All characters owned by Marvel Comics

Author's notes: Thanks for the reviews everybody! Glad you are liking it so far.

Ishanadahalf - as always, you are reading my mind. We won't spend a ton of time in the past, just enough to give a little background before the main story - a couple more chapters of history before the present day of this AU.

And Tx, sorry about the Irene tease.

Logan

"Don't make me beg, Logan."

He grunted and took a long drag off his cigar, the heavy lines of his face shadows in the cherry's flame.

"Beggin' never was your strong suit, darlin'."

She turned her back to him and sighed across the empty tavern. The aging wood of the booth creaked when he stood, and he placed his rough hands on her shoulders.

"Is this kid worth it, Raven?"

The pair regarded the downy jacket curled into the fetal position on the seat of another booth. The girl - Logan guessed she couldn't be more than nine or ten - was sleeping, a tumble of white and chestnut curls peeking out through the jacket's fur-lined hood. He felt Raven stiffen beneath his touch.

"Irene thought she was."

Turning her around to face him, he forced Raven's yellow eyes up to meet his own baby blues.

"Then why me? Why ain't you sticking with her like Irene said?"

Raven looked back at the girl. "He has to pay for what he did to Irene."

"Darlin', she wouldn't want you to throw your life away..."

Slim fingers on his lips stopped him. "Don't you understand? Irene was my life. Without her, there's nothing left."

Silence hung heavy between them until Raven freed herself from his grip and leaned over the child.

"I know you'll take good care of her for me." Raven smoothed the curls from the girl's forehead and she scowled in her sleep, the little button nose crinkled in annoyance.

Despite the tension in the room, Logan chuckled. Stubbing his cigar out in an overflowing ashtray, he leaned heavily against the wall nearest them.

"How can such a pipsqueak be so blasted important?"

"Irene wasn't sure. The timelines are all jumbled, knotted together. All she knew for certain was that Farouk would want the girl. Reason enough, I think, to keep her far, far away, don't you think?" Raven turned, but not before Logan caught the sheen of tears in her eyes. "And don't underestimate her. This pipsqueak will give you a run for your money. She's certainly earned her nickname."

"Rogue, huh?"

Raven shouldered a broken-in rucksack and cleared her throat. "Anna is her birth name. We couldn't find much on her family, but there was one other name that Irene connected, a Charles Xavier. I did as much research as I could, but there was no blood relation to Rogue, and the only Charles Xavier I could find with any association to mutants whatsoever was some student who earned his PhD in genetics at Edinburgh, but he disappeared after the war and hasn't been seen since. It's not much, but Irene thought there might be something there."

The air around Raven shimmered and her features melted, her blue-skinned body reforming into a bearded man with a flannel covered chest that stood a head higher than Logan. The new man nodded.

"Keep her safe, Logan. I know this is hard to believe, coming from me, but I've grown pretty fond of her these last few years."

A swirl of ice and wind was Raven's goodbye, and Logan crouched on the floor next to Rogue.

"You can quit fakin' now, punkin'. I know you been listenin'."

Sharp green eyes snapped open, and the scowl returned. The little girl known as Rogue sat up and crossed her arms atop her oversized jacket.

"So? Keepin' my ears open s'only way I ever find out what's goin' on!"

If her bottom lip stuck out any further, Logan thought, she'd trip on it.

That scowl deepened and her gaze shot to the thick oak door Raven had exited through moments before. "It's okay. I know she ain't comin' back. They never do."

"What do you mean?"

Sniffing, the girl raised her chin and tucked a wild, white curl back into her hood. "Momma, Daddy, Irene…Raven…" Those bright eyes, so much older than they should have been, bored into his. "Logan? Is that what she called you? Well, Mr. Logan, that's just how it works. Everybody leaves. Someday, you will, too."

Raven had been right. He was in a lot of trouble with this one. He ran a hand across his jaw. "I'm not gonna lie to you, Rogue. The world's a lousy place, gettin' lousier every day. Someday I may have to go. But if I do leave, it won't be because I want to, and come hell or high water, I'll find my way back again."

