Author's note: Thank you to kmj1989 and Owlix for the reviews! Who's ready for some fluff and then a little bit of Raven being a bitter harpy? To be fair, she has a point to begin with, but it kinda devolves, haha. I hope you enjoy! Thank you again to everyone who reads this, and special thanks to those who review!

Sweet Dreams

There's blood on her hands, running down her claws and staining her skin, forever a reminder of the lives she's taken-

Her brother's bones, being picked clean by a scavenging wolf. Gramps, his body disintegrating as the maggots consume his withered old flesh as he screams in agony-

And fire.

Fire burning her whole world down, her home disappearing-

"Roxanne, wake up."

The voice is definitely in her head, but it's not her own. It's unfamiliar and very present, not a mere echo or a memory.

The fire is coming towards her now, ready to destroy-

"Roxanne!"

She bolts upright, panting from both adrenaline and holding back tears. Her claws are out, but she doesn't sheath them right away. Instead she glances around, searching for the source of that voice in her head, and almost immediately spots Jean standing next to the bed.

"Jean, what are you-?" she begins to ask, but then she pauses. Her senses tell her that things are not as they appear, and a quick inhale confirms it. "You're not really in here, are you?"

The younger girl shakes her head.

Roxanne purses her lips and finally lets her knuckle claws retract. She's still not used to having telepaths pop in and out of her head as they please. She's starting to not like it.

"Sorry," Jean's projection says, and Roxanne winces because the girl obviously heard that thought. "You were having a really loud nightmare. When I'm sleeping I can't always shield very well, so I couldn't help hearing it."

"Oh, right," Roxanne murmurs, embarrassed. She can't help feeling rather exposed, knowing that this girl flits in and out of the thoughts of the mansion's occupants at night. "Um- I'm sorry for bothering you."

Jean shakes her head. "Don't be. I heard you had a really eventful afternoon," she says, with evident compassion. While Roxanne appreciates the sympathy, she wonders how much of the afternoon's mind-reading session is common knowledge to the mansion's inmates. How unsettling. "And if it makes you feel better, when I have a nightmare, so does this entire floor."

"That's... good to know," Roxanne replies awkwardly. "Does- does that happen often?"

"Not so much anymore. Not since Egypt."

This she can respond to with more sincerity. "I'm glad to hear that, Jean."

The younger redhead smiles. "Well, I'll leave you to it, then," she says. "Sweet dreams."

"You too," Roxanne says. "And thank you."

Jean's image disappears.

Roxanne collapses back into bed with a sigh.

Well that was definitely weird. Welcome to Xavier's, where other people can watch your dreams and pop in for nocturnal mental visits, she wryly thinks to herself. Whether you like it or not.

She lays there for a long time, willing herself to go back to sleep but afraid of what she'll see if she closes her eyes.

After fruitlessly trying for half an hour she finally gives up and gets out of bed. Something compels her to slip on her new black satin robe over the pretty blue babydoll nightie Moira insisted on and the fluffy slippers she got out of her own choice before stepping out into the hallway.

She knows exactly what she wants to do now- the question is whether she should. She tries to talk herself out of it, for fear of seeming needy and clingy, but she can't. She's inexorably pulled down the hall by the hope of a good night's sleep.

Roxanne taps softly on Hank's door.

There's no answer, of course. He must be far asleep by now.

She quietly opens the door and slips inside, her steps silent on the thick gray carpet.

"Hank," she whispers once she's next to the bed. He looks so handsome and peaceful laying there, and she hates to disturb him. But she refuses to get into his bed without his permission. It seems wrong to do otherwise. "Hank-"

He opens his eyes and peers up at her blearily. "Roxanne?" he mumbles, probably still half-asleep. "What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry. I had a nightmare," she admits, cursing how pathetic she sounds. "Can I-?"

Hank pulls back the covers to invite her into bed before she can fully get the words out.

Roxanne slips out of her robe and slippers and climbs into his bed with a small sigh of relief. She cuddles up against him, her back to his front, and Hank slips an arm around her waist to hold her close.

She falls asleep within minutes.

Hank takes a deep inhale of the heavenly scent surrounding his nose and lets out a groan. He pulls the slim body resting against his even closer with a sigh of contentment, unwilling to open his eyes and ruin this perfect repose.

But then the circumstances actually register in his groggy, half-asleep brain. Who, exactly, is in his bed with him right now?

The only thing he sees when he opens his eyes is red. His face is buried in a mass of wonderful-smelling coppery red hair.

He lifts his head and sees that he's half-laying on top of a sleeping Roxanne. She's also face down, and his arm holds her snugly around her waist.

It takes a moment, but he vaguely remembers her coming in and saying she had a nightmare. That's certainly not the case now- her breaths are the slow exhales of deep slumber. The sound makes him smile.

A man could get used to this, Hank muses to himself as he settles back down again. He has about half an hour before his alarm goes off, and he intends to enjoy having this beauty in his arms while he can.

Roxanne startles awake at the loud ringing sound of Hank's alarm. She groans and buries her face in a pillow, unwilling to leave this bed and her comfortable position.

There's a soft chuckle behind her ear. "Good morning," Hank murmurs.

