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.

I have no beta reader, so I honestly want your opinions. I will respond to any reviews by posting reviews myself. Check often. If you want better stories, feedback is the key.

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 Nine: Every Smile You Fake

She woke up to the sound of birds chirping and sunlight in her face. Or at least she thought she was awake. She’d been underground so long it seemed impossible. But there it was. She blinked against the light and looked around. She was lying on a couch and a nearby window was open to the breeze. A cozy living room, brightly lit with simple oak and leather furniture.

“Where am I?” There was no answer, unless you counted the birds in the trees she could see outside. She sat up and looked around. She saw no one.

{Last thing I remember was…A dream?} No, the last thing she was reasonably certain was a memory was being held in Kurt’s arms as he made ‘port after torturous ‘port until she retched her guts up in some bushes.

“Kurt? Hello? Is there anyone here?” She rose from the couch and walked through the nearby archway into a small but well equipped kitchen. On the kitchen island were a purse, a set of keys, a cell phone, and a small stack of papers. Topmost on the stack was a driver’s license with her face on it.

“Adrienne Porter? Age 26, red and brown…Bayville, New York? Never heard of it.” Kurt must be responsible; he was the only one to know her by that name. She examined the rest of the documents: a social security card, a debit card, and a caretaker’s contract complete with Adrienne Porter’s signature in her own handwriting.

“How the hell did you do all this?” Here was everything she needed to start a new life. She opened the cell phone hoping for a clue. There were only two numbers, 911, and a local phone number titled “Home.” She dialed it. The phone on the kitchen island rang.

“Figures.” She snapped it closed. “So this is my place? Sort of?” She opened the purse, it held a wallet which contained five twenty dollar bills and nothing else. She left the papers on the island and turned her attention to the staircase in the foyer.

“Curiouser and curiouser…” She climbed the wooden staircase trailing her fingers along the fine wood grain. Upstairs she found a guestroom and bath and a master suite. The guestroom was empty of anything personal, but she found a small collection of clothing in the master closet all in her size, though she’d never seen any of it before. Her *new* size as she seemed to have lost weight.

{I took a lot of pills…I was probably pretty sick.}

There was even a copy of Bullfinch’s Mythology on the nightstand. This one was new, unlike the dog-eared copy she’d left behind…

She checked the bathroom. Towels, toothbrush, dental floss. The medicine cabinet held a bottle of women’s multivitamins and a birth control compact with Adrienne’s name on it and three pills missing. She checked the label and recognized neither the doctor nor the pharmacy that prescribed it.

“Must be Tuesday.” She always took her pills in the morning and the clock next to the bed said 12:15. On a hunch she pulled the shower curtain aside and found this too stocked with her favorite brands of shampoo, soap, and other toiletries.

“O.K., Kurt. This has gone way past thoughtful…Twilight Zone creepy is more like it.” She tried to still the nervous flutters in her belly. He obviously meant her to stay – so where was he? Or had she flipped her lid and simply forgot she’d been living here…for how long?

She went back into the bedroom and began pulling open drawers. Bras, panties, stockings, socks, t-shirts, shorts, exactly seven of each in different colors...

“What? Couldn’t find days of the week?” She certainly hadn’t bought those herself. She’d never worn green underpants in her life. She checked the hamper at the foot of the bed and it was completely empty and smelled new.

{So, I haven’t been staying here. I must have been somewhere – I didn’t recover from that many pills in just one night.}

She poked around in a few more drawers and found a pile of lacy nightgowns. She pulled one out and looked at it dumbfounded. The sickly-sweet smell of perfume and the label told her just where these things had come from.

{You have got to be kidding! I wouldn’t be caught dead in that store. Ugh!}

She balled the offending garment back up and shoved it back into the drawer closing it with a “thump.” She was starting to suspect what was going and she didn’t like it one bit. The sooner she found him and talked to him the better. She headed back down the stairs to the kitchen.

She stopped short as she saw something that hadn’t been there before. A half-empty bottle of beer sat next to the purse on the island, beads of condensation trickling down the sides. In the air hung a whiff of the foul scent that had accompanied each of Kurt’s jumps and led directly to her losing what was supposed to have been her last meal on the night they had escaped.

“Kurt! Come out and talk to me!” She reached for the bottle and it was still cold to the touch. He must have ‘ported when he heard her coming down the stairs. She put the bottle back down and began pulling open doors, finding a well-stocked pantry, a small laundry room, and a powder room, but no Kurt.

Nervous now, she tested her gift, willing energy to flow from her hands. All she got for her efforts were a few small sparks and a pang of hunger, both for food and energy.

“Out of juice.” She was defenseless. He couldn’t know that, except…Oh shit! She had babbled there at the end, thinking it didn’t matter anymore. He knew. Did anyone else? That must be why she was alone – already she could feel her gift’s demands for energy pulling at her.

“Food first.” She opened the fridge, expecting now that it too would be stocked with food. Milk, eggs, two brands of beer, soda, luncheon meat, jelly…that would do. She hadn’t had peanut butter and jelly for years. She quickly found the necessary ingredients and sat down to her first “home-cooked meal” in two years. She washed it down with a cold glass of milk and the remaining beer in the bottle, making a silent toast to her benefactor.

The beer helped to settle her nerves. She cleaned up, then sat down and began to place the pieces of her new identity into their proper places in the wallet and purse given to her. She glanced again at the contract and wondered what “X-Corp” was besides her new employer. She did note that she was supposed to receive a stipend – that’s what the debit card was for. Good. She would need to get out and get some things soon. Some of the clothes upstairs were completely inappropriate and she would need heavier clothes when the weather got cold.

