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Chapter Text

The Arrival
Part One of The Arrival Quartet
By Rowena

"You really live here?"

It was little more than a whisper. The somber atmosphere in the cabin was too intense for normal speech. Scott sat silently, listless and dead to the world, lost in his grief. Logan seemed little better, moving only to shoot a glare at the stranger who'd dared to interrupt the silence that had settled over them on their return from Canada. Rogue and Bobby sat beside each other on one of the benches in the back of the jet, wrapped in a careful embrace that ensured no direct skin contact. Storm focused her roiling emotions on flying the jet, determined not to break down in front of her friends.

Professor Xavier turned his gaze to the strange young man who had spoken - a man who had been instrumental in saving his life, as well as the lives of every normal human on earth, during the recent destruction of Alkali Base. The dark blue German looked out the window of the Blackbird at Xavier's mansion, his yellow eyes wide. Despite the ache in his heart, Xavier sent a mental affirmative in the stranger's direction. The blue man appeared deeply impressed, but tactfully kept his silence, lowering his head and rubbing the wooden beads of his rosary between his thick fingers. Xavier strained to remember the man's name, then realized that no one had introduced them. There just hadn't been time.

"Excuse me, young man," he said, causing the blue German to turn in surprise, "but, may I ask your name?"

The newcomer lowered his head, peering up at Professor Xavier through impossibly long lashes.

"Kurt Wagner, mein Herr," he said softly. Shooting a surreptitious glance over to Wolverine, he leaned in closer to the Professor and smiled slightly, a twinkle in his golden eyes. "But in the Munich Circus I was known as the Incredible Nightcrawler."

To his surprise, Xavier found himself returning Nightcrawler's smile. There was something about this young man, a jaunty sense of...he would have to call it "reverent mischief", that Xavier liked. He had heard him praying before and had been amazed that someone who looked like he did could harbor such a strong faith. Here was a man who believed wholeheartedly in the inherent goodness of mankind, despite all the pain and fear he had been subjected to in his life. Xavier could sense that recent events had only strengthened his faith in that goodness, and in the ultimate benevolence of God's plan. The Professor longed to have a talk with him, to learn more about the man who had risked his own life to save his even though they had never before met.

He had to wonder: could this gentle, compassionate man really be the White House Assassin he had sent Jean and Storm to find four days ago?

Four days... Could that be right? It seemed far longer. So much had happened in so short a time. The entire world had changed in less than a week.

And Jean Grey, one of Professor Xavier's first students, a brave, intelligent woman he had come to care for as a daughter, had sacrificed her life to save them all...

Xavier closed his eyes against a sudden painful realization: He was the one who would have to contact her parents. He was the one who would have to tell them their beloved daughter was dead.

"Prepare for landing," Storm's deceptively steady voice called from the cockpit.

Nightcrawler stared in astonishment as the basketball court they hovered over opened wide to reveal a sophisticated hangar underneath. "Unglaublich," he breathed, watching as the sleek X-jet descended into the metal cave and the basketball court closed over their heads. What was this wondrous world he had fallen into?

Kurt Wagner had been feeling more than slightly dislocated from reality since finding himself inexplicably crouched over the President of the United States with a knife in his hand and a shoulder burning with pain from a recent gunshot wound. So much had happened since then, and so quickly, and his memories of how it had all started were muddy at best...

Jean had helped free some of those mysterious memories. She hadn't been frightened of him, even at the beginning when he'd purposefully tried to scare her away. She'd reached out to him in trusting friendship, touching his mind with hers, prying at the past with such a gentle touch that he had felt no fear at the intrusion. The memories she had uncovered were so horrible, so unbelievable...

Yet, he had seen those dark corridors with his own eyes at Alkali Base. He'd seen the faces of the soldiers who'd so brutally kidnapped him, their bodies lying sprawled on the floor outside the metal door that had kept Professor Xavier a prisoner to Dark Cerebro.

Kurt had seen dead people before, had been to several funerals for people who had been as close to him as family. But the charred remains of those soldiers had been a gruesome shock. Their bodies had lined both sides of the hallway. Lieber Gott, there had been so many...

These events were too far removed from the life he had known to be real. He couldn't shake the odd feeling that, any moment, he would open his eyes to find himself in his own bed in his own trailer back home with the Munich Circus. Margali would come knocking at the door, calling for him to get his lazy tail out of bed and start rehearsing for the matinee performance. As he ate his breakfast, Woodhead would stump by with promises of a fencing lesson or possibly a clandestine trip to the local Kino to see a poorly dubbed version of Captain Blood. And as he entered the tent, Amanda would smile at him in welcome from her place on the trapeze and he would teleport up to the platform to begin the morning rehearsal...

Kurt flinched at the sudden, unexpected sensation of a gentle hand on his shoulder. Turning quickly in his seat, he found himself looking into the carefully controlled, pain-filled eyes of Ororo Munroe.

"We're here," she said, her voice soft though Kurt could see the strain behind her slight, reassuring smile. She was firmly repressing her grief, trying to put on her best face for their new guest. Kurt knew this and it concerned him, but he returned her smile without comment and rose gracefully to his feet with the intention of offering his aid and support to Professor Xavier. To his surprise and chagrin, Cyclops cut him off with a protective snarl, helping the Professor to his feet and arranging his arm across his shoulders.

"Scott..." the Professor chided gently, but the anguished man's scowl only deepened.

"You," Scott snapped, fixing his ruby-quartz-shielded glare on Kurt, "Night Demon or whatever your name is. Go with Storm, but don't get too comfortable here. We'll be heading to Washington in a few hours. Be ready."

He turned away, half-carrying the Professor down the ramp to where Rogue had already arranged an electric wheelchair. Kurt blinked at the raw hostility behind Scott's words, then turned to Ororo, confused and somewhat hurt.

Ororo was scowling herself, her sharp eyes half-clouded and her snowy hair lifting of its own accord as she glared at Scott's departing back. Seeing her barely contained fury, Kurt's confusion turned to compassion.

"You mustn't be angry with him, Fräulein Storm," he said, his accented voice as gentle as his golden eyes. "It is his pain that makes him speak so. It is not his intention to be rude."

"He had no right to speak to you that way after all you've done for us!" Storm snapped dangerously. "It is not like he is the only one who's hurting right now. I've never seen him so self-centered, so selfish—"

"Fräulein, please," Kurt tried again. "Try to understand. It is not selfishness that drives him to speak so. His pain is that of a man who has had his soul torn in two. I know it is not my place to speak like this, but such deep emotion is clear even to me."

He reached out and brushed her cheek with a long, thick finger. "And remember, Fräulein, I have been touched by Doktor Grey's mind, and some of her lingering thoughts are with me still." He dropped his hand from her chin and looked into her eyes. Ororo tried to turn away from the intense yellow stare, to hide her dark emotions from him. But as he spoke, she found herself drawn to his voice. She fought against it, but his voice was kindly insistent, drawing her out from behind her carefully constructed shields until there was nothing separating her from the painful reality of the truth.

"To you," he said, "Doktor Grey was your best friend, more like a sister than a sister. To Herr Cyclops, however, she was his soulmate, his other half." He closed his eyes for a moment, a flash of...something...flitting across his midnight features before he spoke again.

"I have seen such love before, and I know how very rare it is. Such an intense connection can be frightening, and Doktor Grey often tried to deny the true nature of their love, making light of Herr Cyclops' devotion and even flirting with other men. And now she is gone, Herr Cyclops is left alone to ponder all that might have been."

Ororo looked at him, at the deep, indigo skin, the delicately intricate scars, the warm, golden eyes, and felt her own eyes fill with tears. How could someone who had lived secluded in the spire of an abandoned church have grown to be so wise?

"She's really gone, isn't she," the weather goddess said, her stoic voice trembling slightly at the edges. "There won't be any miraculous rescue. She'll never just turn up at the doorstep claiming it was all a big joke. Jean is really...dea—" She gasped, choking on the word, hot tears spilling down her mocha cheeks.

