The Zeitgeist Awakens

[angelique]

Chapter 18

If the mutant who called himself Azazel had any virtue whatsoever, it was perseverance. If one plan failed, he always had another. So the X-Men, particularly with that Polaris’ finely tuned magnetic abilities, laid waste to his fortress and forced him to beat a hasty retreat. So what children weren’t killed off in his previous invasion attempt could not open a portal large enough for his army. He did not need a fortress any more. He might not even need his army. He could start with a few easily manipulated souls desperate for approval, power, or revenge. Then, if he simply executed this new plan correctly, barring the involvement of some opportunistic interlopers eager to lay claim to his prize, he would have a super powered army already on earth, desperate for decisive leadership, eager to take action against that human plague. Even if it wasn’t happening as he originally planned, his war was still taking shape quite nicely.

“I don’t like the look of that crowd out there one bit,” said Kassandra, as they prepared to leave the courthouse. Outside the main entrances, beyond the crush of media, hordes of protestors strove to out-shout each other. “Could I please take the inhibitors off now?”

The police officers about to escort her out looked at each other not quite knowing what to say.

“My daughter has a point,” said Dr. Altheim. “Just look at this. If I were a mutant, I wouldn’t want to venture out there without my powers.”

“And from the looks of things,” said Warren, “you’ll have your work cut out for you protecting the others.”

“But we can help you, of course,” said Kurt, who had been watching the proceedings on the feed to the mutants’ room and had just stepped into the lobby. He then carefully outlined a plan for getting everyone out of there with minimal fuss. Warren was impressed to see Nightcrawler using the leadership skills he seemed to lose after their first misadventures in Montana. And Kassandra was glad. She may have doubly wished that Sean Cassidy could be in any shape to help. One word in his commanding voice could quell any impending riot. But she had another idea.

“Einen Moment, Kurt,” she said, pulling her inhibitors off. In the blink of an eye, she checked a timeline. “Great idea. It should work, of course, on a couple of conditions. We have to keep the sentinels out of this, even if there are mutant supremacists in the crowd posing a threat. We don’t want a panic. And besides the usual anti-mutant media tools, we’ve got a certain breath of fresh air reporting. Jack, while we’re departing, how about if we also give her something exclusive? And after we all get out?”

“We all meet for dinner at Gregor’s,” said Jack, “though I can’t stay for long. I’ve got Cain Marko’s case too, and unfortunately, not Kassandra’s time management skills!”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

“This is Trish Tilby reporting from the federal courthouse where the first day of testimony in the trial of Kassandra Altheim has just concluded.”

Professor Xavier might have been able to restrain his desire to check in on the proceedings telepathically, but televisionally was a different matter entirely. Some of the other new reports, objective only in the minds of their reporters and producers, were beginning to annoy even him. On the other hand, this lady was the first he’d heard refer to Kassandra by name without first calling her “mutant ex-spy,” “accused traitor and murderer,” or something even worse. He was glad to see someone reporting on the situation who didn’t think presumed innocence allowed exceptions for mutants.

“The crowd is very tense here at the moment,” Ms. Tilby continued, “and security has been tighter than usual today. It also appears that- what’s this?”

“What’s just happened?” the anchor asked.
“I have just been somehow handed a written statement, signed by Kassandra Altheim and her attorney, Jack White. They call this a preemptive renouncement of violent demonstration. It says here that they hope the people gathered here tonight can express their opinions peacefully, and, I quote, that “demonstrators on either side unable to do so will discredit their cause and likely endanger some of the very people whose right to exist they claim to support.”

“Does this seem ludicrous to you, given the magnitude of the charges against Miss Altheim, that she would renounce violence now?”

Xavier cringed.
“Not at all,” said Ms. Tilby. “Bear in mind, Miss Altheim’s family and some of her closest friends are here tonight. It stands to reason that she would insist extra measures be taken to protect them. And of course no law specifically exempts mutants from presumed innocence. This also says that Miss Altheim and some of the witnesses have pledged to cooperate fully with security to ensure that everyone can leave the courthouse in safety.”

The shouting in the background redoubled.
“And based on what I see now,” said Ms. Tilby, “I’d be grateful for that extra help.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kassandra was the first out the door. In an instant, she made sure Trish Tilby had her statement in hand. Then she flit over to the tree where Nightcrawler had arranged to meet her and resumed time. And with a muffled bamf and the feel of his arms around her, she soon found herself standing with him on the highest limb able to support their weight.

“Nette Außicht, Kurt.” But this was no time to simply enjoy the view. Kassandra gazed across the lawns and the front walkway. She could see by the sufficient light of the setting sun Archangel on the roof of the courthouse.

“We’re in position,” said Kurt into his communicator.
“Now,” Miss Tilby continued, “Apparently Miss Altheim and a couple witnesses have already managed to leave the courthouse, so it’s unlikely that we’ll be able to see or get any comment from them, but…”

“Gottes Wille geschehe,” said Kassandra.
The doors to the main entrance opened, and out came a security detail escorting the jury to their transport.

“Hurry, hurry, hurry,” said Kassandra, as the van drove away and another few cars pulled up. “Oh, Lieber Gott!”

“I hear a shouting match startin’ by that news van,” she heard Logan say into his communicator. “And they’re usin’ fighting words.”

“And there’s some shoving going on about 20 feet behind the press line on the east side,” said Warren.

“We’re on it,” said an officer.
But Kassandra seemed suddenly distracted by something else. “Guys, make sure Fitzsimmons and the prosecution witnesses are the last to leave.”

“But-”
“I don’t know about you, but I actually want to keep them alive. Logan, can you get in there and make sure they stay?”

“Sure thing, kid,” said Logan.
Kurt could feel Kassandra relax, but only a very, very little bit as her family and Jack were ushered out the door. “Dr. Altheim! Mr. White! Father! Mrs. Pulayantlha!” cried the reporters vying for their attention and hoping to get a comment.

“We need more reinforcements along the press line,” said Warren.
“People are trying to break through,” said Kassandra.

“Mutie-lovers! You should be tried for treason! You- you’re a doctor! Why didn’t you abort that thing? Or find a cure? Some loving human family, raising up a monster! You’re only getting what’s coming!” shouted the unsympathetic masses.

They walked to their car offering no response but a solemn and somewhat graceful stoniness.

“Mama knew stuff like this would happen eventually,” Kassandra said, choking back tears and wishing she had some duct tape on hand to apply to more than a few deserving mouths. “Wir waren uns alle dessen bewußt.”

“Deine Mutter ist stärker als meine,” said Kurt, planting a kiss on the top of her tousled head. “For what it’s worth, my mother threw me over a waterfall rather than go through the sort of thing your mother is facing today.”

“It still doesn’t make hearing the things they’re saying any easier.”
“Ich verstehe, Kassandra.”

Kassandra suddenly stiffened, then said in English, “Okay, everyone, we’ll have to get moving. Be on guard. On my signal … NOW!”

With that, Kurt teleported himself and Kassandra down from the tree then grabbed Fitzsimmons, who had just stepped out the door.

“We ain’t gonna just stand there and let ‘em railroad another one of us, are we?” a voice cried out.

“What the-?” BAMF! Fitzsimmons suddenly found herself in her car, choking on noxious smoke.

“You could thank me for saving your life, but I think I’m spoken for.”
BAMF!

Back in front of the courthouse, most of the people who had first disregarded the order to disperse were beginning to understand what it meant, and quickly scattered. Und Gott sei Dank! Kassandra saw this getting worse with every upcoming minute, and didn’t want any extra people around. “Warren, intercept him dead ahead of you, twenty four feet up, NOW!” she cried. “Logan, you smell out the rest of them?”

“Sure do, kid, but could use some help roundin’ ‘em up.”
"Okay officers, you know the drill,” said Kurt.

“Big show of force for anyone who isn’t leaving or trying to help us, but don’t engage them. Got it.”

“And guard your thoughts!” Kassandra shouted. “We’re in for big trouble!” Then her comlink, which had been operating erratically, finally went dead.

 

[angelique]

Chapter 19

So Warren flew into Toad at the peak of his leap, knocking him down. But Toad landed on his feet and bounced back up- shooting toward a cult expert the prosecution had brought in. Warren swooped down to intercept him again. It looked like he would have a real fight on his hands.

As Logan already did, battling Time Shadow. For once Logan didn’t need to try to avoid killing the enemy. He in all his phase forms dodged each swing of the claws perfectly, taunting Logan mercilessly. And Logan did not seem to be getting the help he needed keeping him back. What was with the security officers?

Verdammt. Kurt was going to have to teleport the witnesses into the van himself. The security detail had actually closed in around them, not helping while he, Warren and Logan facilitated the escape and fended off enemies. In fact, they weren’t doing anything at all except blocking his view, making his job more difficult. Worse yet, some protestors, whether out of fear or morbid curiosity, apparently changed their minds about following the dispersal order, and they were jostling with people who were trying to leave. The press of course had to stick around and get all this, and they also found themselves in the way. And where was Kassandra?

“Of course she’ll go straight for me,” thought Ticktock. “But we should be able to remove that threat. It’s not very clear, but I don’t expect she’s willing to hurt the security officers.”

“No, I was actually hoping to stay out of this fight altogether,” said the wraith that stood right before him, wielding a couple of borrowed nightsticks. She took swing after swing. And missed.

“You don’t have a choice, now, do you?” said Ticktock, as Time Shadow’s phase forms now engaged her as well as Wolverine, Toad and Archangel tusseled, and even Kurt was beginning to suspect he might have to fight, rather than just teleport himself and the witnesses out of this mess. Why couldn’t Kätchen be here now? Or Jean? Or a few Madroxes? Or even Scott? Even with Kassandra’s temporal multilocation, it looked like they could use all the extra help they could get.

“I always have a choice,” said Kassandra. “RUN!” she screamed, throwing up a temporal field, stopping time around the witnesses that Kurt hadn’t yet teleported out. And they were gone.

“Very well,” thought Gamesmaster. “Your ascendancy must begin with bloodshed. If we can’t get our original targets, these people will serve just fine. Fall back and let security take them.”

Kassandra detected that thought. It rankled that she couldn’t tell just then where it came from. But no matter. Toad had finally managed to leap onto Warren’s back and yank out a couple handfuls of feathers bringing them both down. Logan’s irritation at being neither allowed nor apparently able to kill Time Shadow was beginning to get the better of him. And while Kurt and Kassandra fared a bit better against the temporal phase forms, there was Ticktock’s extratemporal gift of anticipation, a handful of angry, frightened stragglers, and no small number of fully armed and telepathically manipulated guards to reckon with. Ticktock particularly impressed Kassandra. However, there was one thing he did miss.

Something distracted Gamesmaster. Ticktock knew that was probable, but as he didn’t understand how, he dismissed the likelihood. And yet it happened. And that distracted him, too, giving Kassandra all the opportunity she needed. In that instant, it was lights out for Ticktock, Timeshadow, and Toad.

“Kurt, raus mit ihnen,” Kassandra cried, indicating Logan and Warren. “Jetzt!”

Kurt knew better by now than to disbelieve Kassandra. He hoisted up Warren, threw an arm over Logan’s shoulder, and teleported them a short but, he felt, safe distance away. And noticed something very odd. Normally teleporting with two people took a lot out of him. This time, it took almost no effort, and he felt fine. And it seemed that his teleportation released less than the usual amount of smoke.

“You know the way to Gregor’s from here?” Kurt asked.
Warren nodded, looking a bit dazed.

“Good, because I don’t.” Kurt teleported back to the courthouse. And that felt normal.

Kassandra had just put down the nightsticks, and while she was still powered up, there were no more extra wraiths flitting about. And Ticktock, Toad, and Time Shadow lay at her feet unconscious.

“You’ve got them, Miss Altheim. Now power down,” said a rather disoriented looking security officer as his forces now completely surrounded her.

“You’ve got your guns trained on me,” said Kassandra. Gamesmaster could hardly blame the girl for radiating mistrust over the situation. He had been trying, with frustratingly limited success, to refocus after that momentary distraction. While he couldn’t read her thoughts, there was never any doubt as to how she felt. And he suspected she was on to him. Better to break all concentration before she was sure.

“And some mutie’s been poking around in my mind!” shouted one of the braver, more defiant stragglers. The shouting of the remaining protestors and the violence of their struggles redoubled in response. So the apparent telepathic manipulation had ceased. That did not by any stretch mitigate the danger.

Kurt, deciding this was his cue, caught Kassandra up in his arms, and teleported out. He noticed again that porting took less effort and released less smoke than usual. And found himself, much to his astonishment, taking them right to Gregor’s front entrance. He set her down and after a giddy lip lock, asked, “Wie sind wir hier gekommen?”

“A five mile blind teleport?” said Kassandra, equally astounded. “I kind of navigated and sped us through. What I wonder about is how I took you outside of time twice today, and you’re not showing any effect.”

“Was?!”
“Oh, I knew you’d be okay. I just still don’t understand how.”
“Das ist gut so, Kassandra,” said Kurt, “aber, die anderen?”

“They’ve regained consciousness, but are still feeling like they’ve got some jet lag.”

“Still, did you have to do that, and knock Toynbee and the rest out while they couldn’t fight back?”

“Kurt, the prosecutor and the witnesses are alive and safe, and I’ve held off the start of a genetic race war. Granted, the ends don’t justify the means, but what would you have had me do?”

“Ich wiße nicht, Liebste,” said Kurt, pulling Kassandra close, winding his tail around her waist. “I really don’t know. But,” he said, smiling again, “I’d like to figure out just how we managed to port like this.”

“Und ich auch,” said Kassandra, smiling in return, “Perhaps this is something we should ask Hank about. But I think the others are waiting for us. And I think we should all at least try to have some fun tonight.”

“Is there something you’re not telling me?” Kurt could hear Johnny Cash’s version of “Hurt” emanating from an open car window.

“Isn’t there always?” said Kassandra, trying in vain to lighten her own mood. Kurt frowned.

“Es tut mir leid, Kurt,” she apologized. “You know there are facts that we must face. For one thing, I am far from innocent in all this.”

“That doesn’t make you a murderer, though,” said Kurt, a little defensively.

“And it’s up to the jury to determine if that’s even relevant, Kurt. Don’t get your hopes up. You remember reading To Kill a Mockingbird, nicht wahr?”

“Macht nichts, Liebling,” said Kurt, noticing that whatever Kassandra expected would happen the next day horrified even her. “Du bist rechtig. Let’s try to enjoy what’s left of the evening.”

“But first, I should call Charles,” said Kassandra. “He may already know we’re okay, but I think he’d want to hear it directly from us.” She then picked up her cell phone. And hit redial.

 

[angelique]

Chapter 20

Kurt and Kassandra entered Gregor’s private banquet room to find Warren fussing over Lucy’s insistence on examining his wings.

“I’m not hurt badly, and your mother can check for herself,” he said.
“Nonsense,” interjected Dr. Altheim. “I may be a medical doctor, but I’ve never worked on wing injuries.”

“I, on the other hand, have,” said Lucy. “And Warren, you should know me better than to think I’d mistake you for some martial eagle.”

“Jackass penguin might be more like it,” said Kassandra, with a merry little smirk. “And you flew about as well as one after Toad got a hold of you.”

So Warren begrudgingly relented, but was thankful to hear he’d sustained nothing worse than the loss of several flight feathers and a strained humeral joint- “The avian one, of course,” Lucy clarified. “And I’m amazed you weren’t hurt worse. That must have been some fight you were in.”

“And you all should have seen it!” said Kurt.
“Actually,” said Kassandra, interrupting before Kurt could mention anything about what she’d done, “I’m rather glad they didn’t.”

And so they spent a short but otherwise remarkably pleasant evening. Very little else was said about the trial, though the subject was very much on everyone’s mind, threatening to cast a pall over the evening. Instead, they talked about everything from the latest cute things Michael’s children said, to a certain orphaned cheetah Lucy recently tagged and released into the wild, to Dr. Altheim’s most recent visit to the krall where her own mother was raised, to the quality of the food, which was excellent due to the chef’s enhanced senses of taste and smell. There was laughter in retelling the story of the first time Vincent tried to play soccer in his full Franciscan habit and sandals, and bickering, as when Warren shocked the Altheim women by insisting Kassandra should not pick up the tab.

“Warren,” said Dr. Altheim, “if a Zulu woman offers you a pint of beer, you accept it. And if Kassandra wants to pay for dinner, you have to accept that!”

“Especially since this was my idea anyway, even if Jack suggested the place,” Kassandra added.

After that was settled, Kassandra really did not want to leave. But she was a bit tired after the events of the day and could not be bothered to stretch out the moment. All agreed that it would be best if they retired for the evening, and Kurt saw Kassandra home, supposedly just in case trouble arose.

“But you don’t really expect any trouble, nicht wahr?” said Kurt.
“Eigentlich, nein,” said Kassandra, mischievously.

“Hätte ich auch nicht gedacht,” said Kurt, gently squeezing her shoulder. And so they continued walking like that, by Kassandra’s new parish, the salle where she’d tried to get in some occasional fencing practice, all the places of interest on their way back to her apartment.

“So I knew you were spying on Black Air, but I didn’t know you were actually in the Hellfire Club. Could you tell me more about that?” asked Kurt.

“There isn’t much to say, Liebster,” Kassandra replied. “Hanging around a bunch of power mad snobs and scantily clad Barbie dolls, that was the least exciting part of my mission. If I were into that sort of thing, I would have gone to Yale and joined Skull and Bones.”

“Wirklich?” said Kurt, amazed. “Actually, I was wondering about how well you followed their dress code.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” said Kassandra, blushing.
“So this is a bit of a long walk. Why didn’t you get a place in the mutant district?” Kurt asked, as they walked down the steps to her porch. “Wasn’t there any housing available there?”

“Nein,” said Kassandra. “Not that it would make that much of a difference if there was. We didn’t work so hard to overcome one kind of apartheid just so I could impose another upon myself.”

Kurt chuckled as he lightly brushed her lips with his. “Das ist mein Mädchen! So, I hope you don’t mind me bringing up the trial, but-”
He felt her stiffen just enough to know he had to watch what he said.
“- the Director said you were good at avoiding compromising situations. Does that mean what I think it does?” he asked.

Kassandra fumbled with her key before opening the door and letting herself in. “Kurt, du bist unmöglich. I suppose you’d like to put me in one, nicht wahr?”

Her efforts to be funny notwithstanding, Kurt could tell she was becoming quite agitated.

“Well, theoretically speaking at least,” Kurt smiled, taking Kassandra in his arms and leaning in for another, more ardent kiss.

“Ich liebe dich, Kurt,” said Kassandra, returning his kiss, then extricating herself from his embrace. “Gute nacht.”

She quickly shut and locked the door, then fell back upon it, holding her fingers to her lips, tears streaming down her face.

“Du wißt, ich kann nicht dir verlaßen jetzt,” said Kurt, teleporting in and now crouching before her. “I was joking about compromising situations. Well, kind of. At any rate, it’s far too early for you to begin solitary confinement.”

 

[angelique]

Chapter 21

Xavier normally was not one to channel surf, let alone to watch any kind of television for more than the barest possible minimum amount of time. But after the events of the previous evening, in which he was by no means a remote, passive observer, he felt he needed to keep better tabs on Washington DC. And he figured there’d be lessons in this for the communication and pre-law students, as well as a civics lesson for the younger pupils. The same reporter that had so annoyed him last night was back on, live from the federal courthouse.

“All protests and pickets have been banned here as a result of the violent turn last night’s pro-mutant demonstration,” she said. Xavier cringed yet again.

“As it is,” the reporter continued, “the mutant presence in this courthouse is, if anything, stronger than it was yesterday, with testimony delivered by Scott Summers, Alex Summers, Jubilation Lee, Robert Drake and Kurt Wagner, who, it’s just been confirmed, is the son of the mutant terrorist code named Mystique.”

As if that had any bearing whatsoever on Kurt’s character, let alone upon this case. Xavier was not a vindictive sort. But he knew someone who would be interested in spearheading a class-action libel lawsuit. She had dropped a mental hint of it when she spoke with him last night.

“ Also it has been rumored that the accused herself, Kassandra Altheim, will take the stand.”

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“Do you solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?” the bailiff intoned.

