Work Text:
1.
"We were in New York, you see. Waiting in the supper club of the Carlton-Ritz for a contact of Logan's." Kurt's soft Germanic accent wrapped itself in and around the words he spoke, lending them unexpected softness in certain places and unexpected gutteral qualities in others. Orroro loved listening to his voice, even after all the years she'd known him.
"The Carlton-Ritz? Not one of his average contacts, then." She, by contrast, sounded nearly American, nearly all the time. Then a word or a phrase or a whole sentence would remind her she was a child of Africa.
"No," Kurt said with a smile and a flash of fangs. "No, not at all. We had attempted to dress for the occasion but, alas, the contact stood Logan up and the nice clothing was for naught."
"Very much not one of his normal contacts," and Orroro laughed. There weren't many who would keep Logan waiting.
"Ja. So the afternoon became evening, and still we waited though we were not dressed nearly well enough for the supper crowd."
"I'm surprised they didn't throw you out."
Kurt grinned over his beer bottle, and the fangs showed again. She would have said his eyes were sparkling, but there was never much variance in the solid yellow luminescence. Still, there were crinkles at the corners, and Kurt was never difficult to read by anyone who knew him.
He finished off the last drink of his beer before answering, "We possessed two advantages. Logan had been tipping the waitress extremely well, and, " he paused for a moment and his face took on a mischievous look, "I believe the maitre d' was afraid of me."
Orroro laughed. There were very few people in the world who had cause to fear Kurt, but between the softly glowing eyes, the fangs, and the finely-furred blue skin -- not to mention the prehensile tail, which was currently grabbing him another beer -- most people found him intimidating at first glance.
Usually at second glance, as well. Orroro could well imagine the plight of the well-heeled maitre d', trying to figure out a way to kick Kurt and Logan out of his upscale restaurant. Either of them alone looked dangerous enough to give a man pause.
She nodded and took a drink from her bottle. "Mmm. I must admit, I could almost feel sorry for him."
"I did. I suggested we leave, but we'd been there long enough that Logan was hungry. So we ordered supper while the dinner crowd started to file in." Kurt flashed another bright grin and took a drink of beer before continuing. "So you can imagine it: there we were, in the dining room of the Carlton-Ritz, under-dressed, and sitting so we could see the door. People were being seated as far from us as the staff could manage, but we were still causing a stir. Logan had just ordered his second steak when she walked in." There was a slight emphasis on the word 'she', and Orroro nodded.
"I suspected this story might have a woman in it."
"Lady, one might say. She was nearly as beautiful as you."
From many men, it would have been shameless flattery, but Kurt's charm was hard to resist, even in far less companionable circumstances. "Thank you, Kurt," Orroro replied.
"The pleasure is mine, I assure you," and he tipped his bottle to her before returning to his story. "She arrived with a date, and they were both properly dressed for the occasion. Apparently they had a regular table near to ours. They were offered another table, but the lady refused, and they were seated.
"She was quite striking; pale and blonde and regal. I tried hard not to stare," Kurt's look of contrition was nearly believable, "but I have always found it difficult to resist a beautiful woman." The last was added with a touch of a melodramatic sigh, and Orroro laughed again.
"Your cross to bear, my friend."
"Alas, yes." Another drink of beer, and Kurt was back in the story. "So we ate, and I watched the lady, and Logan did as well, though his looks were not as ... indirect as mine."
"Logan does very little indirectly."
"Mm. More than you might imagine, I think. At any rate, it soon became apparent that the lady was returning his gaze, much to the consternation of her companion. And so things proceeded until Logan finished his second steak and we paid our bill. By this time, the lady and her date were nearly done with their meal as well."
Orroro finished her beer, and Kurt paused long enough to open the refrigerator door with one hand, and reach in with the tail to extract another. Once acquired, the cap was flipped open, and the bottle passed over.
"Thank you."
"You are quite welcome. Eventually, we got up to leave, and we walked past the lady's table. She was staring at Logan as we walked by, just as he'd been staring at her. We got, oh perhaps five feet past her, and Logan stopped and went back."
Orroro chuckled.
"He walked up to the table, looked down at her and said five words." Kurt cleared his throat, then attempted an imitation of Logan's slow, deep drawl. "You comin' or not, darlin'?" Kurt laughed softly and Orroro joined him.
