Chapter Nineteen: Heartbeat
And as you walk through death's dark veil
The cannon's thunder can't prevail
And those who hunt thee down will fail
And you will be my ain true love
And you will be my ain true love
~Alison Krause & Union Station
Piotr gladly considered himself a patient man. Granted, he possessed a formidable temper, one that flashed and boiled before simmering. Careful control enhanced by the knowledge that his mutant gift could harm a loved one often misled those around him. Stoic, they called him, unmovable.
He easily managed to hold himself in check when Storm, Wolverine, and their future offspring announced that the X-Men were providing sanctuary to Magneto’s betrayers. Pyro’s once hard, unyielding eyes became once again familiar at one glance. He, Piotr noticed immediately, regarded the violet-haired telepath the same way Piotr watched Alison.
There would not be forgiveness, not just yet. But there was, to his great surprise and pleasure, an understanding.
Alison’s temper, on the other hand, ruptured like Vesuvius.
Before she could unleash her volatile and rarely suppressed temper on the uncanny duo, Piotr neatly scooped her slender body into his arms and carried her upstairs. She fought. She kicked. She screamed in Russian, Czech, and English, but never once actually attempted to harm the man who loved her.
Once they were alone, locked in the solace of his bedroom, he released her. Ali instantly bolted for the door, which he blocked with his much-larger body.
“Move,” she demanded frostily.
“I’m bigger,” he replied softly. “Don’t make me tie you to the bed.”
As a mark of how seriously she was taking this turn of events, Ali did not even smirk at his comment. She often teased him about that particular sexual adventure and her unwillingness to pursue it under the circumstances was understandable.
So now, roughly four hours later, Piotr was patiently letting her stew. Occasionally, his beloved siren would break her silence to rant. He appreciated her swearing and open annoyance much more than the uncommon quiet. Ali was not one to hold her tongue, so he hated when she felt the need to.
When she was ready, he thought while keeping both eyes on her, Ali would talk to him. While he waited, Piotr contented himself with working on several sketches between bouts of Ali’s towering rage.
Irresistibly cute and unusually beautiful, his young lover was damn appealing while she pouted. Sulking in the center of his bed, she toyed with the frayed hem of her skirt, lips pursed together until he wanted to take that moping mouth with his own. He sketched her idly from the chair he stationed by the door. The curve of her cheek, the long, unbroken line of her nose, that lush bottom lip she painted with sheer gloss…his heart tripped at the sight. How could he have thought this kind of loving, of wanting, was only found in fairytales? There it was, his heart screamed, sitting moodily on his bed.
Charcoal swept over parchment, his eyes never leaving the intense study of Alison’s profile. He moved down to capture the way her chin rested in her palm, her feminine fingers curling slightly over the swell of her jaw.
“I can’t stand this,” she whispered quietly.
Taking his cue without missing a beat, as though it were instinct, Piotr nodded. “I know.”
“He tried to kill you,” Ali continued without looking up. “He damn near killed me, but the almost killing you thing pisses me off way more.”
His hand never paused, never stuttered, while she spoke. That tone clenched his already bruised heart, hating the melancholy and simmering anger that leaked through it. Piotr tilted his head, his hand shifting to recreate the tattoo on her left forearm.
“What’s done is done, my love,” he answered gently. “Would you have altered it?”
“Meaning?” She shot at him, temper rising once more.
“Your foolish leap in front of me saved my life, yes.” Piotr whispered, his heart in his throat. “In turn, it led me to you. Had Pyro not attempted to murder me, would we be here? Would you love me as you do? Would I love you in return?”
Ali’s sea green eyes drifted shut, her chin dimpling with emotion. Piotr frowned slightly, setting his sketchpad and charcoal on the floor before crossing to her. She did not recoil this time, instead welcoming the hand he placed on her shoulder. Finally, the guard was down and she would allow him to comfort, to be comforted.
“Well?” Piotr demanded, meeting her gaze when her eyes drifted open once more.
“I don’t know,” Ali admitted, reaching up to cup his cheek. “I hate it when you get all wise on me.”
Piotr smiled, kissing her lips quickly. Climbing into the bed with her, he slipped around, drawing her tiny form onto his lap. Arms encircled her, making those hands he’d just admired from afar rest on his forearms. He dipped his head, resting it on the curve of her bare shoulder.
“Our lives are never easy,” he went on in a low tone. “We must, at times, do things, deal with people we would rather not.”
“If you’re saying we should just kiss and make up, I’ll singe you.”
