Title: None of the Above

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 12: Holding Onto the Rain

The room was dark. Scott hadn't had it in himself to turn on the lights. He had been sitting on the edge of their bed for hours. He didn't look up for the sound of her key in the door. He didn't look up when he heard her shoes against the wood, or when she turned on the light. He couldn't even bring himself to look at her when she spoke his name. He just kept staring at the picture in his hands. It was a picture someone had taken of the two of them. She had her arms around his neck and they were laughing.

"Hi, honey. Is everything ok?" Jean asked kindly, running her fingers over his neck and into his hair.

"Why did you do it?" he demanded, his voice soft and shaking with rage.

She took a step back, bewildered.

"What?"

"Why did you sleep with him?"

"I…."

"Why?" he yelled and sprang from his seat, the picture in his hands cracking in his tightening grip.

"I…I was…scared…I guess," she stammered.

"That's not an answer!" he bellowed.

"I know!" she bit her bottom lip until the cherry pink color had completely blanched.

For a moment he was silent. His breathing was deep and he looked down to notice the cut in his hand made by the glass of the picture frame. Standing motionless, he watched as the blood began to trickle down and pool onto the floor.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

No response.

"Let me get something for your hand," she moved toward the closet.

"Get out," his voice was cold and concrete.

"What?" Jean gulped and froze, turning around to face him again.

"I want you out."

"Scott! You can't really…" Jean cried out, the tears welling up in her eyes.

"What? What do you have to say that's going to fix this?"

She stood for a moment, fidgeting with the pleated hemline of her navy blue skirt and the thin sliver chain around her neck.

"What?" he screamed, his face flushing red.

"I don't know. I was scared, Scott. You were the only man I had been with. Would be with. We had been together so long…it's all I've ever known. Weren't you ever afraid we were making a mistake?" it was hard to speak with the swelling mass steadily growing in her throat.

"No. Never," the words barely escaped his lips; the muscles in his jaw were tensed so tightly.

"I'm so sorry," the tears streaming steadily down her cheeks.

Scott, noticing the cut on his hand again, moved calmly to replace the blood stained picture frame to its rightful location on the nightstand.

"Please…Scott…" her voice was soft.

He sat on the edge of the bed again, pressing a tissue against the cut. He watched as the white paper absorbed the growing red stain.

"You have to forgive me. I made a horrible mistake and now you need to forgive me. It's only you. It's only ever been you, Scott. I have only ever loved you," she rambled.

Silence.

"I need you to forgive me."

Slowly, she lowered herself onto the edge of the bed next to him.

"You have to forgive me, Scott. You have to. You have to forgive me," she kept repeating her words. Each time she finished without a response, the sobs in her chest grew stronger.

"What do you think I've been sitting in the dark trying to do for all these hours?" his voice dripped with regret.

Jean's chin wobbled a moment, as she tried to keep her composure. Turning away from him she placed her face in her hands and her whole body shook violently with sobs.

For a few moments her sobs were all that moved within the four oppressive walls of their bedroom.

"Can you leave tonight?" he asked frigidly as he rose and stood over her.

"What?" her eyes were wide with shock as she looked up into his face.

"Fine. Turn out the light before you come to bed."

Jean watched as he walked over to the closet and found a bandage for his hand. Stripping down to his boxers and a t-shirt Scott climbed into bed and immediately turned to face the wall.

Jean looked down at her left hand and pulled the ring from her finger, "Here…"

"Keep it. It's yours," he barked only turning toward her just slightly.

Holding her breath to swallow her sobs, Jean sat on the bed and flipped off the light next to the door as she turned on the light on her nightstand. Slowly she removed her navy blue high heels, pleated skirt, tear stained blouse, and undergarments, placing them folded onto the nightstand. She stepped silently into her green nightgown and slipped beneath the sheets.

For a moment she let her fingers linger on the cracked glass of the frame underneath the lamp. The crack he made ran diagonally across the glass, dividing them almost exactly in half. With a blink of her eye, she turned off the light.

Shifting herself, and laying down in the dark room, Jean curled herself into the fetal position, facing the wall. Carefully, she turned over her right shoulder to look at him, to see his thick hair and broad back.

