First Night
Chapter 5
by
Misty



Distribution: Stoic Simplicity, http://www.wolverineandrogue.com/mistiec, list archives. Everyone else, please ask.

Spoilers: X-Men: the movie, Angel: The Series, second season finale.

Notes: Remember the whole "not too distant" future thing? Let's disregard that for now. We'll just say that the not too distant future is now, at least a year from now, in Angel's time.

Other notes: This is a LONG sucker, registered at about ... oh... 190 pages from start to finish. So I'll only be posting two chapters a day, so as not to overwhelm your inboxes. This is a crossover, but I wrote it as well as I could have so that even if you are not familiar with X-Men, or Angel, you can read the story and not feel lost.

That at least, is my intention. I hope.

Disclaimer : Um... these characters are not mine. I just played with them. So ... yeah.

Dedication: Jenn, Christie, Shaz - thanks.




Wesley put the pen down.

His eyes were stinging and watery, his mind was reeling with unfiltered emotions and he knew that finding the discipline he needed to concentrate was impossible.

How the hell was he supposed to concentrate on a threat they knew absolutely nothing about when Cordelia was in such immense pain?

"Something wrong?"

The velvety voice of Storm broke into his thoughts, and he pulled his hands from his face to find her gazing curiously at him, face placid and calm.

"Well my friend is bloody dying on the table, so yes I believe something is wrong," he snapped. Immediately he winced, closing his eyes when he saw her look away, pursing her lips. "I'm sorry," he whispered, closing the book and removing his glasses, letting out an agonized groan. "You've been nothing but kind-"

She didn't say a word, merely stared at him from across the small table, head cocked and resting against one slender hand. Her gaze never left his face, and after a moment, he found it unnerving, running his hands through his frazzled hair before looking at her.

"What are you staring at?"

She shrugged slightly. "You have a hidden strength. I find that intriguing." When he blinked, she smiled, the expression a tad sheepish. "Forgive me. I like to observe. That young lady in there, she is your heart."

"Pardon?"

"Your group's heart. Angel, he is the soul. The others I'm afraid I do not know enough about to find what part they play. But, you are the strength, the wisdom."

Her voice had a soft, tuneful quality, tone lilting and changing almost as if in song, and even as his heart shuddered at the sheer beauty of Storm, he still felt the pang inside of him at her words. He shook his head, biting his lower lip and reopening the book. "You are mistaken, Ororo. Wisdom and strength are two of my weaknesses."

"I think you don't give yourself enough credit." She had an accent. African, maybe? Slender fingers slid through the long white locks and she moved gracefully, stretching back in the chair in the dark library, craning her neck slightly as she looked at him, brilliant eyes boring into him. "Strength and wisdom is not won by brute force, nor is it something anyone can attain. It lies dormant, in the quietness of one's movements, in someone's eyes or in their faces. In their actions. When Cordelia looked into your eyes she saw your fear and it affected her. She turns to you for strength." He wasn't aware his hand was trembling until he looked down at the pencil shuddering against the table. He took a breath, stilled it, and then looked up at Ororo Munroe.

"Why exactly are you creating the aura of psychobabble?" he asked.

The tone wasn't angry, but frustrated, and she didn't seem offended. "I'm just letting you know that the strength you seek, the discipline, is inside of you. The others need you because of it." She leaned forward, and her darker toned hand covered his palm. "Perhaps you don't feel it now but it will come when you need it. And the wisdom for the choices, they are a part of it." He only stared at her, and a small sliver of a smile emerged. "I just felt you needed someone to point that out."

His throat was quite dry, and when he took a second to swallow to get the moisture back so he could reply, the door opened, and the moment was lost when Storm's brilliant orbs left his to land on the red- eyed French mutant.

"Goddess," he greeted, his eyes riveted on the contact of her hand on Wesley's. Her hand drifted away as she pushed away from the table, a questioning look in her eyes.

"What is it, Remy?"

He came forward, casting Wesley a glare that wasn't exactly hospitable as he lay a hand on Ororo's shoulder. "Jean. She wants us all in the room."

Storm immediately nodded, gathering her things. "I'll be just a minute."

"Him, too."

"I have a name," Wesley bristled, rolling his eyes as he got up, walking with him out of the door.

