Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: All your mutants are belong to Marvel.
Summary: A missing scene from the Age of Apocalypse comic, Amazing X-Men: Omega.
Warnings: Angst, angst, angst, and more angst. Character death, a bit of blood. Oh, and did I mention angst?
A/N: This will make no sense whatsoever unless you happen to have read Omega recently. Go! Read! In fact, read the entire AoA arc. It might just make sense then ;) And, alas, the Kuroroness in this fic is entirely implied by me... I have a ruddy massive WIP that sort of spawned this one. No canon Kuroro in AoA. sniffles However, this is NOT actually part of the series the WIP is in. Its kind of a one-shot; a bit of an attempt to get the shoddy writing and death scenes my muses are so fond of out of my system. Seems to be working... so far. crosses fingers
Soundtrack and a certain amount of inspiration from No Distance Left To Run, by Blur. Damn my sister for brainwashing me into liking Blur.
This was it. The last strike, the final attack. The battle that would decide the fate of an entire timeline. And as Bishop, Illyana and Destiny disappeared into the MKraan crystal to fix things once and for all, the X-Men set about the task of making sure that they were uninterrupted. But as the vicious fighting continued, it began to take its toll.
Nightcrawler fought with the viciousness of a cornered animal, slicing through the hordes of Infinite soldiers with an ease borne of desperation. He had all but forgotten his team-mates were even there; they were of no concern to him anymore. The only one who might have been was missing, had stayed behind to guard their entry to Apocalypses stronghold - but then, she was no longer his to worry about. He had cast her aside, and she had found solace in the arms of another...
Gunfire chattered, bullets impacted hard upon his chest armour; and with a snarl of defiance, he leapt forward and sunk his blade deep into the neck of the gunman. He turned back, looking for his next target, but the room began to whirl as fire lanced wetly through his chest. Steadying himself on the wall, he wiped his hand across his belly, noting distantly the dark red blood smeared across the white of his glove. Oh.
He was on the fringes of the battle here, and no-one was paying him any attention, engrossed as they were with keeping themselves alive. His knees began to tremble, and he slid down the wall until he was sitting on the floor, oblivious of the trail of blood he left on the stonework. Briefly it occurred to him that if he stayed in this position for long, his tail would become rather pinched; but he mentally waved the thought away. Too much effort... and rather the least of my worries now, nein? He had to concentrate on keeping his breathing steady - Gott, it hurts - even as he watched his family battling the chaos before him. They need your help, urged a voice in his head. On your feet, you useless lump of blue fur! Get back out there! He tried to move, setting his hands down to push himself to his feet; but the room spun crazily, and he felt the bile rising in his throat as the pain ripped through his torso. Sorry, meine freundes... it appears I will not be joining you this time.
Useless, taunted the voice. Cant even keep yourself from getting shot up - theyre better off without you after all. Shes better off without you...
He winced at the memories the thought brought to him. "That was the point," he mumbled, his head bowed almost to his chest. The room was spinning continuously now, and his heartbeat was loud in his ears. He was tired, tired to the bones. "I only wanted to keep her safe..."
'You were afraid of her! Afraid of what she made you feel...
Love. He had loved her. He still did.
Love? Ha! Youre incapable of love. Youre just a mercenary, an old, bitter loner, and she was a pretty face. A pleasant distraction from the mess you called your life. "No... I love her... and she loved me..."
No-one loves people like you. They tolerate you, because youre useful, but as soon as theyre done using you, they toss you to one side.
" ...she was different..."
Wet trails down mocha skin, shining silver in the harsh light... Endless blue eyes dark with pain as he left her, cruel words hanging in the air... "Kurt?"
His thoughts were getting hazier now, and it was hard to focus them. He could see her as if she was stood right in front now, traitor tears washing down her cheeks as she spoke with a tremble.
"Kurt? Oh Goddess, Kurt..."
He blinked fuzzily. What? That wasnt what shed said... But it must have been, because Ororo wasnt here, wasnt kneeling beside him crying - she was outside with his mother, guarding the perimeter, waiting for Pietro to come sweep her off her feet again...
His hands were gone, replaced with cotton wool, but he clumsily caught the illusions hand, pressing it against his lips with the last of his strength.
There was so much he wanted to tell her that hed never been able to say when she was really there...
"...liebchen, forgive me... never wanted thurt... m so sorry..." There was more, so much more; but his tongue was thick with the taste of his own blood, and his eyes were growing heavier by the second. Sleep... yes, sleep would be good now... when I wake up, I can tell her everything, and everything will be right again...
"...love you, 'ro..." His head drooped to his chest, and Kurt Darkhölme quietly slipped away.
Iceman had been the first of the X-Men to fall; ironically enough at the hands of the crazed Colossus, desperately trying to reach his sister. Shadowcat followed moments later in the same way, refusing to phase in the blind faith that her husband would stop before he reached her.
He hadnt.
The shock had snapped him out of his frenzied madness a moment too late - and Gambit had taken him down. Now, in the silence that followed the battle, the remaining X-Men were numbly picking themselves out of the wreckage, licking their wounds and tending to injured team-mates. Helping a dazed Morph to his feet, Pietro didnt notice the extra people in the room until Damask tapped him on the shoulder.
"Damask? Why are you here - youre supposed to be outside with Mystique and Storm, guarding our flank!"
She shrugged, and looked away. "Its all dead out there now. No one left. We thought - we thought wed come back in." She stared at the floor, her face grim. "Mystique overhead a communiqué. They set off the bombs. Were all going to be dead in a few minutes anyway. Might as well be in friendly company."
His eyes widened in horror. Set off the bombs - !
"Storm - where is she?"
Damask shrugged again. "Dont know. She was with Mystique, last time I checked."
Leaving Damask with Morph, Pietro sped off. If he was going to die, he didnt want to be anywhere but beside his loves side.
Gottafindhergottafindhergottafindher
When he found Mystique at the back of the large room, her jaw was set, and she was visibly shaking.
"Whats wrong? Mystique, whats happened?!" He was horrified to see tears forming in her eyes. Angrily, she wiped them away, trying to regain control of herself.
"Just another casualty of war, Pietro. Nothing to see." Looking behind her, he felt his heart plummet. Not him too...
Ororo was knelt on the floor, cradling a plainly dead Nightcrawler. She had her back to him, but it was obvious that she was crying. Within a heartbeat he was beside her, holding her tightly; and she was clinging to his arm, tears rolling down her face. And as the room bleached white with impossible brightness, he prayed that this had not all been for nothing.