*I'm sorry this has taken me so long to write and post. I've joined NaNoWriMo, which has helped tremendously with getting me back on track with writing regularly. I hope you all enjoy this. And again, I have no beta, so if you see an error, please bring it to my attention and I will fix it.

Also, Michael Bloomberg was once the Mayor of New York City, and is a very rich person.

Four

January

The new year brought with it an unfair amount of snow. And Anna Marie, armed with wedding magazines and utter panic. On the day of her arrival, she'd thrust her dog eared and color tabbed copies of The Knot and Bride's Guide at Alison and practically flung herself at Betsy.

"Yah've got to help me!" She wails. "There's too many options! Ah have no idea where tah even begin!"

Alison flips through the magazines, noting all the random styles of dress and decoration Rogue had marked. "I take it you haven't settled on a concept or theme?"

"Ah don't know what Ah'm doing," Anna runs a gloved hand through her thick hair. "And Erik is on a mission in Croatia right now. He said just to wait until he gets back and we can plan together, but Ah wanted to get a head start and surprise him. And now ah'm so overwhelmed!"

Calmly, Betsy unlocks her iPhone and gives the distressed southern beauty a reassuring smile. "Darling, you have absolutely nothing to worry about. Dazzy and I shall walk you through everything."

"Me?" Ali looks up. "I was married in the middle of a war, covered in mud, on a foreign planet. I don't know anything about this stuff." She waves one of the magazines for emphasis. "Our only witness was a rebel general picking off Warwolves with a rifle."

"Yes, but I have a plethora of experience and connections," Betsy brags. "And I shall devote my time to sorting out this mess for you, Anna dear."

Ali rolls her eyes. "She's not a charity case."

"Oh, no," Anna shakes her head. "Ah absolutely am. Take pity on me. Fix everything. Make this nightmare go away."

"It's not a nightmare," Ali tries to soothe her friend. "You just need a little organization. And a very rich friend with a lot of time on her hands."

"You're very welcome!" Betsy winks. "Now, I am just going to make a few phone calls. I'll be back in a moment and we can depart to Le Grande Boucherie for lunch. I simply must have a drink and bite to eat before making any serious decisions." She slips out the door and into the mansion's expansive library.

Ali chuckles and shakes her head at her friend's retreating back. "Do you think she's ever had a hotdog?"

Alison had never eaten frog legs before, but both Anna Marie and Betsy reported that they were quite tasty and she ought to give them a try. Granted, Betsy's experience with them had included a decadent buttery sauce and laughably small portion sizes. And Anna's were frogs she'd caught in the swamps of the south and battered and fried in her trailer.

In the end, Betsy ordered a plate for the ladies to share and Ali tried one leg and declared both her friends insane.

"Oh please, " Betsy rolls her eyes. "You cannot tell me you had anything even close to this in the last two years."

In truth, her meals on Mojoworld had largely been bowls of flavorless and odorless mush meant to give enough sustenance to keep a person alive. Salt and spices were a delicacy the rebels couldn't bother to worry about. And hunting was nearly impossible with all the restrictions Mojo had placed around the planet. He'd wanted to starve them to near death, hoping the rebels would give up and come back to slavery for a promise of full bellies. When it became evident that his plan was not working, Mojo placed guards and Warwolves along the borders of the hunting grounds, making it damn difficult for anyone to enter and hunt for meat.

"Yeah, well," Alison shrugs. "Call me simple. I like the basics." She lifts her fork and stabs a piece of chicken before shoving it into her mouth. She exaggerates with a loud, unladylike moan that makes Rogue giggle and Betsy's lips curl up into a smile.

Betsy reaches for the bottle of Pinot Grigio on the table and refills her glass. "Now, darlings. What are we going to do about our dear Anna's wedding debacle?"

"Ah've been thinkin'" Anna Marie spoons her minestrone soup. "Ah think Ah'd like to start with mah dress. Ah feel like once Ah've got that nailed down, then Ah can build mah wedding around the style."

