There was nothing for her. Not anymore. It was the only thought that echoed in Mystique's head as she was left on the floor of the transporter, shivering like a newborn babe in her pink skin. She hadn't watched them go, hadn't tried to escape. What was the point? They had destroyed her and she didn't have the presence of mind to pick up the pieces.
Mystique did have the presence of mind to steal the dead security guard's coat and wrap it around her though. Why shouldn't she cover up? She wasn't beautiful anymore. Erik had said so and he was right. There had been so many times in her life where she had felt ugly and wrong. She gathered her legs up to her chin and bit back her tears.
It was odd. When she was younger she had thought that her blue form was the ugly one, the one that wouldn't gain acceptance. Even Charles had known this and he'd tried to shield her from the knowledge during her teenage years. As she got older though she knew that he tried to avoid talking about it, trying to build up gently to the inevitable knowledge.
Charles. She must be changing to think of him as anything other than Professor X. She had been trying to distance herself from her old life so hard that she didn't dare think of him as her brother. It was dangerous to do so. So many times she had marveled at Erik's control, still being able to refer to Charles by his first name, call him friend.
Her last real conversation with him was painfully obvious in her mind.
"You know Charles, I used to think it was gonna be you and me against the world. But no matter how bad the world gets, you don't want to be against it, do you? You wanna be a part of it!"
That had been cruel, she could see that now. It had been justified though. He hadn't understood and she'd been furious that he hadn't. They'd known each other for years. So how could Erik waltz in and understand what she was feeling better than her own brother? It had made her feel like the world was shifting.
"I'm incapable of thinking of you that way. I feel responsible for you. Anything else would just feel wrong."
She had wanted to be responsible for herself though and she had taken a leap of faith. For the first time Mystique had wondered if, at the tender age of eighteen, she had actually been ready to do that. Had she been too impressionable, an innocent who rushed into things without thinking them through and then getting surprised when she fell off the cliff?
True, she had been molded by Erik and the Brotherhood into something new. She'd wanted it though. At what point had she said stop? All she'd ever said was more, more. Any opportunity to gain strength, to lose herself, was welcomed. Mystique had enjoyed it, had reveled in feeling powerful and perfect.
Twenty years later this was what it had gotten her; nothing. There was nowhere to go without her mutation. She had let it define her completely for the past few decades and now she felt lost. Her mind shifted to all that molding she'd taken and thought about the four men in her life who had shaped her.
Charles was one of them, a brother who was out there still fighting. She wondered if he was still married to Moira. Her name had slipped out of reports shortly after the debacle with Lorna. They knew that David was Hank's aide, her little telepath nephew trying his hand at politics. He was succeeding from what she'd heard. It was hs father's genius coming through. Still, she wondered if Moira had been yet another tragedy to mar Charles' life.
She still loved him in a distant way. He was an idiot, she still believed that, but he was still her brother. Mystique wasn't ignorant of his desperate attempts to visit her in jail. It was why her escapes were always so rushed and risky. The last thing she wanted was for him to lose a little bit of whatever fool's image he still had of his little sister. Ignorance was the best state to keep Charles in, something she'd learned from Erik.
Yes, Erik. The man who had offered her his hand and then years left her in the back of the convoy. Yet, she agreed with him. Mystique wasn't one of them anymore. She wasn't beautiful and, in his normal blunt way, he had said it. That was all. It would have been funny if it wasn't so tragic. She curled her feet closer to her.
When she was younger she was so sure that she'd been in love with him. She was probably just attracted to the power, dominance, and confidence that he exuded. It was pathetic really but it had evolved into a deep-seated trust. That's what she'd thought anyway. Did he mourn her loss? She didn't know and, in a way, she didn't want to know. The last thing that Mystique wanted was to have her fears confirmed that she'd meant nothing after twenty years.
Her mind drifted to the other mutant she'd been intimate with and changed her. Azazel. She wondered vaguely where he was. He had never been in a real conversation with her after she had told him her plan to leave their child with Charles. There was only one exception; right after she'd miscarried their child. He'd noticed and asked briefly in private;
"Tell me this; malchick or devochka? Name? You owe me that."
She had shaken her head, trying to keep calm.
"I…I had a miscarriage."
His eyes had remained blank and his face impassive. There was a glint of anger in him then.
"You killed him," he said bluntly, "Finally happy?"
Without another word he had teleported away. At first Mystique had been angry, thinking he was placing too much blame on her. Then she realized that, in a way, he was right. Maybe if she'd been with him she wouldn't have had to hide her pregnancy, wouldn't have had to go on missions. She would have been able to take better care of her unborn child. If he'd had that care then maybe he wouldn't have died.
Tears welled up in her then on the floor of the convoy. She pushed them down and thought of the fourth man; the child she had lost. After screaming and injuring three orderlies she'd managed to get out of them that the child had been a boy. Her mind had slipped then. He'd been the boy that she hadn't wanted, the boy who'd been an inconvenience.
Miscarrying him hurt though. Azazel was right; she had probably managed to kill him. So she carried that with her. She should have taken better care of that little life. All the boy had had was her and she had let him down. Mystique was still letting him down. She'd been too upset to reclaim the body, had never named him, never had him baptized, never had him buried.
In her mind she didn't dare name him. If she named him then she knew she'd start thinking about what-ifs. What if he had survived? What if she had given him to Charles? What if she had raised him with Azazel? It was too much to handle. So in her mind she simply thought of him as her son. He was her greatest mistake; he never should have been conceived. He was her greatest failure; he should have been able to live before he died.
