Chapter Two: Xavier’s School
Ororo and Scott held several rituals together, developed over the course of nearly twenty years.
They came to the Professor at similar ages, two young adults with enormous power and little control. It wasn’t a leap that they took to one another so easily. Jean often referred to them as twins, though they would ever be a trio.
One such ritual happened to include coffee, muffins, and quiet talk. Nearly every morning, just after dawn, would find two adult mutants indulging in a few minutes alone. Jean might stop by, but her penchant for hitting the alarm for “five more minutes” usually left her two companions alone.
This morning, however, Jean was up at the crack of dawn, rushing down to check the condition of their newest “stray”. The words fascinating, impossible, and “Dear God” left the redhead’s mouth every thirty seconds since the discovery of this mysterious Logan. Jean had medical and scientific tests to run, wanting to know more about the man who withstood Sabertooth and came through without a scratch.
Regarding his coffee-buddy over the rim of his favorite Batman mug, Scott tilted his head at her curiously. Ororo was lost in thought, staring into the black coffee as though it held the key to the very meaning of life. His wise friend glowed in the early morning light, her cocoa colored skin covered in a soft white top and matching wrap.
There were times their platonic relationship baffled Cyclops. Oh, he would admit to anyone that Ororo was devastatingly beautiful. She kept her emotions locked up, a disadvantage to her mutation, so her face was always serene, giving the illusion of otherworldly knowledge. Divine, he remembered thinking upon first seeing her, the very definition of divinity.
“What are you staring at?”
Her sharp comment brought Scott from daydreams with a jolt. Coffee sloshed over the rim of his mug, burning his hand so that he yelped and swore. Ororo’s eyes were laughing at him, though her mouth remained in a thin, disapproving line.
After sticking the injured thumb into his mouth, Scott smirked. Hell, Ororo was gorgeous and sometimes it seemed a damn shame that he loved and adored his fiancée so much.
“Wondering if I can convince you to run off to Curacao with me. I’ll change my name to Raoul and we’ll sell baskets to the tourists.”
“Just let me finish my coffee, Raoul, and then I’ll go pack.” She tossed the line off airily while breaking off a hunk of muffin.
“Course, we’ll have to live in perpetual fear of Jean, but I think we can handle it.”
“Shut up, Scott.” Ororo laughed, brightening the room with it. “You’re disturbed.”
“You know me too well.”
As she continued to chuckle, Scott forced his mind to center. He knew Storm had spoken to Kitty and Jubilee, learning what they could of the child the X-Men rescued.
“Ok,” he said, straightening his spine. “Lets behave ourselves. What do we know about Marie?”
Ororo frowned, holding up a single finger as a signal to wait while she swallowed a mouthful of muffin. “Fourteen, runaway from Georgia. Apparently, her mutation manifested during her first kiss and the boy ended up in the hospital.”
“Now there’s a lesson in safe sex we never considered,” Scott muttered with a smile.
His companion continued as though she’d not heard him. “She always wanted to take a road trip to Anchorage and decided after her parents tried to beat the mutant out of her that it was high time she got started. Walked into a bar in Laughlin City, met the man named Logan as he decided to get into a bar fight.”
“Ok, back up.” Scott’s tone shifted to ice and Ororo’s dark eyes met his. “Beat the mutant out of her?”
Ororo nodded slowly. “Kitty spotted a bruise when she was changing and the story popped out. I told Charles we should file for custody.”
“Can we pay these lovely human beings a visit and beat the asshole out of them?”
Her lips twitched at the corners, a sign that she was fighting a smile. “Maybe later, if you’re a good boy.”
“Moving on, then.” He gestured for Ororo to go on.
“According to Marie, she saw Logan cage fighting. He was still standing after a “big ol’ brute” beat on him. The man wasn’t happy that Logan wasn’t so much as bleeding and pulled a knife. Marie shouted for him to look out. She might have saved his life.”
Scott turned this over in his mind. “He must have a healing mutation.”
“That’s not the best part,” Ororo’s eyebrow arched and the lilt of her voice screamed amusement. “When the knife-wielding anti-mutant bastard got too close, Logan stood and shoved him into a wall. Six steel blades erupted from his hands. Scared the living daylights out of everyone in the area.”
