Chapter 2

Raven woke. She opened her eyes and blinked a couple of times. Her head was swimming again. She looked around. She lay splayed across the queen-sized bed, with the covers thrown haphazardly around her. Raven frowned. She'd fallen on the bed when it was made. She had woken up with the covers strewn around her. She couldn't have peeled back the covers and moved to lay under them even under the influence of her dream. Someone must have put me here, she thought. Her mind returned to the events that had gotten her in this position, and she swore she could almost feel the headache returning again. But thinking of her failed attempt to shift only added remorse to the ever-growing list of feelings Raven was feeling right now. So that's it, she thought, I truly am human. And that thought was enough to almost reduce her to tears again. But where would she go now? I'm not a mutant anymore, she told herself, repeating the sentence over and over again, both out loud and in her head. But even if she had been, would she have still been accepted into society, once this dumb war was over? She doubted it. She had committed so many crimes. It wasn't like she hated the things Erik had made her do, because she didn't regret them. No, they had made her stronger, and the person she was today. In a way, she ought to be thankful to Erik and everything he had made her do. That girl from before Cuba was long gone.

Raven sat up and looked around the room. She had been so disoriented that she hadn't taken the time to scope out her room properly. The small, square room looked surprisingly cozy to her. The walls were painted in a warm, darker red. The floors were of a warm, cedar wood, matching perfectly with the colour on the walls. In the idle stood a queen-sized four poster bed made out of the same type of wood sporting a light beige duvet with white sheets, under which she now lay. A door to the left of the bed led into a small bathroom. It was nothing flashy; just tiled walls, and a tiled floor with a toilet, a sink and a shower cubicle.

Raven rose and made her over to the sink. She turned the knob and cold water flowed out of the faucet. She gathered some in her hands and splashed it onto her face. It succeeded in waking her up completely. She closed the tap and leaned forward, so her elbows rested on the sides of the stone sink. She dropped her head in her hands and let out a long sigh. She began to feel sick to her stomach as another feeling rose to the surface. Despair wasn't something she experienced regularly during her days with the brotherhood. This 'cure' had made of her a wreck, both mentally and physically.

But she had to pull herself together. Otherwise she would never make it. She needed the basics; food, transport and clothes. She pulled the dead officer's clothes towards her. The shirt, pants and boots fitted okay, but she figured it would be nice to have some clothes of her own. She showered and dressed, before leaving the room and handing the key to the management down in the lobby. She left the hotel and stepped outside. She breathed in the husky fresh morning air, as her eyes scanned the street for a department store or something along those lines. It felt nice to have something to do for a change. It would take her mind off of the startling reality she wasn't a mutant anymore. She noticed how the people passing her didn't give her weird stares or ran away screaming. But of course, she wasn't blue. She started a brisk walk down the street, as skyscrapers towered over her and cars thundered next to her. Finally, she saw a clothes store open up next to her. She darted inside, buying some simple pairs of jeans, a bunch of shirts, and a duffel bag to put them in.

When in mutant form, she'd always kept her wallet, a small, square thing, concealed under a flap of skin. That way, when she shifted, she would always have it on her. When she was 'cured', the skin receded and dropped the wallet on the ground, squarely under her. She carried it on her now, and vowed to never lose it. The wallet was her doorway to the outside world, whether human, mutant or otherwise. She paid for the clothes and left the store, now looking for a breakfast place of some sort. The closest was a Starbucks, across the road.

She waited for traffic to clear before crossing the road. Her stomach growled as she entered, smells of cooked muffins and roasted coffee beans hitting her nose. She smiled to herself as she sat down in a booth. She and Angel always made the best breakfasts out of all of the brotherhood members. Before she became a decent cook, her first attempts at cooking always ended in disaster, with the kitchen filled with acrid smoke and burnt food. She had always remarked on how it didn't matter about who she shifted into, because her cooking would always remain rubbish. That always had her fellow mutants laughing. Raven clung onto that memory, reminding her of better days.

"Coffee?" she heard a soft, slightly nasal voice say. She looked up and saw a young girl; a waitress holding a notepad. Raven smiled and it felt strange. Forced. "Sure," she said, flipping through a small menu that had been lying on her table. "I'll have a flat white and a full English breakfast, please." She said, handing the menu back to the girl after she finished scribbling Raven's order down. "Thanks," Raven muttered, as the girl walked away, leaving her to her own thoughts again. Breakfast came and went, and when Raven stepped out of Starbucks, she was full and $20 lighter, and all before the hour was through.

Next, she needed transport. When she had been waiting for her food to arrive, and later whilst eating, she had decided that the only real option was Charles. More specifically; his mansion. His school and her former home. Where else could she go? She had no friends; all of them were with the brotherhood, and the brotherhood had disowned her. Her parents were completely out of the picture. They had tried to kill her when she was younger, so she didn't even consider going to them. They were probably dead, too. And even if alive, they would have never wanted her anyway. Her last resort was Charles, and to her shocking realisation she knew it had really been Charles all along. He was, and would always be, her last stand.

Westchester, New York County. That's where she needed to go. She would need to find a dealership, or a place that sold second-hand cars to get there, though. Fortunately for her, there was a Jeep dealership just up the road. Raven entered, and was immediately swarmed by a man that reeked of hair-gel and aftershave. "How can I help you?" he asked, after giving her a lengthy tour of the premises. "Got anything second hand?" she asked. Jeeps were good, Erik had told her, they were sturdy, fast, and covert enough to make them really good long-distance cars. They worked well in any climate, and though big petrol drinkers, were very comfortable. It would be just the car Raven needed.