“I do,” said Kassandra, firmly and quietly. She removed her hand from the Bible and walked to the witness stand as gracefully as she could in her shackles. The bailiff could not resist the instinct to offer her a hand up. He was a good old southern gentleman just shy of retirement. It was hard to forget his prejudices, but even harder to forget his manners. That she was a foreign-born mutant mattered less than the fact that she behaved very much like a regular lady. In fact, the only indication that she was anything but, besides the accusations against her, was the way she glared over reactions to that blue devil looking mutant taking the stand. But though she, like most women these days, would not admit to needing help up to the stand, she graciously accepted anyway. And thanked him.

And now she sat at the witness stand, right hand resting extended before her, the left tucked under her right forearm. Kurt looked upon her, via the closed circuit feed, of course, recalling the long conversation they’d had the night before. It was so like when her father had died. There wasn’t a thing he wouldn’t do to help her through it. And was she? Yes, she was content just to have his friendship. And he never could deprive her of that, even during the times they spent oceans apart. Even when the time he spent on the phone with Kassandra after her grandfather died annoyed Amanda. And then there were other little things he was beginning to remember. Like the expensive phone call Kassandra made from Boston to Hong Kong, just to make sure he’d be okay after Amanda had finally left him.

“Kassandra,” said Jack, approaching the witness stand, “what specifically was your mission with regard to Operation Conclave?”

“To expose and neutralize the threat the Church of Humanity posed to international security.”

“Which was detailed in your reports as well as the testimony of at least five other witnesses. But why would a small religious sect pose such a threat? You and the others seemed so convinced that even if they had succeeded in setting up Mr. Wagner as a modern antipope, their plot was doomed to fail.”

“Because the plot I got from the so-called supreme pontiff was not to just bring down the Catholic Church, but to play out the Church of Humanity’s own misinterpretation of apocalyptic prophecy. This would have included bringing all religions together into a single ecclesiocracy, after bringing on a false rapture, then attempting to rid the world of mutants- and any non-mutants who wouldn’t toe this new religion’s line.

“Yes, of course this was doomed to a spectacular failure. And they knew it, too, at least the top three in command did. But it would have been a failure that would cost millions- rather than a few score- lives, if we didn’t intervene. Do I need to reiterate everything they were under investigation for at the time, from no small amount of espionage of their own, to theft, assault, false imprisonment, and murder?”

“That won’t be necessary,” said Jack. “All that is already well documented and submitted to the jury.
“Now, did you plan out your attack on the Cathedral?”

“Agonized over it would be a better way of putting it,” Kassandra replied, “but yes.”

“Did you intend to kill anyone when you went there?”
“No.”
“Thank you. No further questions.”

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“Ach, das ist lächerlich,” groaned Kassandra, throwing down her pen in frustration over filling out her applications for the FBI. “If I’m not required to answer this question, why are they asking it in the first place?”

“Was ist das?” said Kurt. He looked over her shoulder and smiled when he saw the question that irked her so.

“What is your race or ethnicity?” it said. “Check one- white, black or African American….” How on earth could a half-white, African born American immigrant answer a question like that honestly?

“And would you look at that! Blue isn’t listed at all,” said Kurt, in mock disappointment.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Fitzsimmons now took her place before the witness stand, a little bit flustered. The judge had ruled while she questioned Kurt Wagner that questions about his relationship with Mystique were irrelevant, so she knew that inquiring about the rumored closeness between the accused and the son of a terrorist would not get her anywhere. Still, as long as the defendant was being this cooperative, there was still potential to extract some damning testimony from her. “Miss Altheim, what was your first position with the government?”

“I served as a criminal profiler for the FBI.”
“And is it true that you were accepted because of what they regarded as your psychic skills?”

“Yes.”
“Are you psychic?”
“No.”
“Did you tell anyone in the Bureau that?”
“No.”
“Did you ever tell them that you were a mutant?”

“They asked if I had any special abilities, not whether or not I was a mutant. I didn’t think it was relevant how I came by my abilities, and I didn’t want to risk exposing myself to workplace discrimination. So no, I didn’t tell them. Just like I didn’t answer questions about my ethnicity.”

“Well, now that everyone knows you are a mutant anyway, what exactly are your abilities?”

“Where to begin?” said Kassandra, the ghost of a smile flickering across her face. “I like distance running. I’m a pretty good fencer. I’m one of the few women trained in the Zulu martial art of umshiza. I can speak seven languages. People tell me I play the piano pretty well. And, oh, yes. I also have accelerated healing, and I can control time.”

Fitzsimmons had to wait for the muffled laughter from the defendant’s family to subside. “So you do not have the gift of telepathy or precognition?”

“No.”
“Strange how the FBI would get the impression that you were. Why was that?”

“Because I can, under the right circumstances, find out about the past just by looking at the right timelines, and I can see and anticipate the future as it takes shape.”

“Now I’m going to have to trust you here, but could you provide a demonstration for the court?”

“Is that entirely necessary?” said Judge Montgomery. “I heard she gave a fine demonstration last night outside the courthouse.”

“Nothing the jury or I saw, however,” said Fitzsimmons.

“Very well. Bailiff, please remove the defendant’s inhibitors,” said the judge.

Kassandra found it a pleasant break to be relieved of the inhibitors. They gave her a bit of a headache. And while they did hinder her, she seemed to have Wolverine’s resistance. In fact, while she would not reveal that, the only reason they appeared to work was because she let them.

“Now,” said Fitzsimmons, “Do you agree that we have not collaborated on arranging this demonstration and that you haven’t spoken to me outside the grand jury investigation and this courtroom?”

“Yes,” said Kassandra.
“Very well. Tell me something about my future.”

“Your most probable future,” said Kassandra. “Nothing’s definite until it happens. But…” she blinked. “…Okay, I am certain about this. Your biopsy will come back negative.”

Fitzsimmons stared agape for a second. She certainly hoped this was right. At the very least, the accused had picked up on just what had been on her mind the most lately. But she quickly regained her composure, as Kassandra expected. And much to her credit. But as the bailiff replaced the inhibitors, Kassandra didn’t need full use of her powers to see where this was headed. She braced herself.

“So,” said Fitzsimmons, “when you went to confront the Church of Humanity, did you anticipate the probability that you would kill these people?”

“Yes.”
“And yet you went there anyway?”
“That was because something worse-”
“Answer the question.”
“Yes, of course I did,” said Kassandra.

“And you were aware of Lorna Dane’s violent state of mind at the time you specifically told Cyclops of the X-Men to bring her along for the raid?”

“Yes, I was.”
“Why, then, did you ask to bring her into a situation in which you knew she was likely to kill?”

“Shockingly enough, that was the option likely to result in the least bloodshed. Normally I don’t go on about what would have happened, because once something happens, the alternatives become irrelevant. But if she hadn’t gone and killed their snipers, Scott, Kurt, Bobby, and Alex would have been killed, and likely Jean and Logan, too. And that cult would have gone on with some adapted and more dangerous form of their original plan.”

“So do you think good intentions justified you acting outside of your government authorization, and taking command of a band of mutants?”

“No, I don’t think good intentions justify much of anything on their own, particularly something like this. I am sorry.”

“Thank you, Miss Altheim,” said Fitzsimmons. “No further questions.”

 

[angelique]

Chapter 22

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” said Fitzsimmons, “from the time Miss Altheim lied to the FBI about not being a mutant, she has proven risky to national and international security, and eventually a threat to human lives every time she gets into a scrape. And in the rare instance when the people have reason to believe she is being completely honest, she admits openly to being responsible for all these deaths. That she premeditated these crimes. While she may claim that her intent was to prevent further bloodshed, we have little evidence supporting the allegations that the Church of Humanity posed such a threat to the world as she suggested. Whatever her intentions, her intent was clear- to complete her mission regardless of the cost, even if it meant violating orders and at the expense of innocent people’s lives.

Ladies and gentlemen, while you deliberate, consider the following. The men who died because of this mutant may have been pawns in an evil scheme. But that does not mean they deserve to die. And consider the precedent any leniency might set. If you decide, despite the evidence, that the accused is not guilty, what’s to prevent mutants, in the government or otherwise, from taking the law into their own hands? Every law would be rendered pointless, and our nation, our civilization, our way of life, will give way to chaos and vigilantism. On behalf of humanity, I thank you in advance for your role in removing this woman from the general population.”

Fitzsimmons resumed her seat, and Jack stood to address the jury. “Ladies and gentlemen, my esteemed counterpart brought up an interesting point when she mentioned intent and premeditation. As you know, the prerequisites for being convicted of these charges are motive, intent, and premeditation. Sure, Kassandra had motive. Her testimony and the reports submitted for your consideration make that abundantly clear. But think about how you’d react if your church leaders were threatened, your friends and loved ones kidnapped, assaulted, enslaved, or even murdered. That happened, yes, and by the same people who twice tried to kill her even before they knew she was a mutant. So yes, she had motive.

“But as for intent, we also have in her reports as well as the testimony of several witnesses now that her intent was, at worst, that of someone plotting the surrender of enemy combatants who had declared war upon all mutants and their sympathizers. Bear in mind, the supreme pontiff had issued statements openly declaring war upon mutantkind. Only after she tried to negotiate with the very people who were, at that same moment, firing upon her, did she finally react- to defend herself. The evidence, such as her behavior at St. James’ Hospital, actually proves that she did not intend to kill anyone.

“And as for premeditation, that also has not been proven beyond a reasonable doubt. There is a tremendous difference between planning to commit a felony, and knowing the likelihood that you might do something terrible in the fulfillment of your mission, and trying to avoid having to do so.

“The same goes for the other charges. We cannot say beyond a reasonable doubt that she is a traitor when the evidence overwhelmingly shows that in this, she was motivated actually by loyalty to the ideals of our nation.

“Ladies and gentleman, your duty is to find my client guilty only if the evidence is convincing beyond all reasonable doubt. If there is any doubt in your mind whatsoever, the Constitution dictates that we must presume innocence, and acquit.”

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Gamesmaster normally was not interested in wasting concentration on anything after being defeated once. But the proposal of that extradimensional character with the tertiary mutations and the nigh-impregnable psi-blocks intrigued him. For a chance to play such an important role in the upcoming war of mutant ascendancy, he was willing to make another attempt.

“Kassandra, ist alles in Ordnung?” Vincent asked. He did not like one bit the look Kassandra’s face took on as they prepared to leave the courthouse.

“Oh, ja,” she replied. “Warum nicht?” Indeed, why not? While she had been raked over the coals and very much dreaded the verdict, she looked forward to this evening. Evening Mass at St. Philip Howard’s with Kurt, Mama, Lucy, Vincent, and Michael, then meeting all the others for supper. And after that, whether to have some fun on the town, turn each to more prayer, or ideally some combination of both remained to be seen. At any rate, it was more time with family and friends, and she was not about to let her apprehension, no matter how much it made sense, ruin it. But this sudden depression- and the urge to hide it rather than get it out of her system- she had no idea where that came from. And that frightened her.

Vincent remained unconvinced. Maybe Kassandra could lie with the easy composure necessary to pass a polygraph examination, but emotional distance while among people near and dear to her was not normal.

“Level with me, Schwesterlein,” said Vincent.

“Only if you stop calling me that.” Kassandra lightly punched him in the shoulder as they strolled out. On their way, they overheard Trish Tilby reporting.

“Yes, the testimony that has been delivered today does shed new light on the evidence, and if the jury does indeed hold no bias, things look very good for the defense…”

Kassandra sighed with relief. “Well, it appears I’ve accomplished what I intended.”

“And the rest is in God’s hands now,” Vincent replied.

Not if the Gamesmaster had anything to do with it.
"Still, maybe Mama or Lucy should stay with me tonight. I’m not feeling quite like myself,” said Kassandra.

 

[angelique]

Chapter 23


“We have joining us now from Washington DC Dr. Valerie Cooper, and Evangeline Whedon of the Mutant Rights Coalition…”

“Bist du still wach?” Lucy asked. After a long final day of testimony, the day was far from over. They had said a rosary on the Luminous Mysteries while in Adoration, and stuck around for evening Mass as planned. Then Kurt reminded Kassandra, not that she needed it, that she offered to show him around Washington DC, and he hoped that would include some nightlife.

“And we can pray all the while that this won’t be our last opportunity for all of us to enjoy this time together,” he said, with a sad, knowing smile that no one but Kassandra seemed to understand. And so, after supper with the others, yet again at Gregor’s, they caught a swing band called Hybrid Vigor playing at the Helix, a new and refreshingly non-segregated club near the famous Lincoln Theater. And all that seemed to lift Kassandra’s spirit a bit. Or so Lucy thought.

“Ich kann nicht schlafen,” said Kassandra, her eye still on CNN. “I’d been having the most terrible dreams.”

“Kassandra, you were successful. Now that everyone’s talking about how that cult was genuinely dangerous rather than just misunderstood, nobody will ever again try to pull what they did. And most everyone’s saying after Jack’s closing statements, it looks like you might be home free.”

“Wir können hoffen,” said Kassandra, dryly. Indeed, throughout the whole trial, Jack couldn’t have done a better job if he was Gregory Peck playing Atticus Finch.

“Such is the life of a mutant, Ich verstehe,” said Lucy. “You know what I had observed among my hyenas lately? The family groups started behaving aggressively toward certain solitaries. And we also had a case of one clan turning against another. I’d never seen anything like it. But I also noticed their social structure is suffering as a direct result.”

“That’s abnormal for them, nicht wahr?” said Kassandra. “And people think we’re so much smarter than the animals.”

“Now try not to get too cynical. I don’t think Kurt would like that.” Lucy finally got Kassandra’s full attention. “Speaking of Kurt, I’m surprised you didn’t ask him to stay with you.”

“Well, I may have been the difficult child, but I got Mama’s point- why she had us both help at the hospital, and why she and Ugogo insisted we learn umshiza. And espionage is never like the James Bond movies, anyway, you can rest assured of that. For some reason, right now I can’t trust myself to avoid being impulsive. Like I said, I’m not feeling quite like myself. But I suppose my feelings have been pretty obvious.”

“Oh, ja, sehr klar. And also the way he looked at you, danced with you, insisted yet again on walking you home even though we all had a ride-”

“You know I prefer walking or running anyway.”

“Ja doch, especially if it means more time alone with Kurt, nicht wahr?”
Kassandra blushed. Lucy had her and Kurt both pegged.

“Anyway it was as if he was wondering if he should start negotiating lobola. We suspected, oh, ever since you came to your senses about John, that it was just a matter of time before you and Kurt kicked the friendship up a notch.”

“Ich weiß. Michael told me he had planned to ask Kurt for no lobola other than a promise to keep me out of trouble. But that would be a bit much, nicht wahr?” said Kassandra, sardonically. “Not that it matters.”

“Kassandra, this depression or whatever, especially after we’ve all had such a great time, is so not like you. No more watching the news. How about..?” Lucy began changing channels. Mostly news. Some infomercials. The only thing remotely good on included Law and Order reruns, a Metropolitan Opera production of Bluebeard’s Castle, and, on AMC, The Private Lives of Elizabeth and Essex.

And as if a dam finally ruptured, Kassandra finally burst into tears.

As if to make up for that annoying tendency to evade telepathy, Gamesmaster found toying with this girl’s emotions delightfully easy- at least as long as that telepathic friend of hers wasn’t on guard. He didn’t need to even project anything, just direct her focus to some things she was already feeling. But there were more important things for him to concentrate on than just having his own kind of fun.

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The call came far too early the next morning.
“Kassandra, I’m afraid the jury has already finished deliberation,” said Jack.
“And it doesn’t look good, nicht wahr?” said Kassandra.
“I may be good, but not that good,” said Jack.
“Can I clean up the apartment and say goodbye to the Slawsons first?”

Kassandra filed into the courthouse with her family, all looking somewhat the worse for wear. But instead of proceeding to the courtroom, all decided they were going to sit in the mutants’ gallery. Security followed them frantically in there, protesting.

“I’m a mutant, aren’t I?” snapped Kassandra. “And if you will not let all my friends sit in the courtroom like you do for other defendants, I will seize what few rights I can.”

“Während sie still kann,” thought Kurt, as he took his seat behind her, beside her mother. All rose as Judge Montgomery entered and took her place at the bench, then resumed their seats. And with minimal fuss, she asked if the jury had reached a verdict.

They had.
Kurt braced himself. He would have liked to leave his hand resting on Kassandra’s shoulder, but she had to stand yet again. On her own. That just seemed so wrong. And he could see in her face and posture, as well as feel in his own knotted stomach, that knowing it would likely come down to this didn’t make facing the reality any easier. But Dr. Altheim, for once sitting right behind her daughter and yet powerless to protect her was trembling. Michael held one hand. Kurt took the other, giving thanks that Logan had the presence of mind to decide he really should not be there.

“Very well,” said Judge Montgomery. “How do you find?”
“On the first charge, murder in the first degree,” said the foreman, “we find the defendant, Kassandra Altheim..,”

Kurt nearly winced in pain as Dr. Altheim’s grip tightened, her fingers digging into his.

And the probability solidified into certainty. The verdict was delivered. Each word the same, like one of Wolverine’s clawed fists to the stomach, times forty.

Guilty. Kassandra’s knees buckled, but a stone-faced Jack steadied her. Dr. Altheim’s face blenched. Havok and Archangel both were aghast. Michael sat still, but for his mouth and forehead, contorting with every repetition of the word.

“Oh, no, no, no.” Cyclops wasn’t even particularly fond of Kassandra, but he knew Jean was already unhappy about this. And he found himself losing his resolve to be a strong example for Jubilee, who clearly wondered just what evidence the jury saw, but for once had her mouth tightly shut against the raging conniptions that threatened to erupt. Jubilee was at least thankful that wherever Logan tended to run off to at times like these, it was usually far away from people and property in general. Matching almost Logan’s own ferocity was the torrent of tears Lucy shed, sobbing on Vincent’s own quaking shoulder.

Amid the courtroom celebrations Miranda Eastman found increasingly morbid and distasteful, she looked toward the monitor, on which she could see the devastation in the mutants’ gallery. She couldn’t imagine herself feeling any sympathy for the girl who made mincemeat of her sons, but at the very least for the sake of her mother, brothers, and sister, couldn’t the foreman have just read “Guilty on all charges,” instead of reading out all forty of them, one by one, drawing it out like this?

A guilty verdict on forty felony charges, fifteen of which were capital offenses. Kurt looked upon Kassandra through his own tears. He wanted to reassure Kassandra. The fencing practices. The way Kassandra blushed when he’d compliment her. Movies, conversations, letters, and moments when all he wanted to do was hear her music. And finally the kisses. So cruel that he would reclaim all his memories of his dear friend and eventual beloved, for her to then be torn from him like this. But he knew the possibilities, and he would not have given up any of that just to make this moment easier. He wanted to tell her that, or say something, anything, to be of comfort, but the lump in his own throat got in the way. Kassandra had regained her footing, if not entirely her composure. She stood, head down, eyes half shut, tears streaming down her own face, her mouth moving almost inaudibly.

“Es tut mir leid. Es tut mir leid. Vergeben mir, Mama, Kurt…” She whispered.

 

[angelique]

Chapter 24

“I have Jack White with me right now,” said Trish Tilby. Behind her Kassandra could be seen, shackled, wearing inhibitors, being walked toward a waiting police car.

“Mr. White,” said Miss Tilby, “what do reactions do you and Miss Altheim expect to the verdict that was delivered today?”

“Well,” Jack replied, “there’s what we expect, and what we hope. Two completely different things. We expect that people who take issue with mutants sharing the world with them will feel emboldened to act upon their hatred. And we expect that mutants and their supporters will feel angry, perhaps betrayed by our justice system.”

Ja, that was about right, Kassandra reflected. She could feel that as well, increasing with every step she took toward the car. Jack looked that way, too. Confused and almost despondent. Never mind the confident assurances he just gave before they left that he thought most of those convictions would be overturned on appeal. None of this made sense. And that pushed Kassandra even further into despair. Was the whole world going emotionally unstable along with her?

Warum bemühst du. Dein leben, wie du es kennst, ist irgenwie vorbei. That thought, barely more than a mental articulation of her increasing despondence- where did that come from, verdammt? This would be so much easier if only Kassandra could remove the inhibitors. If only her hands were free. Oh well. Kassandra grit her teeth and tried to redirect her own thoughts. Gott, mein Kopf tut mir weh.

Okay, Oh, mei this burned, but all she needed was to resist enough to interrupt the flow of electricity, and then, so far so good. Right as Gamesmaster planned. But now that she could trace his thought, she’d tell its source she would not cooperate. In No Uncertain Terms.

