Disclaimer: I don't own X-Men, though the dashing Cajun mutant in my closet may have some disagreement with that statement. Why anyone would want to steal an original character is beyond me, but this is your advance warning, or said Cajun will take her back forcefully. Otherwise, enjoy.

A/N: Just to clear a few things up: Ana's empathy works both ways; she can feel others emotions, and they can feel hers, if she projects them right. She has a sort of shield she can project that prevents others from feeling what she projects, though stress or particularly strong emotions can work their way through it. The shield also requires constant awareness to maintain, and takes most of her energy. Anyone interested in a more detailed explaination can email me for details; I've got a profile on her somewhere that might make some things a bit clearer.

Third Sunrise (Simplicity)
Unwitnessed, unappreciated; the sunrise this morning is simply blue and white light, illuminating the landscape in its simple glow. But, its simplicity is its beauty. Somehow, no one can see the gentle wonder, but by nightfall, the world mourns the passing of beauty, and wonders when they will see its like again.

Acrobat
Flip, turn, twist…don't drop anything

Yes. Calm, quiet. No one around. Halls are empty, no one to hide from.

She pushed her long hair out of her eyes and sighed as she reached her locker, leaning against the cool metal. Four more hours. She wiped her gloved hand across her forehead and shivered.

The strain from keeping her shield up 16 hours a day, seven days a week was starting to take its toll on her well being. She couldn't concentrate on anything for more than five minutes for fear that her shields would fall. Her appetite had failed her - she was loosing weight. She had a constant headache and her skin was going pale. Her hair lost its luster. Her hands shook.

She was surprised that no one noticed. Well, no one said anything, at least. She wouldn't know what to say, anyway. How could she really explain what was happening? No one would truly understand, anyway. They didn't know what it was like, being an empath. They couldn't understand having to keep her emotions under lock and key so they wouldn't betray her. It was hell. Death was better.

Glancing around the hall, she sent out a tentative feeler, checking for stray students. No one around. Safe. With a sigh, she leaned against the cool granite wall and let her shields down. The air around her lost the shimmery clouds, invisible to most people, and the strain on her head dissipated. For the first time that day, she smiled.

She shook her hair out and opened her locker. A glance to the small mirror there told her she looked as bad as she felt - there were deep circles under her eyes. She assumed it was because of lost sleep; it was hard to guard emotions in sleep, so she could only really doze, not sleep deeply. Never in front of anyone else. Only in the quiet and privacy of her room could she let the shields drop and relax, and even then she was on guard. And so, the night hours were a blur that spun with color and light and phantom sounds. Not much different from the day, really.

But there was no one around here, in the halls between classes. She could safely let her emotions untwist themselves and relax for a moment. She pulled her long gloves up higher - Evan had mentioned that morning that she was starting to look like Rogue, all covered up and looking like she'd never seen the sun. She sighed and ran a shaky hand through her hair.

Maybe she should tell someone. Sooner or later they'd figure out something was wrong, very wrong. But it was silly, and they would think so, whether she told them or they found out. And she couldn't risk that. The emotions she was guarding were too precious to let anyone know about them. Let them be her little secret and maybe everything would work out. It was easy to say that, though, and another thing entirely to try and keep her fickle emotions under wraps.

Almost before she could feel him Pietro was in front of her, the soft breeze that followed him whipping her hair around her face. He grinned handsomely; he felt silver-blue, as always, zipping through happiness, indifference, annoyance and something not unlike concern in a matter of seconds. Sudden red-hot fire bubbled to the surface as he leaned in close, nose almost touching hers.

"Hey, Pandora," he almost-whispered, his voice very low. She blinked, trying to pull whatever emotions she had let untwist into a semi-shield. Although…it felt nice to not have to hide anything from one person…

She looked down, hands twisting fitfully at the thin scarf around her neck. His eyes felt warm against her skin, or it could just be a trick of her power. Strong emotions always felt hot. "What's wrong, 'Dora?" She tried to repress the thrill that ran through her when he called her that; Pandora, the woman that unleashed such horrors, but held hope…Part cruel, but part clever, part something that made her feel, in a strange way, beautiful. And beautiful, unlike everything else, was something she felt very little.

"N-n-nothing, Pietro." That was another thing - her stutter was starting again, after almost three years of absense. Her own embarrassment burned holes through her fitful defenses; Pietro's eyelids flickered slightly as she glanced up. No doubt he could feel it.

"There's definetly something wrong, 'Dora." He grinned suddenly, brilliant pride flooding his body. "Am I making you nervous?"

