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Secret Burdens

Chapter Seven: The Force Behind the Power



"It was much larger than they thought, than they could begin to comprehend."



“Goddamn, that was a rush!” Logan roared, smiling wildly as he tossed one of his boots to the floor before him. He was sitting on one of the benches in the locker room outside the Danger Room, untying the other boot. His unkempt hair was plastered to his forehead and sweat trickled down his back in a way that tingled his spine, his hands itching to rip the shirt straight from his shoulders. He paused at the thought, then looked to Ororo standing before him, untying her own shoes. He dropped the thought immediately and decided he could wait until he was in his own room.

Ororo had her foot propped onto the edge of the bench in front of Logan, her fingers working at the straps of her shoes. She sighed, wiping white strands from in front of her eyes. “Yes, I quite agree Logan.” She raised her eyes to him from her stooped position. “Though I cannot boast the same souvenirs as you,” she joked, motioning to his tattered sleeve.

Logan reached a hand up to touch the shreds, his fingers skimming the swollen edges of just-healing gashes across his shoulder. “Heh. Comes with the territory.” He dropped his hand, rolling his shoulders slightly.

Ororo stood up straight and started walking to the lockers across the room. She opened hers, pulling out clean clothes, before her eyes drifted to a locker just down the line, the worn letters across the top spelling out S. Summers. Her hands stilled. “I suppose that is the blessing in your mutation. You need not fear the frailty the rest of us do.”

Logan could see the light flutter of her lashes from his angle, before her eyes slowly met the floor. She quirked a small smile. “Humans can be so fragile.”

Logan propped his hand on top of his knee, leaning forward as he scratched the rough stubble on his neck with his other hand. “Skin n’ bones are easy to fix. Our bodies ain’t that weak.”

“Bodies, yes,” she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, holding the fresh clothes against her chest, “but that is not what I was speaking of.”

Logan stared at her, the way she stood there hugging her arms to her chest, breathing steadily. He shifted in his seat, dropping his arms and clearing his throat. He turned to look at the other lockers.

O. Munroe.

He could hear her slight laugh.

“I apologize, Logan.” She turned fully to face him. “Not your pick of conversation, perhaps?”

Logan chuckled. “Ya got that right, darlin’.” He tugged at the collar of his shirt uncomfortably.

H. McCoy.

Ororo nodded, setting the clothes down on the bench, then turned to grab a pair of shoes. She placed those atop the bench as well. “Well, I dare say you could have handled that session without me.”

Logan glanced at her. “Nah, wouldn’ta been as much fun.” He flashed his canines.

“How so?”

Logan continued pulling off his other boot. “I don’t think I’ll ever get over the fun of watching ya throw lightning bolts.”

R. Drake.

Ororo frowned at him. “I do not ‘throw’ lightning bolts. I sense surges in ““

“-the electrical field and then redirect the channel of energy.” Logan smirked at her. “Yeah, I’ve heard that one before.”

Ororo narrowed her eyes at him. “Well, it is important that you understand that power. I am not Zeus, who can sunder Earth with lightning bolts at any whim.”

“But you can play tha part.” Logan grabbed the towel he had resting on the bench next to him, then brought it to his forehead.

K. Wagner.

Ororo sighed. She scrunched her eyebrows together. “It is actually not quite so easy. I am not sure how exactly to word this to fully explain.”

Logan shrugged his shoulders. “Try.” He dropped the towel from his forehead.

Ororo looked at Logan, trying to put together in her mind the simplest explanation she could give him. What it was like to be a weather goddess. The force behind the power. It was much larger than even she could fathom.

“I suppose it would be simpler to start with the distinction between mutants, and the balance of power that links the mutant to the mutation.”

P. Rasputin.

Logan leaned one elbow over his knee. “Ya lost me when ya hit ‘suppose’, darlin’.”

Ororo huffed through her nose. “Consider this Logan: some mutations are dependent on the host to exist, while some hosts are dependent on the mutation to exist.”

Logan continued to look at her from his position on the bench, mulling that last statement over in his head a few times. Ororo took his silence as a cue to continue.

“For instance, your healing property, Logan,” she began, motioning to his sore shoulder, “is dependent on you. Without your bodily systems and organs your mutation would cease to exist. It means nothing if there is not a body to heal.” Ororo cocked her head silently, waiting for some form of response. “Do you follow, Logan?”