"And?"
"And without ever breaking eye contact, she dropped her cigarette into her date's drink, offered Logan her hand, and left with us."
Orroro set down her beer, laced her fingers together and looked at Kurt while a smile played at the corners of her mouth. "And?"
"And that is where my story ends, liebling. You'll understand, I'm sure."
2.
Kitty walked into the room, a little late for poker night, but the program she'd been working on hadn't fallen into place as she'd expected. Her eyes widened when she saw her seat had been taken. "I can't believe it. Sam, why do you keep playing poker with these people? If you've got too much money, give it to me -- I have parts to buy."
"Very funny. I'm getting better."
"No, Sam, you're getting poorer." Kitty gestured around the table. "These people aren't your friends, not when they're at a poker table."
"You're exaggerating. I'm just new. I'm learning. I'm getting better." Sam was beginning to get irate at the public dressing down. Clearly he didn't think his skills were as insufficient as Kitty seemed to believe they were.
"You're learning to be a better mark, you mean. Look, let's do this the rational way." She set her money down on the edge of the table and pointed to the person at Sam's left.
"First we start with Logan." Logan leaned back in his chair. The habitual cigar was unlit, and he shifted it to the other side of his mouth and grinned. "Logan would never cheat you, Sam. That would be wrong. But he can track a man down a crowded city street by scent alone. Don’t you think he can smell your adrenaline rush when you get a good hand?" Sam's eyes narrowed and Logan's grin widened.
"Next we move to Forge. Now Forge would never cheat, because that would be wrong. But have you ever noticed when he's losing badly that he keeps playing and eventually winds up even for the night?" Sam stared; Forge frowned. "What, Forge, we weren't supposed to notice? And what is it, by the way -- some kind of probability magic or a card-counting program in your prosthetic hand?"
Forge had the grace to look embarrassed, but didn't answer.
"Then there's Rachel. Ray would never cheat because that would be wrong. But she's a telepath, Sam. Telepaths read body language like you read a book. All of them do; they're just better with the clues. Besides, she's got her Daddy's poker face." Rachel tilted her head and gave a slight shrug when faced with Sam's accusing stare.
"And then we've got Illyanna. The sweet little girl raised by demons." Illyanna flashed a dazzling smile. "Now Illyanna will cheat, because right and wrong get a tad fuzzy when you're raised by demons. She wouldn't use magic at the table, though, because Forge would sense it and get pissed. But have you ever noticed that her shirts get lower and tighter the more money she's got in the pot?"
Sam's grumble indicated that yes, he'd noticed, but not in a put-two-and-two-together kind of way. Forge frowned at Illyanna; Logan continued to grin. Illyanna smiled a little and leaned across the table -- very far across the table -- to pick up the card Sam had been in the middle of dealing to her when he was stopped. Logan chuckled and Sam fumed.
Which didn't stop him from enjoying the view, but he wasn't happy about enjoying it.
"And over here we have Scott."
Sam looked at Scott with a slightly sick expression, as though he didn't want to hear what Kitty had to say. Scott had crossed his arms over his chest, and as his name was said, turned his frown away from the rest of the table and towards Kitty.
"Now Scott would never cheat. That would be wrong, and Scott isn't that kind of guy. But besides the fact that he was born with the world's best poker face, Scott Summers is also one of the finest strategists in the universe. Shi'ar war leaders -- men who have planets of armies under their command -- come to Scott for advice. You think he doesn't know how to read a table and form a risk assessment of a bet? Oh -- and there's also the little bit about him being allowed to keep his eyes covered at the table. Makes it even harder to read him."
Scott sighed. "I could take the glasses off, but I'd blow a hole in the wall."
"Oh, I know. Tell me, did you learn to play poker before or after the time you spent as a full-time, professional pool hustler on the west coast?"
Like Forge, Scott had the grace to look embarrassed, and he didn't answer.
The look on Sam's face tickled the edge of horrified. "You hustled pool? Scott?"
"Just for a summer… or so," Scott answered with a frown at Kitty.
Sam threw a glare around the table, put the cards down with a bit of force, scooped up his money and left. Kitty smiled at the group as she sat down.
