Disclaimer: I do not own the X-Men. Please don't sue me or steal my story!

NOTE: I started working on this story in high school, back when there was a super awesome comic book store at the mall that carried tons of classic back issues and didn't mind if I sat in a corner for a few hours pouring through them after school. It's something of a mini-series to be posted in multiple parts, following Nightcrawler's history from shortly after his abandonment by Mystique to the day he joined the X-Men. I hope you enjoy it! :D

NOTE II: Woodhead and Sabu are from the comics, but Bethica, Big Jake, Radulfus and Gottfried are my original made-up characters. The comics named an Eric Wagner, possibly a German count, as Nightcrawler's father before the whole Draco thing, but Mystique's a professional liar who alters stories as often as she alters her shape, so in this story I focused on Kurt's rescue and left his origins vague.

Small Steps, Great Leaps
Part One
By Rowena Zahnrei

Eric Wagner had been feeling poorly for the last three miles. What had he been trying to prove, undertaking a hike like this? He was sixty-three years old and he knew he was far from in the best of shape. He had been a fool to let his twenty-four year old wife talk him into this so-called vacation. He was a highly successful accountant, he had a wonderful home in Milan-what did he need to climb the Alps for? Felicita was probably already at the inn by now with their guide, wondering what had become of him.

Eric came to a stop and leaned his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. He winced as another shooting pain lanced through his left arm. His chest was aching. He had definitely overexerted himself on this one. What he needed was a long, hot shower and a nice, soft bed.

Eric lifted his head as the pain began to dissipate. Somewhere nearby he could hear the sound of rushing water. Remembering that the inn was next to a river, Eric headed for the sound, rubbing his arm and muttering to himself. He would have some choice words for Felicita and that guide of theirs when he got to the inn. What had they been thinking, going off ahead and leaving him behind like that? How did they know he wasn't lost or injured out there on the mountain? He was the one paying for this trip after all...

The river looked lovely in the moonlight. Even in his exhausted state, Eric could appreciate the beauty of the ice on the water, reflecting the light of the stars and moon like so many mirrors. Deciding he could use a break, Eric sank to his knees by the snowy riverbank and watched the freezing water rush by.

He had just started to feel his energy returning when he became aware of a small, black spot in the water, held stationary against the current by a cluster of ice-encrusted driftwood jutting out from the riverbank. Curious, Eric climbed to his feet—a difficult task in his bulky snowsuit—and made his careful way down to the object.

It was difficult to see in the dark, especially through his goggles. Lifting them to his forehead, Eric bent over and pulled the sodden bundle from the water, trying to make out what it was. As he lifted it, he felt something move inside. Frightened, he nearly dropped it.

"It's probably just some kittens or puppies someone threw into the river to drown," he said out loud, as if to reassure himself. "I'll just take a look."

Kneeling in the deep snow, Eric carefully pulled the damp, ice-encrusted cloth open. He gasped and fell back on his hands. The sight he beheld was shocking. It looked as though someone had tried to drown a baby. Its skin seemed as black as pitch in the moonlight, and it was dressed all in white. Appalled, Eric recovered himself and moved closer, pulling off his gloves to feel for the baby's pulse.

To his surprise, the baby's neck was covered in short, damp fur. Abruptly, Eric began to laugh.

"Why, it's not a baby at all!" he exclaimed, deeply relieved. "It's some kind of monkey. And it's still alive."

Leaving the rapidly freezing cloth the creature had been wrapped in on the snowy ground, Eric lifted the unconscious monkey in his arms and resumed his trek toward the inn. As he carried it, he could feel its tail curling and uncurling underneath all the lace it was draped in.

"I'll bet Felicita will love you," he said, trying to warm the tiny, shivering creature as best he could with his own body heat. "She's always saying how much she wants a pet. I wonder who in the world would want to drown a cute little monkey like you?"

