Part the Fourteenth: ScapeElf
[AN: Yet another angstfic, but this time, it's heavy on the hurt/comfort
angle :) Sorry I took so long with this. A big multi-part AngstFic
crossed my path...]
"Jamie! I need you for a second..."
Jamie peeked back into the kitchen, and slunk around the doorframe,
staring with bugged eyes and an open mouth at what Kurt was doing.
He was juggling. With Ms Munroe's favourite china. All forty pieces of
it.
"Kurt," Jamie whispered, so as not to alert anyone. "That's
*dangerous*..."
"There was a tremour," said Kurt, "They all fell off the display and I
couldn't catch all of them at once, so I had to juggle them, and I can
only stop doing forty with *help*... I've been going for *hours*... mein
arms are *tired*."
"But *I* can't--"
"All you have to do is catch them as they come down," said Kurt,
almost begging. "Don't worry about me coping. Just take your time, be
careful, and catch them."
"But--"
"*Please*... I don't know how much longer I can do this..."
Jamie bit his lip. "Okay..." He *really* wished that the Professor
hadn't gone away for a fortnight. Or that Jean wasn't out on a date with
her jerk of a boyfriend. Or that half the mansion wasn't avoiding him.
He sighed and bought a chair over to stand on, and focussed intently on
the flying pieces of china.
One by one, he caught the pieces, and one by one, he placed them
carefully down on the table. They could put them back in the display
racks, after. Jamie just did as he was told, until they were done.
Kurt collapsed into a different chair with a sigh and a,
"Schliesslich..."
Jamie, still perched on the chair, surveyed their work. "We did it,"
he crowed, jumping up and down. "We did it! We did it!"
"Jamie, no! Don't--"
Jamie lost his footing. "Whoah..." There was a terrifying moment when
he hung suspended in midair, not quite off the chair, not quite on it.
Kurt tried to get up, but he was too tired and too slow.
All fall down.
The next thing he knew, there were four of him, upturned furniture and
broken china everywhere, and a very *irate* Ms Munroe in the kitchen
doorway.
"I'm sorry," he said, in unison with the other three clones.
"No," said Kurt, holding up a tridactyl hand to stop them. "It was my
fault, Frau'. I should have been more careful. I know this little place
that can repair the damage. They'll be as good as new. I can pay for it
- eventually..."
Jamie and his clones guiltily began to gather the scattered shards.
"We can help," he offered.
"No, you go out and have fun. Just because you were here doesn't mean
you have to pick up my mess," said Kurt. "Go on. Shoo."
"He didn't."
"He *did*," said Jamie. "What I don't get is *why* he did it."
"Who cares why," said Ray. "The fuzzball wants to take the blame, let
him. You got out of punishment, and it was just an accident anyway. What
does it matter who cleans it up?"
"But--"
"It occurs to me," said Amara, "that the peasant may have sacrificed
himself for acceptance amongst us."
"Yeah," said Roberto. "We *do* kinda give him a wide berth."
"So does *everyone*," said Bobby.
"He's not exactly easy to look on," said Rahne. "From what I hear, he
scared the stuffin' out of everyone that's ever come here."
"*I* still think he's cool," said Jamie. "He lets me do stuff."
"Once again, the child has isolated why the peasant is such a fool,"
said Amara.
"I still say we can use this to our advantage," said Ray.
"The Professor's out, right?" said Sam. "He's gone for two whole
weeks. That's two weeks with our word against his. Don't strike me as
right, somehow."
"Jean *is* plenty distracted," said Jubes. "She's hardly ever here."
"And it *is* kind of unfair how everyone blames *us* all the time,"
speculated Roberto.
"Long as we play it safe, no-one'll be any the wiser..."
Kurt sighed as he tipped the last of the dust in the dumpster.
"Havin' fun, Elf?" asked Logan.
"Maybe after a little rest," said Kurt. He was tired and hungry and he
was missing lunch. He was also heavily missing company, which was why he
was so eager for something to do, just yesterday.
"Ain't what I hear. Heard you were just up to some fun in one of the
girls' rooms."
Kurt groaned. Someone, somewhere, was glad he was around to blame. "I
just finished getting the dirt out of all the basements," he said.
"There's no more laundry. Everything is *clean*. Even the danger room."
"That's why I figured it's gotta be somethin' you ate," said Logan.
"Ya got too much energy to waste, so I'm puttin' you on a diet."
Kurt could hear the prison bars clang shut. No chance to defend
himself. And 'whining', he knew, would simply land him more punishment
time.
He did say, very calm, very quiet, "You know about my high metabolism,
ja? You *know* I need to eat."
"That's what you say. *I* say you could have somethin' different."
Kurt sighed. There was no arguing with Wolverine. "What are we going
to do?" he asked, his voice dead.
"We're going to be watchin' every calorie that goes in and out. You're
eatin' standard servings from now on."
He nodded. Logan wouldn't let him do anything else. "Can I have lunch,
now?"
"From what I heard, you already *had* lunch."
That was a 'no'. Kurt stifled another groan.
"And now, you're comin' with me to work it off. Keep up, and I might
let ya have a snack."
He'd kept up. Nothing like the promise of food to motivate him. He was
shaking as he fell into the chair at the kitchen table. Take heart. Food
was coming. Logan wouldn't let him fix it, himself, but food was coming.
"Mangia," Logan slammed the plate down in front of him.
Kurt stared at it. Rice cakes. With a leaf of lettuce and a slice of
pemento loaf on them. There were three of them.
"If you don't want 'em, I can throw 'em out," Logan offered. "Then
you'll have nothing until dinner."
Kurt siezed the plate. Anything was better than nothing. He wolfed
down the first one in four bites.
"Small bites," Logan said, "Or I take it away anyway."
His body was demanding he *eat*, fill his stomach as quickly as
possible. His personal fuel-gage was nearing 'empty'. Kurt forced his
body to shut the hell up. He took small bites, and chewed thoroughly. It
didn't do a damn thing to make him feel full.
_Some lunch._ It was barely a snack, according to his standards. A
Jumbo MegaFeast at Gut Bomb was what he considered a *snack*.
"Elf..."
Kurt blinked. He was in the middle of licking the plate. He hadn't
even known he was doing it. He put the plate down. "Sorry," he said.
"I'm *hungry*."
"Good," said Logan. "Then maybe you'll remember to play nice from now
on. You're confined to quarters. Go."
Moaning under his breath, Kurt went. He'd just shut his door when he
heard, "STUPID *PEASANT*!"
Kurt moaned and fell to the floor. He was *doomed*.
His little plan to get people to like him was backfiring.
Major league.
{*peeeep*} "You have reached the Xavier Institute for Gifted
Youngsters. None of the tutors are able to reach the 'phone, right now,
but if you leave your name and number..."
Xavier sighed and mouthed along with his own words. Everyone was too
busy to take the call. And it was late.
{*peeeep*}
"Hello. Just thought I'd let you know that decorum has collapsed and
the board has dissolved into points of order. I'm coming home on the
next available flight." He sighed. "Maybe *next* year, we can actually
make some *progress* towards mutant rights. I'll call you when I'm at
the airport. See you soon."
Breakfast soon. Breakfast soon. All he had to do was complete the
circuit Logan had mapped out - on two legs, not all fours - and he could
have breakfast. He could *eat*.
Mmmm. Food.
{SNAP!}
Kurt screamed and teleported before he could even think. Momentum
landed him into a tree, and biological debt almost made him black out.
There was a metal trap on his left hock. The teleport, even though it
was a short one, had sheared the chain, thus preventing him breaking the
leg in the fall.
He had no choice. He had a job to do. Complete the circuit or no food.
Considering the circumstances, Logan was bound to let him do so on three
limbs.
Kurt tore up his jacket, binding the wound, binding the trap to the
wound, the trap to the leg, and the leg to the trap. Best not to
aggravate anything until he could get to the infirmary. Maybe Logan
would even let him get to the infirmary first. He definitely would.
Wouldn't want anyone hurt.
But he *had* to have breakfast. So he *had* to complete the circuit.
His holowatch made it look as if the trap was halfway through his
shoe. He left the illusion on. No-one wanted to see what a starving elf
looked like. It was tremendously unappealing.
Kurt resumed the circuit. Limping along on three limbs, hoping and
praying that no-one saw him.
Ororo could hear Kurt's laboured breathing before she saw him. She
half expected him to come staggering through the back door, the access
to the outside. Which was why it was such a surprise to finally spot him
coming in through one of the inside doors.
He pulled himself up into a chair and stared at the empty table. "I
missed breakfast," he said, sounding hopeless.
Ororo knew all about his continued hijinks, and Logan's attempts to
get them to stop. "He gave you plenty of time," she said. "He sat there,
after everyone had left, drinking coffee for about an hour and a half.
What happened to you?" She indicated his missing jacket.
"Uh. You could say I hit a little snag. I don't suppose I could beg
you for a leftover sandwich? I *need* food..."
"Sorry. There aren't any leftovers."
Kurt whimpered and hit the tabletop with his head.
The 'phone rang. Ororo went to get it. It was the Professor, back
early, and completely surprised that no-one had *touched* the answering
machine.
Ororo peeked in on Kurt. He'd fallen asleep at the table. She'd have
to tell Logan to ease up on the boy. He was clearly suffering.
"Sorry, Professor," she turned her back on Kurt. "Things have been a
little more than hectic around here. While the cat's away, and all
that... I'll be there as soon as I can."
She scribbled a note to Logan and pinned it to the 'fridge, then
snatched up the keys to the rolls, grabbed her purse, and headed out.
Logan growled. He should have *known* he'd find the kid in the pantry.
He should have guessed the Elf couldn't be trusted to stick to the diet
they'd agreed on.
Elf was scraping the bottom of a jar of peanut butter, then sucking on
the spoon.
"*ELF*!"
"Sknx?" His eyes fluttered open. He looked stunned. Afraid. He looked
at the jar, at Logan, and back at the jar. He started to
hyperventillate. Logan knew the look in those eyes. They were eyes
staring down the abyss into madness.
He could have sworn he saw the kid snap. In one blink, sanity had gone
on a holiday.
"D'ARGH!" Kurt threw the bottle and the spoon at Logan.
The bottle smashed in his face, regardless of his adamantium claw
guard. The spoon was neatly sliced in twain.
The Elf galloped out in the confusion, while Logan extracted glass
from his face.
_Gotta give him enginuity points..._
Run run run run run run run run run run run run...
Gotta find a place to hide. Make the bad man give up. Then get food.
Mmmmm... food.
So hungry.
There! There was a place to interrupt the scent trail.
Duckpond.
Leap in, grab a hollow reed. Use it like a snorkel.
Find centre. Slow self down.
Slow.
Down.
His eyes shut in the murky water, and he watched the world through his
slowed down night senses. Logan's unique light approached, apparently on
fast-forward. Exactly on his trail. He stopped at the water's edge.
Kurt could see him, in his mind's eye, sniffing and peering at the
dark water. He rose, eventually, and searched around the pond's edge.
Thrice. On one circuit, he went around on all fours.
Eventually, Logan left.
Kurt waited another hour before he let himself surface. He didn't
bother looking for a place where he could get clean. Clean could wait.
He had to get *fed*.
Hungry hungry hungry hungry hungry hungry hungry hungry hungry...
At least he didn't have to run any more.
There was food near here. Nuts and berries and apple trees.
Kurt stuffed his face as quickly as he could. Chewing everything he
put in his mouth. The nuts were bordering on stale. The berries were
sort of green.
The apples, when he looked up the little crab-apple trees, were green
and as hard as rocks. They'd make him sick. He couldn't be that hungry.
His body wouldn't *demand* he eat sickeningly green crab-apples. He
wouldn't even be able to throw up. His body wouldn't let him throw up
bad food on an otherwise empty stomach.
Kurt looked at his hand. He was eating a green crab-apple with half a
worm in it. Apparently, his body *was* that desperate for food.
At which point, Kurt's body turned off the part of his brain that was
busy being Kurt and making objections.
Eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat...
"Hank?"
"Hm?" Hank looked up from his formula. He'd been working on it every
free moment. "Something you desire?"
"Elf's run off. Need you to help hunt him down. Get Red on to it if
you can. I'd get 'Ro in to do a sky search, but she'd done a runner,
too."
"And what misdeed has Mister Wagner perpetrated *this* time?"
"Gave me the run-around before breakfast. I tell ya, Poindexter, I
*hate* holidays. Prof's got the right idea by buggin' out for the
duration.
"You get Red. I'll get Smokey. We *need* flyers to find the Elf. Kid's
got rat-bastard cunning coming out of his ears."
"Was that a compliment or an insult?"
"I'll let ya know the second we finally track 'im down."
"Oh, *marvy*," Hank sarcasmed.
Jean focussed on finding Kurt. What she found horrified her.
_HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY (hurt) HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY (burns)
HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY (sick) HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY (scared)_
She turned off as fast as she could, and still wept uncontrollably for
a minute or so. "Logan. He can't go. He'll make Kurt run. Kurt can't
afford to run. Oh, God... I let this happen. I should have been here for
him..."
She flashed Hank a mental image of where Kurt was before concentrating
on Logan.
_You want me to *what*?_
_Stay out of it. You've terrified him into doing this. I chose Hank to
go get him. He might trust Hank._
_Might? Red, what are you on?_
_It's not what I'm on, it's what he's in. You've reduced him to a knot
of instincts, Logan. You did too much._
Logan's mind growled. _Kid didn't say nothin' against it._
_Did you let him?_
_Uh..._
Just what she thought. _Stay out of sight, okay? We have to tread
carefully._
Someone coming. Sore. It burns. Move. Can't. Too sick.
Gotta move. Gotta hide. Can't let them find me. Want the hurt to stop.
So hungry. No food.
Leg hurts. Wrist hurts. Stomach hurts.
Hungry.
Gotta hide. There. Leaves. Hide. Save skin. *Then* worry about clean.
Filthy.
Hide. Bury under the leaves. Stay still.
Wrist-hurt burns, now, just like leg.
Why is there light? Smells bad. Smoke.
Am I in Winzeldorf again? Did they catch me?
So tired.
Sleep a little and stay still.
Yes.
Hank could see the fire, just beginning to start. According to Jean,
the fire was where Kurt was. He dug into the leaves, putting out the
smouldering little flame that had started from a short in his
malfunctioning holowatch. Kurt was slumbering.
Hank touched his shoulder, trying to rouse him.
"D'AAAAAARGH!" Kurt lashed out blindly, days of neglect had let his
nails lengthen and sharpen into something resembling talons, and he had
ten of them to rake at an unsuspecting attacker.
Hank ignored the shallow slashes in his person and picked the boy up.
"It's all right," he said. "It's all right. Logan isn't here. We're not
backing him up any more. Do you understand me?"
Kurt slowed down in mid-slash. He stared at Hank as if trying to solve
something. "...hungry..." he whispered.
"I know," Hank soothed. "I'll take you home, and we can get something
for you to eat."
Kurt drank the first bowl of Mama Wagner's Straight-up Calorie Soup
like it was water. He did the same to the second through the fifth. He
never said a word.
He looked awful.
