I, Mutant

I, Mutant Chapter Eighteen
Disclaimers Apply

A/N Goddess Foxfeather, Queen of Mad Plotbunnies, BUSIEST WOMAN ALIVE ™, Prophetic Muse, Hamster Witch and Uberbeta… Squid! InterNutter, TC, Maxwell Pink, Dracena and Greywolf are loverly and wondermous for archiving/hosting. J ProPhile: *big shiny muse hat * Morgan: *stalk? * Readers/Reviewers: Doctor Nightfall gave me a nudge for the next fic so yay for him! : ) Thank y’all for reading/reviewing!




“Unglaublich…”

“I don’t care,” she hissed. “He is a baby! I’m not leaving him to die!” She hugged the precious bundle fiercely, narrowing her eyes at the small group assembled before her. “He’s a gift from God!” She took a step forward, tossing her long, dark hair over one shoulder, daring someone to comment. Holding her breath, she took another step, then another. She did not meet anyone’s eyes as she moved through the sparse crowd and towards her encampment. Her husband, newly minted to the title and still shaky in his role, followed a few paces behind, swallowing nervously but buoyed by his wife’s fierce protectiveness. The others parted like the Red Sea as he strode forward, either in delayed reaction to the tiny woman or in direct response to his height, he was not sure nor did he care. He crunched in the dry grass behind Astrid, watching her back, the stern set of her shoulders under the loose white blouse she wore as part of the fortune teller costume and the stiff, fast gait of her walk. “He’s a baby,” she repeated, this time a bit louder, meaning for the people still hiding in their tents and shelters to hear her.

“They know,” Johannes sighed. The bundle in his wife’s arms struggled and yawned, emitting a tiny, high pitched squeak in the process. He looked to be less than a few weeks old, the stump of the umbilical cord still attached to his tiny belly. “What else could he be?” He sat down heavily on the bench beside their cook fire.

Astrid looked up at him sharply, her knees finally starting to shake. “A demon,” she spat. “A monster! I heard them! They wanted to drown him!”

“Calm. Down.” Johannes did not rise and go to her; he knew she would push him away. “Just sit with me, Astrid. Sit for a while. He is a boy, a baby. Maybe…” he paused, taking a deep breath, “he is a sign.” She started to speak but he cut her off, knowing her words would come from anger. “We’ve prayed for a child, ja? Maybe this,” he paused, “he is an answer to our prayers.”

Astrid visibly wilted, her face drawing down into lines of sadness. “He looks so…odd…” She knew it was an understatement but could not help it. “Blue and…this tail! His eyes!”

“He is special,” Johannes sighed, passing a tired hand over his face as if he could clear away traces of his sudden weariness. “He is our son.”

Astrid tried to smile but could not, her face crumpling as the tears came. “My son,” she whispered fiercely. “My son…”


Kurt took a deep breath and stepped forward, out of the shadows. She still had not seen him. Good. She was too busy staring at the huge plant near the study door, staring at the tropical leaves and flowers that Frau Storm had coaxed to abundance in this far-from-tropical place. They were all from so far away here, he thought. His mother had told him that this place was not like home, not like the big cities they had seen, not like their camps or villages. She had told him it would be scary, a bit, and it would be foreign in many ways. She had not told him, though, that there would be no one to protect him like she had. There was no one to stand quietly back, watchful eyes making sure he did not stumble headlong into danger. No one was there to whisper encouragingly when he hung back in a group, uncertain of how the others would take him. This girl was not even looking at him and he was afraid of her, afraid of her innocent prettiness, her self-assured stance. Her parents weren’t with her; they were talking to the Professor. He was alone with the girl, working without a net. He took a deep breath, watching her face as she turned towards him, her lips parting. He vanished.

Kurt rocked forward onto the balls of his feet, watching Kitty shove her suitcase into the back of the station wagon. He saw the tiny purple mark on her neck and rage boiled up inside him, eating at his stomach like a hungry beast. That jackass had left that mark on her, HIS mark, his lips and teeth and tongue on her neck and God only knew where else. Kurt clenched his fingers into fists, closing his eyes so he did not stare at the pale column of her throat, marred by the love bite. He could not help it; he could see them as clearly as if he had witnessed the whole thing. She, with her wide and bright eyes, cheeks pink from shyness or excitement, laying back on the sofa. Him, pale and perfect and so…normal…touching her and wanting her, making her utter the tiny noises he had no right to cause. He knew that flesh, knew her responses. It was his! She had told him she wanted space, he fumed silently. He had agreed, wanting her so badly he ached from it. But she wanted space, space away from him. Space for someone normal, someone who didn’t remind her she was a mutant every time she looked at him. Kurt opened his eyes to find Kitty staring at him. “Guten Tag , Katzchen. See you on the fourth.”