A/N: Okay, this is a fanfic that just wouldn't leave my mind, even though I should be updating the other two fics (that I've left un-updated!) but I promise to get on those now, what with my last year of high school finished, and my preparations for my France vacation complete.

While this is an X-Men fanfic, it's really more of a fic designed to fit into this X-Men roleplay site I belong to, called Gods and Insects, on I suggest you google it and check it out. Yes, I do play the character Mystique, and in the canon that is G&I-land, Mystique entered a relationship with Charles Xavier. Sounds odd, I know, but after time, it kind of makes sense to me. They hurt the most from Erik's rejection, and understand each other's feelings and hurt. Just keep that in mind while you read.

My song I recommend to you: "Set the Fire to the Third Bar" by Snow Patrol. I listened to that at least once a day while writing this, because it fits so well. Maybe I'll post a snippet of lyrics, who knows.

Enjoy!

"Raven!"

He reached out to her, a futile motion, as the bullet sped into her upper torso, and she collapsed on the ground like a broken marionette, strings severed. The rain turned gushing crimson blood into dark brown puddles around her, and her face was contorted in that of agony for a moment.

How he cursed himself, his inability to get out of this damn chair, and do something. Instead, he could only lean forward, trying not to tumble out, and try to lift her head up. The edges of her mind began to dull from the pain, and her face settled into that of a calm mask, as if she knew what would happen. She knew what was to come.

"No," he whispered, hand clutching hers tighter as her own grip slackened. "Raven," he begged, as if it would help keep her hold on the tangible world. He begged her, to stay here, stay with him. She mustered a small smile, but she was past words now, they were too much for her to attempt. Instead, an image came to her mind, one that he picked up easily. It was him, or how she saw him. Eyes crinkled at the corners, not from age, but from joy and summers spent with the students he held so dear. A mouth that was so often stern and serious, but made the moments that he smiled completely worth it.

I love you. The thought came to his mind, backed by her complete love for him. Being a telepath, he could feel it, almost as if it were palpable. His heart wrenched, in an almost physical pain.

It took such a short time, for an object so small to drain her of her life-force. Her eyes glassed over, and her grip on his hand went slack. He was always the person with the most control, the most restraint on his emotions. But the moment her hand became limp in his, he cried out in an almost bestial moan, the tears overflowing and cascading down his cheeks. The earth seemed to freeze in her passing, as if Time itself mourned the loss of someone so special to him. People turned, eyes widened, but it would not bring her back. And that was what he wanted most right now.

"Good morning, sleepy." He opened his eyes, seeing her half-lying on his chest, watching him with an amused look on her face.

"I've rarely been called by that nickname, as I usually get up at sunrise," he remarked.

"Well today wasn't one of those days," she teased softly, fingers running up his chest slowly. "It's past nine o'clock." His eyes widened; he should check on the students. Especially because they could tear the place down around them in no time flat. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept in so late.

"I know that look," she teased. "And nothing burned, and I haven't heard any explosions yet. So how about staying with me for a little longer?"

He grinned, running a hand through her ruby red locks. "I think I can acquiesce to that request."

Unshaven, sloppily dressed. He was never this way, even after Jean, the woman he viewed as a daughter, had died. And the heavens seemed to echo his very thoughts, as thunder boomed and lightning lit the sky frequently, with rain pounding on the roof tiles. Or it could be Ororo, trying to let everyone deal with the events in their own way, isolating them all with a thunderstorm. That could be it, as she personally was not grieving as hard as the few who really cared about Raven were.

"Not even in death," he whispered, watching as lightning split the dark sky. It was a dark, midnight blue sky, thanks to the storm. The color of her. Maybe, if he concentrated hard enough, he would find her out there, in that tempest. Maybe.

He had risen from the dead once, but that had been mostly due to his telepathic powers. Hers were purely physical, and even though she had a minute healing ability, there was no way to heal such a fatal wound. She would not rise as he had done.

As his new body had become accustomed to his powers, he had scared her, as his heart had momentarily stopped one night. She had embraced him tightly, saying she didn't know what she'd do if he left her. To which he'd replied "I will never leave you, not even in death." And she had repeated that she'd never leave him as well. When she said it, he knew she'd just meant that she'd never leave him, a proclamation of her love for him. But now, he wished it to be more than that, more than anything. Raising his hand, he reached out, stroking the glass. It was a barrier between him and the night; him and the heavens. Between him and her.

"Take the bedroom," he ordered.

"Are you going to make me?" In her anger, she'd blurted out the most hurtful thing she could have accidentally said to him at that moment. Her eyes widened and the anger drained as she realized what she'd said.

