Sarah Across the Multiverse

Sarah (POV)

As the evening stretched on, the mansion settled into a quieter, almost intimate stillness. The mutants lounged around after a day of training, but there was something about the air that was thick with unsaid things. Particularly the tension between Erik and Charles. You could feel it, like static before a storm, but I wasn't interested in their drama tonight. No, I had other things on my mind.

Raven, for one, was off her usual game. She was quieter than usual, barely participating in the conversation, and every now and then, I caught her glancing my way. The look was guarded, but there was a crack in it—a little slice of vulnerability that slipped out when she thought no one was looking. Most people wouldn't notice, but I wasn't most people.

I leaned against the window frame, casually eyeing the grounds, but my attention was all on her. "You're awfully quiet tonight," I said, tone light, but my eyes never left her. "Everything okay?"

Raven stiffened, the sharpness in her gaze cutting through the room. "I'm fine," she shot back a little too quickly, then turned her eyes away like they could hide the truth. Cute.

"You sure about that?" I pressed, a smirk tugging at my lips. "You've been dodging me all night. Can't hide forever, Raven."

She sighed, a little too loud, like she was trying to shake off something heavy. "I'm just tired. Got a lot on my mind."

I tilted my head, watching her closely. There was something there—more than just tiredness. She was trying to sell me a story, and I wasn't buying it.

"You don't expect me to buy that, do you?" I took a slow step forward, my boots making almost no sound on the hardwood. "You're not the 'tired' type, Raven. Not that easy to crack."

Her eyes flickered, the challenge flashing behind them before she shot back with, "Don't believe me?" A raised brow, a subtle shift in her posture. She was daring me to push, but there was something else underneath—something softer that she couldn't quite bury.

"Not really," I replied, voice low as I moved closer, my feet barely making a sound. "I'm not some fool who thinks everything's fine because you smile and act perfect. You can keep up the mask, but I know better. You're more than this—more than whatever you're hiding behind."

Her eyes widened for a second, like I'd hit a nerve, but then she scoffed, trying to play it off. "You don't know anything about me," she muttered, taking a step back, but it wasn't as defensive as it usually was. The sharpness was still there, but it was wrapped in a hesitation she couldn't shake.

"I know enough," I said, meeting her eyes with something soft behind the edge. "You wear that perfect little disguise like it's armor, but I can see through it. You don't have to pretend to be someone you're not with me. Trust me."

The silence hung between us like a physical thing, palpable and heavy. Raven's shoulders stiffened again, but I could see the shift. The cracks in her armor, small but undeniable. For the first time since we met, she didn't try to cover it up, didn't try to play the part of the woman in control. And for just a second, I could feel it—the vulnerability that had always been there, just beneath the surface.

Then, her voice broke the silence, softer now, almost reluctant. "I hide because... because if I don't, people will see what I really am. What I really look like," she admitted, eyes still averted, like she was too scared to let me in. "I've had to hide my whole life. I've learned how to make people love me, to make them need me. It's the only way I survive."

Something in my chest softened, but I didn't let it show. It wasn't pity I felt—it was understanding. I got it. That need to hide, to wear a mask because the truth was too raw to show. It wasn't new to me. And for the first time, I wasn't going to let her hide it.

"Raven," I said, my voice low, almost a whisper. "You don't need to hide from me. I don't care what you look like." I met her gaze, my words softening with sincerity. "You're not the shape you take—you're more than that."

For a heartbeat, Raven's eyes flickered up to mine, her expression a mask I couldn't read. But there was something there—some flash of emotion, maybe hope, maybe fear—something I couldn't ignore. It lingered in the space between us like a secret neither of us had the words for.

The room seemed to still, the world narrowing down to just the two of us. Raven didn't speak, and I didn't need her to. But when our eyes locked again, there was an understanding. A silent agreement that maybe, just maybe, I was the one person who wouldn't judge her. Wouldn't walk away.

And, damn it, despite myself, I felt the pull. The raw, magnetic energy between us. Raven was unlike anyone else—complicated, unpredictable, full of contradictions—and I had no idea where this connection would go. But I couldn't shake the feeling that something was shifting. Something real.

Before I could process it any further, a voice sliced through the air, cool and detached. "I don't mean to interrupt," Charles chimed in from the doorway, leaning against the frame like he had all the time in the world. His expression was warm, but that knowing smile of his might as well have been a neon sign flashing I saw everything.

