Chapter 29

The Polish People's Republic, Poland (U.S.S.R.) - Abandoned Gorzky House - 5 Days Later

Raven sat at the meadow's edge, her knees pulled to her chest and her arms wrapped loosely around them as she stared at the twin graves. Wildflowers grew around their freshly churned dirt, twisting their way up towards the sun. She found their scent comforting. Raven always liked wildflowers, those fiery little plants that grew in spite of adversary, that no one could tame. In one hand, she clutched a small silver necklace. Its delicate chain wound through her fingers and its locket hung down from her palm like a teardrop. Raven knew this necklace very well. It was Erik's prized possession; the only photographs of his parents that he had. It was only fitting that she found the locket laying on the makeshift gravestones that marked what she was sure Erik's real prized possessions were: his now deceased wife and daughter.

It had been five days since Raven slipped out of Moscow, and it took her just as long to track down information leading to Henrky Gurzky's abandoned home in the tiny, backwoods village. At least there Raven thought she might find clues to Erik's current whereabouts. After all her searching, the only thing Raven found was the knowledge that she was simply too late. From her disguised interactions with locals, Raven learned that Henrky's family was dead, the band of police who tried to bring him to justice murdered, and the villain Magneto resurrected and gone. The blue woman found no other leads; she only found a wide swath of death and destruction in his wake. She knew in her heart there would be no finding Erik now, and certainly no appealing to his senses after he suffered a tragedy of this magnitude.

Not knowing what else to do, Raven sat vigil at those little graves for hours, crying for Erik and the family he lost; crying for her own that she tore apart.

The blue woman wasn't stupid; she knew her actions in Moscow had damaged things with Azazel, most likely irreparably so. She hadn't planned on kissing him, and she certainly hadn't planned for anything that followed. It was as if Azazel's proximity during their struggle woke a muscle memory in her, finally breaking the tension building between since the day their paths crossed again in East Berlin. She knew he felt the rekindled connection too; she could see it in how he looked at her, and feel it in how his fingers traced every inch of her skin. She would be a fool to try and convince herself that she wasn't still in love with Azazel, even after all their years apart.

So naturally, Raven panicked.

She had recklessly, physically given in to her feelings without considering any long-term consequences. When she brought up searching for Erik again, reality set in when Azazel made it quite clear they were going back to Westchester first thing in the morning. The finality of his words - of his stubborn refusal to help - was like a slap in her face. For last ten years, Raven worked alone; she didn't have anyone dictating her decisions, and certainly not telling her who she could and couldn't rescue. Why couldn't Azazel understand that searching for Erik was so much than helping a former teammate? Raven frowned. Erik had a family now; Magento had been cast aside so that Henrky could raise his child in peace, something Raven knew over the years if they would have done if given half the chance. In a way, her desperation to help Erik was an atonement for abandoning Kurt and Azazel; if Raven could save just one mutant family, it would all be worth it.

Distraught, Raven excused herself to splash cold water on her face; that's when she saw the syringes of Thorazine still on the bathroom sink. She grabbed the drugs along with two glasses from the kitchen, forming a plan on the fly. Raven didn't fully stop to think about what she had done until after Azazel passed out, and by then, it was too late. She left the syringes, a note, and putting on a new face, she fled from Moscow, tears of fear and frustration blurring her path as she ran.

Now she was sure Azazel wanted nothing to do with her, save for maybe putting a knife to her throat.

As she pondered her many mistakes, Raven found her thoughts drifting back to son. My poor, sweet Kurt, she frowned. She failed her child in every way. Once again, she had snatched away his real family right from his grasp. Raven had recently even considered sitting down with Kurt and Azazel and finally admitting the truth, but after watching the boy's reaction to her memories in The Danger Room - another moment where she failed Kurt and this time, Azazel - she was sure it was a lost cause. No child should have to deal with their parents' monstrous pasts, and Raven wasn't exactly innocent. She had helped Azazel assassinate people during their time after Cuba in the KGB. She might not have fired the killing shots or twisted the knives, but her shape-shifting, gathering information, setting traps and playing roles all culminated in Azazel's skillful ability to end a life.

