Part the Sixth: Opa's Brushes
{WHAMWHAMWHAMWHAMWHAM!}
"KURT! You'd better not be using all the hot water in there!"
Kurt sighed. He tried to conserve hot water, but it was hard,
especially in the springtime. He washed the last vestiges of shampoo
from himself and hollered, "Almost done! Keep your shirt on!" as he
turned the water off. Some people just did *not* understand the needs of
a fuzzy blue mutant in the springtime. He towelled himself to mid-
dampness before he forced a deliberate shiver along his skin. He never
shook like a dog, but that little shiver was enough to drive the more
persistant drips out of his fur.
Unfortunately, it also loosened his fur. Well, it was going to fall
out, anyway, and he was always careful not to leave any shed fur in the
bathroom. Kurt wrapped the towel around his waist, grabbed his PJ's,
yelled, "Next!" and bamfed into his room.
It was one of the very few times he actually locked his door. Kurt was
always embarressed when people saw him partially clothed, and there were
certain aspects of his morning routine that he preferred to keep his
little secret. Like Opa's brushes.
Hank knew about them, because he'd come in late, one night, and asked
a great deal of quietly embarressed questions about fur maintenance. How
much shampoo, brushes versus combs, whether those 'slicker' things they
sold in the pet shops were any good, that sort of thing.
Kurt had taken pity on him and bought out the family treasure. They
were originally one suit brush and one hair brush, but necessity had
turned them both into fur brushes. Kurt had found the stiff bristles of
the suit brush ideal for getting out knots and removing any fur that
would come loose during the passage of the day. The softer hair brush,
as Opa had put it, just added a little extra shine. It smoothed
everything down and, whenever Kurt was stressed, provided a very
theraputic massage.
Hank would only ever borrow the suit brush. His fur was thicker and
longer than Kurt's, and therefore more troublesome.
Which was why Kurt was so confused to find both brushes missing, but
the ebony comb he used to clean the fur out of them still in its place.
He spent a full minute staring at the empty spot in his drawer in
disbelief. After that minute, he touched the comb, just to be sure.
Opa's brushes were gone.
Kurt pulled on the first clean pair of boxers he could lay his hands
on and immediately searched every spare corner of his room, and a few
impossible corners because his mind had slipped into depths of
desperation previously unplumbed. His room looked like a tornado hit it,
and Opa's brushes were still gone.
He struggled with the door for a handful of seconds before he
remembered that he'd locked it so he could brush. Hyperventillating by
now, he turned the key and launched himself up the hall. Not caring who
saw him gallop, not caring where the shed fur flew. There was one other
person who knew about the brushes and used them. Maybe he'd borrowed
them, or was borrow*ing* them. It was, after all, spring.
"HANK!"
"Snx?" Hank McCoy surfaced from an otherwise pleasant slumber to face
a hyperventillating fuzzy blue demon. Not the best of wake-up calls,
especially after yet another disaster with the new mutants the previous
evening. "Wsfgl?" he managed, groping for his glasses.
"IneedtofindOpa'sbrushesdidyouborrowthem? Onlyit'sspringyouseeandI
*really* needOpa'sbrushesbeforeIgetfureverywhereandhaveyouseenthem?"
"Mmmfffff..." Hank stumbled out of bed. "Kurt, I'm barely awake, let
alone sentient. Could you perhaps try putting spaces between the words?"
"There'snotimeIgottafindOpa'sbrushesright*now*!"
_Teenagers._ Hank yawned, still trying to stretch out various kinks in
his musculature. _Everything's a disaster..._ Though judging by the
small patch of blue where Kurt was standing, perhaps it *was* a
disaster. "Spring?"
"Spring," Kurt sighed.
"My appologies, my hirsute compatriot, but I don't have your brushes.
I suspect I'll have to borrow them, in due course, but--"
"Haven'tgotthetimeseeyoulaterI'vegottafindOpa'sbrushes, bye!" He took
off at a gallop, leaving a little cloud of precipitating fuzz behind
him.
Hank looked in his mirror and sighed, "It's going to be a *long*
day..."
Jean sighed. This had to be the third disembowelled couch she'd passed
in as many minutes. The culprit was leaving a nice, clear trail of blue
hairs everywhere. Heck, every time he stopped, he left a little fuzzy
'shadow'.
There were Kurt-shadows *everywhere*, all with little fan-patterns
where his tail had lashed about.
She spotted him at last, his rear end sticking out of a large,
ornamental flowerpot.
It was a sure portent of doom when Kurt wandered around the mansion
clad in nothing but the yellow boxers with the smilie face on the butt.
The way his tail was gyrating around, his rear rather resembled an
elephant with something *seriously* wrong with it.
There was a muffled, "Verdammt," from inside the pot, and the rest of
him surfaced.
"Kurt, what on Earth--?"
"Have you seen them?" He was radiating panic, and almost entering a
fuge state.
"Seen what?"
"Opa's brushes." Vividly clear, the image of them where they belonged,
overlaid with thousands of memories. People connected with them.
Emotions connected with them. Emotions connected with the people. All in
a microsecond, intertwined with guilt and fear.
"Ow. No..." _Mental note: telepaths should never ask panicking people
about objects intricately involved in their lives._ Well, *that* sure as
heck ruined *her* mood this morning.
"Jean?" asked Scott as she entered the kitchen. "Is something wrong?"
"I need asprin," she sighed, reaching for the bottle.
Trepidation and anxiety started to seep from him. "Should I get the
Professor?"
"No, it's just a headache. I asked the wrong question at the wrong
time and got a head-full."
"Ouch."
There was a distant, "Cute shorts. Put some pants on, willya?" down
the hall. Rogue entered, muttering things about her half-brother that
were mostly unprintable and involved heavy objects. "What the hell's up
with *Kurt*?"
"Opa's brushes, apparrently," Jean moaned. Having swallowed her
painkiller, she was now rolling the cool glass over her forehead.
"Whatever that means."
"Is that a German thing, a gypsy thing or just a Kurt thing?" said
Scott.
"All of the above. Ow." Jean rested her head against the table. "The
images and emotions were all jumbled up into this painful knot. It's
integral to his entire *life*."
"Oof," said Rogue. "Then I'm stayin' the hell away from him."
"I wish *I* had," sighed Jean.
Kitty looked again. No. He was still there in nothing but those stupid
yellow shorts with the smilie on the rear. He was *still* digging
through stuff and making an *extremely* un-Kurtish mess.
"Like, what is *up* with you?"
"Bursten Opa werden gegangen," he said, nearly running the words
together. "Mussen Bursten Opa finden..."
Kitty tsked and rolled her eyes. "Can't you like, panic in *English*?"
Kurt stopped what he was doing and stared at her. Those were the eyes
of an elf staring down the abyss. If he wasn't going to go nuts, then he
was going to drive everyone else there in trying.
"Like, forget I said anything," she edged away from him. "Like, go
nuts. Save yourself the time or whatever."
He sprang away, muttering to himself.
Just when Kitty recovered her breath, she heard, "EW! Put some *pants*
on, dude!" Evan rounded the corner, also in shock and disbelief. "Man,
there are just some things you *never* want to see, first thing in the
morning."
"I like, hear you," said Kitty. "Don't think of purple walrusses."
"*What*?"
"It always like, takes your mind off of anything huge. Don't think of
purple walrusses."
Evan made a face, obviously thinking of unusually coloured wildlife.
"See?" Kitty skipped downstairs to breakfast.
Just about everyone was downstairs and discussing Cyclone Kurt. He'd
evidently spent all morning tearing up like, the entire mansion. For
someone so obsessed about being 'decent', he sure went downhill in a
hurry.
"Anyone know what 'bursten opa' means?" Kitty asked. "He wouldn't
like, stop saying it a few minutes ago."
"Opa's brushes," said Ororo. "He's very upset about them for some
reason."
