Demon In My View
Chapter Two: Father Wagner
by
Libby Edwards
Disclaimer: Property of Marvel Comics. I do not own them. I sure-as-hell wish I did.
Author's note: I originally posted the first two chapters of another X-Men story of the same name on ff.net, as well as on a personal page I had created. After the second chapter, and despite some very nice reviews (thank you, those that gave me feedback!), I decided that I really wasn't happy with where the original story was going, although I was excited about the basic premise (which unfortunately was not made very clear in the initial posting). I took some time off, rethought my idea, and this story you are now reading is the result of that retooling process.
While I have tried to stick as close to canon as possible, I am a firm believer that canon is there to be a support, and not a stranglehold, so if there are a few departures from canon here and there it is because I truly did not feel that those elements were necessary. Also, as in all my Logan-centric stories, Wolverine is tall, because I don't like a short Wolverine. Call it artistic license, if you like. :)
Enjoy!
Kurt strolled along the mansion's grounds in contented silence, his hands clasped behind his back as he made his way across the grass. It whispered against the hem of his cassock...a rhythmic murmur of heavy fabric that was somehow soothing in his present state of mind.
They didn't know, of course. None of them did, not even the professor. Oh, Kurt had no doubt that if Charles had a desire to know, he would be able to pick up the smallest hint of Kurt's thoughts with little more than a breath and a raised eyebrow. But Charles had no such desire...why should he? After all, he thought with an inward frown. This is the Nightcrawler we're talking about. It's not like I'm Logan or Gambit.
Such thoughts did little to make him feel better, though. In fact, they made him feel considerably worse.
He hadn't meant to come back to Xavier's. After the last mission he had decided to return to the seminary, where the bishop had retained a archival position for him. It was a good position, too...and one that Kurt knew he had been lucky to have offered. Man of God or not, he was only slightly more well-accepted among the other priests than he was in the "real" world, the world he had unconsciously (and not so unconsciously, he chided himself gently) tried to avoid for most of his adult life. It was unfair to say that the other priests did not try...they did, and none knew it better than Kurt. After all, it had been among the priests and students at his initial seminary that he had at last felt safe enough to turn off Hank's image transducer, and leave it off, for good. Still, they were human, and Kurt had learned to ignore the whispers behind his back, the recoiling of a hand that accidentally brushed against him as he walked down the cloister halls...the stares, some furtive and others openly hostile, that followed him as he made his way from his apartments each morning to the relative peace of the Mass.
The archival position would have been good for him...allowing him to serve God, yet remain safely in the library, hidden by books and footnotes, where at last the voices and stares could not follow. God, however, seemed to have a wicked sense of humor...and apparently, God also had other plans.
Kurt paused in his walk, turning toward the mansion and studying it in the golden light of morning. The sun behind him cast his shadow across the grass as he let his eyes roam over the ivy-covered walls...he hadn't meant to come back, but Xavier had insisted. Had, in fact, written the bishop of his diocese to specifically request Kurt's presence. It would be of immeasureable comfort to the students, the letter had said...Kurt had read it and reread it over and over, on his knees in the silence of the chapel as he prayed for his god to give him guidance...offering Father Wagner the position of school chaplain...a spiritual rolemodel for the students, many of whom feel that they are somehow cursed, or no longer God's children because of their mutation...
Oh, but Charles Xavier was a clever one. The bishop thought it was an excellent plan (as well as an opportunity to "lead more people into the Lord's fold," he had told Kurt with some enthusiam)...and after a sleepless night of prayer, Kurt was left with the conclusion that obviously God felt the same way. So here he was, the chaplain of Xavier's School for Gifted Students.
Somebody say Hallelujah.
Shouts of excited, breathless laughter drifted to his ears, and he glanced quickly to the side as a small group of the younger kids plowed by, deeply involved in their game of kickball. Kurt tucked his hands into the sleeves of his cassock, smiling at them as they passed and trying not to feel bitter when none of them smiled in return. And why should they? he thought, sighing inwardly in resignation. They look human, despite their powers. Even among mutants, I'm a freak.
"But at least I am home," he said aloud, turning his face into the freshening breeze and retracing his steps slowly back to the mansion.
