First things first....

Disclaimer:

The following story is inspired by the Xmen universe, and more specifically by the Xmen : Evolution series, although references and characters from either the comics and the movies will appear along the pages. I own nothing here, except parts of the plot and original characters. The goal of the following pages is not to make money, but to entertain the readers and be entertained by writing it.

Author's notes, please read first:

-This is the first part of what is (hopefully) to become a triology (LOTR syndrome I guess).

-The events take place after the end of season 4.

-Rating will be PG-13 for this part (some swearing and violence), but expect things to heat up a lot for the next parts.

-Constructive criticism is most welcome, especially since this is not beta-read, and english is not my native language.

And as always, please R&R, thanks….

Prologue

Light.

It was the first thought that popped into her mind. I may be dead. Isn't that how it's supposed to be, a bright light welcoming you?

But then she realized the light wasn't warm and welcoming, but cold, with flashes of white and metal, and she could feel the coolness of the hard surface on which she lay.  And in the distance, the beating of a heart echoing her own.

She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to relax, but what she had briefly percieved of her environment triggered memories she knew weren't her own. It didn't make them less frightening.

She felt the icy hand of terror trying to reach for her, at the seering pain of flesh cut open, her flesh, dark forms hooded in black looming upon her, and cold water starting to swallow her, and she tried to cry, but no sound was heard, except for a slow and regular beating in the distance, and she tried to fight, but her muscles just refused to cooperate, and the pain was becoming now almost unbearable. 

Suddenly, she was completely immersed in water. She tried to hold her breath, but the panic adding to exhaustion, it wasn't long before the worst happened: her lungs starting to fill with water. Oh fuck! I hate drowning the most! She knew she'd make it: she always made it, of that they had made sure. But the knowledge helped very little in that situation. Pain winning over, she started to drift into the black recesses of oblivion.

When she came back to her senses, she found herself standing in a place she recognized: she was in the park surrounding the mansion. The white rays of sun were dancing in the leaves of the sycamore tree she was standing under, the effect it created reminding her of the light through the windows of the little chapel she went to when a friend of the the woman she thought of then as a mother died. It was long ago. Long ago, when her life was still one of a normal little girl, deprived of touch because of a rare skin disease, but still, it felt the most normal she'd ever felt.

The wind bended the high grass before her. She looked around, and noticed that even though it was a bright day, nobody was there. She tried to focus, but when she should have heard cries and giggles of students in the distance, she met only silence. Silence and the regular beating of a heart she thought was her own.

A human form lay in the grass, some twenty yards in front of her. From the distance, it seemed peacefully asleep. She knew that form, and a smile slowly formed on her lips. She walked, or rather run, closing the distance as quickly as possible until she was only a few feet away, rejoycing of finaly being reunited with someone she knew and cared for so much, after the ordeal they've all been through.

Her feet came to a halt. Time stopped, the wind in the grass the only thing that could be heard, along with her now raging breath and heratic heartbeat. The form in front of her still wasn't moving. Looking more closely, she noticed the shadow of a smile, giving the face a rarely seen appearance of calm and peacefullness.

It then registered with her that the form wasn't moving at all.Her brain was trying to tell her something, but she tried to fight the dread that was starting to sink in. Until it started. Cuts opened themselves, covering his face, and blood was now creating blurry spots on the once immaculate shirt

She called his name, a plea for him to wake up, while trying to calm down the now uncontrollable fear, but no sound came out. She tried again, to no avail. She then let out a silent scream of terror, and sunk at his side, on her knees. After all, drowning and flesh cut open didn't seem that bad now, compared with the burden in her chest.

She couldn't take it, the idea she could have killed. She knew this wasn't real, this couldn't be real, but they had come so near to it, both of them, that doubt started to gnaw at her. She had to do something. She had to make sure that this was just it, that this was just a dream. She thus did the only thing she could think of: she closed her eyes and willed the darkness to engulf her and bring her back to reality.

But instead, images started to flow into her mind, and she fought not to be submerged by the wave. She saw the faces of those she knew, all the events that led her to lie there –that led them both to lie there- him lying near her, still, his regular heartbeat the only assurances of his survival.

It couldn't be enough though. I need to see him, I need to know we didn't kill him. So she prised her eyes open, truly open this time, and took in her situation.

She was in the medlab, back at Westchester, as she's always remembered it. She was alone, or rather, as she corrected herself, she was the only conscious being in the room. Which reminded her that she hadn't seen him alife yet, images of her latest dream coming uninvited to the front of her mind.

It seemed to her that it took hours before she could make it to a sitting position. After a few minutes, she peeled off the patches that linked her to the various machines surrounding her. She then slowly and clumsily moved her limbs until she stood, and rested her back against the wall for a while.

She turned her head to the right, where he rested. She kept her look on his form and set the forward movement of her legs, trying to close the short gap between their two beds. When she finally arrived to her destination, she sank to his side, and carefully inspected him. He had that unusual content look on his face, but that didn't surprise her, his relief at her survival the most powerfull feeling she pulled from him when he touched her.

The thought of this last event brought back contradicting emotions. Relief at still being breathing, at having made it fine, despite the gravity of the wound he inflicted on her. Fright at the realization that she could indeed kill him with a simple touch, as he kept his bare skin in contact with hers even when his life force started to decisively leave his body, and his weight became heavier on her. And something warm she couldn't define at the thought that someone was willing to give up his life for hers. Literally.

Her recent efforts having tired her beyond reason, she lied her head on his chest, so that she could hear the reassuring beat of his heart, and did the only thing the latest of her strength allowded her. She remembered.