Chapter Three

"You were right about those sausages, mein Freund," Nightcrawler said, waving cheerily to the waitress as he followed Wolverine out of the busy little restaurant. "And Bernice was so friendly!"

Logan squinted. "Bernice?"

"The waitress, Logan," Kurt laughed. "Don't tell me you didn't notice how she kept smiling at you. It's that jacket, ja?"

Logan's dark scowl made Kurt's grin widen, and he laughed again. "All right, all right. Forgive my teasing. So, what is next?"

"Next?"

"I suppose I must stop at the post office." Kurt's expression fell, but he straightened quickly and looked around, his long tail swaying. "Which way is it again?"

Logan gave him a curious look, but he indicated with his head. "That way."

"Then, you take the lead, mein Freund," Kurt said, leaning a little more heavily on his cane as the sidewalk took an upward slant, "and I shall follow."

The package from London was there and waiting when they arrived. The clerk behind the desk handed it over with barely contained amazement.

"When we saw the name, we never imagined it would be the real Kurt Wagner coming to pick it up!" she enthused, her ruddy features turning even redder as she beamed up at him. "But here you are! General Wagner – Nightcrawler himself, in our little town! Aimee! Claude!" she called to the back room. "It's really him! It's Nightcrawler!"

Kurt looked bashfully toward Logan, but Wolverine had slipped away, leaving Kurt to handle the sudden crowd on his own, with his usual showman's charm. A few smiling selfies and well-wishing autographs later, he took his box and left the cheering postal workers with a wave of his tail and a theatrical BAMF! of smoke. Finding Logan hunched on a shaded bench by a grassy strip of park, he teleported over, plunking himself down beside his friend with a soft grunt.

"Way to go and leave me 'holding the bag,' as it were. Not that I'm complaining. I'll take cheers over screams any day, ja? Still…" He gave Logan a rather droll look.

Logan smirked. He knew, despite the Elf's love of the limelight, crowds had always made him anxious. "Better you 'n me. So, you gonna tell me what's in the box?"

Kurt scowled. "Something I've been avoiding. My doctor…he's a well-meaning lad but…" He sighed. "Ach, I might as well show you."

He reached for his pocketknife to open the box, but Logan casually SNIKT!-ed through the thick packing tape with one claw.

Kurt raised an amused eyebrow. "Danke," he said, and dug out the contents: a pair of tall, sturdy-looking boots – sleek, black, and stylish with red streaks and a zipper down the side. "Oh!"

"Not what you expected?"

"Not at all!" Kurt turned them over, inspecting them from every angle, then bent down to pull them on over his fuzzy dinosaur-like feet. "Here I was, dreading the corrective shoes would look orthopedic and awful. But these…!"

He stood gingerly, using his cane as a lever. Holding his tail out like a balancing pole, he took a few cautious steps, then handed the cane to Logan and strode around the bench without it. With his long trousers over the laces, the polished boots seemed suitable for a hike or even a formal function.

"Ha! Wunderbar!" he cheered, grinning broadly at his friend. "You know, these were specially made. I had to sit while the doctor made a cast of my feet and legs. They are meant to help with the arthritis, you know? To provide support and help my balance. And, Logan – I think they might work! Just standing like this, already I feel the tension in my back, my shoulders is beginning to lift. Ach!" He lashed his tail and stretched his arms, wiggling his thick fingers. "I do – I feel lighter! Come, Logan, let's walk! I want to see what these babies can do!"

Something about seeing the 'Crawler stride along the sidewalk without leaning on that cane of his made Logan feel as if he'd released a breath he'd been holding for months. Walking in those shoes, it seemed the old man had regained much of his acrobatic grace and energy, to the point where Logan could almost forget his gnawing thoughts…the long-running fears that there were fewer days ahead for his friends than there were behind, while he would continue to linger on…

"Now that," Logan said, using Kurt's cane to point to the old-fashioned marquee of the town's tiny independent theater, "has to be one of the most Nightcrawler movies ever made."

