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Lounging in his room, cigar smoking and beer in hand, his thoughts soured. Alone, always alone. But when wasn’t he? Form the glimpses he caught of his past, he was destined for solitude. Constantly rejuvenating cells guaranteed a long life, longer than everyone else in the mansion. There’d been a few flames in his life that helped pass the time, but he always ended out alone. Always alone.

What’s the point in chasing a woman you can’t have?

Nervously looking around his room, Logan gnashed his teeth on his cigar. Those blue eyes managed to cut straight through eight layers of crap and pierce the core. That could be potentially annoying, and his chest rumbled with the possibility. A challenger would be put down to get what he wanted, and Ororo was definitely a challenger. Scooter wasn’t. What did that mean for his precious Red?

Sinking even further, his heart hit the bottom of his stomach. It was so unfair. He was being a pouty child and she was yucking it up with that loser. Scott had admirable qualities, but he wasn’t an alpha. Logan was an alpha and he knew it. Whenever Logan stepped in a room, he commanded respect and attention. Nobody who dared to cross him lasted. Excluding Charles and Ororo. If everyone had a pack mentality, Charles would be the undisputed alpha. The thought brought a wry smile to his face. The man couldn’t even walk!

But being crippled never stopped Charles. He moved on and helped save the world. Logan admired that. The same could be said for Ororo. Her parents died from her nightmare, and she ended up being a hero, a mother figure to abandoned kids, and masturbation fodder for fans. Begrudgingly, Logan added Scott, but only on a technicality.

It dawned on him that he hadn’t added himself. Logan didn’t feel heroic. Most days he felt like a monster, a killer. These were thoughts he shared with Professor and Marie-- but she touched him and that wasn’t consent. Locked away were pieces of him, and he guarded them like it was nobody’s business. And it wasn’t! He didn’t like running off at the mouth to any stray ear. Trust had to be earned, you didn’t just give it away. It would be nice to be an open book, but he couldn’t afford that luxury. It was hard enough having the whispered “assassin” follow every where he’d go, adding “monster” would make it even harder.

Rain filled his nostrils and Logan touched his skin to make sure he wasn’t wet. He’d been lounging by his open window, after all. Nope, it wasn’t wet out, so it was just Storm coming for nightly checks. Not once did she check on him, he pouted. It was odd thought and he was amused at himself for recognizing it. He sounded like Kurt, and Christ, did that kid have a hard on for her. He rose to his feet, finished his beer, and snubbed his Cuban out in the ashtray.

She was in the kitchen. Her long robe was silken and blue, covering her white nightgown. That long white hair was braided back; Logan considered it a loss. Musical humming filled the air, her husky voice making the melody relaxing. “Up past your curfew?” she asked, not stilling her movements in the kitchen. “I smelled your cigar going out. Smoking is against the rules, need I remind you.” Ororo whisked around the kitchen once more, then stopped at the stove. She placed a kettle down and turned on the burner. Once the water began heating, she washed a used cup, forced a wind to dry it, then put it up. The tray, he assumed carrying the cups, went underneath the cups cabinet.

Logan sauntered to the kitchen. “I don’t need as much sleep as everyone else. Healing factor. And, no, I’m aware smoking is against the rules, I just don’t give a good goddamn.” He rested his weight on his elbows, watching her clean a small mess. Charles liked cookies before he went to bed? Logan knew they talked after dinner, but this was an interesting development. She gaped at him. “What?”

“You’ve got an awful mouth.” She was rewarded with a stream of curses that would make a sailor blush. At least the kids were asleep and he was quiet. Ororo turned back, making sure her water was heating properly.

Logan tracked her fluid movements. For her height at five nine, she was damned graceful. So those dancer legs were good for walking as well as staring. She reached into the cabinet, pulled out a porcelain cup, thought better of it, and pulled out a plastic red teacup with her name printed on the front in alternating blue and white. “Whatcha you doing, Roro? Planning a midnight tea party?”

Melodious laughter reached his ears. “I like to drink tea before I go to bed. Lots of people do it.” She placed the cup down and walked towards him. “Chamomile or jasmine, but tonight I preferred--”

“Chamomile,” he finished. He ignored her suspicious eyes. He’d have to let her know soon enough that he wasn’t always the brute everyone thought him to be. “This something you do nightly?”

Ororo raised a shoulder. “No, maybe... Two or three times a month, but never in a set pattern. The mood has to strike.” She shot him a warning look. No jokes, message received. “Would you like some?”

