The day is my enemy
The night is my friend
For I'm always so alone
Till the day draws to an end
But when the sun goes down
And the moon comes through
To the monotone of the evening's drone
I'm all alone with you
All Through the Night - Cole Porter
The crashing of the streets was music to her ears.
Cliché, but true.
She smiled, closing her eyes and spreading her hands wide, as if embracing the world.
The wind slid through her blonde hair, and Darla smiled, feeling it coast under her neck, lifting the blonde strands up and away from it, cooling the already chilled skin as it caressed her, like an old friend coming to dinner.
She had often wondered what humans thought, why on earth they believed they knew so much when in fact all they knew whittled down to one, simple word : nothing.
Mutants and humans, all alike, all contingent on one, major folly : they assumed too much, and in reality, knew nothing.
The feelings that flooded through them, feelings that still haunted her at night, had been her curse, as rampant in her body as Angel's soul clung to his.
It was not normal for a vampire to feel, and there had been times she would have done anything to make the feelings stop.
It had crippled her, just as it had crippled Spike, just as it had crippled Angel, the remnants of the Scourge of Europe amounting to nothing.
But she fought it, she pushed it down, and envied Drusilla, in her happy world of insanity, free from the interaction with humans, free from the DAMN FEELINGS.
Blue skin that was surprisingly smooth despite the outward scaly appearance rested on hers, and Darla found herself turning to eye Mystique.
Another remnant of the human months. Genuine affection.
Darla wondered when she ever truly liked a human - but Mystique, had the potential for so much more. There had been more than one passing moment when she wondered exactly what kind of vampire the shapeshifter would make, but considering Mystique's lack of morals as it was, and not knowing exactly how being dead would affect the mutation, Darla had chosen to keep the woman alive.
It was a means to an end, but the affection had definitely clouded her thoughts.
And for once, she didn't quite mind.
The darkness of the night was so tangible, and again the feelings that had lingered twisted her chest slightly, at the loss.
Angelus should have been beside her.
Angelus should have led this.
She swallowed, clenching the railings, cursing herself for her sentimentality as she looked around the roof and down at the streets of chaos, where rioters and police were looking up in awe and panic.
Drusilla, dark and dangerous as midnight, her pale skin almost glowing like a dark fairy, continued to dance, never losing her energy for it as she smiled at Mystique.
"Little sister, our triumph shall soon be yours."
Darla smiled at that, saw the way Mystique's yellow eyes lit up and leaning forward, she placed a kiss on the shape shifter's cheek.
"Is this what you want, Mystique?" she whispered in her ear.
"It's more," she breathed, and her eyes turned, and she asked, almost demanded, "Show me more."
Darla smiled, content with her loyalty.
She turned, looked at her insane seer, and clasped her hand, bringing the vampiress close to her as the dark head rested against her breast.
"Shall we?"
"This is not what we discussed."
The swell of hatred and disgust came almost immediately, and she growled involuntarily, looking at the fool human who still seemed to think he had any say.
"Shut up, Magneto, and do your part." She straightened and walked to the machine, idle hands smoothing across the metal surface. "The First Night has begun, and it will be up to us to make sure tomorrow never comes." She turned, her eyes glittering at him, as Mystique, smiling nimbly from her precarious perch on the railing. "For the good of mutants. Of course."
He looked furious, the foolish old man, but he said nothing.
And Darla knew he finally understood who had the real power, when she saw the fear in his eyes, smelled it.
Worthless whore her ass.
It was subtle, the little differences as she held him.
Her face was buried in his neck, and unconsciously, she inhaled, and he smelled of dark danger, of cinnamon, oddly, and of Old Spice.
The only other man she really held in his close embrace had been Logan. Logan smelled of liquor and cigar smoke, of the woods. Of hairspray - the frilly kind that she had once bought on a dare and made him use - hairspray that he had liked so much he still used, however in secret.
Her hands, curious, roamed over the smooth skin, and again, there were differences. Angel was rock hard, almost chiseled, with a smoothness that seemed almost alien. Colder than human.
Logan's skin, when she felt it under her leather padded fingertips, had been warm, and soft… which was not surprising, considering his healing factor. Logan, for all his rough and hairy exterior, always had the smoothest, most beautiful hands.
The silk of this shirt was so different under her fingers, different from the flannel.
Angel was watching her, with haunting dark eyes, and Rogue just smiled sheepishly, and continued her exploration of his body, unsure of why she needed it, why her fingers were doing her thinking for her.
But he smiled slightly, and let her, fingers gently holding her at her elbows.
There was no rise and fall of his chest, no soft sigh that came when her palm spread against his pectorals.
