Of Futures Yet Untold

    The images invaded the sleeping mind of Illyana Rasputin. Like a tape that's been played too many times, the memories had gaps in them. Illyana had a nagging feeling that the gaps were important, that they meant more than all the memories put together.

    She relived the memories through her dreams. Memories of a much darker time before the peace treaties and the addition of mutant rights to the Constitution.

    There were tubes of glass all around her and inside each tube one of her friends was trapped. Frantically, she glanced around, strands of damp, dyed red hair clinging to her face. She wasn't supposed to be here. She wasn't part of the X-Men anymore. Illyana Rasputin no longer had any powers. She could, however, be used as bait.

    A man entered the room. A man of dark intentions and deeply hidden secrets. Some wouldn't even have thought of him as a man. To them he was a thing. Well, now he had hold of them. They were in his mercy. A chill claimed Illyana as the man smiled. It was a cold smile devoid of emotion. A smile of hate and revenge. Of pain. Pain that he planned to inflict on her friends.

    The man smiled again and then pushed a small red button. Inside her glass tube Karma began to scream. Illyana watched Karma writhe in pain as a purple gas filled the tube. Karma clutched her head and continued to scream. Then her eyes fluttered closed and her body dropped to the floor of the tube.

    "The first one has fallen," the man said. He pushed another button.

    Illyana's eyes darted around the room, searching for the next victim. With a startled gasp, her hand flew to her mouth. There, trapped in her glass tube, was the dissipating from of Shadowcat. Illyana screamed and started to beat on the thick glass with her fists.

    As the last of Kitty's life force drained away, Illyana let herself curl up into a ball on the floor. Her desperate mind began to make a list of the dead. Karma, Shadowcat, Polaris, Cyclops, Jean Grey, Banshee, Skin, Cannonball, Storm. By the time she saw her brother killed, Illyana had already lost count. There were too many dead and she started to count the number alive.

    The man walked over to her tube and looked in at her. "And you though you were so well hidden. With your new look and your fake identity. Lissa. Sweet little Lissa Trent. Just a cover name. No one can protect you, Illyan Rasputin. No one," the man said as he prepared himself to punch in another red button.

    The world erupted into painful white light and Illyana woke up screaming.

    Roberto DaCosta looked at the crumpled piece of paper in his hand and then glanced up at the house before him. The house was large, old and decaying rapidly. It was hard to imagine the young, spirited Illyana Rasputin living in such a house. He had to remind himself that she wouldn't be the same. After all that had happened to her there was no way she could still be the girl he remembered.

    The loss of her powers had destroyed the fragile state of sanity she had possessed before Inferno. It was hard to believe that by just denying her Soulsword and through it her link to Limbo, that all her powers would be the cost. The sacrifice had even torn her mutant power from her because the stepping discs were tied directly to Limbo and it was Limbo she had denied.

    Then, during the genocide of 1997, she had lost the majority of her friends. `Berto knew that that loss would have finished destroying what sanity she had. Now he doubted if she would even remember him. With just a small moment of hesitation, `Berto walked up the steps and knocked on the door.

    The door swung open, surprisingly quiet on it's rusted hinges, and the face of a young woman peered out at him. She didn't look 26. In fact, she looked like a child. Her blond hair had grown out and hung below her waist but there were bags under her wide blue eyes.

    "Hello, Illyana," he said gently. The girl ran a pale hand through her hair and gazed at him puzzled. "It's `Berto, `Yana."

    "`Berto!" she exclaimed, a smile crossing her face. "I didn't recognize you. It's been years." With that Illyana launched herself into his arms. "Come in."

    `Berto followed her into the house. There were cats everywhere. A whole horde of cats. One rubbed up against his leg and the silver nametag glinted in the light. The name startled him for the tag read Shadowcat. Another cat's nametag said Moonstar. He turned to the blond girl who now sat starring out the window. "Illyana, why are your cats named after our dead friends?"

    The blue eyes that looked at him were filled with tears. "I have to remember them."

    Forge bustled around the small room, moving quickly from one side to the other, adjusting dials and knobs. His work was far from over but every day brought his death closer to becoming a reality. This work, his work, a work that would save the world, was taking very ounce of strength from him. And after suffering through the slave mines during the great genocide, strength was one of the things that he didn't have much left of.

    A small form was huddled in one of the corners of the steel room; her hands nestled in her hair. She rocked slowly back and forth, using all her power, all her will to keep their work from being detected, to keep them safe for another day. He hated putting so much stress on her but it was necessary if they wanted to save their world and paint a better future for everyone.

    After  flipping a switch he stepped back, his mechanical leg groaning in protest, and looked at his handiwork. It was a beautiful thing, shiny metal in the light that spilled through the high windows. It was their salvation. It would be Storm's salvation. A smile slowly spread over his face.

    "Is it done?" her voice was winsome and whispery.

    Forge turned to look at her, deep wrinkles and frown lines in his reddish Native American skin. "I think so, Rebecca. I think so."

    And, for the first time ever, the girl smiled. Rebecca, the mutant telepath he had code-named The Unnoticed, a girl he had found living on the streets a few years ago, actually smiled. Her black eyes sparked and tears of happiness began to trickle down her cheeks.

    "Thank you, Maker," she murmured and lifted her head up to stare at the sunlight. "Thank you." The light caught in her magenta hair and glinted off her white skin.

    Watching her, Forge found that a smile had crossed his face. The world was going to get better. It just had to.

    Paige Guthrie scanned through the wave channels again listening for the signal. Her long fingers flipped the switches and rolled the knob, it had become a routine for her. It had taken a lot of work but she had finally gotten the pattern down. Spin it forward until her fingers brushed the edge, then backwards until she hit the stuck knob, then forward again. It was monotonous but it was all she could do these days.

    "Paige?" someone called out and the door to the monitor room swung open.

    "Here," she yelled back.

    "It's me, sunshine," he whispered as he walked to her side and placed a hand on her arm.

    A smile spread across her face and she spun the chair around to face him. Her eyes stared straight-ahead, empty and vacant thanks to the wars. She was no longer a fighter in the good war, now she was just a radio operator. "Hello Jono. Ah was waitin' for ya," she exclaimed, the smile growing larger.

    One his fingers traced down her cheekbone as he muttered softly, "I wish you could still see."

    "Why? Tha' world got so ugly. Ah'm kinda glad, y'know. See no evil an' all," Paige told him, lifting her chin up. She could feel strands of her hair brushing against her ears and reached back to tuck the loose locks back.

    "Forge finished it."

    "The machine?"

    "That too. `E fixed my face as well. Permanently," Jono proclaimed and brushed his regenerated lips against her forehead. Then he pulled away and stared at her. The angelic eyes sealed closed and the smile dancing over her face. Wasn't she a beautiful sight?

    "Darlin', tha's wonderful!" she shouted and quickly stood up and hugged him. "Ah told ya he would make everythin' better. Ah jus' knew it. He's Forge after all, the Maker."

    Illyana had stopped crying a few minutes ago. The tears that had been streaming down her cheeks like some waterfall had all but disappeared and the red was slowly creeping from her eyes and cheeks. She had stopped crying and, in that moment, her mind seemed to have flown away.

    Roberto sat on the floor, mindlessly petting the cat with the "Karma" nametag, watching her. Something had happened, he could feel it in the air. He wasn't exactly sure what it was, though. One minute Illyana was sobbing and the next her eyes glazed over and she started singing an old Russian lullaby.

    A fleeting smile passed over his dark features. This was the first time he had ever heard her sing. Her voice was clear and high with just a slight shakiness to it. Nevertheless, every note she sang seemed to just float away into the air around them.

    Finally, he decided that he could stand it no more. Illyana was the final piece in an intricate and highly important puzzle that could either save the world or completely destroy it.

    "Illyana?" he spoke softly into the still air, waiting from some kind of signal from her.

    There was a moment when she turned to him, her blue eyes catching his in a stare that seemed to go on for an eternity. It was in that eternity that the old Illyana, his friend from long ago, resurfaced and even found a smile for him. Roberto wanted to reach for her but he also didn't want to scare her away. The old Illyana smiled one last time and then eternity ended and the sound of soft crying filled the air.

    "I don't want to see. I don't want to see anymore," the girl huddled on the chair murmured.

    Now he was on his feet, moving towards her, wanting to see her eyes again, wanting to recapture that perfect moment. Instead he laid a hand on her shoulder and asked, "What don't you want to see?"

    When the teary blue eyes focused on him, there was a tiny glint of purpose in the orbs as she said, "The past. I don't want to see the past anymore, `Berto. I haunts me. It hurts me."

    The past?

    It didn't take him long to figure out what past Illyana must be talking about. Of all the mutants who had been at the genocide of 1997, she was one of the few who had not been drugged, not been mindwiped. The leaders didn't think that she would be a problem, this sobbing, shaking slip of a former warrior.

    It was all there in the files that Roberto had poured over. The same phrases were repeated over and over again. Things like, "mentally unstable", "emotionally damaged", and, his favorite, "delusional to the point of hysteria". It was all there, written in those records that had been kept on her during her stay in the death camps. They didn't think she was a threat. Even if she did live no one would believe her so there was no reason to bother toying with her mind.

    However, Forge had known better. That was why he sent Roberto after the time traveling mutant because he knew that no matter how out of it Illyana was, there was the chance of revival. There was always the chance to unlock the secrets of the past, especially now that they had found Rebecca.

    "The past must be remembered, Illyana," he spoke softly to her as he would have to an upset child.

    Something in the way she drew in her breath caught him off guard. Her eyes glowed slightly as she lifted her head up and snapped, "Some memories should be kept buried. Some memories are too awful to survive."

    "Like your memories of Limbo?"

    "Exactly, `Berto," the true Illyana replied, her voice steel and fire. It was a nice thing to see, this shattered spark of her old self.

    Roberto couldn't help but smile and comment, "I've missed hearing you snap at me, Magik".

    Just as she was opening her mouth to say something snide back, one of the alarms went off. By the time he turned back to look at his friend, she had fled, leaving the weeping girl in her place.

Rebecca kept her hands over her eyes, shielding them from the harsh light of the sun. A large, dark piece of material was wrapped around her head, hiding the hair that shifted colors from pale pink to magenta. Forge had sent her. Out of all the messengers, all the young mutants that had gathered around his heels in the past few years, he had sent her.

So she walked slowly down the road, keeping her head down and her eyes covered. The last thing she wanted to do was draw attention to herself. It shouldn't take long. She just had to walk to...

"Hello there," a voice whispered in her ear.

Rebecca jumped back, her hands covering her mouth and trapping the scream of surprise. Then she sighed and replied, "Hello." Her voice shook, just a little.

The man peered at her through a pair of dark sunglasses. His hair was blond and shaved down almost to the scalp and the slight beard that was growing in looked pretty bad. He slipped the glasses down his nose with a finger and just looked at her for a minute. The eyes that had been hidden behind the glasses were blue and strangely hollow.