Hank could count his ribs, and they were outlined starkly with blue
fur that had lost all trace of its body and shine. Haunted eyes looked
like they'd been blacked, and they'd lost all their luminosity. He was
covered in duckweed, algae and moldering leaf parts. A shocking
disparity from the Kurt who routinely spent an hour and a half getting
clean every morning.
He'd refused to clean up, demanding food, even fighting with all the
remaining strength he had. Not that that was very much.
Hank fought to maintain control. Logan was *not* his favourite person,
right now, and if he turned up within Hank's range, he'd get more than a
lecture on paying attention to body language.
Kurt finally started drowsing over his tenth bowlful of Calorie Soup.
Hank picked him up and carted him off to the infirmary for a bath, a
thorough check-up and an investigation of the wound under the grungy
bandages of his left hock.
"Stay awake for me, will you?" Hank asked as he carried his charge
towards the infirmary. "Recite something. Anything."
Kurt began mumbling something in Romani.
Jamie Madrox could feel the blood drain out of his face as Kurt passed
by, held in the crook of Mr McCoy's arm. He *knew* the guys had gone too
far. He'd tried to warn them, but nobody *ever* listened to the baby of
the group.
There were times when he *hated* being twelve.
He started running. They were going to *listen*. Even if he had to
start screaming into their ears.
He found the guys in a human pyramid, trying to replace a china
statuette in it's nook near the ceiling. This was exactly the sort of
thing that had been going on for days. And every time it went wrong,
there was a sudden flurry of movement and blame thoroughly laid on Kurt.
Jamie was sick of it. So far, he'd kept quiet, but not this time.
"If you break that," he said, "I'm telling."
Amara leaned forward and gently placed the statue back in its niche.
She pulled her tongue back into her mouth as she slid it back into its
rightful place. "As if *you'd* be believed above the rest of us," she
said.
"Kurt's going to hospital right *now*," said Jamie. "He looks like
he's dying."
The human pyramid fell, but thankfully, the statue didn't.
"Ye woh?" said Rahne.
"That ain't right," said Sam. "He looked fine before breakfast."
"He was wearing his hologram. It *always* looks the same. He's been
hiding behind it," Jamie felt sick. "We've all been using him and now
he's all hurt."
"That goes with what *I* heard," said Jubes, primary source of
information for the entire high school. "Jean was chewing out Logan, and
she said he'd driven Kurt *insane*..."
"Whoah," said Ray. "Cool!"
"It is *not* cool!" Jamie shouted. "It's not a story! It's really
real! He's really sick, and it's really our fault 'cause we kept blaming
him, and I'm *TELLING*!"
Everyone had gone quiet and pale.
Jamie folded his arms and, despite how he was feeling, smirked. *That*
was telling them.
"Ain't no need, Squirt," said Logan, who was right behind him. "I've
been listening."
He just wanted to *sleep*, but Herr McCoy wouldn't let him. There was
no escaping Big Blue. Funny joke, that. Tabby had come up with it,
after she left, and it'd stuck. Hank was Big Blue, Kurt was Little
Blue. Okay. Half of it stuck. After about a month's worth of objections
that he wasn't that little.
No-one had protested that Hank wasn't big. So Big Blue he remained.
"Keep talking to me, Kurt," Hank persisted. "Just keep talking. I need
you awake."
Kurt groaned. "Tired," he said. "Hurts."
"I know, but we're clean, now, right? Let's give that wound of yours
some proper attention, hm? I got Evan to fetch some clean clothing for
you." He indicated the pile.
Well, that explained the apparently colourblind selection made by
whatever was lying closest to hand. What had *posessed* him to buy an
orange shirt?
Ohyeah... Kitty had said it looked nice.
"Kurt?" Hank prompted.
Kurt obediently lurched towards the clothes. Why should he care what
he looked like? Nobody spent more than a handful of minutes ever looking
at him, anyway.
"Okay, good." Hank readied a surgical tray. "Let's look at that wound,
shall we?"
"Why *do* doctors have to talk in plurals, anyway?" Kurt wondered. "Is
it some kind of disassociative thing or what?" It was the most he'd said
since he'd spoken to Ororo.
"It's supposed to make us look friendly and sound open," Hank drawled.
"Although I must admit, I've always felt a little demented saying it..."
"Ha!"
Kurt offered his leg. He hadn't looked at it since he'd pried the trap
off of it, how many hours ago? He rarely looked at himself. He didn't
really need any reminders that he was so vastly different from anyone
else.
Hank's face told the whole story. It didn't look good. "What
*happened*?"
Kurt pointed at the refuse bin, to where he'd dumped the steel trap.
While Hank looked, Kurt focussed on not passing out. It was hard. The
fire in his hock was threatening to spread up his calf.
"And you didn't summon help?"
He shook his head. Then he mimicked Wolverine. "Only help you get from
now on is yourself, elf. Whinin' gets you extra demerits. *Fixin'* the
problem's the only thing that's gonna work."
Hank sighed. "I am going to have to have a *long* talk with him...
When did he say this to you?"
Kurt shrugged. "Lost track of time." He watched, detatched, as a
needle went into the leg, but he sighed as the fire died down.
"Stay awake," Hank cautioned. "Recite something else."
Kurt focussed his Chi. He didn't like talking when he was hurt, but he
could repeat like a champion. "[Once, long ago, in the beginning of
things...]" he began. It didn't matter that he was reciting a Romani
legend to someone who didn't understand a word of it. What mattered was
that he was doing what They currently wanted.
If that meant telling stories, he'd tell stories until his tongue fell
out.
He told three stories before Hank started wrapping his leg again.
There'd been a lot of needles and stitching and washing, but at least it
was over. Until the next trial.
"Sleep?" he asked. "Please?"
"Yes, I think we can let you sleep, now."
Ah, good. Done for the day.
"Yes, I think we can let you sleep, now." Hank tidied away the
equipment he'd been using to clean and fix Kurt's wound. The boy was
lucky he hadn't broken any bones. "Though I'd prefer it if you could
wait until we got you somewhere --" he turned back to realise he'd lost
his audience. Kurt was fast asleep. "--warm."
Hank sighed and retrieved a pre-warmed blanket to wrap him in until he
got the kid somewhere more comfortable. Kurt and hospitals - even the
Institute's in-house hospital - didn't mix too terribly well. They made
him panic.
Considering the extremes he was willing to go to, at the moment, panic
was a very bad thing.
He passed the new recruits on the way to Kurt's bedchamber, and was
slightly disturbed to hear them fall to murmuring after he passed.
Even though he was fast asleep, Kurt clung tight to the heated
blanket. Hank let him, and simply added layers of bedclothes on top
until there was only a hint of blue hair poking out from underneath the
comforter.
Then he sat down to read. Kurt was still in the danger zone. He'd need
immediate attention when he woke, but sleep was the healer he needed
most, right now.
{tap tap tap}
Only one person in the Institute could knock like that. "Yes, Jamie?"
He poked his head around the door. "Mr Logan said we should listen to
what you gotta say. Can we come in?"
Hank got a glimpse of the rest of the new recruits lurking in the
background. Most looked contrite. The rest were covertly fuming. "You
must understand that Kurt needs *rest*, right now. One loud disturbance
and you're all out."
The new recruits filed in, sticking close to a blank wall. Hank also
spied Logan hanging around in the hall. He was going to listen, too, but
he wasn't going to run the risk of causing another disruption.
Hank began his lecture, speaking in nothing more than a murmur, but he
had everyone's rapt attention.
"To begin with, mister Wagner has a high metabolism, meaning that he
requires more energy to get through the day than a more ordinary person.
Fortunately, his body is rigged to wring every last calorie out of
anything he consumes. He needs it. Teleportation, no matter what the
method, requires vast amounts of energy to perform. At this point, I'm
assuming that he hasn't been able to do so for at least a few days."
Logan rumbled a growl from his position out in the hall, and the
students cringed.
"Thus, what *we* consider average calorie consumption, is something of
a starvation diet for mister Wagner. From his general poor condition,
I'd also have to guess that he's been missing a few meals."
"My fault," said Logan. "Kids said he was stealin' food. I believed
'em."
"Kurt's body would have begun consuming its own muscle on the third
day," Hank continued, watching the number of heads hung in shame
increase. "Which also accounts for the massive strain injuries I found,
since he was also being over-worked."
"Elf never complained," said Logan. "On the second day, he stopped
talkin' altogether."
"Yet he was downright chatty whenever *you* encountered him, right?"
Hank asked the new recruits. "Hurling insults? Making bad jokes? Singing
off key?"
There was a generic mumble of appologetic noises.
"That was the damage already done so far this week. This *morning*,
whilst attempting to run a three mile course before breakfast, mister
Wagner found a steel-jawed trap with his left foot."
Every listener winced.
"He was fortunate, in that it didn't break any of his bones. However,
the shock of the trap's initial injuries made him instinctively
teleport, thus reducing whatever bodily reserves he had left to almost
nil. Nevertheless, he *still* insisted on completing the course as
outlined by Logan. He patched himself together at the topical level
only, before seeking food. Which, I believe, he was refused under
Logan's instructions.
"He lost consciousness, but his body's demand for food could not be so
easily silenced. His *subconscious* worked to obtain the nutrition he
was clearly missing. In short, he was sleep-snacking."
In any other situation, they would have giggled, but this was someone
they knew.
"That, of course, was the worst time for Logan to enforce his Law.
Kurt, stretched beyond his means, just snapped. The places where he
sought to hide from Logan - the duck pond and under a pile of leaves,
merely ensured that his wound became infected.
"Kurt's metabolism helped the infection progress at a faster rate. I
had to douse the wound with antibiotics several times, before I could
stitch his wounds closed. There was an average of thirty stitches per
puncture wound, and he had five punctures in his leg. Now, his battle is
with shock, starvation, some spoiled food, *and* the infection. He needs
to be watched for a while."
The silence was only broken by the sounds of someone sniffling.
Jamie's face was red with emotion.
"...'s all my fault," the kid whimpered. "I shouldn'a told..."
"Ah, *this* is where everyone is," said Xavier's voice from out in the
hall. "Logan?" The door opened in full, revealing the Professor and
Ororo. "Oh dear," he said upon taking in the scene. "What's Kurt done to
himself, now?"
"How long do I have to sit here and *watch* him?"
"As long as it takes," Hank didn't even look up from his book. "Now if
you *must* speak, speak *quietly*. He needs his rest."
"I am a Princess of the Crown Royal," she hissed. "I should *not* be
forced to *sit* and watch a *peasant* sleep."
"Ah. So you'd rather sign up for Logan's excercise regime?"
Amara bit her lip. "Er. No. On second thought, may I study while we
wait?"
"As long as you study a textbook, and not Leonardo DeCaprio."
"It's Enrique Basilica," she said, blush tinting her cheeks.
"Whomever. Return with a textbook. I suggest ettiquite. And ethics."
Amara put on the appearance of chagrin as she bolted for her room.
Hank was, frankly, not looking forward to the rest of the 'punishment
detail', in which the new recruit 'volunteers' were now his medical
assistants in the task of returning Kurt to full health.
Logan had drawn up a roster and, with the help of Charles, assigned
the worst tasks to the worst offenders. Hank couldn't help noticing that
Amara and he were going to be facing each other a *lot*.
Jean's punishment, for not being vigilant and helping keep disputes
down and settle arguments, was constant vigilance of the punishment
detail, as well as Kurt.
Kurt rolled over and moaned.
_Oh dear..._
There was an instant, _Trouble?_ from Jean. She was still monitoring.
Good.
_Tell Amara to forget the textbook. We need a basin. Now._
There was a distant "*EW*!" from down the hall.
Hank ignored it, moving to Kurt's side so he could closely monitor the
boy. Pulse was still racing, body still chilled... even though he was
still unconscious, he was starting to look incredibly uncomfortable with
himself. A quick peek under the blankets revealed that he was clutching
at his stomach.
_Looks like his body's finally going to reject that spoiled food he
ate last night._
Kurt moaned again as Amara entered.
"Position it near his head and be prepared to move it accordingly,"
Hank instructed.
"Surely you don't expect *me* to--"
"Young lady, you will do exactly as I say, when I say it. Or you will
be doing Logan's morning jerks as *well* as care and maintenance here."
Amara swallowed nervously before she did as she was told.
Tired. So tired.
Whole body hurts.
I'm gonna be sick.
Don't want to move.
Someone moving me. Herr McCoy?
"Let it go," advised McCoy. "We're prepared."
This time, when his stomach convulsed, Kurt didn't fight it. Acid and
the taste of rot filled his senses. Burned his throat. He wanted to be
sick again, but there was no more bad food to throw up. Just bile.
He could feel Hank rubbing his back. He understood about the fur, and
only kept with the grain.
So tired.
"Stupid *peasant*!"
Amara? Kurt blinked, automatically reaching for a tissue to wipe his
mouth. "Vas?"
"You *splashed* me. You *stained* me with your *filth*! You--"
"Amara!" McCoy stopped her. "Not another word. You know what happens
if you *irritate* me."
Surprisingly, the Princess instantly cowed. "Yessir."
So tired...
"Try and stay awake," McCoy advised. "I've been informed that
someone's bringing you sustenance; and you need to take some
medication."
Kurt slowly pulled himself into a sitting position and wrapped himself
in the comforter. He closed his eyes and moaned. His left hock burned,
so he stretched out the leg. Felt wierd.
"What day's it?" Kurt managed in a whisper.
"Saturday the twelfth."
"Huh... only a week." Katzchen would be coming back from her home,
today. He hadn't even got her a present. "Amara? I need you to do
something for me..." she was gone.
Kurt tried again when she returned. She didn't look too terribly
pleased about having to catch or clean up puke. "Could you do me a
favour, Princess? I need you to go out today and get something nice for
Katzchen. You can have whatever's in my wallet for a budget."
"I'm booked solid, *peasant*," she snarled, "looking after *you*."
He sighed. "Oh." Another minute's thought went into, "Jubilee?"
"She's *also* grounded."
"Rogue?"
"Grounded."
"Rahne?"
"Grounded."
"Jean?"
"Grounded until hades freezes over."
"Ororo?"
"Making sure all of us on punishment detail do what we're told. Face
it, fuzz-butt. Everyone is *booked*."
"Oh." Kitty would be so sad. She wouldn't even be able to go out and
go shopping with anyone. Poor Katzchen. She'd be even lonlier than he
was, and she wasn't used to it. She'd be *miserable*. He felt sorry for
her.
Someone threw a box of tissues at his head. Amara.
"Stop snivelling you stupid peasant!"
"Amara..." McCoy warned.
{tap tap tap}
"Oh joy. It's the *gopher*."
Jamie crept into the room. "Jean said you were awake?" he said. "And
she said you'd been sick? So I bought some water as well?"
"Dankeshoen," Kurt sighed. He took the glass of water and downed it
quickly. Then he found a nice big bowl of Mama's get-better soup. "Ah,
*Danke*shoen! Wunderbar..." There were even toast soldiers.
"Why're you sad?" Jamie asked. "You're not mad at us, are you?"
People always asked questions like this when one's mouth was full...