The small tavern was a warm glow brightening the darkness that hung between the tall pines. Eric approached it with a light heart, trying to picture his young wife's face when he showed her the monkey. She would be so proud of him for rescuing it, she might even let him stay inside tomorrow and give him a break from mountain climbing.

A cheery fire was crackling in the huge fireplace when Eric entered the room. The warmth was palpable, seeping into all the little pores of his snowsuit and beginning the process of thawing him out.

"Well," he called out to the man leaning against the counter as he closed the door behind him, "I finally made it. I take it my wife, Felicita Wagner, and our guide have already arrived?"

The innkeeper shot a brief glance at the large book lying open on the counter beside him.

"Yeah, that's right," he said. "They got in several hours ago and went straight up to their rooms."

Eric nodded with a smirk. "They must have been tired after keeping up that pace," he said, striding across the small room and taking a seat at the counter. "I need something to warm me up before I join my wife. I've been hopelessly lost in that godforsaken wilderness of yours out there for nearly six hours now! Do you have any of that hot wine they served at that last place we stayed? I forget what they called it. My wife likes it. It begins with an 'M'."

"Mulled wine?" the innkeeper asked.

Eric snapped his fingers. "That's the stuff."

The innkeeper nodded.

"Yeah, we have that. I'll get you a mug."

"I deeply appreciate it," Eric said, grinning.

While the innkeeper was away, Eric turned his attention to his small charge. Placing the tiny creature gently on the counter, Eric unzipped his snowsuit and pulled his glasses from his jacket pocket.

"I wonder just what kind of monkey you are," he said, starting to untie the lacy white bonnet that covered its head.

"What's that you've got there?" the innkeeper interrupted, placing the steaming mug of wine on the counter beside the accountant.

Eric abandoned the bonnet and took the cup between his grateful hands, burying his stinging face in the warm steam.

"It's a monkey," he explained, taking a small sip. "Oh, this is good," he said. "It's even better than that other inn."

"Thanks," the innkeeper acknowledged, but his attention was still fixed on the strange creature lying on his counter. "Is it dead?" he asked, his voice tinged more with disgust than curiosity.

"What?" Eric exclaimed, putting his mug down and leaning over his charge. "No, it's alive," he said, relieved. "I pulled it out of the river just now. Can you believe it? Someone had tried to drown it."

"Why would they dress it up like this if they were going to drown it?" the innkeeper asked.

"How should I know?" Eric said, taking another sip of wine. "Maybe it was some kind of weird cult ritual or something. Use your imagination."

The innkeeper shrugged and started to turn away, then thought again and said: "Just remember, if that thing gets loose and starts to climb around my place, I'll personally toss it right back where it came from. I don't usually allow pets."

Eric blinked over his mug, surprised at his host's attitude.

"You're not serious."

"I am," the innkeeper said. "Just be sure to keep a close eye on it."

Eric nodded easily, too exhausted to feel concerned.

"No problem," he called to the innkeeper's departing back.

Eric finished his wine, then lifted his charge into his arms and moved closer to the crackling fire.

"This is nice, isn't it little monkey? A huge, roaring fire, a belly full of warm mulled wine… This is a vacation. Not that agonizing hike up this blasted mountain. No matter what Felicita said, that could not have been the easiest trail."

The tiny creature began to stir in his arms, though it did not wake up.

"Yeah, you like this better too, don't you. I notice you're not shivering anymore. The fire's starting to thaw you out, isn't it?"

Eric stroked the creature's dark, fuzzy cheeks with one finger and smiled as he felt it relax in his arms.

"That's right. You sleep. You need to recover after that shock you had. I still can't understand it. Who would have the heart to kill a cute little monkey?"

Turning his gaze back to the flickering flames, Eric yawned hugely.

"I sure am beat," he announced. "Let's take you upstairs to meet Felicita."

Not particularly wanting to call the innkeeper back, Eric peeked into the book himself to find his room number.

"Room 3," he said with a smile. "Let's go."