Kurt chuckled. "Oh, yes? Which one? The Count of Monte Cristo or Scaramouche?"

"That second one. Scaramouche."

"Ah!" Kurt's yellow eyes twinkled with delight. "You mean the mischievous orphan who runs with a traveling theater troupe, loves laughter, yet knows the world is mad?"

"I mean the sword fights and stagecraft – actors disappearing in a puff of smoke." Logan bared his teeth in a teasing smirk. "Hell, the hero even spares the villain at the end, only to learn they were really brothers all along!" He barked a laugh. "Talk about yer soap opera. Only thing it's missin' is that pirate guy, Errol Flynn."

"Perhaps!" Kurt laughed. "But, I think Stewart Granger did a fine job, showing his character's development from a novice to a master sword fighter. And Janet Leigh was one hot chick, nein?" He ran a hand through his wavy hair. "Ach! And Eleanor Parker – be still my heart!"

Logan grinned. "I'd call you a dirty old man, if this flick weren't about a hundred years old."

"Oh, so younger than you, then," Kurt shot back.

Logan's grin widened, and he poked his friend with the cane. "Better watch it, Elf."

Kurt happily played along, sinking into a dueling stance and pretending to parry the cane with his arm.

"Ha ha! Seriously, though. It's not old, Logan. It's classic! Those performances will be preserved forever."

Logan lowered the cane and shook his head, his flinty eyes warm with an almost fatherly affection. "Heh. You haven't changed. Too bad a certain Fuzzy Elf forced me to see the damn thing a million times already, or I might have offered to watch it with you now."

"Ach, you enjoyed it." Kurt chuckled, straightening up with an ease he hadn't felt in years. "Mein Gott, these shoes are wonderful. I will have to thank Herr Doktor! But later. Right now, I want to explore more of this fine town of yours. Perhaps we could find a book shop? You have no computer, Logan – I will need something to read."

"Sure, I think there's a place like that," Logan said, giving the cane a Charlie Chaplin-like twirl and clapping his friend on the shoulder. "This way, pal."

Logan led his friend past a spooky antique shop to an adjoining second-hand bookstore. The place looked as if it had closed back in the 1930s, only everyone had forgotten to tell it. Its dusty display window was packed with cobwebs and sun-bleached paperbacks, and a musty, ashtray stench met them at the door.

"Intriguing," Kurt noted, and peered inside the cramped, deeply cluttered shop, his long tail twitching behind him. "Hallo! Is anyone there?"

They heard a loud slam, followed by low, rapid muttering. After a moment, a long, lanky shadow preceded a rather pale, grizzled man with unkempt hair and a long face bristling with stubble. His clothes hung off his bony frame like an unstuffed scarecrow.

Without so much as a glance at his guests, he plunked himself down behind a desk overgrown with yellowed papers and stacks of books, flicked an antique computer to reluctant life, and slumped back with a sigh. "Yes? What do you want?"

Kurt raised his eyebrows at Logan, both of them fighting to repress a smirk.

"Jus' wonderin' where you keep your adventure novels, bub," Logan said.

"Ja – you know, Sabatini, Forester, Dumas—"

"Shelf six, section four. Past Mystery and True Crime. You hit Thriller, Suspense and Horror, you've gone too far," the man informed them, still not looking up.

"Danke, mein Herr," Kurt said, careful not to tread on stray books as they made their way to the stacks.

"Mein Gott! Logan, did you know there was a series of Columbo mystery novels?" Kurt exclaimed, pulling one of the slightly dusty, yellowed volumes down from a high shelf and perusing the blurb on the back. "Ach, Marti will be thrilled! These are certainly coming with me. See anything you like, mein Freund?"

"Nah. 'S all yours, Elf." He absently nudged a long-neglected pile of hardcovers with his foot, tearing several cobwebs. "…whole place is a fire hazard…"

Kurt bought all six Columbo books and a few others, unsettled by how the grumpy proprietor never quite looked at them during the whole transaction - though his scruffy gray cat never looked away.