Two strong, unjudgemental arms reached out to wrap her in a comforting embrace and Storm found herself crumbling into it, sobbing against Kurt's lean chest with an unrestrained abandon she hadn't allowed herself since she was a small child.

Kurt rubbed her back, uttering the wordless sounds of comfort that transcend language and speak directly to the soul. It was a long time before Ororo was able to collect herself enough to look up, mortified by her emotional display before a man who was still barely more than a stranger. Her shame faded, however, when she saw that Kurt had been crying as well.

Seeing her surprised expression, Kurt smiled through his tears, reaching out with a gentle finger to wipe her flushed cheeks dry.

"To mourn for a loved one is not a weakness, Liebling," he said, stroking her back with his tail. "We are not selfish to feel as we do, or even to be angry at our loved one for dying, for leaving us behind to deal with the loss. It is bottling these feelings up inside that would make you weak. Now we have begun to mourn together, we will both of us be the stronger for it."

Ororo shook her head, amazement warring with her grief. "And here I was thinking I would need to help you," she said. "After everything that's been done to you, after how cruelly Stryker used you, after being dragged along on this whole crazy adventure, how can you still be so open, so compassionate when it comes to the feelings of others?"

Kurt chuckled, drawing her closer in a brief, brotherly hug. "Ach, Fräulein, it is not always easy to see the goodness of the world, or to believe in the benevolence of God's plan. All I can do is my very best to try; to see the world through eyes unclouded by my own prejudice and pain. If I can understand the opinions and views of those that would hate me, hurt me, because of what I am, they have that much less control over me."

Storm sat up, her head tilted slightly to one side as she absorbed what he had said. "You are a surprising person, Kurt Wagner," she said, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

Kurt chuckled again, leaping gracefully to his feet and gallantly reaching out a strong, three-fingered hand to help her to rise. "And you, my dear Fräulein, are one of the bravest, most understanding women I have ever met." She opened her mouth to protest, but he took her hand and raised it to his lips with a roguish look that left Ororo blushing despite herself. "No, no. Don't object. You should know by now that I endeavor always to speak the truth."

He kissed her hand, his twilight lips barely brushing her smooth skin. Then he rose to his full height, his elbow proffered for her to take.

"Now, Liebling, I believe Herr Cyclops suggested I accompany you through this wondrous mansion we've come to?"

Storm smiled and threaded her arm through his. "I would be honored to give you the grand tour, Herr Wagner."

They walked like that, arm in arm, down the ramp of the Blackbird and into a new world, the likes of which Kurt Wagner had never dreamed could exist beyond the realm of science fiction.

End of Part One

Chapter Text

An Unlikely Councilor
Part Two of the Arrival Quartet
by Rowena

In the light of day, the destruction wrought by Stryker's soldiers during their invasion of the mansion was more extensive, and more appalling, than Wolverine had anticipated. The bodies of the soldiers he'd speared with his adamantium claws had been dragged away, doubtless by Stryker's surviving troops. But the telltale evidence of their presence still remained.

Professor Xavier stared at the streaks and pools of coagulated blood staining the walls and floorboards, and felt his own blood run cold.

"Logan..." he started, but try as he might he couldn't manage a follow up. Wolverine sighed, his lips pursed and his eyes shut tight against the memory of the berserker rage that had consumed him when the soldiers attacked.

"I held off as long as I could, Chuck," he growled between clenched teeth. "Pullin' my punches, tryin' to take 'em alive. But they were attacking children..."

Xavier held up a hand, trying to signify his understanding with a sympathetic look. "I know, Logan. You did the right thing, under the circumstances."

Logan looked down at the bald man, surprise battling with angry self-loathing in his bright, black eyes. "Glad you see it that way." Then he grimaced, remembering: "You'll be needin' to buy a new 'fridge too."

Professor Xavier sighed and turned to Scott, who stood stiffly and stoically at his side, a perfect soldier.

"Our first priority is finding the children," Xavier said, telepathically sending soothing waves of compassion Scott's way. But, Scott had his mental shields up, blocking the Professor's attempts to comfort the grieving man. "Cerebro has no doubt been gutted by Stryker's men, so we'll have to do this the old-fashioned way. Logan, find Storm and begin the search. The children probably haven't gone that far. It's likely most will still be on the grounds."

Logan nodded and turned to go.

"Oh, and Logan," the Professor called out, a small smile on his face. "If you see Mr. Wagner, invite him to join you. Although he is not one of us, I think he would like to be of help."

Wolverine grunted, and continued on his way. Once he'd gone, Xavier sighed deeply and turned to Scott. "Accompany me to my office, Scott," he said tiredly. "We must plan our meeting with the President."

*******

"...and this is where we come to hone our special powers. Unique challenges can be set up for each of us to face, either individually or in teams, and if you're not alert, you could get pretty badly hurt. That's why we've nicknamed it the Danger Room."

Kurt stepped into the large, empty room with some trepidation. "The 'Danger Room'?" he repeated. "So, this is basically a training room for practicing mutant powers, ja?"

Ororo nodded. "Yes. With so many people out there who hate mutants, it's a good precaution to know how to defend ourselves."

Kurt nodded, walking around slowly, getting a feel for the space. "Do you think - that is, if I asked to join you - do you think the Professor would allow me to set up a rig so I could practice my acrobatics?"

Ororo started to reply, then blinked at the implication of what he had just said. "Kurt," she said, trying to bite back the hopeful feeling quickening her pulse. "Did you just say what I think you said?"

Kurt paused his examination of the room and turned to face her, his face serious but his eyes playful.

"Jawohl, Fräulein," he assured her brightly. "I have been thinking about this since you told me of your mission here. The thought of helping others like myself - mein Gott, before I met you I had not even known there were others like me. I had heard the term several times since coming to America, but I did not know just what a 'mutant' was. Back home in the circus, I had to take rather drastic measures just to convince myself and others that I was not a...a demon." He spoke the word with difficulty while gesturing to his scars, the angelic alphabet carved into his indigo skin. Ororo tilted her head, unsure how to respond.

"No demon could wear such symbols on his skin," he explained, his shoulders hunched and his eyes lowered, as if he were making a deep and difficult confession. "Where I come from, many believe that someone who is malformed has been corrupted by the Devil. They thought my outward appearance was a manifestation of the evil within me. To counteract this supposed evil, I made these scars. They are an acknowledgment of my own potential for sin - a potential every human being shares. I made them a part of me so those who saw them would not fear me as a demon and try to kill me. These scars acted as a protection not only for my soul, but for my body as well. If it were not for them, I likely would have been beaten and burned to death long ago."

Ororo stared, her eyes wide with astonishment. She had commented before on the beauty of his intricate scars. Now that she knew why he had made them, she wasn't sure what to think.

Kurt sighed, and his midnight features clouded. "I know that, after all that has happened, I can never return to the circus," he admitted, his voice tight with pain and loss. "Even if the President sees fit to pardon me, which I know will never happen, I will forever be branded as 'The White House Assassin.' I would be a danger to my family were I to return home."

Ororo closed the distance between them, taking his thick hands in her own slender ones and looking into his golden eyes.

"Kurt, you were not responsible for your actions that day. I'm sure that once we meet with the President and explain to him, he will most certainly pardon you."

Kurt looked at her, an incredulous smile spreading across his face. "Now who is being the wide-eyed optimist?" he joked.

Ororo smirked. "What can I say? Your hopeful attitude is contagious." She stepped closer, squeezing his hands even tighter. Kurt's smile faded and he started to grow somewhat alarmed at her willing nearness. Her intense eyes stared into his, and he felt a shudder run down his spine all the way to the tip of his tail. His heart was beating faster, his breath quickening, and he swallowed. He had never felt quite like this before, even with Amanda. He had loved her dearly, but she'd always seemed to think of him as a little brother. She'd certainly never stared into his eyes the way Storm was doing now. She'd never squeezed his hands in such an innocent, yet intimate way...

