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Author's Note:
Greetings.
Read, REVIEW, and enjoy. ;) Pretty please. Comments on the reviews up to this point are at the bottom of this page.
Cheers.
Jack
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Kurt was silent as he pushed me along. Considering Xavier's heavy- handed way of dealing with our mutual animosity, I really couldn't blame him. Maybe I'd get lucky and the blue guy would be pissed at the Professor instead. Hey, a man can dream. Can't he?
The silence grew thicker as we entered the garage. Kurt brushed past me to switch on the light and I saw a decidedly unhappy look on his face. His eyes caught mine for a moment, before he looked away. Nope. He was pissed at me and me alone. I sighed inwardly. If one of us didn't budge, this was going to be a long afternoon.
Unfortunately, I had a stubborn streak a mile wide at that point in my life. I had no intention of saying a word to Kurt, for fear he'd see it as a sign of weakness. He'd pushed just as much as I had, hadn't he? If he wanted to give me the silent treatment, I'd give as well as I got.
There were perhaps a half-dozen vehicles in the garage. A slick motorcycle, heavy on the chrome, stood a ways apart from the assortment of cars and vans. I'd have to guess it belonged to Logan. Of all the people at the Institute, he was the only one that struck me as having a biker mentality.
What really caught my eye was a 1939 Cadillac V-8 Limousine [1] in gorgeous condition. The tan-and-black body was lovingly waxed to the point where the overhead lights made it gleam. Dark tinted windows hid the interior, but I'd have guessed it was probably done in tan leather. Even the fenders were immaculate. It fairly oozed power and grace even while parked and shut down.
All right, so I'm a classic automobile freak. So what?
I hoped that maybe we'd take that car to the mall, but we headed for the Shelby Cobra [2] sitting next to it instead. Not that I was complaining or anything. Number one, it was a sweet little car in pristine condition. Number two, it belonged to Summers so I wouldn't feel too bad if it got scratched. By accident, of course.
For a guy who wasn't speaking to me, Kurt was surprisingly gentle as he wrestled me out of the chair and into Summers' roadster. I think most of the struggle had to do with the fact that he's only slightly larger than I am. Still, he managed to get me into the car with a minimum of fuss. The wheelchair, I noticed, stayed behind. It wouldn't fit into the trunk and I assumed they had wheelchairs at the mall. Either that or he was planning to leave me in the car while he did his shopping.
I cast a final, longing look toward the Cadillac as Kurt pulled the ignition cap off and started fiddling with some wires. After a moment, the strangeness of his act finally hit me.
"Wait a sec. What are you doing?"
"Starting the car, of course," he replied, his attention on the wiring.
"You're hot-wiring Summers' car?" I couldn't help but grin. It just seemed poetic somehow. Despite his assurances, Summers and I didn't really get along - and now Kurt was stealing his car for a joyride to the mall. I folded my arms behind my head and leaned back into the bucket seat, enjoying this for all it was worth.
"Is that vhat you call it?" The engine finally caught and it roared to life. "Hot-viring," Kurt said to himself, almost as though he was testing the phrase. It occurred to me that he didn't speak English as his primary language. A moment later, the ignition cap was back in place.
He buckled his seat belt and waited for me to do the same. With a final poke to his hologram thingy, he shimmered into his somewhat bland false identity. And then we took off.
I really can't describe the thrill of riding in a car with someone who'd apparently never heard of the phrases 'pile-up' or 'totaled' or especially 'full-body cast.' He just put the car in gear and accelerated to about mach three. It did strike me as odd that he hadn't been jailed for the way he was driving yet. It was almost liberating, in a bizarre sense of the word.
I rested secure in the knowledge that, if anything did happen to us, the speed at which Kurt was driving pretty much ensured there wouldn't be enough left of the two of us to fill a sandwich baggie. Therefore I didn't have to worry about Xavier or Summers yelling at me.
Speaking of which, I do seem to recall a surprised shout somewhere behind us as we sped toward the front gate and freedom. A quick glance over my shoulder was enough to see that ol' One-Eye had seen us. Luckily, we both could pretend that we couldn't hear him over the noise of the engine. For a fleeting moment I was worried that he'd give us a blast or try to stop us. Then I realized that he liked his car more than the thought of taking us to task and relaxed.
Needless to say, we arrived at the Bayside Galleria less than five minutes later. By a stroke of luck, we hadn't been pulled over either.
Kurt pulled right up into the no-parking zone at the curb and disappeared through the front doors. For obvious reasons, he left the engine running. I started to have misgivings at that point. School was just around the corner and I was sure that some of our classmates would probably be inside. What would they say when they saw me? How would they react? I'd been a more or less popular guy - especially with the girls - but disabled people weren't exactly on the Bayside High hit parade, you know. I really wanted to go back to the Institute. That's irony for you.
I sat there, bathed in a cold sweat, forever. By the time Kurt came back with one of those rickety mall wheelchairs, I'd had to concentrate on not hyperventilating. My hands were gripping the dashboard with enough intensity to leave impressions in the vinyl. Apparently it was noticeable, because for the past minute or two a security guard had been keeping an eye on me. I guess I did look a little suspicious.
Kurt opened the door and we did the whole wrestling thing to get me into the borrowed chair. It was noticeably less comfortable than the one back in the garage but I didn't have any room to complain, I suppose. I watched as Kurt pulled into a parking spot at a more mundane pace than before. He fiddled with the ignition again while I waited. I could tell he'd done this a number of times in the past, because I wasn't kept waiting long.
The air in the Galleria was cool and dry, a nice contrast with the sweltering humidity outside. It hadn't been noticeable while driving with the blue Dale Earnhardt who was humming under his breath behind me but it was late August, after all.