Kurt circled his spoon in the air while he processed his food. "Nein. I
was just thinking - I didn't get Katzchen a welcome-home gift. What with
everyone being tied up with - things - I still can't get her one. She'll
be so depressed..." Kurt stopped further tears from flowing with a
tissue.
Amara made a disgusted noise and muttered, "Snivelling peasant..."
"I could go," said Jamie. "Mr Logan said I gotta do fetching for
*everyone*... Only - I can't get a ride so I'll have to take my bike.
That is - if Mr McCoy is okay with it?"
They both turned to McCoy, who was rolling his eyes. "Fine. You can go
get a present for Kitty."
"Take my wallet," said Kurt. "And stay away from the credit cards.
They're evil."
"Yay!" Jamie saluted before he grabbed Kurt's wallet and ran for all
he was worth.
Kurt went back to the soup with a sigh of relief. Once again, Mama's
recipe was working its magic on him. He felt better already.
Not by *much*, but that wasn't the point.
Sleep overcame him again as soon as he was done. He barely stayed
awake long enough for the pills and needles. He passed out for good when
McCoy began unwrapping his hock.
"Like, hel-*LO*!" Kitty listened to her own voice echo in the mansion.
Something had to be seriously up. _Leave this place for like, one *week*
and everything like, goes nuts._ She put her bags down in a spot where
most people wouldn't trip over them and started walking.
She'd thought that Kurt would have mugged her by now. Heck, she
halfway expected him to mug her before her taxi had come to a complete
stop. He had this way of wriggling through windows...
Kitty's train of thought was interrupted by the spectacle of Ray and
Roberto moving an enormous stuffed chair upstairs. It was one of the
ones with so much implied comfiness that most were afraid to sit in it
for fear of getting lost in its folds.
Judging by the cursing that they were both doing, they weren't moving
it voluntarily.
"Like, what is going *on*?" Kitty asked.
"Punishment detail," grunted Ray.
Roberto had the heavy end, but that didn't seem to be bothering him.
"Pretty much everyone is grounded for the duration. Except Kurt. He's
the one we kinda hurt."
Kitty followed them. "*Kinda* hurt?" she asked.
"It's - sort of a long story."
"We screwed up," said Ray. "Kurt covered it over by taking the blame.
Repeat a few times."
"A few dozen, *dozen* times..." said Roberto. "Logan was *pissed* at
him."
Kitty felt her heart leap. "Like, is he like, okay?"
"He's alive," said Ray. "Just."
Kitty raced ahead to Kurt's room, and didn't even bother knocking. She
found him swaddled in a comforter, just about every inch of him covered
up. Except his face and his left hock, which Hank was unwrapping.
"Katzchen," he croaked. The light that was usually in his eyes was
barely a tiny sparkle.
"OmyGod; are you like, okay?"
"Ja. Now *you're* here."
"Like, what *happened* to you."
"I found a deer trap," Kurt sighed. He looked sleepy, yet was
incredibly haggard. "Herr McCoy said it was too small to be a bear
trap."
"In your condition, a bear trap would have likely sliced your foot
off."
Kitty was on Kurt in and instant, holding him close to her.
"OmyGod..."
"*Please* don't jounce him," said Hank. "This is delicate work, here."
Kitty had to look. "*EW*!" She instantly turned away. "How'd you let
this like, happen to you?"
"I was lonely," he said. "Nobody wanted to talk to me."
Ray and Roberto struggled inside with the chair. They didn't look too
pleased about recent events.
"So you like, took all the blame so they'd like, *like* you?"
"Ja."
Kitty kissed his forehead. "Silly Elf. All you had to do was like,
wait until I like, came back."
"But it was so long," he murmured.
Amara entered with a tray of bandages and surgical supplies. "I see
the peasant is still pathetic," she said. "Doubly so now that 'Katzchen'
has come home."
"Amara. Remember what I told you?"
"Yes, yes, 'If you can't say anything nice' and all that, but this
country has freedom of speech--"
"Oh, no," murmured Mr McCoy.
"--I'm perfectly within my rights to say *anything* I please."
"Likewise, *we're* like, perfectly within *our* rights to like, think
what we like about what you like, *say*," said Kitty. "No wonder nobody
like, *likes* you."
"Says the girl who's wallowing in the same gutter as that stupid,
filthy peasant," said Amara.
"When you're *quite* done," said Mr McCoy. "Kurt's bandages have
leaked and we need some new linnen. As soon as we've moved him, you can
change his sheets."
"Rrrr," said Amara.
"The worse you are, the worse it's gonna get," said Roberto on his way
out.
"Yeah," said Ray. "Eat shit and smile."
"...d'eewwww..." Amara made a face.
Kurt knew he was bad when he saw Kitty's reactions. Herr "Call me
Hank" McCoy had a level of schooled neautrality that didn't give Kurt a
clue. The others were too ashamed to look directly at him; except Jamie,
who repeatedly focussed on just his face.
Kitty's face sort of squinched up when Hank unwrapped Kurt from his
mess of blankets. A lot of them had been bled on.
"Let me guess," he said after Hank had settled him into the comfy
chair. "I look like hell."
Kitty nodded. She was biting her lip. "You're like, *way* too thin..."
Kurt had to smile. "Ha. I'm the one usually telling *you* that." He
huddled up in his place and shivered.
Kitty moved in beside him and wrapped her arms around him. She was
treating him as if she were afraid he would break.
He *must* look like hell.
He snuggled up against her as much as he could. "You're warm," he
sighed. Then, because he really couldn't help himself, he sniffed. "You
smell nice."
"Medication," said Hank, handing him five pills and a glass of water.
Kurt made a face, but took them one by one. There were another five to
take after meals plus needles in his leg plus something else that always
made him sleepy and foggy. All he could remember of it was the colour
orange.
"Like, *whoah*... That's like, a *heap* of antibiotics."
"Sorry," he said, almost on automatic. "Herr McCoy--"
"*Please* call me Hank..."
"--says that with my metabolism, any infection's always trouble. All
these pills are just to help boost the effectiveness of the shots."
"You take shots *too*?"
He flinched at the loud noise. "Sorry. 'S my metabolism." He put the
empty glass down and meekly accepted a small bowl of Mama's get-better
soup. Hank said he needed the calories. His body had been thrown off
wanting food by the meds. He made himself eat. It was what They wanted,
at the moment. Doing what They wanted was less trouble than fighting.
Fighting got more pain.
The soup warmed him. Just like Kitty did. The pills made him drowsy
and disenclined to move. Hank said that was a good thing, what with his
weight so low.
"I couldn't go out and get a welcome-home gift for you," he said.
"Oh, Kurt, you didn't have to. I like, understand."
"It's all right, liebe. I got Jamie to go for me. We'll both be
surprised when he comes back, ja?"
Kitty rolled her eyes. "He'll probably like, come back with like,
three billion Action Guy comics and a tonne of like, candy."
"That *would* be a surprise," said Kurt, slowing down halfway through
the soup. His stomach felt like he'd been wrung out like a washcloth. He
forced himself to clean his plate. "Jamie can be trusted."
"You must be like, the only one who does."
Kurt smiled. "I guess that's why he makes sure he's trustworthy for
me." The soup finished, he worked on the next five pills. Hank seemed
satisfied for the moment, and he didn't usually give Kurt the needles
until he was lying down, so he guessed he had a little bit of a
reprieve. Kurt took the opportunity to heartily embrace Kitty and nuzzle
at her neck, savouring her perfume.
"Like, ew," Kitty said, "Who picked out your clothes?"
"Evan."
Kitty laughed. "All the proof I needed that he's like, colourblind.
Orange is like, *so* not your RL colour."
"You said it looked nice," he murmured. "'S why I bought it."
"On your hologram - maybe. On *you* - nuh-uh."
Kurt smiled.
"What?"
"I love the way you said that," he purred.
"Leg," said Hank, prepping a needle.
Amara was making his bed in the background, grumbling about stupid
peasants and their propensity for catching filthy diseases. She was not,
as Ray so charmingly put it, going to 'eat shit and smile'. She *was*,
however, probably going to wind up on Wolverine's excercise detail,
regardless.
Kurt wriggled about until his injured leg was accessable. He didn't
watch the needles go in. He never did.
Kitty winced and looked away. "Please be okay," she begged. "Please
get better?"
His leg burned with cold fire.
"Hey, I can't get much worse," he smiled.
Hank extracted him from their tangle and settled him back into bed.
There was a little cup of orange fluid by his bedside.
Kurt obediently drank it and fell asleep before his head landed on his
pillow.
"High metabolism," said Hank as he tucked Kurt back in. "On the cons
side, it means I have to be prepared for any negative reactions to new
medication *before* I administer it. It's also why he has to take such
massive quantities of antibiotics. For the pros, any medication he
*does* take works rather quickly; and he's extremely receptive to
sedatives."
"You're like, *sedating* him?" Kitty demanded.
"Not - quite." He tidied up the discarded bits and bobs of a treatment
session. "That fluid is more of a painkiller. To you or I, beyond mild.
To Kurt, a guaranteed knock-out. It also has a side-effect of slowing
his metabolism down for a limited time, giving the antibiotics a
fighting chance."
"It's that bad?" Kitty bit her lip.
Hank told Amara, "Watch him. I want you to check his temperature every
ten minutes and log it. Any significant change and you let me know
immediately. Understood?"
Amara growled under her breath, but said, "Yes, sir."
Hank then guided Kitty out with a, "We'll be in the upstairs library,
should you need us."
Kitty walked beside him in silence until they got to the library. Then
she said, "He's going to die, isn't he?"
"To be honest; it's touch and go. It's early days. He's still in the
danger zone, and I don't like his current weight. The infection's
stopped *spreading*, but it isn't receeding, either. The worst thing he
has to combat is the low morale Logan left him with. Until you came by,
he's just been going through the motions. Doing whatever he was told
and, I believe, sinking deeper into dispair."
Kitty had hung her head. One hand went to her eyes and she sniffed.
"Your presence could be the deciding factor in his recovery."
"*Me*?" Kitty stared at him. "What can *I* do?"
"You've already made him talk when no-one else could get him to string
three words together. I believe you may also be able to hold his
interest, encourage him to get better, that sort of thing." He patted
her shoulder. "You're his focus. Something to take his mind off the
pain. All you have to do is be there and he'll brighten right up."
Jamie sighed as he closed the door. Made it. All the way to the mall.
*Through* the mall, and back again. All without getting accidentally
duplicated.
He raced upstairs, present ready for inspection in his backpack, and
Kurt's wallet already in hand.
All he found in Kurt's room was Amara taking Kurt's temperature. She
didn't look too happy about it.
Kurt was out cold.
Jamie put his wallet back where it belonged, and unpacked the ornate
music box he'd found in Kurt's favourite store, _Trash'N'Treasure_.
"How was the peasant able to afford *that*?" Amara demanded.
Jamie stared at her. "You don't *know*?"
"A Princess does not involve herself in the affairs of peasants," she
said, jotting down some numbers in a notebook. "Consider yourself my
Ambassador and get on with it, will you?"
"Kurt volunteers himself for a lot of chores around here so he can get
some spending money. The Professor gives him a little more 'cause he
works so hard for it."
"And yet *I'm* ruining my cuticles and not earning a penny," she said.
"That's pure injustice."
"No," said Jamie. "It's *punishment*. You're supposed to suffer."
Kitty wandered back into the room with a very thick book. "Hi,
squirt," she ruffled Jamie's hair. "That what you got for Kurt to get
for me?"
Jamie blushed. "Uh. Yeah."
Kitty grinned. "I'll act surprised."
Kurt was actually staring at Kitty for a while before he realised who
he was looking at. Wakefullness was easy to obtain. Thought, on the
other hand, tended to evade him for quite a while.
It was the orange stuff, he was sure.
Kitty was here. He smiled. "Guten Tag, liebe."
She looked up from her book. A picture of beauty, haloed in the light
from the window. A living angel.
"Should I like, call Hank? You've been like, out for a while."
It took Kurt a moment to process that thought. "Dunno," he managed.
"All I seem t' do is sleep. But it might be bad to be awake."
"How do you feel?"
His eyes closed on him and the memory flittered away.
Kurt opened his eyes. "You're back," he smiled. "Sorry I couldn't
greet you before. 'S bad form to make the lady wait."
"Kurt, I came here four hours ago. Hank was like, changing your
bandages, remember?"
Kurt tried. He stared blankly into nothingness for a long time.
Hey, Kitty was here. "Hello."
"Wow. Hank wasn't kidding when he said that stuff like, played with
your short-term recall."
"Makes me tired, too," he said. "*And* it does nasty things to my
memory."
Kitty's laugh was forced.
"Sorry," he said. "Bad joke."
Kitty got up, and took his temperature with the ear thingy. He was so
used to its friendly {peep} that it invaded his dreams.
"Congrats. You're temperature's like, gone up a whole degree."
Kurt grinned, sitting up carefully. "I'm warmed by your charm," he
smoothed. "Ah. I see Jamie's retrieved your gift for me. Gut knabe."
"Yeah," said Kitty. "Little guy knows your tastes."
"He *should*," said Kurt. "I'm the only one willing to hang around
when he enters a room."
Kitty winced. "Like, ouch."
"Hey, us misfits gotta stick together," Kurt smiled. "If we don't -
who will?" He discarded the comforter and folded it neatly at the foot
of his bed. At long last, he was starting to feel warm. He still wasn't
very hungry, though. "Now, do I get to give you a welcome-back cuddle,
liebe?"
"Like, sure."
The next morning, he was fighting a fever.
He couldn't stand being covered up, but he knew what a mess his body
was in; so at the same time, he was covering himself up with a sheet and
panting to cool himself down. He didn't want Kitty to see his ribs. He
was an awful-looking, bedraggled and half-starved elf - and who knew
what the fever was doing to his face?
For all he knew, he was turning purple.
Kurt looked at his clock. Five-thirty AM. Only an hour before alarms
would be going off to wake people up. Including his.
Hank was dozing on the comfy chair, book dangling in one hand.
Hank had told him to stay in bed, but Kurt's holowatch was on his
dresser, in its recharger. He had to hide his horrible looks. Kitty
would be scared. Couldn't scare Katzchen. Bad form.
Careful of his leg, Kurt slid out of bed and limped towards the
dresser on three limbs. It still hurt, but he had to do it. For
Katzchen, his beloved.
He only made one mistake - trying to stand up when he got to the
dresser.
Hank's eyes snapped open at the {Whump!} of a body hitting the floor,
and was even more alarmed at the sight of his patient out of bed.
"Verdammt..." Kurt muttered. "Didn't get it." He was only wearing his
pyjama pants. The shirt was a crumpled heap on the floor, and it looked
like his bedding had been kicked around by a professional.
It also looked like he'd burst his stitches again.
Hank picked him up. "You shouldn't be out of bed, Mister Wagner."
"Wait," Kurt said. "Please. Need m' watch. Please."
He simply assumed his patented orange potion had done wonders to
Kurt's powers of recall. "You don't need it, remember? Everyone knows
you, here."
"I'm horrible," he said. "Scare Katzchen."
"No, you're not," Hank sighed, putting the boy back to bed. "You're
just under the weather. Everyone understands that."
"Hate me," Kurt mumbled. "Ugly."
Hank tucked him in. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you otherwise.
