A/N: So I've been sitting on this one for a couple of days, I really hope ya'll like it! Thank you to @dezzydynamite for helping me with this! If you would like to be tagged in future updates on this fic please let me know via commenting on this post here! :D
Pairing: Kurt Wagner X fem!reader / Nightcrawler x fem!reader
Summery: Your clinic is finally open, it's busy and everything you've ever imagined. Except Kurt is acting strange...maybe for good reason.
TW: Stalking, Medical themes. (If any TW missed, please let me know)
Taglist: @sagebrush-and-sadness, @mary-moongood, @missryunosukechiba, @nagi3seastorm, @eggygirl501,
Part 7, Part 9 (coming soon)
Ch. 8 - Pink Bows and Nervous Brimstone
The ribbon had been cut, the X-Men security barriers were active, and the new clinic was officially open. The space was beautiful; bright, clean, and smelling faintly of fresh paint and antiseptic, but the atmosphere inside was anything but calm.
You wiped a layer of sweat from your brow, adjusting the stethoscope around your neck as you looked around the bustling triage area. Patients from your old underground circle were already trickling in, looking around the high-tech space with a mix of awe and lingering suspicion. Most of them were just here to case out the place and some were here for genuine check ups.
But it wasn't the influx of patients that was making the hair on your arms stand up. It was Kurt.
He was supposed to be acting as your liaison, greeting people and making them feel welcome. Instead, he was a blue blur of nervous energy. He was uncharacteristically quiet, his yellow eyes constantly scanning the crowds, the windows, the rafters. Every few minutes, he would vanish with a muted BAMF, only to reappear a moment later on the catwalk above or by the back exit, his tail lashing like a cat cornering prey.
When he did stand still next to you, he was entirely too close, positioning his broad shoulders between you and the door, his hand constantly hovering near your lower back. It wasn't his usual affectionate warmth; it was a shield.
"Kurt," you murmured under your breath as he stepped in front of you for the third time to inspect a completely harmless elderly mutant with a bad cough. "You're suffocating me. What is going on with you?"
"Nothing, Liebe," he assured, his voice a little too tight, his eyes darting to the street outside. "I am merely ensuring the perimeter is secure. Dr. McCoy’s new scanning grid is... highly sensitive."
Before you could press him on it, a soft, tearful whimper from a nearby exam table pulled your medical brain right back into focus.
Next patient. A young mutant teenager, no older than fourteen, was sitting on the edge of the paper-covered mattress. His name was Leo, a kid from the docks who you had treated once before for a sprained ankle. Today, he looked terrified, his hands shaking as he clutched an oversized hoodie to his chest.
"Hey, Leo," you greeted gently, stepping away from Kurt and approaching the boy with a warm, calming smile. "It's good to see you again. What's going on today?"
"It... it burns, Doc," Leo whispered, his voice cracking. Slowly, he peeled back the sleeve of his hoodie.
Your breath caught slightly, but you kept your expression perfectly neutral, a seasoned professional. From his wrist all the way up to his shoulder, his skin was covered in a thick, angry, pulsating rash. It wasn't an ordinary allergic reaction; the rash was glowing with a faint, iridescent bioluminescence, shifting in color from a bruised purple to a sickly green. It looked incredibly painful, the skin hot to the touch as you gently rolled up his sleeve further.
"Did you touch anything unusual down by the shipping yards?" you asked, your fingers deftly feeling the lymph nodes in his neck.
"No, I swear," Leo choked out, a tear spilling over. "I just woke up like this. Am I... am I broken, Doc? Is my mutation turning on me?"
"Hey, look at me," you commanded softly, catching his gaze. "You are not broken. It's just an acute dermal flare-up. Mutations can react to stress, hormones, or even a change in the weather. I'm going to give you a localized blocker ointment and a mild sedative to stop the burning, okay? You're safe here."
As you turned to grab the supplies from the cabinet, you saw Kurt standing at the edge of the curtained cubicle. He wasn't looking at the patient. He was looking past the boy, his hand resting flat against the wall as if he could feel vibrations through the brick, his jaw clenched so tightly you could see the muscle ticking.
A heavy wave of concern hit you. You knew Kurt was a protector, but this wasn't just vigilance. He was acting like a man who knew a strike was coming, but didn't know from where.
You quickly prepped the syringe for Leo, your hands steady, but your mind was entirely split between the glowing rash on the boy's arm and the silent storm brewing in your boyfriend.
