Note: Reviewer crystalwish pointed out that I am a dork (not her words) and messed up the timeline. Yes, Mystique was cured AFTER the church meeting, so I've dropped that. I've changed a few things here so it doesn't seem totally incongruous, but it still needs some work...and I do intend to correct it soon to accommodate, for example, the Phoenix, who would be with Magneto at this point. She's too major to just write into the story in a few minutes, though, and that's all I have. I WILL fix it. Sorry!

------------------------------------------------------------------------

When she got home she removed the sweater and the skirt and threw them in the back of her closet. The new clothes she stuffed under her bed and then she exited her room gloriously naked. Magneto smiled a little when he saw her. She noticed that he was able to stand looking at her for longer now, though his eyes were still just as sad.

"You've tired of clothing, I see."

She sat down beside him on the couch, rested her head on his shoulder. "I don't understand how you can tolerate it."

He put down the newspaper he'd been reading and touched the pale skin of her thighs lightly, avoiding the red parts. "And I see why you can't."

She raised her head and looked at him suddenly. "Anything new?"

"No." He shook his head and tapped the newspaper. "Not here. I've been watching the television but they haven't said anything we didn't know already. Mutant child is the cure, we're approaching a new era in scientific discovery, etcetera." He paused. "They've started distributing it, though."

"Oh," she said. "I didn't know that."

"Hey Misty, you've come out of hiding." Pyro appeared suddenly from behind them, flicking his lighter. "Whoa, and you're naked again."

"How observant of you." She didn't turn to look at him.

He was grinning and winking at Magneto, who ignored him. "Ni-i-ce."

Now she turned, but only halfway, and Pyro found her new profile totally hot. Like, even hotter than she'd been before. Mystique sighed. "How old are you turning next week? Is it thirteen? I've forgotten."

"Twenty-one, Misty. Twenty-one. Now you guys gotta let me drink wine with you and stuff."

"We already do let you drink wine, Pyro." Magneto was reasonably generous with his alcohol supply, but he wasn't about to waste his collection of fine wines on someone who was planning to puke them up at the end of the night . "If you're planning to become anything other than pleasantly tipsy, you can drink beer."

"Which you can pay for yourself," added Mystique.

"Geez, touchy. What's on TV?" He reached for the remote and turned it on.

On the screen, a throng of people surrounded a building. Some were standing in quiet lines against the brick walls. Others were waving signs and banners, chanting. Mystique couldn't quite make out what they were saying.

"Who are they? The ones lined up."

Magneto sighed, switched the television off. "Not everyone is as eager as you and I to retain his or her identity. They're homo sapiens-to-be. Traitors to our cause."

"Traitors." Pyro spat the word.

"And the others?" Mystique asked. "Mutants like…?" She paused, trailed off, and Magneto found himself unable to read the expression on her face.

"Like us?" he finished. "More like us than the first group, yes." He cleared his throat. "We're meeting the others tomorrow."

She stared at him silently, waiting. Human Mystique, he'd noticed, was no more verbose than mutant Mystique.

"I think you'll be impressed," he continued. "I've collected quite an army. We'll take the jet and we'll organize."

Beside him, Mystique was still quiet. It seemed to be a different sort of silence, though, and he felt as if he knew precisely what she was thinking.

"It will be quite all right, my dear. You are still one of us. And I won't let anybody say differently." His words were firm and confident but Mystique had spent years reading voices like braille under her fingertips and so she heard it when no one else would have, the barest trembles of uncertainty in Erik's throat. It did not make her feel good.

---------------------------------------------------------------

Pulling the new clothing she'd bought out from under the bed, she tried to muster up the enthusiasm she vaguely remembered was supposed to accompany a new outfit. How long had it been before she'd cared for any clothes other than the ones she'd made out of her own skin? Thirty years? Thirty-five? She slipped the yellow blouse over her head and sat on the bed to put her new pants on, then went to the mirror, pulled it away from the wall.

It never ceased to surprise her, the pale face that stared back at her whenever she saw her reflection. She'd been trying her hardest to avoid doing so—a day or two ago, she'd glimpsed a flash of pink in the silvery surface of the toaster in the kitchen, and that had been far, far too much. It had always been blue, and so lovely.

The blouse really wasn't her color. That is, it wasn't Raven's color—it made her look sallow and washed-out. Raven would have looked nice in lavender, but Mystique would have looked…ridiculous. No, yellow was Mystique's color

and it will be once again, very, very soon.

and for a brief and wonderful moment she imagined that she could change the shirt just as she would have before. But nothing happened.

She stepped into her new shoes and nearly fell over. She hadn't expected that; she hadn't realized that walking on the heels you've made out of your own feet is much, much easier than attempting to balance in real shoes. The heels were only an inch or two high but they were too high for her, and when Magneto knocked on her door later that day, she was busy sawing them off with a penknife.

He raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps I can help."

She glanced up at him, smiled weakly, and then continued sawing. "Perhaps."

He sat down beside her on the bed and took the shoes in his hands. "Are you almost ready to leave?" The knife was hovering in the air neatly, suddenly razor sharp.

"Almost. After this."

"May I ask why you're trying to cut the heels off of your new shoes?" He let the blade drop, once, and the heel of the first shoe tumbled to the floor.

She sighed. "I can't walk in them. It's been too long."

"I see." He had the second shoe in his lap now.

"You don't understand."

He smiled, let the blade drop a second time, and handed her the neatly trimmed shoes. "Try them on now. And I think I understand more than you know. I've never had to wear heels either."

"Don't patronize me, Erik," she said. She put the shoes on, strode tenatively around the room. "It isn't the heels. I can walk in heels. I just can't walk in shoes."

"I can certainly agree with your decision to wear clothing to this meeting," said Magneto. "But I shouldn't think anybody would criticize you for your lack of footwear."

"I suppose I hadn't thought of that."

He watched as she continued to test them. "You look as if the shorter heels are helping."

"They are." She still felt shaky, but at least she wasn't limping anymore. At least she wasn't in danger of tripping and falling in front of this new crowd of mutants. "Thank you."

"Not at all. When you're ready, meet us out front." He waved his hand nonchalantly as he left the room. "No need to hurry. They're waiting for us."