"Okay, you're going to have to brace yourself. This is going to hurt."
"Oh, Gee. What else is new?" she answered in her most dry, sarcastic tone.
Cordelia sucked in her breath, and her hand reached out. Immediately warm, strong fingers entangled them, squeezing in support, and she smiled gratefully.
"Okay."
Jean jerked and she winced, whimpering slightly.
"Okay, it's over."
She gave a sigh of relief, as her arm was put in the sling. She cradled it close to her body.
Wesley gave a sigh from across the room. "Bloody, hell."
Angel looked over, moving forward and settling into the chair next to him. "Any luck?"
"Well the bloody thing makes sense now," Wesley said, squinting his eyes as he poured over the scroll. "It definitely is the shanshu."
The Shanshu. Angel's shanshu had finally come to pass. The ramifications of even THINKING it made Cordelia's heart tremble slightly, as she deliberately avoided Angel's heated gaze. "So what caused it?"
"Apparently - Angel staking himself. Only in sacrificing his soul was he able to retain it. I'm not quite... Angel's shanshu - the battle is never going to be won."
"We knew that."
Cordelia gazed at Angel and he took a breath, looking away. "Yes but... that's not all. Angel's... cross, so to speak, has been taken by someone else."
Immediately both heads swiveled to Wesley.
"Someone else? See that's where I'm not getting it. I'm still Vision Girl. I have… Visions. Not that I'm complaining - more than usual-" she quickly amended when everyone gave her a look. "But if Angel reached his Shanshu , shouldn't they.. you know… be … gone?"
Wesley took in a shaky breath, hands burying into his hair, creating spiky tufts, and it amused Cordelia to watch Ororo smirk, placing a gentle hand on his back, stroking his back in an intimate, definite 'more than friends' kinda way.
"I'll keep looking."
Jean smiled. "Do that." She got to her feet, letting out a tired sigh. "Let me go check on Rogue."
Yeah, that was probably a much better idea than to sit around and freak out about why she was still vision bound when Angel was human.
Angel was human.
She gave a ragged gasp, and found herself smiling slightly as she got to her feet. "I'll go with."
Scott nodded, crossing his arms, before turning to Angel. "Any luck on finding Drusilla and Mystique?"
Angel shook his head, looking almost guilty. "But then again... I haven't exactly been - things have been... distracting."
A slow smile spread across Scott's face. "Understandable."
Angel smiled, a smile that faltered as he watched Cordelia and Jean go up the stairs.
She made sure she was quiet as she drifted into the room, closing the door gently behind her once Cordelia followed her in.
Logan looked up, the hair falling flat around his face, and Jean only nodded, and he nodded back, before turning back, keeping Rogue's hand in his own.
Jean took a moment to steel herself, as Cordelia took a seat next to Logan, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.
Rogue was quiet, and Jean pulled the latex harder up her arms, leaning over the sleeping mutant, gently lifting up the borrowed t-shirt and making sure the bandage was not yet soaked through.
"It's a miracle she survived."
Jean gave a slight smile. "Rogue always does have a knack of surprising us." Logan gave a short snort, and she continued, her tone more conversational. "Apparently Logan hasn't faded quite so much as we thought. She retained some of his healing factor. Not a lot, but enough to stop the wound from becoming worse. It kept her alive. The blood loss is a factor, I'm still not sure about."
Logan took in a shuddering breath.
"Fucking knives stuck in my fucking body like it's a damn cutting board or something."
The muttering made everyone jump, and Jean jerked her face to Rogue's.
The woman's eyes were still close, but she grimaced, a very discernable expression on her young face. "Ah swear. One more person tries to gut me like a trout I put my boot so far up his ass-"
"Fuck Rogue. Save your strength." Logan's voice was hoarse, desperate, with emotion tinging at the edge of it, different than Jean had ever heard it, and even she had to smile at the look of complete and utter relief in his eyes.
The man sounded… choked up.
His hand gripped hers hard, as fingers stroked her face. Under his caresses, her eyes opened, wincing at the light in the room, and then, when adjusted, opening again. The brown pupils dilated at Jean's warm expression as she leaned over.
"Hello, Rogue. How are you doing?"
Rogue grimaced, swallowing, and said in a rasp, "Water."
Damned if Logan didn't almost knock over the chair to get it from the pitcher on the desk.
Gently, he placed his knee on the bed, helping her sit up, carefully tipping the water into her mouth.
She took a drink, grimaced, leaning against him. "Okay. Now comes the age old 'What the hell happened while Rogue was being gutted like a catfish' part."
Jean turned to Cordelia who shrugged. "Nutshell version?"
"I'll kick your ass if you give me anything else."
"What is with the potty mouth, Streaks?"
"Logan remnants."
Logan smiled, fingers running through the soft strands of her hair.
Cordelia rolled her eyes, settling on the bed.
"Cliffs Notes version : Angel staked Angelus, and he's human. We stopped the First Night, thanks to some metal shredding from Logan. Magneto is in jail. Mystique and Dru escaped in the whole 'we think Rogue is dead' sitch, and Gunn and Fred ... are mutants."
Apparently it was a lot to take, because all Rogue had to answer was the very intelligent, "Huh?"
"Rogue, rest. We'll explain it in detail when we figure it all out ourselves. For now, Sleep."
"Yeah. Cause you look like crap."
Cordelia's addition was most definitely not needed but Jean only rolled her eyes, flicking with her finger as she rose.