Exhaling, Scott whistled lowly. “Interesting. How’d the kid end up in his truck?”
At this, Ororo chuckled. “Hid in the back. She wanted a ride and decided Logan was a good enough protector. He discovered her, tried to leave her on the road. Seconds later, he had a change of heart. Five minutes later, Sabertooth attacked.”
“Lovely,” Scott sighed, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck. “So we’ve got a two mutants with no prior connection and Magneto. I don’t get it.”
“Neither do I,” Ororo agreed, setting her coffee down. “It seems odd…”
Ororo, Scott?
Directing thoughts inward, Scott replied. Yes, Professor?
Our new friend has just awoken. I fear he is somewhat confused.
Is Jean all right? Did he hurt her? Ororo’s question made Scott stand, his hands clenching into fists.
No. Logan did not intend to harm her. He is merely disoriented. Please clear the hallways, and come to my office in a few moments. I am going to draw him to me.
Of course, Charles. Storm answered him, even as Scott moved for the door.
Together, silently, Ororo and Scott worked to clear a path from the elevator leading downstairs to the classrooms. Charles’ office was in the main corridor, so the twosome ducked into an alcove. Not twenty seconds after, a tall, burly man wearing an X-Men sweatshirt came rushing around the corner.
“Stay.” Ororo commanded when Scott unconsciously moved to intercept. “Don’t move.”
Logan darted behind a pillar when a group of children marched down the stairs with the grace of a herd of buffalo. Ororo’s strong hand kept Scott from moving again. Watching through the ruby-haze, Scott realized that Logan was hiding from them.
Afraid. Nervous. He felt his heart soften slightly. How odd must it be? To wake in a strange place, only knowing that your last memory was battle? Did he worry for the girl? Was he, in fact, searching for her? Did this gruff man have that sort of loyalty?
When Logan ducked into Charles’ office, Scott exhaled. Logan was going to be trouble.
“All right,” Storm said in her most regal tone. “We’ll wait a moment and then barge in. I’m absolutely dying of curiosity here.”
Amused against his will, Scott hitched a brow over his glasses. “Really?”
“Shut up, Scott.”
~**~
Wherever the hell he was, he intended to get the hell out as soon as humanly possible.
A bald old man in a wheelchair was moving closer, even as the children he’d just been teaching exited the room. The scent of this office was clean, almost innocent. It smelled of children, of life, of old leather books and wood polish.
“I’m Charles Xavier. Would you like some breakfast?” He came around the desk. Logan took a step back, wanting to crouch into defense.
Off his guard, he glanced around the room again. A blackboard was set up, equations and words written upon it with a clear, concise hand. Books lined two walls, the chairs around an antique desk haphazard with the quit exit of several teenagers.
It was, Logan thought, a room fit for a man of power, of kindness. Something about that unsettled him.
Eyes of warm blue were regarding him kindly. The wheelchair stopped, the man in it folding his hands into his lap. His posture was rigid, as though he’d spent his life in high society. The suit Logan pegged as expensive, French cut, and perfectly pressed.
“Where am I?”
“Westchester, New York. You were attacked. My people brought you here for medical attention.”
People? What damn people? “I don’t need medical attention.”
Though his tone was decidedly rude, Xavier smirked. “Yes, of course.”
Marie’s signature scent, one of flowers and sun, lingered here. Hackles rising, Logan glanced about once more, as though he might find her cowering in a corner. He may have just met the kid, but by allowing her into his truck, he’d made a silent promise to look after her.
“Where’s the girl?”
Xavier smiled. “Rogue? She’s here. She’s fine.”
“Really?” He wouldn’t believe that until he saw her with his own eyes. Xavier’s steady, unrelenting gaze dared Logan to contradict him at the same time it spoke volumes of truth.
The wide, oak door popped open, making Logan step back. His hands clenched into fists, ready to simply beat on whatever came into the room. Nerves frayed, he sniffed without thinking, catching a hint of sandalwood covering a natural scent of freshly fallen rain.
