Disclaimer: I do not own nor claim to own the X-people. I do however, confess to wanting to own the X-men. But since nothing ever goes my way, I'm still just a poor high-school student who can only dream/drool about them. So there, I've said it, leave me alone.

Author's Note: I should be working on chapter 14 of 'The Irony of it All' but alas I've got another angst bunny running rampant through my head, and as such I'm obliged to torture my favorite people. * Sigh * I suppose this was brought about by the fact that I was sure I was through Christmas shopping and then suddenly remembered that I had yet to give y'all anything. So as of now, I've got three things running through my mind (scary isn't it?) This wonderful little piece of angst, the beginning of another full-blown story, which was thoughtfully and sadistically planted in my head by Princess Chi, and ch.14 of 'TIOIA.' Merry freakin' Christmas. Oh…and about the archiving rights that everyone says I need to post something about…want, ASK, take, enjoy. Enjoy without asking you will be hurt.

"What the water doesn't wash Away"

She bent and double checked the lock. She always double checked the lock. She was too afraid not to.

That was how she lived, that was how she had to be.

Sometimes she was so scared that she wouldn't open her eyes in the morning, she was afraid to find that that was what she was. All she was.

And so very afraid that was all she'd ever be.

So she bent, and double checked the lock on the door, gave the handle several wrenching pulls to make sure it wouldn't come open, and slowly straightened. As always she made herself turn her back to the door. Cautiously, deliberately, her hands grabbed the hem of her shirt and eased it over her head. Slow, so slow. Always slow, tense, ready at the slightest movement to turn and wrench the material back down her chest if need be.

That was the way she always did it, and in the pit of her stomach, she knew with sickening certainty that that was the way it'd always have to be.

Trembling hands lightly grazed their way down her stomach, hovering at the waist band of her jeans, not quite touching, never quite willing to believe that it was safe. Shaking, floating, whispering just a breath above her skin she paused and summoned her resolve. Tightly, hovering hands wrapped themselves into fists and set themselves against her skin. First the button, the zipper. Check once more over the shoulder to make sure the door is still locked.

It always was.

Now slide the jeans down the curve of the hip, sometimes slow, sometimes fast, whatever it took to make herself shed them. Take out the first foot, and lift out the second. No shirt, no jeans. The last part had to be done quickly. Just a bra, plain white, and panties, undyed cotton. That was all she ever wore. She no one to wear anything else for. Her mind screamed she never would.

She had long ago learned to tune out the things her heart screamed.

Place the hands behind the back, quickly, don't linger. Unsnap the hooks, try not to wince as the snap echoes in the ears, louder than it could possibly be to anyone else who heard.

But no one else would ever hear, so it really didn't matter.

Shrug the shoulders and toss it on the counter. Force the hands down the ribcage, guide the scraps of fabric over the rise of the pelvic bones and then let them fall to the ankles. Step, now bend and toss them to the pile of isolated clothing on the counter. She pivoted toward the shower, reached and turned on the spray with ungloved hands, not allowing herself to enjoy the contact of even cold steel.

Especially not cold steel. Steel was metallic, allowing herself to enjoy the feeling of metal against her unveiled hands was something she would not allow. Something she'd never allow.

Test the water with the hand, no longer flinching at the heat. Hot, thick, suffocating heat. She read once the scalding heat sterilized things. It wouldn't ever work for her, but what did she risk by trying?

Reach back and pull the curtain closed, not stepping in yet, just allowing the heat to rise. She glanced towards the door once more. It was locked.

Another little piece of her died.

Her eyes drifted over to the mirror. They always would and she would hate it. But she couldn't make her eyes stop. Sometimes she wondered if they were even hers anymore.

Next would be the conversation. Nearly the same, never quite close enough to know who would say what first.

Magneto tonight. Sometimes she unexpectedly heard Erik, but tonight, as the majority of most other nights, it was Magneto who spoke first. Never with any lust, or lecherous thoughts towards the body that part of his pysche now resided in, but punishing all the same. Erik was gentler, more apologetic, never really saying much of anything, and like Magneto, he never forced her eyes to look at herself in any way that made her feel awkward. Neither of them did, and sometimes, she'd speak with one or both of them, trying to figure out how two parts of the same person had become completely separate entities. They were the same, but they were different too. But they never looked at her like that. Whoever they were, different or the same, they both loved their wife, Magda. She was one complete memory forged from both their minds.

And some small part of her wished that she'd had the chance to know the woman now remembered but had never known. She looked kind.

The steam was getting thick, Magneto tonight. He'd speak first.

Lost your nerve? Run to check the door again, make sure you don't take any chance on hurting the world that would kill you for what you are. Foolish girl. You cower when you could conquer. Will you ever learn?

'Stop it. Please…just stop.'

Stop? You could move so much farther than this pathetic existence. No more hiding. No more locking the doors. No more cages in which to clothe yourself. Why does that scare you?

'Go away. Please. Be silent. Be still.'

You think you're poison. You're not. You're power. And you're weakness.

It never mattered what Magneto said about her skin. He couldn't understand. He never would. He could call her his sister all he wished but he didn't know her. Not the way he thought he did. His voiced desires would never cause her to remove the doubt she held. Never.

And she couldn't allow Logan's to. Not until it was safe. If was ever safe. If he ever came back.

Logan's voice rumbled through her head like thunder. She'd always loved thunder storms when she was small. It soothed her, chased away the night mares. That's what Logan did.

Even when the nightmares were his.

I'll be there Marie. I'll be there.

'Promise?'

I pormise. Marie?

'Yes?'

You're beautiful.

That was how he finished every night. That was how he'd always finish. Until he came back and didn't have to use a mirror to say it anymore.

She turned away from the mirror. Test the water with the hand, just short of blistering the skin was the heat she used. It softened the perfect poison of her skin,

It also made the blood flow easier.

~***~

Author's Note: So? What'dya think. I told you it was angst. Oh and FYI- I Have no idea what Erik's wife's name was, or if he even had a wife. I've never really followed the comic. Sorry if that upsets you. I used the name Magda, because I read it somewhere in another fic, which I honestly can not remember the name of. If Magda is your creation and I infringed upon it I am truly sorry, write me if this is your character and I'll be happy to give you complete credit. Or who knows…I may have just gotten lucky and Erik actually had a wife named Magda, and the author of the fic was a very well-versed person. But the statement is there just the same, she's not mine. And one more thing, this is un-beta'd so I could at least get this to y'all before X-mas break, so if there are any problems, don't blame my beat reader. Anyways~ Go review and let me know what you thought. Ja Nae~ Lauralye