Chapter 4: All Dressed Up And Nothing To Break
"Rise and shine, lovebirds."
Kurt cracked an eye open and glared up at Logan. Thanks to his powers, Logan never got a hangover; but Kurt had consumed more than he was used to and not slept as much as he should. Sabere had flopped onto the couch after it vacated. Kurt, thinking she looked entirely too pensive, had taken it upon himself to distract her. Eventually, they'd just fallen asleep there.
"What time is it?" Sabere asked, sitting up next to him.
"Bit after eight. Emma's here."
"Was?" That made Kurt sit up, although he instantly regretted moving.
Logan studied them both, then pointed at Kurt. "Thought you wouldn't be into that."
Part of him was frustrated that he missed the insinuation, but most of him was just trying to figure it out. "Was?" he asked again.
"He's not," Sabere reassured. "We're not. And we didn't."
Oh.
"Right."
"Not that it's any of your business."
"Of course."
Sabere climbed with surprising grace over Kurt and off the couch. Kurt's head swam just thinking about standing. He went back to thinking about why they'd been roused so early after such a night.
"Emma is here?" he asked finally.
"Elf, how many did you have?"
Kurt pondered. "Four."
"That's it?"
"My last drink before this was after the Korea incident, and I got about six hours of sleep last night." Korea…he'd have some explaining to do about that that celebration when he got to the Pearly Gates. Hopefully the Lord would be more curious about his teammates' methods of unwinding than his.
Logan shook his head, whether out of admiration or derision Kurt couldn't tell. "Well, try to hide it," he advised. "Emma's less polite than usual today."
"What does she want now?" Sabere asked.
He hesitated. "I'm kinda afraid to tell you."
Kurt watched Sabere's eyebrows raise, daring him to answer.
"Dress fittings," Logan sighed. "She brought her tailors. Says she's going to provide proper gowns for this thing." Logan held his ground until every pillow in the room suddenly attacked him. Kurt immediately grabbed her hand.
"Liebchen, perhaps you should not kill the messenger."
The pillows drifted back to their original places, but Sabere still looked incensed. "I'm not wearing anything she calls 'proper,'" she snapped.
Fortunately, before a real argument could erupt, Storm entered the room. "Emma's waiting," she said briskly. "Come on, Logan, you too."
"I ain't wearing a tux," he snapped.
Despite the triumphant look on Sabere's face at discovering she wouldn't be the only one uncomfortable with their fashions, this did not help Kurt's mood. Always aiming to play the suave swashbuckler, wearing formal attire would have been as fun as a child playing dress-up. Despite Emma's disregard for his part in the mission and his own discipline, he'd allowed himself a few enjoyable daydreams in which he escorted Sabere (always ravishing, never skanky) through the party, like a British spy, waiting for the battle.
Now he was relegated to the background.
"Logan, I'm going to advise skipping this argument, because there are two telepaths on the edge of their tempers who will not hesitate in making you follow orders."
"Okay, okay…" Logan shambled out of the room, arms folded and jaw clenched. Storm turned to Sabere.
"The dresses really aren't bad," she said.
"By your standards or mine? I'm not trying to be hurtful, but you've always been more comfortable with…" She trailed off, but anyone who knew Storm's exotic history as an African goddess, and her ease in even the scantiest of clothing, knew what she meant.
Storm smiled reassuringly. "They really are fine. But Emma could easily alter them if you keep her waiting any longer."
Kurt tried to look encouraging, but he had absolutely nothing to look forward to on this mission. Among friends, Sabere would be perfectly fine in a Hellfire-approved gown, but among strangers and in a dangerous situation, she'd want support. That was supposed to be Kurt's job, and now it would be assigned to someone else – plus, he didn't want to miss how beautiful she'd look. Assuming he could even look at her without feeling like he'd have to repent.
He hung back as Sabere followed Storm out, but Storm called back for him.
"Xavier wants to see you, Kurt. He wants to talk over your role."
Kurt agreed and followed them out. His role…not the swashbuckler, not the support his love needed, not even a visible role.
Sabere had changed a lot in Kurt's life, but she couldn't do anything about this.
To Sabere's relief, the dresses were tolerable. She supposed they weren't too scandalous to ensure Emma got the attention, but there was certainly more cleavage than Sabere would have prefered. She studied her reflection as a silent tailor poked and adjusted unabashedly. The dresses were gray satin, presumably representing devotion to both the hierarchies of the Club. The bodice was the focus, obviously – black lace covered the tight boning, and small white pearls along the top edge drew even more attention to the perilous bustline. The skirt, thankfully, hung simply – no slits to be wary of.