Since the first night they had spent together as teenagers, Scott had held her as she fell asleep. In that moment, that dark room felt so empty without the rhythm of his heart against her small back. He always fell asleep first and she would stroke his forearm with her fingers ever so gently, listening as the sounds of his breathing slowed and deepened.

It would be the first and only time they slept back to back.

Hugging her pillow and biting her lip Jean let a few tears dribble over her face and silently find their paths onto her pillowcase.

The bottom fell out of the space between them, the divide growing like spilled ink.

Scott stared into the blackness listening to her hold her breath and fight to hide her tears. She only held her breath when she didn't want to cry. Looking over his left shoulder, he watched her shoulders shiver before turning away again and forcing himself to simply fall asleep.

Outside their bedroom, Logan remained frozen. He had heard the entire argument. His face expressionless, he rose from his perch and simply walked away.

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"What can I do ya for, hon'?" the woman snapped her gum as she spoke. Her name, Rhoda, was pinned to her pale green frock.

"Jus' coffee," Remy mumbled.

As she began to pour the thick, dark liquid into the plain, white mug she asked, "You okay?"

"Been better. No big deal."

"Is it a girl?" she asked and smiled as she leaned against the counter, making her already round face seem even more round. Her hair was dirty blonde, and it was obvious that she had been a knockout in her twenties. She had fine lines around her mouth now, from the smoking. And even though she had matching small lines surrounding her eyes, somehow they had remained shiny and new: their pale jade color dancing with light. They reminded him of Rogue. Maybe that was why something in his gut was telling him to trust her.

Pulling his wallet from his back pocket, he began to pull out a couple of dollar bills to put on the counter and leave. Instead, he found himself pulling an old creased picture from the back.

"Can I see her?" she asked eagerly.

For no real reason at all, Remy found himself handing over the photo. It was a color photo one of the students had taken of her two summers ago. He won it from the little bastard in a poker game. She had been sitting on the front steps of the school, oblivious to the kid with the camera as she talked to Logan. Her hair was left loose around her shoulders and she was wearing denim shorts and a black tank top. And she was smiling. He had forgotten that he even had the picture.

"She's mighty pretty."

"Ah know," he smirked slightly, "How 'bout some eggs, Rhoda?" he asked as he shoved the image back into his wallet.

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"Why won't you return any of my calls?"

Hank froze at the sound of her voice. "Hello, Carly."

He turned slowly to face her. She was beautiful.

She was wearing a brown tweed pencil skirt, with chocolate trim and matching buttons down the back. Her blouse was a buttery ivory color and her pumps were made of deeply dyed leather. Her dark hair was pulled into a sleek ponytail over her right shoulder and her make up was subtle but lovely.

Hank suddenly realized it had been four days since he had last changed his shirt. There were ink stains on it as well as on his lab coat, he had spilled copper on his left shoe, and his glasses were slightly askew.

Clearing his throat and straightening his spectacles, he spoke, "What can I do for you?"

"You can tell me why you won't return any of my calls." She walked over to him and rested the back of her small hand against his cheek, "I miss you."

"Carly…" he began to pull away.

"Don't. It took over two hours for me to get ready to see you. I changed twelve times. Talk to me."

"How is your brother?"

"The idiot is fine. I'm sorry that things happened the way that they did. I regret it. I just…handled the situation poorly."

"I didn't act with any sort of grace myself, dear."

"So…let's start over."

"I'm afraid it won't be that easy," Hank sank into the large chair behind his desk.

"Why are you always so frightened that you'll ruin my life?" Carly slammed her hands against her hips as she asked the question.

Hank raised his eyebrows high in response.

"Ok. Fine. You can figure this out for yourself. I know that you're right for me. I am the perfect girl for you. Once you've realized it you can call me," her voice was frustrated as she approached where he was sitting.

Leaning over, she pressed her red lips to his and kissed him slowly and deeply before turning and walking away.

"I won't wait forever, McCoy," she called as she left the room.

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Kitty closed to door behind her soundlessly. Her small heels clicked cleanly against the wooden floor as she headed toward the stairs.