~*~


When Erik was a child, he found himself without a home, and without a family, nursing a broken heart and a splintered mind. When he was older, he had walked, barefoot, in the mud, his body beaten and broken as he stepped out of the iron gates and looked up into the dark gray sky to find the officers who freed him staring at him with barely masked sympathy. As a teenager, he had found nowhere to go and nothing to do but live with the haunted memories of his past, forever fearing, forever hating-

At nights the dreams still came.

He never forgot.

That was the promise he had made to himself long ago, hidden in his cell, almost naked and shivering with pain, lips ice-blue and mind reeling, and his hand reached for the metal chair and it bent and his eyes had glazed over with hate and he had made the promise to himself.

He would never forget.

He was still, fingers locked into a fist, leaning on the cold, gleaming metal, his body weary with age and heavy with heart. The tick, tick, tick of the metal balls that swung back and forth on his table served as a welcome facilitation to his thoughts.

Perhaps it was better when he didn't know. When he didn't know them and only knew Charles, and had blocked away the memories of friendship, and had only the purpose, the future of mankind to contend with.

Perhaps if he hadn't seen the dark eyes, the white streak, the complete and utter fear he had instilled in the child who should have been sacrificed, the woman who had once cried and screamed. Perhaps if he hadn't seen the other woman, barely out of her teens, in splintering pain, perhaps if he wasn't struck with the memories of a boy in a camp who had never known true hell until the moment the butt of the rifle struck him and he fell, close to death, in the mud, the dirt and the water sticking in his throat and making him choke.

The memories slid through him and the place in his chest ached, and he swallowed, and suddenly everything was all right again, and the belief was fermented in his heart and he knew that the choices he made were the right ones.

Because he would never forget.

~*~


Rogue knew he could smell her before she came into the conference room. She heard the hitch of his breath, could see him shuffle as she stepped into the doorway.

But his eyes revealed nothing when he focused on her. They were the same deep, dark color. The intensity was always there, even when he smiled the feral grin that made him Wolverine.

She also knew he could hear the way her heart raced, could smell the sweat on her palms and could mostly like see the way her breathing changed when suddenly she was struck with memories of a hard body rubbing against hers-

She swallowed as she gripped the doorway.

Shit. It was all different. He had made it all different. He had made her want him.

DAMN.

The anger rose in her, and it gave her the strength to meet his gaze with a cocked eyebrow, a slight smirk before she walked casually into the room, sitting in her spot beside him, saying hello to Storm as the weather Goddess settled in on the other side, but not paying attention to anything but her awareness of him.

She closed her eyes, steeling herself for a bit before turning to him, letting the temper that was just a little bit his rally to her defenses as she opened her mouth to speak-

"Are you okay?"

She blinked at the concerned voice, and the anger faded away meekly and she almost growled in frustration as she let her eyes focus on his. Dark. Deep. Intense.

She had to clear her voice before a real answer came out. "I'm okay. Not good. Worried."

"You and that girl."

"Cordelia."

"Yeah. Got close?"

She shrugged, pushing one white bang out of her face and tucking it behind her ear. "Nothing says friendship like being through a life or death situation." Her eyes flickered to his, catching his gaze. "I guess you'd know."

The implication was clear, and it had come out of her mouth before she had a chance to stop it and she almost cursed out loud for the way he blinked and looked away, looking so damn unsure and so unlike

Logan.

She leaned forward, about to speak when Jean entered the room, the dark vampire that had scared the shit outta Rogue following closely behind.

Rogue took in a breath, remembering why they had all gathered and the shaking started all over again and her hand gripped the desk, guilt seeping through her.

Just like her. Southern brat thinking of her own damn problems when a Seer was dying a few doors down.

She blocked out Logan, knowing any other time she would have reached for his hand, to feel the warmth of the skin through the thin leather gloves, would have gripped it hard and not have to have worried about breaking it like she had before with other people, because Logan had metal in his hands and he let her grip as hard as she wanted.

But she didn't.

Because she couldn't.

Because it was different.

So her hand gripped the table as she watched Jean sit down, her face weary and tired and still beautiful.

~*~


Jean took a breath, hands shifting over the papers reading quietly to herself until she heard the murmuring among the group stop and could feel the eyes on her.

If she wanted to, she guessed she could have reached out, let her mind open up to the feelings around the room, but she didn't need that. All it took was one look at Angel's darkly handsome face, at Rogue's confliction, and Logan's careful mask of indifference, to know exactly what was going on.

