Kurt put a comforting hand on Megan's back as she retched over the side of the ship. Amanda was on the other side, pulling the curls of pink hair away from her face. It's warmer that day, and Megan had said she didn't want to wear her hat. Kurt had seen Amanda tuck it into her coat just in case.
Amanda produced a napkin and wiped Megan's face. She threw it into a nearby trash can, one Kurt hoped would be emptied soon. It was overflowing.
"Are we there yet?" moaned Megan, sitting down on the deck.
"We have another week or so," Amanda said, her voice confident despite the haziness of the answer.
"I need to get this taste outta my mouth," said Megan.
Amanda handed her a bottle of water. Megan chugged it down, but she still looked upset.
"It didn't wash it out," she said.
"Soon you won't have to worry about seasickness," said Amanda, "And then I shall buy you hot chocolate in Times Square."
Megan smiled and Kurt leaned down.
"It vill be full of marshmallows," said Kurt, "So good und varm."
The girl smiled and sat back down, her ankles in her hands. Amanda looked over at Kurt curiously, although without any of the hostility he had seen in her that first day. Ever since then, Amanda had never looked at him like that. She would listen when she talked, and she had such a sweet voice.
Amanda had told him the two of them weren't originally from Latveria, but had stayed there for the past five years after moving between borders became more difficult. Their caravan had been moving through the forests when she'd decided it was time to try and get Megan to America. They'd heard distasteful rumors about cage fights, and she was sure that at least some of them were true.
If only she knew.
"You seem to know an awful lot about New York," Amanda said.
"TV," he said dismissively.
She raised one eyebrow.
"You had a lot more TV than I did," Megan said, "But Amanda would cut out pictures for me from magazines too. Actresses, singers, politicians in suits. There was this one, from a car ad, and he was my villain."
One of her gloved hands shuffled through her pink hair.
"I had to leave most of my paper dolls behind when we left," Megan frowned, "Someone probably burned them."
While the declaration was strange it was, by no means, the most surprising thing he'd heard since being with them. This one was probably the most normal. He was getting the feeling that Megan hadn't been treated very well where they were. Amanda, a human, had once told him she was making this trip for her little cousin.
Perhaps that was why she never saw any point in keeping her blankets or coat when Megan was cold. It was all for her after all.
"We'll get you new ones," Amanda announced.
"You haf an answer for everyzing, don't you?" Kurt said.
Amanda laughed, stepping up onto one of the bars of the railing. Unlike Megan, she always kept her hair loose. As she leaned over the railing, it streamed loose and free in the wind. He moved a little closer, just in case she fell over the edge. He knew she had amazing balance, but still.
"Don't we all?" she said.
She turned so her back was to the wind. Megan got to her feet and walked up.
"The wind's too strong to fly, isn't it?" she asked.
"I think so," Amanda said, her voice sympathetic, "But, just like the trip, it's not for too much longer."
Megan nodded, reaching behind her and scratching her back. She had wings, according to Amanda, but Kurt had never seen them. They helped keep her warm when they were pressed up against her back, Megan had explained. And Megan was often cold.
Kurt wasn't quite sure he believed her, but Amanda didn't seem to be the type to force her to hide her wings. In fact, he thought he saw her wince every time Megan talked about using her wings to keep herself warm. It was something he had the feeling Megan was only telling herself, like he'd told himself three fingers instead of five wasn't a big deal, or that he needed sunglasses even when it wasn't bright out.
Not that it was that easy to blend in. Even with a place that he knew was fairly accepting like the circus, he'd felt self-conscious all the time.
"And they might be alright with you flying around in America," said Amanda, "As long as you don't knock the airplanes out of the sky."
"Don't be silly," said Megan.
"No, there are lots of mutants in America I hear," Amanda said, "They have a singer who's a mutant, and she goes around and does shows."
"You vill like it zere," Kurt said, "Zere are so many lights, und people almost, but not as pretty as Amanda."
It was a bold statement, and Kurt immediately ducked his head down. He wasn't sure just where that boldness had come from, true though it was.
"No one's as pretty as her," Megan said, "But she should put on her pretty clothes sometime. The red dress. It really makes her glow."
"You glow, I don't," laughed Amanda.
"Kodi."
Kurt looked over his shoulder. Mystique was standing there, her arms folded and her fingers tapping her forearms. He sighed and got up.
"I vill see you all later," he said.
"Can't he stay?" asked Megan, looking hopefully at Mystique.
"No," Mystique said.
Amanda cocked her head, and he thought he saw her purse her lips. But she just put an arm around Megan and nodded at Kurt.
"We'll see you around," she said.
Kurt smiled and then walked up to Mystique. She put a hand on his shoulder and all but pushed him inside. He winced, the feeling that he'd done something wrong rising yet again. She hadn't needed him, so why was spending time with them wrong?
Mystique looked at Kurt's retreating back and shook her head, wondering what was going on in that boy's head. He was smart, she knew he was. So why was he wasting time getting chummy with the rest of the passengers? It wasn't smart to start building so many different connections. It made them vulnerable.
