Sanctuary (1/1) - G - Kurt - X2
- DISCLAIMER: Don't own 'em. Look to Marvel for that.
I'm just writing little background thoughts, which couldn't
ever be a part of a flick, since voice overs suck, so don't
sue, because hey, I'm not really *taking* anything from
you. And there's not much you could get from me.
SPOILERS: Just one, for the *very* beginning of the flick.
FEEDBACK: I wouldn't mind...<grins> This is my first
attempt at Nightcrawler and my first attempt at writing any
character with a religious inclination, so pointers are
THANKS: To kaly. Here we go again...
NOTES: This is movieverse, peoples.
DISTRIBUTION: Want it? Take it, just remember to give
me credit and include my e-mail addy. Also available at
SUMMARY: Kurt's thoughts after the events in the White
* * -- emphasis
_ _ -- thoughts
The trip home was a nightmare. Kurt made it the fastest
way he knew how, teleporting over and over again. More
than he should have. It was only after being violently sick
in an alley somewhere that he forced himself to walk for
awhile, regain his strength.
Hours and miles blurred together and his heart ached every
time he had to make a detour. And there certainly were
detours. Kurt had never traveled to Washington before.
He'd never been to the nation's capital at all. He wouldn't
even have known where he was if it wasn't for the
unmistakable surroundings he found himself in when
Consciousness, but not control.
The thought was enough to start him teleporting again,
though he hadn't really recovered from overextending
himself. Soon he was sick again - bitter bile in his mouth,
his stomach clenching, empty. Despite the nausea, he was
hungry; his overextended stamina was desperate for fuel,
but Kurt didn't know this place.
At home he could hide in shadows and deep coats. At home
he knew who wouldn't blink an eye at an occasional flash
of blue-tinted skin or yellow eyes and who he could trust
when he didn't want to hide at all.
This wasn't home. He'd have to wait 'til he was safe to
soothe the ache in belly and heart and soul.
When he *had* to stop for awhile, when his body just
wouldn't go any further, Kurt ran his fingers over the beads
of his rosary. He was too scattered to pray properly, despite
the comfort he took in his rituals, but he knew that He
would hear nonetheless.
Even before pleading for comfort, Kurt wished blessings on
the man whose bullet had grazed him. It didn't matter that
the secret service agent had had no thought for Kurt's own
life. Had, in fact, been trying to kill him. Kurt could only be
grateful that the man had found the strength to lift his gun
and steady his aim enough to fire a shot that actually found
its mark. More or less.
The pain had snapped Kurt out of the mysterious
compulsion just barely in time. _It would have been the
loss of a life, and more than a life._ Kurt thought, bowing
his head. _I'd truly have become the harbinger of doom so
many see when they look at me. Mutants everywhere might
have been destroyed. And more. Witch hunts are rarely
Gathering his strength, Kurt forced himself onwards.
At last he emerged beneath the vaulted ceiling and stained
glass of his sanctuary. The mere sight of the pews and the
candles and the statuary soothed the ragged edges of his
Painfully aware of the needs of his own body, Kurt forced
himself to eat from his own cache before wrapping himself
in a blanket and curling up on his bed, hoping for sleep.
Despite his troubled heart, his exhausted body obliged him
almost at once.
When he woke it was dark, but his eyes were sharp enough
to lead him unerringly through the rows of pews and
around the remnants of scaffolding. Kurt came to the rows
of candles and carefully selected a match with which to
light one. The flame flared and caught at once.
Dropping into a crouch, Kurt reached for his rosary and ran
his fingers over the beads once before beginning. It was
some time, longer than usual, before he came to some
measure, but it *did* come. It always did. When Kurt felt
he could bring his mind to the events of the morning
without vanishing reflexively, he slowly allowed himself to
_How can I have so completely lost control of my
actions?_ he wondered. It had been like watching himself
from behind his own eyes. _Surely that is what it must be
like to be possessed,_ Kurt thought, but he did not believe
he truly *had* been possessed. It was...something else.
_Give me a chance to understand,_ he asked silently. _Give
me a moment to put right what I have made wrong. Let me
prove that I am not what I appear to be._ He came to the
last bead on the rosary, and his thoughts and words stilled
A moment of silence fell and grew expectant. Then, with a
thud and a rush of wind, the doors to the church flew open.