David/Kurt - TUS early-morning interlude

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The boys talk about everything from a food-guzzling Jubilee and unsavory parentage, to their hometown cuisine and alcohol. And then some. In German. Until daybreak.



David sat slumped on the ground outside, bundled in the thickest coat he could lay his hands on despite the beads of perspiration that dotted his forehead. Every now and then he shifted, trying in vain to suppress the shivers that wrecked his almost too-thin frame as he dozed, never quite able to fall asleep despite the haze of weariness that had only intensified as the days passed.

In all honesty, it had taken a while for him to realise his addiction. What had once been used solely to jumpstart his precognitive powers had gradually become a tool to keep him awake and alert, lengthening his working hours and reducing the time he had to himself to think; David hated thinking. And so he played the ignoramus as the calls to his dealers grew in frequency. By the time he realised the extent of his reliance on his pills, he was seated shackled on a train to an unknown hell and hiding the first signs of drug withdrawal.

Pulling his legs towards him, the greying mutant grumbled about stupidity in his mother tongue. Perhaps he subconsciously held deep sleep in abeyance, knowing that only nightmares would follow. The precog highly doubted that waking up half the camp with his shouts would go down very well.

Kurt had been watching him with a frown from his own seat under a tree, and after a while made his way over. "You do not look well, friend", he said quietly, the words meant only for David's ears.

Shooting upright at the soft-spoken words, David stared blankly at Kurt for a few seconds, hand reaching instinctively for the pistol he had hidden in the coat. He must have been really out of it, to not have heard his approach. “I’m fine,” he replied in kind, face carefully neutral as he forced muscles into some semblance of relaxation. “There are just too many people around for me to fall asleep.”

"You are sweating", Kurt observed neutrally, "and yet dressed as though you are cold. Do you have a fever?" He wasn't close to guessing the truth, not yet, but the possibility of the older man being sick was worrying enough.

“No,” was the short reply. David shifted uncomfortably on the ground, then shrugged off the thick coat and bundled it around his hands. “One would think that it would be cooler outside. But apparently not.”

The older man quirked a small, knowing smile at Kurt, knowing very well that his hedging was paper thin. Another method had to be adopted. “Then again, one would think that you would be spending your time with your lady love then with this decrepit old man.”

"My lady love?" he asked, head tilted in mild confusion. "The last person who could have been called that is no longer, and is not here."

“You seemed… cosy with Jubilation last night.”

"Ah." He smiled slightly. "I was attempting to get her to sleep. She is finding it difficult to be comfortable lately, with her face."

Notably, there was a complete lack of denials of cosiness.

“Well, it is a pretty face.” David remarked mildly, not missing a beat as he shifted again. The comment was neither here nor there given what Kurt meant, but the spy’s slight smile was somehow a little more genuine than before.

Kurt nodded, then wandered over and sat down next to David. "A very pretty face, and I must admit to noticing. Perhaps when we are home I will allow myself to notice more actively."

When they were home, David could not help but notice before he tamped down the disagreeable thoughts that would have followed. People were allowed their hope. For most, it was a lifeline and a goal. For David, it was tiring and he was already feeling exhausted. Beneath the cover of the coat, he gripped his trembling injured hand in the other.

“Perhaps I should warn you,” his tone was deliberately coloured with amusement even as turned his gaze skyward. “She has a voracious appetite.”

Kurt shot him a wry glance. "If you mean for food, she was a Xavier's student and now shares an apartment building with my sister. I am well aware."

David laughed. “She broke into my apartment when I first moved into the Brownstone,” he recalled, shaking his head. “Claimed it was to raid my fridge.” A pause. “Well, she enjoys German cuisine, at least.”

"I will have to remember that", Kurt said with a laugh of his own. "Perhaps I will choose that to take her to dinner."

“I think she would eat almost anything,” David admitted dryly, the German words thick on his tongue. “But I cook German food most often.”

"A little taste of home", Kurt said with a nod. "It is always nice - where in Germany are you from?"

“Aye, it was the main reason I picked up the hobby.” The older man shifted again, this time shaking out the coat and draping it over his lap. When he was done, he had settled on: “Berlin, although I was birthed in Switzerland. And yourself?”

"Bavaria." He smiled slightly. "Mostly, although we did get all over the region. My people are gypsies, my birth father is the local baron and my birth mother... who knows."

“Who needs to know?” David’s expression was one part contemplative and four parts unreadable, as though he was savouring a bittersweet memory. He nodded at Kurt “You turned out just fine. If your mother loved you, she would be proud. And if she didn’t, it is better that you don’t know her, no?”

"I wish I had not", he said a little bitterly. "I know who she is, it is only where she came from I do not know and do not care to. I wish I had never known that the man and woman who raised and loved me adopted me. From Mystique."

David frowned, thinking that he should have known that, even if he had little reason to have had read Kurt’s file. Then the spy shrugged, and reached down to rub at his sore knee. “Who gave birth to you does not define who you are.” Or a younger Christophe would have killed himself in shame a long time ago. Just as his father eventually had.

Painfully reminded that he should be the last person to offer advice or perspective on any personal matters, David held his unusually loose tongue for a moment as he reorganised his thoughts. “I don’t know what your parentage means to you,” he said, typically blunt. “But I think you’re a fine young man.”

That got him a smile of acknowledgment and a little gratitude. "Thank you, David. I do try, and I think most of the time I succeed, to be good."

In return, Kurt received a quiet snort, the other man clearly thinking that he was, perhaps, a little too hard on himself. But who was David to judge?

“I’ve heard that Bavarian beer is excellent,” he said instead, introducing the non sequitur without batting an eyelid. “I’ve always wanted to try it.”

"The best in the world", was the cheerful response. "I will buy you some, one day."

“All right.” The agreement came after a short pause, accompanied by a slight smile that could easily go unnoticed in the dark. And perhaps Kurt would never know how much it took for David to make it while knowing that either or both of them could fail to make it out of Genosha. “But only if we go to Bavaria to get it.”

Kurt was refusing to acknowledge that possibility. If it happened, it happened, but he wasn't going to invite it to happen. "We have a deal. The imported kind never tastes the same."

More than several topics were discussed, sometimes abruptly introduced by David or subtly raised by Kurt, each one more random than the last. When the German conversation petered out and the two finally lapsed into a comfortable silence, the sky was beginning to pink.

David was still tired, and still hiding his pain and trembling. But the haze in his head seemed to have eased a little, and it was a welcomed reprieve.