Smiling into her skin, he placed a gentle kiss to that shoulder, inhaling the scent of vanilla from her flesh. “No. But I am saying that, perhaps, we should give them a chance.”
She snorted. “Like Lockie stands a chance. I already handed her ass to her.”
“Admirably,” Piotr agreed. “They are not the enemy here. Time is. Perhaps we have the chance now to end Magneto’s reign, to change the course of the future.”
“We already did that,” Ali whispered, her hand drifting to the scar on her chest. Heart clenching, the memory of her body thrust against the wall by Pyro’s flaming projectile racing through his mind, he covered that hand with his.
“Yes, we have. For the better.” With a mental sigh, he realized he truly believed that now. “We have a chance to ensure he harms no others. I want that.”
Her breath caught in her throat as Piotr kissed her shoulder once more before speaking against her ear. “I want no war in our future.”
Ali turned her head, meeting his eyes as her own glistened. She sniffled, the tip of her long nose slightly pink with emotion. “We have one? As an us?”
Piotr pressed his lips to the tip of her nose, then her mouth, then placed his forehead against hers. Oh, how easy it was to be with Dazzler. Her life, her brilliant light, was something he never knew he was missing. Just the thought of a life without it ached. He wanted her, he loved her, and by God, he would live whatever of his days remained with her at his side.
“Yes,” he answered simply. “Our future. You will make millions in music and I will sit at home with the children and a feather duster.”
That brought laughter to Ali’s eyes for the first time in hours, even as her mouth curved into a grin. “A feather duster? Will you have an apron, too?”
“Of course.” Piotr turned her in his arms, forcing her to straddle his thighs. Her arms draped over his shoulders and his heart seemed content to stay just like this, until the end of the world.
“How many kids?” She asked curiously while settling. “Two?”
He mimed thinking of his answer, enjoying the playfulness so ingrained in this young woman.
“I was thinking five…perhaps a half-dozen.”
Ali threw her head back, laughing. “Comrade, if I’m making millions, I’ve got to keep the body somewhat in tact.”
He sighed dramatically. “All right. I will settle for four.”
“Mmm,” Ali hummed, pressing her mouth against his. “Deal.”
Their kiss did not lack passion, but let it smolder and simmer beneath an unexpected layer of sweetness. Hands roamed innocently with the familiarity of intimacy, their embrace comfortable rather than desperate. He sampled her mouth as though there was nothing he would rather do. She explored his slowly, as though mapping it in her mind.
When they parted, he cupped her cheeks, brushing each thumb over delicate bone and silken flesh. Her eyes searched his, the underlying fear wrenching his heart further.
“Tomorrow,” she began haltingly. “Promise me, Piotr.”
“Anything.” He answered without hesitation. For her, he would do anything.
“Promise you won’t do anything stupidly noble.” Her voice quivered. He held her more tightly. “Promise we’ll both come home.”
Piotr knew the dangers. Psylocke’s insane plan was likely to cause irreparable damage, to both the X-Men and the Brotherhood. Nothing could be certain, especially when trusting a former enemy. It was too easy to realize some of his friends might never return.
But he clung to hope, to that simple virtue she taught him in the space of weeks.
“I promise.”
Ali sniffled once more, leaning forward to envelop him in familiar arms. Piotr hugged her as tightly as he dared, burying his face in her long hair. She trembled slightly, with fear, with knowledge, and distantly he realized he did the same.
Neither spoke, content to merely hold on as the hours toward dawn ticked by.
~**~
Not far down the hall, Kitty relaxed beside Bobby in the soft silver moonlight. Their post-coital haze wrapped them in a world where no other existed. That wonderful, elated first flush of new love was stolen from them, but they could find solace in one another.
Their breathing regulated as they clung to each other in the darkness. Naked bodies were sticky with sweat, their desperate lovemaking now fading into companionable quiet. She absently drew circles on his arm as she stared at the ceiling, wondering what the morning would bring to her exceptional family.
Bobby came to her room after the X-Men’s meeting, his eyes haunted and emotions raw. Kitty said nothing, pulling him into her arms so they could soothe that rawness in them both with intimacy and love. Their guilt weighed heavily, but like a derailed freight train, passion seemed impossible to stop.
“I should feel like an asshole,” he whispered, breaking the silence. “But I don’t. That just makes me feel worse.”
“You couldn’t have stopped her,” she replied gently. “She had a choice, like all of us.”
“I know.” Bobby shifted, pulled, until Kitty was held tight into the curve of his arm. “I love you, Kitty. I really do.”