"Do you really fear me that much?" He asked, his expression open, full of hurt. It didn't help that he was slightly drunk, having had some whiskey to dull the pains of their fight that morning. Going by the recreation room, he'd spotted her on the couch, making herself comfortable. He wouldn't allow her to do that.

"No, I...I didn't mean it," she said softly.

"Then what did you mean?" He asked, his voice angry, but hurt.

"I meant that you're going to have to use force to get me to move," she said, expression hardening once more. "I won't take the bed because you have nowhere to go except your office, and I don't want you to do that."

It was harder for him to process, in his less-than-sober haze. "Take the bedroom," he said stubbornly. They'd had a fight; it was about the issue of trust. They never fought, but today they had, and it was big. He wanted her to just take the bedroom; she had nowhere else to go, and the couch was hardly fitting for her to sleep on at all. He could just stay in his office for the night.

She stood up, and stayed silent for a moment, just looking at him. Her eyes made his heart ache. "Fine," she said quietly, striding past him, leaving the room without a backward glance.

"Charles?"

He looked up, seeing Ororo's face staring back at him across the kitchen. He had made his morning tea. Chamomile, he noted, with a pang of sorrow. Her favorite. He'd bought a box for her every time he went shopping, and just seeing her small smile when she unpacked it from the groceries made it worth it. Ten times over.

"Yes, Ororo?" He asked tiredly.

"I'm worried about you," she admitted. It was early, still at least a few hours before the students woke up for the day, so she could speak freely. "You haven't been coming to meals, and I see the light on in your office at all hours."

"I appreciate your concern, but I'm fine," he said sadly.

"No, you're not," she said flatly. "But we have to move on."

His face hardened; how could she say such a thing? "Is this how you were after my death?" He asked quietly. Her face paled slightly, and her eyes widened.

"I-No, that's different," she said after a moment.

"Yes, it's different because I loved-"his voice cracked, suddenly hoarse. "Love her." He couldn't move on, it would be like asking him to forget the time they'd spent together. To pretend as if their love had never happened, or worse, died along with her. He was angry, and Ororo just didn't understand. How he wished he could throw stomp angrily out of the room. But he couldn't. Instead, he had to content himself with just leaving the room, unable to speak with her any more on the subject.

"I don't trust her."

Ororo's face was furious, with sparks almost literally shooting out of her hair. "Ororo, please," he said gently, trying to calm her down. She was his former student and friend, couldn't she trust in his actions?

"No, Charles, I can't sit and take this. You say she's switched sides, that she has good intentions. That's a load of crap. And now you're here, telling me you two are..." She stopped, clearly disgusted. He understood, of course, and knew her feelings were justified. It still hurt.

Nightmares haunted him, causing him to toss and turn. Raven...she'd been taken from him. Nathaniel Essex's cruel, grinning face leered out at him, stroking her pregnant belly and purring about how well his child would be put to use in future experiments. With a small gasp, he awoke, covered in sweat. His pajamas were sticking to him, damp. Looking over, he saw her. Safe, and sleeping soundly. He sighed with relief, and put a hand to her stomach. At five months pregnant, her stomach was noticeable, and it gave him comfort.

"Charles?"

Turning his head to look at her, he saw he'd woken her up, as she looked at him with concern, blinking the sleep from her eyes.

"Don't worry, Raven, you should go back to sleep," he said, giving her a weak smile. He knew by her look that she was still concerned, but also knew that she was exhausted, and didn't argue. Shifting closer to him, she turned onto her side, resting a small hand on his chest, as she nuzzled into him. His arm came to rest beneath her, cushioning her head, and the other draped across her, rubbing her back tenderly as she fell back to sleep once more. "Sleep," he whispered, feeling her breathe in slow, measured breaths. As she succumbed to sleep, he rubbed her back, before he felt sleep begin to overtake him again as well. Her presence calmed him, allowing for him to sleep better than he had in weeks.

"Let's go say 'hello' to Daddy..."

Xavier looked up from behind his desk, seeing Jean walk in, carrying Isabelle. A pang of sorrow struck his heart as simultaneously as he was happy to see her. Her soft black hair bounced as she gave him a big smile, eyes twinkling.

It was still somewhat strange, seeing Jean again, walking around as if everything were normal. As if the Phoenix never took over, she never died, and she'd never killed him. But, like a true phoenix, she'd risen...but without the Phoenix herself.

"Daddyyyy..." she squealed happily, reaching out to him.