I couldn't stop the heat rising in my cheeks, but when I glanced at Raven, I saw she wasn't much better. Almost flustered, but not quite. Because if anyone could mask that kind of vulnerability, it was Raven. She let out a sharp, breathless chuckle, the kind that was a perfect blend of deflection and charm.

"Don't you have a mansion to run, Charles?" she quipped, lips curling into a grin that was both playful and lethal. But I could hear the edge in her voice—the subtle warning that this wasn't over. Not by a long shot.

Charles didn't even flinch at the challenge. He tilted his head, that maddeningly patient smirk of his widening just enough to make Raven roll her eyes. "Oh, I do," he said, his tone smooth and casual. "But I'd be remiss if I didn't remind you both that we'll need everyone's focus for tomorrow's training session." His eyes flicked to me, a playful glint in them as he added, "That includes you, of course."

"Noted," I replied, my tone cool, though the smirk tugging at my lips gave me away. I folded my arms, locking eyes with him—one of those silent, unspoken I know exactly what you're doing looks that we both knew all too well.

Charles seemed pleased with that, giving a slight nod of approval. "Good." He pushed off the doorframe and lingered for just a second too long, making his exit feel deliberate—like he was trying to leave us with something more than just a reminder. "I'll leave you two to... whatever this is." He waved a hand vaguely, the corners of his mouth twitching as if he were savoring every moment of it.

As his footsteps retreated down the hall, the room fell into a hush. Raven and I exchanged a glance—part embarrassment, part exasperation, and a whole lot of something neither of us were ready to unpack just yet. The moment had been interrupted, sure, but it hadn't exactly been shattered. If anything, it felt... lighter. Like something unspoken had settled between us, even if it wasn't fully explored.

"Training tomorrow, huh?" I said, breaking the silence with a grin. I pushed off the wall, my smirk back in place, easy and wry. "Guess we better get our heads in the game."

Raven didn't answer right away. Her expression softened, the usual sharp edges of her demeanor melting into something almost... tender. Her blue eyes lingered on me a beat too long, and for a moment, I could feel my heart take a detour. Then, as if she hadn't just turned the world on its axis, she gave me a small, enigmatic smile—one that spoke volumes without a single word.

She turned to leave, and I couldn't help but watch her go, my smile lingering even after she was out of sight. "Guess you won't be coming to my room tonight, huh?" I muttered to myself, half-amused, half-disappointed, but a hell of a lot more intrigued than I cared to admit.

...

The next morning came too quickly for my liking. The quiet, lingering connection between me and Raven from the previous evening kept running through my mind as I made my way to the training room. The mansion's halls were eerily silent, save for the occasional shuffle of feet or a distant conversation. But I felt a strange tension in the air, like the calm before the storm.

The mutants were already gathered in the large training room, a space that had become a familiar battleground for everyone. Charles was at the front, speaking animatedly to the group, explaining the plan for today's session. Erik stood slightly apart, his eyes sharp, his posture tense—like a coiled spring ready to snap.

I paused at the door, taking in the scene. My eyes immediately sought out Raven. She was there, as usual, her blonde hair perfectly styled, her expression unreadable. But today, there was something different—something lingering in her gaze whenever she caught my eye.

"Ah, Sarah, there you are," Charles called out, his voice warm but authoritative. He smiled, but I caught the subtle shift in his demeanor when his eyes flicked to me with a certain expectation. I ignored it and walked confidently into the room.

"Ready to work?" I said, tossing a playful smile Charles's way. "What's on the agenda today, Charles?"

Charles motioned to the rest of the team, who had already started their warm-up exercises. "Today, we're focusing on refining our combat tactics. Each of you will need to work with your powers in combination with others to create effective teamwork. This will be an important part of your development—not just as individuals, but as a unit."

My gaze immediately flicked back to Raven, who had moved to the far side of the room, warming up with Banshee and Darwin. My lips twitched into a small smile. It wasn't hard to see the simmering tension there. Though Raven seemed to be avoiding my eyes, I knew something had shifted between us. Whether it was the vulnerability we'd shared the night before or something else entirely, I couldn't tell. But I had a feeling it wouldn't be long before everything came to a head.