"Fabulous idea!" Betsy cheers. "Now we can use this time to discuss your favorite designers and your list of requirements regarding the dress."

"What do you envision yourself in?" Ali asks.

"Well…" Anna stirs her spoon in her soup but doesn't eat. "Ah've always wanted strapless, bare shoulders. But we know that can't happen." She shrugs. "Ah absolutely do not want anything poofy or makes me look like a child playing princess dress up."

Betsy whips out her cell phone. "No ball gowns. Lace? Rhinestones? Do you plan on having a veil? How long shall it trail behind you?"

"Lace is a maybe, Ah'd want tah see it on me first. Rhinestones," Anna makes a face. "No. I am not a teenager going to prom."

Alison chuckles. "Thank God for that. Erik is already significantly older than you."

"Hey!" Anna bats a gloved hand at her friend and the women erupt into giggles.

"Well, of course we will visit Vera Wang first." Betsy announces.

"Oh of course," Alison rolls her eyes in good natured teasing. "Will Ralph Lauren be joining?"

Betsy shoots her a glare, "Ralph is in Italy with his family celebrating a much needed vacation. He called this morning asking if I still had his grandmother's beef brisket recipe. He means to serve it for Shabbat this week."

"Holy shit," Alison and Anna share a look.

"Now, Anna darling," Betsy continues on. "I do think you should consider an Old Hollywood look for your gown. With your figure, you're sure to -" She looks at Alison. "What do you Americans say?"

Alison grins. "Slay."

"Quite right. And since you prefer a slimmer fit, let's take the risk with a plunging neckline and bare shoulders."

"Are you insane?" Anna's mouth drops open. "Ah can't have that much skin exposed! What if Ah-"

"Darling it's your wedding day. If you must order everyone to remain 10 feet away from you at all times, it will be done. But you deserve the dress of your dreams. You deserve the celebration you've always wanted. Let Alison and I take care of the silly details like keeping you safe from a crowd of eager guests."

"Hank could help!" Alison pipes up. "I bet he could make some kind of device that mutes your powers temporarily."

Anna rolls the idea around before she nods her consent, "Somethin' subtle. Ah don't want some big collar around my neck."

"Of course not, darling." Betsy smiles slyly. "We'll let you save that for the bedroom."

Alison wails with laughter and the other two women cherish the sight.

"Tell me about your weddin'," Anna says. The women have finished their lunch and now brave the snowy weather of Manhattan as they trudge to the nearest Bridal Boutique, hot lattes in hand and noses pink from the cold.

"Well," Alison sighs. "It was raining…"

–

They had been running.

A cave had served as a temporary resting place and Ali had come to bring food and medical supplies to Longshot and the other rebels. He'd smiled when he'd seen her and slipped his arms around her waist to hug her and whisper his thanks in her ear. His voice had grown so hoarse it'd sounded as if gravel were caught in his throat. Alison bites back her concern, knowing her husband would only wave it off and say he is fine. That there are others far worse than he that need attention.

She joins in handing out strips of fabric for wrapping lacerations and holding poultices made from local herbs in place. We need alcohol, Alison frowns. She may not be Cecelia Reyes, but she at least knows that a bottle of alcohol would do wonders for cleaning the infections the rebels had seeping through their bodies. Living in the damp and dirt, without the ability to properly clean their wounds had made staving off pus and fever impossible.

Abruptly there is a howl and the small band of rebels all freeze. Quark and Longshot reach for their weapons and slowly walk towards the mouth of the cave.

Alison waits next to the teenage girl she'd been tending to. They share a look, the girl white with fear and biting her lip so hard Alison can't help but whisper, "It will be okay." The girl gives a curt nod and squares her shoulders, remembering she is a soldier in a war.

The entire group watches their leader as he stiffens and glares out into the world beyond the cave.