Overcome, she exhaled a shaky breath into his chest. His hands flattened against her back while hers smoothed over his hairless chest. Feeling his slowing heartbeat against hers, Kitty sighed in part contentment, part anticipation. Everything would change with the attack tomorrow.
All their lives as X-Men prepared the young members for a battle such as this. Even Alcatraz seemed to pale in comparison. It was no fly-by-night operation, a frantic fray to halt hateful mutants, but a strategic advance, a first strike against their enemies. Bishop, Shard, Wolverine, and Storm pounded out a strategy with the help of Psylocke and Pyro. They would hit fast, hard, and without any warning. Magneto knew by now that his cohorts betrayed him…did he have time to calculate their attack?
So many variables floated through Kitty’s mathematical mind that she could no longer make sense of it all. Bishop’s arrival threw her sense of the world into chaos. How many variables could she plug into that x factor?
Did Magneto expect their attack? Was Psylocke’s stolen information correct? Was the unlikely duo really on their side? Did Rogue tell her new ally everything about her former family? What do the lives Bishop saved “ Ali, Pete, Jimmy “ mean to the timeline?
For once in her young life, logic failed her. Kitty couldn’t see all the possible outcomes. Fear was alive inside of her, an uninvited passenger as she attempted to sort out scattered thoughts. They’d nearly lost the rescued trio once…should they risk it again? What if all their meddling made things worse?
“Wow,” Bobby said with a small laugh. “I can almost see those insane thoughts going on in your head.”
Kitty pinched his pectorals lightly. “Lots on my mind.”
“I can see that. Your eyes get all wide and her nose scrunches up.” He made a silly face, backing it up with a childlike tone. “You’re so cute.”
“Oh, shut up,” she countered on a chuckle. “I am not.”
“Yes, you are,” Bobby disagreed in a normal tone. “Cute, silly, sexy.”
“Ok,” she nodded with a grin. “Keep going.”
“Smart.” He kissed her nose. “Loyal.” Her cheeks. “Beautiful.” Her mouth.
Kitty was purring under Bobby’s gentle, relaxing touches. She could forget everything when he turned his attention on her. The clutter in her mind “ a constant companion “ flew out that proverbial window under her lover’s easy affection. It wasn’t a simple feat to make Kitty stop thinking. Bobby did it every time he touched her.
“You drive me crazy.” His voice was husky now, a desperate whisper. Ah, she thought proudly, he’d gotten his second wind. Score.
Kitty phased out of his embrace, letting him fall back against the pillows with a laugh. She reappeared on top of him, turning laughter into a long, aching groan.
“That’s the plan.”
He chuckled again and was still laughing as he slipped inside her.
~**~
A floor above, Wolverine stepped into his bedroom, bringing Ororo in behind him by tugging on their joined hands. She followed quietly, wondering to whom he’d been speaking when she came into the room. The dull murmur of voices told her it was a woman on the balcony. Concluding that the hope in his eyes could only come from one of their children, Ororo decided he had spoken with Shard.
Pleased at this, she stopped to turn him around. Logan faced her, his gruff features wild and rugged in the dim light of their bedroom. Her hands laced loosely with his, a gentle tether between them that was a physical manifestation of their bond. Love swelled in her chest, heightened by the fear of what morning would bring.
He wouldn’t ask her to stay behind. Did he understand that no force on earth could keep her from protecting her family? That maternal instinct already in gear with the onset of pregnancy refused to remain safe when those she loved marched to battle? Or was he confident of their victory? How could he know her, them, so well already?
It was her name he whispered to break the silence. A murmur, a heartbeat, which in an instant reminded her why she loved him. Logan loved with everything, holding nothing back. He could be hurt because of that limitless heart and she vowed to treat it as the precious thing that was.
Hard, calloused hands came up to cup her face. Bottomless ebony eyes searched hers, his touch infinitely gentle, wholly consuming. Ororo fought for breath as this man stole it away again, leaving her filled with him.
They came together slowly, mindful of all that would come to a head in the dawn hours. It might be the dumbest thing she ever agreed to or the wisest. Only time would tell.
He undressed her in stages, in layers, letting every barrier between them fall to the floor. They never moved from their place by the bed, eyes locked together as the world fell away. Here, in this place, in this moment, there was only them. Life grew in her belly; love blossomed in her heart. Logan’s hands on her skin became reality, everything else an otherworldly dream.
Only when they were both bare, when nothing stood between them, did he kiss her. Lips were tender, though his kiss hinted of passion, of lust, of love. She wanted everything, all of him, until the world came down around their ears.
