| 06) Kurt - Second Chances Kurt whistled as he worked. His suit sleeves were shoved up to his elbows while he sorted through the recyclables. Brown glass went in the left bin, green to the right, clear in the middle. He was off the main pile for now, until the boots Joe ordered for him came in. He'd sliced his heel open yesterday, and the boss figured his doing the job barefoot wasn't a good idea. He finished the glass and went to the paper bundler. Stuffing the paper and cardboard products into the machine's maw, he turned it on as Joe came up to him. "So, Blue, whatcha so happy about? Something to do with that party you had?" "Ja. I met a girl, a cute one. She's nice." "That's good. If you were mooning over a cute boy, I'd start to get worried about you, ya know?" Yellow eyes turned to him. "That's not very funny, Joe." But he smiled as he said it. "You two had a good time?" "We went to my rooms and danced." Kurt closed his eyes, remembering. "You dirty dog! Takin' a girl to your rooms..." Joe shook his hand as if cooling it. "It wasn't like that! We just danced! With music from the record player I fixed." "Uh huh, right. Danced." Kurt glared at him, and Joe laughed. "Kidding!" Kurt went on to his next task, but he felt Joe's eyes following him for some reason. *** Combs watched him as he came in, his stance on the balls of his feet adding a few inches to his height. His left heel was lightly bandaged, but hurt enough that he employed a little used skill in order to get around. Truthfully it was as easy for him to walk like this as it was flat footed, but he'd learned while young that he looked more 'normal' when he kept his heels on the ground like everyone else. "Doc says no fighting for you today. How long can you stay up like that?" "As long as I have to." There were several technicians by the table, along with some unfamiliar gear. He looked away. Curiosity wasn't encouraged in a Hound. "Let's start with some weight training." He threw Kurt a big bag. He caught it, his heel dipping low but not touching the ground. "Port that across and back three times, as quickly as you can." Kurt nodded and crossed the room and back in quick succession. Bamf. Bamf. He took a single cleansing breath, and repeated the exercise. Bamf... Bamf... He closed his eyes and bit his lip and ported across again. He was starting to feel faint, but he marked a point by Combs and returned. He dropped the bag beside him and leaned down on his knees, not quite panting. "Six ports of 120 pounds in less than a minute. Not bad. Okay...go over to the techs and do what they say for the rest of the session. When they're done with you, go shower, you'll need it." "Yes, sir." Kurt walked over to them. They put him in a chair, and he was glad of the rest. Taking tape measures, they performed a detailed set of measurements on his hands and feet, all the way up to the elbows and knees. When they finished, they had his strip to his boxers. They gave him a tub of thick grease, and told him to work it thoroughly into his fur on his lower legs and lower arms. They put a waterproof covering over his bandage, and covered his hands and feet with the grease as well. Putting his feet in shallow tubs, they put thin strips of felt down the front and back of the greased areas. Then they covered both legs from the knee down with wet plaster, like they were in casts. His arms were put in basins, and they got the same treatment. They techs never spoke to him, just at him. With "Give me your hand," and "Don't move," being typical comments. He had to sit there until the plaster dried. When it cured, they carefully parted it at the felt seams, and packed the molds away. He was told he could go clean up without a word of explanation given. *** At the middle of the month, Kurt was given a set of work gloves and boots. He'd doubted they could make boots for him, but they had. The footwear had a wide open back, and a hinged heel connected at the sole. He stepped into it, stretching his rear toe a little uncomfortably until his foot was planted. Then he tucked the extra toe into the heel-piece and used the heavy straps to mate the heel to the rest of the boot. The last step was the steel rod built into the sole. When he shoved it home into the socket in the raised heel, the boot was as sturdy as Joe's. It meant he had to go back to the main trash pile again, but he didn't mind with his new protection. He had new gear in his training, too. The boots were more flexible than the ones he wore at work, because they lacked the steel rod that prevented him from curling his feet. Combs put him through acrobatic and gymnastic series to make sure they didn't hinder his movements in anyway. The gloves were heavier than those at work, and looked like they came from one of his beloved Errol Flynn movies. They bore rounded steel studs over the back of his hands, for fighting with. They started him punching at boards with them to toughen up his fists. The way the boards splintered and cracked as he drove the studs in was a frightening sight. *** The Friday of the Social, Joe gave him a small box at the end of his shift. "Take that home, and see if you can use anything. It's just stuff I don't need, and it's no big deal, 'kay?" Kurt opened it on his table, and nearly wept. There were matches, a half dozen candles, and a third of a bottle of Old Spice. 