By late afternoon, the initial rush of the grand opening finally began to taper off. The waiting room emptied, leaving the clinic quiet save for the low, hum of Hank’s newly installed sterilization units. Leo had been sent home with his glowing rash properly managed and a smile on his face, leaving you with a moment to finally breathe.
You peeled off your latex gloves, tossed them into the biohazard bin, and turned your attention squarely to the man who had been acting like a caged tiger for the last eight hours.
Kurt was standing by the large front window, peering through a crack in the blinds. His tail was stiff, straight down, twitching only at the very tip, a dead giveaway that his anxiety was redlining.
"Alright," you cautioned softly, walking over to him. You didn't use your professional doctor voice; you used the quiet, intimate tone reserved just for him. You reached out, placing a hand on his forearm. His muscles were tight as steel cables. "No more patients, Kurt. It's just us. Talk to me."
Kurt flinched slightly at your touch, but as he looked down at you, the fierce, paranoid guard in his yellow eyes crumbled, leaving him looking exhausted. He let out a long, heavy breath, his shoulders finally dropping.
"I am sorry, Liebe," he murmured, rubbing a hand over his face. "I did not mean to make you tense on such an important day, Leibling. You were magnificent with young Leo, by the way."
"Don't deflect," you warned gently, stepping closer into his space so your chest brushed his, placing a hand on his cheek. "You’ve been leaping at shadows since sunrise. You're patrolling the roof, you're screening harmless old men... Kurt, you're acting like we're under siege. Is this about yesterday? About the package?"
Kurt hesitated, looking around the empty clinic before he took both of your hands in his. His grip was tight, almost desperate.
"Ja," he admitted, his voice dropping to a harsh, strained whisper. "It is the bear. It has been sitting in my mind all night."
You furrowed your brow. "Kurt, it was just a weird-looking stuffed animal. I know the anonymous delivery was a little strange, but my patients are paranoid people. They—"
"No, mein Leibe, you must understand how those people think," Kurt interrupted gently, his eyes wide and deadly serious. "I spent weeks with them while you were recovering. They are terrified of the grid. They do not use computers, they do not use credit cards, and they certainly do not use online courier services that track deliveries via GPS. If one of them wanted to thank you, they would have left a box of apples on the doorstep, or had a child slip a note under the door. They would never risk an electronic footprint leading straight to the X-Mansion."
The logic of his words hit you like a physical blow. Oh my God. The medical, practical side of your brain instantly spun up, analyzing the data. He was entirely right. Your patients lived in the deepest shadows specifically to avoid the kind of digital trail that package had left.
"Then... who sent it?" you whispered, a sudden chill creeping down your spine.
"That is what terrifies me," Kurt admitted, his thumb anxiously stroking the back of your hand. "Someone went to great lengths to make a package look like a harmless, eccentric gift from a patient. They knew you were a doctor. They knew you were opening a clinic. And worst of all... they knew exactly where you were staying. They bypassed the mansion's external security just to drop off a toy."
He looked back out the window, his jaw tight. "I do not think it was a gift. I think it was a message. A way for someone to say, 'I see you. I know where you hide.' Until I know who possesses that knowledge, I cannot shake the feeling that the dark we thought we escaped is standing right outside our door."
The weight of Kurt’s words hung heavily in the quiet clinic. The realization that someone had intentionally traced you to the mansion, mimicking the behavior of your underground patients to slip a package past the X-Men's security, made the room feel suddenly very cold.
But before the anxiety could take root, the front door of the clinic chimed, rattling against its frame.
You and Kurt both snapped your attention to the entrance, his tail instantly going rigid. But the moment you saw who walked through the door, the tension vanished from your shoulders.
It was the mother and her little girl from the warehouse—the child you had treated when you collapsed, whose skin had been split open by the brutal, jagged obsidian crystals protruding from her elbows, shoulders, and temples. Back then, they had been a family on the run, terrified and desperate. Today, though still dressed in worn clothes, they walked with their heads a little higher.
"Hey there," you greeted, a warm, genuine smile breaking across your face as you stepped out from behind the desk. "Look who it is."
Kurt’s posture softened instantly, a gentle, welcoming smile replacing his guarded expression. "Ah! Welcome, welcome. Come in out of the chill."