"I think he likes you," Megan whispered.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Amanda smile sadly and put a hat on Megan's head.
"Don't be silly rinkini," murmured Amanda, "He won't stick around. No one here will."
Mystique didn't stay to eavesdrop on the rest of the conversation. It seemed that at least the girl had a decent head on her shoulders. She walked through the next door and saw Kurt several feet away, slouched in his coat and waiting for her. He was slightly sullen, reminding her of his father. Someone else she'd lost, and the news from Hank wasn't particularly comforting for the rest of her family.
"I vasn't doing anything wrong," he said.
"You shouldn't go around talking to everyone you meet here," she hissed, her voice low, "It's a distraction, and we're not here to make friends."
He slumped and she grabbed his shoulder. Steering him into a small closet she held up her radio.
"Kurt," she said, "Charles managed to make contact with Moira today."
"Vhat?" asked Kurt, his eyes bright.
"He says she's still alive," said Mystique.
"Vunderbar!" Kurt said, smiling so she could see his fangs, "Vhere is she?"
"He doesn't know," said Mystique.
His smile faltered slightly. She tucked the radio away.
"But it was still useful," she said.
"Ja, she is alive," said Kurt, "Ve should be thankful."
That wasn't what Mystique meant. She knew just how temporary life could be. Someone being alive today didn't mean they would be alive tomorrow. It only meant that Charles might have had a chance to say goodbye. It was bitter comfort, but it was more than many people gone.
And yet, she didn't feel the need to tell Kurt that. Not just yet.
"Yes," said Mystique, "And we have a name now, something to go off of."
"Vhat name?" he asked.
"Nathaniel Essex," said Mystique, "I told Hank what I knew about him, but it's not much. He's a pretty shifty guy, has his fingers in a lot of technological experiments. There was a rumor he was doing something with mutants, but I didn't have anything solid. Not until now I guess."
"Does he have any holdings in Scotland?"
It was a decent question, and Mystique couldn't help her feeling of satisfaction.
"As far as I know, his company is based in America," she said, "But that means we need to start searching the ship for mention of him, see if anyone here is in contact with him."
"Okay," said Kurt, "Vhere do you need me to take you to?"
She smiled at him, grateful that, for the many things he didn't understand, he understood this. She put a hand on his shoulder and guided him out of the closet and down the hall. She managed to dodge the different crewmen, remaining with her head down.
They walked to one of the hallways, looking as though they were just heading back to the main area. At the last minute she motioned to him, and they stepped backwards into one of the alcoves.
Mystique waited, looking at one of the doors. After a few minutes a man opened the door. From her position she could see no one was inside the room. She jerked her head at Kurt, and he clasped her hand tightly, waiting as the door closed.
When there was only a sliver of sight, Kurt teleported inside. The door shut and, immediately, Mystique began looking around the room for what the man had been doing when he was there. She saw charts, a few other things. Oh yes, he was just making sure they were on course.
"Kurt, see where we are on the route," she said, "I'll see if I can't find any invoices, anything like that."
He sat down obediently and began tracing the path the ship was taking. While he didn't come with her on all her missions, most of them really, he did know the route by heart by now. She'd made sure of it, since it could end up saving his life.
Meanwhile, she crouched by the safe. She'd figured out the combination the third day of the voyage, but she hadn't gone through everything. Now she had an incentive to do so, and to do so quickly.
She riffled through them. Letterheads, logs, anything. After twenty minutes, she realized it wasn't in there. It was mostly money. Pathetic.
"Mystique?"
She looked up, frustrated. Kurt was staring down at something on the paper, his eyes furrowed.
"Zis is vrong," he said.
Mystique got up, stretching and looking over his shoulder. He pointed to a point on the map in Scotland, a map she hadn't seen before. His finger was gesturing to what seemed to be a few scribbled pencil markings.
It was new, but the whole map was filled with markings.
"Latitude and longtitude, right?" she said, pinching her nose.
"You vould zink, ja," said Kurt, "But, look."
She peered closer. Now that she really looked, that was the wrong latitude and longitude. Way wrong. That was definitely not 12 degrees East and 64 west. Mystique scratched her chin looking at it. 12 E and 64 W.
It wasn't that important, but she began to trace the route. If everything went well, they would stop in Scotland, keep going and, from the route, she knew they'd go past that. The numbers were strange, and it looked like they'd been erased and rewritten a few times.
She got close, letting her eyes examine the faint markings. Sometimes it said 8 E and 68 W. Another, 9 E and 67 W. Why did those numbers seem so familiar? Why were they striking a chord?
Then, she realized. If they were added together, they all equaled 76. From a manifest she'd seen earlier, that was how many passengers there were. Were they being sorted into two categories?
Mystique peered at the numbers and, as she did, she saw something that had almost been wiped out beneath the eraser markings. There was a landmass there, tiny, but big enough to have a name.
"We need to go," she said, "Teleport out the window and then back on the deck. Standard."
He got up, looking worried.
"Does zat mean anyzing?" he asked.
"Maybe," Mystique said, "I need to ask Hank to look up Muir Island first."