Fanfic Time: Don't Pity Me part 2

Very much NSFW fic continued from yesterday:

Fracture Two: A Pleasant Interlude.

  “Blue! There you are,” Tabitha leaped on him and gave him an exuberant hug. “I heard what happened yesterday. You sure you’re up for school?”

  _Not really._ “The Professor said it should be okay. I have a pass to get out of gym.” He patted his pocket, where the familiar crinkle was. Such a reassuring sound of bending paper.

  “Cool. So what are you planning to do with all that freedom?”

  Kurt shrugged. “Well… uh. Probably find somewhere quiet and a nice book.”

  Tabitha snorted. “Blue, darling? You are in serious need of my help. Meet me at the dumpsters and I’ll take care of *everything*. Make you feel better in nothing flat.”

  Her body was soft and warm against him. Her lips were sweet. The way she ran her finger along his jawline made him forget all about the times that she just took from him. She made him feel *good*, and he needed that.

  And she called him ‘darling’. And 'cutie’. And any *number* of affectionate nicknames. Like she meant it.

  Kurt never knew if Tabitha really felt anything for him, but at this stage in the game, he’d settle for whatever felt real enough.

  Tabitha was certainly real.

*

  Kurt’s nervousness was paved over by a breezy, “Hey, *relax*. Nobody's gonna notice a thing. We’ll only be gone a few minutes.” And a rather stunning french kiss.

  Now all he could do was go along for the ride, grin, and think, _Her mouth tastes like applesauce…_

  Tabitha was always fun.

  He’d probably pay later for the ride she was taking him on towards and beyond the Bayville city limits. Kurt didn’t care. The moment was enough. Life was, when one thought about it, too short to stress about consequences. Tabitha said he was there to relax.

  So what if it was more than a few minutes?

  So what if they were messing up Lance’s car a little?

  So what if his friends would be wondering where he was?

  Tabitha tasted like applesauce.

*

  He was still laughing when she bought him back to Bayville. Around sunset. The time had flown. He’d enjoyed it. He felt wonderful.

  Her kisses were sweet and went straight to his head.

  “Hey,” he said through giggles. “This is your place. What about the guys?”

  “Aw, come on. You can just pop me up to my room. It’s on the second floor. 'Sides. There’s something up there I gotta show you.”

  Kurt opened his night senses, closing his eyes and inhaling through his nose. At once, he got the 'feel’ of the entire area. He grabbed hold of Tabitha and concentrated on a clear space.

  {Bamf!}

  They reappeared about a foot above the huge bed. Kurt felt impelled to bounce on the thing. “Whoah! I thought Kitty said that the boarding house was a dump…”

  “Most of it is,” said Tabitha. She’d jumped off the bed to dump their stuff near the door. “This is your Mom’s old room.”

  There were two chandalliers. This was something of an open invitation. "I must say, she certainly knew how to look after herself,“ he said, doing a simple triple somersault between the now-swinging light fixtures.

  ”*Blue*…“ Tabitha laughed. "Quit swingin’ on my lights. Come on down. I found them.”

  Kurt leaped to the floor. “Found what?”

  Tabitha presented him with two framed photographs. One was clearly Mystique with a baby that looked a lot like Rogue. The other…

  It was him, aged about six. He knew the photograph. He remembered it being taken. But the woman behind him was not the lady he’d been with at the time.

  Instead of Mrs Nesbit holding him in her lap, there was Mystique.

  It wasn’t a Gmix. It was real.

  Kurt could feel his heart breaking. Played for a fool. So easily. All it took was a few words.

  He put the photo of Rogue down. He could deal with that, later.

  “I remember this,” he whispered, all the happiness of the day drained out of him. “Only it wasn’t Mystique when *I* saw her.”

*

Flashback…

  “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” the words came out in one breath, and they came out in the dark, but beyond that, this was no true confession. There was no priest between him and God. Just the comforting dark of a little space under two adjoining trailers. “It’s been twenty-four hours since my last confession. In that time, I – in that time…" he couldn’t make himself remember the things that had been done to him, yesterday. "You saw what happened in that time. You know what people do to me. You know they pay for it. And I feel - I want to make myself die.”

  Harsh words for someone who was barely six years old.

  “Help me,” Kurt whispered, continuing the prayer. “Show me that life is going to be okay? That I can be loved by others apart from my family without - without money being involved? I know this is one of your Tests, Father, but – can it be over, soon? Please? I just want to stop hurting…” he broke down into sobs. God would be able to hear his 'Amen’, even though nobody else, had they been listening, would have been able to decipher it.

  But nobody was listening. Kurt Wagner was a quiet child when he was in pain. He never liked to cause a fuss. Mama and Papa were plenty worried about him already, what with the nightmares he wouldn’t talk about, and the way their adopted son ran off to be alone at the strangest times. They were reassured by the smiles and enjoyment he got out of the circus tour, every Summer, and they trusted all the Romani in the troupe to watch out for him.

  But there were bad Romani, just as there were good Romani.

  The people from Statleindorf weren’t *all* bad. Just the ones who were intently interested in him. The ones who casually nodded away his unusualness were safe. The ones who stared with a calculating smile were not.

  Someone found him, and dragged him into the cruel daylight. It was one of the unsafe ones. The ones who rented him out to strangers. The ones who didn’t see him as a child, but an opportunity.

  “Today’s your lucky day, Herr Flockig,” said the unsafe one. “We've got you another job.”