It was so devastatingly easy, a spell and a realization that suddenly came, broken and done, and filling her with such incredible sadness, and clarity.
He wasn't Logan.
Death and Death were standing in each others arms and it was an oxymoron, as she waiting with him. Death couldn't have death, it craved life.
Life was vitality, life was laughter, and friendship.
Life was love and never constant.
She let out a shaky breath, her dark eyes looking up to meet Angels and she smiled, even as her eyes watered.
"Thank you."
He nodded, and she leaned up, floating gently to press her lips against his, once, chastely, before she smiled, and let her palms fall.
She stepped away from him, and the gloves went on, like they always were, and she turned, about to say something else when the building rattled and a big boom filled the air.
Angel looked alarmed, and she immediately followed him to the corner of the roof, looking down.
Her eyes widened, and they met his, and suddenly they both turned, charging down the stairs.
"We need to figure this thing out NOW."
Fred looked up, the weariness in her eyes apparent as she pulled off her glasses, and let them settle on the table.
"Doesn't it look like we're working as fast as we can?"
Jean didn't stop until she had sat down at the table, eyes crossing from Fred to Wesley to Storm.
"It's getting worse."
"We need more time."
"We no longer have it," Storm said, standing up, as the door began to pound.
Anne came forward, harried and tired, but with a stoic determinism that made Storm's steps falter, eyeing her with a peculiar smile.
"What do you want us to do?"
Storm looked to Wesley, but he only ventured a shrug, getting up and moving to where the discarded weapons lay on the table, choosing a broad ax.
"Tell your children to get up into the rooms. We'll handle this."
The long, broad wooden doors shook again, and the cries and shouts from outside grew more chaotic, angrier.
Storm moved around Anne, as Fred stood, immediately gathering together the books in her hand.
Things were very quickly getting out of control.
Jean immediately sprinted for the stairs, saying something about getting the others while the remaining trio looked at the door with impending dread.
"It's not going to hold much longer," Anne whispered, brushing her blond hair out of her face and immediately turning, ushering her kids up the stairs, Wesley helping, barking out orders for them to keep moving.
Fred stood still, her breath coming out in pants as she watched, the sacred book with their only clues clutched against her chest, while Storm stood guard in the center of the now empty room.
"Gunn, now would be a REAL good time to show up," she whispered.
In the small little room that Cordelia had claimed as hers in the hotel, there was a quiet haven of peace.
Logan was quiet, as he ran fingers through the silken tumble of strands, ranging in hue from light blond, to copper, to dark brown. His eyes roved over the room, and it surprised him in its plainness.
A nice bedspread, a nice dresser, but that was it. No ruffles, or fur… not anything that would announce that it's inhabitant was a queen.
But, he remembered one conversation that had taken place between Ororo and Jean, while he and Marie were watching television, her leg sprawled over his, a beer in her hands. It had been interesting, as they discussed if one was born with class, or if one could aquire it. All cerebral crap, and he normally tuned it out, but for some reason it was almost interesting, as he had exchanged glances with Rogue and cocked an eyebrow, making faces that made her smile.
But she had ended it, when she finally spoke up, saying it didn't matter someone was born with it or just aquired it, if one had to actually say it, then it was never true to begin with.
Her body shifted slightly, and he pulled back, hands still on her waist as she snuggled deeper into his embrace, so that his chin was now resting against her cheek, dangerously close to her mouth.
He could sense her awareness, as her fingers slid up, letting her breath out, the warmth of her body comforting, perfectly aligned with his.
Her hand brushed against his cheek, fingering the whiskers, and he closed his eyes, lowering his head so that his lips pressed against her shoulder, lost in a desperate embrace.
"Hairy."
He stilled, found his lips quirking into an involuntary smile as she angled her head back to catch his eyes.
"What?"
"You're hairy," she repeated, the tired hazel eyes shining brilliantly. "It's different. But in a nice way. I never dated hairy guys."
He was amused, propping his head up with his elbow and smiling down at her. "Darlin', you don't know what you were missing."
Her smile faded, as her eyes became pensive and she half whispered, "I'm not sure I thought I was missing anything until a few hours ago."
The words brought back a flash, a vision of a girl in the arms of a vampire, and he closed his eyes, shuddering against it.
"Hey." Her palm flattened against his chin, and his eyes opened to find her smiling, her eyes a sad reflection of his state. "I feel stuff, remember? I know who's in her heart. It's you."
He shrugged, disbelieving. "Rogue likes to think she's old. All grown up and really inside she's got this scared little girl in her core."
"Mm. She's not the only one who's afraid. But Logan… she's not afraid for herself."
