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Sanctuary (1/1) - G - Kurt - X2

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  • lifefromfire
    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
    Message 1 of 1 , May 11, 2003
      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.

      RATING: G

      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
      welcome.

      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
      http://www.angelfire.com/realm/obsidianquills/index.html

      SUMMARY: Kurt's thoughts after the events in the White
      House.

      * * -- emphasis
      _ _ -- thoughts


      ---------------
      Sanctuary
      by Nix
      keparker@...
      ---------------

      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 returned.

      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
      discriminating._

      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
      soul.

      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
      remember.

      _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
      together.

      A moment of silence fell and grew expectant. Then, with a
      thud and a rush of wind, the doors to the church flew open.

      --End--
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