The mother offered a tired but deeply grateful smile, holding her daughter’s hand tightly. "I am so sorry to bother you so late, Doctor. I know it’s your opening day and you must be exhausted. But I saw the lights were still on, and... I was hoping you might have just a few minutes to look at her?"
"Never a bother," you assured her happily, gesturing toward one of the clean, brightly lit exam tables. "Bring her on back."
As the mother lifted the little girl onto the table, you rolled up your sleeves and prepped a clean pair of gloves. You gently approached the child, keeping your movements slow and predictable. As you carefully inspected the dark, shiny obsidian structures on her joints, a wave of profound relief washed over you. The raw inflammation that had worried you weeks ago were gone.
"Well, the news is excellent," you murmured, looking up at the anxious mother. "The crystal growth is definitely slowing down. The skin around the edges has completely healed, and there's absolutely no sign of irritation or inflammation. For now, her body is adapting."
The mother let out a shaky, emotional breath, covering her mouth as tears pricked her eyes. "Thank God. Thank you, Doctor."
While you were recording the notes, the little girl was still tense, her eyes wide as she looked around the high-tech room. Sensing her fear, Kurt stepped into her line of sight. He didn't use a scary BAMF, instead, he caught her eye and gave her a dramatic, slow-motion wink.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a clean roll of medical tape. With a theatrical flourish from his circus days, he began to juggle it alongside a small bottle of antiseptic and a tongue depressor, his movements so fast and fluid they were a blur. The little girl’s mouth popped open in awe. Then, Kurt did a seamless backflip off the concrete floor, catching all three items perfectly in one hand while his tail snatched a stray cotton ball right out of the air.
A bright, melodic giggle burst from the little girl’s chest.
"How did you do that?" she chirped, her fear entirely forgotten. "What's your name?"
Kurt dropped into a playful, low bow, sweeping his hand across the floor. "I am called Nightcrawler, little one. But you may call me Kurt." He tilted his head, his yellow eyes warm. "And what is your name?"
"Zoe," she said proudly, her small face lighting up.
"A beautiful name for a very brave patient," Kurt said softly, resting his hands on his knees so he was at eye level with her, making himself small and unthreatening.
You stood by the counter, the chart resting against your clipboard, completely frozen as you watched them. Your heart swelled, a sudden, overwhelming wave of warmth radiating through your chest.
You looked at Kurt, this blue, demonic-looking man who the rest of the world feared and demonized. You thought about how he had guarded you all day, how his paranoia wasn't born out of selfishness, but out of a desperate, fierce need to keep you safe from the dark. You watched him making a traumatized child laugh, breaking through her walls just to make her feel secure, no matter what.
The thought hit you with the force of a physical blow. It wasn't a gradual realization; it was a sudden, undeniable truth that settled deep into your bones. His protectiveness, his humor, his gentle heart, it was everything you had ever wanted and never thought you deserved. You loved him.
A fierce blush suddenly burned across your cheeks, your throat going completely dry. You felt incredibly flustered, your fingers tightening around the clipboard as you quickly looked down at the paperwork, praying neither Kurt nor Zoe's mother noticed the sudden color in your face. You bit your lip, keeping the words locked tightly behind your teeth. It was too soon, and the clinic was too full, but the truth was officially out in the open…at least, inside your own heart.
The shift from your racing, hyper-aware heart to the practical reality of discharging a patient was almost dizzying.
"Alright, Zoe," you piped up, your voice a little breathy as you fought down the blush creeping up your neck. "You're all set to go. Just make sure your mom helps you put that ointment on twice a day."
Zoe hopped down from the table, her dark obsidian crystals catching the clinic's overhead lights. She didn't look scared anymore. Instead, she marched right up to Kurt, holding her small hand up high. "Bye, Kurt!"
Kurt’s face lit up with a brilliant, fanged smile. He leaned down and gave her an enthusiastic, perfectly aimed high-five. "Goodbye, brave Zoe. Take care of your mother."
With a final, frantic wave from the little girl, the door chimed, and the two of them stepped out into the twilight, leaving the clinic entirely peaceful.
You turned to Kurt, the words I love you heavy and terrifying on the tip of your tongue. You opened your mouth, but before you could speak, the front doors burst open again.
"Alright, clear the track, we're bringin' the goods!"
Rogue marched in, carrying two massive, foil-covered trays that smelled intensely of garlic and roasted potatoes. Behind her came Storm, gracefully balancing a stack of plates, followed by Jean and Logan—the latter looking thoroughly annoyed to be carrying a cooler full of drinks, though his eyes softened the moment he looked around the clean space.