And all of it, for what? Tears stung Raven's eyes again. She wondered if she could ever go back to Westchester or see Kurt again. She wiped her face with the back of her hands. Raven hadn't felt this lost and alone and afraid since the day she woke up in the Munich forest, cradling her son. She had carefully covered her tracks while running across the East. So far, she had evaded detection by the KGB and their operatives. Raven wondered where she would go from there, and how long she could manage to avoid Azazel.


He found her anyways, just before sunset.

Raven didn't actually hear him appear, but she didn't need to turn around to know exactly who was approaching when she did hear footstep bending the meadow grass. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, waiting. For what, she didn't exactly know. A knife to her throat maybe, or a bullet in her head; at the rate her life was spiraling out of control, nothing seemed inappropriate. All she knew was in that moment and with everything that had happened, she was done running and hiding. Raven had been running for seventeen years and frankly, she was tired.

The footsteps stopped, just a few feet behind where she sat. Raven held her breath.

"You took my shoes."

Raven turned towards Azazel's voice, blinking her eyes widely in surprise. He stood very still, regarded her quietly for a few seconds before driving his long sword into the soil. She flinched at the sound of the metal biting the ground - for a second, she imaged the sword cutting into her - and he twisted it once so it could stand securely on its own. Azazel then took a seat nearby in the meadow grass facing the graves. He stretched his legs out in front of him and leaned back, bracing his weight on his hands. His tail curled over his right leg, its spade twitching leisurely as he looked her over. Raven started back at him, determined not to show any fear.

"I might have been able to forgive your for everything else," he said almost causally, defaulting to Russian. "But, they were my favorite pair. Thankfully," he motioned to the shoes he currently wore, "I found another pair in Moscow." His pale eyes were unreadable as he sized her up.

Whatever Raven had been expecting, this certainly wasn't it.

"What kind of a person takes someone's shoes?" She swore she heard a note of amusement in Azazel's question.

In spite of everything, she couldn't help but crack a small, meek smile. After all, he was right: she had taken his shoes. It was a trick she learned years ago: take away someone's shoes, and it takes them longer to get ready to find her. This was especially helpfully when she was the run; any extra moment gained while someone was looking for their shoes was a godsend.

"I didn't take them, I hid them," she admitted, looking guiltily down at her hands. "They're in the fireplace."

"Ah yes, the fireplace," he shook his head, continuing to stare at her. "Of course."

"How did you find me?" She asked quietly, only after a reasonable amount of time had passed that seemed like he wasn't going to harm her, at least not immediately. Raven didn't fully drop her guard; she knew Azazel well enough to know that even a peaceful approach could still easily end in bloodshed.

"Caliban owed me a favor," Azazel shrugged. "It also seems his bodyguard was recruited by a strange mutant who was also looking for Magneto. He was interested in enough in revenge that he told me where I could find Magneto's home. I figured that was the best place to start looking for you, but," Azazel nodded in her direction, "I guess I am lucky."

Raven studied his face carefully and he stared back at her, unblinking. Azazel didn't look like he was lying or omitting anything; he looked like he was telling the truth. If anything, Azazel simply looked tired. Probably just as tired of of all this bullshit as I am, Raven realized.

Eventually, he turned his gaze away from her to look over the little graves. He narrowed his eyes before frowning, and Raven could only assume he guessed whose graves they were. She heard a distinct clink of metal under his suit jacket as he shifted his weight. It had been a long time since she had seen Azazel geared-up for a mission. Looking at him, Raven knew there were no less than seven blades on his person. There was his long sword of course, currently planted in the ground, and its shorter curved partner still holstered to his hip. She knew there were two concealed daggers on each forearm, secured in such a way he could quickly slide them into his hands or into some unlucky target's throat at the flick of his wrist. She also knew he'd have a set of stiletto blades strapped to his right lower leg, under his pants. These were for stealth, blades that could be silently removed when stalking a target from the shadows. And of course, she mused, a trusty, last resort pocket knife. Raven had seen him take out three men in the same number of minutes with only his pocket knife, proving that it wasn't size, but rather skill, that truly mattered.

