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Chapter 36: Gone

None of them could believe it, the next morning.

Without so much as a word to anyone, Elizabeth had taken her leave sometime in the night, as did Magnus. All that was left behind was a note with a name on the front and a message on the back. But only Azazel knew about that. The moment he'd discovered it, as he went to check up on her the next morning, he pocketed it and went to tell the X-Men what happened. He wasn't sure when she left. None of them were. All they knew was that she was gone, probably having disappeared during the night while they were all asleep.

Xavier immediately made to call Erik while the others fought to keep Logan from chasing after the man, but all Lehnsherr would confirm was that she "would be alright." They suspected she had taken Erik up on his offer to go live in Genosha, but Magneto neither denied it nor confirmed it.

Rogue refused to leave her room for the rest of the day and the entire day was spent arguing, going back and forth on what was to be done next. A few of them (Logan, Jean, Angel, and—at some point—Azazel) wanted to go after her, convinced that she had made a mistake, while the rest all wanted her to be left alone, believing that the decision was (ultimately) hers and hers alone; they figured she must have had her reasons for wanting to leave. Tabitha and Dimitri were already on their way back to Genosha come noon.

At first, Azazel was hurt, which only led to anger, seeing as he'd been a stone-cold, professional killer not months prior to this day. What had changed him? It had been her, that much was clear, but why? How could he have lost so much of himself when there was so little already there to begin with? It was because of her, he decided. She made him care, when all he wanted to do was forget and move on. She'd captured him again and then, just like that, she was gone. And all without a word of explanation other than that stupid note.

He found himself studying it, alone in his room, reading over the words without really reading them. He already knew what it said. On the front:

"Not to be explaining. Stay and get to know your son, then we'll talk.

P.S. You may be needing this."

On the back was a name: Psylocke.

And that was it.

He was only a matter of seconds away from teleporting down to Genosha, a long and hard journey that would take him hours to make, when there came a knock at the door. It was Emma, the Telepath he once knew. She breezed into his room, worn down from the day's incessant arguing, and said softly, "Your son is here." He looked at her sharply, his breath catching, and her lips tightened, visibly displeased by his hesitance. Her voice was a dull, undertone as she said, "Just thought you ought to know."

Then she left, the door closing silently behind her.

He wasn't ready. He just wasn't ready to face the boy. How could he? He had no right—He had no right to the boy's affections, to the boy's anger, to any of it. Kurt deserved better and he knew it better than anyone.

But her words…

"Stay and get to know your son…"

It wouldn't be fair to deny the boy the chance to hate him, to take his anger out on the man who should have been there for him where his mother wasn't. That, Azazel owed him at least. He could take words that wound but ring with truth. It was blind affection and love that Azazel found harder to accept. He bawled the note up in his fist and tossed it in the waste basket, before beginning to head out—

But he paused, hand on the door and, with a disgruntled groan, strode back to the waste basket and snatched up the offending note, jamming it in his pocket and slamming the door closed behind him. He ran his hand excessively through his hair as he slowly descended the stair case, each step becoming heavier than the last. He could hear them talking, greeting each other. The teens.

He never cared for teenagers. He couldn't remember what his teenage years were like, it was so long ago. He had no idea how to approach this, he realized with a sudden spark of anxiety, pausing just a few steps before the end of the staircase, his hand gripping the rail like a vice. A baby he could handle; a child perhaps; hell, he'd take his chances with a full-grown adult, but not a teenager! They were just beginning to understand the world. How could his son understand his desertion when all he would feel was his father's absence?

Azazel could hear the chatter growing louder as the incoming students began to tell of their holidays. They were coming towards him, still stalled out on the stairs. Even as they rounded the corner, he found he couldn't move.

The young girl with the red hair and green eyes was the first to see him, as she had been leading the others towards their rooms up the stairs, a boy wearing red sunglasses linked on her arm. She came to a staggering halt, her eyes wide with surprise. She'd never seen him before. Understandably, his appearance must have startled her, he thought. But then a look of understanding crossed her features, and her lips tightened as she regarded him with some hostility. She appeared to be mature for her age as did the boy beside her. If Azazel thought Jean's look was hostile then Scott's gaze was downright ferocious. They knew who he was. Only the rest of their party remained ignorant of the invisible fire being exchanged between the three.