Together, wrapped in one another, they fell onto the bed. Her heavy lids fluttered closed as Logan pressed warm, wet kisses to her throat, teeth scraping over the pulse-point. Her hands grasped at his shoulders, trying to find balance before she let go.
Mentally she made promises he might never hear. Unaware that he did the same, she vowed he would stay with her. Nothing would part them, not the malevolence of Magneto, not the decay of time. She would remain with him, with the man she loved to distraction. True love. Ororo never believed in it until the moment her heart took residence in the Wolverine.
Damp skin melded together, shifting and sliding as Logan and Ororo gave their bodies up to boundless pleasure. His hands slipped over her, mapping, remembering. He intimately knew every curve of her, every rise and swell. Even with the knowledge that he could recognize every inch of her in pitch darkness, he touched every inch again. She returned his ardent attentions with the same intensity, the same tenderness.
Their mouths met again, heated passion licking to life inside her, overwhelmed by the consuming warmth. It seemed to Ororo that she waited the whole of her life for this moment, for a time when she and the man she loved would find nothing but one another. He took his fill of her, then came back for more. She feasted on him, on the uninhibited love flowing between them.
He took her quietly, sliding inside so that she gasped with it. Sensation overcame thought and time, each new pleasure washing over the next as though waves on a shore. Their hands sought one another, fisting together on the pillows. Ororo gave herself up to it, surrendering as she could never recall doing before. Logan’s face, contorted and beautiful with pleasure and love, hovered above hers. He took her mouth again and again as their hips met with agonizing, languorous strokes.
No words passed between them, both content to say everything that needed saying through their entwined bodies. Thought hazed and the world grayed, ragged breathing mingling with the gentle groan of bedsprings. Logan held her more tightly, his every breath a plea.
I won’t let go. I’m never letting go.
Was it her chant or his? Oh, God, did it matter?
Heart filled, body tensed, Ororo gasped his name as Logan pushed them both over the edge and into delirium.
~**~
She slept like an angel. Every curve of her was soft with sleep. Her hair lay in wild disarray against down-filled pillows. Her hands rested on the sheets, fingers curled slightly as though trying to hold on to her dreams.
John watched her carefully, unable to believe she was in the room he once shared with Bobby. They were here, in the home of the enemy, betraying someone they both thought they would follow into the very depths of hell.
It was for her. John knew that. He wouldn’t have come here for protection if not for the beautiful telepath at his side. She was worth it, he thought as a lone fingertip stroked the swell of her cheek. Worth fighting, dying, lying for. What else was there?
Battle loomed on the horizon, an end to everything that threatened their lives. He did not fear Magneto or combat or death. But Pyro found himself terrified that Psylocke might be hurt in the crossfire. She wouldn’t stay behind, no matter how he wanted her safe.
A warrior at heart. He had to accept that or get the hell out of her life.
Her violet eyes blinked open, a soft, entreating hum leaving that perfect mouth. Her gaze was clouded with sleep, but she smiled at the sight of him. As though in invitation, she shifted closer, one hand reaching for his.
John couldn’t help but entwine those long fingers with his, smiling at her in the moonlight. Understanding filled those bewitching eyes and she tugged him closer. He leaned over without protest, inhaling the subtle scent of exotic flowers that seemed to cling to her soft flesh.
“John.”
“Betsy.”
Her head remained on the pillow, her posture relaxed. “We’ll be fine.”
He wanted nothing more than to believe her. “Will we?”
Betsy propped up on one elbow, placing her face just inches below his. Tilting his head, John kissed her gently, giving in to the contented sigh when her mind brushed his. He felt the love there, the ache he brought to life. Her brief “kiss” showed him everything she felt for him. It was devastating in the best of ways.
How could another human being feel that for him?
“You are so filled with doubt,” she whispered in that clipped accent. “Have I not gained your trust?”
Alarmed so quickly by that thought, John slid down under the bedspread. His free hand sought the swell of her hip and settled there. It was a possessive move, one designed to tell her without words that she belonged to him and no other.
“I trust you,” he answered honestly. “I’m just a little…”
When he trailed off, she smiled softly. “Besieged?”
“Good word.” John touched her nose with his. “What I feel for you terrifies me, honey.”
Betsy exhaled slowly, her hand tightening on his. Her head fell back, inertia bringing him down until he was lying beside her. Their legs immediately locked together, one of hers draped almost casually over his. Intimate. It was an intimate gesture.
“Its not real if it’s not terrifying, so pardon me for being thrilled.” She winked slyly. “I feel the same way, but that fear is cushioned by the knowledge that I do, in fact, love your skinny, irritating arse.”