He drifted away from the thoughts, no longer wanting to think about the mutant who held his heart, and had wrenched it from him more than once. Instead he shifted, sighing, burying his head into Cordelia's shoulder, settling into a comfortable embrace as her arms slid around him, pulling him closer, until he could hear her heart beating against his own, careful to be gentle with the tired Seer.
Lips brushed against his cheek, and he pulled back, not startled, but slightly surprised, as her eyes locked with his.
They were frank, open, honest.
For once, there were no lies in the gaze.
It was an invitation he appreciated.
And he smiled, brushing his lips against her mouth once, testing them for firmness, and then, when she responded favorably, settling into her lips, arm wrapped around her shoulders to pull her closer.
It was nice, and an altogether different kiss that Logan experienced. He had never before experience `nice'. Usually his kisses were masked with lust, or given with complete passion, and he had never once kissed Rogue, but he knew what that would have been like.
An explosion of mind and matter, primal taken with a heart bursting with emotion.
Nice was never the issue.
But this, was nice, with a tinge of passion, perhaps it would have been more had he not already, in mind at least, been mated to a Rogue, and her to an Angel.
They pulled apart, and she smiled, and he smiled back, pressing his lips against her forehead.
He smelled them before they opened the door, but didn't move, just shifted her so she could see, as Logan and Rogue faltered at the door.
"Ah, hell." The drawl was from Marie, as she slumped against the doorway. "Please don't tell me we're gonna be screwing around with this `Flirting with Disaster' bullshit."
Angel didn't say anything, but immediately he came forward, pulling Cordelia out of Logan's arms with a jerk and cradling her in his own, pressing her against him, almost as if he was trying to drown out Logan's scent on his property with his own.
"How are you?" he whispered, smoothing hands down Cordelia's face.
She regarded him, as Logan scooted off the bed, barely hearing her "Took you long enough to ask," as he watched Rogue.
She looked tired, sad, and almost completely in despair.
"What?" he asked, eyes narrowing as he came forward, gently pulling a white streaked bang from her face.
She swallowed, trying to find her words, he heard her beating heart rapidly pounding against her chest.
"GUYS." Jean skidded into the doorway, forcing them all to look up. "Downstairs. NOW."
The door was going to splinter any second, and Fred stood, waiting, her bow and arrow in her hand, and her heart hammering rapidly.
When it happened, her insides jolted, but she didn't move, instead raising the bow and arrow and methodically aiming for the mutant or demon or whatever it was that heading straight toward her.
She waited, like Angel taught her, until she was five feet away, and then, Angel, Logan, Cordelia and Rogue following Jean down the stairs in the corner of her eye, she let go.
And missed.
Fred's eyes widened, and she never realized how much she was truly shaking until the bow and arrow was wrenched out of her hand and the demon/mutant whatever it was raised it's hand high.
She screamed, kicking at it's abdomen, and she heard Angel cry out, and closed her eyes, covering her head, when suddenly the beast was yanked backwards, and a dirty ax came out of nowhere and embedded itself in his chest.
Fred paused, not quite able to believe she was still alive, until Angel came forward, shaking Gunn's hand.
"Gunn. Good to have you back."
Gunn, dirty, clothes torn, and wearing his trademark smirk, just smiled back, before turning and, and reaching out, taking Fred's hand in his own and pulling her up.
"Don't need a protector my ass."
Fred blinked, and when he smiled, barely turning as he backfisted another intruder in the face, bringing him down, she felt her heart suddenly flood with relief.
With a half mixed whimper and sob, she threw her arms around him, making him stumble back.
It took her a full five minutes to get herself to let him go, and poor Gunn, who was still trying to defend her from the various demons and mutants that were getting away from the other group, resorted to kicking and half hearted punching as her pliant body trembled in his arms.
"Fred, I'm enjoying this, but-"
"How are you still alive?!"
He cocked an eyebrow. "You don't think I could have survived with my manly man skills?"
She rolled her eyes, and when she shook her head no, he half glared, before nodding his head to Scott Summers, who had apparently come in with him.
"Dude gave me a ride on his plane. Pretty slick thing, Fred."
She was breathing heavily, panting even, and if it was from her furiously beating heart, or the pounding of the blood in her veins, or the pure exultation of having him back, safe and sound, she wasn't sure, but she was absolutely sure of one thing.
She was completely in love with Gunn.
Oh, crap.
And with a sigh, she finally just lifted herself onto her tiptoes and kissed him soundly, wrapping her arms around his neck and bringing him closer.
She wasn't even aware that they had managed to push out the rioters and fight off the rest until she heard, in the haze of her mind, Cordelia's placid, "When did THAT happen?"
"While we were gone, it seems."
