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Chapter 20: Roles Reversed

"What are you doing?" Is Logan's sharp protest. I'm a little surprised that he's the first one to speak up. I'd have thought with his intuition he'd back me up on this one. "What does it look like?" Is my frustrated retort as I straighten, my hands rubbing at my stiff arms. It's too cold out here and it's dark. It's time to leave. Now.

"I thought you were—" Storm begins to chime in just as Rogue, Tabitha and Dimitri pull up in the car. The others had sent them to go get the large car from where we parked it in case we needed to make a quick escape, which is becoming more and more evident as civilians begin to wander curiously back into the square. Sirens can be heard off in the distance but they most likely are holding back incase there is still danger.

"We were." I cut Storm off too harshly as Tabitha and Dimitri stop to stare down at the red man in the snow before them. Their eyes are uncomprehending. But then again, they were only children when they first met Azazel and even then they only saw him once, I think. "But not anymore." I glance down at his motionless form, ignoring the twist in my gut and cross my arms uncomfortably as I say, "We can't trust him."

"Damn it all, this is Azazel we're talking about!" Wolverine shouts at me, stepping forward to yell in my face and I straighten, squaring my jaw in defense of myself. "I knew him after you were gone. I'd trust him with my life."

"Then I guess it's a good thing you've got plenty of those because that—" I point viciously at the red mutant, spiting fire as I shout, "Isn't Azazel!"

This pulls them all up short, but none more so than Logan, "How do you…how do you know?"

"Believe me," I breathe, relieved to be free from the verbal attack for the moment. "I know. And so did Emma before she blacked out."

That's why she attacked him. She knew something was wrong even if she couldn't completely put her finger on it. "This may look like—like our Azazel, but it is not. I don't know who he is but he's dangerous. He can't be trusted."

The group seems to be weighing our odds for a while, and eventually, someone comes up with a plan of action, "We're taking him to the mansion."

My eyes flit to Logan, outraged at the notion, and I ask him loudly, "Are you insane? You want to bring this—imposter to the mansion?"

"We don't know if it's an imposter, Elizabeth." Hank interjects gently. "If he was a shape shifter the collar would have forced him to revert him back to his natural form. It may very well be Azazel. Just…not as you once knew him."

I contemplate this for about a second but for some reason I feel so agitated, so ill-at-ease, so paranoid towards the idea of bringing Azazel to the mansion that I almost erupt into another bought of objections when Hank adds in an even softer voice, "He might need our help. We should take him with us…It's what Charles would have wanted."

My head snaps up at what that sentence entails and I regard Hank with wide eyes, "Where is he?"

"We…" Hank sighs tiredly. "Don't know. We suspect that he may have been—" His words hitch in his throat but he swallows the lump of sorrow in his throat. "Captured by the MRD, but at the moment…it's uncertain."

My brows crease and suddenly an intense hatred overwhelms me, flushing my face and sending a shiver sliding down the length of my spine and into my fingers and toes. It's the second time I find myself hating humans. And it's certainly not the first time that I refer to non-mutants as Humans when I've always firmly believed that—deep down—we're all human.

And for the millionth time since I first discovered I was a Mutant I wonder…

What the hell is wrong with me?

When Azazel finally comes around, I'm waiting for him.

I find myself relishing in his momentary confusion as he adjusts to his surroundings (which, in this case, is a clear cell made of thick plastic and fiber glass). He groans, sitting up groggily into a kneeling position, then he lifts his head and—after a brief, brief moment of surprise—his composure returns to him; his face adopting a haughtily placid air as he runs a hand through his hair. A small smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth as if I'm the one behind bars; not him.

"The others think you've lost your memory," I break the silence, my voice flat and emotionless—like I practiced in my head. Then I calmly move a chair in front of the glass, taking a seat as I add, "I think you're full of shit." I shouldn't even be here, to be quite honest. But I couldn't resist. I had to see him. To remind myself that what I saw earlier, what I touched, was real.

He tilts his head, tail curling behind him, but doesn't reply.