"Stupid peasant," mumbled Amara. "Why does he have to share his misery
with *us*?"
"I don't think he's doing it on purpose," speculated Evan. "He looked
kinda - wild around the eyes."
"Yeah. That was like, some serious panicking, up there."
"Any reason why he's running around in those shorts?" said Ray.
There was a tableful of shrugs.
"*OW*! Elf!" Logan yelled.
"Have you seen them anywhere?"
Cyclone Kurt was striking again. He wasn't even apologising for
peripheral damage, and that *was* a danger sign. There were sounds of a
brief scuffle.
Logan dragged Kurt into breakfast by the scruff of his neck. "I don't
wanna know who did it or why, but things had better be back to normal
before sunset or we're *all* doing a little survival training. *My*
way."
Every kid in the room swallowed nervously. Everyone except Kurt, who
was spaced out and trying to get Logan to let go.
Logan forced Kurt into a seat. "Sit," he commanded. "Eat. *Then*,
we'll talk."
"...gegangen," Kurt murmured, still staring into space. "Gegangen,
gegangen..."
Logan growled, dumped several foodstuffs onto a plate, and shoved it
under Kurt's nose. "*Eat*."
Kurt stared at the plate. "These aren't Opa's brushes," he whispered,
then ducked under the table.
Kitty surruptitiously hiked her legs up, out of his way, and tried to
ignore the mumbling litany from somewhere beneath the tablecloth. _Just
don't think about purple walrusses,_ she told herself.
"Man," Scott whispered. "When *Kurt* doesn't want to eat, it's
*serious*."
Professor Xavier joined them. "Sorry I took so long,"
"Professor," Kitty breathed. "Like, help? Kurt's gone like, totally
nuts."
"I know. Something important to him has gone missing. Kurt? If you'd
come out of there, I'd like to help."
Kurt was still mumbling when he emerged. "Bursten Opa. Bursten Opa
werden gegangen. Gegangen, gegangen, gegangen. Ganz gegangen. Ich kann
nicht sie finden. Mussen Bursten Opa finden. Sie werden gegangen..."
Xavier moved a vacant chair out from the table. "Shhh," he soothed.
"Sit. Try to relax."
Kurt sat, but he looked at the Professor as if he expected him to
levitate on his own.
"Concentrate on what they look like. *Just* what they look like. I
need to show the others who haven't seen them."
Kurt closed his eyes, looking for all the world like he was going to
fall asleep.
"Good. Thank you, Kurt." The Professor opened a bottle that he'd had
in his pocket and shook out a little white pill. "Take this. It's going
to help."
Blank and empty-looking, Kurt obeyed.
"Hank, when Kurt starts to drowse, will you take him to the hospital
wing? He's in heavy shock and we need to keep an eye on him."
"What did you give him," asked Scott. "A sleeping pill?"
"Codine," said the Professor, "and paracetamol. Kurt's metabolism is
so high that any drug would hit him fast and hard."
As if to prove his point, Kurt began nodding off. "Got to find 'em,"
he muttered, half asleep. "...gotta find..." and, with a final sigh, he
nearly fell out of his chair.
Hank caught him. "Fast and hard, indeed." He quietly slipped out while
the Professor lectured the room.
An image formed in front of them. Kitty knew it was a telepathic
projection, but she still tried to reach out and touch them.
They were beautiful.
They looked like giant currycombs, or hair brushes without any
handles. Both had a coat of arms inlaid on the back. One, the softer
looking one, had a scar in the varnish, running across the German motto.
She could tell at a glance that they were old, and very well cared for.
"They're a priceless heirloom," informed the Professor. "Given to
Kurt's family a long time ago, and absolutely irreplaceable. Kurt uses
them to -er- groom, and since he hasn't been able to do so, this
morning..." Xavier fumbled, trying to find the right politically correct
phrase.
"There's blue fuzz everywhere he's been," Scott finished. "We all know
Kurt's touchy about shedding, so let's find these things before he wakes
up and goes beserk. Full room inspection. No exceptions. Right now."
They tidied up Kurt's room for him, secretly shocked that one boy
could turn everything so upside down in so little time. He'd even
disassembled his *bed*.
Great clouds of blue fuzz drifted in the breeze whenever they shook
out something. He had to have been pretty hyper to wreak that much chaos
and mess. No metaphorical stone was left unturned.
No-one had the brushes. They checked every room, even though they had
to get ready for school in the process.
The Professor phoned Bayville high and cited a 'family crisis' as the
reason Kurt would be absent from school. The truth, that he couldn't
help leaving shed fur everywhere, would not have gone over well. Neither
would the shed fur.
"FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!"
Scott ignored the chanting, glaring at Lance. "All you have to do is
tell the truth, Alvers. Which one of you took them?"
"I haven't even got the faintest clue what you're talking about,
Summers. Bug off."
"Quit pretending to be innocent, we *know* they're not in the mansion.
Who *else* could have taken them?"
"Leave us alone, shades-boy."
"Yo, we ain't done nuthin'. Recently, anyway."
"They're telling the truth," said Jean. "I can feel it."
"This isn't over, Alvers."
"What *ever*..."
They each stalked their seperate ways, much to the crowd's
disapointment. Tensions were high between the Institute kids and the
boarding house kids. Everyone could feel it, but the fighting was
usually kept to a minimum. It was a rare thing when they actually came
to blows, and lots of wierd stuff happened when they did.
Funny thing, though, no-one could exactly remember *what* wierd stuff
went on.
Sometimes, serendipity steps in. In this case, if it hadn't, things
would have continued to go awry for a very long time.
Kitty, worried about Kurt and how everyone at the Institute was coping
with a shocky elf, had forgotten that there was a test on. She turned
back to her locker and covered the distance between the door and her
locker to get her trusty No2 pencil.
She almost ignored Amara fixing her hair, until she noticed what she
was fixing her hair *with*.
It looked like a giant currycomb, and Kitty could see glimpses of
coloured wood inlaid in its back.
_That sneaky, stuck-up little--_ Kitty didn't have the words for it.
_Sorry, Kurt. I have a test to pass._ She could talk to the others
later. Kitty ran to her class, feeling more than a little guilt at
knowing something the others couldn't. _Concentrate, Pryde,_ she
scolded. _Your grade average could slip. Don't think of purple
walrusses._
There. *That* like, worked.
It was warm, and somebody loved him. Kurt always felt that way when
someone brushed him. All his cares, all his fears and worries, and
sometimes, even a little pain, could be brushed away along with any shed
fur. The steady rythm and the feel of the bristles was all he needed for
the nightmares to go away.
Kurt didn't want to open his eyes, because part of him knew that if he
did, it would all turn out to be a dream. This way, he could immerse
himself in the memories, treasure them and wrap them around himself like
one of Oma's knitted blankets in the wintertime. Here, with his eyes
shut, he could pretend everything was all right.
He couldn't remember the first time he was ever brushed, but he knew
the story by heart. How Mama and Papa were at their wit's end trying to
figure out why baby Kurt kept crying. How he was too young to teethe,
how he'd been thoroughly fed and changed, how he'd protested all the
more when they tried to bathe him. How they'd walked and walked, wearing
out their arms, trying to get him to calm down. And then, how Opa
offered to take their crying boy for a little while, and let them rest.
And how all of a sudden, the crying stopped. Mama and Papa crept in to
where Opa and baby Kurt were, and saw him brushing the boy's lazuline
fur with his antique hair brush.
Opa had just smiled and said, "I guess he doesn't like tangles."
Kurt's earliest memories were similar, but Kurt had been older. He
loved being brushed, and dearly anticipated the times when the big man
with the walrus moustache and the shiny scalp would pat his knee and
say, "Come, lad. Let's put a shine on that coat, yes?" And then - ah,
bliss - Opa would carefully take out every tangle or burr with the old
suit brush, and gently 'work up a polish' with the soft hair brush.