'No big deal' indeed. Joe was pushing the line with this, but Kurt wouldn't tell anyone. He put the matches on the bar, and spread the unlit candles around his main room. He took the cologne to the bathroom, to use after dinner. Right now he needed to clean up the smell of garbage, so he could eat lunch and go to his trainers. Agent Brestin wore a padded suit when they sparred now, and Kurt was sure the man carried bruises from the gloves, despite his protection. His porting weight was up to 130 pounds, and steadily increasing. There was a tension in his trainers, as if all their work was leading up to something, and soon. He finished the day's activities, and was called to the table. Combs looked up at him from where he sat recording the session results. "You going to the Social, Hound?" "Yes, sir. I was planning on it." Kurt didn't want to meet his eyes. "Good. This isolation of yours could have... worrisome effects on your stability. It wouldn't look good for my record if I let you snap. Go hit the showers." Kurt walked away, wondering what brought that on. Combs concern was so NOT touching. If Kurt lost his mind, it would be a black mark on his service? Well, boo hoo sir, he thought. I'm more worried about my staying sane in this hellhole, thank you. Especially now I have someone to stay sane for... *** Kurt arrived at the Social early. He wall walked high up to a dark corner and was still, blending into the shadows. He wondered if Kitty would be there. He hoped so, because she was the only reason he was here. When others neared him, he hooded his eyes, looking down at them through his lashes until they moved away, never aware he was there. Karla hooked up with someone as soon as she arrived. He smiled slightly, still grateful to her for the introduction. Brad walked in later, and seemed to be having trouble finding a dance partner. He didn't feel sorry for the man, Kurt knew that he wouldn't leave tonight without some form of comfort, but the sight of his current frustration was amusing. A slender figure moved with slow steps to the entryway. It was her! He somersaulted off the wall, landing in an open spot among the dancers. Curses and startled looks were the acknowledgement of his sudden appearance, but he didn't care. He moved through the crowd, heading straight for her. Just as she spotted him, Brad stepped between them. "Not so fast, fuzzy. You monopolized the girl last time." He took Kitty's arm and petted her. "How about you stick with a real man, baby? I'll show you a real good time." Kurt's fangs flashed in a silent snarl... that faded as she spoke. "Get. Your hands. Off me." Her tone was flat and expressionless, but it was the dark chill in her eyes that Kurt noticed. Gott, what had happened to her? Brad purred condescendingly, "Aw, how cute..." She grabbed his little finger. "Hey! Ow... Ow! Stop it!" She pulled it sharply in a direction Mother Nature never intended. He tried to pull away from her, and she kicked his knee out from under him, and stepped away before he could fall. "Katzchen?" Kurt said, and she looked at him, her eyes wide and empty. Gradually focus returned and she nodded to him. "Let's just go," her tone was subdued. Something was very wrong. All the warmth and humor that had filled her was nowhere to be found. They checked out with the guard and left for his rooms. Before they got into the elevator he stopped her, putting his hands on the wall at either side of her face. "What is wrong, Katzchen? How can I help?" She frowned at him slightly. "I... don't want to talk about it here. Let's... just... get there. Please?" This last was said as a whisper, with her eyes closed. "Alright. But we need to talk, I can see that." "Fine! I mean... I know, Kurt. I know." She blinked and turned back to him, a flicker returning to her eyes. "Is that... cologne?" "Ja, Old Spice. I think it smells nice." She sniffed at him. "Mm. It does." She sighed. "Can we get out of this hallway?" "Of course, Fraulein. Right this way..." He linked his arm with hers, and led her to his quarters. When he opened the door for her, she didn't hesitate at all. She walked to his couch, and slumped in the corner. He followed her into the main room. "Are you hungry?" She shook her head. "Thirsty?" "I wouldn't mind some juice," she said, staring off. "Juice coming right up." He put the glasses on the spool and walked around lighting the candles, seeing how the flames drew her gaze. He turned down the lights and put on a soft classical record. When he was done, he sat on the middle of the couch, facing her. "Something happened to you." He didn't make it a question. "Yeah." Her voice was flat