"Is it me?" he asked Logan as they left the musty dimness for sweet fresh air and daylight. "Might he not like mutants in general? Or foreigners, perhaps?"

"More like he's not used to customers," Logan kidded. "Of any kind."

"You may have a point there, mein Freund," Kurt said, glancing back at the shop over his shoulder. "How a place like that stays in business is a mystery to me."

"Eh, maybe he owns the building," Logan said. "Who knows. I'm gettin' thirsty. How 'bout a coffee break before we head out for supplies?"

"A marvelous idea!" Kurt grinned, his good cheer returning in a rush.

The café's peeling wooden door creaked and groaned on rusted hinges. Logan shouldered his way through without a thought, but the barista called from behind the counter:

"Don't mind the door! This whole place will be getting an overhaul soon."

Kurt glanced around, noting how even with the worn floor tiles, narrow booths, and antique wood-and-glass counter and display case, the overall look of the place seemed warm and welcoming. They'd apparently come at a slow time - after breakfast and before the lunchtime rush - so they were the only customers there. But just breathing the rich coffee, cinnamon, and cocoa scented air gave him a slight caffeine buzz.

"What are these?" he asked Logan, pointing to one of several trays of pastries, croissants, bagels, and sandwiches in the rounded display case. "Canadian Butter Tarts? I don't think I've heard of them."

Logan snorted. "They're fine, if you got a sweet tooth. Think mini-maple pecan pies, without the pecans."

"Don't paint all butter tarts with the same cloying brush," the barista said cheerily. He was a tall man whose rounded frame and face made him seem younger than he really was. "Some do have nuts, others raisins. As for these: they may look plain enough, but our recipe's been passed down for generations – and it's won prizes!" He gestured to a framed newspaper clipping on the wall: a headline and small text with no pictures. "Second place at Nationals. We'll be trying for First next year."

"Then, I wish you luck," Kurt said, "and I think I'll try one. A butter tart and a regular latte, please."

"How about I do you one better." The barista smiled. "A butter tart and a Cool Blue Affogato, on the house."

Kurt's tail twitched. "I don't understand…?"

"It's a hot espresso with a scoop of blue ice cream," the barista explained, already preparing the drink. "All natural, of course. The blue color comes from butterfly pea flowers."

"Nein, I mean, why would you offer to—"

"Because, General," the barista told him, "it's not every day the man who thwarted Doomsday steps into my shop for a coffee and butter tart. Consider it the absolute least I can do." He smiled again and slid the affogato and plated tart toward him on a tray. "Please say you'll accept. I can promise, you won't forget our affogato!"

Nightcrawler turned his very confused look from the barista to Wolverine. "I appreciate the gesture, mein Herr, but you must be aware that I did not act alone. Surely—"

Wolverine squeezed his arm to cut him off.

"He'll accept," he said, releasing the frowning Kurt and handing him the tray. "An' I'll have the dark roast. Just coffee, no crap."

While the barista went to work, Nightcrawler pulled his friend aside, considerately keeping his voice low.

"Logan, why—"

"Just keep quiet, will ya?" Logan grunted through his teeth. "You wanna blow my cover?"

"Cover?" Kurt looked more confused than ever. "Logan, this isn't pre-war Bayville. We live in a different era now. An era we fought hard to bring about. It's only right and fair we should enjoy it, don't you think? No hiding." He gestured to his fuzzy indigo features with his spaded tail.

"Not if the cost is my peace an' quiet," Logan growled. "You may be visitin', hot shot, but I gotta live here."

"But Logan, you're a hero," Kurt said, his golden eyes wide and earnest.

"I know it. You know it. That's good enough for me. Go pick out a booth. We'll have our coffees, then shop for grub."

"Mmm!" Nightcrawler took another bite of his little butter tart and smiled, his long tail tapping against the back of the booth as it waved back and forth. "This really is very good. I think they must have toasted the butter, ja? Or is it browned? Browned butter, right?"