Gunn pulled away, and she looked up, noticing with some embarrassment that all of Angel Investigations, the entire X-Men away team, and some of the kids of Anne's place, were all staring at their very public display of affection.
Fred caught Cordelia's smile, and just flushed with embarrassment. "Yes, I love him, okay?" she said defensively. "I'll have you know it is a very natural and beautiful thing!"
Gunn just blinked, and shook his head, but he kept his hand in hers as he moved toward Angel and Wesley.
"We're outta time guys."
Scott Summers nodded, crossing his arms, and taking a breath.
"Gunn and I saw it. In downtown. Magneto's machine."
There was an aura of apprehension in the air, filtering through her mind, despite the control she had fostered against the invasion of other beings, feelings, and thoughts.
She took in a deep breath, the headache getting worse, shuddering slightly. Almost without warning a hand slipped in hers, soft, but rough with calluses that came from working with visors and motorcycles, and she clamped it gratefully, leaning to the side, thankfully finding herself gathered closer against a strong, lean body that she knew every inch of.
People often wondered about her and Scott, she knew that. They wondered for years, when she first fell in love with some one who was barely more than a boy. Wondered why, she, a college student, could fall for a young man barely out of his teens, wondered if it was a fling, remnants of the wilder Jean everyone suspected resided under her skin.
They never understood how she needed him. Perhaps a bit more than he needed her. He had pursued her with every intention of bedding her, Scott, although he was a nice guy, had always known he was good looking. It was their friendship that suffered. They had been friends, close companions, since the moment he had been brought into the school, aching and dead inside from his trauma, voluntarily blind, eyes closed to keep the lasers that burned from coming out and searing everyone.
She had stayed with him, comforted him, talked to him, and she had never laughed so much as when he saw her yearbook pictures of high school, junior high, a gangly, tall, stick thin girl with limp brown hair and glasses and braces, the very picture of an ugly duckling.
Perhaps if people had known about the time she cried herself to sleep in his bed, the headaches hurting so badly that he, the ever platonic friend, held her and soothed her and shushed her, stayed with her, holding her until she finally fell asleep, then they might stop wondering. Or perhaps if they had known about the time, long before they fell into bed together, still platonic, she had come to him, scared to death because she had been careful and it didn't matter because she thought she just might be pregnant and had only been twenty - how he had held her and then gone with Ororo, also young and far more mature for her age, to go buy her a pregnancy test.
The way he and Storm had waited in her bedroom, quiet and full of wonder and fear as she took care of things in the bathroom, and when she came out almost crying from relief. The way he had held her and the way the tears slipped under the visor, staining his cheek.
She hadn't been aware he could cry until then.
Maybe then people would stop wondering why Jean fell in love with a man younger than herself, and why it was never a question.
There would never be anyone else.
She settled her head on his shoulder, and he pressed his lips on the top of her head. It made her smile slightly, dressed and suited and ready to go while she watched the others take action around the hall, gathering, preparing.
Storm sat beside Wesley, and she began to lend her hand, her gift for languages finally put to good use as she translated with them, and finally things seemed to be going somewhere.
"Okay…" Fred took a breath, and finally held up the paper with the ink scratches on it. "So… we have exactly 12 hours to stop the First Night. Counting the time we've wasted here, that's… two."
"I thought the First Night would last for as long as possible," Storm interjected, clearly confused.
"It will, if we don't stop it in two hours," Wesley answered, pulling off his glasses and wiping them, sighing audibly. "According to this, if we don't stop First Night before the end of the natural day cycle, in other words, the time dawn would normally approach, then we will be plunged into… `eternal darkness and chaos'. Lovely."
"Okay, now that we're on a time clock, how do we stop it?" Angel asked.
Fred let out a long breath, shoulders slumping as she exchanged looks with Wesley. "We're not sure."
"Well, I got the phone calls from Giles in London and Buffy in Sunnydale - they say `hi' by the way-" Cordelia said, coming into the room and sitting on the bench next to Fred. "Said the same thing's happening over there. Not as… harsh, but pure darkness. Looks like it's spreading."
"A `yay' vote from Charles too," Rogue added, coming in after her.
"So two hours and no idea how to stop it." Jean sighed. "Great."
"Guys," Cordelia's voice was almost a whisper. "We have to stop it. We have to. If not, half of us in this room are dead. And Magneto…" she trailed off, burying her head in her hands in a huff, knowing no one knew what to make of her vision.
"Well you know, this may be a long shot, but I have a feeling that damn MACHINE has something to do with it," Gunn put in dryly. "Maybe we should try taking that out first? Being as how we know where it is and all?"
"That's almost definite," Scott said nodding. "If they haven't changed the agenda, and knowing Magneto he is most likely not going to…"
"Then they might be using the machine very soon - and everyone becomes mutant or mush."
