Me, my Training, Stealing Kisses and Blood (Revised)

Sarah (POV)

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 went to the training room. The mansion's halls were eerily silent, save for the occasional shuffle of feet or a distant conversation. I felt a strange tension in the air—the calm before the storm.

The mutants were already gathered in the large training room, a space that had become a familiar battleground. 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—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, something was 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' 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 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, something about the challenge 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 a warm-up before things really got intense. Charles called out instructions, his voice floating through the air, keeping the team on track. But Raven and I? We were anything but typical partners.

We clashed almost immediately, magnets that couldn't quite align. Our fighting styles were complete opposites. Raven's movements were fluid, almost serpentine—quick, precise, slipping 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—pushing against each other, not quite syncing up at first, but too stubborn to back down.

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 became a dance—a brutal, beautiful dance where we learned to anticipate each other's moves. And, damn, it was complicated.

As the intensity cranked up, Raven's movements mesmerized me, and for half a second, I lost track of her.

"Focus, Sarah!" I snapped at myself, pulling back just in time. Raven moved like a blur, her blonde hair flashing in a streak of gold, 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, the space between us humming with something raw, volatile, and far too real. Her breath brushed my skin, hot and shallow, each exhale stoking the fire I was barely holding in check. My heart hammered so loud I was sure she could hear it, each beat daring me to do something. Anything. But for a split second, I couldn't. I froze, trapped in the pull of her, drowning in the intensity of her gaze.

Raven's eyes—steady, calculating—had shifted into something else entirely. Vulnerability? Maybe. Or something deeper, something more dangerous. It was staring into a storm, the kind that swept you up no matter how much you told yourself to stay grounded. Her body was tense against mine, every inch of her a live wire, a thousand unsaid things thrumming just beneath the surface.

Then instinct took over. I leaned in, our faces a whisper apart. My breath brushed against her lips, daring her to pull away. But she didn't. She held her ground, her gaze locked on mine, daring me right back. And then, just like that, the dam broke. Our lips met—tentative at first, testing the edge of a blade. But that spark between us? It didn't just ignite; it exploded.

The kiss deepened, pulling me under, until it wasn't just a kiss anymore. It was something else, something alive, twisting and tearing through every wall we'd built around ourselves. It wasn't just lips or heat or breath. It was a connection, raw and undeniable, that screamed louder than any battle cry.

When we finally broke apart, it wasn't relief I felt. It was loss, coming up for air too soon after diving into the deep. The world around us reassembled itself in bits and pieces, but none of it mattered—not the training room, not the others, not Charles's endless speeches. For one blinding moment, it was just her and me, suspended in the aftermath of something we couldn't take back.

Raven's voice was low, edged with disbelief but steady. "That wasn't part of the training."

I smirked, the touch of her lips still burning on mine. "Guess we'll call it... improvisation."

Her lips twitched, almost as though she wanted to smile but couldn't quite let herself. The intensity in her eyes hadn't faded. If anything, it had sharpened, coiling into something quieter, more dangerous.

"Improvisation," she repeated, her tone half-mocking, half-serious. "Sure. Let's go with that."

But just as quickly as the moment had taken us, reality came crashing back in. Charles's voice cut through the haze, his tone sharp and commanding. "Alright, team, let's wrap it up. You've all done well today but remember—combat is about balance. Trust. Learning to rely on each other."

Raven had already moved away, blending back into the group, her expression unreadable. But her eyes lingered, just for a second, catching mine across the room. The heat was still there smoldering beneath the surface.

I exhaled, running a hand through my hair as I turned toward the door. Charles's words echoed in my head, annoying as hell but not wrong. Trust. Balance. Yeah, right. Like anything between Raven and me was ever going to be balanced.

"Sarah." Her voice stopped me in my tracks. It wasn't loud, but it didn't need to be.

I turned, finding her a few paces behind me, her posture stiff, her expression carefully guarded. But her eyes—they gave her away.

"Yeah?" I said, keeping my voice light, even though my heart had started its annoying, traitorous thudding all over again.

She hesitated, her gaze flicking to the ground for half a second before meeting mine. "That… that wasn't part of the plan, was it?"

I raised an eyebrow, crossing my arms as a slow smirk crept onto my face. "You tell me. You were there too."

Her lips pressed into a thin line like she was trying to figure out what the hell to do with me. Or with us. But instead of answering, she just shook her head, a small, almost disbelieving smile breaking through.

"I don't know what this is," she admitted, her voice quieter now, edged with something she couldn't quite hide. Vulnerability, maybe. Or fear, it was the sixties after all.