I'll leave that to Kitty."
"*Nein*... Don' let 'er see. 'M horrible..." He kicked off the sheet.
"Hot..."
Worried, Hank took his temperature. He was feverish.
*Marvy*.
Hot. So hot.
Travelling weather.
He should pack, he should move, but They were telling him to stay put.
Stay still, Kurti, or They'll find you; They'll hurt you.
Stay still. Swallow this. Be a good boy. Stay awake. Tell Them a
story. Be good. Above all else be good.
Katzchen was there. She looked scared. Please don't be scared, Kitty?
I'm sorry; so sorry for being a demon. God won't let me be anything
else.
So hot. Feels like Hell. Maybe I'm already there...
Katzchen, dear Katzchen. So sad. I'm sorry. Didn't mean to make you
cry. Please don't, love. Demons *belong* in Hell.
I just wish it wasn't so hot.
Be good, Kurti. You have to be good.
Don't make a fuss. Don't make waves. Don't attract the wrong
attention, or They will come.
They're coming now.
Can't you hear Them?
{peep}
"A hundred and twenty-four," Amara reported. She automatically changed
the ice packs, handing them to Bobby to 'recharge' them quicker. His
temperature was still climbing.
Poor dumb peasant.
He'd sacrificed his health and a goodly portion of his sanity; all for
what - company?
Amara personally doubted that his ill-chosen strategy would work. All
he was currently earning was mild malevolence and pity at best, and out-
and-out hatred at worst.
He was only eating because Kitty was there to feed him, and there were
still hushed murmurs about feeding him through a tube. Amara had no clue
how that would work, but she guessed in was moderately grousome. Kitty
had doubled her efforts to tempt the peasant into eating when she heard
the talk.
All this effort for a gypsy boy with almost no social graces.
He stirred from his half slumber, mumbling again.
_Why, oh *why* do fevers have to come with delerium?_
"...go, go, *go*," he muttered. "Please go. Get out. Now. Please,
*They're* coming. Go, get out; before They catch you. Please. Just go. I
know how to handle Them, I'll be fine..."
Lovely. Another episode of _They're at the Door_. Either it was one of
his frequent nightmares, or he was apparently terrified of *Logan*
peeking in to see if he was getting any better.
Waitasecond.
Maybe he *was* terrified.
After all, *she* was scared of Logan, and he wasn't even getting her
to do anything. Yet.
"...Gott, nein; They're here! Hide! Hide now!"
Amara looked over her shoulder. Logan was leaning on the doorframe,
looking in. She squared her jaw. The peasant wasn't the only one who
could play to an audience.
"Didn't We tell you to stop disturbing Our patient?" she yelled at
him, firing up for emphasis. "Get out of here! Don't even come *near*
this room until you're given proper leave! Out!"
She was sure Logan fled from the shock, rather than her somewhat
limited authority in this strange land. Amara turned her flame off,
nodded in satisfaction, and resumed her place as monitor.
Hank was staring at her in open-mouthed surprise.
"I *will* apologise in due course," she said. "*After* the peasant has
recovered enough of his wits to recognise Mr Logan as a friend instead
of a foe."
"But you'll be like, grounded for *weeks*," protested Kitty.
Amara sighed. "The peasant was noble enough to sacrifice his time for
*my* misdeeds," she said. "The least I can do is repay some of the
debt." _And besides, my blood is bluer than *he* is. I can't afford to
be shown up by some bootless wandering vagabond._
The peasant was staring at her. "Vas?" he said in a small voice. "Wie
erhielten Sie hier, Mama?"
Amara shared a shocked look with Kitty.
Kitty mouthed, "He thinks you're his Mom."
She mouthed back, "But I hardly know a word of German."
"Wing it," was the soundless advice from Kitty's lips.
_Oh great..._ She smoothed the hair from his face and murmured, "Shh,
liebchen. It's going to be all right. Just be a good boy for the
doctors."
Kurt fell back into a fitful slumber, leaving Amara rubbing the memory
of his fur into her skin. Even soaked in sweat, it was delicious to
touch. Like a kitten.
"Back off, Princess," said Kitty. "I like, saw him first." She had a
very posessive grip around his hand.
"No contest," said Amara. "My father would *kill* me if he caught me
dallying with a peasant gypsy boy." She rubbed her fingers again. "He's
just so - so..."
"Pet-able?"
"Yeah."
"Congratulations, Mister Wagner, you've just gone twenty-four hours
without re-opening your wounds," He re-washed the area, just to be sure.
All stitches were intact. "Now, if you can go another twenty-four hours
in the same way, I can actually let you out of bed - provided you keep
your weight off that leg, of course."
"Sehr gut," Kurt whispered. He was still quiet, but after the fever
broke, he was looking a lot better. He'd barely begun to fill out and,
when Kitty and the others were away at school, he'd occupy his time with
books and drowsing. He'd brighten up the instant Kitty and the others
came back, eager for news, homework, any kind of contact from the world
outside.
The biggest surprise was that most of the new recruits had dropped
their animosity. Hank suspected it was because the German boy repeatedly
and blatantly refused to hold anything resembling a grudge against them,
even when Ray had tried the "does it hurt when I do this" routine.
Hank had just ducked out for a call of nature when he heard the aptly-
codenamed Beserker repeating the question, evidently unsatisfied when
Kurt refused to complain.
All he'd got out of it was Kurt's very mild, "Careful. If you bust
mein stitches I have to stay in bed for another day. And I'm sick of
staring out the same window..."
Ray had left him more-or-less alone after that. Rumour had it that he
was creeped out by Kurt's attitude and wondering exactly what meds he
was on.
Kurt had never said a word about it, one way or the other.
Frankly, Hank was worried. How much could one boy take before he
snapped? If he hadn't done so already.
"I'll be glad to get up," said Kurt. "Even if it *is* only for a
little while."
"Don't start underestimating yourself yet, Mister Wagner. You
recuperative abilities are second only to Logan's. With a little luck,
you should be turning cartwheels in a matter of weeks."
"...herr Logan..." murmured Kurt. He was looking a little spaced out,
and a lot afraid. "Ach, nein... I've been missing the punishment detail.
I have to - I have to do something. Got to make it up to him." He was
bordering on panic, fumbling in his bedside drawers for who-knew-what.
"Calm *down*," Hank soothed, gently seperating his hands from the
search. "You still need to rest, you know."
"But I've got to *do* something," protested Kurt. "He'll be mad at me.
Don't want him to be mad at me. Gotta *do* something. Gotta make it
*right*. I've *got* to."
_Desperate times call for desperate measures..._ Hank didn't want to
do this, but Kurt was working himself up into hysteria. He measured out
a small dose of the orange stuff, hopefully enough to just calm him
down, and offered it to the boy. "I'm sure Logan would just like you to
take your medicine, hm?"
Kurt tipped it into his mouth at approximately light speed. He was
dozing off inside a minute, and asleep a few seconds after that.
Hank sighed. "Mental note. Do not mention Logan while Kurt's still in
a fragile state of mind."
Kurt opened his eyes and froze.
Logan!
"I'msorry," he said, voice barely a squeak. "Ididn'tmeantodoit,
Iswear."
"Relax, f'r Pete's sake," said Logan. "You're *off* the *hook*."
"Ja. Ja." Kurt almost dozed back to sleep. "Temporary reprieve due to
illness."
"No. You're off the hook for good. On this count, anyway. You were
innocent, Elf."
He was feeling very, very dizzy. "Still have things to do," he
managed. "The run. I didn't finish the run. I've got to--"
"You've got to nothing," said Logan. "That's an *order*."
"But--"
"What'd I tell you 'bout whining?"
Kurt shut his mouth with an audible click.
"Now since it seems that everyone here's punishment is makin' sure you
get better, I thought it was high time I pitched in. And *that* meant
gettin' you used to me again."
Kurt still stared at him. "Who are you and what have you done with
Herr Logan?"
"Cute. *Real* cute, Elf. I found a book in the library that seems
right up your alley an' I'm gonna read it to ya. You're gonna like it,
too. Capiche?"
Kurt drew the sheet up so that he was more-or-less hiding.
"Fine. Whatever." He cleared his throat as he turned pages. "Chapter
One. 'Ship duty!' chortled the ensign four ahead of Miles in line..."
Hank almost had a coronary when he came back from Logan's wild goose
chase to hear the man himself talking in Kurt's room. But when he
looked, Logan wasn't shooting his mouth off at a cowering elf. He was
reading to an eager audience.
How the *hell* had *that* happened?
Hank stood, dumbfounded, and took in the scene. Logan *had* to be
trying a different tack. Either that, or he'd been replaced by a
shapeshifter who knew next to nothing about him...
Logan finished reading the segment, put a mark in the book, and said,
"You're gonna catch flies like that, Poindexter."
Hank shut his mouth for only a second, because he *really* needed to
ask, "What the heck are you *doing*?
"Community service," said Logan. "Everyone else is payin' for what
they done to the elf. It's high time I did somethin'."
Hank felt his anger flare up. "Do you *realise* what you could have
done to him?"
"It's okay, Herr McCoy," said Kurt. "Herr Logan's not mad any more.
It's not so bad."
"I'm still going to look at your stitches," Hank insisted.
Kurt extracted his left leg rather carefully. "Is Herr Logan still
allowed to read?"
_Good grief._ Hank looked at Logan, who'd gone inscrutable. "Far be
it from me to come between Logan and anything he wants to do..."
Kurt automatically turned to Logan for a translation.
"He means I can stay if I wanna, elf."
Kurt grinned and relaxed. He made no pleas nor entrieties either way,
but a great deal of his former tension had gone.
Hank merely went on with the business of inspecting Kurt's troublesome
leg. Thankfully, he'd avoided doing himself any further damage. Still,
Hank glared a little at Logan. His plan could have gone wrong in so many
ways, it was frightening just to think about it.
"A team ain't a team if folks don't get along; right, Poindexter?"
Logan said as he watched Hank change dressings.
"All the same, I object to your methods," Hank told him. "You could
have handled the situation with far greater delicacy."
"I don't 'do' delicate," Logan smirked. "I act first and ask questions
later. The job gets done, and most of the time it gets done right. If I
screw up, I fix it. End of story."
"Please don't fight?" said Kurt. "Everything was okay. You didn't need
to fight..."
Hank sighed. _Fine._ He could bury the hatchet for Kurt's sake.
It was the first time Ororo herd Kurt's laboured breathing approaching
the kitchen since his punishment detail. She turned to see him stumping
along on his good leg and two callipers.
"I take it I missed breakfast?" he said, making for the nearest chair.
"Whoah... Deja vu..."
Ororo laughed. "I prepared a meal just for you. Nothing but comfort-
food."
"Fraulein, after Herr Logan's punishment detail, any food is a
comfort." He busied himself with setting himself up in his chosen seat,
hanging the callipers off a handy surface. "So what happens to be part
of this elf's complete breakfast?"
"I thought we'd start with waffles," she said. "Fresh from the waffle
iron to you."
Kurt sniffed in appreciation. "Mmmmm... your famous homemade batter.
Wunderbar... I bet everyone at school's turning bright green with
jealousy for the blue guy."
Ororo gave him a stack of piping-hot waffles. "Your choice of topping;
maple syrup, golden syrup, jellies, conserves, ice-cream, whipped cream
and chocolate sauce."
As predicted by Logan - who'd wisely chosen to take an extended
constitutional for the duration - Kurt piled up *everything* on his
waffles and ate the result with every sign of enjoyment.
Ororo felt more than a little green, herself, as a direct result.
_Just relax,_ she told herself. _Kurt does this whenever he has to play
'catch up' with his biological debt. Just keep it plentiful, keep it
coming, and try to ignore the horrendous things he does to my gourmet-
class food..._
Kurt had made a waffle sandwich, which was made slightly more alarming
by the fact that he barely gave the thing time to drip its contents on
his plate.
_Just ignore it,_ she told herself, trying to get her troublesome
stomach to quit trying a rebellion. _He can't help it, right now. Just
get on with the flapjacks..._
*Then* Kurt started talking around mouthfuls and expressions of
ecstasy.
{Mmmmf} "Dieses ist--" {uhm} "-wundervoll." {Gronf, mumf} "Kostlich."
{slurp} "Ich bin--" {smack smack} "-im *Himmel*." {nupnupnupnupnup} "Oh,
dankeshoen." {Uhrhumnyum} "Bliss..." {bworp} "...bitten Sie Ihre
Entschuldigung..."
Ororo absently reached for the Maalox.
Someone had left the Sci-Fi channel on. From the sounds of things,
Captain Kirk was battling a giant space amoeba. That, and there was some
static in the service.
At least, that's what Logan thought, at first.
He strode into the entertainment room, looking for the remote, only to
discover it clasped in the hand of an unconscious elf.
_Good grief, he purrs in his sleep,_ thought Logan as he found out
where the low rumble was coming from. _That's - almost *cute*._
Kid was going to pop his stitches if he moved the wrong way, there.
His bad leg was pressing against the arm rest of the couch. Logan found
a soft pillow and, moving carefully, slid it under the boy's injured
foot, creating a little ramp.
He also told himself that there was no possible way he could be
feeling parential towards the elf. In a few years, their relationship -
if Logan let them have one, would be brotherly. And then, almost before
Logan would know it, the elf would be 'older' than him. Or dead.
Best not to get close at all; especially since his power made him
effectively immortal.
The purr slowed to a halt.
"I wasn't asleep," Kurt said, eyes flickering open. "I'm watching
that. Honest. I just - can't keep my eyes open..."
"I was lettin' ya," Logan told him. "Just watch that foot, Elf. You
bust them stitches again and Hank'll nail my ass to the wall."
"You'd get better." Kurt snuggled into the couch. "You always do."
Logan watched his eyes drift shut again. Always. At sixteen, the kid
had no concept of just how long 'always' could get. How many friends and
loved ones 'always' could loose.
Personally, Logan was sick of getting up again. But the world kept on
knocking him down. He didn't want to find out how long it would be until
old age finally caught up with him.
It had been at least a couple of centuries, by his reckoning. Maybe
more. Another couple of centuries and maybe he'd start believing he'd
outlast Death itself.
He *knew* he was going to outlast the kids.
That was why he didn't want to get close.
It would hurt too much.
[AN: Yeah, I wanted a bit of LoganAngst. The story needed it, after what
he put poor Kurt through :)
And in other news: for a limited time only (between now and when I start
writing it) I am taking votes for the *next* PWP :) You can vote for:
1) The Best Revenge - Duncan Matthews is not only a jerk, but he's a
mutant jerk with a *really* sucky (but obvious) power. Lots of Duncan
and Jean bashing!
2) Under (Peer) Pressure - Kurt and Oktoberfest really don't mix well.
Especially when Duncan Matthews gets the elf *drunk*.
3) Cruel Hearts - Set before "ShadowDance". Kitty forges a bunch of love
notes to Kurt, sent by 'a secret admirer'. Just how far will her joke
go?
4) There's This Girl - A German exchange student called Katja visits
Bayville and suddenly has 100% of Kurt's attention. Who is she and who
gets jealous?
5) Shut up and write more of DPM! *NOW*!
Well, that's pretty much it. Once again, sorry for taking so long.]
