A/N: The penultimate chapter! Almost there...

Chapter Twenty One – Success or Failure

Mystique would never know the extent of the battle to save her life. While she floated on black waves, Warren Worthington, Angel and Eric all played their parts to bring her back. It was not long before Warren Worthington, inspired by his son's complete lack of resentment or hostility towards his former captors, forgot that he was treating a criminal and threw himself into saving her with such vigour that neither Eric nor Angel could keep up. Of course, Warren had his own reasons for this. He was responsible for the development of the 'cure', without him the drugged woman on his table would not be suffering. Granted, the number of deaths directly attributed to the cure was still low having not entered double figures yet but, as far as Warren was concerned, one was too many. He had not created the cure to kill, he had not been aiming to create a weapon, and the thought that his Angel being one of the few to have such a reaction to the drug made Warren feel like he had just plummeted three floors. So far though he had been unable to reverse the damage the cure was doing inside Mystique and he knew from the reports filtering through from the other cases that time was rapidly running out.

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"So Angel's safe?" Storm asked.

"It appears so," replied Hank, "I believe he has suffered injuries of which he was less than specific but he sounded alright. You can rest easy, Storm." Storm sounded like she was trying to hold back tears when she next spoke.

"And Rogue? How is she?" She's dead inside. Rogue wanted to block out their voices but she dared not move for then they would know she was awake. She knew that if she was made to answer questions or explain how she was feeling she would simply open her mouth and scream, and she would never stop screaming until she drew her last breath. Life had been so wonderful yesterday, so full of light and promise. She loved Bobby and she could be with him in the way she wanted to be, whenever she wanted, whenever he wanted. It had been a revelation to live life without fear; the whole world had opened up to her inviting and tempting for the first time since her mutation had first been revealed. She felt like she had been dancing in a field of flowers before being dragged back down to live the rest of her life underground. How could she survive now that she knew what it was to be touched in the way Bobby had touched her? Knowing that he would never be able to touch her that way again; knowing that she would never be able to touch the people she loved.

"Rogue?" The soft voice startled her and she had opened her eyes before even thinking about it.

"Bobby." Thick, bitter shame ran down her throat and into her stomach. She was poison, she could not touch him, she could not love him.

"Oh Rogue, I've been so worried." He smiled in relief. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm sorry, Bobby. I…"

"Don't," said Bobby, "Please don't cry." But Rogue could not stop the tears. Things would never be that perfect again.

"I love you, Rogue," said Bobby reaching for her gloved hand and squeezing it, "I love you and nothing can change that."

"But I can't…" Rogue began.

"I know," said Bobby sadly, "But we never thought that would happen, did we? Maybe we'll get another chance like that, maybe we'll find a way to control your mutation. Maybe we won't. Whatever happens, Rogue, I'm going to be here holding your hand."

"Oh Bobby…," sobbed Rogue, "I love you."

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Eric waited. He felt like had been waiting an eternity already. The metal all around him taunted him with its silence as the news reader spoke of more mutants recovering the powers they had believed to be gone forever.

"It has been estimated that for 25 of mutants, the cure has proved to be ineffective. More seriously, for a further 2 the drug has proved to be fatal. Voices both human and mutant are demanding to know why the cure was allowed to be administered without more extensive testing. We now go to our mutant affairs correspondent in Washington…" Eric turned away. Even with the concern over Mystique, all the talk of returning power had not failed to reach him. How long would he have to wait before he knew whether he was a successful victim of the cure or one of the lucky ones? Nothing in the waiting room responded to him, not one metal item twitched. How long before he knew once and for all which world he belonged to?

A door opened and Angel appeared, his manner still understandably nervous.

"My father's ready to try again," he said, "Would you like to be with her?" Eric sighed. This was the fifth attempt Warren Worthington had made. His incompetence was costing Mystique precious time.

"Tell me if it works," he said before turning away from Angel. He could not bear to see another failure.

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Angel stood in the corner of the room, his role as an assistant no longer needed. His father was ready to give Mystique the injection. There were beads of sweat on his forehead as he bent close to her eerily still body. He had not said anything, but Angel knew this was their final chance. Warren Worthington would go on trying to find a cure but Mystique would not be there to benefit. Angel held his breath as the needle got close to Mystique's skin. The needle punctured and the silver liquid was pumped slowly into her body. The held air inside Angel's air was going stale and nothing was happening. His father turned away, under the pretence of looking at one of the monitors beside him, but really he was unable to face the prospect of defeat. Angel knew what his father was seeing when he looked at Mystique's motionless body. Warren Worthington was seeing his son dead by his hand.

At first, Angel thought his eyes were playing tricks on him. Then he blinked. It was really happening. Mystique's creamy skin was changing. Mystique's skin was turning blue.

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Mystique opened her eyes. Something was different. She felt bruised and battered, but there was something beneath that, something deeper. Slowly, very slowly, she raised her hand to her eyes. She was almost afraid to look lest it wasn't true; perhaps this was all just a dream. Oh, but there it was, her hand! Her true hand. The hand of a mutant. The hand of the true Mystique. Flooded with an insane happiness that numbed every other feeling, Mystique sat up to examine the rest of her body. It was her, it was all her! Every inch of her was back. She was about to try a transformation when she caught sight of someone else in the room with her.

"Eric?" she said, smiling, "You too?" Eric had his back to her. She wanted him to turn round and see her, see the real Mystique, the person she had always been. But when he did turn round, she saw that he was not filled with the same happiness as she was.

"Eric, what's wrong?" she asked. Eric looked down at a syringe of silver liquid in his hand. Was that it? Was that the antidote? She could only think of one thing that would stop Eric from joining her elation.

"Oh no," she breathed, "Did it not work on you?" Eric raised his eyes to hers.

"I'm sure it would work, my dear," he said quite calmly, "But I shall not be taking it." And with that, he turned his hand and let the fragile syringe in his hand fall to the floor where it shattered, liquid spreading from it like silver blood.

A/N: Imagine that, silver blood, weird! Anyway, thanks for reviewing the last chapter, I hope to hear your thoughts on this one.