Title: None of the Above
by: Satine16
Disclaimer: None of the characters in this story belong to me. They are all property of MARVEL. I don't do this for money please don't sue me!
Chapter 10: Shattered Glass
"There was nothing to talk about, Peter."
"This baby is as much mine as it is yours."
"Fine. What do you want to say, Peter?" Kitty paced back and forth over the same few feet of carpet, while Peter sat still on the bed.
"I want to help. I want to do this right."
"Right? Peter there is no right, here."
"There you are wrong, Katya."
"You wanna raise this baby? In this house? In between stopping the general public from hating us, saving the world and getting a diploma?"
"You are scared…" Peter's voice softened.
"It's not your body that this pregnancy will destroy! It's not your dreams this pregnancy will demolish! And it's not your life this baby will ruin!" Kitty yelled bracing herself against the dresser.
"You hate this baby that much, Katya?" his voice was liquid and full of sorrow and for the first time that evening Peter's hardened exterior melted away and he was simply overcome with sadness. He moved towards her his arm outstretched.
"I don't hate it."
He took another step towards her.
"But I don't want it."
His hand lingered a moment in the air, hovering over her. His fingers twitched with a longing to caress her cheek, his arms ached to hold her. He tried to ignore the burning he felt behind his eyes as she stiffened and braced herself harder against the dresser.
"I already made the appointment. I'm having an abortion."
For a moment he stood still. His eyes went cold. He backed away and left her clinging to the empty wood, white knuckled and shaking.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The dingy, white princess phone in Lorna's room let loose it's tinny ring as she turned the key in the lock. Her green hair was tied in a sloppy bun, and she wore an avocado green tweed jacket and old blue jeans. Every one of her fingers donned a ring and she had a beaded choker around her neck.
"Don't hang up! Don't hang up!" she hollered as she ran towards the phone, leaving the door wide open and her key in the lock.
Vaulting onto her bed and grabbing the phone she breathed hard in her greeting, "Hello!"
"Hey, babe!" the man's voice on the other end sounded pleased and handsome.
"Well, hello…" Lorna's voice suddenly became syrupy and deep.
"I'll be in town soon. Where are you?"
"Westchester."
"Gotcha. I miss you, baby."
"I miss you, too. Where are you?"
"I'm still in Florida. The beaches and the bikinis rock!"
"Don't enjoy yourself too much."
"I can't promise anything. How's the suburb?"
"Better than you'd think."
"Ok. I gotta run!" his deep, sexy voice said with its usual playful undertone.
"Bye!" The dial tone kicked almost too quickly. Cautiously, Lorna returned the phone to its cradle. Rolling off of her stomach, Lorna scooted off her bed and made her way to the door. As she picked up her guitar case and pulled her keys from the door, Bobby snuck up and kissed the back of her neck.
"Hey, Bob!" she smiled, turned and kissed him.
"Hungry?"
"Always!" she smiled.
"Great, let's go!" Bobby turned and started towards the stairs. Lorna tucked her guitar away on the other side of the door before locking up her dark room. She briefly caught her reflection in the mirror and froze for a moment.
"Lorna! Let's go!" Bobby yelled from the stairs.
Closing the door, and locking it, Lorna slipped her keys into her coat pocket and ran to catch up with Bobby.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Carly's apartment was smaller than Hank originally thought it would be. The tidy breakfast nook branched straight off of the small kitchen. She had set up a pale, square dining table with matching chairs in the nook. The table was covered with a black and white checked tablecloth.
The small radio perched in the corner was set to the oldies station as they chopped vegetables. Hank knocked the large knife against the cutting board in perfect rhythm to the song Chain Gang as Carly bopped her hips and mixed the dressing.
The deep voice of the DJ came on and in an instant Ben E. King's Stand By Me began to play.
Pulling an anxious Carly by the hands, Hank turned up the music and directed her into the living room. She giggled and squirmed to get away, her messy ponytail letting strands of her dark hair fall into her face. Her tank top was bright green and her white, ruffled apron kept her pale jeans from becoming stained. She was barefoot.
Hank pulled her into his arms and began to sway slowly, her face finally resting against his chest and her fingers playing with the buttons on his white shirt. He had rolled his sleeves up and could feel the soft skin of her exposed back against the bare skin of his forearms.
"Car?"
"Shit!" she spat and pulled away.
"What is this?" a young man was standing in the doorway of Carly's apartment. His blue eyes and dark hair were an eerie, masculine, slightly older reflection of Carly's own defining features. "What the fuck is this?"
"Trent. Please. Stop," Carly turned and ran towards him.
"No. What the fuck, Car?" he pushed her aside and approached Hank, "Who are you?"
"Dr. Hank McCoy."