That bottom lip trembled. "Promise?"

"On my life." He held out a large hand with his little finger extended.

Rogue pulled off a fuzzy mitten and crooked her pinky with his, then collapsed against his chest, burrowing her head into the worn leather of his jacket. He patted her head.

"Everything's gonna be fine, Rogue."

Magnus

"Sit up straight, lass, or those curls of yours'll be covered in porridge."

Magnus looked up from his stack of papers in time to catch the scowl their newest student directed at his wife when Moira headed back into the kitchen. He raised his eyebrow in warning, and the teen's face reddened, the color a bizarre compliment to the neon green tendrils cascading down her head to swirl dangerously close to her breakfast. Lorna Dane averted her eyes and poked the offensive oats with her spoon, but Magnus noticed the girl did correct her posture.

He rose to follow Moira, but paused at Lorna's elbow. "When you're finished, please get dressed. We will continue your training today in the Southwest fields."

She nodded but didn't look up, though he waited a few heartbeats before stepping away. Magnus kept the sigh to himself as he pushed open the heavy door to the kitchen. It had been weeks since her arrival, but he had been unable to break the ice between them.

Abandoned by her mother at a young age, Lorna had been raised by nuns in a Catholic school outside of San Francisco. When the emergence of her mutant power could no longer remain hidden from the outside world, the girl had taken it upon herself to contact the Muir Island Institute for assistance. They had arranged for her travel to Scotland to join their growing student body, but nothing could have prepared Magnus for what happened upon her arrival.

Routine tests performed upon Lorna's admission had revealed that the girl was in fact his daughter. Lorna had no knowledge of her family history, only a faded photograph left by the woman who had abandoned her on the steps of the Convent of the Sacred Heart, but Magnus couldn't deny that he recognized Lorna's mother, a woman he remembered only as Suzanna.

It had been after the war and after Magda. The times were freer, everyone in love with life again, and Magnus had been finding his place in this new world, so full of possibilities. A boy, a girl, a chance meeting at a train station, a recipe for love at first sight. He had spent a few weeks backpacking Europe with Suzanna, and then she had gone back to the states. Magnus had fully expected to never see her again, and certainly never expected yet another estranged child to show up on his doorstep.

He had thought perhaps Moira was joking when she shared the girl's test results with him - after all, Lorna's emerging magnetic powers so closely mirrored his own that it seemed an obvious jest - but the look on Moira's face had been deadly serious. He could deal with his wife's anger, but not her disappointment. She had called him reckless, irresponsible, but how could he explain to her what his life had been like back then?

Behind the kitchen's heavy door, Wanda and Pietro were busy cooking, a hobby the twins shared, and Moira had settled herself at the weathered oak table near the hearth.

"Good morning, father." Wanda smiled brightly while Pietro hacked his way through a basket of vegetables, his hand a blur across the thick chopping block.

Magnus was reminded of their first few years with the twins, and how he had thought they would never become a family, but the love in Wanda's smiled filled his heart with hope.

"Good morning Wanda, Pietro."

Pietro gave a bored grunt in his direction, then resumed decimating the vegetables piled before him. Speed was the boy's mutant gift, he had already broken the sound barrier in test runs around the island, but they had been struggling to teach him control, among other things. Where Wanda was a ray of sunshine and light, Pietro could be as welcome as a hemorrhoid depending on the day. Still, after missing so much of their lives, Magnus wouldn't have it any other way.

"Our training session will be on the moors today. We will head out after breakfast."

"Oh." Wanda's face fell.

Magnus surveyed the cozy kitchen. He wasn't a chef himself, but it was obvious from the bubbling pots and pans and collection of dirty mixing bowls decorating the counters that the girl had something in the works. "Wanda, what are you up to?"