The mall is one of those that, for lack of space, are built up rather than out. There are four floors of shops, services and boutiques topped by a sunroof that ran the entire length of the huge building. We stopped just inside the door and I heard Kurt fumbling with a piece of paper. It dropped into my lap a moment later.
"Hold onto that, bitte," he said. I glanced at the paper and found myself looking at a shopping list. How fun. I narrowed my eyes. It listed a huge number of stores, including some that catered to the, ah, opposite sex.
"Uh, Kurt," I said as we started rolling toward the elevator over near the fountain. "Is there something you want to tell me?"
"Such as?" he asked guardedly.
"Such as the reason we're going into Victoria's Secret?"
We stopped. "Vhat?" The paper was plucked from my hands. I could hear him muttering above me, and craned my neck around to look. He'd produced a pencil from somewhere and was busy scratching out a few items on the list. "Verdammen Sie, Jean," he grumbled. At my bemused look, he explained: "Rahne's birthday is next Tuesday and I asked Jean for places to buy her a gift. I vasn't expecting...that."
He handed me the considerably-shortened list and we got moving again. Rahne had a birthday coming up; that was news to me. Summers had let it slip that she sort of liked me, so maybe I should pick up something while I was here. Might as well get on someone's good side, you know? Come to think of it, I had to pick up my own school supplies while I was here. I reached for my wallet, mentally cringing.
As expected, the money pit was dry at the moment. I pawed through the wallet, checking every pocket, but came up nearly dry. I had exactly a dollar to my name and that was an old silver dollar I wasn't keen on spending. It was one of the old ones with the standing Liberty on the front, but the date was worn off. It had belonged to Dad once upon a time and I didn't quite remember why I kept it around. Aside from that coin, the wallet was empty but for my state and school ID cards and a smattering of photographs and business cards.
"Crap," I muttered. I'd have to find a way to get a hold of some cash. Maybe I could hit Lance up for a loan when he got back. He was probably nearly as broke as I was but it was worth a shot. The elevator chimed pleasantly, breaking into my thoughts. We stepped off onto the fourth balcony. I could tell, because all the really expensive stores were on this level. No matter how many shopping malls I visit, they good stuff is always the hardest to get to. The Mont Blanc specialty shop, for example, which was just beyond the window.
"Ve'll vork our vay down from the top," Kurt said. His voice trailed off. I knew he was looking at my and my wallet. I stuffed it back into my pocket and gripped the armrests.
"By all means, sport. Just push me in the right direction."
Instead of doing so, he pulled us out of the way and pulled out his own wallet. Don't! I wanted to scream. I don't want your charity! It's bad enough that I have to deal with Xavier's! To my surprise, however, he handed me a piece of plastic instead.
"What's this?" I looked at the card. Had to admit, I was impressed. It's not every day you see the most elite of credit cards, much less actually handle one. I tried to hand it back to Kurt, but he wouldn't take it. He tapped one longer finger (pair of fingers, actually, because his hologram was good but not that good) on the Carte Blanche and I took a closer look.
Whoa.
"You've got to be kidding me," I said in a hushed tone. If he was, it was a pretty neat trick, because not many people manage to spell my name right. He handed me his own card and I compared the two. Same card number on both, no surprise there, and the phrase 'Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters' on the line below our names. Oh, all right, now I got it. Apparently we had a credit line for our personal use. I wondered where Xavier got the money to handle that, considering there were like a dozen kids at his place.
"No kidding," Kurt said as he took his card back. I put mine into my own wallet, which seemed weightier somehow. "There is a five-hundred- dollar limit for each transaction, but the Professor doesn't seem to care what you put on it." I felt him shrug as we started moving again. "Scott asked him von time how ve vould pay him back, the Professor that is. Professor Xavier just smiled at him and told him not to worry about it.
"So I could buy Rahne a birthday present with this card?" I blurted without thinking. Whoops. There was a pause before Kurt answered.
"If...you...vish," he said carefully, his voice somewhat strained. We turned into the Mont Blanc store. It was a hole-in-the-wall store filled to the brim with the most expensive writing utensils on the planet. I know this because I swiped one once and auctioned it off online. The bidding passed three grand before it sold. I gave Kurt a curious look as he wheeled us to a low-set display case.
"She likes to write," he explained with that same careful tone in his voice. Why was he sounding so hurt all of a sudden? He must have mistaken my look for skepticism, however. "I thought maybe she'd appreciate a new pen."
Whatever was eating him would have to wait, because a salesman approached almost as soon as the door whispered shut behind us. The man looked between us, hesitating. It struck me that we probably didn't look like his regular clientele. I was in worn jeans and a black t-shirt and Kurt wasn't looking much more reputable. I suppose I expected to get snubbed. Imagine my surprise when that didn't happen.
"Good afternoon, gentlemen," the man said in an amicable voice. "How may I assist you?"
Kurt nudged me and wandered off toward a wall display. The salesman just waited patiently. I cleared my throat.
"I'm, uh, looking for a pen," I said. Off to my left, Kurt snickered and I mentally rolled my eyes. It was an idiotic answer, considering I was surrounded by nothing else. The salesman didn't so much as bat an eyelash. He moved behind the counter and withdrew several little boxes. I tried again. "It's a gift for a friend," I told the man. "A, um, girl I know." My charm and self-confidence seemed to have been left back in the car. I wasn't normally this dense, I swear.
"Of course, sir. And does the lady prefer a ball point or a fountain pen?" he asked smoothly, opening the boxes. I looked helplessly at him. How the heck should I know what she preferred? I didn't know her that well.
"I'm not sure." The man, Mr. Williams according to his name tag, just nodded and turned around to study the wall display behind him. I took the opportunity to appeal to Kurt for help. I caught his eye and made a 'which one?' gesture.
"Fountain pen" he mouthed - at least I think that's what he was trying to tell me. Even without sound his accent garbled the words.
"I think a fountain pen would be good," I said to Williams.