A tight smile caressed her features as she gave Charles a glance, and when he nodded, she took a breath, her voice purposely steady and even.

"I realize it has been a while. I'm sorry. Hank and I have been running tests all night and thanks to Rogue. We may have something."

A spark of hope flitted on Rogue's face, but Angel wasn't as convinced yet.

"Cordelia is a mutant?" Wesley breathed, and again Angel didn't say a word.

"Not exactly," Jean hedged. She lolled her tongue around her mouth, almost as if she was physically searching for the words before she glanced at the much bigger Beast and then took a breath, starting. "It's very hard to explain but, Cordelia is somehow, through this connection with, Doyle was it?" Angel nodded, his eyes completely focused on her. "she started mutating. But apparently because of her being fully human, whatever action was triggered... stopped. The connection would have worked fine for Doyle, because he was half human and half demon and the demon side could more than make up for the pain that came from the PTB not allowing this mutation to take place correctly."

"You just completely lost me," Rogue said, raising her hand.

Jean sighed, shrugging. "I don't know how to explain it any other way."

"I'm listening," Angel said, leaning forward.

"What Jean is trying to say is that Cordelia is only half a mutant. The reasons these pains are so debilitating is that however this connection started was done with a half demon in mind, not a human. It's ... genes," Hank finished.

"Okay, that's all very informative. But how will this help her?"

Jean gave Wesley an anxious glance. "We don't know. I... I have an idea. But it's never been tried before and I'm worried... I don't know what it would do to her."

The silence was not encouraging. She could see Angel processing the information, so the way Rogue's hands clenched the table, the way Storm glanced at the Englishman, who matched his vampire friend's expression to a letter.

Yes. This was definitely not encouraging her in anyway.

~*~


"Cordelia."

The voice was barely a rasp, but she heard it. Her eyes were shut tight, and her body trembled. The flood in her head was overwhelming and she gave a short whimper, eyes unseeing. She couldn't think, could barely move, but the voice called to her, familiar but strange.

Something was off.

In the haze of the pain, there was a squeeze, and it was then she realized that hands were pressing into her.

She sucked in her breath, and braced herself, letting a small moan escape as she opened her eyes to find the gentle brown orbs staring down at her.

She blinked, focused, and when the caring face didn't disappear, she felt her lower lip tremble, moving onto her side, pushing the side of her head against the pillow, trying to keep the tears from blurring her vision.

"Angel." A small smile forced it's way onto her lips as his fingers entwined themselves in hers. She fought against the ache, the pain, once again pushed through it to do anything to remove the hurt look in his face.

He had always been so beautiful. His eyes, dark and brilliant, shining with untold stories of heartache and vengeance, and beneath all that, a hope that seeped from within him, a love that gave life to a dead vampire that for four long years had embodied every reason for living.

It was for this man she was fighting, he was the reason she blinked back the tears and bit back the pain.

Her free hand reached, unsteadily, to his face, tracing the strong jawbone as she closed her eyes.

"Cordelia, look at me," he tried again.

Her eyes opened, and she hitched in her breath, feeling his hold tighten on her, jerking her slightly.

The ringing got louder in her head, and her eyes splintered against the images and god they were back-

"Cordelia you have to-"

He was crying. He was close to it, the cracking, the cloudiness in his voice-

Her eyes shot open and suddenly she was back, staring at the beautiful face of her best friend.

"Angel. I'm sorry. It hurts... it won't stop... hurting."

His palm wrapped around hers and she felt his soft lips pressing against them, gentle and sweet and trembling.

He was scared.

"Angel," she could barely manage anything more than a whisper, but her heart thudded and she forced her dry mouth to have just a little bit of moisture by swallowing. "What's wrong? Did something happen to... where's Wesley?"

"I'm right here, Cordelia."

Her body shuddered with visible relief when she heard the Englishman's voice, and when he came up from behind Angel, she managed a smile at him too, knowing he was trying hard to be strong for her, knowing she needed that.

Angel was still holding her hands, keeping them close to him, almost as if it were some sort of lifeline, almost as if he could find some sort of truth that he was desperately seeking in the silken touch. Her heart thudded at the somberness of it all, and with a sigh, she let her breath out, not daring to close her eyes for fear the pain would overwhelm her yet again.

"What?"