Room 3 was located next to a very small bathroom at the end of a very short hall. Eric took a minute to consider the best way to present his wife with her new pet, wondering whether she was already asleep or whether she was awake and waiting for him and just starting to wonder why she hadn't been waiting for his return in the lounge downstairs.

Then, his ears picked up the sound of whispers coming from Room 2 across the hall. Turning, Eric felt a chill clamp down on his guts as he recognized his wife's laugh, accompanied by a male laugh that was just as familiar. His brain pounded with denial, his heart racing. No, he thought, he was jumping to conclusions. Felicita would never betray him, especially not with some poor Welsh graduate student who spent his vacations working as a tour guide in the Bavarian Alps. Felicita had very expensive tastes. Eric had always taken pride in the fact that he could support her so easily. Besides, Felicita loved him. She was always telling him so. He had to learn not to be so jealous and to give his young wife the benefit of the doubt.

Having convinced himself that the conversation going on in Room 2 was completely innocent, Eric felt there would be no problem if he forwent knocking and simply walked in.

"Felicita," he announced, pushing the door open and striding into the room, "You will never guess what I found..."

He trailed off when he realized that his wife did not seem happy to see him. In fact, her expression was more like she had just been given an unpleasant shock. The face of her companion was a mirror of her expression. Eric again felt an uncomfortable chill growing in his gut. Had it been his imagination, or had they been sitting much closer when he first walked in the door?

"What's wrong?" he asked, still trying to play innocent if only for appearance's sake.

Felicita shook her golden curls, seeming to snap out of some kind of trance. Yves, the tour guide, rubbed his chin and stood up. His movements were awkward and his eyes uncomfortable.

"Eric," Felicita said, a broad smile growing on her face—a smile which, Eric noted, did not reach her emerald-green eyes. "What took you so long? Yves and I were getting worried." She rose from her chair and crossed the room, wrapping her long, slender arms around her husband's neck. "If you didn't get here soon, we were all ready to send out a search party for you."

"Is that so?" Eric said, his voice flat. His chest was beginning to ache again and he could practically hear the labored beating of his heart.

"In fact," Yves added, latching onto her excuse like a lifeline, "that is what Signora Wagner and I were talking about when you came in."

"Is that so?" Eric repeated in the same tone. "So you thought it was funny that you both left me behind in the wilderness. You found it amusing to think of me struggling to find my way to this godforsaken little shack in the middle of nowhere while you two shared a steaming cup of mulled wine? You laughed to picture me lost in the snow for six hours while you toasted your toes at a roaring fire?"

Yves froze, his normally ruddy face so pale it almost seemed blue. Felicita's smile had frozen in place.

"What are you talking about?" she asked.

"What kind of a guide are you, anyway?" Eric snapped, closing in on the weaker link. "Don't think I am unaware of what was going through your heads. I heard you laughing when I was in the hall just now. I saw you pull apart as I entered. You didn't believe I would be coming back, did you? That's why you weren't down in the lounge waiting for me."

"Honey, remember your heart," Felicita warned him, turning his attention from the cringing student, her voice warm but her eyes cold. "You're getting overexcited and jumping to conclusions."

Eric nodded, his heartbeat thumping in his ears as if it had taken on a life of its own.

"You're right," he said, rubbing his arm, his eyes stinging with tears he refused to let them see. "I am getting overexcited. I should have seen this coming. I should have expected something like this. Well, I guess I know now why you married me. I'm old and rich and you're young and beautiful. I suppose you just got sick of waiting for me to die."

He snorted, shaking his head in disgust.

"It would seem the perfect accident, wouldn't it. Now I know why you chose the more difficult path. You probably thought a man of my age and condition could never make it on his own. He got lost in the dark, you'd say. We sent out a search party but we were too late."

"What's that you're carrying, Eric?" Felicita asked, obviously trying to change the subject.

Eric looked down at the bundle in his arms. He had completely forgotten it.

"You always said you wanted a pet," he said, his voice soft and bitter. "Well, I fished this one out of the river. But forget it. You don't have to pretend anymore, Felicitia. I understand. You can have the house. I'll keep the monkey. I think I'll need the company more than you."

