No Questions Asked
A/N: I have now added a tag list for this story so if ya'll want to be tagged in the next and future chapters, please comment on this post here. If you like the post but don't comment, I apologise but I won't add you to the tag list. I am big on consent so please give me consent to tag you in future chapters for this story <3 If you don't want to comment but still want to be added to the tag list that's totally okay, you can PM me privately and give me consent that way. I appreciate all of you who have read this far ^-^ I'm having so much fun writing this. Anyway, thank you to @dezzydynamite once again for being my beta reader and helping me edit this and for the biggest brainstorm I have had for a long time! Please enjoy!
Pairing: Kurt Wagner X fem!reader / Nightcrawler X fem!reader
Summery: It has been a month; things are moving along wonderfully! The clinic is going to open soon, and love is in the air! But...something isn't right...
TW: Implied creepy behaviour from a stranger
Taglist: @sagebrush-and-sadness, @mary-moongood, @missryunosukechiba, @nagi3seastorm, @eggygirl501
Word Count: 2,653
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6
Ch. 7 - Lilies and Static
The X-Mansion was a chaotic symphony of clanging copper pots, raised voices, and the heavy, savory aroma of roasting meats drifting through the vents. Tomorrow marked the grand opening of the new clinic, a milestone of such magnitude that the mansion had collectively decided it required a feast. Jean and Storm were not taking no for an answer, and Hank had practically authorized it as a medical necessity, boasting that "such monumental civic accomplishments must be properly toasted!" Though everyone knew he just wanted an excuse for a second helping of cobbler. The excited shouting echoed down the grand hallways, bleeding through the floorboards.
You, however, had escaped the madness of the kitchens.
You were sitting on a weathered stone bench in the quiet heart of the labyrinthine gardens, where the scent of damp earth softened the sharp autumn air and the low afternoon sun painted everything in a warm, amber glow.
Kurt sat beside you, his three-fingered hand interlaced firmly with yours. His indigo fur felt warm, the texture unique against your palm. It had been a month since that sunset kiss on the roof. A month of stolen glances across a crowded dinner table, secret midnight make-out sessions in the dark, dust-scented corners of the library, and spontaneous dates to quiet, hidden spots around the world that Kurt could reach with a single, Brimstone-scented BAMF.
Just two days ago, sitting on this exact bench, you had both looked at each other and decided it was time to stop hiding. You were official.
A sudden, breathless snort escaped you, a smile breaking across your face as the memory resurfaced.
"What is making you laugh, Liebe?" Kurt asked. His yellow eyes crinkled at the corners, glowing with affection as he nudged your shoulder with his, the fuzzy tip of his tail twitching in curiosity.
"I’m just thinking about the last team meeting," you admitted, shaking your head against the sunlight. "We really thought we were being MI6 covert-ops levels of subtle, didn't we?"
Kurt let out a dramatic, theatrical sigh, his pointed ears pinning back as his tail drooped against the stone bench. "Ah, do not remind me. I had prepared a whole speech. I was going to eloquently declare my intentions to protect your honor to the entire team."
"And instead, Logan didn't even look up from his newspaper," you laughed, mimicking a gruff, gravelly tone that failed miserably but made Kurt grin anyway. "He just grunted and said, 'Took you long enough, Elf. The kid's been smelling like your cheap cologne for three weeks.'"
"And Jean!" Kurt added, his ears perking up playfully. "She didn't even blink. She merely smiled and said she was glad she could finally stop actively blocking out our... enthusiastic thoughts from the east wing."
A sudden wave of heat rushed to your cheeks, and you buried your face against Kurt’s velvet-soft shoulder to hide the blush. It was a beautiful, comforting feeling—knowing that the surrogate family he loved so fiercely had accepted you into their ranks without a second thought. But as your mind drifted back to tomorrow's grand opening, a small, cold knot of anxiety tightened in your stomach.
You sat up, your fingers tightening around his rough hand. "Kurt... are you sure Rogue is going to be okay with me being here? With us?"
Kurt’s playful expression softened, the easy banter melting into a look of deep, quiet understanding. He knew exactly why the nerves were clawing at you. After Genosha—after the devastating loss of Remy—Rogue had been completely shattered. Her grief had been a living, breathing monster in these halls, and she had ultimately chosen to flee the mansion, traveling the world to piece her broken spirit back together in isolation. Today was her first official day back.
"You are worried she will look at our happiness and feel the crushing weight of what she lost," Kurt concluded gently. He released your hand only to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing your cheekbone.
"I just don't want to intrude," you admitted softly, your voice dropping. "She’s your sister. She’s been through hell. It must have been so hard for you, not having her here these past months."
Kurt looked away for a split second, a distinctly sheepish, guilty grin pulling at his fangs. He reached up to rub the back of his neck, his tail curling into a nervous question mark. "Well... technically, yes. But... practically? Not as hard as it should have been."
You blinked, utterly confused. "What do you mean?"