"Well it's a start," Logan said, his voice gruff, ready to snuff out his cigar on the countertop until Cordelia and Rogue both gave him a very similar glare. "We've been hiding in here long enough. Let's kick some ass."
"What he said."
Immediately the men and women got to their feet, and the muttering began, as they began to converse, some heading to the stairs to change, others going to the weapons closet.
Storm watched as Wesley stayed, looking pensive and dark. She got up, watching him, and finally sighed, settled back down across from him.
"What is it?"
He looked startled, but his face was dark. "Mystique knew quite a bit of personal information about Buffy Summers and Cordelia. And if these prophecies indicate, as well as Cordelia… we might just be doing what they want."
"Do you think we have a choice?" she asked gently. "We cannot let them use that machine. Especially now that they have a sample of Cordelia's blood."
"Because they might actually make it work, yes I know." He rubbed at his face, looking tired, snapping the book closed. "But I don't know if that's what they even want anymore. Whoever is behind this… whoever is helping Mystique… they aren't after just humans. They're after Angel's soul."
She was quiet. Too quiet.
Rogue was unsure, something that wasn't new for her, but for the first time in a long time, she had no idea what the hell to do about it.
What the hell was up with this whole bizarre love quadrangle, anyway?
She stole glances at Cordelia, who was not saying a word, and thought up about a hundred ways to start the conversation they had to have eventually.
Finally, taking in Cordelia's haggard face she settled for the most glaringly obvious.
"You sure you're up for this?"
Cordelia rolled her eyes, grabbing the duffel bag and pulling out the heavy uniform. "I'm empathic, Streaks, not incompetent."
"Rogue."
"What?"
"My name," she said, voice low, every word enunciated. "Is Rogue."
Cordelia paused, turning. "No. What's your REAL name?"
"That is my real name."
"I'm not talking to Rogue right now. I want to know YOUR real name."
Shit. There it was again, that damn insecurity that this girl with the hazel eyes was just seeping through her.
"Mah real name is Marie."
"Marie, huh?" Cordelia studied her, and finally shrugged. "Yeah. I can see it." She sat on the bed, pulling off her boots. "Well, Marie, what do you want to know? How he kissed? If we fucked like weasels?"
Rogue cocked an eyebrow, pulling at the short gloves she wore, grabbing the short brown leather jacket that had become her trademark and pulling it over the tight black leather.
"Look if you're gonna be pissed at me, that's cool. Ah just need to know, so I can keep the hell away from you."
Cordelia gave her a glance, before turning her back to her and stripping off her shirt, hands going to the belt of her pants.
"Why would I be mad Rogue?"
Rogue gave her an incredulous look, shaking her head slightly. "Forget it."
"No, I'd really like to know. Are you sorry you kissed him?"
Hazel eyes turned and bore into hers, and Rogue swallowed, felt curiously as if she was shot under the spotlight. Cordelia's eyes were frank, open, honest. She told things as she saw them, and Rogue suspected she saw a lot of horrible things.
She was without tact, and expected the same from Rogue.
"No," she finally answered. "It helped me figure things out."
Cordelia looked at her once, and finally nodded, stepping into uniform, shimmying it up her hips. "He's a good kisser."
Rogue almost smiled. "Yeah." She paused, waiting by the door while the Seer finished pulling on the uniform. "Uh… here." She grabbed a pair of her own gloves, tossing them to Cordelia. "The gloves help."
"Nice," Cordelia commented, voice placid and civil. She slipped them on, running a hand through her hair and regarding herself in the mirror.
"Black leather huh?"
"Yeah."
"I could get used to it."
Rogue felt laughter bubbling up in her throat, and when Cordelia turned and caught the mutant laughing, suddenly she began to smile, and the tension, the anger and betrayal was released when both mutants began to crack up.
"Okay. Here I am. Cordelia : X-Girl, ready to kick serious ass."
She did look good. The leather was a perfect fit, Cordelia being of the same build as Jean, if not a little curvier, and the empathic Seer looked as if she belonged in it.
Just like she had belonged in Logan's arms.
The smile faltered, and Rogue found the question slipping through. "Is Logan a good kisser?"
Cordelia froze, and once again, regarded Rogue. But there was no anger, no malice, and with a sadly resigned tone, she finally just responded with, "Damn good."
Rogue nodded, and knew she must have looked like a child, arms wrapped around her body, before the personalities inside her snapped their whip and Marie was pushed away and Rogue came to the surface, with a wicked smile and a hand on her hips and a perfect Southern drawl.
"Come on, Sugar. Let's go meet destiny."
In the darkness just before dawn, Mystique was invisible even in her own true form.