He had Kurt completely fooled for years; because whenever he raced off
to find a mirror to see his 'polish', it would be, "Whup. You moved. You
went and shook it off."
Every Spring, when the circus packed up to go touring, Kurt would
borrow Opa's brushes to keep him 'shiny' all Summer. Every Autumn, Kurt
would give them back, only to have Opa press them into his hands again.
"You hang onto them for me," the old man would say, tapping his naked
scalp. "I hardly have any use for them." And they'd hug and swap stories
while Opa 'polished' Kurt's fur for him.
Then there was the Autumn when Kurt was nine years old, and Opa wasn't
home any more. Oma said it was an anurism, and he'd gone out like a
light. There was nothing anyone could have done.
She said the brushes belonged to him, after that. They were his.
But they weren't. They were Opa's brushes. Now and forever.
It was his way of remembering, of keeping the love between them, as
Opa's brushes made him as shiny as a new coin.
Ororo had succumbed to temptation and ran her hair brush along Kurt's
fur. She didn't know if she was crossing some invisible line, but Kurt
and his lovely, soft fur practically begged to be touched and groomed.
And, since the painkiller had apparrently knocked him into next week,
he wasn't going to be grooming himself, right now.
She'd been mildly surprised by the little smile. She was *definitely*
surprised by the purr, but she felt rewarded for her boldness. Ororo
continued, keeping strictly to the G-rated areas, and wondered how his
mother could have borne to abandon him.
"...glanzend als neue Munze, Opa..." Kurt mumbled, frightening the
life out of her.
After a minute or so, she decided he'd been talking in his sleep, and
continued her work. His purr was semi-hypnotic, and thoroughly
entrancing, and that sweet smile made *her* want to adopt him. No wonder
everyone wanted to look after him. There were moments like this when he
was endearingly vulnerable, and made one almost forget the other moments
when he got up to diabolical mischief that bordered on artistry.
_That's our elf,_ she mentally sighed. _One minute you could strangle
him, the next you want to hug him until the hurt goes away._
Kurt stretched and murmured in his sleep, letting out his breath in a
greatful sigh.
_That sigh aught to get me out of a few years of Purgatory,_ Ororo
smiled, moving around his bed so she could brush the other side. _I
wonder if I could make him do it again._
He really was shedding terribly. Ororo had to stop every now and again
to chase fur out of her brush.
She remembered the time Evan had 'helped' in the laundry by shoving
some washing in the dryer and not mentioning it to anyone. There was a
chinchilla sweater in that particular wash that belonged to Kitty and,
unlike most of her things, was blue.
It disintegrated into fluff so fine that the dryer's filters couldn't
catch it, and the laundry was ankle-deep in fuzz by the time Ororo
discovered the mess. At the time, there had only been *one* blue, fuzzy
individual in the house, and he'd received the blame. Kurt had been
extremely offended that anyone could think he'd shed that much *or* be
that inconsiderate about it. His diatribe went on and on about it, even
though he was busy sweeping up the debris.
Then Kitty had come in and demanded to know who had done what to her
new sweater.
Kurt had glared at Ororo until she apologised. Later, he told her
exactly *how* careful he was not to leave fur anywhere. There was
nothing more irritating, he'd said, than discarded fur in wierd little
places. It *itched*.
Therefore, Ororo was now very cautious as to where she dumped the
brushloads of shed fur.
Kurt rolled on to his side, and purred all the louder when she did his
back. So few people voluntarily touched him, but when they did, he never
fought that contact. He never said anything, one way or the other, about
how he felt; but Ororo had to wonder if he secretly craved or spurned a
human touch.
Ororo finally ran out of fur to groom, and spent a few idle moments
picking every last hair out of her brush. The stuff *was* very
pernicious. Light, soft, and prone to be caught on even the slightest of
zephyrs, it would get everywhere if it went unchecked.
Then Kurt scared the life out of her a second time. "Dankeshoen,
Frau'," he said in a very clear voice. "It's been too long."
"You're awake?" she managed. "I - hope I didn't offend you?"
He rolled back over so he could face her. "You're kidding me. I love
it. Feels like home." He was still drowsy, his eyelids heavy and his
voice close to a sleepy whisper. "I'm always a little nervous about
asking."
As far as she knew, he'd never said a word about it to anyone. "A
little?" she teased.
"Okay. A lot embarressed." He closed his eyes for a little while.
"Thank you for volunteering."
"Any time," Ororo whispered.
"...hope so," Kurt managed before falling back to sleep.
Ororo patted his hand, and tsked as it came away covered in loose fur.
Opa's brushes must be the only ones that had the knack of getting all
the loose fur out for the day.
_I hope they find them soon,_ she thought. _I don't like the idea of a
Kurt-sized vacuuming job. I doubt he would, either._
Amara came back to her locker prior to leaving school, only to
discover the rest of the X-men waiting for her.
_Damn. They must have found out._
"You can *bet* we found out," said Jean. "What I'd like to know is how
you managed it."
"I fail to see why you're all angry. They were probably stolen in the
first place. The whole *pack* of them are nothing but bootless gypsies."
"Like, way to dig yourself deeper, 'princess'," Kitty scowled.
"Come *on*. You and I both know that something that valuable doesn't
belong in the posession of a mere *peasant*. I was simply restoring the
order of things."
"Can I *please* knock her into next week?" Kitty begged. "Pleeeaaase?"
Jean had a very nasty smile on. "No, I have a better idea. I'm going
to give her a little taste of what she's done to others."
"What?" said Amara. And then her world turned upside down.
Lock the door. Don't want anyone to see. What would they think? They'd
laugh. People always laugh at things like this. Forget it. Forget. Get
on with the day. Finish cleaning up. Reach for Opa's brushes and smile,
remembering Opa. But they're gone.
No.
Can't be real. Dreaming. Wake up. Wake up! WAKE *UP*!
Got to find them. Not here. Not there. Get some clothes on. Those.
They'll do. Only take them off again when I find them. Ach, I'm starting
to *itch*... verdammt Springtime shed. Hurry. Hurry. I can't stand
myself.
Hank! Maybe Hank knows. He needs them too. Door won't work! Help! Oh.
Locked. Yes. Go find Hank.
panicpanicpanicpanicpanicpanicpanicpanicpanicpanicpanicpanicpanic
Not there. Not there. Not there. Have to be somewhere...
panicpanicpanicpanicpanicpanicpanicpanicpanicpanicpanicpanicpanic
Can't have *lost* them. They're everything. They're the only ones that
*work* on me. Can't have lost them on Opa. He'd be so mad. Got to find
them. Got to fix it. Make everything better.
Brush the nightmares away.
Where *are* they?
wherewherewherewherewherewherewherewherewherewherewherewherewhere
So itchy. Can't stop. Got to find them. Oh, Opa, I'm so sorry.
Not there. Not there. Got to find them. Sweating. Have to bathe again
and I'm shedding *everywhere* and I can't *stand* it! Help.
Help.
helpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpme
Help...
"...hilfe..." Amara whimpered. She'd curled up into a ball and was
crying.
"That's just a little taste of Kurt's morning," said Jean. "Do you
want more, or are you going to give them back, now?"
Amara lunged for her locker, her hands were shaking as she spun the
dial. There, hidden behind her ethics textbook, were the brushes that
were too ornate for a filthy peasant.
But Kurt hadn't *been* filthy until his brushes had 'gone missing'. In
fact, he was nearly obsessed with being clean. For his entire life.
Kitty snatched them out of her hands. "You totally deserve everything
the Professor's going to give you," she growled.
Alone.
Alone was cold. Even if he wasn't wearing just his shorts because he
couldn't stand to be clothed while he was unkempt, he'd still be cold
and shivering. Everyone had other places to be, after the Professor said
he'd be fine.