“This does indeed show we have much work to ensure equal treatment for mutants, yes.” Suddenly, Jack’s thoughts cleared, and though he still felt quite low and now light-headed to boot, this mysterious urge to mention nothing of hopes for peaceful reactions and successful appeals had subsided. The hard resolve he felt once he recovered from the shock of the verdict returned. “However, on behalf of the Altheims and the victims’ families alike, I think it’s safe to say we all want everyone to resist acting out of their fear or anger. We do not want any more bloodshed.”

The air was pierced by a sudden shriek.
“It looks as if we’ve already got some commotion right behind you,” said Trish’s anchor. “Can you see what’s going on?”

“I’ll find out. Thank you, Jack. Excuse me. Sir?” Trish got the attention of a police officer. “What happened here?”

“Get them off me! GET THEM OFF ME!” Kassandra screeched, amid a flurry of sparks, some of them already smoldering in her hair and clothing.

“Apparently some kind of inhibitor malfunction,” said the police officer.
BAMF!

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“Kassandra, wartst du,” said Kurt, finding himself sitting in the back of a police car, his arms and tail still firmly wrapped around Kassandra. While he had managed to teleport her out of her shackles and inhibitors, this was nowhere near where he intended to take her.

“Sei unbesorgt, Kurt. I haven’t restarted time yet. They can’t see us.”
“Aber, warum sind wir hier?”

“Kurt, We’ve already talked about this,” said Kassandra. “We need to prove that we don’t think being mutant makes us above the law. I know I already have my work cut out for me there, but running will just make things worse.”

“But the appeals process could take years, and we’re still not sure if I’ll be able to keep seeing you. Und das-”

“You know I did not want you to get hurt.”
“Ja. And you made sure I knew the chances. But it doesn’t make things any easier. Still-” He ran his velvety fingertips over Kassandra’s forehead, where the sparks from one of the malfunctioning inhibitors had singed her. Not a single scorch mark was left. “You’ve healed wonderfully.”

“Not the way I need to the most. Aber du willst, Liebster, bei-” she couldn’t bring herself to say the rest.

“Beizeiten?” Kurt smiled sadly, all too aware of the double meaning.
“Besides, I still have another card to play. Meanwhile, Liebster, you know I’m freezing this moment for a reason.” Kassandra twined her fingers through Kurt’s indigo hair. “Don’t waste it.”

And with the entire universe still and faded around them, she gently drew Kurt closer.

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Kurt stepped out of the car and back into time, the soft warmth, pressure, and the taste of what he hoped would not be Kassandra’s final kiss still lingering, seeming to transcend any temporal barrier.

“She’s all right,” Kurt announced.
“But where did you take her?” said the police officer.

“Right here,” Kassandra shouted, sitting up in the back of the police car, trying in vain to tidy up her hair.

And with that, the door was closed, and Kassandra was driven away.

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Warum bemühst du. Dein leben, wie du es kennst, ist irgenwie vorbei. -
Why do you bother. Your life, as you know it, is over anyway.

Gott, mein Kopf tut mir weh. - God, my head hurts.

Kassandra, wartst du- Kassandra, wait

Aber, warum sind wir hier?- But why are we here?

aber du willst, Liebster, beizeiten- but you will, dear, in good time.

 

[angelique]

Chapter 25

“So, Kassandra,” said Jack, “would you care to explain to me what happened the other night? Just as your inhibitors went on the fritz, I felt like, just for a moment, everything stopped around me. Then I felt sick. And this seems like just the sort of thing you’d do.”

“Well, I admit I owe you at least an explanation and my apologies Jack,” said Kassandra, over the telephone. “But the instant I could see it, I had to act. I traced a very subtle thought articulating exactly how I felt. And well, you ever felt so out of character that you wonder if your feelings or thoughts are even your own?”

“As a matter of fact…” said Jack.
“You were under telepathic influence to deliver a speech so depressing that you’d incite violence without even trying. I had to break it. Of course, this same person was trying to manipulate me, too. Would you believe I almost felt like hurting myself?”

“Well…”
“Okay, that was a bad way of putting it. No, I actually do not have a death wish. That’s why we will appeal this, nicht wahr?”

“All right, but you couldn’t resist pulling that other stunt?”
“What do you mean?”

“It’s already all over the gossip columns and the tabloids. ‘Kassandra’s Cop Car Canoodle.’ ‘A Dimensional Dalliance?’ And that’s just the stuff I can stand to quote back to you. You mother apparently saw some of it; stuff about you emerging from that teleport partially clothed and with your hair messed up, and called me up, livid. She’s saying we should add them to your already burgeoning list of libel suits. What I want to know is do you think we have a case, or is she in denial over something?”

Kassandra could see this coming. Still, she blushed furiously. “I had sparks flying all over my hair and jacket. Of course I’d look a bit disheveled! And it’s amazing how I can’t even kiss someone goodbye, outside of time, when no one could even see us anyway, without people jumping to conclusions. The- the very idea that I could be so… that Kurt would…”

“Right. I get your point,” said Jack. “Anyway, you should then reassure your mother that you haven’t completely lost all good sense. And can I trust you to behave until I get back from Vancouver?”

“Absolutely!” said Kassandra. “I’ve got a surprise for the sentencing hearing that I wouldn’t want to spoil, anyway.”

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Kurt had had a terrible night’s sleep. It wasn’t that his dreams were that bad. He had just been up late helping the Altheims sort through the few things Kassandra had left behind.

“Hier, Kurt,” Lucy said, handing him a plain box with her right hand, her left hand under the forearm. “Kassandra wanted you to have this.”

It was a simple framed eight by ten picture.

“Mein Lieber Kurt,” said the note that came with it. “I never actually needed to get close enough to the Inner Circle to have to wear this in the Hellfire Club, but I knew you’d like to see it. As for the regular membership dress code, would you believe they thought the beadwork isidwaba I’ve worn to the Reed Festival was immodest? This from girls who got plastic surgery so they could look better, running around in their underwear!”

And while she was quite thoroughly covered, she was by no means dressed like a proper eighteenth century lady. Rather her loose canvas shirt and petticoat breeches, the bandana holding back her wild curls, the high sea boots, the sword belt, the bandoliers heavy with flintlocks and dagger, and most of all her bearing made her look like she’d have been quite at home serving on the deck of an eighteenth century privateer. And in one leather gloved fist, she wielded that beautiful adamantium sabre, the one engraved with “Hebräer 4:12.”

Logan returned from wherever he was sometime that night. “Heard the verdict, Elf. You gonna keep brooding or drown your sorrows with me?”
And over their beer, little was said, except when Logan asked, “Missin’ her already, again?”

Again? That’s right. Except for the few years Kurt and Kassandra were both at the Institute, a steady stream of emails, long-distance phone calls, and chatty, affectionate letters in blue airmail envelopes characterized most of the time they’d known each other. Punctuated by visits that never came often enough, and all too rarely seemed to last longer than a couple bouts of fencing and an Errol Flynn movie marathon. Auf Wiedersehens accompanied by long and, until recently, entirely platonic, though strangely no less loving, embraces. But this time things were different, nicht wahr? “Ja,” said Kurt.

“They ain’t gonna kill her, Elf,” said Logan, “if that’s what’s buggin’ you.”

“I know,” said Kurt. “But that is not what’s bothering either of us.” He had put his great, thick, blue finger right on it. There were worse things that could happen to a mutant than death. He had seen it himself at X-Corps headquarters in Paris. While he was grateful for Logan’s support, no amount of alcohol could dull his apprehension. And when he finally did turn in, his dreams turned to Kassandra and what she said when she held him, the two of them both caught up outside of time. To not waste the moment. In one of the letters of hers that he kept, she stressed the importance of remembering. And the way she always signed her letters. How was it? Dein’ immer? What exactly did she mean with that?

A call from Warren, who had already returned to New York, awakened Kurt far too early the next morning. There was trouble with Husk’s family back in Kentucky, and it looked like the Guthries could use all the help they could get.

 

[angelique]

Chapter 26

After dealing with the crisis triggered by young Josh Guthrie’s star-crossed love, Kurt had a short reprieve. He returned to the Institute to find a letter for him, from inmate 50471, Red Onion State Prison. On the complete opposite side of Virginia, but supposedly the nearest prison capable of handling the perceived risks of incarcerating Kassandra.


Mein Lieber Kurt,

So here is the first and hopefully only letter you will get from this address. By the time you get this, I will have just had a nice visit with Mama, Michael, and Lucy. Unfortunately, Vincent has not been approved to visit. They say he is a security risk. Unglaublich, nicht wahr? (Und Gott sei dank, some of the people this letter has to get past know German. I couldn’t sneak anything past them if I wanted, and nobody can accuse me of trying just because I’m writing in our language.) Anyway, Vincent went to a bit of trouble to arrange for Mama to take Communion to me. And the guards have told me that that’s an unusual privilege for an inmate here.

I really should not say too much about the accommodations. But I am kept in, ja, this is what they call it, “segregation” here. Which means I am denied many privileges, such as talking with you over the phone, but I do get (and I am trying to look on the bright side, here) lots of time to myself. And I can’t complain about how other inmates and guards have treated me. While I would prefer to do without this notoriety, I suppose that’s one advantage to it. But they’ve added some extra security measures as well and have told me in no flattering terms that I should not be here. In light of that, don’t count on being allowed to visit. And be thankful that I will be here only until sentencing.

Speaking of the sentencing, it’s entirely up to you if you want to be there. If you choose to go, I’d suggest bringing a handkerchief, a bucket, and smelling salts. After that, I don’t expect where I’ll be transferred to be much better. And Logan will not like it one bit. Let’s continue praying for a successful appeals process.

And yes, that will take a while. I can’t even begin to guess how long, as I have not been using my powers here. Remember our agreement about this. Or rather, our disagreement. I know you still intend to wait. I still anticipate nothing but misery if you take that course of action, though part of me appreciates that you want to try. I am grateful for the time we’ve had together. I still agree this was worth the grief of parting. And even if our relationship has to again change course, even if picking up where we left off in the unlikely event that I get out anytime soon will not be as simple as me stepping back into your life, you have always at the very least been mein Lieblingsfreund. I have determined that that will never change. And I hope to similarly remain dein’ immer.


-Zeitgeist


Kurt noticed no small number of splotches and smudges where apparently tears splashed upon the paper. And by the knot in his throat, he suspected that a few of them were from him. He quickly shoved the letter away, his head in one hand.

“Kurt?” A deep, regal-sounding contralto drew his attention to the tall, shapely silhouette in his doorway. Ororo Munroe, with her preternaturally blue eyes and white halo of hair, and outer beauty that paled compared to her inner strength, could not help but command attention and respect. It was easy to see how her Masai tribespeople came to regard her as a weather goddess. “The team has combat simulation planned in the danger room. Care to join us?”

Kurt sighed. It always was hard to say no to Ororo. And she would not make it any easier.

“I also got a letter from Kassandra,” she said. “She requested that if we think you are spending too much time brooding, that I pull rank as your new team leader and insist upon you having some fun with the rest of us.”

“Very well.” Kurt rose from his desk and left with Ororo. “With the loveliest ladies in my life now conspiring together, I do believe I am powerless to resist anyway.” And if Kassandra was arranging for his other friends to be extra supportive in her stead, the least he could do was be there for her sentencing. And hopefully steal one more moment with her for the long, uncertain road ahead.

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“Before we commence,” said Beast, “can I have some assurance that the mitigating details I will disclose will not be shared with the media?”

“A reasonable request,” said Judge Montgomery. “I will order the jury and anyone in the courtroom to not divulge the details of this testimony, on pain of facing charges for contempt and possibly for defamation, slander, or libel. Now please proceed.”

“So, Dr. McCoy,” said Fitzsimmons, “exactly what qualifies you to deliver this report on these supposedly mitigating circumstances?”

“In the first place, I have known Kassandra’s parents for years as esteemed colleagues and trusted friends. Since Kassandra started attending school Stateside, I took over as her primary physician. And together, her mother, Dr. Jean Grey, and I researched treatments to minimize the medical hazards her mutation posed.”

“It says here, in one of her earliest FBI reports, that she had a rare medical condition that was treated successfully with a stem cell transplant from an unnamed accelerated healer,” said Fitzsimmons. “So you pioneered this treatment?”

“Yes. The treatment was successful. But we could only make educated guesses as to the side effects she’d experience. And it turned out we guessed correctly. Not only did the transplant minimize the risks temporal manipulation posed to her, but it gave her the same accelerated healing capabilities her donor has.”

“And this is a mitigating factor to be considered in sentencing, because…” said Fitzsimmons.

Beast’s calm look and delivery belied his own consternation at being put in this particular spot. “If the jury recommends the death penalty, how do you suppose the sentence could be carried out?”

Kurt once again clutched Dr. Altheim’s hand. He now understood just what Kassandra meant about what to bring to the sentencing hearing. Lucy, Michael, and Vincent looked more than a little worried. But they did not yet realize the implications the way Kurt and Dr. Altheim did. “Oh, iNkosi,” Dr. Altheim moaned, shaking, looking nauseous.

Beast became a bit more animated. “Now, of course Dr. Altheim and I are not thoroughly versed on how to kill mutants, as it has been our business to preserve lives, but other sources have hypothesized that it is possible to kill an accelerated healer of Kassandra’s capabilities by beheading, bleeding out, live cremation, or disintegration.”

At that, the blood drained even from Miranda Eastman’s face. Disintegration, according to her sons’ hospital records, was not a mercifully instantaneous way to go, nor was it painless. How long would the other methods take to kill her? Burning her alive? That was just out of the question. Sure, the girl may not have been human, but Miranda was sure even vicious animals did not deserve to die like that. And supposedly, those whom she did not kill instantly she was desperate to save. Why…

“Wouldn’t standard, legal execution methods work if her powers were inhibited?” Fitzsimmons asked.

“Theoretically speaking, yes,” said Beast, “if she’d allow that to happen. Along with the healing factor, she received a resistance to anything that could hamper her, like drugs or inhibitor technology. If she does not want an inhibitor to work, the tiniest warp in time is all she requires to disrupt and overload the system.”

Pandemonium erupted in the courtroom, as the jurors recognized the implications of recommending a death sentence, some of them turning quite green at the prospect.

“Order!” snapped Judge Montgomery, rapping her gavel. “Ms. Fitzsimmons, please continue.”

“So why is it that she’s not breaking through the inhibitors now. How is it that we’ve had no report of her doing likewise over at Red Onion?”

“Your hypothesis is as good as mine,” said Beast. “Perhaps for the same reason other convicts might not plot their escape.”

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The jury took even less time deliberating on a sentence than they did on the verdict. The mandatory minimum sentence for the burglary charge, and 39 life sentences to be served concurrently. At an undisclosed mutant detention facility. So she would at least live. Kurt noticed that while most of the family broke into silent sighs and sobs of simultaneous grief and relief, Kassandra’s face looked surprisingly grim, even during the grievous and seemingly inappropriate Auf Wiedersehens she exchanged with her family. Until Kurt grabbed her shoulder and whispered, “Ich verstehe. Das ist nicht notwendigerweise beßer, nicht wahr?”

Kassandra’s face crumpled. “Vielleicht beßer. Aber nur ein Bißchen.” And she allowed him one last, discrete, little peck before being pulled from his grasp and escorted away.

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Oh, iNkosi- (Zulu) Oh, God

Ich verstehe. Das ist nicht notwendigerweise beßer, nicht wahr?- I understand. That is not necessarily better, right?

Vielleicht beßer. Aber nur ein Bißchen.- Maybe better. But only a little.

 

[angelique]

Chapter 27

Trish Tilby hadn’t been this excited in a long time, and her distinguished career had given her plenty of cause for excitement. She had been asked specifically to conduct an exclusive interview, and…

“I’d like to welcome to our studio Father Vincent Altheim and Lucy Altheim Pulayantlha, siblings of the so-called Cathedral Killer, Kassandra Altheim.”

After the pleasantries were exchanged, Trish tried to gently start into the questions. Preparing this interview was not easy in the least. Most of the questions suggested to her just seemed so crass and morbid, especially when she finally came face to face with her guests. She hoped they were feeling particularly talkative, otherwise this would be a much shorter interview than she expected. How was Kassandra, growing up? No, that was a terrible way of putting it, talking about her as if she had died. How was growing up with her? Better. She asked that.

Good. She heard stories of life with a girl who could be difficult and temperamental, and had, due to her circumstances, a firmly entrenched habit of calculated secretiveness. Some heartwarming anecdotes of life with a funny and basically kind-hearted sort. And some rather alarming stories, such as how she kept the manifestation of her mutant abilities secret for three years, and how acting on her sense of justice and adventure had on more than one occasion put herself and others in danger.

“But of course,” said Vincent, “things almost always turned out for the best in the end.”

“Almost being a key word, right?” said Trish, somewhat sympathetically.
Lucy and Vincent both nodded morosely.

“What has she been up to lately? Is there any truth to the stories that she is suing several news sources for libel?”

“Yes,” said Lucy and Vincent, almost in emphatic unison.
“But we can’t really say much more about that, since the lawsuits are pending,” said Lucy. “I haven’t had a chance to speak with her since the sentencing, anyway.”

“And I haven’t been allowed to speak with her at all since the verdict,” said Vincent. “She also was not allowed to speak with any other priest, on account of the supposed security threat posed if one were to hear her Confession. I’m afraid she has been allowed no privacy and limited freedom of religion.”

“So whom has she been allowed to see?”
“Just Jack, Michael, Mama, and me,” said Lucy. “Jack can see her any time, as her attorney. And we can visit every weekend and on holidays. Which would be fine if any of us actually lived on this continent!”

“How about any of her friends?”
“Most of her friends,” said Vincent, “are people she’s known from her work or fellow mutants. In other words, more security risks.”

“Including Kurt Wagner?”
“Especially Kurt Wagner,” said Vincent. “If I’m not allowed to visit on account of posing some security risk, there is no way they’re letting a teleporter in. But Kassandra has been putting a lot of pressure on the Department of Corrections to allow us and a few other close friends on her approved visitors’ list.”

“Now, you, Father, I can understand, as you are Kassandra’s brother,” said Trish. “But as for Kurt Wagner, is there any truth to the stories that the two of them have been an item?”

Lucy spoke up. “Kurt has been a dear friend to all of us for years, especially over the course of this trial. Whether he’s been involved with my sister or not is irrelevant. Of course it would mean a lot to her if he could visit.”

There were a few more questions, most of which pertained to how Kassandra was holding up in prison. As well as could be expected, considering the bad food, the constant headache she suffered from wearing the inhibitors, and how, on days when she was allowed outside, she could not even run fast enough to give her a good workout. In other words, not good. And the isolation she’d suffer once her family tried to resume their normal lives in Namibia. But how Lucy responded to the questions about Kurt remained in his mind long after he’d finished watching that interview, confirming that this separation would, if anything, be harder on Kassandra than it was on him.

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Kassandra endured an insufferably long drive, hooded and fighting off the effects of a continuous stream of wetware coursing through her veins. Not soon enough, she felt herself pulled out of the car, then roughly walked through what sounded like endless spiraling corridors and staircases. Finally, she was dumped into a chair. The hood was unceremoniously yanked off her head, along with a handful of hair.

“Ach!” Kassandra recoiled from the light that assaulted her dilated pupils. Then, Linderung, endlich! The inhibitors were removed, and the feeling that her entire nervous system was compressed in an allover vice grip abated. She took a deep breath, took a moment, and then shut her eyes briefly, trying to relax. No such luck. An officer jabbed another needle into her arm.

“Verdammt! Would you stop that?” she cried, wincing.
“Why?” said a man’s voice from the darkness behind that infernally bright lamp. “What difference does another dose of mutant suppressant make, when it seems to wear off so quickly in you?”

“Because you know well it hurts about as badly as those inhibitors,” said Kassandra. It wasn’t as if she’d never before been on this end of an interrogation, but the fight against the drug’s effect made her very irritable. “And, meaning no disrespect, but the officer wasn’t quite quick enough with the needle. I know where I am, despite your best efforts, and I can also guess what you want from me.”

“Very good, then,” said a woman. “Of course, you made this more difficult by going public, but we may still have some use for you. Perhaps even eventually as a field operative, if you can behave. And I am sure you can anticipate what will happen if you do not consent to helping us out.”