Rogue always was a bad patient, but when Logan stripped off his jacket and moved his large frame beside her smaller one, carefully gathering her into his side, Rogue had no real grounds for an objection.
Cordelia stood, following Jean as they walked to the door.
Jean Grey was tired. Her body was tired, her legs felt almost numb, and she had a headache. It made things flicker, emotions that she was able to keep filtered out crept in. Usually she would retire with a couple of aspirin and a sleeping pill to knock herself out from the thoughts.
But as she slowly closed the door on the scene of Logan holding Rogue gently, felt the love flooding from him for the young mutant, she only smiled.
It was one emotion she didn't mind receiving.
"Alright. Question. Why the hell do WE get stuck with the dismantling bullshit?"
Fred looked up from her book, giving Gunn a disapproving stare. "Do you really want me to answer that?"
He glared at the contraption, mangled and crippled and not nearly as scary as it had been two days ago.
"Naw. I felt the need to bitch. Thanks for hearing me out. Leftover 'I'm a mutant' trauma."
There was a small bit of quiet after that, as if he was reflecting on that last sentence, and she herself felt a slight bump in her heart as the mention of the word.
Mutants. She and Gunn were mutants. Taking in a shaky breath, she looked back down at the book, but her eyes weren't reading the words.
After being thoroughly examined by Jean, that had been the official announcement. Apparently, that bottle of blood that had been taken from Cordelia had served a very unique purpose. It had changed the machine; at least that's what Jean concluded. Erik had used it, analyzed it, and changed the machine and it worked now.
It had been two days and they were fine. Better than fine.
No danger of dying.
Even now Fred wondered what had possessed her to jump into the blue wave - had she known? Had something or someone knowing?
It was all very peculiar.
She rolled her eyes, looking toward the book and gently turning the page, losing her concentration for a bit and jumping when sparks flew from her fingertips, incinerating it immediately.
"Oh my."
Gunn turned, and suddenly a smile bloomed across his handsome face, as he settled in beside her, placing an arm around her shoulder as she looked forlornly at Magneto's charred notebook.
"It coulda been worse. Storm told me about some dude that has those things shooting from his feet."
It made her smile, as she leaned into him, fingers gently, CAREFULLY, caressing his cheek.
He didn't care about the mutation, trusted her implicitly. Stupid, considering that she hadn't quite learned how to master the sparks, but sweet.
He gazed at her, into her eyes, and his expression softened. Gently, he leaned forward, brushing his lips over hers. She sighed, arm creeping around his neck, bringing him in closer, and when his mouth opened and it became hot, the degree of passion increased, and suddenly her heart was racing, as his hands gently slid over her body, holding her waist, caressing, pushing her into him, and then sliding up firmly, until fingers brushed the tip of one breast.
She broke off the kiss with a gasp, her flushed face looking at him in surprise. He looked a little breathless himself, but dutifully let the hand slide away, leaning in to kiss her once more.
"Too fast?"
She blinked, blushed, and pushed her glasses up, in an effort to hide the smile on her face. "No. But... work. Public place."
"Destroy Machine. Got it."
She got to her feet, breathing in, legs quite wobbly, come to think of it, and crossed her arms, joining him in looking at the machine. "So... Theoretically, we could readjust the parameters to a sequence that could render it harmless. It would take a bit of time and I would need some calculations but-"
"Or we could use Gunn's new manly man muscles." She raised an eyebrow, and her mouth fell open slightly as he jumped onto the machine effortlessly, a definite feat, and used HIS mutation, strength, to rip it all apart in less than a minute.
Her shoulder sunk down. Caveman. A smirk drifted across her lips. "That works too, I guess."
He winked, and when she smiled, he paused from his work, saying calmly, "Girl, you ever throw yourself into a blue wave thingy again I swear I will spank your ass so hard it ain't even funny."
Her eyes widened and he pointed a finger at her, continuing before she even had a chance to huff.
"I kinda love you, you know. So don't pull that shit with me. I just about had a heart attack."
And with that, he went back to his job, dismantling, leaving Fred to watch, shake her head, and smile, a delicious faster-than-normal thumping in her chest.
He wasn't sure how to say good-bye.
He wasn't quite sure if there WAS a good-bye.
Storm had dragged him into this room, stating he had been pouring over his books and scrolls for too long and needed to rest.
He had agreed, his eyes were beginning to cross themselves.
But he had not expected her to slide in with him, place her chocolate brown palms directly over her heart, align her body perfectly with his, the snow colored strands of silken hair spilling across his chest.
They had lain there for hours; quiet, unsure, as his hand stole to her spine, gently sliding up and down.
"You are worried."
It was the first word she had spoken since she had lain with him, and he sighed, tired.
"Yes."
"It is understandable."
He swallowed, nodding. "Well... Angel's Shanshu - as remarkable as it is... so much is left unanswered. And the prophecy is still unfulfilled, and Gunn and Fred are mutants. It doesn't feel like the end."
"Hmm. You are right. It does not feel like the end," she agreed, her voice sending vibrations through his chest. "But that is not what I think you are worried about."
He was quiet, the finality in her voice making him wonder. "Exactly what do you think I'm worried about?"
"Being human. Everyone in your group has achieved some sort of transformation and you have stayed the same."
He was quiet, but felt her fingers as they reached up, tracing a pattern on his chest.
It was neither a confirmation nor a denial, but she knew the answer.
"Has it occurred to you that you did not change simply because you did not need to?"
