Chapter Seventeen: Psylocke
Said I’m fortunate to have you girl
I want you to know
I really adore you
All my people who know what's going on
Look at your mate, help me sing my song
Tell her I’m your man, you’re my girl
I’m gonna tell it to the whole wide world
Ladies say I’m you girl, you’re my man
Promise to love you the best I can
~Usher
Long after John slipped off to dream, Betsy lay awake. Her darkly violet eyes traced the shadows and lines of his face in the moonlight. When she’d first come to Magneto, to the Brotherhood, she had found Pyro the most interesting of the ragtag group. He was malicious and vengeful, his power coveted in the circle of mutants.
But as the months went on, their suspicious natures and distrust faded. While Magneto found new favorites to further his increasingly insane schemes, they slowly drifted together. Betsy took him willingly into her bed, but she fought to keep him out of her heart.
It had proved futile, much to her amusement. Pyro blazed past her defenses and set up shop as though he intended to stay. She found that she could adore him, respect him as a potential mate. They understood one another on a basic level; found solace and comfort where there should be none.
In battle, they were a flawless team, unlike most of the doomed Brotherhood. They complimented one another, depended on each other for support. Psylocke had resented this at first, no matter how comfortable it seemed. She hated needing anyone, but John made being alone next to impossible.
Now, she saw everything they had worked for with new eyes. Watching the blonde mutant fall, sensing John’s remorse and guilt had opened her eyes. Looking around the squalid base of operations no longer filled her with righteousness. Magneto’s increasing distance as he took Rogue under his wing only reinforced what she was beginning to understand.
Perhaps what she believed was once noble. Freedom for mutants, the joy of being different. Psylocke had always reveled in her powers. She loved her status as a mutant, bearing her mark proudly as she fought beside her beloved Callisto. When had these noble ideals been perverted? What Magneto asked of them now was murder and corruption. He hated and fought to bring that hate into every follower’s heart.
No longer could Psylocke follow him blindly. She reached up, trailing one long finger over John’s lips. Her little psychic’s kiss told her enough about his thoughts and emotions to give her a clear indication of what he desired. He wanted her to seek out refuge with the X-Men, their hated enemies. Part of her railed against the suggestion, but her new perspective granted her a moment’s pause.
John’s tales of life among the X-Men still echoed in her mind. Though he hated their hidden status, their easy defense of those that would rather see them all dead ate away at him with every passing year, he respected them. He explained time and time again that they were a family, more so than the Brotherhood could ever hope to match. She barely understood this concept, but knew it to be important in the grand design.
“I understand,” her accented voice was barely a whisper in the darkness. “I understand, John.”
Moving with the stealth of a trained warrior, she slipped from the bed after kissing his pouting lips. While he breathed deeply in the land of dreams, she pulled on a pair of jeans and a black top, sweeping her long, violet-streaked hair into a sloppy ponytail.
On silent feet, even with her heavy boots, she opened the window and peered into the night. John thought they had more time, but Betsy knew Magneto well. If they did not move soon, they would go down with him.
For him, for the man she loved, she would go to their enemies. Psylocke folded her lithe body into the window, pausing as she perched on the sill to glance back at John’s moonlit form over her shoulder. He muttered in his sleep, reaching out to her side of the bed in search of her.
“Bets?”
But when John looked up, blinking sleep from his eyes, all he could see was the open window and curtains dancing on a soft breeze.
~**~
Standing at the bathroom sink, Ororo listened as Logan chuckled at something John Wayne was saying on the television. She knew he was propped against her headboard, likely naked, with a beer in his hand and a cigar pinched between his teeth. She smiled briefly at the image, knowing he was out there, waiting for her.
A glance at her hand made the smile spread somewhat further, the glint of her diamond ring shining in the bathroom light. They’d purchased it together, inscribing a delicate “For my ‘Ro, my Storm” on the underside of the band. She would inscribe his wedding band with something similar, the matching rings a symbol of what she knew in her heart.
Placing the small plastic tube on the counter, she turned to the side, watching her reflection carefully. Beneath her white satin robe, she pushed her still-flat belly out, pinning the material to the sides to simulate a swollen abdomen. Ororo giggled soundlessly, looking over her shoulder as though Logan would appear behind her.
