Okay, it has been a hot minute since I updated any of my stories on this site. After a number of reviews and requests (Huge thank you to everyone who liked the story enough to favorite, leave a review, or send a message!), I've decided to go ahead and post this update. It isn't beta read, so I apologize for any grammatical errors. I am hoping to have my works updated more frequently (or as frequently as a crazy schedule allows).

If you like this story, please consider leaving a favorite or review. Enjoy!


The lights in the white hallway were too bright as they flashed by overhead. The scraping and squeaking of the wheels betrayed the gurney's disrepair, though Isabelle could not see it. She could only feel the solid slab of it at her back and the tight steel bands around her wrists and ankles that kept her fixed to it. There was nowhere to look but up at the painful lights. They passed by slower now. The faded tiles of the ceiling were no longer a blur. She was almost there.

A desperate cry forced its way from her chest as she watched the doorway pass around her next. She heard the hiss as it was locked and sealed behind her and the room was sealed in. The cry was strangled and cut short by the tightening muscles in her throat. No cries. No screams. They would only make things worse. She clenched her hands into fists over and over again, opening and closing them to try and force them to stop shaking. If she tried to pull against the restraints, they would be tightened. A jerk reaction would cause too much pain.

Even as she heard the muffled sounds through the walls, she tried to force her own fear down. Each tool whirring, each desperate plea, each scream cut her to the bone, cracking her already fragile resolve. She blinked furiously, trying to rid her eyes of the tears forming over them and blurring her vision. Her efforts at trying to dry the evidence away ceased as she heard the slow, steady footsteps coming closer. The muscles in her neck tensed, forcing her head from turning to look. It would make no difference. She knew he was here.

A jolt shot up her spine as she felt the pressure of a cold hand on her shoulder. Still, she swallowed the cries that churned within her chest seeking escape. She knew what came next. She knew the horrible buzzing that would follow the first click of the razor. As soon as the sound began, she felt buzzing vibrate against her head as it cut through what hair had grown since the last time. Again and again she had begged to keep it...but there was always more work to be done.

At last the building tears overpowered her tired eyes, further obscuring her vision until they broke loose and slowly trailed down the sides of her face. The same cold, gloved hand that she had felt on her shoulder, that had controlled the razor, roughly wiped at the tears with a tissue. It was no more than another part of the procedure.

"Hush," a deep, echoing voice chided, "It will all be over soon."

A lie.

The chill of a cold metal brace bit into her forehead as it was brought down. Tightened in place, the pressure of it could be felt throughout her entire skull. The lights above the gurney were turned on and lowered into place, erasing all memory of the hallway lights from her mind as they burned into her vision. She could not see. She could not move. Every second rose more unuttered cries within her, but all that slipped past her lips was a whispered plea.

"Please...please, no more."

The unyielding light above her was broken as a dark silhouette leaned in above her. Her eyes fought to focus on the figure, trying to block out the painful light. When her vision cleared enough, she saw him. A firm expression was set into the sharp, stoic features. Unnaturally grey skin would have made him appear as nothing but a statue had it not been for the eyes that studied her. Cold, calculating, black eyes.

"Now, now, my child." The thin line of his dark lips barely moved as he spoke. "Everything I do is for you. For your survival. For the future."

He stepped away, letting light flood her vision once more. She screwed her eyes shut to block it out. Behind her eyes, she could still see the distant, black stare.

"Please!"

Her pleas grew louder as she heard the whir of machinery around her. Growing closer...closer…

"Father!"

Her world dissolved into pain.

"Belle!"

The touch on her face was not cold or clinical, but warm and gentle. Familiar. Finding freedom in her arms, she reached a hand to quickly grasp at the one which rested on her cheek. Holding it tightly, not to pull it away but to lock it in place as though it might vanish. She clung to the feeling - the warmth, the energy - using it as an anchor as she willed the muscles in her chest to loosen, removing pressure from her heaving lungs and frantic heart. She felt a stinging in her throat, but it was too tight to have released a scream.