He took in a breath, closing his eyes.
After a minute, they blinked open. She tilted her head, resting her chin on him as she reached up, and slid off his glasses.
"I highly doubt I have met anyone quite like you, Ororo," he responded, his voice rough.
She was quiet, her eyes frank, open, as if she was processing something, before she spoke. Somehow he got the impression that nothing she ever said hadn't been carefully analyzed and replayed in her mind first.
He admired that. There was discipline in that trait that was almost unheard of in this time and place.
"I would like you to realize something, Wesley," she began, carefully. "You are a truly glorious exception, to a rule I had long ago given to myself."
"But?"
"There is no but." She gave a conflicted smile. "But there is a maybe."
"Remy."
She sighed, resting her cheek against him. "It is complicated. With him. And with you?"
"Yes?"
She smiled slightly. "It is not so complicated. But when I return. Things will be complicated again."
"Is that what this has been about?" His hands gently slid up her arms, light caresses that barely touched her skin, but her heart beat against his chest, and the flush in her cheek made him wonder if she was at the very least affected by it.
"This has been about you. I will miss you Wesley. You make me proud."
It wasn't quite love, but it was enough. There was an aching tenderness within him, a curse that made him wonder why he always had to fall for women who seemed meant for someone else, but her brown eyes were edged in warmth, and it made him wonder, with how perfectly she fit against him, if perhaps this was something slightly more.
A perfect, lean body rested against his, a small, beautiful, sad smile flitted across her features, and she leaned forward, her knee edging between his thighs as she slid up his body.
The kiss was slow, languid, but incredibly sexy. It seeped through him, as she sighed, long eyelashes fluttering against his cheek, as her fingers stole to his cheek, gently tracing circles there, keeping his lips on hers as her mouth tilted, opened.
Increasing passion filled the next embrace, intimacy that deepened, as his arms slid around her waist, until her body fit against his, completely on top of him, and he was able to gently scoop her, turning, until she was gently sandwiched between the soft bed and his firm chest.
When her fingers slid down in between his pectorals, to smooth under his shirt, long nails raking gently at his abdomen, he pulled away, mouth inches from hers as her eyes twinkled at him.
He smiled.
"I hope you figure things out, Ororo."
She blinked slightly, moisture tingeing her eyelids. "Same to you, Wesley."
"Are you sure you're going to be okay?"
Goodness. Cordelia loved Jean and all, but if the lady asked if she was going to be okay one more time, Doctor or not doctor, she was just gonna thump her. Hard.
"I'll be fine. We've kinda got some things to take care of."
Jean took in a breath, looking concerned and conflicted and all Jeany like, and finally just sighed, looking over the rooftop, the wind brushing her beautiful red hair into her face.
With one graceful move, she brushed it away.
"All right. But I will back as soon as I can. And I'll bring Charles with me. I don't feel comfortable leaving you, and Gunn and Fred here with out full control of your powers."
"Yeah I know, mother. But we'll be fine. We've got some other things to worry about. Figuring out this whole prophecy thingy, for instance."
Jean nodded, leaning down to pick up her back.
"Yes. I think it might work, having an X-MEN contingent in Los Angeles."
Cordelia gave a cocked eyebrow, a glimmer of hope in her eyes. "The uniform? I get to keep the uniform?"
"Of course you do, if you want the responsibility that comes with it. And Gunn and Fred, with some training." Jean's face softened, and she nodded. "Good luck, Cordelia. To all of you. And again, my congratulations to Angel on his… Sushi."
"Shanshu. No problem." Jean sucked in her breath, looking back toward the plane.
"Well."
Cordelia paused, cocking her head. "Hey Jean?"
"Yeah."
Jean was quickly engulfed in a huge hug, making her jump slightly, as Cordelia leaned back, moisture making the hazel orbs glitter with unspoken affection. "Thank you. For saving my life. And my sanity."
The words were edged in warmth, and Jean smiled, her throat curiously full as she nodded, patting Cordelia and turning, walking to the plane.
"Careful."
"Fuck, Logan. I'm not an invalid."
"Uh. Yeah you are." Rogue stuck her tongue out at him, but he only rolled his eyes, leaning down and scooping her up, carrying her the rest of the way up the stairs.
The rest of the group was waiting, watching as Logan carefully set her down, taking her duffel bag and walking to the plane, where Angel was waiting.
The sun looked good on him. Bastard could use it. Logan had never realized exactly how incredibly pale the vampire was until he was in the sunlight.
The ex-vampire was silent, eyes drifting over the setting sun, a quiet serene air about him, as he leaned against the jet.
When he spotted Logan, he took a breath, nodding.
They said nothing, as they looked at each other, looking away.
"So. Human, huh?"
"More or less. I've still got the strength. We're not sure... Wes is still figuring stuff out."
"Ah." An uncomfortable silence. "Still growl?"
"Yeah."
"Good." Angel quirked a smile, and Logan nodded. "Chicks dig it."
The smile became a large one. "Yeah."
Another silence, and Logan set the bags down, taking out a cigar from his pocket and looking at it. "Things got a little confusing there."
"Yeah they did."
Logan nodded, turning back to view Rogue and Cordelia, who were talking closely.
"Worked themselves out."
"Sort of."
He nodded.
"Shit still needs to be talked about."
"Yeah."
He nodded again. The cigar was rolled around in his hands, and taking a breath, he looked down at it, before offering it to him.