Dark midnight.
One day, a long time ago, she wondered idly what would have happened if she had been found by Charles, instead of Magneto. If she had been brought up as a comrade, if she had been at the mansion when Logan had come, been treated as herself, and not as the assassin who was there with no other purpose to kill.
Odd, how people treated her as a leader, when all she really was searching for was the right mentor.
Mystique was smart, she was cunning, she was clever.
She wasn't sure exactly when she had become evil - when it had festered her heart. When she had woken up from the scared little child who had to run home from school and morph into walls, too afraid to be seen, to become what she was. Proud. Cunning.
Evil.
Was there such a thing as good and evil? She hadn't thought so. Under Erik's tutelage there was no evil - she had been good, Fighting for what was right, fighting against the discrimination, hoping to make the world a better place, and it did not matter that she had to kill a few people to do it.
It was when she twisted the neck of an individual she did not know, had turned to see Erik's sad face, that she realized how different they were. Erik saw death as an unfortunate necessity, a means to an end.
She relished it.
It had been a curious revelation, and she remained by his side, ever watchful as her lover and father grew old, tired, and full of doubts.
She was young, strong, clever, and never knew how akin she was to the vampires she had only heard of in lore until she had been brought into the fold.
In her heart, she felt the beating, on her skin, the dryness that never seemed to go away, curiously didn't seem to itch, and every piece of her, from her loins to her chest, seemed so ALIVE.
Fingers gently slid along her dark, coarse hair, cold lips pressed against her naked shoulder blade, and she sighed, smiling.
"It's a wonderful feeling."
"It gets better," her protector promised.
The whir of the jet, quiet and still, broke the stillness, as they both turned, looked up to see the black jet that was barely visible.
"Finally."
Darla nodded, leaving Mystique and turning back into the building.
"Less then an hour and a half to go. They're cutting it awfully short, aren't they?"
There was a jolt as the plant bumped into the corner of the roof, settling down.
From the back, there was a muffled curse that belonged to Logan. From the front, there was what a muffled word that sounded like a `sorry' from Cyclops, and smirks exchanged between Storm and Jean.
Cordelia had her mind on an altogether different question, as the seat belts were unlocked, and they quickly headed out of the plane.
"I don't get it."
Rogue, walking down beside her, gave her a confused look. "Don't get what?"
"Flirting With Disaster."
"HUH?!"
"That Flirting with Disaster comment. I don't get it."
A loud shhhh came from behind them, Wesley probably.
"Oh." Rogue hopped down the stairs, walking backward to talk to Cordelia. "You know. The movie?"
"No."
"Ben Stiller and Tea Leoni. Really cute, but anyways, it's about this couple-"
"GUYS!" Jean clamped her hand down on Cordelia's shoulder, making her jump slightly. "Can we maybe talk about this a little later?"
"Oh." Cordelia gave Rogue a look, and she only shrugged, turning her palm from side to side. The two women gave each other a smile, one that quickly faltered when Scott took a breath, pausing.
"They know we're coming." His hand rose, meeting the tiny but deadly switch on his visor, and with his free hand, he gave two quick motions.
Immediately the X-Men complied, breaking off into pairs.
"Vision Girl, with me," Rogue whispered, grabbing her hand and pulling her around the plane, leading them in a different direction.
Cordelia shook off the hand holding, but complied, watching as Angel stood with Logan, the two man-beasts sniffing the air, at that moment, so alike, that it almost stunned her.
They reached the roof door, and Rogue leaned down, pulling the hatch open effortlessly.
As the darkness emerged, Cordelia felt a slight tremble in the back of her mind, and ever mindful of the warning, she grabbed the railing, shouting a warning to Rogue before the vision hit and she lost control, tumbling forward.
Rogue cried out, her hand whipping out to catch her, but it was too late, Cordelia slipped by her, crashing down the staircase, into the darkness.
"CORDELIA!"
The vision was jolting, the pain coming from the inside and out as she tried so hard to see past the vision, to orientate herself and still stop her fall down the concrete stairs.
She jolted down, a corner hitting her ribs, as the insides of her brains pounded, and the images came flashing, coming so quickly - a stomach seeping blood, a howling in the darkness, bright flash of light and Magneto crying - searing pain, and the coughing of blood, and laughing, devilish laughing as Gunn cried out, holding Fred to him as they sank to the ground - warped bodies and Jean crying out Rogue's name and a vampire sinking fangs into her throat, whispering in her ear, "Is it good for you baby?" - Angelus and Darla and Dru-
The vision slipped and her head pounded, and the insides of it splintered when she felt it slam against the concrete, landing in a bruised pile, surrounded by complete darkness.
