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"The basis of optimism
is sheer terror."
-Oscar Wilde
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Chapter Six: …Baked in a Pie
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The air was still cold, but the flurry of hugs exchanged between Moira and the students on the landing pad seemed to be enough to warm anyone up. Anyone, that is, except the dark-haired girl that she'd brought out with her, who stood off to the side, staring down at her feet. Her cheeks were pink with cold and her hair was tousled by the wind, like everyone around her, but she didn't seem to mind it much.
Finally disengaged from Moira's determined arms, Kurt pulled his sweater tighter around him, trying to shield himself against the painful chill in the air, and decided that must be her problem. Obviously, she was cold. He could tell by the way she hugged herself and squeezed her hands into little fists. She'd said hello to the professor in a civil enough manner, but now she was back to her spot a good two meters away, refusing to come near anyone but Moira. Ever the jovial gentleman, Kurt decided to change that. He approached her with a swinging gait, grinning broadly.
"Guten tag, fraulein. Und how are you? Cold, I'd bet."
She trained her green eyes on him, studying him with a thoughtful, slightly anxious expression that went slightly rigid when her gaze met his gleaming yellow stare. "Not particularly."
"Are you sure?" He tugged hastily at the hem of the maroon sweater he wore, giving Nat a glimpse of the waistband of a pair of hideously green boxer shorts. She caught herself wondering if he knew that he looked like a box of crayons. "You can have my sweater if you've changed your—"
"I said I was fine, thank you." Nat scowled at the young man, the young blue man, and turned her upper body away from him, succeeding in looking very haughty and uninterested in his attention. She shot him a first-rate glare for good measure.
Kurt swallowed hard, surprised, and shrugged, slightly hurt but not letting it show. "All…right."
So there Nat stood, watching and listening but saying almost nothing, and absolutely freezing. She watched the regal dark-skinned woman with the mane of pearly hair, and continued to sulk even in the rich sound of the woman's voice. She watched the slender brunette and listened to how many times she could say "like" in a sentence, and the young black boy with, for some reason, a skateboard beneath his arm. There was a beautiful redhead and her sunglasses-wearing boyfriend deep in conversation with Hank; Jean and Scott, Nat supposed, recognizing the girl's strikingly lovely features from a photograph Hank had shown her. And, of course, the fuzzy blue guy who had offered her his sweater, now chattering away with Moira about someone they had apparently left behind. His tail flicked about in the air, and Nat suppressed a shudder.
The professor was by far the most intimidating of the little troupe, a fair-skinned man dressed like a middle-aged GQ model, sitting in his chair with a gray blanket draped across his lap. His head was completely bald and his jaw was square, and Nat imagined had to shake the feeling that she had wondered into a distorted episode of Star Trek. He'd shaken her hand when they'd met, and held her wrist firmly, with a warm sense of confidence. Nat couldn't help wondering if he was listening to her thoughts, and the idea unnerved her to the point that a chill spread through her belly, and heat flared across her fingertips.
Back in the parlor, things went much the same. They sat family-style around the table, chatting amongst themselves and munching on crackers and tea. Moira could see Nat's discomfort (it wasn't hard to pick up on) and tried her damndest to get the sullen girl involved in the conversation. She focused on the other students rather than the professor, hoping that a little friendly banter with others of her own age would loosen Nat's tongue and help her retain control over her reeling stomach.
"I hear ye're a fan o' the Beatles, Kurt. Natty's quite th' admirer herself." As soon as she'd said it, Moira backed off, leaving Nat to fend for herself, knowing perfectly well that Kurt would manage to deal with her.
"Ach, really? Do you have their albums, Natty?"
"Don't call me Natty, please. And no. I don't have any albums."
A small frown creased his indigo brow. "Nein? Oh. Vell, das's okay. Actually, I've got vun in the Blackbird. Und Flogging Molly, if you like them." He shrugged with a grin, his teeth looking incredibly white against his strangely colored face. "I listen to them sometimes ven ve fly. Kitty hates it."
"No offense, but it seems to me that Kitty would hate any kind of music that isn't featured in the latest Tiger Beat."