"Sarah," Charles called again, his voice more insistent. "I'd like you to team up with Raven for this exercise. You two have been... how shall I say it... somewhat distant in terms of your teamwork. I think you'll both benefit from working together closely."

I raised an eyebrow at the suggestion, but Charles gave me no room for protest. I glanced over at Raven, who had already moved into a combat stance with her arms crossed, looking less than thrilled. Still, there was something about the challenge that made my heart race in a way I hadn't expected.

"Fine," I said, my voice edged with a bit of humor. "Guess we'll see if we can stop trying to kill each other."

Raven's lips twitched, a half-smile curling at the corners of her mouth. "I don't kill, remember?" she responded, though there was something softer in her tone than usual.

The exercise kicked off with the basics—simple sparring to get a feel for how we could move in sync. Nothing too complicated, just the warm-up before things really got intense. Charles barked out instructions, his voice floating through the air, while his telepathic guidance kept the team on track. But Raven and I? We were anything but typical partners.

We clashed almost immediately, like magnets that couldn't quite get it right. Our fighting styles were complete opposites. Raven's movements were fluid, almost serpentine—quick, precise, like she could slip through the cracks of anything that tried to catch her. Me? I was blunt force. Direct, brutal, relying on strength and speed to throw my opponent off balance.

We were fire and ice—each of us pushing against the other, not quite syncing up at first, but too stubborn to back down.

But then... something shifted. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, I started adapting to Raven's rhythm. I watched her weave and dodge, her every movement calculated. She, in turn, adjusted to my raw power, her strikes coming faster, more precise, exploiting every misstep I made. It was like a dance—a brutal, beautiful dance where we were learning how to anticipate each other's moves. And, damn, it was complicated.

As the intensity cranked up, Charles pushed us to integrate our powers into the mix. My shadow tendrils lashed out, whipping through the air, grabbing whatever they could reach—while Raven moved like water, shifting forms so seamlessly that she was practically untouchable. Our powers were tangled in ways we hadn't expected, overlapping and twisting into something new.

"Focus, Sarah!" Charles's voice broke through my concentration, sharp and commanding, and for half a second, I lost track of Raven's movements.

But I snapped back just in time. Raven was a blur—blonde hair flashing, her strikes so precise they seemed choreographed by some invisible hand. My instincts kicked in, and I lashed out with a shadow tendril, wrapping it around her waist, pulling her toward me.

Time stopped.

We were locked in place—too close, too charged, close enough to feel the heat of each other's breath. The electricity crackling in the air between us was so thick, it practically hummed. My heart thudded in my chest, and for a split second, my mind blanked. I was too focused on her. On that moment.

Raven's eyes were on mine—steady, intense, but something else flickered there, something I hadn't seen before. Vulnerable, maybe. Or maybe just... raw. I could feel her body against mine, every inch of her tense and alive with something unsaid.

Without thinking, I leaned in, our faces inches apart. My breath brushed her lips, and she didn't pull away. In fact, for a moment, I thought I saw something else in her eyes—something that was all her, all the vulnerability she tried so damn hard to hide.

And then, just like that, our lips met. It was tentative at first—almost hesitant, like we were both testing the waters, unsure of what we were doing but not caring enough to stop. But as the kiss deepened, the spark between us ignited. It wasn't just physical. It was something else—something deeper, a connection we hadn't even known was there until it was too late to ignore.

When we broke apart, breathless, the world felt a little off-kilter. There was a moment of silence, just the two of us, staring at each other. And for a second, it was like everything else fell away. The noise, the mission, the whole damn mansion—it all faded. It was just us.

Raven's voice was low, a little shaken. "That wasn't part of the training," she muttered, her tone a mix of surprise and something more dangerous.

I smirked, feeling the tingling on my lips. "Guess we'll call it... extra credit."

Just like that, the moment passed. But the air between us? It was different. The undercurrent had shifted. Whatever had been building, whatever had been unsaid, was now out in the open. Raven and I weren't the same as we had been a few hours ago. And I knew, whatever happened next, things were never going to be the same.

Raven gave me a small, knowing smile, the intensity between us still crackling in the air.

"Yeah," she said softly, her voice almost a whisper, "maybe not."