W. Worthington III.

He grunted. “For now.”

Ororo nodded, then placed a hand on her chest. “I, on the other hand, am not necessary for the weather. Storms will come and they will go and I am only allowed a small amount of control for the short time I am on this earth. When I tap into the atmosphere it is as though the Mother is lending me some form of her great power. I wield nothing. I am merely a messenger, a middle-man.” She felt her lips turn up slowly, glancing down at her hands. “I am lucky to be part of something so great, something so encompassing. It has given me a much broader perspective on the world, as narrow-minded as I sometimes find myself.” She smirked slightly, then lifted her head to look at Logan.

K. Pryde.

Logan snorted. “Storm, yer the least narrow-minded person I know.”

“Which is probably not saying much for me.”

Logan glared at her. “I mean it, Storm. Yer practically the enemy of prejudice.”

Ororo exhaled noisily. “You are seeing me after Charles’ influence. Without him, I would still be the bigoted street urchin he found picking pockets in Cairo.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Logan waved his hands through the air wildly. “’Pickin’ pockets’?” His brows shot up into his hairline.

Ororo laughed behind her hand. “Yes, Logan, believe it or not. I now have both Charles and the Mother to thank for my current disposition.” She smiled softly. “There’s a lot of love in this earth, when one cares to look for it.”

J. Grey.

Logan’s eyes stopped on the locker just left of Ororo’s shoulder. He was so still Ororo had to turn her own eyes on the worn letters lining Jean's old locker. She furrowed her brows, drawing in a deep breath. She cocked her head in Logan's direction glancing at him from the corner of her eye.

"You know that, Logan," she said softly, eyeing him, "do you not?"

Logan flicked his gaze toward the woman standing before Jean's locker. "Not at all, Storm," he replied blankly. His features had hardened suddenly, a harsh frown now dawning his face. He rose from his position on the bench, throwing the towel in his hand over his shoulder as he headed for the door.

Ororo turned sharply at his retreat. "Logan. 'Honest and forthcoming', remember?"

Logan stopped, glancing over his shoulder. "That don't mean I have to agree with ya."

Ororo huffed slightly. "No, you do not. But I would appreciate it if you did not walk out on a conversation."

Logan stared fixedly at her, and he was so still and unmoving it almost began to unnerve her. "We had our conversation. And now you've wondered into unwanted territory. And you don' know me well enough to ask that."

Ororo swallowed, the blunt warning still registering. His stare was heavy on her lids, his hands slowly curling in on themselves.

"We ain't there yet, Storm." It had come out almost as a growl, his lip curling.

Ororo's chest rose with indignation at the silent threat but she reigned in her breath and stilled her arms at her sides.

Logan took the instant as her retreat and turned sharply for the door.

Ororo's eyes followed his back once more. "Apparently Logan, we will never be there," she breathed heatedly.

Logan's ears caught the reply but he didn't dare turn back around to face her. He wouldn't give her the acknowledgment she demanded. He stalked out of the locker room snarling.

***

Ororo was in the kitchen when Rogue came upon her the next afternoon. Ororo was standing on one side of the kitchen island, slicing at a tomato and Rogue could see other vegetables from her greenhouse garden lining the countertop.

Rogue pulled herself onto one of the stools across the island from Ororo. "Hey, Ms. Munroe."

Ororo paused in her dicing to glance up at Rogue, a soft smile forming at the corners of her mouth. "Marie." She nodded, then turned her attention back to her vegetables. "What brings you downstairs at this time?"

Rogue leaned back slightly, biting her lip. "I uh...I wanted to thank you."

Ororo paused her cutting for a moment, looking up at Rogue. "For what?"

Rogue pursed her lips. "Logan told me he talked to you about my situation. The whole schooling thing."
Ororo nodded silently.

"Well, I know that you didn't have to keep me here, but you did. I'm so grateful you let me finish off my schooling. This is my home now, you know? And I know that I have no right to ask for a spot on the X-Team" she proclaimed, raising her hands in surrender, "but...if I could somehow prove useful in another way, well, I just don't want to give up completely on being an X-Man." Rogue's shoulders slumped as she dropped her hands.

