Chapter Three: Perilous Riptide
As expected, Jean and Scott laughed into near hysterics over Wolverine’s misconception. They lounged in the couple’s bedroom for two hours after lights out, rehashing the day’s events and sharing theories. Nothing really earth shattering ever came out of their little conferences, but the mismatched trio enjoyed them.
Scott sat against the headboard of the bed, Jean’s fiery mane cradled in his lap. He idly stroked her hair from forehead back, making the already-exhausted Jean blink heavy eyelids. Ororo wondered if her friend would begin purring like a contented cat.
Ororo herself sprawled over the foot of their creamy duvet, wrapped in her cotton boxer shorts, white tank and long robe. Her feet, as usual, were bare as Scott and Jean’s. Comfortable sharing time in their jammies “ which began just after her arrival at the mansion “ the group spoke in quiet tones, enjoying the lull when no one demanded their attention.
Of course, Storm wasn’t always admitted into their room in the quiet hours. Though they were all exceptionally close, Scott and Jean were indeed a couple. Every couple required “alone” time. If Jean subtly pushed at her mind to stay in her own room, Ororo listened. She did not need to see the man she cherished as a brother naked. Again.
“I can’t believe Scott kept it up,” Jean murmured quietly. “Usually he can’t lie worth a damn.”
“Hey,” he protested, nudging his fiancée playfully. “It was too good. I think he growled at me.”
Unable to help herself, Ororo grinned. “Me too. One of the most classic moments ever had inside this school.”
Jean giggled. “I still think he’s hot.”
Scott scowled, reaching with a free hand to tickle her ribcage. Jean “ ticklish to ridiculous proportions “ squirmed, rocking the mattress as they played. Ororo flipped onto her back, raising her feet with the white tie of her robe dragging over the soles. Her hands bunched the material, her pensive expression boring into the ceiling while the rhythmic motion of the tie over her feet soothed.
“Uh-oh,” Jean commented as the bed stopped shuddering. “Storm’s got that look on her face.”
A male groan preceded Scott collecting a still-sleepy Jean into his lap, holding her tightly and looking around as though in search of danger. Ororo turned her head against the duvet, giving her companions a mocking, yet aloof glare.
“I do not have a “look” on my face,” she retorted icily.
“Yes, yes you do,” Scott countered with a grin beneath ruby-quarts. “You’ve got that look that usually means Jean or I will be bailing you out of jail.”
Affronted, she balled up her robe-tie and tossed it at him, still holding her legs in the air. Both of her companions laughed, even as Scott grabbed the tie and effectively wrapped it around his forehead as though in a Jackie Chan movie.
“That only happened once,” Ororo defended. “And it was not my fault.”
“Oh, sure,” Jean teased. “Funny how that guy ran his balls into your knee like that.”
Scott snorted.
She recalled the incident with far more amusement than she’d had at the time. A night of itchy brooding sent her to a local Westchester bar “ Harry’s “ the three of them frequented since coming of age. It wasn’t often that Ororo spent a night out at Harry’s, even more rare that she lay awake in the quiet hours, itchy and aware.
That particular visit found her in a pair of too-tight jeans and a backless halter, half-bent over a billiard table until two in the morning. When one of the drunken regulars decided she needed a hand “ his in particular “ she retaliated on instinct. Luckily, he dropped the assault charges as soon as he sobered up.
Part of her conceded that Scott was right. She did feel similarly. Her skin ached and itched, heart thudding an uncommon beat that reminded her of the wild ecstasy of drums in her native Africa. Perhaps her negligent social life took the blame most of the time, but Ororo found herself blaming the sleeping man down the hall for her restlessness.
“Go out,” Jean prompted quietly, snuggling into her fiancé’s chest. “Its early yet.”
“No,” Ororo immediately shook her head. Though a night of pool-sharking and a cold beer sounded wonderful, the cards didn’t favor her tonight. “Not with Magneto planning something. I am needed here.”
Scott and Jean shared a heavy, speculative look. The woman she considered in every way a sister turned to smirk.
