"Where is he?"
Scott nods up the hill, he grasps my arm as I push past him. "We don't agree with the decision either but..."
"Don't give me fucking 'but'" I yell in his face. Everyone else draws back, but, give him his due, he stands his ground against my anger. "You know it's bullshit."
Chuck has declared that Kurt is too 'valuable' for field work.
"There are others who..."
"He's the best wingman I've ever had and you damn well know it." We've worked together so long, our timing in a fight is phenomenal. I stick my finger in his chest. "He's pulled me out of more shit than anyone."
"And how many times have you had to carry him back in pieces?" Low blow, Summers, I'll remember that. But it shuts me up mid-rant. "He'll get to go off Island, just not in a strike team."
Jean tries to pour oil on troubled waters. "His abilities make him a precious..."
"He's not a fuckin' Ming vase, Jeannie, he's the bravest man I know." I draw a breath, I'm so angry, I'm shaking. "You go out there with your optic blasts or mind shit that can fry your brain, or with lightning, with big guns and bigger powers. He goes out there able to dodge real fast and with a fuckin' smile."
But I know we've lost this fight if they are both going with the decision.
I push past them, ignoring everyone, both 'Ro and Kitty make towards me but I've had enough.
It's a steep climb, the top of the ridge is decorated with lush purple blooms, heady, almost sickly perfume in the fading light but I could track his scent anywhere.
He's not hiding, just sitting, looking down on the fire below with glowing gold eyes, the same colour as the sunset.
Looking down at his friends, comrades, brothers and sisters in arms.
I sit with him as the light fades, my arm about his shoulders.
His hair, as always, smells of burnt matches.
Gentle, kind, precious, even, but never fragile.