One new addition was the gun handle protruding from his belt. Raven cocked her head slightly to catch Azazel's eye. She motioned towards the gun with her chin. He looked down briefly before seeming to remember it was there. He rolled his eyes as he pulled the weapon out and offered it to her. She felt a wave of relief wash over her as she took it; if Azazel really wanted to harm her, he wouldn't have simply handed her a weapon. Still, she wasn't entirely comfortable with his so far casual attitude, and couldn't quite discern what he was really thinking.

"This is a surprise," Raven turned the gun over in her hand, running her fingers across its smooth handle. It was a gold and white .44 magnum with the words "Plan B" etched in Gothic script on its handle. Azazel was never one for guns, and certainly not for fancy guns like this one. Raven handed it back with a raised eyebrow, waiting for an explanation. Azazel slipped the gun back into his belt, looking almost sheepish.

"It's...Clarice," he admitted begrudgingly. "It's just a silly gift. She has a matching one, and she gave this to me after she saved my life once by shooting someone. We never go on a mission without them, like good luck charms."

"Just like old times, huh?" Raven nodded to the duffle bag next to her. It had been seventeen years since they were side-by-side, geared-up for a mission.

"Yeah, right," Azazel snickered. "Just like old times except now I need reading glasses and my back hurts for no reason."

Raven smirked at his comment before turning back to look at the graves. They sat side-by-side in silence as the sun deepened the shadows in the surrounding trees.

"Do you remember our wedding night?" Azazel asked quietly after some time had passed. Raven didn't respond immediately. Instead, she shifted her position so she leaning on one arm and facing him. Azazel now sat cross legged, his hands on his knees and his tail lazily sweeping the grass behind him. He watched her patiently, with the look of someone who already knew the answer before they asked. "Do you remember how we stayed up all night drinking that good Spanish wine Janos gave us, and we just talked?"

Raven smiled softly, nodding. Their wedding had been an small, impromptu affair - they never really kept a wide circle of friends - but Azazel surprised Raven by bringing Angel and Janos in from Spain, and - although not in attendance - Emma Frost surprised them all by arranging for the Hellfire Club to pay for an entire night at The Zaytsevr. After closing hours, the newlyweds brought the party back to their safe house. Eventually, all their friends eventually passed out in various places around the apartment, and Azazel and Raven sneaked away to the balcony where they stayed up all night smoking cigarettes, drinking wine, and laughing until the dawn forced them inside.

"I wonder," Azazel asked politely, snapping Raven out of reminiscing, "if you recall that I told you a story that night?"

"The story about love," Raven answered immediately. "The only story you remember your mother telling you."

"You remember," he said, a slow smile growing on his face. "You know my father died before I was born, and I do not remember much from my childhood, before the soldiers came. What little I do remember, I always see mountains and blue skies and I can hear goats. I remember it was just my mother and I and no one else living for kilometers around." He paused, seeming to collect his thoughts. "I cannot remember my mother's face or her voice, but I do remember that she told me once I looked very much like my father. I know that she gave up everything for him, and that he told her the story of love, and she told it to me, so I when I was older, I would understand that love is something worth fighting for."

Raven bit her lip, staring at Azazel in the growing darkness. In all the years she had known him, this was the most he had ever spoken at length about his childhood. Even after twenty-one years, it seemed Azazel still had the ability to surprise her.

"Do you remember how the story goes?" He asked in trepidation, almost as if he was afraid she had forgotten.

"There was a time once, long ago," Raven took a deep breath, pulling the words from distant memory. For a second, she could almost see Azazel twenty years younger, slightly drunk and grinning like a fool when he sat across from her on the balcony, first telling her the story she now recited. "A time when when people first came into being. They grew out of the soil of the Earth, and they grew in pairs, fused together as one being, back to back. These first people had two sets of everything: arms, legs, and heads, but they shared one heart, and they were...happy."

Her voice faltered on the word happy. Raven remembered being so very happy that night, laughing and giddily talking for hours with her husband. Never in all her life had Raven dared to dream that the word husband would be for her, that anyone would take her as she was, blue scales and all. They had been a promise to each other of all the things denied to mutants like them. That night, they were young and reckless and in love, with their entire lives ahead of them.

