Chapter Four: Parental Instinct
Life is a waterfall
We're one in the river
And one again after the fall
Swimming through the void
We hear the word
We lose ourselves
But we find it all
~System of a Down
Because it crept up on four a.m. before Ororo and Logan headed home, they decided to leave the kids with the Gateses. Jean would bunk with Mary while the boys all fell into the numerous bedrooms. Logan helped Mary set up the cot in the master bedroom for the teenage girl, then carried her sleepy form to bed.
He and Ororo returned home alone, the short drive made in complete silence. He didn’t want to think about what this meant for his family, the danger coming as he’d nearly forgotten it could. Had he let himself go soft? Vertigo and her companions got the drop on him. His children, his wife now in danger from a past he tried so hard to forget.
Ororo went immediately into the bedroom, leaving Logan to check the flashing answering machine. Listening carefully for the soft sounds of her moving about in their room, ensuring she was fine as his overprotective instincts demanded, he hit the button.
“One new message,” the mechanical voice cut through the near silence.
“Logan? Ororo?” Logan felt his hair stand on end. “It’s Henry. Of course, it would be the one time I need you to pick up that you don’t answer. I fear that I have some alarming news.”
“’RO!”
Her footsteps padded in from the bedroom, surprise written on her face as Hank continued from the machine.
“Someone broke into my files last night. It took some time to decipher what they were after…I’m sorry, but I believe they desired my files on Sinister. I do not need to tell you how serious this matter is. I will call when I have more information. Please, let Charles know of any odd occurrences in your neck of the proverbial woods.”
“He alerted the X-Men,” Ororo cut in with a slight smile.
“Take care of yourselves, my dear friends. Tell the children Uncle Henry says hello.”
The machine clicked, mechanical voice echoing in the sudden silence. “Tuesday, eight oh five p.m.”
He turned to his wife, finding his traitorous hands trembling once again. Every mention of Sinister shredded the control he’d worked so hard to maintain. It brought him back to memories of painful violation, of the rage he enacted to save future mutants from biological rape at the hands of a madman.
“Logan?” His wife took both hands, smoothing her delicate fingers over rough knuckles that hid weapons within. “I’m here. We will be all right.”
Without questioning the impulse, he roped her into his arms. She flattened her body to his instinctively, a wealth of humming flesh pressed against his skin. His face buried in the juncture between throat and shoulder, inhaling the scent of her to beat back the beast so long held at bay.
“She wants our babies,” he growled into her skin. “Just like him. They’re comin’ for us, darlin’.”
“Then we will have to bar the way.” Her voice held conviction, certainty. “No matter the cost, husband, I will never allow anyone to rip my family apart.”
He wanted, so desperately to believe her. Hope was an ever-present sentiment coming from his adoring wife, one that he had actually begun to express himself in the last two decades. But here and now, with the dangers of their abandoned life pressing in around them, he wanted only to rage, to protect those babies they brought into the world from any and all harm.
Holding Ororo close, he fought back the raging beast within, concentrating forcefully on the sedate and steady thrum of her heartbeat. With every pulse she reminded him of life, of the things they fought so hard for in the last years. Her scent wafted through sensitive nostrils, bringing primal instinct to the forefront. He knew every smell, every flavor, every sound that this woman could produce. She could drown out the world for him, let him linger in the one place where he felt truly content, truly alive. In her arms.
As though she could sense what he needed, Ororo’s soft, unpainted mouth pressed a wet kiss to his scruffy throat. His arms tightened around her, bunching the soft satin of the nightdress she’d only just pulled on. Satin and skin intoxicated him further, bringing forward the mixture of lust and love he could always find in her.
A soft gasp escaped those perfect lips when he dragged her onto the floor. Her long, lithe body sprawled on the carpeting, his wife moaning in eager delight when he slipped his hands from her back to her belly before traveling the length of her caramel legs.
One scrape of metal on metal divested her of the shiny material, leaving her glorious body bare to feasting eyes and aching hands. He sheathed deadly claws, touching Ororo in every place he could reach. He knew every line and curve to her body, but was eager to explore them again, as though it were the first time.