He wasn’t a tea drinker, but she was inviting him to a special ritual; saying “no” would be rude. And he hadn’t had the chance to talk to her like this in three days. Her company would break his bad mood, even if for a moment. “Why not?” Logan responded. He grabbed a coffee mug, too dignified and male to drink from a dainty teacup. Charles was a guy, but he was British. Canadians weren’t froufrou like that. He placed the cup before her, expectant.

She waved a hand. “Normally I’d take it up to my room, but it’s so nice outside, I thought I might enjoy it on the patio.” She took the hot kettle with both hands, reminding Logan she couldn’t get hot or cold, her body would automatically adjust. Then what was with the robe? He followed her out and she resumed humming. Logan pulled her chair out for her, and Ororo thanked him. He sat across from her, then handed her his coffee mug. She filled it with tea.

Sweet and hot, it paled in comparison to his beer. Next time he’d just bring a brew with him; maybe she’d like sharing a beer. He glanced at the cup in her dainty hands. “Who made that for you?”

Ororo looked at the cup like it was her first time. A look of recognition crossed her face. “Jimmy. He also made me an adorable little bracelet.” She sipped her tea earnestly.

“I forgot how attached he was to you,” Logan mumbled. Jimmy was closer to Ororo than any of the other kiddies. Wherever she went, Jimmy followed. Logan chalked it up to wanting a mother. Ororo played the part, too. Nobody had as many vocal nightmares as Logan, but when Jimmy had one, she’d come running, soothing him back to sleep. “Hasn’t had many nightmares recently,” he tossed conversationally.

She nodded. “Thank the goddess. He’s too young for those kinds of nightmares.”

Logan stilled his hands, his cup seconds away from his lips. “And I’m not?” he tested.

Another calm sip. “Don’t think I meant it that way. Your nightmares bother me, too. I can’t begin to imagine what causes someone as fearless as you to wake up screaming.” Ororo looked up at the full moon swallowed by dark clouds. A playful look filled her cerulean eyes and she touched his arm lightly. “Watch this.” She held out her palm and focused on the empty space. Not long after her eyes whitened over, a miniature tornado formed in her palm, complete with lightning and rain. “Charles and Hank proposed the idea I should tap into my omega potential.”

He had to admit, the hand trick and the omega-potential news was interesting. “And it relates to your hand trick how?” Ororo pushed the tornado from her palm, causing Logan to steel himself. But there were no ridiculous winds, the lightning never struck him, and the rain never wet him. Wolverine had to admit-- sitting a yard away from a full blown tornado and having nothing happen to him or the yard was impressive.

“Whenever I manipulate the environment, there’s an adverse affect. I have to keep a balance always. Recently, I’ve been wondering if tapping into omega could change that.” Ororo waved her hands and the tornado was gone. “Small doses, though.” Roro was like Jean then, only Storm had a choice. Jean lived repressing the Phoenix, but it was always there and always lurking. When it was released, Jean couldn’t continue holding it back. The floodgates were opened and she had to adapt. Storm was aware and chose not to join the elite class of mutants.

Opening his own palms, Logan wished he had a choice. He wished he didn’t have to live as a lightning rod and plenty other things, but he was forced to accept them. Maybe that was part of the reason he found himself attracted to Jean. They both had destruction in them and they didn’t have a choice. Even Logan felt that was a laughable argument.

“Do my nightmares really bother you?” he asked quietly. She would never lie to him and he wanted her honesty. He needed to hear her truthful answer, but he wanted it to be positive. It was nice knowing someone cared. Her little hands cupped his, stroking the rough skin. Storm had soft skin, softer than Jean’s, almost like she was made from the finest silk. The touch was affirmation on its own.

“Of course, Logan, even when you don’t wake up screaming. I often pray to the goddess for the night you can go to sleep and simply rest.” Leaning forward, she pressed a warm kiss to his mutton chopped cheek. He watched her rise to her feet and smooth her palms over the silk robe. “We should get some rest. Tomorrow is a busy day.”

Hurriedly rising to his feet and awkwardly rubbing his beefy neck, he cleared his throat. “Yeah? Why’s that?” She calmly reached for the kettle when he grabbed it for her. A smile was his thanks and she took his cup along with hers. He pushed her chair in and opened the door for her, then followed her inside.

“You’re showing interest in something outside yourself?” she joked as she washed the cups. “Well,” she started, handing him the kettle to put away, “if you come to the kitchen at seven, I’ll show you.” She put the cups away and walked to the stairs. He followed, his room was on the way. Without pause she continued on her way up. Clearing his throat, he bade her goodnight. A similar parting followed, and he disappeared behind his door. Only then did he touch his cheek.





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