And it came in waves, the pain and nausea and it was too much.
Rogue's crying out for her was farther than it ever was before, and Cordelia Chase could only hold her bruised body.
"Crap," she whispered.
"COR!"
Rogue kicked open the door, almost stumbling down the stairs in the darkness.
"What's wrong?!"
She turned, looking up at the two men in the doorway. "Cordelia! She fell down! I don't know… I can't see her-"
Angel came down the stairs, immediately followed by Logan.
"Can't see a damn thing…"
Rogue didn't care.
"Let me go first," Angel said, somewhere up ahead of her. "I can see… somewhat."
"How the hell can you see?"
"Night vision."
Dimly, in the darkness, there were blasts and fighting and muffled sounds of screaming.
Rogue blocked it out.
"Bloody Hell," Wesley whispered, stepping back, as the roof became flooded with people coming it seemed out of all corners surrounding the group still on the roof.
"Break it up, now!" Scott barked, and Wesley kept his grip tight on his ax, as the group split and he waited tensely to engage in the action.
"Inside," he clipped, grabbing Storm by the elbow, trying to move her when he saw an opening as the others fought.
"I can't."
"We need to get inside."
"I can't," she said again.
He paused, and finally looked at her. Ororo Munroe looked tense, nervous, scared.
Forget scared. She looked completely terrified.
A beast came at him and before he had a chance to blink, she immediately turned, pointing a finger and zapping him back.
She was breathless when she turned back to him. "It's dark and small inside."
"Dark and small… " Wesley sucked in his breath as he gasped in realization. "You're claustrophobic?"
"Immensely."
There was a story behind that, but he didn't have time to go into it. They needed to be inside. Already Scott and Jean had managed to get in, driving the mutants back, and Fred and Gunn were following closely behind.
The others were nowhere to be found.
With a swallow, he turned, gently taking her arms. "Ororo, you realize we have to go inside."
"I know." She took in a breath. "But-"
"Ororo." Gently he came forward, caressing her cheek lightly with his thumb. "Fear is a natural thing, but please, don't let it paralyze you."
She blinked once, and then turned, jetting her leg back and catching another approaching mutant in the stomach, bringing him to his knees. "Are you saying I am chicken?"
He smiled at the slight anger.
"I'm saying I don't think you back out from a challenge. And I'm saying I believe in you."
He quirked an eyebrow, and he knew there was something in the unsaid words that hit her because she took a breath, nodded and then leaned forward, pressing her lips to his in a quick, too short, kiss.
"Let's go, English," she remarked, keeping his hand in hers as they walked toward the roof access port.
Angel felt for the wall, keeping his walk calm, eyeing the corners, the eery darkness.
"Cordelia?"
There was nothing, and he continued to move.
"Logan?"
"Right here, Rogue." She reached blindly for his hand and he caught it, tangling their fingers together as they crept along.
"We lost Angel, didn't we?"
"Uh huh."
"Okay." She took in a breath. "So we do this the old fashioned way?"
He nodded shortly. "Sniff our way out."
A low growl right behind them made them both freeze, and Rogue widened, and Logan whirled, sniffing and the claws extending, but it was too late.
Suddenly he stiffened. "Rogue, get the hell out."
"What?"
"Get the hell OUT!"
"WHY?!"
"I can't fucking move!"
And he jolted, and suddenly the scene was all too familiar as light flooded the dark room , and she watched in utter horror as an unseen force threw Logan out, into the hallway, the metal door spping shut, closing her in.
Her heart was hammering, and she was quiet, closing her eyes, trying to still the rapid heartbeat, before turning.
"Child," Magneto said, smiling as he came forward, dressed in all black, landing softly a few feet away. "So nice to see you again."
Oh, God. Oh, God. OhGODOHGOD-
She couldn't be afraid. She wasn't the little girl any more. She wasn't afraid.
"Marie?" he smiled, and still she didn't move, as he touched her cheek, caressing it lightly. She shuddered as the old, soft fingers bit into her, making her come alive with memories that she had worked so hard to push away - reawakening the Magneto inside of her that she hated with ever fiber of her being.
"Don't," she whispered, the tears blurring her vision, as she jerked away, suddenly the scared child again.
He just smiled grimly. "I'm sorry. I have to."
"ROGUE!" Logan pounded against the metal, could hear her muffled words to Magneto on the other side, and was wholly absorbed at doing whatever he could to get in, that the smell caught him at the last minute.
Metal jingled in his ears, and he paused, growled unexpectedly and whirled, claws swinging out.
Sabretooth's eyes narrowed, and he sniffed, the growl matching Logans as he shook the tags in his fists again.
"I'm not done with you," Victor snarled.