  Kurt went silent and limp over the man’s shoulder. Struggling got him hit. Complaining got him hit. Talking - well, just about anything except doing exactly what they wanted - got him hit.

  “Here he is, Frau,” the man juggled Kurt in his arms. “The blue wonder. Die Fleidertuefel. Yours for a mere five hundred marks a night.”

  He was talking to her in English. Not that it mattered. Kurt spoke four languages. Two of which were actually useful in the world Outside.

  “Does he have a name?” the rich old lady - they were mostly rich old ladies - reached out and petted his fur.

  “His parents call him Kurt, but he’ll answer to anything, won’t you, Herr Flockig?”

  Kurt sighed. “Jawohl, mein Herr.” He could be thankful it wasn’t a rich old man. They sometimes hurt him. As long as the marks didn’t show, his price remained unchanged. It cost a lot to come up with an excuse for marks.

  The old lady took him into her arms. She actually held him as if he were a child, and not a bag of chaff. She focussed on his face and watched his eyes. “Do you speak English, Kurt?”

  “Ja,” he said, and added, “I do speak some English.” _Careful. Play dumb. They like dumb._

  She kissed him on the forehead and asked, “How much for twenty-four hours?”

  The unsafe one didn’t even pause. “That’s a thousand marks. Up front.”

  _This is *weird*…_ Kurt watched as she took out the money and handed it over. The unsafe one was treating him like a thing. Kurt was used to that. But the lady was treating him like a person. It was like walking on shaky ground.

  He didn’t know what she wanted from him.

  She took him away from the troupe, towards an expensive car. There was a child seat in the back, which she buckled him into.

  They’d all just let him roam around the back, before.

  “Comfortable?” she asked.

  Kurt put his tail along his right leg. “Ja. I’m okay…” He was nervous. He knew it, but he was sure that the lady wouldn’t know what his tail wrapping around things would mean.

  “My name is Mrs Nesbit,” she said. “Did they tell you why I wanted you?”

  Kurt shook his head.

  “I suppose they have the same story, but mine’s true. I had a little boy once. He was a lot like you. I - lost him. Soon after he was born." A tear trailed down her face. "I still miss him.”

  The car started, and drove away from the carnival grounds. Kurt didn't watch the troupe fade into the scenery, this time. This time, he was fascinated by Mrs Nesbit.

  “He would have been six years old,” she said. “I’ve been looking that long, for another special little boy. Just to hold him. Treat him as my son. Just for one day.”

  Kurt thought about his birth mother. The mother who’d put him on the Wagner’s back doorstep about six years ago, and knocked, and ran away, into the unknown. Did she miss him? Did she know where he was? Did she blow a kiss out a window every night for God to take to him, like he did for her? Was she even looking?

  “Did he have a name?” Kurt asked.

  Mrs Nesbit seemed surprised that he spoke. “I - he was too young. I hadn’t come up with a name that fit him.” She hid her face in her hands, and cried.

  “I’m sorry, Frau. I didn’t mean to make you cry…” emboldened, he reached out and patted her arm.

  “I’d been thinking of Michael,” she said, chasing water from her eyes. "But - Michael wasn’t *right*.“

  "I’m adopted,” Kurt blurted. “I don’t know who my real mother is. Maybe - maybe I could pretend like *you’re* my mother?”

  She smiled. “Would you? Just for one day?”

  “Ja, I would. You seem real nice and everything. Er. What do I call you, Frau?”

  “Just 'Mom’ will do.”

  “Mowm,” he said, trying to get the American accent right.

  “Mom,” she corrected, laughing.

  “Mowm,” Kurt giggled. It turned into a game.

*

  “It’d been a wonderful day,” Kurt whispered, caressing the photo. He remembered the games, the fun, the endless treats and stories she’d read to him. “At the end of it, she sat me on her lap and got her friend to take a photo. This photo. I never knew that she was lying to me.”

  “Oh, Blue,” Tabitha whispered, hugging him from behind.

  There was something different about this embrace. He looked. Tabitha had taken her top off. She was just wearing her bra and jeans.

  “*Tabitha*?”

  The photos went onto the bedside table. Tabitha wriggled her way into his embrace, and kissed him. Once again, applesauce overpowered his higher brain functions. 

  “Today’s the day for *good* times, Blue,” she purred, helping him out of his top, his holowatch, and starting on his pants. “You need to forget the bad times.”

  Kurt started to purr, and didn’t care that she heard. He loved every minute of the times that Tabitha payed attention to him. He was going to love every minute of *this*. Regret was for another time.

*

  Downstairs, the rest of the Brotherhood started hearing noises. As one mutant, they stood to attention and saluted.

  “Now that’s what I call a sacrifice for the greater good, yo,” said Todd. “I mean. *Him*. Ewww…”

  “Please,” said Lance. “I do *not* need that mental image. I mean, I got to see fuzz-butt in a singlet, and that was way too much blue fur for me, if you get my drift.”

  “Still,” speculated Pietro. “We’ll get to find out for sure if his butt *is* fuzzy.”

  “*EW*!” Fred screwed up his face. “That does it. I’m outta here.”

  The others watched him go, listening to the ruckus upstairs. At one point, Lance’s face dropped.

  “Urgh,” he said. “She’s stopped faking it.”

  There was a mutual shudder.

  “Yo, you turned me off my food, fool.”

  “Likewise,” said Pietro.

  “I can *not* hang around here,” Lance decided. “I don’t care how many credit cards the Freakshow’s got. I can’t listen to that.”

  There was a chorus of, “Me neither"s from Todd and Pietro.