The boy named Trent whipped around and charged Carly, "This is McCoy!" He grabbed her arms and shook her. "You denied Jason's proposal for…for…THIS!" he pointed at Hank, a vein in his neck throbbing. Trent swore loudly and brought his raised hand down against Carly's cheek, knocking her to the floor.
All this time Hank hovered in the background shifting his weight uncomfortably as they interacted. Yet the instant Trent's hand reached her face, Hank charged grabbed Trent by the neck, carrying him across the room and slamming him into the wall as far away from her as possible.
Growling, he spat, "Dont. Touch. Her." He twisted his hand around the writhing man's neck and took pleasure in his flails and gasps. He held him steady a moment, until he felt something loosening his grip.
"Hank! No! You'll kill him!" Carly pleaded as she pulled on his arm. Looking into her eyes, Hank could see that she was sobbing. She was scared, not of Trent, but of him.
Slowly he released the boy and let him fall into a breathless heap on the floor. Hank's eyes grew wide and he stumbled backwards, looking at Carly console the man.
"He's my brother," she whispered softly, looking up at him sadly from the floor. "I think you should go," she said resting Trent's pink face in her lap.
In two steps Hank had grabbed his coat and hat and arrived at the front door.
"Carly," he murmered sadly, "I'm sorry."
She didn't look up as he turned to leave.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"I spoke with Moira."
Charles and Emma finished their dinner in the dining room. The dark mahogany walls glowed red in the candlelight and the gold stitching on the table linens shimmered. Lethargically, Emma sipped her white wine.
"I see," she spoke coldly. Her bold hair was tied in a neat chignon, and she wore a white pants suit with a plunging lacy top underneath. Charles wore a black suit and deep red tie with a white shirt.
"She told me what happened between the two of you."
"I see."
"Emma, I…"
"No, Charles. Let me. I don't think this will work out. I'm not Moira. I'm not Lilandra. I've hurt people and I've made a lot of mistakes. No matter what I do or say you can't forgive me."
"Forgive you?"
"For who I used to be. I'm done," she finished off her glass of wine and dabbed the corners of her mouth with her napkin. Leaving the fine linen on the table she stood and left the room.
Charles sat alone for a moment. Methodically, he ran his fingers over his lips and chin as he watched her go before turning back to his dinner.
Emma made her way to her bedroom and closed the door. She released her hair from her up-do and congratulated herself on one more act of self-preservation.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Guns N' Roses blared in his small, white ear buds as Remy got ready to head to the basketball court. He glided around his bedroom in a pair of red athletic shorts, his black iPod pinned to the waistband. As he went to grab his keys he noticed the black and white pictures Rogue had taped to the side of the mirror. Four grainy images in a vertical line, taken in a crappy photo booth around six months ago. Grabbing the ball off of the bed he headed towards the door.
Rogue was painting her toenails when he left. He smiled at her as he went but he couldn't hear what she said. Opening the door, Joseph was poised outside. His pale hair was tied into a sleek ponytail and his expression was almost a grimace. Remy gave him a nod as he headed past.
At the bottom of the stairs the track changed to Aerosmith's Falling in Love and Remy realized he hadn't grabbed his keys. The pictures distracted him. Sighing, he turned and jogged back up the stairs. Joseph hadn't closed the door the whole way when he went in. In between the small crack Remy saw them.
She had clearly gotten up to greet him. Near where she had been sitting, they were now standing. Joseph had her pushed up against the wall and he was running his hands up her thighs as he kissed her. Her hands were rested against his chest, her full mouth sucking on his tongue.
Remy's mind swam as his body stayed frozen in time. He lingered there for a moment, the sight stinging his eyes and the music blaring against his eardrums. For a moment he considered walking in. Giving up, he turned and walked back down the stairs.
Feeling the salty taste of Joseph's tongue, Rogue squirmed and bit down hard. A rush of blood flowed in and the taste of copper filled her mouth. Finally getting the leverage she needed she pushed him across the room and slammed him into the opposite wall.
"Ah told ya ta back off," she growled wiping the blood from her lips.
Joseph watched blood cascade out of his mouth, into his hands, and over his shirt. Her bare feet were soundless against the carpet, and soft against the bathroom tile. She padded back over to him and dropped a clean, white towel into his lap.
"Don't bleed on mah carpet," she shifted her weight onto her left hip and crossed her arms over her chest.
Quickly cleaning his cheeks and chin, Joseph closed his mouth and cringed as he swallowed a gulp of blood. Pressing his bruised back into the wall for leverage as he rose to his feet. Clenching his jaw, and glaring through the pain he crept over to her soundlessly. Her green eyes met his fearlessly.
He raised his eyebrows in delight as he lifted her by her belt buckle and threw her through the glass and out onto the patio. Her head hit hard against the metal railing, and she lay unconscious for a moment. Walking over to where she lay hunched, he spit blood on her and let the stained towel fall to his feet before heading towards the door.