The girl found herself tilting her head and staring at the man. He looked so familiar. Almost as if she'd seen him in a picture or something. "Do I know you?" she found herself asking.

He laughed and patted her on the head as he pushed his glasses back up. "I don't think there's anyone alive who knows me, kiddo," he said and started to walk away.

Rebecca watched him, taking in the clothes and the walk. He was dressed in some kind of shabby black uniform thing. The top half was covered with a brown suede jacket that looked like it had definitely seen better days. In her mind, something clicked.

"The pictures," she whispered. The pictures. Forge had shown her pictures repeatedly, trying to get her to learn, trying to teach her the past.

One picture stuck out in her mind. A picture of two brothers, one with brown hair and covered eyes wearing brown suede jacket. The other had been blond with sharp blue eyes and he had been dressed in a skin-tight black jumpsuit thing because, as Forge had told her, his powers were unstable. And Rebecca remembered pleading with the Maker for names to go with the faces.

`The one with the sunglasses,' Forge had said, `is Scott Summers.'

`And the other?' she had asked.

`The other is Alex Summers.'

Suddenly, Rebecca was running through the streets, her feet tripping precariously over loose pieces of pavement and discarded items as she hurried to catch up with the man. "Alex!" she called into the hot air, her voice floating above the roar of the open-air market. "Alex!" she screamed again.

The man stopped, stunned, and turned around. He looked at her for a moment, the glasses glinting red in the light of the sun overhead. Then he took the glasses off, blue eyes dull and motioned for her to hurry up.

"How do you know me?" he questioned when the girl stopped by his side.

Rebecca swallowed, trying desperately to catch her breath. It had been so long since she'd ran under the sun's blistering heat. So very long. She wanted to answer him, to throw her arms around his waist and shout for joy but her breath wouldn't come so she just walked by his side, gasping.

Alex looked down at her, lips curving into a very impatient look. "Well," he prodded.

"Just...a...minute," she wheezed. "I'm...not..." Her sentence cut off as she dissolved into body wrenching coughs and stopped walking.

Silently, Rebecca cursed her weak body and the Maker's resolve not to tamper with her genetic structure for fear of messing her powers up. She didn't care about how important she was for his machine, his plan. All she wanted to do was be able to run, to laugh, to scream and shout and breath. It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair.

"Come on," Alex said and he picked her up, slightly surprised at how light she was. Her black eyes stared into his as he carried her toward a covered shop.

There was a woman at the counter of the shop, her eyes blazing as Alex and Rebecca drew near. The woman's eyes were green, a lush green that Forge used to describe the way grass once looked, and her hair, tied back and braided, was a sharp, almost painful, red. "Who's this, then?" she inquired when she locked eyes with Rebecca.

"Some child off the streets, Crimson," Alex said as he sat the coughing girl down on the counter.

Crimson screwed her face up into a look of displeasure. "Why'd you bring her here, Hunter?"

Alex sighed and sat down on a bench, placing both hands over the small prickles of blond hair on his head. Then he admitted, "Because she knew my name."

Now Crimson's face melted into something a little kinder, a little gentler and she leaned over the girl. "You knew his name, kiddo. No one knows this gent's name. No one out there anyway. No one like you. Tell Crimson how you know, child?"

Rebecca had stopped coughing and was looking at the woman intently. Something about her seemed familiar also. Another picture burned across her memory. One of a girl with black marks across her face dressed in tight, spiky, red leather. "Are you Rachel?" Rebecca asked.

Crimson shook her head slowly. "No, I'm not Rachel Summers. Not in the way you mean, anyway." Silence fell and the woman busied her hands with something before turning to Alex. "I have something to do."

"Fine," he replied, bored with the new game already.

She tucked red hair behind her ear and walked off leaving Alex with Rebecca.

"How do you know me?" he finally asked.

The girl sighed, her hands pressing against the sides of the dark cloth. "From pictures."

Alex nodded, rose, and pulled the curtains of the shop closed. Then he walked over and lifted the cloth off Rebecca's head. Swirls of pale pink hair fell down around her face, the roots already changing to a darker shade. "I thought so," he muttered and sat down again. "So, you're a mutant."

"Yes, Mr. Summers."

"No, call me Alex. Most people around here," he motioned his head towards the way Crimson had gone, "just call me Hunter. It's nice to hear someone say my real name."

Darkness was falling outside. Rebecca could feel the slow chill start to creep into her bones as the sun disappeared. It was going to be a very cold night and there would be no going home to Forge.

Alex felt the chill too and lifted the girl off the table. "Time to go in," he told her and they walked through the door, covering it as they went.

Crimson was sitting inside on a small chair, her head bent, her knees pressed tightly together. Her head lifted slightly when she heard them come in, but not much, not enough to count as interest. After a moment, she turned her eyes back to the floor and she slipped away again.

They didn't stop in the main room, though. He carried her through a couple more covered doorways into the kitchen where he sat her down and she watched as Alex started cooking. "I was told you had died," she said after a long silence.

"Sometimes I wish that I had."

"He said he saw you die," she insisted.

"Who?" Alex murmured, more intent on the soup he was making then the words.

Rebecca drew in a long breath and let it out. "Forge."

Alex stopped. He just stopped, stood there for a few minutes, and then, slowly, turned around. "Forge takes care of you?"

"Yes."

"He's alive?"

Her head dropped, the strands of hair, slowly blending to carnation pink, fell into her eyes. "He still breaths," she answered, "still speaks, still works. But only just. He seems lost in the past. Like his soul didn't survive at all."

Alex nodded once and started back to work. "Not many people's did."

"I was running an errand for him. I was supposed to go find someone named Psiblade so she could alert Roberto that the machine is ready and that all we need is the key. But, I saw you and I knew you from the pictures and...and...I can't find Psiblade now and I can't get home, either," Rebecca rambled, tears forming in her black eyes.

"What kind of machine is the Maker building?" The voice came from the door and both Rebecca and Alex turned to see Crimson leaning against the doorframe.

"A time machine. He's going to change everything," Rebecca answered simply.

Crimson laughed and walked away. Alex grew silent and smiled.

From her seat, Illyana watched the young man in front of her. She remembered him only in small patches and glimpses of the past but she still knew who he was and recalled that, once, she had looked upon him quite fondly. "Roberto?" she asked after a moment.

He turned, eyes dark and more than just a little frustrated. "What is it, Illyana?" he almost snapped but was able to keep most of the venom out of his voice. He wanted, more than anything, to be free to shake her and get into a long, horrendous argument with her. Just so he could know that she was okay, that she was alright and some part of the real Illyana still lived within the fragile shell.

She stood, laughter sprinkling itself in her eyes, the pain and sorrow of a few hours ago gone and lost in the jumbled mess that was her mind. "What did you think of me, `Berto? All those years ago, what did you think?"

The question took him by surprise and he watched his old friend dancing slowly around the room, her eyes pure innocence, her mind twisted and shattered, her heart and soul untainted. Moreover, watching her, he realized how boring it would have been if his Illyana, the old Illyana, had not been a demon sorceress.

Carefully, so as not to startle her, he got up and took her hands. They danced to music that wasn't there but Illyana was humming a strange tune under her breath. After a few minutes, she looked at him and repeated, "What did you think of me all those years ago?"

The young man ducked his head, looking at the floor, not really wanting to answer, not really ready to answer. "I'm not sure, Illyana."

Her face fell, grew sad, but she kept dancing. "You must know, Roberto. It's important. Please."

How many times had he tried to piece together his feelings for her over the years? How many times had he sat, staring into space as his thoughts played nothing but Illyana this and Magik that? Nevertheless, he had never admitted it. Admitting it made the loss so much worse, so much more painful. "I don't wish to discuss it," he said, finally, still dancing with the reflection of the girl he once knew.

The reflection was quick to pull away from him and stand off by herself in a corner. She wasn't going to cry, though. She'd cried enough this day, too much. And she had a guest, too. That made things worse. "Why?" she inquired, back to him.

Roberto took in a deep breath and let it out. "Because I am not ready to discuss it."

"You mean, you're not ready to face the truth."

"I said no such thing." His temper was beginning to flare. Today had just been too much, too much for him deal with, too much for him to come to terms with.

She danced around by herself before speaking again. "Exactly. You won't even say it to yourself but you're afraid of the truth. You're scared of me."

"I'm not scared of you!" Roberto almost roared.

The fleeting image of a smile passed over her face. "But you used to be. You can say it, Roberto. I don't care. I used to scare you. You hated me and I scared you to death and you hated that. I don't care. I know all that and I don't care. I don't care because I always loved you. Even back then when you were pig-headed and arrogant and had the worst temper. I guess you still do but I wouldn't know. I don't know anything." She stopped speaking and a shadow passed over her face. "She's still here, Roberto. The Illyana you knew, she's still here. And she loves you, too."

"Prattle," he muttered angrily, pacing around the room. "Childish prattle. Nonsense words and riddles. I see now why they didn't erase your memory after the genocide. You're so utterly broken, so cracked and flawed. You're not even the person I knew. You never will be!"

She bit her lip slightly, afraid that tears would come flowing down her cheeks. They didn't and that made her happy. It had been such a long time since she'd been in control of her own mind. "That scares you more," she whispered, stopping by the radio and putting some music on. The Barenaked Ladies started singing.

"I'm not afraid of you!" Roberto screamed at her, marching over and staring into her eyes.

"I know," she answered, placing her hands on his face. "You don't know me. You were scared of her, of Magik, of the Darkchilde, of the other Illyana. But...what else did you think of her."

Something in Illyana's eyes made his anger dissipate into nothing but a ball of regret weighing down his stomach. "Madonna, help me," he muttered as he dropped to his knees on the floor, burying his head in his hands.

Shifting away from him, feeling uncomfortable being so close to someone, Illyana sighed and admitted defeat. "I guess you did hate her, then. It's okay. I'm sure she understands."

"I never hated her," he whispered and raised his head. His eyes locked with those of the young woman before him. "I loved her. I miss her."

"I am her, Bobby." The words hurt his ears, they were awful and soothing at the same time, but they were all wrong.

"No, you're not," he insisted, tears forming in his great, dark eyes. "You're not her at all. You have pieces of her in you, little tiny pieces, but they don't add up to her. It's like someone mixed two puzzles together and built a puzzle from those pieces. It's not one thing and it's not the other. It's something else. It's..."

"Not as good." She finished for him. "I'm sorry you feel that way, Roberto. I'm sorry that you don't see me for me."

"Dammit! I do see you for who you are and that's what makes me so furious and heart-broken at the same time. Because when you are her it's wonderful, and when you aren't I want to curl up and die! I was much happier when I was convinced she was dead, you were dead. That way I was working for a cause, a reason, a purpose. Then Forge just tells me, `Roberto, that girl, the one you've been pinning for, she's alive. Oh, her head's a little funny and all but it's her and with her help we can save the world.'" He looked at her, tears making their way down his dark face, one hand brushing through his thick, black curls. "I should have told him to send someone else, Illyana, but I wanted to see you. I had to now if she was still there, somewhere. And the fact that she is, just makes it hurt worse."