It would be awkward, she decided. Her body would swell, hormones thrown completely off track…she wondered how her mutation would be affected. Storm faced the mirror once more, allowing her belly to lie flat as she peered curiously at herself.
There was no change, not yet. It was unlikely anyone would notice anything in the near future. But she knew. Was there light in her eyes? Did she glow? Her smile reappeared as she took up the small plastic tube again, her gaze drawn to the two pink lines that indicated her condition.
How? How was this possible when all medical data said it could never happen? Ororo exhaled slowly, trying to push away the panic that suddenly took up residence in her chest. Without a doubt, she was pregnant. Her little Lucas now dozed beneath her heart. She already knew what a man he would become. Noble, strong, valorous.
Ororo would give the world this incredible gift and it humbled her. Lucas had come back from his timeline, into a world he hardly knew, to save their kind. What mother could resist that overwhelming swell of pride and responsibility? She caught her own gaze in the mirror again, mentally preparing herself for the years to come.
Her son would grow into a fine man, but she would die before someone marked him.
“’Ro? You fall in?”
At Logan’s call, she swallowed hard. “I’ll be right out.”
“You ok?”
“Fine.”
His grunt said he didn’t believe her, so Ororo killed the light and opened the bathroom door. Clutching the positive test in her hand, she leaned in the doorway, watching him with a fond smile upon her face.
There he was, her Wolverine. A beer between his naked thighs, cigar in his mouth, chest blissfully bare. Just Logan. He could really be a simple, uncomplicated man. Give him alcohol, nicotine, food, and sex and he nearly purred like a kitten.
“Whatcha lookin’ at, darlin’?” His question was in that teasing growl she knew well, one of his brows cocked inquisitively.
“You,” she answered simply, shrugging one shoulder.
“Oh, yeah? Like what ya see?” Logan waggled his brows at her suggestively.
“Of course.” Ororo pushed off from the doorway, stepping fully into the room and around the bed.
Logan’s eyes watched her every move, his predator’s gaze taking in every sway of her body as she passed in front of the television. It stroked the hell out of her ego when he watched her that way, as though he would rather look at nothing else. Inwardly preening at his undivided attention, Ororo came to her side of the bed, shrugging out of her robe.
He rewarded her choice of nightgown with a hearty wolf whistle, licking his lips as his eyes took in every curve. Ororo rolled her eyes at him, setting her robe on the edge of the bed. The clingy ivory satin was a personal favorite. She felt posh and sexy beneath the plunging neckline and nearly invisible straps.
“Was I a good boy today?” He inhaled from the cigar, his voice a husky whisper. “Cause that looks like a present.”
Ororo tossed him a saucy smirk, her heart leaping to a frantic tattoo in her chest. She had to tell him, the knowledge begging to be released to the world. She took a steadying breath, then silently handed him the pregnancy test she’d just spent the last several minutes taking.
Confusion covered Logan’s face as he took the slender plastic from her. His beer was set on the nightstand as he turned it over in his hands. Ororo held her breath, waiting for it to dawn on him. In the dim light, she could see the reflection of John Wayne in his eyes.
The cigar fell from his mouth when it dropped open in shock. When the still-burning end scorched his thigh, he came back to life, scooping the lit cigar into his hand as he stared at the tube. Ororo felt her heart trip as he turned those unfathomable eyes to her.
Hope was written so clearly there that it momentarily knocked her off balance.
“You…”
“I’m pregnant.”
Logan tackled her.
Ororo laughed heartily as she was flattened to the bed. Cigar and test went over the edge of their bed, landing on the floor and quickly forgotten. Her fiancé’s lips claimed hers, his nude body splayed over hers in a rough marriage of satin and skin.
“I thought you couldn’t?” He choked when they broke for air.
Ororo’s head was spinning. “I know. I can’t explain it.”
His hands came up to frame her face, holding her to him as their eyes met across the scant inches that separated them. Logan smiled, really and truly, before whispering against her lips.