But he wasn't fine. He was a long way from fine. Fine kept
disappearing into the distance like the end of the hallway in one of
those 'chase' nightmares.
Calm down. Calm. Stop walking circles in the carpet.
He looked down. It looked like a slightly colourblind alien had been
trying to do crop circles. The Professor didn't know very much about
Kurt's state of mind if he said he was going to be fine.
Breathe. Try to relax. Maybe the others will have news.
He shivered. So cold.
So lonely.
So *hungry*. He felt like a betrayer for wanting to eat. For filling
his face when put up against such a disaster. He couldn't look at food,
but his stomach, his traitor, was howling for it.
He was pacing again, trying not to hyperventillate. Rubbing his arms,
as if that could do any good against the chill that only he could feel.
{Knock, knock.}
"It's unlocked." It was always unlocked, except when he was getting
himself changed or - or brushed. "You can come in."
He watched the door open, saw the assembled crowd. Saw the distinctive
objects in Kitty's hands...
"You *found* them!" And the next thing he knew, his arms and legs were
wrapped around her torso, his tail clung tight to Opa's brushes, and he
was saying three words over and over again. "I love you, I love you, I
love you..."
Kitty didn't know what hit her. She could only ever analyse what went
on in slow motion, much, *much* later. Kurt screamed out, "You found
them!" and leaped towards her. He *had* been clear on the other side of
the *room*, but he somehow managed to cross the space between them in
one bound.
He landed in a rib-crushing hug, knocking her off her feet and the
brushes out of her hands. His tail caught them in mid-air, before they
even had a chance to descend, and then his legs wrapped themselves
around her waist.
Then she was staring at the ceiling and listening to a hyperactive
blue fuzzy mutant saying, "I love you," like a broken record.
_Jean? How do I get him off? How do I get *up*?_
Jean raised an eyebrow. _Right now,_ she said through their telepathic
link, _there's only one thing that'll calm him down._
_Oh no._
_Bet you can guess. Starts with a 'B'._
_Oh, *no*..._
_He's in no state to brush himself..._
_At least get us to his dresser?_
_Not a problem._
Invisible hands supported her and her babbling burden all the way to
Kurt's dresser. Kitty eventually pried the brushes away from his tail
and uncoupled the matched pair. _Now what?_ she thought.
_Start with the stiffer brush and go with the grain. Good luck._
Kitty held the brush in question in her hand and gingerly followed
Jean's instructions. After a few false starts, she got the hang of it
and Kurt started to relax. He even let them sit in a more normal
position.
Then there was this noise, like a low rumble of thunder. It came and
went in a continuous cycle. She could even feel it.
_OmyGod..._ It was *him*. "Kurt, you're like, totally purring!" she
blurted.
"...always purr when I'm happy," he said, his voice kind of wobbling
because of the purr. "I can't help it."
Kitty had to smile. She'd made someone's bummer of a day turn into
something fantastic. That always put her spirits up. He stretched and
angled himself under her touch, guiding her to little itchy spots which,
when she brushed them, made him sigh with relief and purr all the
louder.
He was like, totally appealing like this. She didn't even mind
cleaning the brush out like, every ten strokes or so.
"Kurt, why didn't you like, *tell* someone about this?"
"Mmmm?" his eyes opened a slit. He must have been dozing. "I guess I
was embarressed." He arched into another sweep of the brush. "Besides, I
think you said you thought back hair was 'hideola'."
Kitty blushed. "Yeah... but you have *fur*. It's different."
"Can't get much more different than me," he sighed. "Oh, just there.
Don't stop, please. Aaaaaahhhhh..."
_God, his smile's *gorgeous* when he does that._ "So, um. Did you mean
it?"
"Vas?"
"What you said when you tackled me in the hall. You know. That you
love me." Kitty could feel her blush deepening, and spreading out.
"Jawohl, meine Leibe. Immer."
"Um..." said Kitty.
Kurt provided a translation, "Yes, my love. Always." He smiled. "*And*
it's not just because you're brushing me. Though I must admit it helps.
It's because of everything you are. Because your smile makes you light
up. Because you shine like the moon."
Kitty's jaw was hanging open. "Like. Wow."
Jean grinned to herself as she journeyed into the library. She adored
playing cupid, sometimes.
"Ahem," said the Professor. He raised an eyebrow and tapped on his
wheelchair arm as he quoted, "He's in no state to brush himself?"
Jean managed a sick giggle. "I was just helping her change her mind.
She really makes him happy, you know? And he'd be good for her."
"Quite," drawled the Professor. "Your new job is to be their chaperone
until they're *both* no longer underage. Understood?"
Sigh. "Yes, Professor." _Three years of watching them moon over each
other. Ow._
_Exactly,_ said the Professor.
It was warm, and he was loved.
"Um. Fuzzy? I can't like, reach your legs from here."
Kurt managed to stir himself from a deliriously happy torpor. He was
still grinning like a fool, but that wasn't going to stop any time soon.
"That's all right. I'll lie on the bed for you." He caught her scent on
the comforter as he crawled into position. "Thanks for making it for me,
by the way."
"What? How did you--"
Kurt smiled. "My nose isn't as good as Wolverine's, but I get by." He
sighed as Kitty began to work on his legs, smoothing out tangles and
turfing out loose fur. He felt very warm, and very loved. "If you don't
want to do this, you don't have to," he said. He had to give her a way
out if she wanted one. He'd never force anyone to do this.
"No, I *want* to brush you. Makes me feel like I can do something to
make *you* feel nice for a change. You always like, make me feel so
*good* about myself, you know? It's like, you make me shine."
Very loved. "Hmmmm..."
"I think I love you, too." She started on his other leg.
"Ah, wunderbar," Kurt sighed. "I'm quite willing to wait until you
know for sure, leibe. I'll never force you to do anything you don't want
to do."
"That puts you ahead of like, every other guy in the universe
already," Kitty giggled. "Thank God you're not one of those jerks who
think they *own* people." She ran the brush down his tail.
*Very* warm.
She had no idea how sensitive it was. Kurt moaned as all his muscles
turned to jelly and wonderful, erotic sparkles travelled up and down his
body. Part of him wanted her to never stop, while another part knew too
well that they were both far too young for any of the top ten
shennanigans his back-brain was screaming out for.
Kitty took it as a sign of approval and picked up his tail to do the
underside.
_Leiber Gott..._ He'd only ever brushed his tail with the *soft*
brush. All he could do was lie there and moan. When Kitty finally
stopped, he could hardly hear above his ragged breathing and the blood
sizzling in his ears. _Oh, the feel of her *hands*..._ It was all he
could do to stop his tail wrapping around her digits and playing in
them. Verdammt thing had a mind of its own.
"Kurt? You okay? Did I do it wrong?"
"Oooohhhh, Katzchen. Oh, leibe... You have no idea. *Ohhhh*..."
He felt *extremely* warm, and *very* lov*ing*.
_We're too young,_ he told himself. _We're way too young. Too young.
Kids. Kinder. Far too young. But *Gott*, that felt so *good*! Stop
that!_
Kitty actually figured it out. "Oooops..." She was extremely pink,
now. "Overdid it, huh?"
"Very," sighed Kurt, "very sensitive tail. Lots and lots of nerve
endings. Oohhhhh... We use the *soft* brush on the tail, Schatz."
"So... like, asking you to roll over so I can like, do your front is
totally out."
"Ja. Unless we both want to die of embarressment."
"Sorry."
"You couldn't know."
"If it'll help? Try not thinking of purple walrusses."
"*Vas*?"
Kitty smiled. "It always helps to take your mind off of things. Like,
don't think of purple walrusses."
"Leibe, you have a very strange mind."
"Says the man who brushes his butt-crack," joked Kitty.
Kurt was starting to feel normal enough to try a coy pose. "Vas? *You*
want to have a go at brushing mein butt-crack?"
"No... but I would like to kiss you."
Their lips met.
