Here it is! Just like I promised! Oh, and don't forget to stay Tuned for my next Fic! A continuation of this one that will be called "The Ghost." And thanks to all who've ridden this out with me and Liz the whole way through. You guys are awesome. Enjoy!

P.S. I don't own X-Men!

EPILOGUE

"What did she want?" Emma asked as she walked beside the Professor on the patio just outside the Institute. Mutants were still arriving and even a number of humans. The girl's parents would not be attending. Not once they found out their daughter was a Mutant.

"She asked me," The Professor said with some difficulty as he watched Tabitha and Dimitri sit together on the sing set near a large tree in the front. Neither one of them smiled, and the Professor knew neither one of them (both abandoned by their parents) would ever be the same again. "If I ever found her body, not to return her to her parents. She—wanted to be buried here."

"Mm." Emma said, watching the children's soon-to-be foster parents, Doug and Tilly attempt to comfort them.

"I know this is a lot to ask of you, Emma," Said the Professor tentatively. "But I'd like you to say something…At the funeral. The others could use some words of comfort."

"Most of those people owe their lives to her," She said dully, watching the Mutants chat amongst one another; Rodney sneaking yet another cheese wedge from off the table. "What could I possibly say to make it better?"

"Nothing." The Professor admitted. "Anything. I know this won't change anything but—"

" I'll do it." Emma interrupted, turning to the Professor with grim determination. "For her."

The second he walked in, Erik regretted it.

He had been hoping to find Charles right off and offer his condolences before leaving, but his former associate, Azazel, looking more haggard than he'd ever seen him—

Found him first.

In a single teleport, Erik was hanging from the lapels of his suit high above the ground on the roof of the Mansion, with Azazel the only thing keeping him from falling to his demise. He heard a scream as the others in attendance saw the two and began to panic, thinking they were under attack.

Erik looked into Azazels red eyes, deep, purple bags lining them, and opened his mouth to explain try and calm him down. But the Mutant wasn't having any of that. Azazel narrowed his eyes, his mouth pressed thin as a sheet of paper, and unclasped both his hands at once.

Erik fell only a short distance before he was caught by Emma Frost using her telekinetic abilities. She set him on the floor roughly and he straightened smoothing his hair and he tossed a nervous glance at the red demon as it paced angrily on the roof.

"Thank you, Emma," He said as calmly as he could manage, straightening out the lapels on his suit as Mystique ran to his aid. "I must admit, I sorely miss your company."

"I'm sure you do," Emma replied, ignoring Mystiques' hostile look.

"Erik?" Came the Professor's inquiring voice. He wheeled over, disbelief in his eyes. "What are you doing here?" He asked, genuinely surprised.

"What else? I came to pay my respects," He said smoothly, glaring up at Azazel once more, who had crouched on the roof broodingly. "I suppose I should have—called first."

At that, Azazel teleported from the roof and began advancing on Magneto threateningly, ignoring the other Mutant when he lifted an automobile with one hand and positioned it above his head, "You should not be here!" Azazel thundered, but Emma dragged him back before he could lash out further.

"All are welcome to attend, my friend," Xavier said, though even he was unsure of how to feel at his old friends' sudden appearance.

Erik nodded his head once, "Actually Charles, I did not come here just to offer my sincerest condolences."

"Of course not," Emma quipped and he glared at her a moment before saying to Charles, "I must speak with you. Alone."

The Professor breathed a sigh, but consented. "Come to my study. We can talk there."

"So," Erik said once they were alone, moving to the window to watch the gathering going on just below. "Still advertising for your school, I see."

"This is a private event, Erik." Charles said, his mouth tightening angrily. "All who come here today came of their own accord, for the Mutants who were lost during the escape."

"You mean for the girl." Erik corrected, moving away from the window.

"I mean for all of those who fell, Erik." The Professor was starting to become wary of his friend's presence. "Elizabeth Hawthorne wasn't the only one."

"And no doubt you blame me for this as well."

"No, Erik. I don't blame you. Anymore than I blame Emma, or Azazel, or Havok, or the ghost who now roams the infirmary."

"A ghost you say? A Ghost may be." Erik said ponderously as he sat in the chair opposite Charles, knitting his fingers with a smirk. "How interesting. Please tell me more."

"There have been…" The Professor began reluctantly. "Sounds. In the infirmary. Little more than whispers. A breeze. The children think it's haunted. I've scheduled the air ducts to be repaired as soon as the funeral is over."

"Ah, yes, air ducts." Erik said softly and stood up, turning his back to Charles as he said mysteriously, "But you've been hearing more than whispers," He glanced at the man over his shoulder. "Haven't you, Charles?"

"What are you talking about, Erik?" Xavier asked impatiently. He didn't like being strung along, especially when he's purposely being left in the dark.

"There has been a shift in the spectrum, my dear friend." Erik said gravely. "No doubt you have felt it too. We are fast approaching a new age of Mutants. And so, a new age of Humans."