She stepped through the door with limitless grace, a small, easy smile on full lips. Her flesh defined the word soft, shining in brilliant tones of chocolate and caramel. Hair the very color of Canadian snow fell to her waist in twisting curls, spilling onto a top of similar hue.
Looking her up and down with an intensity of predator to prey, Logan took in the white silk wrap, the tight top beneath that showed off coffee colored breasts. Sleek black trousers fitted to long, slim legs, the length extended due to her heeled boots. She had to work for that slender body, though her frame said she would never be a large woman.
When his gaze traveled back up, he found those lips widening with a knowing smile. But it was the eyes that caught his attention and held it. Dark irises that hinted at feminine secrets and ethereal knowledge stared without fear or shame. She’d dusted the lids with smoky powder, succeeding in accentuating the long, cat-like shape of them. Her features were soft, making Logan peg her as African by blood.
The only thing he could think after his long, studying look was: God damn.
Behind her, a man somewhat taller than Logan was staring at him from behind crimson lenses. Boy scout, Logan thought with a sardonic smirk. His scent was of burning ozone and Stetson cologne. Chiseled features and tousled brown hair made him seem to define good looks, but Logan caught the tension in his shoulders.
They weren’t going to get along.
“Ah, Logan,” Xavier was speaking, affection in his tone. “I’d like you to meet Ororo Munroe, also called Storm.”
The goddess spoke first, with warmth, with welcome. “Hello.”
“This is Scott Summers, also called Cyclops.”
He said nothing, but extended a polite hand. Logan stared at the limb, then into the ruby-gaze, ignoring the gesture. With no other option, the other man dropped his hand, giving Logan a look that said, clearly, “Ok, buddy, I can play ‘Who’s the bigger asshole’ too.”
The Professor spoke again, this time with a hint of impatience. “They saved your life.”
And I couldn’t be awake for that? Logan thought, looking back to the woman identified as Storm.
Warmth left her eyes and she met his questioning look with anger. Sizing her up quickly, he put two and two together. Coming up with four, he decided the Boy Scout was bouncing on the goddess. How stupid was that? Like this young buck deserved a woman like that.
Another presence came around the corner. Logan glanced at the redheaded woman he’d first seen in the below levels. She smelled of vanilla, a hint of fresh cut grass. Her pale skin was marred at the throat by a bruise from his hands and Logan felt a surge of guilt over that. Hindsight was, after all, twenty-twenty. She’d likely been trying to help him.
Green eyes sparkled with humor, her mouth a gentle smile as she strode past him and to the Professor. Logan took a moment to glance at her backside, appreciating the view with blatant maleness.
“I believe you’ve already met Doctor Jean Grey.”
Without acknowledging the Professor or the woman he called Jean, Logan’s eyes found their way back to Storm. Amusement swirled there now, mingled with curiosity.
“You’re in my school for the gifted, for mutants. Here you’ll be safe from Magneto.” Xavier spoke again; Logan did not take his eyes from Storm.
“What’s a Magneto?”
“A very powerful mutant, one that believes a war is brewing between mutants and the rest of humanity.” Surrounded by what Logan figured were his “children”, Charles was more relaxed, his tone gentler. “I’ve been following his activities for some time. The man who attacked you is called Sabertooth.”
At this, Logan couldn’t help the dark chuckle that left his lips nor the complete amusement at the situation in general. What did these people think they were? Superheroes?
“Sabertooth,” he repeated with a grin, looking to the Professor. Turning back to the white-haired woman, he clucked his tongue, pointing at her. “Storm.”
He winked. She scowled.
Unable to help himself, Logan faced Xavier. “What do they call you? Wheels?”
The leader of this ragtag group frowned, straightening in his chair.
“This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” He turned to leave, not surprised to find that Cyclops moved to bar the open door. “Cyclops, right?”
In one swift move, he hauled the boy up by the front of his smart little turtleneck. That ruby-tinged gaze sharpened. This close, Logan could see two angry eyes behind the jeweled lenses. The woman beside him shifted, as though to protect. That was irritating.
“Wanna get out of my way?” He growled in the boy’s face.
