Title: None of the Above

by: Satine16

Disclaimer: None of the characters in this story belong to me. They are all property of MARVEL. I don't do this for money please don't sue me!

Chapter 8: To Break a Promise…

She felt the rush of blood to her face as he pressed his lips against hers again. It was as if she was suspended in time, in his firm embrace, in his tender touch. He consumed her.

She inhaled sharply as his long fingers worked the knot loose in her robe. This was the fifth time they'd given in and done this, and every time it only got better. For the first time in her life she could feel truly amazing. Pulling away she held his eyes with her own as the gentle fabric hit the floor. He had beautiful eyes, even if they could be somewhat frightening.

Lifting her hand gently, she brushed his hair off his face and out of his eyes. He smiled down at her and she shuddered at the feel of his large hand as he ran it up her bare thigh. Suddenly, she inhaled sharply, feeling his hand slip between her legs.

Smirking slightly, he leaned in towards her and she wrapped her arms around his neck, "I knew…if you'd only give in…"

"Shut up an' kiss me again," Rogue whispered as she grabbed his lips with her own again.

His talented hands lifted her as he pressed her down onto the bed, expertly hovering his weight over her.

Slowly, she undressed him, methodically undoing his buttons and disposing of his layers as he fluttered kisses over her body. The feel of his naked flesh against her own felt as sweet and as right as a reluctant summer breeze against sweaty skin.

As he trailed kisses over her chest and neck, she exhaled, carrying his name on her lips.

"Joseph."

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"I can't believe you."

"Wait!"

"NO! We're done here."

Bobby and Jubilee stood outside Jean's morning history class, officially ending their relationship. Jubilee was crying behind her beautiful, pink sunglasses and as much as she tried to hide her sorrow, stood completely transparent.

"I was jealous, Bobby. I'm sorry."

"You're only sorry because I found out. That's how you work. I know that now."

"Why are you being so mean?" she sobbed a little bit.

"Let's see. You lied and told my best friend that I was banging the love of his life…could THAT be it?" he snapped at her.

"I'm so sorry."

Bobby stood fuming in his old blue jeans and black sweater, while Jubilee perched opposite him resembling a sagging, wilting flower in its last stages of life. Not even the bright, cheerful colors of her attire could alter her presence.

"I'm done. Goodbye, Jubes."

"Bobby, wait! Please!" she called after him as he began to walk down the hallway.

He stopped dead in his tracks as he heard her cry out behind him. Not even turning around to face her, he responded, his voice hard as steel and his breath frosted and cloudy.

"No. It's over. I was never that into you. You were never that into me, only into having a boyfriend. Some other guy can do that. From now on don't email me or call me. Don't say hi to me. Don't even look at me. I want nothing to do with you."

With that he continued on his way down the hall.

"I'm happy to see you finally found your balls, asshole!"

Jubilee just stood, dumbstruck outside the classroom door until she was shocked to life by Jean's voice, beckoning her as roll had started.

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"Hello, Ms. Pryde."

"Hello."

"My name is Doctor Rebecca Turner."

"I know."

"Good. Did you have any questions for me?"

"Not really."

"You feel fully prepared?"

"I think so."

"And you're sure of what you want?"

"I don't see any other option."

"I see. There are other options, Katherine. Terminating the pregnancy is not the only way."

"I'm sorry. No."

"There's no way for you to raise the baby yourself."

"No."

"And adoption?"

"Not a possibility."

"This is, one hundred percent, what you want?"

"This is what I need."

"I see. I understand that this must be very difficult for you."

"It is."

"When would you like to come back for the procedure?"

"What do you have open?"

"This Wednesday at 2 pm and a week from Friday at 8 am."

"I see."

"Which time would you prefer?"

"Friday at 8."

"Alright. I'll pencil you in for Friday at 8."

"Okay."

"I need to do an exam before I can let you go today."

"Okay."

"First, I'll need to take your blood pressure."

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"They told me that I would find you out here."

Ororo had the windows to her greenhouse open and floated on the breeze, meditating. Her silver hair was done in two long braids on the sides of her head and she wore a blue t-shirt and a pair of jeans, which she saved solely for gardening.