Now the blond woman was just standing there, opened-mouthed and the Barenaked Ladies were going on and on about apples. Something had just hit her, words were just starting to sink in and find the part they wanted to. She crossed the room, sat down next to him, and picked his face up in her hands. "Did you say you loved me?" Illyana questioned, examining his eyes as she did so. "I must have heard wrong, though, because you hate me."

Roberto recognized the sparks of fire in the eyes, the tone, the overall manner. This was his Illyana. This was the one who he had fought beside, argued with, learned to love. "I can't take this anymore, Illyana."

"Did you say you loved me?"

"Yes. Yes, you I love. Always." Then his eyes and voice dropped. "But you're not always you."

"Right now, I'm me."

"I know."

The hands, gentle but strong, lifted his chin so he was trapped in the blue eyes. The smile edging at the corners of the lips was so rare and beautiful that it almost stopped his tears. "But I won't be me long. I go away sometimes, Roberto. It's awful. Horrid. It's like being the Darkchilde again only I could control that, somewhat."

His fingers slid along her cheek. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. It's not your fault. Not mine, either. This ordeal has at least taught me that. Oh, and `Berto?"

"Yes?"

"I love you too," she admitted, her voice quiet compared to the Barenaked Ladies and their lyrics.

Roberto closed his eyes tight for a minute, wanting the moment to infuse itself on his memory and never leave, never in a million years. The song washed around him, the lyrics becoming crystal clear.

<But I know>

<That you will be waiting>

<Oh I know>

<That you will be waiting>

<Oh I know>

<That you will be waiting>

<Waiting there for me.>

Then he opened his eyes and saw her face, inches from his, her own blue eyes filling with tears as she, too, truly heard the words of the song. He drew closer to her and kissed her, very lightly, before getting up and walking to the door. Her eyes, pleading and dark, watched the door close. And she began to cry.

Jono sat at the end of the table, his fingers interlaced with Paige's. Forge was sitting on the other side, his fingers drumming on the imitation wood. His eyes looked haunted, scared.

"Rebecca never made it to Psiblade. Roberto hasn't checked in. They're going to find us. They're going know what we've done and then they will kill us--slowly," Forge exclaimed, burying his lined face in his hands.

Jono felt Paige's fingers tighten around his. "Now, look `ere, Forge. There's no sense in gettin' all panicky. It'll work out, it `as to."

The older man looked up, life flooding through him. "Mr. Angst has turned into Mr. Optimism so quickly. I remember when you were a brooding little punk, boy. I remember it."

"Can't we jus' stop fightin'?" Paige suggested, a small smile lighting her lips. "It's not doin' us any good at all."

Forge sighed and muttered, "Chastised by a blind, hick radio operator."

Jono could feel Paige stiffen. "Ah heard that, Maker," she muttered. "You'd just better pray that Ah don't decide that this fight ain't to my likin' because no one else know how to operate that radio." Then she pushed her chair out, let go of her husband's hand and walked away, her fingers gliding across the wall as she did so.

"Dammit! Dammit!! Dammit!!!" Forge screamed and banged his hands on the table. "Why the hell is this happening now? Why is it all falling apart. I just want to save Ororo. I just want to save my life, my love. You got to save Paige, Roberto gets to save the sorceress from her own mind, why can't I save Ororo?"

The young man once known as Chamber, got up and laid a hand on Forge's back. "Some things, gov'nor, they aren't meant t' be."

"Get off me. I will not be stopped now. No now, do you hear me," he demanded, shaking Jono's hand off him. "Get out. I have to think."

Jono tipped his head to the man and walked out of the room, following the Paige's trail down the hall. The Maker was becoming unstable and fanatical about his quest. It was sad to see so brilliant a man be beaten and defeated by time alone.

Crimson sat alone, as usual, her hands twined in her thick, red hair. The child's words came back to haunt her. `Are you Rachel?' As if, somehow, the girl, that Rebecca, had known the twisted lines of reality that intercrossed and mingled and put some people here and left others there.

"Are you okay, Crimson?" a voice found her ears. The voice of Alex Summers.

"I'm fine, Hunter," she claimed, looking at him. He was a tall man, lean and dressed in an ill-fitting black jumpsuit that regulated his powers and an old brown suede jacket that had belonged to his brother.

He sat down next to her, his eyes weary, tired, and ready for the world to stop moving so fast. "You don't seem fine. You seem rattled."

"It's that child," she admitted, lifting her hands from her face. "And that whole Rachel Summers business."

"Should have guessed."

She muttered something and used her fingers to brush through her hair. "I mean, how can you explain to someone that young, that naive, about the different realities. The mergerings, the people that get stranded, lost."

Alex scratched at where the beard was growing in. "The lost ones," he mentioned. "The ones like you."

Crimson only nodded and continued to stare at the floor.

There was a sound at the door and Alex turned sharply, readying himself for a fight. All he found was Rebecca, her hair magenta in the soft light. "Sorry," she mouthed. He motioned for her to come over.

He pulled the child into his lap even though she was probably, at least, twelve years old. It comforted him to hold her, to be able to know that she would be safe for a while. Besides, after seeing her it hadn't taken long for him to realize the truth behind her. "Like her," he mouthed and Crimson nodded.

"Are you Rachel Summers?" Rebecca asked again, oblivious to what was unfolding around her.

"In a way," Alex started but Crimson stopped him with a look.

"Yes, Rebecca, I am Rachel Summers. I'm just not the Rachel Summers of this world. When the genocide occurred--do you know what that is?"

Rebecca said, shakily, "Yes."

"--I was pulled her by the dying spirit of Jean Grey-Summers. Don't ask me how it worked because I don't have any idea. I found myself drawn to this world, lost in it and unable to get home. But I wasn't even of any use to Hunter or the other mutants because...in my world, Cyclops didn't marry Jean, he married a human woman, my mother. I have no mutant powers, none at all." Crimson lowered her head, eyes scanning the floor.

"That's hard isn't it?" Rebecca inquired.

"Extremely."

"So, you are Rachel Summers?"

The woman shook her head. "No, child, I'm Crimson."

Alex held the little girl closer and mouthed to Crimson, "Tell her who she is."

"Why don't you tell her, Hunter. She recognized you first. The bloodline calls out for its own, which I am not."

"What's going on?" Rebecca questioned, her black eyes growing large and prominent.

"You were meant to be this world's Rachel Summers," Alex began. "But something went wrong...You were...a year old when Inferno started. Your mother, Maddy Pryor, became the Goblin Queen and she was going to kill you to get absolute power but then Illyana Rasptuin sacrificed her soul to stop Inferno and all the evil caused by it. So, your mother perished and you were lost to the time stream. Scott forgot about you, somehow. We all did." Words became lost objects that he couldn't find so he stopped talking.

Crimson shook her head and took over. "When Jean Grey died, she called to me, pulled me here instead of you. We don't know where you were all those years. When did Forge find you?"

"Four years ago when I was seven," Rebecca answered, her voice shaking.

"Do you remember anything before Forge finding you?" Crimson inquired.

"The only thing I can remember is spending a few weeks on the streets. Everything before that is a blank. Forge said I was a tableau ruse when he found me. He gave me a name, a life, something to do. He's been nice to me," she proclaimed, a light smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

"Now, you're a Summers," Alex muttered, "and that's always bad luck."

"Uncle Alex?"

"Yes, Rebecca?"

She got off his lap and walked around the room before stopping and asking, "Will you come help me find Psiblade tomorrow. And then, come and see Forge."

Alex nodded, ran a hand over his head and looked at Crimson. "You coming?" he questioned.

"I can't stay here now can I?" she mock demanded. "After all, you'd look after you and the kidlet?"

Rebecca's eyes narrowed. "I thought you said you didn't have any powers."

"I don't but I'm a mercenary and a black belt," Crimson confessed her eyes again scanning the floor. "And we'll need that if we're going to get to Psiblade. Get to bed both of you. We've got a long way to go."

The guilt was burning a hole in his soul. It was eating away at him like some kind of deadly disease, twisting his heart so that it screamed for release. But Roberto DaCosta simply shrugged his shoulders and leaned into the bitter wind.

Madonna, he couldn't go back and face her. He couldn't. Those eyes, blue and deep and everything in the world to him. The scattered, fragmented mind. It was like dealing with a multiple personality because one moment she was his Illyana and the next she was someone else, someone weak and lost. Someone broken.

Pain struck against him and he sank to his knees on the wet pavement, hands forcing themselves into his thick curls. This wasn't right. She was important to the mission. She could save everyone, even herself. Forge would kill him if he didn't go back there, didn't convince her to help.

But how could he convince her? There was no possible way to explain the plan to the weaker ones and he seriously doubted if his Illyana would agree to messing with the time-stream. That had always been one of her set-in-stone morals. She wouldn't even go back and try to save herself from the horrors of Limbo.

Guilt was replaced by a cool, calming ripple of joy. She loved him. How long had he wanted to hear those words? How many years had he been plagued by nightmares where, after declaring his love for her, she had been killed? And now he had walked out on her, turned his back and just left.

A hand settled on his shoulder and held him tightly. His first thought was that it was one of the street gangs out to kill him.

"Roberto," a voice whispered in his ear. "You silly goose, it's raining."

Slowly, almost fearfully, he turned. "Illyana?"

The girl nodded, her blond hair slicked down with rain. A black raincoat covered her thin body but she hadn't had the foresight to pull the hood up. "Yours. As much as possible, anyway."

`Berto grabbed her hand and held it, gazing at the white scars that ran criss-crosses on her skin. Torture marks. Gently, he kissed them. "You came after me?"

She sunk to the ground next to him, strength fading with the sheer effort of being outside, of being away from the safety of her home. "What the hell else was I supposed to do, `Berto?" she demanded, looking into his dark eyes that shone with tears in the dull light of the stars. "You don't just tell someone you love them and go away. That's not right. I was scared. I didn't know what you were going to do. I had to come after you."

"I'm glad you did."

Her eyes skittered restlessly against the dark. "Can we go home?"

A light came on in one of the houses across the street and he watched Illyana's eyes go wide with fright. But, as the danger passed, she calmed down. The only water on her face came from the rain. No tears in her eyes. Maybe there was hope after all.

"Yes." He got up, pulling her with him. She was so thin, too thin, like a willow bending in the wind. However, she wasn't going to break. Not again. Not if he could help it. "I'm sorry I ran out like that, Illyana."

"You were scared." She kept her eyes on the street in front of her.

"Yes, I was, but that's no excuse. It was wrong of me."