"Amateur hour's officially over, boy's and girls." She said while exchanging her bills for chips. "And just to let you all know -- I don't need a program to count cards. I can do it in my head." She picked up the deck Sam had been dealing and passed the next card to Scott while Logan chuckled.
3.
The Sunday edition of the New York Times was a tidy pile at the arm of his chair, save for the sports page, which he always read first. The headphones were on, and the sound of Johnny Cash was barely audible to anyone passing by. Logan leaned back into the lounge chair by the pool, took a drink of orange juice and settled himself in for the lazy Sunday afternoon that had become his new favorite ritual.
He smelled Kurt's scent as the other man came out outside, and grunted a hello to the friendly greeting as it was called out. His face behind the paper, Logan could sense the movement around him rather than see it as Kurt walked around the pool deck.
Logan had worked his way through the stories of American football and basketball teams, and finally made it into the hockey scores when a loud splash caught the edge of his awareness a split second before he was drenched by the water. Very slowly, Logan put down the remains of his sports page and assessed the damage.
The tidy pile of the Sunday paper was soaked in chlorinated pool water.
His clothes were soaked in chlorinated pool water.
His mp3 player sat in a puddle of chlorinated pool water.
Judging from the movement of the liquid in his glass, his orange juice was now flavored with chlorinated pool water.
Logan looked to the pool. Bobbing in the water was Kurt, who raised a hand and waved.
Very slowly, Logan folded the remains of soggy newsprint and set it aside. He took off the headphones, and moved the player to the table where it had a chance of drying out. He stood up.
Underneath the smell of the chlorine was the smell of wet newsprint. Kurt waved again, and then with a ::BAMF:: of air moving into a vacuum, he was gone. Water sloshed in the pool as Kurt reappeared on the far side, grinning like a kid. Past the chlorine and newprinte, Logan's nose picked up the scent of sulfur.
Logan began to sprint. There was a series of tightly spaced ::BAMF:: sounds and the odor of sulfur he had to move through to follow the trail, and Logan knew his best tracking sense was going to be untrustworthy for some time. The distinctive sound of the air vacuum caused by Kurt's teleportation was moving towards the woods on the edge of the estate.
The chase was on.
4.
Betsy studied the board before her and frowned. She couldn't see the strategy and it worried her. Finally she reached out and made her move, adding to her carefully arranged pattern of white disks.
There was a sound somewhere between 'hm' and a grunt, and it was Logan's turn to study the board. She seemed to have thrown him off, but she didn't know how. Or maybe it was a bluff; Logan played dirty no matter what the game. Idly humming along with the concerto playing on the family room's stereo, he looked deep in thought.
Betsy turned her gaze back to the board.
Somewhere out in the hall, the sound of loud voices drew closer, and with a bang, the heavy oaken doors slammed open.
"You can't just walk out of the room when I'm talking with you!" Scott's eyes glowed dully red from behind his visor as he entered the dimly-lit room, and he crossed his arms over his chest and stood in the doorway.
"Well I sure as hell can't if you keep following me, now can I?" Alex stormed across the room, grabbed his jacket off the couch and turned back to leave. Scott stood his ground and kept the door blocked.
Still humming softly to the music, Logan made his move. Betsy brushed a strand of long purple hair over her shoulder and tried again to make out the strategy.
"And where do you think you're going?" Scott's voice was getting louder.
"Out."
"This is juvenile, Alex. Grow up."
"Grown-ups get to make their own damned decisions. You don't get to have it both ways. You can order me around or you can trust my judgment. Now get the hell out of my way."
Suddenly, Betsy saw the pattern on the Go board, and decisively made her next move. Across from her, Logan gave a soft chuckle. She'd worked out the tactic, but it might already be too late.
At the door, the two Summers brothers stared each other down briefly, then Scott stepped aside and Alex swept by him, pulling on his long coat as he left. The words "you think this will solve -- " were cut off as the door was once again slammed shut.
Logan added another black chip to the array. The Chopin CD ended, and Vivaldi began. Several more moves passed back and forth. Betsy began to think she might win, if she could hold back the primary attack for a few more moves.
The door opened, quietly, almost furtively in comparison to its previous slam. Two figures slid in, one giggling. The door closed and the latch clicked as one figure pushed the other into it, and the giggling stopped as the first mouth closed over the second.
