first Chanuka present. But we
bought you some extras anyway."
Kitty put two and two together. "Kurt, tell me you didn't pay for
their plane tickets?"
"Okay."
She glared at him. "You know, if you weren't like, so *annoyingly*
cheerful, I'd have to like, hug you or something."
"Should I try to look sad?"
"Kurt..."
"Shutting up."
Mom giggled.
It wasn't until breakfast that things went slightly pear-shaped. For
starters, the rest of the mansion was waking up, and secondly, Kurt's
holoprojector started to fritz.
Mom interrupted her with a tap on the shoulder while she was
explaining about Jamie and whispered, "I don't know if there's a polite
way to mention this, Kitty, but -er- your friend Kurt's -um- he's - he
seems to have grown a tail..."
Kitty looked. Kurt was so busy juggling eggs - before they became
breakfast - that he didn't notice his tail had popped into view.
"Kurt, your holoprojector's going down," Kitty called out.
Kurt checked himself out and, still juggling, found the flaw. "Aw,
*man*... and all the others are being repaired, too..."
"What?" said Dad.
"Might as well come clean," Kurt sighed, placing the eggs back into
the carton. "I don't actually look like this," he began.
"Skip the long version, fuzzy," Kitty advised. "Just cut to the chase.
Mom, Dad; Kurt kinda like, puts the 'diff' in 'different', so he has to
wear a hologram most of the time so people don't like, run screaming."
"Thanks a lot," Kurt sarcasmed.
"Well, they *do*. I know *I* did."
"Katzchen, you're scaring your parents," he said.
Indeed, Mom and Dad had scooched a little closer together and were
holding each other's hands.
"Look, you can like, totally relax," Kitty said. "He's just a blue,
fuzzy, goofball elf with a tail."
"You forgot the tridactyl hands and the digigrade legs," said Kurt.
"And I don't think you're helping."
"No, the fact that your right hand is back to normal isn't helping."
Kurt looked at it and compared it to it's pink companion. Then he
sighed, "Sorry about this," and touched his watch.
Mom stifled a scream behind her free hand. Dad just went white.
"You were going to find out sooner or later, I guess," Kurt said. He
was still looking down. "I'd have preferred 'later'. Really."
"Mom, Dad; this is Kurt. I like him. Deal."
Kurt grinned, showing of the fangs that made her parents jump even
more. "You mean that? You really like me?"
Kitty sighed. "Yes, I really like you, fuzzy. Now try and actually be
like, cool about it?"
"Cool. Ja. I can do cool." He fluffed his bangs back and smiled. "You
really like me and I can be cool about it. Completely cool. Totally
cool. Calm. Cool."
"Five, four, three..." Kitty counted. "Two..."
"I can't!" {Bamf!}
"One."
There was a distant, "YEEEEEEEEE-HAAAAAA! She *likes* me!"
"Oh, and Kurt can teleport. I think I like, mentioned it in an email
or something."
Hank chose that moment to knuckle by. "Is there any particular reason
why young Mister Wagner is doing somersaults in the snow?"
"I said I liked him," said Kitty. "Can you like, teach him what
'restraint' means?"
"Ah, young love," Hank smiled and knuckled onwards.
"That was Mr McCoy," said Kitty. "He's like, the coolest teacher on
the whole *planet*. And no, he and Kurt aren't related. Not even
remotely. We checked."
"...ip," said Daddy.
"You get used to it," soothed Kitty.
Mom and Dad actually got around to asking questions by the second day.
Kurt was the one who opened the floodgates while Kitty was opening her
second round of Chanukah gifts. He was sipping hot chocolate and idly
watching her parents stare at his flicking tail.
"Something you want to know?" he asked. "I can promise I won't get
offended."
"Uh. What - happened to you? To make you like that?"
Kitty muttered an agonised, "*Mo-ommm*..." under her breath.
Kurt shrugged. "I was born like this," he said. "I'm what some experts
call a 'second generation' mutant. My genetic mother is a shapeshifter.
I don't know about my father."
"Is that fur or hair?"
"*Da-a-a-ad*..."
"It's finer than hair, so it has to be fur, ja? And yes, I do get a
winter coat, *but*, I don't shed as much as *some* people would have you
believe."
"*Ku-urt*..." Kitty had turned quite pink. "This is embarressing..."
He transferred his mug to his tail so he could lean on his elbows and
stare at her. "You're cute when you blush," he said.
"...mph," said Mom.
"Ja, I'm dextrous with all five limbs. Comes in handy when Mama
*insists* on those shopping trips, you know?"
Kitty finally finished unwrapping a sweater. "Whew. I'm glad this was
like, nothing *else* expensive. At least you like, got a clue about
Chanukah, Kurt."
"That's not mine," Kurt giggled. "Try again."
Kitty rolled her eyes. Part of *Kurt's* perfect Christmas/yuletide/
whatever had been guessing which gift came from whom. The idea had
caught on with a vengeance. "I'm doomed," she sighed. Sure it was fun to
do to other people, but - she was never good at this.
Meanwhile, Rogue, Jean, Amara and Jubes were snickering.
"Wait, I get it. Team girl-power over there, right?"
"Kurt was right," Rogue was actually *smiling*, a rare sight. "This
*is* fun."
"Remember that when you're like, playing 'guess who' on Christmas,"
said Kitty. Another present contained some floral perfume. "Thanks
Kurt?"
"Bzt! Try again."
Logan smirked, failing to look innocent.
"Like, I do *not* want the picture of *you* in the perfume section."
"Actually, it was a pack of us," Scott confessed.
"We tried to get the K-man to help," said Evan, "but he'd kinda
disappeared on us."
"I had other plans," smoothed Kurt.
"Oh great," said Kitty. "Knowing you, somethings gonna like, totally
jump out on me." She opened the next gift. It was a hair thingy - with
instructions, for a very elegant hair style. "Um. Mr McCoy? This is
like, way too adult..."
"Not I, said the fox," said Hank.
Kurt was *not* keeping a straight face. "Everyone's got to grow up
sometime," he reasoned. "It'll be ready when you are."
"But I thought you were like, mister spendthrift..."
"Expense is nothing compared to style," Kurt breezed.
"Do you comb it? Your fur?"
"*MOM*..."
Kitty was kind of dreading today, the third day, because the numbered
package that looked like it was from Kurt was very small and could
easily hold a ring. That would have to open up the dangerous question of
whether she *liked* him, liked him, and she didn't want to break his
heart. The way he constantly flirted with her, brushed off being shot
down and came back again and again spoke volumes about how he felt about
her.
It was painfully obvious that he was totally in love.
Kitty was less than certain. She'd focussed heavily on the drool-a-
licious, athletic and above all *normal* guys around school. All the
time afraid that one of them might start to like her back. Then she'd
focussed on the 'untouchable' mutants. Scott, who was head over heels
about Jean, and Lance, who was part of the dark, icky side and she
really didn't want to go near him anyway.
Was it the hint of danger? Or was it denial?
Kitty didn't want to cover that, just yet, so she left the little box
until last and hoped it would get covered in discarded wrapping paper so
she could pretend she forgot it.
Jean, curse her little neat-freak soul, insisted on telekinetically
cleaning up the mess.
_Face up to it, Kitty,_ Jean told her telepathically. _Think of it as
truth or dare._
_Thanks a bunch,_ Kitty sarcasmed, and opened the tiny box.
Just earrings. She breathed a sigh of relief. Little saphire studs
with tiny golden leaves embracing the gem. Again, a little too adult.
All of a sudden, she didn't want to complain. She'd been secretly so
*sick* of shopping in the kid's department, that she'd almost made up a
cover identity to conceal the fact that she was wearing stuff that was
too young for her.
Her eyes stung a little. Bless his fuzzy hide... How did he *know*?
"Oh, fuzzy..." she sniffed. "I won't be able to wear these for like,
*forever*."
"I believe in miracles," Kurt grinned.
He *had* to be up to something. This was not only jewelery, but it was
*matching* jewelery. She'd never seen anything so delicate and wonderful
and *too* grown up for anything she owned.
There were diamonds in the necklace, along with the tiny saphires, and
again, microscopic yet exact little leaves and flowers in its design.
Mom and Dad were holding hands and looking soppy. They'd gotten used
to Kurt amazingly quickly, after the mortifying Q&A session, before.
He just carried on as if they'd always known about him and, little by
little, they'd adjusted. Sure, they still stared a little, but Kurt was
more than used to that. It was like he threw himself at people and dared
them to deal with it.
Just like he kept throwing himself at her.
Now there was a frightening thought; what if Kurt was working up to
something? There was, after Mom and Dad came, a certain *theme* to his
gifts. A little tiny slice of adult veneer, tailored to her size.
Was he trying to tell her something, or attempting to woo her?
No, he wasn't trying to tell her something.
And, when she really got down to it, she wasn't *really* that
frightened by the latter option. Kurt was a really sweet guy. He payed
attention to things, always trying to fix what was wrong or improve what
was right.
And, she had to admit, he had fantastic taste. He knew exactly what
would make her happy.
On the fifth day, she got shoes from him. They matched everything
else, so far. They were elegant, restrained, just her size,
*comfortable*, which she thought an impossibility in high heels, and
just perfect.
"I wonder what's in those other three boxes that matches these?" she
teased. Now that she had twenty-four hours to think about it, Kitty
definately liked the idea of a woo-ing elf.
"Wait and see," he said, trying to be coy while tying himself in
knots. A sure sign that he was nervous. He always seemed to get himself
into impossible tangles when he was jittery. "It's only three days."
"Actually, it's like, more. I've like, decided to open my last Chanuka
presents on Christmas. You know, so I can be with the rest of you."
Kurt actually grinned. "Fine by me."
On the sixth day, she got a purse that matched everything else. Inside
it was a gold sovreign.
"It's for luck," Kurt explained. "Giving an empty purse is wishing the
person poverty."
"You're cornered, now, fuzzy," Kitty laughed. "Now there's like, no
more accessories."
Kurt just grinned.