[AN: Yet another angstfic, but this time, it's heavy on the hurt/comfort
angle :) Sorry I took so long with this. A big multi-part AngstFic
crossed my path...]
"Jamie! I need you for a second..."
Jamie peeked back into the kitchen, and slunk around the doorframe,
staring with bugged eyes and an open mouth at what Kurt was doing.
He was juggling. With Ms Munroe's favourite china. All forty pieces of
it.
"Kurt," Jamie whispered, so as not to alert anyone. "That's
*dangerous*..."
"There was a tremour," said Kurt, "They all fell off the display and I
couldn't catch all of them at once, so I had to juggle them, and I can
only stop doing forty with *help*... I've been going for *hours*... mein
arms are *tired*."
"But *I* can't--"
"All you have to do is catch them as they come down," said Kurt,
almost begging. "Don't worry about me coping. Just take your time, be
careful, and catch them."
"But--"
"*Please*... I don't know how much longer I can do this..."
Jamie bit his lip. "Okay..." He *really* wished that the Professor
hadn't gone away for a fortnight. Or that Jean wasn't out on a date with
her jerk of a boyfriend. Or that half the mansion wasn't avoiding him.
He sighed and bought a chair over to stand on, and focussed intently on
the flying pieces of china.
One by one, he caught the pieces, and one by one, he placed them
carefully down on the table. They could put them back in the display
racks, after. Jamie just did as he was told, until they were done.
Kurt collapsed into a different chair with a sigh and a,
"Schliesslich..."
Jamie, still perched on the chair, surveyed their work. "We did it,"
he crowed, jumping up and down. "We did it! We did it!"
"Jamie, no! Don't--"
Jamie lost his footing. "Whoah..." There was a terrifying moment when
he hung suspended in midair, not quite off the chair, not quite on it.
Kurt tried to get up, but he was too tired and too slow.
All fall down.
The next thing he knew, there were four of him, upturned furniture and
broken china everywhere, and a very *irate* Ms Munroe in the kitchen
doorway.
"I'm sorry," he said, in unison with the other three clones.
"No," said Kurt, holding up a tridactyl hand to stop them. "It was my
fault, Frau'. I should have been more careful. I know this little place
that can repair the damage. They'll be as good as new. I can pay for it
- eventually..."
Jamie and his clones guiltily began to gather the scattered shards.
"We can help," he offered.
"No, you go out and have fun. Just because you were here doesn't mean
you have to pick up my mess," said Kurt. "Go on. Shoo."
"He didn't."
"He *did*," said Jamie. "What I don't get is *why* he did it."
"Who cares why," said Ray. "The fuzzball wants to take the blame, let
him. You got out of punishment, and it was just an accident anyway. What
does it matter who cleans it up?"
"But--"
"It occurs to me," said Amara, "that the peasant may have sacrificed
himself for acceptance amongst us."
"Yeah," said Roberto. "We *do* kinda give him a wide berth."
"So does *everyone*," said Bobby.
"He's not exactly easy to look on," said Rahne. "From what I hear, he
scared the stuffin' out of everyone that's ever come here."
"*I* still think he's cool," said Jamie. "He lets me do stuff."
"Once again, the child has isolated why the peasant is such a fool,"
said Amara.
"I still say we can use this to our advantage," said Ray.
"The Professor's out, right?" said Sam. "He's gone for two whole
weeks. That's two weeks with our word against his. Don't strike me as
right, somehow."
"Jean *is* plenty distracted," said Jubes. "She's hardly ever here."
"And it *is* kind of unfair how everyone blames *us* all the time,"
speculated Roberto.
"Long as we play it safe, no-one'll be any the wiser..."
Kurt sighed as he tipped the last of the dust in the dumpster.
"Havin' fun, Elf?" asked Logan.
"Maybe after a little rest," said Kurt. He was tired and hungry and he
was missing lunch. He was also heavily missing company, which was why he
was so eager for something to do, just yesterday.
"Ain't what I hear. Heard you were just up to some fun in one of the
girls' rooms."
Kurt groaned. Someone, somewhere, was glad he was around to blame. "I
just finished getting the dirt out of all the basements," he said.
"There's no more laundry. Everything is *clean*. Even the danger room."
"That's why I figured it's gotta be somethin' you ate," said Logan.
"Ya got too much energy to waste, so I'm puttin' you on a diet."
Kurt could hear the prison bars clang shut. No chance to defend
himself. And 'whining', he knew, would simply land him more punishment
time.
He did say, very calm, very quiet, "You know about my high metabolism,
ja? You *know* I need to eat."
"That's what you say. *I* say you could have somethin' different."
Kurt sighed. There was no arguing with Wolverine. "What are we going
to do?" he asked, his voice dead.
"We're going to be watchin' every calorie that goes in and out. You're
eatin' standard servings from now on."
He nodded. Logan wouldn't let him do anything else. "Can I have lunch,
now?"
"From what I heard, you already *had* lunch."
That was a 'no'. Kurt stifled another groan.
"And now, you're comin' with me to work it off. Keep up, and I might
let ya have a snack."
He'd kept up. Nothing like the promise of food to motivate him. He was
shaking as he fell into the chair at the kitchen table. Take heart. Food
was coming. Logan wouldn't let him fix it, himself, but food was coming.
"Mangia," Logan slammed the plate down in front of him.
Kurt stared at it. Rice cakes. With a leaf of lettuce and a slice of
pemento loaf on them. There were three of them.
"If you don't want 'em, I can throw 'em out," Logan offered. "Then
you'll have nothing until dinner."
Kurt siezed the plate. Anything was better than nothing. He wolfed
down the first one in four bites.
"Small bites," Logan said, "Or I take it away anyway."
His body was demanding he *eat*, fill his stomach as quickly as
possible. His personal fuel-gage was nearing 'empty'. Kurt forced his
body to shut the hell up. He took small bites, and chewed thoroughly. It
didn't do a damn thing to make him feel full.
_Some lunch._ It was barely a snack, according to his standards. A
Jumbo MegaFeast at Gut Bomb was what he considered a *snack*.
"Elf..."
Kurt blinked. He was in the middle of licking the plate. He hadn't
even known he was doing it. He put the plate down. "Sorry," he said.
"I'm *hungry*."
"Good," said Logan. "Then maybe you'll remember to play nice from now
on. You're confined to quarters. Go."
Moaning under his breath, Kurt went. He'd just shut his door when he
heard, "STUPID *PEASANT*!"
Kurt moaned and fell to the floor. He was *doomed*.
His little plan to get people to like him was backfiring.
Major league.
{*peeeep*} "You have reached the Xavier Institute for Gifted
Youngsters. None of the tutors are able to reach the 'phone, right now,
but if you leave your name and number..."
Xavier sighed and mouthed along with his own words. Everyone was too
busy to take the call. And it was late.
{*peeeep*}
"Hello. Just thought I'd let you know that decorum has collapsed and
the board has dissolved into points of order. I'm coming home on the
next available flight." He sighed. "Maybe *next* year, we can actually
make some *progress* towards mutant rights. I'll call you when I'm at
the airport. See you soon."
Breakfast soon. Breakfast soon. All he had to do was complete the
circuit Logan had mapped out - on two legs, not all fours - and he could
have breakfast. He could *eat*.
Mmmm. Food.
{SNAP!}
Kurt screamed and teleported before he could even think. Momentum
landed him into a tree, and biological debt almost made him black out.
There was a metal trap on his left hock. The teleport, even though it
was a short one, had sheared the chain, thus preventing him breaking the
leg in the fall.
He had no choice. He had a job to do. Complete the circuit or no food.
Considering the circumstances, Logan was bound to let him do so on three
limbs.
Kurt tore up his jacket, binding the wound, binding the trap to the
wound, the trap to the leg, and the leg to the trap. Best not to
aggravate anything until he could get to the infirmary. Maybe Logan
would even let him get to the infirmary first. He definitely would.
Wouldn't want anyone hurt.
But he *had* to have breakfast. So he *had* to complete the circuit.
His holowatch made it look as if the trap was halfway through his
shoe. He left the illusion on. No-one wanted to see what a starving elf
looked like. It was tremendously unappealing.
Kurt resumed the circuit. Limping along on three limbs, hoping and
praying that no-one saw him.
Ororo could hear Kurt's laboured breathing before she saw him. She
half expected him to come staggering through the back door, the access
to the outside. Which was why it was such a surprise to finally spot him
coming in through one of the inside doors.
He pulled himself up into a chair and stared at the empty table. "I
missed breakfast," he said, sounding hopeless.
Ororo knew all about his continued hijinks, and Logan's attempts to
get them to stop. "He gave you plenty of time," she said. "He sat there,
after everyone had left, drinking coffee for about an hour and a half.
What happened to you?" She indicated his missing jacket.
"Uh. You could say I hit a little snag. I don't suppose I could beg
you for a leftover sandwich? I *need* food..."
"Sorry. There aren't any leftovers."
Kurt whimpered and hit the tabletop with his head.
The 'phone rang. Ororo went to get it. It was the Professor, back
early, and completely surprised that no-one had *touched* the answering
machine.
Ororo peeked in on Kurt. He'd fallen asleep at the table. She'd have
to tell Logan to ease up on the boy. He was clearly suffering.
"Sorry, Professor," she turned her back on Kurt. "Things have been a
little more than hectic around here. While the cat's away, and all
that... I'll be there as soon as I can."
She scribbled a note to Logan and pinned it to the 'fridge, then
snatched up the keys to the rolls, grabbed her purse, and headed out.
Logan growled. He should have *known* he'd find the kid in the pantry.
He should have guessed the Elf couldn't be trusted to stick to the diet
they'd agreed on.
Elf was scraping the bottom of a jar of peanut butter, then sucking on
the spoon.
"*ELF*!"
"Sknx?" His eyes fluttered open. He looked stunned. Afraid. He looked
at the jar, at Logan, and back at the jar. He started to
hyperventillate. Logan knew the look in those eyes. They were eyes
staring down the abyss into madness.
He could have sworn he saw the kid snap. In one blink, sanity had gone
on a holiday.
"D'ARGH!" Kurt threw the bottle and the spoon at Logan.
The bottle smashed in his face, regardless of his adamantium claw
guard. The spoon was neatly sliced in twain.
The Elf galloped out in the confusion, while Logan extracted glass
from his face.
_Gotta give him enginuity points..._
Run run run run run run run run run run run run...
Gotta find a place to hide. Make the bad man give up. Then get food.
Mmmmm... food.
So hungry.
There! There was a place to interrupt the scent trail.
Duckpond.
Leap in, grab a hollow reed. Use it like a snorkel.
Find centre. Slow self down.
Slow.
Down.
His eyes shut in the murky water, and he watched the world through his
slowed down night senses. Logan's unique light approached, apparently on
fast-forward. Exactly on his trail. He stopped at the water's edge.
Kurt could see him, in his mind's eye, sniffing and peering at the
dark water. He rose, eventually, and searched around the pond's edge.
Thrice. On one circuit, he went around on all fours.
Eventually, Logan left.
Kurt waited another hour before he let himself surface. He didn't
bother looking for a place where he could get clean. Clean could wait.
He had to get *fed*.
Hungry hungry hungry hungry hungry hungry hungry hungry hungry...
At least he didn't have to run any more.
There was food near here. Nuts and berries and apple trees.
Kurt stuffed his face as quickly as he could. Chewing everything he
put in his mouth. The nuts were bordering on stale. The berries were
sort of green.
The apples, when he looked up the little crab-apple trees, were green
and as hard as rocks. They'd make him sick. He couldn't be that hungry.
His body wouldn't *demand* he eat sickeningly green crab-apples. He
wouldn't even be able to throw up. His body wouldn't let him throw up
bad food on an otherwise empty stomach.
Kurt looked at his hand. He was eating a green crab-apple with half a
worm in it. Apparently, his body *was* that desperate for food.
At which point, Kurt's body turned off the part of his brain that was
busy being Kurt and making objections.
Eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat...
"Hank?"
"Hm?" Hank looked up from his formula. He'd been working on it every
free moment. "Something you desire?"
"Elf's run off. Need you to help hunt him down. Get Red on to it if
you can. I'd get 'Ro in to do a sky search, but she'd done a runner,
too."
"And what misdeed has Mister Wagner perpetrated *this* time?"
"Gave me the run-around before breakfast. I tell ya, Poindexter, I
*hate* holidays. Prof's got the right idea by buggin' out for the
duration.
"You get Red. I'll get Smokey. We *need* flyers to find the Elf. Kid's
got rat-bastard cunning coming out of his ears."
"Was that a compliment or an insult?"
"I'll let ya know the second we finally track 'im down."
"Oh, *marvy*," Hank sarcasmed.
Jean focussed on finding Kurt. What she found horrified her.
_HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY (hurt) HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY (burns)
HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY (sick) HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY (scared)_
She turned off as fast as she could, and still wept uncontrollably for
a minute or so. "Logan. He can't go. He'll make Kurt run. Kurt can't
afford to run. Oh, God... I let this happen. I should have been here for
him..."
She flashed Hank a mental image of where Kurt was before concentrating
on Logan.
_You want me to *what*?_
_Stay out of it. You've terrified him into doing this. I chose Hank to
go get him. He might trust Hank._
_Might? Red, what are you on?_
_It's not what I'm on, it's what he's in. You've reduced him to a knot
of instincts, Logan. You did too much._
Logan's mind growled. _Kid didn't say nothin' against it._
_Did you let him?_
_Uh..._
Just what she thought. _Stay out of sight, okay? We have to tread
carefully._
Someone coming. Sore. It burns. Move. Can't. Too sick.
Gotta move. Gotta hide. Can't let them find me. Want the hurt to stop.
So hungry. No food.
Leg hurts. Wrist hurts. Stomach hurts.
Hungry.
Gotta hide. There. Leaves. Hide. Save skin. *Then* worry about clean.
Filthy.
Hide. Bury under the leaves. Stay still.
Wrist-hurt burns, now, just like leg.
Why is there light? Smells bad. Smoke.
Am I in Winzeldorf again? Did they catch me?
So tired.
Sleep a little and stay still.
Yes.
Hank could see the fire, just beginning to start. According to Jean,
the fire was where Kurt was. He dug into the leaves, putting out the
smouldering little flame that had started from a short in his
malfunctioning holowatch. Kurt was slumbering.
Hank touched his shoulder, trying to rouse him.
"D'AAAAAARGH!" Kurt lashed out blindly, days of neglect had let his
nails lengthen and sharpen into something resembling talons, and he had
ten of them to rake at an unsuspecting attacker.
Hank ignored the shallow slashes in his person and picked the boy up.
"It's all right," he said. "It's all right. Logan isn't here. We're not
backing him up any more. Do you understand me?"
Kurt slowed down in mid-slash. He stared at Hank as if trying to solve
something. "...hungry..." he whispered.
"I know," Hank soothed. "I'll take you home, and we can get something
for you to eat."
Kurt drank the first bowl of Mama Wagner's Straight-up Calorie Soup
like it was water. He did the same to the second through the fifth. He
never said a word.
He looked awful.