* * * * *
Ororo entered the mansion's kitchen, Remy following behind as she crossed the cheery linoleum and peeked over the breakfast bar into the smaller dining room on the other side. A small gathering of students were already seated here and there inside, eating sandwiches or whatever they had scrounged from the kitchen...lunch at the mansion was a casual affair, with every man for himself, and little in the way of formality. This was as readily evidenced by the teachers as it was the students...case in point, Hank McCoy, sitting at a table by the window, holding a book in one hand which he read with great interest while simultaneously munching on an apple that he held in his left foot.
"Don' you want to fix me somet'in' to eat, Stormy?" Remy asked with a grin, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his jeans pocket and shaking out one with a flick of his wrist.
"Not particularly," Ororo replied.
"Aww...you want Remy to beg."
"Will you behave for once?" she asked, tilting her head slightly to look at him with a half-smile.
Remy popped the cigarette in his mouth, then spread his hands placatingly. "Remy'll be an absolute angel," he said, his words garbled even more so than usual as he talked around the cigarette.
Ororo fixed him with a disapproving look. "You are not going to smoke that in here, are you?"
"Why? Does it bother you?"
"No. It bothers the professor."
"Well, now...he ain't in here, is he?" Remy gave her a wink, then dug his cigarette lighter out of his pocket and snapped it open, cupping his hands around the flame as he lit the end of his cigarette carefully.
Ororo watched him, shaking her head a little. "Remy," she said, trying to sound stern but not quite making it. "Smoking in the school is against the rules, as you well know..."
"Rules are made to be broken, chere," he replied. He snapped the lighter closed once more, then took a long, slow drag on his cigarette, plucking it from his lips between his thumb and forefinger as he eyed her through the swirling smoke. "Besides, Remy never see anyone givin' Logan a hard time 'bout his cigars."
"That is different..."
Remy snorted. "Diff'rent how?"
Ororo gave up. Remy knew perfectly well why no one gave Logan any trouble over his cigars...it simply wouldn't do any good. Apparently Remy had finally figured that out. She decided to ignore him, although without any real irritation, and instead she turned to the refridgerator and opened the door. A sandwich sounded good...
"What are you in the mood for, Remy?" she asked him, poking experimentally at a package of Provolone cheese that looked a little worse for wear. "Hmmm...how does peanut butter and jelly sound?"
"Sounds good, chere, as long as your beautiful hands are makin' it."
"You are incorrigible." Ororo blushed a little, ashamed as always that Remy's offhand flirtations still had the power to make her blush, and busied herself with getting out the grape jelly from the fridge and the peanut butter from the cabinet over the counter. Remy didn't seem to notice her reaction...he pushed himself lightly with his hands into a seat on the counter across the room from her, content apparently to watch her make two PB&J sandwiches while he smoked his cigarette in silence.
Ororo had just finished making one sandwich, and was reaching into the bread bag for another two slices, when Remy suddenly asked her to wait. "I've got a better idea," he said.
She turned to look at him, a peanut butter-covered knife in one hand. "You are joking, right? I have already done one of them..."
"You can eat dat one, chere," Remy said. "We got any bagels?"
"Bagels?"
Remy just grinned. "Oui, chere. You never had a PB&J bagel san'wich before?"
Ororo lifted an eyebrow. "Bagels, hmm? I never would have guessed it," she said with a teasing smile. "Now I know why you do not like Kurt. You are Jewish."
Remy snorted. "No, Remy not Jewish. I jus' like bagels...an' where you get de idea dat I don' like Kurt?"
She shrugged, leaning against the counter as she licked a spot of sweet stickiness off her thumb. "Well, I used to think that you and he got along along just fine...if not the best of friends, at least cordial acquaintances."
"An' now we're not?"
She shook her head. "I do not know...perhaps I am mistaken. But it does seem as if there is some tension between the two of you now. There has been ever since he came back to the school."
Remy took another slow drag off his cigarette, peering at her thoughtfully through the smoke. He said nothing, however, and Ororo met his eyes steadily, daring him to challenge her observation...but at last Remy laughed shortly and dropped his eyes. A ghost of a smile touched Ororo's lips, and she turned back to the counter, feeling that her point had been made. "I think we do have some bagels," she said lightly. "Scott keeps them on the top shelf of one of these cabinets, does he not?"