She rose up under his attentions, offering herself to him as though she wanted it, needed that touch. Unable to remain impassive, she reached for him, dragging soft fingertips over his flesh until that unique hum nearly undid him completely.
He took her with passion, with tenderness even he once thought himself incapable of. Ororo gasped her pleasure, rearing up to wrap slender arms around his shoulders. She whispered into his ear, endearments and wants until his mind crowded with her desires. Hot and wet, she gripped him tightly, pulling him deeper and deeper still until he could no longer distinguish masculine from feminine, husband from wife. Joined, two halves of the same whole, they raced to climax while chanting one another’s names.
Spent, head whirling from the devastating effect of his wife, Logan collapsed atop her. Ororo hummed and buzzed, stroking his back with lazy fingers until he felt the very will to worry seep out of his pores.
Entangled on the carpeting of their living room, Logan lay his head on Ororo’s chest, letting her soothing heartbeat lull him into contentment. They lay that way until dawn, cherishing these moments together.
Worry could wait until morning.
~**~
Every morning started the same way for a number of years. He woke to the soft silence of early morning, sometimes in bright sunlight and singing birds and others in a blanket of snow. He rolled in bed to kiss the woman he vowed to share his life with. She would smile, turn her body into his and greet him with a grumbled “turn off the alarm”.
It gave him comfort, the simplicity of those cherished moments. In a world where he confronted chaos and hatred every day, he needed this single memory to carry him through the bad, until he could wake with this amazing woman once more. He wanted to make the world a better place, for her. He fought for it with every meeting, every trip around the world. He negotiated and made speeches that set the inner desire for good in all humans aflame.
She was his inspiration, even after several years. He always thought of her while composing his next address. Everything to fight for, he recalled shouting once in Genosha, all the good in the world, everything the human race has tried to find. Heaven, Nirvana, God. That, quite simply, he found in these stolen moments with his wife.
“I’m awake!”
As if by some perfectly controlled cue, one raven-haired little girl burst through the door on sturdy five-year-old legs. Her Dora the Explorer nightgown had twisted and turned in her sleep and that cherubic face was all pink with the evidence of untroubled slumber.
She leapt onto the bed, finding her perfect little spot between mother and father. He snuggled her under the covers, grinning as his wife shifted to squish the giggling little one between them.
“Daddy,” she smacked her lips, bright blue eyes closing in the contentment of child safe between beloved parents. “School today?”
“Oh yes,” Henry McCoy replied, rubbing noses with his cherished daughter. “School today, my little Madeline.”
“Then to daycare,” Patricia muttered from the other side of the bed. Her arms wove around the soft, sweet-smelling child in a close embrace. “Is that all right, Maddy?”
“Uh-huh,” the girl replied with a sleepy yawn. “Daddy has a speech and Mom’s on TV again, huh?”
Hank chuckled, catching his wife’s eye and dropping her a wink. Madeline toyed absently with the thick blue fur covering her father’s chin, the tiny fingers twisting the hair as she had from the day she was born.
Refusing to dwell on anything bad while cuddled in bed with the two women in his life, Hank stayed far too late in their arms. The mad dash to eat, brush, and dress began ten minutes too late, but neither Trish nor Hank bothered to complain. They both spent far too much time away from their child “ not to mention one another “ due to the demands of their professional lives. One morning ten minutes late could be easily excused.
Hank kissed his wife goodbye, settled his daughter in her safety seat and dashed into the fray that was the Washington commute. Maddy sang with her Veggie Tales CD, that angelic voice taking the stressful edge off of the hectic traffic. When Hank sang with her, little Maddy broke into giggles and sang all the louder.
He dropped her at school, receiving a long, wonderful embrace like that the girl had given her mother when they parted. Hank watched with the care of any father until Maddy was with her teacher, all bright smiles and raven curls.
“Ambassador.”
Hank turned with a smile, holding his hand out for Senator Albert Ross. The young politician accepted the gesture gratefully, though Hank could see his gaze behind horn-rimmed glasses stray to the boy just catching up to Madeline McCoy.
“Senator,” Hank rumbled in reply. “Your Jacob seems to have grown a foot since yesterday.”