"Very good, sir." He slid a few boxes toward me. "If I may ask, what size are the lady's hands?"
That question caught me off guard. "Excuse me?"
A bit of my usual testiness must have trickled through, because the man's upbeat expression faltered for just a moment. Looked like I was on my way to a full recovery.
"Her hands, sir."
I had to think about that for a moment. I honestly didn't know. Kurt shrugged at me from out of the guy's view. I was on my own for this one.
"I don't know. A little smaller than my own, maybe?" The salesman's smile snapped back into place and he removed a couple more of the boxes, leaving a grand total of two. I plucked the first one out of the box. Nice weight to it, I had to admit. It felt like an extension of my hand. Williams slid a pad of paper across the case to me. It took a couple of tries before figuring out how to write with it, but I managed. After writing my name a couple times, I tried the other one, which was more slender than the first.
"This one seems pretty nice," I said, putting it back in the box. Out of habit, I looked at the little tag hanging off the cap. My heart flipped. Holy cow. I'd never even had that much money in one place at the same time. It was under the Professor's limit, however, so I didn't really have to worry about not being able to pay for it. Still, the idea of spending that much money boggled my mind. I fought down the urge to say something along the lines of 'this is a pen, not an annuity for your grandchildren!'
"Shall I wrap it for you, sir?"
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.
"You know," I said to Kurt as we rolled along the second-floor balcony an hour later, "it feels weird to be carrying around a four-hundred- dollar pen." There were several bags on my lap, the product of our shopping thus far. I groped among them until I found the Mont Blanc one, turning it over in my hands. "Hard to believe something this small can cost so much."
Kurt snorted as we turned into Structure. "Dont' vorry about the cost; I told you: the Professor doesn't care, so long as we're responsible with his card."
I didn't have an answer for that. I didn't really know Rahne that well. She'd been along on the rescue mission, but I'd been occupied with other problems and hadn't talked to her that much. Had to admit that she seemed like a charming girl, though, and she was pretty darn cute as well.
"I hope Rahne likes it," I said, putting the small box safely away.
"Could ve please talk about something else," Kurt said to my surprise. His voice had that strained quality to it again. Something was bothering him and he didn't want to talk about it. I could sympathize with that to an extent. He was reaching my limit, however.
He started pawing through some hanging shirts. At least his halfway decent fashion sense made up for his lack of conversational prowess. I took a closer look at a few pieces on clearance by my elbow.
"You're mad about last night," I said, carefully not looking in his direction. If it would make him stop acting like a dink, I suppose I could be conciliatory. Xavier expected as much, so it wouldn't really hurt. Besides, there weren't any other students around so I didn't have any witnesses.
"Nein, I'm not angry. Not anymore, at least."
I tried again. "You're upset with me about something. If not last night, than what?"
"I'm not upset vith you, Pietro." Liar. He pulled a shirt off the rack and held it against my chest. "Vhat do you think?"
I looked down at the shirt. "I think you're evading my question." And doing so with success, I mentally added.
"Und I think red is not your color, but I'd have to see you in it to be sure."
"You just want to get me alone in one of those dressing rooms," I said with a mocking smirk. Prying, however obliquely, into his problem hadn't worked. Maybe levity would.
I found out just how well that hologram machine worked. This one was apparently tied to his system somehow. When he felt hot, it projected perspiration on the image. When he was cold, the image would shiver. In this case he blanched and then turned a very, very deep scarlet. Out of all the reactions, that wasn't what I expected. I had no idea what it meant, either.
His actual facial expression wasn't all that strange. It was perfectly normal - if you'd call the look on a deer's face when it's been caught in headlights 'normal,' anyway.
"Never mind," he said a little too quickly. He put the shirt back on the rack, replacing it with a couple others, blue and black.
I just arched an eyebrow. We moved along the racks in silence for a couple minutes. He piled more clothing on me until he apparently decided that we both had enough variety to last the entire school year. Honestly, it was more clothing than I'd ever needed, but I didn't argue. He was in a strange mood and I didn't feel like dealing with any more awkward outbursts.
We didn't talk much in the next three stores, either, though I did try to lighten the mood in Abercrombie & Fitch. I won't repeat what I said, but it was crude enough to get us thrown out of the store. On the other hand, I earned a laugh out of Kurt so I guess it was all for a good cause.
After several hours, we ended up in the food court at the center of the mall. One other thing the two of us had in common - aside from his observations of the night before - was that we both had highly advanced metabolisms. Obviously this wasn't a problem back at the institute. I'd eaten there a couple times and, despite the fact that I'd plowed through an entire tray of lasagna in one sitting, no one had thought to comment on the fact that I could put away more food than several grown men. Kurt, of course, ate there on a regular basis and I assumed that no one made fun on him, either.
Doctor MacTaggart thinks that I digest and metabolize food only slightly slower than I put it away; she'd been keen on running a test to determine just how fast my lower digestive tract worked. I'd nipped that idea in the bud.
Out here in public, however, was a different story. We'd claimed a table near the fountain and Kurt had gone over to Burrito Bandito to get some food. The girl taking our order, who looked vaguely familiar from school, had eyes the size of dinner plates before he finished speaking. Apparently she'd never had anyone order twenty burritos at a time.
We fell on the food like starving convicts. It wasn't a pretty sight; just two hungry teenagers at a mall food court making very, very short work of a lot of greasy food. I finished in something over a minute, mainly because I was taking time to savor the food. This was my second real meal after being fed through a tube for the last God-only-knows how long and I intended to enjoy it.
I leaned back in the wheelchair, belching contentedly. Nothing like mall food to remind you that you're alive. Kurt was taking his time. Turned out he's a fairly dainty eater. Apparently some foods are really hard to get out of fur and taco grease was one of them. I took another sip of my soda, in no particular hurry for us to leave.