Ororo was silent as she regarded her for a moment, then she spoke. "Marie, I cannot, in good conscience, place the lives of the team in your hands. As an X-Man, I do not think that you have any opportunities left. I understand that you want to stay close to the people around you, and so you would always be welcomed at the school. But unfortunately, your time as an X-Man is over, however short it was."

Rogue sighed, dropping her gaze to her hands. "I figured that was the case. And I understand, I guess. It just..." she laughed sadly. "It just sucks, you know?"

Ororo smiled softly at the girl before her. "Yes. I would have to agree. But Marie, you have so many opportunities for personal growth now. You have a chance at building relationships in ways you could not have before. That is an amazing gift. Believe me."

Rogue looked up at Ororo, smirking. "I know. And really, I get that deep down, that's what I want more." She nodded to herself.

Ororo smiled at Rogue, returning to the food before her. "So how is the afternoon treating you?"

Rogue scoffed, wriggling her hands beneath her on the stool. "I think you'd know, weather-goddess and all."

Ororo smirked slightly, peeking out the kitchen window where dark clouds gathered around the mansion, rolling in slowly with crisp gusts of wind occasionally pelting the windows. "I do not affect the resident weather, contrary to what some students may believe."

Rogue raised a brow. "Sure you're not having a bad day there?"

Storm stopped her movements on the countertop and slowly set aside the cutting knife, resting her gaze on Marie. She drew in a light breath, bracing her hands across the counter. "Marie, you of all people know how dangerous it is to be careless."

Rogue drew her eyes from Ororo's, shifting slightly on her hands. "I know," she replied softly. "But I suppose you have a lot more experience with control."

Ororo cocked her head slightly. "Not as much as you perhaps think. Yes, sometimes my emotions may cause a negative effect on the climate but I must always be conscious of that effect. I do not believe I have ever intentionally altered the atmosphere here at the mansion."

Rogue looked back at Ororo quizzically. "Even when it was raining and you wanted to have a nice sunny afternoon?"

Ororo smiled. "Especially then."

Rogue furrowed her brows. "What do you mean?" She leaned closer toward the counter. "Wouldn't you want to make the weather nice?"

Storm dropped her gaze to the scattered vegetables across the counter. "That would feel...wrong and...," she furrowed her brows, searching for the right words, "pointless, I suppose, in the face of all the disaster I have caused."

Rogue eyed her silently for a moment. "Disaster?"
Ororo brought her gaze back up to Rogue. "You are very young, Marie."

Rogue narrowed her eyes slightly. "And I can't understand the consequences of our mutations, is that it?"

Ororo eyed her for a moment, then softly shook her head. "No. You know full well what power lies in the hands of mutants, what used to lie in your hands."

Ororo's stare was so heavy Rogue had to drop her eyes, focus on the fraying denim of her jeans' pocket. "Then what? she asked hesitantly.

Storm swallowed, hoping the words would come easier, lighter along her tongue. Maybe if she could say it then it wouldn't feel so guilty when she remembered. "You are too young to remember." Ororo could feel her fingers shaking above the marble countertop.

Rogue pulled her hands from beneath her seat and laid them across the table, leaning over the edge. "Remember what?" she breathed, then swallowed. "Storm?"

Ororo did not blink as she continued to stare at Rogue. "You do not remember what it was like, when every day was war, when we would lay our heads down to sleep never knowing if we would wake the next morning." Ororo could feel the heaviness of her chest growing. "It is much more complicated now, there are so many lines of perspective. Before you either were a mutant, or you hated them. And it is pointless to stop some rainclouds when only years ago people died for it." Ororo lowered her head. "It is unfair to those who died with the guilt of being born."

Rogue sucked in a soft breath. "Oh God, Storm...you...?"

Ororo closed her eyes. "I have overcome that guilt myself, only because I had the love of Charles and my family, the X-Men." Ororo paused, opening her eyes to watch Rogue's still figure across the kitchen island. She sighed. "I was lucky."

Rogue inclined her head toward Ororo. "I didn't know you lived with that. I mean..." she opened and closed her mouth, searching for something to relate. But there wasn't. At least, not right then, not at that moment. Sure, she carried the guilt of every touch but never the guilt of existing.

What are you supposed to say to that? Congratulations for getting over it. You made it out of the fray alive. Sure, you've got some scars. You have the emotional expression of celery. You're just now starting to fully function in society.