Despite himself, Kurt laughed. A few seats down, Kitty shot an indignant scowl in Nat's direction. Kurt continued as if he had not been interrupted. "I could get it if you'd like. I'm sure Moira has something to play it vith somvere on this island. Und if she doesn't, ve can play it on the Blackbird. Ja, das's even better. The professor von't mind: I know how to fly it."
Nat gulped and tried to swallow the hard lump forming in her throat, surprised at how easily it went down this time. She tried to tell herself how much this meant to Moira. If she could put up with the creepy blue guy for a while, her part in this little charade would be complete. She had to admit, the boy was being very generous in his level of patience. "Um…okay. That'd be…um, fun."
Kurt led her out into the yard, where the Blackbird sat like an enormous tethered dog. Up close, it was a hulking machine of gleaming black metal that looked considerably less graceful when it was grounded. Kurt deftly opened the side hatch and leaped up the steps with stunning agility, then thought better of it and came back down. He waited for her at the bottom, signaling with a little wave of his three-fingered hand that she should go up, and Nat realized with a jolt that this young man's strange appearance wasn't as striking when he was in motion, and gave him an amazing aura of grace.
"Ladies first."
Nat blushed despite herself, and took the stairs slowly into the massive aircraft. It was smaller inside than she had expected, but there was still enough room to move about comfortably. Kurt punched a few buttons on what Nat guessed was the stereo panel, then tossed his narrow body into a large, plush seat, sparsely upholstered in grey and black. He crossed his ankles on the headrest of the seat in front of him, folding his hands behind his head as music started to fill the cabin, his yellow eyes closing dreamily. Nat sat lightly on the edge of the seat across the aisle from him with her hands folded in her lap, still rather discomfited.
The two sat in an almost companionable, awkward silence for several minutes, Nat waiting for Kurt to say something and Kurt waiting for Nat to realize that no one had to say anything. He yawned widely, unintentionally giving Nat a good shot of his sharp, white canine teeth. She shuddered the way she had at first seeing his tail, which was now snapping back and forth between the two of them like it had a mind of its own. Somehow, it didn't bother her anymore. Neither did the blue fuzz. Now, it was just those teeth.
Finally, when Nat was starting to fear that maybe the mutant beside her had lost consciousness, he laughed out loud, making her jump.
"What? What's so funny?"
"I still haven't gotten my cake."
There was a long pause. "Excuse me?"
Kurt's feet slipped down off the headrest and he pulled himself upright, yellow eyes flashing at his little joke. "Ven I first came here, about two and a half years ago, Moira promised me dat I could have some cake. I'd forgotten about it until just now."
Nat's face was blank. "Why did you think of it now?"
"I dunno," he said with a laugh, tossing his shoulders. "I like cake."
A sudden, inexplicable urge rushed through Nat's body, and the words spilled from her mouth before she could stop them. "Do you want to help me make one?"
"Was?"
"Duh. A cake. D'you want to help me make one?"
A smile drew slowly across Kurt's fuzzy face. Nat ignored the surprise in his eyes. "Ja, klingt wundervoll."
Now focused on a mission other than a Beatles session in the back of the Blackbird, the two uneasy associates left the jet and set off for the kitchen. Head whirling with confusion at her own sudden desire to bake, Nat was silent all the way there, but Kurt didn't seem to mind. He chattered on about his chemistry teacher back home, and some gigantic project that he should have been working on at that very moment.
The kitchen was still only half clean after the interruption of the X-Men's arrival, but they made do. Kurt pushed the dirty pans haphazardly into the sink full of soapy water while Nat searched every cabinet in the place for the necessary ingredients. Finally, after a good ten minutes of searching, she walked to the center of the tiled kitchen and put her hands on her hips, as if she could intimidate the room into cooperating.
"Would you believe it? We've got one of the world's most complex computer systems and research facilities just down the hall, and there isn't a cake pan in the place." She pointed at the stack of items she had discovered. "But there's eight pie pans. Eight!"
Kurt stifled a chortle, glad to see that Nat was finally beginning to warm to him, even if it was only to complain about the lack of cooking utensils. "Vell, ve could alvays make a pie."
