[German phrase: Guten abend = Good evening]

Ororo approached Kurt, putting her hand on his arm. "You are showing signs of weariness," she said, blue eyes shimmering with kindness. "It is no longer necessary to push yourself so hard. I have recently completed a circuit of the grounds, and can assure you that this battle is all but over. Come, rest a while." She guided him to a chair, took his medic kit, and gave him a light push on his shoulders until he sank into the chair. "I will send a glass of water, to replenish your strength."

Kurt thought a beer sounded more refreshing, but refrained from refuting her suggestion. Instead, he nodded, smiled, and said, "Danke."

Ororo returned his smile and walked off; he enjoyed watching the graceful way she moved. So unlike - "The cook!" he yelped. Rogue rushed to his side, eyes wide in alarm. "What's wrong?"

"I was assigned to go save the cook, but events have gotten out of hand, und I have no idea where to find her. She was in my room, but when I went back to search, she had disappeared."

"Kitty 'n' I cleared them scalawags outta your room a while ago." She gave him a gentle punch in the biceps. "You're a pretty good fighter, if you took that whole bunch down all by your lonesome."

"Ach, one does what one must." He fixed a worried golden gaze on her. "But you saw no sign of her?"

"Not a trace. Wonder where she coulda got to? Ain't like her to play hide'n'seek when there's a genuine invasion."

Bobby Drake appeared behind Rogue. "Absolutely. She knows her limits as a sapiens, so if there's danger, she should leave the heroics to us."

Rogue crossed her arms over her ample chest, pursing her lips at Bobby before saying, "Except the time she pulled your raggedy ol' ass outta the sauna."

Kurt tried not to giggle at the youth's futile effort to appear manly as Bobby, arms akimbo, puffed out his chest. "What she doesn't know about The Invincible Ice Man is that I could have gone to vapor and re-formed outside."

"Some o' us wish you'd go ahead and reform," Rogue smirked. "'Sides, she knew the Brotherhood had jammed up the locks and slapped insulation around the doorframe so you COULDN'T slip on outta there in a fog." She addressed Kurt, "He kinda stays in a fog, if ya know what I mean."

"I don't have to put up with this disrespect," Bobby pouted, "just wanted to warn Kurt about how Elise tends to be bossy." He leaned closer to the new mutant. "Get your bluff in on her early, or she'll push you around." With a wink, he was off, bare feet skating on ice that materialized in front of him, shot from his outstretched palms. Rogue grunted as she watched him retreat, "Mr. know-it-all an' a show-off to boot." Her gloved hand patted Kurt's. "Leez ain't so bad, long's you don't try an' tell her what to do. Shoot, even the Perfesser had to figure out how to handle her. I think there's prob'ly only five people in this world who do cow her. Ever'body else kowtows TO her." She smiled at her own pun.

"Who, might I ask, are the five whom she fears?"

"Oh, I kinda doubt she fears anybody. But she respects the Perfessor and o' course jus' looooves Captain America-"

"Who doesn't?" Kurt agreed.

"An' she has what I'd call a healthy respect for Magneto & Dr. Doom."

"A formidable quartet," Kurt murmured. "Und who is the fifth?"

Rogue grinned, then said, "Would ya believe it's her own Daddy?"

"Ah," Kurt said, fear tinging his expression, "he is stern? Severe? Dangerous?"

"Why heavens no! He's as much of a pushover as ol' Hank."

"Then why did you say―"

"I mean that Perfessor Stringfellow is one of the few folks that can make her sit up an' pay attention." She pulled a couple bottles of water from an ice bucket which was floating by on an Ororo-generated breeze, and handed one to Kurt. "If you stick aroun' here at all, you'll see." After unscrewing the lid and downing several long gulps, she asked the new X-man, "Do ya think ya might wanna stay? I mean, after today's excitement an' all?"

Kurt lifted his bottle in a toast. "I already feel right at home." Deep in his psyche, two thoughts warred: one, that he very well could call this haven his home; the other, that he may never fit in anywhere, no matter how benevolent the patron or how delicious the cuisine.

Elise, having plowed through the stairwell door, felt it slam behind her as she stumbled away from the boy in the paisley shirt. Two thoughts warred in the back of her mind: one, that she couldn't allow this idiot to jeopardize the peace of the one place in which she felt she almost belonged; the other, that she, being a flatscan, would never really belong, no matter how clever her improvised means of defense or how much the residents appreciated her cuisine.

The paisley punk lunged at her; she didn't want to shoot him point-blank, so tried to crack him one on the noggin with the pistol handle. The gun squirted from her sweaty hands; momentum propelled it in an arc until it clattered down the stairwell. The attacker had pushed the back of her knees, forcing her to tumble on her side; her right hand grabbed his hair and pulled until he screeched, then forced his head down further so that it wouldn't impede her next move. With practice borne of years of sisterly experience, her left hand reached under the beltless hot pink trousers and yanked tight the waist of his briefs. She rolled to her knees as her left fist dug into his back to force him to the floor. "Behold the Wedgie of Dooooom!" she shouted, pleased by the authoritative echoes which fired off the walls of the stairwell.