Just as she reached the bottom step, Peter entered the hallway and caught her eye. For a moment the two stopped and kept each other's gaze.

Kitty politely nodded her head and tucked her hair behind her ear before turning away.

Peter tensed and released the muscles in his jaw and crossed his arms over his chest. Silently, he watched as she walked away from him.

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Ororo sipped her coffee in the kitchen, quietly. She sat cross-legged at the table, wearing silky black pants and a royal blue tank top, her wavy white hair tied back into a sloppy bun. Languidly, her hands turned the pages of the newspaper spread before her.

"Did you just wake up?" Forge laughed as he entered the kitchen.

"I did," she smiled brightly.

Pouring some of the tar colored liquid into his own ivory mug, the broad shouldered man took a seat across from her. For a moment she pretended to continue reading the paper, but feeling his dark eyes burning into her flesh, she raised her pale blue gaze to meet his.

Every time they were together he would watch her, as if memorizing the curves of her face and the movements of her muscles. Though invasive, it never bothered her. In fact, it often left her craving the thoughts he was weaving while looking at her. This time, she studied him in return.

Pale yellow sunlight danced through the window, over the soft, brown, wood tabletop and onto him. She loved his dark skin, the color of rich caramel, with thick creases around his eyes and mouth. He had scars as well, a long thin one down his left cheek and a thick blunt one above his right eye. Both made her curious of their origin.

Slowly, his thick fingers traced circles around his half smirk, through which she could see his slightly crowded, white, teeth. The smile on his face mirrored the hidden beam in his eyes. The dark, deep eyes that seemed to want to tell her something. The edges were laced in sorrow and wisdom. In suffering and in understanding. But the centers were always smiling and gleaming. The deep black centers were what drew her to him.

Tenderly, Ororo reached out her thin, soft palm and placed it against the rough, aged skin on the back of his hand and let the centers of her eye smile back.

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"Hello, Mr. Truman."

Charles sat watching the sunset in his office, threading the frail white envelope between his forefinger and thumb as he spoke. The man across from him wore a sleek navy blue suit, crisp white shirt and red tie.

"Thank you for arriving on such short notice. I need to revise my will. A set of…unfortunate circumstances…requires that I change my original plans."

"I see. Are the original benefactors no longer fit to receive as planned?" the man's oddly high-pitched voice rang out.

"No Ms. Grey and Mr. Summers are in good health. Due to recent events I need to change Ms. Grey's planned inheritance. I would like to remove her as one of the standing headmasters of the institute after I step down."

"So, you want to leave the school to Mr. Summers alone?"

"No. I would like the second benefactor to be listed as Ms. Ororo Monroe."

"Are you sure about this, Charles? That envelope you hold in your hand outlines the plan that you have abided by for five years now."

"Yes. This is what needs to happen if I am to leave the school at the end of the year as planned."

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The two men had been staring at each other for about ten minutes. It was the first time they had seen each other since Jean had moved out of Scott's room. Logan stood silent and statuesque, tightening and flexing his hands into and out of fists, while Scott stood opposite him and tensed and relaxed the muscles in his jaw.

Logan spoke first.

"I'm waiting."

"You aren't even worth my time," Scott spat.

"Yeah…that's what's stoppin' you."

"If I thought for even a moment Jean cared for you…"

"You'd what?"

"She never loved you, Logan. She used you like the animal that you are. It has to be killing you. For me, right now, that's satisfaction enough."

Scott turned and walked away leaving Logan alone.

The stairs to his room felt steeper and steeper with each successive step. Slowly, he climbed, the oxygen in his lungs and to his brain feeling as though they were diminishing. Pulling the heavy door open, he pressed his weight against the structure to close it behind him.

With the loud slam of the door, Scott finally let himself grieve. He cried for the memories that she had tainted. He cried for the children he had named, who would now remain unborn. He cried as he let go of the house in the suburbs with a white picket fence and sweeping porch on which he had watched them growing old. Sinking to the floor, Scott cried for the first time for everything that he had lost.