"Hello, Forge," she smiled and came down from her delicate perch. Many stories had preceded his arrival, and for the first time Ororo saw how true they all must be. She never understood how this man had become a resected diplomat among men like her professor: in their sport coats and suits. His jeans were tattered and torn and the shirt on his back, though gray, was stained with soil, sweat and grass. His hair was still slicked back in a perfect black ponytail, with its perfect gray streaks, however.

Planting her feet firmly on the ground Ororo smiled at her visitor.

"This is lovely," he spoke as he took in the greenery.

"Thank you. I come here to find my sanity. It's peaceful."

"You've been here a lot, lately…or so I've heard," he spoke with a smirk.

"What?" she asked smiling back.

"I just think you could be having more fun."

"Really?" she smiled wide.

"Go out with me."

"Forge…" she suddenly stopped smiling.

She cast her eyes downward, and for the first time, through his tattered garments, truly saw his artificial limbs. Charles told her about them when she asked, but she hadn't seen them underneath his blazers and less aged denim. For a moment it was hard to pull her eyes away from the chrome shine of his flesh.

"You have a gift with nature. I have a gift with machines. It's the only reason I'm still a whole man," he said noticing the line of her eyes.

"I admire that. Putting pieces together for yourself."

"So it isn't the reason you're declining? I would understand. You're a young woman and I'm a little weathered."

"No. It's not…how did you?" she asked extending her fingers to touch his cold metal forearm.

"I have more tricks up my sleeve than you might think," he smiled. "Do you already have a boyfriend? Is that it?"

"It's complicated."

"What is so complicated that it drives a beautiful woman to solely keeping company with her orchids every afternoon?"

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The knock at the door danced along the wood. Betsy began to lift herself slowly off the bedspread when Warren came rushing out from behind her to get to the door.

"Lay down. You need to rest," he said seriously.

"Warren, I can handle answering the door."

Shooting her a daggered but worried glance he turned and opened the door.

"Hello."

The man on the other side of the door was a little bit shorter and softer around the edges than Warren. He had amber brown eyes and brown hair and was wearing a blue t-shirt under a black leather jacket and a simple pair of jeans. In his left hand he carried a black leather suitcase.

"Can I help you?" Warren asked looking down the few inches to meet the stranger's eyes.

"Yes, I'm looking for Elizabeth Braddock."

"Jamie?" Betsy called out weakly from behind Warren.

"Bets?"

"Warren let him in!" she hollered.

Opening the door wide to reveal the visitor to Betsy, Warren stepped aside and let him charge into the room. In three steps their guest had crossed the room and taken her frail body into a bear hug.

"I missed you," she whispered, closing her eyes to the forming tears.

"Who are you?" Warren asked from behind them.

Turning to face Warren with a mockingly serious disposition, Jamie spoke, "I'm her little brother. Who the hell are you?"

"I'm her boyfriend."

Turning to look Betsy in the eye, Jamie whispered, "So, this is Warren…"

"It is," she smiled.

Jamie turned back to look at Warren and take him in entirely. He was wearing a pair of dark washed jeans and an ice blue polo shirt which made his eyes pop. His golden hair had grown a little longer in the past months, and his skin had gotten a little less tan. His large white wings filled the space behind him nicely.

"He's pretty," Jamie whispered in his sister's ear.

"I know," she laughed back.

"Take a load off Warren. You've been downright over worked. Take a break. Get a latte. I'll watch over her for awhile."

"But…"

"I insist!" Warren noted the whimsical musicality in his voice and for the first time, put together a family resemblance. Heaving a heavy sigh, he made eye contact with Betsy. In the center of her violet orbs danced this little guilty light, urging him to have a little fun.

"Fine. But if you need me…"

"I'll text you," she smiled and padded over to him. Tenderly, he leaned down and kissed her on the forehead. Closing her eyes and feeling the tender skin of his lips against her face she inhaled deeply. His voice didn't dance like it used to and his eyes didn't shine anymore. It was all her fault.

With a nod to Jamie, Warren left the room.

"How are Lily and the kids?"

"Wonderful. Lizzie is five. Johnny's three," he removed two small photos from a weathered, black, wallet. For a moment he watched Betsy's face as she looked down on her niece and nephew smiling, her eyes becoming glassy.

