Title: None of the Above

By: Satine16

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters involved in this story. They are all property of Marvel Comics. The song featured as being "written" is also not mine. It's the property of KT Tunstall. I can't write song lyrics at all. I had to borrow them too. I am not doing this for money. Please don't sue me.

Chapter 6: Smoke and Ashes

"What do you want from me, Logan?"

Ororo stood at the edge of the grounds, crying. Her tears slid down her cheeks like glycerin on wax paper. Logan just watched her, speechless. She wasn't sobbing. Her breathing was regular. A crystal river of tears simply ran down her cheeks from her, almost colorless, blue eyes.

The emerald green grass started to turn a stony grey as the fog enveloped the air around them. Still he did not speak. Slowly the fog thickened around her, swallowing her. Wrapping around her like a tight cocoon. The opaque, white casing kept her from view and from reach, and despondently, he closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, the fog was slowly dissipating. The stars began a tender twinkle in the velvet night sky above.

"Jean?" the word exited his lips on the wind of a single, infant breath.

"Logan," she was smiling. Her pale skin was draped in a white, satin bed sheet: all glowing silver in the light of the moon and her radiant red hair fell in blood-toned rivers down her back. Her frame was an ivory ghost against the dark night, the color emanating from her candy red lips, sapphire blue eyes and dark, crimson hair blazed. The rest was completely blanched.

He licked his lips softly as she walked up to him. Raising her petite hands and winding her slender fingers in his hair, she placed her palms on his face. The satin sheet fluttered to the ground.

Her naked body radiated heat in the cool night air as she pressed her gentle lips to his. "This is what you want," she murmured as she slipped her tongue into his mouth.

As the kiss continued to deepen Logan tried to place his hands on the small of her back, the gentle curves of her waist and hips. He couldn't move. The glint in her eye told him that she wasn't letting him. The moisture from her breath raised the hairs on the back of his neck as she pressed her cheek against his jawbone. Lightly, she nibbled and sucked on his ear and trailed kisses down his neck. He felt her nails down his back as she pressed her body to his chest, once again taking his lips with her own.

When the kiss was broken, she was gone. The sun was shining. Logan was standing on a small wooden bridge. The girl beside him was only eighteen. Her long, jet-black hair was wrapped into an intricate bun. A wild orchid was tucked neatly into the ties of her hair. Her cocoa eyes smiled beneath her fluttering eyelashes, and her small lips were upturned in a coquettish bow of a smile. A jade green kimono draped around her in a splash of vivid color.

In the same instant she appeared she was now further away. She approached him from the other side of the trickling river. The spring ran below him placidly taking its course, while the girl was showered in the cherry blossom petals blown free by the wind.

Each step she took was slow. The surroundings were serene. And yet, Logan felt uneasy. There was something wrong. As she walked towards him the tiny girl began to lift her arms. The sleeves of the kimono draped gallantly: the gold and blue embroidery gleaming in the sunlight.

Logan wanted to run to her, and yet he couldn't bring himself to move from his spot on the bridge. Within a few moments she was standing toe to toe with him. Her small hand reached out to him. Rested on his arm. Inhaling deeply, Logan closed his eyes against her sweet smell.

Fluttering his eyes open again, he was prepared for the encounter. Her dark hair had been cropped short and bleached. Her brown eyes turned a sadistic amber. The once jade green kimono had turned to black leather and her sweet, sweet smile glinted with a desire for vengeance.

Ten blades slowly grew from her fingertips, expanding as she raised her arms. With a twitch of her fingers and a flick of her wrist she drove five, razor sharp, adamantium blades, thin like refined needles, deep into his abdomen and twisted. Logan fell to his knees, the blades like fire in his flesh. She continued to twist her vindictive wrist as she raised her left arm higher, preparing to bring it down. A killing blow.

"Raaaaarrr!" Logan screamed loud and sat vertically in bed, his claws stabbing the empty night air.

Ororo startled next to him, waking from her deep slumber. Softly, she reached out her hand and tried to place it on his sweat soaked skin. Recoiling as he leapt out of bed, she placed her hand on her chest and merely watched him with wide eyes. Her words still rested on her tongue as he slammed the door behind him.