Cyclops peered past him to Xavier, as though asking for orders. Logan hoped the kid would try to best him, the rage always close to the surface needed an outlet. It could be fun to toss this ramrod straight kid around the room for a while.
“It’s been almost fifteen years, hasn’t it?” Xavier’s tone was mild, but penetrating. “Moving from place to place, living from day to day. Never knowing who or what you are.”
Releasing Cyclops, he turned to look at the demure man sitting so proudly in his wheelchair. Beside him, Storm took a step closer to Cyclops. For some reason, that irritated him further as Xavier continued.
“Shut up.” Logan told him before turning. “You don’t know anything.”
Then, the voice that brought him from the metal-laced lower levels echoed in his mind again. Whispering, drawing feelings of being trapped. He looked around, searching for the cause.
You’re not the only one with gifts.
Logan realized, from the voice, from the slight smirk on Xavier’s face, that the location of that whispering, entreating tone originated in the old man’s mind. Amused now, he glanced at the other mutants before meeting Xavier’s gaze. Wildly entertained all of the sudden, he felt the corner of his mouth turn up in a half-grin.
“What is this place?”
~**~
Ororo walked with Jean as they left the lower levels. Classes were over for the day and she wanted to talk with her friend about this Wolverine.
Charles, she heard through the grapevine, struck some kind of deal with Logan. He would remain on the grounds for two days, giving Charles time to uncover Magneto’s plans. In exchange, he would use his resources to help Logan piece together his past, the life his previous captors had so ruthlessly stolen.
All of this curiosity was just too tempting to resist. What kind of man was this? How did he play into Erik’s plans?
Standing close enough to resemble the teenagers above, the duo eased toward the elevator together, hands brushing as they moved. Jean, Ororo always thought, was classically beautiful. All fine lines and pale skin. Years before, jealousy would crop up, making her irritable and unsure. Ororo had the uncommon features that bred true in her mother’s African line. The white hair and changing eyes, for starters.
As a teen, she wanted to blend in. She’d lost count of how many times she dyed or cut her hair, trying to just be one of the others. Now as an adult, she adored the differences. Her hair was long now, contrasting against the darkness of her skin. It made people look and because she happened to be female, Ororo liked to be looked at.
Logan’s intense study of her, however, she found unnerving. The predatory gaze rarely wavered, even with Jean in all her glory entered the room. Oh, he’d looked, but then those dark, unreadable eyes came right back to Storm. It made her skin itchy, her palms sweat. She didn’t think she liked this brash Wolverine, especially after he manhandled the man she considered her brother.
“He apologized,” Jean said as the elevator doors closed. “For hurting me.”
“He should apologize to Scott as well.” Ororo gave into sibling tendencies and peeked at the angry blue-black bruise on her throat. “I should have fried him.”
“It’s not his fault,” her friend replied soothingly. “I don’t blame him for being frightened. For all he knew, I was trying to kill him.”
“Would it have killed to ask?”
“I don’t think he thinks like that.”
Ororo waited a beat, trying to resist the pull of her ever-growing curiosity. When Jean refused to go on without prompting, she sighed and faced her. “What do you mean?”
“Well,” the redhead began immediately. “Given his heightened senses and that odd codename, I’m starting to think his mutation goes further than super-healing. He relies on instinct, like an animal might.”
Ororo chewed on her bottom lip, remembering the defensive stance, those dark glances.
“Interesting theory,” Ororo conceded the point. “That doesn’t give him the right to behave like he did. I could have slapped him for yanking at Scott that way.”
“Still,” Jean lowered her tone as they left the elevator. “What was done to him…I can’t even imagine.”
“Pity he has, I’m not disputing that.” Storm shooed Artie out of the way with a single look.
Jean hummed under her breath, the weight of an unrelenting stare making Ororo’s hair stand on end. She knew her friend as well as she knew Scott, so mentally, Storm braced herself.
“He’s hot.”
“JEAN!” Shocked, Ororo covered her mouth with one hand, glancing about to ensure no one heard the comment. “I’m telling Scott.” Her words were muffled by the hand.
