FIC: Faith (1/1) Kurt/Ororo, Post-X2
- TITLE: Faith
AUTHOR: Evening Nightshade
SUMMARY: Kurt and Ororo talk about life and death. Post-X2.
PAIRING: Kurt/Ororo friendship.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters in this story. They
are the property of Stan Lee and Marvel Comics.
ARCHIVE: Sure, just tell me where.
FEEDBACK: Yes please. :D
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Somewhere in the hall below, a clock chimed midnight. Ororo sighed,
unnerved by the silence that seemed to have veiled the house, and
feeling as if she was the only one awake.
She turned the corner, intent to heading to her own bedroom in the
attic, when something caught her attention: a voice, muttering in
some strange tongue. Kurt, she realised after a moment.
She hadn't seen him since the memorial service that afternoon. Her
throat tightened at the memory.....
The Grays, huddling together as if to block out their grief. The
children, some confused, some disbelieving, but most just crying and
clinging to one another. Logan, standing at the back of the little
group with is hands in his pockets, unable to meet anyone's eyes.
Scott, kneeling before the rose bush planted in memory of his
fiancee, a lone tear rolling down his cheek. Each one grieving
differently, but all mourning the same woman.
Blinking back a tear of her own, she shivered. But instead of taking
the stairs to the attic, she turned back, and knocked lightly on a
"Kurt?" No answer. She hesitated, before trying again, this time
louder -- but still nothing. Involuntarily, her hand clasped the
handle turning it slowly before pushing the door, and peering into
Candles glittered in the darkness, shadows dancing across her face.
Kneeling on the floor, head bowed and one hand clasped around his
rosary beads, was Kurt.
He turned, the flames highlighting every angelic symbol on his
face. "Ororo," he said, still stumbling over the syllables of her
name. "Is something wrong?"
"No, Kurt," she replied. "I was wondering if I could come in and
He smiled. "My door is always open for a friend."
Nodding, she slipped into the room, closing the door with a gentle
For a moment, she gazed around the room, feeling unnerved by the sad
eyes of the woman whose painting hung on the wall. She seemed to
smile softly at Ororo, and that made her shiver.
"Ororo?" Kurt's voice drew her from her thoughts. He sat down on the
bed, and motioned for her to do the same. "Something is bothering
you. There is no need for one so beautiful to suffer as you do.
Please, tell me what is wrong..."
She shrugged, folding her arms across her chest as she sat. "Do you
really believe in life after death?"
"Ah," he replied, understanding. Of late, she had asked him many
questions: about his belief, about prayers, about his faith. "Jean
was a good person. Although I knew her only for a short time, I could
sense a goodness in her. She cared much for others, enough to give
all of herself so that we might live." His eyes clouded. "I only wish
I could have done something."
Ororo placed her hand over his. "Kurt, that wasn't your fault. You
couldn't have done anything!"
"Perhaps we all could have done something a little bit different.
Perhaps we could have saved her. But she made her choice -- and that
choice to save the people she loved. For that, she is up there, among
the highest of angels." He pointed to stars.
"But can we ever be sure?" She asked. "How can we be sure that
somewhere she is watching down on us?"
"Faith," he answered simply. "Sometimes faith is all you need." He
clasped her hand. "Perhaps there is nothing awaiting us after death.
Perhaps we will simply fade away. But if we believe that heaven and
the Holy Father do exist, then we learn not to fear death."
With a soft sigh, Ororo's eyes drifted back to the painting on the
wall. Kurt smiled as he saw her looking at the it.
"An ikon," he explained. "Of the Holy Mother. She watches over us
all, even in the hour of our death. She will always be there to
comfort her children in times of sorrow."
Her eyes slipped shut as she thought of her own mother; but all she
saw was the darkness of the pit; the darkness of death. She could
almost feel her mother's hand go limp in her grasp as the life
Suddenly, she herself was gasping for breath. Once again, she was
that helpless little girl trapped in the dark, still clinging to her
mother's dead body, calling out for someone, anyone, to save her. But
it was useless. Her family was dead, and she was going to die...
Blinking her eyes open, she found herself in Kurt's arms, sobbing
against his chest. "Shh..." He whispered, stroking her hair with one
hand, and tracing soothing circles on her back with the other. Both
their bodies trembled with her violent sobs. Even held secure in his
embrace, she still felt trapped in the blackness that had consumed
Kurt gazed at the woman in his arms, feeling the same prickle in his
own eyes at seeing her in this state. Ororo's hand instictively
clutched his shirt, tears soaking through the fabric. At this moment,
she knew no embarrassment or shame at her tears, only the need to
purge herself of this grief.
The sobs faded to whimpers, and the whimpers to silence. All the
tension drained from her muscles and she rested her head on his
shoulder, tears soaking through his shirt. How long they sat together
neither knew, nor even cared.
Eventually, she pulled herself from his arms, and hurriedly brushed a
hand across her tear-streaked cheeks. She gulped greedily for air as
her head rested on her knees, abashed at allowing Kurt to see her
cry. The two sat in silence for several moments, an unspoken
acquiescence passing between them. What had happened this evening
would never leave this room. Whatever had elicited this surge of
emotion in Ororo was clearly private, and he would not broach the
matter until she was ready.
With a sigh, Ororo rose, and placed a kiss on his brow. "Thank you,
A faint tinge appeared on his blue cheeks. "You are most welcome
anytime." They exchanged a smile before she turned towards the
door. "Good night, Ororo."
"Good night, Kurt," she replied, before slipping back into the hall.
As she closed the door, Kurt bowed his head, and began to finger the
rosary beads once more. He whispered a Hail Mary for Ororo, and
prayed that she would find the faith she needed to overcome the fears
in her heart.