again, and she wouldn't look at him. "This last month they gave me knives. Lots of them. Shurikens, throwing knives, and daggers. They're all over my fighting gear. They've been teaching me to use them. On targets and things." He nodded. "This month they gave me studded gloves for fighting." The look she gave him, of irritation and pure envy, stopped him from saying more. "Please liebchen, go on." She nodded. "My trainers had been talking about my motivation. They said I wasn't taking the training seriously enough. That it was just a game to me. Well, he found a way to motivate me." She had a pillow gripped in her hands, and she was twisting it. "They sent in a mutant worker. Ox. Big guy. Two foot bigger than you in every dimension. They told him he could 'play' with me and he was... ready and eager to. But the lights... they put a green light on him, and that meant I should fight him, and all I had were my knives..." "Oh, Katzchen..." She kept twisting the pillow, and kept talking at one of the candles. "I was scared out of my mind. I ran, but it didn't help, so I started to fight. The little blades did nothing. The middle ones hurt him a little, but not enough. So... I got in close... and I stabbed him, deep." She covered her face with the pillow. "Oh, Kurt, the blood. It was everywhere. He just got angrier. Wanted to kill me... and do the other. So I stabbed him in the back, and buried it to the hilt." He tried to picture Kitty doing these things, and was having trouble with it. Then he remembered the way she'd been with Brad... "More blood. He hit me, and I thought I was dead, or worse. But he didn't... turned out the jump and the knives had gotten to him. I ran over... Kurt, I kicked him when he was down, right on his wounds. A seam on the pillow gave out, stuffing oozing from it. She stared at it, horrified, and he pulled it from her slack grip and dropped it to the floor. He took her hands in his, and she clutched them as if they were her only lifeline. "You were defending yourself, liebchen. He would have hurt you badly if you didn't stop him. You did what you had to do." A tortured grimace came over her face. He could see the hollows on her cheeks and the dark circles under her eyes. The stress she'd been living under must have been tremendous. "But that's... not... all." She was forcing herself to speak. "When he was helpless, unable to fight back... I... tried to kill him. I wanted to kill him. They had to order me to stop, and drag me away from him. And the blood... so much blood..." He freed his hands from hers and reached to embracer her. She flinched away from him. "No. I... don't deserve it. I just came here so I could explain to you..." He leaned back a little, regarding her face in the candlelight. "Katzchen. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. This place... It's like a meat grinder. It chews us up, out of all resemblance to ourselves. They grab a hold of us, and twist us with unending, unrelenting pressure." He picked up the split pillow from the floor with his tail. "The unlucky ones become like this... they can't take the pressure, and they break. If they break, they are killed. The rest of us bend, adapting to the insanity of it all. It's the only way to survive here." He dropped the pillow. "They push us to our limits, five hours a day, five days a week, and that's on top of 40 hours of work. We don't choose the direction they push us in. We can only bend... or break. You didn't break." He sighed. "Let me tell you Katzchen... last month, when you started laughing, there are the first?" She nodded numbly, her eyes shining as she listened. "I thought you were laughing at me. I was already upset I'd been made to come there, and your reaction to me... hurt me more than I can say. I got angry, very angry. And afterwards, I couldn't tell where the anger hand come from... except this place does things to us. It puts things inside us, things that we wouldn't ordinarily have. It wasn't you tried to kill him, it was what this place has made of you. You can either accept that person, and try to master the dark impulses, or you will surely break." She turned her head away, and a tear trickled down her cheek. He reached for her again, and she hesitated. Then she surged into his embrace with desperate need. He was nearly over balanced, so he scooted them both back until he was braced in the other corner, and she could lean on him all she liked. Apparently, she liked. She clutched at his suit, and cried on it, sniffling and sobbing like a child, while he stroked her back and her hair. He caught her rubbing her runny nose on her sleeve and offered her the handkerchief from his pocket. She blew her nose, and then sat up a little. She reached for his zipper, and he blinked, surprised, but letting her open the suit to his waist. Her face was red and blotchy as she crooked her fingers on his chest, scraping gently into the soft fur. He shrugged off the sleeves of the suit, and pulled her back to him again, this