Felicitia's eyes widened and her mouth opened in protest at her husband's thinly veiled insinuation. Eric fixed her with a knowing look, then turned from the stunned faces of his wife and her paramour and headed down the stairs.

By the time he reached the lounge, his chest had begun to hurt in earnest. He found himself gasping for breath in the warm, smoky room. Desperate for air, he made his way past the various tables and chairs that stood in his way and opened the door, stumbling out into the snowy night.

Colors were swirling before his eyes. He was sweating. The pain had become unbearable. It felt as though his chest was about to explode. With one last desperate gasp, Eric collapsed in the deep snow and lay still. His small charge landed several feet away, the shock of the fall and the sudden cold forcing it into wakefulness. As it began to scream with fear and cold, Felicita, Yves, and the innkeeper came bursting out of the tavern. Seeing Eric lying face down in the snow, the innkeeper kept his head and turned to Yves.

"I do not have a telephone," he said. "You will have to go to the nearest aid station and bring help."

Yves turned his frantic eyes to Felicita, who nodded silently, her full lips pursed and her green eyes wide.

"What are you waiting for, boy," the innkeeper snapped, his voice filled with a commanding authority he had not displayed previously. "Get going!"

The sharpness of the man's tone jolted Yves into motion. Felicita watched in silence as his tall form quickly faded into the night.

"Now, for you," the innkeeper said. "I will need your help to get him back inside."

Felicita's head snapped up, her emerald eyes fixing him with a cold stare. Then, she turned on the heel of her designer hiking boot and strode back into the warmth of the lounge. Unable to believe what he had just seen, the outraged innkeeper followed her back inside, slamming the door behind him.

As their argument swelled, a small, slender woman tightly bundled in a pink snowsuit pulled up to the side of small tavern on her purple snowmobile. Turning off the motor, the woman soon became aware of the raised voices emanating from within the lonely inn. Wondering whether it would be worth the risk of walking in on the middle of a fight for a mug of hot cocoa, the woman made her way through a snowdrift to the front of the building.

Just outside the door, a man was lying face down in the snow. A few feet from his head lay a small, dark form writhing inside what seemed to be a ragged bundle of weather-stained lace.

The woman went to the man first, wondering if he had been a victim of the argument raging inside. Turning him over with some difficulty, she took out her flashlight and peered into his face. It was obvious at once that that he was dead. "Heart attack most likely," she muttered sadly to herself. "I'd be willing to bet this is what they're fighting about in there. A man dies at their doorstep and all they can do is argue about whose responsibility it is to deal with it."

She next turned her attention to the mysterious bundle of lace. She approached it cautiously, aware that whatever was inside, it was alive.

"Hello," she whispered, crouching down next to the bundle. "Are you a puppy dog? A kitty perhaps? Who's in there?"

At the sound of her voice, the bundle began to emanate a strange, hoarse, coughing cry. It was the cry of a terrified infant who had been screaming for so long without hope of an answer that it had almost lost its voice. Alarmed, the woman impulsively gathered the infant into her arms and cuddled it, cooing and soothing the child until its own exhaustion lulled it to sleep. Once the squirming baby had relaxed in her arms, the woman once again reached for her flashlight.

"Oh, my dearest God," she whispered, aghast at what the light revealed to her—indigo skin, pointed ears, a long, prehensile tail poking out from among the tattered lace he was wrapped in. "A demon!"

Forcing herself to repress her superstitious inclination to leave the creature there and continue on her way, she tentatively stretched out a long, crimson-nailed finger and touched the infant's fuzzy, blue cheeks. The baby smiled softly in its sleep. The smile lit up his small face, and suddenly the woman could see past his frightening appearance to the lost, helpless, innocent infant he really was.

"No, not a demon," she corrected herself. "You are a mutant child." Her voice was soft with sadness and understanding. She began to rise, then gasped in surprise as the infant's tail coiled around her arm as if of its own accord.

