Scribe and Scroll

DISCLAIMER: Don't own 'em. Look to Marvel for that. I'm just writing little extra thoughts that no one will understand if they don't see the flick, so I'm not really taking anything from you. And there's not much you could get from me...

SPOILERS: Big ones.

FEEDBACK: I wouldn't mind...< grins >

DISTRIBUTION: Want it? Take it, just remember to give me credit and include my e-mail addy. Also available at my site, Obsidian Quills.

THANKS: To kaly, who hauled me back from the precipice of over-description and corralled all the escaping punctuation.

Notes: Okay, I did the research, and the symbols used in Kurt's scarification are Enochian. I read up on their history, but I eventually decided that their history doesn't do much to explain why Kurt would use them. So, since none of that history appears in the movie, I'm going to ignore it.

(on the advice of my beta, I've ceased to mark the German words)

Kurt lay half-asleep on the expanse of lawn that stretched out behind the Xavier school. The sun was bright in the sky, the grass cool beneath his body. Kurt could smell the fresh scent of it, stronger where his weight had broken the blades. It was a beautiful day.

He soaked up the sun like the luxury it was. How long had it been since he had lain out in the open, enjoying a bright day? Years. Not since he'd had to leave the circus. There had been undisguised moments since, of course, but they'd always been spoiled by tension, Kurt's every sense watching for the moment when he pushed too far, when he'd have to flee.

Even with Professor Xavier's reassurances, it had been nearly three weeks before Kurt allowed himself to slip out of the school itself and into the surrounding grounds. When did I become so fearful? he asked himself, slitting his eyes so that he could look into the bright sky comfortably. I was not always like this. Once the spotlight was my playground.

Did Stryker do this, Kurt wondered, when he took me for a weapon? Or was it earlier? Remembering the church that had been his sanctuary, he thought perhaps this fear had been creeping up on him for a long time.

It is all right now, he assured himself. I have a chance to find my way back out of hiding.

Still, Kurt flinched and stiffened when a shadow fell over him, instinctively bracing for an attack that never came. After a moment he lifted his tail to shelter his eyes from the sun and found Logan standing over him. Kurt pushed himself into a sitting position but did not stand. Logan snorted and dropped into a crouch.

"Is there something you need, Herr Logan?"

"Just wanted to know what you're doing, lyin' around out here." Logan said.

"Working on my tan," Kurt said, his lips curving up at the corners. Logan just looked at him. He had to suppress a sigh. "I am only enjoying the sun, Herr Logan."

Logan just grunted, and Kurt began to wonder if he was always this subdued or if it was simply too soon after Jean's death for him to enjoy the brighter moments in life. Kurt had not known either of them for very long, but from what he had seen he gathered there had been a great deal between them.

Kurt considered lying down again, but it seemed impolite with Logan still crouching at his side. He continued to sit, waiting. At length Logan lifted one finger, pointing vaguely, and said, "I ain't Catholic, but I don't remember those being part of the deal."

"They aren't," Kurt answered, touching his own cheek briefly. "These are personal."

Logan tiled his head, eyes shifting as he traced the symbols adorning Kurt's face. "I don't scar," he said after awhile.

Ah. Most people, at least those who saw them, were somewhat fascinated with Kurt's scars. How much more intriguing would they be to a man incapable of forming his own? Kurt couldn't imagine never scarring, not even unintentionally. Did Logan crave them or find them repulsive? Perhaps, Kurt thought, watching Logan watch him, he feels only complete indifference, the kind of detachment you feel from something that can never touch you.

"The first," Kurt said, touching the inverted triangle centered on his forehead, "was a way of repossessing my own body."

Logan shifted, as if uneasy, but a moment later settled out of his crouch and into a sitting position. "Ororo said they were for your sins."

Kurt smiled. "Is it not a sin," he asked, "to hate that which God has made? There were times when I truly hated my appearance. Now, when such thoughts threaten, this reminds me that God made this body for me, and that it has brought me as much joy as it has pain."

"So, they supposed to be some sort of punishment? Penance?"

"No!" Kurt paused, took a moment to gather himself. Why is that everyone's first thought? he asked himself, a little exasperated. As if pain were the whole of the experience. "They are reminders, symbols of those faults in myself that I have recognized and overcome - or at least can now guard against. And they are beautiful things that were crafted out of pain with will and with faith." Logan was looking at him strangely, but how much more could he say? "I cannot explain any more than that," Kurt finished, sighing.

They sat for a while in silence. "Which one is the most recent?" Logan asked finally. Kurt looked over at him, but the other man was only making conversation now.

"I can't show you," Kurt said. "It is too new. It hasn't even healed yet."

Logan raised an eyebrow. "It's been three weeks," he guessed. Kurt nodded slightly. "I thought that was long enough for even regular folks to heal."

Kurt smiled slightly. "When I am making a new scar," he explained, "I must keep the wound open for as long as possible. If it heals too quickly the scar tissue will not form thickly enough."

Logan stared. Kurt stared back. "That must hurt like a bitch," Logan said at length.

"Ja, it is painful," Kurt said simply.

Logan nodded sharply and stood, brushing the grass off of his jeans. "See you later, Wagner."

Kurt watched Logan go, then lay down again. That is a strange man, he thought to himself, and then had at to laugh. In this place, what is strange and what is not?

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