“A miracle,” he told her as their lips met again. “Just a miracle.”
She hummed under his touch, her heart skipping when a masculine hand splayed eagerly over her unchanged womb. Her love buried his face in her neck, inhaling her scent with the precision of primal instinct. Ororo felt that telltale heat pump into her system, the tingle under her skin a call for Logan’s masterful touch.
His lips curved into a smile she could feel against her flesh, even as his hand began to explore her curves over the soft satin. The material bunched as he gathered his fingers together. Slowly, teasingly, the cloth whispered over her thighs.
“Feel like celebratin’?”
At Logan’s taunting growl, Ororo licked her lips. Her head lolled to the side, providing him with better access as his tongue darted out to taste her.
“I thought we might want to reenact the event.”
“Read my mind, woman.”
~**~
In the light of a waxing moon, two mutants sprawled on the roof of the sleeping mansion. Bishop and Shard were propped up on their hands, leather-clad legs stretched out in front of them. It was, as only they knew, a long-held tradition. Even at the height of war, when the concussion of explosives could rend the night, there could always be peace like this.
Brother and sister were side by side, looking up into the clear, starry sky. The moon, full and round, beamed down it’s silvery light, casting everything into ethereal shadow. Xavier’s School sat upon grounds that were beautifully kept and masterfully displayed. Every nook and cranny was filled with life, with hope, even in the dead of night.
Shard shifted beside her brother, drawing his gaze to her lovely face. She was smiling, that soft, secret smile most would never think her capable of. Lucas knew, of course. He could read his sister like an open book. Neither of them handled separation well, something they continually blamed on their parents. Even the thought of being apart could cause something akin to physical pain.
When Bishop prepared for his mission, Lizzie became sullen and withdrawn. They thought, at the time, that his jump back in time would spell the end for them. Never again would they sit like this, alone in the dark. Lucas thought that there could be nothing more painful than leaving his little sister. Saying goodbye to his parents was hard, but leaving Lizzie was almost more than he could bear.
Many could not understand how siblings could be so close when so far apart in age. Lucas once again shoved the blame onto his parents. Since her birth, Lucas was given one mission that he never failed in.
She’s your sister, son, you don’t never let her down, hear?
Father’s stern words to an amazed seven year old were inscribed on Bishop’s heart. Not once in his life had he contemplated being without little Lizzie.
“They’re weird,” his blonde companion said suddenly. Amusement, barely detectable, lingered in her voice.
“Mother and Father?” He questioned, already knowing the answer.
“Yeah,” Lizzie whispered. She tilted her head at the swollen moon. “She’s gorgeous.”
Bishop had to smile at that. “She will always be gorgeous.”
“The old man hasn’t changed much, huh?” Lizzie chuckled softly. “Man, he’s just a badass.”
“Oh, yes.” Lucas shook his head, long braids rustling with the movement. “They were interesting, to say the very least.”
A short, comfortable silence followed this as the siblings lost themselves in fond memory and easy speculation.
“She pregnant yet?”
After sighing, Lucas launched into the tale of his two months among the X-Men. Lizzie was a captive audience, as always. She reacted in all the right spots, grunting comments when required and keeping her mouth shut otherwise. He felt as though he were confessing, weight leaving his chest as he poured his heart out to his only true confidante.
When he was finished, Shard whistled lowly. “Good. God.”
Relieved, relaxed, Lucas nodded. His shoulders, relieved of their burden just slightly, slumped with the effect of his sister’s patient listening. What had he been thinking? Shard should have come back with him from the start. She, as always, was his partner in crime, his best friend.
“Man, Luke, I can’t believe all that happened…” She reached over, squeezing his shoulder quickly, comfortingly. “And you haven’t lost your damn mind.”
“I haven’t?” He quipped with a small smirk.
“Well, no more than usual,” his sister replied impishly.
“Lizzie, there are pieces to this puzzle that I cannot understand. Marie’s betrayal went off flawlessly, but how…”
“Do Dazzler and Colossus fit in?” She finished his thought effortlessly, shrugging one shoulder. “Dunno, but they’re involved in a big, bad way.”