"Fräulein Storm..." he started, but she shook her head and smiled.

"No, no. Don't object," she teased, though her tone was sincere. "You are just what we need around here. And I'm sure the Professor would agree. If you do decide to join us, you will find you are more than welcome, and very much appreciated."

Kurt could feel himself blushing, and the embarrassing realization that his cheeks were turning purple only made him blush harder.

"Never have I been so quickly..." he trailed off, searching for the right word, "...accepted as I have been by you and your friends. Fräulein Storm," he said, taking a step back and gracing her with a deep, formal bow, "were the Professor to extend the invitation, I would be honored to join your X-Men."

Ororo's eyes widened, and she had to restrain herself from jumping in place. She knew shouldn't be feeling this way, that she shouldn't be smiling so soon after losing Jean. But looking into his face - it was insane! She barely knew this strange, blue man yet, somehow, in only a few short days, he had managed to pierce her callused emotional shields and enter her heart. And, to her surprise, rather than being angry or resentful, Ororo found she liked it. She liked him. Suddenly, his decision to stay meant more to her than anything else in the world.

"That is so wonderful, Kurt!" She smiled, her blue eyes shining. "Come, we must see the Professor at once. I truly believe he will—"

The sudden sound of the Danger Room doors sliding open made them both jump and turn to face the newcomer.

Wolverine glared at the happy-looking pair, angered that they'd have the gall to smile so soon after Jeannie's sacrifice. Scowling deeply, he pulled a cigar from his pocket and stuck it in his mouth, unlit.

"Prof wants to find the kids A.S.A.P.," he grunted around the thick stogie. "Storm, you're with me. You," he gestured to Kurt, "can tag along if you want."

"Certainly, Herr Logan," Kurt said with a slight bow of his head. "I would be honored to assist in any way possible." He strode forward, unintimidated by Wolverine's hostile demeanor. "And, for the record, my name is Kurt Wagner. That's Vahgner. But, you," he mimicked Wolverine's earlier dismissive gesture perfectly, "may call me Nightcrawler." He grinned teasingly. "The 'Incredible' part is optional."

Wolverine's scowl deepened even further, but Kurt turned back to face the empty room. "Yes, indeed, this space does have much potential for a good training session," he said. "Perhaps, Herr Logan, you and I could fight a duel sometime? I am a master swordsman, and I couldn't help but notice that you, too, have some skill with blades."

Wolverine raised an incredulous eyebrow. "You serious, circus boy?" he grunted, struggling to equate this confident, smiling man with the cringing, terrified rescuee he'd heard praying in the back of the X-Jet for the past three days.

"But of course," Nightcrawler asserted, his eyes playful, yet somehow dangerous. "After all that has happened, I need a good workout to release some of the tension and aggression that has built up within me. Are you up to the challenge, Herr Wolverine?"

Wolverine regarded the taller man through narrowed eyes, coming to a sudden realization. Something about his tone, the look in his eyes, the scent of playful deception that surrounded him, elucidated his true intentions more clearly than words ever could.

"You're a sneaky little devil, ain't cha," Logan snarled, chomping hard on his wet cigar.

Kurt raised an eyebrow, but a slight flicker of his yellow eyes was all the response he gave to Logan's use of the word "devil". "I assure you I am quite serious," he said.

Logan crossed his arms. "This so-called 'workout' is more for me than for you, ain't it. You're just the type to pull a trick like this, I can smell it. You're hopin' a fight'll get me to open up about Jeannie, ain't cha? I see you've already gotten to 'Ro, here."

Ororo blushed, her anger at Logan's attitude causing her eyes to flash dangerously.

Nightcrawler hadn't meant to admit it, but Wolverine had seen right through his bluff. He turned a glare to his lashing tail, apparently blaming it for giving the game away. But, he wasn't ready to give up yet.

"Logan, will you accept my challenge or not?"

Wolverine considered. He was having trouble seeing this 'Nightcrawler' as anything more than a hyper-religious rural circus hick, and his mental image of him with a sword in one hand and a rosary in the other was almost ludicrous. Still, the guy had managed to scare seven shades of spit out of the President of the United States and the entire Secret Service while under Stryker's mind control. If he was as good as he claimed...

Wolverine held out a thick, blunt hand to the lithe, blue man before him. "Yeah, sure," he said, and Kurt grinned brightly, eagerly taking the proffered hand in his own. "But I don't spill my guts that easy," Logan warned him. "Especially to strangers."

If he had meant that jibe to sting, it seemed to have the opposite effect. Kurt's grin broadened dramatically.

"I look forward to my victory, Herr Logan," he said, his sharp teeth flashing. "Remember, the loser buys the beer. Now, let's go find those kids."

His long tail lashing, Nightcrawler gallantly offered his elbow to Storm. She took it with a smile, leaving Logan to pick up his damp cigar from where it had fallen when his jaw went slack.

"Heh. So, that's how it is..." Logan chuckled despite himself. There was certainly far more to Nightcrawler than met the eye. Suddenly, life didn't seem as bleak as it had a moment before.

"Hey, Herr Logan," an accented voice called from the hallway, "are you coming or not?"

"Hold yer horses, ya big, blue elf," Logan grin/snarled from behind his unlit stogie. "I'm right behind ya."

End of Part Two

Chapter Text

The Nightmare's End
by Rowena Zahnrei

He called himself Logan, but he didn't know if that was his real name or one he'd picked up somewhere over the course of his long life.

At least, he assumed it had been long.

Thanks to the experiments of the recently deceased Colonel Stryker—the man responsible for plating his skeleton with the practically indestructible metal known as adamantium—Logan couldn't remember anything prior to fifteen years ago. And, even with the healing factor that kept his true age a mystery, he was quite clearly far older than fifteen.

Logan was tired of the mystery. He was tired of the gaping void in his head, teasing him with random images that could be memories or nothing more than dreams. Try as he might, he could never remember the things he wanted to remember—where and when he was born, what his true name was, had he ever been married...

But it seemed the irony of his life was that the things he wanted to forget stuck with him.

It had been a week. An entire week since Jeannie's sacrifice. Seven days since the dauntless, brilliant red-head who had caught his eye and burrowed into his heart had done the impossible.

Jean Grey had called upon the astonishing powers within her to hold back the raging tide of water that had burst through the dam—flooding the underground Alkali Base, the dark lair of Colonel Stryker and his twisted scientists. At the same time, she had imbued the X-Jet with enough juice to fly away to safety. Jeannie had saved them all, but the cost had been her own life.

He'd had the nightmare before. It came in flashes, in bright bursts of fragmented memory...

Rippling water. A goldfish pond. Tentative laughter, the salty taste of a crispy cracker rolled in flavored seaweed lingering in his mouth. A deceptively delicate flavor.

Japan.

A woman...dark eyes sparkling with love, the rich colors of her silk kimono putting all the flowers of the restful garden to shame. He leaned in for a tender kiss, knocking over the small bottle of saki, the two of them laughing as the contents spilled into the fishpond...did goldfish get drunk?

Sunlight and shadows, the wild surf crashing against the rocky shore. Mount Fuji silhouetted in the distance. And there she was again, reaching out to take his hand, resplendent in her traditional wedding clothing...he had never seen anything so beautiful...

She was in his arms. But, something was wrong. Her eyes were cold, glassy, staring at nothing. Her dark hair brushed against the woven mat as he knelt, rocking her lifeless body in his arms, a pain, a rage unlike any other he had ever known searing his soul...

But, he wasn't in Japan. He was in Canada, kneeling in the deep snow. Only, now it was Jean he held in his arms, her russet hair wild and unkempt, tousled by the biting wind, her bright, sorrowful eyes memorizing all the details of his rugged face as she brushed a gentle hand against his bristly cheek...

"Good-bye..."

"NOOOOO!"

Logan sat up in bed, panting and sweating, the details of the recurring nightmare already fading from his memory. He reached up to bring a hand to his forehead, and nearly poked his eye out with a deadly adamantium claw. With a colorful swear, Logan retracted his claws, got to his feet, and headed for the door, not caring where he was going or where he'd end up.

