1963-06-27 - A Reunion
Summary: Nightcrawler is finally reunited with Nick Fury, one of the soldiers who rescued him in 1945.
Related: If there are no related logs, put 'None' — please, don't leave blank!
Theme Song: None
nightcrawler fury 

It's Hell's Kitchen. Even the Priests have to watch their backs at times and Father Tolbert is no different in that. When he was told about his new 'roommate' in the Church and was finally introduced to him through a parishoner, it took him a few days to reach the conclusion that the demonic-looking young German was truly sincere and wasn't meaning anyone harm. Only then did he present Kurt with the address of the man he was looking for.

Unsure whether the ex-soldier worked during the day, Kurt did his very best to wait until an appropriate time…although he may have left just a little earlier than he should have. It's a risk being seen out in the daytime, but this is one of the reasons Kurt came to New York and with recent events, the anticipation of finding the other has just grown. There's a tiny voice warning him not to get too excited or hopeful for, well, anything, but he's trying to keep that voice quiet.

So, at around 4:30 in the afternoon, Kurt makes his way to the row of Gargoyles (he's named them by now) lining the top of the Church and peers out across Hell's Kitchen. He has a rough map, but everything's in a grid. That makes things easy. Counting the blocks, he then begins his signature teleportation to different rooftops until he gets to the right building. Finding the right apartment shouldn't be too hard, as long as he counts the floors, right?


This is still the day and age when people actually could drive in the City without too much hassle. Sure, sure, traffic is a bear and public transport is very much a 'thing', but there are just some simple pleasures in life that can't be done without, and that is having a car. So, mixed in amongst the traffic headed down one of the many sidestreets is a silver 1957 Chevy. It's seen better days, sure, but the chances are good that it'll see better days again.

It's parked on a sidestreet, and one Nicholas Fury steps from the car and slams the door, making sure it's nice and secure before locking it and pocketing the keys. It may not be obvious, but he's got an eye on the streets; always does. It's in the posture, the shift of his head to take care of the blind spot, and he's on his way to the front stoop of his particular tenement building.

Darkly-skinned kids on the street are getting their last games of T-ball in before their mothers call them in for dinner, their shouts rising as that last run is made. "Hey Sergeant Nick!" one kid calls out, then another as the chorus in front of his building begins.

"Don't you all have homework or something?" Nick is making his way up the stoop, his hand on the door. He's got a ghost of a smile on his face as he pauses for the answers he knows he's going to get.

"It's summer! Ain't no school!"


It's the sound of the car door slamming that causes him to give a little start, but then Kurt turns towards the choruses of 'Hey, Sergeant Nick!'. A wide grin breaks out over his face and he clamors to the edge of the fire escape he was perched on to try and catch a glimpse of 'Sergeant Nick'. It -has- to be him, even though he doesn't look old enough.

There's a head-tilt as he catches sight of the eye patch but it just has to be!

Kurt isn't thinking much of his safety at the moment, not when one of the reasons for his trip here is standing right there after all this searching and nightmares! He doesn't think of how the kids might react, or even how Fury might react. There's a 'Bamf' from his spot on the fire escape to his reappearance 'Bamf' and tell-tale scent of brimstone as he's now suddenly perched on the awning leading to the front door. Leaning over, upside-down, he grins and greets, "Hallo, Herr Nick!"


From the stoop to the front do—

Before Nick can actually open the front door, there is a whole host of screams that come from the street. Terrified, heart rending screams. (Kurt is pretty damned scary looking.. and these kids? Church goers…)

It's pure instinct that Nick pulls out a concealed .45 (God's own caliber), and looks ready for any comers as the kids scatter. "What the.." Grin, meet Colt 1911.

There's no wiggle in his aim as the single eye focusses on the blue face. The yellow eyes. That sharptoothed grin.

To anyone else, like those scattered kids, it would be something out of a horror flick. But to Nick? (and in the daytime), this is a face that he's really familiar with. And fond of. And…

"Are you out of your damned mind?"


Nightcrawler holds his hands up as the gun is suddenly pointed at him, those yellow eyes wide and that sharp-toothed grin gone. He tenses, ready to teleport away if there's any indication that he's not remembered. That little voice is screaming at him now but he's trying very hard to keep a hold of his senses and not lose them again like the last time.

Once the gun is no longer pointed at him does he remember to breathe. Only then does he notice the screaming kids and take in the question asked of him. "Ja, I probably am. You are a hard man to find, Herr Nick." He looks back to the screaming frightened children again, taking a moment to think before he does a couple of flips to land at the bottom of the stoop on the sidewalk. "Ta-Dah!" is announced with a flourish and a flamboyant bow.

Maybe that will help?

"Can we go inside now, Herr Nick?" is asked over his shoulder.