"Huh-uhn," the boy said, "You couldn't ever do that to the man in the tin suit."

Elise rolled her eyes. "How about," and again made her voice boom like a sports announcer's, "The Wedgie Of Your Ultimate Faaailurrre!"

"You're hurting me," the fellow whined, wriggling against the smooth concrete. She let go of his hair; he turned a bit in an attempt to glare at her and said, "And you'll be sorry when They find out."

Rather than risk selecting the knife in her shin sheath, which might be used against her, she could probably scare the lad with a bit of misdirection. The cook straddled the boy's back, keeping her death grip on the underwear with one hand as her free hand rummaged in the bib of her overalls, then placed a 6" metal cylinder against the kid's neck. "Who are They and how will They find out that you're totally busted?"

"Like I'm gonna spill my guts to the likes of you," he grumbled.

"What your guts do is dependent on how close to your head I hold this death ray," she replied, putting a tad more force behind the X-comm digging into his skin. "Now, how about if you tell me what technology They used to circumvent the mansion defenses?"

With a choked chortle, he said, "Maybe it short-circuited your weapon there, Princess." The wedgied one started to rise, but his indignant captor and rasped, "You've got to ask yourself one question: Do I feel lucky?" She poked the cylinder between his eyebrows. "Well, do ya, punk?" [3]

She felt his back tense, saw him lick his lips over & over. In a conversational tone, she put the original questions to him again. "Who is it that wants us dead so badly, and how do They benefit from it?"

Due no doubt to nervousness, his reply sounded like he was about 14, voice galloping up and down the scale. "I'm on retainer to the Brilliant International Terrorist Chicks Helping Eradicate Superhumans." Elise instinctively anagrammed the words and gave a greasy grin as the boy continued, "They wanted to prove that even men could foil a bunch of mutie freaks. They said that being born beautiful beats brackishness [4], and big brains belie being a bimbo."

The wedgie expert replied, "Stands to reason they'd teach you such a rallying cry, and please don't even vaguely refer to how they pay you morons to do their dirty work. Just FYI," she continued, "this death ray is engineered - by a woman, no less - to respond to the slightest touch. I can even operate it with my tongue. So no stupid tricks." The vigorous nod of his head, red from shame and effort, assured her it was ok to put the communication device between her teeth as she pulled an extra-large Spidey bandana from her back pocket and looped it between the right & left leg holes of his Family Guy briefs before tugging two ends of the bandana up as a substitute rope; Stewie nudged cheek-to-cheek with Brian. It was a simple matter to turn loose of the waistband at this point and quickly tie his wrists together. She straightened up, wiped a modicum of spit off the X-comm, and dialed Scott's frequency.

"Hey, Scotty, I have one ready for pickup."

"You lied to me!" the boy squealed.

"And gave you the wedgie of your life. So sue me."

"Use code names when under attack," Cyclops' voice had never been so welcome, "and report location and status."

"Sorry. Anyway, Cyke-o, I have a little guy here in the stairwell near Colossus' room."

"Don't take any unnecessary risks. We have the majority of hostiles contained, so I can afford to send Colossus up there momentarily."

"I'm fine by the way, not much worse for wear and tear. In case you wondered."

"I assumed, since you were able to use Nightcrawler's x-comm, that you were in good shape."

"I think they did something with the new guy. The German."

"Nightcrawler is fine; he's tending to some of the wounded."

"How did he―"

Scott's voice never rose, just plowed on. "You can catch up with him during cleanup."

"Okily-dokily. We'll sit tight til Sweety-Petey comes to collect the bad guys." And, she added mentally, assess the damage caused by his inconvenient placement of furniture.

"Cyclops out."

"Toodle-oodle, Mr. Head Noodle."

After Colossus escorted her to the parlor where Nightcrawler had brought the Nullifier before being sent to look for her, Elise gave a brief report of her defensive actions.

Scott, making notes on his tablet, said without looking up, "On the whole, I'd say you did a good job of fending off the invaders. No less than I'd expect from you."

So ... he hadn't neglected her; it was his sign of respect, belief that she could fend for herself in a pinch. But best not to let him assume that she would always be up to any new threat, since there seemed to be an ever-increasing parade of enhanced individuals bent on taking sapiens as hostages. "You make me blush with your overwhelming praise, O Ruby-goggled General."

Cyclops pressed his lips in a thin line, breathed deeply - about as long as it would take, say, to count to ten. "I've assigned you and Nightcrawler cleanup of these areas."

