Kurt was more than a little apprehensive setting foot in the club. Sure, Wannabe's was pretty much the only establishment that didn't cater specifically to mutants where he could more or less blend in. It was more who he was meeting and how he was even able to see her that raised his suspicions. It did not help matters that more than some of the patrons at this superpower themed club were dressed as her. One sidled right up to him dressed in a mauve dress suit, a ratty wig, and a frightful false tan worn in obvious and unsuccessful attempt to make her look darker.
"Great costume! You weren't the Nightcrawler who won the Halloween costume contest, were you?"
"No, I was not."
"Well, your costume is great. I like how you built the tail to move so well," she said, reaching for his hand, "and those gloves are just… how did you do that? "
Kurt started to blush as he pulled away his hand, with a combination of embarrassment and frustration, hoping the dim light would hide the evidence that this girl was seeing his real skin. "Danke schön."
And with hands aflutter and a gasp of delight, the girl whirled away. "Amy, he speaks German, too, with the accent and everything," she squealed to some friend several feet away. "Isn't he perfect?"
"Kommst du mit mir," said a much more familiar voice. She handed him a beer, then tugged his hand and helped him make his escape, leading him back to a booth farthest from both bar and stage.
"So," said Kurt, "kannst du beweisen, dass du die wirkliche Kassandra bist? Weil…"
"Ich kann," said the girl, as they sat down. "I'd kiss you hallo, but that would be awkward so soon after you'd just kissed Christine goodbye, nicht wahr?"
Kurt blushed, noticing with some relief that Kassandra spoke with no spite. Also, that despite the many things that were taken from Kassandra, the St. Michael medal he gave her still gleamed below her throat. He changed the subject. "So warum bist du hier, und nicht…"
"And not at that 'undisclosed mutant detention facility'? See 'Carol Danvers' and 'Nick Fury' over there?" She nodded discretely in their direction. "Nein! Sehst du nicht her! They are operatives with an assignment they specifically need my help with. I'm here under their strict supervision, and nobody's supposed to know that we're even here. At any rate, I can't blame you for having not followed the news lately."
"Was?"
"Most of those convictions could not withstand appeal, and I'm now serving a sort of reduced sentence. At least that's what the news says."
"Wunderbar!" said Kurt.
"Nicht wirklich. If word got out who I report to, just what this mutant correctional department is, Logan would be furious." She edged closer to Kurt, not for any romantic reason, but to whisper, "That is exactly what they want, and probably more than you should know.
"So," she said, again in full voice, "War deshalb es ein guter Geburstag?"
Kurt did not quite know what to say. "Ja. As far as my birthdays go, it wasn't so bad. But you know what happened, nicht wahr?"
Kassandra nodded. "And I must admit this time I am a bit jealous."
"Von Christine?"
"Ja. But don't you think she deserves it? I mean, while you were under all kinds of attack, she was there for you the whole time…"
"Aber du war auch, Liebste." Kurt found himself tossing out that term of endearment almost as a matter of habit, a habit he suspected he'd like to keep. "Don't dismiss what I know you've been doing as my 'guardian angel.'"
"Kurt," said Kassandra, with no small amount of difficulty, "Christine was actually with you throughout all this, in just the way you needed, a way I could only wish to have been. That's why I envy her. And I know just because she's moving, it doesn't mean you'll have seen the last of her. Du wißt das auch, nicht wahr?"
Kurt dropped his head in assent. "Well, I'm not so sure. If she finds out I lied to her about not liking musicals…"
Kassandra burst out laughing. "You should have told her you'd prefer to see Man of La Mancha."
"But- but," Kurt stammered, smiling, "that would have been unchivalrous."
"And so you sat uncomfortably through the Phantom of the Opera to convenience a lady." Kassandra tried in vain to stifle a wistful, faraway smile and the uncomfortable way her cheeks darkened. "Typisch Kurt."
"Kassandra…" Kurt put his hand on Kassandra's shoulder, not knowing quite what to say.
Kassandra tried to gently shrug off his hand. But it seemed important to him to maintain that simple, friendly contact, so she reconsidered. "Kurt," she said, "I must confess I also envy you a bit. How you dealt with you-know-who, or didn't, for that matter? You're a far better person than I am. And I know that you will remain strong when that time comes."
"You sound so certain of that. I suppose you know about all this talk about the Final War and all that?"
Kassandra nodded. "Classic horror movie tripe."
"None of that makes you nervous?"
