The chilly air stung Mystique's cheeks as she fiddled the radio, not in any real hope of getting anything. Next to her, she heard a retching sound, but didn't look. Many people were getting seasick, and most of them didn't make it to the poor sanitation facilities in time. Mystique was beginning to hate the men and women who worked on the ship more and more. They were profiting off the misery of those beneath them, not caring what happened to them.
Her eyes were still on the end game though. She was making sure to regularly check in with Charles and Hank, as well as searching out information. Passengers often wandered below deck, although if they got too close to the crew's quarters they would be harshly turned away.
It wasn't difficult to overhear their conversations, to pick up valuable scraps. Every time she got a minute or two to herself, she would listen to them on their frequencies, hear when the next few stops would be.
Everything was going according to plan. Everything except Kurt. Yes, he would teleport her when she needed him to make her clandestine trips around the ship at night. A few times he'd even been able to distract the guards while she slipped behind a door or readjusted the radio's frequency.
But, every time the lights were out and they didn't have to search, he'd try to talk to her. Not about anything personal, not after that night when he'd asked her about why the ship existed at all. It was just light, inane conversation. Nothing she could shush him for, chasten him about. Nothing to keep her from wanting to smile at his jokes. She'd had to make up an excuse just to get away.
She switched off her radio, trying to think of a good time to give Kurt a stern talking-to. Technically, he wasn't doing anything wrong, but she might be able to invent something. She'd spent years where he didn't cross her mind because the blow was too great. She'd tried to point-blank ignore him at Westchester.
There was no escape on the ship. He was interested in talking to her, not just because she was some sort of hero in his eyes, although she suspected that had something to do with it. At the end of the day, he wanted to talk to her because he was a kind, open individual.
In some ways, Mystique was proud of him. Kurt was the kind of child everyone would want. He was, after his initial timidity was overcome, a young man who knew how to be personable and open. He wanted to make friends, to please, and so many people reacted positively to that.
She wished she could afford to be one of those people. But she understood too well what would happen if she broke. She tucked the radio into her coat and closed her eyes. She bowed her head, trying to keep it all in.
Every day that went by in Kurt's company she wanted to spend as his mother, not his fake aunt. She wanted to be able to take him in her arms when he seemed worried, though she knew he was too old for it. God, he was almost seventeen. How had all of that time gone by? How had she spent so many years away from him, pretending she had no regrets?
For the first time, she didn't think she'd be able to do it anymore. Yes, she could outlast this trip. Mystique could pretend that Kurt's jokes weren't funny, that his attempts to make conversation were sad and unprofessional.
She could even outlast finding Moira, she was sure of that. Having a breakdown before they'd found her brother's lover would be something she wouldn't be able to forgive herself for. Not after the last time.
But after that, she would have to go. Mystique had no idea where, but that hadn't stopped her for more than a decade. Coming back to Westchester hadn't been a mistake, not really, but coming back there when Kurt lived there was.
She'd thought she could stay, but being around her son wasn't good for either of them, for anyone really. Charles was trying to start a new life with the woman he loved and a son he hoped could be his. She was in the way, sniping at him, although she had no idea where he got off telling her how he would feel if some boy he'd met less than a month ago was in danger.
The children were alright fighters, and would become better under Hank and Moira's tutelage. They would do fine for what they wanted to do. They had done fine fighting Nur after all. All they needed was a strong leader to focus them, and Charles could be that leader now.
And Kurt? He'd find a way to move on. He'd probably just be disappointed that she didn't stay. He would mourn anyone who left she thought, anyone who walked out of his life, with or without a goodbye.
She pitied him for that. It was the one lesson no one could really teach. She supposed being cold was just a part of who she was.
Kurt stared at the ceiling, feeling his heart thrum in his ears. He'd barely said two words to Mystique before she'd walked out of the hold, rolling her eyes. What was it about him that irritated her so quickly?
It had been a long time since he'd felt rejection this poignantly. Yes, he got disgusted stares in the circus. He was snickered at but, after a while, he had simply shrugged it off. They didn't understand. They were to be pitied for not having the ability to see beyond their own back yards, beyond a circus he realized now was tawdry.
But to have someone be unable to be with him for more than a few minutes? That hurt.
"I'm cold."
The words, whispered in English next to him, made his eyes slide over. A small girl, about eight, maybe younger, was seated on the pallets next to them. She was pale and drawn up, but Kurt could just make out her pointed ears and curls of pink hair underneath her hat. The rest of her was swallowed in a big coat and the blanket.