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Joseph had gotten off of a bus that arrived in Denver two days ago, and had started to travel on foot into the mountains. That man was following him. He needed to remain safe. He needed to keep secret. He needed to escape.

"Hello, boy," the stern voice trickled in from above the wandering traveler.

"You…" his voice quaked as the man approached.

"Did you really think you could out run us?" the man smiled and spoke sweetly. His large frame was clad in black, a billowing cape behind him and a shimmering black and silver helmet on his head.

"We have you surrounded." The man snapped his fingers once and his followers trickled out from around them: a woman with blue skin and deep orange hair whose toned body was clad in a white leather body suit, a man with green tinged skin and wide black orbs for eyes whose joints seemed to fit together backwards, a tall blonde boy who smirked while flames danced over his fingers, and a hulk of a man with reams of thick blonde hair and a large fur coat.

Turning slowly in a circle, Joseph's eyes grew wide with fear.

"Have you realized now that you ran away from the only location on earth where you may have been kept safe?" his voice was rich and round and sickeningly amused.

The people behind him laughed.

The pain began in waves. First, the woman with the blue skin took her guns and blew a hole in every joint in his body, leaving him a crippled in a puddle of blood. Next, the small green man jumped onto him, shattering his spine. After which he was subjected to the pain of his flesh set on fire, before the large man began to tear him apart.

"Stop! Please, just stop!" he cried, his voice barely audible.

"Oh, no my boy. You are a message. You see you are the government attempt to create a species for which it has no understanding. You were built to be my great destroyer," he laughed. "I will shatter you," his voice grew dark again, "and I will leave you broken and bleeding on their doorstep. A warning for moving against the Brotherhood of Mutants. More importantly, a message for those who feel they can strike against Magneto. You see, child, they infused every cell in your body with magnetic materials when they made you. My Acolytes assist me in this task out of loyalty. I will enjoy destroying you."

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The rain poured down around them that night in endless gray curtain. Not even the occasional bought of thunder and lightning could break up the monotony of the oppressive sky.

The yellow sports car pulled into the drive carelessly, kicking gravel in all directions. It honked three times and sat waiting, its headlights and wipers still on.

Hearing the honks, Lorna dashed down the steps and out into the rain. In her hands she carried her guitar and suitcase.

"Hey, babe," the young man stepped out to greet her. He was tall, with broad shoulders, shaggy blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes. His jeans were tattered and his brown leather coat was worn and faded. "You look great," he smiled and looked her over in her red leather coat, jeans and black camisole. Her thick green hair was soaking and matted around her shoulders.

"Hi, Alex."

He kissed her deeply and chuckled as he tried to push the damp strands away from her face. Taking her bags, he threw them into the trunk and slammed it shut before darting back into the driver's seat.

Slowly, Lorna walked over to the passenger's side and opened the door. For a moment she looked up at the dark window above her. She had taped the envelope on his door only moments ago. As she watched, the light turned on.

"Lorna, let's go! It's raining in the car and I wanna get the hell outta here before big brother even knows I was here!"

Never looking away from the window, Lorna slid into the seat next to him and closed the door.

Driving in a wide U-shape, Alex turned and sped out of the driveway.

Bobby Drake ran down the flights of stairs in the mansion, listening his heartbeat pound in his ears. He emerged into the rain as the yellow car turned the corner and sped out of sight.

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It had been two hours now since they had decided it was time to turn the machines off. Elizabeth's frail, lifeless body lay in the large hospital bed, a mere shell of the woman she had once been.

Jamie left one hour ago. Brian walked away thirty minutes later. Warren still couldn't bring himself to leave her side. Not just yet.

Her last words to him had been days ago.

"Thank you for loving me this much."

Sitting in a chair beside her bed he held one of her pale, limp hands in his own and ran the back of his other hand over the ashen skin of her cheek. She was so cold now.

Carefully, he brushed her dark hair away from her face one last time.

The tears streamed silently down his cheeks and he smiled.

"Goodbye," he mouthed the word mutely and placed her hand on her chest as he rose from his seat.

As Warren walked away from her he turned and spoke softly, "Thank you, too, love."