AU in which I've decided to portray Storm as the more honorable X-Man I always took her for when I read the comics all those many years ago. Not that I don't think she'd kill, I do, given the right circumstances. But I don't think she'd kill needlessly. She holds her honor in higher esteem than that, or she did, or whatever. Obviously I own nothing Marvel related or Fox related...I own nothing really. A dog. A car, and a 12" Darth Maul. That's about it people. Anywho...

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I am only a man.

For as long as I can remember I've been regarded as a great many number of things. A Creature. A Monster. A Killer. A Thing...to be beaten down, or used and thrown away. A means to an end or a tool in which to perpetuate a dream. But, in the end, I'm only a man.

And I am drowning.

Figurativly, I've been drowning a long time now. When he found me, I thought things would change for the better. I dared to hope at a happier life. But I was a child then, and still clung to children's foolish hopes. I get ahead of myself. Things did get better in those first few years after Magneto rescued me from the filthy streets of London. I had food, a warm place to sleep, people who cared for me, if not about me. But when you are given things, even things you thought you'd die to posess, in time, they are taken for granted and you want more. Even though I knew more was something that would never be allowed me.

When I grew older I saw the gifts that I was given for what they were...or at least I can see them now, so clearly...now that it matters so very little. I was a tool then. Bred and molded to be what HE wanted. Expendible and vicious. Not allowed the luxory of a soul or a conscience...and I survived that way, I suppose, but I was merely surviving. My body has been tormented to ends that no human body should have to endure, and I am still human, I know that, though they've told me otherwise. Even by my would be allies I have been tortured and punished and used. My whole life reflects back to me as a series of injuries, each more devestating than the last, until we get to where I am now.

I am drowning.

I can see the surface, though my vision is failing me. I can almost feel the air on my lips, but my legs aren't strong enough to propel me that far. My fingers grasp for the surface, grazing it every so often, tormentingly close and cruel.

She has killed me.

I feel a strange sort of acceptance in this, and I'm not angry with her for it. It's what I would have done. It's what I tried to do. And one can hardly blame her for fighting back, regardless of whatever holier than thou lifestyle she has claimed to embrace. In the heat of the moment, anyone can kill or be killed, and I suppose I deserve this in a way. God knows I've never done anything worthy of deserving forgiveness. If God even bothers with me, which I have a hard time believing. He either doesn't care, or doesn't exist. Regardless, that leaves me alone and sinking.

I watch the bubbles float up in their amazing little pattern. It pleases me that I can see a little beauty as I pass from this earth. I only wish I wouldn't be leaving behind a stinking corpse for them to find and redicule.

Just when I've decided that I'm glad to be going and rid of this world, I'm hauled to the surface. Funny that I could see better underwater than I can now. Everything's dark and churning and I know I'm caughing, but it seems a long way off. I'm limp against a warm body. I don't have the desire or ability to fight anymore, so I let them support me. Whoever they are. I don't care. I might be going to prison. I don't care. They support my weight against them, swimming, breathing near my ear. Maybe they think I'm dead already. Maybe they hope.

"Can you hear me?" I think the voice has been talking for awhile, but I've only now heard it. It's strangely familiar, and then I shudder. Do you know what happens to a Toad when it's struck by lightning?

"Yes," I answer. But my voice is weaker than I thought it'd be, and near strangled from the lightning bolt that traveled up through my tongue to wreak havok upon my body. And fearful. I know I sound fearful, and I hate it.

"Just hang on," She commands me, her slender arm around my chest, my head leaning back on her shoulder, as she makes strong strokes toward shore. Maybe she really believes in all that holier than thou bullshit. I can't imagine any other reason she'd have dived in to save me. Maybe they just don't want to leave evidence of their being here. No evidence as compelling as a body at any rate. We must have lost. If she had the opportunity to play good samaritan, then we must have lost. I don't even care. I even manage a wry smile. For you, Magneto.

She's stronger than she looks, I'll give her that. She hauls me up on shore, being surprisingly gentle. I blink at a snail's pace up at her as she kneels to begin unfastening my vest. I must have blacked out for a moment, because suddenly I spurt out more water as her hands press down unforgivinly on my bare and blistered chest. She's watching me with something like concern.

"Just hang on. Help's coming."

Help for me? How perplexing. My fingers twitch as I reach to grab for her, to demand that I go free or she let me die, but all I manage to do is close my fingers around her wrist weakly and let out a sigh.

Her brow furrows and she leans in to give me a commanding look.

"You struck me as a fighter, don't give up."

I wonder if she knows how bad I want to. It hurts. Hurt has always been with me, but this...this isn't fair. No one should live through this. I shouldn't have had to live to hit the water, I shouldn't have to be pulled from it and lying on a sandy beach, dying in front of someone like her. She should have hoped for my death, not be working to save me. Why anyone, especially her, would work to save me is a mystery.

"I don't want to be a murderer," She suddenly pleads, "Live, God Damn you!"

I give her a very faint wry smile. She doesn't want to be a murderer. So my life, is indeed nothing, in comparison to the quality of her soul. But, I knew that already. And I drift of into darkness.