time onto the velvet of his fur. He let her cry until she had no more tears left. She lay on his chest with her eyes closed, free from guilt for the first time in days. He put an arm around her, and with the other he stroked her, changing from the right hand to the left and back again, but always keeping her within his embrace. He worked his blunt fingers through her hair to her scalp. He massaged her, working down to her neck and shoulders. She shuddered and gasped when his patient hands loosened her knotted and painful muscles. He noticed that despite their closeness, he was only slightly aroused. He was far more concerned about helping her than he was aware of her soft body at the moment. He wished he could protect her from the horrors of this place, but he knew he couldn't even save himself. He massaged her arms, taking her hands from where they were draped around his waist, and massaged them too. When he finished everywhere he could reach, her breathing and heart rate were slow and even. She gave a deep sigh into his collarbone, and flexed her fingers idly in the fur of his side, tickling him. He snorted and jerked upright. She straightened up and snapped her eyes open, her breath coming fast, instantly tense. "Easy, Katzchen." He smiled and kissed her forehead. "It's alright, you just tickled me." Using both hands, he worked on her neck, shoulders, and arms again, helping to her relax once more. "Didn't mean to," she mumbled. He leaned her back on the couch, and extricated his legs from hers, standing. Dark eyes looked up at him, lost and bereft. "I know you didn't, liebchen. I'll be right back." He went to the record player, and started selecting music. "Nothing... fast, please," she said, her eyes following him closely. "My thoughts exactly." He flashed her a grin and surprised a small smile from her. The music began playing, and he reached down and wrapped his bare arms around her waist, pulling her to her feet. He held her and pushed the spool out of the way with a foot, using his table to keep the glasses upright. They leaned into each other as if the month intervening never happened, melted together and moving in harmony. The feeling of this closeness had haunted his dreams, along with her sparkling eyes and easy smile. The closeness was there again, but it felt different this time. She felt fragile in his arms, as delicate as spun glass. He fought with a fierce desire to never let her go. Instead he willed his strength to flow into her, wanting, and needing her to recover from this, and heal. Greatly daring, he lowered his head and pressed his lips to hers. Time stopped. For an endless moment, he luxuriated in the tingling fire evoked in the chaste kiss. Then he pulled back and looked into her eyes, feeling his own pulse pounding. Her eyes were wide with astonishment, and she brought a shaky hand up to touch her lips. "Ah... you looked like you could use that..." he said. She put her hands on his neck and drew his lips to hers again. The fire was even hotter this time, and he didn't think he could bear the flames if he opened his mouth to her. The kiss ended and she leaned into his neck again. A change crept over her, a gradual confidence returning to her carriage and movements. "God, Kurt. Oh, thank you," she whispered against him. "You brought me back. I was lost and drifting, but you brought me back." She squeezed her arms around him hard, and he hugged her back just as fervently. They kept moving, and now he found himself weeping, quiet tears falling onto her face. She looked up at him, concerned. "I was so worried about you, Katzchen... If you didn't find yourself... They..." "They would kill me. I know, but I couldn't bring myself to care." "I would care. And Katzchen... I would miss you, very much." He bent to nuzzle his face in against her soft neck, rubbing his face there. "Hey! Kurt, your fur tickles!" She pushed on his shoulder, her face lit in a weak smile. He beamed at her in return. "Well, you seem to like it. I wanted to see what it was like." He gave an eloquent little shrug. "Well?" She stopped the pretense of dancing, standing with her hands on her hips. He bent down, slowly, rubbing his cheek across hers, then down over her chin, and into the crook of her neck. He rubbed his nose against her and breathed in deeply. He kissed her neck, and she gasped, as his tongued tasted the pale skin. He raised his face again, considering. Running his tongue over his lips, he said, "Salty," he smiled, "...and intoxicating." She blushed deeply. "Well, duh! I've been crying a river on you. Look at your poor chest fur." Her fingers tried to loosen the matting caused by her tears. He caught her hands. "I'll brush it out later. Right now, I don't want to waste a moment with you." She put her arms around him again, and leaned her forehead to his. "Thank you, for all of it. I needed that," she whispered against his mouth. "It was my pleasure, Katzchen." Chapter Seven Back to Fanfics Back to Series Index Back to Main Page |