He was warm, and loved.
{WHAMWHAMWHAMWHAMWHAM!}
"KURT! You'd better not be using all the hot water in there!"
Kurt sighed. He tried to conserve hot water, but it was hard,
especially in the springtime. He washed the last vestiges of shampoo
from himself and hollered, "Almost done! Keep your shirt on!" as he
turned the water off. Some people just did *not* understand the needs of
a fuzzy blue mutant in the springtime. He towelled himself to mid-
dampness before he forced a deliberate shiver along his skin. He never
shook like a dog, but that little shiver was enough to drive the more
persistant drips out of his fur.
Unfortunately, it also loosened his fur. Well, it was going to fall
out, anyway, and he was always careful not to leave any shed fur in the
bathroom. Kurt wrapped the towel around his waist, grabbed his PJ's,
yelled, "Next!" and bamfed into his room.
It was one of the very few times he actually locked his door. Kurt was
always embarressed when people saw him partially clothed, and there were
certain aspects of his morning routine that he preferred to keep his
little secret. Like Opa's brushes.
Hank knew about them, because he'd come in late, one night, and asked
a great deal of quietly embarressed questions about fur maintenance. How
much shampoo, brushes versus combs, whether those 'slicker' things they
sold in the pet shops were any good, that sort of thing.
Kurt had taken pity on him and bought out the family treasure. They
were originally one suit brush and one hair brush, but necessity had
turned them both into fur brushes. Kurt had found the stiff bristles of
the suit brush ideal for getting out knots and removing any fur that
would come loose during the passage of the day. The softer hair brush,
as Opa had put it, just added a little extra shine. It smoothed
everything down and, whenever Kurt was stressed, provided a very
theraputic massage.
Hank would only ever borrow the suit brush. His fur was thicker and
longer than Kurt's, and therefore more troublesome.
Which was why Kurt was so confused to find both brushes missing, but
the ebony comb he used to clean the fur out of them still in its place.
He spent a full minute staring at the empty spot in his drawer in
disbelief. After that minute, he touched the comb, just to be sure.
Opa's brushes were gone.
Kurt pulled on the first clean pair of boxers he could lay his hands
on and immediately searched every spare corner of his room, and a few
impossible corners because his mind had slipped into depths of
desperation previously unplumbed. His room looked like a tornado hit it,
and Opa's brushes were still gone.
He struggled with the door for a handful of seconds before he
remembered that he'd locked it so he could brush. Hyperventillating by
now, he turned the key and launched himself up the hall. Not caring who
saw him gallop, not caring where the shed fur flew. There was one other
person who knew about the brushes and used them. Maybe he'd borrowed
them, or was borrow*ing* them. It was, after all, spring.
"HANK!"
"Snx?" Hank McCoy surfaced from an otherwise pleasant slumber to face
a hyperventillating fuzzy blue demon. Not the best of wake-up calls,
especially after yet another disaster with the new mutants the previous
evening. "Wsfgl?" he managed, groping for his glasses.
"IneedtofindOpa'sbrushesdidyouborrowthem? Onlyit'sspringyouseeandI
*really* needOpa'sbrushesbeforeIgetfureverywhereandhaveyouseenthem?"
"Mmmfffff..." Hank stumbled out of bed. "Kurt, I'm barely awake, let
alone sentient. Could you perhaps try putting spaces between the words?"
"There'snotimeIgottafindOpa'sbrushesright*now*!"
_Teenagers._ Hank yawned, still trying to stretch out various kinks in
his musculature. _Everything's a disaster..._ Though judging by the
small patch of blue where Kurt was standing, perhaps it *was* a
disaster. "Spring?"
"Spring," Kurt sighed.
"My appologies, my hirsute compatriot, but I don't have your brushes.
I suspect I'll have to borrow them, in due course, but--"
"Haven'tgotthetimeseeyoulaterI'vegottafindOpa'sbrushes, bye!" He took
off at a gallop, leaving a little cloud of precipitating fuzz behind
him.
Hank looked in his mirror and sighed, "It's going to be a *long*
day..."
Jean sighed. This had to be the third disembowelled couch she'd passed
in as many minutes. The culprit was leaving a nice, clear trail of blue
hairs everywhere. Heck, every time he stopped, he left a little fuzzy
'shadow'.
There were Kurt-shadows *everywhere*, all with little fan-patterns
where his tail had lashed about.
She spotted him at last, his rear end sticking out of a large,
ornamental flowerpot.
It was a sure portent of doom when Kurt wandered around the mansion
clad in nothing but the yellow boxers with the smilie face on the butt.
The way his tail was gyrating around, his rear rather resembled an
elephant with something *seriously* wrong with it.
There was a muffled, "Verdammt," from inside the pot, and the rest of
him surfaced.
"Kurt, what on Earth--?"
"Have you seen them?" He was radiating panic, and almost entering a
fuge state.
"Seen what?"
"Opa's brushes." Vividly clear, the image of them where they belonged,
overlaid with thousands of memories. People connected with them.
Emotions connected with them. Emotions connected with the people. All in
a microsecond, intertwined with guilt and fear.
"Ow. No..." _Mental note: telepaths should never ask panicking people
about objects intricately involved in their lives._ Well, *that* sure as
heck ruined *her* mood this morning.
"Jean?" asked Scott as she entered the kitchen. "Is something wrong?"
"I need asprin," she sighed, reaching for the bottle.
Trepidation and anxiety started to seep from him. "Should I get the
Professor?"
"No, it's just a headache. I asked the wrong question at the wrong
time and got a head-full."
"Ouch."
There was a distant, "Cute shorts. Put some pants on, willya?" down
the hall. Rogue entered, muttering things about her half-brother that
were mostly unprintable and involved heavy objects. "What the hell's up
with *Kurt*?"
"Opa's brushes, apparrently," Jean moaned. Having swallowed her
painkiller, she was now rolling the cool glass over her forehead.
"Whatever that means."
"Is that a German thing, a gypsy thing or just a Kurt thing?" said
Scott.
"All of the above. Ow." Jean rested her head against the table. "The
images and emotions were all jumbled up into this painful knot. It's
integral to his entire *life*."
"Oof," said Rogue. "Then I'm stayin' the hell away from him."
"I wish *I* had," sighed Jean.
Kitty looked again. No. He was still there in nothing but those stupid
yellow shorts with the smilie on the rear. He was *still* digging
through stuff and making an *extremely* un-Kurtish mess.
"Like, what is *up* with you?"
"Bursten Opa werden gegangen," he said, nearly running the words
together. "Mussen Bursten Opa finden..."
Kitty tsked and rolled her eyes. "Can't you like, panic in *English*?"
Kurt stopped what he was doing and stared at her. Those were the eyes
of an elf staring down the abyss. If he wasn't going to go nuts, then he
was going to drive everyone else there in trying.
"Like, forget I said anything," she edged away from him. "Like, go
nuts. Save yourself the time or whatever."
He sprang away, muttering to himself.
Just when Kitty recovered her breath, she heard, "EW! Put some *pants*
on, dude!" Evan rounded the corner, also in shock and disbelief. "Man,
there are just some things you *never* want to see, first thing in the
morning."
"I like, hear you," said Kitty. "Don't think of purple walrusses."
"*What*?"
"It always like, takes your mind off of anything huge. Don't think of
purple walrusses."
Evan made a face, obviously thinking of unusually coloured wildlife.
"See?" Kitty skipped downstairs to breakfast.
Just about everyone was downstairs and discussing Cyclone Kurt. He'd
evidently spent all morning tearing up like, the entire mansion. For
someone so obsessed about being 'decent', he sure went downhill in a
hurry.
"Anyone know what 'bursten opa' means?" Kitty asked. "He wouldn't
like, stop saying it a few minutes ago."
"Opa's brushes," said Ororo. "He's very upset about them for some
reason."