Ross grinned with fatherly pride Hank understood all too well. “And he is constantly tripping on it. Your Madeline is just beautiful, Henry. She looks just like her mother.”
“Well,” Hank chuckled as they turned toward parked cars. “I’m glad for that. Trish already complains enough about shedding on the sofa.”
Ross threw this head back to laugh, unlocking the doors of his mini-van as they approached. Henry genuinely likes the young, idealistic Senator from Virginia. The man had enough faith to stave off the cynicism that plagues modern politics mingled with a spine of steel. They often crusaded their causes together, especially on the subject of mutant and human rights.
Senator Ross, though not a mutant, fought tooth and nail for equality. Hank secretly slated the young man for the next presidential election with his fingers crossed hopefully.
“I hear you’ve had a problem at the office,” Albert changed the subject quickly. “Was anyone hurt?”
Warmed by the true concern in Albert’s eyes, Hank smiled and clapped his shoulder familiarly. “No, thank heavens, but several files were stolen.”
Ross frowned. “Which?”
Knowing his words would stay confidential, Hank briefly outlined the files taken and the curiosity he himself felt for the entire situation. Henry wanted to don his former uniform and codename, to rush back into the fray. Only at Charles’ insistence had he bothered to return to politics after Wolverine and Storm retired. He adored his work, but times such as these begged for Beast to set aside Ambassador McCoy.
“I can make some discreet inquiries into the Bio-Med divisions,” Ross said thoughtfully. “Sinister’s work has popped up on several radars over the last years. I know Bio-Tech was looking into something like that, designing mutant super-soldiers.”
Hank considered this, then sighed. “This, my friend, may be more personal than Bio-Tech outgrowing its proverbial britches.”
“Maybe,” Ross agreed. “But it won’t hurt to ask around. If someone’s looking to get revenge or start up Sinister’s work, it’s going to be a mess.”
As Ross opened the van’s door, Hank gave him a small, thankful smile. “My friend, I know your schedule is overflowing, I hate to compound it with my problems.”
“Hank,” Ross grinned. “If someone is seriously playing with Sinister’s work, it’ll be everyone’s problem.”
Hank chuckled, shook his head and headed back to his car.
~**~
Ororo smiled broadly at the pudgy old man in a battered cowboy hat as he asended the stairs leading to her porch. The dogs looked up from their mid-afternoon nap, wagging fluffy tails at the familiar figure.
Sheriff Tasser aged well in the last two decades. Lines were etched deeply into his face, speaking of wisdom while soft eyes twinkled with kindness. Widowed some years now, the Sheriff kept close tabs on Ororo and her family, often stopping by on Sunday evenings for supper and beer with the Munroes.
He had two deputies now and a growing community to look after. Ororo often thought that he treated Henry as his family, the patriarch no one crossed. He still broke up bar fight down at Dottie’s. He chased the kids driving too fast through the treacherous mountain passes and dropped by Berger Holt’s every time he got too drunk and the missus locked him out of the house again.
Something about Henry would always be Tasser’s. The local government usually deferred to his judgment and there was scarcely an adult running through the town that didn’t have several “Tasser” stories from a wild youth.
He gave her that patented half-smile as he approached and gratefully accepted a tall glass of freshly brewed iced tea.
“Your man at home?” Tasser questioned, indicating to the house. “I’ve got some news, honey.”
Ororo nodded, beckoning him inside. She glanced at the tree line, not surprised to see several volunteers still searching the woods. Her heartbeat skipped as Tasser followed her into the house. Everyone knew that the mass grave Ororo escaped from all those years ago lay just beyond those trees. That patch of forest led to the Gates home… what had they found?
Logan stood in the kitchen, washing wood stain from his hands. She offered her husband a tight smile while Tasser stomped mud from his boots, mindful of Ororo’s spotless floors. Logan dried his hands with a dishtowel, grunting a hello to their longtime friend. Both men nodded in that oddly masculine ritual. Ororo had to cover her mouth with one hand to hide the grin.
“Come on in here, Logan, and sit down.”
“Find somethin’ in the woods?” The gruff man questioned, perching on the arm of the sofa. Ororo sat beside him on the cushion, not bothering to order him off the arm.