When kids scatter, they scatter. One behind the dumpster, a couple in an alley.. and dark faces peek out to catch the flourish. They even catch the tail-end (no pun intented!) of 'Sergeant Nick' putting a gun away, hiding it. That'll bring up more than a few games of cops/robbers and soldier now that some of the childish suspicions have come to bear.

Nick's got his pistol set back, and he finally pushes the door open, and gestures. "Get your tail in there." Does he sound a little gruff? Probably.

It's only once their inside that Nick actually turns to give the young man a hug. There are few people in his life that would elicit that sort of response, and this kid? One of them. "You are damned crazy. Look at you."


Nightcrawler gives another bow before he hops up the stairs to finally go inside. He's barely able to let out another breath before he's hugged and he hugs back in return, his grip tight. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare the children, but I was so happy to see you! I have been looking for you since I came here and so much has happened!" He might not let got for a little bit. 18 years may have passed, but after the war, the only real stability he had was his time with the soldiers.

Finally, after what might seem like a long time, he lets go and takes a step away from the other. "Were you really going to shoot me?"


There are few that get a hug, and even fewer that get one prolonged, tight, and heart-felt. Kurt is one of those few that can be counted on a single hand. Kurt's single hand.

Once separated, Nick gestures towards the stairs with a soft, gruff, "C'mon. My place is upstairs. Let's get you out of this hallway before they send some damned fool priest to try and exorcise your blue ass."

He'll lead the way up, and as he climbs the stairs, Nick can't help it. "What have you got all over your face? Jeez.. looks like you haven't been raised right." But of course he has!

"If you were anyone else, you'd have a round between your eyes." Nick pauses with a foot on the step up, "I only know one blue kid with a tail, and I'd put a bullet in my own damned head before I'd hurt a hair on his head." He chuffs a breath and shakes his head, "Even if he's a damned fool." Beat.

"C'mon, Kurt. Tell me what's been goin' on over a cup of coffee."


"If it's Herr Pfarrer Tolbert, he told me where you lived!" Kurt's grin returns then. He follows Nick up as he climbs the stairs and counters right back, "What happened to your eye?" Dark eyebrows raise as if daring him to answer first.

Pausing with Nick does, the grin fades, "I know. I'm sorry if I scared you too. I didn't know you still had a gun. Are you still a Soldier? You are a Sergeant now?" He tries to smile again but something doesn't let it get very far. "I had to leave, Herr Nick. I thought if I came here, it would be better. I saw the fight over the…the mutants." It's still not a comfortable word for him to say. "I guess I -am- a 'damned fool," is echoed.


"Okay, fair enough," Nick chuckles and he opens the door to his apartment. It's neat, tidy enough, with bits of pieces that make it a 'home', even if it does have a 'cigar' undertone to it.

Once the door is closed, Nick crosses the small living room to get to his kitchen area and there's a tinny clang as he sets up his percolator. "Yeah, I still have a gun. This is the City, Kurt. Filled with animals still." His tones sound a softer note. "It's bad, huh." It's not a good word. Not even to Nick, and it's not something he's going to have in his home.

"Now that you're here, it'll be okay." He's not going to let anyone hurt 'his' kid. "Kurt, you're with family now. I don't know why or how you came over to New York, but you're here, and it's gonna be fine." Looks like his putting that team together is looking more and more important. "As far as I'm concerned, the idiots that make you think you're some sort of .. of .. I dunno .. whatever .. are the damned fools, and I'm sure as hell gonna send that message." Beat. "Got it?"


Nightcrawler peeks into the apartment as he steps into it, "This is very nice!" from someone who has never really had a home outside of a cramped room in a ghetto or a circus trailer. He walks around, peering at the apartment and the view, peeking into the bedroom and bathroom before he comes back over to the kitchen. "They didn't like me being in their Church. Herr Pfarrer Tolbert is much nicer, but I don't want him to be hurt because of me." His English, at least, seems to have improved after eighteen years.

"I know I'm different, Herr Nick. I'm not stupid or blind. I know I scare people. It was why I was in the Circus for so long. They did not mind it so much." Until. "I cannot decide if I just want to walk down the street and…ah…wagen sie…uh…challenge? Challenge them to say something. Or do something. I don't want to hide all my life but that fight…" It brought him back.

"I don't want to get you hurt too because of me." There's another pause before he asks again, "What happened to your eye?"


Nick puts the coffee pot on the stove and turns up the gas. Once that's done, he finds a pack of cigarettes, one of many lying around, and lights it with a book of cardboard matches, waving his hand to extinguish the flame again. Now, he takes a long full of nicotine, and exhales it through his nose.

"Sit down, kid." A hand gestures towards one of the chairs in the living room. There's a radio set off to the side, and a screen on wooden legs under the window with a planter on it, sharing real estate with a set of antennae. A black and white television.