"What do you think?" he asks Quark calmly.

The Ram-man tilts his head so his ear is pointed out, listening against the rain and the thunder and lightning and the wind; listening for the sound of predators. "We need to move," he answers.

Longshot nods and turns back to his people. "They're coming," he says calmly. "There's a checkpoint - a base - three days from here to the East, Bright Harbor. Go there; warn them! Tell them to prepare." He slides his knives to hold between his fingers. "We will hold them off for you. Go!"

Quark reloads his rifle as people help each other rise and quickly make their ways out of the cave and into the storm. "Could be here soon," he grumbles. "Could be a trap."

Longshot nods again. "Always assume it's a trap."

Another howl, closer. Its voice is joined by others.

Alison joins the men at the cave entrance. Longshot grips her hand and brings the back of it to his lips. "How about a bit of a show, m'love? Give them our mark and we'll bring them South, away from the others."

She smiles and gives him a quick kiss before stepping out into the rain. She closes her eyes and focuses. The rain pouring, the wind howling, the thunder booming overhead all create the sonic vibrations she needs. She absorbs it all, brings it into her, condenses it, fills her body with it before she is ready to transduce and let a lethal blast of light shoot out of her.

"Hold it," Quark says. "Almost."

A crack of lightning strikes a tree nearby and Alison consumes the sound with her mutant power. She can feel her body shaking with the need to release. She knows she's glowing; she always glows when she's holding on to so much power.

"Just wait," Quark mutters. "Just -"

Another howl and Longshot is shouting "There!" and Alison snaps open her eyes and launches a devastating laser of pure white light in the direction of the howling. She blazes on, not giving up until every bit of power is rushed out of her. She stands silent, waiting, listening. The forest before her is wrecked thanks to her power. The trees have been annihilated, the force of her laser snapping them all and flinging them across the area. Whatever grass or shrubbery there had been is now gone.

It doesn't matter. And the rain pours on.

"Shit!" Quark snaps and shoots his rifle in a series of BRRRRRRAT! BRRRRRAAT! BRRRRRRAATT! Alison swings her sight to the left, where bullets fly. A pack of Warwolves had snuck up on them from the West, silently slinking among the forest shadows.

"It's a trap!" Longshot yells and Alison sees it for true. The howling had been a decoy and now they are about to be ambushed. Fear tries to take over her, but she shoves it down and begins to run. They have to keep the Warwolves from the other rebels, away from Bright Harbor.

Longshot grips her hand and pulls her through the rain and mud of the intense storm. Thunder booms overhead and lightning strikes close by, shaking the ground around them. The rain pours mercilessly, making it difficult to see or find any sort of traction for their steps. Quark runs behind them, twisting around every so often to shoot at the pack of beasts that is closing the gap between them.

Quickly, Longshot whips around a boulder, bringing Alison with him. They press their backs against the boulder, catching their breath as they listen for Quark. The sound of his rifle followed by yelping in pain and then he is next to them, hands on knees, breathing shallow and blood splattered on his front.

"They're getting closer," he grunts. He raises his eyes to look at Longshot. "I killed a scout, but the others won't be far behind."

Longshot nods and grips Ali's hand tighter. "We're three days from the checkpoint."

"And we might not make it," Alison adds quietly. A snap of lightning lights up their hiding spot.

Longshot looks at her with silent resolve. But then his eyes soften and he brings the back of her hand to his lips, kisses it, and says, "Marry me."

"What?" Ali's mouth drops open.

"Marry me." He repeats and brings her closer to him. She stops mere inches from him and he gently brushes his thumb over her cheek.

Quark grumbles, "We don't have time for this shit."

Longshot ignores him. "Marry me right now."

"Here?!" Alison's voice raises a pitch.

"Why not?"

"We don't have a priest or our family or -"

"We don't need a priest or our family - you are my family. And if I'm going to die before we make it to the rebel base, then I will do so knowing you are my wife. Marry me, Alison."