For a few moments, the room was filled with the sound of Vivaldi, kissing, and murmured endearments. Then there came a hiss, and the nearly imperceptible sound of clothing being pulled back into place.
"Uh, hi, Betsy. Logan." Boom-Boom's voice was pitched slightly higher than normal.
Logan raised one hand in greeting while moving pieces with the other. His eyes never left the board.
A quick, whispered conference, and the door opened and closed again.
"Do I want to know?" Betsy asked, amusement rich in her voice.
"Probably not."
Five minutes later, and there was a loud crash from outside the room. Instantly, the glow of purple energy surrounded Betsy's eyes which signaled her telepathy at work. Logan looked up, the unspoken question on his face. Betsy shook her head with a sigh and looked back down at the table as the energy faded away.
The door opened, and Illyanna stuck in her head.
"No need to get up, guys. Scott got in Alex's way one too many times and now the porch is a mess. But I've got a spell that can fix it, and Ray's got the boys under control." She started to close the door, and then opened it again and leaned back into the room. "And I'd like to point out that I may grow horns now and then, but I have never done structural damage to the mansion. Not once."
Logan didn't look up. "You need to let that go, kid. People are going to be afraid until they decide not to be. You know that."
"I don't have to like it."
"Nope."
"And Logan? Quit calling me 'kid'. I may be the only one in this mansion older than you are. Time moves differently in other dimensions, you know." The blonde hair withdrew, and the door closed.
"Should we go look?" Betsy made her move, and resigned herself to losing another game.
"Nope."
"Want to make sure we leave the mansion the next time we're scheduled for vacation?"
Logan grinned. "Off-world, you mean?"
5.
"Best hands."
"Best hands?"
"Uh-huh. Don't you ever look at a guy's hands?"
"I hadn't thought about it." Kitty poured more wine into her glass and took a thoughtful sip. "I'd have to say Peter's, I love the way he holds his pencils when he's drawing."
Rachel suppressed a laugh; Illyanna rolled her eyes. "Okay, Kitty, new rule. You can't say Peter. To anything."
"Why not?"
"First of all, you need to get over him, and secondly... that's not the point."
"Point?" She looked at Rachel. "There's a 'point'?"
"Of course there's a point," Illyanna answered for Rachel. "The point of this game is to broaden your horizons."
Kitty looked back at Rachel, who nodded in agreement. "I see what she means."
Kitty frowned. "Okay. Can I keep Peter for 'hands'?"
"Well, it's not the part of him I'd keep," Illyanna answered with a leer, and Rachel chuckled. "But sure. Besides, I have to admit it's a good choice. Ray?"
"Definitely Gambit."
"Another good choice. Hm." Illyanna seemed to be sorting them all through in her mind's eye. "Scott."
"Scott does have nice hands," Rachel murmured into her wine glass with a small smile.
"Ray! He's your Dad!" Kitty was staring in horror and fascination.
"This one isn't," Rachel answered with a devilish smile, and Kitty shuddered.
"Okay, your turn," Illyanna said while re-filling her glass.
"My turn? I already said Peter."
"To pick a new body part."
"Um..." Kitty took another sip of wine, and handed the bottle to Rachel, who'd finished her glass. "How about eyes?"
They both looked at Rachel. She swirled the Merlot in her glass and thought carefully. "Hm. Gotta say Forge."
"Forge? Really?" Illyanna said in surprise. "Too drill sergeant for me."
"Quit pissing him off and you won't get that look anymore," Rachel answered with a grin.
"Where's the fun in that? So, eyes. Warren."
Rachel nodded her approval and turned to Kitty. "How about you?"
Kitty was chewing her bottom lip. "And I can't say Peter?"
Illyanna and Rachel groaned; Illyanna grabbed a stray pillow off the bed and threw it in Kitty's direction. Kitty phased, and the pillow flew through her.
"Okay, okay... no Peter. Bobby then."
"Drake?"
"Yeah... what's wrong with him?"
"Well," Illyanna answered slowly, "nothing, if he were gagged. It's when he talks I can't stand him." She looked as though she were seriously considering the gag idea, and Rachel laughed. "If I picture him with a gag, then yeah, his eyes are fine."
Kitty shook her head in disbelief. "You're awful. Ray? Your turn."
