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Limits	By : fuzzybluelogic Category: X-men Comics > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 2868 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men comics, or any of the characters from it. I make no money from from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Limits
- 2-Limits 2
- 3-Limits 3
- 4-Limits 4
- 5-Limits 5
- 6-Limits 6
- 7-Limits 7
- 8-Limits 8
- 9-Limits 9
- 10-Limits 10
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�Cherry,
Strawberry, or OooOooooo...Spidey-Berry?� Kurt reached up for the giant cases
of Pop-Tarts. Jean gaped. Pete would have kittens if he saw Pop-Tarts named
after his alter-ego. Still, she had
to...it was a moral imperative.
�Cherry...and
Spidey-Berry.� She shook her head in awe. �Pete-Tarts. Oh, the wrong.�
Kurt dumped the boxes into the cart, a Blow-Pop tucked into his cheek.
Jean gazed at her friend approvingly. She told him what she wanted him to wear
and he obliged her. They were clad in boot-cut jeans (Kurt�s were rather tight
and low slung, showing off the hollows of his hips, those incredible abs of his
and an impressive amount of his �treasure trail�), wife-beaters, and open
flannel shirts. Their heads were graced with straw cowboy hats. Jean�s hatband
had little tiny green fairies; her long red hair was plaited into two braids.
Kurt�s had little Jolly Rogers. Their �Canada Wear� was in full effect.
�The soda isle
next?� Kurt asked, sucking thoughtfully on his Blow-Pop.
�Indeed.� They
headed off to the grand isle of caffeine.
Kurt beheld the
isle with glory, �Ah, caffeine...mein life�s blood.� Jean nodded in agreement.
�You know what
I�ve noticed about you?� she asked, stacking case after case of Diet Mountain
Dew into the cart.
�What?�
�Your accent. It�s
a sort of smoky muddled European-esque lilt of indeterminate origin...until
you�re drunk. Then it�s �pass ze bratwurst, mein Herr.� German.� Jean dumped in
a few Starbucks Frappacinos. �You all but don lederhosen and dance Bavarian
dances when sauced.�
�Ja, Vell...you
know ze alcohol sprechens to mein Deutschness.� Kurt reached for
some Clearly Canadians, to get into the spirit of their Canadian adventure.
�I�ve been in and out of the states since I was barely a year old.�
�And your accent?� Jean poked him in the side.
�I have an accent?� he asked with
mock dismay. She tickled him.
�Let�s see,� he gasped, between
giggles, �My mom and family are Rom, the circus is a melting pot of European
cultures, we spent every winter in Munich where I was born...hence my weird accent�
�Your mom looks like Selma
Hayek.� Jean couldn�t believe it the
first time Kurt showed her a picture of his adoptive mother, Margali. The woman
was stunning.
�Yeah, I know...she gets that a
lot.�
�Your mom is one of the most
beautiful women I�ve ever seen. I don�t envy any girl trying to compete for
your charms with her to have to compare to.� Jean blew a strand of red
hair out of her green eyes. Kurt laughed.

�Shit! What time is it?� Kurt
blurted suddenly, grabbing Jean�s wrist to peer at her watch. �5:46.�
�What? Why?� Jean peered at her
watch along with him. It dawned on her; it was Wednesday. The day Kurt always
went to Confession. �Mass isn�t until seven, Kurt, you have plenty of time to
make it to Confession. I�ll tag along.� She liked going to Mass with Kurt. She
liked the ritual and the beauty of it. It was a solace in her emptiness; since
Scott change suddenly one summer; when he started on the medications.
�Let�s get going.� Kurt said, eyeing
all the items in their cart. �I think we�re good.�
Jean moved around the various boxes
and bags, �Just how many bags of lollipops did you get?� She counted four at
least of Dum Dums, Tootsie-Pops, Blow-Pops, and Lifesavers Swirled Lollipops.
�What can I say? � Kurt shrugged, �I
have an oral fixation.� He swirled his tongue around a freshly unwrapped
Tootsie-Pop. Jean wondered just how good he was with that impossibly long
tongue of his. She shoved that stray
thought away, blaming it on 104 days of forced celibacy. They hauled their
future source of insulin shock to the registers. Their pancreas-es (pancreai?)
trembled in fear at the sheer amount of sucrose they intended to imbibe. They loaded up the truck they borrowed from
Dani and headed to St. Anne�s. They rode in silence as The Cure�s, �Pictures of
You� played softly. Jean leaned against Kurt and remembered better times. She
wondered if she�d ever see the real Scott again.
St. Anne�s was the oldest cathedral
in Westchester County.
Kurt knelt and crossed himself as Jean slid into a pew. �Be right back.� He
whispered, heading towards the Confessional. Jean knew better, she�d gone to
Confession with Kurt before. She pulled a book from her purse and settled down
to read while Kurt traumatized the clergy. He strolled out a full half hour
later. Jean tucked her Discworld book back into her purse. �Well?�
�Not too bad...my usual penance.�
Kurt slipped his Rosary back into his pocket, �I should be able to knock it out
before Sunday.�
�Kurt.� Jean crossed her arms and
regarded him.
�Yes?�
�Kurt, you have a �usual penance�?�
she started laughing.
�What?� Kurt raised an eyebrow.