“Why don’t you go knock on Logan’s door? Take him a beer?”
Ororo reached over, captured a foot, and tickled mercilessly. Scott, her willing partner in mischief, held the woman he loved in place while Storm exacted revenge. She would miss this, Ororo thought somewhat mournfully as Jean squealed for mercy. Someday, they would grow too old for such games. After marrying, Scott and Jean might value privacy a little more as they planned for a family. Ororo feared she might fall to the wayside, filling her days with demands of schoolchildren, her nights with restive dreams.
“SOMEBODY HELP!”
On a shocked gasp, all three startled, sobering immediately. Had that terrified scream come from down the hall? They waited, neither even breathing as someone stumbled a few doors down. Ororo turned to Scott, whom was scrambling out of bed with Jean at his side. Doors opened, curious teens peeked into the hall or came from bedrooms unabashedly.
Ororo followed them quickly, shooing gathering children away as they converged on Logan’s closed bedroom door. Scott and Jean swung it open, rushing inside.
“It was the new guy,” Kitty offered, her eyes wide with alarm. “Rogue heard him groaning in his sleep, came to check on him.”
Gently nudging the girl aside, Ororo peered into the room, trying to shield the children. Her heart lurched, landed at her feet. Poor young Rogue had one hand on Logan’s surprised, agonized face. They seemed caught in the moment, as though someone with a massive remote control left them on pause.
Scott hit the light switch, breaking the spell. Rogue released her friend and Logan dropped from his bed like a stone. He twitched and seized violently, caught in the bedcovers. Jean, in full doctor mode, strode inside, taking his face to prevent the Wolverine from biting his own tongue off.
“Scott, grab a pillow.”
Cyclops struggled to follow her commands, alarm written clearly all over his features. Ororo, for her part, stared at their new addition in mute shock. So, that’s what the girl meant by hurting other people. Had such an innocent touch really caused the gasping she heard from the floor?
“It was an accident,” Rogue explained brokenly, tears coursing down her cheeks. She stepped forward and to her eternal shame, Ororo stepped back.
Immediately regretting it, she turned as Rogue rushed from the room. The children blocking the door scattered, leaving her enough space to pass unhindered. Storm made a command decision, her heart aching for the girl she could clearly hear sobbing as she fled down the stairs.
“Jean?” She asked, already moving for the door.
“He should be fine. I’ve woken the Professor,” her friend answered easily. “Just in case, Scott get me a med-kit. I don’t like the fact that he has all that metal inside him and a weakened healing factor.”
“You got it,” Scott stood, glancing at Storm. “Ororo?”
“I’m going to check on Rogue.” She answered, gathering the students outside with her arms outstretched. “We need to know what happened.”
“Ok,” he nodded, giving her a brief smile. “He’ll be fine.”
She didn’t want to think about Scott’s reasons for giving her that quick and somehow reassuring response.
After seeing that every student was back in his or her bedroom “ even if she knew they were in no way going to sleep with all the excitement “ Ororo marched down the stairs. She heard Kitty and Jubilee trying to soothe an inconsolable Rogue through the door, the girl’s quiet crying tearing at Storm’s heart.
She knocked twice, then opened the door easily. Kitty and Jubilee looked up, giving her a glance that clearly said, “She’s not talking”. Storm ushered the girls to their beds, coming to sit on the edge of Rogue’s. Still hating herself for shying away, Ororo made a point to let their pajama-covered thighs brush as she sat, one arm going around the weeping girl’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” she cried, looking at her hands as though they betrayed her. “I just…I didn’t mean…”
“Shh,” Storm soothed, quickly brushing the dark locks of hair from her youthful face. “It’s all right. Just tell me what happened.”
Kitty appeared with a box of tissues, handing them to Rogue. She gave her new friend a brief, understanding smile. Storm thanked her with a smile of her own, turning back to Marie as the younger girl blew her nose noisily.
“I heard somethin’,” she began quietly. “Couldn’t sleep anyway and I thought I heard Logan sayin’ “No, no more.””