"How are you holding up?"

"I've been better."

"You look like hell."

"I know."

Jamie rested on the foot of the bed and Betsy sat facing him, propped up on some fluffy pillows, her legs crossed Indian style.

"How long are you here, Jamie?"

"How long do you want me?"

The two exchanged a knowing look under heavy lids.

"How long do you have, Bets?"

"I don't know."

"Does Warren know?"

"He thinks that there's hope."

"Is there?"

"Not really."

Inhaling deeply and rolling his shoulders forward, Jamie spoke again. This time his voice came out gravely and rough. "Your letter…"

"We don't need to talk about it."

"Really?"

"I'd prefer it. Did Brian say anything?"

"I didn't really talk to him before I left. You know Brian, state business and all."

"That's not why he isn't with you."

"Betsy, he'll be here."

"The things we said to each other before I left for China…"

"He'll be here. He's your self proclaimed older brother."

"Only by a minute! It doesn't count."

"He'll be here," Jamie leaned forward and took her fragile hand within his own large, dry one. "The thing about siblings is that you can say the most hellish things to one another, and in the morning the slate is clean. You're still blood. Family is really nifty like that."

"Jamie, thanks for coming."

"Wouldn't want to be anywhere else," his smile was warm like her father's. He was the spitting image of their father. Brian and Betsy were distinctly beautiful like their mother, but Jamie was kind. His eyes danced and his voiced laughed and his kids adored him.

Up until that moment, Betsy hadn't realized how much she had really missed her baby brother.

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"Lorna!"

"Hey, Bob!" Lorna smiled to see her friend head towards her but her cheerful smile soon turned to a look of concern to see he was actually charging forward.

The hallway outside Lorna's room was empty and, when Bobby finally approached they stood unreasonably close for such a wide space.

Lifting his hand gently, he brushed the wisps of hair off her face. His piercingly crystal blue eyes danced back and forth with her playful green gaze in a way she had never seen. This time they were clearer, colder and much more intense.

She smiled, raising one eyebrow, and asked with a short breath, "What's going on, Bobby?" The back of her slender hand grazed his cheek in an attempt to comfort him.

"I'm finding my balls."

"Oh?" she asked knowing she would have to try not to laugh. He didn't give her the chance.

Leaning into her, he pressed his lips firmly against hers. He had wanted to do this for so long…what had been stopping him? A ridiculous set of unenforceable obligations?

Pushing his body against her tightly, he felt her shiver a little at his touch as he entwined his fingers in her hair. Her beautiful green hair was left down around her shoulders in thick tendrils. The warmth of her body against his lips sent heat and an electric shock through to the tips of his fingers and toes, and he never wanted to let her go.

A few moments passed before he finally pulled away, catching his breath. Desperately, he searched for her eyes, for a response.

Slowly, she exhaled, the breath leaving her mouth white and frosty. Looking into his frantic eyes, she smiled.

"That was a rush. Let's do it again."

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The parlor room of the mansion was lit with the orange glow of the fire and the jovial air of laughter hung in the air. The dark wood carried a golden glow as did the crystal glasses full of brandy. Forge sat with perfect posture, in a navy suit coat and khaki's, in the large leather armchair next to the fire. Next to him, cuddling in the chaise lounge sat Sean and Moira. He was resting against the back of the chair with his legs out straight in front of him and she had wedged herself between his legs, resting her head on his chest.

They had pulled up the large sofa across from the chaise and Hank sat on the one end, with Carly nestled against his side. Next to her sat Emma, leaning on the arm of the couch so as to put as much distance between the sickeningly happy couple and her own body. To complete the circle, Charles seated his chair in the gap between the sofa and the chaise unconsciously making himself head of the group and the end cap of the seats.

"I think my favorite memory, which I can share now that we're divorced and have moved on Charles, was when you two fools tried to hide that you knew he was about to propose." Moira laughed and pointed to Hank and Forge who quickly shot one another knowing looks.

"Honestly, Charles, why did you tell them? I all but had the information down to the minute."

"You two told her?" Charles said, looking scandalized.

"No, Charles, we didn't," Hank said shaking his head.

"That was the problem," Forge cut in, "We were hiding it. She was eighteen and asking us questions and we were not good liars. We didn't know politics or women back then like we do now."