Sirens approached the convoy. Mystique didn't look up as the troopers came in and leveled guns on her. She laughed then. Couldn't they see that there was no point?
"Are you Mystique?" one of them asked.
How did they know? Mystique looked up at the cameras in the convoy. Of course. She had been watched.
"You might as well call me Raven Darkholme," she said bitterly, "It doesn't much matter anymore."
Next to Emma Megan looked outside of the helicopter. She frowned.
"This place gives me the creeps."
"That's because of the residual psychic energy," said Emma smartly, "You can feel it, but you don't recognize what it is. Your brain isn't right for it."
"My brain is fine, thank you very much."
She smiled and put on her white-rimmed sunglasses. Canada wasn't her favorite spot by any means. There were too many trees and not enough beaches. It reminded her of where she'd grown up which made it ugly. Still, she was up for a little adventuring. Having Megan with her almost made it feel like a vacation.
The helicopter landed and she got out. With all of the bad business with The Cure she certainly needed a vacation. Walking around the lake she felt calm. This was the way to get her mind off things; to take a risk. With Megan walking behind her she didn't feel in danger though. At most they'd find a powerful but confused telepath. That could be handled.
However, she got the feeling they'd already missed whatever it was. There were traces of psychic energy all around them, true enough. Upon closer inspection she could also see where a jet had landed. It was big and she crouched down to investigate the markings in the ground. She had to be careful or she'd get dirt all over her white clothes.
More and more she hated the pristine color she had to wear. It was too late to turn away from it and too much effort to make people think she was wearing white. If they hadn't had to stop by a Hellfire location just before this she would have worn yellow or green that day. Emma had never had to be the White Queen when she was with just Megan, so she'd allowed herself to wear more colorful attire in the past.
Still, there was a lingering fondness for white. If she closed her eyes she could still remember the floor length white gown made especially for her. Behind her she heard the snip of Christian's scissors as he went through the fabric, making it just so. He said that if she was going to be playing a princess she might as well look like one.
Shaking off the memory she got up.
"Some old friends of mine were here," she said, "I recognize the jet."
"When you say old friends you mean enemies right?" asked Megan.
"Yes," Emma said, continuing her walk, "Although I don't know who's in charge of the organization anymore. No need for me to pay too much attention. But we won't have to fight them; they're long gone."
Yawning she continued walking, going a little deeper into the surrounding woods. Megan walked beside her.
"Do you think they already took care of whatever it was?" she asked.
"Yes. Shame, I was quite curious about what caused this. I was in Washington when I felt this. That's quite the range if you know what I mean," sighed Emma, "No point in going on a wild goose chase though."
"Ummm…"
"Yes Megan?"
"It's shorter to the chopper if we go that way," said Megan, jerking her thumb the way they came, the exact opposite way that Emma was going, "This will probably take fifteen minutes more."
"I know," Emma said, "But I'm bored and disappointed. Humor me."
"But your shoes-"
"Honey, when I was growing up if a woman couldn't go over treacherous rocks in high heels then they'd never be able to leave the house," said Emma, "Besides, I can keep my balance well enough-"
One of her shoes caught on a root and sent her stumbling down a crevice. She turned into diamond form before she managed to injure herself, but when she'd slid to the bottom she was covered in thick mud. Emma made a face of disgust. This was why she hated white; stupid color that it was.
"Are you okay?" called Megan.
"I'm fine," Emma said, shaking the excess mud off her hands, "Just mortified. Stay up there for a minute before teleporting down here. I need a minute."
"For what?"
"Picking up my pride," Emma called back, "And don't you dare say I told you so."
"Wouldn't dream of it. But I did."
Rolling her eyes Emma started to get up. As she did so she noticed what she thought was a limb. Curious she walked over and saw the body of a man lying limply on the ground, his jacket stained and his eyes tightly closed. Emma frowned. She had seen corpses before, but the lack of blood on this one was curious.
She reached out to touch him and then hesitated. The last man she'd touched was Shaw. She could still remember the feel of his calloused hands on her body. Emma shuddered. She might have been able to escape his bed by using mind tricks, but it was too complicated to alter everyone's memories when to make them think she was casually kissing or touching her. She'd tried to keep his contact marginal, planting suggestions in his mind to not be so touchy. Eventually it had taken and Emma had breathed a sigh of relief.
Ever since that whatever contact she'd had with anyone was minimal, except when she kissed Megan goodnight or tucked her in. Megan was practically a daughter to her, it was alright. The corpse, though a corpse, was still that of a man's. Revulsion built up and she settled on getting up and prodding him with the toe of her shoe.
To her surprise the man jerked and his eyes opened. A beam of light shot straight into the sky, severing several branches. Emma turned into her diamond form out of instinct even as his eyes snapped shut again. His action seemed to be based on synapses misfiring out of anything else, but she still cautiously tapped him again with her foot. This time there was no response.
Megan materialized next to her, looking panicked.
"I saw the beam! What happened?" she asked.
Emma cocked her head and turned back to flesh. She tapped the unconscious man's mind and found only fuzzy darkness. The man had obviously been wounded in whatever had caught her attention. It might even be tampering with her ability to look into his mind and see what had happened. She frowned again and made a split decision. After all, she had wanted to know what had happened at Alkali Lake that would get the attention of a telepath as powerful as she knew she was.
So, smoothing out her hair, she gestured with her hand to the form of the still man.
"Nothing. But it looks like we've got one more for the chopper," she said, "When he's better I have some questions I'd like to ask."
A/N: You know, from First Class we all got the idea that Emma and Shaw were an item. Personally I agree, but think back. Did you ever see them kiss?