The seventh package from Kurt had to be the largest of the lot. Inside
the box, under a festoon of tissue paper, was the single most elegant
satin dress she'd ever seen. Just as grown-up as the rest of his gifts
to her. Just her size.
It wasn't just a dress, it was a Dress. It deserved the capital
letter.
"Oh yeah, blue-boy's whipped."
"Shut up, Evan. He can be in love if he wants to."
Kitty knew, without a doubt, that waiting for Christmas, to see what
surprise her elf had cooked up for the last gift, was going to be agony.
Of course, what *he* didn't know was that they had some surprises in
store for *him* as well.
It was still technically Christmas eve, but not for long. Kitty yawned
and rubbed her eyes and wished, not for the first time, that Kurt's
perfect Christmas did *not* include midnight mass.
Kurt's family had the slight advantage of jetlag to help them get
ready at this hour of night. As for the elf, he was still sound asleep.
Kitty envied him.
His sisters, a trio of girls who were, apart from their ages, nearly
identical, were helping Rogue, Jean and herself get primped and ready.
It didn't help that they were almost as boisterous as their brother, or
that they casually juggled implements like true circus professionals.
_Duh, Pryde. They *are* circus professionals._
"Better finish rubbing your eyes, Katzchen," said Anja, age thirteen.
"I'm about to do your face."
"Here's the slap," Erika, age twelve, tossed her a small case. "I kept
it down to her colours. Need the rest for Jean, here,"
"I'll need it next," said Katja, age fourteen. "After I'm done finding
a style for schwester Rogue that doesn't make her look like the bride of
Frankenstein."
That was another oddity of the Wagners. If they liked you, they
adopted you. Famillial ties - in this case, Rogue being Kurt's half-
sister - were tenuous at best. One of the first ones Kitty noticed was
how they casually swapped pet names.
Kitty finished rubbing her eyes and tried not to yawn. _How long did
it take before Kurt realised his name *wasn't* 'leibe'?_ she wondered.
_Or 'flockig' or anything else this lot have come up with?_
"Perfekt," Anja cooed. "You're a Princess."
"I'd have thought Countess," said Katya. "That jewelery's Girmaunt-
esque. All that's missing is the bracelet and the brooch."
Erika grinned. "It fits," she said, "Unser flockiger Schatz had a
*huge* crush on meine Dame the Countess for *years*. It's only fair he
treats his leibling like royalty."
"Princesses *are* allowed to wear Girmaunt if they want to, these
days," noted Katya. "It's all about taste and style. Not who made it."
"You'd better watch out," Anja elbowed Kitty in the ribs. "If you're
not careful, he'll have you *dripping* in Faberge. You'll have to sit on
him."
Kurt's Mom poked her head in, "Are we all lovely yet, Leiben? We have
to go wake leibes flockig, soon."
"You know how to wake him up?"
"We've lived with him for sixteen years, we aught to."
"Let's try the gentle way first, ja?" said a voice outside. Kurt's
dad. "Christmas carols at full volume."
"Charge!" Erika leaped from her place. "Tally ho!"
"Oh God," Rogue muttered. "They're *all* like *him*..."
There was a musical note on the harmonica. {fweeeeet}...
"Hmmmmm..."
"Ein, zwei, drei, *vier*!"
"DASHING THROUGH THE SNOW! IN A ONE HORSE OPEN SLEIGH!"
"...mrgl...zzzzzzz..." Kurt blinked once, rolled over, and fell back
to sleep during the seranade.
"*I'll* get him up," said someone who sounded remarkably like Katja.
But Katja was back in Heirelgart with the rest of his family. "Regard,"
she continued. "An ordinary drinking glass. Regard, some ordinary snow.
We put the snow in the gass, *so*. Now, regard, a not so ordinary
tail..."
"I'm up. I'm up." Kurt yawned, blinking muzzily at the assembled
crowd. "Oh. I'm dreaming." And with a slight {fwump}, his head hit the
pillow and he was back to sleep.
"Dream this, knabe," and his tail-tip was plunged into something
freezing cold.
"*YEEEEEEP*!" Kurt leaped out of bed, ricochetted off the wall, and
wound up clinging to the chandallier.
"*Now* he's up," said Katja.
"Du scheisse!"
"Way to scream like a girl, K-man."
"*You* try putting something sensitive into ice, sometime," Kurt
retorted, his brain finally getting into gear as he rubbed some heat
back into his tail. "I can guarantee that sounding manly will be last on
your list. When did *you* lot get here?"
"Sometime after you went to bed, leibe," said Mama. "Now get dressed.
We have an hour and a half to get to church before the mass starts."
"I'll help out," said Papa. "Waking up like that scrambles the brain,
you know."
Kitty knew she'd finally made an impact when she saw his jaw drop.
"Katzchen," he breathed. "Sie sind schon uber Wortern hinaus..."
"I'm gonna like, have to take that as a compliment. Seeing as I didn't
understand a word beyond 'Katzchen'."
"He said, 'you're beautiful beyond words'," Katja whispered in her
ear.
"Oh," Kitty blushed. Then she noticed that her dress and his bow tie
matched. He *had* planned this. Though probably without the family
kibbitzing in the background.
"Ahem," said Rogue. "Y'all are *forgetting* somethin', bro." She
gestured at his wrist.
"Oops. Heh," Kurt grinned, and turned on his hologram. "It's easy to
forget, these days."
A true sign that he knew people loved him, and judged him for himself,
not how he looked. He was starting to feel at home, here. Though having
his real family around probably helped.
*Somehow*, Kitty wound up right next to him in church, but she
suspected the snickering Wagner sisters. All through the service, she
sneaked looks at him, and he sneaked little touches of her. Nothing
overt, just a hand held here, or a brushed arm there, and once, she
could have sworn his tail snaked around her waist for a brief squeeze.
They were all awake enough by the time that they came back, that going
back to bed for a handful of hours wasn't an option. Everyone was eager
to see what they'd got from whom.
There was wrapping paper everywhere, and laughter abounded.
"Ha," the Professor laughed at his latest gift. "A box of vouchers,
entitling the bearer to twenty-four hours free of fuzzy-elf hijinks.
Thanks, Kurt."
"I figured, what do you get for the man who's got everything?"
"I could use some of those vouchers, myself," someone muttered in the
background.
Ororo gasped. She'd found the pendant. "Oh *my*... This is-- Oh,
Evan." She caught him up in a hug.
"Told you she'd like it, K-man."
Rogue held up a necklace. "Alright. *Why* does a necklace have an
*owner's* manual?"
"Put it on and see," said Kurt.
Rogue glared at him. "Mm-hm." She put it on, and flicked a tiny hidden
switch indicated in a diagram. "Cute. It has an LED. So what?"
"Not your style?" Kurt was still grinning. He was *up* to something.
"Oh well, Merry Christmas, schwester." And, before anyone could stop
him, he kissed her forehead.
"Kurt, no! You- I- My powers..."
Kurt laughed. "Temporarily cancelled."
"*How*?"
"It's a mutant restraint collar. Heavily disguised. I thought you'd
like the opportunity to touch when you wanted to."
Rogue's reply was incoherent, but she *did* hug everyone in the room.
Tears ruined her makeup, and no-one minded, least of all Rogue.
"Calcium pills?" said Evan.
"We kinda wanted a chance at getting some 'moo juice', ourselves. Try
not to eat them like candy?"
"Wunderbar! George Harrison's complete works... He's really hard to
find."
"*Do* try not to play it at max volume, elf?"
Kitty opened a box and sarcasmed, "Gee, I wonder who *this* is from?"
She held it up for everyone to see. It was a very cute plush version of
Nightcrawler. Replete with a shock of blue hair. It was holding a little
box in its fuzzy tridactyl hands.
Or rather, the box was holding the hands together via the ribbon that
was wrapped around it. Kitty untied it and freed the box, leaving Kurt's
plush twin with its arms akimbo as if it was saying, "Hug me."
Kitty took a deep breath. _Truth or dare, Kitten._ She opened the box,
and stopped breathing.
It was exquisite. It was beautiful. It was delicate. It was pure gold.
It came with a note. Just three words.
"Be my girlfriend?" it said.
Kitty found herself staring at Kurt, who was suddenly inscrutable.
"Oooooh..." Erika breathed. "Girmaunt..."
"I won't be offended, Katzchen," Kurt said. "Whatever you have to say,
just say the truth. It won't hurt."
Rogue made a tiny noise and clung to Hank's arm for support.
Once, when Kitty was still afraid of him, she'd asked what his problem
was. Rogue had actually answered.
"Easy," she'd said. "Everyone treats him like an animal that can
talk."
She'd felt completely scummy about that for a whole week. After the
week was up, though, she knew she could see him as a person. Even if he
was fuzzy and blue. Rogue understood him, and through her, Kitty
understood as well.
It was an all-or-nothing thing. Bet everything, cross your fingers,
and pray. And he was so afraid of losing that he more than half expected
it to happen.
Kitty stood up and walked towards him, ring still held in her hand.
Kurt closed his eyes, something he did when he was certain he was
going to get shot down.
She took his hands in hers and said, "Kurt, could you like, put this
on for me?"
His eyes snapped open in disbelief. "You mean--?"
"Sure. Like, make it official already."
He had a dazed little smile on his face as he slid the ring onto her
left hand. "Ich liebe Sie fur immer," he whispered.
*Two* sets of parents snapped photos as they hugged and kissed.
Some hours later...
Lance tried to be nice. Kitty's parents were over and everything, so
he *had* to be on his best behaviour for them, at least. Well, he would
be, except they'd gone out with Mangy-blue's alleged folks for a gellato
or something.
*This* time he had to act nice for the honour guard. Every X-geek in
the place except for Mangy-blue.
_Relax. Be cool. You're just here to see Kitty. Give her her Christmas
present and hope it's a Christmas to remember._ Lance cleared his throat
for the fiftieth time and whispered his little speech to himself.