Nat frowned slightly. "You know, that's kind of a good idea." A smile erupted on her face, and he noticed for the first time that she had dimples. He was starting to see the girl that Moira had been so excited about introducing them to.
"Now. To start ve need a crust, and for that ve need…was?"
She counted off the ingredients with her fingers. "Butter, sugar, flour, eggs and…salt, I think."
Kurt disappeared into the pantry, the sounds of his rummaging, including several loud thuds and some rather loud German curse words, filling the kitchen. Nat smiled inside, and found that she was smiling on the outside, too. Suddenly, there was a loud popping noise and a strange sulfuric odor in the air. Nat looked around for the source of the offending scent, and saw Kurt next to the oven with his arms full of packages and a victorious glint in his eye. Wisps of pinkish gray smoke curled around his ankles, and Nat involuntarily gasped. Kurt ignored her reaction and held up his bounty of various food products. "Butter, zucker, mehl, eier, und salz! Und a little more, too."
Nat giggled nervously, trying desperately to ignore the dissipating smoke, and helped him heap his loot onto the counter, scattering parcels messily. Two eggs rolled off of the counter and landed with a crack, and good amount of flour was spilled on the tile as well. A glass bottle of paprika teetered on the edge of the Formica, but Nat caught it just before it fell and shattered.
"What'd you think we'd need this for?"
Kurt shrugged. "It's a nice color."
"Um, how about we not use it?"
He shrugged again, grinning widely now. "Okay."
The two young mutants stood back and surveyed their options. Nat rubbed her chin in thought. Kurt pursed his lips.
"Vat now?"
"We'd better start mixing things together. It's not going to turn into a pie just by having us stare at it."
"Das's probably true. But vat if I told you about my other mutant pow—"
"Oh, shut up."
Kurt laughed and made his way for the items strewn on the counter. He tossed a few eggs into a large glass bowl, lobbing the shells over his shoulder to scatter across the table, smiling at Nat's shocked expression. "Ve can clean up later."
Measuring out cups of flour to add to the improvised concoction, Nat felt something cool, wet and very sticky trickling down her elbow. With a little shriek, she jerked her arm to dislodge the irregular sensation, watching in horror as a thick golden liquid seeped onto the back of her hand.
"Sorry!" Kurt shouted, handing her a wet towel and smirking slightly. "The honey got away from me."
He didn't have time to duck as something small and white hurtled toward his head. Yoke splattered on his neck and dribbled down past his collar, and the slippery remains made a shiny, gooey mess of his face. Nat smiled and crossed her arms over her chest.
"Sorry. The egg got away from me."
Kurt laughed hard, spraying little bits of egg across the kitchen to land on Nat, who squealed and leapt out of the way. When they'd finally calmed down again, they went back to adding more ingredients to the bowl, flicking raisins and flour at one another at regular intervals, yelping in a feigned affront each time.
Once the crust was in the oven and baking, they set to work on a filling. A mixture of peaches, raisins and cinnamon was the closest they could get to a fruit filling, and it was proving to be the messiest task so far. Kurt peeled and pitted the fruit, managing to slop a great deal onto the floor, and Nat was tentatively cooking it over a low flame, mixing in whatever sweet-smelling spices Kurt had dug out of the pantry.
With towels wrapped around his hands like giant oven mitts, Kurt pulled the crust out of the oven and set it on the countertop to cool. The small pot that Nat was using to boil the fruit was full nearly to the point of overflowing, and, as she brought it closer to the crust to pour it in, it sloshed onto the floor, adding to the sticky mess there.
Unfortunately, neither of the two noticed the smear of egg under Nat's right foot. Just as she reached the counter where the crust was waiting patiently, her foot shot out from underneath her and she let out an undignified bellow. The pot stayed firmly in her hand, but a flying ball of peaches and cinnamon shot across the room, splashing across the wall and oozing down to the floor, looking a lot like orange-tinted slugs. The rest of the warm peach juice poured onto Nat, who was laying on the floor at Kurt's feet. They were both silent for a long moment, staring back and forth from each other to the huge, sloppy disarray that they had made out of the kitchen. Slowly, a grin began to play at the corners of Kurt's lips.
"Oh, vell. It's a very good crust." He popped a bite into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully, smiling.