The blue eyes turned to him as she stopped walking. She was shorter than him now, just a little, but she could still stop him with her eyes. "It's all right. You were scared. At first...I panicked because I thought you didn't want me anymore, didn't love me. Then I started to think about it. Well, we...I...It's hard to explain what goes on in my mind, `Berto."

He nodded and squeezed her hand in support, begging her to go on with his eyes.

"So I thought about it and I realized that you had to be scared. I mean, you thought I was dead. And then, when you finally saw me it wasn't really me because I can't be me anymore. That part's gone, Bobby. I'll never be her again, not really. My mind won't work that way. But I still love you. She still loves you. Always has, always will.

"But I was sure all that had just scared you. It's not like you to run away from arguments but I think this frightens you."

"What?"

A smile flitted across her face, turning into something surreal as the moon poked through the clouds. "Love. You loving me. Me loving you. I think it hits you right here, " she tapped her finger against his chest, over where his heart was, "and the last time something hit you there, it really hurt. So, you ran away. You didn't want to get hurt again. I understand. There's no need to be sorry. No need at all."

With a small chuckle, he cupped her face in his hands, eyes locked on hers "Madonna, when did you become a mind reader, Illyana?"

"After a while, you just...know things about people," she told him with a shrug.

The rain continued to fall silently and softly as they walked toward her house, which loomed like a giant, lonely shadow against the backdrop of the night. The wind blew loose shutters in and out, making them creak and protest rather loudly. Cats that had been outside, swarmed on the porch, crying and scratching at the door, begging to be let in.

Just as they were going up the stairs, Roberto stopped her. "I have to ask you something."

"Go on."

"I was sent to find you. Forge sent me."

Her eyes flashed. "You said. What's it have to do with me?"

"Forge has been building a time machine. He wants to go back in time and change everything."

"Everything?"

"Well, most of it. The genocide, the camps, Bastion. The things that went wrong."

Illyana closed her eyes and clamped her lips at the mention of the name Bastion. Images started to dance against her mind, calling at her to remember. "You can't get rid of the bad things without destroying the good things, too. He could make everything worse."

Roberto sat down on the steps, protected from the rain by the screened in porch. "He won't. It's going to be better."

Eyes starring at the rotting planks of wood under her feet, Illyana stayed silent, fighting against the surfacing memories in her mind. There would be nightmares tonight. "He needs me, doesn't he? I'm the key, aren't I? That's why you're here. Not because you care about me but because he sent you!" she screamed.

"I wanted to see you. I took the job. I could have handed it over to someone else."

"You're going to use me."

"It's your decision but...please think about it, Illyana. With your help, we can save the world," he pleaded, looking up at her, trying not to let too much desperation seep into his voice.

She tightened her arms about herself. "I'll have to think about it," she muttered and walked into the house, leaving Roberto on the porch feeling like Brutus killing Caesar.

Crimson watched the sun rise through a small window in the side of the building she sometimes referred to as home. It wasn't. Her home was somewhere else, over dimensions and past time streams. This wasn't her time, wasn't her place, but she had made the most of it, found something of a family here.

Hunter took care of her, looked after her, although she didn't need his help. She had been trained in the martial arts by two of her father's friends, Logan and Betsy. The combined knowledge of what they had taught her, coupled with the mercenary and pickpocket skills from Remy, had turned her into one of the most dangerous living beings in her dimension. No one would dare mess with her there.

Here things were different. The established mutant community wanted nothing to do with her. They didn't care about the skills she had picked up, the truths about the universe that only she knew. All they seemed to care about what that she had no mutant powers. In their eyes, she was a disappointment, having been born to a mutant man (only Hunter and Rebecca knew the full truth of her family) and possessing no powers.

Nevertheless, Hunter accepted her, knew somehow, that somewhen they were related. That had been a great comfort to her, being around her favorite uncle, working with him, as she had never had the chance to do before. For, as she had told him, in her world Alex Summers was crippled, confined to a wheelchair and a siphoning system to rid his frail body of his cataclysmic powers.

Her red hair streamed down her back, loose and wild, glinting like fire in the sunshine. At times like these, when she locked eyes with the great and mighty sun, Crimson could almost feel the gossamer wisp of power that connected her to the all-mighty Phoenix. However, if the great bird choose anybody to be a host for its power, she was sure that it would be Rebecca.

Rebecca. This world's version of herself. A child of power and potential but burdened with a very frail body. Lost to the time stream for six long years, not knowing what had happened during those years, perhaps never knowing.

Crimson felt sorry for the child and envied her at the same time. Rebecca was who she had been meant to be. Rebecca was everything she wasn't, nothing she was. They were reflections bent over backwards, twisted inside out, and rearranged. It made her head hurt to think about it but, then, such was being a Summers.

"You're up early," Hunter greeted her as he walked into the main room.

She turned to him, running her fingers through her hair. "I never went to sleep."

He sat down and started drinking the steaming cup of coffee. "How come?"

"Afraid of the nightmares," she admitted and got up from her seat by the window. She looked over at Hunter, at his shaved blond hair and the white stubble on his chin and cheeks. Not her uncle, never hers. Nothing here belonged to her. She wanted to go home. Now more than ever because there was finally the hope that things were starting to fall back into place. Rebecca was there, after all.

The child wandered into the room, rubbing a hand over her sleepy black eyes, strands of her hair, shifting from orchid to pale rose, stuck up from her head. "How early is it?" she questioned as she sat down at the table, across from Hunter.

"I'm not telling you," Crimson said as she began to brush the girl's hair.

"Why?" Rebecca demanded as she stifled cries.

Hunter reached up and took the brush out of Crimson's hand. "Too hard," he mouthed and set his coffee down.

Crimson sat down and let Hunter brush Rebecca's hair, which was turning magenta in his fingers. "I won't tell you what time it is because you wouldn't want to know."

The girl frowned. "Is it that early?"

"I'm afraid it is but if we want to get to Psiblade's before nightfall, we're going to have to hurry," Hunter told her calmly, setting the brush down and taking a drink from his cup.

With a small sigh, Rebecca hopped down from the chair and started toward the bedrooms so she could change. "You're going to eat something," Crimson called after her. "You're too thin as it is. I won't have people saying that I took ill care of you. Okay?"

"Fine." The reply drifted back.

"And you said you'd be a terrible mother," Hunter laughed, washing the cup out at the sink so the coffee wouldn't stain the white porcelain.

She huffed a little and began to braid her hair back. "I will be."

He ran a hand over his stubble. "You're doing fine with Rebecca."

Green eyes shot daggers at the man. "I nearly pulled her hair out with the brush. I suppose if that's the kind of thing you call fine..."

"I'm okay, Crimson. Really, I am. It only hurt a little," Rebecca assured her as she returned through the door, dressed in what she had been wearing yesterday, the rag hat covering her hair.

Crimson only sighed and began to load some gear into leather satchels. It wasn't right and it wasn't fair. The child should have been pulled here by Jean Grey-Summers not her. This wasn't her world, wasn't her place.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of Rebecca and her black eyes and pale skin as she put medicine on Hunter's various cuts and bruises. The two talked as though they had known each other their whole lives. When Hunter noticed eyes on him, he looked at Crimson and smiled. One of his true smiles that stretched all the way to his tired, blue eyes.

"This is home," he mouthed at her as though he were the telepath and had been reading her thoughts.

Damn, she thought. Stuck with the sweetest child on Earth and the only man who treats me like I belong. I hate this place, I really do. I hate the way I'm treated and the fact that everything's wrong but...I can't hate Hunter or Rebecca. They're family in some strange, weird, Summers way. Hell, she's me. She's me.

With another sigh, Crimson finished packing the satchels. "Get your butt over here, Hunter. We have a long way to go and your get to be the pack mule first."

His smile turned to a playful glare as he scooped Rebecca up in his arms, and walked over to where Crimson stood, one hand one her hip. "As you command."

Crimson took Rebecca out of his arms and set her on the ground. The child was too light, too thin, and small for eleven. Not a survivor, the words echoed through her mind. Weak, weak child. Couldn't handle the strain so someone sent her away. Who? Why?

"Crimson?" Hunter's concerned voice broke her reverie.

Rebecca was staring at her funny; those black eyes boring holes into her head, watching everything leak out to the ground like a river of memories and gray matter. "You just went away."

"Well, I'm back now. I'm fine. Eat this," she commanded, handing the child a ration bar and then giving the packs to Hunter.

He groaned but accepted them. "Pack mule. It's always me."

With a roll of her eyes, Crimson grabbed her walking stick, Rebecca's hand and then strode out the door, Hunter following close behind her, grumbling all the way.

Jono stared at the open, blank eyes of his wife. "Whot's wrong?"

She shook her head, hands tangling themselves into the strands of blond hair. "Nothin'. It's jus' that..."

"Sunshine, `e wuz out o' line. `e didn't mean anything by it," he tried to assure her, kneeling in front of her and taking her face in his hands.

Her fingers pulled loose of her hair and the pair of soft, beautiful hands covered his. "He meant somethin' by it, Jono. Ah'm...Ah'm startin' to have second thoughts about this plan of his. Ah mean things aren't that bad now. What if, when he goes back and messes wit' things, it just gets worse. What if Ah lose you?" Tear formed in her eyes and began to leak out, slowly, making her look like a statue in a light rain.

He leaned in and kissed her forehead. "You'll never lose me, sunshine."

"Promise?"

"I promise. We'll be together forever and always," he swore, a determined look plastering itself on his newly regenerated face. But a lurking suspicion lay at the back of his mind. What if she was right? What if this whole time traveling thing was a big mistake? What if changing the past just made things a hell of a lot worse?

The tubes were like clusters of shining glass flowers around her. Each one held the skeleton of someone she had known, one of her friends, her teammates. The skeletons were looking at her, expectantly.

She ran through the rows of glass, searching for someone but she didn't know whom. It was important, she knew that. It was important to find this one person. He could make things better. He could stop this. He would stop this. Where was he?

The skeleton hands reached out for her, scraping against the glass. They called to her, whispering in her ears, threading their dead voices into her mind, tearing her apart inside and out. Help us, they muttered, cried, moaned. Help us, Illyana.

"I can't. I don't know how. Leave me alone," she demanded of them, turning in a wide circle, facing the skeletons in their glass coffins.

However, the hands continued to reach out, to beg for help, for mercy. Kitty's face flashed through her mind as it disappeared into fog, her screams building upon each other until they grew into a horrific, heart shattering shriek that shook the glass, threatened to break it.

"No," Illyana protested as the tubes began to crack, to shatter under the assault. "NO!"

Then there were bodies all around her, hollow bones, and faceless skulls, all pleading with her, reaching for her. She was lost in a wave of misery and utter helplessness. She could feel her mind start to break under the pressure, wince as it snapped into little bitty pieces and she began screaming, tears running down her face as the skeletons clung to her.