"Nervous?" Her hands twisted together of their own volition. "Nervous…no, not nervous…" Her stomach seemed to be twisting in knots. "I-I-I'm just tired, is all…"

"You getting enough sleep?" There was another flicker of concern in the ice-blue swirl around him. She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and shrugged slightly. Her body felt like squirming under his eyes. "You look horrible."

"I know." She hadn't meant that to come out in a growl, with the weight of annoyance and hurt behind it, but it had. Pietro leaned back, surprise racing across his face.

"Whoa, sorry I mentioned it." Just as quickly, his face was inches from her again. "But what's really wrong, 'Dora? Something's got your panties in a twist." He grinned at his own joke. She twisted away, pulling more of her shield around her as she did. It wasn't much, but it masked his emotions as well, and if she felt any more of those joltingly hot bubbles of…something, her stomach was going to drop into her toes.

He was still behind her, burning. She almost eased up her full shield, but common sense prevailed and it remained down. Her brother had once joked that her shield had to recharge, lest it run out of batteries at a crucial time. Remembering the headaches that used to plague her, and the same headaches that were reemerging now, she simply prayed that Pietro would go away, and let the prickly feeling of annoyance surround her like spikes.

"Well, I can see I'm no longer wanted he-" Pietro's voice faded into the background as she felt the sudden presence of vibrant yellow worry around the corner. Her stomach began to twist in a very familiar way. She blinked, rubbing her eyes. Pietro felt worried, as well. "'Dora? 'Dora…Ana, what's wrong?" No. It was Kurt, it had to be. No one else was as yellow as him. He can't know, he can't know, he can't know!

She slammed her shields up with so much force that her head spun and she stumbled. Her stomach twisted and churned, and her hands started shaking uncontrollably. Short of breath, she felt her knees give way and hit the ground hard. The linoleum was cool against her hands. Maybe I have strained myself…said a small corner of her mind as color burst in front of her eyes. Somewhere, she felt Pietro burn red again, and he called her name again, from far away. He called me Ana…

Kurt was there beside her in an instant, and Pietro disappeared as suddenly as Kurt appeared. "Sheisse, Ana!" His words were muffled. She blinked rapidly. The lights were dimmer than before. Her headache was suddenly much, much more painful. She couldn't breathe… "Ana, Ana, no!" Kurt's voice echoed tinnily in her head, calling for help. Telepathy, for Jean. Jean and the others. They would know soon. They can't know…

In the back of her mind, another voice echoed; a vaguely animal-like presence perched at the base of her consciousness. Shield must go down. It was a fracture of her subconscious, she knew. It always emerged in times of strain.

No. She struggled to sit up and push aside Kurt's hands; he was brushing her hair out of her face, saying something. She couldn't hear it well. Footsteps stampeded down the hall, and she recognized the emotion patterns of her friends.

"Let me near her." A hand touched her shoulder, receiving a nasty shot of fear from the hyperactive shield, and withdrew. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I can't control it…"Don't touch her, she's afraid." Jean. She'd recognize the green emotions any day. Shield must go down, the presence said again. You will die. She swallowed hard, directing all her energy toward maintaining her fragile barricade. The air crackled around her.

Better to die, then.

The presence seemed to growl softly. Die instead of feel?

Yes. It's always better that way.

Foolish. Her entire body began to shake, her breath coming in short gasps that didn't give her enough oxygen. Her eyesight was dimming. It really was killing her.

Regret makes a bad afterlife. Her energy was drained, her mind spinning. Yet, despite it all, she managed a little smile.

I only have one regret. Her sight went dark. But goodbye is for the weak.

And there was nothing.


And that's it. Aren't I just a bitch?

Before the flames start coming, let me explain: This, as I've said before, is a smaller part of a longer story, one that starts long before these three scenes are acted out. There's plenty more of this (these scenes are part of the second story in a trilogy, so the story continues much further then I've hinted here).

And if you really want to know what happens to our dear Ana, I won't tell unless you guess. There are a few clues as to what happens to her after this incident, but they may be well hidden to anyone that isn't me. I do have another scene that was originally part of "Acrobat", but it didn't fit the ending I wanted to give the mini-trilogy, so I cut it. It's saved somewhere, so if people are interested in seeing it, I'll post what I have of it. Leave a review, or email me if you'd like to see it.

Eventually I'll get off this romance-y angst kick I've got going here. The longer trilogy will include much more humor, I promise. If I ever get around to writing more than the prologue, that is. Work, the six or seven stories I'm working on, and trying to finish The Wheel Of Time through the tenth book has got me rather busy. That, and my cousin let me borrow the new "Getter Robo" series. Anime always has a counterproductive effect on me.

Thanks to anyone who's read this far, especially the reviewers; I really appreciate it! Reviews are always welcome (Muse likes them with his tea) and constructive criticism is my lifeblood. Hope you enjoyed it!