In Shades of Blue

A/N: Last chapter! Hope you enjoyed the story! Please review and tell me how it was.

Chapter 3: Dust of Snow

It was Christmas Eve. Earlier that day, it had snowed across the entire United States. Mystique, who now sat by her bedroom window, highly suspected that it had something to do with the fact that Ororo Munroe had finally been given the honor of putting the star on the top of the Holiday Spruce (the school called it that mainly for Mr. Lensherr's sake). It was a task held in high esteem by everyone in the mansion, down to the last teacher. The thick white blanket covered the ground like a strange, soft sheet. It was bound to be a white Christmas.

Mystique glanced at the clock; it was 4:08pm. She still had two minutes before she left. Her destination was a curious one for a sixteen-year-old mutant on Christmas Eve. She was to travel to an anti-mutant organization to listen to a speaker at a "Stop the Mutiny!" meeting.

That morning, she had asked the Professor for permission to go. He had told her that she could, of course, go, but that it was a pretty unusual request. She had said that she was going to "see an old friend." He had nodded and let her know that the secretary would teleport her to her destination with the condition that she would return by seven-thirty for the Christmas feast. This would be no problem; the meeting ran until seven.

"Mystique? Are you ready?" the voice of Macavity, the school secretary and on-dorm transportation system, called. The girl leapt up from her bed, walked out of her room and to the stairs, and gracefully slid down the banister towards the waiting Macavity who had clearly been infected with the holiday spirit and was wearing Rudolph antlers.

"Guess so," Mystique responded, walking closer to the secretary. Macavity held out her arm and the teenager took it.

"So, where to?" asked Macavity, straightening her antlers with her free hand. Mystique sighed.

"The Woodall Middle School Auditorium, please," she said. The last time she'd been at Woodall was eighth grade. That had been three years ago and, before this, she'd had no intention of going back. But here she was, ready to do so.

"Alright. Hold on," Macavity announced and grasped Mystique's arm tightly. For a few short moments, Mystique felt the world turn upside down. All the air was squeezed out of her; she felt dizzy and nauseated. And then it was over, ending just as quickly as it had started.

"I hate teleporting, and my motion sickness really doesn't help," she mumbled to no one in particular as she morphed into a pretty blonde lady she'd seen at the supermarket the other day.

"Alright, then. Contact the Professor mentally when you need to be picked up. Have fun!" Macavity winked and disappeared in a cloud of red smoke that slowly faded away into the air.

Mystique turned to face the building that had once been her school. The entrance arc was strung with holiday lights and the doors sported large fir wreaths with giant satin bows. The pathway leading to the main entrance was lined with candles that were nestled gently in the snow. The school looked beautiful. There was only one thing that ruined the view for Mystique: a large sign on the front door reading,

"Humanity Helpers meeting tonight! Come and hear a special speaker present a spectacular story! No mutants allowed.

Signed,

Derek Simmons, Committee President."

There's still time to go back. You don't have to listen to this, you know, a small voice inside her head whispered.

"Yes, I do," she said aloud, her voice fierce. With her head held high, she walked down the little path, the one marked with candles, and straight into the building. She had to do this.

She strode up to the information booth. The one where they gave people directions. She didn't need directions; she knew the school like the back of her own hand. She had come for something else. She smiled pleasantly at the lady sitting there.

"How may I help you?" the lady asked kindly.

"Ma'am, how long has Mr. Simmons been committee president?" Mystique inquired in the soft voice of the one she was impersonating.

"Half a year, now," the woman responded, adjusting her eyeglasses.

"Thank you," Mystique smiled and turned to walk away. The woman, however, stopped her.

"Wait! I forgot to wish you happy holidays!" she called, laughing. Mystique grinned back and nodded her head before disappearing into the crowd.

She'd gotten a back row seat. She didn't know why, but felt it to be the right thing to do. After all, Mystique was here against the rules; there was no need to bring attention to herself. As she settled into her chair, she noticed that the auditorium was full. It struck her as sad that so many people had come to listen to some group of anti-mutant activists. Don't people have better things to do during the holidays? Mystique thought. Then again, she was there with them. But for a very different reason.

The lights dimmed. A strange hush fell over the crowd. Everybody watched the stage intently. Soon enough, a man walked onto it. Mystique knew who he was the moment she saw him. Mr. Simmons. She'd seen him many times before, but then he'd been at home in a tee-shirt, not dressed in a tux. He also hadn't been her enemy.

"Hello, everyone. As you all know, you will be hearing a special speaker tonight. That speaker has witnessed the manifestation of a mutant. She is my daughter, too. Please welcome Miss Allyson Simmons!" he cried out; the audience burst into thunderous applause as a skinny sixteen-year-old girl walked onto the stage. Even from where she sat , she could see the glint of pink braces. Her stomach tied itself into a knot. This was why she'd come. To hear Allyson speak. So why was she so scared?