"Belle, look at me." His voice was soothing, calm, safe.

She followed the instruction, forcing her eyes to open and take in the reality around her. There were no harsh lights. No screams. The room around her was dark and quiet. Still holding the hand to her face, she jerked her head from side to side just once, just to prove to her frayed nerves that she could.

"S'alright."

Her eyes focused on the face that hovered above her. The eyes that she met were different. Dark, but the darkness was broken by the deep glow of red irises. She did not need to search for the distant thoughts behind them, as their worry was written clearly on the surface.

Belle laid her head back, thankful for the feeling of her own pillow on her own bed. She let out a long, shuddering breath. That was all she would allow herself for now.

It's over, she reminded herself. It's over.

She released her grasp on Remy's hand, sitting up and running her hands over her face. Her skin felt cold to the touch, a jarring contrast to how hot she felt.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, her voice raspy and weak in her own ears.

"No," Remy corrected, taking her hand and lifting it to press a kiss on her palm. "You don't ever apologize to me fer that."

She nodded, too tired to feel any remaining guilt for no doubt waking him. How she had managed it was a different question.

"What happened?" she asked, hoping that she hadn't done something dramatic like scream or lash out.

"That's a bit of a complicated answer, cher," Remy sighed in response, sitting back further onto the bed to give her space.

Belle looked around the room.

"Oh…" she scoffed out in near disbelief. "Shit."

The best word for the state of her bedroom was chaos. Everything short of the furniture was tossed about as though a hurricane had swept through. Books from the nightstands thrown clear across the room. Belle's reading lamp, shattered beyond repair, laid on the ground in pieces beneath the dent in the drywall that took the brunt of the impact.

"There's no chance in hell that this was an earthquake which woke you up and had nothing to do with me," Belle hoped, a dry humor in her tired voice, "right?"

"If it helps fer you to think that, sure."

Belle tried to force the images from her dream further from her mind, focusing on the matter at hand; despite her efforts, a lingering dread remained settled into the back of her mind. She shook her head and rubbed away a dull ache in her temple but couldn't shake the feeling loose.

"What time is it?" she dared to ask after a preliminary search of the room revealed that her bedside alarm clock was nowhere to be found.

"So late that it's early," Remy answered simply, though the shrug that accompanied his words suggested that it was more a feeling than a fact.

Belle shifted toward the edge of the bed, setting her feet firmly on the floor. She leaned over, resting her elbows on her knees, and took even deep breaths until the trembling in her muscles ceased.

"You wanna tell me what this is about?" Remy questioned, "Because ah've seen you have nightmares before and they didn't do this."

"It's a fairly recent development," she admitted, standing and making across the bedroom.

Before she reached the door, she was caught with a hand taking hers and turning her around. She would have found herself irritated by the interruption if the contact wasn't so comforting to her. Damn this man.

"Development?" he echoed, concern and question clear on his face. "This is gettin' worse?"

"It's nothing," she offered, hoping that the obvious lie would be enough. "I'm fine."

"Has anyone evah said that when they were alright?" he scoffed.

Belle slipped her hand from his.

"It's late. Go back to sleep."

It was a suggestion that she knew he wouldn't take, no matter how she wished she could restore a peaceful night's sleep for at least one of them.

"Only if you come with me," he compromised.

Belle looked back into the bedroom past him. She wanted the darkened room and the rumpled, comfortable bedding to seem inviting. Tired down to her core, she knew that sleep was the smart choice. But the risk was too high. She'd done enough damage for one night.

Shaking her head, she silently turned down the deal.

"In that case," Remy accepted, "Ah'm makin' coffee. You want some?"

"God yes."