Logan stood, the claws out and the eyes dark with rage. "Those. Are. Mine."
When Sabretooth launched forward and dug his claws into his flesh, drawing blood, Logan barely felt it.
His mind had already been given to the primitive nature inside of him, nostrils flaring at the prospect of the kill.
His eyes snapped back to the room that held Marie, but the tags jingled and another claw swiped at him and Logan had no choice.
The Wolverine fought to kill.
The arm was fractured. Maybe.
She staggered to her feet, stumbling down the stairs, catching herself at the last minute as she peered into the barely lit maze of rooms, thankful that the leather of the uniforms had kept her more of less protected from the burns that would have come with the fall.
Her mind was tired, and she was dangerously close to panicking, but she didn't. She was a Chase and she was better than that. So Cordelia sucked in her breath, and continued to walk, trying to find her way to the room where she knew it would all begin, and all end.
Something she still had no idea how to stop- but it all made so much damn sense now.
Heels clicked, breaking the silence, and Cordelia froze, back pressed against the wall, holding even her breath in an attempt to keep from being discovered.
"Pretty Seer wants to play," came the sing song voice.
SHIT. Great. Just Great. Peachy. She didn't just get a vampire - oh no. She had to get the PSYCHOTIC INSANE Vampire. Dammit. Where was cuddly, impotent Spike when she needed him?
Immediately, she began to move, trying to double back where she had come from.
"I can smell the blood. Pure as the driven snow. Pretty Sister, do come out and play. Daddy's precious, deserves to be met."
Cordelia closed her eyes, sunk down in the corner, fumbling around for anything that could be used as a weapon.
She wasn't strong enough to fight off a vampire. Not in her condition. Not with this empathic crap running through her, and her body bruised and weak as it was.
God. This SUCKED.
And her mind flashed back to the first time they had encountered Spike, when she had whispered to Willow, "What do we do?"
"Pray."
And Cordelia closed her eyes and did so. Fervently.
He smelled lust.
Blood. Fear. Hate. Anger.
They called to him, sifting through him, straight to the demon, who prickled in interest, lusting for those feelings, wanting them, needing them.
Angel had long ago learned to manipulate Angelus, because as dangerous as the demon was, he was still the lesser power.
The soul still had control, and that was what he counted on.
He once asked himself if that was wise, because Angelus wasn't stupid. He was deceptive and wily and he knew how to get a job done.
But there was no choice, Angel needed Angelus, and he used him now, taking a breath, letting the face of Angelus slide onto his own, and suddenly he was no longer a man.
He was a beast, and he smelled like one, sniffing the air, yellowed eyes glowing in the night, bright to him as day.
He moved quickly, silently, the growl coming from his throat, as the fingernails scraped across the wall, as he swung around, and the smell was so familiar -
His hand shot out and pinned Darla to the wall, seething as he kept her trapped, hand crushing at her windpipe, knowing she didn't need the air, also knowing it was damn painful.
"Where is she?"
"With a friend." Darla smiled, even as the grip tightened. She always did like it rough. "Angelus. Welcome back."
His eyes narrowed and he reached back, loosening his grip only to slam her against the wall again, making her groan. "Where. Is. She?" he responded again.
Her foot shot out, catching him just under his ribs, and he lost his grip, shaking slightly, the growl from his former lover matching his own as her hand shot out, snapping his head back.
"Angel. What an inconvenience. The pitiful, abomination. Welcome to my chaos."
And he shook his head, gained his bearings, and paused, looking into the eyes of the woman inside the demon he had tried so hard to save.
It had torn him from his friends, torn him from his redemption.
Torn him from everything he held dear - when it hadn't mattered.
Nothing had mattered.
And the beast in him smiled, as he cracked his neck, stretching, the chaos infesting his brain, Angelus perfectly in sync.
"Darla, I told you I would kill you."
And she smiled, gave a low, sexy laugh. "Just try it lover boy."
His hand twitched, and again the soul felt the guilt. This was Darla. This was his past.
But it wasn't his future.
And his hand shot out, backhanding her, making her sprawl back.
He came forward, but she had improved, because she moved at the last minute and it was something he hadn't anticipated, a finesse when there should have been brutality and it was barely a splinter, but he saw the needle as it came out, and he growled, roaring as he reached for her.
But the legs were sluggish and the mind was whirling and he tried to shook it away but the fog only became heavier.
He fell to his knees, and suddenly the balance was not so balanced anymore.
"Absolutely amazing what you find out when you have a shapeshifter who can do interview," he heard whispered into his hear. "A drug, Angel? That's all it took? One drug to bring my lover back?"
He groaned, itching in his chest, burning in his soul.
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