Mystique sat on the end of the sleeping boys bed, running a sapphire hand through his hair. The cure, long worn off, she had never felt more grateful for her ocean coloured skin. John was like a son too her and he heart ached to see him in such a sorry state of mind. He sighed in his sleep and cuddled into her warmth, his lips quivering in his dream like manner. Mystique let out a long breath and lowered herself down, planting a light kiss on his forehead.

"Sweet dreams, little man."

Aero straightened herself out as she was pushed roughly back into her cell. She kept her head high, her posture straight, trying to retain any dignity that clung to her being. Fred was sat on his small cot, the thin, stained mattress sagging low near the sticky ground. A small child was cradled comfortably in his arms, her blonde curls framing her pale round face.

"Is she ok?" Aero asked, as she crossed the room and sat next to Dukes on the bed, resting her tired and sore head on the huge mans broad shoulders. Fred just nodded, and pulled the little girl into his chest as her staggered breathing echoed around the small cell, bouncing off every stain and every chip in the crumbling cement walls. Aero raised a shaky hand and gently ran it through the short golden curls, each one soundlessly pinging back to its original place.

"We need to get out of here Fred," Aero sighed tiredly, tucking her legs up onto the bed beside her.

"He'll Come, honey," Fred assured, although the eerie gasps of doubt circled his every word. Aero closed her eyes, chewing on her lip, something Fred noticed she did when she was thinking. Fred put his arm around the young woman, as the little girl sighed in her sleep and cuddled closer into his chest.

"You need to rest," Fred said, slowly pushing himself up and laying Aero gently down on the cot. He kissed the little one on the forehead and lay her next to her mother, as the two girls slept on. He stood up, and stretched his huge arms out in front of them. He couldn't stretch them up in the air, the cell was too small and he was simply too big. He gazed adoringly down at the two girls. He loved those too girls more than he ever thought it was possible too love someone.

"Shame the feelings one sided," he sighed, walking over to the bars and sitting himself down, his back leaning against them, waiting for his turn to be assessed.

The mansion was still and silent as Logan prowled the corridors. A deep set snarl was carved into his features, and with the prowess of a wolverine, he weightlessly stalked up the marble stairs. A scent had caught his attention, and like the animal he was often compared, he went on the hunt. The scent was subtle, it had a weak, yet musty odour and it moved astonishingly fast through the air. The wolverine sniffed, pulling in the tiny particles of air that were laced with that musty aura. He was close now. Effortlessly blending into the thick shadows that painted the cream walls, he silenced a growl that was erupting from his chest. His prey knew he was following it. He could smell the warm, unmistakable scent of fear. Subconsciously, his claws unsheathed, the silver moonlight that flooded in through the open window across the hall glittered playfully along the smooth adamantium surface. He held his breath, so the only noise that was heard in the wolverines head were the quick yet quiet footsteps rushing towards him. He waited, 3...2...1...

With a snarl he pounced, just as the prey past him and pinned the struggling person down to the floor. Red eyes met green as the person who was now struggling under the immense weight of Logan's metallic skeleton froze in shock.

"What're you doing here, bub?" the wolverine growled, in a deep husky snarl, his un sheathed claws just inches away from the victims throat.

"The professor…" the victim choked desperately, his skinny hands wrapped around Logan's bulging muscles. "I need to speak to the professor!"

The wolverine hesitated, as the other mans accent filled his ears. It sparked some sort of alliance within him. That sort of half French, half southern accent that was often full of confidence and playfulness, but was now tinged with sincerity and doubt.

"Gambit?" the wolverine asked, as he slowly sat up, yet still not loosening his killer grip on the other mans throat. The shorter, smaller man nodded profusely, his red eyes alight with fright. Logan slowly lifted himself up, pulling the Gambit up with him. The massive, muscular man twitched in annoyance as he silently dragged the whimpering thief through the corridors.

"This better be worth my time, bub," Logan grunted as he thrust the thief through the large oak doors.

John rolled over in his sleep, his eyelids flickering madly as he raced through dreams. Although each dream was different, they all resembled the same thing. Fire, and water. Yet, no matter how hot the flame burned, or how thick the water flowed, they never out did each other, and seemed to entwine and work together, like it was the most natural thing in the world. His eyes opened, and he sat up, cradling his head in his hands. The images were still circling his mind and a voice… a soft, female voice, with an unknown accent, singing gently in his ear.

Hush little baby don't you cry,

Everything's gonna be alright

Daddy's gonna buy you a mocking bird

I'm gonna give you the whole wide world

Over and over, the voice sang the song. John let out a soft moan and fell back onto his pillow, his dirty blonde hair angled in all directions. He closed his eyes again, gently tapping his head, trying to get the song out of his head.

Giving up with a bemused grunt, he swung his legs out of the bed, looking down at them. His stomach churned as he looked at them. They were something even the most powerful amnesia couldn't make you forget. Of course, over time, over his 16 years, they had healed. But you couldn't mistake those pale pink ridges, that mapped around his entire leg for anything else. Ironic really, that the one thing that he has complete control over, was once his greatest fear. He hastily pulled on a pair of baggy dark blue jeans and a black tank top that showed of his muscular, toned arms in a flattering manner. He left the room, and slowly descended the stairs, lazily pushing his hair back into place. He stopped, halfway down his decent, as hushed voices raced around his ears.

"He's not ready, Eric."

"He needs too know."

"Not yet he doesn't. Let the poor boy at least find himself before trying to find others."

"He's their only hope, Shiro, and you know it."

Pyro sat on the step, listening to the argument between the two men, not sensing the pair of yellow eyes transfixed upon him. He sighed and closed his eyes, leaning back against the rest of the steps, that dug into his back. He ran a hand through his hair, a habit he had got into doing, and opened his eyes again. This time, the yellow eyes were looking down at him.

"You know, eavesdropping is a bad habit to get into," she said. He stared up at her, transfixed by her beautiful topaz skin, and copper coloured hair.

"I… I didn't mean to," he stuttered, as a small smile played on the blue creatures lips, her intimidating yellow stare softened with fondness.

"Do you remember me, Pyro?" she asked, feeling her heart sink a little as he slowly shook his head, his icy gaze staring up at her fearfully. Her smirk remained on her face. It was not in her nature to falter and show weakness.

"Pyro, Eric and I have many things to discuss with you," she said, extending her hand out for him too take. He looked from her face, down to her hand, before gingerly placing his own in hers, long blue fingers curling around his palm.

"Come with me."