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// mean telepathic conversation
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Pulling her hair up in a high ponytail, Kitty licked her lips, excited to dig into the feast. Hank made waffles and pancakes, and Ororo helped make omelets, even offering to add meat to some. The kitchen filled up quickly, the happy voices drawing Professor from his office. Some kids swore he was a ghost, only appearing when a new student came. That always made him chuckle. Jubilee was the one to start the rumor, Kitty just spread it.

He wheeled beside Ororo, who at present was whisking eggs. “Let me, Ororo,” he offered.

Ororo sidestepped him. “Charles, you’re not allowed in the kitchen. Hank and I are treating everyone, but if you have a request for how you like your eggs, bacon, or waffles, I’m all ears.” She pressed a kiss to his bald head, making him chuckle. “Shoo! Henry, back me up,” she called.

Hank chuckled, bouncing to Charles. He made shooing motions, forcing his friend out. “The woman is right. I did not invite you to cook, just Ororo.” Once Ororo turned her back, he mouthed “sorry,” then quickly resumed cooking. He’d been finishing another batch of chocolate chip pancakes, and if he didn’t flip them now, they’d burn. These were special. These were for Ororo. As was the entire breakfast.

Last night, he awoke to a rather strange storm. He knew the cause, but not the reason. Until he received a call from Charles. Hank shook his head. That poor girl. Ororo cared about people to a fault, never giving up on anyone she loved. Everyone could be helped in her opinion. Hank agreed, but to a lesser extent. For help to work, they had to be open to it. Logan wasn’t open to anything other than a fist fight, beer, and women. Apparently Ororo wasn’t even a woman to the jerk. Blasted man, he sighed.

Finishing the pancakes, Hank moved Ororo to the table, seating her beside Charles. Hank gave her the plate, then pressed a kiss to the top of her snowy head. He settled beside her, and began to cut into his waffles, striking up a conversation with Charles and Ororo about current news, stiffly avoiding the topic of the weather. If he mentioned it, one of the kids would question it, and they’d all heard the screaming match between her and Wolverine. He knew, Charles informed him.

And speak of the devil. Clomping in sans shoes, Wolverine dragged his hand over his hairy chest; his wife beater didn’t really cover him. The kitchen hushed waiting for its showdown. They heard the brief shouting and matched the voices with the weather and motorcycle rolling in at one in the morning. The older kids attempted returning to normal conversation. It was awkward enough, no sense in dragging it out. Apparently, Logan felt the same way. “Any left fer me?” he groused.

Ororo gripped her knife so hard her knuckles went white. The hand on her shoulder kept her from losing control and ruining the day. She smiled at Charles, then bit into her still warm pancakes. “I always make extras in case someone wants them. Please, take a seat,” Hank offered, his voice civil. Inside, he wanted to... Oh, give the boy a firm talking to.

Logan grabbed a plate and cup from the cabinet and dropped into the empty seat in front of Blue Boy. He stacked some pancakes, then an omelet, several sausages-- not the tofu or turkey ones-- and a couple slices of bacon-- same deal. He filled his cup with the coffee he assumed was fresh and began eating, not bothering with good mornings. There was no real point.

Oh, wait.

“Popsicle,” he called, his eyes zoning in on the nervous boy.

“Uh, yeah?” Bobby began nervously.

“Sorry I bit yer head off yesterday.” He bit into his sausage, thinking of something else to say. His apology felt lacking. “You didn’t deserve it.” He took a swig of his coffee, then attacked his stack of pancakes.

Bobby glanced at Ororo, knowing with was her work. Looking down at his plate, he bit into a waffle. “Yeah...Thanks. Apology accepted.”

Ororo wiped her mouth, then picked her plate up. “If you all would excuse me,” she said. She stood, staring at Logan’s downcast head. “I’ve lost my appetite.” She pressed a kiss to Hank’s temple. “It was delicious, as expected.” Logan heard metal scraping glass, the thud of food dropping into a trashcan, and then feet going up stairs.

He never once looked up. Logan bit into his pancake. She was being emotional. He stuck around, hadn’t he? (Damn, these were good pancakes! Him and Blue Boy would have to compare notes. The omelet was good; he sprinkled pepper on top.) Everything she said to him yesterday was of little consequence. They weren’t really friends. Whatever he thought at the lake was gone in a flash. (There was some good pieces of ham in this.)

Nah, that was a lie. He was bothered. Yup, bothered. Storm... Ororo called him a coward. He was the motherfucking Wolverine!-- he feared no man. So why was he shaking in his boots over a fucking woman? Women! It was always a goddamned woman causing him problems! Logan huffed; he’d face her later when she cooled down. She was probably about to get her period. That was why she said all that shit yesterday. That was why she waited for him to return. Jeanie never waited for him to return, she just figured he would come back whenever. That’s what he liked--freedom to come and go. Ororo was too fucking concerned about every-fucking-thing. Yeah, he nodded, oblivious to how weird he looked nodding at the silence. It was her period. Had to be.