{When it gets cold? Am I really considering staying here?}

Common sense told her she should find the nearest ATM; pull out all the cash she could get and bolt. Assuming she would be allowed to bolt. She hadn’t yet tried to leave the house.

{O.K. So I run. Where?}

Good question. She couldn’t go home. She certainly couldn’t risk resuming her old identity. After that display of power, they’d be watching for her. She had no friends after being holed up in the base for two years. In fact, it was quite likely the man she was considering running from was the only person who would even consider helping her.

{So. I just become his little “Adrienne” and wait patiently for him to do…whatever it is he plans to do to me?}

That didn’t sit well with her. Maybe she was misreading his intentions. Maybe he was just trying to help? No, she remembered just too well how possessive he could be, how he had never truly surrendered. How aggressive he had become. It was only a matter of time.

{Sooner or later he’ll come to me. He always does.}

She shrugged to herself and tucked the keys in her pocket before walking out the front door. She wouldn’t run, at least not yet. The yard outside was well trimmed and tastefully landscaped with several large trees, maples she thought. The sun was warm, but not hot. Pale green leaves and bright flowers where everywhere.

{I’d forgotten it was supposed to be spring. God! How I have missed the sun.}

She wandered about the little house, admiring the architecture, though she had no idea what the style was called. It looked cozy and friendly to her. There was a paved driveway leading off into the distance and a small tool shed in back. After a few moments she realized that she was quickly running out of steam.

{Still not fully recovered I suppose.}

She chose the largest of the trees in the front yard and lowered herself to the ground to prop her back against it. She let her head fall back and lifted her face to the sun, closing her eyes. She watched the sunlight dance through the leaves behind her eyelids, feeling the tree as a deep cool pool of energy behind her. Her gift would slowly replenish itself as long as she stayed there. She relaxed, letting her thoughts drift until she dozed off.

“Miss? Excuse me, but you’ll get a nasty sunburn sleeping out here.” Adrienne blinked drowsily at the woman standing a few feet away from her. She was tall and muscular with dark skin and long white hair, tied back with a blue scarf that matched her blue eyes. She wore a white t-shirt and black bike shorts and held the handlebars of a black ten-speed in her hands.

“What? Must have dozed off.” Adrienne rubbed at her faced with both hands then looked up again at the other woman who seemed oddly familiar. How could she have forgotten anyone so striking?

“Hello. My name is Ororo. I was just riding by to see who had moved in. Are you all right?”

“Hi. Have we met?”

“No. I don’t think so.”

“I’m fine I guess. I’ve been…ill lately. Not quite feeling myself yet.” Ororo engaged the bike’s kickstand and offered Adrienne a hand up. Adrienne took it cautiously, her gift urging her to prolong the contact as the energy was much more satisfying than that of a tree. Its hungry tugging was distracting.

“Are you the new caretaker?”

“Yeah. I guess so.” She stood stiffly, letting go of Ororo’s hand with a firm mental reprimand to her gift. “Adrienne Porter, pleased to meet you.”

“Are you sure you’re all right?” The other woman seemed genuinely concerned.

“I’ll be fine. Really. Are we neighbors?”

“I live a few miles away. I’m a teacher at one of the local schools here. The owner of the property doesn’t mind locals using the private drive.”

“Ah. I don’t think I’ve actually met him. Her?”

“Him I believe.”

{Get off the subject. How weird is it not to know who hired you?}

“Would you like to come inside for a beer or something? You’re the first person I’ve met here so far.” She really didn’t want to be alone right now.

“Would you happen to have some tea instead?”

“I think I saw some in the cabinet just this afternoon.” Adrienne led the way into the little house. Ororo left her bicycle on the front porch and came inside. Finding Adrienne completely inept at making tea, Ororo insisted she sit down and took over the task with a smile.

Ororo studied Adrienne over a cup of hot tea. She worried that they had been too hasty in releasing her from the infirmary. She was pale and moved slowly. As the younger woman began to relax and chat, she found it hard to reconcile this “Adrienne” with the “Alpha-9” described in the reports. And so far, Kurt had said very little about her or his recent experiences.

“So, Adrienne. You mentioned you’ve been sick? May I ask what caused your illness? That is if I’m not getting too personal.”

“I…uh…I’m a little fuzzy on some of the details. I took some pills. A lot of pills I think.”

“Why?”

“I was in a dark place. I guess I thought it was the only way out? On a beautiful day like today, I have a hard time understanding it myself.” Adrienne fell silent over her tea. Ororo hadn’t really expected a truthful answer and was surprised. She continued to sip her own tea thoughtfully for several moments. She silently speculated that the Professor might have taken measures to prevent a second suicide attempt.

“What happened after that? Do you remember?”

“Someone was with me. He must have gotten me some help, or else I wouldn’t be here. I can’t seem to remember much of that.”

“I suppose you owe your friend your life then.”

“I guess so. I’m not sure he’s my friend. We don’t seem to be on speaking terms anymore.” Adrienne looked at her empty cup. “This stuff’s pretty good hot. I’ll have to learn how to make it myself one day.”

{I’m pretty sure I should know who this woman is. Is she one of Kurt’s friends or teammates? I remember asking him about them…Why can’t I remember what he said?} The thought that her mind had been tampered with in addition to the missing time was almost enough to make her panic.

She kept the rest of their conversation cautiously neutral as they shared a cold meal of sandwiches and chips. She was reluctant to end the visit and be alone in the house, even if the woman was just there to pump her for information. As the sun began to set, Ororo begged off saying she preferred to ride back before it got too dark.

“Thanks for stopping by. I really enjoyed the conversation. And the tea.”

“My pleasure. Good evening.”