"Stupid peasant," mumbled Amara. "Why does he have to share his misery
with *us*?"
"I don't think he's doing it on purpose," speculated Evan. "He looked
kinda - wild around the eyes."
"Yeah. That was like, some serious panicking, up there."
"Any reason why he's running around in those shorts?" said Ray.
There was a tableful of shrugs.
"*OW*! Elf!" Logan yelled.
"Have you seen them anywhere?"
Cyclone Kurt was striking again. He wasn't even apologising for
peripheral damage, and that *was* a danger sign. There were sounds of a
brief scuffle.
Logan dragged Kurt into breakfast by the scruff of his neck. "I don't
wanna know who did it or why, but things had better be back to normal
before sunset or we're *all* doing a little survival training. *My*
way."
Every kid in the room swallowed nervously. Everyone except Kurt, who
was spaced out and trying to get Logan to let go.
Logan forced Kurt into a seat. "Sit," he commanded. "Eat. *Then*,
we'll talk."
"...gegangen," Kurt murmured, still staring into space. "Gegangen,
gegangen..."
Logan growled, dumped several foodstuffs onto a plate, and shoved it
under Kurt's nose. "*Eat*."
Kurt stared at the plate. "These aren't Opa's brushes," he whispered,
then ducked under the table.
Kitty surruptitiously hiked her legs up, out of his way, and tried to
ignore the mumbling litany from somewhere beneath the tablecloth. _Just
don't think about purple walrusses,_ she told herself.
"Man," Scott whispered. "When *Kurt* doesn't want to eat, it's
*serious*."
Professor Xavier joined them. "Sorry I took so long,"
"Professor," Kitty breathed. "Like, help? Kurt's gone like, totally
nuts."
"I know. Something important to him has gone missing. Kurt? If you'd
come out of there, I'd like to help."
Kurt was still mumbling when he emerged. "Bursten Opa. Bursten Opa
werden gegangen. Gegangen, gegangen, gegangen. Ganz gegangen. Ich kann
nicht sie finden. Mussen Bursten Opa finden. Sie werden gegangen..."
Xavier moved a vacant chair out from the table. "Shhh," he soothed.
"Sit. Try to relax."
Kurt sat, but he looked at the Professor as if he expected him to
levitate on his own.
"Concentrate on what they look like. *Just* what they look like. I
need to show the others who haven't seen them."
Kurt closed his eyes, looking for all the world like he was going to
fall asleep.
"Good. Thank you, Kurt." The Professor opened a bottle that he'd had
in his pocket and shook out a little white pill. "Take this. It's going
to help."
Blank and empty-looking, Kurt obeyed.
"Hank, when Kurt starts to drowse, will you take him to the hospital
wing? He's in heavy shock and we need to keep an eye on him."
"What did you give him," asked Scott. "A sleeping pill?"
"Codine," said the Professor, "and paracetamol. Kurt's metabolism is
so high that any drug would hit him fast and hard."
As if to prove his point, Kurt began nodding off. "Got to find 'em,"
he muttered, half asleep. "...gotta find..." and, with a final sigh, he
nearly fell out of his chair.
Hank caught him. "Fast and hard, indeed." He quietly slipped out while
the Professor lectured the room.
An image formed in front of them. Kitty knew it was a telepathic
projection, but she still tried to reach out and touch them.
They were beautiful.
They looked like giant currycombs, or hair brushes without any
handles. Both had a coat of arms inlaid on the back. One, the softer
looking one, had a scar in the varnish, running across the German motto.
She could tell at a glance that they were old, and very well cared for.
"They're a priceless heirloom," informed the Professor. "Given to
Kurt's family a long time ago, and absolutely irreplaceable. Kurt uses
them to -er- groom, and since he hasn't been able to do so, this
morning..." Xavier fumbled, trying to find the right politically correct
phrase.
"There's blue fuzz everywhere he's been," Scott finished. "We all know
Kurt's touchy about shedding, so let's find these things before he wakes
up and goes beserk. Full room inspection. No exceptions. Right now."
They tidied up Kurt's room for him, secretly shocked that one boy
could turn everything so upside down in so little time. He'd even
disassembled his *bed*.
Great clouds of blue fuzz drifted in the breeze whenever they shook
out something. He had to have been pretty hyper to wreak that much chaos
and mess. No metaphorical stone was left unturned.
No-one had the brushes. They checked every room, even though they had
to get ready for school in the process.
The Professor phoned Bayville high and cited a 'family crisis' as the
reason Kurt would be absent from school. The truth, that he couldn't
help leaving shed fur everywhere, would not have gone over well. Neither
would the shed fur.
"FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!"
Scott ignored the chanting, glaring at Lance. "All you have to do is
tell the truth, Alvers. Which one of you took them?"
"I haven't even got the faintest clue what you're talking about,
Summers. Bug off."
"Quit pretending to be innocent, we *know* they're not in the mansion.
Who *else* could have taken them?"
"Leave us alone, shades-boy."
"Yo, we ain't done nuthin'. Recently, anyway."
"They're telling the truth," said Jean. "I can feel it."
"This isn't over, Alvers."
"What *ever*..."
They each stalked their seperate ways, much to the crowd's
disapointment. Tensions were high between the Institute kids and the
boarding house kids. Everyone could feel it, but the fighting was
usually kept to a minimum. It was a rare thing when they actually came
to blows, and lots of wierd stuff happened when they did.
Funny thing, though, no-one could exactly remember *what* wierd stuff
went on.
Sometimes, serendipity steps in. In this case, if it hadn't, things
would have continued to go awry for a very long time.
Kitty, worried about Kurt and how everyone at the Institute was coping
with a shocky elf, had forgotten that there was a test on. She turned
back to her locker and covered the distance between the door and her
locker to get her trusty No2 pencil.
She almost ignored Amara fixing her hair, until she noticed what she
was fixing her hair *with*.
It looked like a giant currycomb, and Kitty could see glimpses of
coloured wood inlaid in its back.
_That sneaky, stuck-up little--_ Kitty didn't have the words for it.
_Sorry, Kurt. I have a test to pass._ She could talk to the others
later. Kitty ran to her class, feeling more than a little guilt at
knowing something the others couldn't. _Concentrate, Pryde,_ she
scolded. _Your grade average could slip. Don't think of purple
walrusses._
There. *That* like, worked.
It was warm, and somebody loved him. Kurt always felt that way when
someone brushed him. All his cares, all his fears and worries, and
sometimes, even a little pain, could be brushed away along with any shed
fur. The steady rythm and the feel of the bristles was all he needed for
the nightmares to go away.
Kurt didn't want to open his eyes, because part of him knew that if he
did, it would all turn out to be a dream. This way, he could immerse
himself in the memories, treasure them and wrap them around himself like
one of Oma's knitted blankets in the wintertime. Here, with his eyes
shut, he could pretend everything was all right.
He couldn't remember the first time he was ever brushed, but he knew
the story by heart. How Mama and Papa were at their wit's end trying to
figure out why baby Kurt kept crying. How he was too young to teethe,
how he'd been thoroughly fed and changed, how he'd protested all the
more when they tried to bathe him. How they'd walked and walked, wearing
out their arms, trying to get him to calm down. And then, how Opa
offered to take their crying boy for a little while, and let them rest.
And how all of a sudden, the crying stopped. Mama and Papa crept in to
where Opa and baby Kurt were, and saw him brushing the boy's lazuline
fur with his antique hair brush.
Opa had just smiled and said, "I guess he doesn't like tangles."
Kurt's earliest memories were similar, but Kurt had been older. He
loved being brushed, and dearly anticipated the times when the big man
with the walrus moustache and the shiny scalp would pat his knee and
say, "Come, lad. Let's put a shine on that coat, yes?" And then - ah,
bliss - Opa would carefully take out every tangle or burr with the old
suit brush, and gently 'work up a polish' with the soft hair brush.