"And you have an incredible tail underneath all this lace!" She stared in amazement, a smile stretching across her face. "If it's strong enough to hold your weight, I'd bet you would make a fantastic acrobat."

She held the baby closer, her face stern but her violet eyes deep with pity as she gave him a more thorough looking over.

"You are so small," she said. "Barely larger than a newborn. I would bet you're not more than a few weeks old. If I had not come here at this moment, would they have left you to die in the snow as they left him?"

She turned back to the still man lying in a rhombus of light from the window. Quickly, being careful not to wake the infant, she searched the body for signs of identification. After a short time, she located the man's wallet in a back pocket of his snowsuit.

"Eric Wagner," she read off his credit card. Gently replacing the wallet where she had found it, she made a similar search of the rags the mutant infant was bundled in. She was about to give up, when out of the corner of her eye she noticed a shadow on the fabric that struck her as a word. Turning her flashlight on the spot, she realized that there was an inscription hand-embroidered into the ragged cloth—an inscription written in German.

"Kurt Wagner," she read. Her eyes widened and she turned back to the body behind her. "Eric and Kurt Wagner. Could it be coincidence? Or, were you father and son? I wonder, what has happened to your mother?"

She focused her violet eyes back on the inscription.

"The rest of it seems to be a prayer… Why, this is a baptismal gown!" she realized in surprise. "How strange! The cloth is icy and wet...could your parents have been planning to expose you? Yet, they were sure to have you baptized first." She shook her head in disgust. "If I live to be a hundred, I will never understand people."

Squinting to see the white-on-white lettering, the woman read, "May The Good Lord Bless And Keep You, For You Are A Child Of God."

"A child of God," she repeated softly, her expression softening with tenderness as she looked down into the infant's peaceful face. "Like all other outcasts and abandoned children before you, you can at least be sure of one protector. You are a child of God indeed, Kurt Wagner, and my being here to come to your rescue proves that someone somewhere must be watching out for you." She smiled.

"And for me as well. If I'm right—and I usually am about these matters—someone like you is just what I need to bring my circus back to life. I will take you home with me, my little demon, and together we will see what happens."

Her dreams of hot cocoa forgotten, the woman carried the infant back to her waiting vehicle. Climbing onto the purple snowmobile and making sure the child was safely bundled and secured, she started the motor and pulled away from the little tavern.

"My stars did predict today that I would meet a dark stranger," she chuckled to herself as she made her way back down the mountain. "Though, I never imagined my stranger would be a fuzzy, blue baby!"

The Szardos Bavarian Circus was a small, run-down affair teetering on the brink of respectability. Its star attraction, a Hungarian trapeze act, had recently left after accepting an offer to join the far larger Dusseldorf Circus, and the remaining performers were feeling the loss. Ticket sales had plummeted over the last few months, causing several of the more talented performers to begin searching for openings elsewhere.

The various performers who remained were gathered in the mess tent for breakfast when they heard the sound of a snowmobile pulling into the center of the small ring of shabby tents and dented trailers. Most of them barely looked up from their eggs and toast, but Bethica Bruckner, a young girl barely out of her teens who served as the costume mistress and resident tailor (despite her inexperience with a needle), found herself nearly dragged from her seat by the two children she had been charged with watching over that night.

"Mommy!" the four-year-old boy exclaimed joyfully as a tightly bundled figure in a bright, pink snowsuit entered the tent. He latched onto her leg as his younger sister toddled up behind him and lifted her arms plaintively.

"I want up!" she announced.

Her mother pulled off her goggles, scarf, hood, and hat to reveal a face that, despite her exhaustion, was quite striking. Her violet eyes were the color of amethyst crystals and her dark, frizzy hair was full and shiny. Though she already held a bundle in one arm, she bent down and scooped her young daughter up with the other, resting the majority of the child's weight on her hip as her daughter wrapped her arms about her neck.