I stepped closer, closing the gap just enough to let her know I wasn't about to let her run from this. "It's okay," I said softly, my tone steady but laced with something I couldn't name. "You don't have to figure it out right now."

Her eyes searched mine like she was trying to decide whether to trust me. Eventually, she nodded, the tension in her shoulders loosening just a fraction.

"Maybe," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "But we both know this changes things."

"Yeah," I replied, my voice just as quiet. "It does."

For a moment, neither of us moved, caught in the pull of something bigger than either of us knew how to handle. Then, with a faint smirk that didn't quite reach her eyes, Raven stepped back, retreating into her usual armor.

"Well," she said lightly, "no pressure, right?"

I let out a short laugh, the tension in my chest easing just a bit. "No pressure. Just, you know, saving the world… and figuring this out."

Her gaze lingered on me for one last, weighted second before she turned and walked away, leaving me standing there, my heart still racing and my mind spinning with all the ways this was going to get complicated.

...

Later in the day, after managing to shove the weirdness between me and Raven into a mental corner so deep it might as well be a black hole, I decided to actually focus on something productive—new attack strategies. You know, that whole "saving the world" thing.

I'd been chewing over the electromagnetic pulse—EMP for short. What's the lifeblood of modern society? Electricity. The thing that makes everything grind to a halt when it's gone. Phones? Dead. Computers? Paperweights. And basic lighting? Gone. Nothing screams "apocalypse" quite like fumbling around in the dark looking for candles. The thought hit me hard: an EMP could bring an entire city to its knees in seconds. Wipe out communications, break defenses, and send everyone scrambling for backup generators. Yeah. That was power.

So, obviously, I had to master it. For reasons I don't fully understand (but will happily take credit for), I did it ridiculously fast. Faster than when I was trying to untangle lightning from magnetism, anyway. It took me all of an hour to nail it. Even Charles, who usually looks at me as though I'm a disaster waiting to happen, gave me the slightest nod of approval. Sure, Charles. I totally know what I'm doing. Keep pretending you're the expert.

While I was fine-tuning the pulse, a crowd inevitably gathered—because of course, they couldn't resist. Erik, Charles, and the rest of our ragtag crew edged closer, clearly drawn to the spectacle.

"I suggest you all back up," I warned, trying to sound commanding but mostly just annoyed at the parade of faces. "Not entirely sure how this will affect the human body." I may or may not have been bluffing, but scaring them a little felt justified.

Banshee, with the survival instincts of a puppy, darted behind Darwin, grinning as if that was the safest place in the room. "Doesn't matter," he said with a shrug, rolling the dice on his life. "Darwin's basically my insurance policy."

Raven, ever her devil-may-care self, sidled up to me with her trademark smirk. "You've got this, girl. I believe in you."

I'm sure she did—probably because I was a walking nightmare in training. But I wasn't going to let that bother me.

Alex, the human shrug machine, decided to chime in. "Pretty sure there's nothing here more dangerous than me."

Okay, buddy. The ego in the room was practically audible. Whatever, let him think he was the star of the show.

Meanwhile, Charles, ever the joy-killer, stayed stone-faced. "Focus on the electronic equipment," he instructed, his calm tone the kind that made you feel you were already in trouble. "You can direct the EMP. Aim carefully."

Thanks, Dad. It's not as if I was planning to cause a nationwide blackout or anything.

"Alright," I said, shaking off the peanut gallery's chatter. "Starting now."

I stretched my hands toward the target—a bunch of electronic junk I'd never look at again—and let the pulse fly.

Crack!

The pulse shot out as though the universe itself had slapped the equipment. Lights popped, screens flickered and died, and within seconds, it was all toast. No circuits. No tech. Just a few confused mutants staring at the wreckage.

Banshee peeked out from behind Darwin, eyes wide. "What was that?"

I raised an eyebrow. "What did you think it'd look like?"

Alex shrugged again, and I had to fight the urge to strangle him. "I don't know. Maybe more explosions? Or some kind of laser show?"

A laser show? Really? "It's an electromagnetic pulse," I deadpanned. "Not a fireworks display. The most exciting thing you'll see is sparks when circuits fry."

Banshee groaned dramatically as if I'd just ruined his weekend plans. "Well, that's disappointing. Can we get back to training?"

Before I could roll my eyes, Raven stepped up and threw her arms around me in a hug. It was… unexpected. Nice, even. A little weird, yeah, weird, but I wasn't going to complain.

"You nailed it," she said warmly, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

And just like that, I, Tempestas, officially became a bigger threat than I'd been five minutes ago. Not that I was complaining. If anything, I was a little proud of myself.

...

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 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, stored them in my subspace unit, and quietly returned to my room.