It was true. And the prospect of her even having a say in this would not have been possible had she not behaved so cooperatively even in the oppressive conditions at Red Onion. Still, that amount of control she was given over her situation looked like it could be just rope enough for her to hang herself. What were her options? To deliberately choose to work under their thumb, or for them to physically and psychologically torture compliance out of her? Maybe target those near and dear to her if she herself proved too strong- which she knew she would. She had to restrain the urge to think out loud. Clever of them, to shoot her full of sodium pentathol as well as mutant suppressant drugs. If she didn’t blurt out her thoughts, she’d at least be more vulnerable to telepathy- at the moment, anyway.

“I’ll let you know what my decision is when the drugs wear off, and not a second sooner,” said Kassandra. “All right?”

There appeared to be some disagreement on the matter. Kassandra thought she overheard the woman whisper something like, “It’s the same reason why we can’t use memory implants on her… Yes, allowing her to think things over completely may ruin everything, but she’s not like Wolverine. We can’t afford to impair the very abilities she brings to our table…”

Kassandra listened with interest as the woman prevailed.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kassandra heard a muffled implosion behind her. “Ach, est ist du, wieder,” she said. “I was wondering when you might turn up.”

“Ich bin hier zu…”
“Ja, Ich weiß, ‘Azazel,’” said Kassandra with a wicked grin. “You are here to claim the scapegoat. There are just a couple of problems with that, however. You just ported into a mutant confinement unit with a fully functional block-wide inhibition system that I have no intention of destroying. Just try to port me out of here against my will.”

So he grabbed a hold of the girl. Nothing happened. His surprise gave Kassandra all the advantage she needed. An elbow to the solar plexus, and then a firmly placed back kick, and he collapsed against the wall.

“Not surprising.” Kassandra placed her foot upon the helpless teleporter’s stomach, ready to put what weight she could on it if he so much as looked at her wrong, and not altogether pleased at how taking him on without using any mutant abilities was so… easy. “Idiocy is, after all, the default mode of evil. But if you were a real demon, an inhibition system wouldn’t pose any problem. As it is, it’s now the least of your concerns. The Devil already claimed me. For reasons that are entirely my own, I belong to Weapon Plus now, und… WE HAVE AN INTRUDER!” Kassandra screamed.

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Linderung, endlich!- Relief, finally!
Ich bin hier zu… - I am here to...
Ja, Ich weiß- Yes, I know

 

[angelique]

Chapter 28

Logan smelled something in the mailroom. He couldn’t quite figure out why, but he didn’t like it. Where was it? Somewhere in the W’s? Here it was. Of course, he knew the return address was not real, but there was no mistaking. The Little Elf had written this letter. But who else had handled it before it got here? He sniffed. Oh, ****!

“Logan!” The commanding voice sent him spinning, almost involuntarily.
“Oh, uh, hey, ‘Ro,” said Logan. “I was just-”

“Sniffing through Kurt’s mail?” Ororo deftly plucked the letter from Logan’s hands. “I see,” she said, looking over the return address, before returning it to Kurt’s slot. “All the more reason for you to remember that you and I have plans for the evening.”

It wouldn’t do for Logan to figure out exactly where Kassandra was and what she was up to. But an evening on the town catching The Boy from Oz would be just the thing to keep his mind off that. For the time being.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kassandra finally had a moment to put pen to paper, and had a hard time deciding what to write. There were some things she felt Kurt should know, including information she didn’t want the security personnel reading. And some matters she did not feel comfortable relating. In her first week there, she had subjected a mutant to the indignity of being committed to the block for criminally insane mutants. Well, indignity was putting it mildly. She knew he’d prove to be of no use to the program- and would be eliminated. Sure, he was a delusional, genocidal maniac. But, on the other hand, regardless of what Kurt thought of him, regardless of what Kassandra thought of him, how could she break it to Kurt that his biological father faced an unsanctioned euthanasia because of her, and how even if she could, she doubted she would do a thing to stop it? Even though she had so narrowly avoided the death penalty herself, and the slightest mistake could put her on death row regardless of the court’s sentence.

She also helped other “volunteers” make sense of memories she knew and could not say were false implants. She assisted in interrogations, forbidden to intervene when drugs and torture were involved, even when she could anticipate that they’d do no good. Good cop, bad cop- with the good cop being a convicted spy and mass murderer. In the event she’d finally be allowed to set foot in a confessional, she felt for the first time that she might opt for remaining behind the screen. What could she say about all the things Weapon Plus had her doing?

“Mach fest, Kassandra,” she thought to herself. “So you’re feeling some well-deserved guilt. Neglecting to write Kurt will only compound that.”

She sighed, head in hand, trying to recall the consequences she anticipated before being led back to her own cell, then began to write.

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Kurt had just gotten out of a danger room session with Rachel Grey. Upon discovering that she had never seen any of his favorite movies, he figured the only thing to do was to give her a crash course in the appeal of the swashbuckling adventure genre with his own combat simulation. He was quite pleased to see how she actually got into it and had some fun, so much so, he almost didn’t notice just how much he was letting go and enjoying himself, taking on ranks of undead pirates. Oh, wunderbar! Rachel had just made quick work of one, and now took on… Oh mei! No time to think! She needed help now. Parry, kick, port her out of there, slash the rigging and bury the enemy under their sails. And what’s a dramatic rescue without… einem Moment, what just happened here?

He and his damsel formerly in distress retreated from that shockingly impulsive lip lock to find Ororo and Logan standing below, Logan biting his tongue against what Kurt knew he was thinking. The woman who’d been an unmitigated source of comfort and consternation of late, and his best friend, dressed up for a date.

At any rate, Kurt didn’t feel so great any more. He needed some time to think, about Rachel. The various and numerous reasons why he could not bring himself to kiss her again, no matter how worthy she may have been, tore through his mind, making their presence known, yet not allowing him a chance to determine exactly what they were before crowding each other out. He then thought about Ororo and what she appeared to have going on with Logan. He should have been happy for them. He didn’t know how to feel. Finally, maybe he would read his mail. Oh, wunderbar. A letter from yet another woman complicating his life.


Mein Lieber Kurt,

Well now that I’m finally settled in, I actually have time to write. First the good news. I am allowed occasional reprieves from the headaches the inhibition system gives me. As it is important to this program to keep certain inmates in reasonably good health, I’ve been allowed outside every day to run. And this time I have escorts that are in better condition to keep up with me, so I can work on shedding those extra pounds I put on at Red Onion. Ja, Kurt, it really doesn’t take long for it to show when someone my size hasn’t been eating or exercising as well as usual. I also get to interact fairly regularly with other inmates, sometimes in a professional capacity as a counselor. More importantly, I am allowed on occasion to use my powers.

And because of that, I have been able to continue the work you had me start, piecing together your past. In that, I have also discovered some anomalies within your timeline. The first one disappeared. Suffice to say, I’m positive der alt Teufel will never again try to mess around with you or your brothers. However, this other one concerns me very much. I think it has something to do with your improving teleportation, and how I could take you out of time without hurting you. Liebster, whatever’s causing this will not be easy to deal with. I still can’t quite figure out why, but I think Margali and Jimaine may have some explaining to do.

As for what else has been going on at the Institute- so Jean’s not a minute in the grave, I get around to checking in, and I find out Scott’s been carrying on with Emma Frost?! As if it’s not bad enough she’s at the Institute to begin with, this all smacks of a Hellfire plot. You know she hated Jean all along, nicht wahr? And so she claims no loyalty to the Hellfire Club. I actually believe her there. Most of the Inner Circle is loyal to nobody but themselves, anyway. Okay, ja, I am grieving. And furious. Maybe Scott can’t help being putty in that manipulative mind-bender’s hands, but, well, I’ll say no more about that.

And I am concerned about Sage. She may serve well with the rest of you on the XSE, but that seems to be a limited time offer.

Finally, ja, I know you are not looking forward to your birthday. All the more reason for me to plot something to make it more pleasant. Even though you may not see me and are hopefully beginning to move on with your life, and while I cannot venture to suggest how, I will still continue to serve as some kind of guardian angel for you.


Dein’ immer,

Zeitgeist


Well, that was reassuring. Kind of. Kurt could see Kassandra settling back into the role she was accustomed to having in his life- constant and, with the exception of those last couple weeks he’d had with her, constantly backstage. Life, he felt, would be so much easier if circumstances hadn’t removed Kassandra from his embrace. Or if he had just remained celibate, even if it would be for the wrong reasons. But an easy life was not the life for an X-Man. And while he knew he had no reason to feel guilty, that did not make him feel much better.

His communicator beeped, interrupting his thoughts. “Ja?”
“Better get moving, Elf,” said Logan. “We got trouble in District X.”

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Mach fest- roughly, "steady"

 

[angelique]

Chapter 29

“He’s worked with, and even has been linked with, some of the hottest women in superheroics. And yet Nightcrawler remains alone. We explore why and the rumors of his latest heartbreak next, on VH-1’s Behind the Heroes…”

Ororo blew into the rec room with an armful of paperwork. “Logan, have you seen Kurt? We’ve got an assignment just for him.”

“Sure, ‘Ro. Didn’t want to see the rest of his show, so he stepped out to get some air. You might find him out climbing trees or somethin’.”

“Good. Thank you, Logan.”
Logan watched some commercial shilling some books on the Elf’s various exploits, then decided Kurt showed some good sense, leaving. It was fun, watching about his upbringing in the circus, and the times they had when they first joined the X-Men. But Logan could understand all too well Kurt’s discomfort over media coverage of his rather convoluted love life. He didn’t want to see it, either. They’d talk about Amanda. He never cared for her involvement in that touchy-feely magic stuff. They might mention that Cerise chick that stole the Elf’s breath in England. They might mention that Kurt had his golden eyes on Ororo at various points. That idea put Logan on edge. And they most likely would talk about the Little Elf. This separation was not like any of the other times they’d spent apart. Logan knew this time they were both hurting. The Elf was, however, beginning to cope with that. But on the other hand, Logan’s nose in the mailroom said Kassandra was not holding up as well, for that… and other reasons. Before his mood could be any further darkened, Logan turned off the television and stepped out.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The assignment was to investigate a crime, the cold viciousness of which would have turned Kurt’s stomach had it not so seriously provoked his sense of justice. Thirteen patients killed in Metro-General’s psychiatric unit. Thirteen innocent children killed. And the only one who seemed to have any crisis of conscience about it was Barney Franks, the security guard who somehow just had to take a bathroom break right before it happened. Kurt tried to save him from burning in an apparent spontaneous combustion. Franks pushed him away.

So once again, someone Kurt wanted to save, to protect realized what Kurt never seemed able to even entertain- that he could not save everyone and would only hurt himself- and pushed him away. The familiarity ached liked like a healed fracture before a bad storm.

This left the only remaining witness, Seth Walker, a traumatized child, the sole survivor of the atrocities. He was somehow unwilling or unable to talk. Indeed, the only one who volunteered any help was that night nurse.

Christine. He could like her. And he saw that the feeling was already more than mutual. But she couldn’t help with everything. The way Barney Franks had died smacked of something mystical. And Kassandra said that Jimaine needed to explain something to him, anyway, so….

“Let me guess. You want my help with that little boy,” said Jimaine/Amanda/Magik/whatever identity she claimed at the moment. Of course she was right as to at least this one reason why Kurt would visit her all of the sudden. He had, up until then, what appeared to be a policy of maintaining a substantial yet amicable distance from this particular ex-girlfriend.

Kurt also understood why Kassandra said Amanda disliked her hypocrisy. They both had their ways of getting people to speak openly without being upfront themselves. So Kurt told her all about Seth Walker, even about the piece of knotted string Christine noticed in his constant grasp. That got Amanda’s interest like nothing else. Perhaps this boy had his own secrets to protect- among them that he was the rare variety of mage born with his powers.

“Now, Kurt, I’ll tell you about binding spells, if you’ll tell me about…”

Oh, nein! She wasn’t going to tease him about his current love life again, was she? She knew about Kassandra, obviously. “Gehst du nicht dort! Show some respect to the brokenhearted. If you want to pry, ask about someone who isn’t such a 100 pound elephant in the room, bitte!” Kurt thought, desperately.

“… Nurse Palmer, was it?”
Okay, he could handle that, for now. But perhaps he should establish some new boundary. If he was going to deal with Amanda again, discussing the love life would be off limits from here on out.

Amanda had just seen Kurt off, when the last voice she expected to hear addressed her. “I know respect for me had nothing to do with it, Jimaine, but thank you for not mentioning me to Kurt.”

“Wie-?”
Kassandra stepped out of the many thick shadows that so filled the sub-infernal realm the woman who once mistook her for a rival now ruled. “One of our operatives went rogue, so while I’m allowed to use my powers and examine reasons to present as to why my superiors should let her live, I thought I’d send a phase form here to make sure you’d be kind to Kurt. Between you and me, we’ve both done a number on the poor man, and I just did not want to see any old wounds reopened.”

“Warum bist du hier, wirklich?” Amanda asked, suspicion freezing her voice to near absolute zero. “You know I’d rather not talk about you, anyway.”

“Das ist wahr wohl.” Kassandra nodded. “However, you had an opportunity to be honest with Kurt about a matter that I can see will put him and a lot of other people dear to him- and you too- in mortal danger, and you couldn’t see fit to give him fair warning.”

“He won’t see how it’s relevant,” Amanda sniffed. “You know what it’s like trying to warn him of anything. And if it’s that important to you, why don’t you tell him?”

“It’s your responsibility. But I’ll tell him for you if you want.”

Amanda looked down through half-closed eyes upon the irate wraith. “You’re bluffing. You don’t even know what’s happening.”

“Oh?” Kassandra stepped forward, glowering. “Even if I didn’t, I see only two more chances for you be honest with Kurt for once in your life without circumstances pushing you to it or someone else blabbing.”

“And are you going to tell him how you’re getting involved, besides calling yourself his ‘guardian angel’?” Amanda demanded, her voice sounding ever more like chips being chiseled off a block of ice.

“You can check the timestream yourself, Jimaine,” Kassandra seethed. “And you’ll see that the blood of Winzeldorf will be on you hands if you don’t tell Kurt, soon, what you have done. A friendly warning for you, not a threat. Now you know how much I’d love to stay here and chat, aber Ich habe arbeit.”

Kassandra disappeared. Auf nimmer wiedersehen, thought Amanda, as her Pinot Noir poured another glass of itself for her, and she sat back down with her book.

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Gehst du nicht dort! - Don't go there!
Warum bist du hier, wirklich?- Why are you here, really?
aber Ich habe arbeit- but I have work

 

[angelique]

Chapter 30

Kurt spent a great deal of time up in his room, lately. More than before the events of last week. That might have bothered Logan and Ororo, if not for the fact that in addition to catching up on letters and his journal, he now had so much more to just think about. He, his life, and nearly everyone associated with his past had been targeted for attack by forces no less than supernatural. Of course he’d be the last to know that he was the latest custodian of the Soulsword, a mystical weapon coveted by sorcerers and demons alike. He wondered if Kassandra was okay. He figured she had to be wrapped up in this, somehow, the way a few things happened at just the right time. How Kätchen happened to be available to help Kurt infiltrate that coven, at that exact moment. How he, Ororo, Logan, and Christine were all there in time to witness and prevent a catastrophic subway accident.

But no more time to think. Scott had called Kurt down to the library. Kurt glanced over to his calendar- the Olympic fencing champions calendar Kassandra had miraculously found and sent him for Christmas last year. Sigh. This time of year, he wasn’t particularly interested in keeping track of what day it was. Es muߒ das tag sein, nicht wahr?

“Surprise! Happy birthday…”
Okay, so acting pleasantly surprised wouldn’t be so difficult after all. Front and center in that room full of X-Men stood Christine, holding a cake she made, the blaze of candles that Lockheed just lit no match for her smile. She had been through so much with him in only one week, taking on challenges that many mutants and superheroes would balk at, and all without any superpowers of her own.

Aber was ist das? The singing ended, and everything stopped. Even the flames atop the candles appeared frozen. All was completely still and silent. This looked like an old trick of the Professor’s, putting people on pause. Perhaps he’d come to surprise him, too. He followed a low, shuffling sound, the only sound in the mansion, down to one of the parlors. Okay, so maybe this wasn’t the Professor, Kurt mused, as he began to hear low notes on a piano. This could be just the sort of trick Kassandra might pull, if she were even allowed, if she even thought it was safe, to turn up at the Institute. Stop time around him, her, and the piano, and give a private, extratemporal recital. It sounded like just the sort of piece he’d enjoy most watching her play anyway. Driving, dramatic, big enough to pose an athletic as well as artistic challenge to her. Perhaps something by Lizst. But it could not be Kassandra, nicht wahr? His hair would have prickled with foreboding, even if it weren’t so suddenly cold in the hallway. But rather than hesitate, he felt impelled to open that door. And really, it was the only course of action that made sense. He recalled reading something in one of Kassandra’s favorite books. When explorers to an uncharted island sighted a dragon that then disappeared, what was it one of them said? “If there’s a wasp is in the room I like to be able to see it.”

He opened the door, recognizing too late the piece he heard. How strangely appropriate. He brought forth the Soulsword.

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The figure in the parlor was not particularly keen on music. But a CD left on the stereo caught his attention. Ah yes, music of that Catholic abbé from nineteenth century Hungary, who, of all people, decided to name some four waltzes after him. Just this once, he might want to hear the pieces that bore his name while he waited.

The door flew open, flung by just the person he intended to see.

“Mephistopheles!”
“Please,” he said, rising and turning toward Nightcrawler. “No need to stand on ceremony. Mephisto.”

Of course, Mephisto had a deal to make. The boundaries between dimensions were beginning to break down. When the final war would begin, wouldn’t it be noble for Kurt to ensure that those near and dear to him were protected? And as an added bonus, Kurt could have his foster-brother Stefan, the tormented subject of so many of his recent nightmares, brought back from the dead. All he had to do was keep out of the battle, keeping the Soulsword in neutral hands determined to strike a blow for neither side.

There were some other things Mephisto said that rankled Kurt even more. Yes, Storm had asked Kurt to investigate the coven that had killed those children. Just where did Ororo get her information?

“Let’s just say the so called ‘forces of good’ can be as manipulative and self-serving as the ‘forces of evil,’” said Mephisto.

Suddenly, things came together, making even more, and more alarming, sense. To think that Kurt was only joking when he said Ororo and Kassandra were conspiring together!

“Appalling, isn’t it,” Mephisto continued, “that you’ve been doing their dirty work and were given no choice in the matter?”

Wrong! What did Kassandra say? “I always have a choice.” Kurt could have begged off. He could have taken a sabbatical. It was always understood that he could back down if he wanted. That he never did, no matter how tempting it was, was a matter of his own choice. And so it would continue to be.

“I’ll grant you, in other words,” said Mephisto, continuing to ramble about all he’d offer if only Kurt would step aside, “your greatest wish. I can do that. Believe me. I can.”

A beautiful right hook to that monopolizing monster’s jaw, and Kurt had a chance to make his decision known. The priest mentioned in his homily on Sunday that doubt has its place- when dealing with anyone, anything that demands misplaced trust and shakes true faith. Kurt seethed, fangs bared, tail lashing. “I’d sooner burn in Hell myself than make a deal with you, Mephisto.”

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Christine saw Kurt stick around only for a polite sliver of cake before he slipped out.

“Lookin’ for someone, kid?”
Only a profound act of self-restraint kept Christine from screaming, half in subconscious expectation of feeling once again adamantium slip between her ribs. Sure, she knew that Logan was in full control of himself now. Not possessed by a Soulsword seeking demon. But she had heard whispers around the Institute that he, not too long ago, broke a friend’s arm, and all without any demonic intervention. She hoped he wouldn’t take it personally- oh, what the heck, he could probably already smell that she was ill at ease around him. She took a deep, shaky breath. “Uh, yes. Did Kurt leave already?”

“Probably went outside. He’s been doin’ that a lot lately. Up in his room or outside. Got a lot on his mind, y’know.”

“I know. Thanks,” said Christine. She poured out some wine in a couple of those plastic party goblets, the ones with the detachable stems, then stepped outside.

Ah, good! Kurt hadn’t gone far. She offered him a glass. What she had to say would not be easy. First a harmless icebreaking question. And some jokes about how different they were and how a relationship wouldn’t work out. She finally looked into her glass, figuring Kurt would of course prefer a wine far too bold for her taste. “How many times do I have to almost die before I get the message: ‘Leave New York’?”