Had she always been on the pallets next to him? He wasn't sure. And was it really that cold? He breathed out and realized, for the first time, that his breath frosted over. He'd been so caught up in his thoughts that he hadn't been thinking about the cold so much, but the child was certainly feeling its bite. From the way her head was all but buried, she was feeling it very keenly indeed.
A woman sitting next to her drew her close, wrapping her arms around her. Golden hair tumbled over her shoulders, covering her face and most of her back. It glittered when she took off her coat and wrapped it around the girl, who sneezed.
"I've got you," the woman murmured, "I've got you. Don't worry. You'll warm up soon."
Her voice was tender and kind. Was she the girl's mother? He felt a stab of nostalgia for something he'd never known. Even when he was younger, if he was cold or needed something, he could fetch it himself. Sometimes someone else would hand it to him. They weren't cruel, there just wasn't a lot of time for coddling others.
"But-"
"No buts," the woman said.
He watched her for a moment more, saw how she shivered. She was just as cold as the child, but she had fisted her hands, her whole body rigid. He supposed that she, like everyone on the boat, knew better than to ask for more supplies. A few had asked the first night. It hadn't ended well.
Kurt looked at his own blanket, and bit his lip in worry. The woman shivered one more time, and he saw her hold the little girl closer, probably for her own warmth as much as the child's.
Barely thinking, Kurt pulled his blanket up and quickly put it around her shoulders. The woman turned quickly, and Kurt realized just how young she was, perhaps his own age. There was no way that she could be the child's mother. Her sister perhaps? Yes, that must be it.
He also realized just how beautiful she was. Her hair, which he'd noted for its brilliant color, set off her brilliantly blue eyes. They were wells of sapphire surrounded by soft features, wide and startled. Take away the threadbare sweater, hat, the gloves where the finger tips had been worked away, and Michelangelo could have painted her as an angel in one of the great churches in Rome.
But that look of surprise didn't last long. Her eyes narrowed and he quickly looked away, curling into himself slightly. The woman took off the blanket and handed it back to him. He couldn't see her face, but he didn't think she was happy. Not from the way that her eyes had narrowed.
Still, he didn't take the blanket back.
"Thank you," she said, her words sharp, "But I'm fine."
"I don't need it," Kurt murmured.
"We're all going to need it."
"I handle ze cold vell," he said.
"And what do you want for it exactly?"
He ventured to look at her face, saw her harsh inquisitiveness. He bit his lip.
"Nozing," he managed, "I just...nozing. It's okay. You can...I don't vant anything."
She looked at him for a moment more, and he saw softness return to her features. The child in her arms tugged at her sleeve, looking worried.
"I think he's nice," she said.
The woman looked down at the girl and sighed. When she looked up at Kurt, he could see a small shimmer of shame and guilt on her face.
"I'm sorry," the woman said, "I didn't mean to...alright, I did, but I didn't want to be cruel. It's just..."
She shrugged slightly, pulling the blanket back over her shoulders.
"People haven't offered something for nothing in a long time," she said.
"I understand," said Kurt, "I just, well, you needed something."
The woman chuckled, and he could hear some warmth in that chuckle.
"Perhaps things really are looking up," she said, "I think you need to stay a bit more on your feet though, stay sharp. I think you're honest, and that can be dangerous. I don't like to see bad things happen to good people."
"Neither do I," Kurt said, frowning.
She smiled, but it seemed a little sad. The child in her arms wriggled slightly, moving so she could look at Kurt. He could see her pale hazel eyes staring at him with curiosity. She looked just like a pixie from a child's book.
"I like your tattoos," she said shyly, "They are tattoos, right?"
Kurt grinned. Not many people said that, not even at the Institute.
"Yes," he said, "Yes they are."
"I wish I could get some, but I'm too young. Oh, manners! I'm-" the girl said.
She stopped and looked at the woman, who nodded.
"We're going to be roommates for a while, if you can call it that," the woman said, "You can tell him."
"Megan," the girl said promptly.
"Kodi," Kurt said.
The false name seemed strange on his tongue, but he felt that it came out naturally enough. The woman gave Megan a tender smile, a beautiful expression. Kurt felt himself suddenly wondering if his hair was sticking everywhere, if she cared that his eyes looked like blood.
Probably.
"I'm Amanda," the woman said.
"My, aren't we making friends?"
Kurt turned, and saw Mystique there, giving him a disapproving look. He gave a half-shoulder shrug but, despite the fact that he knew she was disappointed, he didn't feel as though he'd done anything wrong.
Then again, not much seemed like it made her happy.