"Rogue wanted space from the X-Men," Kurt explained, leaning in until his voice was a conspiratorial whisper. "But she did not want space from me. Every other week, I would receive a postcard or a scrambled text message with a set of coordinates. A quiet beach in Greece, a misty mountaintop in Tibet, a small, rain-slicked cafe in Paris..."
Your jaw dropped slightly as the pieces clicked together. "Kurt. Did you cheat her isolation?"
"I did not cheat it! I merely accommodated it," he defended himself, a bright, roguish laugh bubbling in his throat. "She would tell me where she was, and I would BAMF right to her. We would eat pastries, she would vent her anger to the sky, and then I would bring her a fresh change of clothes from her closet at the mansion."
You stared at him for a beat, completely breathless, before a laugh tore out of your chest. You squeezed his hand, looking at him with a mix of awe and profound affection. "Your powers are completely extraordinary, you know that? You use God-tier, space-bending teleportation to act as an international delivery service for your sister."
"A brother’s duty never ends," Kurt affirmed proudly, puffing out his chest before leaning in to press a soft, lingering kiss to your temple. "But to answer your question: Rogue knows all about you. I have told her everything during our little rendezvous. She is not angry, Liebling. She is incredibly grateful to the doctor who healed her brother’s body... and his heart."
Kurt shifted closer, his hand resting at the small of your back while his other hand gently turned your face. The heavy topic dissolved as he pressed a soft kiss just behind your ear, whispering against your skin, “Danke, for wearing the perfume I got you, mein Schatz.”
The warmth of his breath sent a pleasant shiver down your spine. He kept murmuring sweet, ridiculous things—a comforting blur of German and English—that had you burying your face in his chest, laughing softly against the steady beat of his heart.
"Kurt!"
The sharp, unmistakable Southern drawl cut through the quiet air of the garden like a knife.
You both looked up to see a woman walking down the stone path toward you. Rogue looked casual, almost ordinary, in a simple green long-sleeved shirt and dark jeans, but the stark white streaks in her hair shifted like smoke in the breeze.
Kurt didn't hesitate. With a joyful exclamation, he was on his feet, the grass crunching beneath his feet as he sprinted across the lawn. Rogue matched his speed, and the two of them collided in a fierce, crushing hug. She lifted him slightly off the ground, a sound escaping her that held a tinge of wet, tearful relief, while his tail wrapped happily around her waist. It was the embrace of two survivors who had dragged each other out of a nightmare, and watching them, the knot of nervousness in your stomach tightened a fraction more.
When they finally broke apart, Kurt kept a protective arm slung over her shoulder, guiding her back toward the stone bench where you stood.
"Rogue, this is mein Freundin," Kurt said, his voice practically vibrating with pride. "Liebe, my sister."
Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic rhythm, but you drew on years of clinical professionalism to steady your posture. You stepped forward and held out your hand, offering a warm, genuine smile. "It's so wonderful to finally meet you, Rogue. Kurt has told me so much about you. I'm the doctor."
Rogue stopped dead in her tracks. Her green eyes dropped to your outstretched, bare hand.
The silence stretched, turning heavy and brittle. It was painfully awkward. You kept your hand extended, your skin tingling in the cool autumn air, while Rogue simply stared at it as if you were holding a live grenade.
"I don't do handshakes, sugar," Rogue said softly, a defensive, protective edge cutting into her drawl. She raised her own hands, flexing her thick black gloves. "See these? They aren't a fashion statement. If my bare skin touches yours, I don't just feel it. I take your memories, your strength... your life. If I hold on too long, I can put you in a coma. Permanent-like."
She looked up, her green eyes locking onto yours with an intense, unblinking scrutiny. She was testing you—perhaps trying to scare you away, or perhaps just terrified of hurting someone new.
You didn't blink. As a physician, you had looked down the throats of monsters and patched up mutants with volatile, dangerous biological weapons built right into their skin. To you, a power wasn't a curse; it was just physiology. It was a symptom, a trait, a part of the anatomy.
Without a hint of hesitation, you closed the distance between you. Instead of pulling your hand back, you reached out with both hands and firmly clasped Rogue’s gloved hands in your own.
You squeezed them, solid and warm.
"Good thing you're wearing gloves then," you remarked softly, your voice steady and entirely devoid of fear. "But I'm a doctor, Rogue. I know a thing or two about taking precautions. I'm not afraid of you."
Rogue’s eyes widened, a rare flash of vulnerability crossing her face. For a split second, she looked down at where your hands were firmly anchoring hers, the rigid tension in her shoulders visibly melting away. A small, bittersweet smile tugged at the corner of her lips.
"Well," Rogue murmured, her drawl softening into something genuinely warm. "Kurt wasn't lying. You really do have some backbone, Doc."
Beside her, Kurt let out a long breath he seemed to have been holding since she walked up, his yellow eyes shining with absolute adoration as he looked between the two of them.