Kurt was dumbfounded. But if there was one thing he learned lately, carpe diem meant never again letting a good woman leave without a proper goodbye. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t had good practice with that before, anyway.

They both strolled inside.
“Ah, just in time,” said Ororo. “We have someone on the phone for you.”

“Ich kann nicht sprechen jetzt, Liebster,” said the hushed voice on the other end. “But if you’d like, meet me at Wannabe’s tomorrow evening.”

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The book quoted is The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, by CS Lewis. And of course the savvy reader will note that I've quoted extensively from Nightcrawler 12.

And now for translations:

Es muߒ das tag sein, nicht wahr? - It must be that day, right?
Ich kann nicht sprechen jetzt, Liebster- I can't talk now, dear.

 

[angelique]

Chapter 31

Kurt was more than a little apprehensive setting foot in the club. Sure, Wannabe’s was pretty much the only establishment that didn’t cater specifically to mutants where he could more or less blend in. It was more who he was meeting and how he was even able to see her that raised his suspicions. It did not help matters that more than some of the patrons at this superpower themed club were dressed as her. One sidled right up to him dressed in a mauve dress suit, a ratty wig, and a frightful false tan worn in obvious and unsuccessful attempt to make her look darker.

“Great costume! You weren’t the Nightcrawler who won the Halloween costume contest, were you?”

“No, I was not.”
“Well, your costume is great. I like how you built the tail to move so well,” she said, reaching for his hand, “and those gloves are just… how did you do that? ”

Kurt started to blush as he pulled away his hand, with a combination of embarrassment and frustration, hoping the dim light would hide the evidence that this girl was seeing his real skin. “Danke schön.”

And with hands aflutter and a gasp of delight, the girl whirled away. “Amy, he speaks German, too, with the accent and everything,” she squealed to some friend several feet away. “Isn’t he perfect?”

“Kommst du mit mir,” said a much more familiar voice. She handed him a beer, then tugged his hand and helped him make his escape, leading him back to a booth farthest from both bar and stage.

“So,” said Kurt, “kannst du beweisen, dass du die wirkliche Kassandra bist? Weil…”

“Ich kann,” said the girl, as they sat down. “I’d kiss you hallo, but that would be awkward so soon after you’d just kissed Christine goodbye, nicht wahr?”

Kurt blushed, noticing with some relief that Kassandra spoke with no spite. Also, that despite the many things that were taken from Kassandra, the St. Michael medal he gave her still gleamed below her throat. He changed the subject. “So warum bist du hier, und nicht…”

“And not at that ‘undisclosed mutant detention facility’? See ‘Carol Danvers’ and ‘Nick Fury’ over there?” She nodded discretely in their direction. “Nein! Sehst du nicht her! They are operatives with an assignment they specifically need my help with. I’m here under their strict supervision, and nobody’s supposed to know that we’re even here. At any rate, I can’t blame you for having not followed the news lately.”

“Was?”
“Most of those convictions could not withstand appeal, and I’m now serving a sort of reduced sentence. At least that’s what the news says.”

“Wunderbar!” said Kurt.
“Nicht wirklich. If word got out who I report to, just what this mutant correctional department is, Logan would be furious.” She edged closer to Kurt, not for any romantic reason, but to whisper, “That is exactly what they want, and probably more than you should know.

“So,” she said, again in full voice, “war deshalb es ein guter Geburstag?”
Kurt did not quite know what to say. “Ja. As far as my birthdays go, it wasn’t so bad. But you know what happened, nicht wahr?”

Kassandra nodded. “And I must admit this time I am a bit jealous.”

“Von Christine?”
“Ja. But don’t you think she deserves it? I mean, while you were under all kinds of attack, she was there for you the whole time…”

“Aber du war auch, Liebste.” Kurt found himself tossing out that term of endearment almost as a matter of habit, a habit he suspected he’d like to keep. “Don’t dismiss what I know you’ve been doing as my ‘guardian angel.’”

“Kurt,” said Kassandra, with no small amount of difficulty, “Christine was actually with you throughout all this, in just the way you needed, a way I could only wish to have been. That’s why I envy her. And I know just because she’s moving, it doesn’t mean you’ll have seen the last of her. Du wißt das auch, nicht wahr?”

Kurt dropped his head in assent. “Well, I’m not so sure. If she finds out I lied to her about not liking musicals…”

Kassandra burst out laughing. “You should have told her you’d prefer to see Man of La Mancha.”

“But- but,” Kurt stammered, smiling, “that would have been unchivalrous.”
“And so you sat uncomfortably through the Phantom of the Opera to convenience a lady.” Kassandra tried in vain to stifle a wistful, faraway smile and the uncomfortable way her cheeks darkened. “Typisch Kurt.”

“Kassandra…” Kurt put his hand on Kassandra’s shoulder, not knowing quite what to say.

Kassandra tried to gently shrug off his hand. But it seemed important to him to maintain that simple, friendly contact, so she reconsidered. “Kurt,” she said, “I must confess I also envy you a bit. How you dealt with you-know-who, or didn’t, for that matter? You’re a far better person than I am. And I know that you will remain strong when that time comes.”

“You sound so certain of that. I suppose you know about all this talk about the Final War and all that?”

Kassandra nodded. “Classic horror movie tripe.”

“None of that makes you nervous?”
“Mephisto isn’t as in the loop as he lets on if he doesn’t know. While we’re still drawing the battle lines, the war, the Real War, was won a couple millennia ago, remember? As for me, the only thing I’m concerned about is remaining in good standing with the winner.”

“So, warum?” said Kurt, now more than a little upset. “If the war was already won, why does anyone continue to fight? Why, everything that’s happened these past several days?”

“Kurt, sei ruhig.” Kassandra held her hand up, perhaps a little too close to his mouth, and then lowered it. “The enemy doesn’t know, except for their innermost circle, that their war is lost. Those that do know don’t care. All they want is to drag as many of us down with them as possible. Und du, you will always be like my favorite character in The Last Battle.”

“Ich errinere. I remember everything now, strangely enough. You like Poggin the Dwarf, and his determination to, if need be, strike a blow for right before all’s said and done.”

“And speaking of that, I got you a present.” Kassandra slipped a small parcel to him. “Ich muß gehen.”

“Wartst du,” said Kurt, putting his hand on Kassandra’s before she could slide out of her seat. “I also remember never letting you leave without one of these, and I don’t plan to start now.”

He pulled her to himself, practically engulfing her in his arms. She returned the embrace, as profound as it was platonic. And all too brief. “Ich muß gehen,” she said again, this time looking a little frightened.

“Auf Wiedersehen?” Kurt asked, rather than said.
Kassandra nodded. Then smiled and slipped out.

And as Kurt stepped out, he passed Kassandra at the bar paying her tab. “Nick Fury” sidled up to her. “So are you going to meet her?”

Kassandra coolly looked straight ahead. “They’re both in one place. But no, I won’t meet them, unless you want this whole thing blown sky high.”

“You really shouldn’t have said that.”

“Let me be the judge of that. You want my help here, or not?”
Kurt tried not to look preoccupied as he slipped past and out the door. It didn’t seem to make much sense, and he didn’t understand the context, but that snippet of conversation made him more wary for Kassandra than anything he’d ever heard her say before. But he managed to put that out of his mind until he got back to his room and unwrapped the package. It was a book. The pages fell open, and a small laminated card fell out.

“Herr,” it said, “wenn deine Leute stilles haben Bedürfnis von meinen Diensten, werde ich die Mühe nicht vermeiden. Dein Wille geschehe. Ich habe den guten Kampf lang genug gekämpft. Noch, wenn du mich bietst, halte weiter die Kampflinie in Verteidigung von deinem Lager, ich nie werden betteln, von Versagenkraft entschuldigt zu werden. Ich werde die Arbeit machen, der du zu mir anvertraust. Währen du befehlst, werde ich unter deinem Banner kämpfen.”

He turned the card over. On the other side was a picture of what was supposed to be a Roman cavalry officer, sword in hand, cutting his cloak in half for a beggar in rags. Heiliger Martin von Tours, natürlich, the saint on whose feast day Kurt was born. He then turned to the book, a volume of supernatural folk tales from around the world, apparently. Creepy, like the one to which the book had fallen open. His heart leapt to his throat when he realized he had heard it before. An Irish story about Countess Kathleen O’Shea.

The phone rang. Kurt had to climb down from the ceiling to answer. “Ha-hallo?”

“Kurt, are you all right?” It was Christine.
Kurt had to will his breathing, heart rate, his fear itself into submission before he could say anything else. “Ja, Christine. I think I will be, now, thank you. So did you get in okay? How was your flight?”

“I think you’ll be relieved to hear it was uneventful. Didn’t even get airsick this time,” said Christine, her warm smile coming through even over the phone. "I just called to let you know I arrived okay, and that you can still reach me on my cell at least until I get a permanent place lined up. But are you sure you’re all right? You sounded-”

“A bit shaken, ja. But it had nothing to do with you. I just realized right before you called that an old friend may have gotten into trouble over her head.”

“Kassandra?” said Christine, with honest concern. She suspected that Kassandra, besides Storm, was another reason why Kurt balked at getting involved with her. Regardless, it was well known that Kurt was quite upset when Kassandra was found guilty, and Christine could at least respect that. “How could things get any worse for her?”

“I don’t know,” said Kurt. “I’m not sure I want to know. But I am sure that she could and probably has figured out how.”

“Well, based on the sound of things,” said Christine, “I’m half tempted to almost consider booking a flight back to New York.”

Kurt began to smile again over the next several minutes they talked. One thing that came to mind most when he thought about Christine was how she, like a few other people he’d been blessed to know, had earned a lifelong place among his dearest friends. So he could not regard her as a girlfriend. So their relationship took a course away from that before it could really even begin. But friendships like that did not end. Not with last-ditch kisses goodbye, nor even with a fib about disliking musicals.

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Notes and translations

kannst du beweisen, dass du die wirkliche Kassandra bist? Weil…- can you prove that you are the real Kassandra? Because...

Nein! Sehst du nicht her! No! Don't look!
war deshalb es ein guter Geburstag? Was it a good birthday?
Aber du war auch, Liebste- but you were also, dear
Du wißt das auch, nicht wahr? You know that, right?
Typisch Kurt. Typical Kurt
sei ruhig- roughly, relax
Ich errinere. I remember
Ich muß gehen. I must go.

The Last Battle is the final book in the Chronicles of Narnia by CS Lewis.

The Prayer of Saint Martin of Tours

Lord, if your people still have need of my services, I will not avoid the toil. Your will be done. I have fought the good fight long enough. Yet if you bid me continue to hold the battle line in defense of your camp, I will never beg to be excused from failing strength. I will do the work you entrust to me. While you command, I will fight beneath your banner.

Countess Kathleen O'Shea, according to legend, made a deal with the devil to ensure that her subjects would neither starve amid famine, nor sell their souls for food. According to the story as written by WB Yeates, however, the devil was never able to collect on the deal.

 

[The IronMan]

Great job Angelique-This made for great reading keep it up!

 

[angelique]

Ein Anderes Mal
Chapter 1

To: blauritter
Re: Was ist los.

I sent Ororo all the information I could dig up those “Weaponeers” you’ve been dealing with. It isn’t very much at this point. However, as the people I report to don’t like them any more than you do, they’re quite happy to let me help in this respect.

Speaking of trouble on and around my home continent, I’ve been assigned a long-term mission in Genosha. And personally, I’d like it very much if, after dealing quickly and decisively with these Weaponeers, you could maybe hop over to Hammer Bay and meet me there.

Finally, if you haven’t already, be sure to pop open an extra beer with Logan for me in memory of his old Avengers friends.

Ich vermisse dich noch immer.

-Zeitgeist

Kassandra clicked “send,” logged off, then scooted her chair back and rose. She would have liked to write more, but she had a plane to board.

Six months later

The guards assigned to supervise Mutant Conscript #50471 were not at all thrilled with this latest mission. They might have been relieved that their charge had been taken off the X-23 assignment for the time being. That target was too much like a leaner, meaner version of Wolverine for their comfort. However, while their new target was not as likely to eviscerate any of them, she didn’t seem any safer. Nor did the mutant whom they were supposed to supervise. Her cooperation seemed to have more to do with anything other than the program’s best interest, and ever since the deaths of the Avengers, the operative code-named Zeitgeist had been acting more and more erratically. Something or someone, she warned her superiors, was disrupting her ability to use her powers as effectively. But as it tied in to what she was investigating, she would figure it out. And take care of it.

And so this investigation led to an old church, one of the few structures left even remotely standing in this perpetually bombed-out capital city. She would meet her target, confirm a few details, and hopefully lure this person out of the church. In the unlikely event it would come down to a more typical Weapon Plus operation, she did not want to violate that sanctuary… any further, she thought, as she looked over the ruin.

“Stay back and let me try to talk to her first, please,” she said. “We’d like this done neatly and quietly, right?”

An easy request. They knew she wouldn’t like this assignment and would prefer dealing with this target in her capacity as psychologist rather than assassin. But they could trust that she’d do whatever was needed. And just in case things got out of control the three guards could train their weapons on the target and the conscript alike through the blasted out windows easily enough. Kassandra vanished.

They could now see her blurry, transparent visage sitting in the front pew. Powered up, ready for anything.

“Hallo,” she said, to no one they could see. “Wie gehts?…Ganz gestimmt…Ich bin Kassandra, eine Freundin von Logan… Ja, eine Psychologin… Ich will dir helfen. Erzähl mir alles. Was ist los?”

“Mein Gott! Charles darf nicht hierher kommen.” Another wraith appeared with the guards, abject terror and confusion lending an edge to her whisper almost as sharp as that adamantium sword she’d been allowed to carry again. “Understand? This place stands at a juncture of opposing realities. It’s highly unstable. I can barely stay grounded. Xavier must not come here! In fact, tell him to cease all contact with the Maximoffs, now.”

What was she talking about? How information so far-fetched, so disjointed, obtained by apparently sitting there, talking only to herself be of any use? “Mir gefällt meine Existenz auch nicht, aber zumindest spiel ich nicht mit der Realität herum,” continued the image sitting in the pew, in a gentle, almost tender voice. “Das ist nur zu wahr. Ich kann das nicht. Aber nur weil du es kannst, heißt das nicht, dass du das auch machen solltest.”

“Warum?” shouted another wraith, standing with sword drawn, looking in an altogether different direction. “Nur Gott hat das Recht dazu und wir alle müssen mit den Folgen deiner Einmischung behandeln.”

“Ich nie vergeße, und ich kann die Vergangenheit akzeptieren. Warum du nicht auch?” said the quiet image in the pew.

“Xavier’s coming, verdammt! He’s in danger here,” whispered the wraith that stood with her guards. “Stop them!”

The guards exchanged puzzled glances. They each wondered how they were going to get this woman, or rather, her three wraiths, to power down and start talking sense without hurting her and drawing the ire of the mutant rights groups, when she was obviously raving. “I don’t see any ‘them,’” said one.

Another, who knew enough German to exchange occasional snatches of conversation with this lonely conscript, replied, “It seems her assignment finally got the best of her, in which case… oh, God!”

The realization just hit that a real extra-dimensional struggle could look very much like what they were witnessing. The sword-wielding wraith finally lunged, screaming in a voice that all too likely pierced dimensional boundaries and carried beyond the universe, “WAS BILDEST DU DIR EIN?!”

Apparently, any effort to do whatever she thought she needed to be done neatly and quietly wasn’t working.

“Trank her! She’s losing it!” barked the sergeant.

“Are you kidding? None of our best shots can get her like that!”
“You got any better ideas?”

And amid a fire of tranquilizer darts, the wraiths vanished, and Zeitgeist hurtled, as if hurled by this sudden burst of white light, into the smoke-blackened wall.

“We didn’t do that, did we?” said one of the guards, gazing awestruck into the shadows.

“Get down! Someone else is in there now, though I’m damned if I know how they got there,” said the sergeant. “Did you see them come in? Or you?”

Both of the other guards shook their heads, mystified.
“At any rate, we’ll have to retrieve her, quietly. What the-?” The white light began to grow. And intensify.
“Oh, SH-!”
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Translations:

Ich vermisse dich noch immer- I still miss you.
“Wie gehts?…Ganz gestimmt…Ich bin eine Freundin von Logan, Kassandra… Ja, eine Psychologin… Ich will zu dich helfen. Erzähl mir alles. Was ist los?”

How's it going?... Agreed, totally... I am Logan's friend, Kassandra... Yes, a psychologist... I want to help you... Tell me all about it. What's the matter?

Charles darf nicht hierher kommen. -Charles must not come here.

Mir gefällt meine Existenz auch nicht, aber zumindest spiel ich nicht mit der Realität herumDas ist nur zu wahr. Ich kann das nicht. Aber nur weil du es kannst, heißt das nicht, dass du das auch machen solltest.

I also don't like my existence, but I don't mess with reality. That's true enough. I can't. But just because you can doesn't mean you should.

Warum? Nur Gott hat das Recht dazu und wir alle müssen mit den Folgen deiner Einmischung behandeln.

Why? Only God has that right, and we all must deal with the consequences of your meddling.

Ich nie vergeße, und ich kann die Vergangenheit akzeptieren. Warum du nicht auch? - I never forget, and I can accept the past. Why won't you?

WAS BILDEST DU DIR EIN?! - Who do you think you are?!

 

[angelique]

Before you proceed with reading this next chapter, I must provide another disclaimer. This story earns its PG-13. If you could not read chapter 13 of Zeit und Zwischenraum for the violence, and if tastefully worded details of a healthy, romantic involvement embarrass you, read no further.

Chapter 2

Wanda? Braddock? Saturnyne?!

A fragrant and surprisingly warm early morning ocean breeze stirred the lace curtains over Kassandra’s bed as the unhurried notes of an acoustic guitar fell like gentle raindrops on her sleepy consciousness. Her bed- not a hard bunk in a cold brig that, if it had a window above water, would have looked out onto war-ravaged ruins? And where did the music come from? She wasn’t allowed a CD player. This had to be a dream perhaps brought on by that hard knock she took on the head last night. She pulled around her one of the precious few comforts she’d been allowed, a plush blue blanket Nightcrawler sent her for Christmas. And the blanket wrapped itself more tightly around her, pressing its soft warmth against her surprisingly bare flesh.

What? What happened to the itchy government-issue pajamas? And if it was one of those dreams, she didn’t expect to be plagued with them. Shyness notwithstanding, she did not have many body consciousness issues. Anyway, where was the audience? Why did she feel relatively safe and content, rather than insecure and vulnerable?

“Shhhh, du träumst,” the blanket murmured in a low, familiar voice. “But how would you like to start the day, Liebchen?” Okay, that was just plain verrückt. Kassandra felt soft pressure settle on her hip. And an unfamiliar tightness around one of her fingers. Not one for jewelry, even if she was the daughter of a diamond heir and a Zulu tribeswoman, she almost never wore rings. Never on that finger, anyway!

The voice continued, attempting to sing along with the CD. “We could talk away the morning….” His Bavarian accent, coupled with the gentle delivery, made this otherwise goofy Frank Sinatra impression irresistibly endearing. The pressure took the shape of a familiar tridactyl hand and began to migrate slowly up, navigating the subtle curves of Kassandra’s lean, modest form in languid, circular strokes. And what felt like another set of three long, thick fingers gently brushed her tangled, shoulder-length mess of dark curls away from her neck.

“…read the papers…”
“Sein Händedruck, und- ach!- sein Kuss!” Kassandra thought to herself, as she felt the first of a series of kisses on her neck. She’d have to put away that blanket. It was giving her dreams that would only intensify by contrast the cold loneliness of her sentence, but still…

“… oder ‘misbehave.’”
“Mmmm…Kurt,” said Kassandra, sleepily. His tail, which had been idly tracing its way up from her ankle, finally curled firmly around her thigh. She had never before had such a vivid dream that didn’t leave her shaking and sweating in terror. This was almost as enjoyable for its novelty as well as for… the obvious reasons. Still, she muttered a weak protest. “A good Catholic shouldn’t entertain these thoughts.”

Kurt chuckled, gently turning Kassandra over. “Guten Morgen, Frau Darkhölme.”