Hank could count his ribs, and they were outlined starkly with blue
fur that had lost all trace of its body and shine. Haunted eyes looked
like they'd been blacked, and they'd lost all their luminosity. He was
covered in duckweed, algae and moldering leaf parts. A shocking
disparity from the Kurt who routinely spent an hour and a half getting
clean every morning.
He'd refused to clean up, demanding food, even fighting with all the
remaining strength he had. Not that that was very much.
Hank fought to maintain control. Logan was *not* his favourite person,
right now, and if he turned up within Hank's range, he'd get more than a
lecture on paying attention to body language.
Kurt finally started drowsing over his tenth bowlful of Calorie Soup.
Hank picked him up and carted him off to the infirmary for a bath, a
thorough check-up and an investigation of the wound under the grungy
bandages of his left hock.
"Stay awake for me, will you?" Hank asked as he carried his charge
towards the infirmary. "Recite something. Anything."
Kurt began mumbling something in Romani.
Jamie Madrox could feel the blood drain out of his face as Kurt passed
by, held in the crook of Mr McCoy's arm. He *knew* the guys had gone too
far. He'd tried to warn them, but nobody *ever* listened to the baby of
the group.
There were times when he *hated* being twelve.
He started running. They were going to *listen*. Even if he had to
start screaming into their ears.
He found the guys in a human pyramid, trying to replace a china
statuette in it's nook near the ceiling. This was exactly the sort of
thing that had been going on for days. And every time it went wrong,
there was a sudden flurry of movement and blame thoroughly laid on Kurt.
Jamie was sick of it. So far, he'd kept quiet, but not this time.
"If you break that," he said, "I'm telling."
Amara leaned forward and gently placed the statue back in its niche.
She pulled her tongue back into her mouth as she slid it back into its
rightful place. "As if *you'd* be believed above the rest of us," she
said.
"Kurt's going to hospital right *now*," said Jamie. "He looks like
he's dying."
The human pyramid fell, but thankfully, the statue didn't.
"Ye woh?" said Rahne.
"That ain't right," said Sam. "He looked fine before breakfast."
"He was wearing his hologram. It *always* looks the same. He's been
hiding behind it," Jamie felt sick. "We've all been using him and now
he's all hurt."
"That goes with what *I* heard," said Jubes, primary source of
information for the entire high school. "Jean was chewing out Logan, and
she said he'd driven Kurt *insane*..."
"Whoah," said Ray. "Cool!"
"It is *not* cool!" Jamie shouted. "It's not a story! It's really
real! He's really sick, and it's really our fault 'cause we kept blaming
him, and I'm *TELLING*!"
Everyone had gone quiet and pale.
Jamie folded his arms and, despite how he was feeling, smirked. *That*
was telling them.
"Ain't no need, Squirt," said Logan, who was right behind him. "I've
been listening."
He just wanted to *sleep*, but Herr McCoy wouldn't let him. There was
no escaping Big Blue. Funny joke, that. Tabby had come up with it,
after she left, and it'd stuck. Hank was Big Blue, Kurt was Little
Blue. Okay. Half of it stuck. After about a month's worth of objections
that he wasn't that little.
No-one had protested that Hank wasn't big. So Big Blue he remained.
"Keep talking to me, Kurt," Hank persisted. "Just keep talking. I need
you awake."
Kurt groaned. "Tired," he said. "Hurts."
"I know, but we're clean, now, right? Let's give that wound of yours
some proper attention, hm? I got Evan to fetch some clean clothing for
you." He indicated the pile.
Well, that explained the apparently colourblind selection made by
whatever was lying closest to hand. What had *posessed* him to buy an
orange shirt?
Ohyeah... Kitty had said it looked nice.
"Kurt?" Hank prompted.
Kurt obediently lurched towards the clothes. Why should he care what
he looked like? Nobody spent more than a handful of minutes ever looking
at him, anyway.
"Okay, good." Hank readied a surgical tray. "Let's look at that wound,
shall we?"
"Why *do* doctors have to talk in plurals, anyway?" Kurt wondered. "Is
it some kind of disassociative thing or what?" It was the most he'd said
since he'd spoken to Ororo.
"It's supposed to make us look friendly and sound open," Hank drawled.
"Although I must admit, I've always felt a little demented saying it..."
"Ha!"
Kurt offered his leg. He hadn't looked at it since he'd pried the trap
off of it, how many hours ago? He rarely looked at himself. He didn't
really need any reminders that he was so vastly different from anyone
else.
Hank's face told the whole story. It didn't look good. "What
*happened*?"
Kurt pointed at the refuse bin, to where he'd dumped the steel trap.
While Hank looked, Kurt focussed on not passing out. It was hard. The
fire in his hock was threatening to spread up his calf.
"And you didn't summon help?"
He shook his head. Then he mimicked Wolverine. "Only help you get from
now on is yourself, elf. Whinin' gets you extra demerits. *Fixin'* the
problem's the only thing that's gonna work."
Hank sighed. "I am going to have to have a *long* talk with him...
When did he say this to you?"
Kurt shrugged. "Lost track of time." He watched, detatched, as a
needle went into the leg, but he sighed as the fire died down.
"Stay awake," Hank cautioned. "Recite something else."
Kurt focussed his Chi. He didn't like talking when he was hurt, but he
could repeat like a champion. "[Once, long ago, in the beginning of
things...]" he began. It didn't matter that he was reciting a Romani
legend to someone who didn't understand a word of it. What mattered was
that he was doing what They currently wanted.
If that meant telling stories, he'd tell stories until his tongue fell
out.
He told three stories before Hank started wrapping his leg again.
There'd been a lot of needles and stitching and washing, but at least it
was over. Until the next trial.
"Sleep?" he asked. "Please?"
"Yes, I think we can let you sleep, now."
Ah, good. Done for the day.
"Yes, I think we can let you sleep, now." Hank tidied away the
equipment he'd been using to clean and fix Kurt's wound. The boy was
lucky he hadn't broken any bones. "Though I'd prefer it if you could
wait until we got you somewhere --" he turned back to realise he'd lost
his audience. Kurt was fast asleep. "--warm."
Hank sighed and retrieved a pre-warmed blanket to wrap him in until he
got the kid somewhere more comfortable. Kurt and hospitals - even the
Institute's in-house hospital - didn't mix too terribly well. They made
him panic.
Considering the extremes he was willing to go to, at the moment, panic
was a very bad thing.
He passed the new recruits on the way to Kurt's bedchamber, and was
slightly disturbed to hear them fall to murmuring after he passed.
Even though he was fast asleep, Kurt clung tight to the heated
blanket. Hank let him, and simply added layers of bedclothes on top
until there was only a hint of blue hair poking out from underneath the
comforter.
Then he sat down to read. Kurt was still in the danger zone. He'd need
immediate attention when he woke, but sleep was the healer he needed
most, right now.
{tap tap tap}
Only one person in the Institute could knock like that. "Yes, Jamie?"
He poked his head around the door. "Mr Logan said we should listen to
what you gotta say. Can we come in?"
Hank got a glimpse of the rest of the new recruits lurking in the
background. Most looked contrite. The rest were covertly fuming. "You
must understand that Kurt needs *rest*, right now. One loud disturbance
and you're all out."
The new recruits filed in, sticking close to a blank wall. Hank also
spied Logan hanging around in the hall. He was going to listen, too, but
he wasn't going to run the risk of causing another disruption.
Hank began his lecture, speaking in nothing more than a murmur, but he
had everyone's rapt attention.
"To begin with, mister Wagner has a high metabolism, meaning that he
requires more energy to get through the day than a more ordinary person.
Fortunately, his body is rigged to wring every last calorie out of
anything he consumes. He needs it. Teleportation, no matter what the
method, requires vast amounts of energy to perform. At this point, I'm
assuming that he hasn't been able to do so for at least a few days."
Logan rumbled a growl from his position out in the hall, and the
students cringed.
"Thus, what *we* consider average calorie consumption, is something of
a starvation diet for mister Wagner. From his general poor condition,
I'd also have to guess that he's been missing a few meals."
"My fault," said Logan. "Kids said he was stealin' food. I believed
'em."
"Kurt's body would have begun consuming its own muscle on the third
day," Hank continued, watching the number of heads hung in shame
increase. "Which also accounts for the massive strain injuries I found,
since he was also being over-worked."
"Elf never complained," said Logan. "On the second day, he stopped
talkin' altogether."
"Yet he was downright chatty whenever *you* encountered him, right?"
Hank asked the new recruits. "Hurling insults? Making bad jokes? Singing
off key?"
There was a generic mumble of appologetic noises.
"That was the damage already done so far this week. This *morning*,
whilst attempting to run a three mile course before breakfast, mister
Wagner found a steel-jawed trap with his left foot."
Every listener winced.
"He was fortunate, in that it didn't break any of his bones. However,
the shock of the trap's initial injuries made him instinctively
teleport, thus reducing whatever bodily reserves he had left to almost
nil. Nevertheless, he *still* insisted on completing the course as
outlined by Logan. He patched himself together at the topical level
only, before seeking food. Which, I believe, he was refused under
Logan's instructions.
"He lost consciousness, but his body's demand for food could not be so
easily silenced. His *subconscious* worked to obtain the nutrition he
was clearly missing. In short, he was sleep-snacking."
In any other situation, they would have giggled, but this was someone
they knew.
"That, of course, was the worst time for Logan to enforce his Law.
Kurt, stretched beyond his means, just snapped. The places where he
sought to hide from Logan - the duck pond and under a pile of leaves,
merely ensured that his wound became infected.
"Kurt's metabolism helped the infection progress at a faster rate. I
had to douse the wound with antibiotics several times, before I could
stitch his wounds closed. There was an average of thirty stitches per
puncture wound, and he had five punctures in his leg. Now, his battle is
with shock, starvation, some spoiled food, *and* the infection. He needs
to be watched for a while."
The silence was only broken by the sounds of someone sniffling.
Jamie's face was red with emotion.
"...'s all my fault," the kid whimpered. "I shouldn'a told..."
"Ah, *this* is where everyone is," said Xavier's voice from out in the
hall. "Logan?" The door opened in full, revealing the Professor and
Ororo. "Oh dear," he said upon taking in the scene. "What's Kurt done to
himself, now?"
"How long do I have to sit here and *watch* him?"
"As long as it takes," Hank didn't even look up from his book. "Now if
you *must* speak, speak *quietly*. He needs his rest."
"I am a Princess of the Crown Royal," she hissed. "I should *not* be
forced to *sit* and watch a *peasant* sleep."
"Ah. So you'd rather sign up for Logan's excercise regime?"
Amara bit her lip. "Er. No. On second thought, may I study while we
wait?"
"As long as you study a textbook, and not Leonardo DeCaprio."
"It's Enrique Basilica," she said, blush tinting her cheeks.
"Whomever. Return with a textbook. I suggest ettiquite. And ethics."
Amara put on the appearance of chagrin as she bolted for her room.
Hank was, frankly, not looking forward to the rest of the 'punishment
detail', in which the new recruit 'volunteers' were now his medical
assistants in the task of returning Kurt to full health.
Logan had drawn up a roster and, with the help of Charles, assigned
the worst tasks to the worst offenders. Hank couldn't help noticing that
Amara and he were going to be facing each other a *lot*.
Jean's punishment, for not being vigilant and helping keep disputes
down and settle arguments, was constant vigilance of the punishment
detail, as well as Kurt.
Kurt rolled over and moaned.
_Oh dear..._
There was an instant, _Trouble?_ from Jean. She was still monitoring.
Good.
_Tell Amara to forget the textbook. We need a basin. Now._
There was a distant "*EW*!" from down the hall.
Hank ignored it, moving to Kurt's side so he could closely monitor the
boy. Pulse was still racing, body still chilled... even though he was
still unconscious, he was starting to look incredibly uncomfortable with
himself. A quick peek under the blankets revealed that he was clutching
at his stomach.
_Looks like his body's finally going to reject that spoiled food he
ate last night._
Kurt moaned again as Amara entered.
"Position it near his head and be prepared to move it accordingly,"
Hank instructed.
"Surely you don't expect *me* to--"
"Young lady, you will do exactly as I say, when I say it. Or you will
be doing Logan's morning jerks as *well* as care and maintenance here."
Amara swallowed nervously before she did as she was told.
Tired. So tired.
Whole body hurts.
I'm gonna be sick.
Don't want to move.
Someone moving me. Herr McCoy?
"Let it go," advised McCoy. "We're prepared."
This time, when his stomach convulsed, Kurt didn't fight it. Acid and
the taste of rot filled his senses. Burned his throat. He wanted to be
sick again, but there was no more bad food to throw up. Just bile.
He could feel Hank rubbing his back. He understood about the fur, and
only kept with the grain.
So tired.
"Stupid *peasant*!"
Amara? Kurt blinked, automatically reaching for a tissue to wipe his
mouth. "Vas?"
"You *splashed* me. You *stained* me with your *filth*! You--"
"Amara!" McCoy stopped her. "Not another word. You know what happens
if you *irritate* me."
Surprisingly, the Princess instantly cowed. "Yessir."
So tired...
"Try and stay awake," McCoy advised. "I've been informed that
someone's bringing you sustenance; and you need to take some
medication."
Kurt slowly pulled himself into a sitting position and wrapped himself
in the comforter. He closed his eyes and moaned. His left hock burned,
so he stretched out the leg. Felt wierd.
"What day's it?" Kurt managed in a whisper.
"Saturday the twelfth."
"Huh... only a week." Katzchen would be coming back from her home,
today. He hadn't even got her a present. "Amara? I need you to do
something for me..." she was gone.
Kurt tried again when she returned. She didn't look too terribly
pleased about having to catch or clean up puke. "Could you do me a
favour, Princess? I need you to go out today and get something nice for
Katzchen. You can have whatever's in my wallet for a budget."
"I'm booked solid, *peasant*," she snarled, "looking after *you*."
He sighed. "Oh." Another minute's thought went into, "Jubilee?"
"She's *also* grounded."
"Rogue?"
"Grounded."
"Rahne?"
"Grounded."
"Jean?"
"Grounded until hades freezes over."
"Ororo?"
"Making sure all of us on punishment detail do what we're told. Face
it, fuzz-butt. Everyone is *booked*."
"Oh." Kitty would be so sad. She wouldn't even be able to go out and
go shopping with anyone. Poor Katzchen. She'd be even lonlier than he
was, and she wasn't used to it. She'd be *miserable*. He felt sorry for
her.
Someone threw a box of tissues at his head. Amara.
"Stop snivelling you stupid peasant!"
"Amara..." McCoy warned.
{tap tap tap}
"Oh joy. It's the *gopher*."
Jamie crept into the room. "Jean said you were awake?" he said. "And
she said you'd been sick? So I bought some water as well?"
"Dankeshoen," Kurt sighed. He took the glass of water and downed it
quickly. Then he found a nice big bowl of Mama's get-better soup. "Ah,
*Danke*shoen! Wunderbar..." There were even toast soldiers.
"Why're you sad?" Jamie asked. "You're not mad at us, are you?"
People always asked questions like this when one's mouth was full...
Kurt circled his spoon in the air while he processed his food. "Nein. I
was just thinking - I didn't get Katzchen a welcome-home gift. What with
everyone being tied up with - things - I still can't get her one. She'll
be so depressed..." Kurt stopped further tears from flowing with a
tissue.