Quark stands up and shoulders his shotgun. "You're a fucking idiot."

Longshot smiles. "Maybe."

"Alright," She smiles back. "Let's do it." Eagerly, she lets him arrange them so they are facing each other. He grasps her other hand, takes a deep breath and starts. "I love you, Alison Blair. Human. Mutant. Wife. And I will love you beyond the end of my days."

"Might wanna hurry it up, " Quark interrupts, cocking his gun. "We got another round of these bastards headin' our way." He raises the scope to his eye.

Alison squeezes his hands. "I love you, Longshot. Mojoworlder. Freeman. Husband. And I will love you beyond the end of my days."

He doesn't hesitate to cup her face and kiss her. His lips are soft and wet from the rain. Ali pushes her body against him until they are flush and brings her arms around his middle, holding him to her. He pushes his hands into her hair, gently grabbing handfuls and angling her head up more to him. Alison sighs and Longshot takes the opportunity to slip his tongue to hers. She shivers from excitement and the cold rain plummeting them and the possibility of getting out of this war and starting a normal life together and -

"Get outta here!" Quark barks over the PAP! PAP! Of his shotgun. "They're here, you ass holes! Go!"

Longshot breaks away from her to look passed Quark at the danger coming for them. "Bright Harbor!" He shouts at his friend.

"Three days!" Quark snaps back. "I'll meet you there. Go!"

In a flash, Longshot grips her hand again and they are running.

"Ah don't know about this y'all," Anna frowns at her reflection. Her dress is stunning; elegance in eggshell with long lace gloves reaching past her elbows. It's a bit gothic in a sense, and though it does look beautiful on her, it doesn't scream Anna.

"Take it off," Betsy commands. "Darling, if you are even the slightest bit unsure, we shall proceed to the next dress. I will not have you feel anything less than spectacular on your wedding day."

Alison smiles encouragingly at Rogue. "It's just a dress. You won't hurt anyone's feelings if you don't like it."

Anna gives herself another once over in the mirror before nodding. "This ain't the one."

Betsy claps her hands. "Come along then, my dear. We'll get you out of this and into the next. We have thirty more minutes before the store closes, which gives us just enough time to look at one, maybe two more gowns." She hustles Anna towards the private dressing room, carrying the obsessively long skirt of the dress.

Alison glances around the shop as she waits, admiring how Betsy just so happens to know every important designer and owner of the hip, local boutiques in Manhattan. She stands from her comfortable spot on the white love seat and lazily moseys to the racks full of white. She would never wish to change anything about her own wedding - except, of course, the entire war that was taking place during - but there is something so exciting about picking out the perfect dress for such a special life event. Longshot would never have understood the importance, but definitely would have appreciated her in a an embellished mermaid cut dress.

She smiles at the thought, lets out a soft sigh and quietly returns to her seat. Her phone buzzes and Ali reaches inside her leather jacket to pull the device out.

INCOMING CALL ORORO

She slides the touch screen to answer and clears her throat before greeting. "Hey 'Ro. What's going on?"

"How is dress shopping?" The velvety voice on the other end pours warmth over Ali. "Has she found anything?"

"No luck yet," Ali leans back and stretches her legs out. "She's in the dressing room with Betsy right now. I think the store closes soon, but Betsy wants to squeeze Rogue into one more before we go."

"I'm glad Betsy is taking charge. I feared our dear Rogue might have been too nervous to come to a decision alone." She sighs. "Well, I just wanted to check in. I'm sorry I'm not with you all."

"It's alright, we all understand you're crazy busy." Ali pulls her bottom lip between her teeth. "But, uh, you know I've been thinking and I already told Betsy and Bobby this but uhm, I think…I think I wanna stay at the mansion permanently and help out with the school and stuff. I don't have a teaching degree, but I definitely wanna help the kids. Like, in any way you wanna use me, 'Ro. You guys have been amazing to me since I showed up and I-I just wanna give back."