He needed to fight something. He needed to scream. He needed to punch a hole through the wall.

As he turned a corner, Logan's sharp eyes noted a dim light shining under the new guy's door. His sensitive ears picked up the faint SCRITCH SCRATCH of a pen on paper.

So, the Nightcrawler was awake too...

Turning on his heel, Logan marched back to his room. He had a katana in the closet, somewhere. He didn't know where it had come from or how he had obtained it, but he did know it was a darn good sword.

Maybe it was time he took the Elf up on his offer.

*******

Christian,# my dear friend,

How can I possibly begin? No doubt right now you are thinking your father was right about me all those years ago when he said I was a devil. It seems you can't walk down a single street or even turn on a television these days without seeing a sketch of "The White House Assassin." Yes, yes, I know it is not a very good likeness, but you cannot deny a certain resemblance to yours truly. How many other blue men with golden eyes and pointed ears can you point out in a crowd? Well, perhaps there are a few. But the scars have to be a dead give away.

Christian, please believe me when I tell you all this is not as it seems! I can explain...##

Kurt Wagner shook his head with a frustrated sigh, throwing the pen down and rocking back in his chair with his knees pressed against the underside of his desk.

"I can explain," he muttered in German. "Yeah. Right. Oh, hello Christian, I'm just writing to tell you that last week I attacked the President of the United States with a knife! But it wasn't really my fault, you know. This twisted military man called William Stryker made me do it with mind control!"

Kurt let his chair drop back to the hardwood floor with a THUD and ran a three-fingered hand through his short, indigo curls.

"Oh, yes, that sounds really good," he said, his voice laced with sarcasm. "He's sure to believe that."

Pushing himself to his feet, Kurt slumped his shoulders and dragged his tail over to his bedroom window.

"Ach, maybe if someone could explain to me what happened this would be easier? I still keep thinking I'll wake up to find myself back home with the Munich Circus."

He chuckled slightly, but his eyes remained haunted.

"I really should stop talking to myself now, shouldn't I. Most of the people here already think I'm strange. I'm the freaky blue man with the foreign accent and all those creepy scars. Ooh, and did you see his tail? And what about those feet?"

Kurt leaned his palms against the broad windowpane, casting his yellow gaze over the grounds of the Xavier Institute for the Gifted. Peaceful, nighttime shadows cloaked the vast, tree-dotted lawn, but Kurt Wagner's luminescent eyes could cut through the darkness, allowing him to pick out every detail of the lovely garden far below.

"Perhaps the students think I'm deaf, even with these pointed ears," he said. "But, I don't want them to think I'm crazy as well!"

"Talkin' to yourself, bub?"

Kurt gasped and turned, a hand pressed to his chest. The man who had spoken leaned against the door frame, an unlit cigar lodged in the corner of his mouth.

"'Cause if you were talkin' to me, I gotta tell ya I don't know a word of German."

"Ach, Herr Logan!" Kurt managed to smile. "I did not hear you knock."

Logan stepped into the room.

"That's 'cause I didn't," he said, striding over to the desk and peering down at Kurt's unfinished note.

"Hmm," he grunted. "I didn't think people actually wrote letters anymore. Not with all this e-mail and instant text messaging crap they've got now."

Kurt smiled a little self-consciously and hurriedly tucked his letter into a nearby folder, out of view.

"Well, I have always had...trouble...when it comes to computers," he confessed, his tail twitching uncomfortably. He waved a three-fingered hand at Logan. "Those tiny little keys don't seem to have been designed with me in mind. I have similar problems with most telephones." He shrugged. "Besides, I like letters. To me, they seem more personal somehow."

Logan nodded his understanding.

"So who's this one to?" he asked, gesturing to the folder.

Kurt lowered his eyes.

"It is to one of my oldest friends," he told him, his voice soft. "Christian Gunther. We have known each other since we were children."

He looked up, his expression brightening.

"Christian is an aeronautical engineer, you know, as is his wife," he said. "They have a nine year old son, Amil." Kurt smiled fondly. "Every time the circus passed their way, they would always come to visit me."

He tilted his head, regarding Logan curiously.

"Why have you come, mein Freund? It is well past midnight."

Logan gave a careless shrug.

"Everyone else in this place is asleep," he grunted. "Well, except for that Jones kid. And he's not much for conversation."

"You wish to talk, then?" Kurt asked him.

Logan shook his head.

"Nah."

"Another nightmare?"

How did he— Firmly repressing a sharp glare, Logan sighed. The Elf was perceptive, he had to give him that.

"And how."

The burly Canadian shook his scruffy head again.

"I wasn't actually gonna bug you about this until tomorrow mornin', but seein' as you're already awake..."

He pulled his katana from behind his back.

Kurt's eyes widened slightly as he took in his friend's meaning.

"Now?"

"If you've nothin' better to do. I'm feelin' some of that tension and aggression you were talkin' about the other day buildin' up, if you know what I mean."

A slow grin spread across Kurt's narrow features.

"Ja, actually," he said. "I have been feeling rather frustrated of late myself. So, Herr Logan, do you want to walk to the Danger Room, or shall we take a more direct route?"

"No way, Elf," Logan stated. "I'm not fallin' for that one. You know those jaunts of yours make me sick to my stomach, an' I'm not about to give you any advantage."

Kurt laughed.

"I will see you there, then, mein Freund. Don't take too long, OK?"

And with that, Kurt Wagner vanished in a theatrical BAMF of sulfurous smoke.

To Be Continued...

Chapter Text

Logan strode through the Danger Room's heavy electronic doors, only to stop short at the unusual sight that met his eyes. The indigo acrobat, Kurt Wagner, stood balanced on one hand in the center of the cavernous metallic space. And, he was juggling three swords, using his other hand, his flexible feet, and his long, prehensile tail to keep the weapons in the air.

"What the...?"

Kurt shot his friend a broad, upside-down grin, then he pushed off with his arm and flipped through the spinning circle of swords, using his tail and both hands to snag all three before they crashed to the gleaming floor. Kurt straightened, his arms and tail spread wide, then bowed to his audience.

"What do you want, applause?" Logan teased.

"I got bored waiting," Kurt explained, walking over to Logan. "Not bad, nein? I used to do that to draw the crowds. Amanda and I would stand in the middle of the town square and she would announce the circus was coming while I juggled. The funny thing was all those people were convinced my toes and my tail were nothing more than clever props." He shrugged. "I suppose they just chose to believe whatever came easiest. In any case, it was good for me. When they thought I was wearing a costume I could walk through the streets without hiding my face."

"You plannin' to use all three of those," Logan asked, pointing to Kurt's long sabers with his one katana.

"Well, that depends on how you want to play this," Kurt told him. "This is your game. You choose the rules."

Logan grunted.

"Very generous of ya, Elf," he said.

Kurt inclined his head politely.

"All right," said Logan, "since this is our first match let's keep it simple for now. One sword each, no powers. Consider it a warm-up. Match ends when one of us is touched by the other's sword. Arm, torso, don't matter, just so long as it's above the belt."

"Jawohl, mein Herr," Kurt agreed. "One sword, no powers."

He teleported over to the far wall and carefully placed his two extra swords in their respective cases.

"I found these in the weapons closet, you know," he called over to Logan. "They're pretty well balanced, but I do miss my own swords. Once my legal situation here has been sorted out, I must find a way to track down and contact my old circus."

A flash of smoke, and Kurt was back in the center of the room.

"Anything else?" he asked.

"Yeah," Logan said. "None of those flips of yours. This'll be a straight sword fight. Everyone's feet stay on the ground. And no tail."

Kurt laughed.

"Very well, it's a deal. But I must warn you, even with all these restrictions you still don't stand a chance."

Logan smirked, a gleam of challenge glinting in his flinty eyes.

"We'll just see about that," he rumbled, tossing his sheath across the room.