A bright flash of light cut through the wave of bodies. For an instant, the image of a glowing playing card imprinted itself on her mind. Salvation. Like then, like now.

The sight of a pale face broke her peace with red eyes and white hair. "You'll die, too, child. Just like all the others. But I think I'll let you watch. I think I'll let you watch." A glass tube sprung up from the floor, trapping her. The hand reached for a little red button.

Illyana Rasputin woke up screaming.

Roberto DaCosta had been on his feet at the sound of the first whimper. When the bone-chilling scream had cut through the peacefulness of the house, it had nearly paralyzed him with fear. It sent him back to a time when, after having heard a similar shout, he had tried to recapture the demons pouring out of Illyana's eyes.

Some other part of his brain took over in a second, reminding him that he had nothing to be afraid of, and that he loved Illyana. It would be cruel not to help her.

The door of her room was open and he could see her sitting up in the bed, hands over her eyes, wailing, tears streaming down her pale face. The poor thing. He had read reports from the doctors at several research facilities that Bastion had sent her to that documented her nighttime horrors to the smallest detail. They were dark, deadly things that had chipped away at her mind one at a time.

"Illyana," he crooned softly, walking over to the bed and placing his hand on her shoulder. He wanted to start things off slow, not scare her anymore than she was.

With a scream, she jerked back. "Go away. Go away. Go away. I can't help you. I can't find him. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." Her words faded away into breathless sobbing.

He wrapped his arms around her, hoping to pacific her.

"Leave me alone!" Illyana insisted, pulling her small body free from his arms. Her hands fell off her eyes, revealing two orbs of blazing blue fire. His Illyana was back again, probably taking over to protect the weaker aspects of herself from whatever they viewed as a threat. When she caught sight of him, her shoulders sagged and she relaxed a little.

Again, he reached for her. This time she melted into his arms, laying her head on his shoulder and weeping openly. "It's okay, Illyana. I'm here. I won't leave you. I won't," he soothed her, rubbing her back, stroking his fingers through her hair.

Eventually, the crying subsided and she pulled away to look at him. "Thank God you came. Thank God." She placed her hand on his cheek.

"What happened?" he asked, settling into a more comfortable position on her bed, careful not to crush any of the cats.

"Just a nightmare," she said, licking her lips and brushing hot tears off her face. "I get them a lot. I used to scream and scream for my brother but he never came. I didn't remember--when I woke up--that he was dead. After a while, I just started screaming."

Almost shyly, Roberto patted her knee. "Well, I'm right here. I won't go away."

Illyana just nodded and cracked her knuckles.

He missed the feeling of her hand on his cheek the second she removed it. But he didn't say anything. He didn't want to push her.

"My dreams," she started and then stopped.

"Go on."

"They're always the same. I'm...I'm in this room with all these tubes. They're glass."

Bastion's death chambers, `Berto thought, anger rushing through his veins. Damn him to hell.

Illyana went on. "Sometimes there are skeletons in the tubes, sometimes people. But if they're people, they die. When they're skeletons, they just cry for help. I'm looking for someone when the people are skeletons but I never find him. When they're real, I'm in the tube, too, watching as the white man kills them."

"White man?"

"Pale skin, white hair, red eyes. The white man. He's mean. He always wants to kill me, too, but he makes me watch first. Then there's this bright light, streaming golden fire. I think it belongs to the man I was looking for. Usually, it saves me." Her voice broke and she started crying again. "Oh, he didn't save me tonight. He did but then he went away. Who is he? What does it all mean, `Berto? What does it all mean?"

He wrapped her shaking body in his arms and held her; his eyes focused on the discolored ceiling. "I don't know, Illyana. I don't know. Maybe...maybe Forge would know."

She drew in a shaky breath. "If I did what Forge wants, would the dreams go away."

"Yes."

"Then I'll go," she told him and leaned into his embrace, her tears gone, her manner calm.

Roberto just stayed quiet and held her. There wasn't anything else for him to say and he didn't think she'd be going back to bed anytime soon.

Hunter shifted the satchels around on his back. Damn, what had Crimson packed, the kitchen sink? She had offered to take them a few times but each time his stupid Summers pride wouldn't let him. There were many times when it became a great burden to be a Summers.

Rebecca looked back at him and smiled. She had such a sweet smile. It reminded him of Lorna's smile when he would wake her up with a kiss.

Crimson stopped walking and turned around, one hand firmly wrapped around Rebecca's, the other gripping her walking stick with an iron fist. "Come on, Hunter. It's just a little ways more." She paused. "Do you want me to take one of those?"

"No," he snapped, "I'm fine. It's just a few little packs."

"Suit yourself. Just keep up." With that, she started off again, almost dragging the child behind her.

He shook his head and followed her. Maybe she was right. Maybe she just wasn't cut out for the mothering thing.

Rebecca stopped moving when she caught sight of the house. It was large, rising from the ground like a mountain, or a tree, into the sky. "What is it?" she asked Crimson, pulling on her hand.

"It's a skyscraper," Crimson told her. "That's where Psiblade lives. Some say this is the last skyscraper on Earth. But I don't believe that. There's got to be another one...somewhere."

"Nope, Crimson, that's it. The last one," his voice floated over the piles of garbage before he stumbled into view.

"Alex, is it really?" Rebecca asked, eagerly.

Crimson grabbed her arm and shook her slightly. "Didn't I tell you not to call him that? That could get us all killed? Do you hear me, Rebecca? Do you?"

The child broke out of Crimson's grip and ran over to Hunter's side. A few strands of hair, raspberry with fear, clung to the side of her face. She slipped her hand in her uncle's and continued walking.

"Crimson didn't mean anything by it, Rebecca," he assured her.

"I know."

The glass doors were unlocked and opened into a grand lobby that shone and glittered like a faceted jewel. The letters Worthington Enterprises hung over the desk that sat primly in one corner. The tiled floors were clean without even the hint of dust or grime.

"You are late," a woman's voice resounded through the lobby.

Rebecca turned around several times, searching for the voice's body. All she could see were shadows. Behind them, a shadow moved, and the door locked.

Hunter set the satchels down on the ground and watched the patch of shadow. "Come on out, Betsy, you're scaring her."

The shadows melted away to reveal the tall, muscular form of a woman. Long, deep purple hair hung down her back and lighter purple eyes stared out from the yellow smoke face. Scars marred the perfection of her cheeks and dark bags showed under her eyes. She was dressed in black body armor that ran from her neck to her fingertips and down to her toes. A red scar swirled into intricate detail around her left eye. "She should be scared." The voice was low, husky, filled to bursting with pain and heartbreak.

"Is that Psiblade?" Rebecca whispered.

The woman slid forward in one graceful motion, settling before her in seconds, head tilted to the side, eyes studying the young face in front of her. "You may address all questions to me, little one."

Crimson started to take a step forward, but Hunter caught her arm and held her back. "Rebecca's not in any danger."

"Are you Psiblade?"

The woman nodded slowly and straightened up. "That is what people call me these days." She walked towards where Crimson and Hunter stood. "Alex, release the woman. She can't hurt me."

"If you so much as touch a hair on that child's head, I'll rip your throat out!" Crimson threatened, struggling against Hunter's strong arms, her fire red hair spilling lose from the braid and fanning itself out over her shoulders.

Psiblade touched her face and Crimson shrunk back from the chill. "I see it in your mind that you know me, knew me. You can't beat the woman who taught you how to fight, dear one, even if she and I are, at best, distant cousins."

"Aunt Betsy." The shocked words fell from her mouth.

The woman nodded, once, and Hunter released Crimson's arms. "Well, Hunter, it's been a while."

He touched one of the scars on her face and watched her flinch in phantom pain. "That it has been, Betsy. I was...sorry to hear about Warren."

Sorrow flitted across the purple eyes and she pulled away from him. "Your mind is not easy to grasp, child."

"I'm Rebecca."

One of the thin hands came out and yanked the rag hat off her head. The hair, pink slowly darkening to mauve, spilled out like a rainbow. A smile crossed the red lips. "You're beautiful, child. Welcome to my home, Rebecca. The last skyscraper on Earth, the memorial to Warren Worthington the third, and my home."

The black eyes danced around the lobby, taking it all in. "I'm sorry he died. He was a good man. Forge told me stories about him."

"Thank you." Betsy patted Rebecca's cheek. "Why are you here?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. Forge sent me to find you. He told me that you had to get in touch with Roberto, tell him it's time to come home."

Hunter and Crimson watched from the doorway as the woman known as Psiblade seemed to drift around the room, not touching the floor, as if she were a shadow herself. Finally, she came to rest in front of Rebecca again.

Betsy sighed. "He has the key?"

The girl shrugged. "We don't know."

A sly smile. "Don't you know?"

Hunter almost laughed aloud when he saw that smile. There was a glimmer of the old Betsy, the one he had known all that time ago. True, they hadn't really gotten along but he had respected the woman. She was a warrior and a lady at the same time, always had been, and always would be as far as he was concerned.

"No, I don't," Rebecca answered truthfully.

Psiblade narrowed her eyes and wandered away from the little Summers group. She knew that joining forces with Forge was a mistake. Sure, he had promised her a very good chance at getting Warren back but he had never mentioned dealing with the Summers. The definition of `bad luck' had a picture of Scott Summers and his brood right next to it.

She sighed and turned back to them. "I'll contact Roberto in the morning. Now it is time for all of you to rest. Take the elevator to the 15th floor. All the rooms are open." With that, she disappeared into the shadows.

One of the cats landed on his stomach and Roberto sat up with a low groan. Sleep-eyed and pain-ridden, he gazed around the room, barely seeing anything. As his sight cleared, he saw Illyana asleep on the bed. Her hair was strewn around her face, blond streamers against the white skin.

~Roberto,~ the whisper filled his head along with the image of a tall woman with purple hair and smoke colored skin.

~What, Psiblade?~ he sent back, training sessions from Professor Xavier resurfacing to the top of his memory.

~Do you have the key?~

He sighed. It was just like Psiblade to get to the point. No chit chat for this lady. Her part in this whole scheme was much like Forge's desire; she wanted only to have the means to save Warren. Hell with anyone, anything else.

~She has a name,~ he mentioned and ran a hand through his dark curls.

A slight murmur flooded the telepathic line. ~Do you have her?~

~Yes. I'm with her right now.~

~Is she willing to come?~

~Part of her.~

Psiblade paused. ~What do you mean by that, Roberto?~

It took all his effort to suppress a chuckle. ~You haven't read the medical reports on her, have you?~

~No.~

~She's not completely with it. It's almost like dealing with a multiple personality. Sometimes she's the Illyana I used to know and others...,~ he trailed off.