The TV was on in the common room, but the only sign of habitation was
a discarded shirt on the back of the couch. Lance heard Kitty giggle. He
didn't think the stuff on the TV was that funny.
There was a low, rumbling noise that had nothing to do with his power
or the TV.
Kitty was sitting on the floor, tangled in a blanket and hardly paying
any attention to the TV. She was grinning fit to crack her face.
The new look she had on was *stunning*, but her dress seemed to be
coming undone.
Superior Scott cleared his throat.
"Oh! Er. We were just - um... We were just--"
Mangy-blue surfaced from under a fold of blanket. "Watching TV," he
grinned and hitched the shoulder of Kitty's dress up for her. He wasn't
wearing a shirt.
_Oh. My. God._ No. This couldn't be happening. It couldn't be real.
_So pretend everything's normal, you doof!_ "Uh. Kitty. Hi. I-um- I
bought you a Christmas present." He offered it up in a spasm of motion.
"Merry Christmas?"
"I'm like, jewish, Lance."
"Er..." _Way to dig your own grave, rock tumbler._ "Happy belated
Chanukah?"
Kitty sighed and struggled out of her tangle. Damn, she looked good in
that get-up, even if she was slightly rumpled. "Thanks anyway," she
said. "It's - sweet of you. Really." She angled a look at Mangy-blue.
The freakshow motioned for her to open her gift. Since when did she
pay any attention to *that*?
Kitty opened it, and stared at the ring he'd got her. "Um," she said.
"Lance, I don't know how to say this, but -er-"
"It's too big, isn't it?" Lance babbled. "I know your fingers are
really small'n' everything an' I *tried* to get one that'd fit you,
but--"
"Lance," said Kitty. "I'm sorry, but I really can't accept this. We
can still be like, friends, right?"
_Ouch. Shot down so fast and *so* hard._ "...maybe you could wear it
on your necklace for a while, or--" his mouth caught up with his brain.
"Can't? What do you mean, can't?"
"I'm already like, going steady. With Kurt."
The freakshow grinned, his jaundice-coloured eyes fixed on Kitty.
"With *that*? No way! Kitty, you're *mine*."
"No means no, Alvers."
"Bug off Summers. Who died and made *you* boss of *me*?"
All of a sudden, the freakshow was right next to him. How the hell did
he move so fast so quietly? "I think you've overstayed your welcome," he
said, and laid a hand on Lance's shoulder.
Freakshow was only wearing his pants.
_God, no..._
{Bamf!} He was shoved headfirst into the Brotherhood's door, and fell
on his ass into the snow.
Todd opened the door and spent three minutes trying to stop laughing.
"Hey, you knock onna door with your *hands*, yo," he managed.
"Wassamatta? Snow jump up an' bite you on the ass?"
"I need asprin," he said.
"...Wie oft hat nicht zur Winterszeit, Ein Baum von dir mich hoch
erfreut..." Kurt sang under his breath as he finished brushing his fur.
Yes, he was fully aware that it was about a week before the American
holiday of Thanksgiving, but that was the time when none of the stores
were interested in making Yuletide profits. It was the perfect time to
go Christmas shopping - or, in the case of Kitty, Chanukah shopping.
He had everything prepared, heck, he'd been saving since last
Christmas for this. This year, it was going to be *perfect*.
Kurt bought out his shopping list from it's hiding place and, just
like Kris Kringle, checked it twice. Yes. He *did* have everyone. Good.
Kurt folded it back up and placed it with absent-minded precision on his
dresser. He crossed the room and dug into the back of his closet,
hauling out the big jar he'd been saving his money in. It was one of
those jars traditionally seen in how-many-gumballs-are-in-the-jar
competitions, only half of its volume was taken up by change, and the
other half was practically bursting with wads of dollar bills.
It represented an entire year's worth of secret economies, little
chores and, Kurt had to admit, diving into gutters for discarded
pennies. He should definitely be able to afford everything with *this*
lot.
Kurt placed the jar on top of his list, ready for that afternoon. His
plan was, as soon as he got home, to dump his books from his bag, stuff
the jar in, and take off to get everything on the list.
Well, okay, maybe he'd stop into a bank to get the verdammt heavy
change counted first.
Whistling Christmas carols as he went, Kurt headed down towards
breakfast. He never thought to lock his door, in fact, he didn't even
close it properly. It never crossed his mind that the jar would prove a
temptation to some.
After all, his friends wouldn't steal from him.
That afternoon...
"Kurt, could you like, *stop* singing Christmas carols for like, five
consecutive seconds?"
"Okay, Katzchen. Just for you."
Sigh. "At *last*..."
"Dreidel, dreidel, dreidel..."
"AAAUUGH!"
Kurt kept on laughing, right up until the moment he opened his door.
The jar was empty.
Nothing else was disturbed. Hardly a thing had been touched, except
the jar.
Which contained two fragments of paper and a nickel.
Jean almost didn't notice Kurt in the kitchen until he sighed. There
was a very morose looking elf, almost hidden behind a giant glass jar.
He was playing with a nickel, making it spin like a top.
"What's up?"
"Someone took my Christmas shopping money," he said. "All I have left
are two IOU's and a nickel..."
Now she felt scummy. "Okay. It's no big deal. Here," she fished a note
out of her wallet and shoved it into the jar. "There's the ten bucks I
borrowed, back." She went back to drinking her coffee.
"Jean..." he was still sad. "I had ten *thousand* dollars in there."
Her mouthfull of coffee wound up decorating the fridge. Kurt helped
her into a chair and patted her back until her throat was clear.
"I'm sorry," he murmured. "I should have waited."
"How--" Jean coughed again. "How in blazes did you get ten *thousand*
dollars?"
"Saved it."
"In a jar."
"Ja."
"And the IOU's?"
"The Professor borrowed twenty dollars in change, and Kitty needed
five dollars for lunch." Kurt sent the nickel spinning and sighed. "So
much for the perfect Christmas..."
"Kurt, it's *Thanksgiving*."
"I know. It's just that all the things I wanted to get for everyone
aren't so expensive right now."
Now she felt *really* scummy. She should have known the elf wouldn't
save up that much money for just himself. Jean emptied her wallet into
the jar. "I know it isn't what you had, but it's a start, right?" She
smiled in an effort to cheer him up. "I'm gonna go and beat up Scott for
you, 'kay?"
Kurt watched the nickel roll to a stop. "Scott? Why Scott?"
"Because I know for a fact he had two hundred bucks he didn't have
yesterday."
"Oh." A pause while he picked up the nickel and sent it spinning
again. "Maybe he couldn't find paper to write the IOU?"
"Maybe he's just a big jerk," Jean snarled as she stormed out.
Scott saw Jean and had his force ten smile on in a microsecond.
"Jean," he said, remaining chipper in an effort to get that frown off
her face. "Want to go out to the movies? I can get us into those luxury-
class cinemas you always wanted to see. My treat."
{Whack!} she slugged him on the jaw. "You mean *Kurt's* treat, you
dirty thief!" She had him in a very painful half-nelson in a matter of
seconds. "You give that money back to him right *now*, or I swear I'll
tear your arm *right* out of its socket!"
"Okayokayokayokay.... Uncle! I give up! I'll give it straight back, I
swear!"
Jean let him up with a simple, "That's better."
Scott flexed his shoulder. "Ow... I didn't think you'd get so bent out
of shape about this. I mean - two hundred bucks. Like he was going to
miss it with that much cash in the bottle..."
"Scott, sometimes you can be a real asshole, you know that?"
"What? What'd I *do*?"
Jean showed him, and she was in no mood to be gentle about it.
"*OWWW*... *Jean*..."
"I'm *not* sorry. You deserved it."
"Okay. Consider me a recruit to the cause." Scott lead the way into
the kitchen and emptied his wallet into the jar. "There's the money I
owe you. Plus a little interest."
His eyes flicked up, briefly. "Danke." Then he went back to staring at
the spinning nickel.
"Jean explained it all," said Scott. "Don't worry. We'll get your
money back, and then some."
"It's not about the money," sighed Kurt. "It's about the perfect
Christmas."
Logan was more interested in the can of soda than whatever was bugging
the elf. He just wished the boy would stop twirling that damn *coin*
around. It was getting annoying.
{twirrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrllrlrlrlrlrl...tink}, then the faint {ch-
swip} of it being picked up again before it was sent spinning.
"Elf," Logan warned. "You're starting to tick me off with that."
"Sorry." He reeked of defeat, sorrow and loss. "Someone took all my
Christmas money."
Logan, who'd borrowed some after the other kids had nearly finished
raiding it, shrugged it off. There hadn't been that much in the jar when
he saw it. "So learn to lock your door."
Silence. Blessed, divine silence.
Then the muffled sounds of someone trying not to cry and failing
miserably at it.
Logan ran his hand down his face. _What *now*?_
Kurt had only stopped playing with the nickel because he was crying
his little yellow eyes out.
It wasn't that he exactly *disliked* the elf; heck, he was one of the
few people around here whose words matched his scent. Sure, there was
the odd, boneheaded move in an attempt to make others like him, but that
was typical teenager stuff. Background noise, as it were. It was just
that fuzzboy - well - smelled funny.
Humans smelled one way, animals smelled another, and that, until Kurt
crossed his path, had been that. Now there was a big blue "except"
walking around and messing with Logans instincts.
Just like right now.
His scent was practically *screaming* out, "help me" to the world at
large, just like Logan's more animalistic instincts were screaming,
"strange, don't trust". A third part of him, the thin civilised veneer,
just saw a weeping child.
"Aw, *hell*..." Logan sighed, sat beside him and put a tentative hand
on his shoulder. "What'd I say wrong?"
He should have known better. Any question to a teenager in that state
just opened the floodgates for a stream of barely intelligable babble
and, Logan cringed at the thought, more crying.
His ears, being more sensitive than others, were able to pick out more
words than anyone else. Apparrently, in the world of Kurt, locks were
used by people who didn't trust anyone. If he didn't trust anyone, what
was the point of having friends? And he'd been planning this Yuletide
since the last one and things were just *so* unfair and he didn't want
to lose his friends. He didn't want to wreck Christmas. Or Thanksgiving,
for that matter.