I chew on my lip, waiting for some sort of response, but when I receive none, I grow antsy and get up; start pacing. "Seventeen years." I state. "That's a long time, is it not? Though not so long as to make a man forget what you and I and most everyone else in this mansion went through back on that Island. How, I wonder, could someone forget something like that?" I cease my pacing to look at him, only to see him now lounging against the wall of the cell, looking cool as ever with on knee propped up, his arm resting lazily upon it. His mouth remains stubbornly closed in that same mocking smirk. I want to punch him in the face. But instead I just shake my head and sit back down, knitting my fingers together with my elbows on my knees.

I decide to switch tactics, "You haven't changed much." I remark, studying his features closely. Even Mystique has aged somewhat since I last saw her seventeen years ago, but only enough to enhance her womanly features. But a change nonetheless. Azazel hasn't changed a bit, save for his longer hair and homicidal tendencies.

This time, he graces me with a reply. "I don't usually."

I always was into older men…

His next remark hits me harder than I expect it to. "It would seem you did not know me as well as you claim."

My mouth hangs open in outrage, but I can't object to that because—

Well, because it's true.

Our romance sprung from a mutual attraction to one another; a physical attraction that lead to something deeper. Brought on by the traumatic events we both suffered at William Stryker's hands. But even then, our time together was so limited I don't think he even knows my middle name (which is Sami, by the way). But I guess it would have been rather difficult to ask him what his favorite color was as we were fighting for our lives. Or when I was slapping him. Or kissing him…

"People don't risk their lives for one another on a mere whim." I reply, fighting to keep down my anger, which threatens to boil over at any second. "They risk their lives for one another because they care enough to. Which you did." I think back to all the times he's quote unquote "saved" me; some of them being the real deal (like back on the island) while some of them are mostly him saving me from myself (like when I fell through the roof in Magneto's mansion). "Deny it all you like but you did feel something for me."

"Now tell me the truth." I say after a pause. "Did you really lose your memory?"

"…" Silence.

"Just—" I start to shout, but catch myself, and settle for a more subdued, "Please…tell me. If you did, then we can help you get those memories back." His smirk fades and I find myself having to get to my feet as his eyes lock on mine; so intense. As I step up to the glass, I weigh my next words carefully before saying, "I—I want to help you."

Azazel takes a long drawn our breath as he climbs to his feet and moves towards the glass, where I now stand. "I do not want your help." He says in a low voice, emphasizing each word articulately. "I want to know why I see you though you are not there. I want you gone from my mind forever. I want to lie down in my bed tonight—" His fatal smirk returns with a vengeance and he places his hands on the glass, leering down at me as he adds, "With you beside me."

I don't know what it is, but I snap, phasing through the glass, eyes glowing furiously as I attack him. There was a time where a full sentence (spoken in perfect English) like that would have disarmed me in a millisecond. But not now. Not when he's hurt me like this. Not when he can stand there and mock me like everything we've gone through together has meant nothing to him. I shove him against the wall, projecting two small energy shields from my hands to give me the strength to do so, as I cry out, "Do you have any idea how much I cared about you?!" As I stride towards him, I draw back a glowing fist (completely discarding everything Rogue taught me yesterday) and try to land one right on his jaw—

Only I don't account for that accursed tail of his and it whips around my elbow, roughly yanking my arm back, and soon enough we're grappling for control, his hands reaching for me and mine pushing him away. Trying to recall what Rogue showed me about holds, I try to get him into one she called the "Pig in a blanket" (Yeah, I don't know…), but in a counter move that I can't even begin to understand, Azazel turns the move on me and sends me backward against the wall.

I hit the glass pretty hard, but I recover quickly and make to lunge at him with a right hook.

Then that god damned tail strikes out of nowhere and, this time, encircles both of my wrists like a rope made of flesh and blood, rendering my hands inert. Trapped between him and the wall, I attempt to kick out at him, but with both hands being free, he catches the blow and presses against me. Unable to kick out with my legs, I fight to free my own hands, and, in response to this, Azazel's hold on them tightens like a coil, and he raises my arms high above my head, held in place by that surprisingly strong tail.

I could always head-butt him…

As if sensing that this might be my next move, his hand goes to my jaw and holds my head firmly against the glass as he leans in close. "I want to know," He mutters and I meet his eye (having previously been trying to search for any possible way to escape) to find that his look is no longer mocking or daunting, but refreshingly sincere. His pale eyes are unwavering as he says in a deep undertone, "But I don't want to remember."