He had Kurt completely fooled for years; because whenever he raced off
to find a mirror to see his 'polish', it would be, "Whup. You moved. You
went and shook it off."
Every Spring, when the circus packed up to go touring, Kurt would
borrow Opa's brushes to keep him 'shiny' all Summer. Every Autumn, Kurt
would give them back, only to have Opa press them into his hands again.
"You hang onto them for me," the old man would say, tapping his naked
scalp. "I hardly have any use for them." And they'd hug and swap stories
while Opa 'polished' Kurt's fur for him.
Then there was the Autumn when Kurt was nine years old, and Opa wasn't
home any more. Oma said it was an anurism, and he'd gone out like a
light. There was nothing anyone could have done.
She said the brushes belonged to him, after that. They were his.
But they weren't. They were Opa's brushes. Now and forever.
It was his way of remembering, of keeping the love between them, as
Opa's brushes made him as shiny as a new coin.
Ororo had succumbed to temptation and ran her hair brush along Kurt's
fur. She didn't know if she was crossing some invisible line, but Kurt
and his lovely, soft fur practically begged to be touched and groomed.
And, since the painkiller had apparrently knocked him into next week,
he wasn't going to be grooming himself, right now.
She'd been mildly surprised by the little smile. She was *definitely*
surprised by the purr, but she felt rewarded for her boldness. Ororo
continued, keeping strictly to the G-rated areas, and wondered how his
mother could have borne to abandon him.
"...glanzend als neue Munze, Opa..." Kurt mumbled, frightening the
life out of her.
After a minute or so, she decided he'd been talking in his sleep, and
continued her work. His purr was semi-hypnotic, and thoroughly
entrancing, and that sweet smile made *her* want to adopt him. No wonder
everyone wanted to look after him. There were moments like this when he
was endearingly vulnerable, and made one almost forget the other moments
when he got up to diabolical mischief that bordered on artistry.
_That's our elf,_ she mentally sighed. _One minute you could strangle
him, the next you want to hug him until the hurt goes away._
Kurt stretched and murmured in his sleep, letting out his breath in a
greatful sigh.
_That sigh aught to get me out of a few years of Purgatory,_ Ororo
smiled, moving around his bed so she could brush the other side. _I
wonder if I could make him do it again._
He really was shedding terribly. Ororo had to stop every now and again
to chase fur out of her brush.
She remembered the time Evan had 'helped' in the laundry by shoving
some washing in the dryer and not mentioning it to anyone. There was a
chinchilla sweater in that particular wash that belonged to Kitty and,
unlike most of her things, was blue.
It disintegrated into fluff so fine that the dryer's filters couldn't
catch it, and the laundry was ankle-deep in fuzz by the time Ororo
discovered the mess. At the time, there had only been *one* blue, fuzzy
individual in the house, and he'd received the blame. Kurt had been
extremely offended that anyone could think he'd shed that much *or* be
that inconsiderate about it. His diatribe went on and on about it, even
though he was busy sweeping up the debris.
Then Kitty had come in and demanded to know who had done what to her
new sweater.
Kurt had glared at Ororo until she apologised. Later, he told her
exactly *how* careful he was not to leave fur anywhere. There was
nothing more irritating, he'd said, than discarded fur in wierd little
places. It *itched*.
Therefore, Ororo was now very cautious as to where she dumped the
brushloads of shed fur.
Kurt rolled on to his side, and purred all the louder when she did his
back. So few people voluntarily touched him, but when they did, he never
fought that contact. He never said anything, one way or the other, about
how he felt; but Ororo had to wonder if he secretly craved or spurned a
human touch.
Ororo finally ran out of fur to groom, and spent a few idle moments
picking every last hair out of her brush. The stuff *was* very
pernicious. Light, soft, and prone to be caught on even the slightest of
zephyrs, it would get everywhere if it went unchecked.
Then Kurt scared the life out of her a second time. "Dankeshoen,
Frau'," he said in a very clear voice. "It's been too long."
"You're awake?" she managed. "I - hope I didn't offend you?"
He rolled back over so he could face her. "You're kidding me. I love
it. Feels like home." He was still drowsy, his eyelids heavy and his
voice close to a sleepy whisper. "I'm always a little nervous about
asking."
As far as she knew, he'd never said a word about it to anyone. "A
little?" she teased.
"Okay. A lot embarressed." He closed his eyes for a little while.
"Thank you for volunteering."
"Any time," Ororo whispered.
"...hope so," Kurt managed before falling back to sleep.
Ororo patted his hand, and tsked as it came away covered in loose fur.
Opa's brushes must be the only ones that had the knack of getting all
the loose fur out for the day.
_I hope they find them soon,_ she thought. _I don't like the idea of a
Kurt-sized vacuuming job. I doubt he would, either._
Amara came back to her locker prior to leaving school, only to
discover the rest of the X-men waiting for her.
_Damn. They must have found out._
"You can *bet* we found out," said Jean. "What I'd like to know is how
you managed it."
"I fail to see why you're all angry. They were probably stolen in the
first place. The whole *pack* of them are nothing but bootless gypsies."
"Like, way to dig yourself deeper, 'princess'," Kitty scowled.
"Come *on*. You and I both know that something that valuable doesn't
belong in the posession of a mere *peasant*. I was simply restoring the
order of things."
"Can I *please* knock her into next week?" Kitty begged. "Pleeeaaase?"
Jean had a very nasty smile on. "No, I have a better idea. I'm going
to give her a little taste of what she's done to others."
"What?" said Amara. And then her world turned upside down.
Lock the door. Don't want anyone to see. What would they think? They'd
laugh. People always laugh at things like this. Forget it. Forget. Get
on with the day. Finish cleaning up. Reach for Opa's brushes and smile,
remembering Opa. But they're gone.
No.
Can't be real. Dreaming. Wake up. Wake up! WAKE *UP*!
Got to find them. Not here. Not there. Get some clothes on. Those.
They'll do. Only take them off again when I find them. Ach, I'm starting
to *itch*... verdammt Springtime shed. Hurry. Hurry. I can't stand
myself.
Hank! Maybe Hank knows. He needs them too. Door won't work! Help! Oh.
Locked. Yes. Go find Hank.
panicpanicpanicpanicpanicpanicpanicpanicpanicpanicpanicpanicpanic
Not there. Not there. Not there. Have to be somewhere...
panicpanicpanicpanicpanicpanicpanicpanicpanicpanicpanicpanicpanic
Can't have *lost* them. They're everything. They're the only ones that
*work* on me. Can't have lost them on Opa. He'd be so mad. Got to find
them. Got to fix it. Make everything better.
Brush the nightmares away.
Where *are* they?
wherewherewherewherewherewherewherewherewherewherewherewherewhere
So itchy. Can't stop. Got to find them. Oh, Opa, I'm so sorry.
Not there. Not there. Got to find them. Sweating. Have to bathe again
and I'm shedding *everywhere* and I can't *stand* it! Help.
Help.
helpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpme
Help...
"...hilfe..." Amara whimpered. She'd curled up into a ball and was
crying.
"That's just a little taste of Kurt's morning," said Jean. "Do you
want more, or are you going to give them back, now?"
Amara lunged for her locker, her hands were shaking as she spun the
dial. There, hidden behind her ethics textbook, were the brushes that
were too ornate for a filthy peasant.
But Kurt hadn't *been* filthy until his brushes had 'gone missing'. In
fact, he was nearly obsessed with being clean. For his entire life.
Kitty snatched them out of her hands. "You totally deserve everything
the Professor's going to give you," she growled.
Alone.
Alone was cold. Even if he wasn't wearing just his shorts because he
couldn't stand to be clothed while he was unkempt, he'd still be cold
and shivering. Everyone had other places to be, after the Professor said
he'd be fine.
But he wasn't fine. He was a long way from fine. Fine kept
disappearing into the distance like the end of the hallway in one of
those 'chase' nightmares.