Angel blinked, and then gave him a questioning look.
"For old times sake." A long look, and Angel took it.
"Thanks."
"Just don't smoke it. I can get away with that shit. Now that you're human, you won't. Shit will kill you."
Angel was the last one to descend after the jet took off.
He stood, hands in his pockets, watching the skies long after the jet had disappeared.
Rogue had not said good-bye, and he knew that it was very on purpose. She smiled, as she walked up the stairs to the plane, had turned, and when their eyes caught, there was an understanding - forgiveness and acceptance.
Wind ruffled in his hair, as the sun set and he took a breath, a long, luxurious breath, and walked to the edge of the roof, swinging a foot over and leaning back, watching the city turn to night.
"Don't tell me you're still gonna do this."
Cordelia stood in the doorway, an amused smile on her face.
He shrugged. "Old habits die hard."
"Yeah I bet."
She came forward, carefully resting her good elbow on the wall, overlooking the city.
"It is a pretty view."
He turned, watching as the sunlight caught the highlights in her hair, making her whole body seem to glow. "Yeah. Amazing."
She was quiet, hands clasped together. "It's almost surreal, isn't it? What happened?"
He smiled, nodding. "Wesley's probably wondering why we haven't locked ourselves away."
"Yeah. Why is that?"
Her eyes locked with his, and she blushed, looking away.
There was a moment of silence, uncomfortable quietness that said more than any words could have. It was written in stone, the insecurity on Cordelia's face, as she traced the ledge with one fingernail.
His heart was in his throat, almost literally, and he took a breath, once again reminding himself that he actually HAD to, before breaking the quiet.
"I guess I don't believe it yet." She looked up quizzically, and he shrugged, eyes roving over the city that they had protected for years. It's... weird. I'm actually... cold. And ... little things like... I forgot what it was like to have the hiccups. And... have I always had that thing with my hair?"
"Yeah. Never went away. But it looks good."
A small warmth settled in his stomach, warmth and contentment and just a little bit of apprehension. "Cordelia. I ... I don't know much about being human. Now that we're here. I don't know what to do."
"Yeah." She let out her breath, slowly, and ever so quietly, she reached out with her good arm, taking his outstretched fingers in hers.
He allowed her to look, and once again he had to remind himself to breathe, every tingly nerve on edge as she carefully held his large fingers in her small one, turning the palm over, studying it, every curve, every line, in a curious recreation of the way he had studied her digits, long ago, on a day he would never forget.
Quietly, she brought the fingers to her lips. He was completely still, and his heart was POUNDING, literally POUNDING, and it brought an almost terrified smile to his lips, as her lips neatly took the tip of his index finger, sucking gently, before letting it go, entwining their fingers.
"We have time, Angel," she said finally. "I hate to break it to you, but I'm not exactly the greatest at being human either. But we have time. We have forever. We'll learn, and we'll make mistakes - but ... it's the future. And we have one. Together. That's... enough for now."
She smiled, shrugging slightly, and tears came unbidden to his eyes as he slid off the ledge and gathered her into his arms, keeping her close to him.
She felt his breath on her ear, her heartbeat steadily bumping from her chest, and in the stillness of the night fall, his own heartbeat, loud and promising and strong, beat steadily against hers.
There was a whimper, and he grazed his cheek against hers, feeling the moistness on her cheeks, and her pliant body was trembling.
"We're here, Angel," she whispered. "We're here."
It was amazing to think about, he knew, and he smiled, joy unspeakable in his heart, knowing it was nowhere near over, but they had been granted this moment. They had been granted a lifetime of moments.
"I know," he whispered.
"What are we going to do?"
"I don't know," he whispered, pressing his lips against his best friend's temple. "I don't know."
She had expected some sort of confrontation when she arrived.
She had not expected him to pull her into his arms and hold her so tightly she nearly choked, nor had she expected to be pulled out of the cargo room without even having time to change and being damn near dragged into his bedroom.
"Remy, I-"
Hands slid around her waist, and she was pulled into a searing kiss, a hot mouth ravaging her before she was able to gather her gumption and her senses and pull away.
"Remy-"
"Tell me I am not too late," he said thickly, dark, fiery red eyes so intensely focusing on her, palms cradling her as if he was holding something infinitely precious. "Tell Remy you love only him, Mon Ami."
Oh... My.
The words hardly had time to process, and she must have looked silly, with her mouth open that way, but Remy didn't seem to notice as he immediately continued in a whisper, heatedly, sincerely, "I love you, Goddess."
Oh... My.
Silence.
Perhaps this would have been a good time to speak. She licked her lips, swallowed when her throat went dry and tried to say something, anything.
She could think of nothing.
"Remy..."
Carefully, she pulled the searing hot hands from her body, plucking them off and giving them back to him, stepping back to a less disorienting distance.
He looked so much in pain, and this was Remy - her best friend. For one night, he had been a lover.
And was it too late?
And he was here and he loved her, and he was serious, no games or sarcasm.
But Wesley was halfway across the country and -
A breath, and Ororo brushed her hair away from her face, moving toward the door.
"Remy... I... need time."
"There is someone else."
It was not a question, and therefore she did not answer, waiting until she paused at the open door. "It is... complicated." Not an easy question to answer. Not one to be taken lightly.
Not one that would be solved any time soon.
She hesitated at the door, pulling back, smiling slightly. "It is good to see you, Remy. Perhaps we can have dinner."