"You never told me why you're angry with me, you know," I said in an offhand tone. Maybe I could surprise an answer out of him.
"I said I vasn't angry vith you at all," he replied around a mouthful of burrito.
"That's a load of horse crap and you know it." A thought occurred to me. "It's Rahne, isn't it?" He paused with his food halfway to his mouth, eyes flashing wide before sliding into that guarded look again. I'd nailed it in one, or so I thought. "You like her and you're afraid that she'll like me better."
He grunted, setting the burrito down and picking up a napkin. He carefully wiped his hands, not taking his eyes off me. Seemed I'd hit a button or two. Yay me.
"I thought you were going out with that Amanda chick," I said. "You planning to drop her for Rahne?"
"Not," he paused, "exactly."
I'd had longer and more enlightening conversations with my father in the past. Magneto hadn't said more than ten words to me at one time since I was about seven or eight, which should have told you something right there. Patience, also, has never been one of my strong suits.
"Kurt," I said in a low voice, leaning as far across the table as I could given my limited range. "If something is wrong and it involves me for some reason, tell me." There, Uncle Charles. See? I was nice about it, I was polite about it, and I hadn't cursed once. I was making an effort! Where was a video camera when I needed one?
"It's nothing," he replied, pushing back his chair. Speaking of buttons, he was starting to find my own. With short, jerky movements, he emptied one of the shopping bags and wrapped the remainder of his burritos in it. Without another word, he started wheeling me toward the door.
"If I'm doing something you don't like, just tell me," I said when I realized that I wouldn't get anywhere without a lot of prying. "Xavier wants me to make nice with all you guys so it isn't really helping that you've got a problem with me, all right? What the hell am I doing that is pissing you off?" Oops. So much for nice.
"It's nothing," he said again. I was really beginning to hate that phrase.
"That's bull. Tell me."
"No."
"Tell me."
"No."
"Tell me."
"No."
"Tell..." I trailed off as something clicked in my mind. He'd spent all day watching me on the basketball court just a couple weeks ago. I'd woken up in the belly of a plane to his tail stroking my hair. He'd blushed furiously when I'd suggested he just wanted to get me alone in a dressing room earlier. Oh, jeez. "It's not Rahne, isn't it," I whispered, shocked at my line of thought.
He didn't respond, just wheeled me out the door and parked me near the curb. I watched him walk stiffly across the parking lot to Scott's car. Summers' car, I mean. I shook my head.
Kurt didn't have a crush on Rahne. He had a crush on me.
Damn it.
The engine of the Cobra growled to life and he backed out of the space, doing a lap around a parking lane to get turned around. What am I supposed to do now, I thought as I followed the car around the lot with my eyes. I didn't have a problem with his attention, mind you. I've a reasonably open mind about relationships. I was more worried about everyone else.
As you might have figured out, I can get hung up rather easily on what other people think of me at times. I knew hardly anyone at the Institute and had no idea how they'd react to the idea of the two of us...together. Ms. Munroe would be ok with it and through her influence, neither would Evan. Of course, he hated me already. The Professor probably already knew that Kurt had a crush on me. Lance...I wasn't sure about.
Come to that, I wasn't really sure what I thought about Kurt, either. I mean, he'd been one of the first ones at Xavier's school to be nice to me for any reason. Last night aside, anyway. Heck, I'd have probably done the same if our situations had been reversed. Thinking back, I guess I had been pretty nasty. But the rest? I didn't really care one way or the other about how he looked under the hologram. I hadn't really noticed it...him...before. Crud. I had a lot of thinking to do.
I mean, what if I just told him that I wasn't interested at all? Would he no longer want to have anything to do with me? Would that lead to tension with the rest of the crowd? I suspected it wouldn't, mainly because he didn't seem the kind of person who would let his emotions rule over other, but I really didn't know. Besides, I'd be lying to him if I actually said that. I suppose some teeny-tiny part of me actually thrilled at the idea of dating Kurt. I shook my head. I had no idea which would be worse: telling him I was interested, or leading him on, or just flat out rejecting him. I sighed. My life had just gotten more complicated.
I laughed bitterly, drawing the attention of people passing me on the way into the mall. They say that when life hands you lemons, you're supposed to make lemonade. What they don't tell you is that lemonade is just as sour.
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To Be Continued.
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[1]: I have no idea what kind of car Xavier appeared in during the first episode, but I was able to nail down the hood ornament as a 1936-39 Cadillac one. The rest is artistic license. If anyone can provide a picture of something closer to the model used in the show, let me know and I'll correct this.
[2]: This, on the other hand, is definite. The only difference between Scott's car and an actual production run of the 1967 Shelby Cobra is the custom circle-X hubcaps. I'd sell my soul for a car like that.
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To My Reviewers:
The Scribe3: Yes, Bobby is still zonked. His situation will be addressed more closely in the 'Queen's Side Castle' which is being written. Suffice it to say that when the White Queen is dealt with in that tale, he'll probably rejoin the cast.
Sailor X1: Glad you're enjoying this. Kitty is a little miffed at the moment, but luckily she was able to take a trip to the City to cool off. I agree about the hug. Most of the time Pietro shows a cynical attitude to the world and I think it was about time something chipped away at his shell. Shame it took a spinal injury to do it, but there you are. Incidentally, I tend to laugh and 'aww' while I'm writing these chapters, so I guess we have something in common, eh?
The Masked Instigator: Yes, this is going to address the Kurt/Pietro pairing I laid the foundation for in my previous fic. They're my favourite characters as well.
furygrrl: I love your review. Normally when people gush like that at me, it's a little cloying since I'm sure there has to be something to b*tch about regarding my story. I'm particularly proud of this one, though, and so you get a cookie. :)
Thanks for the comments, folks. Don't hesitate to tell me if I screw up somewhere, either. :)
Cheers.