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"Can we talk?" Kitty's voice trembled as he opened the door.

"Of course," his tone was concerned as he opened the door.

"Sorry if I woke you up."

"Not a problem. Wassup, Kitty?" Bobby smiled as he closed the door behind her.

"Well…I just…I didn't know where else to go. I can't talk to Rogue anymore, it's like she's somewhere else lately. Jubes and I are on rocky territory as it is. Jean and Ororo are just too…" she rattled off the list of people at lightning speed as she paced back and forth in front of the door.

"Woah! Woah! Take it down a few notches Kitty…you can't talk to Peter?" Bobby climbed onto his unmade bed and motioned for her to sit. His hair was still rumpled and his Hanes t-shirt and blue flannel pants were wrinkled.

"Not at the moment," her left thumbnail shot into her mouth and she locked her terrified, saucer-sized eyes with his own, smiling, blue ones.

"Ok, then. What's up?"

"Oh my god…How do I say this?"

"Kitty, it's me. Is it really that hard?"

"You're right. Okay. Fine. Bobby…I'm pregnant," her arms dropped sadly to her sides as the words left her mouth. She waited patiently for him to respond.

Bobby sat numb on his bed, his mouth hanging open and creating a small, shocked void.

"Speak, Bobby. It's not yours."

"I-I-I know that. It's just. I never thought of you and Peter having a family. I don't really know what I thought. I know you love each other, but—"

"I need a friend right now, Bobby. Not a critic. In fact, I think I'm going to get rid of it…does that make you hate me?" her words remained rushed and panicked.

"Kitty, I…this is a hell of a lot to process straight out of a dream where I was being served french fries by Carmen Electra."

"Can I just stay here awhile? Maybe sleep here?" she asked starting to cry again.

"Justin's gone. No problem. It's just, Kitty…I…"

"Don't, Bobby. You'll regret it."

Bobby pulled down the sheets of his roommate's bed and flopped back into his own, still smiling sweetly.

"You're all set."

Flipping the light switch off and heaving dry sobs, Kitty could still see Bobby smiling.

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"Good afternoon, Ororo. I want you to meet an old friend of mine; he'll be staying with us for a while," Charles smiled.

The man sitting on the leather couch stood as she entered the room. He was wearing a pair of tattered blue jeans, and a bright green t-shirt beneath a black sport coat. His thick dark hair was tied neatly back into a sleek ponytail with two perfect silver sections flaring from both of his temples. His smile seemed almost overly large for his face and his lips were full and dark. The slight wrinkles in his coppery skin became more prominent as his smile grew.

"Very nice to meet you," her refined voice flowed like syrup as she offered him her hand.

"Likewise," his voice was much deeper than she had originally expected.

"Ororo, this is…"

"Forge," he cut Charles off, taking her slender hand with his large, dry one.

Ororo couldn't help but smile as he probed her with his glimmering, jovial black eyes. Making room for her on the couch he sat with a chuckle.

"As I was saying, Charles…I was working with X Factor in Brazil for the last few years. I started my own foundation in California and now it's in good hands. I'm only three years your junior Charles, and I feel like a lame old man. All they've left for me is communicating with the stubborn fools in Washington. The young ones have the real fun. Like we used to. Fact is I'm only looking to stay here while I am a correspondent in DC. That will be for a while now. I don't want to impose."

"Nonsense. Let me see which rooms are available?" Charles added still smiling.

"Now, Ororo," Forge added, shifting his weight on the couch to address her, "tell me something about yourself."

She smiled meekly, and added, "What would you like to know?" in a somewhat dry, yet teasing, tone.

"Stop being a dirty old man and let me give you your new room key so you can move your one ugly leather duffel bag, which you've had since I met you might I add, into your new space," Charles scolded as he pulled a gold key on a leather key chain from it's slot and added a name to the mailbox from whence it came.

"Charles…when does Moira arrive?"

"Very funny. Henry will be excited to hear you've arrived."

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"You're marrying him?"

