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Perfectly Normal	By : Nemain Category: X-Men - Animated Series (all) > FemSlash - Female/Female Views: 6947 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men Evolution, or any of the characters from it. I make no money from from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Perfectly Normal
- 2-2
- 3-3
- 4-4
- 5-5
- 6-6
- 7-7
- 8-8
- 9-9
- 10-10
- 11-11
- 12-12
- 13-13
- 14-14
- 15-15
- 16-16
- 17-17
- 18-18
- 19-19
- 20-20
- 21-21
- 22-22
- 23-23
- 24-24
- 25-25
- 26-26
- 27-27
- 28-28
- 29-29
- 30-30
- 31-31
- 32-32
- 33-33
- 34-34
- 35-35
- 36-36
- 37-37
- 38-38
- 39-39
- 40-40
- 41-41
- 42-42
- 43-43
- 44-44
- 45-45
- 46-46
- 47-47
- 48-48
- 49-49
- 50-50
- 51-51
- 52-52
- 53-53
- 54-54
- 55-55
- 56-56
- 57-57
- 58-58
- 59-59
- 60-60
- 61-61
- 62-62
- 63-Mise en Scene: Coffee and Cream
- 32
- 33
- 34
Perfectly Normal Chapter Thirty Three

Disclaimers Apply

A/N Goddess Foxfeather, Queen of Mad
Plotbunnies, BUSIEST WOMAN ALIVE (TM), Prophetic Muse, Hamster Witch
and Uberbeta... I hearby declare April “Nap Month”.
InterNutter, TC, Maxwell Pink, Dracena and Greywolf are loverly and
wondermous for archiving/hosting. :) ProPhile: *poke * You there?
Morgan: *yawnstalk * Readers/Reviewers: Thank you so much for bearing
with my erratic updates and reading and reviewing when you can! :)

“He's...large,” Mark
commented faintly, his eyes fixed on the hulk of a man striding
towards them. He was not sure but he thought that he felt vibrations
in the floor as the blond behemoth reached their table.

“Viktor,” Mystique said
flatly, “unless someone's head's come off, it is not important
enough to disturb my evening.” She gave him a look which said
his head would be the one coming off if he did not leave them soon.

Sabretooth did not respond
immediately, instead glaring down at first Mystique, then Mark. He
was, happily for the patrons of the establishment, clad. He had
managed to find some ill fitting but covering jeans somewhere and a
large, slightly torn flannel shirt. The buttons were straining for
dear life, exercising their tensile strength to the best of their
buttony ability, and looked in danger of a mass systems failure if he
took a deep breath. Or moved.

“I think I'll go get us a few
pints,” Mark started, sliding to the edge of the seat. “And
you two can talk out...whatever you need to talk out...” He
made it as far as standing before a massive, hirsute hand descended
and gripped his shoulder. “Why...why don't you come with me?”
he worked out before his throat decided to go dry and close up. Mark
did not consider himself a man easily intimidated but something about
this particular individual screamed “caution” and
“America's Most Wanted¹.”
The librarian paused and raised his brow, aware that Mystique had
stood now and was glowering severely, her serene face lined with
anger now. “Or you could come with me...”

“She's got work,”
Sabretooth rumbled, shoving Mark back into his seat. “You
can't stay,” he added, turning towards his compatriot.

“Yes, I can. Tell Magneto that
he can do his own dirty work for a few hours,” she bit out
under her breath, trying to draw as little attention as possible.
She took Sabretooth by the elbow and forcibly dragged him away from
Mark to the spot near the pay phones and restroom door, words brewing
in a miasma of embarrassment and anger.

Mark eased back into the seat, ears
keenly trained for the sounds of argument. It went against every
fiber of his being to let a lady alone with a threatening man, but he
knew that, if he interfered, Mystique would likely cut any tenuous
ties they had forged between them. She, he thought, would not like
to be made to feel helpless or incapable. He toyed with the sweating
edge of his glass of water, picking up on the rise and fall of voices
behind him. The low rumbled of her companion's overrode the measured
contralto of Mystique's, but neither sounded particularly angry.
Mystique slid into the booth a moment or two later, her hulking
shadow stalking past the table with an audible grunt before exiting
the restaurant without a backwards glance. “All settled?”
Mark asked with false brightness. “I think the pie and mash
sounds good...”

Mystique inhaled deeply, seemingly
turning something over in her mind before reaching out and laying her
long fingers on the back of Mark's hand. “We need to talk...”

“Kitty?”

“Oh...” she barely
covered a yawn with her hand before smiling at Kurt sleepily.
“Sorry... guess I dozed off.”

“I guess so...” He sat
down gingerly on the end of the sofa, glancing up at her then away
before she looked at him. “Kitty...”

She closed her book and sighed,
reaching out to touch him before stopping short and resting her hand
on the back of the sofa. “It's going to be okay, Kurt. Just a
few more days of the camera crew and life's back to normal.”
She smiled a little less wanly then and yawned. “I need to get
some sleep. I must be getting old... it's not even eight o'clock and
I'm so tired I can barely keep my eyes open.”

“Kitty,” he tried for a
third time, his hand reaching for and finding her wrist, his odd grip
holding her securely to him. “Listen. Bitte... please...”
He waited for a breath, making sure she was not going to pull away,
before continuing in a rush. “I know what has happened
between us is not for the best and I know you need your time to heal
but I just...I want for you to consider things and how they were
before and...” He frowned, looking past Kitty at the play of
shadows on the wall. “Scheisse!”

Kitty was on her feet before Kurt was,
eyes scanning the room frantically. “What? What did you see?”
She knew that look on his face, even disguised by the holo.
Something was amiss, more than amiss...

“Stay here,” he began,
then paused. “No, come with me. Where is everyone else?”

“Uh...”

“Nevermind...” He was
pulling her, perforce, towards the kitchen and then outside, making a
beeline for the mudroom door. “Someone is about, and it's not
the camera crew.”

“How do you know?” she
demanded, tripping over her own feet as Kurt moved faster. “Here,
let me!” she said suddenly, phasing them both as they reached
the door, giving Kurt a shove through and into the garage. Darkness
engulfed them, the closed bay door cutting off all outside light.
“Kurt,” she said sharply, using her entire, if slight,
weight to pull him back and keep him from running headlong into the
evening. “Tell me what's going on?”

“It wasn't the camera crew,”
he breathed, pulling her close in the dark, his bright eyes luminous
even in the lack of light. “Not unless they look like giant
damned birds.”

1America's
Most Wanted is a tv show where the titular individuals are featured
in the hopes that the viewers can come forward with info and/or
clues.
- 32
- 33
- 34
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