Author's Note:
Greetings.
Read, REVIEW, and enjoy. ;) Pretty please. Comments on the reviews up to this point are at the bottom of this page.
Cheers.
Jack
------
Kurt was silent as he pushed me along. Considering Xavier's heavy- handed way of dealing with our mutual animosity, I really couldn't blame him. Maybe I'd get lucky and the blue guy would be pissed at the Professor instead. Hey, a man can dream. Can't he?
The silence grew thicker as we entered the garage. Kurt brushed past me to switch on the light and I saw a decidedly unhappy look on his face. His eyes caught mine for a moment, before he looked away. Nope. He was pissed at me and me alone. I sighed inwardly. If one of us didn't budge, this was going to be a long afternoon.
Unfortunately, I had a stubborn streak a mile wide at that point in my life. I had no intention of saying a word to Kurt, for fear he'd see it as a sign of weakness. He'd pushed just as much as I had, hadn't he? If he wanted to give me the silent treatment, I'd give as well as I got.
There were perhaps a half-dozen vehicles in the garage. A slick motorcycle, heavy on the chrome, stood a ways apart from the assortment of cars and vans. I'd have to guess it belonged to Logan. Of all the people at the Institute, he was the only one that struck me as having a biker mentality.
What really caught my eye was a 1939 Cadillac V-8 Limousine [1] in gorgeous condition. The tan-and-black body was lovingly waxed to the point where the overhead lights made it gleam. Dark tinted windows hid the interior, but I'd have guessed it was probably done in tan leather. Even the fenders were immaculate. It fairly oozed power and grace even while parked and shut down.
All right, so I'm a classic automobile freak. So what?
I hoped that maybe we'd take that car to the mall, but we headed for the Shelby Cobra [2] sitting next to it instead. Not that I was complaining or anything. Number one, it was a sweet little car in pristine condition. Number two, it belonged to Summers so I wouldn't feel too bad if it got scratched. By accident, of course.
For a guy who wasn't speaking to me, Kurt was surprisingly gentle as he wrestled me out of the chair and into Summers' roadster. I think most of the struggle had to do with the fact that he's only slightly larger than I am. Still, he managed to get me into the car with a minimum of fuss. The wheelchair, I noticed, stayed behind. It wouldn't fit into the trunk and I assumed they had wheelchairs at the mall. Either that or he was planning to leave me in the car while he did his shopping.
I cast a final, longing look toward the Cadillac as Kurt pulled the ignition cap off and started fiddling with some wires. After a moment, the strangeness of his act finally hit me.
"Wait a sec. What are you doing?"
"Starting the car, of course," he replied, his attention on the wiring.
"You're hot-wiring Summers' car?" I couldn't help but grin. It just seemed poetic somehow. Despite his assurances, Summers and I didn't really get along - and now Kurt was stealing his car for a joyride to the mall. I folded my arms behind my head and leaned back into the bucket seat, enjoying this for all it was worth.
"Is that vhat you call it?" The engine finally caught and it roared to life. "Hot-viring," Kurt said to himself, almost as though he was testing the phrase. It occurred to me that he didn't speak English as his primary language. A moment later, the ignition cap was back in place.
He buckled his seat belt and waited for me to do the same. With a final poke to his hologram thingy, he shimmered into his somewhat bland false identity. And then we took off.
I really can't describe the thrill of riding in a car with someone who'd apparently never heard of the phrases 'pile-up' or 'totaled' or especially 'full-body cast.' He just put the car in gear and accelerated to about mach three. It did strike me as odd that he hadn't been jailed for the way he was driving yet. It was almost liberating, in a bizarre sense of the word.
I rested secure in the knowledge that, if anything did happen to us, the speed at which Kurt was driving pretty much ensured there wouldn't be enough left of the two of us to fill a sandwich baggie. Therefore I didn't have to worry about Xavier or Summers yelling at me.
Speaking of which, I do seem to recall a surprised shout somewhere behind us as we sped toward the front gate and freedom. A quick glance over my shoulder was enough to see that ol' One-Eye had seen us. Luckily, we both could pretend that we couldn't hear him over the noise of the engine. For a fleeting moment I was worried that he'd give us a blast or try to stop us. Then I realized that he liked his car more than the thought of taking us to task and relaxed.
Needless to say, we arrived at the Bayside Galleria less than five minutes later. By a stroke of luck, we hadn't been pulled over either.
Kurt pulled right up into the no-parking zone at the curb and disappeared through the front doors. For obvious reasons, he left the engine running. I started to have misgivings at that point. School was just around the corner and I was sure that some of our classmates would probably be inside. What would they say when they saw me? How would they react? I'd been a more or less popular guy - especially with the girls - but disabled people weren't exactly on the Bayside High hit parade, you know. I really wanted to go back to the Institute. That's irony for you.
I sat there, bathed in a cold sweat, forever. By the time Kurt came back with one of those rickety mall wheelchairs, I'd had to concentrate on not hyperventilating. My hands were gripping the dashboard with enough intensity to leave impressions in the vinyl. Apparently it was noticeable, because for the past minute or two a security guard had been keeping an eye on me. I guess I did look a little suspicious.
Kurt opened the door and we did the whole wrestling thing to get me into the borrowed chair. It was noticeably less comfortable than the one back in the garage but I didn't have any room to complain, I suppose. I watched as Kurt pulled into a parking spot at a more mundane pace than before. He fiddled with the ignition again while I waited. I could tell he'd done this a number of times in the past, because I wasn't kept waiting long.
The air in the Galleria was cool and dry, a nice contrast with the sweltering humidity outside. It hadn't been noticeable while driving with the blue Dale Earnhardt who was humming under his breath behind me but it was late August, after all.