"Mephisto isn't as in the loop as he lets on if he doesn't know. While we're still drawing the battle lines, the war, the Real War, was won a couple millennia ago, remember? As for me, the only thing I'm concerned about is remaining in good standing with the winner."
"So, warum?" said Kurt, now more than a little upset. "If the war was already won, why does anyone continue to fight? Why, everything that's happened these past several days?"
"Kurt, sei ruhig." Kassandra held her hand up, perhaps a little too close to his mouth, and then lowered it. "The enemy doesn't know, except for their innermost circle, that their war is lost. Those that do know don't care. All they want is to drag as many of us down with them as possible. Und du, you will always be like my favorite character in The Last Battle."
"Ich errinere. I remember everything now, strangely enough. You like Poggin the Dwarf, and his determination to, if need be, strike a blow for right before all's said and done."
"And speaking of that, I got you a present." Kassandra slipped a small parcel to him. "Ich muß gehen."
"Wartst du," said Kurt, putting his hand on Kassandra's before she could slide out of her seat. "I also remember never letting you leave without one of these, and I don't plan to start now."
He pulled her to himself, practically engulfing her in his arms. She returned the embrace, as profound as it was platonic. And all too brief. "Ich muß gehen," she said again, this time looking a little frightened.
"Auf Wiedersehen?" Kurt asked, rather than said.
Kassandra nodded. Then smiled and slipped out.
And as Kurt stepped out, he passed Kassandra at the bar paying her tab. "Nick Fury" sidled up to her. "So are you going to meet her?"
Kassandra coolly looked straight ahead. "They're both in one place. But no, I won't meet them, unless you want this whole thing blown sky high."
"You really shouldn't have said that."
"Let me be the judge of that. You want my help here, or not?"
Kurt tried not to look preoccupied as he slipped past and out the door. It didn't seem to make much sense, and he didn't understand the context, but that snippet of conversation made him more wary for Kassandra than anything he'd ever heard her say before. But he managed to put that out of his mind until he got back to his room and unwrapped the package. It was a book. The pages fell open, and a small laminated card fell out.
"Herr," it said, "wenn deine Leute stilles haben Bedürfnis von meinen Diensten, werde ich die Mühe nicht vermeiden. Dein Wille geschehe. Ich habe den guten Kampf lang genug gekämpft. Noch, wenn du mich bietst, halte weiter die Kampflinie in Verteidigung von deinem Lager, ich nie werden betteln, von Versagenkraft entschuldigt zu werden. Ich werde die Arbeit machen, der du zu mir anvertraust. Währst du befehlen, werde ich unter deinem Banner kämpfen."
He turned the card over. On the other side was a picture of what was supposed to be a Roman cavalry officer, sword in hand, cutting his cloak in half for a beggar in rags. Heiliger Martin von Tours, natürlich, the saint on whose feast day Kurt was born. He then turned to the book, a volume of supernatural folk tales from around the world, apparently. Creepy, like the one to which the book had fallen open. His heart leapt to his throat when he realized he had heard it before. An Irish story about Countess Kathleen O'Shea.
The phone rang. Kurt had to climb down from the ceiling to answer. "Ha-hallo?"
"Kurt, are you all right?" It was Christine.
Kurt had to will his breathing, heart rate, his fear itself into submission before he could say anything else. "Ja, Christine. I think I will be, now, thank you. So did you get in okay? How was your flight?"
"I think you'll be relieved to hear it was uneventful. Didn't even get airsick this time," said Christine, her warm smile coming through even over the phone. I just called to let you know I arrived okay, and that you can still reach me on my cell at least until I get a permanent place lined up. But are you sure you're all right? You sounded-"
"A bit shaken, ja. But it had nothing to do with you. I just realized right before you called that an old friend may have gotten into trouble over her head."
"Kassandra?" said Christine, with honest concern. She suspected that Kassandra, besides Storm, was another reason why Kurt balked at getting involved with her. Regardless, it was well known that Kurt was quite upset when Kassandra was found guilty, and Christine could at least respect that. "How could things get any worse for her?"
"I don't know," said Kurt. "I'm not sure I want to know. But I am sure that she could and probably has figured out how."
"Well, based on the sound of things," said Christine, "I'm half tempted to almost consider booking a flight back to New York."
Kurt began to smile again over the next several minutes they talked. One thing that came to mind most when he thought about Christine was how she, like a few other people he'd been blessed to know, had earned a lifelong place among his dearest friends. So he could not regard her as a girlfriend. So their relationship took a course away from that before it could really even begin. But friendships like that did not end. Not with last-ditch kisses goodbye, nor even with a fib about disliking musicals.