"Don' know, chere."
"Let us see..." The upper cabinets were very high, taller than she could reach, and when she looked in the small space between the refridgerator and the counter for the stepstool they usually kept there, it was absent. It didn't matter, though...without a pause she turned and used her hands to hoist herself into a sitting position on the counter, then scrambled carefully to her feet so that she could reach the uppermost shelves.
Remy watched this little feat in mild surprise, taking a half-step forward as she stood up on the countertop. "Wha' you doin', chere? Be careful!"
"Someone took the stepstool again," she replied. She opened first one cabinet, then another. "I know we had some around here...did Scott eat them all?"
Remy, having decided that Ororo wasn't planning on toppling off the counter any time soon, leaned against the sink and watched her with amusement. "Chere, it's not a big deal. I'll have it on bread."
"I am already up here, Remy," she said. "Maybe they are in the one over the sink..." Ororo walked with sure feet across the counters, reaching the sink where Remy stood and straddling the double basins carefully. Sure enough, when she opened the cabinets she found the plastic sleeve of bagels Scott had stashed away, and she pulled them out with a little cry of triumph.
"You found dem, non?" Remy said with a grin, stepping away from the sink and looking up at her. Ororo flashed a smile at him and nodded, then she turned to retrace her steps back to the counter so she could jump back down...and what Remy had warned her against finally happened. She stepped wrong, the heel of her flat-soled shoe slipping on the slick edge of the sink, and before she could react or attempt to grab for a handhold she was toppling for the floor...
"Remy!"
He reacted without thinking, his cigarette clamped between his teeth as he reached out swiftly and grabbed her, practically in midair. The catch was off-balance, though...Ororo was slammed into his chest, forcing Remy's legs to buckle under him and sending them both into a skid across the linoleum...ending up with Remy flat on his back with Ororo on top of him. Remy made a startled "oof!" sound, wincing as his head cracked smartly on the floor.
"Oh Goddess!" Ororo said, furiously embarrassed. "Remy, are you all right?"
"Owwww." He was rubbing the back of his head with one hand, looking up at her with a painful grin.
"Are you hurt?"
"Non, chere," he replied, laughing a trifle sheepishly. "But I t'ink dis is de part where you say, 'good catch, Remy.'"
Ororo reached out to touch Remy's head in concern, then abruptly she was aware of the awkward, somwhat compromising position they had landed in. "I am so sorry," she murmured. "Let me get off you..."
"Now hang on a minute, chere," Remy said, plucking the cigarette from his mouth. Before Ororo could move, he slid his other hand quickly and tightly around her waist, suddenly pulling her closer so that their chests were pressed against each other. "Dis is a position dat many a man would kill for," he added. "Remy not gon' let it pass so easily."
"Remy," Ororo said warningly.
"What?" His grip on her waist tightened, and she was pulled even closer, their faces suddenly inches from each other. It happened so quickly...and Ororo was left without words or a single admonishment, only able to stare into his red and black eyes and wonder desperately what sort of game Remy was up to.
"Dis is an int'restin' predicament, I t'ink," he murmured.
"So do I," remarked a dry voice from the doorway.
Remy abruptly released his grip on Ororo in surprise, enabling her to scramble to her feet and back away, the blush in her cheeks feeling like her face was on fire. Logan was standing in the door, leaning against the jamb with his arms folded over his chest and a look of wry amusement on his face. "Did I interrupt somethin'?" he asked, lifting an eyebrow.
Remy looked nonplussed for a moment, then a slow smile spread across his face as he sat up on his elbows. "How you doin', mon ami?" he asked innocently.
"Not too bad, thanks...but obviously not as good as you two are doin'."
Ororo ran a trembling hand (and why am I trembling? she wondered with a touch of anger) through her hair, her eyes stuttering from Logan's face to the floor to Remy and back again. "I...I fell off the counter, and Remy..." she began.
"Hey, you don't have to explain it to me," Logan said with a grin, strolling into the kitchen as if finding Ororo straddling Remy on the floor were the most normal thing in the world...and looking as if the nightmares that had troubled him the night before had never happened. He passed Ororo, opened the fridge, and withdrew a can of beer, cracking it open as the door shut again behind him. "You're two consentin' adults," he added. "I'm just sorry I interrupted. Things looked like they were just gettin' interestin'."