The air hummed with unspoken words, the intensity of that kiss hanging over us like a storm waiting to break. I couldn't help but notice how Raven's gaze lingered on me, a quiet heat simmering in her eyes. The playful edge that usually marked our banter had slipped away, leaving something deeper, more real, in its place.

Before either of us could say anything more, Charles's voice cut through the tension, pulling us back to the reality of our training.

"Alright, team, let's wrap it up," he called out. "That's enough for today. You've all done well, but remember, combat isn't just about strength. It's about control—balance. We need to trust each other."

I straightened up, stepping back from Raven as the group began to disperse. The weight of the moment still lingered between us, but I also knew it was just the beginning of something neither of us had fully processed yet. I wasn't in the mood for small talk, so I just nodded at Charles and started heading for the exit.

"Sarah," Charles called again, his voice softer now. I turned to see him approaching, his expression thoughtful, even a little concerned. "You did well today. You and Raven… it looked like you two were really starting to work together."

I smirked, though I could feel a hint of vulnerability in my eyes. "Yeah, I think we got there... eventually."

Charles chuckled, but there was a sincerity to it. "Good. Keep pushing yourselves. And remember, it's not just about the fight. It's about building trust, not just with your powers, but with each other."

My mind drifted back to that kiss, to the connection I'd shared with Raven. Building trust, huh? I thought, rubbing the back of my neck. That felt like a much harder thing to do than it seemed.

I was still lost in my own thoughts when I heard a soft voice behind me. "Sarah."

I turned to see Raven standing a few paces away, her posture slightly rigid. The tension from earlier had softened, but there was still something in the air, something unspoken. Raven was looking at me with quiet intensity, her lips pressed together, like she was trying to say something without actually saying it.

"Yeah?" I asked, trying to keep my tone light, though my heart was beating a little faster than I'd like to admit.

Raven's eyes flicked to the floor for a moment, then back up to meet my gaze. "That... that wasn't part of the plan, was it?"

I raised an eyebrow, crossing my arms. "You tell me. You were there too."

Raven shifted uncomfortably, her gaze flickering toward the other mutants as they continued their conversations, but she didn't move away. "I don't know what this is," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

The vulnerability in Raven's words caught me off guard, and for a moment, I found myself unable to say anything. Instead, I took a step forward, closing the distance between us just a little—pulling Raven back into the present, as if to steady both of us.

"It's okay," I said softly, my voice steady, though there was an edge of something else in it—something raw. "You don't have to figure it all out right now."

Raven's lips parted like she wanted to argue, but she didn't. Instead, she gave me a tight smile, one that was more guarded than usual, but still a little genuine.

"Maybe," she said quietly. "But I think we both know that whatever happens next... it's going to change everything, right?"

"Yeah," I replied, my voice quieter now, the weight of our unspoken understanding hanging between us. "It probably will."

For a moment, we stood there, neither sure how to navigate the complicated mess of emotions that had just been stirred up. The unspoken bond between us was undeniable, but how far it would go—what it would mean for both of us—remained unclear.

Eventually, Raven broke the silence, her usual deflective humor creeping back into her tone. "Well, no pressure then."

I couldn't help but grin at that, the tension in my chest easing just a bit. "No pressure. Just saving the world... one awkward moment at a time."

Raven's smile widened, though it was still somewhat guarded. "If we're lucky, it'll only be one awkward moment."

My eyes met hers, and for a moment, there was a spark of something more passing between us—something that was far from just friendly banter. We were still circling each other—both reluctant and drawn in, caught in the current of whatever had just shifted.

With a final, brief nod, Raven turned and walked away, rejoining the others as they gathered their things. I stood there for a moment longer, watching her, my mind still buzzing with the aftereffects of that kiss. My heart was still racing, and though I was good at pushing things down, this was different. This wasn't just a fight or a training exercise. This was something new between us, my Soul Synchronization told me as much.

...

Hank's lab was lit up like a Christmas tree, well past bedtime. I slipped in through the side window, as smooth as a cat. I was ditching my bed for a secret mission.

After extensive training and practice with my umbrakinesis and dark-element manipulation, I no longer needed visual confirmation to teleport. I'd developed a heightened awareness, sensing my surroundings through a direct connection with the surrounding shadows, allowing me to navigate and phase through space with precision—teleportation was no longer a challenge, but a perfected skill.

But what drove my covert visit to Hank's lab? The answer became clear as I approached the workbench.