Storm’s heart twisted again. Did he suffer from nightmares? If he did, what sort of things would have such a rash, untamed man asking for mercy? She dragged her thoughts back to the present by force, keeping her features from reflecting the concern.
“I went inside,” Marie continued. “He was lyin’ there, an’ he looked so scared. I tried to wake him up…but I forgot my gloves. He wouldn’t answer me.” She stopped, her voice breaking as she relived it all again.
Ororo nodded. “It’s all right. Just go on.”
“He woke up, but it…he screamed. He looked at me like I was a monster. I think he wasn’t really awake yet. Saw me as the enemy or somethin’. His claws came out…right through my chest.”
With another gasp, Storm covered her hands with her robe sleeves, grasping for Marie’s chin. She inspected her face, arms, and back carefully, looking for any sign that she was bleeding or injured. The only thing Ororo found were three tiny droplets of blood on the white nightgown and smooth, pale skin.
“His mutation,” Storm realized aloud. “You absorbed it when you touched him.”
Marie nodded miserably. “I didn’t mean to. His claws were there and at first, it didn’t hurt. But he…what’s the word…pulled ‘em back in?”
“Retracted,” Ororo offered quickly. “He retracted his claws?”
“Yeah, that’s the word.” Marie sighed, looking somewhat stronger. “It hurt so bad, and he was yellin’ for help. God, he looked so upset, so scared…Oh my God, don’t none of ya’ll ever tell anyone I said that. Specially not him!”
“We promise,” Jubilee and Kitty said from their bed, where they were obviously listening to every word.
“Don’t worry,” Storm assured her. “Tell the rest.”
“Well,” Marie inhaled and exhaled shakily. “I stumbled and reached for him…didn’t realize what I was doin’. Touched his face an’…there were all these flashes. I took part of him, just like Ben. I healed up an’ all, but I couldn’t let go. It was like bein’ caught in a riptide. I felt him…every little bit. Saw what he was thinkin’, feelin’. Someone hurt him so bad and he was dreamin’ about it. I…God, I felt how scared he was when he stabbed me. Storm…I didn’t mean to hurt him.”
The girl burst into tears again and remembering when her own mutation caused such grief, Ororo enveloped her into an embrace without thinking. Crooning softly, nonsense words of comfort, she rocked the young girl back and forth. Rogue clung to her, ensuring their skin would not touch as she took in the consolation of someone unafraid.
Ororo?
Charles. Storm continued to soothe her charge, answering her mentor in the quiet of their minds.
Charles? Is everything all right?
Yes. His response carried a surge of relief. Rogue is taking comfort from you, my child. I do not think she has had much of it. Will she be all right in your care?
Ororo stroked Rogue’s hair tenderly, not ready to release her. I think so. Were you listening in?
I do hope you will pardon the intrusion. He apologized swiftly. Jean has settled Logan into his bed. He will likely remain unconscious for several hours, but we both feel he should recover well. Rogue’s mutation only slowed his rapid healing, I suspect he will recuperate more quickly than her former boyfriend.
Good. She tried to tamp down the relief, but Charles’ probing must have detected it. Though he made no mention, she distinctly felt his curiosity, amusement. I will put Marie back into bed.
Thank you.
When his presence left her mind, Ororo turned her attention back to Rogue. “I just spoke with Charles. Logan will be completely fine in a few hours.”
Rogue’s head popped up, her face ravaged by tears and grief. “Really?”
“You did not think you could keep the Wolverine down, did you?” Ororo teased, smoothing her hair in a maternal manner once more. “He’ll be fine, sweetheart. You’ll find that this school is home to all manner of mutant-mishaps.”
Marie relaxed, but came back for another hug. Unable to resist her, Ororo wrapped the slender girl back into her arms, rocking her as a mother might.
~**~
The taste of copper brought him from the inky, silent blackness. Groaning at the disgusting taste, wondering idly when he decided to eat a handful of dirty pennies, Logan tried to lift heavy eyelids. His body felt sore, abused, drained in a way he was not comfortable with. What had they done to him now? Where was he?
