Disclaimer: Mine is mine, while Marvel's is Marvel's!

Sam Guthrie woke up screaming.

Sweat poured down the side of his face; his eyes were wide and his pupils dilated. He was shaking uncontrollably, and his tongue felt to thick. His throat was sore and dry, tears rolling down his face to mingle with the sweat already there.

"No! No! Please-not again!" Sam wept; clawing at the sheets that covered his long legs. He overbalanced himself, and fell from his bed, landing on the floor with an undignified thump.

He curled himself into the fetus position, still trembling violently. Sam crossed his arms over his chest, his fingernails digging into his well-developed biceps. Blood oozed out from the tiny cuts his neatly clipped nails left, thin and watery, mixing with the perspiration that covered all of his washed out flesh.

Bright blue eyes stared at the wall, as he fought with his stomach to keep the contents of it down. Unfortunately, his terror was too great, and he threw up on the unforgiving wood paneling of the floor. The young man whimpered, still shaking to badly to care.

The young man tried to push himself up into a sitting position, bracing himself on his long right arm, pushing off. His muscles disagreed, and he crashed to the floor again, his cheek striking the wood hard. He started to cry out, but stopped when he gagged on his own vomit again.

Once more, he expelled his stomach onto the floor, sickened by the sight of the stinking puddle that he had allowed too escape his body.

He turned from it, struggling to rise to his feet. His knees felt like rubber, and though he struggled valiantly, he was soon forced to his knees once more, shaking and crying like a baby.

The moonlight filtered through the window and fell on his convulsing form, long limbs shaking from fear and revulsion.

He could still taste the blood on his tongue, the dreamed blood of his nightmare. Once more, his stomach rolled, but this time, he managed to gain control of his quaking organ.

The images of blood, the scent of the crimson liquid, and the vile taste of it still violated his senses. The dream was so real, so life like, that he thought, for just an instant, that it was reality.

Finally, he was able to gain complete control over his limbs, and he sat back against his bed, letting his breathing return too normal. The taste left his mouth, and the smell left his nose, but the images of the bloodied body of the woman was one that would not leave him for a long time.

A knock on the door drew his attention. He struggled to his feet, taking a centering breath the remind himself that those images were not real, they were fabricated from his own mind, and, as such, he should not fear them.

Sam slowly made his way across the slick silver floor of Ship, the New Mutants new home, and pressed the button to open the door.

To his surprise, a small blonde girl stood on the other side. For a second, he didn't even recognize her.

The girl's hair was the same color as the moonlight, and fell near her shoulders in soft waves. A long blue tee shirt was her only adornment; the blue the same color as her brilliant eyes. Eyes that now gazed at him in worry, more worry then he had ever seen them.

Of course, he had never really seen them, now that he thought about it. They were normally hidden behind a pair of green sunglasses and a mask. Not a real mask, but the mask she wore to hide her heart from the outside world.

Now both the mask and the glasses were gone, and Sam could see the heart of the girl inside of the firecracker bubblehead. He rubbed a hand across his face, and blinked, but when he looked again, she was still there, her blonde hair glowing like a halo.

"Are you alright?" She asked, and even her voice was different. He was use to hearing it high pitched and loud, squeaky even. But now it was softer, lower and…sweet.

He stared down at her, and reached out a hand to touch her face, much to her surprise. He knew it surprised her; he could see it in her uncovered eyes, still glowing so brilliantly at him.

Her skin was soft and smooth, and warm. He suddenly felt cold, and wanted nothing more then to bask in her warmth, letting it unfreeze his chilled soul. He touched her other cheek with his other hand, tipping her face to meet his.

"Sam?" She asked, her eyes growing larger and rounder. He leaned his head forward, his lips no more then a few centimeters away from hers. "Sam?" She asked again, her voice still soft, still sweet.

He brushed his lips across her own, as softly and as sweetly as he could, letting her warmth flood through him. It touched his soul, warmed him to his very toes, driving off the bone weary chill that always came when the dream returned.

She stepped back, pulling her mouth away from his absorbing kiss and stared at him. He stared back, his eyes landing once more on her lips.

He'd never notice how sensual her lips were before this very minute. They were a soft, natural pink and pouted just a little bit, like she had been born not getting her way. They were as full as they were soft, and he felt a hunger for them rise once more into his chest.

Sam took a step forward, reaching out to wrap his fingers around her upper arms. He tugged her closer, once more taking her lips in a sweet kiss, reveling in the way they fit his, at the way her entire body seemed perfectly suited to his own.

This time she did not pull back, but gave herself up to the kiss, letting it drag her under his sudden need of her, his need to touch her, to possess her in a way that he had never wanted to before.

Once again, she was the one to break the kiss, the one to pull away from his lips. He continued to hold onto her arms, staring into her unmasked eyes. They glowed with something, something he couldn't identify. Something was just beginning to spark there, something that came from her soul.

He felt the same spark of something light up in him, and let that warmth spread through him, push back the chill. She pulled her arms out of his grasp, and took a step back, her eyes still wide and vulnerable and so heartbreakingly blue.

"Tabitha…" He breathed her name like a prayer, moving forward to catch her again, pulling her into the circle of his arms. She let him hold her, still staring in amazement into his face.

He bent his neck until his lips were only a hair's breadth from her neck. He could see her heart pounding against the delicate flesh, and he lowered his lips to it softly, kissing it. He heard her gasp, and felt her press her tiny body closer to his, her finger nails grinding gently against his shoulder blades.

"Sam…" She whispered his name, loud in the silence of his room.

"Please stay here tonight." His request was made against her lips, his own barely moving.

"What?" The girl asked, pulling back to look at him in utter shock.

"Ah don't want to be alone…" He told her, still holding her trapped in his arms. She looked up at him with her wide blue eyes, and finally nodded. Taking her hand, Sam led the small girl into his room.

The door slid shut behind them, and did not open again that night. Darkchilde's Stories