Wheeling out from behind his desk, he accepted her from Jean. She stood up on his lap, with his arms securely holding her. "How are you today, Isabelle?" He asked, giving her a soft smile. She gurgled happily, bouncing. Her eyes were so blue...it was amazing. They were her blue. He looked up at Jean, pained. How could he ever explain to his daughter that he couldn't protect her own mother? Protect his family?

Jean took the growing tears as a sign to come swooping in, picking up Isabelle out of his grasp. "I'm sorry, Jean..." he said, putting his head in his hands.

"It's alright, Professor," she said comfortingly as she picked Isabelle back up, trying to keep the toddler from crying. She had the face that every small child made, as if a volcano would erupt in the next moment if they weren't careful. "Shhh..." Jean whispered softly. With a reassuring look at him, she carried Isabelle off, most likely to the Nursery. He was glad he'd appointed her to be god-mother. He couldn't do this alone.

"Do I make you happy?" She asked, concern in her voice. "In the way that you make me happy." She shifted from sitting to laying down on the bed beside him as they got ready to go to sleep.

"Of course you do," he said, puzzled at why she'd ask such a thing now. "Why do you ask?"

"Your family is being torn apart because of our relationship, and I don't want to do that to you," she whispered, moving closer to him.

He was touched that she considered the effects of their relationship on others he cared about, but they would adjust in time. Shifting himself closer to her, he wrapped his arms around her in a comforting embrace. "Don't worry," he whispered. "They shan't come apart, and neither will we."

All this damn paperwork. It was becoming such a chore, how did so much accumulate? He shoved the papers aside, scattering them across his desk. He couldn't grade papers for his classes, either. It was too much.

"She's beautiful," he said softly, kissing Raven on the cheek as she looked at him tiredly. She was exhausted, but he'd never seen her happier.

"She has the most beautiful blue eyes," she remarked, looking down at the bundle in her arms. "I think she gets them from you."

"Charles..."

His eyes flew open at the sound of her voice, damp with sweat from a nightmare.

He'd dreamt she'd been taken from him, gone forever from his warm embrace. A moment later, everything came flooding back; the recent events, the emotions. He looked over to his side, where she had lain with him. His hand moved to gently rub against the empty spot, feeling how cold it was. She would never lay there again. No one would. He sobbed, unable to take it; the rush of emotions, the overload.

"I have to say, I really enjoy cooking for you," she commented, smiling at him as she brought over the lasagna, setting it on the table. She poured him a glass of wine, and orange juice for herself. Giving him a quick kiss on the cheek, she sat down across from him, serving herself a large slice of lasagna.

"And I enjoy sharing meals with you," he said, smiling as she kissed him on the cheek. He held up his glass. "So, what shall we toast to?" After this glass he would switch to juice, because he had a low alcohol tolerance, and she couldn't join him in wine.

She paused for a moment, thoughtful. "To the coming together of kindred spirits."

He smiled, and clinked his glass against hers, gently.

Hank had decided to stay, until things "got back to normal", as if there were such a thing. He saw Hank and Ororo, whispering to themselves. It was angering, to see them skirt around him like skittish deer, afraid to look him in the eye. He wasn't sick; unless grief counted as an illness.

"Is there something you'd both like to tell me?" He asked, tone sharp.

Ororo and Hank turned sharply; they hadn't known he was there. Ororo shook her head, but Hank looked guilty, like he was hiding something.

"Hank, just spit it out," he said, irritated.

"Well, Raven had been down to the lab, and I got her results back," he said, his voice quiet.

"And?" He asked, brows creasing. Tests? For what? Had she been ill, just before-? Don't let her have had cancer, he thought to himself. To think that he might've lost her anyways...it made his heart wrench.

"Raven was over two months pregnant," Hank said, his voice barely above a whisper.

He froze. She'd been about to have another baby? If he'd known earlier, he'd have never let her go out there, where it was so dangerous. "Oh, God..." He was going to be ill. He'd lost two people that day, unknowingly; the woman he loved, and a life so tiny that it had yet to be acknowledged.

Hank and Ororo asked if he was alright, but he didn't hear them. He was too busy trying not to lose the contents of his stomach.

"It's a little hot tonight." She'd come into the room, after he'd already prepared for bed, and stripped off her clothing. All of it. And she made no move to put on pajamas. Instead, she sat on the bed, and shifted closer to him, still completely naked. He blushed, not used to such things, not after ten years of an empty bed. And she knew it, too. That only increased his initial embarrassment.