There's a brief voice that gives Ali a sinking feeling before Ororo answers. "I was wondering when you were going to tell me."

"What? You knew?"

Ororo laughs. "I am leader of the X-Men and Headmistress of the Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters. I know everything that goes on in my house."

Alison smiles. "So, you're cool with it?"

"Nothing would make me happier. You'll start on Monday morning helping Sam and Rahne in the Danger Room."

After a plethora of gratitude and thanks, Alison hangs up her phone and jumps off the couch. She practically skips to the dressing room where her friends are trying to get the next dress onto Anna's body.

"Oh mah God, Ah think Ah'm stuck!"

"I'm sorry, darling! I grabbed the incorrect size! Here, perhaps suck in your waist a bit."

"Ah'm suckin' in as much as Ah can! Betsy, Ah swear tah God if yah can't get this dress off of me, you're buyin' it and cuttin' it off of me!"

"Cut it? Darling, no! It's Christian Dior."

"Ah don't care who designed it! Get the damn thing offa me!"

Stifling a laugh, Alison knocks on the dressing room door. "Uh, guys?"

"Ali, Ah swear tah God -"

"I'm here to help!" Ali giggles.

"Don't mind her, she just needs to hold still while I wiggle the zipper a bit."

Alison rests her forehead against the door, laughing and listening to the bickering on the other side. She can wait to tell them her good news in the cab ride home.

Monday morning is chilly in the Danger Room, which is located in the west wing of Charles' ancestral home. The Professor had had the space remodeled and hardwired to provide an outstanding defensive training program, complete with actual weaponry, holographic technology, and an impressive tactical computer matrix.

And yet a heating system had been scraped in the rebuilding, leaving Alison to rub her hands up and down her bare arms and curse herself for neglecting to bring a cup of hot coffee with her.

Sam Guthrie, every bit the country gentleman, offered her his sweatshirt the moment he noticed her shivering. But Ali refused, claiming she'll warm up soon enough once the students arrived and class started. Rahne stood in her half-wolf-half-human form, unbothered by the cold.

At 7AM teenagers begin trickling in, blurry eyed and annoyed. Most look as if they've just rolled out of bed. A few are still in their pajamas; one boy has a blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

Sam and Rahne share a look with each other and Alison can pick up that this class has been particularly difficult.

"Mornin' y'all," Sam greets his students with a friendly smile. "Hope everybody slept good. We gotta real rough session for yah today."

"Man," a teen with braces and shaggy brown hair yawns. "Can't we skip today? We're tired, bro."

Alison glares. "He's not your bro," she snaps. "He's your instructor."

A girl in the front of the gathered students narrows her eyes at Alison before realization dawns on her and her mouth drops open in surprise. "Oh my God! You're Alison Blair!"

"What?" A boy next to her frowns. "Who?"

Another teenage girl quickly answers. "She's, like, a super famous singer! My mom listens to you all the time!"

Oh God, she fights the urge to roll her eyes. She plasters a halfway decent fake smile on her face and says in the kindest voice she can rustle up. "That's so sweet."

"Hey, when are you coming out with a new album?" The first girl asks. "My great aunt's birthday is in May and she would totally give me more money in her will if I gave her your next album on vinyl."

"Okay!" Rahne pipes up. "We are not here to gush over Ali's music career. We've got a simulator exercise for you guys and since no one bothered to show up actually ready, we're going to start with running lines until you guys are awake enough to actually pay attention."

A collective groan surges through the crowd of minors as they reluctantly shuffle to one end of the Danger Room.

"Ready!" Sam yells. "Down and back counts as one. Go!"

The group sets off at a sprint, determined to finish their set as quickly as possible. Once the last person has made it back to their starting position, Sam yells "Go!" again and the class takes off once more. After five rounds, the group is panting and looking at their mentors with pleading in their eyes.

"Alright," Sam smiles gently. "Grab some water, y'all."