"This should be it," I murmured, my voice barely a whisper. My eyes locked onto a metal box containing an array of vials filled with a crimson liquid. I instantly recognized the contents—genomic samples, specifically mutant blood, meticulously cataloged by Hank McCoy himself. A wry smile touched my lips. "Hank's so thoughtful, labeling them with the mutants' names," I mused, my tone laced with a hint of amusement. "I do love scientists."

I sifted through the box, searching for five particular vials—those containing blood samples from Charles, Erik, Raven, Alex, and Sean. Each held a crucial element to my plan: a potential breakthrough in genetic engineering.

My primary goal was ambitious: integrating the mutants' DNA into the Super Soldier Serum.

The concept of the serum itself was not foreign to me. During the 1940s, I had collaborated with Dr. Abraham Erskine on the early stages of serum development. The process of enhancing human physiology and cognition was well-documented, but adapting it to imbue the DNA with mutant-like properties required advanced bioengineering. Specifically, altering the human genome to accommodate the X-gene—a unique, often unpredictable mutation—was the real challenge.

The X-gene, responsible for activating mutant abilities, had a complex structure, and the key to successfully incorporating it into human DNA was still unclear. I had a theory, however: integrating the mutant DNA into human cellular biology could potentially trigger latent mutant traits. Yet, this was an intricate process, one that involved manipulating the gene's expression and regulating the activation of specific protein pathways. It wasn't something that could be rushed; it would require extensive trial and error, coupled with a deep understanding of genetic mutations.

The real obstacle wasn't gathering the materials—I had already sourced the necessary samples—but creating the perfect genetic cocktail. A single misstep in the sequencing of DNA, an incorrect gene splice, or a flaw in the protein expression could result in failure, possibly even mutation-induced catastrophes.

I wasn't naive—I knew success wasn't guaranteed, but failure wasn't a big deal.

As for my own empowerment, I had other plans: reprogramming my bio-nanites to mimic the genetic alterations from the blood samples. These nanites, embedded in my body, could act as programmable scaffolds for the DNA modifications, effectively allowing me to replicate the mutant DNA on a cellular level. The potential for this to succeed was still speculative, but it was a fail-safe option in case my first approach fell short.

Finally, there was the concept of bio-mimicry. Mystique's shapeshifting ability, a mutant trait capable of altering genetic expression, would eventually be exploited by the Sentinel program for infiltration purposes. I wasn't above borrowing a page from their playbook should all else fail, using the principles of adaptive morphogenesis to manipulate genetic structures in real time.

I had come well-prepared. Retrieving a cluster of sterile syringes, I extracted small, measured amounts of blood from the vials labeled Charles, Erik, Raven, Alex, and Sean. The volumes taken were so minuscule that they would not disrupt the balance of the samples in any noticeable way. After carefully resealing the vials, I began my quiet exit, knowing I had the necessary materials to continue my work.

A flicker of uncertainty caused me to pause at the threshold. In the original timeline, Darwin died during Shaw's attack. My intervention had altered that outcome. Consequently, Hank likely retained a blood sample for his X-gene suppression research.

Initially, Darwin's genetic makeup held little interest. The potential side effects were a risk I wasn't willing to take. However, after our recent clash, his ability took on a new significance. Darwin's reactive evolution – adapting to any environment – was undeniably useful. It could be a lifesaver, a wildcard against the unknown.

The ideal scenario would have been Wolverine's healing factor, but unfortunately, he wasn't around. My eyes narrowed as they landed on the vial labeled "Darwin." A sigh escaped my lips, a mix of resignation and determination. Picking up another syringe, I extracted a sliver of his blood. 

"Adding one more shouldn't hurt… right?" I muttered. I wasn't entirely sure, but I still took Darwin's blood.

With Darwin's blood acquired, a new problem surfaced: the lack of a holographic lab. My prioritization of mechanical engineering had created a gap. The blood samples were finite, and with prep work and experimentation, wouldn't last long.

"So, it's better to work on the holographic imaging system first, and deal with the serum later."

The decision clear. Building a holographic imaging system became my top priority. This lab, capable of running multiple gene splicing simulations simultaneously, would drastically speed up progress.

After tagging the blood vials, I carefully wrapped them and stored them in my subspace unit and quietly returned to my room.