Kitty gave a squeak when she rounded the corner and ran right into Jean while the others caught up. "Like, what's going o—" Kitty began to ask, but she stopped short when her eyes fell on Azazel. He met her eye dead on and she flinched, "Oh…" She chewed on her lip, exchanging a look between Jean and Scott before turning back towards the way they came just as Bobby and Kurt rounded the corner. "Kurt…" She tried to call for him, but he was laughing and carrying on with Bobby, completely unaware of their guest until Kitty finally had to smack him on the arm to get his attention.

"Ow!" Kurt cried indignantly, rubbing his arm as he squinted at the girl. She must have hit him hard. "Vhat Vos that for?" He glanced at his friends uncertainly, his pale eyes assessing the grave looks on their faces and his face fell when he realized something was up. "Vhat is it?" He asked softly, unable to see past the group towards the staircase, and he craned his head to the side, stepping further out, so that he could see—

Kurt's exclamation never reached his lips, his shock was so great. His milky eyes widened, blue lips parted in silent awe. Kurt's mind raced to comprehend what he was seeing. The man before him was painted a deep crimson, with black hair, hard, pale blue eyes, a long, spaded tail (like his) and an air of power that left them all feeling incredibly out of their league. The others found it hard to believe such a distant and yet commanding man could be the father of their bubbly, good-natured, easy-to-smile friend.

Kurt felt his legs moving, overly-conscious of their odd shape, his blue fur, his three fingers...Nothing at all like his father. But he kept moving nonetheless. He moved to the front, his friends parting for him, and he took one step up the stair, pausing to look up into the face of his flesh and blood.

Azazel, hardly breathing at all, waiting for the yelling, the screaming, the accusations, but it never came. The boy just stared and he stared back, taking in the boys' features as if he were painting a picture in his mind. He could see the boy was his polar opposite right-off. And he was glad for it. The boy had known love, friendship, belonging and he didn't have to sacrifice his humanity to do it.

Azazel knew right then that he didn't deserve such a son.

Kurt's young face brightened slowly, the smallest smile touching his blue lips, and his round, curious eyes began to glisten with what Azazel feared most: joy.

"Father…"

"How long have you had this waiting for me?" I ask jokingly, matching Erik's pace with some difficulty, as we draw closer to the small, quaint home sitting on a hill near the outskirts of Genosha's borders, right by the ocean. Like everything else here, the design of my new place appears to be a cross between Greek architecture and something you would see out of a Sci-fi film. The walls are made of marble it seems but the front door is made of a pretty solid wood.

No metal here.

Erik opens the door for me, and we enter the living room. He stops beside me, gazing around fondly as he says, "I had it built for the day when my dear Lorna would want a place of her own." He turns his dark, blue eyes down to me and says, "But she refuses to leave the palace. She sees me as an old man now." He smiles to himself while I try to imagine him as a weak old man with a cane and suspenders. "She's always been a timid little thing. I am…very protective of her."

"Hm," I murmur, running a hand along the marble walls, a sort of gold-swirled cream color. "I would have thought there'd be more metal around here if that were the case. She does take after you, doesn't she?"

"That she does," Magneto agrees, lifting a hand. A stream of what appears to be powdered iron streams out of the wall near my hand and flies toward his hand in a slow, cork-screw motion before spinning into a tight circle in the palm of his hand. "These walls have been laced with all sorts of assorted metals, for the purpose of ensuring her safety." At my funny look, he adds, "It's all quite safe, I assure you."

"Clever." I remark as he returns the metal into the wall with minimal effort. I chew on my lip, inhaling deeply as I look around. It really is a beautiful home. "Thank you, Erik." I say earnestly, turning to smile at him with genuine gratitude. "This could be a new start for me." I find myself gazing over the living room with new eyes. This could be a home. My home. "A chance to just…move on."

I turn to Erik once more, saying determinedly, "If there's anything you need just let me know and I'll do what I can to help." Don't be fooled, I still know he's dangerous. But he is a friend, and he's done more for me than I can ever repay.

I'll just have to keep an eye on my dear old friend.

He nods once, blue eyes twinkling with promise, and he brings up a hand, running his thumb along my now sharp cheek bone, saying, "Stop by the Grand Coliseum tonight at 8. I trust you will find it worth your time."