Wanda untied her apron and shook her head, curls of auburn catching the early morning light. At times she so favored her mother. It had hurt Magus so deeply when Magda left, and as a result he found it difficult to deny Wanda anything.

"No, I…it is fine. Really. Our training is very important."

Upon closer inspection, Magnus recognized the ingredients for Paprikash, a favorite dish from the twins' homeland.

"Paprikash?"

Wanda ducked her head and nodded. "I thought it might be nice to share it with…with Lorna. I thought that it might make her feel more at home."

Magnus caught Moira's eyes and the faint twitch of a smile on his wife's face.

"I think that's a lovely idea, lass," Moira said, and made to stand. "Ye can miss one training session, it surely won't hurt anything."

"Indeed." Magnus was touched by the thoughtfulness of his daughter. "It will give me time to concentrate on developing Lorna's gifts."

Stepping towards his bride, Magnus helped Moira haul herself to her feet.

"Oh, no," Moira grimaced when they dislodged her from the chair. "Ye're taking that one with ye, too."

She jabbed a finger at Pietro, who was zipping back and forth across the old stone floor of the kitchen, the wind from his superspeed swirling the tendrils of steam coming from Wanda's stock pot.

"What did I do?" The boy screeched to a halt before dumping a bowl of vegetable muck into Wanda's concoction.

"Do you want a list?" Moira laughed at the sour expression on Pietro's face before he zoomed from the room, then turned her smile to Magnus. "Any more o' yuir bairns I should know about?" she teased, and he rested his hand on the warm swell of her growing belly.

"Well, there is one more…"

A loud crash and Lorna's yelp from the dining room signaled more mischief from Pietro. Magnus sighed and bent down to brush his wife's lips with his own.

A baby on the way. The timing could have been better, but the sight of Moira in the flower of impending motherhood filled him with pride.

"And take Jean wit' ye as well," Moira said softly, covering his hand with hers. "She could use the fresh air."

Magnus frowned. "Jean? Where..?"

"Where do ye think?"

He kissed Moira properly one last time. Waving goodbye to Wanda with promises they would be back in time for dinner, Magnus set off to find Jean Grey.

The grounds of the Institute were a hodgepodge of mismatched buildings arranged on the rocky cliffs of Muir Island. The centerpiece was an old brick manor that had served as residence to the laird, Moira's ancestor, two hundred years before them. It was terribly drafty, but it was home, and stood in almost defiant contrast to the steel and cement buildings flanking it that they had constructed to house the Institute's research and training facilities.

It was their goal to fill the Institute with young mutants and instruct them in the use of their powers, but so far only a handful of students had made the journey to the island. Besides his own children and Jean, there was a young girl from a nearby village - Rahne Sinclair - and a young boy from Boston - Robert Drake. There were others whose paperwork was in motion, but parents had become suspicious, distrustful, nervous with everything going wrong in the world.

Lone wolf attacks by mutants swearing allegiance to Amahl Farouk were on the rise. A train station in Paris, a nightclub in New York City, a pedestrian mall in Germany…too many people had died, and it seemed that the world's governments were unable or unwilling to do anything to staunch the chaos. The headlines were littered with the names and faces of innocent humans caught in the crossfire. To send one's children to the other side of the world was too much to bear for some parents, but young mutants were being radicalized and drafted daily by those loyal to the King, most against their will.

Magnus was convinced these children would be safer on Muir Island, and safer if they were trained to fight the madness that seemed to have gripped the world, but so far convincing their parents had been nearly impossible. Many families had gone underground to keep their sons and daughters safe, but Muir Island was a veritable fortress, the lower levels built to withstand a nuclear blast or hold back the powers of an out of control mutant. In his opinion, there was nowhere safer on the planet than behind their walls.

The lower levels were where they kept the empty body of Charles Xavier, and where Jean Grey could be found most days. Magnus had tried, repeatedly and unsuccessfully, to convince Moira to remove Charles from life support, but Moira had found a stubborn ally in Jean. The girl spent most of her free time at the bedside of a man who would never again open his eyes.

