I apologise for mangling a prayer.

Dark cloaks

Our Father who art in heaven…

Covered in Sin, head to toe…the legendary scars of the legendary Nightcrawler. Kurt Wagner looked at himself in the mirror, something he didn't do often, studying the swirls and patterns of his sins. She was right, Ororo, they were beautiful in their own oddly twisted way but then...so were his sins. Those dreams…those wicked, traitorous, sensual dreams that demanded his attention not only in the vast cloak of night but also in the cruel light of day, when he couldn't escape by simply rolling over and thinking of something else. When he was left alone so he couldn't think of anything else. He wondered briefly if it was still a sin in dreams and then shook his head clear of the notion, he didn't want to think that. That was too immense to contemplate for long. Only in dreams are men truly free, it was always thus and thus always will be – who had said that? Who cared? Who cared about quotes and sins and scars and…and him? She did…

Hallowed be thy name…

Ororo Monroe. Even her name was music. It was the only way he could think of describing her. Music. It was how she moved with all that deliberate grace, the effortless beauty of the greats. She was a concerto written by Bach, a sonnet by Shakespeare, lines and bars and notes penned by some great being that the bible only hinted at – blasphemy! Kurt threw his cape over the mirror in disgust.

Thy kingdom come…

It instructs in the bible that one is supposed to love God above all things, Kurt told himself silently in the dark privacy of his own mind. He was stronger than this…this infatuation or whatever it was. He didn't have to think about chocolate skin or snow white hair or joyous laughter or the way she looked at him…really…looked at him…as if he was an actual person…not some…blue demon with a tail…

On Earth as it is in heaven…

This was a sin! This had it's own scar! This self hatred. It was a swirl that ran down the entire length of his left arm. Back in the days of the circus if he had committed a sin it was easy, it was simple to scrawl it into his flesh, a protection of it ever happening again. He would see the sin reflected back at him and smile because it would be over, that sin, he wouldn't have to think about it any more but Ororo, his dreams…they just wouldn't leave him alone. He sighed heavily, sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands, elbows resting on his knees.

Give us this day our daily bread…

When he was being true with himself, which was not very often nowadays, now he was trying to suppress things and raise his face to the holy light instead of squandering away his life in darkness and sin. When he was being true he knew, in his heart, that he needed her. Her anger, her acceptance…anything she had to give he would take it and – despite her anger or maybe because of it – she was so giving to him. To anyone. Kurt frowned, letting his head rest in his hands. She was a creature perfect not only in Gods eyes but in his…

And forgive us our trespasses…

He sat sometimes, in the back of her classroom, on top of the ledge above the door. She always knew he was there, sometimes smiling at him, sometimes just a nod. She didn't seem to mind that he'd watch the classroom, listen to her speak just to hear the sound of her voice, the soft, clear lilt of it rising and falling. He'd asked, once, if she minded him being there and she had smiled – with all the brilliance and beauty of a super nova – and said that she was happy for him to sit there and listen…she said 'at least it gets you out of the chapel, Kurt'…as if it was a bad thing…He pulled out the little pocket bible that he carried everywhere with him, brushing dusted dirt off the cover…

As we forgive those who trespass against us…

Sharp words sometimes, she could use them as weapons and did on a regular basis to the people that irritated her most. A grasp of the language that was more than exquisite. Kurt wondered vaguely if she could make someone bleed through words, pointed and cutting as daggers when they argued theology or politics. She was cynical to the nth degree, a degree that frightened Kurt. But she only did in some places, on certain topics…like anger and fear, pride and the fall it causes. On other subjects, she had more faith than Kurt thought one person to be capable of. Like love...and hope. She hoped for so much. She was guarded enough that she expected failure where she hoped. But she continued to hope through…everything…

Deliver us from Evil…

The nightmares were the worst. He hadn't met an X-man that didn't suffer them, that didn't become downright dangerous under their influence. Ororo was the same. He'd been called once by the children to come down to her room, he'd opened the door to a hurricane. It had taken three teleportation's to get to her bedside and then he'd been punched in the jaw for his pains before she realised who he was. Kurt rubbed his jaw in memory of the punch. She was built lightly, ready for flight, but it didn't mean she couldn't pack one heck of a punch…

For thine is the kingdom…

He threw on his jacket and headed out of the door, watching a group of children run past. She'd buried herself in the school since Professor Xavier had…he cleared his throat, even thinking about it brought back the memory of pain flashing across Ororo's face. Not just grief but real pain as if she'd just lost her father. She'd taken over the running of Xaviers without a whisper of dissent from anyone, easily fitting into the strong, self-sacrificing role that had been left after the Professors absence…

…Thine is the power…

She hadn't been practicing enough. Although, here, amongst the X-men, they didn't call it practicing. It was training. They'd even had a set room for it to take place in – the Danger Room. A thing of computers and holograms that you could hit and…all sorts of modern tricks. She didn't need that, he knew it, he reckoned that Logan suspected it and Bobby definitely knew it. Storm, true to her name, needed space, outdoor kind of space. Somewhere she could really let go. She was so uptight, he could see it in the way she moved. Controlled, tight, aware of every single movement she made. The nightmares were almost a relief, at least it released some of the tension that she carried around with her…he worried about her…

…and the glory…

…she looked tired…beautiful but tired. Kurt snorted, absent mindedly pouring a glass of chocolate milk as he thought. Ororo had been covered in dust to blood and everything in between and still looked beautiful. Unscarred…she was sacred just the way she was. Sacred…more holy and lustrous than any over decorated church Kurt had been in. He wanted to worship her. He sighed heavily, blowing bubbles through the straw he'd picked up and there was his dilemma…Ororo, the most beautiful woman to walk the planet…or God Almighty…

For ever and ever…

Storm opened the sliding door that lead out to the Garden and stepped into the kitchen, smiling when she saw him. The sun didn't look as glorious as she did – Kurt swore inwardly as he smiled back, dribbling chocolate milk like a blue Rain-man. Ororo laughed, picking up a napkin on her way too him and sat opposite, gently patting his jacket as they both giggled. Kurt looked up,

"Swallow next time" She suggested. Oh gott, that look in her eyes, that sparkle, she's so alive, she's so beautiful,

"Er, right" Kurt smiled back, "I knew I'd forgot to do something" He rolled his eyes comically, thrilling inside as she laughed. Everything about her set his soul dancing. "Ach! Look at zer time! I haff to go!"

"Where?" Ororo frowned a little, handing him the napkin. He forced himself not to blush as his fingers brushed against hers,

"Church" Oh Lord did he ever need a church…

…amen…