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Bellwether	By : Nemain Category: X-Men - Animated Series (all) > General Views: 4549 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men Evolution, or any of the characters from it. I make no money from from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Bellwether
- 2-2
- 3-3
- 4-4
- 5-5
- 6-6
- 7-7
- 8-8
- 9-9
- 10-10
- 11-11
- 12-12
- 13-13
- 14-14
- 15-15
- 16-16
- 17-17
- 18-18
- 19-19
- 20-20
- 21-21
- 22-22
- 23-23
- 24-24
- 25-25
- 26-26
- 27-27
- 28-28
- 29-29
- 30-30
- 31-31
- 32-32
- 33-33
- 34-35
- 35-36
- 36-36
- 37-37
- 38-38
- 39-39
- 40-40
- 41-41
- 42-42
- 43-44
- 44-45
- 45-46
- 46-47
- 47-48
- 48-49
- 49-50
- 50-51
- 51-52
- 52-53
- 53-54
- 54-Epilogue
- 55-Epilogue
- 20
- 21
- 22
Bellwether Chapter Twenty One

Disclaimers Apply
A/N Goddess Foxfeather, Queen of Mad Plotbunnies, BUSIEST WOMAN ALIVE �, Prophetic Muse, Hamster Witch and Uberbeta� *happy almost summer break dance * InterNutter, TC, Maxwell Pink, Dracena and Greywolf are loverly and wondermous for archiving/hosting. J ProPhile: *random gold star since I seem to have a surplus * Morgan: *stalkhug * Readers/Reviewers: Thank you so much for reading and reviewing as you can! I�ll be posting YSI zip file thingies for chapter downloads this weekend for those of you who are archiving. J

Mark exhaled softly, tracing his fingertips over the face in the photograph as if he could feel the lines of the subject�s face. The box of materials he kept stashed in his private suite stood almost accusingly on the desk,you should mention the library here, reading that he was in there instead of in his suite irritated me a few lines further down... the stark white of the container in contrast to the dark materials inside. Storm had long ago retired, her own face lined with worry and disgust, not at him but at the subject, at the knowledge he had stored away. She had known, she had known what all good school children and college students know, perhaps a little more due to Professor Xavier and some other friends of a certain age, but certainly not as much as she had learned tonight. She had never seen the pictures before, not the ones that had mysteriously disappeared from archives over the years. She had never read the letters, heard the grainy recordings� Mark shoved the photograph back into the file folder with a barely voiced snarl of annoyance. �Bugger all this for a lark,� he sighed, dropping his glasses onto the desk with a clatter that split the silence of the library. He felt slow, as if he were swimming through molasses, but his mind was unaffected. He gave the offending box a tiny shove and rose to his feet, looking listlessly around the tidy library. The books were arranged according to his preferred system, the three computers were hibernating in the narrow cubicles lining one wall and, if he was not mistaken, the special case housing his most rare volumes, the texts he had brought in personally, those that had the most special meaning, had been recently dusted. A quick glance at the clock over the door showed it to be nearly half past two in the morning; surely Logan and the others would have reached their destination by now, he mused, aware that part of his thought process was far more interested in taking a peek in the special case. And Raven�he paused, frowning. He was well aware of the fact that he was a fully adult, healthy male in the prime of his life (whatever that meant, he thought with a twist of humor)but he had worked hard on keeping any extraneous thoughts of Raven quite securely tucked away. He admitted the occasional dream, the random thought, but propriety and his own personal code dictated that he keep the more lascivious thoughts under mental lock and key until the real-life relationship progressed to a point where such things were inevitable.
He was not sure how it happened but he found himself in the hall leading to the rec room, a frown of confusion creasing his features. He did not even remember leaving the library, much less making the conscious decision to come this way down the hall. He slowed his pace, rounding the corner into the mostly empty room, drawn by the faint glow of one of the Tiffany lamps burning in the corner. Emma sat, a book open on her lap, staring out the dark window on the opposite side of the room. �Is all well?� he asked softly. A warm twinge jolted his belly and he frowned even more deeply.

�No,� she murmured, closing the book and rising smoothly to her feet. The rec room was unusually cold, the air conditioning turned on early that spring, forcing her to tug the brightly knit afghan that usually graced the back of the wing chair over her shoulders, covering her white sheath dress and her bare arms. �All is not well.� She raised a pale brow as Mark strolled closer, noting with no small amount of curiosity that he did not read the same as he usually did. She was used to the almost subliminal registering of the psychic signatures of those around her, knowing people by the �feel� they had, how they thought, the flavor of their brain waves. Mark was�askew. �Is all well with you?�

�All things considered,� he said gently, now just skirting the edge of her personal space. The warm twinge in his belly had roared to life, a full fledged fire. His frown had vanished and in it�s place was a placid smile, barely curving the corners of his mouth. �May I tempt you with some tea?� he asked in the same mild tone, offering his elbow in an old fashioned gesture that was truly more Southern than British.

�Isn�t it awfully late for tea?� she asked, feeling tired for the first time in days. She did not take his proffered elbow but rather edged past him, heading into the kitchen, keenly aware of a shift in Mark�s thoughts. She could not read them but she felt the change, like a sudden undertow in usually calm waters.

�Or early,� he noted, heading for the electric kettle stowed in the cabinet over the counter. �I have peppermint handy� but in this case I think we could both do with a dose of chamomile.� When Emma did not respond right away, he shrugged indifferently and went about making his tea.

Emma watched him carefully, her own full lips curling into a frown to rival Mark�s own, earlier one. He hates that kettle, she thought with a quirk of bemusement, and he�s not fond of tea bags� �Mark,� she said carefully, �are you feeling alright?�

�Dandy,� he smiled over his shoulder. �Fanfuckingtasting. You?�

She stood suddenly, closing the distance between them in two strides. Mark did not have time to turn around and face her before her forearm was pressed against his throat, not quite but threatening to cut off his air supply. �You�re not Mark.� Before she could do anything else, Mark had twisted smoothly in her grasp, reversing their position quickly, twisting her own arm behind her to the point of excruciating pain.

�Emma, I know you�re very tired and that can affect judgment negatively,� the fire in his belly was gone, replaced by confusion and irritation at the events of the evening, �but there really is no excuse for violence.� He released her promptly, glaring at the whistling electric kettle and empty mugs. �If you�ll excuse me, I�m going to bed.�

Emma inhaled sharply but let him go, making the plug for the kettle jerk out of the socket without touching the thing. �Fuck this for a game of soldiers,� she muttered. �I�m calling Charles.�
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Bellwether