“Father had a point, they are a few X-Men up from our timeline.”
“True.” Lizzie chewed on her lip absently. “They’re solid, loyal, there’s something to that.”
Lucas grunted his agreement. “Do you think…”
“Psylocke will turn?” She shrugged one thin shoulder again. “Hell if I know. Mother was confident about that aspect, especially if Marie turned…”
“But it seems so damn unlikely. Mother sounded like a psychic in those last months. She was trying to predict how someone else would respond twenty years in the past.”
“Yeah,” Lizzie said with a knowing smile. “But how often is Mama wrong?”
They shared a short, intimate silence at this. Knowledge that only they carried of the woman sleeping below them, wrapped in the arms of the man that would father her children. The siblings lapsed into that quiet contemplation, watching the stars dance against inky black sky. Crickets sang in the distance, mingling with the soft rustle of grass caught in a breeze.
“I keep expecting to hear the explosions, the gunfire, the screams.”
Bishop glanced at his little sister, nodding once. “It was the same for me.”
“Its amazing,” Lizzie went on softly. “I watched a group of kids play basketball today. They were laughing, had absolutely no fear of anything.”
“They didn’t lie,” he answered just as quietly. “There was a time before war and fear.”
“I want it,” his sister said fiercely. “I want this, Luke. I wanna grow up in this place, smiling and laughing with my mother, father, and stupid big brother. I never want to be afraid that one of you might not come home.”
Because she was here, because he could, Lucas threw an arm over her thin shoulders and tugged her close to him. He rested his chin on the top of her head, squeezing her tightly as she melted into her big brother’s embrace.
“We will, Lizzie. That’s why we came back.”
“I know, Luke,” she whispered in the dark. “We have a chance to save the world.”
Inspired suddenly, Lucas grinned and kissed his sister’s hair. Remembering his conversation with Beast that awful night after his arrival and his mental wish for his sister, he decided to go with his gut, to show her what this world could be like.
“Before we save the world, you’ve got to do something for me.”
“What?” His sister questioned without moving her head from his shoulder.
“Help me raid Uncle Hank’s ice cream stash.”
Lizzie pulled away, frowning at her brother with confusion in her eyes.
“What’s ice cream?”
~**~
While Piotr studied for his upcoming college exams, Ali found herself wandering through the mansion. It was still early, but she was winding down from her midnight security shift the previous evening.
Armed with a cup of decaf and her battered guitar, she made her way to the front door of the mansion. Settling outside, inhaling the dewy morning air, she set her cup down and idly strummed the guitar strings.
Everyone who was not preparing for university midterms or coming onto shift was still asleep. Her instrument played a soft, hopeful tune to match the perfect serenity of a spring morning. The air was heavy, scented with clean blooms and rising sunshine.
“I never knew what real love was,” she sang quietly into the dawn. “Until that night you stole my heart. I still can’t believe it, how can this be true? Just promise me, wherever you go, you’ll take me with you.”
Warming to her tune, Ali shifted on the steps, propping the guitar more securely on her lap. She was playing by ear, letting her hands and voice act out of instinct. One of her many gifts was to remember everything she played…if it happened to be worth a damn. She never forgot a good tune, no matter how asleep or wasted she was.
Continuing with the gentle, swaying melody, she hummed into another verse.
“I found everything, while lost in your embrace… It’s here inside me, held captive in your eyes. Please don’t leave me. Now I’m too afraid to be alone. So wherever you go, take me with you.”
Changing the tempo of the music, she continued on, mentally marking her last lines as a chorus.
“So, baby….if you’ve got room in that heart of yours, don’t leave me here alone. Keep me in your soul, even when we’re apart. Don’t take your love away, stay here by my side. Take me to heaven with you. Take me with you.”
Her mind flashed through recent memories of Piotr, uncommon tears stinging at the back of her eyes. Her heart ached. It was so stupid, so completely insane to care for someone as deeply as she cared for her Russian lover. She could so easily lose herself in him; submit to him in ways she never thought possible.
The effect was evident in her music, her voice. Everything she’d written recently was some sort of lament to him. She had told him once, before that devastating first kiss, that her songs were written for a “mystery man” she had yet to meet. Ali wondered, for the first time, if she had found him.