The tension vanished as quickly as it had arrived, replaced by the easy, comfortable rhythm of a shared afternoon. For the next hour, the three of you sat on the stone bench, the autumn sun dipping lower, casting long shadows as Rogue opened up about her months away. She talked about the places she had traveled to clear her head, her face lighting up as she described the bustling, neon-lit streets of Seoul and the quiet, mist-shrouded forests of Germany.
"I'm tellin' y'all, the cafes in Hongdae are somethin' else," Rogue was saying, gesturing excitedly with her gloved hands. "You can sit there for hours just watchin' the world go by, and nobody asks you who you are or what you can do. It was exactly what I—"
A polite, soft clearing of a throat behind you cut her off.
You turned to see Jean Grey standing on the cobblestone path. She wore a warm, gentle smile, but her posture was slightly guarded, her eyes darting down to the items in her arms: a medium-sized cardboard box and a remarkably vibrant bouquet of white lilies.
"Sorry to interrupt," Jean hesitated, stepping forward and handing the box and the heavy flowers over to you. "A delivery courier just dropped these off at the front gate for you, Doc."
You blinked in surprise, balancing the heavy box on your lap while the thick, almost overpowering fragrance of the lilies hit your nose. "For me? I didn't think anyone knew I was here yet."
"They shouldn't," Jean noted, her brow furrowing just a fraction, a shadow crossing her features. "I did a quick scan of the delivery driver’s mind before he left the property. The package was placed through an anonymous online courier service. The driver didn't know anything; he was just given a GPS pickup location and your name."
A slight chill rippled down your spine, a faint prickle of unease at the anonymity. But you quickly shook it off, seeking a logical explanation. "It’s probably just one of my underground patients. They're the only ones who know I've been staying at the mansion while the clinic was being renovated. Word travels fast in the community."
"Open it, sugar," Rogue urged, leaning over with genuine curiosity, the white streaks of her hair brushing your shoulder. "Let's see what they got you."
You set the lilies on the bench and tore the packing tape off the box. Pulling back the stiff cardboard flaps, you reached inside and hauled out a white plush teddy bear. It was dressed in a tiny, cartoonish doctor’s coat, complete with a miniature fabric stethoscope around its neck and an oversized, comical plastic needle tucked under its arm.
Deep inside the box, a small, handwritten note fluttered to the bottom. You picked it up and read the neat, block lettering aloud:
Congrats on the clinic!
Rogue squinted at the stuffed animal, her nose crinkling in distaste. "Well... it's a sweet thought, I suppose. But is it just me, or does that bear look a little... off? The eyes are crooked, and that plastic needle looks like somethin' outta bad cartoon."
You chuckled, rubbing a finger over the slightly mismatched button eyes of the bear. "Yeah, it's a little weird-looking. But honestly, it's exactly the kind of eccentric thing my patients would track down. It's sweet."
Kurt smiled, though his yellow eyes lingered on the box for a beat longer than necessary, his tail going perfectly still. He stood up, offering his hands. "Let me take those inside for you, Liebe. You should not have to carry a payload of lilies and, uh, strange bears into the dining hall. I will leave them on a desk in the library for safekeeping while we enjoy the feast."
"Thank you, Kurt," you smiled gratefully, handing him the box and the bouquet.
With a polite nod to the group and a soft forehead kiss for you, Kurt turned and headed back toward the mansion's main entrance, his heavy, distinctive footsteps fading down the path as you, Rogue, and Jean began to discuss the dinner preparations.
Kurt walked through the grand, wood-paneled hallways of the mansion, the heavy, almost suffocating scent of the lilies filling the air. He pushed open the double doors of the quiet library and set the bouquet down next to a bronze vase. He carefully placed the white teddy bear in the exact center of the dark oak desk.
Kurt stood back, his hands resting on his hips as he looked down at the toy.
The library was dead silent, save for the distant, muffled laughter from the kitchen. Kurt’s tail flicked nervously behind him, a sharp thwack against his pant leg. He couldn't shake it—a sudden, cold prickle of unease scratching at the back of his neck. There was something deeply unsettling about the anonymous delivery, the strange, distorted face of the bear, and the vague, nameless signature on the note.
Your underground patients loved you, yes. But Kurt knew them. They were fiercely protective, poverty-stricken people, most of whom faced enough discrimination and hunting to make them deeply paranoid. They avoided technology and online delivery services at all costs. If they wanted to give a gift, they would have brought it by hand, wrapped in old newspaper, left in a dark alleyway. They wouldn't use an untraceable online courier.
Kurt stared at the bear's crooked button eyes, glinting lifelessly under the library chandeliers. An eerie, heavy feeling settled deep in his chest, a cold static humming in his ears, warning him that whoever, or whatever, had sent this package... it wasn't a friend.
I need this man to split me open like a Papaya
Anyway, I suck at writing accents especially Southern accents so I hope I at least did it some justice T,T