_Half the mansion steals ten thousand dollars off the kid and *he*
doesn't want to spoil anyone's holiday. Gotta love how that mind works._
"FYI, kid, I needed a hundred bucks 'cause the garage don't take
plastic. I *was* gonna pay you straight back."
Nod. Whispered, "I never said you weren't."
Too damn trusting. Kid was going to have his heart broken again and
again if he didn't wise up. "Way I figured it, you've earned yourself
some interest." Logan started emptying his wallet.
"It isn't *about* the money," Kurt sniffed. "It's about broken trust."
"Kid, if you ain't bent out of shape about the cash, the friendship'll
heal. Trust me on this. You'll be over it soon enough." _I *hope*..._
Logan got up and made to leave before the elf could break up again.
Behind him, he could barely hear Kurt whisper, "It isn't about me,
either." He picked up the nickel.
Logan headed for the Danger Room. He *needed* to break something
replaceable, right now.
Jamie narrowly avoided running straight into Logan by stopping on his
toes and winmilling his arms to stop him falling. There was one thing
his mutant 'power' *had* taught him, and that was how to avoid being
accident prone.
"Logan!" He said breathlessly. "HaveyouseenKurt?
Igottafind'im'causeIdidsomethingterribleandIgottamakeitbetter (gasp)
andIgottagoseeKurtright*now*!"
"Kitchen," said Logan, and mumbled something unprintable about a
nickel.
Jamie broke into a run, hoping and praying that Kurt was still there.
Oh heck. He looked mad. Jamie had practically hidden from the blue-
furred boy for his first week at the institute. He *did* after all, have
a knack for making people mad at him, and Kurt looked just the sort to
avoid making mad at all costs. Then he'd found out that Kurt was just as
shy and quiet as he was - kind of. Only with a little bit more
confidence because he could actually *do* things instead of screwing up.
"KURT!" Jamie practically screamed out of relief that he was still
there.
Kurt shrieked and ducked under the table. Then he identified who had
yelled and came back out. "Whoops," he laughed. "Old habit."
"KurtI'msosorryI'llneverdoitagain," he said, getting his facts
established in the first breath. "OnlyEvansaiditwasokayand *he*
tookawholelotbecausehesaidhesawScotttakesomeandthenhesaidhowyoumusta--"
"Jamie," Kurt interrupted. "Slow *down*. Mein English is not that
good."
"I'msorryI'msorryI'm--mwfl..." A fuzzy hand covered his mouth.
"Slow. Down."
"I'm sorry," Jamie panted. "I thought I had to appologise real fast
before you got mad at us or something."
Kurt sighed and offered a seat. "I don't get mad," he soothed. "I get
morose."
"Okay. I didn't *wanna* take it, 'cause it's stealing and everything,"
Jamie pulled a wad of bills out of his pocket. "Only we all heard Evan
in your room and we came to see what the noise was about and he was
digging through your jar? He said it was okay 'cause *Scott* took some -
he'd seen it - and you only left stuff out in the open to share
*anyway*. He said he was taking some for novelty value and it wasn't
*really* stealing if we planned to give it back, and everyone was taking
some, and I guess I just wanted to fit in. I didn't even count it to see
how much I had."
Kurt was just watching him. No comment, no judgement, just patience.
Jamie put the money back in the jar. "I felt really sick about it all
*day*... It felt so bad I wanted to cry. You're not mad are you?"
Kurt shook his head. He even had a little tiny smile on his face.
"Nein, kleiner Bruder. Not at all."
Another thing about the Institute, sometimes it taught things that
were never intended to be learned. Thanks to Kurt, Jamie was picking up
some of the more unsavoury corners of the German language, as well as
some stuff he could actually use in mixed company.
"Climbing what?"
"Kleiner Bruder," Kurt corrected. "It means, 'little brother'."
"You mean that?"
"Of course. I've got nothing but sisters at home. Always wanted a
little brother."
Jamie grinned until his face threatened to crack. "All *right*!
Wait'll I tell the others! Hey guys!" He took off at a run.
Kurt had to smile at the boy. He was always so - entheusiastic - about
his emotions. Had he ever been like that? Probably. There was even a
suspicion that he still *was* like that.
Well, if he could forgive Jamie for wanting to be like the others,
maybe he could forgive the others and work his way up to Evan. Evan
*had* lead the others into it, after all.
But then, Kurt had left the money out in the first place, and Evan,
being Kurt's friend, knew his habits. It wasn't often that Kurt left
anything of his on public display. He was a neat kid, made that way by
the fur.
Nothing like a fur coat to make you really *sensitive* about dirty
things and, therefore, mess.
Ergo, he didn't leave anything out unless he intended for it to be
used.
Such a pity his best friend took that as an open invitation.
Kurt picked up the nickel and sent it spinning again. Round and round
and round...
Just like his thoughts.
Evan crept as quietly as he could towards Kurt's room. So far, so
good. There was no sign of the 'crawler here, either. Just as well. He'd
hate to have to explain this to him.
Or anyone else for that matter.
It was his stupid fault for putting a thousand-dollar bill right up
against the glass in the first place. If Evan hadn't seen it, he
wouldn't have wanted to hold it. Or see what else he had in there. Or
get caught by the new gang just as he'd got out a sampler.
_Quit stressing,_ he told himself. _All you gotta do is put things
back the way they were. No big deal. I just have to talk the other kids
into it. Just like I did before. No big deal. Just be *real* quiet and
don't make waves. Don't get caught._
He nudged Kurt's door open. Cool. No-one was there. He made a break
for the dresser, only to discover it was empty.
_No big deal. No big deal. Just act nonchallant and try to find out
which way he went. No big deal. Chill. Calm. Nonchallant. Think. If I
were a blue fuzzy mutant with a big-ass jar full of cash, where would I
hide?_ No help there. The answer was irrevocably, 'wherever I wanted
to'.
"Chill, man," Evan whispered to himself. "It's not a big deal..."
"Not yet," said a voice behind him. Rogue. "But then, we ain't got
started yet."
_Crap._ He turned, hands held up in surrender. The gang was all there.
Scott, Jean, Rogue, Aunty O. The new kids. The Professor. Logan. Mr
McCoy... All glaring at him.
"Icanexplain..." he said.
{Snikt} "You don't have to explain it to *us*, Porcupine."
They frog-marched him downstairs and plunked him down in front of
Kurt, who was apparrently trying to get the answers out of the Universe
by spinning a nickel. Repeatedly.
"You have to explain it to *him*."
_Oh crud..._ "Hey... Kurt. Buddy. Fancy meeting you here. So what's
shaking?"
Kurt picked up the nickel from where it had fallen and set it spinning
again. He was in one of his famous only-Kurt-can-do-that postures;
leaning on the table, chin barely clearing the table top. One knee
currently higher than his shoulder, the foot clinging to the chair with
all three 'toes'. That included the sort of dewclaw-looking thing he had
out the back of his ankle joint. The other leg kind of wove itself into
the chair legs. Knee around one leg, ankle hooked around the one behind
it, and two toes gripping the leg diagonally opposite to the one his
knee was around. His tail alternately whipped in the air, and curled
itself around the only chair leg unclaimed by any other body part.
_Damn, he looks depressed._ "Look, I'm sorry about the cash, okay? You
shouldn't leave your door open like that, man. Anything could happen."
"Locks are for people who don't trust anyone," murmured Kurt. He sent
the nickel spinning again.
_Ouch._ "For what it's worth, I only meant to shut the door for you.
Then I saw the jar and I just had to check it out, you know?" Silence.
He was watching the coin spin. "You had a one *thousand* dollar bill in
there. I mean... god*damn*..." Glare. "Sorry." Kurt was one of those
religious sorts. He got offended when people blasphemed in front of him.
"I'd never seen that much cash in my *life*, man. I had to touch it. I
had to see if it was real."
"It was real," Kurt sighed. "It took me a month and a lot of work to
get. The others were faster. I think because the Professor got what I
was up to, but --" he sighed. "I thought we were friends."
"We *should* be," Evan tried to smile. It failed. "I just wanted to
hold it a little. Only the new mutants came by and asked me what was up
and if I put it back, I'd have looked like I was *guilty*, so I kinda
lied a bit and then they all started helping *themselves*, and I
*really* couldn't put it back *then* and - honest to God, I was going to
give it back just now, I swear. Here. Look." He held out his little
sampler of large bills. "I've been having paranoid convulsions all day
with this stuff in my pocket, bro'. It was a *nightmare*. Getting caught
with this is like grand larceny or something. If I'd have got ripped off
by Pietro..." he shook his head. "Man, I am just glad to get this *out*
of my hands." He shoved it back into the jar with a little bit more
force than necessary. "See? Back where it belongs. No harm done. Still
friends, right?"
The coin came to a stop. Kurt picked it back up, put it on its edge,
and started rocking it back and forth under his finger. "Friends trust,"
he said, the coin going to and fro in front of him. "You could have done
any number of things, today."
"I know, I know. I know. I could have just shown the other kids the
bill and just put it back. I could have made everyone put it back. I
could have agreed with Jamie. I could have confessed at school, today. I
could have just shut the fucking door in the first place and not even
bothered with the stupid fucking jar!"
"*Evan*!"
"Sorry, Aunty O. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for my whole messed up *life*."
The coin was still going to and fro underneath Kurt's finger.
"I'm sorry, man."
To and fro. To and fro. Kurt was staring at it as if it represented
something. Maybe it was the only money left after everyone was done
dipping into the jar. The noise it was making was starting to fill up
the world. Evan wished he'd set it spinning again. Or drop it. Or let it
go flying off under the fridge. *Anything* but just rock it back to and
fro. To and fro.
"We're still friends, right? You're not mad at me?"
Sigh. To and fro. To and fro. And stop. "I don't know. I guess -- I'm
afraid I won't *see* my friends any more. I'm afraid I'll just see a
bunch of thieves. My faith, my friends... they're everything to me. I
don't want to lose both in one day."
