Phasing Trouble

By: The Odd Little Turtle Named Froggie

(This is a work of fanfiction. Characters owned by Marvel. I wrote this a couple of weeks ago.

This story is set several months after the events of The Warrior with No Name. This is a one shot and a little something until I can get the rest of The Warrior with No Name up. Spoilers?

Input most appreciated.)

Kurt Wagner, also known as the Amazing Nightcrawler, yawned mightily, giving a great moan, exposing his pointed white teeth, the yellow glow of his demonic eyes momentarily disappearing as his eyelids slid closed. He stretched his blue-black fuzz covered arms, grunting as his unfurled the kinks in his shoulders and back. He'd been sitting for much too long in front of the television set. Kurt looked at his watch, his mutant eyes allowing him to see in the dim light of the rolling credits.

"Mein Gott!" It was nearly three in the morning. He had to teach the first class of the new semester, art appreciation, at eight-thirty. Never again was he going to draw straws from Emma. Her two classes were in the afternoon—Business class at two-fifteen and Ethics class was the last class of the day at four-thirty.

He thought briefly of asking Peter to substitute for him in the morning, knew the younger man would be up for coffee and breakfast with Katzchen just as he had been every morning since his return a few months ago, but thought better of it. Since Xavier's Institute for Higher Learning was now a state-funded facility, they had to follow protocol. Peter was still on probationary status with the State and couldn't teach or even substitute until the next semester. The Russian-born mutant still had to complete a few more forms and pass an exam or two before he could be certified as an instructor.

Kurt grinned at the thought of Peter Rasputin re-joining them on their last mission. It had been quiet in the last few months since M-Day, and the last mission to New York had resulted in Peter travelling atop the Blackbird like a surfer. Kurt had opted to join him, Peter holding on to the Germanic demon-like mutant until Kurt had finally had enough of his tail being pulled and his blue-black hair getting frizzed in the incredible speed of the jet. That and, though Kurt was loathe to admit, travelling at that speed outside the jet had hurt. If Kurt had not already been blue, the bruises from the wind whipping his body would have been visible under his fur. But it had been exhilarating nonetheless. He saw why Peter had opted to travel that way.

Kurt clicked off the television plunging the entertainment room into complete darkness save the dim light of the moon that filtered in through the large multi-paned window. He frowned slightly. Who would have thought that it would have taken Katzchen to bring back Peter after all that he had gone through with his divorce and the death of his beloved child? Kurt, Logan and Ororo tried year after year on the anniversary of little Zilya's death to get Peter to re-join the team. Logan had arranged the yearly get-togethers after Peter left the mansion that final time after being too late to say good-bye to his daughter as she suffered as the first victim of a mad man's curse on mutants, the Legacy Virus. Though 

Hank McCoy and Moira MacTaggart had managed to find a vaccine for the virus, once a mutant contracted the dreaded virus, the mutant died within a matter of weeks to months. The five year old girl had lasted approximately five months with the virus. Her mother, by then Peter's ex-wife, had brought her Xavier after a DNA test had proved that she was a mutant. The prejudiced woman had left her there without a word of who she was or who the child was. Hank had discovered through a DNA test that she was Peter's daughter and Xavier had phoned Peter. It was a miracle in and of itself that Peter had requested not to have his files deleted but altered so that he was shown as dead and that the computer had found the matching DNA sequence within the Xavier Protocol.

Though God taught forgiveness, Kurt wondered if he could ever forgive Anya for her behavior. Had she acted sooner, Kurt felt certain they would have been able to put the child into stasis until a cure was found. No cure was currently available but he knew that Hank and Moira still worked diligently to find one. At the very least they could have contacted Peter before the child had gone onto Glory. Kurt didn't like where his thoughts were going and so let the subject drop. It was not his place to judge. That right was reserved for God and God alone. He knew that Anya had much to answer for.

He stretched again, his knee popping painfully as he stood and walked carefully around the sofa to make his leave of the entertainment room. He vowed never to Blackbird surf again. At thirty-two he thought himself much too old to do anything of the sort. Stevie Hunter, the resident physical therapist, was already at his throat for overstressing the elbow injury he had received in Madripoor in July. She had told him several times that if he wasn't using it—

Suddenly there was a feminine shout and before Kurt could register what was happening, he was on his face on the floor with a warm, sweaty body on top of him.

"Oh, my God!" Kitty cried. She sounded terrified.

"Katzchen?"

"Kurt?" Kitty eased herself off Kurt, looking around frantically in the dark for something in which to cover herself. "Oh, my God."

Kurt did a double take. Kitty was completely naked, trying to hide herself from him. He gawked only a moment before averting his glowing yellow eyes, feeling his face heat up and feeling very glad that he had a layer of fuzz covering his face. As nonchalantly as he could, he cleared his throat, his three-fingered hands fisted the afghan on back of the sofa, and he handed the blanket to his very nude friend.

"Thanks," she said softly, wrapping it about her torso like a towel.

"What happened?" he wanted to know. In the dim light, the pink tint of her face flushed a brilliant hue of red.

She cleared her throat awkwardly. "It's late. I need to be getting to bed."

Kurt blinked, a lecherous grin spreading on his face. "Shall I port you back to your room?"

She avoided his gaze and mumbled something. Though his mutation allowed him to see in the dark, his powers did not include super hearing. He asked her to repeat herself.

Flustered and blushing furiously Kitty glared at him. "I said I wasn't in my room."

Kurt laughed jovially, his tail swishing back and forth with mirth. Kitty became more uncomfortable as his glee grew.

"You're awful, Fuzzy," she told him angrily and walked right through him.

He teleported in front of her. "I'll port you back to Peter then," he offered with a genuine smile. "Just in case anyone is up and roaming the halls. It wouldn't do for a senior staff member to be caught running around in a crocheted blanket." He pointed at her "attire" with a thick blue-black finger.

She agreed, he grabbed her and the next moment they were standing in Peter's bedroom. Peter, who had been peeking out the door in obvious wait for her, jumped at the sound of "Bamf" and spun around. Kitty was thankful that he hadn't yet undressed when his tongue had found just the right spot to make her lose control of her tangibility.

"Kurt?" The large Russian man asked, and then looked at Kitty from head to toe. "Katya, are you alright?"

She nodded, her face flushing anew. "Just peachy."

"I'll be taking my leave then," Kurt said with a bow. "You two have fun." His eyes glinted mischievously. "If you have too much fun, though, I expect you to name it after me." Peter's mouth dropped open.

With that Kurt Wagner disappeared with a laugh, a "bamf" and the smell of brimstone.

"What happened?" Peter questioned, pulling the furiously blushing woman into his arms. She explained what had transpired in the entertainment room against his bare chest, the curls of black hair tickling her nose.

"It's all your fault," she concluded, gazing up at him, her odd-colored eyes battling his blue eyes for supremacy.

His grin was smug and all male. "I should think so." He swooped down and captured her lips with his before she could protest.

(Finis. How was it?)