The mall is one of those that, for lack of space, are built up rather than out. There are four floors of shops, services and boutiques topped by a sunroof that ran the entire length of the huge building. We stopped just inside the door and I heard Kurt fumbling with a piece of paper. It dropped into my lap a moment later.
"Hold onto that, bitte," he said. I glanced at the paper and found myself looking at a shopping list. How fun. I narrowed my eyes. It listed a huge number of stores, including some that catered to the, ah, opposite sex.
"Uh, Kurt," I said as we started rolling toward the elevator over near the fountain. "Is there something you want to tell me?"
"Such as?" he asked guardedly.
"Such as the reason we're going into Victoria's Secret?"
We stopped. "Vhat?" The paper was plucked from my hands. I could hear him muttering above me, and craned my neck around to look. He'd produced a pencil from somewhere and was busy scratching out a few items on the list. "Verdammen Sie, Jean," he grumbled. At my bemused look, he explained: "Rahne's birthday is next Tuesday and I asked Jean for places to buy her a gift. I vasn't expecting...that."
He handed me the considerably-shortened list and we got moving again. Rahne had a birthday coming up; that was news to me. Summers had let it slip that she sort of liked me, so maybe I should pick up something while I was here. Might as well get on someone's good side, you know? Come to think of it, I had to pick up my own school supplies while I was here. I reached for my wallet, mentally cringing.
As expected, the money pit was dry at the moment. I pawed through the wallet, checking every pocket, but came up nearly dry. I had exactly a dollar to my name and that was an old silver dollar I wasn't keen on spending. It was one of the old ones with the standing Liberty on the front, but the date was worn off. It had belonged to Dad once upon a time and I didn't quite remember why I kept it around. Aside from that coin, the wallet was empty but for my state and school ID cards and a smattering of photographs and business cards.
"Crap," I muttered. I'd have to find a way to get a hold of some cash. Maybe I could hit Lance up for a loan when he got back. He was probably nearly as broke as I was but it was worth a shot. The elevator chimed pleasantly, breaking into my thoughts. We stepped off onto the fourth balcony. I could tell, because all the really expensive stores were on this level. No matter how many shopping malls I visit, they good stuff is always the hardest to get to. The Mont Blanc specialty shop, for example, which was just beyond the window.
"Ve'll vork our vay down from the top," Kurt said. His voice trailed off. I knew he was looking at my and my wallet. I stuffed it back into my pocket and gripped the armrests.
"By all means, sport. Just push me in the right direction."
Instead of doing so, he pulled us out of the way and pulled out his own wallet. Don't! I wanted to scream. I don't want your charity! It's bad enough that I have to deal with Xavier's! To my surprise, however, he handed me a piece of plastic instead.
"What's this?" I looked at the card. Had to admit, I was impressed. It's not every day you see the most elite of credit cards, much less actually handle one. I tried to hand it back to Kurt, but he wouldn't take it. He tapped one longer finger (pair of fingers, actually, because his hologram was good but not that good) on the Carte Blanche and I took a closer look.
Whoa.
"You've got to be kidding me," I said in a hushed tone. If he was, it was a pretty neat trick, because not many people manage to spell my name right. He handed me his own card and I compared the two. Same card number on both, no surprise there, and the phrase 'Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters' on the line below our names. Oh, all right, now I got it. Apparently we had a credit line for our personal use. I wondered where Xavier got the money to handle that, considering there were like a dozen kids at his place.
"No kidding," Kurt said as he took his card back. I put mine into my own wallet, which seemed weightier somehow. "There is a five-hundred- dollar limit for each transaction, but the Professor doesn't seem to care what you put on it." I felt him shrug as we started moving again. "Scott asked him von time how ve vould pay him back, the Professor that is. Professor Xavier just smiled at him and told him not to worry about it.
"So I could buy Rahne a birthday present with this card?" I blurted without thinking. Whoops. There was a pause before Kurt answered.
"If...you...vish," he said carefully, his voice somewhat strained. We turned into the Mont Blanc store. It was a hole-in-the-wall store filled to the brim with the most expensive writing utensils on the planet. I know this because I swiped one once and auctioned it off online. The bidding passed three grand before it sold. I gave Kurt a curious look as he wheeled us to a low-set display case.
"She likes to write," he explained with that same careful tone in his voice. Why was he sounding so hurt all of a sudden? He must have mistaken my look for skepticism, however. "I thought maybe she'd appreciate a new pen."
Whatever was eating him would have to wait, because a salesman approached almost as soon as the door whispered shut behind us. The man looked between us, hesitating. It struck me that we probably didn't look like his regular clientele. I was in worn jeans and a black t-shirt and Kurt wasn't looking much more reputable. I suppose I expected to get snubbed. Imagine my surprise when that didn't happen.
"Good afternoon, gentlemen," the man said in an amicable voice. "How may I assist you?"
Kurt nudged me and wandered off toward a wall display. The salesman just waited patiently. I cleared my throat.
"I'm, uh, looking for a pen," I said. Off to my left, Kurt snickered and I mentally rolled my eyes. It was an idiotic answer, considering I was surrounded by nothing else. The salesman didn't so much as bat an eyelash. He moved behind the counter and withdrew several little boxes. I tried again. "It's a gift for a friend," I told the man. "A, um, girl I know." My charm and self-confidence seemed to have been left back in the car. I wasn't normally this dense, I swear.
"Of course, sir. And does the lady prefer a ball point or a fountain pen?" he asked smoothly, opening the boxes. I looked helplessly at him. How the heck should I know what she preferred? I didn't know her that well.
"I'm not sure." The man, Mr. Williams according to his name tag, just nodded and turned around to study the wall display behind him. I took the opportunity to appeal to Kurt for help. I caught his eye and made a 'which one?' gesture.
"Fountain pen" he mouthed - at least I think that's what he was trying to tell me. Even without sound his accent garbled the words.
"I think a fountain pen would be good," I said to Williams.
