Quixotic

Quixotic Chapter Nine (NC-17)

Disclaimers Apply

 

 

A/N Goddess Foxfeather, Queen of Mad Plotbunnies, BUSIEST
WOMAN ALIVE ™, Prophetic Muse, Hamster Witch, and Uberbeta… *sing song * I have something for you!!! Something witchy….* G * InterNutter, TC, Maxwell Pink and Dracena
make me all wobbly in the knees because they host/archive. *swoon * ProPhile…eh. She wasn’t all that bad.
Readers/Reviewers: Even the
Killer Kitties ™ are giddy with gratitude for your reviews. Thank you!!!! And Morgan, look! Remy
and Jubilee!

 

 

 

 

Kitty was
aching by the time she woke up. She had
no idea what time it was but knew that it was not morning yet, at least not
morning enough to be light outside. She
wrote this knowledge off to some sort of internal clock, the same one that told
her she could sleep for five more minutes before the snooze alarm went off or
that her cookies were almost done even when she could not smell them
burning. She stretched and frowned, the
floor beneath her back far too hard to be considered anywhere near an appropriate
sleeping surface. “Kurt?” she murmured
thickly. “Kurt?”

“Here I am,”
he said softly from somewhere across the basement room. “I hear voices; stay low.”

Kitty
groaned inwardly. They had ended up in
a large, mostly empty room adjacent to Jono’s current roost. Jono apparently liked to watch movies late
at night. Loudly. I wish he slept so that way I could wake
him up at the crack of dawn, she grumbled to herself as she gained her feet
in the dark. Her eyes were adjusting
slowly but the room had so little light that it would never be clearly
visible. Kurt seemed to have no
problem, however. She could hear him
moving in the dark and had the distinct feeling that he was doing it for her
benefit, making sure she could track him in the room, hear his soft footfalls
and the swish of his tail across surfaces.
“Those aren’t voices, sweetie.
That’s…entertainment.”

Kurt
stopped just before her, closing his eyes to make his other senses more
acute. He knew her smell so well that
he could scent her on even the smallest scrap of fabric, it seemed. He had driven himself to near distraction
wondering why the slip of a youth he had chosen as his second, his Will
Scarlet, had come to have her smell on his shirt. Visions of calling him out in a duel to satisfy Kitty’s honor
disappeared as soon as she took him to her room, however. She’s mine, he thought fiercely. All mine. No one else’s. “Katzchen,
what do you mean by entertainment? Like…a
jester?”

“Sort of,”
she sighed, reaching out in the dark to touch his face. “Like a play. You know…plays?”
“I know plays,” he
smiled. “I also know this den you have
hidden us in is terrible cold and if someone closeby is viewing a play, then
surely they must have heat and shelter… Why do we stay here when we could seek
comfort there?”

Kitty
stepped closer and felt his arms go automatically around her waist. Some things never change, thank God. “Because I would rather be alone with you
than explain…things…to someone else.” There. Not a total lie.

Kurt seemed
to think this over for a moment before responding. “I understand. Despite
your fierce nature, you still must protect your virtue. What has transpired between us would not be
understood by most people. I do not
want your excommunication upon my head.”[1]

“Uh,
Kurt? I can’t be excommunicated,” she
said patiently. Better ease him into
this. Maybe it’ll jog his memory…

“Kitty, don’t
be ridiculous. We are not above the
laws of the Church…”

“They don’t
really apply to me. I’m Jewish.”

There was a
long pause, and then, “Jewish?”

“Yep.”

“Jewish…”

“Let me
think…baby steps here… Okay, you know the Crusades?”

“Of
course! Our own King Richard fights
bravely in Jerusalem!”

“Okay,
well, King Richard is sort of leading a campaign against Muslims and Jews at
the moment…”

“How long…Kitty,
this is madness!” He pushed himself away from her and began pacing, his feet
slapping against the concrete floor in his agion. on.

“I’ve been
Jewish since day one, Kurt. Not
Catholic.”

“There are
no Jews in Sherwood!”

“Yo,” she
said blandly, waving a hand blindly in the air. “Maid Marian is Catholic, I’m not. Robin Hood is British, you’re not…” To Hell with this humoring
thing…

Kurt
stopped mid-stride and turned to face her, even though she could barely make
out his outline in the dark. “You mean
to tell me I support a King who…insults my beloved?” he finished delicately.

“Well…I
guess you could say that. Yeah.” She frowned slightly, noticing that he was
skipping over her expression of the obvious.


Kurt took
one step forward, then another, then…”Scheiss!”

“Not again,”
Kitty groaned, moving towards the sound of the thud. “The one damn box in this room and you find it!” She knelt next to his prone form and felt
for his head. “Does this hurt?”
“Nein…”

“For
someone so graceful, that sure was clumsy,” she sighed. “Can you sit up?”