Storm, who was being fitted in the mirror next to her, suddenly slapped her tailor's hands as he reached up to adjust her cleavage. She snatched the padding from him and did it herself. Sabere's tailor looked up anxiously, expecting the same reaction, and Sabere took the padding as well. Not that there's any way I can get any more lift out of this.
The door to the adjoining room opened, and in came Jean, followed by her own tailor. She was wearing a stunning red satin gown with a hazardously low cowl neck. She twirled a little to show off. The back dipped equally low, and three thin gold chains draped horizontally across her back.
"How come you get to wear that and we have to match?" Storm demanded, amazed. Sabere shared the sentiments, but was more concerned about looking like a call girl's attendant than having to coordinate.
"I'll be recognized," Jean answered with a self-conscious smile. "Dr. Jean Grey may have been off the scene for a few years, but she'll still be well-known in this circle. Xavier and Emma both think it will be a good distraction for a mutant with some genetics knowledge to be seen at this event."
"But an X-Man?" Storm asked, not so wild about this plan.
"Won't they suspect something?" added Sabere.
"All part of the plan," Xavier assured them, rolling in with Emma just behind. She immediately brushed around him to critique them.
"Jean, you'll need a necklace of some kind; Storm, that hair is far too distinctive, I'll send my stylists to fix that; Sabere, more cleavage, and stand up straight, for heaven's sake. Just because you're entourage doesn't mean you're totally spineless."
"Unlike you, I don't have the disposable income to create any more cleavage," Sabere retorted, only slightly regretting the outburst. To her surprise, Emma only pursed her perfectly plumped lips and folded her arms. Before anything could develop, the rest of the X-Men filed in. Rogue looked enviously at their dresses; the men just looked.
"Charles, why don't you fill everyone in," Emma said smoothly.
"The Bishop Pharmaceuticals party is approaching. As Emma has already told us, she and her organization will attend, with Logan, Robert, Storm, and Sabere posing as members of the entourage. Jean, who will be too recognizable in a scientific setting, will go as herself. Yes, this may put security on edge, but we intend to move quickly. Whatever distractions Jean's presence happens to cause, you will have to improvise and deal with as they occur." This was mostly directed at Jean, since as a telepath she'd be the best capable to quell incidents before they occurred. He continued, "Meanwhile, Kurt and Rogue will be disarming the factory and locating the necessary research and equipment. Everything will be monitored by Scott and Kitty from a Hellfire limousine parked on site. When everything is arranged, the X-Men will all convene with Kurt and Rogue and destroy everything."
Remembering Rogue's argument from the night before, Sabere started to speak up. Xavier beat her to it.
"There has been some contention on the final goals of this mission, but it has been decided that this is the best course of action. I hope there will be no further argument on the subject," he finished with a tone that indicated there wouldn't be.
Emma took over again. "That will be all. You have two weeks to train in your own fashion, and I insist on some etiquette lessons. You have to participate in my world before you get to break things." This made Logan look even grumpier.
"They'll be ready, Miss Frost," Xavier promised. "In fact, they'll be more prepared to converse than to wear your garments."
Emma smirked and, with a flick of her hand and a flash of leg, the tailors followed her out.
Sabere unconsciously smoother her skirt, and happened to look up at the gathered X-Men. Xavier's face held only amusement at whatever psychic vibes he was picking up. Rogue stood arms akimbo, also smirking, as the men tried to figure out where to look. After what seemed like an age of awkward silence, Kurt, ever the gentleman, stepped forward to help Sabere off the tailor's block. She smiled in gratitude. Storm stepped gracefully off her own block and swept into the other room.
"Show's over, boys," she called over her shoulder. "I can't breathe."
"Too bad, because you look radiant," Kurt told Sabere. She thought "radiant" was pushing it, and raised an eyebrow.
"Radiant for a woman who has been laced into a gown left over from Moulin Rouge," he amended with a smile.
"So we won't see those dresses for another two weeks?" Logan asked a bit dejectedly.
"Enjoy it while it lasts," Jean said wryly. She accepted a kiss and a few whispered words from Scott, and glided with a smile in after Storm. Logan's eyes flicked back to Sabere as soon as the door closed. He studied her for a minute, then gave a little bow and left the room.
Xavier rolled closer. "It's a shame he can't accompany you," he said, motioning to Kurt. "You match quite nicely."
Sabere tried to laugh and realized that Storm had been right about the not-breathing thing. How was she supposed to wear this for multiple hours?
"We will match more when she turns blue from lack of air," Kurt grinned. "Maybe you had better change as well."
"Please." She lifted the skirt so she didn't step on it – heels, she'd have to wear goddamned heels on top of everything else – and closed the door behind her. The other women were already mostly changed.
"Okay, somebody help me out of this thing," she gasped.