'Do I have to go?'

Jean's voice rang clearly in his mind, but she didn't look up from where she sat curled like a cat in the chair next to Xavier's hospital bed. She was reading a book, The Once and Future King. Overhead, a notebook floated, and colorful pens twirled under their own power, doodling the outlines of hearts and birds.

"I'd rather you did, yes," he replied. Jean spent much of her time in the lower levels. Too much, he thought.

'I like it down here,' the voice snapped. 'He's a very good listener.'

"Jean," Magnus reprimanded, "We have discussed this. People's thoughts are their own."

She jumped up and snatched the notebook out of the air, then flopped back onto the chair.

"That's why I like it down here," she grumbled. "It's quiet."

He knew it was difficult for Jean. Truly, as none of them were telepaths, there had been little help they could offer her beyond conventional therapy. They had been afraid at first that John Grey was correct in assuming there was nothing more that could be done for his daughter, but somehow Jean had emerged from her shell. Fragile to be sure, but finding her way through the tangle of her powers. Still, there had been setbacks. The concept of privacy had been one the girl was slow to adopt, but Magnus had made some progress on telepathic blocking technology that when completed would be of great use to them.

Charles Xavier had aged since Magnus first cared for him in Israel. The nurse Moira hired as an assistant and caretaker had let Charles grow a blonde beard, and the hair had tiny strands of silver threaded through it.

"Where is Amelia today?" Magnus asked and absently checked Charles's vitals.

"It's Saturday," Jean said aloud. "She went to the mainland." She snapped her mouth shut, and the frown on her face became a blank stare.

Magnus stepped around the end of Xavier's bed to touch the girl on the shoulder. "Jean?"

The nurse Moira had brought to the island was named Amelia Voght, the woman another victim of the war that had destroyed so many lives. Amelia was talented and bright, but for some reason she and Jean seemed to not care for one another. Nothing specific had happened as far as Magnus knew, but whenever Amelia was around, Jean seemed to retreat back into her shell.

The girl blinked rapidly and looked up at him. "Maybe you're right," she said, swiftly changing the subject. "Fresh air would be lovely."

Once upon a time, Scotland may have produced some of the world's finest steel, but, later that afternoon, Magnus watched his teenaged daughter struggle to pull a handful of ferrous material from the soil beneath their feet.

"Concentrate, Lorna. Feel for the magnetic particles. Your power is an extension of your being, like fingers reaching out to grasp the universe…"

"I'm trying," Lorna growled.

Beads of sweat had gathered on her forehead and upper lip despite the frigid winds howling through the waist high grass. A sudden roar joined the swish of the wind-whipped blades, and Magnus turned his head in time to catch the blur that was his son, racing circles around the island, carving a path in his wake. Nearby, Jean was humming softly to herself and picking Heather, a cloud of the small pink flowers following her through the air like a swarm of angry bees.

"Here," Magnus grasped Lorna's wrist and the girl started at the contact, an electric current forming between them. "Let me show you."

With his own mutant power, he used Lorna as a conduit and channeled the immense energies at his command through her outstretched hands. Together, they were more powerful than he had ever dreamed, their abilities not only an extension of each other, but of the Earth itself. He could feel the solar winds that buffeted their planet, feel the gravitational tethers that held the moon in its sway.

Magnus gritted his teeth and dug from the pit of his stomach to reach further, past the bonds of their world to flow into the reaches of the solar system. On some level, he was aware of Lorna screaming, but he wrapped an arm around her waist to steady her, his senses intoxicated by the energies of the galaxy that were his to command if he wished…

'NO!'

Jean's telepathic scream slapped him hard across the face. Their connection broken, Magnus and Lorna fell backwards into the tall grass, his every nerve aching with the echoes of magnetic fire.