"So, mein Freund," Kurt said conversationally as they raised their swords in a brief salute, then lowered themselves into the classic "on guard" position. "What are you fighting for this night?"

Logan narrowed his eyes.

"What do you mean?"

"Every good fight has a purpose," Kurt told him. "Otherwise the two of us would be merely two men trying to poke each other with pointy metal sticks."

Logan's eyes narrowed further.

"I know what you're up to and I told ya before, Elf. I don't spill my guts that easy."

Kurt shrugged.

"Ach, well. It was worth a try, nein? En guarde!"

Kurt leapt into action, moving at once into an aggressive offensive attack. Logan hadn't expected that. It was his natural instinct to attack first, and it went against the grain to be forced into a defensive position so quickly.

Kurt was well aware of Logan's discomfort. He was a keen observer of human nature—a skill he'd learned out of boredom, and necessity, during the tedious times he had been confined to the circus because of his appearance. Not all towns were as tolerant of blue, demonic-looking Gypsy acrobats as Kurt would have liked. Right now, the way Logan moved his eyes told him that the shorter man was looking for a way to turn the tables on him, to put Kurt on the defensive.

A small smile spread across Kurt's indigo face. Logan's concentration was completely focused on manipulating the direction of the fight. He was falling right into Kurt's trap.

Kurt performed a quick double retreat, relinquishing right of way to Logan and giving his opponent the opportunity he so desperately wanted. Kurt, however, anticipated his movements, quickly parrying Logan's blade and reestablishing his attack. Ducking his blade under Logan's with a deft flick of his fingers, Kurt fell into a deep lunge, jabbing the center of his opponent's chest with the tip of his sword.

Match over, he backed up a few paces, watching with an amused grin as the realization dawned on Logan's face.

"That's one for me," the German said. "Care to give it another go?"

"You did that on purpose, didn't ya," Logan growled. "You had the whole thing planned."

Kurt's smile grew into a grin.

"Of course. Is that not what is meant by strategy?"

Logan grunted, a small smile of his own spreading across his rugged face.

"Not bad," he admitted. "But I'm on to your tricks now. Let's go."

"Same rules as before?" Kurt asked, moving to take up his own position.

Logan shot him a devious smile.

"Nah. Let's make this interesting. Still no powers and no tail, but you can do your circus tricks if you want and we can move wherever we want. Also, those other two swords are up for grabs. Whoever gets to 'em first can use 'em. Match ends only with a touch to the torso."

"Got it," Kurt said.

The two friends saluted each other, then Logan backed away, circling the Elf on the balls of his feet like a boxer waiting for the right moment to pounce.

After several confused moments, Kurt guessed what his opponent was up to. Logan was trying to catch him off guard. He wanted to give himself a chance to break away so he could be the first to reach the extra swords resting in the corner some fifteen feet away. Kurt raised an eyebrow, the gesture lost in the shadows of his gently curling hair. It was a cunning plan. But not cunning enough to fool the Incredible Nightcrawler.

Nightcrawler lunged, forcing Logan's sword down hard as he leaped up onto his opponent's shoulders. From there, Nightcrawler launched himself high into the air, tucking his knees to his chest for a double aerial somersault before landing gracefully on his feet barely two meters from the swords. In the time it took Logan to pry his chin off the floor and run over to him, Nightcrawler had undone the clasps of the first sword case and was ready to meet the fierce Canadian head on, armed now with one sword in each hand.

With a roar, the raging Wolverine raised his katana above his head with both hands, too furious at the way Nightcrawler had used him as a springboard to realize that once again he had left himself wide open to attack. With a grin, Nightcrawler darted forward, tapping Wolverine's chest with the tip of his sword then playfully cartwheeling away before the sharp katana could split his skull in two.

Kurt spun his left sword between his thick fingers like a cheerleader's baton, raising his right hand to stifle a pointed yawn.

"That's two to me," he said, examining his thick, yellow fingernails. "Really, mein Herr, you will have to do better than that. We barely even touched blades during that so-called match."

He stopped spinning his sword and looked straight at Logan.

"You really must learn to control that temper of yours, mein Freund," he said seriously. Then, he smiled. "It takes all the challenge out of this game."

Wolverine's flinty eyes widened in rage, but Logan's more rational mind grudgingly accepted the truth of Kurt's words.

"Fine, then," he growled. "We'll do this again. No rules. Anything goes. But this time the match only ends with a touch to the neck."

Kurt's eyes widened.

"Are you sure that's fair?" he asked.

Logan wrinkled his nose.

"What do you mean, fair?"

Kurt smiled like a wicked little boy as he observed, "Well, you don't have a neck."

Before Wolverine could move to throttle him, Kurt laughed and offered a placating wave of his hand.

"Nein, bitte, don't get mad. I was only teasing," he assured him. "A touch to the neck it is. Ready?"

Logan glared.

"You're gettin' cocky, circus boy," he growled. "And that's good. For me, that is. Get on yer guard. I'm not lettin' you off so easy for that last crack."

Kurt beamed.

"At last!" he crowed. "A real challenge!" He graced Logan with a short bow, never taking his eyes from his opponent's face. "It will be a pleasure mopping the floor with your backside, mein Herr."

Logan snarled.

"We'll see whose backside will be moppin' what when I'm through with you, bub. Now, cut the chatter. Let's fight!"

The two opponents saluted as before, but as Kurt came on guard, Wolverine leaped forward. Startled, Kurt parried the fierce blow, his arm shuddering under the force of the Wolverine's attack. Wolverine battered at the taller man, his sword a gleaming flurry of bright flashes as Kurt desperately worked to block each blow, using both his swords in concert.

Wolverine had been telling the truth. He was no longer holding anything back, and the raw anger powering his attack was truly alarming.

A slow grin crept over Nightcrawler's scarred features. If that's how it was going to be, two could play at that game. As Wolverine spun on him with a ferocious roar, Nightcrawler disappeared in a BAMF of sulfurous smoke.

Wolverine gave a hacking cough and stumbled, thrown off balance when his sword met nothing but air. That teleport at such close range was wreaking havoc with his highly attuned senses. The sound still echoed in his ears as the sharp scent of brimstone stung his nostrils. The bright flash and the lingering smoke caused his flinty eyes to tear, blurring his vision. For a moment, it was as if he had been blinded. For that reason, he was unprepared when Nightcrawler came at him from a completely unexpected direction, letting loose with a roar of his own - this time armed with a complete set of three swords.

Wolverine turned to face the sound, his sword at the ready though his eyes certainly weren't. But, Nightcrawler wasn't about to be that easy on him. Confusing the furious Wolverine with a series of rapid-fire teleports that filled the room with acrid smoke, Nightcrawler dropped onto him from above, knocking the burly Canadian to the floor before gracefully rolling to his feet.

Nightcrawler could easily have ended the match there. Wolverine was lying prone on the ground, slightly dazed. It would have taken merely the slightest flick of his wrist to bring the tip of his sword to the fierce Canadian's neck. But, where would be the fun in that? Nightcrawler's brilliant grin only broadened as Wolverine climbed to his feet, his claws extended and a murderous rage gleaming in his dark, tearing eyes.

"Have at thee, vile cur!" Nightcrawler jibed, leaping once again to take the offensive.

Wolverine threw his sword aside, using his adamantium claws to swipe at Nightcrawler's blows with an astounding strength powered by all the pent up anger, guilt, and frustration he had been bottling up inside ever since Alkali Lake. At the sight of the change in his opponent's eyes, Nightcrawler upped the energy of his attack. It was working, just as he had known it would.

Then he sobered, his heart already aching in sympathy at the thought of what he was about to do to his friend. Still, he knew if Logan was to heal, he first had to face his pain. Then, maybe, the nightmares would finally end.

"There was nothing you could have done, you know," Nightcrawler told him, hooking his swords into Wolverine's claws and pushing the thicker man back with his foot. He leaped to stand over him as Wolverine swayed and quickly regained his balance. "It was Doktor Grey's choice to make. Nothing you or anyone else could do would have stopped her from leaving the jet."