Her eyes danced with mischief as she scooted closer to him on the bed. She was beautiful, a goddess. And he felt unworthy. "Raven, why on earth do you love me?" He asked suddenly. How could she love a man like him, whose values were a little too Victorian for the times, and couldn't even use his own two legs?

"Have you ever heard of the actress Rita Hayworth?" She asked, responding to his question with one of her own.

He shook his head slightly. "No, I haven't."

"Well, I think her most famous saying applies to me, for the most part. She said "Men go to bed with Gilda, and wake up with me", and Gilda was her most famous role. Men go to bed with the dream, and wake up with the reality. I can be anyone, a buxom blond, fiery redhead, spicy Hispanic, or an oriental goddess. But you chose me, Charles. The real me. Don't you think that, if it's possible for you to accept all that I am, and even love all that I am, that I'm capable of the same for you?"

He paused, her words sinking in. Then, he reached over, pulling her into a tight embrace, his face buried into her neck. And for a long time, they were content to just hold the other.

"She loves you very much."

He turned, seeing a...blind woman, on his right side, glass of champagne in hand. He didn't remember inviting her, had Raven? "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name," he said apologetically.

"Of course you wouldn't, she probably wouldn't want to introduce me," she said, shrugging.

"And why is that?" He asked, brows furrowing in confusion.

"We were lovers," she said simply. As if it were the simplest thing in the world. To him, it wasn't. He hadn't known that Raven had been also involved with women. Then again, it shouldn't have surprised him, what with the fact that she could impersonate men and women in all sorts of games.

"I told her years ago that she would eventually find the person who would complete her, and Erik wasn't it," she continued. "She was still completely devoted to him, and thought I was trying to get her to leave him behind. I wish I could see the look on her face now," she said, a smile forming on her face.

"Oh, I think you know what my face looks like right now, Irene." He turned, seeing Raven not too far off. She looked slightly embarrassed, as if he hadn't been intended to hear that.

"Congratulations," Irene said, walking over to Raven, and giving her a hug. "I told you I hadn't been making it up." Raven simply nodded.

"I know, Irene. And I apologize."

"Don't," Irene said, making a dismissive motion. "When is the baby due?" Raven scowled, almost as if she knew Irene would ask such a question. Despite the fact that they hadn't told many about it yet, and the fact that she didn't show visibly yet didn't matter to this knowledgeable blind woman. "October," she said proudly.

He didn't know much about her, this Irene, but already he liked her, and could tell why Raven had loved her once. Irene turned to him, and gave him what he thought seemed to be a sad smile.

"You two will go through a lot, but I expect you both knew that when you entered your relationship," she said in a knowing tone, as if she knew exactly what the two of them had endured. "But you both have achieved something that not many can claim truly."

"You killed him," he said, anger rising in his voice. The world was better off with him dead, that was fur sure, but killing someone in cold blood went against his beliefs.

"I snapped his neck," she said simply, calmly. As if it were any such thing.

"You killed him," he repeated, tone rising still. "That goes against everything I stand for, and you know that!"

"What I also know," she said sharply, "Is that he was a thread to your Cause, and everything you believe in. He was a threat to everything I'll fight for, and he was a threat to the baby. I'll never let a man like him pose a threat like that."

"We wouldn't have let him get away with it," he said, voice returned to normal. The subject of the baby was a delicate one, and he too felt the protective surge of anger she did when the thought of what Essex was capable, had he succeeded.

"He would have come back!" She exclaimed, clearly agitated because he couldn't see as she saw. "Rehabilitation wouldn't have worked on him."

"We won't know that now," he said angrily.

"Good!" She got up off the bed abruptly, heading towards the door. If she walked out that door now, they might continue this fight for days.

"Raven," he said, in a pleading voice. He didn't want to fight with her; not now, not ever.

"What, Charles?" She asked, stopping. She made no move to turn and look at him.

"Don't go," he said softly, shifting himself on the bed, and adjusting his legs with his hands. He would go after her, but he'd rather he didn't. Chasing someone in a wheelchair just came across as pathetic. She turned slowly, looking at him. Her eyes were sad, as if their argument was silently killing her.

"I won't leave," she said quietly. After a few moments of silence, each of them looking at the other, she walked slowly back towards the bed, going on his side and sitting next to him. He reached out, taking her hand in his, and squeezing gently. After a brief pause, she returned the squeeze of his hand, turning her head to look at him. Her eyes made him ache.

"I've never hated arguing so much," she admitted softly.

It was so very different; he only had his relationships with Moira and Erik to compare to, and he hadn't ever reached the argument stage with Moira. And Erik was...Erik. Her words touched him.