Friendship. She was offering friendship, for now.
She waited, holding her breath, body a little tenser than she would have liked, until he swallowed, running a hand through the wild, crazy hair she loved and nodded.
She smiled, and walked calmly out of the door.
When it closed, she found her strength giving out on her, as she leaned against it, taking deep, heaving breaths, her eyesight blurry and her world complicated.
Complicated.
And not likely to be answered any time soon.
She took a breath, and the Goddess just licked her lips, straightening and turning, moving away from the doorway.
She would decide.
But not today.
"Governor Johnson has issued a public apology to the mutants arrested during what has now been known as the crisis of Downtown. Thanks largely to the efforts of mutant rights activist Jean Grey, the mutants were freed and given a monetary compensation-"
Cordelia switched the set off. "Hello? Where's our monetary compensation? Mutant! Right here!"
Fred rolled her eyes, shoulders shaking in silent mirth. "It never ceases to amaze me the way Mutants are tread upon. I suppose - we have that to look forward to."
Wow. Now THERE was a somber thought that just plunged them into darkness.
Gee. Thanks Fred.
Cordelia gave Fred a long look, looking away, finding an acceptable source in Wesley, who was still buried in his elbows in books.
"You know what Wesley? Give it up. You're not going to figure that thing out anytime soon."
"Amen to that," Gunn said, raising a toast to Cordelia's statement with a glass tipping in her direction.
Wesley gave them both a half glare, taking the coffee in his hand and gulping it down. "As the remaining HUMAN, I would like to say - stuff it."
"I take offense to that," Angel said, coming in, putting down the ax, and placing it into Gunn's hand.
"That's right. Angel is very human, if not a little supernatural." Cordelia winked and Angel smiled.
Gunn just stared at the new ax. "Yo? What's this?"
"Uh.... replacement. Your old one was looking pretty... old."
Wesley blinked, once, twice.
"EUREKA!"
Both Fred and Cordelia jumped at the sound of his loud voice.
"Geez. I hate when he does that," Cordy remarked, but obediently moved toward the table, as their English Watcher began to scramble through the scrolls, finally finding what he was looking for with a feverish sigh.
"THERE!" he said, pounding at the paper. "The battle will never be won, but the cross shall be passed on - the new champions will emerge! HERE!"
Cordelia blinked. "Kay. Huh? Wesley, as weird as things are right now, I still would require an explana-OWWW! "
"Oh shit - Vision."
Angel caught her as soon as her legs gave out.
She shuddered, burying her head into his shoulder, whimpering slightly as she swallowed away the tears.
"Crap, that never does get better does it?" she whispered breathlessly, looking into Angel's tortured eyes.
"You okay, girl?"
"No," she whispered, her voice choked, as she sunk into a chair. "It's not better."
"Oh, God."
Hands were stroking her palms, as Angel kneeled before her, her friends - her family - gathered around her as they stared in open apprehension.
"What'd you see?"
"Icky demon - the usual - but... Angel.... it's..." she blinked, her hand holding onto her head. "Umm... " Her head swiveled over to Gunn, then to Fred, and her eyes widened.
"The vision - was for Fred."
Cordelia swallowed, carefully gauging Angel's reaction, the stunned expressions on everyone's face as they swiveled to look at the young woman.
"Are you sure?"
She nodded, her heart hammering breathlessly, gulping down the air in an effort to clear her head.
Angel stood, still holding onto Cordelia's hand as he looked to the Watcher.
"Wes?"
The Englishmen was standing, almost numb with shock before he shook himself out of it, coughing once or twice before clearing his throat, nodding.
"That was… what I was about to say. " Wesley once again began reading, paraphrasing as he brought the scroll up. '"The battle will never be one. Angel would never be free unless… The only way Angel could Shanshu was if someone took the burden - helping the helpless and fighting the good fight and so forth - FROM HIM. Fred... she was brought from Pylea and has been with us for this exact reason. An apprentice, so to speak."
Cordelia's eyes moistened with tears, and she closed her eyes, felt them dripping down her cheek and wiped them hastily away. "Of course they'd do this. Of course there had to be a catch."
"It's not a catch. I chose this."
The quiet voice that had interjected came from the seated Fred, who shrugged, gave a small smile.
"I... chose it. That night. It's hard to explain... but I think I knew. That's why I..." she raised a hand, jiggling it slightly. "The mutation."
"Oh wow." Cordelia sank into a chair, rubbing at her head with her hands. She closed her eyes and shuddered slightly.
"What?"
"Well... the PTB really does like to keep it in the family."
"I just..." Angel looked incredibly uncomfortable. "Fred and... fighting?"
"Ah. The fighting. I guess that would be me." Gunn stood, and his gaze caught Fred's as he slowly began, "Lorne told me. I'm... her champion."
Cordelia noted the intense stare between the two new chosens, but she said nothing.
"So… I guess I'm still Vision Girl."
"You shouldn't have to be." Fred ran her hands through her hair, standing up, her voice unsteady.
"You and Angel… and even Wesley. You - We took your space. You can leave. You can leave the fight to us."
In the silence that followed, Cordelia could perceive a certain amount of dread.
In everyone.
There was a certain amount of quiet in the mansion, as if the inhabitants were stepping on eggshells, afraid to speak about what had happened.
Everyone was trying to find their ground.
No one knew exactly where that ground was.
More than once, Logan had considered calling the hotel in Los Angeles, asking for the Seer, and in a roundabout way - find out exactly what the hell was going on.