Kassandra’s eyes flew open and about the room, resting briefly upon a photograph. Odd. She could not recall where or when it was taken at the moment. But Kurt stood behind her with an arm around her waist, all smiles. She could see a green bracelet tied around his wrist. She wore a plain black leather skirt, and a round hat that sat like a crimson halo upon her head- the isidwaba and isicholo of a Zulu bride. And an expression of happiness barely restrained by the desire to appear appropriately solemn. On her nightstand was a paperback copy of the book Toxic In-Laws. Then her eyes turned finally to Kurt, his smiling, tousled, early-morning charm everything she expected it to be, and more. Very real and apparently very much hers. Any protest that this must only be a dream died on her lips, happily smothered by his.

Kassandra could not think of any other way she’d rather be start the day, tasting his kisses, running her hands down his back, reveling in how paradoxically beautiful the firmness of his muscular physique under the softness of his velvety skin felt to her touch. But still, nothing about this felt quite right.

Kurt retreated. The way he felt his beloved wife’s muscles tense beneath her own smooth, café au lait skin, quite the opposite of her usual response, and the confusion he could now see in her large deep brown eyes was indeed not right. Granted, things had been a bit awkward between them lately. They were only just getting accustomed to married life when a new assignment as well as the lure of living at least on the same hemisphere as Kassandra’s mother and siblings induced them to pack and move across the globe to Hammer Bay. It was an ideal move, or so Kurt thought. Or it would be, anyway, if he and Kassandra could actually spend more time home together. Kurt and his mother, whom he still hoped might warm to his new bride, still worked together as special operatives in the elite mobile unit of the Red Guard and was often out on one mission or another. Kassandra, on the other hand, earned a commission answering directly to the royal family, and had, in her short time on that job, also earned the personal confidence of the princesses.

Together she and Kurt bought a nice, modest house on a bluff overlooking a stretch of beach where Kassandra liked to jog or take Kurt for long strolls. The house was just big enough for them, Kassandra’s piano, a couple rooms they set aside for when they’d have children, and a large, deep walkout basement they’d already turned into a miniature danger room. Of course, they had access to the training facilities the palace and SHIELD had to offer. But for reasons so obvious the couple never had to speak of them, they both preferred to work out in the privacy of their own home whenever possible. It was also near enough to church, the palace, and the new SHIELD headquarters, which was important not only because Kassandra hated to drive, but because they also could be called in to work in literally a moment’s notice.

They had all the best this life could offer, and yet Kassandra still was not content. Nobody could understand why. None of the many possible explanations seem to quite cover it. She and Kurt both guessed that it was due in part to when she took out that anti-mutant cult in Montana a few months before their wedding. Though she’d won medals for her bravery and leadership, which she would only bring out at the royal family’s command, she’d seemed a bit traumatized afterward. That was understandable. Given Kassandra’s background, she was actually quite sympathetic toward non-mutants, so naturally having to kill so many, even when they were shooting at her, would not sit well with her. And these suspicious nightmares and waking terrors that had plagued her ever since had been driving her a bit to distraction. Kurt felt awful that, as wonderful as their life was, there was nothing, not even taking a permanent position at headquarters, he could do to ensure her complete happiness, and she knew it. Kurt guessed that this was the reason for the emotional distance that Kassandra was beginning to display.

“How long have I been your wife?” she asked. She had great difficulty referring to herself as Frau Darkhölme. Of course she would be proud to add Kurt’s name to her own, but since when did he go by… by that woman’s name?

Questions like that coming from her meant either that she was teasing, or, most likely, especially based on her reactions and the talking in her sleep, she had just had another one of those dreams, and needed some gentle reorientation. He propped himself up on one elbow, softly caressing her neck and shoulder with one hand and her leg with the spade of his tail. “Three wonderful months and the dawning your last chance to rest before the festivities. Our first real day off together since-”

“I have to get to Mass!”
Kurt looked at her with increasing concern. As much as he liked waking his wife to that song any day of the week, he realized that “It’s Sunday” wouldn’t help on a rare weekday morning off if things like this kept happening. “Es ist Donnerstag. St. Marcella’s doesn’t have Mass on Thursdays any more, remember? Though you did have choir practice last night.”

Last night. The church. Yes, Kassandra remembered something about that last night. Still disturbing. It was never like her to forget.

“Ist alles in Ordnung?” said Kurt.
Kassandra sighed, feeling her focus on the here and now improving as she drew closer and wrapped her free leg around Kurt’s. “Ja. Danke. And I think you’re right. I do need to talk to someone… someone else about- about what I’d been seeing. I’m tired of this confusion, and I don’t want this to interfere any more. Aber jetzt, Ich vermute ein Bißchen ‘misbehavior’ konnte in Ordnung sein.”

“Bist du sicher?” Kurt asked.
Kassandra nodded.

Kurt smiled. “Nur ein Bißchen? Das wird schwierig sein.”
“Gestimmt!” Kassandra laughed, twining her legs around Kurt’s waist as she found herself quite blissfully entangled in his arms and tail.

They spent the next hour simply enjoying each other that way. And if their coming together was any less momentous than the union of time and space itself, Kassandra did not want to know.

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Translations:

du träumst- you're dreaming

Sein Händedruck, und- ach!- sein Kuss! - more Goethe poetry that will only be mangled in the translation, from Gretchen's spinning wheel scene in Faust. "The pressure of his hands, and -oh!- his kiss!"

Aber jetzt, Ich vermute ein Bißchen ‘misbehavior’ konnte in Ordnung sein. - (roughtly) But now, I suppose a little misbehavior could be all right.

Bist du sicher? - Are you sure?
Nur ein Bißchen? Das wird schwierig sein. - Only a little? That will be difficult.

 

[angelique]

Chapter 3

Kurt looked upon Kassandra, his golden eyes in no hurry to cease making love to her even after the rest of his body was well spent. She had just pulled on a pink tracksuit and tied her hair back into a loose ponytail. “Laufst du jetzt? Didn’t you just get a good workout?”

“Du bist immer wilkommen, mit mir zu kommen,” said Kassandra, leaning over to lightly graze Kurt’s lips with her own.

“Ja doch.” Kurt drew Kassandra into a much deeper kiss before letting her go. Persuading her to stay and knuddeln some more would not be difficult. But she could be if she skipped her mile-a-day minimum. “I’ll be right behind you.”

“Das ich will gern sehen.” Kassandra smiled, dodging a tridactyl blue hand aimed for her rear, then disappeared.

“Ach, solche Dreistigkeit!” Kurt threw on some sweats and scrambled out after her, deftly avoiding stumbling over his pants as he hastily pulled them up. Perhaps he had some energy left for a jog after all.

Kassandra was glad she got a good head start on Kurt. She needed just a moment to think. Just what would she, could she, tell anyone about these dreams, visions, whatever they were? Were these glimpses into another reality mere reflections of her difficulties adjusting to a happy, if not entirely perfect, new life? Kassandra hoped so. Even at her best, she did not handle alternate realities well. The ability to see and control the timelines within one reality could overwhelm her, physically and mentally, if she wasn’t careful, even with her healing factor. And rare glimpses into parallel universes, such as what she’d seen upon her first encounter with the beings some called the Celestials, tended to leave her disoriented, even, on occasion, to the point of doubting her sanity. Of course this helped her relate when Brian Braddock requested her counseling after his own tumble through time. Wait- when had she ever counseled the King of England? When had any of that happened?

At any rate, her ability to return to her place within time depended very much on being solidly grounded in one reality. And yet lately, she’d been seeing events from alternate timelines in her sleep as well as whenever she stepped outside of time- one past in each of two different realities for each person whose timelines she might try to read. And she could not shut it out. She had seen things like this before in the fractured timelines she observed when studying disassociative disorders or cases of total amnesia. No, that had to be in her own other reality, nicht wahr? She was no psychologist. Or was she? There was no sense in delaying another day, Kassandra decided. She’d call Professor Xavier immediately after breakfast.

Verdammt, not again! Who was this Xavier? Cassandra Web could handle this sort of thing. Oh, that’s right. She said, despite symptoms similar to generalized anxiety or something like that, nothing was wrong. How about Dr. Strange? But the only Xavier Kassandra ever knew about died in the revolution before she was even born…nicht wahr?

Ah, well. If she could indeed see into another reality in which she was a psychologist, maybe she could take a thorough look and figure out a thing or two. “Gemütarzt, heilt dich,” she thought to herself.

Kurt scrambled down the bluff. He even skipped using the long staircase that wound its way downward, as was his habit. It might have been quicker and easier to teleport down to the beach, but he preferred climbing anyway. Plus, he reasoned, it wouldn’t make any difference how quickly he could get there. He would catch up with Kassandra only if she wanted him to.

And apparently she did. No sooner had his hands and feet hit the sand in his own unique running stride than he skidded to a halt.

“KURT!” A tearful, terror-stricken, breathless Kassandra appeared before him, running hell for leather, sweat and tears coursing down her face, allowing him just enough time to stagger upright before she barreled into his arms, knocking him over.

Kurt clutched her firmly until the racking, consuming sobs subsided, struggling to will his own alarm at this outburst into submission. “Kassandra, meine Liebste, was ist los?”

“Kurt, ich sehte…” Kassandra gulped. “Ich sehte ein anderes mal, eine andere Realität. Es ist kein Traum! Ich bin sicher!”

Kurt took a deep breath, then brushed away Kassandra’s tears. A lifetime being raised by none other than Raven Darkhölme on a steady diet of war stories, groomed for nothing other than a career ensuring that mutants would remain forever victorious had not prepared him very well for showing compassion in others’ moments of weakness. Nonetheless, this tender little gesture came surprisingly naturally to him. Perhaps it was something about Kassandra, or more likely the fact that married life necessitated it, that brought this out in him. His mother could complain all she wanted. And she did, frequently, about how he married a mutant raised among and identifying with- oh, the horror- flatscans! He felt he was a stronger man for this, regardless. “Kassandra, alles ist in Ordnung…”

“Nein, Kurt,” she said. “Alles ist nicht in Ordnung. Ever get the feeling like this… this existence is too good to be real?”

“Ja doch. Immer,” said Kurt warmly. He then quickly apologized as Kassandra’s face clouded over again even more ominously. There was just no humoring her, especially when she was in that mood. “Es tut mir leid, Liebste. But whether or not any of this is too good to be true, now’s probably not the best time to worry about that, nicht wahr?”

Kassandra nodded slowly, trying her hardest to pull herself together. Kurt had always been patient with her and her idiosyncrasies, as she had to be with him and the attitudes his mother tried in vain to impart to him, but she knew better than to take that for granted. Nobody she knew of who went by the name Darkhölme regarded tolerance for any kind of frailty a virtue. “I think it would be better to discuss this over breakfast, anyway.”

“Gut,” said Kurt. “Care for a port up? You look like you’ve already run much more than your usual mile.”

“Well…” Kassandra smiled again at last, threading her fingers through the lank indigo waves that Kurt had finally succeeded in growing out. “I was warned about accepting teleports from strange men, und…”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Translations:

Laufst du jetzt?- Are you running now?
Du bist immer wilkommen, mit mir zu kommen. - You are always welcome to come with me.

Das ich will gern sehen. - That I will like to see.
solche Dreistigkeit!- such insolence!
Gemütarzt, heilt dich- Mind doctor, heal yourself.

Ich sehte ein anderes mal, eine andere Realität. Es ist kein Traum! Ich bin sicher! - I saw another time, another reality. It's no dream! I'm sure!

 

[angelique]

Chapter 4

After a quick shower, abbreviated only because their appetite for food, at the moment, anyway, exceeded even their appetite for each other, and because they had the potatoes boiling and didn’t want them to overcook, Kurt and Kassandra happily busied themselves in the kitchen. Kassandra started the coffee and beat the eggs, observing Kurt at work with a smile. “Ich denke dass, der Speck bereit ist,” Kurt said, handing, or rather, tailing her the spatula while he continued slicing the potatoes, onions and tomatoes and cubing the ham.

Helping Kurt preparing a large Bauernfrühstück as only he would was exactly what Kassandra needed. A little fun, and continuing the flirting that began again with mischievous glances in the shower, would make it easier when they finally sat down to go over this dreadful bit of news. Kassandra carefully transferred the crisp brown bacon to a paper towel, then, hot pad and frying pan in hand, began to drain the fat. “Achtung,” she said, feeling his tail curl around her waist. “Das ist heiß.”

“Ganz bestimmt.” Kurt grinned, the flat spade of his tail patting her on the rear as she set the pan back down on the stove and poured in the eggs.

Kassandra gasped in mock indignation, though the flush whipped to her cheeks was genuine. In any reality she’d care to be in, she could expect no less from breakfast with Herr Wagner… Herr Darkhölme… Kurt. At any rate, now the eggs, mixed up with everything else, had set. Kurt dished up the food then grabbed the newspaper, and Kassandra poured out the coffee- black for Kurt, sugar for her. They pulled up their bistro stools, and after giving their thanks, began to eat.

For a while, they said nothing. While neither of them even pretended to be excellent cooks, helping each other in the kitchen was fun. And more often than not, they didn’t have to depend on the appetites their work and, in Kurt’s case, living mostly on commissary food had given them to help then clear their plates.

“So,” said Kurt, “the dream- or whatever you saw last night- was it the same as the others?”

“Die anderen?” said Kassandra, somewhat confused.
“You know, you in a brig on board an aircraft carrier, Hammer Bay still in ruins, sentinels still targeting mutants, white lights and black walls…”

“Ja,” Kassandra sighed, getting her bearings again.
“This alternate reality is not a very pleasant one, nicht wahr?”

“Im Moment, nein,” said Kassandra. “And I realized that solving this problem will not be as simple as keeping me grounded in this reality. The reason why I can even see this other one is not just because they’re connected somehow, but… but Kurt, remember Madame Web’s diagnosis?”

“She said you didn’t need any adjustment. Warum? Do you think you do?”

“Well,” said Kassandra, choosing her words carefully, “Would you believe I’m a criminal psychologist in that other reality? Anyway, it’s a difficult thing, assessing my own condition based on knowledge I never had in this reality. I’ll need to consult another professional to confirm or debunk my suspicions once and for all.”

“You’ve already seen the best in Genosha and within SHIELD. Who do you have in mind now?”

“Stephen Strange,” replied Kassandra. “I know, it may mean a trip back to New York, but…”

“…but if the man on psychiatry’s cutting edge says you’re not crazy, Mama will have one less reason to bug me about marrying you, and that can only be a good thing,” said Kurt.

Kassandra rolled her eyes. “Speaking of that,” she said, pointing to a pertinent blurb on the television schedule, “They’re actually going to air Alison Blair’s interview with Princess Ororo here tonight.”

Ah, yes, the other reasons Mystique disapproved of Kurt’s marital selection. Sure, popping a brain stitch or two was nothing to be ashamed of. It happened quite frequently among all the SHIELD ranks. But a son who’d choose to marry someone, knowing full well she had only one foot in reality, was a different matter. And then there were the political differences. Kassandra’s devotion to and upbringing with her non-mutant family contributed to some ideas even more radical than the views aristocrats from Kenya and England were beginning to express, some of which were rubbing off on that far too sensitive son of hers. And then as if that wasn’t enough to guarantee discord, the royal family decided her sympathy for the human cause specifically qualified Kassandra for a special commission to oversee all their security. Still, Mystique would never trust Kassandra. Kurt put those thought out his mind. He smiled. “I suppose you’ll want me to watch that with you, nicht wahr?”

“Nein, danke,” Kassandra smiled. “I already know what she said. She kind of skipped over a few issues, and that alliance with Emperor Sunfire raises some very disconcerting questions anyway.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kurt did not often get to visit Darkhölmberg, his mother’s estate in Bavaria. Mama felt that the non-mutant servants and caretakers at the castle resented her since royal fiat directly from Hammer Bay itself decreed that she would inherit everything from her late, titled husband, the Baron Wagner. Unfaithful though she was, she was nonetheless his wife. And a heroine in the mutant revolution, though merely being a mutant in this new world where mutants in general, and Eric Magnus Lehnsherr in particular, reigned supreme was enough to ensure she’d get preferential treatment over the Baron’s relatives. And the right to change the name of the castle.

But, though they’d been spending more of their time in the States lately, Mama decided it was important to go back and show Kurt’s newly adopted sister Anna Marie the old family estate. It was nice returning. He did enjoy hiking through the Alps, though Mama was not at all keen on letting him venture out on his own. Sneaking over to the church and visiting Schwester Maria Boniface was always pleasant. Mama was, of course, even less tolerant of that, dismissing anyone, mutant or otherwise, who subscribed to religion as an evolutionary throwback. And occasionally seeing Der Jahrmarkt was a cause for mixed emotion, mostly celebration. Mama nearly had a coronary once when she caught him imitating the aerialists, until she noticed he seemed to have much more than just a knack for it. That marked the end of his boyhood, such as it was, and the beginning of his training among the Hellions, eventually to enlist in one of SHIELD’s special forces units. He still loved the circus, and he had resolved to see it again when he had the chance. But, as he strolled down the midway with Anna Marie, toward a knot of people that weren’t moving with the general flow of the crowd, he had the feeling that this would not be just another harmless day’s fun.

“Kurt,” said Anna Marie, as the knot erupted in malicious laughter, “Ah don’t much lahk the sound of that. What’re they sayin’?”

“Warum ist eine Schwarze sapien hier, anstatt im Museum mit den Neandertalern?” one boy yelled.

“Sorry?” said Kurt. While his English was good, it was still nonetheless the English equivalent of Hochdeutsch. Anna Marie drawled almost exclusively in some heavy American Dialekt, and he still wasn’t completely used to that. “Oh, nothing you’d want me to translate.”

“Warum beweisen Sie nicht, das Sie wirklich sind homo superior,” retorted an indignant feminine voice, “und lassen mich alleine?”

At that, all laughter ceased. “Wie unklug von dir, in diesem Ton zu Wesen zu sprechen die dir genetisch doch weit überlegen sind!”

Anna Marie didn’t need to know German to understand that meant trouble. “Uh-oh.”

Kurt cleared his throat, edging past Anna Marie to see, to his horror, a girl thrashing, suspended in the grip of the four thick, ten-foot long tentacles one boy had for arms. Even if this wasn’t a mutant, Kurt had to respect her wit- and courage. And quite frankly, he and Anna Marie both tended to be rather embarrassed by mutants who’d amuse themselves by tormenting those weaker than themselves. This one looked only about fourteen, fifteen at most. Maybe younger, though it was hard to tell, as she was quite small. “The lady has a point,” he said, tail lashing, fangs bared.

All eyes turned to him. Even though the previous generation had fought a long, bloody war, the end of which Kurt was barely old enough to remember, to establish a society where people like him could walk about freely in public without fear, many people, including fellow mutants, found his blue, tailed, fanged appearance quite intimidating. Kurt was grateful that Mama had taught him how to put that to good use. The bullies immediately stepped back in alarm, their would-be human piñata dropping to the ground. The girl seemed to vanish upon landing. Kurt’s mind worked quickly. She looked like she might be a good runner and could have darted out of there easily, but they didn’t seem to nor needed to know. “Sie entlauftet sehr schnell, was? Haben Sie, Herren, bedacht, dass sie ein Mutant sein könnte, trotz ihrer Erscheinung?”

With that, he teleported himself and Anna Marie out, hoping he’d left those bullies with enough to think about while he tried to find and catch up with the girl. Her dark appearance and accent made it pretty clear that, no matter how well she spoke the language, she was not from Germany. If she really wasn’t a mutant, well, Kurt had heard about times when society as a whole felt threatened by mutants. Some of his own first memories were about rarely being allowed outside or near windows. He did not like to see anyone being given legitimate cause for such fear. Anyway, someone should apologize on behalf of perhaps a couple groups of people, or at least ask if she was okay.

“Kurt, ich bin hier. Mach schnell.” The voice came from almost directly overhead. Kurt looked up, into the branches of a sycamore tree, and could barely make out the girl’s frightened face, peering down among the leaves. Whatever had happened, however she got up into that tree, she did not look at all well. Her eyes, lids aflutter, suddenly rolled back into her head.

Mein Gott! Kurt teleported up, landing perfectly perched, and grabbed the girl before she could topple over. “Bleib bei mir,” he said, holding her inert body as securely as he could, his tail wrapped firmly around the branch. “Ich hab dich.”

“Kurt?” said Anna Marie.
“It’s all right, I’ve got her,” he said. “Go ahead and save me a seat- and you might want to take your gloves off if you have to deal with those Schweinehunde again.”

