A/N: This is for Darlin, who keeps reminding me that most of my chapters are so short, and it is in memory of Angelo Espinosa, AKA Skin, 1994 ~ 2003. And another one bites the comic dust.
Disclaimer:
You see what power is - holding someone else's fear in your
hand and showing it to them!
~Amy Tan
Sleep, however, was fleeting for Kurt. He was soon awoken by a hand roughly shaking his shoulder. Didn't I just do this? He blearily looked up to see Logan standing above him.
"Was…"
"Shh. You'll wake the kid. We need to talk."
His mind still foggy, Kurt did his best to obey, blushing a bit when he saw that the coat had, once again, slipped off Leslie…though this time, entirely. He quickly recovered her, grateful that Logan hadn't commented on it.
"I thought you vere asleep."
For the first time in his memory, Kurt saw what could—could—be Logan blushing.
"Yeah, well, I thought the two of ya needed some time alone."
Kurt stared in wonderment. Who vould have thought Logan a romantic? "Danke."
Logan waved it away. "Whatever, Kurt. At least ya haven't been ordained yet, huh?"
The blood rushed out of Kurt's face. "Vhat do you mean?"
Logan looked at him curiously. "Just that it woulda been harder fer ya if ya'd been ordained already. This way yer not a full priest…Kurt?"
Nightcrawler gripped his friend's shoulders. "Mein freund…I vas ordained…you vere there!"
"Elf…I ain't got a clue what yer talkin' about."
Kurt's hands slipped to his side. "Then…vhat have I been doing vhen I vent to preach Mass?" he asked, bewildered.
"I bet these folk here have an idea," Wolverine growled, his knuckles flexing in a way that told Kurt he longed to release his claws. "I hate magic."
"Ja, me too."
Silence reigned for a bit before Logan spoke again.
"What I woke ya up fer is this: I was listenin' at the door and heard some of 'em talkin' bout getting' us up and takin' us somewhere. Don't know what fer, but it didn't sound good."
Kurt rubbed the back of his neck. "Verdammt! For once can't it just be simple?!"
"Ain't likely. Not when yer goin' around with a target on you chest."
He gave a hollow laugh. "I suppose so."
A groan was heard, and they whirled to see Bobby shakily rising. "Tell me this is a bad dream."
"'Fraid not."
"Damn."
Logan eyed him for a moment before continuing. "With Frost and 'em out and Leslie…the way she is, we haven't got a snowball's chance in hell."
Bobby paled. "Please, another metaphor around the Iceman?"
Kurt had returned to Leslie and spoke quietly as he gathered her into his arms again. "Ve vill do vhat ve must. As always."
The three of them looked at each other across the room as they waited together for the Pontiff to come.
I…was not I any more. I was we. We were Leslie, and we were Beast. And both were real and true.
And Leslie and Beast were fading, too, at the same time, leaving, going toward and into and part of the Blackness that we loved and hated. And I was something new. We remembered clearly a verse we'd heard somewhere long ago: Suffered a deep sea change…into something new and strange. And it meant nothing and something to.
And Leslie, the part that was still here, still strong, Leslie took control, and I was her again, just her, and I saw Kurt, and I realized that my scars, my markings, they that covered my arms and back, were burning, and I hated then, and part of me wondered if I'd lied to him again, or if I'd changed part of him to say those words to me. But even at that, Beast was here, and the Other.
And all three of us were with the Blackness.
The door banged open, jolting the three men from the slight stupor they'd fallen into. Before Wolverine had a chance to growl, the room was filled with the priests. Five hurried to restrain Logan, while another group moved towards Bobby. Only one each came for the three unconscious X-Men.
Kurt bared his teeth, shifting Leslie slightly so he had a better grip on her. But all in vain, for he suddenly found himself unable to move. A smirk on his face, one priest moved towards him, pulling the now awake Leslie from his arms. To his astonishment she didn't make a sound, not even when they ripped the coat from her.
"Fitting, for one such as you to care for the Beast," the same priest sneered.
Kurt would have gladly have killed the man in front of him at the moment, had he a choice. As it was, he merely followed.
The Pontiff smiled at the captives as they were dragged in. "So…once again the Unclean dare to enter my home. This shall be the last time."
Logan snarled, and Bobby, anger brewing, yelled any obscenity he could think of.
"Such language. But not from you, my pet," he said to Leslie, seemingly finding nothing odd with her oozing wounds, naked body, nor the scars that decorated her.
But then, vhy vould he? Kurt though angrily, he vas the vone to have it done to her!
"You have not killed them, Beast. Why?"
Still she said nothing, staring at him blankly.
"Perhaps it was only a lapse. Now I give you a last chance. Kill them."