The salesman, Joseph, she had read on his name tag, took her out back to a parking lot in between buildings. A couple of jeeps were parked there. They didn't look too bad and everything seemed to be in working order. "This one," Raven said, patting the hood of the car she'd just looked at. "Would you want to test-drive it?" Joseph asked. Raven shook her head. "No thanks. How much?" she asked. "$15 000, has seven and a half thousand miles on it, tires are new and it's never been in an accident." Joseph rattled off like a recording. Raven took out her credit card and followed Joseph back into the main building. Half an hour later, she sat in the leather seats, soaking in the feeling of her new car. She loved it. She actually felt in control, for a change, instead of feeling like the cure was controlling her. She waved goodbye to Joseph and his team and turned out onto the road. She followed it all the way out of town.

The road was lengthy, and as minutes began to blend into hours more and more paper cups began to litter the passenger seat beside Raven. She stopped multiple times; once to get a bag with snacks to have while driving, and more that were just toilet breaks. The road seemed endless from Raven's perspective, but driving with the radio turned up and her own thoughts whizzing around her head made the time pass faster. Before she knew it, it read 11:45 PM on the digital clock on the dashboard. She yawned and rubbed her eyes. Seeing the sign for a rest spot up ahead, she drove to it and parked into one of the empty parking bays. She took the key out of the ignition and reclined the seat so she lay down horizontally. She curled up on her side and let out an exhausted breath. She was beyond exhausted; the events from the previous day catching up to her. Her eyes closed fully, and before she knew it; she was asleep.

~O~O~

A large oak tree overlooks a small brook, bubbling as it streams down the hills below the tree. A few metres behind the oak, more trees stand. A blue being, of blue skin and golden eyes sits perched in between the branches, gripping the hilt of a long medieval style knife in her right hand. Her golden eyes peer through the leaves and focus in the ground below. The being does not make a sound.

Mystique's breath leaves her mouth in small puffs. The air is slightly frosty but her skin keeps her warm. Her mind whirrs busily under the surface of her skull. She makes mental calculations of the velocity and volume of the air, doing everything to keep her mind busy as she waits.

With the sound of imploding air behind her she whirls around and strikes out with a fist. It meets with empty air as her target evades her blow. Another puff of imploding air behind her causes her to whirl around yet again and strike out with her knife arm. Again her target evades and she growls in frustration.

Taking a wild leap of faith she vaults from the branch she was perched on and jumps to the ground. She lands with a light thud and immediately rolls to the right, where seconds later, another blade alike to hers slams into the ground. Mystique rears up and jumps to her feet, and her blade meets with her adversary's and a loud clang resonates through the space.

Her adversary disappears with another puff of crimson smoke, and the smell of sulphur. He appears behind her, and manages to pin her arms behind her back. Mystique twists herself out of her adversary's lock and uses his arms to propel herself over his head and land behind him. She holds her knife to his throat but he twists away and lands a vicious kick in her stomach.

Mystique recoils and doubles over, staggering backwards. Her adversary disappears from in front of her and appears again behind her. He grabs onto the back of her arms, at her elbows and spins her around to face him. Mystique's breath catches in her throat. She gives a smirk before moving fluidly to exchange blows with her training partner.

The dusts beneath their feet swirls about their ankles as they exchange blows; execute fluid moves and twirl around each other as though through a well-practised dance. Finally the dust rises above their heads and they are no longer distinguishable. The fighting continues. When the dust settles they appear again. The larger male lies on the ground whilst Mystique sits on his chest; blade poised at his throat.

She gives a triumphant laugh before rolling off of him. The male stands and brushes the dust off of his bare chest. The corded muscle of his upper body rolls and moves beneath the skin. His entire body has the colour of vivid crimson, almost bright red. His hair has the colour of ebony, and his eyes have the colour of ice. Mystique stands alongside him and hands him the blade he lost somewhere in their exchange. He accepts it and sheathes it.

The tiniest of smiles flickers across the male's face. He steps closer to Mystique. He back of his hand caresses the skin and scales of her cheek, where he inspects a wound he had created in the scuffle. His long, nimble fingers move across the skin, and she shivers. Against her will, her hands move to rest on a long wound on his chest; one she created. His crimson blood stains the red skin even more so. Another ghost of a smile appears. It is then that he leans down and captures her lips with his own.

Mystique's own fingers move up and grasp onto Azazel's shoulders. Azazel's hands cup her cheeks, covering the blue skin completely with vivid red. The colours of their skins clash as they lose themselves into the moment. All the while, warmth spreads through Mystique's body. Slowly, unwillingly, she allows the dream to disperse.

As promised, chapter two! Ahh, the couple feels are killing me! I'm really quite disappointed the directors didn't cast Azazel for Days of Future Past. Meh. They'll realise they missed out big time later. I hope you're all enjoying the story so far, I've really enjoyed myself writing it ;)

Now for review answers!

Angeleye; Thanks for reviewing! Unfortunately, I can't change the pairing because I wrote this story fully before I published it and intended for the pairing to be Azazel/Mystique. But don't let that scare you away! Sometimes it's good to try new things, yeah? ;)

Anonymous; Thank you so much! I'm really glad you like the story so far. I daresay it's going to get even better in the next few chapters, so hold on tight :) And I've gotta agree; this fandom needs way more Mystique/Azazel fics!

Don't forget to review, dearies, and I'll see you all again in the five days for chapter three!

~SunsetWanderer