With an effort, Magnus raised himself onto his elbow and cast a bleary look around. Lorna had fainted next to him, a quick check revealed a steady pulse. Pietro was nowhere to be seen, but Jean was rushing towards him across the field, her mind projecting a jumble of images into his. He could see Wanda and Moira in the mansion's kitchen, Xavier forever asleep in his hospital bed, Pietro running along the cliffs, Bobby and Rahne checking the tide pools near the shore….Magnus shook his head in an attempt to clear the fog.

"Jean, whatever…?"

She was nearly to them and thrust another image like a knife blade into his skull. The nurse, Amelia Voght, materializing on the front steps of their home. Materializing? The woman was a mutant? Was this real? In his mind, Voght set her backpack on the front stoop and reached out to grasp the heavy door knocker. In reality, Jean reached his side and grasped his hand. Amelia was greeted by a surprised Wanda, and the nurse snatched the girl's hand and pressed the detonator she held hidden in her own sweaty palm…

The light of the explosion was followed quickly by its concussive tremor. Jean held her head between her hands and screamed. In the distance, an angry fireball swallowed the clouds.

Magnus shook Jean by the shoulders. "What is happening!?" he roared, but the girl was beyond words.

Wanda…the children…MOIRA! Magnus staggered to his feet and launched himself into the air, the hammering of his heart strobing his vision. He was to the Institute in a matter of moments, landing in the front yard, narrowly keeping himself from dropping to his knees.

Moira's ancestral home was a raging inferno. The explosion had obliterated the front half of the structure, the bricks and wreckage strewn in flaming piles at his feet. The blistering heat tore at his skin, but he pushed forward.

Wanda had opened the front door, but there was nothing left of the once grand and sturdy entrance but a burning shell. The billowing clouds of smoke singed his eyes and turned day to night, but with his powers Magnus tore through the rubble like a man possessed, frantic for any signs of life.

At the back of the ruined manor, he found Moira. The blast had thrown her body free from the fire, but the fall had broken her neck. With shaking hands, Magnus knelt and drew his wife and unborn child to his chest, willing the flames to claim him next. He howled like a tortured animal…his wife…his children…he clutched Moira as if he could force the very life back into her broken body.

"Father!"

He spun at the sound, but it was Lorna, not Wanda, who emerged from the smoke, leaning on Jean for support. Jean stumbled towards him and muffled silent sobs behind her hands.

Magnus seized Jean and shook her like a rag doll. "You saw?" he raged, tears running pale trails down the girl's cheeks through the soot darkening her skin. "You knew!?"

"I didn't know!" Jean wept. "I couldn't read her…couldn't see until it was happening! I'm so…sorry! Voght… her mind…it's like trying to hold smoke…!"

With one final shake, Magnus stood and turned away. He raked his hands through his hair and screamed to the heavens. Pietro, Bobby, and Rahne…had they been far enough away from the residence to escape harm? The newer buildings appeared to have sustained only cosmetic damage. The equipment housed within was surely intact, and Xavier...

Xavier. The anger stabbed into Magnus, a red hot poker through his chest. Charles Xavier, a man who would never again see the light of day, he would have survived. But Moira and their child...and Wanda…it was too much to bear.

His anger turned elsewhere. Voght. They had vetted Amelia so thoroughly, or so he had thought. How could she have done this to them?

"Father! Father, look!"

Lorna's shriek drew his attention. Magnus spun, his eyes following Lorna's frantic gesture to a swirling cloud of dust that coalesced into the bloody body of Amelia Voght. With an outstretched hand, Magnus caught the woman with his magnetic power before she fell, using the iron in her blood to lift her into the air.

"Why!?" Magnus roared.

The woman's heart rate was sluggish, blood flowing freely from her nose and mouth and a collection of mortal wounds. Amelia laughed, and Magnus squeezed the magnetic bonds tight enough to hear the crack of her bones.

"Who!?" he raged, but Voght's smile turned his stomach more than anything he had seen this terrible day.

"Answer's the same to both," she taunted with her last breath. "All hail…the Shadow King…"