"I dunno," Remy replied, looking at Ororo from his place on the floor and dropping her a lascivious wink. "But from de way ol' Stormy be blushing t'rough dat black skin of hers, I'm t'inkin' you might be on to somet'in' dere. What you t'ink, 'Ro?"
Ororo regarded Remy with narrowed eyes. She still had the sleeve of bagels in her hand, and she walked back to where Remy lay and dropped them directly on his stomach. "I think you can make your own damn sandwich," she snapped, then she turned back to the counter, snatched up a napkin and her plate with the sandwich she had made, and swept gracefully out of the kitchen without another word.
Remy sat up, cradling the bagels in his lap. "What was dat all about? If I didn't know better, I'd say she was mad at me."
Logan took a swig from his beer, then shrugged as he started out of the kitchen after Ororo. "Don't know, Cajun," he said with a chuckle. "I guess you just pressed all the wrong buttons."
He left Remy muttering something under his breath, and quickened his pace slightly after Ororo as she retreated down the short length of hall toward the dining room, catching up with her quickly and falling into step beside her. She threw him a irritated glance, making him laugh again quietly as he took another swallow from his beer.
"Don't take it so seriously, darlin'," he told her. "The Cajun and I were just kidding around."
Ororo glanced at him again without replying, but he noticed that the set of her shoulders relaxed a little. "I am glad to see that you are feeling better," she said after a moment. "You did not look well this morning."
"Yeah, well, lack of sleep always did make me look like shit."
"You seem rested now."
"I had a few run-arounds in the Danger Room earlier. Perked me right up," he said dryly. "Speaking of which...missed you this mornin', toots."
"Kitty is back. Did you know?"
"Saw her last night when she got in."
They reached the dining room, and Ororo made her way across the space to the bank of wide windows on the western wall of the room. Hank was still there, having finished his apple and now contenting himself with reading his book and basking in the early afternoon sun as it filtered in through the window glass. He looked up as she and Logan approached, his huge face splitting in a welcoming smile.
"Hello, my friends!"
Ororo returned his smile. "Mind if I sit?"
"Not at all." Hank removed his furry feet from the table and shifted his chair to the side, allowing Ororo to sit beside him. Logan seated himself across from them both, setting his beer down on the table with one hand as he pulled a cigar out of his T-shirt pocket with the other, while Hank leaned forward and inspected Ororo's sandwich from over the rims of his wire spectacles.
"Peanut butter and Concord grape jelly. A veritable culinary classic," he remarked, his blue eyes twinkling. "I would suggest caution, my dear Ororo. Your considerable sweet tooth is showing."
"I do not care," Ororo laughed, picking up the sandwich daintily and taking a bite.
Logan popped his cigar into the corner of his mouth, then leaned back in his chair as he dug a book of matches out of his pocket. His dark eyes lifted and looked at a spot over Ororo's shoulder. "Here comes Kitty," he said.
Ororo put down her sandwich and turned just as the pretty brunette neared their table. "Hi, guys!" she called, breaking into a trot as she caught their eyes. "Got room for one more?"
"Sure, kid. Have a seat." Logan slid his chair over closer to the window, then reached back and grabbed another chair at the table behind them, pulling it into the space beside him so Kitty could sit down. She flopped into it with a sigh, propping her chin on her hands and her elbows on the table as she blew a stray hair out of her eyes.
"Thanks, Logan."
Ororo studied her with interest. "What is that flower in your hair, Kitty?" she asked. "It is quite lovely."
There was indeed a blossom in Kitty's hair...a small, delicate purple flower, perched behind her ear as a pretty contrast to her dark curls. "Oh, this..." Kitty said, taking the flower out and twirling it between her fingers. "You've got me...I have no clue. Jubes had a handful of them. It's from some tree blooming down in the orchard."
"Ah...that would explain why I do not know it," Ororo replied.
"I was under the impression that you were familiar with every flowering whatnot on the mansion's grounds," Hank said.
"Not the orchard. That is strictly Charles' province...I do not understand the delicacy of growing fruit trees as well as I do the plants of the greenhouse." She picked up her sandwich again. "I also understand that the professor had several new varieties planted this year...this is undoubtedly one of them."