She smiles and goes to turn over, which requires him to shift his weight off of her. From their positions it looks like he was sleeping half on top of her with his face in her hair.

Now their faces are mere inches apart, and she really hopes her morning breath isn't too horrible. "'Morning," she says sheepishly. "Hope you don't mind the company."

"On the contrary, the company is excellent," Hank replies. She wonders if he knows how attractive he looks with his head propped on his hand and his long, lean body stretched out next to her. His hair is a little smashed up on one side in a way she finds absolutely adorable. "Did you sleep well?"

She nods.

"Good," he says, and he leans down to kiss her on the forehead. "Feel free to join me any time."

Roxanne smiles incredulously. "Really?"

The rather wolfish grin Hank gives her makes the heat rise in her skin, and she again has to wonder if he's purposely trying to be seductive. "Why wouldn't I want to wake up with a beautiful woman in bed with me as often as possible, Roxanne?"

She laughs.

His jocularity vanishes in an instant, though. "I don't mean that I hope you have nightmares that often, though," he hastily adds.

"I know, Hank," she assures him.

"Have they gotten any better?" he asks, reaching up to brush a tendril of hair back from her face.

"For the most part, yeah," Roxanne replies. She's been at Xavier's for almost a month now, and thankfully most of her nightmares have passed. "I think last night was because of, you know..."

"Yes, it was a rather emotional day," Hank agrees. "I'm sorry."

She shakes her head. "Don't feel sorry for me," she says. "I actually feel... lighter, I guess. Knowing why my mother did what she did, that it was out of love. I wonder if she's still out there somewhere? I do feel really sorry for Logan, though. He'll never get his memories back." She shakes her head sadly. "I can't even imagine."

Hank nods sympathetically. "Me, too."

They lay there for a long moment in companionable silence before Roxanne shakes herself. "Wait, why did you have an alarm set? Isn't it Saturday?" she asks, puzzled.

He chuckles. "Yes, but I was going to go put a few final finishing touches on your uniform so you can start training today," he explains.

Roxanne perks up at this. "Want some help?"

Hank grins. "I'd like that," he replies. "Very much."

Mystique's eyes roll as soon as she sees Hank leading Roxanne by the hand into the Danger Room. The girl is wearing a uniform rather similar to Jean's, but with fingerless gloves and blue instead of yellow trimmings. Hank, in his blue form, towers over her.

How cute, Mystique thinks to herself sarcastically. They match.

She seriously regrets eating breakfast this morning, seeing how obnoxiously the big Fur Ball is mooning after Roxanne. He's looking down at the small redheaded woman like she's the center of his universe or something equally cheesy.

It's enough to make her nauseous.

"No holding hands in here," she snaps at the two lovebirds. "You're here for training, not a date."

To his credit, Hank looks properly ashamed of himself for needing the reminder.

But then he immediately buys it all back. Rather than stepping away from the girl, he puts a hand on the small of her back instead. Like he can't not touch her. His affection must be expressed.

Mystique already foresees some big problems here.

When the hell did this happen, anyway? Hank used to be so reserved and awkward about everything when they were younger. Always stumbling over words, fumbling compliments, too shy to make a move-

Ok, maybe that's not true.

She remembers the day she came into his lab and sat on his lap to look at a microscope slide of her cells, back in 1962. He was so amazed at the scientific anomaly she presented, her delayed aging.

"Beautiful on the inside," she said after taking a look herself. To be honest, it just looked like a bunch of blobs and she had no idea what about the slide was so enthralling for him. She just wanted to seem like she knew what he was talking about, so desperate back then for any man's attention.

"And on the outside," Hank amended, before leaning in to try to kiss her.

He meant it as a compliment, she knew, but it still stung to know he was referring to the blonde mask she wore, not her true form. She pulled away and chastised him, telling him his comment was the equivalent of complimenting her shoes. He always averted his eyes away from her the few times she dared to show her blue form around him.

The fact that a seventeen year old nerdy virgin would be incredibly anxious around any completely nude woman, blue and scaly or not, never really occurred to her.

Hank couldn't appreciate how beautiful she was back then, but he certainly didn't have a problem with her natural form the night she showed up in his bed several months ago. He worshiped her body with his that night. She fell asleep quite satisfied- several times over.

It was disappointing, to say the least, when he refused the friends-with-benefits offer she made him the next morning. She figured he'd be happy to take what he could get from her, the poor desperate bastard, considering he'd been in love with her for all those years.

That was the morning they'd both realized Hank's love for her wasn't nearly as strong as he'd claimed.

It doesn't occur to Mystique that it wasn't the strength of his love that was found wanting. Rather, it was that he'd gained an immeasurable amount of self-respect, and finally acknowledged to himself that he deserved better than to be used and kept on the shelf according to her whims.

No, Raven Darkholme doesn't possess that sort of empathy and awareness of the emotions of other people. Especially of those she's dismissed as being not of much use to her.

Instead she wonders if Hank's trying to make her jealous now, rubbing his pretty young thing in her face. It would explain his excessive display of affection, at least.

As if I care, Beast, Mystique tells herself. If I wanted you, I could've had you.