_Make the hurting stop._
"That would ruin everything for everyone," Kurt said.
_*Please* make the hurting stop..._ Evan lost his patience. "Oh, for
Pete's sake... just *look*, man. Get it *over* with."
Sigh. Kurt closed his eyes and straightened up, then he looked at the
assembled X-men. Then he grinned. "Ach, who was I kidding? Of course
we're friends."
"All right! Gimmie three!" Slap. Point. Order was restored to the
universe.
"So, said Kurt as he threw the nickel into the jar with the rest of
the cash. "Who wants to help me haul *my* shopping for a change?"
This is Jaques. He's a neat man who sells neat things at three times
their ordinary price to *extremely* neat people who arranged for the
purchase of discrete body ornaments for the sort of people who hired
people to carry their money for them. He used to be called John, but
that was before he got *Class*.
He's about to get an object lesson in life.
The very discrete and expensive alarm at the door when off, serenading
the arrival of a client with a brief passage from Vivaldi. Jaques looked
up from his Sotheby's brochure to identify the client type and had to do
a double take when he didn't find a match.
There were riff-raff in his store. Three teenage punk kids. One had
dyed his hair blue, and as for his negroid compatriot - a born
pickpocket, by the look of him - Jaques was sure there wasn't a polite
word for that shade of blond. Then there was their female companion.
She wore enough makeup to sink a barge and the sullen expression of a
typical Goth.
Goths who had, prior to today, been content to simply smear their
makeup on his display window.
The dyed-blond street punk whistled the rest of the overture whilst
looking at the display cases. The Goth peered closely at an array of
rings and sighed mournfully.
"Wow," said the Goth. Her accent traced her origin to a rather -
socially and economically inept portion of the South. "You really
shoppin' here, Kurt?"
"Depends on whether they have what I want or not," said blue-hair. He
was from Germany, and not high-class Germany either. He sounded - rural.
"Can you be helped?" sneered Jaques. "If you require your parking
validated, may I suggest the Pay'n'Save just down the avenue. I'm afraid
much of the merchandise in this establishment may be a little - beyond
your means."
"That's what *you* think," sang the pickpocket, sotto voice.
To his surprise, the German leaned on the counter and smiled. "Ja. I'm
looking for some jewelery fit for a Princess," he said. "I've only ever
shopped for a Countess before, so I'm a little down on the ettiquite.
But, I guess we could start with Faberge and work from there, right?"
Jaques didn't even twitch. "And which of your compatriots has the
hidden camera?"
The Goth sniggered. "I'm startin' to wish I had one right now."
"Me too," giggled the pickpocket.
The rural German was pawing at a display at the counter. "That one,"
he pointed at the ring, "Looks about the right size for Katzchen.
Workmanship's a little on the shoddy side... Got anything on a higher
level in the same kind of style?"
"*That*," announced Jaques, "is Girmaunt."
"Nope," said the German. "It's Girmaunt's sick bastard cousin. *Look*
at that joinery, man. The welding could be used for a backscratcher."
The Goth began to laugh behind her hands. Her pickpocket friend was
grinning.
Jaques, purturbed, bought out the case and stared at the ring through
an eyepiece. How the *German* managed to spot it was beyond him, but the
hallmarks were completely wrong. It was in the *style* of Girmaunt, but
with none of his finesse. "I *must* have a word with my procurer."
"Don't fire the man. It's easy to be fooled into believing in the work
of an apprentice, ja?"
*Now* Jaques twitched. That was what *he'd* been told by the procurer.
"Quite."
"If you have any *genuine* Girmaunt, I'd love to see it," grinned the
German.
"I *doubt* you could afford it."
"Believe in miracles," said the German.
"You are under video surveillance," he told them. "If you touch
anything, I will summon the constabulary."
The pickpocket and the Goth burst out laughing.
Whatever their charade was, surely the price tags on the *good*
merchandise would surely scare them off.
Malcom, the security guard for the back room, caught his mood. "What's
up?" he asked.
"Riff-raff," sniffed Jaques. "They *claim* they want to *purchase*
something."
"Humour them," suggested Malcom. "Things get rowdy, I'll bop 'em onna
head."
_I need asprin,_ Jaques sighed as he grabbed the lowest-priced tray of
Girmaunt and bought them out for the German and his laughing
contemporaries.
"I trust *this* meets sir's - standards?" He withdrew the velvet cover
with a flourish.
The German boy had two fingers over his mouth and a frown on his face.
"Mmmmm... Too gaudy. This is neuveaux riche stuff," he squinted, "*and*
pure apprentice work. If you don't *have* any Girmaunt or Faberge, just
tell me, man. I can find someone who has them."
Jaques wished he would, but his professional reputation was at stake.
This - hill-boy - had just thrown down a gauntlet, and Jaques wasn't the
sort to let it lie. "Just a moment, sir," he grimaced a parody of a
smile. "I must have grabbed the wrong tray in my haste."
Another chorus of laughter chased him into the back room. Only once he
was out of sight, did he rain curses down on their little uncivilised
heads. "They want quality, do they?" he growled, siezing trays left and
right. "Well, let's *give* them quality. Picky little unwashed barefoot
*oiks*!"
He summonned his usual demeanor before emerging with his selection.
"*These* are the correct trays," he announced, uncovering them.
"Whoah..." breathed the pickpocket.
"Yow," said the Goth.
"Now *this* is more like it," grinned blue-hair. He plucked a tiny
gold ring from one of the Girmaunt trays. It was fashioned in the shape
of intertwining vines with tiny gold leaves and flowers sprouting from
them. Blue-hair dug into a pocket and produced an extremely common
measuring tape, and slid the ring over its metal-clad end. "Perfekt," he
grinned again. "Just perfekt... Katzchen would *love* this." He placed
it on one of the velvet covers. "Now for Princess Aquilla."
Jaques felt a cluster of his neurons implode. "Then - who is
'Katzchen'?"
"Just this girl he wants to go out with," said the Goth.
"Yeah. Kurt's *totally* whipped," sniggered the pickpocket.
"Clappe," murmured the German, peering at the trays. He picked out a
set of earings. "Now. If *these* are fit for a Countess, what would be
satisfactory for a Princess?"
Jaques got the sinking sensation that they were serious. The blue-
haired German boy had, indeed, picked out something a Countess would be
happy wearing. "In that case, sir," he said, voice wobbling a bit, "you
would have nothing less than the house of Faberge. Might I suggest
these?"
"Ja... Work of a Master, there..." He picked one up, lettng the light
glint off it. "Maybe - emeralds. They'd suit her complexion better."
"And K-man doesn't even *like* the Princess," said the pickpocket. "So
what's with the earrings?"
"It's a quasi-insult," informed the Goth. "Whenever his home town's
too poor to send the Count an' Countess anythin' much, they send her
earrings. Usually, it's a matched set for the both of them. Cufflinks,
tie pin, sash brooch for him, and earrings, necklace, bracelet and
brooch for her."
"Oh." The pickpocket looked over the trays on offer. "*Heyyyy*...
Auntie O would *love* one of those..."
"Evan," sighed the German. "Those are low-end. Your aunt's a Lady of
Class."
"Yeah, but this is her style, man. Simple and elegant. Pity I can only
afford half of it."
"We'll team up," Offered the German. "I can spare a few hundred
bucks."
Jaques' cerebellum fused.
"Ditto here," said the Goth. "My credit's good. Just lemme get to an
ATM. Y'all *do* give cash discounts, don'cha? 'Sides, I want that
genuine fake Girmaunt fo' myself."
*Cash*. They were going to pay cash. On unstable ground, Jaques could
only be certain that money was a good thing. Especially at this time of
year.
"Sure," he said, reverting to his old, old self. "Not a problem..."
"Great." The Goth took off at a run. "Wait up, okay?"
"Uh. K-man? I think we broke him."
"He'll feel better when he hears the till ring," said the German. He
set out a pair of elegant emerald earrings on the velvet, right next to
the little gold ring, then rather reluctantly picked up the pendant that
the pickpocket had chosen. "You're *sure* this one."
"Are you *nuts*? Aunty O will be over the moon."
The German shrugged. "You know her better I do, I guess. These three,
and the fake Girmaunt for my half-sister, Rogue. Separate boxes, if you
please."
Jaques looked out the door in the direction of the Goth, then back at
the German boy. "Er..."
"Their mom got around a lot," said the pickpocket. "We didn't even
find out until recently."
The German sighed. "My world is growing ever full of sisters," he
said mournfully. "At this rate, I'll have to ask a girl for a DNA sample
before I ask for a date."
"Oh yeah," said the pickpocket. "I can hear that dialogue. 'Ja, I like
you und everysing, but - mein mutter got around you see, und - I got to
make sure you're not meine schwester first. Okay?' That is just *so*
sad."
"So's your accent. It sucks," the German swept his bangs back. "*I*
sound *far* sexier than *that*."
"Shyeah. Right."
"Native teutonic charm, man. I ooze it from every pore."
"Is *that* why you've been washing out so much with Kitty, then?" the
pickpocket teased. "You *oozed* too much?"
"Shut up."
"Maybe y'all aught to *ooze* a little less. Be more appealling to the
girls who don't like so many lubricants."
"Shut *up*..."
_Calm. Keep calm,_ Jaques told himself. _I am standing here and
smiling while two people I would ordinarily have escorted out talk girls
whilst they wait for one to get back from the ATM. This is riff-raff
having a riff-raffy conversation in *my* decidedly *un*-riff-raffy
store. On the other hand, the German punk seems determined to actually
*pay* for this stuff, as opposed to pulling a gun and stealing it. He
knows his stuff. He must at least *know* money._
_But they're unwashed *oiks*,_ part of him persisted.
_True,_ he said. _But they're unwashed oiks with *money*._
A hand waved in front of his face. "Hey. Yo. I said we're ready to
*pay*, now."
"Maybe we did break him," said the German. "How much is it all. With a
cash discount?"
