Bits and Pieces

Bits and Pieces Chapter Eleven

Disclaimers Apply

A/N Goddess Foxfeather, Queen of Mad Plotbunnies, BUSIEST
WOMAN ALIVE ™, Prophetic Muse, Hamster Witch and Uberbeta… Off to class=SpellE>paganing I go!
*bounce* InterNutter, TC, Maxwell
Pink and Dracena are loverly and wondermous for archiving/hostingstyle='mso-spacerun:yes'> And Graywolf—I’m
sending you files ASAP when I get home this weekend.style='mso-spacerun:yes'> Jstyle='mso-spacerun:yes'> ProPhile: *big huge gold star with no green class=SpellE>goo *
Morgan: *GLOMP*
Readers/Reviewers: Out of town I go again… so one chapter this weekend
then back on regular schedule when I get back.
J

Mark stared
at the path of destruction leading down the hallway: the gigantic class=SpellE>Chinoiserie vase that had held an arrangement of bamboo and
ginger blossoms was shattered, leaking it’s watery
contents across the marble flooring, a spindle-legged cigarette table near the
dining room was hopelessly broken, black wheel marks marred the light colored
flooring… “What the Hell happened in
here?”

“Jean went
to the hospital,” Rahne said breathlessly, coming around the corner from within
the dining room, carrying a small box that sounded as if it were full of broken
pottery. “The paramedics made a right
mess of this place.”

Mark’s
brows drew together as he took in the damage and Rahne’s disheveled state, the
sounds of sweeping and muttered cursing rising behind her in the dining
room. “Ah, I don’t mean to sound as if I
don’t care about the welfare of one of the students here but…”

Rahne cut
him off. “They brought her as far as the
dining room and the paramedics got her from in there,” she replied as if she
had practiced the answer. “She seems
to have had a heart attack—Logan told the paramedics she had been very ill
lately and they think it was because she had a fever for so long—but Beast got
her talking a tiny bit… Jean knew,” Rahne nodded.style='mso-spacerun:yes'> “She understood.”

He wondered
briefly at her calm demeanor but his distraction was fading enough for him to
recognize the red rimmed eyes of someone who had been crying, and crying hard,
and the slightly roughened timbre of her voice.
“Here, give that to me. You go be
with your friends,” he said as he moved to take the box of rubbish from her
grasp. Rahne withdrew slightly as if she
did not trust him and Mark sighed. “I’m
not going to bite you.”

“I know,”
she replied hastily, handing over the box, “I just didn’t want to be accused of
shirking.” She smiled and moved past him
down the hall. “Scott’s gone with
them. And so have Logan,
Kitty and Rogue,” she called over her shoulder as she went into the class=SpellE>rec room.

“I can’t
leave you people alone for an hour,” Mark muttered, carrying the box over to
the broken vase and kneeling to pick up the larger pieces.style='mso-spacerun:yes'> The sweeping in the dining room had become
violent, sounding as if the broom’s operator were slapping the bristly end
against the hardwood flooring and shoving the broken bits of dishes around
rather than actually sweeping them up.
_Not my problem at the moment, _ he told himself, though he winced
inwardly to think of the sharp edges of detritus marring the antique wood.style='mso-spacerun:yes'> _What could cause a supposedly healthy
teenager to have a heart attack? _ Mark wondered as he moved the box further
down the hall, picking up what had once been the neck of the vase.style='mso-spacerun:yes'> _Then again, I didn’t know her well… maybe
she wasn’t healthy… Why am I speaking of her in the past tense?style='mso-spacerun:yes'> _style='mso-spacerun:yes'> He did not have long to wonder; the
doorbell sounded, sending an overly loud rendition of Westminster
chimes caroling through the mansion. He
could feel rather than hear everyone go still, waiting to see who would get the
door, wondering who it could be. With a
resigned sigh, he stood. “I’ll get it,”
he announced in a slightly louder than usual voice.style='mso-spacerun:yes'> The sweeping commenced again and he caught
the tail end of a Latin curse word.
_Amara works… interesting. _

He reached
the door a moment before Kurt appeared in a sulfurous cloud.style='mso-spacerun:yes'> “Got it,” he said, a shade breathlessly.

Mark opened
his mouth to say something but decided saying ‘No, I have it!’ would be a bit
childish so he simply stood back and smiled politely, gesturing Kurt onward.

Kurt opened
the door and froze, his jaw dropping.style='mso-spacerun:yes'> “Was…”

Mystique
raised a brow. “May I come in?style='mso-spacerun:yes'> I have something for Mark.”

The man in
question swallowed a possibly juvenile smile, stepping around the open door and
nodding politely. “It seems we only just
saw each other,” he said, allowing himself a slight quirk of the lips.style='mso-spacerun:yes'> “We’re in the midst of a crisis, it seems, so
I apologize for the state of things. Do
come in…” He opened the door wider,
moving Kurt back with his elbow as he did so.
“Watch your step… there’s broken glass and pottery about.”style='mso-spacerun:yes'> His gaze swept over her blue self, watching
the flicker of shading change in her skin, chameleon like, as she looked upon
Kurt.

She did not look long, instead,
turning to face Mark. “I have something
of yours,” she said in a voice that he was not yet entirely used to.style='mso-spacerun:yes'> She lifted her hand, shaking a suitcase
slightly. “And there’s a few more on the
porch. The rest, I’m sorry to say, will
have to wait until Monday.”

He blinked, his lips parting in
surprise. “How did you get those?”

“Womanly wiles,” she smiled,
raising a brow mysteriously.

Kurt felt his heart drop to his
feet. Mark and
Mystique, talking like normal people, joking even, right in front of him.style='mso-spacerun:yes'> He did not hear him speak again but Mark must
have because now they were moving towards the hall leading to the library, Mark
carrying a small suitcase and Mystique a much larger one.style='mso-spacerun:yes'> Kurt shook himself, feeling sick.

“What’s wrong?” Rahne asked, coming
out of the rec room clutching a handful of damp
tissues. “Did something happen to Jean?”style='mso-spacerun:yes'> Panic ratcheted her voice up a notch, making
it raw and rough.

“Nein… But I think something’s
happening to us…”