Calm down. Calm. Stop walking circles in the carpet.
He looked down. It looked like a slightly colourblind alien had been
trying to do crop circles. The Professor didn't know very much about
Kurt's state of mind if he said he was going to be fine.
Breathe. Try to relax. Maybe the others will have news.
He shivered. So cold.
So lonely.
So *hungry*. He felt like a betrayer for wanting to eat. For filling
his face when put up against such a disaster. He couldn't look at food,
but his stomach, his traitor, was howling for it.
He was pacing again, trying not to hyperventillate. Rubbing his arms,
as if that could do any good against the chill that only he could feel.
{Knock, knock.}
"It's unlocked." It was always unlocked, except when he was getting
himself changed or - or brushed. "You can come in."
He watched the door open, saw the assembled crowd. Saw the distinctive
objects in Kitty's hands...
"You *found* them!" And the next thing he knew, his arms and legs were
wrapped around her torso, his tail clung tight to Opa's brushes, and he
was saying three words over and over again. "I love you, I love you, I
love you..."
Kitty didn't know what hit her. She could only ever analyse what went
on in slow motion, much, *much* later. Kurt screamed out, "You found
them!" and leaped towards her. He *had* been clear on the other side of
the *room*, but he somehow managed to cross the space between them in
one bound.
He landed in a rib-crushing hug, knocking her off her feet and the
brushes out of her hands. His tail caught them in mid-air, before they
even had a chance to descend, and then his legs wrapped themselves
around her waist.
Then she was staring at the ceiling and listening to a hyperactive
blue fuzzy mutant saying, "I love you," like a broken record.
_Jean? How do I get him off? How do I get *up*?_
Jean raised an eyebrow. _Right now,_ she said through their telepathic
link, _there's only one thing that'll calm him down._
_Oh no._
_Bet you can guess. Starts with a 'B'._
_Oh, *no*..._
_He's in no state to brush himself..._
_At least get us to his dresser?_
_Not a problem._
Invisible hands supported her and her babbling burden all the way to
Kurt's dresser. Kitty eventually pried the brushes away from his tail
and uncoupled the matched pair. _Now what?_ she thought.
_Start with the stiffer brush and go with the grain. Good luck._
Kitty held the brush in question in her hand and gingerly followed
Jean's instructions. After a few false starts, she got the hang of it
and Kurt started to relax. He even let them sit in a more normal
position.
Then there was this noise, like a low rumble of thunder. It came and
went in a continuous cycle. She could even feel it.
_OmyGod..._ It was *him*. "Kurt, you're like, totally purring!" she
blurted.
"...always purr when I'm happy," he said, his voice kind of wobbling
because of the purr. "I can't help it."
Kitty had to smile. She'd made someone's bummer of a day turn into
something fantastic. That always put her spirits up. He stretched and
angled himself under her touch, guiding her to little itchy spots which,
when she brushed them, made him sigh with relief and purr all the
louder.
He was like, totally appealing like this. She didn't even mind
cleaning the brush out like, every ten strokes or so.
"Kurt, why didn't you like, *tell* someone about this?"
"Mmmm?" his eyes opened a slit. He must have been dozing. "I guess I
was embarressed." He arched into another sweep of the brush. "Besides, I
think you said you thought back hair was 'hideola'."
Kitty blushed. "Yeah... but you have *fur*. It's different."
"Can't get much more different than me," he sighed. "Oh, just there.
Don't stop, please. Aaaaaahhhhh..."
_God, his smile's *gorgeous* when he does that._ "So, um. Did you mean
it?"
"Vas?"
"What you said when you tackled me in the hall. You know. That you
love me." Kitty could feel her blush deepening, and spreading out.
"Jawohl, meine Leibe. Immer."
"Um..." said Kitty.
Kurt provided a translation, "Yes, my love. Always." He smiled. "*And*
it's not just because you're brushing me. Though I must admit it helps.
It's because of everything you are. Because your smile makes you light
up. Because you shine like the moon."
Kitty's jaw was hanging open. "Like. Wow."
Jean grinned to herself as she journeyed into the library. She adored
playing cupid, sometimes.
"Ahem," said the Professor. He raised an eyebrow and tapped on his
wheelchair arm as he quoted, "He's in no state to brush himself?"
Jean managed a sick giggle. "I was just helping her change her mind.
She really makes him happy, you know? And he'd be good for her."
"Quite," drawled the Professor. "Your new job is to be their chaperone
until they're *both* no longer underage. Understood?"
Sigh. "Yes, Professor." _Three years of watching them moon over each
other. Ow._
_Exactly,_ said the Professor.
It was warm, and he was loved.
"Um. Fuzzy? I can't like, reach your legs from here."
Kurt managed to stir himself from a deliriously happy torpor. He was
still grinning like a fool, but that wasn't going to stop any time soon.
"That's all right. I'll lie on the bed for you." He caught her scent on
the comforter as he crawled into position. "Thanks for making it for me,
by the way."
"What? How did you--"
Kurt smiled. "My nose isn't as good as Wolverine's, but I get by." He
sighed as Kitty began to work on his legs, smoothing out tangles and
turfing out loose fur. He felt very warm, and very loved. "If you don't
want to do this, you don't have to," he said. He had to give her a way
out if she wanted one. He'd never force anyone to do this.
"No, I *want* to brush you. Makes me feel like I can do something to
make *you* feel nice for a change. You always like, make me feel so
*good* about myself, you know? It's like, you make me shine."
Very loved. "Hmmmm..."
"I think I love you, too." She started on his other leg.
"Ah, wunderbar," Kurt sighed. "I'm quite willing to wait until you
know for sure, leibe. I'll never force you to do anything you don't want
to do."
"That puts you ahead of like, every other guy in the universe
already," Kitty giggled. "Thank God you're not one of those jerks who
think they *own* people." She ran the brush down his tail.
*Very* warm.
She had no idea how sensitive it was. Kurt moaned as all his muscles
turned to jelly and wonderful, erotic sparkles travelled up and down his
body. Part of him wanted her to never stop, while another part knew too
well that they were both far too young for any of the top ten
shennanigans his back-brain was screaming out for.
Kitty took it as a sign of approval and picked up his tail to do the
underside.
_Leiber Gott..._ He'd only ever brushed his tail with the *soft*
brush. All he could do was lie there and moan. When Kitty finally
stopped, he could hardly hear above his ragged breathing and the blood
sizzling in his ears. _Oh, the feel of her *hands*..._ It was all he
could do to stop his tail wrapping around her digits and playing in
them. Verdammt thing had a mind of its own.
"Kurt? You okay? Did I do it wrong?"
"Oooohhhh, Katzchen. Oh, leibe... You have no idea. *Ohhhh*..."
He felt *extremely* warm, and *very* lov*ing*.
_We're too young,_ he told himself. _We're way too young. Too young.
Kids. Kinder. Far too young. But *Gott*, that felt so *good*! Stop
that!_
Kitty actually figured it out. "Oooops..." She was extremely pink,
now. "Overdid it, huh?"
"Very," sighed Kurt, "very sensitive tail. Lots and lots of nerve
endings. Oohhhhh... We use the *soft* brush on the tail, Schatz."
"So... like, asking you to roll over so I can like, do your front is
totally out."
"Ja. Unless we both want to die of embarressment."
"Sorry."
"You couldn't know."
"If it'll help? Try not thinking of purple walrusses."
"*Vas*?"
Kitty smiled. "It always helps to take your mind off of things. Like,
don't think of purple walrusses."
"Leibe, you have a very strange mind."
"Says the man who brushes his butt-crack," joked Kitty.
Kurt was starting to feel normal enough to try a coy pose. "Vas? *You*
want to have a go at brushing mein butt-crack?"
"No... but I would like to kiss you."
Their lips met.
He was warm, and loved.