"Logan, please don't," she pleaded, turning her face from him.

Logan managed to catch Jean after her morning English class and before her meeting with the Professor. They were standing in the hallway adjacent to her classroom, bathed in the shade from the near stairway. Logan had cornered her, her back pressed against the maple-paneled wall. They stood a breath away from one another, his eyes searching her down turned face for something.

The pair seemed to fit together like a poorly made puzzle: Logan standing in an old t-shirt and tattered jeans and Jean standing in a pressed black pencil skirt and crisp white blouse. The new trinket on her left hand glimmered like a star, even in the shade. Her copy of Faulkner's The Sound and The Fury was pressed against her chest: a small wedge between them.

"You don't understand," she sighed raising her eyes to meet his. "Scott and I have been together for a long time, Logan. I love him."

"I understand more than you think. I understand that you're getting ready to follow a guy who is so terrified he'll be bad at life he doesn't really live."

"And who exactly do you expect me to follow, Logan? A man so blinded by rage he can't see or care about those he hurts along the way?" she raised her left eyebrow and bore her burning blue eyes into his stare.

"I don't think you're meant to follow anybody, Red. I know you're too strong for it."

"You don't know me as well as you think you do, Logan. I'm not the person that you dream about. I'm real. There are things about me you could never comprehend simply because you wouldn't try," her face softened for a moment as she read his reaction. His entire demeanor seemed to deflate a little bit, however powered by frenzy.

"We've done this dance before. Every time it's the same. I don't know what to say anymore, Logan…" she broke the eye contact again and turned away in preparation to leave.

"Jean…" her name escaped his lips on the wings of a deadened sigh and he placed his arm in front of her path.

"I'm sorry, Logan. I love Scott. Get over it."

With that she pushed forward with her shoulder and walked away, her hips swaying slightly beneath the skirt.

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Rogue jogged up the steps two at a time. Her thick ponytail bounced back and forth as she ran, and a trickle of sweat ran down her spine. She wore a magenta sports bra underneath a matching black and pink PUMA running suit. Nelly Furtado's song Loose blared from her IPOD as she headed down the hall. Removing the headphones from her ears she pulled her keys from the pocket on her track jacket, still bopping from her workout music, and turned the key in the door.

"Well, hello there!" the voice behind her was rich are rolling. It startled her and she whipped around to greet the source.

"You're…?"
"No longer on a ventilator. Luckily not."

"Did you look up mah room number?" she asked, sounding a little paranoid.

"No. God no. I live next door. I'm just running to grab a bite. You were coming, I was going, etcetera, etcetera."

Joseph stood in a pair of pressed black slacks and black t-shirt. His silvery hair was tied into a neat ponytail and a crooked smirk sat plastered across his face.

"You stopped coming to visit."

"Yeah well, things just got—"

"Complicated," he finished her sentence for her.

"Ah guess so. Yeah," her voice started to sound frustrated.

"I missed you and your magnolias," he said with a stony expression. Just then the door swung open.

"Who you talkin' to out here, Chere?" Remy opened the door shirtless and wearing a pair of black athletic shorts, holding a basketball. His messy hair fell into his eyes and he had a wide smile on his face.

"Remy, this is Joseph. Our new neighbor."

"Bonjour, mon ami. Would love to stay and chat but Ah gotta bet goin' and Ah gotta get to the basketball court."

"That's alright, Remy. I'm just glad to finally be introduced."

"Finally? You been livin' here long?" he gave her a puzzled look.

"You could say that," Joseph added in a smooth but pointed way.

"Ah gotta run. Nice ta meetcha, Joe," winking at Rogue and smiling, Remy turned and vaulted down the steps, taking them three at a time.

"You never told him."

"There ain't nothin' to tell."

"If it was nothing, you would have said something. Not saying anything means you feel you need to hide it."

"Ah have ta get in the shower," she huffed turning to enter her bedroom.

"I really did miss you, Rogue," he added. For the first time, Rogue noted a change in the intonation of his voice. The usual condescending buffer that lined his words was gone, and in its place pure sincerity seemed to linger.

