Chapter 4: Discussions and Advice

                Kurt sat on the couch in the Rec Room staring at the TV but not really looking at it. He couldn't get Grace out of his mind. What was this cult, that they could do such terrible things to a vulnerable young girl? The very thought of what had happened to her made his hair stand on end.

                "Hey," came a voice. Kurt didn't hear it. A hand waved in front of his face, and the voice said, "Earth ta elf."

                He blinked, startled out of his reverie by the hand, and looked up to see Logan's face looking down at him. "Hey. Yer not really watchin' this junk, are ya?" Kurt looked at the screen. Prime-time programming was over, and the screen was currently showing an infomercial for some sort of bizarre exercise machine that looked more like a torture device than something that was actually supposed to help one lose weight. He smiled crookedly and moved over on the couch as Logan plopped down. "Kinda up late, ain't ya?"

                Kurt looked at the clock on the wall. Two in the morning. Wow, he hadn't even noticed the time passing. "I had some things on my mind," he said absently, his thoughts already wandering back to Grace.

                Logan sat on the couch for a while, flipping through channels. He looked over at the elf, slightly surprised when a half hour passed and the elf not only didn't get up and go to bed, he didn't even complain about his channel surfing. Kurt didn't usually complain, not like Bobby, who whined, but after a half-hour of seeing pictures flip by he should have said something. Logan turned the channel to a documentary about a shop full of guys custom engineering a motorcycle, and watched that.

                Not even that got a rise out of the silent blue statue sitting on the end of the couch. Logan watched the program to the end, half his attention on the TV and the other half on Kurt, and switched the TV off when the program finished. For a while he sat watching Kurt sit, then he leaned forward and tapped Kurt's shoulder. "What's up, Kurt?"

                "Kurt jumped a foot in the air at Logan's touch. "Ah, nothing, mein freund."

                Logan snorted. "Try tellin' me another one, bub." His tone was rough but not unkind. "This got anythin' ta do with the fact that I saw ya loadin' my camp lantern in Gumbo's truck earlier?"

                "I'll get you another one if you need it." Kurt still sounded distant.

                Logan sighed. "I don't need it. If I'd'a need it it wouldn't'a been sittin' on the garage shelf all that time. Was kinda wonderin' where it was goin', though."

                "A friend of mine need it."

                "And this friend happens ta be a girl?" Kurt looked at Logan, startled, and Logan sat back and grinned. "Ah, got ya. So, tell me 'bout her."

                "Can't. I promised."

                Logan frowned. "Hey, you know me, I can keep secrets."

                "Logan, I promised. She's hiding from a cult of mutant haters. If they find out where she is, they'll kill her."

                "That bad?" Logan sat back with a low whistle. "So don't tell me all about her. Just tell me what ya can." When Kurt didn't respond, Logan sighed. "Sometimes sharin' thoughts helps ya get stuff off'a yer mind." When Kurt said nothing further, he threw up his hands. "Have it yer way. See ya in the mornin'." He got up off the couch and started for the door.

                "Logan." He almost missed the sound, it was so quiet.

                "Yep?" he turned.

                "What was it like being crucified?"

                Logan blinked. That particular memory was one he really didn't want to drag up, but Kurt's eyes were focused on him, really focused now, and he felt somehow that the answer was important. He turned and went back to the center of the Rec room and sat on the low coffee table, disregarding Jean and Ororo's constant imprecations to all of them to not sit on the tables. "Hurts like hell," he said finally. "The spikes goin' through my wrists hurt the most, though. The Reavers made sure they didn't hit any arteries or muscle groups or anythin' on the way in, but the feel o' the spikes against the bones made my fingers curl up. Couldn't get them to open again. The pain was the worst. It hurt, an' what made it worse was tryin' ta scream an' not even bein' able ta get 'nuff air inta my lungs ta do it. If I hadn't seen Jubes standin' there lookin' up at me, tryin' ta figure out how she was gonna get me offa that thing, I wouldn't'a been able ta get myself off it. I'd'a died right there."