Nothing was easy, mutants civil rights activists were likening the quarantine of the mutants as bad as when the Japanese-American citizens were quarantined during World War II.
It was a heated argument, and the world was on edge.
And in the mansion, with the mounting tension outside, and the quietness that happened inside, he wondered when things would go back to the way they were.
Until he realized they never would.
Rogue was healing, good for her.
On the outside. But Jean, still tired and still not sleeping, told him that she would not talk about what she saw, or how she had managed to defeat Magneto.
And she was not talking to him.
Logan was never good at the talking thing.
He was getting better, but when he tried usually every other word as an expletive and he doubted Rogue have appreciated that or thought it the least romantic.
He fully intended to pry whatever it was that was going on through her out of her. She knew he loved her. He had told her, laid it all out on the line, and he wondered if perhaps that had been part of it.
Too much to lay on a woman barely out of being a child.
Even now, he wondered if the Logan inside of her was just so completely disgusted with his turn of suitor and in a fatherly way, warned her off of Logan.
After all, Logan was no fucking saint.
He should have gone after her, have cornered her and made her talk, because that was the only way she would.
Instead he waited and brooded - and shit, he wondered if he had spent too much time with the damned vampire - sorry - ex-vampire.
Apparently she got tired of it, because in the end, she cornered him.
In his room, on his bed.
She slipped in, closing the door behind her, carefully gentle with her rapidly healing body, as she lowered herself down in his desk chair.
"Don't move," she said, when he swung his feet over the bed.
Okay. So he didn't move.
She waited, sitting, wringing her hands together, and with her streaked hair tied back in a braid, face still void of makeup thanks to a shower that had just been taken, she looked almost like a child, had it not been for the incredibly old eyes.
But she was hauntingly beautiful, and it was one of many observations he had, as he waited for her to speak.
Finally she licked her lips, took her breath, and began.
"I love you," she said, a trifle shaky. "I... love you. Don't move-" she said again, when he looked ready to jump off the bed. "Stay the hell put, sugar."
He growled, grumbled, but she narrowed her eyes and he stayed put.
"I... want to be with you, Logan. And ... I know I've been a shitty person in the last few days but... I love you. That's it. That's... all that matters. I love you and I can't be afraid of... me anymore. Because you... you make me not afraid. You ... touch me, Logan. In a way no one else does."
He stayed quiet a long minute, and she swallowed, shifting her feet, before finally her impatience got the better of her and she demanded, "Well?!"
"What the hell do you want me to say?"
It was gruff, and to the point, and she swallowed, looking insecure as she looked away, unsure how to take the stern tone.
But true to her fiery nature, she finally just told him, "Ah want you to tell me… that it's not impossible. That there's hope."
Her voice trembled, there was an odd, choked sound, and she looked so vulnerable, and suddenly he was there again, that fateful day, so many years ago, when he had held her in his arms and promised to never be afraid of her, to always be her friend.
He sighed, running his hands through the coarse hair and standing, pulling out the dresser drawer and pulling on a long sleeved shirt, leaning against the wood.
His back was to her as he said, "I can't do that."
There was deadly silence, and he heard the chair scrape on the wood, and he took a breath, and continued shakily, "Not if you don't believe it, Rogue."
He turned, and something jingled in his hands. Her mouth was parted slightly, eyes turning wide at the side of the tags dangling from his fingers.
"Well?"
He could hear the rapidly increasing heartbeat, could see the way she processed the gloves, the long sleeved shirt, the stance, and the intensely feral stare he was so good at giving. Rogue was always a quick girl, clever.
But he never expected the primal urge that went through him she licked her lips, and said in a husky voice dripping with hope, and desire and…. Love, "And why the hell don't you make me believe it, sugar?"
He didn't need a second invitation. In two strides he was there, with her, and shit he had to be careful because she was still hurt and she was strong but-
"Logan," she whispered, and it was quickly followed by a gasp as he held her, rocked her, showed her exactly what he meant by hope, by love.
Gloved hands threaded fingers, and she held on to him, straddling his waist, as he held her, forehead beating with such sweat as he touched her, gentle, always gentle.
He could be rough later.
Her body was hot, sweaty, and her small and impossibly strong fingers held tight to him, as she leaned her forehead against his shoulder. Her body was pliant, warm, trembling.
"You've always touched me, Logan. You're the only one," she whispered, mouth pressed against the flannel, blurring the words.
And it was there, in those words, what Rogue couldn't bring herself to say, not yet, but it branded him, searing into his soul, and he shuttered, almost forgetting about the skin as he pulled back so he could stare into her eyes, into her soul.
Depth and sincerity met him in those glistening orbs, and suddenly it was him who's chest was heaving, as she slid gloved fingers up his chest, eyes wet with unshed tears.
"I hate this. I hate not being able to touch you."
"Shut up, Rogue," he snarled. "You can."
Their eyes locked, but again words weren't part of the conversation, and he made her believe, he MADE HER believe.
There was hope.
Fingers rubbing absently on his bare chest were soothing, but a tad bit distracting, and Gunn only responded by pulling her closer, thankful that his body, sated, finally, truly, for the first time in what seemed years.
The intimacy in the air was palpable, and Gunn felt it, as he ran a finger up the skin of her back, tracing the silkiness up her spine, a pale contrast under his dark fingers.
Gunn had only made love on a few occasions. Sex was something he took seriously, and almost never did it - because having it meant something. It was a distraction, from the much more horrid evils that homeless life had to offer.