"Mon ami!" Remy landed a solid punch and felt the nose break under his fist.
Joseph stumbled backwards, into the corner of the patio, pressing himself against the fence. Putting his arms out in defense as the basketball came at him, he didn't think to duck. The explosion knocked him off the balcony and into the bushes below.
Leaning over the side rail, Remy noticed that he wasn't moving.
"You okay, Chere?" he knelt down and brushed the sticky strands hair away from her face.
"Ah'm sorry," she sounded pathetic as she rubbed the back of her neck.
"Be right back," he smiled, hopped over the fencing and dropped to the ground, using the wall for leverage.
"Get up," he spat as he hit the pavement.
Lethargically rolling out of the bushes, Joseph made it to his feet. Brushing the dirt off, he turned to face Remy again.
"Don' touch her again," Remy threatened, his voice almost a growl.
Joseph simply stared. Daring Remy to feel what he was feeling. To know what he knew. This wasn't the first time. This wasn't the attack he envisioned. Or was it?
Remy paused a moment, and relaxed his stance. He felt it like a soft wave of pain emanating from the sharp sting of a knife.
"She liked it," Joseph tried to say, almost making all the right sounds.
Grinding his teeth, Remy delivered a roundhouse kick to the head and watched as the arrogant frame in front of him crumpled again. Pouncing on his opponent, Remy began delivering blows with his fists. Using all his rage, he pounded his head into the pavement. He had touched her. Thump. He had tasted her. Slam. He had been inside her. Crack.
"Stop!" he heard her scream from somewhere behind him. In a few seconds she was pulling him off, "Ya gonna kill 'em!" Inserting her face between his and Joseph, Rogue placed her gloved hands on the sides of his face and caressed the small bruise forming underneath his eye.
The red color of his eyes flashed and throbbed for another moment before quieting down. The dull ache in his eyes met the glassy need in hers and lingered there for a moment.
"Ah gotta go!"
"Remy!"
"Don'. Ah gotta go."
He left Rogue standing above Joseph's bloody body, his knuckles throbbing, his guts twisting and his chest tender.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Hey, Red."
"Hi, Logan. How are you?" Jean took off her lab coat and hung it on the hook next to the door. Her red hair was pulled into a loose twist and her, black sling back, peep toe shoes clicked against the hard metal flooring.
"Doin' ok," he watched the pleats of her charcoal grey skirt dance around her upper thighs.
"Sit down," she smiled warmly at him. "Did the skin grow back alright?" she asked of the wound she bandaged for him the day before.
"I guess so," his eyes locked into hers as he took off his shirt.
The cold steel of her small surgical scissors tickled as she cut away the bandages that only the day before simply covered a gaping wound from infection.
"Not even a scar," she whispered as she trailed her fingers over the flesh just below his ribs. Where the bandage had been the skin was eerily soft, but outside of that his skin was worn and rough. She let her hand linger a moment, feeling the soft hair on his chest, before she pulled away.
She began to turn away from him, but he grabbed her wrist and pulled her back towards him. For a moment they stood mere millimeters away from one another. She felt his hot breath against her lips, and his imposing body heat along her entire frame.
She didn't even notice that he had let her go.
"Walk away, Jeannie. Go ahead."
Her hand was almost shaking as she reached up and ran her fingers through his thick hair and over his stubble filled cheek and jaw. Carefully, her elegant fingers made their way over the skin of his neck and down the muscles of his chest and abdomen. She pulled away only right before the waistline of his jeans.
Leaning in to him and draping her arms over his shoulders, she whispered letting her lips graze his as she spoke, "I don't want to."
In a cat like motion, Logan scooped her into his arms and pulled her towards him, his mouth attaching to hers hungrily. Her hands desperately roamed over his back and upper arms, looking for something to hold on to as she tasted the simple, pure, heat of his tongue.
As they kissed she felt his nimble fingers begin to undo the buttons of her crisp blouse and letting it fall open. She felt his strong, calloused hands roam the skin underneath as he shifted his attention to her collarbone and lifted her onto his lap. A small sigh escaped her as she felt his lips against her chest and abdomen. It felt so right.
Her hair fell to her shoulders as she used her telekinesis to remove the pins that held it in place. Jean inhaled sharply as he lifted her and expertly shifted both of their weight. He pushed her into the wall nearby, and she felt her skirt rip.
"Sorry, Jeannie," he paused and let her feet hit the ground. Something told him to let her have another chance to leave. She didn't take it.
He licked his lips and tasted her. Carefully, she leaned in and kissed him tenderly on his bottom lip. For a moment they were pressed together in a slow kiss. He felt her hands slowly undo the button and zipper of his pants. He watched as she took a step back and let her blouse and skirt fall to the floor. Swallowing hard, he took in the sight of her in her white lace bra and panties. As much as he wanted it, he never really thought they would end up here.