“Oh, come on!” Jean laughed, the sound bouncing off the walls. “He’s gorgeous in that ‘I’m a bad boy, punish me’ way.”
Ororo refused to reply, no matter what an interesting mental picture that made. Logan’s deep eyes came back to her, that sly wink tripping her heart. Damn it. With his rugged good looks and untamed ferocity, he did have a certain appeal.
“You’re terrible,” she hissed to Jean.
“I just noticed, is all.” She slid a sidelong glance to her friend. “Did you notice the hotness factor? Cause I thought I noticed you noticing.”
Undone, Ororo stopped, whirling on her friend. Heat flashed into her cheeks, an unbidden fantasy of Logan shoving her against a wall flitting through her mind. Ororo knew herself, she had a penchant for going after the wild, the untamable. Jean, to her misfortune, knew that as well.
Tall, muscled, and mean, Logan definitely fit the bill. If Storm had a type, he was it.
“I noticed.” She replied shortly. “Now, shush.”
Jean giggled, bouncing a little where she stood. Ororo was reminded of the girl she’d been, so sweet and bubbly not unlike their little Shadowcat. Warmed by the display of girlishness, Ororo shook her head in dismay.
They continued walking, Jean humming in triumph under her breath. The Wolverine might be sexy, Storm thought as they rounded a corner, but she didn’t have to like him. If she knew Scott, the man was already telling Charles that their new addition couldn’t be trusted. Dislike radiated from her friend in waves, even when Wolverine wasn’t in the room.
“Hey.”
Speak of the Devil and in he walks.
Still wearing the Xavier sweatshirt he’d stolen from the lower levels, Wolverine entered from a classroom he’d obviously been exploring. Jean made a small sound that, something akin to an “eep” as he came toward the gossiping women.
Ororo felt his eyes on her before she looked at him fully. Meeting that interested gaze without remorse or shame, she arched a brow. His bearded face swept up into the wolfish peaks of his hair and she wondered if that was a part of his mutation or deliberate.
That impossibly sexy mouth curved into a smirk.
“Wheels said one of you could find me a room.” Logan explained, hooking his thumbs into the pockets of his jeans. “Any volunteers?”
Jean, the traitor, nudged Ororo with an elbow. “Storm, do you mind? I’ve got to check on the kids.”
Bitch. Ororo sent the thought viciously.
No thanks required, pumpkin. Jean’s mental voice shot back.
“Storm?” Wolverine questioned, his smirk widening. “I can handle that.”
“In your dreams.” The words left her lips without consulting her brain. Ororo ignored the comment, though she distinctly noticed his gaze heat up.
When her blood started to boil, she deflected. “There’s a room on the third floor. Follow me.”
“Thanks,” he answered, stopping to wave at Jean.
Aware that her friend was watching, Ororo turned on her heel and headed for the stairs briskly. Later, when she and the other two met for their nightly staff meeting, she would thump Jean on the head for good measure.
He was staring. She could feel the weight of it on her back as she ascended the staircase. Glancing at him over her shoulder, Ororo did her best to glare. He shrugged one shoulder, continuing a lazy perusal of her backside. Irritated “ more that his staring pleased her “ Ororo marched up the stairs at an even brisker pace.
They did not speak until she opened the heavy door to an empty bedroom on the teacher’s level. She walked inside, clicking on a nearby lamp and looking around. Logan moved inside more slowly, glancing at everything with those predatory eyes.
“You should be fine in here,” Ororo said as she walked to the window.
“Where’s your room?” He asked, obviously amused.
“Down the hall,” she took a breath, trying to settle herself before turning.
“With Scott?”
That simple sentence hung on the air. Scott? Ororo turned very slowly, her brow arching as amusement forcing her to turn a smile into a small scowl. There was the slight edge to his tone, one that she wasn’t sure made her more irritated or proud.
He had his back to her, opening a closet to peer inside curiously.
“I fail to see how that’s any of your concern,” she shot at him icily. “But if you must know, I sleep alone.”
Logan’s head came out from the closet slowly, his own eyebrow meeting that wild hairline. Ororo deliberately went to the dresser, moving on from the comment even as she made plans to laugh into hilarity over it with Cyclops.