“Ja,” he
groaned, sitting as he did so.

“Did it
knock the English out of you?” Kitty
had the sudden and uncomfortable feeling of being devoured by sight. The faint gold sheen of Kurt’s eyes shone
bare inches from her face, the ambient light in the room seemingly concentrated
within touching distance. “Okay, I’m
going to go get Beast again.” His visit
earlier, along with the Professor, had been annoying at best, futile at
worse. The ‘humor him’ routine was
repeated along with orders to get help if he seemed to get worse. I think this counts as worse… Two
concussions in less than three days can’t be good.

“Nein,” he
spat as she tried to find the door. “Mine!”

“Pardon me?
Ow! Kurt, stop it!”

Kurt
grabbed her arm and dragged her to the furthest corner away from the door. He forced her to the ground and then curled
himself protectively around her. “Schatz[2],”
he hissed sibilantly. “Mein Schatz…”

Kitty
groaned. I’m going to fucking kill Jono. That’s all there is to it. “Kurt, baby, let me up,” she said
calmly, pushing at his arms gently.

“Don’t hurt
us!” he cried. “We are…dirty things!”

“We are not
amused,” she said through gritted teeth.
“We preferred Robin Hood. We
preferred Don Quixote. We want Kurt
Wagner back!”

“Mein
Schatz,” he moaned, stroking her hair and face. “They will never hurt you!”

Kitty
closed her eyes and hoped to the heavens some telepath was being nosy just
then. She had a lot of things to
complain about.

 

 

“You’re
gonna wear a hole in my rug, Remy,” Jubilee sighed, shutting her book. “You come here to enjoy my company or you
come here to enjoy my company?” She
managed a suggestive leer despite her tired state.

Remy opened
his mouth as if to say something then snapped it shut, shook his head and
resumed pacing. After another circuit
of the room, he said, “Why you an’ Skin
on de outs?”

“Pardon?”

“You ain’t
talkin’ to him much…why not?”

“I didn’t
think you liked him,” she shrugged. “Why
do you ask?”

“Cause you
make dis big deal ‘bout bein’ friends wid him an’ get on my case cause I tell
you I don’ like it none, den all o’ sudden, you ain’t talkin’ to him?”

She frowned
at his accusatory tone. “I don’t know
what you’re smoking Remy, but Skin and I are still friends. He’s just really getting into this whole
Institute thing and making new friends.
I’m here when he’s ready to bond again or what not.”

“Bond?” he
said roughly. “Jus’ what you mean by
dat?”

“Catch up
on old times, talk…bond, you jealous freak.” Jubilee tossed her book to one
side and knee-walked down the bed to poke him in the chest. “Green doesn’t look good on you, lover. Cut
it out.”

“I weren’t
tinkin’ dese tings fore I had good reason.”

“And just
what good reason is that?”

“Jean sayin’
Skin all pissed cause you blew off a date.”

“That’s not
good reason. That’s miscommunication.
He wanted to go see the Valley of the Dolls[3]
revival at the Rialto and I
forgot. No biggie. It was something we used to do in LA, sneak
into the Bijou to see the old movies. Valley
was our favorite and he thought it would be like old times. I got involved with…homework…and forgot.”

Remy
frowned for a long moment before sighing and pulling her into an awkward
embrace. “Chere, I used ta never be de
jealous type…”

“Is that
supposed to be a compliment?” she asked, muffled against his chest.

“Je ne
sais,” he murmured, kissing the crown of her head lightly. He carried the test stick in his pocket and
it seemed to burn there against his skin.
He had not been able to tell if it were positive or negative, so much
time had elapsed since she had taken it, but he was alert for signs on her part
that something might be “wrong.” “Be
right back,” he said suddenly, leaving her to sway in an abandoned embrace as
he headed into her bathroom. He turned
the water on to mask the noise of her cabinet opening and began to rummage
through, not quite sure what he was looking for but knowing he would be able to
tell when he found it. After a moment,
he paused. Trois? Why she need all dese? Three boxes of tampons, unopened, three
months’ supply based on the shopping list Storm lived by religiously, rested in
a neat pyramid in the back of her cabinet.

 

A/N Robin Kurt will be back, I promise. He’s just taking a little vacation… And Rogue/Todd will be back soon, too.



[1] Excommunication
isn’t used much any more (I think I gave a link to the Catholic Encyclopedia’s
information on it in the last fic…) but it is still applied if need be. Traditionally, it was used at the discretion
of the parish priest who had to submit it to the local bishop then the
archbishop and on up to the pope who had final approval. Premarital sex was a “reason” for it back in
the day.

[2] Precious. I think you might be able to figure this
swing out, lol.

[3] Housewives,
drugs, alcohol, the sixties…tragic and oddly funny in a so-glad-that-isn’t-me
way.