I watch him leave, my arms crossed, and my smile fades, eyes narrowing as he goes. He stops in the door way, glances back at me, a sidelong look that doesn't go unnoticed and isn't intended to. The door closes behind him with an ominous, wooden thud and I breathe a sigh of relief, taking a seat in a gorgeous, light-blue loveseat.

I have no doubt in my mind that he's using me. He may care about my well-being but I know there's no way he's doing all of this for me simply because of our small history. He has something to gain from this; he's been after me since—well—since we first met but also when I first came to see him here in Genosha with Professor X and the other X-Men. He always intended for me to come here and he's been pulling strings to ensure that, when I did decide to leave, it would be him that I would seek sanctuary in. The tickets to Genosha, the money, the promise to help find my body, the mere fact that he stuck around to see me returned safely to the Institute, this house…

Well played, Erik. I think to myself. But I'm onto you.

I glance at the silver, blade-like clock hanging on the wall just above the mantle of my very own fireplace. It's 6 o' clock. I have to hours to get ready, but I continue to sit for a while, fingers knitted in thought.

Just what are you planning, Magnus?

The Coliseum is unreal. It looks just like the ones in Rome, completely re-mastered and larger than life. I feel small in comparison and unbearably alone. I don't know anyone here and I'm sticking out, which is weird considering I'm not the strangest looking Mutant here. The fish boy I saw on my first day darts by, his red scales shimmering in the bright city lights, and he stops to smile at me before hurrying off to take his mother's hand.

Shivering in the cold, I draw my jacket tighter to my chest and follow the crowd of people into the Coliseum. The dome is even larger on the inside and filled with all sorts of events, much like a carnival. The atmosphere is warm and inviting, lit with candles and torches rather than standard lights. On top of being alone and awkward as all hell, I've come terribly underdressed, wearing only black slacks and a white, buttoned-up blouse that makes my darker skin tone stand out all the more. I didn't feel like donning a dress or doing anything particularly fancy and so I just left my wild, curly hair hang loose for the occasion. Though what that occasion is exactly, I'm not very sure.

People all around me wear fancy, tailored suits (some with cloaks) and long, elegant dresses, and everyone appears to be so…contented. Children of all sizes and colors and abilities are laughing and playing, teenagers gossip amongst their friends, and men and women seem to be at peace. No one is worrying, no one is arguing. It's just a group of Mutants out to have a good time. I get inside, tailing the fishboy and his mother, and am instantly left breathless by what I see. The Coliseum is unreal. The dome-like ceiling stretches far above the polished stone floor and everywhere are paintings and art-pieces and carved fountains and—and—

Dancers.

They're stunning. More than stunning. They wear long, flowing silks of every color that glide like water with their every move. There is no stage; the Coliseum is the stage and everyone is a dancer. One thing I can say for certain is that this is no stuck-up event, like in Vanhouven. People aren't standing around idly, waiting to be entertained. The dancers traipse the Coliseum and grab anyone nearby and bring them into the dance, and people usually join without hesitation. People are laughing and singing and dancing (even if they don't know how) and the music ranges from slow and lovely to fast-paced and full of wild energy.

One man resembling the fabled Big Foot dances near me with a girl with short-cropped, red hair but they're not looking around to see if anyone is noticing or judging them. They just dance in a small, slow circle, holding one another as if they are the only two in the room.

I blink and murmur to myself, "Is this real?"

"'Bout as real as it gets, sweet heart." Says a woman's voice from behind me. "And why haven't I seen you at any a' my dance classes?"

I turn around, not having expected anyone to answer me, and find myself in the company of one of the dancers. She's considerably taller than me, with dirty blonde, curly hair as wild as my own, and smiling, brown eyes. Her face is painted with yellow and gold to match her silks and I can't help but feel like she's something from a dream I might have had as a child but could never quite remember until now. Even under the makeup, however, I can still see the scar that cuts along her jaw-line like a skin-colored rose petal.

But that doesn't make her any less beautiful.

"I—" I stammer to make a response, captivated by her presence. "I'm not from around here to be honest."

She laughs, "Who is? We're all refugees here, love. Far away from home." She sighs then turns her deep, brown eyes to me with a look of recognition. "You'd know a thang or two 'bout that wouldn't ya, hon?"