He remembered fear. The scent of innocence. Regret. Screaming. Marie.
Struggling with the hold that the deep, unfathomable sleep kept on him, Logan fidgeted on the bed. He distantly heard a soft, cultured voice trying to soothe him. Who was that? Where did they have him? Marie. What happened to Marie?
Logan. Logan, wake up. A scream. Rage. Snikt. A yelp of terror, of surprise. Realization. Cold adamantium through soft, pale flesh. Panic reflected in hazel eyes. Help me.
“Marie?”
“It’s all right, Logan.” That voice again. Why wasn’t he afraid of that voice? “You’re at the mansion. Xavier’s School.”
It came back in mismatched flashes of image, scent, and emotion. Still foggy-minded and heavy-limbed, Logan blinked. He caught sight of a benevolent smile and a shiny bald head, relaxing when he realized it was Xavier.
“The girl?” He asked brokenly, fear tickling at his heart.
“She’s all right. She’s fine, Logan.” The X-Men’s leader smiled slightly.
“What happened?”
“Whenever Rogue touches someone’s skin, she absorbs their thoughts and memories…their life-force. In the case of mutants, it seems she also absorbs their abilities for a short while.”
“Feels like she almost killed me,” he grunted, still hazy on the details. The Professor’s voice muddled in his mind, but on some level, he thought he understood what had happened.
“If she had held on any longer, she could have.” Xavier replied, his eyes going suddenly distant.
“But she’s ok?” He questioned again, remembering painfully the hurt and fear; the scent of blood mingling with innocence.
“She healed before Cyclops and Jean entered the room. Storm saw to her.”
Storm. A memory of that white-haired beauty whipped through him, momentarily distracting Logan from the matter at hand. She’d taken care of Rogue? Why did that give him a warm feeling in the chest?
“I was sleeping,” Logan recalled, trying to force thoughts of Storm away. “I didn’t know who she was until…”
“Rogue gave Storm the entire story,” Wheels interrupted, as though sensing his discomfort. “She says that you stabbed her while still half-asleep and immediately called for help. That call alerted the others. I daresay she was more upset about harming you than you hurting her.”
Typical, Logan thought with a small grin. He stabs her and the kid blames herself. He shook his head, struggling to sit up. His rapid-healing body regained more strength with every moment to pass, taking the effect of Rogue’s odd mutation away. He wished, fervently, that it would also remove the copper taste from his mouth.
Xavier regarded him quietly as the bedroom door opened with a polite knock. Logan turned, already knowing from the scents that wafted to him, that Storm arrived with breakfast. She’d pulled on another of her tight white tops and a pair of leather pants. She smiled, balancing a tray of warm food in her delicate hands.
“You’re awake,” she greeted, closing the door with her heel. “Jean’s orders are to stay put for a while, but Marie said that was about as likely as getting your eggs to start clucking.”
At ease and alert at her appearance, at her easy banter, Logan tried for a smile. Whatever she had in her hands smelled like heaven, but could not mask the telltale scent of untouched earth and fresh rain that she carried with her. He watched her warily as she came closer, placing the tray on a nightstand.
“I have a class to prepare for,” Charles excused himself, wheeling away from the bed. It was then that Logan realized the old man still wore a bathrobe over his pajamas and slippers. Xavier stayed with him, he understood, all through a comatose sleep until he woke. Logan felt an odd sort of comfort in that. No one, in what he could recall, ever waited for him to recover, hovering by a bedside.
Storm caught his gaze and her smile melded into something understanding. She dropped him a wink before opening the door for her mentor. Logan wondered, briefly, if she would leave as well. But she turned from the door, closing it quietly, and moved back to his bedside.
Because there was no chair, she perched on the edge of his bed. Dark eyes searched his face quickly, her calculating glance making Logan shift again. His chest was still bare, but she seemed untouched by the nudity.
“Marie wanted to come up,” Storm explained quickly. “Kitty and Jubilee insisted she go to class. I promised to bring you breakfast and give you her message.”
