xp_logs | Monet and Kurt, Friday night

Both now back from Egypt, Monet and Kurt take a few minutes to decompress.

Monet was curled up on Kurt's couch with a blanket around her shoulders. "You know what? I'm boycotting North Africa. Nothing good ever happens there."

He came to sit next to her, close enough she could lean into him if she felt the need. "I think I can agree with that. You have certainly had a run of bad luck there."

She wrapped an arm around him. "Possessed by a necklace. Why? Seriously, why?"

"Because our entire lives are magnets for these things", he said wryly, leaning his head down on top of hers. "Unfortunately."

"They do, don't they? I'm putting a boycott on that, too."

"On anything weird? I will get behind that boycott quite firmly." He brushed a kiss to her hair, tucking the blanket more closely around her.

"I can get behind that," Monet said, snuggling into the blanket.

"How are you feeling now?" Kurt asked, drawing her and her blanket into his side. "I would not think there would be lasting effects, but it is not as if I have ever come across the situation before..."

"I keep wanting to be someplace warm but I think that's normal. Other than that, no. I had a disturbing amount of love for those mummies, though. Trying not to think about that bit."

"You did mention wanting to be warm before this ever happened", he reminded her, trying to provide an anchor of sorts. "And... I had not realized you remembered what happened when you were Sekhmet."

"Some of it. Mostly, I was enjoying the warm and upset that you were killing my children..." Monet paused. "And that's a really fucked up thing to be thinking about some fake mummies."

"That was not you", he said firmly. "There must have been... leaking... between Sekhmet and yourself."

"'s in my head. It sure feels like me. Which is very fucking weird, considering it was all coming from that Gaskill bloke's head."

"If it would help", Kurt suggested carefully, "and I know very well you may not want it done... one of the telepaths could perhaps do something about that. Those memories are not yours or part of you, losing them might help with the leaking."

"That might be an idea. It's not like she even had a life, but there were things she wanted and hated, like those tourists."

"They would not even have to remove the knowledge that it happened, since that did happen to you", he continued, relieved that she'd taken the idea well. "Just the thoughts and memories that were hers."

Monet shrugged. "They weren't real thoughts, just ...desires and well, except for the mummy thing, it was all stuff I'd probably think anyway." She untangled a hand from the blanket and reached up to touch Kurt's face. "I remember what you said, though. Thank you."

"I was not sure how... aware... you were at the time." He moved his head, part leaning into her hand, part ducking his head in hesitance. "I thought perhaps appealing to her might work... and of course, I meant it."

Monet reached up to give him a quick peck on the cheek. "I'm glad you meant it. Back at you, you know?"

"...really?" He turned his head to look at her, caught between uncertainty and joy. "I mean... you are Miss Perfect, everybody says so, and what am I but an ageing acrobat no one could mistake for human? But I do love you."

She sat up and glared at him. "For fuck's sake. Anyone who isn't blind knows you're human. Also, dude, acrobat. And, no, that's why I like you, you dork."

That got a moment of blinking, then a burst of vaguely startled but relieved laughter as he pulled her back into his arms. "Thank you, Monet."

She curled back up against him. "Dude..."

"I know. I can be foolish sometimes." He didn't give her an immediate chance to answer that, though, instead reaching down to turn her face for a kiss.

She kissed him back. "Yes, you can. Dork."

"So", he said after a while of comfortable silence, "I suppose you should rest. Not that I am going anywhere for now."

"Rest is good." Monet wriggled around on the couch until her legs were lying over Kurt's lap and closed her eyes.

He was quite amenable to being used as a pillow, reaching with his nearest hand to stroke her hair. "Sleep well, liebling."