"You little wretch!" A man cried, striking Raven, and knocking her to the ground. He felt indignant rage rising in his blood, and was about to tell this man to step away from her, when he realized that Raven looked very young, at least sixteen. The older, dark-haired man had to be her father. He was in a dream. Her dream.

"How dare you go outside, looking like this," he hissed. She whimpered as he struck her again, and then kicked her in the stomach.

"Dad, please," she screamed, unable to fight back. She jolted awake, and he with her. He could only hold her in his arms tightly as she sobbed into his shirt. "I will never let that happen to you again," he said firmly, reassuringly, as he tightened his arms around her.

"We'll use your name," she said, shifting so that she could get closer to him. He wrapped an arm around her, obviously pleased. He didn't think that the Xavier family name would continue after him. Until now, that is. "I have no intent to continue the Darkholme family name," she continued. After living with her for so long, experiencing her nightmares of her family, he didn't blame her one bit.

The storm had long past finished, and it was already promising to become a beautiful day. But he wanted it to be miserable out, cold, wet, and miserable. The world shouldn't be so bright without her in it. After his insistent urgings, she wasn't to be buried in the Xavier family cemetery. Instead, she would be buried in the place next to his memorial plaque, dedicated to him when they hadn't recovered his body, and before he had risen. Where he would be buried someday. The funeral itself was brief, and not as many as he'd hoped attended. It pained him that there were still those who shunned her, even in death. He wept silently, unable to hold back the rush of tears. Jean held his daughter, as he could not bring himself to look at her, let alone hold her. When the funeral service was over, the others payed their respects, and, after leaving red roses on the coffin, filed out slowly. He stared at her grave stone for a long while, not even moving. He read her inscription over and over, but not really absorbing the words, not really accepting them.

"Raven 'Mystique' Xavier," he whispered to himself. "Beloved wife, mother, and friend. Taken before her time. Before her time," he repeated. The words failed to register in his mind. If they didn't, he hoped, that meant they wouldn't be true. But as always, he couldn't fool himself. No matter how much he wanted to. She was never coming back.

He wheeled closer to her, to her coffin. While red roses lined the sides, he placed two white roses at the head. One for him, and one for Isabelle. Because she would probably never remember her own mother. After a decade of solitude, and two failed relationships, he didn't have much of a reference as to what defined a soul mate. But he knew that he and Raven so much deeper than Moira, and even Erik. Maybe there wasn't even a word for it.

During the first few hours he slept, he had no dreams; his body was trying to recover from the events of the day. But after that, his dreams came, bittersweet and sad. They were memories, the good ones, of the times he'd spent with her. They were beautiful, and he almost wished he would wake up, and spare his heart the pain that he already felt.

And then she appeared. Coming to him, as though the events of the past few weeks hadn't happened. She fit into his arms as neatly as she had before. "Oh, Raven," he whispered, caressing her hair and holding him close to her. For the longest time he held her, neither of them saying anything, but knowing. Just knowing. After what seemed to be only an instant, she began to pull away, but his arms tightened around her. "Please don't leave me again," he said softly.

"Charles, I've never left," she said gently. And it dawned on him that he could hear her thoughts, feel her emotions. Like when she was alive. He couldn't feel that in a dream, could he? He felt her.

"I've been with you the entire time," she said, her eyes sad, yet full of love and joy at the same time. He'd never encountered such amazing eyes, yellow as daisies, that could captivate him in such a way. That could express a hundred different things at once. And when he looked into her eyes, he believed her.

"It's not the same," he argued, heartbreak evident in his voice.

"I know," she said, bringing a comforting hand to rest against his cheek. "But it will have to do." He felt her wish that she would never have gone, and he felt her satisfaction at having been a part of something that was bigger than herself. Something good. Something she believed in with all her heart. "Please, don't leave Isabelle alone, she needs you. And you need her, too," she told him. "I'm so sorry I left you," she whispered, nuzzling into his neck."

"How can we endure it?" He asked, pained. He hugged her tighter to him, and felt her own arms wrap around him in response.

"We must," she said simply, looking up at him as tears came to her eyes. She brought her hand up, wiping his own tears away. "I will never leave you," she said firmly.

And with that, he awoke, still feeling her touch on his cheek. His tears...they'd been wiped away. She never really did leave him. And sooner or later, he would be with her again. Truly. That gave him hope.

I'm miles from where you are,
I lay down on the cold ground
I, I pray that something picks me up
And sets me down in your warm arms

"Set the Fire to the Third Bar" - Snow Patrol

This took me a long time to write, and I sincerely hope you enjoyed it as much as I did writing it.