Her phone buzzed; she scrolled over the floorplan and noted which areas of the downstairs were in blue, which per the designations below the diagram were for "NC & Cook." Elise sent a mild smile his way. "And of course the kitchen area."

Scott nodded, tapped the tablet again, and a new chart popped up on the cook's phone, with modified instructions.

"So, am I dismissed? And can you have Mindbender or Prof-X tell the noob to meet me in the lacey green parlor? That's a lotta cleanup for two people."

"Certainly. Tomorrow morning, of course, it'll be GYOB."

"Gotcha. Love that Grab Your Own Breakfast."

In the parlor which featured pale green walls and lace table runners, Kurt bounced up to Elise and tried to apologize for disappearing in the thick of battle.

"I can hold my own, Herr Wagner. This isn't the first time security has been breached."

"Colossus told me of men trapped in his room, how you managed to escape without being harmed. He did not tell me who came to your aid."

"The trio called Me, Myself, & I," she snickered.

"But - are you such a good shot?"

"Let's put it this way – when push came to shove, I nailed them."

It was late in the night, closer to early in the morning, before the pair finished tending to the restoration of order in their assigned rooms. Finally Elise could oversee the stuffing of Kurt with what she called a "little midnight snack" in the breakfast nook of the Institute kitchen. She pushed yet another platter of goodies toward him, waving her hand to suggest he indulge.

"You are one tough cookie, Herr Wagner. Is there some form of circus art that specializes in combat skills?"

His grin was rueful, and appeared painful too, with that swollen lip, but she couldn't supress a smirk at the cappuccino moustache contrasting with the indigo lips, like a cloud in a night sky. "When one looks a little different, strangers often take it as a challenge to beat one up. I had to learn street fighting before I could master other forms of defense."

"Wow. Couldn't you just do that disappearing thing instead?"

A half smile began his answer. "Before I developed that talent, my older brother, Stephan, insisted that I learn to defend myself. He said he would not always be around to rescue me." Gloom shadowed his dark features as he whispered, "He was right, of course."

Waves of silence lapped at the shores of their companionship.

"Forgive me," he said afer a few moments. "I was ... back in the past."

"Nice place to visit, but you wouldn't want to live there," Elise commented. She stretched, massaging the hand that had weilded the Hilti nail gun. "I like the present just fine. Always something new."

"Especially around here?"

She chortled. "Yeah."

"Are you not afraid of being hurt, associated with these ... mutants?"

"I've fought off robbers in Kenya and drug dealers in New York City and drunken rednecks in Kentucky. Nothing much here can phase me. Not counting Kitty, hahaha. At least, nothing so far."

"You are a remarkable woman, I think, Miss Stringfellow."

"Nah. And it's Elise. I'm just a little on the weird side. Which is probably why the Prof hired me." She patted his three-fingered hand. "I really hope you don't have to fight such prejudice the rest of your life. But chances are you will." Elise stood and gathered the empty cups. "Care for another?"

"Nein, danke. I should get some sleep."

"Me too, Bucko. This has been a busy evening and shot my plans all to heck. Want a ride to Mass tomorrow?"

"Would your community welcome someone like me?"

"Yeah, they can be a little stuffy sometimes, but they're good people." The cups clinked going into the dishwasher. "Haven't excommunicated me for wearing a beret instead of a mantilla."

"But you cover your head as sign of respect for Gott."

Elise returned to his side. "Sure. That's Scriptural. But I'm not the kind of person who wears lacy headgear - or a dress."

"You would look beautiful in one."

She slanted in, causing him to retreat by bending backwards. "Don't. Go. There." Wagged her finger right in his face. "Ev-er. Got it?"

"Um, ja. It has been a stressful day und I forgot myself."

Straightening up, she favored him with a smile. "No harm done. And after Mass I'll fix you an omelet the likes of which you've never seen in all your travels."

He stood and bowed. "I shall be grateful. "

"Herr Wagner " she fidgeted with her dish towel, wrapping and unwrapping it around her long, blunt-edged fingers, "thanks for saving my skin. I owe ya more than an omelet."

"The pleasure was mine."

"Later, then." The cook grabbed a broom.

"Guten Abend." Off he loped on all fours.

How cute, thought Elise as she returned to her work.

[footnote 3: If this doesn't ring a bell, check out famous quotes from a movie called "Dirty Harry."]

[footnote 4: Yes, folks, I had to restort to the Merriam-Webster thesaurus for that one.]

[A/N: Please vote in the poll on my Profile page as to where I should take up the story next. My version of Kurt's origins & backstory draws a bit from the many versions - comic books, movies, animated series, novels, etc. - of this wonderful character, but has some elements that no one else (to my knowledge) has blended in. If you enjoyed "Unguarded" so far, please set it to Story Alert so you will know when the next part comes rolling out.]