Nick does the same thing as he asked Kurt to do, and he perches on the end of another chair. "I'm gonna say this once. You're different, yeah. That doesn't make you any less of a person. Got it? I'm different. The kids outside are different. But never, ever think you're less. And that fight?" Nick takes a deep breath, the end of his cigarette glowing as he does, and for a moment, he's silent, the smoke trailing gently from his nose.

"Don't go off all scary. That's not the way to do it. It's a hard fight to be top dog, and it's even harder to stay on top. You get all comers then. You gotta be smart. You gotta use your head."

Nick shakes his head and rises again, taking steps towards the kitchen and the icebox. "Was just after we got back from opening up the camp. My fool lieutenant almost got himself killed, but I saved his sorry ass." Beat. "Landmine. They patched me up okay in France before sending me home, stateside.

"Now, your turn. Those tattoos?"


Nightcrawler moves over to the indicated chairs, but he darts forward at the sight of the antennae, "You have a television?" It's still an uncommon item to him. He does sit, after a moment, or rather perches on his chosen chair. Resting his elbows on his knees, he listens and watches as Fury gives him the little lecture, a smile forming and growing even as he talks.

"I know I'm different. Everyone is different. I know I -look- scary, but I'm not. Or, I don't want to be." He shrugs then, "I cannot decide how they see me. I just do not want them trying to kill me for it." There, the smile flickers. It fades when he hears how his friend lost his eye. "I am sorry," is offered quietly.

It is indeed his turn to talk. "You may remember some of them," he pulls up the arms of his jacket. Some of the scars there are older, integrated into the new designs but still there. They were the injuries and scars he had when he was rescued. "Herr Brian said that they looked like the Angelic symbols of the Erzengeln. High Engels. Angels." His grin returns, "Sometimes I am not so good…"


"That's what it is. I bought it because I had money burning a hole in my pocket, not that I'm around to watch it at all." It's pretty new; even dusted!

The percolator has started its bubbling over the gas fire, but Nick doesn't leave his spot. He's too busy catching up, studying every bit of tattoo on Kurt's body that is visible. Shaking his head, he chuckles as he rises finally. "None of us are. But you? You've got a right, but I have a feeling you're gonna show all of us."

Back in the kitchen, Nick turns off the stove and lets the pot continue to burble. "You hungry? I've got leftover ribs in the icebox. Some sodapop." But, even more importantly?

"Where're you staying?"


"They are to remind me to try and be better," Kurt offers, his smile returning. "You -are- good, Herr Nick. I know it…even if you have a gun." Because he's not entirely convinced that good guys carry guns. That's a long process right there.

He's about to protest the offer of food, but his stomach rumbles, annoucing his intended protest a lie. "I…guess I am? I don't want to take all of your food." But that coffee sure smells good!

Hopping off of the chair, he moves closer to the kitchen and the delicious smell, "Staying? Oh. At the Church for now. I was in a Hostel, but with the fight…" he needed somewhere he knew he would be safe.


"Help yourself," Nick offers as he pulls down a couple of coffee mugs. "Far as I'm concerned, you can stay here. It's quiet. Safe. People are good people. Once they see you more often, they'll figure it out. They all know me." He sets the mugs down on a small counter top before he fishes the grinds out of the percolator and brings it to the sink. Then, the coffee is poured.

"I'm not home a lot anyway, so it'll be nice to have someone keeping an eye on the place." A sliver of a smile cracks before Nick continues, "Okay. Two eyes." And a tail. "And if you're here, I've got some rules. No parties. No girls after midnight. If you got that, you can stay."


"Who would I have over? I know you…the blind man at the Church, the Angel-man, and the Priester. I do not think they go to many parties." Kurt can't help but smile at that. "I met one girl in the Greenwich Village. She bought me coffee…" but he hasn't seen her since. "It will be like, uh, a Monastary." Not very exciting.

The smile falters again, "I do not want to put your friends here in danger. Would they be if I was here? The Angel and another man, they told me of a school for Mutants." He still doesn't like the word. "For people like me. But I do not want to go to a school. I am too old," to start with. Not that he went to school before.


"You're not putting anyone here in any more danger than I am," Nick says flatly. "And you're welcome to stay here. You're old enough to make your own decision, but you have a place to put your head at night knowin' that you'll wake up in the morning." To him? That's a big deal.

Nick hands Kurt a cup of coffee even while he pats himself down to get his pack of cigarettes and a book of matches. Another cigarette is lit. (He apparently left the other one in the living room!) "School for mutants, huh? Yeah. I don't like that word much." He can tell Kurt doesn't. "For people like you. We have a word for that. Segregation. Means you're an easier target. Easier for people to think of you all like an object rather than a person. Makes people scared."