//You know full well that isn’t true, Logan.// Charles corrected, never giving away the fact he was telepathically speaking. Logan freaked like he always did. Having someone in his head was something he’d never get used to, it was too invasive. //I am not going past the surface of your mind, but I shall leave momentarily. I need to speak to you after breakfast, considering how you think it’s best to wait for Ororo to calm down.//

Logan narrowed his eyes, glaring at Charles. //Fine, but you leave my head.//

//Only if you promise to go.//

Logan scowled. //Fine.//

Charles smiled. “Pass me the ketchup?” he asked to no one in particular.


Breakfast concluded, and, as promised, Logan followed Charles into his room. The weather hadn’t changed, thankfully. Locking the door, Logan dropped to one of the leather couches across from his desk. Logan felt he was becoming too familiar with the layout of his office, and once again, he itched to tuck tail and run. Canada was nice this time of year, just before the cold winters set in. “What’s up, Chuck?” he joked.

“While I appreciate the humor, I wish to relay some important information.”

He shrugged. “Lay it on me.”

Charles moved his chair closer to Logan. Charles leaned back and smiled, the look nostalgic and private. “It’s an odd dynamic... Having to be outwardly cold and yet having such a warm heart. Jean is warm, and cares, yes, but she doesn’t love as deeply as Ororo. That’s why she came to you last night, because she loves Robert as if he were her own.” Charles tsked his tongue. “You two are so alike it’s frightening.”

Logan rolled her eyes. “Oh, please,” he snorted.

Charles waved his hand. “Oh, yes. If anyone ever hurt Rouge, Kitty, or Jubilee, I do believe you’d attempt to kill the offender. Ororo is much... No, exactly like that. But it isn’t simply that. You both are fiercely proud and annoyingly stubborn.” Logan’s brow nearly touched, more confused than he’d been yesterday. “She understands you better than you think, and maybe better than yourself. It is not my story to tell, but she knows what you’re going through. It would not be unwise to give your friendship a chance.”

Rolling his eyes heavenward, Logan rose to his bare feet. Christ almighty, did he regret not leaving. Each second in this house was making him crazy! The premise of going for just fresh air was starting to become more of a reason than clearing his head of the hold Jean had on him. “I’ll think about it.” With that, he rushed from the room and his smiling mentor.


Afternoon came smoothly, the sweltering heat from the morning oddly dipped down to eighty seven. There was speculation it was Ororo, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. To keep her hold on the elements, Ororo punched, kicked, and jabbed. Logan found solace in violence, and Ororo could understand why. She’d been attacking the punching bag, building up a vicious sweat and a major cramp in her arms. The bandages kept her knuckles from bleeding, but she could feel a bruise forming. Like the bruises on her arms. WHAP! Her fist landed against the sandbag twice. A roundhouse kick followed, might as well put her long legs to use. Dodge, dodge, dip, kick, a series of right hooks landed against the red wrapping.

Her body howled for rest and water. How long had she been down here? she wondered. Her anger had abated, and the only thing left were her thoughts. She was used to hearing she was an ice queen: that wasn’t the problem. No, Ororo worked through her dark times, but bringing them up always reopened the tiny wound. A little piece of Ororo would never be right, the piece that believed in true love and happily ever afters. Not for her, at least.

Her fist lit and crackled with electricity, and she punched the bag. It caught fire and burst, then fell to the ground. Ororo groaned, then leaned her head back, letting her eyes white over. She quickly put out the little fire; sand never burned much. Ugh, she groaned. She’d have to clean the mess and replace the bag. Hopefully Charles wouldn’t mind if she never told him...

Clapping broke her reverie. “I’ve busted a few of my own, but they never caught fire.”

Ororo stiffened, unconsciously touching her bruised right arm. “Wolverine,” she greeted tersely. Words were not meant to be wasted, she believed, but mincing had it’s place in the human conversation, in this conversation. She stalked to the opposite side of the gym and grabbed a broom and dustpan. It occurred to Ororo that she could make a whirlwind, gather the dust in that, and clean it that way, but that was an abuse of her power, and would never leave a good impression on the children. But then again, it was just her and him.

Logan was a man first. He was many things but always a man first. So when he spotted Ororo in those sinful little black workout shorts and standard X Man tank top, he looked. She could be pissed at him all she wanted, but it would be damn hard staying objective when her body was a man’s best fantasies come true. Had she always had that perfect ass? Those bouncy tits? Those long, chocolate legs? Were her hips always that curvy and itching to be touched? He figured so. Maybe it was a good thing she wore those long skirts all the time. If the boys of the mansion saw her like he did now... Hoo buddy, stealing Victoria Secret magazines would become pointless. They’d just look at her. He sauntered over, keeping the memory of her body locked away with the few he already had.