Delighted by her playfulness, John pinched her appealing backside. “Huh. I think I love your sarcastic, anal-retentive ass.”
Betsy laughed, the silvery, carefree sound soothing the nerves he hadn’t known went so deep. When she let loose, was free to just be herself, Betsy had some silly tendencies. He found that side absolutely irresistible. While under Magneto’s boot heel, he required his telepath to glimpse diseased minds, to sink into depravity. He very nearly erased that warmth, but Pyro fully intended to nurture it into complete recovery.
“Have you decided?” Her tone shifted to serious. “Where we will go?”
Looking into those deep eyes, John contemplated his answer carefully. There wasn’t a place for them with the X-Men and he knew neither wanted one. When the Brotherhood broke and the dust settled, Pyro and Psylocke would be on their own. The thought was daunting, saturated with the knowledge that they were responsible for one another. No fearless leaders to answer to, no friends to lean on…just them.
He didn’t want it any other way.
“Abroad,” he answered quietly. “Any place you’re dying to see?”
Her eyes reflected thoughtfulness, long fingers clutching his tightly. An anchor, he mused as he squeezed the delicate hand. They anchored one another.
“Africa,” Betsy decided, rewarding him with a beautiful smile. “South Africa, specifically. I want to disappear into teeming broods and unchecked wild.”
Turning this over in his head, John decided he didn’t give a damn where they were or what they did, so long as they remained together.
“We’ll book a flight for Johannesburg in the morning.”
“You’re easy,” his companion teased. “I could have said “The dark side of the moon” and you would be developing a plan for hijacking the next launch.”
Amused that she knew him that well, John shrugged. “I don’t mind adventure, especially if you’re with me.”
Psylocke, hardened warrior, mutant fighter, and all-around badass, went gooey. He grinned, seeing the tenderness flood her eyes, the slight tremble to her smile. It wasn’t easy to make a woman like her melt, and his ego flexed mightily at the simple fact that he could.
“You murder me with things like that.”
“I had to keep you somehow.”
She hit him with a pillow, making her lover laugh so that it rolled through the darkness. He took up his own weapon, smacking her directly in the face. War was declared at this and while the others slept, Betsy and John destroyed one another with cotton and down.
That memory would take them both into battle.
~**~
Dawn was breaking over the grounds when Bishop awoke. He dressed in complete silence, checking the plasma rifle he habitually carried to ensure it was in working order. His braided hair was bound at his nape with a twist of old leather. It wouldn’t do to have the long plaits flying into his face at a crucial moment.
Boots that were scarred with battle and wear covered his feet, his warrior’s melancholy drifted in and out of his consciousness while he prepared. Everything he worked so hard to achieve for most of his life would come to a head in just hours. There would be victory or defeat, either way, his work was coming to an end.
If they succeeded, he and Shard would cease to exist. That thought didn’t bother him as much as he assumed it would. His lack of existence meant the reality altered. Success. His sacrifices and labor might herald a new era for man and mutant alike.
His sister would taste ice cream. They would play together in sunlight without fear. He would live his life without the scars of war.
As though thinking her name summoned her from mist, Shard entered his bedroom on silent feet. She smiled, her eyes already consumed with the call to battle. His little sister, his constant companion, reached for his hand as swirls of pink stained the lightening sky.
“You ready?”
Bishop nodded. “I’ve been ready for a long time.”
Lizzie grinned, tilting her head to study him without qualm. Her eyes glowed about the edges, a signature that she carried over from their beloved mother. Fingers threaded together, holding on as tightly as either dared. There was never shame here, never the stigma others might place on so intimate a kinship.
“I’m looking forward to remembering ice cream,” Lizzie admitted.
“So am I.”
“Luke.” Sister embraced brother, holding him to her fiercely because it was allowed, welcomed.
His arms encircled her, clinging to the little girl turned woman in his arms. Luke remembered, with eerie clarity, the day of her birth. He’d kissed her tiny, squished head, welcoming her to the world because she would be his and his alone.
He taught her how to punch when she was three. That little, beautiful face screwed into such concentration that he’d laughed. She had tackled him, whooping his larger, ten-year-old butt with an efficiency that declared her a Munroe.
Fate gave him this chance to fight at her side one last time. When they said goodbye to this realm, when they moved on, it would be together. Nothing could be more fitting, more perfect than that.
“Liz,” Lucas swallowed hard over the emotion in his throat. “Just get through this day. One more day.”
“That’s all we ever do,” she whispered into the quiet. “One day at a time.”
Even as the others woke and their mother barked over the intercom for her future children to join the X-Men, they held on.
Just a little longer.