                Kurt's eyes were suspiciously bright, and Logan looked at him quietly. "It was a long time ago, Kurt. The memory hurt, but it's done an' over with. I try ta forget it." When Kurt still didn't say anything, Logan's eyes narrowed. "What's this got ta do with yer girl?"

                "She was crucified. When she was sixteen."

                Logan sucked in a harsh breath between his teeth. "Dear God. An' she survived it?"

                "She had a near-death experience before they took her off."

                "'They'?"

                Kurt sighed. "The…priest…said God told him it was the only way for her to show she was sorry for allowing the devil to taint her."

                Logan clenched his fist. "That priest oughta be put up there himself."

                Kurt sighed. "Yes. I feel that way too, and I feel guilty for saying that. I saw her, Logan…she's scarred all over, she said that God told Father Bor—told the head priest—that a thorough whipping was the only way to drive the devil out of her. So they did. Her body looks like a roadmap, Logan. And her face is scarred where they whipped her." He looked down, fighting tears. "She has eyes like mine. Golden eyes. They said her eyes had been tainted by the devil, and they whipped her eyes to drive the evil out of them. Logan, how can people do such things to another human in God's name?" He sighed. "And why does God allow it?"

                "I don't know," Logan said. "Ya better talk ta God on that one."

                Kurt looked thoughtful. "Talk to God," he repeated slowly. "Talk to God. I shall do so, mein freund. Good night." And he got up off the couch and hurried out of the room. Logan was left sitting on the table, wondering if he'd been any help at all. And he was also thinking about the girl Kurt was obsessed with. "Poor kid," he said finally, standing up. He went to his room, stretched out on the bed, but found himself unable to sleep. He kept thinking about Kurt's girl.

                "Hey, Hank?"

                Hank almost lost count of the number of drops he was adding to his test tube from his pipette. "I shall be with you momentarily, Kurt," he said, holding up one blue finger. He counted off the last of the ten drops, capped the test tube, and placed it in the centrifuge before turning to meet his guest's eyes. "What can I do for you?" he said mildly, not showing any of the surprise he was feeling.

                Kurt hesitated…actually hesitated, and that ratcheted Hank's curiosity up even higher. "If this is a bad time, I can come back later--" he began.

                "Oh, not at all," Hank said, waving a hand. "I simply needed to concentrate on the solution I was concocting. It is done for now. What can I help you with?"

                "Umm…" Kurt hesitated again, and an indigo flush colored his cheekbones. "What kind of medical condition would cause a girl to miss her period? And I don't mean just a month or so, I mean over a period of years; three or four."

                Hank looked grave. "Sit down." As Kurt did, he marshaled his thoughts. "The only reasons for amenorrhea...that's what the medical term for this is…is some form of disease, which would require a significant amount of testing to determine; ongoing stress or what is now called 'post-traumatic stress disorder', a high level of anxiety, an ongoing, repeated dietary deficiency, or any form of rapid weight loss or gain. But all of those cases would be almost immediately corrected, in this day and age, and a disease would be diagnosed by the female's health-care provider."

                "Well…she doesn't have one," Kurt admitted. "What causes post-traumatic stress disorder?"

                Hank thought. "Any kind of occurrence in which the individual would be threatened physically or mentally. War veterans most notably have the disorder; and it was prevalent in concentration camp survivors who had been starved and in such fear for their lives over an extended period of time. Many of the women in those concentration camps did not become pregnant by their captors' violations because at that point they had become too terrified and stressed for the body to continue its normal processes. The female body is much more delicately balanced than ours, Kurt."

                Kurt sighed. "She was crucified when she was sixteen by a…priest…in her…community. Would that cause enough stress for her to stop?"

                Hank became concerned. "It would indeed, but after the event, from six months to a year after, her body would resume normal biological functions. Were there any other complications after she recovered from her ordeal?"