�Kurt, sweetie, you have a tab...you
have a tab at Confession.� Jean had
to hug him. Kurt returned the hug a little befuddled. Parishioners started
filing in for the seven o�clock Mass.
Kurt sat down, pulling Jean with him. For all his rampant sinning and decidedly
devilish features, Kurt loved Mass. His elfin face was rapturous during the
service. Jean watched him wander up to receive Communion, his countenance serene
as he took of the Eucharist. The singing was his favorite part. Jean glanced
over at him as they sang, sharing a hymnal. She always found his voice pretty
but haunting. It had a strange ethereal quality to it. After Mass, they gathered for coffee and
cookies in the back. They nibbled oatmeal raisin cookies and chatted with the
other parishioners. Jean poked Kurt as he helped himself to his fifth cookie.
�C�mon, let�s get going. We have a
Wolverine to save.�

Wolverine needed saving. Wolverine
was having a Bad Day. Not because of Ninjas, not because of his Mysterious Past
(tm), not because of Department H, not because of Sabertooth, but because he
was going to have to kill his friend. James Hudson had to die. It�s too bad
really, he really liked James. He had helped James with the initial phases of
the formation of his Government funded team of Super-humans, Alpha Flight. He
even told James he�d consider joining the team. James was ecstatic. James had
called Logan and asked him to come
down and look at the uniforms that had been specially designed by Reed Richards
just for Alpha Flight.
Logan gaped
at his �uniform� that hung on a body form mounted on the wall of the Alpha
Flight lab. It was bright fucking yellow...with some sort of headpiece mask
thing with large �wings� that protruded from each side. It had a bright blue
panty. A large �W� graced the belt that adorned the waist above the panty.
�Um.� Was all he could muster.
�I know it�s a bit... colorful. Reed
says they�re very comfortable.� James
held up one of the blue pointed gauntlets, �See? Little holes for your claws.�
�There�s a panty, James.� Logan
stared at the monstrosity. It loomed
evilly before him.
�It�s not a panty. It�s, uh, a
padded brief...the suit it very close fitting and the brief is there for
modesty.� James said a little defensively.
�It�s a big ol� padded man-panty,
James...why is there a man panty, James? Why?� Logan
felt the laugh bubble up without his permission. He turned the thing around.
�It has pre-molded ass cheeks, James. Why does the panty have its own ass
crack, James?� He started to giggle. He wasn�t prone to giggling, but it poured
out before he could stop it.
�You don�t have to laugh, Logan.�
James frowned peevishly.
�Yes, yes I do.� He gasped, and
reached to touch the head wing thing, �Oh God.� His snickering erupted into
full belly peals of laughter. Tears trickled down his cheeks. He sat right down
on the lab floor and roared.
�Jesus Christ, it�s not that fucking
funny.�
�Panty!� Logan
wheezed, nearly hysterical.
He calmed down several hours later.
He and James sat in a rather scummy bar, Moe�s, negotiating over several beers.
�Man-panty bearing costume aside,
James...I don�t think I can stay.� Logan
sighed, peeling the label from his beer bottle. �I have things to take care
of.� He had caught scent of Hand members weeks ago, but had managed to stay low
under radar. He couldn�t conceive of what they were doing in Toronto but didn�t
want to drag James and Alpha Flight into that fucking mess.
�I figured as much, � James said
with a rueful smile, �Try and stay out of trouble, ok?� Logan
grinned and tossed a wad of bills on the bar, downed the last swallow of beer
and got up. �Oh, Logan. Shit, I
forgot to tell you. There was a press release about Alpha Flight. You were in
it but it�s no big deal. I�ll call the press and retract it.�
Logan froze
and turned. �I was in it?�
�Yeah...here.� James reached into
his satchel and extracted a 8X10 color glossy photo. It was a Team Photo. There
Logan was, standing right between
James and Jean-Paul. On the back of the photo was a blurb about each team
member including �Wolverine�. He handed Logan
the evening�s newspaper. On the front page were the Team photo and an article
about Alpha Flight; including Logan.
The date was today. Logan pondered
where to bury James�s body.
�I have to go.� He tossed James the
newspaper, jerked his jacket on and headed outside. He caught the wind and
sniffed. He didn�t sense The Hand or anything else unusual. Yet. He jumped into
his truck and headed off into the night.
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Limits