X-Calibre Trilogy: Long Hard Road Out of Hell

This wasn’t Washington D.C.

It was where Washington used to be. Miriam and I were on a hilltop, looking out over the city before us. And I must confess, it was one of the most orderly cities I’d ever seen. The buildings rose high into the sky and were of a gothic design. The streets below that were, even at this late hour, crowded with cars going to and fro. I watched with mild interest as one of those cars turned on a set of lights and sirens to pull someone over for something. As I pondered how strange it was to see this, I wondered how it looked in other realities; I wondered how different the world was each time Bishop got thrown into another reality.

“Who?” Miriam glanced at me curiously.

Ach, I was talking out loud? Oh well. I explained to her about Bishop and the search for the M’Kraan Crystal, and despite myself it turned into a deeper conversation than I would have liked. In the end I tried to dismiss the topic from my mind but found I could not. After a moment of tense silence during which I sat hunched in one of the dusty pews of the church and Miriam traced meandering patterns over the ruins of the altar, I excused myself to go for a walk.

I didn’t stray far from the church. I mostly just walked around and ‘ported a few times to bleed off excess energy . . . and I thought a lot about my last days back home. Now that I was finally alone I also let myself grieve for those I wouldn’t see again. It was funny that I could be so angry at all of them, and so bitter, but now I was sad about what had happened. I replayed memories of my past in a seemingly endless loop, with the last thing I remembered sounding like a death knell deep inside. This shouldn’t have been, none of it should have been . . .

I shouldn’t have been . . .

I allowed myself to cry bitterly, let myself get it out of my system while I was alone. My eyes were burning from the tears when I finally decided I’d better check on Miriam and our chosen shelter for the night. I hauled myself to my feet and teleported into the lobby so I wouldn’t disturb her sleep. She turned out to be still awake, however, although she tried to pretend she was asleep.

“I started to worry about you,” she answered when I asked why she was still up.

I was surprised at her concern over me. If anything, I would have thought she’d be glad for the privacy after all of our time spent together. She asked what was wrong and when I sat down next to her, declining to talk about it, she got up and moved behind me. I immediately turned to see her – I suppose I knew inside that she wouldn’t do anything to threaten me, but old habits die hard. Her hands were warm on my shoulders as she offered in jest to be garroted by my anatomy if I didn’t trust her. I was growing used to her wit now and was glad that it met well with my own; I chuckled and tried to relax.

The massage felt great. She started at first with broad pressure all along my back and I felt my skin grow warmer as the blood came up to meet her touch. Then she began to focus on the areas of tension, her deft hands kneading the muscles at first, then focusing with her thumbs on the worst knots until they released; she balled her hands into fists and rocked her knuckles back and forth from my shoulders down to my waist. I kept my eyes closed and breathed deeply – as she got to the tension buried under layers of muscle I remembered suddenly just how much a good massage could hurt – before I focused on repressing my body’s instinctive twitching when she used her fingertips to work on the tiny muscles directly along my spine. When she got to my neck she let her fingers dance across my skin and I felt a sudden ache of loneliness inside; I desperately wanted to feel her fingers in my hair and more than just han hands on my body. As she ruffled the fur on the back of my neck she offered to continue the massage there and I lowered my head so she could reach better. She was very gentle, the motions soothing to me as a nice wind-down to her work. She asked again what had upset me and I decided to confide in her.

“It’s just something that occurred to me before,” I struggled to keep from crying again. It was what it was, so why should I be so damned upset about it? “I’ve not yet decided which is more disturbing to me: being told I never should have been, or the fact that I somehow was, anyway.”

Her fingers stopped and I swallowed; had I said too much? Had it been something she’d really wanted to hear? I bit down on my lip when I realized with a sudden stab of panic that I cared, truly cared, what her reaction to that would be. But her fingers started to move again, smoothing down the fur along my neck and sweeping over and out over my shoulders. She said quietly that she would have a hard time with that thought too but she was in favor of my existence. And then she did something that made my heart skip a beat and my breath catch in my throat.

She kissed me. She held my hair off my neck for a brief moment and leaned forward to press her lips softly to my skin, holding the contact for several seconds before moving away.

It was the last thing I’d have ever expected given the nature of our relationship. For all the talking we’d done over the past weeks we were still only getting to know one another, and until tonight we’d refrained from touching one another except to teleport. But with that simple gesture, so brief and more intimate than the massage would ever have been otherwise, the paradigm shifted and I was suddenly filled with a confused trembling apprehension I’d not felt since my time with Jimaine. I felt a lump grow in my throat as my feelings collided . . . I wanted more but was quite afraid of what it would lead to emotionally. I didn’t want to be alone but I also didn’t want to face the inevitable reality of her leaving me for someone else or for her own independence. Then my brain kicked in again and I realized I’d not moved or said anything in response, and that she’d probably take that as a bad sign.

But when I turned to face her she looked like she’d been waiting patiently. I couldn’t help noticing that a blush had been receding from her and that it returned quickly once my eyes were on her. Our eyes met and we stared at each other for a few minutes and then I noticed something else. Usually when I looked at someone so directly they flinched away from it. My eyes were simply too unnerving for others to look at for more than a split second, it seemed; even Ororo had been bothered by it and when I asked her why, especially given that her eyes were often an opaque white, she’d said that it always seemed as though I were looking right through her. But Miriam didn’t seem bothered in the least by my eyes. In fact, I had the distinct impression that she knew I was looking into her rather than through her . . . and that she was doing the same with me. The idea, ridiculous as it was, sent another nervous thrill through me. It was an unexpected vulnerability; and while I was intrigued by the possibility that this was in fact what was going on, I was also terrified of it. What would she see if she really could gaze so deeply into me? Would it make her turn and run? Would she use it as a weapon against me?

I forced myself to speak, to thank her and ask what had really been bothering her. She flushed crimson again and stuttered that she’d been lonely. Before I knew what I was doing I asked her if she wanted me to stay with her and she nodded, suddenly unable to speak for some reason. Perhaps she was afraid of me, afraid to say no . . . but she didn’t flinch when I reached out and caressed her cheek with the backs of my fingers. Her skin was so warm, so soft, and I was certain I was shaking from the contact. I was sorely tempted to pull her to me, to kiss her softly on the mouth, then to kiss her a little harder . . . my mind began to entertain more intimate ideas and I forced myself to wait until she made the next move. I had promised I wouldn’t take advantage of her; I had promised I wouldn’t be an animal with her. If she wanted more than this she would tell me.

She moved closer into my touch and I took her into my arms and laid back. “We all get lonely,” I whispered to keep my voice from cracking. “It’s alright.” But she tensed slightly as I pulled her down to the floor, prompting a stab of pain in my chest that had no physical cause. Oh, please don’t be frightened of me, I thought with stinging eyes. I’m not the way I look, I’m really not . . . please don’t think that . . . I’m German, yes, but not a Nazi, I wouldn’t force you, I wouldn’t hurt you . . .

She began to relax when I assured her of those last thoughts, that I wouldn’t force her to do something she didn’t want to do. I tucked her closer to me and petted her gently as I grabbed the blankets with my tail. Once we were covered up I slid my tail over us both, secretly happy that she didn’t jump at the undoubtedly odd sensation of that. I wished her sweet dreams before pressing my lips to her forehead; she sighed a little and settled herself against me. She was asleep within fifteen minutes but I was awake for longer than that, staring into the rafters as I tried to push away Nightcrawler for the night and just be Kurt. I wanted to enjoy this. I deserved to be happy, even if only for one night, didn’t I?