He wondered what exactly had caused this, why this was different, why this was special. Why did he need to hold her, keep her close to him? Why did he wish not to fall asleep or roll away and instead fought the sleep, if only to see the flutters of her eyelashes where her cheek rested against his left pectoral?
"Gunn?"
He brushed his lips against her forehead absently. "Yeah, baby."
"Are you scared?"
"A little."
She was quiet for a moment, and when shifted, now chest to chest as she crossed her arms across his, regarding him.
"Did you think they'd really stay?"
He sighed, shrugging. "I hoped they would. We could use their help."
She cocked an eyebrow and he carefully combed through the wild dark dresses of her hair with his fingers, moving them away from her face. "I would have missed them," he admitted.
"I'm glad they stayed too."
He let out a sigh, thinking back to the answer that Cordelia and Angel and Wesley had given them.
It wasn't over. It wasn't ever going to be over. And they would stay, for as long as it took.
There was no light at the end of the tunnel, but there was hope, and friendship… and love.
It was what they were fighting for, after all.
That hope.
"Are you seriously gonna eat that, sugar?"
Rogue looked positively disgusted as she cocked an eyebrow, hand tickling the nape of her neck as she looked on in perfect horror.
Logan gave her a blank look. "What? What's wrong with it."
"It's... that's Bambi!"
He rolled his eyes, taking another rib and pulling off the meat with his teeth. "One of these days we're gonna have to wean you off of Disney, baby."
"Hey guys, enjoying lunch?"
Rogue looked up, smiling up at Jean, a smile that faltered when she saw her friend's face.
"Jesus Jean you look Fried! What the hell are you doin' up? Get some sleep!"
"I will, I just..." The telepathic doctor sat across from them, licking her lips before taking a breath. "I... wanted to tell you something."
Logan passed Rogue another look, but clearly concerned, she only nodded, leaning forward. "Sure, sugar. What's up?"
"I... I was going over Cordelia's charts. The procedure that we did was ground breaking. But..." Jean gave a tight smile, fingers twitching over her free hand excitedly. "Cordelia gave us a key to... unlocking genetic... we were able to filter her mutation. That's huge. And if Magneto could figure it out to turn ordinary humans into mutants, then the possibilities-"
"Jean, honey what are you getting at."
Jean took a breath, calming herself, and began again, looking directly into Rogue's eyes. "What I'm saying is, we might be able to find a way, using Cordelia's charts and genetic samples... to find your switch."
Something jolted through Logan's heart, as he turned, saw the way Rogue seemed to be struck dumb.
"Now, I don't want... I'm not sure, but... there's hope."
Rogue was quiet for a moment, and finally, she managed a tight smile, reaching over and pressing Jean's hand tightly.
"Thanks."
There was more emotion in that one word than Logan had ever seen.
Jean smiled, shrugged, and then pushed her exhausted frame away from the table.
Logan waited, putting down the rib, wiping at his hands with a napkin.
She was incredibly quiet, shoulders hunched over, face hidden by the hair, the streaks in her face.
He barely heard the word she whispered.
"Wow."
He waited, and finally, he reached for her hand, pulling it away from her lap and moving it onto his.
She looked up, incredibly misty eyes as he looked at her.
Carefully, eyes locked on her so that the meaning was clear, Logan pressed his lips against the glove, cherishing the touch.
And there it was, tangible and reachable and yet incredibly far away. But it existed, and it warmed her heart as his mouth pressed against her palm. She smiled, and continued her task of finishing her food, because the future was a bit brighter, the first night was a little bit over.
Because there was hope.
He was seated on the computer, alone.
Wesley Wyndham Price took the glasses off, reaching up to gently massage at the crook of his nose, blinking away the exhaustion.
Gunn and Fred, now bound together not only by choice, but by destiny were holed up together, no doubt doing what new couples in love did.
Cordelia and Angel most likely consummating what had to have been the longest courtship in history.
And Wesley, was alone, in the hotel, piles of books and scrolls surrounding him, eyes red from rubbing and body tight with tension, with no destiny, no future, desperately human and unsure.
Everything was changing.
Joy and uncertainty mixed together into one not altogether stable stomach.
Wesley never asked for much. And truly, his heart burst with happiness for Angel, a centuries long struggle that never seemed to end, finally coming to a lighter, happier place, with one of the most amazing women he had the pleasure to meet.
But there were feelings inside of him that betrayed him, made him wonder, exactly where he fit in the puzzle.
It was a sobering thought.
"You've got Mail!" the computer said.
Wesley looked up, sighing, reaching for his glasses and sliding them on. With the mouse he clicked on the icon, stilling when he realized exactly who it was from.
"Perhaps it was immature of me, but I felt the need to reach out to you, even if it was through the joys of the Internet. I am here, and things are no less complicated, and I gather they are not exactly uncomplicated for you as well. But the thought of you brings a smile to my lips.
I hope thoughts of me do the same for you.
All my love,
Ororo Munroe."
It took a minute of rereading for his heart to finally work again, as the small smile drifted upon his face.
"Whatcha doing?" The hand clamped on his shoulder startled him, and he gave a small yelp when he turned, finding Cordelia looking over his shoulder.
"Bloody hell, Cordelia!"
"Weirdo," she responded, grabbing his hand and pulling him up. "Where the hell were you? We were looking for you everywhere!"
"Pardon?"