No, you don't. It still hurts. It will always hurt. You will always live with those hands and what they've done.

Because Ororo always carried more than just herself. And sometimes, she couldn't carry it at all, and it would burst from her in hurricanes and typhoons and terrible rages of nature. Only she could feel the force behind the power, the terrible reality of being the constant survivor.

When they said survivor's guilt they couldn't even begin to imagine.

Rogue finally cleared her throat. "Ms. Munroe?" she asked shakily, clearing her throat a bit more harshly this time. "Storm?"

Ororo raised her eyes to Rogue, the soft mist of white swirling just behind her lids.

Rogue shifted her seating slightly. "You can't imagine what it means to me," she straightened a bit in the stool, "that you told me that." Rogue smiled softly. "I know it doesn't really mean anything but...I've been trying to figure out why I was so alone for so long."

Ororo's brows knitted together for a moment.

Rogue leaned her arms over the countertop, a small smile quirking from her lips. "But I wasn't."

Ororo opened her mouth to ask what she had meant when suddenly, Logan appeared from around the corner of the kitchen, coming in from the rec room. He paused when he caught sight of the two women, who broke apart quickly when they turned at his entrance. Logan had a hand at the back of his head, scratching roughly. He stood still in the threshold, looking between the two. "Heh." He dropped his hand back to his side. "I don' wanna know."

Logan strode across the kitchen to the fridge, yanking the door open. He rummaged through the shelves for a few seconds before he pulled back angrily and turned to the two women at the island. "Where's my beer?"

Rogue just stared at him, but Ororo stood stoically behind the counter, her arms crossing over her chest. "I discarded your beer, Logan."

Logan slammed the fridge door, making Rogue jump slightly. "What?" he growled.

"I said 'I discarded your beer, Logan.'" Ororo raised a brow.

"I heard ya the first time, Storm. Why the fuck did you toss it?" Logan glared at Ororo.

Rogue pulled her hands into the air. "Logan, come on, you don't need to -"

"Stay out of this, Marie," Logan snapped.

Rogue clamped her mouth shut.

Ororo narrowed her eyes. "Do not speak to her like that, Logan, she was merely trying-"

Logan was across the kitchen in two strides, suddenly up against Ororo. "I don' give a shit. And I ain't taken that fucking position yet, Storm, so ya got no right throwing out my shit."

Ororo huffed angrily at his interruption. "It has nothing to do with your acceptance of the faculty position and everything to do with your negative influence on the students. I will not have you carrying on in the same fashion here in the mansion."

"An' I'm suppose ta give a flying shit?" Logan snarled at her. "Fuck this. I'm fucking sick of you shoving your rules around and expectin' me ta follow ya like some goddamn mindless dog."

Ororo ground her teeth, her breath heaving. She raised her arm, a finger pointing toward the door. "Then get out," she bit out.

Logan narrowed his eyes at her, and she could feel the hot air fuming from his nostrils on her cheeks.

"Fine. You got it. I've wasted enough fucking time here." Logan pulled back a step, stilling glaring at her. "I've wasted enough time with you."

Rogue glanced wide-eyed between the two, watching Logan curling his fists, and the slight twitch of Ororo's eyebrows at his words.

Logan turned before either of them could say something and he was out the threshold in two seconds. Rogue jumped from her seat on the stool without thinking and ran after him, leaving Ororo shaking with rage in the kitchen.

Logan was halfway up the stair to the bedroom floor when Rogue caught up to him. "Hey, Logan, wait!"

He kept stalking up the stairs. She called louder. "Logan! Stop, would you?"

Logan halted abruptly and Rogue almost ran into his back. She steadied herself, raising a hand to her chest.

Logan stared down at her silently, expectantly.

Rogue raised her eyes to him, reigning in her breath. She straightened up, standing a couple steps below him. "You're a complete asshole sometimes, you know?"

Logan's eyes narrowed so quick she almost missed it.

She pulled in a shaky breath. "You know that, don't you?"

Logan ground his teeth slowly, biting his tongue. Then he was stalking up the stairs again.

Rogue braced a hand along the rail, calling out to him louder from her position on the stairwell. "You know that, don't you?"

She could hear the slam of his door from where she stood.





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