~Oh, that problem. I knew about that. Don't worry. Rebecca will be able to fix all that.~

Roberto shifted his legs around, pulling them away from the cats and their claws. ~Let me guess, I'm supposed to report back to Forge now.~

It sounded like Psiblade was talking through static. ~That is exactly correct. We will meet you there. Don't forget to bring the key.~

This time he did laugh. ~I'm sure that's a real problem, Psiblade.~

~You have your mission, boy. Hurry along now. Goodbye.~

~Bye,~ he threw in just before the link clicked closed.

When he looked up, Illyana was starring at him with her wide eyes. The blue seemed to gleam slightly in the light that filtered in through the curtains. Fear might have lurked there. Or suspicion.

"Who called?" she asked after a minute, stringing her arms around her thin body.

He swallowed. "Psiblade."

Confusion marred her features. "Who?"

"Elizabeth Braddock. Psylocke. Betsy."

"Oh, her. I remember her. Kinda." She stopped talking and looked at her hands, her eyes tracing the scars as they played tag across her skin. "We have to leave, don't we?"

Roberto reached for her. "Yes. We have to get to Forge's laboratory."

All she did was stare at his outstretched hands. "I don't like the outside, `Berto."

"I know but it'll be fine."

"You can't protect me from what's inside my head. I hear voices. They whisper to me during the day but they scream at night. I used to think I was crazy. Now I think I'm being haunted by the voices of everyone who died in that camp. I watched them die, Roberto. I couldn't do anything. I couldn't do anything and he knew. He just made me watch. Over and over and over again. And the screams. My God, the screams," she buried her head in her hands, the tears flowing soundlessly.

He laid a comforting hand on her back. "It's okay. There was nothing you could do, Illyana. Nothing. You didn't have your powers. No one was even supposed to know about you."

She pushed away from him and clutched her head between her palms. "Stop Kitty. Stop screaming. Stop it. I can't help you. I don't know who the man is. I don't know where he is. Brown coat. Brown coat. What the hell about a brown coat?"

An image flashed across her mind's eyes. The man with the red eyes and white hair had his finger about an inch from the red button that would kill her when all the sudden this blinding light filled the room. It glowed orange and gold like the flash of a phoenix. Then the man (Bastion) ran away and another man (brown trench coat) got her out of the tube. He had strange eyes (red). There was someone with him. Another man (blue skin).

The pictures jumbled together forming incomplete tapestries of things she didn't have names for. The man in the brown coat had playing cards. The other man had blue lips and a weird A on his head. And she leaned against the outside of her glass tube, watching as the two men freed whoever was left alive. The screaming had stopped everywhere but inside her head.

Illyana's eyes snapped wide as the memories blew away. "He had a brown coat," she muttered. "And his friend, the other man, was blue."

Roberto narrowed his eyes in fascination and worry. She was the only person who had walked away from the death camps without an altered memory. Everyone else who had survived that death chamber had been mindwipped for their own good. However, because of that, no one knew who had stopped Bastion, who had saved the mutants. No one except Illyana.

"Illyana?"

"What? Oh, I'm sorry. We have to go, don't we."

He just nodded and helped her off the bed. Her legs were a tad bit shaky. Fear, he thought. Fear of leaving this house and stepping back into the rest of the world. Fear of the voices that talk nonstop in her mind. Fear of practically everything.

She got dressed rather quickly, pulling on her old New Mutants uniform and throwing a bulky blue sweater over it. Then she pulled her hair back, revealing her thin neck and the ears that had never been pierced. "I'm scared," she told him.

"I'm right here with you," he stated, taking her hand and leading her out onto the screened in porch.

For a moment, she just stood there, looking out at the world that was washed with the bright light of the sun. "I know," she whispered and then they walked down the steps and into the street. She cast one last glance backward and then steadied her shaking hands. This one last time, she had to be strong. For Kitty, for Piotr, for all the crying voices in her head.

Forge heard the door to the complex open and then voices drifted through the halls. Quickly, he pulled the intercom unit off the wall, pressed the button down, and said, "Paige?"

"Yes Forge," the voice came through to him, sweet like lemonade.

"Who's here?" he asked frantically, pushing a hand through his graying black hair.

There was a pause as Paige typed things into the various computers in the observation room. "Rebecca, Psiblade, and two others Ah can't identify. Maybe you should check it out, Maker."

He nodded. "I think I'll do that. Thank you, Paige."

"Jus' doin' my job," she told him and then clicked off the unit.

The comm. unit buzzed quietly in his hand for a moment before he put it away. With a sigh, he closed the door to the laboratory and, very slowly, his mechanical leg creaking loudly in protest, he started off toward the main doors of their hidden complex.

Jono had turned the assault rifle on Hunter and Crimson the minute they had walked through the doors. With his other hand, he had pulled Rebecca clear of the danger and behind him. Psiblade was left to do as she liked.

"Look, we're not a threat. Will you put that blasted thing down?" Hunter said as he kept his hands above his head.

The younger man looked him up and down, taking in the shaved blond hair, the tired blue eyes, the stubble on his chin, and the odd clothes. The one piece black jumpsuit that had been designed long ago to hold his powers in check and the brown suede jacket that had belonged to his brother. "`ow do I know that I can trust you?" Jono inquired.

Rebecca tugged at his hand. "Jono, it's okay. They were nice to me. They took me to see Psiblade. They won't hurt us."

Psiblade fluttered in and out of the shadows, her purple cape swirled around her ankles as she walked. The black body armor gleamed in the light as though she had stayed up all night polishing it, readying herself for some big event. "She is right, Jonothan," the husky voice said, backing the child's words.

Jono licked his lips in anticipation but did not lower the weapon. The rules were strict. No intruders. They hadn't been expecting these two. The man who looked eerily familiar and the woman who might have been formed from a piece of fire.

The woman stepped forward, a walking stick held firmly in her left hand. "You do not want to toy with me. I can break you hand before you use that thing."

The blond man held her back. "Crimson."

"Jono, dammit, put that thing down!" Forge shouted as he hobbled down the hall towards them. The groaning of his metal leg grew louder until it was almost a shriek.

Purple eyes fell on him. "Oh, Maker. You've seen better days."

"Nice to see you, too, Betsy," he said gruffly.

Assault rifle put back in its holster, Jono picked Rebecca up and put her on his shoulders. Her fingers toyed with his hair, twining the brownish red locks into odd braids and elaborate styles. His green eyes flicked over the group before him with clear distaste, but he said nothing.

Forge came to a stop in front of the blond man, his black eyes narrowing as he caught a clear view of the ragged face. "You look like someone I knew," he explained in case the man got the wrong idea.

"I am someone you knew," the man told him, calmly. "I'm Alex Summers."

"Alex Summers died. I saw him."

Hunter shrugged and tossed his satchels to the floor. "Well, Forge, I thought I saw you die, too. Guess that makes us both ghosts."

"Psiblade?" Forge turned to the woman who was dancing elegantly with the shadows.

She nodded once and then whispered something to Rebecca and Jono. Both started to laugh.

Slightly confused, Forge turned back to the blond man. "So it is you?"

"Yep," Hunter said and then gave the other man an awkward hug.

Crimson scowled and leaned against the steel door. "Do we really have time for this?"

"Who's she?" Forge asked, motioning quickly with his good hand.

Hunter smiled. "That's Crimson."

She looked at him, green eyes like jade against her skin, a question visible in those eyes, a question just for him. Aren't you going to tell them, Hunter? About everything? About how I'm Rachel Summers from another universe and about Rebecca and her ties to us?

All Hunter did was look at the floor for an instant and give his head one small shake. No, never. Our secret.

"How did you find them?" Forge was asking Rebecca when Hunter and Crimson ended their silent chat.

Still on Jono's shoulders, her hair close to the color of fresh bubblegum, Rebecca said, "I recognized Alex from your photos. I followed him but...I got sick and he took me to his store. Crimson was there, too. And together we all went to find Psiblade."

The Indian nodded and glanced at the tall, thin woman who was half-immersed in a spot of shadow. Warren's death had affected her profoundly. She had fought with the beings of the Crimson Dawn and won, gaining almost limitless power but losing most of her humanity in the process. Now the totality of her telepathic might was enough to stop anyone's brain where they stood. It was unsettling to say the least.

"I contacted him. He is coming with the key," she rasped out, her slanted eyes studying the Maker even as he studied her. A million hurts or more weighed him down, just like her. He was in this fight to regain a loved one lost to the genocide, just like her.

"Good." Forge slowly cantered over to the intercom unit and thumbed it on. There was the slight crackle of static and then Paige's voice came through, clear and sweet as ever.

"What is it?" she questioned.

"Nothing's wrong, Paige. Just some friends. Two more are expected. "

"Ah know. Roberto and Ms. Rasputin."

A slight smile almost made its way across the Maker's face. "Would you like to come down and join us, Paige?"

A pause and the brush of a hand against a dial. "Jus' let me put the monitors on alert and Ah'll be right down."

He nodded. "We look forward to seeing you. Goodbye Paige."

"Bye." The comm. clicked off.

Forge turned to the group collected in the main entryway and was about to say something when the door was kicked open. In the doorway stood Roberto DaCosta and, behind him, the small form of a blond haired girl.

Roberto stood in the doorway, one hand on the open door, the other one holding onto Illyana's arm. "We're here," he said to the group of people standing in the main hallway of the hidden complex.

Illyana peered around his arm, looking at the gathering with an expression of fear. Snatches of memory danced across her mind, refusing to congeal into anything useful. Her head began to pound like fists on glass, rocking through her brain in waves of utter pain. A small moan escaped her lips.

"Is she okay?" Forge asked, suddenly worried. The girl was the key. She was their salvation. With her, he could save Ororo. She had to be fine. She had to be.

Psiblade drifted over, pushing the other people out of her way, until she stood in front of Roberto. "Come inside, Roberto. Let us have a look at her."

Panic flooded over Illyana's face and she gripped Roberto's shirt tightly. "Don't. Take me home. Please".

"Roberto," Forge said, locking eyes with the young man.

Hesitantly, Roberto stepped into the hallway, leaving Illyana by the door, her blue eyes filled with hatred and pain. When Psiblade took a step towards her, the blond girl turned as though she was going to bolt but Betsy was too quick for her. One of the hands, secured in thin black armor that looked like lace, closed tightly around the upper section of her arm and dragged her back inside.

"Leave me alone!" Illyana screamed as Psiblade closed the door and walked them both away from it.

Light purple eyes, like daggers shinning in the moonlight, turned to her. "Be still."

With one strong jerk of her arm, Illyana knocked Psiblade away from her. "No. Leave me alone." She backed up to the door and stood there, eyes flickering from one person to another.

Forge grabbed Roberto by the shoulder and spun him around. "Get her back in control."

"I don't think she'd listen to me, anymore," he replied.

With a growl, Forge released him and walked, haltingly, over to where Jono stood, Rebecca still on his shoulders.

The child looked at him, her black eyes glittering, and her hair a bright rose pink. "Forge, what's wrong with her?"

"Her mind isn't all there, Rebecca. Do you think you could help her?"