"Potata, potahta..." Logan shrugged and sipped his coffee, lounging comfortably with one eye on the door, ready to head out should the place get too busy.

"Either way, it has this nuttiness that makes it not at all too sweet. And this crust is very light and crumbly. I can see why it's won prizes. Here," Kurt offered, "are you sure you won't try a piece?"

"I'm good."

"I'm glad, because that was your last chance." Kurt smirked, and popped the last bit of butter tart into his mouth. "Now, what was I saying... Ah - yes! I was telling you about Marti!"

Wolverine sat up a little straighter. "So it's true she's goin' after those gangs that have been hijacking yachts an' holdin' passengers for ransom?"

"A ring of real pirates. Ja." Kurt nodded. "She has Excalibur working closely with the local Coast Guards of most of the affected countries. I'm expecting her next report in a few days."

Wolverine smirked over his coffee. "You gotta be lovin' this, Elf. Marta Wagner leadin' Excalibur against a band of pirates. An' what about Suzie? How's she like playin' James Bond for British Intelligence?"

"Funny you should put it that way." Kurt chuckled over a spoonful of melting blue ice cream. "Her supervisor over at MI-6 told me she recently broke a case in the guise of George Lazenby, of all people!"

"Lazenby, eh?" Logan shook his head. "I'm not surprised no one picked up on that one. But then, I suppose taking the form of Diana Rigg would have been too conspicuous. Talk about a hot chick, nein?" He waggled his eyebrows.

Nightcrawler snorted at Logan's imitation, then laughed out loud. "Oh, no question, mein Freund! On Her Majesty's Secret Service always was Suzie's favorite Bond movie. I prefer Golden Eye, myself."

"You would," Logan teased, shooting a pointed glance at his friend's yellow eyes.

"What is it that hacker character says? 'I am invincible!'" Kurt laughed again, his sharp fangs gleaming in the café's dim light. "Suzie's shapeshifting talents really have improved, though. Growing up, she always seemed so reluctant to use her powers, you remember?"

"Yep." Logan nodded, fond memories filling his flinty eyes. "Still, you know better 'n I do how shapeshifters naturally have a fluid sense of identity. Many lose their grip on who they are – even Mystique, to some extent. But your Suzie's is much stronger than most, an' she's stubborn."

Kurt nodded as he finished the last of his blue affogato. "She is that, Logan. She certainly is that."

Smiling proudly, he fished out his pocket-comm and slid his thumb across the screen. "Here, take a look at this."

Logan accepted the device and squinted at the image on the screen. It was a picture taken years ago, showing a much younger Nightcrawler fast asleep on the overstuffed couch at Excalibur's headquarters, Braddock Manor. Little Marti napped beside him, no more than four years old, while baby Suzie slept soundly on his chest.

"Alice take this?" he asked, clearing an unexpected rasp from his throat.

Kurt shook his head. "No, my friend. It was you."

Logan nodded slowly and sniffed hard. "Well," he said, handing it back, "it has to be the cutest damn thing I've ever seen."

Kurt smiled warmly and tucked the comm away. "You may not want the people here to know who you are. And I can understand your reasons," he said. "But you've always been my hero, Logan. I'm very glad we have this time together."

"Yeah." Logan cleared his throat and got to his feet. "Come on, Elf. Let's get outta here."

Nightcrawler brought their tray to the counter, thanking the barista again for his consideration, then politely holding the door as two more customers walked in.

"Pardon me!" He smiled, then followed Logan out to the sidewalk.

As the peeling door creaked shut, the barista looked up at the newcomers—

—and his eyes went wide...

To Be Continued...

NOTE: The same guy who played Nightcrawler in X2 played the computer technician Boris Ivanovich Grishenko in Golden Eye: Alan Cumming. So, I couldn't resist the Bond reference. LOL! And Jean Grey, of course, played Xenia Onatopp!

Hi! Happy (almost) Halloween! I hope you're enjoying this story so far. Thanks for reading, and please let me know what you think! :D