"Very good, sir." He slid a few boxes toward me. "If I may ask, what size are the lady's hands?"
That question caught me off guard. "Excuse me?"
A bit of my usual testiness must have trickled through, because the man's upbeat expression faltered for just a moment. Looked like I was on my way to a full recovery.
"Her hands, sir."
I had to think about that for a moment. I honestly didn't know. Kurt shrugged at me from out of the guy's view. I was on my own for this one.
"I don't know. A little smaller than my own, maybe?" The salesman's smile snapped back into place and he removed a couple more of the boxes, leaving a grand total of two. I plucked the first one out of the box. Nice weight to it, I had to admit. It felt like an extension of my hand. Williams slid a pad of paper across the case to me. It took a couple of tries before figuring out how to write with it, but I managed. After writing my name a couple times, I tried the other one, which was more slender than the first.
"This one seems pretty nice," I said, putting it back in the box. Out of habit, I looked at the little tag hanging off the cap. My heart flipped. Holy cow. I'd never even had that much money in one place at the same time. It was under the Professor's limit, however, so I didn't really have to worry about not being able to pay for it. Still, the idea of spending that much money boggled my mind. I fought down the urge to say something along the lines of 'this is a pen, not an annuity for your grandchildren!'
"Shall I wrap it for you, sir?"
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.
"You know," I said to Kurt as we rolled along the second-floor balcony an hour later, "it feels weird to be carrying around a four-hundred- dollar pen." There were several bags on my lap, the product of our shopping thus far. I groped among them until I found the Mont Blanc one, turning it over in my hands. "Hard to believe something this small can cost so much."
Kurt snorted as we turned into Structure. "Dont' vorry about the cost; I told you: the Professor doesn't care, so long as we're responsible with his card."
I didn't have an answer for that. I didn't really know Rahne that well. She'd been along on the rescue mission, but I'd been occupied with other problems and hadn't talked to her that much. Had to admit that she seemed like a charming girl, though, and she was pretty darn cute as well.
"I hope Rahne likes it," I said, putting the small box safely away.
"Could ve please talk about something else," Kurt said to my surprise. His voice had that strained quality to it again. Something was bothering him and he didn't want to talk about it. I could sympathize with that to an extent. He was reaching my limit, however.
He started pawing through some hanging shirts. At least his halfway decent fashion sense made up for his lack of conversational prowess. I took a closer look at a few pieces on clearance by my elbow.
"You're mad about last night," I said, carefully not looking in his direction. If it would make him stop acting like a dink, I suppose I could be conciliatory. Xavier expected as much, so it wouldn't really hurt. Besides, there weren't any other students around so I didn't have any witnesses.
"Nein, I'm not angry. Not anymore, at least."
I tried again. "You're upset with me about something. If not last night, than what?"
"I'm not upset vith you, Pietro." Liar. He pulled a shirt off the rack and held it against my chest. "Vhat do you think?"
I looked down at the shirt. "I think you're evading my question." And doing so with success, I mentally added.
"Und I think red is not your color, but I'd have to see you in it to be sure."
"You just want to get me alone in one of those dressing rooms," I said with a mocking smirk. Prying, however obliquely, into his problem hadn't worked. Maybe levity would.
I found out just how well that hologram machine worked. This one was apparently tied to his system somehow. When he felt hot, it projected perspiration on the image. When he was cold, the image would shiver. In this case he blanched and then turned a very, very deep scarlet. Out of all the reactions, that wasn't what I expected. I had no idea what it meant, either.
His actual facial expression wasn't all that strange. It was perfectly normal - if you'd call the look on a deer's face when it's been caught in headlights 'normal,' anyway.
"Never mind," he said a little too quickly. He put the shirt back on the rack, replacing it with a couple others, blue and black.
I just arched an eyebrow. We moved along the racks in silence for a couple minutes. He piled more clothing on me until he apparently decided that we both had enough variety to last the entire school year. Honestly, it was more clothing than I'd ever needed, but I didn't argue. He was in a strange mood and I didn't feel like dealing with any more awkward outbursts.
We didn't talk much in the next three stores, either, though I did try to lighten the mood in Abercrombie & Fitch. I won't repeat what I said, but it was crude enough to get us thrown out of the store. On the other hand, I earned a laugh out of Kurt so I guess it was all for a good cause.
After several hours, we ended up in the food court at the center of the mall. One other thing the two of us had in common - aside from his observations of the night before - was that we both had highly advanced metabolisms. Obviously this wasn't a problem back at the institute. I'd eaten there a couple times and, despite the fact that I'd plowed through an entire tray of lasagna in one sitting, no one had thought to comment on the fact that I could put away more food than several grown men. Kurt, of course, ate there on a regular basis and I assumed that no one made fun on him, either.
Doctor MacTaggart thinks that I digest and metabolize food only slightly slower than I put it away; she'd been keen on running a test to determine just how fast my lower digestive tract worked. I'd nipped that idea in the bud.
Out here in public, however, was a different story. We'd claimed a table near the fountain and Kurt had gone over to Burrito Bandito to get some food. The girl taking our order, who looked vaguely familiar from school, had eyes the size of dinner plates before he finished speaking. Apparently she'd never had anyone order twenty burritos at a time.
We fell on the food like starving convicts. It wasn't a pretty sight; just two hungry teenagers at a mall food court making very, very short work of a lot of greasy food. I finished in something over a minute, mainly because I was taking time to savor the food. This was my second real meal after being fed through a tube for the last God-only-knows how long and I intended to enjoy it.
I leaned back in the wheelchair, belching contentedly. Nothing like mall food to remind you that you're alive. Kurt was taking his time. Turned out he's a fairly dainty eater. Apparently some foods are really hard to get out of fur and taco grease was one of them. I took another sip of my soda, in no particular hurry for us to leave.