"I do not understand—"Xavier began but Erik cut him off sharply, whipping around as he said, "Don't play dumb with me, Charles. I know you, like I, have sensed the presence of the Phoenix among us!"

"Keep your voice down!" Charles snapped quickly.

"So you have sensed her." Erik said in satisfaction. "Tell me, have you gone to see her yet?"

The Professor sighed and shook his head, realizing it was futile to try to lie at this point. "No, I have not. I fear she will not respond to separation from her parents. She is already showing signs of instability."

"All the better! If we get to her now we can learn how to control her—"

"Control her!" The Professor exclaimed, enraged. "Are you so depraved as to suggest that we brainwash a young child? After all that's happened—"

"I am thinking of what will happen if we do not get to her in time, you fool! What do you think is going to happen once the Humans discover your little school? Oh, come now, Charles!" Magneto exclaimed at the Professors' frightened look. "It's only a matter of time before they catch on. And then what? They'll hunt you down like dogs."

"I will not sacrifice the will of a child for the benefit of this school!" The Professor said with finality. Then the anger left his face and he pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. "You and I both fight for the same reasons. But you and I have very different ideas about the future." The Professor turned his back on Erik then and said, "I will not let another child suffer for my mistakes again."

A silence passed between the two.

Erik stood, chewing on his lip, a good minute in thought before he relented and began to leave. But before he did, he stopped behind Charles and put a hand on his shoulder, "You are too kind hearted, old friend. It will be the death of you."

And with that, he was gone.

The Professor watched his friend leave, summoning the Professor's former step sister and practically jogging to his car at the sight of an approaching Azazel.

He shook his head.

Erik was wrong about a great many things. But what scared Charles the most, was the things that he was dead right about.

When he found him, he was right where he knew he'd be.

The red Mutant was in the hall, slumped against the wall, his elbow on his knee and a bottle in his hand as he repeatedly thumped the glass against his shin, absently gazing at the space on the floor that in everyone's mind would forever be stained red.

He didn't seem to notice when Logan approached.

"You gonna stay here all night again?" Logan asked gruffly, nudging the Mutants' foot with his boot. Azazel gave no reply or sign he even heard him.

"Thought so." Logan said, grunting noisily as he sat down beside the silent man. Only then did he take some notice of Wolverine, but it was only a faintly annoyed glance. "Don't worry," Logan said, lifting up a brown bag in his hand that contained a poorly concealed bottle of Vodka. "I brought friends."

Azazel accepted the bottle and resisted the urge to curl his lip in disgust when the hairy man beside him cracked open a bottle of Beer using his razor-like claws. He always hated the taste of Beer.

The two sat for a while, both occasionally taking a drink every now and again.

"Knew her long?" Logan asked after a few minutes of this.

Azazel thought about this a moment, "Does little over a year add?"

"Count," Logan corrected automatically. "And yeah, it does."

"Then, yes." Azazel said flatly.

"Thought you Russians say Da."

"Da." Replied Azazel and took another drink.

After an unenthusiastic "Huh," Logan did the same.

"Listen buddy," He began when he couldn't hold his silence any longer. But Azazel cut him off immediately, swinging his bottle out clumsily as he said, "I do not wish to talk! She is gone. I know this!"

"That's not what I'm sayin'!" Logan said, raising his hands in surrender, then he dropped his hands and sighed, "Ahhh, to tell ya' the truth…the Professor sent me to talk to you. He thought if anyone could get through to ya'…it'd be me."

Azazel shoot his head and dropped his knee, attempting to get up, lifting the bottle high above his head as though it was picking him up, but he lost his balance and feel on his rear, spilling alcohol as over himself and Logan. "Ay!" Logan growled in frustration. "Watch it! I didn' have ta' come here you know. So you're gonna listen and listen good. Besides," He chuckled. "You ain't goin' anywhere like that."

He was right.

Azazel slumped even lower until his head became crammed between the wall and the floor. He was absolutely wasted. Logan knew that position all too well.

"Damn bottle…" Logan mumbled, popping open his third Beer aggressively with his claws and the top flew over Azazel's body, but he didn't seem to care, taking an awkward swallow that drained almost half the bottle.

"Now—" Logan continued. "I know yer probably….blamin' yourself for all this. And you should."

Azazel looked at the man sharply. He hadn't expected that. He was always used to people telling him it wasn't his fault; there was nothing he could do; he did the best he could… "Don't look at me like that," Logan grumbled. "If you don' feel guilty about all this you might as well be dead. Now, did you stab her in the back? Nah. But you knew that already."

Logan leaned back, closing his eyes as the red Mutant surveyed him curiously from the floor. "Naaahhh," He groaned with a stretch. "That—guilt yer feelin'. It'll follow you." He took a deep breath and drained the rest of his bottle. "Fer the rest of your life."

Then suddenly he hurled the bottle at the wall, sending a shower of glass around them.

Azazel threw up his arms just in time dropping his own bottle on the floor and spilling the rest of it's contents all in the hallway. He sat up, cursing loudly in Russian, and Logan stood up, saying heartily with a chuckle, "Might as well start getting' used to it!"