Jaques did a quick tally of the wholesale prices and added a naught to
the end.
The German snorted contemptuously. "You wouldn't even get that at an
auction on a wet day," he said. "Be serious."
Blink. He *did* know his stuff. Jaques knocked off the naught.
"Right. Das ist better," the German plunked his backpack on the
counter and unzipped it. "Let's see, now... ein, zwei, drei, vier,
funf... Oops. Overcounted." He placed two thousand-dollar bills
nonchallantly on the counter, then dug out a thick roll of hundreds.
"Hey, what about us, K-man?"
"I figured it'd be easier if I just paid for everything und you pay me
back what you can."
"Deal," the Goth stuffed a handful of money into the mouth of the jar
in the German's bag.
Jaques' personal compass blew up, spun, and came around pointing due
Money. Here was a lad who casually carried around thousands of dollars in
a *jar* in an old school bag. Anyone *that* casual about cash *had* to
be Old Money.
Which explained the clothes. They were so rich that they could afford
to look poor. They just didn't *care*.
Jaques drooled at the thought of being that affluent.
"We *did* break him," said the Goth. "He ain't reached fo' the money
yet an' he's kinda foamin' at the mouth."
"Are you all right?" asked Master Kurt.
"Terribly sorry, sir," said Jaques with genuine and heartfelt aplomb.
"My mind was elsewhere. I'll just fetch the boxes for these pieces and
then wrap them for you. Would you like a copy of our brochure?"
"Nein, danke," said Master Kurt. "If I want anything else, I'll come
by und ask."
Jaques' brain melted into a happy pink morass at the thought.
His friend, young Master Evan, laughed out loud. "Man, those earrings
are sure gonna teach Amara for callin' you a bootless filthy gypsy."
"Ja," said Kurt. "Not bad for a - what did he say, now? Oh ja. A picky
little unwashed barefoot oik."
Jaques' knees went out from under him just as he handed across their
purchases. "Terribly sorry," he murmured, face going white. "A natural
mistake, considering your -er- casual attire."
Kurt zipped up his bag and plucked the shopping from Jaques'
unresisting fingers. "But I *am* a picky little barefoot oik. *And* a
bootless gypsy. I just happen to wash regularly and have money today."
Jaques had to remember to breathe.
They had to hold each other up in order to stop collapsing from
laughter. All they could manage was iterations of, "Did you see his
face--?" before what little decorum they'd scraped together collapsed.
Then they bumped into Jean.
"You three are *evil*, you know that?"
They burst out laughing in reply. Broadcasting on all channels. Every
telepath within a five mile radius would be having a hard time keeping a
straight face.
"*Do* share it with the others," gasped Kurt, "but don't let certain
people know what they're getting, ja?"
And so it went.
A great deal of snooty businesses got a lesson in not judging, lest
they be judged themselves, and Kurt's collection was getting rather -
ecclectic. Some bags only held construction materials and tools, because
he knew that the gift he wanted to give didn't exist yet. Or that no-one
would make it.
Some of his purchases were just - baffling. What on Earth was he going
to do with a calligraphy set, a sheaf of expensive paper, and a few tiny
stamps? Or, who was going to get them?
_Heck,_ thought Rogue, _for all I know, he's bought my present right
in front of me._ But it was hard to tell for certain. Kurt was a subtle
master of manipulation. He came up with good ideas that "coincidentally"
got them separated for up to half an hour without noticing it.
One time, they'd gone for ice-cream, and only noticed when Kurt didn't
order his usual double death-by-chocolate with fudge in a waffle cone.
He'd turned up with a few extra bags from Radio Shack and just handed
her the genuine fake Girmaunt with a cheery, "I know you don't
celebrate, sis, but; happy birthday."
He'd wrapped it and put one of those goddamned cheery puffy bow-things
on it.
"You can use the wrapping for target practice if you want," he
offered.
"Thanks," Rogue drawled. "I'm gonna learn to throw knives at *this*."
"You're welcome."
"You two," announced Evan, "have a very *sick* relationship, you know
that?"
"I like sick," said Rogue. "It's fun."
"Whatever makes you happy," Kurt sang.
*Somewhere* during Kurt's shopping trip, everyone else got the idea of
sneaking around and getting everyone else's Christmas presents as well.
Which meant, with seventeen mutants running around, that things got
insane.
There were people sneaking every which way and sniggering a lot. And
people trying to duck behind cashiers when they spotted other people.
And a lot of faux excuses and trying to get rid of people who completely
refused to take the hint. People teamed up on other people, and the
teams broke up when they had to get stuff for others in the team.
The interpersonal dynamics, in a word, were complicated.
It wasn't until everyone was escorted from their shopping venue of
choice and on their way back to the Institute that Kurt dropped another
bombshell.
"I'm sorry, Jean," he said. "But I inadvertantly lied to you. I didn't
have ten thousand dollars, it was more like--"
{SCREEEEEET!}
"Ow!" Scott rubbed his forehead from where it hit the wheel after he
stood on the brake. "Kurt, could you not *do* that when I'm driving,
thankyou?"
"Sorry. I didn't know you seized up when you heard big numbers."
"Just big *money* numbers," said Evan. Then he muttered, "*Damn*."
Thanksgiving was a blast, what with everyone trying to grill everyone
else on what they were getting for Christmas. The sneaking continued,
though, as various people tried to enlist help from other people on the
gift for a third party.
At least everyone was relatively quiet. Except for the evil laughter
in wierd corners.
The first day of Chanukah dawned, and Kitty would have slept through
that dawn if it wasn't for a certain morning serenade:
"Katzchen, Katzchen, Katzchen, it's Chanukah today. Katzchen,
Katzchen, Katzchen, with Katzchen I will play!"
"Mmmmrrrrrggghhh..." Kitty managed, glaring at him through half-opened
eyelids. Like, what was his *problem*?
"Second verse! Same as the first!"
"I'm up. I'm up. Quit singing, I'm up." Kitty lurched upright and
glared hot liquid death at the fuzzy elf. He was wearing his hologram
and had perched on the end of her bed. She *knew* he was clinging there
with his long toes, but he *looked* like he could topple off at any
second. "What's with the holo'?" she yawned.
"House guests," he said. He was being deliberately oblique just to
tease her. He vaulted off her footboard and somersaulted out the door.
"Ten minutes, Katzchen. If you're not dressed by then, I'm taking you
down as you are." He shut the door from the outside.
Kitty stuck her tongue out in his general direction. Stupid
hyperactive elf. She was halfway tempted to strip down to nothing and
see what happened. Except he'd probably faint. And she'd be too
embarressed.
After a couple of false starts, she got her street clothes on and
stumbled downstairs. "All right," she yawned again. "What's the fuss all
about?"
A camera flashed in her bleary eyes.
"Happy Chanuka, Princess," said Dad.
_What the--?_ Kitty squealed and ran into her parent's arms. Of course
Kurt would have guessed that she was homesick. He was the one amongst
all of them who was the furthest from his home.
Mom had one of those silly little puff-bow things in her hair. "Your
friend Kurt has quite a way of talking to people and getting them to do
things," she grinned.
"Yeah. I think his technique is like, keep talking about it until you
like, totally give in."
"Liar," said Kurt. "I wheedle. I do *not* nag."
"So, um, what's with the stupid hair ornament?"
"Apparrently," said Dad, "we're you're first Chanuka present. But we
bought you some extras anyway."
Kitty put two and two together. "Kurt, tell me you didn't pay for
their plane tickets?"
"Okay."
She glared at him. "You know, if you weren't like, so *annoyingly*
cheerful, I'd have to like, hug you or something."
"Should I try to look sad?"
"Kurt..."
"Shutting up."
Mom giggled.
It wasn't until breakfast that things went slightly pear-shaped. For
starters, the rest of the mansion was waking up, and secondly, Kurt's
holoprojector started to fritz.
Mom interrupted her with a tap on the shoulder while she was
explaining about Jamie and whispered, "I don't know if there's a polite
way to mention this, Kitty, but -er- your friend Kurt's -um- he's - he
seems to have grown a tail..."
Kitty looked. Kurt was so busy juggling eggs - before they became
breakfast - that he didn't notice his tail had popped into view.
"Kurt, your holoprojector's going down," Kitty called out.
Kurt checked himself out and, still juggling, found the flaw. "Aw,
*man*... and all the others are being repaired, too..."
"What?" said Dad.
"Might as well come clean," Kurt sighed, placing the eggs back into
the carton. "I don't actually look like this," he began.
"Skip the long version, fuzzy," Kitty advised. "Just cut to the chase.
Mom, Dad; Kurt kinda like, puts the 'diff' in 'different', so he has to
wear a hologram most of the time so people don't like, run screaming."
"Thanks a lot," Kurt sarcasmed.
"Well, they *do*. I know *I* did."
"Katzchen, you're scaring your parents," he said.
Indeed, Mom and Dad had scooched a little closer together and were
holding each other's hands.
"Look, you can like, totally relax," Kitty said. "He's just a blue,
fuzzy, goofball elf with a tail."
"You forgot the tridactyl hands and the digigrade legs," said Kurt.
"And I don't think you're helping."
"No, the fact that your right hand is back to normal isn't helping."
Kurt looked at it and compared it to it's pink companion. Then he
sighed, "Sorry about this," and touched his watch.
Mom stifled a scream behind her free hand. Dad just went white.
"You were going to find out sooner or later, I guess," Kurt said. He
was still looking down. "I'd have preferred 'later'. Really."
"Mom, Dad; this is Kurt. I like him. Deal."
Kurt grinned, showing of the fangs that made her parents jump even
more. "You mean that? You really like me?"
Kitty sighed. "Yes, I really like you, fuzzy. Now try and actually be
like, cool about it?"
"Cool. Ja. I can do cool." He fluffed his bangs back and smiled. "You
really like me and I can be cool about it. Completely cool. Totally
cool. Calm. Cool."
"Five, four, three..." Kitty counted. "Two..."