The smell of brewing coffee filled the kitchen. Belle breathed in deeply, greedily filling her lungs with the pleasant aroma. Her coffee pot was simple enough to use. She'd made coffee hundreds of times. All the same, there was something different about it when Remy made it. He was always privy to some great kitchen secret that she'd never understand, where everything he made would look, smell, and taste better than if she'd made it herself. It was a gift of his and she had no complaints whatsoever.

Watching the pot steadily fill with the fresh coffee, she hadn't realized that she'd been tapping a hand anxiously on the counter until it was once again snatched up in Remy's.

"You wanna tell me what this is about yet?" he urged.

"I'm fi-"

"Don't. You know damn well that ah know if yer upset, so pretendin' that yer not just wastes time."

"Empath," she reminded herself. A 'tsk' of disapproval clicked off her tongue at how easily that fact had slipped past her guard.

"If you really don't wanna tell me," he continued, "then ah'll have to remind you that ah know you bettah than most. Wouldn't take me three guesses to know."

Once more the only response Belle could muster was a knowing nod. She pulled together a few words, forcing them out despite the vulnerability she felt as they passed her lips.

"Talking…" She paused, looking down at the floor and inwardly cursing how weak she felt. "Talking makes it real."

"Okay," he accepted, an unspoken understanding in his voice. "Then don't talk. Just let yourself be upset."

He stepped forward, pulling her against him and wrapping an arm around her while the other guided her to lay her head on his shoulder. Belle leaned into the support, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face as she finally let tears pool in her eyes without a fight.

"Be upset. Then drink coffee."


It was too late at night to still be doing this. Hank looked away from the screen and rubbed the bridge of his nose under his glasses. He had hoped to finish this new design hours ago and have it assembled and ready for technical trials next week, but that timeframe seemed less likely by the minute. Short-staffed and with many full classes, the school was busier than ever, leaving less time for gear upgrades and new projects. Sure, there was a lot of time in a day. There was not, however, enough energy. It was no use finishing designs if they meant that he was far too tired to safely build them anyway. Tomorrow was another mad dash of a day and sleep was needed to survive it.

He began saving the evening's progress and closing down the lower levels, when familiar hiss of a large door drew his attention. It appeared he was not the last one awake, as he had long assumed. He followed in the direction of the sound, knowing precisely which door made such a heavy sound. Precisely as he anticipated (with no small amount of worry), he looked down the hall to see the Cerebro chamber open with Charles inside at the controls.

"Here I thought I was the only one still burning the proverbial midnight oil," Hank noted, walking into the chamber.

"Believe me, Hank, I would much rather be asleep and let you have that proverb to yourself," Charles answered, the late hour unable to dampen the good-natured amusement in his words.

"Is there something wrong?"

Between Charles's lack of desire to be awake and his late night use of Cerebro, there was more than enough evidence for concern.

"I'm not sure yet," came the honest answer. "I felt something strange. It was strong enough to wake me, as though it happened very close. Anything that powerful merits a closer look."

"You think someone might be in danger?"

While phrased in the form of a question, Hank knew Charles well enough to know the answer. It was far more accurately a well-educated assumption.

"Whatever it was," Charles admitted, "I can tell you with certainty that it wasn't good."

The door to the large chamber slid shut. The lights automatically dimmed, aside from the safety lights along the sides of the platform. Hank stayed in place, standing very still as he watched the device's projection spring to life around them.

"This is not the first time I've felt this," Charles continued, thinking aloud, "yet somehow, I can never seem to find them. Perhaps…"

His voice faded out as concentration took precedence. The projection from Cerebro seamlessly followed his focus, pushing in closer and closer to one point.

"I may have finally found enough to know where the problem occurred, but I still cannot seem to find who caused it. There seems to be an unusually high concentration of mutants in this precise area. None of them-"

"Charles?"

Hank's concern went unheard as the professor had focused on a mind that had drawn all of his attention. Amidst the concentration of mutants and in the same place a number of increasingly powerful anomalies had taken place, he only recognized one very distinct and guarded mind.

Gambit.