"You never told me why you're angry with me, you know," I said in an offhand tone. Maybe I could surprise an answer out of him.
"I said I vasn't angry vith you at all," he replied around a mouthful of burrito.
"That's a load of horse crap and you know it." A thought occurred to me. "It's Rahne, isn't it?" He paused with his food halfway to his mouth, eyes flashing wide before sliding into that guarded look again. I'd nailed it in one, or so I thought. "You like her and you're afraid that she'll like me better."
He grunted, setting the burrito down and picking up a napkin. He carefully wiped his hands, not taking his eyes off me. Seemed I'd hit a button or two. Yay me.
"I thought you were going out with that Amanda chick," I said. "You planning to drop her for Rahne?"
"Not," he paused, "exactly."
I'd had longer and more enlightening conversations with my father in the past. Magneto hadn't said more than ten words to me at one time since I was about seven or eight, which should have told you something right there. Patience, also, has never been one of my strong suits.
"Kurt," I said in a low voice, leaning as far across the table as I could given my limited range. "If something is wrong and it involves me for some reason, tell me." There, Uncle Charles. See? I was nice about it, I was polite about it, and I hadn't cursed once. I was making an effort! Where was a video camera when I needed one?
"It's nothing," he replied, pushing back his chair. Speaking of buttons, he was starting to find my own. With short, jerky movements, he emptied one of the shopping bags and wrapped the remainder of his burritos in it. Without another word, he started wheeling me toward the door.
"If I'm doing something you don't like, just tell me," I said when I realized that I wouldn't get anywhere without a lot of prying. "Xavier wants me to make nice with all you guys so it isn't really helping that you've got a problem with me, all right? What the hell am I doing that is pissing you off?" Oops. So much for nice.
"It's nothing," he said again. I was really beginning to hate that phrase.
"That's bull. Tell me."
"No."
"Tell me."
"No."
"Tell me."
"No."
"Tell..." I trailed off as something clicked in my mind. He'd spent all day watching me on the basketball court just a couple weeks ago. I'd woken up in the belly of a plane to his tail stroking my hair. He'd blushed furiously when I'd suggested he just wanted to get me alone in a dressing room earlier. Oh, jeez. "It's not Rahne, isn't it," I whispered, shocked at my line of thought.
He didn't respond, just wheeled me out the door and parked me near the curb. I watched him walk stiffly across the parking lot to Scott's car. Summers' car, I mean. I shook my head.
Kurt didn't have a crush on Rahne. He had a crush on me.
Damn it.
The engine of the Cobra growled to life and he backed out of the space, doing a lap around a parking lane to get turned around. What am I supposed to do now, I thought as I followed the car around the lot with my eyes. I didn't have a problem with his attention, mind you. I've a reasonably open mind about relationships. I was more worried about everyone else.
As you might have figured out, I can get hung up rather easily on what other people think of me at times. I knew hardly anyone at the Institute and had no idea how they'd react to the idea of the two of us...together. Ms. Munroe would be ok with it and through her influence, neither would Evan. Of course, he hated me already. The Professor probably already knew that Kurt had a crush on me. Lance...I wasn't sure about.
Come to that, I wasn't really sure what I thought about Kurt, either. I mean, he'd been one of the first ones at Xavier's school to be nice to me for any reason. Last night aside, anyway. Heck, I'd have probably done the same if our situations had been reversed. Thinking back, I guess I had been pretty nasty. But the rest? I didn't really care one way or the other about how he looked under the hologram. I hadn't really noticed it...him...before. Crud. I had a lot of thinking to do.
I mean, what if I just told him that I wasn't interested at all? Would he no longer want to have anything to do with me? Would that lead to tension with the rest of the crowd? I suspected it wouldn't, mainly because he didn't seem the kind of person who would let his emotions rule over other, but I really didn't know. Besides, I'd be lying to him if I actually said that. I suppose some teeny-tiny part of me actually thrilled at the idea of dating Kurt. I shook my head. I had no idea which would be worse: telling him I was interested, or leading him on, or just flat out rejecting him. I sighed. My life had just gotten more complicated.
I laughed bitterly, drawing the attention of people passing me on the way into the mall. They say that when life hands you lemons, you're supposed to make lemonade. What they don't tell you is that lemonade is just as sour.
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To Be Continued.
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[1]: I have no idea what kind of car Xavier appeared in during the first episode, but I was able to nail down the hood ornament as a 1936-39 Cadillac one. The rest is artistic license. If anyone can provide a picture of something closer to the model used in the show, let me know and I'll correct this.
[2]: This, on the other hand, is definite. The only difference between Scott's car and an actual production run of the 1967 Shelby Cobra is the custom circle-X hubcaps. I'd sell my soul for a car like that.
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To My Reviewers:
The Scribe3: Yes, Bobby is still zonked. His situation will be addressed more closely in the 'Queen's Side Castle' which is being written. Suffice it to say that when the White Queen is dealt with in that tale, he'll probably rejoin the cast.
Sailor X1: Glad you're enjoying this. Kitty is a little miffed at the moment, but luckily she was able to take a trip to the City to cool off. I agree about the hug. Most of the time Pietro shows a cynical attitude to the world and I think it was about time something chipped away at his shell. Shame it took a spinal injury to do it, but there you are. Incidentally, I tend to laugh and 'aww' while I'm writing these chapters, so I guess we have something in common, eh?
The Masked Instigator: Yes, this is going to address the Kurt/Pietro pairing I laid the foundation for in my previous fic. They're my favourite characters as well.
furygrrl: I love your review. Normally when people gush like that at me, it's a little cloying since I'm sure there has to be something to b*tch about regarding my story. I'm particularly proud of this one, though, and so you get a cookie. :)
Thanks for the comments, folks. Don't hesitate to tell me if I screw up somewhere, either. :)
Cheers.