Because amusement danced in those warm, chocolate eyes, Logan gave her a half-grin. She smelled so damn good, looked even better. He wondered if she tasted that good, that exotic, that sweet.
“Message?” He answered, sitting up against the headboard and grunting with the effort.
Storm’s hands went to his shoulders, assisting him gently. He wanted to growl at her to step back, hating the weakened state of his body, but the real, unhindered compassion in her eyes stopped him. She only wanted to help. There was no pity in her, only the understanding that he hurt from the inside.
“I’m not supposed to hear this message,” Storm said primly, her lips twitching. “So I’m going to close my ears while I recite it.”
Entertained, again, by this beautiful minx and her dry sense of humor, Logan nodded seriously. “Thanks.”
She inclined her head regally, putting both hands over her ears in keeping with Marie’s wishes. “Logan, I’m sorry I got too familiar and almost got us both a lotta hurt. I’m not mad. I’ll see you later. Eat your breakfast, Dr. Grey and I made it just for you.”
Logan’s heart tripped. The kid really did care, he mused. She actually gave a damn if she hurt him, apologized and everything. No one apologized to him and Logan was quick to return that favor. But something in that kid’s earnest words, delivered by a woman that closely resembled what the dictionary defined as “sexy” made him turn into mush.
For about a second.
“That’s some kid,” he told Storm as she blinked at him. Noting her comically uncomprehending stare, he chanced a chuckle. “You can listen in now.” He reached up, ignoring lingering pain, to take her hands from her ears.
His hands burned at the brief touch of skin on skin. Her fingers danced over his quickly, as though testing the waters. That one swipe of fingertips made his heart pound, ears picking up the sound of her caught breath and it’s quick release.
She controlled herself pretty well, he noted, breaking contact. “Wheels said you talked to her.”
“I did,” Storm responded, reaching for his tray. She unfolded the legs of it, settling the food over his lap before handing him a napkin. “She is understandably upset.”
“Maybe I should, I dunno, go see her.” He watched her cautiously, every hair on his body standing up, which was a neat trick for a guy covered in it.
“She’s fine,” Storm insisted, motioning to his breakfast. “I convinced her that it was an accident. Cyclops and Jean traded stories of my…mishaps over breakfast before class. She seemed much calmer.”
Logan looked down at his tray, listening to the lift and lilt of her smooth voice. There were eggs “ scrambled because it was always a safe bet “ thick slabs of buttered toast, crisp bacon, hot sausage links, steaming coffee and slices of a bright, ripe orange. He scowled.
“Fruit.”
Storm laughed which she had not yet done in his presence. He glanced at her, enjoying the rich, warm sound as it bounced merrily off the walls of his room. She shook her head, reached over, and with the grace of a thief, stole his orange slices. “I figured you were a “Me Man, Eat Meat” sort, but Jean insisted.”
“Have at it,” he grumbled, taking up the fork. She nonchalantly munched on the sweet fruit, juice staining her lips. When she licked it off, all he could think was that he’d rather lick those pouting lips, thanks.
Forcing himself to think of Rogue, he speared a sausage link and popped it into his mouth.
“She healed up fine?” He asked around a mouthful.
His companion shot him an unimpressed look. “Nice manners. Yes, she doesn’t even have a scar. The poor thing cried, wondering if she’d hurt you.”
“Cried?” He shifted uncomfortably. “I didn’t mean to make her cry.”
A warm hand patted his knee and he felt that burn, even through the material of his blankets. She’s taken, bub, remember that. You’re playing with fire.
“Its all right,” Storm replied soothingly. “I believe that when her mutation activated, no one thought to comfort her. She was the aggressor, the boy a victim.”
Logan growled. “She didn’t mean to. Either time.”
“I know it,” Storm agreed. “In fact, her absorbing your mutation prevented a long, uncomfortable recovery. You stabbed, she absorbed, all is well in Mutant High.”
Amused again, Logan shook his head and swallowed a mouthful of eggs. Whoever cooked his breakfast deserved a medal. “Mutant High?”