“Ali?”
Turning sharply, she tossed her guitar aside, leapt to her feet, and launched herself into Piotr’s arms. Where he had come from or why didn’t matter, so long as he held her close. She wrapped one long, pajama-clad leg around his thigh, her arms tossed carelessly around his neck. Ali buried her face in Piotr’s shoulder, even as his impossibly strong arms came around to hold her tightly.
“I love you,” she whispered suddenly, unafraid of the consequences.
Piotr tensed, his arms tightening around her as though in reflex. Ali gripped him as though her life depended on it, sniffling against his shoulder.
“Oh, thank God,” he whispered at last. “I thought I would have to say it first.”
Ali chuckled somewhat tearfully against his shoulder. With trust she’d never known she could give, Ali leaned back so that he had to shift to hold her steady. She kissed his lips sweetly, gently, before nuzzling his nose with hers.
“Not a chance, Mother Russia.”
“I do love you, Brawler,” he replied, stealing another heart-stopping kiss.
“We’re nuts,” she whispered, grinning happily. “I barely know you.”
Piotr shrugged, a small, winsome smile curving his perfect mouth. “Who cares?”
He kept her in his arms, as though in no way bothered by her weight. Their eyes met, obsidian on jade, and locked together. She could see him, through him in ways no other could ever boast. Piotr’s passion and fire reflected back at her, mingling with his innate tenderness, his wonderful heart. He humbled her with every second.
Piotr gave her his heart, the key to his soul, and she suddenly understood what a precious thing that would be. She kissed him again, a single tear slipping from her eye to spill down her cheek. Alison never cried, but the emotion between them was so strong in this moment that she could not hold herself back. Her comrade deserved more, all.
“Well, this is a touching scene. Anyone have a hankie?”
Colossus dropped Dazzler on her feet and the blonde woman turned sharply. She immediately thrust both hands out, calling on her mutation as the grating sound of metal on metal told her Piotr had tapped into his own power.
“Oh, stop that, you stubborn gits.” Psylocke said testily as she darted out of the line of fire effortlessly.
“What the hell are you doin’ back here, Lockie?” Dazzler spat angrily. “Ready for another round?”
“Perhaps later,” Psylocke said primly, looking from one to the other. “I’m here under a white flag of truce.”
“I see no flag,” Piotr said with a deadly, flat edge to his voice.
The violet-eyed mutant drew herself up proudly. “I need to talk to Storm.”
“Uh, no,” Dazzler said after a sarcastic pause. “How bout I kick your ass instead?”
“Do shut up, Sparkles,” Psylocke dismissed easily. “I do not have time for this.”
“Make time,” Piotr interrupted coldly. “You are not welcome here.”
The Asian beauty seemed unconcerned and took several steps closer. Dazzler and Colossus closed ranks immediately, each trying to protect the other. Alison swallowed hard, ready to thrown down with the telepathic mutant again if need be. She wasn’t touching Piotr if Ali had anything to say about it. No one would hurt her Colossus.
“I’m here in peace,” Psylocke tried again. “I have information for Storm.”
Ali and Piotr shared a quick, calculating glance.
“Information?”
At Piotr’s question, Psylocke grinned. “Oh, yes. I’m here to bargain, big guy. I want my freedom and in turn, I’ll help you obliterate Magneto.”
Ali’s suspicions grew, but curiosity was getting to her. What would make this strange mutant betray her leader? Did she really have something the X-Men might need? Were Ali and Piotr ready to walk away, possibly destroying a positive step for Xavier’s heirs?
Another glance at Piotr told her he was thinking all the same things. They had to, at least, take this to Storm and weigh her decision. Her lover nodded almost imperceptibly and Ali turned to their unwelcome guest.
“One wrong move, Lockie, and I’ll rearrange your face. Again.”
Psylocke shrugged easily. “Fair enough.”
As the unlikely trio entered the house, Ali moved to take Piotr’s hand. It seemed their declarations would have to be celebrated later. For now, they had to figure out what to do with Magneto’s right hand woman.