"Whatever it is, it smells wonderful," Kitty said, holding it to her nose and inhaling deeply.
"Have you been with the professor all this time?" Ororo asked.
"Most of it." She grinned, and a brief flash of the old Kitty Pryde flickered in that grin. "He's offering me a teaching position."
"Kitty! That's wonderful!" Ororo exclaimed.
"Yeah," she replied, a soft flush staining her cheeks as she grinned down at the flower in her hands. "It's funny, too, though...I can still remember so clearly what it was like to be just another student here, and even when I was helping with the younger students, I was never really, you know...official." She looked up at all three of them and laughed. "It's like I'm really a grownup now. And it's kinda weird."
"What will you be teaching?" Hank asked.
"Computer tech...what else?" Kitty laughed. She let the flower fall casually to the table surface, then crossed her arms and leaned on them thoughtfully. "Have any of you talked to the professor about the new curriculum, though? He made it sound like this is something kinda new."
Hank and Ororo exchanged curious glances. "New curriculum?" Ororo asked. "I have heard nothing. Hank?"
He shook his head. "Not so much as a peep from our revered headmaster, although I am sure he will inform us sooner rather than later. What sort of new curriculum, I wonder?"
Kitty shrugged. "Nothing too major, from what I've gathered, but since you...I mean, we...have such a high enrollment rate this year, Professor Xavier is planning on creating some new classes, and adding extracurricular things, too...like field trips and stuff."
"That is something the teaching staff has mentioned on more than one occasion," Ororo commented. "I am glad that he seems to be considering it."
There was a pause, in which Ororo finished her sandwich quickly, then stood up, gathering her empty plate and napkin into her hands. "I have a feeling the professor is going to want to see us soon," she said. "So I think I will see if I can beat him to the punch."
"I'll come too," Kitty said, standing up as well.
"As will I," Hank added. He carefully folded over the corner of the last page he had been reading, then shut the book with a soft snap as Ororo and Kitty walked away toward the doors. "Are you coming as well, Logan?" he asked.
Logan seemed to be staring at the table, lost in thought, his unlit cigar still parked in the corner of his mouth. Hank paused, studying his friend curiously...Logan seemed to be awfully quiet all of a sudden.
Hank cleared his throat. "Logan?" he asked again.
Logan suddenly seemed to snap out of his reverie, and he looked up at Hank with a distant, distracted look. "Sorry...you were saying?" he asked gruffly, rubbing his eyes with his fingers in a tired gesture.
"The ladies and I are going to check in with Charles," Hank said. He took off his glasses and regarded Logan curiously. "My dear friend, are you quite all right?"
Logan blinked, then smiled a little. "Never better. You go on ahead, though...I'll see you later. I want to smoke this cigar before Cyke sees me and gives me hell."
"Enjoy it, my friend." Hank clapped Logan on the shoulder with one massive paw, then stood and tucked his book under one arm before loping with remarkable grace toward the dining room doors. Logan watched him go, his smile fading as quickly as it had come, then his eyes fell on the table once more...his cigar unlit, his hands clenched into fists in his lap, and his dark eyes fixed on the purple blossom Kitty had left behind.
Two ghosts, he thought. One by night and one by day. His vision seemed to blur a little, and he reached out finally with shaking fingers and picked up the flower that Kitty had let fall. The others hadn't asked him...in fact, they hadn't noticed his reaction at all. It was a reaction that would have shown clearly on his stricken face, if any of them had happened to look.
Logan lifted the flower to his face and inhaled its soft fragrance, closing his eyes as the familiar scent washed over him with its exquisite, heartbreaking caress. An ume flower, he thought bitterly. From the plum tree.
Mariko's scent.
He sat in silence for a moment longer, a dark, painful ache in his throat, then he abruptly stood and tossed the flower back on the table with more violence than the delicate bloom seemed to deserve. Even then it appeared to mock him, though...fluttering gently to the table's surface and landing there with an inaudible whisper.
Logan glanced out the window, his jaw tight, then turned and left the dining room without a backward look, the few students still inside scattering before his brooding scowl like leaves on an autumn wind.
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