He waited a beat. “If you sleep alone, it’s gotta be by choice.”
“There are some clothes in here,” she told him, trying to hold back laughter as she redirected his attention. “They should fit.”
He was standing in the center of the room now, his dark stare intense. She faced him, determined to not let that unrelenting gaze wiggle under her skin any more than it already had. Gazes locked, Ororo merely stared back, as though waiting for him to say something.
“So, what’s your gift?” Logan’s question seemed on the up and up, so she relaxed slightly.
“Weather manipulation.” Ororo answered easily.
“You control the weather?” His brow went up higher.
“Something like that,” she smirked. Letting her eyes sting, Ororo tapped into the mutation she’d been born with.
The darkening sky turned suddenly black, slashes of white lightning crashing through the inky black. Logan flinched when thunder rattled the windows, his gaze flicking to the view outside, then back to her glowing eyes.
“Storm.” His grunt ended her display of power.
“Yes.” Reigning it in, Ororo returned the skies to their previous tranquility. “Do you need anything else?”
When Logan did not speak, she moved as though to leave the room. He stepped in front of her, reminiscent of Scott just that morning. Annoyed, Ororo tilted her head back, their close proximity setting off warning bells in her mind. He stared down at her, his dark eyes flickering over every feature until returning to hers.
“Storm?”
Turning at the call of her name, Storm smiled at Scott’s familiar form in the doorway. The grim set to his mouth and the white-knuckled hand on doorknob practically screamed anger. To abate it, Ororo stepped easily around Logan, shaking her head from side to side a fraction. No, the Wolverine hadn’t hurt her.
Still, Scott remained rigid. Ororo decided discretion was the better part of valor and deserted the field.
“Good night, Logan.”
“’Night.”
~**~
When Ororo left the room, Logan watched her with unabashed interest. Cyclops stepped a little further into the bedroom, glaring at him from behind ruby-covered eyes.
It didn’t take a genius to sense the anger and possessiveness in the other man. He might as well wear a sign that proclaimed in neon: Back the fuck off. Feeling slightly frisky with how Storm got his blood pumping, he tested the bold Cyclops.
“So,” Logan offered quickly. “This the part where you tell me to stay away from your girl?”
Surprise flitted over his face, but Scott’s voice was sharp as a blade. “One thing about this place, our girls can take care of themselves.”
“Then, I guess you don’t have anything to worry about.” Logan cocked his head, hands coming up to rub absently on the space between his knuckles.
Scott smirked widely, tilting his own head until they studied one another like wolves in the wild. Logan didn’t flinch, but let him stare. Even if Storm had something with this little whelp, it wouldn’t matter to him. Kid wouldn’t hold on to a woman like Storm. No way in hell.
“Must burn you up that a boy like me saved your life, huh?” Scott stepped back, taking the door with him until it was only open wide enough for a body. “Better be careful, I might not be there next time.”
Because it did burn him up that the Boy Scout came riding to the rescue, Logan snarled. Cyclops moved as though to close the door behind him, but paused. Gazes locked again, this time with amusement covering the anger.
“Oh, and Logan? Stay away from my girl.”
With that, he closed the door, leaving Logan to ponder over everything on his own.
A violent shove pushed thoughts of the white-haired goddess out of his mind. He’d talked with Rogue, seen her cozy up to a couple of girls her own age. She looked better today. No fear, just the realization that there were others like herself. For her, this place might be what she was looking for.
Logan found himself still bound and determined to get the hell out. As soon as he knew what Magneto wanted with him, he was gone. Maybe Wheels could help him put together things he’d lost, maybe not. Either way, in forty-eight hours, Wolverine intended to get the hell out of Dodge.
Switching the light off, Logan stripped to his skivvies and slid into bed. The sheets were clean, the mattress soft. He settled down, weary body still sore from the crash, from Sabertooth’s attack. Sleep would come to claim him quickly.
But as he tumbled into it, he recalled the Professor speaking. While the old man spoke of Magneto and mutants, his eyes were locked onto Storm’s dark, turbulent gaze. A smile crossed his mouth as he drifted into the realm of dreams.
And nightmares.