“Ya don’ have to tell me twahce,” said Anna Marie, peeling off her gloves as she strolled toward the big top. “Dam’ morons don’ know how to pick on someone their own sahze? They’ll get what’s comin’.”

The girl stirred in Kurt’s arms. “Kurt…” she said faintly.
“Was ist los? And how did you know my name?”
“Ich weiß nicht,” said the girl. “I don’t know how any of this happened. I just wanted everything to stop, and that’s what it felt happened. Everything stopped. And then I just knew I could talk to you, but… but why did you bring up the possibility of my being a mutant?”

“Bist du?” said Kurt.
“Macht es einen Unterschied?” she said, pointedly.

“You’re right. It shouldn’t matter. And it doesn’t to me,” said Kurt, trying not to sound defensive.

“Gut,” said the girl, “because where I’m from, these things matter far too much.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The stories about human rights violations on the southern end of Africa were almost universally dismissed as highly exaggerated accounts from non-mutant malcontents. Kurt knew better. While Mama had stories about mutants victimized by mob violence, Kassandra had stories of every non-mutant in her home city of Keetmanshoop being dispossessed of their homes and livelihoods, rounded up, and forcibly relocated to Tseiblaagte Township. How her only options throughout her childhood were to keep her own mutation quiet as long as possible and grow up in squalor, or be separated from her family to be raised by “better” people. How her mother, in an effort to combat the diseases that ran rampant there, had to study medicine in an old underground SWAPO training center, with the help of some wealthy foreigners and one or two sympathetic mutants. How her father died while smuggling medical supplies into the township. How families such as hers used their life savings to go on genealogical tours, hoping to perhaps improve their social standing with some evidence of mutant ancestry. How only when Kassandra revealed she was a mutant were her family’s considerable mining assets restored.

So while Mama and Kassandra had been oppressed by different groups, they had pretty much all the worst in common. They both grew up among non-mutants, fearful, albeit for opposite reasons, of revealing their true selves, and they both bore some pretty deep scars as a result.

“I’ll begin with the good news about this other reality I’ve been seeing, Liebster, such as it is,” said Kassandra, looking up from her coffee. “I still love you, James is still your best friend and isn’t involved with your mother, and speaking of her, after seeing what she’s like in this other reality, I think I have less excuse to dislike who she is here and now.”

“What did she do?” said Kurt wondering just how Kassandra could think any less of her mother-in-law.

“Only tried to kill you two or three times, the first time by dropping you off a cliff when you were a newborn.”

Kurt tried hard not to choke on his coffee. “I can see why that reality would upset you.”

“It’s not just that reality that’s upset me, Liebster,” said Kassandra, all seriousness completely restored. “I traced back the origin- the real origin of this temporal double vision. Und, es tut mir leid, ich kann nicht sagen, but this is going to cause us far more trouble in the near future.”

“Trouble as in…”
“Kurt, you know I do not fear the end of the world. But it’s a different matter if a person’s carelessness rather than the course of nature in God’s own time is responsible.”

Kurt looked stunned. “I think maybe we shouldn’t wait to get you through to Dr. Strange. I mean, I believe you, but…”

“But this is hard news indeed. Ja,” said Kassandra.
“And I’m sure he’d clear some time in his schedule for the General of the Royal Secret Service, nicht wahr? We could have you in New York tomorrow.”

Kassandra nodded. Tomorrow, or perhaps even sooner would be all right. “Meanwhile, you had the right idea. I’ll get that appointment, but we still have some time before it all hits the fan. I think we should enjoy it.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Translations:

Ich denke dass, der Speck bereit ist. - I think the bacon is ready.

Das ist heiß.- That's hot.

Warum ist eine Schwarze sapien hier, anstatt im Museum mit den Neandertalern? - Why is a Black sapien here, instead of in the museum with the Neanderthals?

Warum beweisen Sie nicht, das Sie wirklich sind homo superior, und lassen mich alleine? - Why don't you all prove that you really are homo superior, and leave me alone?

Wie unklug von dir, in diesem Ton zu Wesen zu sprechen die dir genetisch doch weit überlegen sind! - (very roughly) How unwise of you to speak in this tone to your genetic superiors.

Sie entlauftet sehr schnell, was? Haben Sie, Herren, bedacht, dass sie ein Mutant sein könnte, trotz ihrer Erscheinung? - She ran very fast, didn't she? Have you, gentlemen, considered that she might be a mutant, despite her appearance?

Macht es einen Unterschied? - Does it make any difference?
ich kann nicht sagen - I can't say

 

[angelique]

Chapter 5

And so while Kurt cleared the table and loaded the dishes into the washer, Kassandra was busy on the phone and computer. Proof that even when Kurt was on shore leave, Kassandra’s days off could sometimes be anything but came in the form of a phone call. From England.

Braddock Manor. Jamie Braddock, the poor, mad brother of the King, doing his level best to hold it together, against Saturnyne, dead set on erasing it before everything would prematurely unravel. Was! Where were these thoughts coming from?

“General Darkhölme?” The cockney accent on the other end brought her back to reality.

Focus, Kassandra! “Hallo, Agent Wisdom. How can I help?”

The gala in honor of 30 years of mutant rule would be in two days, Lord Magnus’ birthday celebration tomorrow evening, and if Kassandra was going to be in New York tomorrow, it meant things like coordinating with the security details guests like King T’Challa, Victor von Doom, and Princess Ororo would bring, needed to be done now, before she left for New York. Complicating things further was a perceived terror threat against Braddock Manor, where the King and Queen of England hoped to host the birthday festivities. Add to that the fact that Princess Wanda had been feeling a bit unwell and wasn’t sure she’d be up to traveling anyway. It took some finagling, but in the end it was agreed that the English royal family would hold their festivities as planned, but the House of Magnus and all dignitaries specifically invited by them would celebrate in their home court. “And of course,” said Kassandra, “we’ll stay connected… Good point there. I’ll send over a sentinel. You will run into some dimensional trouble afterward… no, I can’t make any sense of it yet, but I’ll try to help in my own way. But really, I don’t see any substantial terror threat… Nothing that can withstand the Marauders' customary overreaction… You’ll be fine.”

With an aggravated sigh Kassandra finally got of the phone, logged off the computer, and scooted her chair back. “I was not commissioned to be a party planner,” she groaned.

Kurt dried his hands, walked over, and, before Kassandra could rise, began to rub her shoulders. “Um was ging ist den?”

“The birthday party and that verdammte gala.” She leaned back, this time with a contented sigh. She couldn’t help herself. It seemed there was no annoyance, not even her irritation at how society regarded the anniversary of one kind of apartheid changing over to another as something worth celebrating, that couldn’t be dissolved at least temporarily by one of his backrubs. “Mmmm… Kurt, you just washed the dishes. I should be rubbing your shoulders.”

“Nun gut, Liebling,” said Kurt, clearly enjoying the response he was getting. “So I washed the dishes. You’ve got a hard couple days work ahead of you, and someone has to make an attempt at cleaning that bedroom, nicht wahr?”

Kassandra chortled in response as she got up got to work. There were a couple of rooms in their house, the cleaning of which could be more accurately described as damage control. The bathroom, for instance, was pretty well dominated by the myriad of products Kassandra needed just to be able to keep her hair somewhat manageable. Containing the reams of sheet music that tended to accrue in the living room was an ongoing challenge. Drains and the dryer vent constantly collected blue lint. And as long as the big, fuzzy blue id that was her husband was home from his various Red Guard deployments, the bedroom tended to be a wreck. Still, none of that posed any problem, and while other things might interfere with the day Kassandra had in mind, this wouldn’t. In an instant, the room was more or less back in order, the sheets were changed, and the washer began humming with a load of laundry. Kassandra hoped to get in a little piano practice before the spin cycle began.

The phone rang. Kurt answered it. Kassandra knew, but was thankful all the same, that he would. He took the phone out to the front porch while Kassandra began her scales. Perfect. Kassandra then spread out a few pages of hand-scrawled sheet music. She didn’t recall seeing it before, yet recognized the hand in which the notes were penciled, erased, and rewritten. Her own. Apparently a work-in-progress, a solo piano arrangement of Faure’s “Après un Reve.”

She read over it, tried playing it, then erased and scribbled a few more notes before playing through it again. Kurt rushed back in, obviously with something to say, then stopped in his tracks. The way he stood, eyes half shut, tail dropped, his hair and the blue nap of his skin almost visibly prickling as the melody washed over him, yes, that was the reaction she wanted.

“Aah, sehr schön,” Kurt breathed when the piece drew softly to its conclusion.

“Danke,” said Kassandra, blushing. While she appreciated the praise, and while she could admit she was content with the arrangement as it was, something was still missing. “But I think I’ll need to work on it later. Meanwhile, what was that about?”

“Princess Wanda,” said Kurt, locking the front door, “decided it might do her some good to get some fresh air and take her children to the park. She decided to invite us along. I did not ask why.”

Kassandra closed the piano, put away her music, then crossed the room to Kurt. “She wants the princes to enjoy a normal childhood without being constantly surrounded by the palace guard. To them, lately anyway, I’m just the friend Mama likes to have around on their outings.”

“Ich verstehe,” Kurt laughed, “But anyone who tries to make trouble for them would have another thing coming. I see now. Anyway, I said we’d meet them after we get changed, if that’s all right with you.”

“Das ist gut so, Kurt.” Kassandra smiled, threading her arms around his waist. “But I think this is an occasion for casual clothes. And I take it we’ll go by teleport?”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Translation:

Um was ging ist den? - (roughly) What's it about?

 

[angelique]

Chapter 6

Something like a sharp intake of air with the depth of a muffled sonic boom startled the palace guard to full attention. Lieutenant Eileen Harsaw, immediately recognizing the teleportation signature and who came through, called for attention. They turned and presented arms. Kassandra blushed furiously as she emerged. She was by no means used to receiving such displays of respect, especially when she was not in full uniform. On the other hand, making sure others got due respect posed no difficulty. She smiled, she and Kurt both snappily touching their brows as they strolled past.

The delight Kassandra seemed to take in acknowledging the salutes of some of the guards, Private Allerdyce in particular, was not lost on Kurt. Neither was the sharpness her smile took lost on anyone else as Princess Wanda entered the foyer, basket under her arm. She dropped to her left knee, scanning to make sure the others did likewise- without the rolled eyes and snideness Lord Magnus was concerned were being directed toward this most different of his children.

Her Royal Highness was rather pleased that before all the craziness, pomp and circumstance of the next couple days, she could take a day to just be the Wanda she wanted to be. As chaotic as her life felt, she enjoyed at least control over this much; nothing would interfere with her happiness today. “Kassandra, you’re here! Hello, Kurt.”

“Good afternoon, Madam,” they said.
“Kassi!” A pair of rambunctious five year olds exploded into the foyer.
“Thomas, Tyler,” said their mother, “please remember your manners.”
“Oh.”
“Right.”

Then in singsong unison, accompanied by a couple of awkward bows and their mother’s graceful courtesy, “Good afternooooon, General, Agent Dark Home.”

“Good afternoon, Your Highnesses,” said Kurt and Kassandra, trading surreptitiously merry smirks before rising.

The boys giggled. To them, play dates were serious business, not this stiff formality, and they were glad to see that their guests recognized that.

“Relax, Kassandra,” said Wanda, as they strode out the door. “This is still technically your day off, right? Try to enjoy it.”

“That won’t be too difficult,” said Kassandra, smiling as Kurt had already taken off, loping ahead of the boys in an apparent race to the playground.

“Hey! Running like that’s cheating!” the boys yelled, redoubling their efforts to keep up.

“How about the way your Uncle Pietro runs, then?” said Kurt, jovially, slowing down and resuming an upright walk. “Is that cheating?”

“Yeah. Well, except when he races Kassi.”
“Oh, really? Why is that?” said Kurt.
“’Cause he never wins.”
“Nu-uh! He won, like, twice-”
“The no-powers race? That doesn’t count. That was boring.”
“And when he ran over the water and Kassi had to swim?”
“Meine Herren, may I suggest a race to the jungle gym?”

Wanda smiled as the children scrambled after Kurt. “Kurt seems to enjoy being around the children.”

“He does,” Kassandra concurred smiling as Kurt put on an entirely unconvincing show of reluctance at being conscripted into the boys’ pirate crew.

“You thinking of having any anytime soon?” said Wanda.
The thought of having a baby- of having Kurt’s baby- and everything related to that made Kassandra blush as she helped set out the picnic. “You sound like my sister-in-law. ‘So when are you going to get some cousins for my kids?’” She then surprised herself by adding, “At this point, we’d be happy to welcome a child, but… I really think we should wait until the gala is over before we consider trying in earnest.”

“I suppose you should wait until that stress is out of the way, yes. Speaking of that- no, I promised this wouldn’t be work related- I hear your family sent their regrets and won’t be able to attend.” Wanda accepted Kassandra’s help in setting out the lunch.

“That’s right.” Kassandra sighed, the thought of Kurt impregnating her, or at least trying as only he would, now shoved to the back burner as less pleasant thoughts claimed her attention. “While I appreciate that your father finally recognized and has made some effort against the problems over there-”

“Kassandra, you know you don’t need to sugarcoat the truth around me. Remember, things began to improve for your family and your hometown when you started speaking up.”

“This improvement has not been consistent. I’m afraid, for all the good things your father has done lately he can’t do enough to check the racism and paranoia of Governor de Slegte. As sympathetic as Princess Ororo may be to us, she is largely unaware of the extent of our problems, and she’s too proud to listen to your father or brother, even when she may agree with them. So the governor gets away with pretty much whatever he wants. Mention that human rights activists are acting up somewhere in the world, and he slaps travel restrictions on the baseline population. He wouldn’t even make an exception when I called him personally and reminded him that my family was personally invited by your father!”

“Oh, wow,” said Wanda a little bit overwhelmed. “I’m so sorry to hear that. But this should help raise awareness, right?”

Kassandra nodded.
“Great. I’ll tell Daddy all about it, and we’ll see what we can do. Meanwhile, what do you plan on wearing?”

“Do we have to talk about that?” groaned Kassandra.

Wanda laughed. “Kassi, I swear you’re as bad as the boys. I bet you hadn’t even thought of it, have you?”

“No, I haven’t. I mean, what’s to think about? I figured I’d just wear the royal guard dress uniform.”

“Kassandra, you can’t!” Wanda exclaimed. “Your family has been invited as guests. That includes you, right? So even if they can’t attend and you are on duty, you should at the very least wear your mess uniform. Full mess uniform, and you know what that means.”

“Oh, nein,” groaned Kassandra. That uniform was heavy, restrictive, altogether difficult to wear. Occasions that called for it usually involved those embarrassing moments when the royal family wanted to trot her out, further burdened under the full weight of her various and sundry military decorations and insignia. And she was beginning to feel more and more like token proof of just how tolerant the government could be of political dissent.

“Kassi,” said Wanda, “I’m making this request as your friend. You are one of all too few people around here that respects my rank, but I still won’t like it if I have to pull that on you.”

“Very well,” said Kassandra, taking consolation in how wearing that verdammtes thing tended to result in Kurt reacting with almost equal desperation to get her out of it.

“Lunch!” the boys cried, running to the table.
Tyler scrambled into Kassandra’s lap, deciding to amuse himself by meticulously coiling one of her curls around his finger before turning to his mother. “Oh, Mommy, did you see what Thomas made?”

“Hier, Madam, allow me,” said Kurt, taking over setting out the sandwiches so the ladies could attend to the children.

“No,” said Wanda. “What is it?”
“I made a pirate ship,” said Thomas, proudly holding up his creation, “for Grandpa.”

“Ach, du Liebe,” Kassandra chuckled. While Lord Magnus welcomed opportunities for his grandchildren to venture out and simply be children, Kassandra noticed that he did not view her husband’s influence as necessarily a good one.

Still, Wanda smiled. “It’s lovely. Grandpa will be proud.”
“She, Mommy,” said Tyler. “Ships are ‘she,’ not ‘it,’ right?”
“That’s right,” said Wanda, her smile brightening, “silly me.”
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kurt and Kassandra teleported home from seeing the Princess and her children off at the palace, their dark tee shirts and cargo pants covered with dirt and grass stains, their faces flushed as only a solid hour or so of roughhousing outside with young children could make them.

“I think this outing did Her Highness good,” said Kassandra.
“Glaubst du?” said Kurt.
Kassandra shrugged. “It’s hard to tell with her. But I am glad we did this.”

Kurt’s cell phone rang, and Kassandra headed to their room. She had a way of doing that, retreating a safe distance if she anticipated he’d receive any work-related call. It spared him the trouble of having to wave her out the door as she all too often had to do to him when receiving any classified communiqué at home. An ongoing source of tension, however, both on the job and in their marriage, was that Kassandra was very much on her honor to respect his oath of secrecy and not extract things from his timeline he would not willingly disclose. And while most in Kurt’s unit agreed that she more than deserved her commission, they also shared Mystique’s mistrust in her. That the only one besides Kurt to really trust her was their star agent did not help matters.

“Hallo,” said Kurt.
“Agent Darkhölme, this is Captain Greycrow of the HMH Queen Magda. Sorry I’m going to have to cut your shore leave short, but…”

After Kurt received his orders, he entered the bedroom to find two duffel bags packed and his uniform neatly laid out on the bed. Kassandra stepped in, snapping her cell phone shut, hair relatively tidy, wearing service dress, her forehead knit in anxiety. “Was ist los?” said Kurt. “Do you anticipate some new security threat?”

Kassandra nodded. “I already alerted the necessary authorities. Now I have to report to the helicarrier with you.” She then looked at Kurt, guilt written all over her face. “Ich muß mit Käpt’n Howlett helfen.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Translations:

Glaubst du? - (roughly) You think?
Ich muß mit Käpt’n Howlett helfen. - I must help with Captain Howlett.

 

[angelique]

Chapter 7

Kurt sat, letting Kassandra fly the plane as he was too distracted. “You could have me brought up on charges for leaking information. Or you yourself could be court martialed for espionage. Willst du etwa, dass das passiert?!”

“Es tut mir leid,” said Kassandra. “Ja, it does look as if I’ve eavesdropped on your timeline. But I didn’t. I just saw it happen.”

Oh, nein. That didn’t just happen again. And she didn’t just remind him of that again. She had a tendency to reflexively jump out of time whenever she even sensed something bad or even just frightening was happening to someone dear to her, like Kurt or her family. Or the man to whom Kassandra owed her ability to use her extratemporal powers without killing herself. The best man at their wedding. The man who still managed to occupy a special place in Kassandra’s heart, despite having destroyed his friendship with Kurt. James Howlett, captain of the Red Guard, code named Wolverine. Kurt felt like he was going to be sick. “So Howlett jumping from the helicarrier pulled you out of time.”

Kassandra didn’t nod so much as simply hang her head in assent.
“You don’t really have to be here, nicht wahr?” Kurt demanded. “You’re only here to do what you usually do- stand up for Howlett whenever he acts up. How you could still care so much about someone who turned on us and seduced my mother is beyond me-”

“I’m no happier than you are that he can’t seem to control his thing for redheads, but your mother seduced him! She has been using him all along. She knew exactly what Logan meant to me and how you thought he was good enough as friend and captain, but not good enough for her. This is just another attempt of hers to drive a wedge between us. Kannst du das nicht sehen?” Kassandra might have said something about the possibility that she might also use this relationship to secure a promotion for herself, but refrained.

Kurt felt like he’d been slapped in the face. He was about to say something much nastier, but something else caught his attention. “Was?”

Kassandra just kept looking ahead. As the weather was being a bit difficult, she had to fly manually. And as approaching and landing upon what was essentially a sky borne aircraft carrier was tricky even under the best of circumstances, she did not want this conversation to distract her any further. Finally, she said, “This is General and Red Guard Agent Darkhölme requesting permission to land.”

“Permission granted,” came the voice over her headset. “Welcome aboard.”

“Du hast Käpt’n Howlett, ‘Logan’ genannt,” said Kurt. “Warum?”
“That temporal double vision, again,” sighed Kassandra. Colonel Shaw and Mystique were supposedly the only two who knew Howlett preferred to go by that name. And Kassandra was the only one who knew why. “I saw it because he just had an episode of the same thing.”