"Psiblade couldn't help her."

Jono glared at Forge and held the girl tighter. "I don' think that's such a good idea, gov'ner."

"Did I ask for your help?"

"Rebecca's right. Psiblade couldn't `elp `er. What chance does Rebecca `ave?" he asked, still not quite adjusted to his regenerated upper body.

Psiblade, glowering, glided over to them. "Rebecca can use her powers to hide things from view. Basically, what's wrong with Illyana is that so much of her mind has been hidden from her, locked away into separate compartments. I'm not saying that it will be an easy process to piece her back together. It won't. She's possessed of extremely strange, strong mental shields. With me guiding Rebecca and guarding her from the worst of Illyana's mental onslaughts, I assure you that it can be done."

"And whot would you `ave me do?" Jono demanded.

"You, Mr. Starsmore, would be an anchor."

Crimson, who had been sticking close to Hunter, wandered over to catch snippets of the conversation. Her hands tightened around the walking stick. "I won't let you endanger this child."

"It is not your choice," Psiblade explained, sighing.

"It's not yours, either!" Crimson yelled back.

Thin hands reached out to clamp around the other woman's shoulders. "Have I argued with that? No. It is totally Rebecca's choice. If she says no, then I will attempt to do it myself with only Jono's help."

Roberto broke into the circle. "What about Illyana? Aren't you even going to ask her if this is what she wants?"

"Illyana is in no condition to make those kinds of decisions," Forge interjected.

Hunter sighed and leaned into the wall. He cast a glance at the blond haired girl. Peter's sister. They had worked together some, he and Peter. Sure, the Russian wasn't much for chitchat but he had seemed to be a nice guy. And the girl looked so frightened. "Hey," he said softly.

Her head whipped around, the blond hair like shots of energy through the air. "Who are you?" she asked.

"Alex Summers but most people call me Hunter now," he explained.

Curiously, she tilted her head to the side. "That's your brother's jacket."

He nodded.

"I saw him die. I heard his screams."

An undefinable emotion swept over him. He had never stopped to think about that, about how Scott had been in the end. Moreover, he could see in the haunted look in Illyana's eyes that she didn't want the information, either. "I'm sorry to hear that."

She nodded once and then sunk to the ground, arms wrapped around her knees, head bent over starring at the floor. It was a stance that said, I don't want to talk anymore so leave me alone.

He left her alone.

Paige Starsmore could hear the yelling from quite a distance. Her hand trailed along the wall, and her eyes, open and blank, were cast toward the ceiling. Voices washed over her. Angry voices. Jono, Forge, `Berto, Rebecca, and two she couldn't recognize by sound.

"What's goin' on around here?" she questioned as she walked into the main hallway.

"Paige!" Rebecca cried and threw her arms around the woman's legs.

With a slight chuckle, she patted her head. "You're gonna have ta let go of my legs, honey."

The arms slipped off. "Okay."

Paige tilted her head and heard a small moan, like a captured animal. "What's goin' on, Jono?"

There was the sound of one of his deep sighs before he said, "Forge `ere wants ta risk Rebecca's well-being so we can pull Illyana from the brink and `ave her jump-start the damned machine."

"And it's turned inta one big argument." Paige shook her head. "What's the girl want?"

"Rebecca's fine with it," Forge exclaimed.

"I meant Illyana." Her head turned until she was facing the direction the moans were coming from. "What about her?"

Forge sniffed and shifted his weight, trying to lessen the strain on his mechanical leg. "She's too out of it to make any kind of decision, Paige."

The blank eyes turned on him, two orbs that represented to him his complete and utter failure to protect the fellows of his race. Paige would be healed, too. He would make sure of that.

"Ask her," Paige insisted.

Forge said nothing.

"Roberto?"

The young man looked over at Paige and ran a hand through his black curls. "Yes, Paige?"

The eyes closed. "You've spent the most time wit' her. Do you think she can make a decision about this?"

"It depends," he answered, hanging his head.

Psiblade sighed angrily and grabbed Jono and Rebecca. "I've had enough of this silliness. Too much time spent arguing and not enough time making things happen. That's always been the real root of mutant disagreements. Everyone wants to follow the path of Magneto and Xavier. Discuss everything to death, fight every step of the way, and stick to your own dead-weight dream instead of just compromising. Well, in case nobody else notices, Charles Xavier was no angel of valor and Magneto was no devil. They were both men. And that's what I call the problem."

Illyana had looked over at her when she heard the name Magneto but when Betsy stopped talking, her head dropped again.

Crimson followed closely on her heels as Psiblade dragged Jono and Rebecca over to where Illyana sat. "You take that back about Professor Xavier. He was a wonderful man."

Pain filled eyes latched onto her. "You don't get to talk about this with me."

"Why doesn't she?" Hunter demanded, stepping over to the group.

"You know why, Hunter," Psiblade told him, steel inching into her voice.

"Professor Xavier was a good man. He had a wonderful dream. It was Magneto. He was a devil. He didn't do anything except make things harder for mutants," Crimson proclaimed, her hands tightening. The walking stick in her hand looked as if it would break under the assault from her fist.

The purple cape surrounded the two women, cutting them off from the rest of the world. "Still your silly tongue. You weren't born here. You didn't grow up here. Your world and ours are different. Extremely. So keep quiet."

Crimson shook slightly as the cape was lifted from her, sending her spinning back into the light. "Where'd you get that cape? What the hell is it?"

"Let's just say I got it from a friend, a fellow mutant. Let's leave it at that." Then Psiblade turned back to Illyana.

The girl looked up at the three telepaths. Her gaze focused on Psiblade and her cape. "Betsy, you have Tyrone's cape. How'd you get it? What happened to Cloak? What happened?"

Psiblade set one of her smoke colored hands on Illyana's head. "Quiet, child. Still. We want to help you."

"Will you chase the voices away?"

"The voices?"

Illyana nodded. "They scream at me. They're the voices of the people I saw die at the camps. I was there, you know."

Psiblade closed her eyes. Pictures of other camps filed through her mind. All the sights, the sounds, buried deep within her head. For she had been the one to mindwipe the other mutants. She had been the only telepath alive strong enough to hold all that misery, all that pain. "I know."

The blue eyes focused on the floor again. "Will it hurt?"

"Maybe a little. I shall try and make it as painless for everyone involved as possible," she promised, taking her hand off Illyana's head.

Jono stared at the shaking girl for a minute. "She's older than me an' Paige but..."

"But she acts like a child, a little girl," Psiblade finished. "Give me your hands, both of you. Now Rebecca place your hand on Illyana's head."

Roberto turned away from the cluster of people as the pink light swarmed around Illyana, mixing with the pale purple of Psiblade's mental powers and the faint blue glow that was Jono. If this didn't work, if it hurt her or messed her brain up even more, he would kill himself for bringing her here to these people and their insane plans.

"Don' be so hard on yourself, `Berto," Paige's voice whispered into his ear. "You were just doin' what you were told. You were tryin' to save the past, the present, the future. It's one hell o' a high."

He glanced back at her. Blank eyes, filled with nothing, not judgment, not hate, not pain. Nothing. Two voids in the middle of her face. The gateway to her soul had been closed. "Did I do the wrong thing?" he inquired knowing that Paige wouldn't spare his feelings.

She shrugged slightly. "Ah don't know. Ah don' think they realize what piecing' her back together will do. After that, it'll be her choice whether or not she makes that machine workable. Personally, Ah don' think she'll do it once she's back in her right mind."

"She won't," he admitted. "I know her, knew her, well enough to realize that. But they don't see it."

"Betsy sees it."

"Then why is she going through with it?"

Paige sighed and brushed hair off her face. "She wants Warren back. In her mind, she knows this won't work but her heart's tellin' her that she's got ta try. I suppose I'd do the same for Jono. Can't blame her. Or Forge, really. He's heartbroken over Storm."

Annoyed, he pulled at some of the curls on his head. "She hates me now."

"She might be mad at ya for a bit but Ah don' think she'll hate you," Paige assured him. "Now, why don't you turn around so she can look at you, so she knows you're here for her."

"Thank you, Paige." Roberto turned around and let the light wash over him, felt Illyana's eyes, two shinning sapphires focus, and lock on him.

Illyana felt like she was drowning. All around her, walls were dropping, memories were rushing over her, filling her, like a flood. Snatches of her life that she thought had been gone forever washed over her, imbedding themselves into her mind's eye like a shard of glass. It was painful at first like thousands of little razors poking into her skin. However, after the initial shock, she felt more complete, almost like a whole person.

Then the barb of Rebecca's powers caught and tore something loose.

Suddenly, Illyana started to scream as the images came free.

The black energy lashed out at the telepaths as the screams came pouring from her throat. Psiblade was barely able to close the connection before Illyana's mental safe guards destroyed their minds.

Rebecca stood, wide eyed, her body shaking with exhaustion and fear. Then, her eyes rolled back in her head and she collapsed onto the floor, raspberry hair making trails through the dust. Jono picked her body up, unsteadily, and made his way away from Illyana and the coursing black energy. He set Rebecca in Crimson's waiting arms and sank to the floor in a way that made him look as if he had no bones. Paige was by his side in seconds.

Forge watched the scene with disappointment bubbling up into his heart. It was over. It was all over. His last chance for happiness had just rebelled. There would be no great alteration in the time line, no hope for a present devoid of the mutant genocide. Never again would he hold Ororo in his arms and stare into her beautiful blue eyes, run his fingers through her soft, silver hair. That chapter of his life was over.

Over. What a horrible word.

Illyana's screams cut through to Roberto's heart, driving him to his knees, paralyzing him in fear. He couldn't move, couldn't force his legs to work so that he could go to her, hold her, calm her down. The painful cries swarmed around him, pinning him to the spot, setting weights down upon his back. This was a sound that would haunt his nightmares until his dying day, the sound of the woman he loved most dying inside, calling for him, while he couldn't even move.

Psiblade stood above Illyana's huddled form, the black energy twisting around her in streamers, held off by the faint purple glow that encased her body. A giant blade of flaming purple was grasped in one of her hands. It hung next to her side, there if she needed it.

She didn't understand what had gone wrong. The walls had been falling nicely, one after the other, in rapid succession. There shouldn't have been a problem. What had they tripped? What secret compartment had they opened?

Hunter ran a hand over his short hair. When he laid that hand on Crimson's arm, a small shock of static electricity flowed through them both. With an apologetic smile at Crimson, he turned his eyes back on the girl. Betsy hovered over her, a deep purple streak against the black, yellow skin pale, and her blade at her side. Something was going on. Something big.

Crimson cradled Rebecca in her arms, feeling traces of the girl's powers, swirling over and around her. The power touch was so light, like a gentle breeze surrounding her, but she could still feel it. Then a brighter blaze shot through her, something that felt like yellow and orange, like red. It was as though someone had poured molten lava into her veins. And then came the voice.