"What are you doing?!" Azazel slurred as Logan reached down and took the drunken man by the arm, hoisting him over his shoulders easily in a fireman's carry. "Takin' your ass to bed." Logan replied, leaving the broken glass and twice stained floor far behind.

The funeral had ended as it had begun. Full of tears and unresolved woes.

As the Professor checked up on his students, as he did every night since their return home, he stumbled upon two unconscious men; one strewn carelessly across a couch, and another much bulkier one lounging on the floor, propped up against the foot of the couch with his head tilted back and his mouth agape.

The Professor shook his head.

He wasn't sure if Wolverine would be the best teacher, but he would definitely be a great leader. As for Azazel…

Xavier knew he wouldn't stay much longer.

He would have to move on eventually. And the sooner he did so the better it would be for all of them to return to their lives. More than once, the Professor had attempted to soothe the Mutants' troubled mind, but Azazel would not let him in.

He stopped trying, but frequently showed his concern.

He just hoped Logan could get to him, eventually. Until then, the Professor would continue to pick back up the pieces.

Speaking of which…

The Professor traveled down to the infirmary, a place he had visited every night to pick up Azazel's bottles and place over his (usually passed out) form a blanket. Only this time he found broken glass and alcohol all over the floor and on the wall.

He shook his head, " 'Logan…' "

He was about to leave to get a broom and some cleaning supplies when a breeze drifted past his ear. He shivered and turned around quickly but nothing was there.

Still he paused and waited. Listening.

A chill creeped over his neck and a second breeze, stronger than the first washed over him. Spooked, Xavier, followed the direction of the breeze and…

As expected, he found a vent and, lifting his hand as high as he could, he caught the tiniest stream of air at the tips of his fingers.

Both relieved and disappointed, he shook his head and once again set off to look for those cleaning supplies.

The moment his chair passed over the spot where Elizabeth Hawthorne disappeared, however, a distinct whisper floated through his ears and swirled around his head. " 'Perhaps,' " It whispered and his hand fumbled the controls of his chair, freezing him in place.

" 'I will see….you…' " It continued then faded out. There was no doubt whose voice it was.

The Professor strained his ears for more. But after nearly three straight minutes of tense silence, he allowed himself to breathe. But just as he did, a single word echoed at the nape of his neck and down the hall before disappearing—

" 'Again.' "

. . .! Don't forget to read my next fic if you wanna know what happens next. Cause I'm pretty sure you can all guess where this is headed. Or maybe not...

Anyway, feel free to review while I go switch this status to Complete!

~Always and Forever,

THESCRIBE6754!

Now keep reading for a preview of "The Ghost" O.O!

And now, an excerpt from "The Ghost"...

...I stared at the spectre for a moment, blinking profusely and reached a hand out to the image of the red Mutant with my hand, but it went right through him. He stared down at me but he didn't seem to see me. He—like my hand—was surrounded by an aura of violet light, faded as though phasing in and out of reality...

Could this be a projection of my memories?

As if in answer to this question, a ghostly shadow of Emma Frosts' form walked slowly over and put her hand on Azazel's shoulder. " 'Azazel, you must let her go now.' " She said to the unresponsive man. " 'She's gone.' "

"No, I'm not!" I said aloud without thinking. "I'm…right here."

But he blinked, not having heard me, and consented, rising onto his knees, and I too got up.

I made the mistake of looking down and saw a glowing river of what I soon realized to be my blood. From where I…

Died.

I sank to my knees with a horrified cry, and shoved my hands in my hair as Emma lead Azazel away. "No!" I cried out, reaching a hand for them to come back. "I'm not dead! I'm alive!" But they soon started to fade away too; as did the pool of blood beneath me and then they were gone, as though they'd never been there in the first place.

"I'm alive!" I had screamed after them in the spotless hallway, and it was only then that I caught sight of her out of the corner of my eye.

I hadn't even noticed her run up until now, having heard my cries, and I looked at her, unable to speak as I took in her features: Tall, dark skin, African-American features, statuesque figure, long, white hair…

She stared at me with wide eyes and a gaping mouth, her breath quickening like that of a terror-stricken rabbit.

"Storm?" I said disbelievingly and she gave a startled, "Oh!" Before bolting down the hall in the opposite direction. I could hear her distressed calls for the Professor both audibly and mentally.

"Wait!" I had called after her, struggling to my feet.

I felt like I hadn't used them in months, but all of my memories were fresh in my mind as though I had just awakened from an extended nap. "Storm!"

I couldn't be Storm, I thought to myself.

That woman looked my age! Possibly older. There's no way—

I staggered up the elevator and leaned against the wall as it climbed up. Everything seemed just the way it was. It had to be. I remember it all so clearly. This elevator, the hallway, even my jumpsuit looks the same save for the wound that no longer pierces my body...

" 'That woman must be her mother. That's it!' " I reasoned with myself as the elevator came to a halt. " 'There's just no way it could be her.' "

No way.

;D