"Good evening. I am here to tell a story of an experience I had with mutation. I used to have a friend. Her name was Raven Darkholme. I was with her when her mutation manifested. It was scary. We were at a department store when she lost her disguise. Raven, you see, had been hiding the signs of being a mutant for a long time by then. Oh, yes. Raven knew what she was going to be for a long time before that fateful day. She started to turn blue just as I so kindly offered her a box of shoes to try on and claw at random things. Her clothing seemed to melt away, leaving her nude with the grotesque scales showing. I screamed for assistance. The clerk called 9-1-1 just as she started to tear at my throat. I wanted to faint, but I didn't. I stayed strong; I was a true human, the best race on Earth. The police came fast and saved me at the last second. It was a terrible emotional trauma," Allyson stated in a pathetic, girlish simper that made Mystique's blood boil. You're lying. This never happened! I was the one who was nearly traumatized. You're making me a beast!

"I never really trusted Raven. And I was right. She turned out to be a murderous freak who…" Mystique wanted to scream. She wanted to walk up onto that stage and punch Allyson, become the murderous freak she was describing. But she did not. Instead she rose to her feet and walked strait out the door. The lady who'd been sitting beside her called out something about where she was going. Mystique wasn't lying when she said she felt ill.

She stepped out onto the street and transformed back into herself. The snow crunched softly beneath her foot. She looked up and saw that flurries were falling again. She kept on walking. She knew that she wouldn't feel any better until she was far, far away from that awful auditorium. She had come to see Allyson speak on the mutant debate. She could now quite clearly see that she'd been an idiot. She'd hoped that there was still some of the Ally she'd known in the teenager who now loathed her. She'd been wrong, that she'd been clinging to a child's fantasy.

All this time, Mysti, you've been wrong. Allyson Simmons is gone. You've been stupid, and you know it. The voice within her head sounded cruel, but it was just telling the unvarnished truth. She sighed.

As she passed houses, she saw the decorations. The entire street seemed a cascade of fiery red and evergreen, entwined in Christmas lights. Inflatable Rudolphs dominated front yards and snowmen dressed in scarves and hats thrived near the back doors. The ornate homes all looked kind and welcoming, full of life and festivity. The people who lived there were carefree. They didn't face persecution every day. They had families and lives they lived. Why couldn't she be like them? It was unfair.

Tonight, many of these people would dream. Children would dream in color of dear Mr. Claus, trying to fit down the chimney (the fact that all of the fireplaces on the street were electrical would not matter to them). Parents would dream in pastel of their children's faces as they opened the presents that would soon be placed beneath the fir trees. Older people would dream of past Christmases in black and white, cherishing the memories. But Mystique knew she would not. Tonight, she would dream not in color or in black and white. She would dream in shades of blue, the way she'd dreamed each night since her powers had manifested, for she no longer had a use for colors; she was only blue, never to truly be any other color.

She heard a faint rusting above her head. Mystique looked up at the tree that had spread its branches over her, protecting her. On one bough sat a crow, pitch black in stark contrast to the crystalline snow. It ruffled its charcoal feathers in an attempt to straighten its wings and fly. Its wings gave another flap before in soared into the night, blending with the sky as it broke contact with the tree, knocking off a light dust of snow onto the girl beneath it. She closed her eyes, remembering a poem of Robert Frost's she had heard when she was little.

'The way a crow

Shook down on me

The dust of snow

From a hemlock tree

Has given my heart

A change of mood

And saved some part

Of a day I had rued.'

She shook her head so lightly it was almost imperceptible. The poem was nonsense. She would rue the day no matter how much frozen water fell into her hair. No crow could change the fact that Allyson had lied. The fact that her best friend had become her enemy. No dust of snow could change the coloration of her dreams. Nothing could. A tear slid down the blue skin of her cheek. No one but the night could see her now.

"Mystique?"

The sixteen-year-old spun around twice before she realized that the voice was inside her own head.

"Professor?" she thought, startled.

"The children want a game of charades after the feast. I think that the game is to be centered around you, so it might be wise to come soon. A group of hungry kids and teachers can eat very fast on Christmas Eve, especially if they are looking forward to a game." Mystique did not even try to suppress her smile.

"I'm coming. Send Macavity, please." A good game of charades could lift her spirits far more efficiently than any crow. Maybe, just maybe, the shades of blue in which she dreamed were beautiful in their own way.

Yes, she thought as she watched Macavity, antlers and all, appear before her in a signature cloud of smoke. Every shade of blue was mystically different. It had its own aura of mystique.