~Rachel Summers,~ it whispered.

She shook her head. ~No. I'm not her. You want Rebecca.~

Gold sparks through her mind. ~Rebecca is too weak.~

~You don't want me,~ Crimson pressed. ~I'm not a mutant.~

~You are Rachel Summers.~

~Why are you here?~

Red. ~For you.~ Orange. ~Rebecca broke your walls down, too~ Gold. ~You are mine.~

Crimson moved her head around slowly. ~What if I don't want you?~

~You are mine, Rachel Summers. I am yours. It is destiny.~

~Are you who I think you are?~

Flaming wings, the hiss of fire. ~Yes.~

~I wouldn't be an outcast anymore, would I?~

~No. You would be as you were supposed to be.~

Something in Crimson's mind came together with a harsh snap. ~It wasn't Jean Grey-Summers that pulled me to this place. It was you. You knew that Rebecca was too weak for your power so...~

Burning. Painful. Beautiful. Fire. Red. Gold. Orange. ~I sent her away and brought you here. But I didn't realize that I needed Rebecca to unlock your mind. Both of you in the same place...I don't know how that will end up but you are mine. Will you accept my power, Rachel Summers?~

~What choice do I have?~

~None.~

~I accept.~

The fire washed through her, orange and gold and red all at the same time. It burned itself into her mind, stirring powers she had never known she had, blazing through her body. Rebirth. Splendor. The power of the flaming bird. The power of the Phoenix.

She opened her eyes and looked around the room. Psiblade was staring at her, pale purple eyes narrowed. Crimson could tell that the older woman knew what had just happened.

"So, you are back," Psiblade said.

Crimson nodded and handed Rebecca to Hunter. "It is good to see you again, shadow dancer. You thought you had locked me away but Rebecca was the key to my awakening."

"I knew it was wrong to lock away a part of nature but you had been known to destroy. When you came looking for me..."

"I made a mistake, shadow dancer. I know. You possessed more power than I had dreamed. But this is mine," she reasoned, passing the hands over Crimson's body. "I know this one."

Psiblade shifted her sword a bit. "Are you going to take care of this or should I?" she questioned, motioning at Illyana.

"I shall."

"Having completed your task will you live in the body or just leave a portion of your power?"

Crimson smiled. "You know me too well, shadow dancer." A pause. "I shall leave her with my power. It works the best that way."

With a smile, Psiblade stepped away from Illyana. "Then, have at it, old friend."

The Phoenix stepped forward, flames radiating off her, killing the black energy that leaped forward. A claw of red fire reached out, covering Illyana. The young woman's screams began to dwindle away and the black energy was destroyed, blasted to bits, and burned alive. The Phoenix reached into her mind and soothed her, smoothing over the rough spots, fixing the holes that weren't meant to be opened, the memories that were too painful to ever be tolerated. It patched the shields, built up the mental defenses, and then pulled out, leaving the girl quiet and shaking slightly, but better, closer to being whole.

When the Phoenix stepped away, Crimson could feel her dissipating from her mind, moving back towards the dark of the universe. ~Don't leave me.~

~I won't ever truly leave you. My power is with you for it is your power as well. Take good care of it. Do not allow it to overcome you as it has done with others.~

~I won't,~ Crimson promised and then the Phoenix was gone.

When she came back into consciousness, Psiblade was kneeling beside Illyana, comforting her. "Thank you, Crimson."

Illyana shrugged away from Psiblade, giving the woman a scathing look as she, shakily, stood up. No longer did the memories in her head click together and then fall apart. Now they formed pictures. Something danced against her mind's eye that involved a giant, purple demon and she clamped her fists against the side of her head.

Roberto found his feet in the instant that Illyana stopped screaming. It took him seconds to reach her side. When he placed a hand on her arm, trying to placate her and reassure her that he was there, she slapped him across the face.

"What the hell was that for?" he demanded as she stepped away from him.

If he hadn't known better, he would have sworn that red gleamed behind the blue in her eyes when she turned to face him. "That's for just letting them carve up my mind!" she yelled at him.

That was when he knew. "You're back," he whispered, crossing the space between them and folding Illyana into his arms. For a moment, she struggled, apparently still mad at him, but then she relaxed into his embrace.

"Yeah, I guess I am," she replied, tightening her grip on him. It felt so good to be in his arms, have him in her arms. The whole, detached, not there feeling was gone, just vanished. It was her mind again, she was in control.

"Excuse me," Forge said, "but we have some work to do."

Gracefully escaping from Roberto's arms, Illyana glared at him. "I don't think we do."

His red skin paled. "What?"

"Forge, it's wrong to mess with the time stream. You could end up screwing everything to hell and back. The present could become worse, much worse."

"I don't believe you," he fumed. "You're alive. You're whole. You have to make my machine work. You have to. Please. I want her back. I need her back. It's not fair. It's not fair." Slowly, Forge sunk to the floor, his mechanical leg groaning loudly in protest. His shoulders shook as he began to cry.

Psiblade glided over, taking one look at Illyana and then kneeling next to Forge. "Maker, you have to let her go," the silk and satin voice said. "Ororo died. Let her rest in peace."

He looked up at pale purple eyes, the dark purple hair curling against the smoke yellow skin. This was his friend. This woman had gone through the same things as he had and worse. "It's so hard, Betsy," he muttered, pressing his fists against his teeth.

"I know, old friend. I know," she cooed and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"So, it's over just like that?" Hunter questioned from beside the steel door. The limp, unconscious body of Rebecca was still draped across his arms.

Crimson turned to him. "Of course it's over just like that. Illyana never planned to jump-start the silly machine. That would have been insane."

He smirked. "And what a strange predicament you've found yourself in, huh, Crimson?"

"I never thought it possible that the Phoenix would come to me, Hunter. I knew the tie was there. I could feel it. But I never imagined..." she trailed off and shifted nervously. It still burned through her veins, hot and red like the fire it was.

Rebecca stirred slightly and Hunter tightened his grip. "What do we do with her?"

Bending over to retrieve her walking stick from where it had fallen, unnoticed, Crimson answered, "Well, she's a Summers."

"That doesn't mean we can just take her."

"But if she wants to come nobody can stop her. We're the closest thing she has to a family."

"What about Forge?" Hunter demanded. In his arms, Rebecca's eyelids began to flutter.

Crimson sighed and let her hair down, the streaming strands like flames against her skin. "There are other children in this complex. He trains them here."

"Crimson. Hunter," Rebecca said, her voice came out as though her throat hurt her.

"What Rebecca?" Crimson inquired.

The girl shook her head and her hair shifted to cotton candy. "Did we do it?"

Hunter set her down. "Well, Illyana's mind has been put together correctly. But she won't jump-start Forge's time machine."

"I knew she wouldn't," Rebecca murmured. Then she looked up at the two adults. "When are we going home?"

Paige laid her hand on her husband's cheek. Even if it was regenerated, it still felt all right; it felt like real skin. His fingers wrapped around her wrist.

"`ello lovely," he whispered.

A smile spread across her face. "You're up."

Against her hand, he nodded.

"Illyana's not gonna activate the machine. She's think it's wrong."

His head throbbed as he sat up. "`ow's the gov'nor taking' it?"

"Last I heard, Psiblade was over there comfortin' him."

"And wouldn't that be a big cheery mess, then. The Maker and the shadow dancer." Jono sighed and took his wife's hand. "Paige?"

She tilted her head towards him. "Yeah, Jono?"

He sighed again and looked up at her, at the blind eyes those closed portals to the soul. "`ave you ever thought o' leaving this behind and starting over somewhere else?"

"What about the others?"

"I trust Forge wit' their lives. But I'm tired of the fight. I want to spend time wit' you, `ave a family."

Her hand lifted off his face. Silence descended around them like a heavy blanket. "Ah...Let's talk about it, okay, Jono?"

Jono ran a hand through his hair. "That's fine, sunshine. I mean, it looks like we `ave a long time together."

Psiblade drifted over to where Hunter and Crimson stood. "So, you are going to be leaving? Going back to your hovel?"

Hunter laughed and put a hand on her shoulder. "That's what I always like about you, Betsy, no tact whatsoever."

She glared at him.

"There are still noble battles to fight in, Psiblade. There is still evil. I figure who better to go up against it then the Summers clan," Crimson declared with a smile. "Are you leaving?"

"No, I will be staying for a while. Paige and Jono have decided to take a vacation. Illyana wants to make some reports about the death camps, since most of that information has been lost. I'm staying to help Forge with the others. Good luck," she said.

"...the great genocide was led by a man who called himself Bastion. There have been reports, though, that he was no man but some kind of perverted Sentinel. The death toll from the camps he ran has never been calculated. Most of the reports have been lost and the witnesses were all mindwipped. All but me, that is.

"I was in one of the death camps. I watched as my friends and fellow mutants were murdered all around me. I still hear their screams at night. They haunt me. They want to be remembered.

"I've heard some people say that the mutant genocide never existed. Some children don't even know what a mutant is. I want that ignorance to end because if it doesn't then we are forced to repeat our mistakes. I never want to be trapped in a glass tube again. I never want to see mutants, people, humans, dying like that again.

Illyana buried her head in her hands and groaned, "`Berto turn it off. I hate watching myself."

"But I love this part." He smiled at her and patted her knee. "You're a great public speaker, miena."

On the television screen the recorded image of Illyana Rasputin-DaCosta continued speaking. "I used to be a mutant. I know that sounds weird to you. It sounds weird to me, too, but it's true. I am no longer a mutant. My powers are locked up in the back of my mind. They got stuck there a long time ago. Sometimes, I miss them. But not as much anymore. I have friends again, a family. And I feel that I am making a difference.

"Does anyone have questions?"

A hand in the crowd went up. "Who saved you? In your book, it says that Bastion was just about to kill you when this reddish gold flame erupted. Was that Crimson? Was she around then?"

The picture laughed and passed a hand over its hair. "Crimson didn't have her powers then. A man with red eyes who wore a brown trench coat saved me. That's really all I remember. I don't have a name to go with the face and no one's stepped forward."

"Mom," a little voice whined and Illyana shut the television off.

"Duty calls," she said, glancing over at Roberto.

With a shrug, he replied, "She didn't ask for me."

Blue eyes flashed. "Roberto DaCosta, you lazy, pig-headed..."

"But that's why you love me."

"I don't know why I love you," she exclaimed and grabbed his hand. "Comeon, let's go see what our daughter's doing."

"A man with red eyes who wore a brown trench coat saved me. That's really all I remember..."

The man reached out and turned the television off. He rubbed a hand across his weary eyes and faced the mirror. Red eyes gleamed back at him, a sad face, and long brownish red hair. The face of a savior to Illyana Rasputin, the face of an angel of death to countless others. The X-Man formerly known as Gambit, got up and walked from the room. As far as the world knew, Remy LeBeau had died in the great mutant genocide. And that was the way it should be.