Very much NSFW fic continued from yesterday:
Fracture Thirty-One: Sabotage
“Of course I told Principal Kelly,” said Ororo. “All he did was mutter something about sailing the _Titanic_ and a nice day for deckchairs… He has a nasty twitch under his left eye…”
Bluebelle was trying to make Kurt brush her hair. “…please, Daddy? I promise I’ll be good. Please come back.”
Xavier dipped into Kurt’s head, finding Kurt and updating him on the situation, replete with Bluebelle’s memories.
_That’s it?_ he asked. _After what she did?_
A blast of memories…
*
The woman wore a tag from the hotel where the ‘survivor convention' was going on. She wore an expression of hope and worry when she asked him his name.
As soon as he identified himself, she grabbed him.
He’d assumed she was a part of the Heirelgart clique. Until she hid her parcel into his waistband, and her fingers found several spots that Hess and her cronies knew best.
His nose filled with _Nacht in der Blute_.
The scent of a predator.
She whispered in his ear. “Remember who made you. Remember what you are. Remember who you belong to.”
Fingers found the sensitive spots on his tail. Up his spine.
He’d moaned, despite how filthy he felt at her touch.
And RagDoll came forward, to protect him. RagDoll, who saw everything but did nothing. The tag identified her as Minka, 37, from somewhere near the old Soviet border. Ragdoll got a good look at it when she put them down.
*
Xavier winced, involuntarily backing his chair away.
“Sorry, Professor,” said Kurt, holding Bluebelle close. “The masks are still in defence mode.” Almost on automatic, he spread out a napkin on the floor, then put a container of seed and a container of water down for his chicken.
Mr Peeper investigated it on general principals, then settled down for a solid grooming session.
Kurt sat up a little, and bought the packet from his memories out into the open.
“Is it a present?” asked Bluebelle.
“I - don’t think so.” He stared at it, trying to figure it out. “It's from one of Hess’ lieutenants; it could be anything.”
Xavier instantly held out his hand. “I’ll have it scanned before we open it,” he said. “In the meantime, you and Hank can begin work on a remedial education programme for Bluebelle.”
Kurt stretched a few psychosomatic kinks out of his back. “Jawohl, mein Herr.”
*
“School?” repeated Bluebelle. She’d heard nothing but horror stories about it. She’d *been* there. It was a scary place.
“Not a proper school, not yet. We have to catch up with everyone else your age, first,” said Doctor Hank. “Once you’re properly literate and numerate, we can begin to socialise you with children your own age.”
“But - strangers are dangerous,” said Bluebelle.
“Yes, liebe. Some strangers *are* dangerous. Most are just people trying to get through the day; and the trick is that you can’t tell them apart. We’re going to teach you how to be careful, as well.”
“As well as what?”
“I was thinking,” said Daddy. “How would you like to learn to be a tumbler? I can teach you in the afternoons as a reward for being a good girl in your lessons.” He balanced, upside-down, on the back of his chair. “Wouldn’t you like to know how to do this, Liebling?”
Bluebelle giggled.
*
Meanwhile, in the hotel where most of the witnesses were staying, little cards were being put into the rooms’ pigeon-holes. They came, one by one or in small groups, and were randomly chosen.
They all bore the same message.
“You *know* what happens to bad little boys and girls who tell lies."
They were signed by Hess.
*
Sharon double-checked her computer. "I’ve found three Minkas, but none of them are from the region you named, Professor. That tag must have been a fake.”
Xavier sighed on the other end of the 'phone. “Well, its a relief to know that none of Hess’ victims are following in her footsteps, at least. We need to have this 'lieutenant’ matter investigated as soon as possible.”
“There’s also been a few disturbances in the hotel,” said Sharon. "Apparently, Hess has been sending her victims some love letters.“
"That won’t go over well in court,” Xavier understated. “How are the reactions?”
“Mixed. Twenty percent are more determined to take the witness stand, fifty percent want to do video testimony, and the rest are trying to psych themselves back into putting Hess down. Their families just want to kill her. How about your survivors?”
“Only Kurt has received anything. It’s a package. As far as I can tell, its contents are inert. There’s a little biological residue. No trace of any pathogens, though.”
“Be extremely careful with it,” Sharon advised. “Hess kept all sorts of weird trophies. Some of the witnesses went nuts just seeing photographs of them.”
“Understood. Thank you for your time.”
*
Kurt knew the package was probably trouble when the entire team drew themselves around him.
“It’s one of Hess’ little love notes, isn’t it?” he asked.
“You’ve had stuff like this before?” said Rogue.
“Ja. During the Bad Times, she used to send me little 'presents’. No return address. There was always a note, 'thinking of you’ and some little relic of her 'good times’. If they were body parts, I’d quietly bury them somewhere and pray for the owner’s soul and safety.”
Kitty shuddered. She was nervously petting Mr Peeper.
Evan’s chicken, McNugget, was safely nested in its own shoebox.
Everyone expected things to go nuts, as soon as he opened the package. Lord alone knew what Hess or her Lieutenant had put in there. The Professor said it was inert material and a little bit of biological residue. He said there were no pathogens present.
Of course there were no pathogens.
Hess didn’t need them.
She was a pathogen all by herself.
*
What Kitty hated most, she decided, was how she forced her victims to become so ickily casual about certain things. Kurt wasn’t bothered by dead bodies, for example. He seemed to treat them like people who needed some kind of medical attention.
Kiss and make it better.
Her stomach roiled and she held Mr Peeper close, petting him so that they’d both keep calm.
Hess soiled everything she came in contact with. Stained people's future irrevocably. She was the one who taught him to kiss so sweetly, to take such gentle care with the one he loved.
How could such beauty spring from such evil?
*
Scott clenched his fist. He wanted to hit something. *Do* something. Anything. He’d missed it. He couldn’t believe he’d missed it. He should have seen it when Kurt first arrived. The softly-spoken boy on edge and perpetually worried about getting things wrong.
Sensitive to what people thought about him.
Desperate for acceptance.
Scott should have seen it; but it was overwhelmed by the Kurt that had fun and goofed off and woke everyone up at the butt-crack of dawn every day of the frikkin’ week.
That Kurt was nothing like the Kurt that sat in the middle of them now, holding a padded envelope as if it were a bomb and he were someone on the bomb squad.
_I guess I really *was* lucky with Mr Winters,_ he thought. _I wonder if he really *knew* that there were worse people out there, or if it was just something he said so I wouldn’t try to run away…_
He’d never find out, though. Winters had drunk himself to death, leaving Scott with a whole heap of nothing and a free ticket to the state orphanage. His power had manifested by then, and he’d been paranoid about opening his eyes to anything. He’d routinely worn bandages under his shades as a reminder not to hurt people.
Then Xavier had rescued him, and Scott had thought he’d never have to shut his eyes to anything ever, ever again.
Wrong.
Wrong, wrong, wrong.
*
Kurt took a deep breath. He had to do this. He had to face whatever sickness Hess had decided to send his way, deal with it, and get on with the remains of his life.
It wasn’t as if he wasn’t used to it, anyway.
He tore open the envelope and shook whatever was inside out onto his hand. It was a tile smeared with old blood.
_Bad Times,_ he thought, and all the Masks inside his head went insane.
“Jean!” The Professor yelled as his world dissolved into darkness. "Help me help him!“
All fall down.