Amara made a disgusted noise and muttered, "Snivelling peasant..."
"I could go," said Jamie. "Mr Logan said I gotta do fetching for
*everyone*... Only - I can't get a ride so I'll have to take my bike.
That is - if Mr McCoy is okay with it?"
They both turned to McCoy, who was rolling his eyes. "Fine. You can go
get a present for Kitty."
"Take my wallet," said Kurt. "And stay away from the credit cards.
They're evil."
"Yay!" Jamie saluted before he grabbed Kurt's wallet and ran for all
he was worth.
Kurt went back to the soup with a sigh of relief. Once again, Mama's
recipe was working its magic on him. He felt better already.
Not by *much*, but that wasn't the point.
Sleep overcame him again as soon as he was done. He barely stayed
awake long enough for the pills and needles. He passed out for good when
McCoy began unwrapping his hock.
"Like, hel-*LO*!" Kitty listened to her own voice echo in the mansion.
Something had to be seriously up. _Leave this place for like, one *week*
and everything like, goes nuts._ She put her bags down in a spot where
most people wouldn't trip over them and started walking.
She'd thought that Kurt would have mugged her by now. Heck, she
halfway expected him to mug her before her taxi had come to a complete
stop. He had this way of wriggling through windows...
Kitty's train of thought was interrupted by the spectacle of Ray and
Roberto moving an enormous stuffed chair upstairs. It was one of the
ones with so much implied comfiness that most were afraid to sit in it
for fear of getting lost in its folds.
Judging by the cursing that they were both doing, they weren't moving
it voluntarily.
"Like, what is going *on*?" Kitty asked.
"Punishment detail," grunted Ray.
Roberto had the heavy end, but that didn't seem to be bothering him.
"Pretty much everyone is grounded for the duration. Except Kurt. He's
the one we kinda hurt."
Kitty followed them. "*Kinda* hurt?" she asked.
"It's - sort of a long story."
"We screwed up," said Ray. "Kurt covered it over by taking the blame.
Repeat a few times."
"A few dozen, *dozen* times..." said Roberto. "Logan was *pissed* at
him."
Kitty felt her heart leap. "Like, is he like, okay?"
"He's alive," said Ray. "Just."
Kitty raced ahead to Kurt's room, and didn't even bother knocking. She
found him swaddled in a comforter, just about every inch of him covered
up. Except his face and his left hock, which Hank was unwrapping.
"Katzchen," he croaked. The light that was usually in his eyes was
barely a tiny sparkle.
"OmyGod; are you like, okay?"
"Ja. Now *you're* here."
"Like, what *happened* to you."
"I found a deer trap," Kurt sighed. He looked sleepy, yet was
incredibly haggard. "Herr McCoy said it was too small to be a bear
trap."
"In your condition, a bear trap would have likely sliced your foot
off."
Kitty was on Kurt in and instant, holding him close to her.
"OmyGod..."
"*Please* don't jounce him," said Hank. "This is delicate work, here."
Kitty had to look. "*EW*!" She instantly turned away. "How'd you let
this like, happen to you?"
"I was lonely," he said. "Nobody wanted to talk to me."
Ray and Roberto struggled inside with the chair. They didn't look too
pleased about recent events.
"So you like, took all the blame so they'd like, *like* you?"
"Ja."
Kitty kissed his forehead. "Silly Elf. All you had to do was like,
wait until I like, came back."
"But it was so long," he murmured.
Amara entered with a tray of bandages and surgical supplies. "I see
the peasant is still pathetic," she said. "Doubly so now that 'Katzchen'
has come home."
"Amara. Remember what I told you?"
"Yes, yes, 'If you can't say anything nice' and all that, but this
country has freedom of speech--"
"Oh, no," murmured Mr McCoy.
"--I'm perfectly within my rights to say *anything* I please."
"Likewise, *we're* like, perfectly within *our* rights to like, think
what we like about what you like, *say*," said Kitty. "No wonder nobody
like, *likes* you."
"Says the girl who's wallowing in the same gutter as that stupid,
filthy peasant," said Amara.
"When you're *quite* done," said Mr McCoy. "Kurt's bandages have
leaked and we need some new linnen. As soon as we've moved him, you can
change his sheets."
"Rrrr," said Amara.
"The worse you are, the worse it's gonna get," said Roberto on his way
out.
"Yeah," said Ray. "Eat shit and smile."
"...d'eewwww..." Amara made a face.
Kurt knew he was bad when he saw Kitty's reactions. Herr "Call me
Hank" McCoy had a level of schooled neautrality that didn't give Kurt a
clue. The others were too ashamed to look directly at him; except Jamie,
who repeatedly focussed on just his face.
Kitty's face sort of squinched up when Hank unwrapped Kurt from his
mess of blankets. A lot of them had been bled on.
"Let me guess," he said after Hank had settled him into the comfy
chair. "I look like hell."
Kitty nodded. She was biting her lip. "You're like, *way* too thin..."
Kurt had to smile. "Ha. I'm the one usually telling *you* that." He
huddled up in his place and shivered.
Kitty moved in beside him and wrapped her arms around him. She was
treating him as if she were afraid he would break.
He *must* look like hell.
He snuggled up against her as much as he could. "You're warm," he
sighed. Then, because he really couldn't help himself, he sniffed. "You
smell nice."
"Medication," said Hank, handing him five pills and a glass of water.
Kurt made a face, but took them one by one. There were another five to
take after meals plus needles in his leg plus something else that always
made him sleepy and foggy. All he could remember of it was the colour
orange.
"Like, *whoah*... That's like, a *heap* of antibiotics."
"Sorry," he said, almost on automatic. "Herr McCoy--"
"*Please* call me Hank..."
"--says that with my metabolism, any infection's always trouble. All
these pills are just to help boost the effectiveness of the shots."
"You take shots *too*?"
He flinched at the loud noise. "Sorry. 'S my metabolism." He put the
empty glass down and meekly accepted a small bowl of Mama's get-better
soup. Hank said he needed the calories. His body had been thrown off
wanting food by the meds. He made himself eat. It was what They wanted,
at the moment. Doing what They wanted was less trouble than fighting.
Fighting got more pain.
The soup warmed him. Just like Kitty did. The pills made him drowsy
and disenclined to move. Hank said that was a good thing, what with his
weight so low.
"I couldn't go out and get a welcome-home gift for you," he said.
"Oh, Kurt, you didn't have to. I like, understand."
"It's all right, liebe. I got Jamie to go for me. We'll both be
surprised when he comes back, ja?"
Kitty rolled her eyes. "He'll probably like, come back with like,
three billion Action Guy comics and a tonne of like, candy."
"That *would* be a surprise," said Kurt, slowing down halfway through
the soup. His stomach felt like he'd been wrung out like a washcloth. He
forced himself to clean his plate. "Jamie can be trusted."
"You must be like, the only one who does."
Kurt smiled. "I guess that's why he makes sure he's trustworthy for
me." The soup finished, he worked on the next five pills. Hank seemed
satisfied for the moment, and he didn't usually give Kurt the needles
until he was lying down, so he guessed he had a little bit of a
reprieve. Kurt took the opportunity to heartily embrace Kitty and nuzzle
at her neck, savouring her perfume.
"Like, ew," Kitty said, "Who picked out your clothes?"
"Evan."
Kitty laughed. "All the proof I needed that he's like, colourblind.
Orange is like, *so* not your RL colour."
"You said it looked nice," he murmured. "'S why I bought it."
"On your hologram - maybe. On *you* - nuh-uh."
Kurt smiled.
"What?"
"I love the way you said that," he purred.
"Leg," said Hank, prepping a needle.
Amara was making his bed in the background, grumbling about stupid
peasants and their propensity for catching filthy diseases. She was not,
as Ray so charmingly put it, going to 'eat shit and smile'. She *was*,
however, probably going to wind up on Wolverine's excercise detail,
regardless.
Kurt wriggled about until his injured leg was accessable. He didn't
watch the needles go in. He never did.
Kitty winced and looked away. "Please be okay," she begged. "Please
get better?"
His leg burned with cold fire.
"Hey, I can't get much worse," he smiled.
Hank extracted him from their tangle and settled him back into bed.
There was a little cup of orange fluid by his bedside.
Kurt obediently drank it and fell asleep before his head landed on his
pillow.
"High metabolism," said Hank as he tucked Kurt back in. "On the cons
side, it means I have to be prepared for any negative reactions to new
medication *before* I administer it. It's also why he has to take such
massive quantities of antibiotics. For the pros, any medication he
*does* take works rather quickly; and he's extremely receptive to
sedatives."
"You're like, *sedating* him?" Kitty demanded.
"Not - quite." He tidied up the discarded bits and bobs of a treatment
session. "That fluid is more of a painkiller. To you or I, beyond mild.
To Kurt, a guaranteed knock-out. It also has a side-effect of slowing
his metabolism down for a limited time, giving the antibiotics a
fighting chance."
"It's that bad?" Kitty bit her lip.
Hank told Amara, "Watch him. I want you to check his temperature every
ten minutes and log it. Any significant change and you let me know
immediately. Understood?"
Amara growled under her breath, but said, "Yes, sir."
Hank then guided Kitty out with a, "We'll be in the upstairs library,
should you need us."
Kitty walked beside him in silence until they got to the library. Then
she said, "He's going to die, isn't he?"
"To be honest; it's touch and go. It's early days. He's still in the
danger zone, and I don't like his current weight. The infection's
stopped *spreading*, but it isn't receeding, either. The worst thing he
has to combat is the low morale Logan left him with. Until you came by,
he's just been going through the motions. Doing whatever he was told
and, I believe, sinking deeper into dispair."
Kitty had hung her head. One hand went to her eyes and she sniffed.
"Your presence could be the deciding factor in his recovery."
"*Me*?" Kitty stared at him. "What can *I* do?"
"You've already made him talk when no-one else could get him to string
three words together. I believe you may also be able to hold his
interest, encourage him to get better, that sort of thing." He patted
her shoulder. "You're his focus. Something to take his mind off the
pain. All you have to do is be there and he'll brighten right up."
Jamie sighed as he closed the door. Made it. All the way to the mall.
*Through* the mall, and back again. All without getting accidentally
duplicated.
He raced upstairs, present ready for inspection in his backpack, and
Kurt's wallet already in hand.
All he found in Kurt's room was Amara taking Kurt's temperature. She
didn't look too happy about it.
Kurt was out cold.
Jamie put his wallet back where it belonged, and unpacked the ornate
music box he'd found in Kurt's favourite store, _Trash'N'Treasure_.
"How was the peasant able to afford *that*?" Amara demanded.
Jamie stared at her. "You don't *know*?"
"A Princess does not involve herself in the affairs of peasants," she
said, jotting down some numbers in a notebook. "Consider yourself my
Ambassador and get on with it, will you?"
"Kurt volunteers himself for a lot of chores around here so he can get
some spending money. The Professor gives him a little more 'cause he
works so hard for it."
"And yet *I'm* ruining my cuticles and not earning a penny," she said.
"That's pure injustice."
"No," said Jamie. "It's *punishment*. You're supposed to suffer."
Kitty wandered back into the room with a very thick book. "Hi,
squirt," she ruffled Jamie's hair. "That what you got for Kurt to get
for me?"
Jamie blushed. "Uh. Yeah."
Kitty grinned. "I'll act surprised."
Kurt was actually staring at Kitty for a while before he realised who
he was looking at. Wakefullness was easy to obtain. Thought, on the
other hand, tended to evade him for quite a while.
It was the orange stuff, he was sure.
Kitty was here. He smiled. "Guten Tag, liebe."
She looked up from her book. A picture of beauty, haloed in the light
from the window. A living angel.
"Should I like, call Hank? You've been like, out for a while."
It took Kurt a moment to process that thought. "Dunno," he managed.
"All I seem t' do is sleep. But it might be bad to be awake."
"How do you feel?"
His eyes closed on him and the memory flittered away.
Kurt opened his eyes. "You're back," he smiled. "Sorry I couldn't
greet you before. 'S bad form to make the lady wait."
"Kurt, I came here four hours ago. Hank was like, changing your
bandages, remember?"
Kurt tried. He stared blankly into nothingness for a long time.
Hey, Kitty was here. "Hello."
"Wow. Hank wasn't kidding when he said that stuff like, played with
your short-term recall."
"Makes me tired, too," he said. "*And* it does nasty things to my
memory."
Kitty's laugh was forced.
"Sorry," he said. "Bad joke."
Kitty got up, and took his temperature with the ear thingy. He was so
used to its friendly {peep} that it invaded his dreams.
"Congrats. You're temperature's like, gone up a whole degree."
Kurt grinned, sitting up carefully. "I'm warmed by your charm," he
smoothed. "Ah. I see Jamie's retrieved your gift for me. Gut knabe."
"Yeah," said Kitty. "Little guy knows your tastes."
"He *should*," said Kurt. "I'm the only one willing to hang around
when he enters a room."
Kitty winced. "Like, ouch."
"Hey, us misfits gotta stick together," Kurt smiled. "If we don't -
who will?" He discarded the comforter and folded it neatly at the foot
of his bed. At long last, he was starting to feel warm. He still wasn't
very hungry, though. "Now, do I get to give you a welcome-back cuddle,
liebe?"
"Like, sure."
The next morning, he was fighting a fever.
He couldn't stand being covered up, but he knew what a mess his body
was in; so at the same time, he was covering himself up with a sheet and
panting to cool himself down. He didn't want Kitty to see his ribs. He
was an awful-looking, bedraggled and half-starved elf - and who knew
what the fever was doing to his face?
For all he knew, he was turning purple.
Kurt looked at his clock. Five-thirty AM. Only an hour before alarms
would be going off to wake people up. Including his.
Hank was dozing on the comfy chair, book dangling in one hand.
Hank had told him to stay in bed, but Kurt's holowatch was on his
dresser, in its recharger. He had to hide his horrible looks. Kitty
would be scared. Couldn't scare Katzchen. Bad form.
Careful of his leg, Kurt slid out of bed and limped towards the
dresser on three limbs. It still hurt, but he had to do it. For
Katzchen, his beloved.
He only made one mistake - trying to stand up when he got to the
dresser.
Hank's eyes snapped open at the {Whump!} of a body hitting the floor,
and was even more alarmed at the sight of his patient out of bed.
"Verdammt..." Kurt muttered. "Didn't get it." He was only wearing his
pyjama pants. The shirt was a crumpled heap on the floor, and it looked
like his bedding had been kicked around by a professional.
It also looked like he'd burst his stitches again.
Hank picked him up. "You shouldn't be out of bed, Mister Wagner."
"Wait," Kurt said. "Please. Need m' watch. Please."
He simply assumed his patented orange potion had done wonders to
Kurt's powers of recall. "You don't need it, remember? Everyone knows
you, here."
"I'm horrible," he said. "Scare Katzchen."
"No, you're not," Hank sighed, putting the boy back to bed. "You're
just under the weather. Everyone understands that."
"Hate me," Kurt mumbled. "Ugly."
Hank tucked him in. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you otherwise.