"I can't!" {Bamf!}
"One."
There was a distant, "YEEEEEEEEE-HAAAAAA! She *likes* me!"
"Oh, and Kurt can teleport. I think I like, mentioned it in an email
or something."
Hank chose that moment to knuckle by. "Is there any particular reason
why young Mister Wagner is doing somersaults in the snow?"
"I said I liked him," said Kitty. "Can you like, teach him what
'restraint' means?"
"Ah, young love," Hank smiled and knuckled onwards.
"That was Mr McCoy," said Kitty. "He's like, the coolest teacher on
the whole *planet*. And no, he and Kurt aren't related. Not even
remotely. We checked."
"...ip," said Daddy.
"You get used to it," soothed Kitty.
Mom and Dad actually got around to asking questions by the second day.
Kurt was the one who opened the floodgates while Kitty was opening her
second round of Chanukah gifts. He was sipping hot chocolate and idly
watching her parents stare at his flicking tail.
"Something you want to know?" he asked. "I can promise I won't get
offended."
"Uh. What - happened to you? To make you like that?"
Kitty muttered an agonised, "*Mo-ommm*..." under her breath.
Kurt shrugged. "I was born like this," he said. "I'm what some experts
call a 'second generation' mutant. My genetic mother is a shapeshifter.
I don't know about my father."
"Is that fur or hair?"
"*Da-a-a-ad*..."
"It's finer than hair, so it has to be fur, ja? And yes, I do get a
winter coat, *but*, I don't shed as much as *some* people would have you
believe."
"*Ku-urt*..." Kitty had turned quite pink. "This is embarressing..."
He transferred his mug to his tail so he could lean on his elbows and
stare at her. "You're cute when you blush," he said.
"...mph," said Mom.
"Ja, I'm dextrous with all five limbs. Comes in handy when Mama
*insists* on those shopping trips, you know?"
Kitty finally finished unwrapping a sweater. "Whew. I'm glad this was
like, nothing *else* expensive. At least you like, got a clue about
Chanukah, Kurt."
"That's not mine," Kurt giggled. "Try again."
Kitty rolled her eyes. Part of *Kurt's* perfect Christmas/yuletide/
whatever had been guessing which gift came from whom. The idea had
caught on with a vengeance. "I'm doomed," she sighed. Sure it was fun to
do to other people, but - she was never good at this.
Meanwhile, Rogue, Jean, Amara and Jubes were snickering.
"Wait, I get it. Team girl-power over there, right?"
"Kurt was right," Rogue was actually *smiling*, a rare sight. "This
*is* fun."
"Remember that when you're like, playing 'guess who' on Christmas,"
said Kitty. Another present contained some floral perfume. "Thanks
Kurt?"
"Bzt! Try again."
Logan smirked, failing to look innocent.
"Like, I do *not* want the picture of *you* in the perfume section."
"Actually, it was a pack of us," Scott confessed.
"We tried to get the K-man to help," said Evan, "but he'd kinda
disappeared on us."
"I had other plans," smoothed Kurt.
"Oh great," said Kitty. "Knowing you, somethings gonna like, totally
jump out on me." She opened the next gift. It was a hair thingy - with
instructions, for a very elegant hair style. "Um. Mr McCoy? This is
like, way too adult..."
"Not I, said the fox," said Hank.
Kurt was *not* keeping a straight face. "Everyone's got to grow up
sometime," he reasoned. "It'll be ready when you are."
"But I thought you were like, mister spendthrift..."
"Expense is nothing compared to style," Kurt breezed.
"Do you comb it? Your fur?"
"*MOM*..."
Kitty was kind of dreading today, the third day, because the numbered
package that looked like it was from Kurt was very small and could
easily hold a ring. That would have to open up the dangerous question of
whether she *liked* him, liked him, and she didn't want to break his
heart. The way he constantly flirted with her, brushed off being shot
down and came back again and again spoke volumes about how he felt about
her.
It was painfully obvious that he was totally in love.
Kitty was less than certain. She'd focussed heavily on the drool-a-
licious, athletic and above all *normal* guys around school. All the
time afraid that one of them might start to like her back. Then she'd
focussed on the 'untouchable' mutants. Scott, who was head over heels
about Jean, and Lance, who was part of the dark, icky side and she
really didn't want to go near him anyway.
Was it the hint of danger? Or was it denial?
Kitty didn't want to cover that, just yet, so she left the little box
until last and hoped it would get covered in discarded wrapping paper so
she could pretend she forgot it.
Jean, curse her little neat-freak soul, insisted on telekinetically
cleaning up the mess.
_Face up to it, Kitty,_ Jean told her telepathically. _Think of it as
truth or dare._
_Thanks a bunch,_ Kitty sarcasmed, and opened the tiny box.
Just earrings. She breathed a sigh of relief. Little saphire studs
with tiny golden leaves embracing the gem. Again, a little too adult.
All of a sudden, she didn't want to complain. She'd been secretly so
*sick* of shopping in the kid's department, that she'd almost made up a
cover identity to conceal the fact that she was wearing stuff that was
too young for her.
Her eyes stung a little. Bless his fuzzy hide... How did he *know*?
"Oh, fuzzy..." she sniffed. "I won't be able to wear these for like,
*forever*."
"I believe in miracles," Kurt grinned.
He *had* to be up to something. This was not only jewelery, but it was
*matching* jewelery. She'd never seen anything so delicate and wonderful
and *too* grown up for anything she owned.
There were diamonds in the necklace, along with the tiny saphires, and
again, microscopic yet exact little leaves and flowers in its design.
Mom and Dad were holding hands and looking soppy. They'd gotten used
to Kurt amazingly quickly, after the mortifying Q&A session, before.
He just carried on as if they'd always known about him and, little by
little, they'd adjusted. Sure, they still stared a little, but Kurt was
more than used to that. It was like he threw himself at people and dared
them to deal with it.
Just like he kept throwing himself at her.
Now there was a frightening thought; what if Kurt was working up to
something? There was, after Mom and Dad came, a certain *theme* to his
gifts. A little tiny slice of adult veneer, tailored to her size.
Was he trying to tell her something, or attempting to woo her?
No, he wasn't trying to tell her something.
And, when she really got down to it, she wasn't *really* that
frightened by the latter option. Kurt was a really sweet guy. He payed
attention to things, always trying to fix what was wrong or improve what
was right.
And, she had to admit, he had fantastic taste. He knew exactly what
would make her happy.
On the fifth day, she got shoes from him. They matched everything
else, so far. They were elegant, restrained, just her size,
*comfortable*, which she thought an impossibility in high heels, and
just perfect.
"I wonder what's in those other three boxes that matches these?" she
teased. Now that she had twenty-four hours to think about it, Kitty
definately liked the idea of a woo-ing elf.
"Wait and see," he said, trying to be coy while tying himself in
knots. A sure sign that he was nervous. He always seemed to get himself
into impossible tangles when he was jittery. "It's only three days."
"Actually, it's like, more. I've like, decided to open my last Chanuka
presents on Christmas. You know, so I can be with the rest of you."
Kurt actually grinned. "Fine by me."
On the sixth day, she got a purse that matched everything else. Inside
it was a gold sovreign.
"It's for luck," Kurt explained. "Giving an empty purse is wishing the
person poverty."
"You're cornered, now, fuzzy," Kitty laughed. "Now there's like, no
more accessories."
Kurt just grinned.
The seventh package from Kurt had to be the largest of the lot. Inside
the box, under a festoon of tissue paper, was the single most elegant
satin dress she'd ever seen. Just as grown-up as the rest of his gifts
to her. Just her size.
It wasn't just a dress, it was a Dress. It deserved the capital
letter.
"Oh yeah, blue-boy's whipped."
"Shut up, Evan. He can be in love if he wants to."
Kitty knew, without a doubt, that waiting for Christmas, to see what
surprise her elf had cooked up for the last gift, was going to be agony.
Of course, what *he* didn't know was that they had some surprises in
store for *him* as well.
It was still technically Christmas eve, but not for long. Kitty yawned
and rubbed her eyes and wished, not for the first time, that Kurt's
perfect Christmas did *not* include midnight mass.
Kurt's family had the slight advantage of jetlag to help them get
ready at this hour of night. As for the elf, he was still sound asleep.
Kitty envied him.
His sisters, a trio of girls who were, apart from their ages, nearly
identical, were helping Rogue, Jean and herself get primped and ready.
It didn't help that they were almost as boisterous as their brother, or
that they casually juggled implements like true circus professionals.
_Duh, Pryde. They *are* circus professionals._
"Better finish rubbing your eyes, Katzchen," said Anja, age thirteen.
"I'm about to do your face."
"Here's the slap," Erika, age twelve, tossed her a small case. "I kept
it down to her colours. Need the rest for Jean, here,"
"I'll need it next," said Katja, age fourteen. "After I'm done finding
a style for schwester Rogue that doesn't make her look like the bride of
Frankenstein."
That was another oddity of the Wagners. If they liked you, they
adopted you. Famillial ties - in this case, Rogue being Kurt's half-
sister - were tenuous at best. One of the first ones Kitty noticed was
how they casually swapped pet names.
Kitty finished rubbing her eyes and tried not to yawn. _How long did
it take before Kurt realised his name *wasn't* 'leibe'?_ she wondered.
_Or 'flockig' or anything else this lot have come up with?_
"Perfekt," Anja cooed. "You're a Princess."
"I'd have thought Countess," said Katya. "That jewelery's Girmaunt-
esque. All that's missing is the bracelet and the brooch."
Erika grinned. "It fits," she said, "Unser flockiger Schatz had a
*huge* crush on meine Dame the Countess for *years*. It's only fair he
treats his leibling like royalty."
"Princesses *are* allowed to wear Girmaunt if they want to, these
days," noted Katya. "It's all about taste and style. Not who made it."
"You'd better watch out," Anja elbowed Kitty in the ribs. "If you're
not careful, he'll have you *dripping* in Faberge. You'll have to sit on
him."