                Kurt stared off into space for a moment. "She didn't tell me a lot about the next two years," he said. "But when she was eighteen her mutation manifested again, and the elders of her church decided that the devil had possessed her. They whipped her face to try and destroy her eyes. She almost died. When she woke up she ran away from them. She's been living homeless for a while."

                "What does she eat?"

                Kurt got a faraway look in his eyes. "Roots, berries, grasses, whatever she can find that's edible, I guess." He turned to look at Hank. "I got together some canned foods and gave those to her. Canned stews and stuff. Was that right?"

                Hank nodded. "She needs more red meat. Tell me, did she seem tired, weak? Thin?"

                "She's so skinny I can see every rib in her back," Kurt said softly. "Her skin's really pale, even under all that scarring."

                "Vitamin deficiency, anemia, lack of adequate nutrition, high levels of stress, that is why she is not cycling," Hank said. "Kurt, whoever she is, she needs medical attention. If she's as thin as you say, she could be close to collapsing. Is there no way you can bring her here? I'm sure Charles won't mind."

                "'Charles won't mind' what?" came a voice, and Xavier himself came through the door into the medlabs. Kurt flushed, embarrassed, but Hank looked at Xavier, at Kurt, and then said, "I told Kurt I was sure you would not mind if he brought his friend here for me to look at and ascertain her current health."

                "Of course I wouldn't mind," Xavier said, turning to Kurt. "Is her health bad? How long has she been homeless?" At Kurt's hesitation, Xavier said quietly, "Kurt, I appreciate your attempt to keep your promise to her, but some promises need to be broken in order to save someone's life. If she needs help, would you ever forgive yourself if she died because you kept a promise?"

                "No," Kurt said. "God would not forgive me. I would not be able to forgive me either." As if that had made his decision for him, the decision he'd been wrestling with all last night and all that morning, he burst into a torrent of words. "Her name is Grace. I don't know her last name. She was born into this cult who believes that mutant genes are not a physical aberration, but a result of the mutant having given his or her soul to the devil. She…I don't know how this is possible, but she says she can hear the voices of those who have passed on. Her eyes are yellow, the same color as mine. The elders of the cult decided that she had been possessed by the devil and they attempted to drive him out of Grace's body. They did terrible things to her." He proceeded to tell Xavier and Hank everything Grace had told him the day before.

                Xavier and Hank both looked horrified when he was done. "Did she mention receiving any medical attention throughout or after her ordeal?" When Kurt replied negatively, Hank said, 'Then I can't rule anything out. She could have sustained internal damage that never healed correctly. In order for me to figure what exactly is causing this interruption in her natural bodily functions, I need to examine her."

                Kurt slid off his stool. "I'll bring her here," he said. "Whatever I have to do, even if I have to kidnap her, I'll bring her here."

                "Wait until the storm lets up a little," Charles told him before he went running out of the medlabs. "In case you haven't noticed, Kurt, it has been snowing quite heavily outside since early yesterday evening. Also, I believe Scott is looking for you. There was a Danger Room session planned for this afternoon, if you remember correctly."

                "Ach!" Kurt slapped his forehead with his hand. "I forgot! I had better go before he sends Logan after me!" And he took off.

                Xavier turned to Hank as the big blue doctor got off his lab stool. "What medical condition was Kurt referring to?" he asked.

                Hank was about to quote doctor-patient confidentiality, but thought about who he was talking to, and decided to be candid. "His friend Grace is suffering from an extended cessation of her natural fertility cycles," he said. "He was asking me what could be causing it."

                "Any ideas?"

                Hank sighed. "I told him insufficient food and inadequate nutrition, but after hearing what has happened to the girl, I am not so sure. I need to examine her to determine the cause. It may be something as simple as a poor diet, or as complicated as internal damage that was not treated at the time the damage occurred. I do not know, Charles."

                "Let us see what she looks like when Kurt brings her here, then."