"Smile."
"Ooh, easy. Logan," Illyanna answered without hesitation. "Definitely Logan. That smile's the most dangerous thing about him." She looked at Kitty, who was chewing her bottom lip once more. "If you ask about Peter again, I'll teleport you to a Chippendale dancer club and leave you there."
"Like you have a teleport location for one already." Illyanna bobbed her eyebrows, and Kitty sighed. "Really?"
"Try me and see."
"Okay, okay. Kurt." They both looked at Rachel.
"It's a tie: Logan and Kurt. Trick question," she explained with a grin and took another drink of wine. "This is good, Lee. Where'd you get it?"
"Italy."
"When were you in Italy?"
Illyanna half-turned to look at a clock. "About 40 minutes ago."
"Doing what?"
"Getting wine. How drunk are you?"
"Not so drunk I'd go to Italy for a bottle of wine," Rachel answered.
"Don't be silly. I got way more than one bottle. Ass."
"What?" asked Kitty and Rachel together.
Illyanna looked back and forth between them. "Ass. Whose got the best? And seriously, am I the only one here still sober?"
"No," Kitty said empathetically, but she looked doubtful.
"Fine. Ass. Your turn, Miss Pryde."
"Um..."
"Not Peter," Illyanna and Rachel reminded her simultaneously.
"I know! Give me a minute -- I don't look at guy's butts all the time like you two do." In reply she got a smirk and a chuckle, both of which she ignored. "Fine. Gambit."
"Nice choice. Not the best choice, but nice."
"What's yours then?"
"Ray's gotta go first."
Rachel looked up from contemplating her wine glass with a sultry smile. "Kurt. Definitely Kurt."
"Kurt?" Kitty looked shocked.
Illyanna laughed. "Kitty, have you ever looked at Kurt's ass? Even once?"
"Well, no," Kitty admitted.
"Try it sometime and get back to us."
"Okay. Now it's your turn, Lee. What's your pick?"
"Betsy."
Rachel laughed, Kitty stared and stammered until she finally got words back. "I thought we were talking about guys?"
"Really? I thought we were broadening your horizons."
"You just say things like that to shock me."
"No way. Shocking you's just a side benefit. Nice blush, by the way."
6.
There was a soft whoosh of air as the doors to the hanger slid open, and the X-Men entered the mansion. It'd been a short mission but a long day, and not a pleasant one. The residue of it followed them down the halls like a taunting bully.
They'd tried, and they'd failed. All alive, mostly unscathed, but the girl was dead. In the movies, the heroes always manage to come up with some clever trick at the end, but they'd all suffered enough defeats to know happy endings were a rarity.
None of them had suffered enough defeats to be used to it.
So they came in, sore, tired, frustrated, angry, and sad. They walked down the halls in silence, with Lilly in their minds and hearts, trying to remember her as the young, happy red-haired girl and not the broken, bloody mass that the Anti-Mutant League had left behind.
Costumes off, then showers, then 'comfy' clothes -- everyone's personal garment-shaped version of a teddy bear. Soft cotton jeans on Kitty, sweatpants on Rogue, a faded flannel shirt on Logan.
A long day, and a busy one, and no time to eat. They found themselves in the kitchen, by ones and twos, milling around, poking through the cabinets and scrounging through the refrigerator. Someone started spaghetti, and bit by bit, a sauce came together.
Eventually they were filing into the family room, settling into chairs and couches, curling up on the rug and pillows. Rachel held up 'The Princess Bride' DVD, but several people shook their heads. Too much maybe, or too long, or maybe it was the happy ending, but by general consensus it was vetoed, though no one spoke a word. A 'Friends' DVD was held up next, they looked at each other, and nodded.
They ate, and watched artificial lives and problems move across the screen, and when the food was done, they curled up into one another. Illyanna and Rachel stretched out on the couch, Betsy and Logan and Kitty and Kurt in an extended tangle on the floor with each holding another's head or feet or back. Gambit and Rogue holding gloved hands across the distance that separated their chairs.
Everyone made it home. They couldn't call that a victory, not aloud, not with Lilly's parents screaming and crying and cursing their names. But they could cling to each other and take solace in the physical presence of the people they loved.
So they did.
**fin**