She paused for a moment, her hand on the doorknob. "Come visit sometime. Ah always come in and out during the day."

"Gladly," a wide smile spread across his face and he took a few steps towards her.

Rogue leaned against the spine of the door as he approached and her heart began to pound. A few white strands of hair had come loose while she was running. Gingerly and expertly, Joseph reached out a nimble hand and tucked a few behind her ear, never actually touching her skin.

"You are a stunning woman, Rogue."

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Two letters already sat propped up on the edge of the table. Thick scrawls of black ink addressed each.

Brian Braddock

24 Thurloe St.

Kensington

LONDON, SW7 2LT

United Kingdom

James Braddock

211 Brompton Rd.

Notting Hill

LONDON, SW3 2EJ

United Kingdom

Tears flowed from Betsy's eyes as she completed a third letter. A few teardrops christened the page as she wrote.

Her expensive stationary was a perfect crème color and the flaps of the envelope were adorned with three curling gold letters: EAB. It had been ages since she had written a letter. It was much easier to simply communicate telepathically. This time that would be too hard. Her brothers were too far away, and she was too tired.

Her dark hair was left loose and glistened wrapped around her shoulders. She wore a simple white t-shirt and dark washed jeans. She was bare faced and her eyes seemed to have a red halo around them due to her crying.

When she first sat down she had no idea what to say to her brothers. It seemed as if they hadn't spoken in ages. She began with Jamie's letter. It was easier to write to him. Brian's letter was much more difficult. She didn't know if it was because he was Captain Britain or if it was the fact that he was still her twin brother, born only a minute before her.

Sealing the third letter she put away her stationary and fountain pen. Glancing at Warren's sleeping frame she rose from her seat at her desk, and lifted all three letters into her hands. Silently, she exited the room and slipped them into the international mailbox in the downstairs lobby. She checked her own mail cubby, and seeing nothing, returned slowly to her room.

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The glint of the yellow reading lamps weakly flickered in the room. Hank was reading from a thick blue file folder in his brown leather armchair. His gold bifocals sat gently on his nose and he sighed deeply after completing each page. The top few buttons of his dress shirt were undone and open, and his sleeves were rolled up.

Carly sat cross-legged in the center of his bed, compiling the files Hank had created and officially organizing them. Her dark hair was messy and wrapped up in a large clip. She wasn't wearing any make-up and only donned a pair of old jeans and a worn, grey, Metallica t-shirt.

"Oh, dear. Carly, I apologize. It's almost three in the morning. You should start heading home. I completely lost track of the time," he said apologetically as he closed the file folder and looked up. Running his fingers heavily over his forehead and sinuses, Hank released one last heaving sigh.

"It's no big deal, Hank. Look here, I've got this all worked out," she motioned for him and he walked over to the edge of the bed. "Red is all the Imaging. Radiology, CAT scans, MRI. Everything. Orange has the chemical workups you've been doing. Blood tests. Urine tests. All of it. Green has medical records. Everything about her down to which methods of birth control she used at seventeen. Blue is research. Everything we've been putting together. Yellow is recent prescription history and drug workups. And everyone's favorite…beige," she said rising to her knees, crawling over to him and wrapping her arms around his neck, "has the list of all our contacts at the hospital and the university and anyone who may have anything to do with anything. Ta da! You now have a system, Doctor," she was smiling as she kissed him.

"How did I do anything before I met you?" he asked, chuckling a little bit.

"I have no idea. All your folders were beige," she joked, beaming.

"I remember," he rested his forehead against hers. "It's late and I appreciate all that you've done, but I don't want to keep you any longer than I already have," he said before turning and lifting all the folders from the bed and placing them on the end table next to his chair. Robotically raising the red folder from the top of the stack, Hank began to settle in again.

"Well, actually," she said sitting back onto her feet, "I wasn't thinking about leaving."

Unsure of how to react, Hank slowly lifted his head, the light from the reading lamp hitting his glasses and removing his eyes from view.

"I mean, unless you don't want me to stay," she said, standing up from the bed and walking over to him.