“Was?”
“Agent Darkhölme,” said Kassandra, now operating fully in her role as superior officer. Kurt might have resented her doing that, if even now he didn’t find it so attractive. “I’m giving you a mission. Just you, as you’re the best in your unit at keeping up with a moving target. Don’t even let on that you know what’s happened, but Captain Howlett can see into this other reality. He will seek out people who were friends of his in that reality, some of which are in the Sapien Resistance League and might be planning an attack on the palace. He may also trust you if you approach him as the friend he remembers you to be, but if all else fails and we can’t bring him back…”

“Ja?” said Kurt.
“It will be of primary importance to disable his tracker. At all cost, even if you have to rip that thing out of his neck. We may have to disable yours as well, but not at the moment,” said Kassandra with a meaningful scowl. “If he leads us to these people, I want them all alive for interrogation, and I cannot have any sentinels or guardsmen crashing the scene prematurely. They will also be more willing to talk openly if they can see that the tracker has been disabled or removed, which will make it easier for me to plumb their lines for information. I will track Captain Howlett myself, and will alert you to his whereabouts when you can round up the most of those rabble rousers.”

This brought to mind several newspaper clippings Kurt had saved, much to his mother’s dismay and to Kassandra’s chagrin, the headlines of which read things like “Lord Magnus Apologizes to Tseiblaagte Family: Death of Mutant’s Baseline Father Called a ‘Tragic Mistake’” and “Sapien Sympathizer Takes Out Anti-Mutant Cult.” People could complain all they wanted about Kassandra’s radical views. The lack of tolerance she tended to show toward people who’d disgrace her cause with violence against mutants was another matter entirely. “Bitte um Erlaubnis, frei sprechen zu dürfen,” said Kurt, the glow of his golden eyes just slightly more pronounced.

“Erlaubnis gewährt.” Kassandra relaxed slightly, in anticipation of another round of some uniquely Kurt-styled compliments.

“For you to issue orders such as these, I always figured there was a little Hellion in you.”

“Manchmal,” Kassandra grinned, standing on tiptoe to whisper into that elegantly pointed ear of his. “But there’s nothing little about my Hellion.”

And while Kurt struggled to avoid turning purple, Kassandra opened the cockpit and disembarked.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Translations:

Willst du etwa, dass das passiert?! - Do you want that to happen!
Kannst du das nicht sehen? - Can't you see that?

Du hast Käpt’n Howlett, ‘Logan’ genannt. Warum? - You called Captain Howlett 'Logan.' Why?

Bitte um Erlaubnis, frei sprechen zu dürfen. - I request permission to speak freely.

Erlaubnis gewährt. - Permission granted.
Manchmal - sometimes

 

[angelique]

Chapter 8

As nonplussed as Mystique was that James had jumped ship and was likely creating quite the mess for the Red Guard to clean up, hearing that that little nuisance that that dared call herself a daughter-in-law, of all people, would be there giving orders made her already bad day even worse. On the other hand, it might, just might, be just as well that they’d be answering to her. That kid with the lucky commission still considered James a friend, a point of contention that Mystique hoped would serve to, if not help build a case for an eventual divorce, at least make that person her son married miserable. But she’d also be the most likely among the high command to take it easy on James. Mystique had been beginning to suspect she might be actually falling in love with James, whatever that meant, and some of the interrogation methods SHIELD utilized could be rough even on accelerated healers. At least with Kurt’s little pet taking command, she was pretty sure she could count on having James back in good condition after questioning.

Okay, and so the assignment that garnered that child the commission was a tough one even by Red Guard standards, but she didn’t have to fight her way up the non-commissioned ranks the way most of the Hellions like her son did. With the exception of a couple of raids and some reconnaissance, most of her military expertise came from plumbing timelines and reading dusty history books at that school that now devoted itself to producing… diplomats. The brat had next to no real combat experience, and suddenly Mystique had to salute this… general.

And here she came. “Agents Drew, Toynbee… Commander Darkhölme…” she saluted each as she and Kurt walked toward the starboard, knowing but not caring that they neither responded nor saluted fully, “Sooo…what kind of trouble has Captain Howlett gotten himself into now?”

Mystique thought of all the things she could say to try to antagonize the girl, or better yet attempt to spark a fight between her and her son. Frustierend! All this manipulation, no matter how she prided herself on her talent for it, was taking more effort than she thought possible and, but for experiencing James’ hidden talents, it had long ceased to be fun. Right now it was just all too tempting to show that little wench in the service dress uniform where James went and how he got there from his point of view, by throwing her overboard. It wouldn’t be as if she would make a widower of her son. After all, the girl had a healing factor. She could take care of herself. But watching her splat against a granite wall would be fun anyway.

“Mutter,” Kurt rumbled, just barely loud enough for Mystique and Kassandra to hear. Mystique’s face, even in its natural shape and color, was only easily read by very few. Kurt was one of those few. The expression his face adopted and the way his tail began to lash was as severe as the way he’d managed to slick his hair back into its ponytail.

Mystique sighed. “He went overboard this morning here, hit that building there,” she pointed, “and he’s moving more quickly than we expected, already out of our tracking range.”

If Kassandra lamented the stupidity of not immediately assigning an extratemporal like herself or a mutant with super speed to chase Captain Howlett down and retrieve him immediately, she did not show it. Still, this worked to her advantage. She had to see just what he knew about this other reality. “So we need to anticipate where he’ll be, and keep a step ahead of his tracker so we can grab him without the trouble of a chase. Not a problem. He’ll be back. You’ll find him in the lobby of Stark Tower ten minutes after it opens tomorrow morning. He’ll be asking to see Tony Stark.”

At that, Mystique sniffed derisively. As if Tony Stark could actually be found at the office building that bore his name! So it seemed apparent that James had indeed lost it, and the person put in charge of retrieving him was crazier than he was. Wunderbar!

Kurt glowered even further. Kassandra expected protocol to slip with more and more of the world’s armed forces integrated under the umbrella of an overly complex and still largely civilian intelligence organization, so she didn’t make a big deal of it. She didn’t let even open displays of disrespect toward her bother her. But when they came from someone she was supposed to respect as family, that was a different matter. Kurt hated feeling stuck between love for his wife, as verrückt as she could come across, and loyalty to his mother, as cold as she could be. Ah, well, if Kassandra would bite her tongue about that once they got behind closed doors, they might possibly avoid a fight. But Kurt’s patience with his mother was beginning to wear thin.

“And in the unlikely event that I’m wrong about this,” said Kassandra in a way that made it abundantly clear to even Mystique just who was in command here, “we will fall back on his tracker. Meanwhile, you have your orders. Scout Stark Tower tomorrow morning, and bring him back to me. Dismissed! Aber du, Kommandeur Darkhölme,” she said to Mystique. “musst sofort bei Oberst Shaw Bericht erstatten.”

Kurt and Kassandra retreated below decks, Kassandra acknowledging those few who remembered to salute as they passed with a terse, “As you were.”

“Ich will kein Wort reden,” said Kassandra, once the door to their cabin snapped shut behind them. It was a nice cabin, more like a studio apartment on base than a berth on an aircraft carrier. No piano, but for a home away from home, it was otherwise sufficient. She sunk onto the bed, head in hand.

Kurt did not know quite what to say. Now that he thought about it, it seemed unfair for him to find too much fault with Howlett for falling for a subordinate. After all, he owed his own marriage to the fact that Kassandra had done pretty much the same thing. And so he didn’t think Howlett was good enough for his mother. His mother felt the same about Kassandra. He decided to let all that go for now. If Kassandra could do that, so could he. But one more word about it from either her or his mother, and he might not maintain that restraint. He sat and slid his arm around Kassandra, inwardly lamenting how the red and gold epaulettes on her uniform got in the way. “I forgot to say I’m sorry about yelling at you on the way over.” The expression on his face, knit in a glare since they stepped off the plane, softened as Kassandra hastily unbuttoned her jacket.

“Das ist gut so.” Kassandra smiled as she got up and walked over to the bathroom. “Aber mach dir keine falschen Hoffnungen,” she said over the sound of running water. “I just need to clean up a bit, then try to get in early to see Dr. Strange.”

“Ich denkte nicht das,” said Kurt, pulling Kassandra into a profound embrace as she stepped back out. “Just that no matter how stunning you look in full uniform, holding you is easier without it.”

“Ich verstehe,” said Kassandra, the buttons of Kurt’s uniform pressing into her flesh. “But I could say the same about your uniform.”

“Jetzt, fang du aber auch nicht an, Liebchen,” said Kurt, kissing the top of her head. “Du hast Einiges zu erledigen oder?”

“Ja. Und Kurt?” said Kassandra, as she slipped back into her jacket. “I’m also sorry I pulled rank on your mother like that.”

“Und das ist gut so,” said Kurt, inhaling deeply. That he now knew the delightfully soft scent of her hair was Blended Beauty styling lotion, and not just something particularly magical about her, did not change a thing. “I daresay even I think she deserved that. Now, what are we going to do for supper tonight? Since we’re here…”

“You pick the place. I’ll track you and meet you there. Gut?” Kassandra walked toward the window, which offered a glorious bird’s-eye view of the city.

“So, wohin musst du jetzt? Greenwich Village?” said Kurt.
Kassandra nodded. That would be good enough. And as their feet touched down and the smoke from the teleport cleared, Kurt said, “Ein Kuss als Bezahlung für's Chauffieren?

“Ja doch,” said Kassandra, happy to pay double that fare before Kurt ported back to the helicarrier.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Translations:

Frustierend! - Frustrating!

Aber du, Kommandeur Darkhölme musst sofort bei Oberst Shaw Bericht erstatten. - But you, Commander Darkhölme, must report immediately to Colonel Shaw.

Ich will kein Wort reden. - I won't say a word.
Aber mach dir keine falschen Hoffnungen. - But don't get any false hopes.
Ich denkte nicht das. - I didn't think that.

Jetzt, fang du aber auch nicht an. - (roughly) Now you don't also start (getting false hopes).
Du hast Einiges zu erledigen oder? - You have a few things to do, right?
So, wohin musst du jetzt? - So where do you need to be now?
Ein Kuss als Bezahlung für's Chauffieren - (roughly) a kiss to pay the chauffeur.

 

[angelique]

Chapter 9

Kassandra was thankful that the nature of her abilities precluded a tracker in her neck. Logan needed to have his tracker replaced periodically, as his healing factor usually went to work against implants and such pretty quickly. Kassandra would have had the same trouble, but as a tracker, like most other electronic devices, tended malfunction when Kassandra used her extratemporal powers, it was rather pointless to issue her one at all. So she could venture wherever she needed with reasonable assurance of not being followed or even monitored. This, of course, made her reconnaissance and undercover operations easier, but at this point, she was under no cover. She just did not care to have her whereabouts broadcast to the helicarrier even under the most innocuous of circumstances, which she wasn’t sure these were. She found Dr. Strange’s office and entered.

“Can I help you?” said the receptionist, as she hung up the phone.
“Yes. I’m Kassandra Darkhölme. I’ve anticipated a conflict with tomorrow morning’s appointment, and I wanted to ask if Dr. Strange could work me in sooner.”

“Ah, well you’ve timed this perfectly. His last appointment for the day was just cancelled. Can you come back in an hour?”

“Yes, thank you. I’ll see you then!” said Kassandra, breezing out the door. One hour. One hour to poke around New York and maybe tap what pertinent timelines she could find. Some people may have regarded her as a killing machine of the loose cannon variety, rather like Wolverine, especially after Montana. But this sort of scouting was the sort of thing she did best. One hour to hop on over to Hell’s Kitchen and confirm and gather some more intel on the Human Resistance, then return to Greenwich Village on time for her appointment? Too bad she wasn’t wearing good running shoes. Oh well. The eight mile round trip would be the least of her concerns.

She needed to basically walk into the heart of Humantown, seeking out some of the House of Magnus’ most dangerous enemies, and making sure that they would recognize her. But she could get in and out of there unseen. She powered up.

This was going to be more interesting than even she guessed. Lucas Cage, alleged ringleader of the Sapien Resistance League, was standing right out there on the sidewalk, the closest thing to unadulterated horror she could imagine seeing upon that unflappable face. Facing him was a young blond waif whom most people might have found about as terrifying as a sad kitten.

“Cage, Zeitgeist here,” Kassandra hissed into his ear. “Let’s take this inside before I’m seen here!”

She stopped time again, powering down at the entrance to a back room in what had to be the neighborhood’s seediest dive, where she saw Cage and the little girl were planning to go. Not exhaustion, but the weight of what she’d just seen bore down upon her. Logan, herself, and now Cage could see into this other reality. Kassandra could guess why she would be able to. Logan, she had yet to figure out. But Cage- these memories he had on top of memories had everything to do with that little girl, as if she was… Kassandra pressed her forehead against her palms, struggling to wrap her mind around this.

“Es ist klar, jetzt!” Kassandra gasped, as Cage and the little girl caught up with her. The little girl had no timeline at all that Kassandra could see in this reality. The other reality, on the other hand… “No, Layla Miller, please don’t look at me or tell me anything yet. I know what it is you’re doing. I’m just not ready to deal with that.”

“What?” said Layla. “What am I doing? And how do you know my name?”

“Everyone weaves a trail of some sort or another through time,” said Kassandra. “Among the many other related things I do, I can follow those trails. For instance, Cage, you are likely to wonder if you should shoot me on the spot or continue trusting me as far as you trust any of your sources, starting right now.”

The idea that Cage could be walking into a trap was always on his mind.

Out of the shadows of that dimly lit hallway stepped one of Magnus’ top commanding officers. All the words he did not want to say around the kid crowded themselves out of his mind before any could erupt from his mouth.

“Of course, shooting me would be futile, anyway, my abilities being what they are,” said Kassandra. “I’d have to return your guns to you first, anyway. But to show I know I can trust you…” she handed them to him.

“Your tracker…”

“If I had one, the Red Guard would be all over you by now. But I want to give you this information as badly as you want it. And to prove that once and for all…” Kassandra drew her knife, a gift from Logan for her wedding, which now served as a parrying dagger complementing her adamantium sabre. She pulled aside a handful of her hair, and pressed it to the back of her neck.

Cage raised an eyebrow. Apparently the general was ready and able to drive that knife home just to prove her reliability. “Got your point.”

Kassandra smiled and sheathed her dagger. “Of course, I can expect your friends to react to me the same way, right? No, don’t worry, I can handle it.”

“I’m goin’ ahead of you all the same,” said Cage, walking in with Layla.

“Okay, everyone,” Kassandra could overhear him saying, “when Zeitgeist notified us that Wolverine had jumped ship, she wasn’t kidding when she said trouble within SHIELD went all the way up to the high command itself.”

“And you still don’t know how this Zeitgeist is getting this information,” said a young woman. “This is probably some mutant trap, and we’re probably walking right into it, dealing with her.”

“Felicia Hardy, Black Cat, I presume. If anyone’s walking into a trap right now,” said Kassandra, stepping out ahead of Cage, triggering a volley of clicks as magazines loaded and guns cocked around the room, “it’s me. Now if we want to discuss what to do about Captain Howlett, I suggest we all stand down.

“That means you, too, Herr Barton,” she added, directing a pointed glare to Hawkeye, who still had arrow on string.

“Okay, but I’d like us to begin with some explanation as to why we want Howlett to begin with," said Hawkeye.

Kassandra glanced briefly over to Cage before she replied. “He’s captain of the Red Guard. He’ll have valuable information on all their tactics and field operations as well as inner workings that even I have difficulty accessing. Finally, you do understand what it could do our cause and your credibility if word got out that you were instrumental in helping bring in a rogue operative. Far more effective than your other plans… oh, like you really thought I wouldn’t find out?”

“What do you know about that?” said Cage.

“More than enough. While Ashida’s group is wasting human lives in suicide bombings, you’ll be doing something really productive for the cause, without the death toll if all goes according to my plan.

“Here’s what will happen. Tomorrow morning, ten minutes after the Stark building opens, Captain Howlett will turn up there. We’ll have the Red Guard in there to take him in, but if he bolts…”

At this, heads leaned in as Kassandra’s voice dropped. “Agent Rogue will call me for backup. This is where you’ll come in, Tyrone,” Kassandra said to Cloak. “Now, electronic communications will not work well when I’m powered up, so I’ll have to talk you through this now.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Translation:

Es ist sehr klar, jetzt. It is very clear now.

 

[angelique]

Chapter 10

Dr. Strange did not quite know what to make of this patient. If she were anyone else, he might have diagnosed yet another case of Dead End Syndrome. Some of the symptoms- the bouts of anxiety and the apparent hallucinations that she insisted were real- were consistent with what his hardest case, Robert Reynolds, was experiencing. But the differences made her case far more interesting. She suffered no inferiority complex and none of the characteristic phobias. In fact, all other things considered and her mercurial temperament notwithstanding, she seemed in relatively good shape.

And she was a mutant.
“So is it for your family’s sake then, that you fear the imminent extinction of homo sapiens?”

“No,” said Kassandra. “I’m more concerned about the imminent extinction of everything.”

“Could you clarify?”
“Okay, I’m not afraid of things ending at their intended time. I’m more worried of someone playing God, picking apart reality, and unraveling our whole universe. Or maybe just giving up on all of us and ending it all before it’s time.”

“Any particular someone?” said Dr. Strange.
“Well, yes, but I’m not sure who it is. I look back on that point in time, where my trouble began, and it’s all kind have muddled, which really irritates me!”

“Your memories, you mean?”
“No, not my memories. The timelines themselves. That’s what I do,” said Kassandra, her voice suddenly sounding overdubbed and out of synch with itself, her image suddenly going blurry and transparent.

“I can phase out of temporal synchronization,” she continued, powering down and resuming her normal appearance. “When I do that, I can control the flow of time. I also have access to everything that is happening or has ever happened. This means, among other things, that I can’t forget a thing. Problem is that lately, I’m seeing things that hadn’t happened… in this reality anyway, and forgetting things that have.

“I tried to check my timeline when this trouble started. Or timelines, rather. I started seeing two for each person, with maybe one or two exceptions. Anyway, I checked mine at that point, and it was as if someone grabbed all of time, shattered and rearranged it, like breaking and setting a bone all wrong. So I know one of these realities isn’t right, but I’m not sure which one!”

“And you think someone did this to you?” Dr. Strange could not yet rule out paranoia.

“Not to me, no. And probably not intentionally.”
Well, there went that idea.

“But,” she continued, “I can’t figure out who did this or how it happened. It’s as if that part of the timeline was just… dissolved in that void.”

Dr. Strange leaned against his desk, head in hands. But before he could suggest it, Kassandra said, “And no, hypnosis will not help me get that back, nor do I think I really want it yet.”

“Are you afraid of what you might find out?” At last Dr. Strange had hit on something. Not a diagnosis, but, at any rate, something.

“Yes,” said Kassandra. “Yes, I am.”
“And how do you hope to address this fear?”

“Bit by bit for now, until I’m ready to take it head on, I suppose. But there is one more fear I need to address right now, Doktor.”

“Yes?”
“My mother-in-law got word of these episodes I’ve had, and has been using it against my husband and me. She never took me seriously, especially after she asked me the truth of these diaries, and I told her. It wasn’t exactly what she wanted to hear.”

“So these issues with your mother-in-law…”
“…actually existed since Kurt and I started getting serious. I could handle that. But it’s gotten worse since, all this condescending talk about how, while needing adjustment is nothing to be ashamed of, and while keeping me as a pen-pal or whatever is one thing, actually marrying someone with a ‘condition’ is another, and garbage like that. That, among other stunts she’s been pulling, is really bothering Kurt.”

“So you’d like me to tell you that you are not mentally ill, is that it?” said Doctor Strange.

“No,” said Kassandra. “I’d just like some answers. I mean I’d be content even to know if there was a problem, so we could do something about it. But to hear from Madame Web that I wasn’t ill, to even be able to confirm that in my timelines, and still have these things happening…”

“Do you find that frustrating?”
“It scares me! I mean, what if what I’m seeing is indeed real?”

“Well,” mused Dr. Strange. “I’m afraid I can’t really help you that much. It doesn’t appear that I’ve discovered a mutant variant of Dead End Syndrome, nor do you appear to suffer any biochemical imbalance. I’m not convinced that what you are seeing are hallucinations, either.”

“Oh, nein!”
“But you are obviously suffering some trauma on account of this. I would recommend taking what you’re seeing simply as news from another reality. Terrifying news, no doubt, but I think you’re handling this fairly well, all things considered.”

“WAS?!”
“However, you could stand to learn some relaxation techniques.”