I frown, immediately suspicious, "What—" I start but she shakes her head with a chuckle and exclaims, "You don't recognize me, do you? Wale, I guess it has been a while. The years do change us, don' they? That an havin' kids tend to do that, too." Her laugh rings in my ear, while I remain silent, trying to piece it all together. "But you haven' changed a bit!"

It's like someone's hit me over the head with a frying pan.

I know who she is.

"Tarina?"

Her freckled nose crinkles and she grins at me with a giggle. A spark of excitement illuminates my entire face and I let out a girlish shriek, which Tarina soon joins, and we throw our arms around one another in a tight embrace. "Tarina!" I cry as we hug and rock each other like a bunch of teenage girls before we finally find a table near a group of parents and their children in a strange sort of painting circle. Easels, large and small, stand in a crooked circle where kids paint and parents supervise or sometimes paint themselves.

"This is incredible," I remark, gazing around in awe. "I had no idea you were here!"

Tarina reclines back in her chair, looking around with a fond smile. "Tend to keep a low profile these days. I moved out here shortly after I had my daughter."

"Really?" I ask, my smile fading ever so slightly at the mention of children. When I first came onto Genosha, Erik insisted on having me checked out with some of his personal Doctors, Medical Specialists and even a few Mutants with healing abilities. I didn't object, seeing as I had no idea what might have been done in Essex's labs while I was asleep. As it turned out, nothing appeared to be out of the ordinary aside from—well—the fact that I have a Mutant "X" Gene and one other thing.

I cannot conceive.

But this, apparently, has nothing to do with Sinister's tampering but rather my own messed-up genetics. Even now, I feel a pang in my heart where the dream of having a family of my own lays dormant. But rather than let this put a damper on our good mood, I smile brighter and look around, asking, "Where is she?"

"Oh, she'll be with her father," Tarina says dismissively, turning those age-wizened eyes on me once more, "What I wanna know is where've you been?"

I open my mouth then close it again, unsure of how to respond to that. So much has happened, most of which I just can't talk about. I'm about to say that I've been a little caught up at the Institute when I hear, "Mommy!" I give a start and look towards the sound to see a little girl with pointed Elvin ears, mocha colored skin, and a sheet of golden hair that falls down her back nearly to the floor, and matching golden eyes runs up, waving a paper around in her little hands as she cries, "Look, look!"

"What is it, baby?" Asks Tarina, opening her arms for the girl as she leaps into her mother's arms. The girl lifts the paper in her tiny, brown hands, saying in a musical voice, "It's our house!" She points proudly. "See, mommy?"

My god…She's so…

CUUUUUUTTTTEEE!

"Yes it is, baby girl!" Tarina exclaims as I watch in wonder of her little girl. She's just so beautiful and exotic with her elf-like features, dark skin, and golden hair and eyes. And that voice of hers…I feel like I'm under a spell whenever she speaks. It's hauntingly soft and yet clear and sunny as only a child's voice could be. "It's very good!" Tarina looks up, eyes searching. "Where's your father?" Tarina stiffens, as if listening for him, and her eyes automatically go to one particular spot in the crowd. She smiles brightly, "Oh, there you are!"

I follow Tarina's gaze until I find him.

He's a large, black man, possibly seven feet tall, and built like a house. But it isn't his size that I notice first. It's his eyes. They burn like the sun, a liquid gold color; like his daughters' only much brighter and fierce in its color. The next thing I notice are his hands. Christ, his hands are huge! They've got to be the size of shovels, those hands, but for some reason they match his immense height and build. I wonder if that's part of his Mutation.

"The girl's too fast for her own good." He remarks with an easy smile, once he pushes through the crowd, pulling up a chair for himself. He notices me looking on and tells me, "She's got her mother's legs."

Tarina joins his laughter and then says, "Aaron, this is Elizabeth, a very good friend of mine. Elizabeth, this is Aaron and my daughter, Shay." I take Aaron's hand and am not very surprised when it wraps entirely around mine with room to spare.

"It's nice to meet you, Elizabeth."

"And you, Aaron."

Then I turn to Shay and offer my hand, "Hello, Shay." I greet her and she tentatively takes my hand, the remaining paint residue sticky on my fingers, but eyes me out of those golden eyes timidly, not sure of what to make of me.