"But after a time," Azazel said, picking up where she stopped, "the Gods looked down on the Earth from the Heavens and they became angry, because the people were so happy together that they did not need to worship the Gods. So the Gods struck the people down, splitting them in half and chasing the broken halves across the ends of the Earth, until they were lost."

"And we spend our entire lives trying to find our missing half," Raven whispered, a tear now slipping down her cheek.

"And when we make love," Raven could see that his eyes were shining too, "that's how we put our hearts back together."

"All of this is my fault," Raven took a shuddering sob, wiping her eyes.

"It's not all your fault," Azazel took her hand.

"I abandoned everyone I've ever loved: Charles, Erik, you, Kurt..." Raven whimpered.

"You came back for Kurt," Azazel squeezed her hand reassuringly.

"I should have come back for you," she grabbed his hand in both of hers.

"No," Azazel put his free hand on the side of Raven's face, stroking the tears off her cheek with this thumb. "I should never have let you go. Raven, there hasn't been one day - not one - since the moment I lost you that were not on my mind the second I woke up and the last thought I had before I slept. I told you on our wedding night that I finally found my missing half, my heart, and that I would follow you anywhere. So here I am," Azazel smiled, tears now marring his face as well. "It took me seventeen years to realize that I should have followed you the first time. I regret I cannot take that time back."

"You followed me the second time," Raven sniffled, placing her hand over his against her face. Azazel took a big risk coming to Westchester. Much of it to see his son, but Raven was starting to realize, to see her as well.

"I cannot lose you again," Azazel shook his head, "I will not survive it."

"I want us to be a family again," she whispered. She hadn't dared to dream this, not after everything.

"I want it too," he eagerly agreed, "you and me, Kurt and Clarice."

"Do you think that's even possible?" Raven laughed in spite of her tears.

"I don't know," he shrugged, sniffling as well. "Nothing in this life is guaranteed; but, I would like to try it."

"When we go back," she nodded, resolved, "we'll talk to Kurt. Together. We'll tell him the truth, tell him everything."

"Perhaps we should talk to someone, as well?" Azazel ventured.

"You mean like a therapist?"

"I fear we will drive Charles mad if we ask him to help mediate our problems."

"We'll figure it out," Raven agreed, "we'll figure out some way to make this fucked-up family function." She closed her eyes as she began to cry in earnest. She felt Azazel's arms encircle her, pulling her towards him. She leaned against his chest as he stroked hair back, murmuring reassuring words as she wept. In his arms, Raven finally felt able to let go in a way she hadn't since the day the world split them apart.

After a while, Raven pulled away from Azazel's arms and gazed up at him. He looked at her so happily, his pale eyes shining against the dark. Raven leaned forward and kissed him - not recklessly and passionately like five nights before - but assuredly, reliably, lovingly, and she felt the same from him in return. Afterwards they simply held each other, their eyes closed and foreheads touching, speaking volumes without breathing a word.

...RAV...EN...!...HEL...P...!

Raven snapped back suddenly, crying out as she grabbed both sides of her head. Images tore through her mind in rapid succession, breaking apart like static...

...the inside of Cerebro...

...Erik in full regalia, standing beside by four mutants she'd didn't know...

...Hank and Moira, screaming...

...Charles, bloody-nosed, struggling to maintain consciousness...

...Alex lighting up...

...HELP US...!

"Charles?!" Raven screamed as her brother's voice screamed in her mind and an image of fire erupted, burning brightly and dissolving everything in its path.

"Raven...?!" Azazel grabbed her shoulders, alarmed.

"Oh God!" Raven seized his shirt, looking fearful as panic unhinged her voice. "We have to go back now!"


A/N: The story Azazel told Raven is inspired by "The Origins of Love" from "Hedwig an the Angry Inch." This story actually as origins in a few different world mythologies. It's a beautiful little tale, one that always stuck with me, and I'm happy to have re-interpreted it in my own story. And, speaking of love...it's been a really tough week for a lot of people here in the USA. I think now more than ever this quote from "X-Men Apocalypse" is truly fitting:

Charles Xavier: "Those with the greatest power...protect those without. That's my message to the world."

Be good and be kind to one another, my friends. The world needs more love in it, now more than ever.