He ran the back of his hand over her cheek and let his fingers dance through her hair, before finding her mouth with his own again.
"I love you," he whispered in her ear as he nuzzled against her neck.
Her beautiful blue eyes widened and she pressed her lips to his again. Logan slipped his hand beneath the lace as they continued to kiss, finding themselves pressed against the cold wall again. He felt her hold on him tighten and the kiss deepen as her muscles tensed and released.
Slowly he lifted her into his arms again and carried her over to the closest bed. She trailed her lips and tongue over his chest and abdomen as she removed the rest of their clothes with a blink.
For a moment longer he kissed her and bathed himself in the feel every inch of her flawless skin against his own. He simply watched her as she guided him onto the cot and lowered herself onto him.
She loved the feel of her body against the hard muscles and soft hair of his chest. Looking into his eyes, she started rocking her hips back and forth.
He let his hands wander over her beautiful body. Everything about her was better than he thought it would be. She was perfect.
They both tensed at the same time. Jean let out a long, slow howl as Logan let loose a guttural moan. As their muscles relaxed she collapsed down next to him, fitting neatly into the crook of his arm. For a moment she stayed next to him, the smell of their sweat and body heat continuing to mingle.
In mere moments she had gotten up and was gathering her clothes. The dried sweat on his body felt cold as he watched her dress. She left without even looking at him.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"And then the chocolate milk shake just shot out…of…his…nose…" Betsy gasped between bursts of hard laughter. She, Warren and Jamie were just returning from a fabulous dinner at a small Spanish restaurant, known for their tapas.
Jamie regained composure and chimed in, "Brian tries to be a hard ass, and every time I look at him all I see is that image."
The three of them were a sight. Warren, as usual and without trying, looked perfect. His expensive, dark jeans hugged him in all the right places, as did his simple white t-shirt. Over his tight fitting clothes he threw an expensive black leather trench coat to help hide his bound wings and a large pair of Armani sunglasses pushed his blonde hair from his eyes. Next to Warren Jamie looked a little frumpy. His khaki's were wrinkled and the putrid green shirt he was wearing was yet another gift from the kids.
Betsy seemed small in comparison. For the first time in months she bought a new dress and took her time getting ready to go out. The dress was a simple blue sundress. Although she had purchased it two sizes smaller than she would have before, it still seemed a little baggy. The dress was a light, summery eyelet and her shoes were black, patent leather, kitten heeled sandals. Her thick dark hair was tied back in a sleek ponytail, which she fastened at her neck but off center, letting her hair drape over her left shoulder. She even did her makeup.
Warren smiled to himself. It was the healthiest she had looked in a long time. Jamie had been good for her in ways that Warren simply couldn't. It was nice to see her laugh so hard. It took a diligent effort not to act as her spotter as they headed up the stairs. It would upset her if she noticed him watching her so carefully.
"I'm going to go get us some tea before bed," Warren smiled. "Jamie?"
"No thanks man. I don't do tea."
"We'll turn on Lethal Weapon without you!" Betsy threatened.
"That's alright, love. Here are the keys, Jamie," he pulled them from his pocket and tossed them.
Jamie caught them and added, "your loss!"
The cabinets were almost bare and it took a literal scavenger hunt to find any kind of teabag let alone one that Betsy would be willing to consume. Heading up the stairs again, Warren smiled at himself. On the small wooden tray he had piled two, small, lavender teacups and a matching teapot. He heard the noises halfway up the stairs. He dropped the tray when he saw her. The orb like teapot cracked in two pieces when it hit the floor.
The keys were still in the lock. Jamie cradled her head between his hands and was pleading with her to come back. As Warren approached, he looked up with tears in his eyes, "I don't know what happened. I couldn't get the door open. She pushed me and started to play with the keys. She just…collapsed."
Her eyes had rolled into the back of her head and she was seizing. Every muscle contracted as hard and as fast as it could. She flopped on the floor, her limbs flailing and her chest pumping up and down. She had bitten her tongue and the sound of gargling and choking kept fading in and out as blood trickled down her cheeks.
"Move!" Warren shouted and sprang into action. Taking Jamie's place next to her, Warren placed his hands on the sides of her face and tilted her just enough to stop the sounds of her suffocation.
She let loose one hard cough, spewing blood across the floor and her body. Her dress was ruined. Her left shoe had broken against the floor.
Leaning in, Warren kissed her on the forehead. Her skin was cool to the touch and moist.
"Not like this, Elizabeth. Not now and not like this," he whispered to her as she brushed the bloody hair from her cheeks. "No. Not like this," he said as he closed his eyes and tried to stay calm.