"Say 'hello,' Shay." Tarina tells her daughter.

"Hello…" Her voice is so friggin' cute I find it hard to concentrate and I grin stupidly as I say, "She's beautiful, Tarina. How old is she?"

"I'm five!" Shay exclaims, holding up her hand excitedly. My compliment, it seems, was greatly appreciated.

"Wow," I breathe as if it's the most interesting thing in the world. "That's pretty old!"

I see, out of the corner of my eye, Aaron watching me, and I turn my gaze to him curiously when he asks, "Your—name is Elizabeth, right? Elizabeth Hawthorne" I nod in response and he breaks out into a grin, "You wouldn't be the Ghostgirl, would you?"

Suppressing the urge to scream that that isn't my damned name anymore and never really was, I just give a breathy laugh and say, "Yeah, yeah that's what they call me." I turn to Tarina with a faint smirk. "You been bragging about me?"

Tarina laughs and I'm sure she's blushing under her make-up as she says, "Wale, yes, but I'm not th' only one. You're pretty well-known around here, you know." Tarina sets her daughter down, tells her to go paint some more (in her line of vision, of course) then sits back in her seat and says, "Many a' the people who were taken hostage on Stryker's Island came here ta find a new life for themselves. Most of us found it…difficult to reintegrate ourselves back into society and so, when we found out about Genosha, well…it was all we could do to stay alive. Anyway," Tarina sighs, the memory still painful for her. "The people who escaped from the Island often swapped stories about you an' Magneto's crew comin' to our rescue. The X-Men aren't typically mentioned in the stories now a days," Tarina adds significantly and I nod in understanding. I'm sure Erik wouldn't want too much X-Men appreciation in his private nation. "Anyway, I guess ma own accounts were kinda exaggerated but when yer on a ship with th' same people for days on end…" She trails off intentionally, twisting a lock of impossibly curly hair with her finger.

"Hey, what do you mean "exaggerated?"" I exclaim jokingly as the three of us share a laugh. "I was like a shadow in the mist. Your average phantom menace!"

Tarina wipes her eyes, smudging her makeup, then sits up and says, "You've changed, Elizabeth. I can sense it in you." I look up at her sharply, then check to see that her daughter is a safe distance away; in case the conversation turns for the worst. "I know we didn't know each other very long but—" Tarina smiles softly to herself but I can see the intense emotion in her eyes regardless. "I always felt like I've known you all my life. And I owe you as much—"

"Don't," I interject, tired of hearing about how people owe me for the things they've done on their own or things I would do without a second thought. "You don't owe me anything, Tarina. I always felt guilty about what happened to you. I only wish I'd gotten to you sooner."

"As far as I'm concerned," Aaron says loudly, a grim look on his face and an intense light behind his eyes; eyes like the sun. "You are the reason my wife and my daughter are now in my life. If that is not worth our gratitude then I don't know what is."

Taken aback by the fierceness of his words and the blaze in his eyes, I find I'm unable to deny or disprove what he's said. I just stare after him as he excuses himself and leaves our seat to join his daughter at one of the painting easels. I watch him kneel down beside her, taking her paint-streaked hands in his over-sized ones and kissing each of them while she giggles. My hand goes to my stomach with a deep longing.

"You really should come to some of my dance classes, you know." Says Tarina quietly. I didn't know she was a dancer.

"You said you could sense it in me," I respond just as quietly, keeping my head low. "A change…" My fingers curl in my lap as I ask the question that's haunted me since leaving the Institute for Genosha, "Is this a good change?"

Tarina thinks on this a while before saying, "You remember how I could tell what was going on between you and (oh, what was his name?) oh, well, you know what I mean! Anyway, I could tell because I could sense both of your emotions along with your Mutant abilities. I can sense this change in you. You've gone through a lot recently and you've had to make a very hard decision." Tarina turns to me and takes my hands in hers. "If you wanna know whether it was th' right one 'r not, I can't tell you that. You'll just have ta find out fer yourself."

She stands, bringing me up with her, "Now, c'mon. It's time to see ma dance concert. And believe me," That old, fiery glint I remember so clearly returns to her eyes and I can hear the challenge in her voice when she says, "You ain't seen nothing like it."

More chapters to come, I promise! Until then...

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