"Why not?" Is all I can whisper, that familiar spell paralyzing me—keeping me from phasing away like I know I should. But I have to know…

He, predictably, doesn't answer. But a muscle works in his jaw, his breathing is no longer calm and steady but somewhat labored; his chest expands against my own, and thin lines crease around his eyes. Maybe he doesn't know either. Or maybe he just doesn't want to tell me.

I give up.

Phasing out of his grip and right through the glass, I can breathe at last. He straightens, straightens out the front of his crisp, black suit, but he does not assume that haughty look of his. Instead he just watches me, watching him. I don't know what to do so I just blink and say breathlessly, "Let me know when you figure it out."

And then I leave without so much as a glance behind me.

Our next plan of action, obviously, is to find the Professor.

We decide that we should leave as soon as possible, the sheer gravity of the situation hitting us all hard as we realize what Xavier's kidnapping could very well mean for all Mutants. If the MRD were to start messing around with Xavier's head, it could spell trouble for everyone in the entire tri-state area. Not just us. And under the cover of nightfall, we should be able to make a clean getaway; as it's already well past midnight.

"Then what are we waiting for?" Scott asks, ready for a fight. You wouldn't even know it was 12 in the morning by the way we're so hyped up. "Let's go already."

"What have I been tellin' you, Summers?" Logan replies, his arms crossed stonily but even he's revving to go. "We need a plan of action first."

"Wolverine's right," Hank agrees, his hand under his jaw as he sits at the large motherboard across the hall from the Danger Room, searching for the blueprints of the MRD's headquarters/jail house. How he's getting access to all of these government files, I don't know. I guess it comes with being a genius. "And—" He sighs, turning away from the enormous computer; removes his glasses. "I think we can all agree we're going to need a little help on this one."

He avoids my gaze and I narrow my eyes as he and Wolverine exchange significant glances. It's like they're having an entire conversation with just that look. Strange, seeing as neither of them are telepaths. But Emma most certainly is, " 'They mean for Azazel to help us.' " She says telepathically, her musical voice floating in the space around my head like a wisp sound.

"What?!" I cry out loud. The others look at me; some nervously, others in confusion. "You can't be serious about Azazel." I clarify and Hank looks away while Rogue, Tabitha and Dimitri exchange uncertain glances. I can tell they don't quite know what to think about Azazel; the rest of our group seems to trust him well enough, and I don't trust him at all.

Not a good mix.

"I think Dr. McCoy may have a point, Elizabeth." Emma tells me firmly, absently fingering the bandage on the bridge of her nose, where it had to be reset. "The MRD is heavily fortified and Human technology against Mutants (as you very well know) has advanced far beyond what you or I have encountered in the past. We need all the help we can get. Teleportation would be the safest way to get in and out without unnecessary risk."

I debate on whether or not to ask my next question, but eventually decide it's worth a shot, "What about Erik?"

The looks I get in response alone are enough to tell me there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell of that happening. "You'd trust Magneto before—"

"Yes, I would." I snap before Logan can get out his disgruntled reply. "But…" I sigh, knowing I can't win this one. "You may be right. If we're going to get the Professor out," I cast a nervous glance down the hall, where Azazel's cell is. "We'll need all the help we can get."

I really don't want to do this. He won't agree to it, I convince myself. There's no way he'll agree to helping us. Why should he? We won't set him free after, anyway, right?

I give a shudder at the thought, realizing suddenly that this very well may be the case. What if the others do want to set him free; let him live here? I don't think I could stand it. I still care about him. About who he was at least. But this…new Azazel…

He worries me. He upsets me.

I don't want to have to look at his face and know that it isn't really him.

It's not going to happen, I think to myself as we make our way down to the holding cell. He won't agree to this. He's not that person anymore. And you don't love him.

And he doesn't love you.

What'd I tell ya? Anyway, more chapters to come...Later. Still working out the kinks of what's to come but I like some of the ideas I've come up with and I hope you do too. Thanks for reading (as always).

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