Moira giggled into her brandy glass, "I was excited. I harassed them. Let it be."

"It was years ago, Moira. I have new things to be angry with them for."

"Like what exactly?" Hank protested, almost hurt.

"Like Forge hitting on Ororo every chance he gets."

"She's not jailbait."

"She's in her twenties."

Passing down the hall, Ororo heard her name and looked in on the giggling group of people. Against the firelight, Forge seemed to have a certain air about him. His voice was rich and low, and he spoke slowly and distinctly. The lines in his coppery skin suited him well and in that moment Ororo couldn't help but see in him a certain charm she'd never witnessed in person before. The kind of charm men like Cary Grant and Clark Gable had in the movies. Something with a certain warmth and class that men seemed to lose when women were liberated.

She slipped away from the dark doorway and began to head up the stairs. Listening to the soft sounds of her feet against the carpeting, she wondered if Logan would decide he wanted her again tonight.

As she opened the door to his room she heard the maple syrup and molasses voice and laughter ring out again.

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It was late and Jean closed the door behind her quietly. Her small high heels clicked across the wooden floor as she walked over to the night table and flipped on the light. In the gentle yellow glow of the lamp, she could see what had been lost to her eyes before: there were buckets of red roses throughout the entire room, and Scott leaning against the wall, in his navy blue pajama pants and gray t-shirt, holding a bottle of champagne.

"Hey there," Scott smiled.

"What is all this? I thought you'd be asleep."

"You know I can't sleep without you. And it's just for fun. I thought it was time to do something for no reason at all."

Walking over to her, he leaned down and kissed her softly, "Your champagne." He offered her the glass and she smiled a small grin and brought the flute to her lips.

Placing the wineglass on the night table, she rested against the edge of the bed and pulled her black, sling backed high heels off, tossing them to the ground.

Looking at the picture next to the art deco lamp, she smiled. They had taken it two years ago in October.

It was abnormally chilly outside that day, and they were both a little rosy cheeked. She had just knocked him into a pile of leaves, and in the picture he had finally caught up to her. He still had yellow and orange leaves in his hair and sweater. Her mouth was open and laughing as he wrapped his arms around her waist, catching her in his grasp and chuckling through a wide smile.

"You didn't have to do all this, you know," she spoke to him over her shoulder as she rolled down her knee high stockings, the black seam up the back leaving a small line in her flesh.

"I want to spoil the future Mrs. Summers. Is that okay with you?" he flopped onto his side of the bed and scooted towards her, placing a few small kisses on the base of her neck as he helped to unzip her dress.

Feeling the flesh of her back exposed, Jean stood from her seat at the edge of the bed. Stepping out of her black sheath dress, she turned to face him.

"I was thinking Grey-Summers. Hyphenated," she looked down at his long, form and its silly posture and watched in her lilac lace bra and panties as the grin faded from his face.

"Since when were you thinking this?" he asked looking a little crestfallen and confused.

"Just recently. I don't think I can give up the Grey. It would mean the world in my profession to change my name. It's not as if I'm not taking your name at all. And I just think Dr. Jean Grey-Summers sounds elegant. Oh, Scott, please don't give me that look."

"What look?"

"That look you're giving me right now. Like I just admitted to being repulsed by puppies."

"I just thought you'd like being Mrs. Summers," he said with a shrug as he rolled onto his back in the middle of the king sized bed.

"I am dying to be Mrs. Summers!" she cried as she hopped onto the bed and straddled him. "Come on, Scott. It's a professional thing and you know it," she sat looking down at him, letting her hair fall and tickle his face. Slowly, she leaned in and gave him one long kiss, feeling his fingers graze over her bare skin. Pulling away from the kiss she angled herself differently again, hovering over him.

"As long as you're still marrying me, I don't care what you call yourself," he smiled and tucked her hair behind her ear.

She smiled back, "So what else did you have planned tonight, Mr. Summers?"

"Nothing special. It's late. And I know you have to be up early. We can just go to bed if you want."

Jean gave him a puzzled look as she flipped off the light with a blink.

"I just want to hold you," he whispered as they shifted on the bed, and he spooned her. "I can't fall asleep without the smell of your hair."