I'll leave that to Kitty."
"*Nein*... Don' let 'er see. 'M horrible..." He kicked off the sheet.
"Hot..."
Worried, Hank took his temperature. He was feverish.
*Marvy*.
Hot. So hot.
Travelling weather.
He should pack, he should move, but They were telling him to stay put.
Stay still, Kurti, or They'll find you; They'll hurt you.
Stay still. Swallow this. Be a good boy. Stay awake. Tell Them a
story. Be good. Above all else be good.
Katzchen was there. She looked scared. Please don't be scared, Kitty?
I'm sorry; so sorry for being a demon. God won't let me be anything
else.
So hot. Feels like Hell. Maybe I'm already there...
Katzchen, dear Katzchen. So sad. I'm sorry. Didn't mean to make you
cry. Please don't, love. Demons *belong* in Hell.
I just wish it wasn't so hot.
Be good, Kurti. You have to be good.
Don't make a fuss. Don't make waves. Don't attract the wrong
attention, or They will come.
They're coming now.
Can't you hear Them?
{peep}
"A hundred and twenty-four," Amara reported. She automatically changed
the ice packs, handing them to Bobby to 'recharge' them quicker. His
temperature was still climbing.
Poor dumb peasant.
He'd sacrificed his health and a goodly portion of his sanity; all for
what - company?
Amara personally doubted that his ill-chosen strategy would work. All
he was currently earning was mild malevolence and pity at best, and out-
and-out hatred at worst.
He was only eating because Kitty was there to feed him, and there were
still hushed murmurs about feeding him through a tube. Amara had no clue
how that would work, but she guessed in was moderately grousome. Kitty
had doubled her efforts to tempt the peasant into eating when she heard
the talk.
All this effort for a gypsy boy with almost no social graces.
He stirred from his half slumber, mumbling again.
_Why, oh *why* do fevers have to come with delerium?_
"...go, go, *go*," he muttered. "Please go. Get out. Now. Please,
*They're* coming. Go, get out; before They catch you. Please. Just go. I
know how to handle Them, I'll be fine..."
Lovely. Another episode of _They're at the Door_. Either it was one of
his frequent nightmares, or he was apparently terrified of *Logan*
peeking in to see if he was getting any better.
Waitasecond.
Maybe he *was* terrified.
After all, *she* was scared of Logan, and he wasn't even getting her
to do anything. Yet.
"...Gott, nein; They're here! Hide! Hide now!"
Amara looked over her shoulder. Logan was leaning on the doorframe,
looking in. She squared her jaw. The peasant wasn't the only one who
could play to an audience.
"Didn't We tell you to stop disturbing Our patient?" she yelled at
him, firing up for emphasis. "Get out of here! Don't even come *near*
this room until you're given proper leave! Out!"
She was sure Logan fled from the shock, rather than her somewhat
limited authority in this strange land. Amara turned her flame off,
nodded in satisfaction, and resumed her place as monitor.
Hank was staring at her in open-mouthed surprise.
"I *will* apologise in due course," she said. "*After* the peasant has
recovered enough of his wits to recognise Mr Logan as a friend instead
of a foe."
"But you'll be like, grounded for *weeks*," protested Kitty.
Amara sighed. "The peasant was noble enough to sacrifice his time for
*my* misdeeds," she said. "The least I can do is repay some of the
debt." _And besides, my blood is bluer than *he* is. I can't afford to
be shown up by some bootless wandering vagabond._
The peasant was staring at her. "Vas?" he said in a small voice. "Wie
erhielten Sie hier, Mama?"
Amara shared a shocked look with Kitty.
Kitty mouthed, "He thinks you're his Mom."
She mouthed back, "But I hardly know a word of German."
"Wing it," was the soundless advice from Kitty's lips.
_Oh great..._ She smoothed the hair from his face and murmured, "Shh,
liebchen. It's going to be all right. Just be a good boy for the
doctors."
Kurt fell back into a fitful slumber, leaving Amara rubbing the memory
of his fur into her skin. Even soaked in sweat, it was delicious to
touch. Like a kitten.
"Back off, Princess," said Kitty. "I like, saw him first." She had a
very posessive grip around his hand.
"No contest," said Amara. "My father would *kill* me if he caught me
dallying with a peasant gypsy boy." She rubbed her fingers again. "He's
just so - so..."
"Pet-able?"
"Yeah."
"Congratulations, Mister Wagner, you've just gone twenty-four hours
without re-opening your wounds," He re-washed the area, just to be sure.
All stitches were intact. "Now, if you can go another twenty-four hours
in the same way, I can actually let you out of bed - provided you keep
your weight off that leg, of course."
"Sehr gut," Kurt whispered. He was still quiet, but after the fever
broke, he was looking a lot better. He'd barely begun to fill out and,
when Kitty and the others were away at school, he'd occupy his time with
books and drowsing. He'd brighten up the instant Kitty and the others
came back, eager for news, homework, any kind of contact from the world
outside.
The biggest surprise was that most of the new recruits had dropped
their animosity. Hank suspected it was because the German boy repeatedly
and blatantly refused to hold anything resembling a grudge against them,
even when Ray had tried the "does it hurt when I do this" routine.
Hank had just ducked out for a call of nature when he heard the aptly-
codenamed Beserker repeating the question, evidently unsatisfied when
Kurt refused to complain.
All he'd got out of it was Kurt's very mild, "Careful. If you bust
mein stitches I have to stay in bed for another day. And I'm sick of
staring out the same window..."
Ray had left him more-or-less alone after that. Rumour had it that he
was creeped out by Kurt's attitude and wondering exactly what meds he
was on.
Kurt had never said a word about it, one way or the other.
Frankly, Hank was worried. How much could one boy take before he
snapped? If he hadn't done so already.
"I'll be glad to get up," said Kurt. "Even if it *is* only for a
little while."
"Don't start underestimating yourself yet, Mister Wagner. You
recuperative abilities are second only to Logan's. With a little luck,
you should be turning cartwheels in a matter of weeks."
"...herr Logan..." murmured Kurt. He was looking a little spaced out,
and a lot afraid. "Ach, nein... I've been missing the punishment detail.
I have to - I have to do something. Got to make it up to him." He was
bordering on panic, fumbling in his bedside drawers for who-knew-what.
"Calm *down*," Hank soothed, gently seperating his hands from the
search. "You still need to rest, you know."
"But I've got to *do* something," protested Kurt. "He'll be mad at me.
Don't want him to be mad at me. Gotta *do* something. Gotta make it
*right*. I've *got* to."
_Desperate times call for desperate measures..._ Hank didn't want to
do this, but Kurt was working himself up into hysteria. He measured out
a small dose of the orange stuff, hopefully enough to just calm him
down, and offered it to the boy. "I'm sure Logan would just like you to
take your medicine, hm?"
Kurt tipped it into his mouth at approximately light speed. He was
dozing off inside a minute, and asleep a few seconds after that.
Hank sighed. "Mental note. Do not mention Logan while Kurt's still in
a fragile state of mind."
Kurt opened his eyes and froze.
Logan!
"I'msorry," he said, voice barely a squeak. "Ididn'tmeantodoit,
Iswear."
"Relax, f'r Pete's sake," said Logan. "You're *off* the *hook*."
"Ja. Ja." Kurt almost dozed back to sleep. "Temporary reprieve due to
illness."
"No. You're off the hook for good. On this count, anyway. You were
innocent, Elf."
He was feeling very, very dizzy. "Still have things to do," he
managed. "The run. I didn't finish the run. I've got to--"
"You've got to nothing," said Logan. "That's an *order*."
"But--"
"What'd I tell you 'bout whining?"
Kurt shut his mouth with an audible click.
"Now since it seems that everyone here's punishment is makin' sure you
get better, I thought it was high time I pitched in. And *that* meant
gettin' you used to me again."
Kurt still stared at him. "Who are you and what have you done with
Herr Logan?"
"Cute. *Real* cute, Elf. I found a book in the library that seems
right up your alley an' I'm gonna read it to ya. You're gonna like it,
too. Capiche?"
Kurt drew the sheet up so that he was more-or-less hiding.
"Fine. Whatever." He cleared his throat as he turned pages. "Chapter
One. 'Ship duty!' chortled the ensign four ahead of Miles in line..."
Hank almost had a coronary when he came back from Logan's wild goose
chase to hear the man himself talking in Kurt's room. But when he
looked, Logan wasn't shooting his mouth off at a cowering elf. He was
reading to an eager audience.
How the *hell* had *that* happened?
Hank stood, dumbfounded, and took in the scene. Logan *had* to be
trying a different tack. Either that, or he'd been replaced by a
shapeshifter who knew next to nothing about him...
Logan finished reading the segment, put a mark in the book, and said,
"You're gonna catch flies like that, Poindexter."
Hank shut his mouth for only a second, because he *really* needed to
ask, "What the heck are you *doing*?
"Community service," said Logan. "Everyone else is payin' for what
they done to the elf. It's high time I did somethin'."
Hank felt his anger flare up. "Do you *realise* what you could have
done to him?"
"It's okay, Herr McCoy," said Kurt. "Herr Logan's not mad any more.
It's not so bad."
"I'm still going to look at your stitches," Hank insisted.
Kurt extracted his left leg rather carefully. "Is Herr Logan still
allowed to read?"
_Good grief._ Hank looked at Logan, who'd gone inscrutable. "Far be
it from me to come between Logan and anything he wants to do..."
Kurt automatically turned to Logan for a translation.
"He means I can stay if I wanna, elf."
Kurt grinned and relaxed. He made no pleas nor entrieties either way,
but a great deal of his former tension had gone.
Hank merely went on with the business of inspecting Kurt's troublesome
leg. Thankfully, he'd avoided doing himself any further damage. Still,
Hank glared a little at Logan. His plan could have gone wrong in so many
ways, it was frightening just to think about it.
"A team ain't a team if folks don't get along; right, Poindexter?"
Logan said as he watched Hank change dressings.
"All the same, I object to your methods," Hank told him. "You could
have handled the situation with far greater delicacy."
"I don't 'do' delicate," Logan smirked. "I act first and ask questions
later. The job gets done, and most of the time it gets done right. If I
screw up, I fix it. End of story."
"Please don't fight?" said Kurt. "Everything was okay. You didn't need
to fight..."
Hank sighed. _Fine._ He could bury the hatchet for Kurt's sake.
It was the first time Ororo herd Kurt's laboured breathing approaching
the kitchen since his punishment detail. She turned to see him stumping
along on his good leg and two callipers.
"I take it I missed breakfast?" he said, making for the nearest chair.
"Whoah... Deja vu..."
Ororo laughed. "I prepared a meal just for you. Nothing but comfort-
food."
"Fraulein, after Herr Logan's punishment detail, any food is a
comfort." He busied himself with setting himself up in his chosen seat,
hanging the callipers off a handy surface. "So what happens to be part
of this elf's complete breakfast?"
"I thought we'd start with waffles," she said. "Fresh from the waffle
iron to you."
Kurt sniffed in appreciation. "Mmmmm... your famous homemade batter.
Wunderbar... I bet everyone at school's turning bright green with
jealousy for the blue guy."
Ororo gave him a stack of piping-hot waffles. "Your choice of topping;
maple syrup, golden syrup, jellies, conserves, ice-cream, whipped cream
and chocolate sauce."
As predicted by Logan - who'd wisely chosen to take an extended
constitutional for the duration - Kurt piled up *everything* on his
waffles and ate the result with every sign of enjoyment.
Ororo felt more than a little green, herself, as a direct result.
_Just relax,_ she told herself. _Kurt does this whenever he has to play
'catch up' with his biological debt. Just keep it plentiful, keep it
coming, and try to ignore the horrendous things he does to my gourmet-
class food..._
Kurt had made a waffle sandwich, which was made slightly more alarming
by the fact that he barely gave the thing time to drip its contents on
his plate.
_Just ignore it,_ she told herself, trying to get her troublesome
stomach to quit trying a rebellion. _He can't help it, right now. Just
get on with the flapjacks..._
*Then* Kurt started talking around mouthfuls and expressions of
ecstasy.
{Mmmmf} "Dieses ist--" {uhm} "-wundervoll." {Gronf, mumf} "Kostlich."
{slurp} "Ich bin--" {smack smack} "-im *Himmel*." {nupnupnupnupnup} "Oh,
dankeshoen." {Uhrhumnyum} "Bliss..." {bworp} "...bitten Sie Ihre
Entschuldigung..."
Ororo absently reached for the Maalox.
Someone had left the Sci-Fi channel on. From the sounds of things,
Captain Kirk was battling a giant space amoeba. That, and there was some
static in the service.
At least, that's what Logan thought, at first.
He strode into the entertainment room, looking for the remote, only to
discover it clasped in the hand of an unconscious elf.
_Good grief, he purrs in his sleep,_ thought Logan as he found out
where the low rumble was coming from. _That's - almost *cute*._
Kid was going to pop his stitches if he moved the wrong way, there.
His bad leg was pressing against the arm rest of the couch. Logan found
a soft pillow and, moving carefully, slid it under the boy's injured
foot, creating a little ramp.
He also told himself that there was no possible way he could be
feeling parential towards the elf. In a few years, their relationship -
if Logan let them have one, would be brotherly. And then, almost before
Logan would know it, the elf would be 'older' than him. Or dead.
Best not to get close at all; especially since his power made him
effectively immortal.
The purr slowed to a halt.
"I wasn't asleep," Kurt said, eyes flickering open. "I'm watching
that. Honest. I just - can't keep my eyes open..."
"I was lettin' ya," Logan told him. "Just watch that foot, Elf. You
bust them stitches again and Hank'll nail my ass to the wall."
"You'd get better." Kurt snuggled into the couch. "You always do."
Logan watched his eyes drift shut again. Always. At sixteen, the kid
had no concept of just how long 'always' could get. How many friends and
loved ones 'always' could loose.
Personally, Logan was sick of getting up again. But the world kept on
knocking him down. He didn't want to find out how long it would be until
old age finally caught up with him.
It had been at least a couple of centuries, by his reckoning. Maybe
more. Another couple of centuries and maybe he'd start believing he'd
outlast Death itself.
He *knew* he was going to outlast the kids.
That was why he didn't want to get close.
It would hurt too much.
[AN: Yeah, I wanted a bit of LoganAngst. The story needed it, after what
he put poor Kurt through :)
And in other news: for a limited time only (between now and when I start
writing it) I am taking votes for the *next* PWP :) You can vote for:
1) The Best Revenge - Duncan Matthews is not only a jerk, but he's a
mutant jerk with a *really* sucky (but obvious) power. Lots of Duncan
and Jean bashing!
2) Under (Peer) Pressure - Kurt and Oktoberfest really don't mix well.
Especially when Duncan Matthews gets the elf *drunk*.
3) Cruel Hearts - Set before "ShadowDance". Kitty forges a bunch of love
notes to Kurt, sent by 'a secret admirer'. Just how far will her joke
go?
4) There's This Girl - A German exchange student called Katja visits
Bayville and suddenly has 100% of Kurt's attention. Who is she and who
gets jealous?
5) Shut up and write more of DPM! *NOW*!
Well, that's pretty much it. Once again, sorry for taking so long.]