The rest of the morning is spent going over basic fighting strategies and their executions. Alison aids in demonstration, often taking the role of the heavy. The intensity of her specific power has made her the main defense in the scenarios Sam explains. As the Danger Room provides Level One obstacles and weaponry for her to maneuver around and fight against, Alison does her best to keep the students engaged with her non-lethal abilities such as fighting and aversion. She leaps over an object that pops up from the flooring, lands lightly on her feet, spins away from a knife flung at her, grabs a set of gymnastic rings dangling from the ceiling and kicks her feet feet up and out to push against the wall, giving herself enough momentum to launch over two more obstacles and land like a cat on the left side of Sam. She turns and sends a small blast of light shooting at a robotic, sensory operated firearm taking aim at her. The weapon explodes as her laser rips through it.

He smiles at her and raises his hand for a high five. "Girl, you haven't lost your touch!"

Alison slaps her palm against his. "Come on now, you could have given me something harder."

"Ach, all in good time," Rahne beams at her. "Now," she turns back to the students. "Who wants to try the course Alison just completed?"

An hour later and the students are sore, hungry, and leaving as fast as they can to shower and grab breakfast before the school bell rings. Ali, Sam, and Rahne walk out of the west wing together, feeling pleased with the way the class caught on to their lesson and executed their strengths.

"Thanks for helping us today," Rahne shifts back into her human form. "I'm sorry the kids pestered you, though."

Ali waves a hand in dismissal. "It's nothing. I've had literally stalkers before; a few excited fifteen year old kids is nothing."

As the trio reach the grand foyer, Alison departs from Sam and Rahne and climbs the stairs to her room in search of a shower and change of clothes. The following week provides Ali with a routine and she finds that she thrives with it. Her mornings are spent in the Danger Room with Sam, Rahne, and their students. And her afternoons are usually spent with Betsy, either training or accompanying her friend on her various shopping trips or fundraising events. Though not particularly worried that her identity as an X-Men is no longer a secret, Alison cannot help but feel a little overwhelmed by all the people Betsy introduces her too. It's different than having fans rush up to her for autographs or hugs. With Betsy's high class inner circle, she is expected to give her opinions on political campaigns, large scale issues of socialism versus fascism, the best course of action for fighting climate change, and whether Betsy herself should run for office.

Of course these are all issues Alison cares about, and she definitely thinks her friend should run for office - she's got a gigantic heart and an obscene amount of money to start up numerous projects that could help a lot of people in this country. But these events are perhaps the first time anyone has ever asked her about something real, something that matters. At least here, in this dimension. On Mojoworld, Longshot sought out her opinion regularly. He included her in his planning and valued her thoughts. On Earth, she's been nothing of real importance - just a singer with a kick ass light show.

There's something nice about Michael Bloomberg pouring her another glass of Oregon Pinot Noir and asking her what she would future she envisions for New York.

"Why stop at New York?" Ali nods a thank you at his refreshing her glass. "This room alone holds some of the most influential and affluent people in the world. If money isn't used to better the people of the world, what good is it? There are children starving everywhere."

Of course, Bloomberg agrees with her and they go on to discuss a multitude of solutions and how to construct them into fruition. At eleven o'clock, Alison finally waves Betsy down and announces her departure. Betsy kisses her cheek lightly and thanks her for coming. "I'll be home late, darling. Oprah and Gayle have just suggested a wonderful solution to providing a continuous stream of financial support for inner city children and families. I simply must listen and offer my aid."

Ali hugs her friend and chokes out, "You're a good person. Have fun." She takes her exit quietly and once back at the mansion, slips out of her golden, sparkling formal gown and crawls into bed.

Goodnight my love, her soul whispers. I miss you. I hope you can see me. I'm doing my best to feel normal again. She swallows a lump in her throat. I'll love you beyond the end of my days. Wait for me. I'm coming as fast as I can.