Every Breath You Take

Author’s Note/Disclaimer: I’ll be going down some very dark paths in this fic. I love Kurt. And we always hurt the ones we love. Don’t we? “Every Breath You Take” is a song by the Police from the eighties. I used to love the song. More than a decade later I listen to the lyrics and realize just how creepy they are. I think it’s perfect for this story.

BTW: This Kurt Wagner is the Nightcrawler from XMen Evolution and hasn’t had quite the rough life his comic book counterpart had. At least up until now.

Back to the old refrain: Feedback, feedback, feedback -- I have no Beta reader. I do read and respond to reviews -- check the reviews section for my responses.

05/24/2007 – I just found a major error on my part that had made all the character’s internal thoughts invisible when posted online. I usually refrain from pulling up my own stories so as not to inflate the hit counter, but apparently I need to proofread online.

{This means character’s internal thoughts.}
**This means projected thoughts, as in telepathy.**

Chapter Ten: I’ll Be Watching You

Adrienne watched the light outside dim with mixed sense of anticipation and dread. When he came, it would be in the dark, she was certain. Would it be tonight? She busied herself with tidying the kitchen before heading upstairs for her first shower in the new house. She took her time bathing, stalling for time.

{Just like he used to do.}

Finally, the water began to run cold and her fingers were all wrinkled. She climbed cautiously out of the shower, brushed her teeth and dried her hair. Wrapping a towel around herself, she held her breath as she entered the bedroom. When she found it empty she was relieved. She chose a plain white t-shirt and matching panties to sleep in.

{No way am I going to wear one of those lacy things to bed. Too “Bride of Dracula” for me.}

It was getting late and she was getting tired. Having run out of stalling tactics, she turned out the lights and climbed into bed. Fatigue quickly took over and she was plunged into a sea of uneasy dreams. Flashes of their training sessions and their escape were intermixed with the sound of angry voices belonging to people she couldn’t see. One of those voices was familiar.

{Ororo?}

Her eyes snapped open. Maybe it wasn’t a dream at all. Maybe it was a memory. Too uneasy to go back to sleep immediately, her eyes roamed the unfamiliar room, identifying each silhouette. She considered reaching for the bedside lamp to chase away the shadows. Instead she held still.

{He’s here.}

Her heart pounded loudly in her ears. Where was he? She wasn’t sure what had tipped her off, only that she was certain he was there, watching her in the darkness. If she spoke, would he answer? Or would he disappear again? Only one way to find out.

“Stay with me.”

“Bamf.” The sound came from the direction of the closet and she smelled the stench of brimstone again. She waited a few seconds, hoping he might return, but there was nothing but silence.

“Damn it.” She rolled over and went back to sleep, certain he wouldn’t return this night.


Kurt cursed himself as he reappeared in his room at the Mansion. How had she known he was there? Why hadn’t she worn one of the nightgowns he’d given her? Why should it matter to him if she did?

He promised himself he would stay away. Give her time to settle in. Give himself some time to calm down.

{Let her start to feel safe.}

That’s why he brought her here wasn’t it? To keep her safe.

{Wasn’t it?}


Determined to get out of the house for a while, Adrienne dressed for a run. The run she'd planned turned out to be more of a long walk. The private drive was much longer than she’d thought and her energy reserves were still quite low. She hadn’t yet found the end when she found she had to take a break. She again chose the largest tree she could find and settled beneath it to let her gift feed itself.

{A well-fed gift is a well-behaved one.}

She didn’t like being defenseless. It wasn’t something she was used to. Of course, she could always use the command words with Kurt if things got out of hand. Right?

{So why didn’t I use them before?}

Good question. Perhaps it was because she felt she was stealing part of “Kurt” each time she did it? Or maybe she hadn’t wanted to take back control.

{What? Me? Give up control?}

Had she done that? Willingly? Why wasn’t she running now, instead of lounging around? Did she have some perverse need to be punished? Did she?

{Maybe I do.}

That was too disturbing to contemplate for long. Too out of character. Wait. If her memories had really been tampered with, might they have tampered with her control words too? She whispered them to herself.

“No. All there. I think.” Would she even know without trying them? Suddenly the sun no longer felt warm. She rose slowly and turned back the way she came.

She spent the rest of the day puttering around the house, learning its nooks and crannies and discovering a small collection of books and a smattering of DVD’s and tapes in the armoire that concealed the living room’s electronics. She spent another uneasy night with her dreams, but had no more uninvited visitors.

She fell into a routine over the next few days, with each morning’s hike taking her a bit further. On the third morning she found the gate that led onto a quiet two-lane road, but had no energy to go further. That same afternoon, Ororo paid her another visit.

“The students are always leaving things behind.” Ororo explained as she unloaded a bicycle from the back of the pickup truck she had parked in front of the little house. This one had a detachable basket and had been painted blue. “I thought maybe you could use it. I noticed you don’t seem to have a car and I’m sure you must be getting a bit tired of wandering the woods.”

“Actually, I was. Getting tired of it, I mean. I’ve walked to the end of the drive and back and it pretty much wiped me out.” She examined the bicycle critically. “The basket sure would be handy for shopping. Do you want anything for it?”

“No. If you didn’t want it, I was just going to donate it to charity.” Ororo shrugged. “I’m afraid I can’t stay to visit today, but I did want to make you the offer.”

“Oh. That’s O.K. Yes, I’d be pleased to have it if you don’t want it.”

“Excellent. See you around then.” Ororo waved as she turned the truck around and pulled off.

{Ororo. Definitely not just a neighbor. But, thanks for the wheels.}

Over the last few nights, the dream-memory had become clearer. She was certain one of the voices was Ororo’s, but couldn’t remember what was said.