"There he is!" Gunn smiled, coming forward as he entered the lobby, tossing him his coat. "What the hell dude? Holed up in there like some sort of hermit and crap! Let's go?"
Fred smiled, pulling on her coat, Angel helping her before holding his hand out to Cordelia.
Wesley just looked confused.
"Is there... has Cordelia had a vision?"
"No. Thank God." Smiling, she slid her arm into the crook of his neck, pulling him along. "Darts. At the bar. You better come. We choice it cause you like to do it."
Gunn thumped him on the back of his head, and Wesley's glasses nearly dislodged, but the smile that his best friend threw at him was one of warmth, of love.
Of family.
Wesley sighed, taking in a breath, as he let them drag him out, muttering about bars and bets and forthcoming apocalypses.
But he smiled, because there was one thing that was certain, even as he doubted so many other things in his life.
There was hope.
"With mutant/human conflicts as tense as ever, White House officials are urging that citizens stay as close to home as possible, until further notice. Rep. Dan Fisher said in open conference he does not regret the quarantines."
The reporter cut to an elderly looking gray haired man, with a stern expression and ever more stern glasses.
"We cannot allow what happened in Downtown Los Angeles to happen in any other part of the country. I believe that it has been established with this that mutants are dangerous, and I will continue to take on the late Senator Kelly's work in pursuing the Mutant Registration Law. It is now a matter of life and death."
With a muffled curse, Scott Summer flipped off the television, giving Storm a tired look before shaking a sad, grim smile.
It was something he had to worry about, but now, so many other things took precedence in their own little universe of a school. He took a long look at the pad that was handed to him, reading over the scribbled notes quickly, making mental notes that were filed away in the back of his brain for later perusal.
"Mr. Summers?" He let the pad fall away from his gaze, instead finding them locked on a young boy with spiky green hair and a badly skinned knee.
"Wow. That looks like it hurts."
The child looked almost teary, and Scott smiled, reaching out with his hand. "Jean?"
"Um... Scott." He turned, and Ororo motioned with her head.
His fiancee was lying on the couch, sound asleep.
On her face was a gentle, peaceful smile.
Scott paused, watching the serenity on Jean's face.
"Storm can you take him to see Hank?"
"Of course. Come along, Ned."
Carefully he kneeled in front of his sleeping wife, studying her. The lines of worry on her face had diminished slightly, and sleep, the sleep that had avoided her for weeks now seemed absent from her face.
Gently, he gathered her into his arms, as she readjusted herself automatically, resting her head on his shoulder and sighing.
It wasn't far to their room, and settling her on the bed without jostling her took some effort. As he pulled off her shoes, he heard a sleepy murmur, "Scott?"
"Yeah, Jean?"
"Are we okay?"
He smiled, moving up to regard her sleepy eyes. "Yeah. We're gonna be fine."
A gentle kiss pressed against her lips, and she smiled sleepily, eyes drifting closed again.
Carefully, he pulled the blanket over her, walking out the room, closing it behind him.
"Cyclops?"
"Hey Bobby."
"Is Jean around? Her class is starting and the kids are wondering where she is."
Scott just shook his head. "She's sleeping. I'll take over."
"It's biology."
"We'll play on that CD-Rom. I'm not disturbing her."
Bobby just shrugged and nodded, and Scott followed him to the classrooms, looking back to the closed door.
He wouldn't disturb her for the damn world.
His world was plastic.
Clear and transparent, and so terribly sturdy.
Erik leaned back, watching as Charles was wheeled in.
"Old friend," he said, nodding as Charles wheeled himself in, and not a smile crossed the handsome face.
"Erik," he responded easily.
They sat, across each other as they had sat for countless times, chess pieces in perfect order, score card ready and waiting.
But it was different.
Magneto had a curious lump in his throat, an irregular beating in his heart as he waited for Charles' familiar greeting.
"What?" he said finally. "No sermon, old friend?"
A shake of his head was all he got.
He waited, watched, as Charles bored into him with those eyes of his, making no secret of what he was doing.
It was unnerving, to see not a hint of warmth in the kind, old face.
"Whatever are you looking for, Charles?"
"I am looking for a trace of my old friend, Erik," he responded, voice clipped. "And I found him lacking."
Magneto's smile faltered, eyes drifted down to the plastic frosted pieces, strategically placed on the checker board.
"You think me dead?"
"I think you dead, Erik."
He swallowed, unwilling to believe he was trembling. "What makes you better than me, Charles? You and your ideals."
"I do not make deals with devils. I do not endanger the lives of the innocents-" Charles cut himself off, looking away, before looking back, taking a breath, voice calmer, more controlled. "The difference between you and I, Erik, is that you have lost hope in all things."
"Ah. And you have not?"
"On the contrary, I have. But only in you."
A plummet of his stomach, a lump in his throat, and all he could produce was, "I was trying to change the world!"
"You did. You've gotten mutants quarantined and riots started. You've gotten innocents killed. That is the world you have changed, Erik."
Magneto's body was rigid, his eyes were flashing, and he said vehemently, "You think you are any better, Charles? Having those children doing your work for you?"
"No, I do not. Because like you, Erik, I have chosen not to forget."
And with that, Charles Xavier motioned, and Magneto watched with red, angry eyes, as his age old friend moved away from him, and left him in the hard, plastic bubble that he loathed.
Erik sighed, his hands knotting into angry fists.
Charles was right.
He would never forget.
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