“Ah, the illustrious Bobby Drake nicknamed the school shortly after his arrival, unfortunately it stuck.” She polished off the orange slices, glanced at him, and then stole a piece of toast.
“Watch it, woman,” he snarled good-naturedly. “Dangerous to mess with a man’s food.”
“I’ll try to hold my terror in check.” She winked again. His heart thudded. “In any case, Marie is fine. So stop worrying, Logan. By the time you’ve eaten and bathed, her first class will be over and you can check in with her.”
“Not a bad idea,” he agreed, working on the bacon. He regarded her carefully for a moment, wondering what she saw in One-Eye. “So, where’s Scott?”
“Teaching his early shop class,” she replied easily. “Why?”
Logan shrugged. “Got a stick up his ass or is it me?”
To her credit, Storm allowed a slight chuckle to escape before her composure snapped back into place. “It’s you. Normally he runs about singing show tunes and dancing the Macarena.”
Unable to help himself, the mental image of her ruby-eyed boyfriend far too amusing, Logan chuckled. “You’re funny.”
“I know.” She gave him an unconcerned wink, finishing off the toast and looking at his tray again.
“Does he feed you?” He offered her a strip of bacon from the end of his fork.
“I’m sorry, it’s habit.” Storm didn’t seem all that repentant to him as she bit into his bacon. “Whenever anyone eats in front of me, I pilfer. It used to drive Scott insane.”
God, he hated thinking about that stuck up kid with his hands on this wild goddess, but every time she said his name, Logan’s mind betrayed him. “What do you see in him?”
He had not intended for that to slip out. Storm glanced up from her bacon, regarding him with cool dark eyes. Her warmth was gone and it reminded Logan of the incident in the Professor’s office. Protect. She possessed the need to protect. It seemed to be instinct, something he could understand.
“All right,” she sighed, shaking her head. “I can’t lie. It easy last night, when I was upset for you manhandling my family, but…”
Logan felt his eyebrow hitch. What was this? “Lyin’, darlin’?”
She had the grace to flush slightly under that caramel skin. “Scott isn’t my lover, Wolverine. He is engaged to Jean.”
His heart thudded again. That was getting annoying, though he could not control it. Bewildered for a moment, processing what this meant, Logan blinked. “Jean?”
She smirked. “Jean, about so tall?” She gestured with her hand. “Red hair, big green eyes, long legs.”
He paused, teasing, pretending to concentrate. “Legs…I’m remembering legs.”
Storm rolled her eyes heavenward. “Men.”
He thought about it for a moment. The tall, leggy red head and the proud, All-American boy. For some reason, that mental picture fit. It just seemed right somehow. Logan relaxed a fraction, his brow going back up as Storm observed him cautiously.
“Liar.”
The goddess scowled. “I did not lie. I told you that I sleep alone.”
So she had. Damn. “Got me there.”
Perhaps she read something in his eyes, or he inched toward her, but Storm stood sinuously. Logan watched her move, wanting to know if her curves would fit in his hands. He bet they would, just right, just perfect. Hot skin and smoky laughter.
Logan might want to get the hell out of here, but Storm might make the stay interesting.
“I’m not interested,” she announced quietly.
“In what, darlin’?” He drawled, taking his now empty tray and setting it aside.
“In you,” Storm replied quickly. “Or anyone. I don’t have time for romantic entanglements right now.”
Because he scented the lie, the nerves, Logan stood. He stalked her. She backed toward the door, but not out of fright or submission. He couldn’t put his finger on why she retreated when there was no fear on her scent.
“Now, who said anything about romance?”
“Sexual, then,” she countered without missing a beat. “I’m not interested, Wolverine.”
“I think you are,” he said quietly, dimly noting his strength was back in full. “I am. Very interested.”
Storm’s hand fell to the doorknob before her back hit the wood. “Too bad.”
With that, she opened the door, stepped into the hall, and slammed it behind her. Oh, yeah, Logan thought as he listened to her measured, retreating steps, he was very interested.