Wolverine lunged at him again, swiping and clawing so fiercely that Nightcrawler couldn't block him with his swords and was forced to teleport out of his range.

"I should have noticed," Wolverine shouted, charging Nightcrawler with his claws outstretched. "What's the good of havin' these animal-like senses if I can't even see what's goin' on right under my nose?!"

"Doktor Grey was a telepath," Nightcrawler reminded him, spinning in place to block Wolverine's blows with his right sword and the one in his tail. "And a very powerful one at that," he went on as Wolverine fell back slightly to regroup. "If she didn't want you to notice something, you wouldn't notice it, no matter how sharp your senses are."

"You stupid German freak," Wolverine roared out in his painful rage. "You don't know the first thing about it!"

Nightcrawler's golden eyes flashed dangerously and he met the Wolverine's attack with renewed force. Wolverine went on, tears streaming from his eyes, although he certainly wasn't aware of it.

"Why didn't you teleport sooner? Why didn't you go the moment we realized she was gone?!"

"I can't teleport where I can't see!" Nightcrawler growled back, clenching his pointed teeth as he strained to keep Wolverine's claws from piercing his chest. As he pushed him back, he brandished his swords and lunged forward.

"You would have if that had been 'Ro out there," Wolverine retorted, meeting Nightcrawler's lunge with a swipe that cut straight through his right blade, causing three shards to fall to the ground with a sharp CLATTER.

Without missing a beat, Nightcrawler quickly transferred his left sword to his right hand, using his tail to toss his remaining sword to his left hand.

"If it had been Ororo, I would have been even more careful to be sure I knew exactly where I was going," Nightcrawler shot back. "What good could I do anyone if I 'ported into a tree or a hill?"

Wolverine was sobbing openly now, his blows coming fast and thick as he channeled his grief and guilt into rage.

"We shouldn't have just left her there," he roared. "For all we know, she could have survived! She got us out. Why not herself?!"

"Herr Professor scanned the entire area," Nightcrawler reminded him, blinking as Wolverine destroyed a second sword. It was sobering to realize he only had one left. He would have to be very careful how he used it, especially with Wolverine in this unstable state. "He couldn't pick up her mental signature anywhere. We all did our best. Doktor Grey did not want to be saved."

"How dare she!" Wolverine howled. "What gave her the right to do somethin' so stupid! She's supposed to be smart, smart enough not to buy into all that 'the good of the many' crap! Why is it that everyone I come to care about DIES ON ME!"

Wolverine let loose with another guttural roar as he lunged at Nightcrawler yet again.

Nightcrawler teleported out of the way, then came at him from the side, allowing Wolverine to take the offensive as he strategically backed around the room, meeting him blow for blow and block for block. When it seemed Wolverine had finally cried himself out, Nightcrawler jumped high into the air…

Logan was startled to find the Elf perched on his shoulders, the cool metal of Kurt's remaining sword resting against his neck.

"Feel any better, mein Freund?" he asked gently.

Logan snarled, but it was only a half-hearted attempt to keep face.

"Get offa me, you blue Elf!"

Kurt flipped over Logan's head, landing several feet in front of his friend.

"You owe me a beer."

Logan blinked up at him, rubbing his eyes fiercely against his sleeve.

"How's that?"

"It's the rules," Kurt said. "I won every match. That means you owe me a beer."

Logan stared at him, regarding the tall, blue man carefully. He saw no sign that the Elf was laughing at him for losing control as he had. He also saw no sign of the loathsome pity he had half-expected. If he had seen these things, he might have just severed the Elf's head from his shoulders and had done with the whole thing—the X-Men, Xavier's Dream, everything.

As it was, though, all he saw were the calm, accepting golden eyes of the man who had forced Wolverine to face his pain and had not only survived the experience, but strangely enough, still wanted to spend time with him.

Staring into Kurt's patient, scarred face, Logan suddenly realized how long it had been since he'd had a real friend. A peer, an equal who could understand him and who liked the same things he did. None of the other X-Men seemed to qualify. Scott was a prick and nothing anyone said would change Logan's mind about that. Logan respected the Professor, but he didn't exactly put him in the "friend" category. "Good guy authority figure/rich guy who thinks he knows better than everyone else" more covered Logan's view of the Professor. Ororo was nice and very attractive, but she had never really seemed interested in him, and now the signs indicated she had set her sights on Kurt. Rogue was a sweet kid, but she was just that: a kid. As were all the other students at Xavier's school.

Logan reflected that out of all of these people, it was only Kurt—the deceptively shy circus acrobat who had barely been with the team for a week—who had been willing to make the effort to really get to know the fierce, enigmatic Wolverine.

"You're good," Logan admitted, walking over to retrieve his katana and its scabbard from the floor.

Kurt shrugged, understanding Logan was not just referring to his skills as a swordsman.

"Ja, I know."

Logan smirked, shaking his head.

"Was?" Kurt asked. "Would you rather I put on an act of false modesty and denied the truth? Besides, you are the one who said 'anything goes.'"

"Yeah. I guess I did."

Slipping his sword into its scabbard, Logan turned to his friend.

"So, Elf, what do you drink?"

"What do you have?" Kurt shot back.

Logan grinned.

"Molsen."

Kurt shrugged.

"Then that's what we'll drink. When I get some money, though, I'll have to buy some real, German beer."

"That so? Then I guess I'll have to bone up on my fencing skills."

Kurt tilted his head.

"Why's that?"

"'Cause the next time we do this, I'm makin' sure you're the one buyin' the drinks."

Kurt laughed.

"Ach, so you did get something out of our little match. That is very good to know. But, Logan..." He grinned, his sharp teeth flashing in the room's artificial light. "It's only fair to warn you that next time I won't go so easy on you."

"Wha—?" Logan gaped. Kurt had stood up to Wolverine's consuming rage and not only survived but manipulated the situation in his favor. And he claimed he had gone easy on him? Before Logan could say anything more, however, he noticed Kurt was laughing again.

"I'm only joking, mein Freund," he chortled. "Honestly, I haven't had a workout like that since I left the circus. When you broke that second sword, for a moment I was truly worried I would not make it out of this room alive."

Now it was Logan's turn to grin.

"It's almost seven in the morning," he observed, looking at the large, digital clock on the wall. "Think we've got time for our beers before the kids come down for breakfast?"

"Ach, it is a Saturday," Kurt pointed out. "If today is anything like last weekend, we should have at least an hour before anyone comes. Shall we go?"

Logan's grin broadened.

"After you, Elf."

To Be Continued...

Chapter Text

Ororo Munroe strode into the mansion's kitchen and peered around at the cabinets, wondering whether she should cook breakfast for the students or just break out the cereal and milk.

The sound of laughter drew her attention to the dining table in the next room, and her eyes narrowed in disapproval at what she found there: Kurt and Logan with beers in their hands, a couple of empty bottles already lined up in front of them.

"Drinking before breakfast?" she scolded in her best "teacher" voice.

The two men jumped, and Ororo crossed her arms over her chest.

"I'm surprised at you - and especially you, Kurt. What kind of example is this for the children?"

Kurt stared at her like a boy caught with his hand in the forbidden cookie jar. He slouched in his chair, his dark face flushing royal purple under the weight of her sharp tone.

Logan just leaned back in his chair and took a defiant swig.

"The kids ain't here," he told her.

"Even so," Ororo said, "the Professor has one rule about drinking in the mansion. And that rule is no alcohol."

Kurt's eyes widened as though he had been suckerpunched.

"You mean that rule applies to the adults as well?" he asked, clutching his beer. Logan laughed at the expression on his face.

"Usually," Ororo said with a slight frown. "Wine or beer is occasionally served at dinner. But never in the morning. And certainly not before breakfast."

"C'mon, 'Ro, give us a break," Logan grumbled. "We had a long night. And the Elf's certainly earned his beer."

Kurt shot his friend a grateful look.

Ororo's expression went from confusion to concern.