~*~


She looked so damn helpless. So much in pain and so tiny and frail and -

Dammit. He couldn't ask this... he didn't-

"Cordelia," Angel struggled with his words, keeping her hands in his, gripping them tightly as he forced himself to look into the pained, beautiful face. "We can make the pain stop, Cordelia."

Her eyes widened, and suddenly they were on him again, flickering between him and Wesley as her whole body went still. And the pain came again and he saw her body jerk and her eyes close for a millisecond before she forced them open yet again.

"What are you talking about?" she managed. "Tell me now."

"Jean."

"Who the hell is Jean?"

"She's a doctor here. She... she thinks she might be able to... do one of two things."

Cordelia sucked in her breath, long and hard, before letting it out in a short burst.

"Is it a mutant thing?"

"Yes." His voice was soft, gentle, barely above a whisper, too afraid to raise the volume any higher. "Cordelia, you're half a mutant."

Her eyes opened again, but she just stared at him, the hollowed pain apparently all she could really process.

"So?" she asked bluntly. When he opened his mouth to speak again, she added, "Just get it out. Please. It hurts. I can't... it hurts. I need to... the vision."

The stammering words gave him all he needed to know. Get it out quick and fast because she had no idea how much longer she'd be able to hold it and SHIT he had forgotten all about the vision of Rogue- His eyes flickered to Rogue's still form at the doorway, where she leaned, watching with the others, and he immediately focused back on Cordelia.

"Cordelia, Jean wants to either revert it or go through with it."

"Revert what?"

"Cordelia," Wesley kneeled down, his hand on Angel's shoulder as he spoke gently. "Jean thinks she can make you fully human again, or fully a mutant. It's a lot of genetic mumbo jumbo I'm not quite sure I understand but, from what I can tell, she can take away the visions if you turn fully human. As a mutant, you can stand them, but, she doesn't know if she can make the pain go away."

Her voice was hesitant, eyes just a bit wider as she repeated, "Take them away? My visions?"

Angel nodded, hold on her fingers tightening. "No more pains."

"No more visions?"

"That's right."

The tears came, as expected, but the answer was completely surprising.

"No."

"What?"

"You're not taking them away." Her head shook slightly as she looked directly into his dark orbs. "They're mine."

"Cordelia-"

"I can't not have them. They help us. They help you." The sharpness of her voice broke with the last syllable, and again he felt the stinging at the back of his eyes that he blinked back, shaking his head furiously, "Cordelia, the pain."

"I can handle the pain."

"No you CAN'T." His voice was louder, angry, his form shaking as the vision became blurry again and he growled, wiping at his eyes with his sleeve and focusing again on her. "Cordelia you can't. I don't want the visions and not have you." His hand released her fingers and suddenly he was cradling her face. "I need YOU. Forget the visions."

"Then make me a mutant. I can stand it then, can't I?"

"Cordelia," Wesley joined the argument, forcing her eyes away from Angel's as he bent forward. "If we can take these away-"

"We can't." She took in an unsteady breath, and when her eyes opened they were brilliant, shining and full of need. "You don't get it. I see what's out there. I KNOW what's out there. I can't not be a part of it. These visions are mine and they were given to me for a reason. I've lived with the pain for almost five years. I can handle it. Make me a mutant and I can live, right?"

"Cordelia."

"Angel," Her hand groped for his face and suddenly her eyes locked with his and she was close to crying again as she pleaded, almost begged, and God she never did that. "Please. Just do it. I need to help people."

His hand tightened on hers and the lump at the back of his throat was almost painful as he turned to look at Wesley's glistening eyes. A short nod.

Angel took in an unneeded breath and then leaned forward, pressing his lips against his hurting friend's temple, feeling the soft skin beneath it. That was it then.

His hand tightened on hers as he stood, faced the group of X-Men that were waiting, carefully closed expressions on their faces.

"Do it."



CHAPTERS:   1   2   3   4   5   6   7




All references to characters belonging to the X-Men Universe are (c) and TM the Marvel Comics Group, 20th Century Fox and all related entities. All rights reserved. Any reproduction, duplication or distribution of these materials in any form is expressly prohibited. No money is being made from this archive. All images are also (c) and TM the Marvel Comics Group, 20th Century Fox and all related entities; they are not mine. This website, its operators and any content used on this site relating to the X-Men are not authorized by Marvel, Fox, etc. I am not, nor do I claim to be affiliated with any of these entities in any way.