"No. I mean, yes. I mean…" he stood up, placed the folder on the chair, and wrapped his arms around her waist, "Stay."

"You've been working almost twenty four hours, now. I know, for a fact, that you started at six yesterday morning. Even your brain needs to rest, Henry McCoy," her smile was tender as she slipped his bifocals from his face. "Take a break. Everything will be clearer once you stop looking at it for a little while." Gently, she placed one hand on his face and used the other to slip his glasses on the edge of the table.

"I know, I know. You're tired. I'm tired. I'll find something for you to sleep in," he said with a resigning grin.

"Who's planning on sleeping?" she murmured with a small smirk, wrapping her arms around his neck as he began to turn towards the armoire.

This time Hank's glasses didn't hide his reaction. His eyes widened as she spoke and she giggled a little bit before leaning in and softly nibbling on his bottom lip. It took him a moment to get over his initial shock. But it took only a moment.

Gently, he pulled her tightly to his body and kissed her deeply. Carly slipped her left hand behind her head and released her clip, letting her hair pour down her back in a dark waterfall. Slowly, she ran her fingers through his hair and down the back of his neck, trailing them over his collar and chest and adeptly undoing the buttons of his shirt.

Pulling away from her for just a moment, Hank looked into the depths of her sparkling blue eyes, "Are you sure you want to do this?"

A small smirk crossed her full lips as she gave him a quick nod. Leaning in to kiss him again, Carly placed her arms around his neck and lifted her legs, wrapping them around his torso.

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The tip of the cigarette burned a fading orange as the smoke traveled in curls up from Lorna's full lips. She used a sharpie marker to scribble periodically in a ratty, old, seventy-cent notebook.

She wore a black leather jacket over her pale blue t-shirt and clicked her blue snakeskin boot against the cement steps of the front yard where she had taken her perch. Her guitar rested next to her and wisps of her full, green hair continued to fall into her eyes as she hunched over the notebook.

Flicking her cigarette away and crushing it under the heel of her boot, which was not keeping time, she muttered a few soundless words to herself. "You got me lookin' up, even when I'm fallin' down," her hazy demeanor snapped away as she nodded and continued to scribble.

"You got me crawlin' out of my skin. You got me wonderin' why I am underneath this big old sky…Then what? Come on, Lorna, think girl!"

Turning she lifted her prized possession onto her lap and strummed a few times. After a few lazy chords, her heel began to pound the heartbeat of her song yet again. Rising in the quiet darkness like a swelling balloon, her rich alto voice came slowly.

"So you think it's funny

That you keep calling me all the time

Everyday,

Oh honey,"

She stopped stumped for a minute and stared crossly at the page in her beaten old book. Slowly she gazed up at the mansion windows. Jean and Scott turned off their light. Carly's car sat parked in the front drive. A small smirk crossed Lorna's lips. A few frantic scribbles and she began the song at its chorus.

"Now you say it's easy

That you've been falling for my charm

And getting lost in my smile

Never ceases to amaze me

When I'm chancing my arm

That I still do it with style

And now I hope you'll be with me tomorrow" she paused for a moment, and smiling wide while she continued to strum, she started to sing again.

"You got me lookin' up

Even when I'm fallin' down

You got me crawlin' out of my skin

You got me wonderin' why

I am underneath this big old sky

Stopping the loving gettin' in…"

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The pale blue light of an impending dawn crept through the sheer, ivory curtains. Hank watched the yellow glow of the sun as it slowly began to swell over the tops of the trees outside his window.

His breathing was slow, deep and peaceful. Surrounded by the colors of the sunrise and her sweet scent, he felt he could lie in this heaven forever.

Methodically and tenderly, he ran his hand over her bare skinned back. Her sleeping form had come to rest nestled in the crook of his arm, and her dark hair fanned over her torso and portions of his. Carly's chest pressed against the side of his trunk. Her breathing was soft and gentle. She had fallen asleep with her head over his heart, listening to the rhythm of its heavy beating.

Leaning a little bit, Hank kissed the top of her head, causing her to stir. He froze, scared that he would wake her, but she only huddled closer to him, never waking from her slumber.