"What's that?" she demanded, pointing at her mother's mysterious bundle.

"I'll tell you in a minute, honey," her mother responded, turning to Bethica. "So, how were they?" she asked.

"They were little angels," the young tailor smiled, ruffling the boy's black hair. Then she laughed, holding out her hand in mock defense as she caught her employer's skeptical glance.

"Honest, Margali," she said. "They ate all their vegetables and went to bed exactly on time."

"Why, this doesn't sound like my Stefan and Jimaine," Margali said, amusement twinkling in her eye. "They must have known that I would be bringing home something very special."

Placing Jimaine back on the floor, Margali Szardos took a step forward and called for the attention of the chewing circus performers.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I have a very important announcement to make. Well, make that two!" she called out. She waited for the moment it took for all heads to turn towards her—including the hungover ones—and then continued.

"First of all, we got the booking!"

There were a few half-hearted cheers.

"Second, I would like to announce the arrival of a new addition to our little circus family," she said, gently unbundling the infant in her arms. "This," she announced proudly, holding him up for all to see, "is Kurt Wagner. I have a feeling that he will be able to bring back to this circus something it has been sadly lacking of late. An audience!"

Margali had expected a more exuberant response than the one she received. The circus performers seemed taken aback at the sight of Kurt. Far from being pleased at the financial prospects of showing off such a unique and obvious mutant to the public, the performers seemed apprehensive, even a little frightened.

"Why, it looks like something out of one of those horrific paintings from the middle ages," Antonino Rosselli, the leader of the clowns, commented, his droopy eyes narrowed in revulsion.

"It's some kind of demon!" Big Jake, a man just shy of three feet in height who billed himself as the smallest man on earth, exclaimed.

"No, he's not," Margali retorted, emphasizing the 'he' in firm opposition to the use of the dehumanizing pronoun 'it'. "Can't you see? This young mutant boy is our ticket out of the small time circuit and into the major leagues! Don't you see the potential here? First, while he's still too young for training, we can use him in the freak show to help attract customers. Then, once he's old enough, imagine what a great acrobat he could be! Look at this amazing tail!"

She located the curling tail among the tattered lace and held it up for all to see. Kurt curled his tail around her hand, his dexterity deeply impressing Margali and several of the other performers. Kurt looked around himself with his bright yellow eyes, curious about his new surroundings and completely oblivious to the skeptical looks his new acquaintances were shooting at him.

Margali smiled as she noticed several of the performers starting to nod, understanding what she was getting at even though they were still clearly doubtful as to how well her plan would work.

"When he is old enough to perform, we wouldn't have to bill him as a mutant," Frank Holzt, commonly known as 'Woodhead,' added. "We don't want to scare off the customers, after all. For all the audience would know, he'd just be a normal human in a really good costume."

Margali's violet eyes lit up, her smile broadening to a grin.

"That's right! Now you're getting it!" She brought the infant to the level of her face and planted a kiss on his round, blue cheek. "Kurt Wagner will be our ticket to success!"

This time, she got the response she had been hoping for. The small tent erupted with applause. Like the natural born performer that she was, Margali took a sweeping bow, cradling Kurt securely in her arms.

End of Part One

Now, here' s a sneak peak from Part Two of Small Steps, Great Leaps!

EXCERPT:

Crouching down, Kurt kept his yellow eyes focused on the swinging bar before him, marking its rhythm. Just before the bar swung back to him, Kurt made a powerful leap, flying through the air like the monkey Eric Wagner had mistaken him for, until he caught onto the swinging trapeze with his long fingers and pulled himself up onto the bar. Once he was securely balanced, Kurt wrapped his long, dexterous tail around the bar and let go with his legs until he was hanging upside down. Then, he began to swing.

By this time, Chester had noticed his absence. Both he and Stefan were searching around frantically when they heard Yvonne Vogel's piercing scream. Looking up, they saw the cause.

"Oh, dear Lord," Chester gasped, his face drained of all color. "Margali's going to kill me!"

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