"Why?" she asked. "Did something happen?"

"Nah," Logan assured her with a careless wave of his hand. "But the kid here beat me three times in a row at sword fighting. And, as you can probably guess, that takes some doing."

Ororo's large, blue eyes widened in sudden understanding and she turned a sly, affectionate smile to Kurt.

"So," she said, "I see you've been working your magic on Wolverine now." She grinned warmly, causing Kurt to blush. "Logan's right then. You've earned your beer. I'm sorry I yelled at you."

Kurt blushed harder, trying to hide the rather silly smile he couldn't suppress by finishing off his last swig of beer.

"I'm done now anyway," he told her, rising to place his empty bottle in the corner recycling bin. "Erm," he cleared his throat. "Would you like some help making breakfast, Liebchen?"

Ororo smiled at him, her blue eyes shining in that special way that made Kurt feel positively weak in the knees.

"Any help you could give will be deeply appreciated," she told him, reaching out to squeeze his hand in hers.

Logan watched as the rest of the world, including him, fell away around his two grinning friends.

"I'll just be goin' now," he said, tossing his own empties in the bin with Kurt's. He smirked when the loud clatter didn't break their locked gaze.

"Bye, Logan," Kurt managed, but his voice was distant.

Logan shook his head in amusement as he exited the kitchen. Yeah, they had it bad. Real bad. It would be a miracle if breakfast was even started before the kids piled into the room...

"So," Kurt said after a long moment. "What did you have planned? Waffles perhaps? I believe there is some mix in the cupboard."

"It's all right with me, if you really want to go through the trouble of making them all," Ororo said. "I was thinking more along the lines of cereal and milk to tell you the truth."

Kurt opened his mouth to say something, but he gasped instead, his golden eyes widening as he raised a hand to his head.

"Kurt," Ororo asked, concerned, "what is it?"

Kurt blinked a few times, then shook his head as if to clear it. When he looked back at Ororo, he seemed anxious.

"It was the Professor, in my mind," he told her. "He wants me in his office right away."

"It must be important," Ororo said, her brow furrowed. "Charles usually avoids such intrusive contact."

"I am sorry, Liebchen," Kurt apologized. "I would like to stay—"

Ororo cut him off.

"Think of it this way," she said. "The sooner you go, the sooner you'll be back. I'll still be here, don't worry."

Kurt returned her smile, his golden eyes soft as he took her hand in his.

"You won't even notice I was gone," he said, kissing her hand then stepping back to vanish in a BAMF of sulfurous smoke.

*******

Professor Xavier was on the phone when Kurt appeared in his office. He raised a finger to Kurt, motioning for him to wait.

Kurt nodded silently and jumped up to crouch on an overstuffed chair, his long tail lashing nervously behind him.

"Yes, Mr. President," Xavier said after a long pause, his face serious. "Yes. In fact, he's here right now."

Kurt froze, his spine stiffening with dread.

The President of the United States, the man he had attacked while under Stryker's influence, was on the phone. From the somber look on the Professor's face, this couldn't be good.

Kurt shivered, his tail wrapping itself tightly around the arm of the chair.

Was he going to be deported? Would the police be coming to arrest him? Would he have to spend the rest of his life in some federal prison, or would they just stand him in front of a firing squad and get it over with quickly?

The Professor was talking again.

"You do? Well of course... I'm sure he'd be delighted. One moment, please.

"Kurt," Xavier whispered, "the President wishes to talk with you."

Kurt looked up in surprise as the Professor held the phone out for him to take. Trembling slightly, Kurt reached out and pressed the phone to his ear. As he did, the Professor smiled. Kurt tilted his head, wishing he knew what was going on.

"Hello? Mr. Wagner? You there?"

It had to be the President's voice. Kurt swallowed hard and nodded before remembering the President couldn't see him over the phone.

"Ah, ja. Yes. Yes, sir. That is, I mean..." Kurt winced. He must sound like a perfect idiot. "Yes, Mr. President. I am here."

"Good," the President said. "And don't be so nervous! I'm calling with some good news."

Kurt's eyes widened. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears.

"Good news?"

"Yes indeed, Mr. Wagner," the President said. "I wanted to tell you in person before the press conference this morning. I read through the files you X-Men gave me last week very carefully, and I must say I am appalled by what has been done to you and to all the other mutants Colonel Stryker abused. I assure you, we in Washington do not condone this kind of wanton behavior. After reviewing your records, and the psychological profiles provided, it is the courts' conclusion that you should not be held criminally responsible for the actions you took while under the influence of Stryker's mind control serum. And I must say, I concur with their findings."

Kurt felt as if the floor had dropped out from under his chair. He was in free-fall. He was floating. This phone conversation couldn't be real.

"W-was?" he managed. "Do...do you mean...?"

"That's right, Mr. Wagner. I signed your pardon this morning. Fact is, now I think about it, you probably saved my life that day."

"What do you mean?" Kurt asked.

The President's smooth voice seemed suddenly uncomfortable.

"I saw it in your face, when you...um...had that knife...? Your eyes... They seemed so blank and then, after the gunshot, something changed. The instant before you...teleported is it?"

Kurt nodded again.

"Ja, that is right."

"Teleported," the President repeated. "It was like you were...waking up... Disoriented. I could have sworn you were at least as terrified as I was. That's what decided me. If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I don't think I could have brought myself to believe what I read in those files. Stryker may have put that knife in your hand, but I saw you choose to drop it, Mr. Wagner. And for that, I owe you my life and this nation owes you its gratitude."

Kurt couldn't speak. He couldn't think. He felt the tears on his face, but he didn't care. His heart was full to bursting, but his throat had never felt so tight.

"Mr. Wagner?" the President asked. "Are you there?"

"Ach," Kurt gasped out, his mind in a whirl. "Ja. Yes, Mr. President. Danke. Ich kann es nicht ausdrucken! Ich kann nicht sprechen...ich kann nicht... Ich bin Ihnen sehr dankbar, Herr Präsident. Sehr, sehr dankbar! Dankeschön!"

The President actually laughed.

"I'll take that as a thank you. Is Professor Xavier still there?"

Kurt sniffled slightly and nodded, not even realizing he had reverted to German.

"Ja, mein Herr. Er ist da."

"I have a few more things I need to discuss with him before the press conference. It's been a pleasure talking with you, Mr. Wagner."

"Und mit Ihnen, Herr Präsident. Dankeschön!"

"Good-bye."

"Ja," Kurt whispered, handing the phone back to Xavier with a trembling hand. "Auf Wiedersehen."

At the sight of Xavier's smile, Kurt's face burst into a gigantic grin of its own.

The President had pardoned him! He was no longer a wanted man, no longer the White House Assassin!

Kurt fell back in his chair, positively dizzy with elation, hot tears streaming down his face as he turned his grateful gaze to the ceiling.

"Gott sei Dank!" he managed, before his voice was swallowed up by sobs.

Some minutes later, Kurt became aware of a kindly hand on his shoulder. Blinking through his tears, he realized it belonged to Professor Xavier.

"Ach," he sighed with a sniffle. "The President must think I am a fool, nein? Crying to him in German like that." Kurt chuckled self-consciously, wiping his eyes with the spade of his tail.

Xavier smiled kindly.

"Actually, no," he said. "Your heartfelt reaction only reinforced everything I had told him about you. I assure you, he was quite impressed. He does not doubt he's doing the right thing by pardoning you."

Kurt struggled to slow his breathing and to calm his racing heart.

"I must tell Ororo," he said. "I—I left her in the kitchen. I have to tell her."

Xavier nodded.

"Then go, my friend. And be sure to watch CNN at nine-thirty. That's when the President will be giving his press conference."

"I will, Herr Professor," Kurt said. "And thank you for calling me. I don't think I have ever felt so happy!"

With a final, brilliant smile, Kurt vanished from the Professor's office with a bright BAMF.

*******

BAMF!