He dropped to his knees and held the dustpan for her while she swept the mess. She thanked him, then proceeded to walk it to the trashcan, taking the broom with her. Logan walked to the closet marked SPORTS, and pulled out a fresh bag. He and Colossus went through six or seven bags a few times a month, mostly depending on Logan’s mood. Colossus couldn’t he helped. He hooked the bag up, and picked up the remains of the last one. Leaning against the bag, he rubbed his chin. “Look, Storm, I gotta talk to ya.”

“I’m listening, Wolverine.”

Codenames: Not a good idea when she’s pissed. “Roro, I was an ass, but I’m not all that certain as ta why yer so pissed at me. I mean, what’d I do?” He searched her face, waiting. “I was a dick to Bobby, an’ I apologized, but leaving...” He shrugged. “It’s sorta my thing. I leave all the time and you never say a word.” Logan stood straight, checking the bag and pushing it slightly. “Ya know? Like you don’t really care.”

Ororo dropped her elbows onto her knees, gasped for air, then stood. She sauntered to her reusable water bottle resting idly on the bench. Twisting the tab open, she took heavy gulps and found it was not enough. Eventually she’d have to talk. Grabbing her white towel and mopping her brow, she bit her lip, but only briefly. Why was she acting like such a nervous brat? She faced him yesterday with no problem. Oh, yeah, she reminded herself. Yesterday you opened your big, fat mouth. Best to finish this now so she could go back to punishing her body. “Is that what you think? That I don’t care?”

He shrugged. “Well, yeah. You never showed more interest than a passing nod.” Logan walked to her, crossing his arms to his burly chest. It wasn’t defensive so much as something to do. A conversation like this could open a can of worms and further complicate his life, but... What the hell? His life was already complicated enough. And he owed it to Chuck to try.

She gave him a sidelong glance. “I control the weather, Logan, I’m not telepathic. When you leave, it’s normally at the middle of the night.” She took another swig and gasped. “So you say I don’t care. There is no possible way you see what I see: the aftermath.” Ororo faced him, a hand on her hip. “To be honest, I’m not sure I normally care, you’re right about that. You moving, it’s a part of you, and I’m forced to accept it. Don’t think I like it. But it’s not for the reasons you think.”

Logan raised a brow. “Enlighten me.”

“Gladly,” she snapped. “Every time you leave, the kids wilt, Marie especially.” That made him smile a little. “It isn’t overwhelming, but it’s enough. And I see it each and every time.” Ororo pressed the towel fisted in her hand to his chest. “That’s what I dislike about your leaving. How it affects the kids. I know most of them don’t matter to you, so leaving them is of little consequence. And they know. It hurts, Logan.” She frowned one side of her face. “Many of them come from families who don’t want them, and this becomes their family. So when a part of their family leaves without so much as a goodbye, it emboldens something they already know: They’re neither wanted nor cared about. Not even by their own kind.”

Logan’s face dropped. “Shit, Roro. I never knew,” he complained.

“No, how could you? You’re too busy making an island around yourself. The company you allow is... Questionable, at best.”

The defeat he felt earlier left. Anger started to build. “Questionable.” he repeated.

“Yes, questionable, and I think you know. It’s not Rogue we’re talking about.”

“Jean,” he supplied.

She nodded. “Tell me, Logan: What’s the point of chasing a woman you know you can’t have?”

“Sounds to me like you already have you theories,” he growled.

She shrugged. “Theories never matter as much as the truth. I was never one for common gossip.” Ororo’s shoulders sagged, sensing he was about to snap. “Look, Logan, whatever preconceived notions you have about me, I’m unconcerned. I’ve heard them all my life, but what I said to you yesterday came from personal experience. It was never advice, but it was something you needed to hear. I’d like to think it helped, but seeing you now... It feels like wasted breath. You’re running in circles and you’re dragging me along, hoping I can talk some understanding into that thick metal skeleton.”

They stood in tense silence Ororo had no idea what to make of. If he was angry, she couldn’t tell. He just stood there silently, staring at her. His gaze wasn’t as harsh, but it sure wasn’t friendly. It looked... Sad? No, though she could see remnants in his hazel depths. If Ororo could pick a more exact word, it would be “understanding.” Yes! It was precisely that. Ororo wanted to spin in the air; she won! Her stomach rumbled embarrassingly.

She gripped her sides, her face flushing. The question of how long she’d been in the gym came back.

“We never had our picnic lunch. Can I cash that raincheck?”

Ororo smiled at his attempt. “I wasn’t aware I gave you one--”

“Just say yes, woman.”
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AUTHOR'S NOTE: ohmigosh- I read this in standard and I noticed the obvious confusion in regards to telepathic conversation. FIXED!
Sorry I had to delete and re-add. I couldn't just edit and save from the get go. My apologies.





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