Armed now with a cup of coffee and a cigarette, Nick gestures at the icebox. "Warm up something to eat. I'll see what I can do to have your things brought here." He pauses for a swallow of coffee and a pull off his cigarette. "I wanna know what sort of 'school' this school for Mutants is." And he's going to find out.

Over protective? Maybe a little.


"Am I old enough?" is asked with another grin as he takes the cup of coffee with a quiet, "Danke.""Are you sure?" Sometimes the teasing and smiles help hide the relief he feels at the reunion. That tiny voice is quiet now; he wasn't forgotten or turned away.

As Fury offers a new word and its definition, the humor fades again. Poor, mercurial little elf. "I know what that is like. I remember." He may not want to, but he can't help it. "I thought it could not happen here. This is -America-." As if that should mean something.

The change of subject is almost welcome, "I can get my things. It is only one bag…" he packed light. "Now that I know where you are, I can be back very quickly!" He doesn't allow for any protest even as he teleports away, leaving the scent of Brimstone to mix with the cigarette smoke and coffee.

Thing is, he's back in just another minute or so with an old duffel bag over one shoulder.


"I don't think it'll stunt your growth. Hell, who knows what caffeine'll do to you, but the same could be said for everyone on this planet. Yeah, you're old enough." Nick grins at the last and settles back down into a chair. He's got work to do tonight; phone calls to make. Midnight meetings here and there, but all that can wait.

"At least here, there's more chance of someone fighting back to say 'no'." That's probably the best thing he can say, given his experiences. Japanese internment camps. Segretation. Civil Rights rallies. Lynchings. Wholescale attacks on those that are 'different'. And yet, somehow, Nick has this feeling that it's better than the whole damned planet combined. "And it'll get better. Trust me on that one."

It's the teleportation thing that is very new to Nick. Had he heard about it? The brimstone stench gets the man to coughing, waving his hand in front of his face. "Jesus effing Christ.. what the hell is that…" and before he can finish swearing, just like that, Kurt's returned.

Coughing, Nick shakes his head and walks over to the window to open it. "Damn, Kurt."


It's quite likely that Kurt didn't teleport when he was with the soldiers. Where would he go? Away? Unlikely. It's quite possible that it's something that they had never seen. "Was?" is asked upon his return, wide-eyed and completely innocent-looking. Well, as innocent-looking as he can get. "Oh. Ehm. Sorry about that. It will go away…" He tucks his bag into a corner of the room and goes back to the coffee. "I think I am done growing unless I grow…" he gestures as if suddenly obese.

He retrieves his coffee as if nothing actually happened and takes a sip. Huh. Americans and their idea of what European foods should be. "Should I stay inside, do you think? I should apologize to the Kinder."


Uh huh. Nick gives Kurt an even, one-eyed stare before he actually chuckles. "Yeah, but when the city gets hotter? I'm gonna have to ask you to walk." No airconditioning. No breeze in the city streets either. "You're living in Hell's Kitchen. There's a reason for that name."

Finally, he can sit down again and finish his cigarette and coffee. "There are stores at the end of the block. A little deli with a sodafountain. I'll give you some spending money to get you on your feet, but after that? You're gonna have to work to earn your pay." In other words, it sounds like Nick doesn't want Kurt to be a shut-in." He nods at the suggested course of action. "Probably. I'll talk to their parents. Let 'em know you're here. We look after each other." Now, he rises again and gestures with his head towards the icebox. "Seriously. Get something to eat. I need to make a few phone calls, and then we can catch up."


"I have money," Kurt argues. It's not much, but he was able to sock some away over the years. "You don't need to give me your's. I changed it all for American Dollars anyhow." Not like he needed to hold on to any Deutchemarks.

He also nurses his coffee and nods at Fury's mention of talking to the parents. At the mention of food and phone calls he tilts his head, "You are not angry that I'm here? That I surprised you and that I am staying with you?" He moves a little closer to the icebox to retrieve the ribs. He's happy to even eat them cold.


"Yeah, well.. save 'em. Don't be in a hurry to spend it. Far as I'm concerned, it's not a hand-out." It's short, sweet and to the point.

Nick pauses before he's ready to go down the short hall, and both brows rise. "Why would I be mad? Hell. We all agreed that we would be sure you would be okay. Now, it's my turn is all. And it's not as if you're not doin' me a favor." That ghosted smile comes up again, "You're eating the excess food I can't eat."


"You are a good man, Herr Nick," is offered quietly and sincerely. He won't keep him from his phone calls any longer. Kurt will, however, finally go to the icebox and pull out the leftover ribs to start eating. He looks around for a moment for some utensils and then tries to figure out just -how- he's supposed to eat these. It's not like he's had a lot of barbeque in his time with the Circus!


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