{Doesn’t matter. At least she’s friendly.}

“Tomorrow, you and I are going shopping.” She gave the bike an affectionate pat before wheeling it around back to the tool shed, locking it inside.

She spent much of the afternoon composing a list of things she hoped to buy, rewriting the list several times to fit the bicycle’s basket. She went to bed that night happily anticipating a change of scenery.

At three in the morning she found herself awake, heart pounding, and covered in sweat. Images of the mutilated Gammas and an angry Kurt were quickly fading from her mind’s eye. She groaned and climbed out of bed, heading to the bathroom for a glass of water.

She poured herself a glass, then rinsed her mouth before taking a long swallow. She glanced at her bleary-eyed reflection in the mirror. Over her reflection’s shoulder she caught a glimpse of two yellow orbs in the darkness of the open doorway.

“Kurt?” Startled, she turned quickly, dropping the glass in her haste. It shattered and she cut her foot on the shards. “Shit.” She muttered as she tried to make out his figure in the darkness – but she saw nothing. She tried to still the thumping in her chest and took a deep breath.

She sat down on the toilet to survey the damage. Her foot was bleeding, but the cut was pretty shallow.

“The least you could do is help me clean it up.” She called out, but there was no answer.

{I am not going to let him rattle me. That’s what he wants.}

After bandaging her foot and disposing of the glass in the wastebasket, she headed back to bed. But before she did, she flipped on the lights long enough to make sure he had gone. There were no more interruptions until the sun’s rays woke her.

Dismissing her late night visitor, she eagerly prepared for her first visit to town. She laid out a t-shirt and some shorts on the bed before ducking into the bathroom to take a shower. Last night’s dreams had left her itchy with dried sweat. When she walked out, still toweling off her hair she stopped short.

“What the hell?”

Instead of the clothes she had laid out, a white sundress lay across her bed and a pair of white sandals sat on the floor nearby. Neither of which she had seen before. She looked around the room, not truly expecting to see him. She poked her head into the hallway, which was also empty.

{Full speed ahead Mr. Stalker. Creep factor seven.} She joked silently to herself, trying to ignore the nervousness she felt. She covered it by examining the surprise “gift.”

“Well, it is pretty.” She picked it up and held it against her body to check for fit. “But completely impractical.” She instead hung it up in the closet and looked around for her missing clothes. She found them tossed carelessly in the hamper. She quickly dressed and tried on the sandals, debating whether or not she could pedal in them. She stifled another bout of butterflies as she took them off and exchanged them for more practical tennis shoes.

She ate a quick breakfast of toast and milk and collected her purse and shopping list with a smile. Whistling, she fetched her bicycle from the shed and began pedaling. Ororo had been kind enough to give her directions along with the bike and it shouldn’t take long to get there. She never noticed the pair of yellow eyes watching her from the guestroom window.


{Who gave you that bike?}

He seethed at her rejection of his gifts as he watched her pedal away. There was nothing out there he couldn’t bring to her. So why was she leaving? Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he wasn’t thinking clearly, but he ignored it.

{I’ll see you tonight.}

“Bamf.”


The weather was warm and sunny and the air was sweet as Adrienne pedaled into Bayville. The streets were quiet and well-kept. She stopped at a bakery to order a coffee and some baklava to eat on a bench outside. It was there that she was spotted by Logan as he pulled his motorcycle into the neighboring gas station to fill up.

He decided to forget his morning errands and keep an eye on the young woman himself. To that end, he parked his motorcycle nearby and got a cup of coffee and a paper, picking a bench where he could watch her without being obvious.

After licking the last of the sticky pastry off her fingers and drinking the last of her coffee with obvious enjoyment, Adrienne tossed the trash away except for a couple of napkins. Then she looked around before wheeling the bike to a pay phone and propping it up against the booth. Then she dug in her pockets for change. Logan’s interest perked up as he saw her wipe each coin with a napkin before inserting it into the machine.

Adrienne carefully avoided touching anything with her bare fingers, using her napkins to avoid leaving any fingerprints. This was a call she didn’t want anyone to trace back to her. She glanced around for watchers, but saw only one man reading the paper, too far away to hear her call.

“Hello, Papa?” Logan strained his hearing to catch the response.

“Is that you, ‘Dice?” (1) A man’s voice replied, thickly accented.

“Yes, Papa. I can’t talk long.”

“Are you all right? Your mother and I have been so worried.”

“Listen Papa, I slipped up. They know what I can do.”

“You come home, now.”

“No, I can’t. It’s not safe.” She looked around again, nervously.

“Your mother…”

“No. If anyone asks you, you tell them I am dead to you. The Zavros family has no daughter.” A trace of accent had crept into her voice as she spoke.

“That is not true. We love you.”

“I know. But it’s safer this way. I told them you disowned me so that they wouldn’t come to you. At least I hope not.”

“Your mother will never agree.”

“Tell her to think of the cousins. The gifts pass through the blood, Papa. Where there is one, there is often more.”

“They tell you this in that secret place you go?”

“Yes, Papa. I left there, and they will try to get me back if they can. And if they can find another, they will take that one too.”

“It is a bad place?”

“Yes Papa, it is a very bad place.”

“Will we see you again?”

“I don’t know. I’m someplace safe…for now. I have a different name. I will call if I think it’s safe. Only if it’s safe.”

“Your mother will be upset.”

“I know. I love you Papa.”

“Love you, ‘Dice.” She hung up the phone and carefully wiped it with a napkin before mounting her bicycle and riding down the street.

“Zavros. ‘Dice Zavros.” Logan repeated to himself before folding his paper and tossing it away.


(1) Pronounced “Dee see” or “Dee chay”