Madeline is flying. Or that's how it feels. She's running like it's what she was born to do, whipping through the air like a flag, bare feet barely brushing the wet ground. Her breath is deep and even, even at this speed, and so she pushes herself harder, realises that she's lapped the grounds in less than a third of the time it usually takes. She thinks about stopping, but this just feels so good – the smell of juicy grass crushed underfoot, the snap of coming autumn in the evening air, the blood thundering through her body, making her feel strong and whole. She leans into the run, pushes forward.

Raven was walking back toward the house, trying to shake the sense of unreality that always clung to her after she had spent time with Azazel. She had asked him to drop her at the gate, which he had accepted without comment – although they hadn't discussed it, it was understood between them that she wasn't ready for their liaison to become common knowledge. Raven was grateful for his wordless acceptance – she didn't want to have to explain why, not to Azazel, and not to herself. Not yet.

This time, he had taken her to Yellowstone Park. He tended to prefer wild, isolated places, for obvious reasons, Raven supposed. She had come to prefer it too. They had at first gone to visit cities Raven had read about in magazines – Paris, Barcelona, Marrakech – and walked the streets with Raven in human disguise, Azazel bundled up in baggy coat and gloves with a scarf pulled up to his eyes, quietly cursing the late summer heat. Raven's excitement was tainted – with anger that she had to hide herself, and guilt that the same luxury wasn't available to her lover.

Her lover. It still gave her a jolt to think of him that way. The term 'boyfriend' seemed utterly absurd; but he was definitely something to her now, and 'lover' seemed the most appropriate word. She tried to imagine explaining it to Charles; couldn't. Well, in all likelihood the need wouldn't arise; Charles had his own concerns at present, and Azazel wasn't exactly the sort of man to ask for anyone's permission for… whatever it was that they were doing.

Of course, in the main they were doing wasn't something she'd discuss with her brother, not if you put a gun to her head. Raven gave a secret shiver, felt a sly smile spread across her face. That side of things was straightforward, at least, for both of them.

Raven had been around the block before – her hunger for validation had led to a string of short affairs with an array of drooling high-school jocks (Charles had joked he could hear the grinding of gears in their heads as they struggled to form full sentences), and older men unable to believe their luck. Her sexual experiences had consequently run the gamut between satisfactory and dire, but her inability to just let go, lest she slip up and lose control of her disguise, had been a constant sticking point, as had her refusal to stay the night – she couldn't risk her various paramours catching her asleep, reverted to her natural form.

Everything was so different with Azazel.

The simple fact the he knew what she was, and the fact that for him her blue skin, her scales, were actually desirable in and of themselves, meant more to her than words could say. She could focus on her pleasure, rather than her appearance, and the more selfishly she pursued it the better Azazel liked it. Moreover, without the inhibition of her default human incarnation, Raven found her mutation offered certain… benefits with regard to flexibility and creativity which had at first surprised and then delighted him.

They didn't talk too much; Raven joked in her head that they had better things to do. But really, she knew that she avoided more than superficial conversation with Azazel because she was becoming more and more worried about what he might say – and what she might feel if he did.

Although he was great in bed (or wherever), she sensed that this was more passionate virtuosity on his part than the skill born of experience. He couldn't have had many, if any, lovers before her, not looking like he did. Certainly not ones who he could also walk and joke with; certainly not ones who would fall asleep wrapped in his arms.

Raven remembered the first time she had dozed off after their love-making – it was in a hotel room in Marrakech, to the sound of the muezzin. She had woken up slowly, not quite remembering where she was. Azazel had been gazing down at her, one leg thrown over her hip, the tip of his tail wrapped gently around her wrist, a look of tender triumph on his face. That was the moment she had realised he was in this far deeper than she was, or than she wanted to be. She had tried to push the knowledge away, unwilling to give up the way Azazel could make her forget – about Charles, about Madeline, about Hank, about being a mutant, about everything, really – and equally reluctant to admit to herself she was using him, taking advantage of his feelings for her. But in her heart of hearts, she knew that soon they'd have to have The Talk. She sighed, wondering why she couldn't havejust one good, simple thing in her life.

Suddenly, Raven tensed. She had heard something coming up ahead, much too fast to be human. She crouched down as the undergrowth began to rustle, sprang as the thing burst out into the path-

And was flung back so hard she slammed into a nearby tree hard enough to make her see stars. She sank to the ground, hand going to the back of her head, eyes flicking up to assess her assailant.

It was Madeline. She was standing over Raven in familiar grey joggers and bare feet, her face aghast, her muddy eyes gone round with shock.

"Raven? I'm so sorry, I didn't know that it was you! I just- reacted!" She wrung her hands, then darted forward, making Raven flinch with her speed.

"You're bleeding! Are you alright?"

Raven reached up and touched her torn mouth, spat blood.

"I'm fine – just bit my lip, that's all. What the hell happened to you?"

Maddy sighed with relief; then her face crumpled.

"Oh Raven, it's been so awful."

Maddy began to cry. Her tears were pink, Raven noticed, as she got to her feet and took her friend into her arms. She had gone away to get away from her worries, but in her absence, it looked like they'd multiplied.

AN: Next chapter will be a biggy, so here's a little wee one to keep you going. Would also like to say on this one that if you haven't read it, you should trundle over to PragmaticHominid's profile and read his/her amazing story Devil - I read it ages ago, and although it goes a different way with plotting, I have taken on board its representation of Azazel and Mystique's relationship hugely, so I just wanted that out there in case I'm unconsciously pinching anything -it's unintentional and rooted in fervent admiration! Thanks so much to those who are reviewing - makes all the difference in the world, truly :)