"We figured you two would try to survive on medical-grade alcohol and cotton balls if we didn't bring you dinner," Logan grunted, setting the cooler down on the reception floor with a heavy thud.
"We are so incredibly proud of you!" Storm gushed warmly as she gave you a tight side-hug, her voice like a soothing breeze. "A true sanctuary, built from the ashes."
You looked at Kurt, the shared weight of the creepy teddy bear package still lingering between you. With a subtle, silent nod, the two of you mutually agreed to shelf the mystery for tonight. You had friends here. You had a family. The threat could wait until tomorrow.
"Thank you, guys," you hummed, feeling a genuine wave of relief. "Seriously. Let's head into the break room."
The small staff kitchen was quickly filled with the chaotic, loud warmth of the X-Men. Plates were passed, Logan complained about the lack of beer, and Rogue enthusiastically recounted how you had grabbed her gloved hands in the garden, earning a round of proud smiles from Jean and Storm. Sitting next to Kurt, his tail lightly brushing against your calf under the table, you felt safer than you ever had in your life.
Then, a sharp, distinct knock-knock-knock rattled the front glass door of the clinic.
The laughter at the table died instantly.
"I'll get it," you said, pushing your chair back. "Probably another late-night patient who saw the lights."
"I will come with you," Kurt offered, his fork pausing halfway to his mouth.
"No, sit, eat," you smiled, trying to shrug off the sudden spike of adrenaline. "I'm a doctor, remember? I can handle a front door."
You walked out of the break room and through the darkened triage area. The street outside was quiet, the lamps casting long shadows across the pavement. You unlocked the heavy deadbolt and pulled the door open, looking left and right.
The sidewalk was completely empty. No patients. No pedestrians.
Your stomach dropped. Slowly, your gaze drifted downward.
Resting right on the welcome mat was a medium-sized box. Unlike the plain cardboard from yesterday, this one was meticulously wrapped in bright, vibrant floral wrapping paper, topped with a pristine, perfectly tied pink silk bow. It looked cheerful. It looked celebratory.
It looked entirely malicious.
A cold, paralyzing wave of terror washed over you. The air left your lungs in a sharp gasp. This wasn't a coincidence. This wasn't a patient. Someone was actively watching the clinic.
"Kurt!" you shouted, your voice cracking with a raw, panicked urgency that echoed off the concrete walls. "Kurt, come here! Fast!"
The response was instantaneous. A violent BAMF sounded right beside you, a cloud of brimstone smoke clearing to reveal Kurt, his eyes wide and wild, his tail raised like a scorpion's stinger. You lunged your shaking body into his and his arms wrapped around you instantly. A second later, the heavy thud of combat boots echoed as Logan, Rogue, Jean, and Storm sprinted out of the break room, their faces grim and alert.
"What is it? What happened?" Kurt demanded, his hands instantly flying to your shoulders, checking you for wounds.
You couldn't speak. You just pointed a shaking finger down at the floral box on the mat before burying your face into his chest once again.
Logan pushed past you, his nostrils flaring as he took a deep, heavy sniff of the air around the package. He let out a low, predatory growl. "Just a fancy box, kid. No gunpowder, no biologicals on the outside. What’s the big deal? You look like you’ve seen a ghost."
"It is a very big deal," Kurt said, his voice dropping into a dark, lethal register as he stepped between you and the door. He looked back at his teammates, his yellow eyes burning. "Yesterday... a package arrived at the mansion. An anonymous delivery courier. Inside was a toy doctor, signed with a note congratulating her."
Jean’s hand flew to her mouth, her psychic senses instantly flaring. "Kurt... you said you thought it was a patient."
"I lied to keep her calm," Kurt confessed, his grip tightening on you. "Our underground patients do not use digital footprints. They do not use online couriers. Someone bypassed the mansion’s security grid to leave that bear. And now... less than twenty-four hours later, on the exact day of the grand opening, this appears on our doorstep."
Logan’s claws didn't unsheath, but his entire posture went rigid, his eyes locking onto the dark street outside. Rogue stepped up beside you, her jaw set, while Storm’s eyes flashed a dangerous, electric blue.
The cheerful pink bow on the box suddenly looked like a threat.
The look he gives you when you tell him he looks hungry
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