Leslie stood there for a moment, still, then slowly turned to face Kurt. She moved closer to him, until she was standing almost nose to nose.
Kurt forced his mouth to move, croaking. "Liebe…"
And she turned him inside out.
He was in the crowd again, the fires burning close, scorching his fur, and they were yelling at him, calling him demon, and all he'd wanted to do was help them…
And he was in the middle of New York, and his image inducer failed, and a mother screamed, backing away, right into the path of a truck…
And he was alone, holding Leslie's still body, too late to help her…
And he was the demon he'd always feared becoming, away from his God, away from everything…
And he was drowning.
Leslie felt him, felt him in her soul, if that was even what it was, in the bottom of her being, and she pulled away, quickly, knowing she wasn't too late, knowing, on the same level she knew she existed, that he would be fine.
She whirled, angry, free for the moment, not the Beast, not even the Leslie who'd been, but someone new, still Leslie, but truer.
Later, Logan and Bobby would struggle to describe it. The best Bobby ever came up with was this:
"It wasn't like you, Jean, with the Phoenix. There wasn't fire and beauty. It wasn't like Ororo in a storm. This wasn't a goddess, or a force. This was just a human. You couldn't even really see it, but it sorta looked…It looked like the air over a black top in July. You knew, how it wavers a little, and you can almost see the heat? That was it. All the hate in her…she made it physical, and threw it at the guys who were rushing towards her. And when it touched them, it was like acid. Their blood and bones and skin and all, it just melted into this goo. Like I said, it wasn't beautiful like you and 'Ro…wasn't even like Jubilee and her fireworks.
"But it wasn't what she did that was impressive, Jean. It wasn't any worse than a dozen other things I've seen. It was her face when she did it…there wasn't any emotion on it at all, just blank…"
Logan never spoke of it.
Leslie stood, every scab on her ripped open, the blood mingling with what had once been her captures. She faced the Pontiff, eyes cold.
"Well, Beast. It seems that purity is beyond you."
She said nothing.
"A loss. But it matters little. You're bound with those marks. I'll find you again, I assure you."
And he was gone. Not with a light, nor a puff of smoke. No smell of brimstone remained to let them know he had once been there.
Kurt groggily rose, wondering what had happened. At the same time Emma, Northstar, and Angel, no longer bound by the Pontiff, began to rise.
Logan ignored them all, rushing towards Leslie and catching her as she fell. She blinked at him once before passing out.
"Kurt, get us the hell back to the Blackbird!"
I was the Blackness for a moment. It burned in me, and I let it flow, staring as the men screamed, watching the puddles of blood and gore grow.
And then I watched him, the Pontiff, the bastard, my master, I watched him leave.
And I fell back into the waiting arms of the Blackness.
Hank emerged from the surgery room, his fur matted with sweat.
Kurt immediately stopped pacing, rushing past the other nervous mutants to him. "How is she?"
Hank removed his spectacles, polishing them as he answered. "She's just woken from the anesthetic. Annie's with her right now. All I can say is, thank God and Lilandra for Shiar technology. I repaired the damage to her vocal cords and muscles. I also repaired some damage to her uterus that was cause by the abortion."
The room started to buzz at the word "abortion," but Hank continued.
"I was able to graft new skin onto most of her body, eliminating the scars…" He huffed a huge breath before going on. "I was not, however, able to remove the ritualistic scars covering her back, neck, shoulders, and arms. They reappeared on the new skin. My only guess is that this is something other than science."
The room was now loud with talk. Kurt looked tensely at the other blue mutant. "May I see her?"
Hank nodded. "You may, but she's still very much out of it. I doubt she'll be able to converse."
Kurt was already in the room.
He sat next to Leslie, not even noticing as Annie left. Thanks to the Shiar technology, one couldn't even tell that the skin she wore was not the one she'd been born with. Unless, that was, they looked at the letters covering her arms. Kurt gently traced them, not knowing he cause her pain by doing so.
Greek, Hank had said. Some of the letters were Greek…a few of the more familiar ones formed words in Latin. He's also identified Egyptian, Mayan, and Chinese. He pulled his hand away, anger rising like bile in his throat.
He looked up at a slight noise, startled to see Leslie's black eyes open and staring at him.
He gently took her hand. "Hey, liebe," he said gently.
A slight smile came to her lips. "Hey," she whispered back, then closed her eyes again.
Kurt rose to go, thinking she wanted to be alone, but stopped when he suddenly felt the long-dead link click to life again. It wasn't her feelings he felt…he suspected she was still blocking them…just her gentle presence, as much a part of his being as his breath.
Smiling, he sat back down, holding her hand while he waited for her to awaken.