Kurt's Mom poked her head in, "Are we all lovely yet, Leiben? We have
to go wake leibes flockig, soon."
"You know how to wake him up?"
"We've lived with him for sixteen years, we aught to."
"Let's try the gentle way first, ja?" said a voice outside. Kurt's
dad. "Christmas carols at full volume."
"Charge!" Erika leaped from her place. "Tally ho!"
"Oh God," Rogue muttered. "They're *all* like *him*..."
There was a musical note on the harmonica. {fweeeeet}...
"Hmmmmm..."
"Ein, zwei, drei, *vier*!"
"DASHING THROUGH THE SNOW! IN A ONE HORSE OPEN SLEIGH!"
"...mrgl...zzzzzzz..." Kurt blinked once, rolled over, and fell back
to sleep during the seranade.
"*I'll* get him up," said someone who sounded remarkably like Katja.
But Katja was back in Heirelgart with the rest of his family. "Regard,"
she continued. "An ordinary drinking glass. Regard, some ordinary snow.
We put the snow in the gass, *so*. Now, regard, a not so ordinary
tail..."
"I'm up. I'm up." Kurt yawned, blinking muzzily at the assembled
crowd. "Oh. I'm dreaming." And with a slight {fwump}, his head hit the
pillow and he was back to sleep.
"Dream this, knabe," and his tail-tip was plunged into something
freezing cold.
"*YEEEEEEP*!" Kurt leaped out of bed, ricochetted off the wall, and
wound up clinging to the chandallier.
"*Now* he's up," said Katja.
"Du scheisse!"
"Way to scream like a girl, K-man."
"*You* try putting something sensitive into ice, sometime," Kurt
retorted, his brain finally getting into gear as he rubbed some heat
back into his tail. "I can guarantee that sounding manly will be last on
your list. When did *you* lot get here?"
"Sometime after you went to bed, leibe," said Mama. "Now get dressed.
We have an hour and a half to get to church before the mass starts."
"I'll help out," said Papa. "Waking up like that scrambles the brain,
you know."
Kitty knew she'd finally made an impact when she saw his jaw drop.
"Katzchen," he breathed. "Sie sind schon uber Wortern hinaus..."
"I'm gonna like, have to take that as a compliment. Seeing as I didn't
understand a word beyond 'Katzchen'."
"He said, 'you're beautiful beyond words'," Katja whispered in her
ear.
"Oh," Kitty blushed. Then she noticed that her dress and his bow tie
matched. He *had* planned this. Though probably without the family
kibbitzing in the background.
"Ahem," said Rogue. "Y'all are *forgetting* somethin', bro." She
gestured at his wrist.
"Oops. Heh," Kurt grinned, and turned on his hologram. "It's easy to
forget, these days."
A true sign that he knew people loved him, and judged him for himself,
not how he looked. He was starting to feel at home, here. Though having
his real family around probably helped.
*Somehow*, Kitty wound up right next to him in church, but she
suspected the snickering Wagner sisters. All through the service, she
sneaked looks at him, and he sneaked little touches of her. Nothing
overt, just a hand held here, or a brushed arm there, and once, she
could have sworn his tail snaked around her waist for a brief squeeze.
They were all awake enough by the time that they came back, that going
back to bed for a handful of hours wasn't an option. Everyone was eager
to see what they'd got from whom.
There was wrapping paper everywhere, and laughter abounded.
"Ha," the Professor laughed at his latest gift. "A box of vouchers,
entitling the bearer to twenty-four hours free of fuzzy-elf hijinks.
Thanks, Kurt."
"I figured, what do you get for the man who's got everything?"
"I could use some of those vouchers, myself," someone muttered in the
background.
Ororo gasped. She'd found the pendant. "Oh *my*... This is-- Oh,
Evan." She caught him up in a hug.
"Told you she'd like it, K-man."
Rogue held up a necklace. "Alright. *Why* does a necklace have an
*owner's* manual?"
"Put it on and see," said Kurt.
Rogue glared at him. "Mm-hm." She put it on, and flicked a tiny hidden
switch indicated in a diagram. "Cute. It has an LED. So what?"
"Not your style?" Kurt was still grinning. He was *up* to something.
"Oh well, Merry Christmas, schwester." And, before anyone could stop
him, he kissed her forehead.
"Kurt, no! You- I- My powers..."
Kurt laughed. "Temporarily cancelled."
"*How*?"
"It's a mutant restraint collar. Heavily disguised. I thought you'd
like the opportunity to touch when you wanted to."
Rogue's reply was incoherent, but she *did* hug everyone in the room.
Tears ruined her makeup, and no-one minded, least of all Rogue.
"Calcium pills?" said Evan.
"We kinda wanted a chance at getting some 'moo juice', ourselves. Try
not to eat them like candy?"
"Wunderbar! George Harrison's complete works... He's really hard to
find."
"*Do* try not to play it at max volume, elf?"
Kitty opened a box and sarcasmed, "Gee, I wonder who *this* is from?"
She held it up for everyone to see. It was a very cute plush version of
Nightcrawler. Replete with a shock of blue hair. It was holding a little
box in its fuzzy tridactyl hands.
Or rather, the box was holding the hands together via the ribbon that
was wrapped around it. Kitty untied it and freed the box, leaving Kurt's
plush twin with its arms akimbo as if it was saying, "Hug me."
Kitty took a deep breath. _Truth or dare, Kitten._ She opened the box,
and stopped breathing.
It was exquisite. It was beautiful. It was delicate. It was pure gold.
It came with a note. Just three words.
"Be my girlfriend?" it said.
Kitty found herself staring at Kurt, who was suddenly inscrutable.
"Oooooh..." Erika breathed. "Girmaunt..."
"I won't be offended, Katzchen," Kurt said. "Whatever you have to say,
just say the truth. It won't hurt."
Rogue made a tiny noise and clung to Hank's arm for support.
Once, when Kitty was still afraid of him, she'd asked what his problem
was. Rogue had actually answered.
"Easy," she'd said. "Everyone treats him like an animal that can
talk."
She'd felt completely scummy about that for a whole week. After the
week was up, though, she knew she could see him as a person. Even if he
was fuzzy and blue. Rogue understood him, and through her, Kitty
understood as well.
It was an all-or-nothing thing. Bet everything, cross your fingers,
and pray. And he was so afraid of losing that he more than half expected
it to happen.
Kitty stood up and walked towards him, ring still held in her hand.
Kurt closed his eyes, something he did when he was certain he was
going to get shot down.
She took his hands in hers and said, "Kurt, could you like, put this
on for me?"
His eyes snapped open in disbelief. "You mean--?"
"Sure. Like, make it official already."
He had a dazed little smile on his face as he slid the ring onto her
left hand. "Ich liebe Sie fur immer," he whispered.
*Two* sets of parents snapped photos as they hugged and kissed.
Some hours later...
Lance tried to be nice. Kitty's parents were over and everything, so
he *had* to be on his best behaviour for them, at least. Well, he would
be, except they'd gone out with Mangy-blue's alleged folks for a gellato
or something.
*This* time he had to act nice for the honour guard. Every X-geek in
the place except for Mangy-blue.
_Relax. Be cool. You're just here to see Kitty. Give her her Christmas
present and hope it's a Christmas to remember._ Lance cleared his throat
for the fiftieth time and whispered his little speech to himself.
The TV was on in the common room, but the only sign of habitation was
a discarded shirt on the back of the couch. Lance heard Kitty giggle. He
didn't think the stuff on the TV was that funny.
There was a low, rumbling noise that had nothing to do with his power
or the TV.
Kitty was sitting on the floor, tangled in a blanket and hardly paying
any attention to the TV. She was grinning fit to crack her face.
The new look she had on was *stunning*, but her dress seemed to be
coming undone.
Superior Scott cleared his throat.
"Oh! Er. We were just - um... We were just--"
Mangy-blue surfaced from under a fold of blanket. "Watching TV," he
grinned and hitched the shoulder of Kitty's dress up for her. He wasn't
wearing a shirt.
_Oh. My. God._ No. This couldn't be happening. It couldn't be real.
_So pretend everything's normal, you doof!_ "Uh. Kitty. Hi. I-um- I
bought you a Christmas present." He offered it up in a spasm of motion.
"Merry Christmas?"
"I'm like, jewish, Lance."
"Er..." _Way to dig your own grave, rock tumbler._ "Happy belated
Chanukah?"
Kitty sighed and struggled out of her tangle. Damn, she looked good in
that get-up, even if she was slightly rumpled. "Thanks anyway," she
said. "It's - sweet of you. Really." She angled a look at Mangy-blue.
The freakshow motioned for her to open her gift. Since when did she
pay any attention to *that*?
Kitty opened it, and stared at the ring he'd got her. "Um," she said.
"Lance, I don't know how to say this, but -er-"
"It's too big, isn't it?" Lance babbled. "I know your fingers are
really small'n' everything an' I *tried* to get one that'd fit you,
but--"
"Lance," said Kitty. "I'm sorry, but I really can't accept this. We
can still be like, friends, right?"
_Ouch. Shot down so fast and *so* hard._ "...maybe you could wear it
on your necklace for a while, or--" his mouth caught up with his brain.
"Can't? What do you mean, can't?"
"I'm already like, going steady. With Kurt."
The freakshow grinned, his jaundice-coloured eyes fixed on Kitty.
"With *that*? No way! Kitty, you're *mine*."
"No means no, Alvers."
"Bug off Summers. Who died and made *you* boss of *me*?"
All of a sudden, the freakshow was right next to him. How the hell did
he move so fast so quietly? "I think you've overstayed your welcome," he
said, and laid a hand on Lance's shoulder.
Freakshow was only wearing his pants.
_God, no..._
{Bamf!} He was shoved headfirst into the Brotherhood's door, and fell
on his ass into the snow.
Todd opened the door and spent three minutes trying to stop laughing.
"Hey, you knock onna door with your *hands*, yo," he managed.
"Wassamatta? Snow jump up an' bite you on the ass?"
"I need asprin," he said.