The More Things Change

Hey everyone! Wow, I haven't written, finished, and published anything in ages! I've been so busy with high school, that I can never finish a story I start. Anyways, I'm back in a new genre. I've never done any X-Men before, well, not published anyway, but I've done some writing for it and a ton of role-playing, so hopefully this series will be alright.

The More Things Change is going to be a series of drabble-esque fics on a variety of topics. Every 'chapter' with have a couple of separate fics within it, sometimes connected, sometimes not connected. My first three are connected by a vaguely common theme, which I hope you'll catch. It's subtler in the first, obvious in the second, and I'm not sure about the third.

Lesse, what else do I need to mention? Oh, all stories will take place after X-Men: The Last Stand, unless, for whatever reason, it is specifically mentioned otherwise.

And as always, I do not own, X-Men or anything related to it. I'm just a fan who likes to write and is occasionally bitten by the inspiration bug.

Touch

She thought that being cured would fix things. She thought that being able to touch again would feel like a rebirth. A miracle. How often had she imagined what it would be like to once again feel another's flesh? To feel the soft, lingering warmth of some one else's skin? To be able to shake hands without gloves and hug without fear? To kiss those she loved?

She had even dreamt of it. Sweet, warm, comforting dreams of people and touch and normalcy. She had missed being normal. Missed not having to be cautious about what she wore, what she didn't wear.

Sometimes though, she hadn't missed it so much. Living at Xavier's had often made her forget herself and her self proclaimed curse. But then she would remember again, and the longing and desire would return, sharper than ever.

Marie had always thought that being able to touch again would be a dream come true.

She had not imagined, however, that the warmth of another's skin would be dulled by the gaping whole that filled her at the contact. The cold truth of knowing that that ability, that touch, was only possible because she had done something awful. She had sacrificed herself. Given up a part of her that she was never meant to lose.

And she would give anything to take it back.

…

Marie looked up suddenly as a knock broke the silence of her room. A bare hand reached immediately up to wipe away the tears rolling down her cheeks. "Come in." She said, softly, knowing exactly who was at the door.

Bobby walked in, his eyes gentle, and took a seat on the bed. Wordlessly he reached for Marie's hand and took it in his own.

And suddenly, unexpectedly, Marie felt warm. She felt right. Felt like herself again.

Chess

He stared at the pieces as though they might come alive before his very eyes. He watched them sharply, as though they might be able to answer his questions. His eyes pleaded with them, as though they might be moved to take pity on him. But they did not come alive, they gave no answers, and they spoke no words of solace or comfort.

He had never much cared for chess, to be honest. Neither had Charles. Yet they had always played. Why? The answer was as simple as it was complex, with more answers than he'd ever be able to voice. They played because their moves, their decisions, their every action spoke more then either man could. They played because when they played, they weren't Xavier and Magneto, they weren't mutants, or men, or anything else besides the only thing that really mattered.

They played because while they were playing, all they were was friends. Or at least, that's how it had been for a long while. Towards the end playing became a formality and an excuse. An obligation neither had the heart nor the desire to give up on and an excuse to just talk, as they once had.

He had thought when he came to this place, that there might be some comfort to be drawn from the familiarity of it all. He had imagined that sitting before that same board would allow him to slip back into the past and forget everything that had changed.

Charles dead. His powers gone. His hopes, his dreams, his ambitions and his future all turned to dust in the aftermath of those losses.

He was a fool, he supposed, to have thought that being there would change things, even for just a moment. And yet, as he continued to stare at the board, at the pieces all lined up in neat, perfect procession, he did begin to feel different. Better, maybe, if only a little bit.

Heartened by this sudden feeling, he lifted his hand and brought it over the board. For a long moment it hung above it as he pondered his first move. A move Charles would have been proud of. But as his hand descended to move his first pawn something happened. Something he did not believe at first. Something he had not imagined would ever happen again.

A miracle? Perhaps, if he were the type of man to believe in such things. Yet he could not help but think, as the pawn again wobbled and then fell, that if there was truly any truth to miracles, that he would gladly trade this one to have Charles sitting on the other side of that board.

Time

Time is a great healer. Or so they say. They say it heals all wounds. Physical, emotional, psychological, all made magically better by the passage of another second, another minute, another hour, another day.

Damn load of shit, as far as she was concerned.

Time had not made the pain of her family's betrayal any duller. No, it had remained as sharp as ever, even if she kept that securely hidden from everyone around her. She might claim to want nothing to do with them, would have sworn her life to that fact, but she knew it was a lie. And every day that she woke, that she lived and breathed and existed, she felt that pain. Every time she saw a happy family the pain would be as fresh and raw as the day she'd left them.

Likewise, time was not making her most recent betrayal any easier. She could have died for him, did, really, in all the ways that mattered, and yet he left her. Left her shaking on the floor of that convoy; naked, cold, alone. Everyday she would feel it, she knew. It might, maybe, be easier, but it would not go away. It would always ache, maybe dully but ever present, and some days it would flare up unexpectedly.

Raven had no faith in time. It was not the great healer. It would not make her losses any easier to suffer through, would not make the sting of them any less potent.

And it would not make her Mystique again. Time did not have that power either.

Time could claim all the power and magic it wished, but that would not make her a believer.

…

Raven downed a glass of water so cold it made her chest ache before walking over to the mirror in her apartment. She reached a pale hand up to tuck a stray stand of her dark hair behind her ear, and stopped. Her eyes, her green eyes, narrowed at her reflection in the mirror. She thought. No. It was impossible. Time could not heal everything. Time could not heal this. Could it?

That's it for this edition of The More Things Change.

Hmm, anything I need to explain out?

Well, just to reiterate. Touch was about Rogue, Chess was Erik, and Time was Raven. These three were connected, in some small way, but that doesn't mean my updates will always have stories that are connected. I hope you guys enjoyed this; I'm not sure how I feel about it. I've been dabbling with Touch for a long while, planning Chess for a bit, but Time was written just now, and I'm not altogether that fond of it. I think it's pretty erratic, but that's for you guys to decide.

At any rate, I hope you liked it. I'm not exactly certain what my next update will entail, although I would say you can expect a Warren story, and who knows what else, whenever I manage to find the time to write a few drabbles up.

-AkaOkamiRyu