Ororo looked up from her bowl of waffle batter and smiled. Her smile faded, however, when she saw her friend's tear-streaked face and his red-rimmed eyes.

"Kurt," she gasped, rushing over to him. "What is wrong? What happened?"

Kurt surprised her by grinning, his dark face brightening like the sky at sunrise.

"It was the President on the telephone," he told her. "He spoke with me."

He reached out to take her hands in his, pulling her close with his tail, too excited to really think about what he was doing.

"He pardoned me, meine Liebe," he beamed at her. "He pardoned me! He told me it may have been Stryker who put the knife in my hand, but I was the one who dropped it. He told me he owed me his life!"

Squeezing his eyes shut against a fresh wave of joyful tears, Kurt pulled Ororo into a close embrace, laughing like an idiot as he spun her around and around until her feet left the floor.

Ororo gasped in surprise, then grinned at him as he set her down, reaching up to trace the scars on his cheek with her slender fingers.

"I told you it would happen," she said warmly. "You just needed a little faith."

Kurt laughed again, smiling at her with pure affection.

"There is a press conference on CNN at nine-thirty," he told her excitedly. "Then the whole world will know! But, I had to tell you first. I am innocent!"

Ororo looked into his exuberant face, her crystal eyes flickering slightly as her broad grin softened into something more. Slowly, she leaned forward, only stopping when her nose actually brushed against Kurt's.

Kurt was afraid to move, his muddled brain completely unable to make sense of what was happening. Surely, she wasn't wrapping her arms around him. She couldn't be running her hand up through the curls at the back of his head. There was no way she was actually pulling him closer, pressing her lips against his...

"Mein Gott," he breathed so softly the words were barely audible, his lips moving against hers as he returned her kiss.

This was real. This was real and it was wonderful and he never wanted it to end. Their kiss could have lasted for an eternity and still it would have been too short.

"I'm proud of you, Kurt," Ororo told him, hugging him one last time before pulling away from his possessive tail. "But I've got to go if I don't want those waffles to burn."

She squeezed his hand and smiled at him.

"Your waffle and mine will meet you on the sofa at nine-thirty for that press conference," she said. "The kids will just have to miss their cartoons today."

Breathless and lightheaded, Kurt blinked after her departing back, an enormous grin spreading over his midnight features.

"She kissed me..." he said softly, his grin stretching wider in joyous disbelief. A low chuckle began to grow within him and he shook his head, his golden eyes wide and glowing.

"Never before... I never would have... No one ever..."

Unable to contain his skyrocketing emotions any longer, Kurt abandoned the empty kitchen with a bright BAMF, reappearing on the highest point of the mansion's roof just as his low chuckles exploded into deliriously happy laughter. Kurt spread out his arms and turned his face to the morning breeze, wanting to embrace the entire world in his joy.

"Thank you, God, for smiling upon me this day!" Kurt exclaimed in heartfelt German, his eyes filling with grateful tears. "I don't know what I did to deserve such blessings, but I promise I will never take them for granted! For the first time I feel my life truly does have purpose. And more than that," here his laughter reached a crescendo, "I think I'm in love!" he cried.

"Ororo Munroe kissed me, God!" he shouted from the rooftop. "Did you hear that? She kissed me, and I kissed her back!"

As Kurt collapsed onto the roof, wracked with uncontainable giggles, he realized he knew how to finish his letter to Christian. He knew exactly what to say and how to say it. He'd gotten Logan to open up to him, the President had pardoned him, and he'd just been kissed by the most beautiful woman he had ever met. For the first time in a long, long time, Kurt Wagner felt he was sitting on top of the world, and he knew his life would never be the same.

The End

Chapter Text

Nightcrawler's First Class
Part Four of The Arrival Quartet
by Rowena

"Guten Morgen, meine Studenten!" Kurt Wagner grinned from his place at the front of the room. "Ich heiße Herr Wagner und heute lernen wir, wie man sich vorstellt."

The blank, thoroughly intimidated looks his words received from his class were priceless. Grinning even wider, Kurt leapt up onto his desk and crouched there, his tail swinging easily back and forth behind him.

"Since this is your first day of Introductory German, I will go easy on you," he said, nearly laughing at the collective sigh of relief from his students. "Both German and English are known as Germanic languages. That means they have much in common, but there are also many very important differences. You will have much to learn this year. But, before we get into all the little technical details of the language, it might help if we got to know each other a little first. That is why, today, we are learning Introductions. I shall begin: Hallo, meine Studenten. Ich heiße Herr Wagner. Wie heißt du?"

He pointed one thick finger at Kitty Pryde, who sat in the front row. She'd been one of the children he'd helped rescue with Storm and Logan several months before, shortly after the tragic events at Alkali Lake. An echo of the girl's terrified screams still rang in his pointed ears when he looked at her, but he could understand her reaction. If he had been awakened from a sound sleep by a bunch of menacing soldiers, spent several cold nights huddled in a modified drainpipe hideout with a group of other terrified students, then come face-to-face with a man who looked like a blue demon, he likely would have screamed too.

Kitty had later apologized to him. She'd even asked him to accompany her when she phased through the door to Stryker's Washington office to steal his files on the experiments the twisted man had run on mutants at Alkali Base. In the months since the X-Men had revealed the contents of those files the President, Kitty had become like a little sister to him. And she wasn't the only one. To his delight, once they got over their initial suspicion of the blue stranger, many of the other students at Xavier's School for the Gifted had taken a genuine liking to him - probably because of his inclination to show off his acrobatic and storytelling skills for them at the drop of a hat. Still, his language, film-studies, and fencing classes had filled to capacity in record time.

When she realized he was pointing at her, Kitty initially shot him a deer-in-the-headlights look, but she slowly caught on to his meaning.

"Oh," she said. "You're, like, asking me my name, aren't you?"

"Ja." Kurt nodded. He pointed to himself and enunciated slowly and precisely, "Ich heiße Herr Wagner." Pointing to Kitty he said, "Wie heißt du?"

The girl grinned, suddenly liking this game. "Ich heiße Kitty Pryde."

Kurt happily clapped his hands together. "Sehr gut, Kätzchen!" he said. "Now turn to your neighbor and ask him to introduce himself to you. I want this to go all around the classroom until each one of you has properly introduced yourselves in German."

Kitty made to turn to her neighbor, then squinted her eyes and raised her hand instead. Curious, Kurt asked, "Yes?"

"Um," she said, "I know 'sehr gut' means, like, 'very good' and stuff, but, well, what does 'Kätzchen' mean?"

Kurt smiled. "It means kitty. Kitten," he explained.

Now it was Kitty's turn to smile. "Oh, cool! I like that!" Turning to her neighbor, she said, "Hallo, ich heiße Kätzchen. Wie heißt du?"

Kurt watched as the introductions traveled up and down the rows. The students' accents were so thick as to be nearly unintelligible, but they seemed enthusiastic enough and it was a good start. Kurt twitched his tail and reflected with amazement at the irony of his present situation.

He was a teacher! The wild circus boy who'd never even set foot in a school had grown up to become a teacher. It should have sounded ridiculous, but never had anything in his life felt so right.

Kurt crouched comfortably on the edge of his desk, his long toes curled around the smooth, protruding edge. This was where he was meant to be. This was why God had made him what he was. He felt the contentment and pride swelling within him as he considered the many amazing gifts he had been granted over the course of his life. His circus family. His agility. His amazing, prehensile tail. Acrobatics. The roaring admiration of audiences all across Europe. Fencing. Swashbuckling romances. The ability to teleport. Joining the X-Men. The official pardon from the President himself! His new friends. His students. And, of course, there was Storm, the stunningly beautiful, fiercely intelligent woman who was impossibly, wonderfully, inconceivably attracted to him...

There were too many blessings to count, too many to list. Sighing with thankful elation, he couldn't suppress a broad grin as he fingered the worn rosary he kept tied to his belt-loop.

The searching, the wondering, the anguished questioning was over. Yes indeed, ladies and gentlemen, Kurt Wagner had finally arrived.

Ende