“We did,” Tasser nodded. Ororo’s throat tightened when he remained standing, worrying the bill of his battered hat between rough hands. “Now, I want you both to stay calm.”
“Reg,” Ororo sighed. “That’s not helping. Please, just tell us.”
Tasser exhaled sharply and Ororo tried to catch his eye. Their friend kept his eyes on Logan, gauging him, testing. He knew, better than most, what rage could do to this man. There were times, early in their marriage, when Logan would vanish into the woods. A trail of dead animals led to a feral man who once clawed old Tasser in the chest.
Luckily, Reginald survived the encounter and the two remained friends. That did not mean, however, that Tasser thought the beast within forever gone. He merely respected how dangerous a man like Logan could be.
“We found remains of a campsite on both properties,” Tasser said carefully. “One you saw, right outside the Gates place. The other…”
Ororo felt a chill race the length of her spine. “My grave. Someone camped at the grave.”
She felt Logan’s comforting hand on her shoulder and relaxed a fraction. Hunting often took them by that hateful place in the last several years. Each time, she and Logan preferred to ignore it, to simply mush on. Why should she fear a place, even after all this time?
They’d buried the innocent girls murdered there in a nearby plot. Some of them remained nameless, but Ororo carried every memory carved into her heart. At least, she thought so often, one person remembered those girls.
The unbidden image of her daughter, cold and dirty in the darkness, ran through her mind. Ororo closed her eyes to fight it, noting that both men watched her cautiously. Logan was dangerous, yes, but Ororo could wipe Henry off the map if she lost her calm.
“I’m sorry,” Tasser whispered. “We’ve got dogs comin’ in from Nome, but it might be too late.”
“You don’t need dogs,” Logan interrupted as he stood. “I’m better than any bloodhound.”
Ororo opened her eyes in time to see Tasser cut his gaze to her. There was worry in those kind eyes now; his fingers gripped the brim of his hat more tightly. Ororo glanced to her husband, noting the rigidity of his stance and the way the hair on the back of his neck stood as though affected by static.
“You sure that’s a good idea, Logan?” Tasser questioned.
Her husband shrugged. “I’ve helped ya before.”
“Right,” the Sheriff nodded. “With missin’ tourists and lost hikers. This is personal, Mr. Munroe. Think you can be rational?”
Ororo snorted with laughter. Logan arched a brow at her, amusement playing about his lips. Reginald grinned openly for the first time since his arrival.
“I’m rational.”
Tasser and Logan regarded one another in silence for several moment. Ororo swept her gaze from one to the other, wondering which man was more stubborn. Her husband might be the most dangerous man on the planet, but Tasser could dig his heels in like a bull.
They were enormously entertaining.
“All right,” the Sheriff finally agreed, breaking the silence. “We’ll take up the trail on the northern edge.”
Logan nodded as Ororo stood. “Comin’, darlin’?”
She looked to the wristwatch on her arm and shook her head. “The children will be home soon. I would rather not leave them alone.”
He agreed with a signature grunt, leaning forward to kiss her lips.
“I have Deputy White at the school,” Tasser interjected. “Keepin’ an eye on things.”
Ororo gifted their friend with a wide, relieved smile. “Thank you, my friend.”
“I’ll be back soon, darlin’,” Logan assured her, stealing another kiss as Tasser headed for the door.
“You’d better. It’s moose-steak for supper.” Ororo handed him the flannel coat from a nearby hook.
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
As he and Tasser strode purposefully through the door, sleek-haired Mary bounded up the steps. She tossed both men a winsome smile, but scarcely paused before bouncing into the house with a hug for Ororo.
“Hey, good-lookin’.” Mary kissed her cheek quickly. “Thought I’d see what the story is.”
Ororo clasped Mary’s alabaster hand in hers, taking her toward the kitchen. Something about this entire situation seemed to call for a hit of whiskey and some chocolate cake. As though Mary read her mind, she veered off course, scooping up two glasses and a bottle from the mahogany bar Logan built years ago.
“I’m losing my fucking mind,” Mary sighed as they settled at the bar.
“Oddly, I understand that sentiment exactly,” Ororo agreed. She offered her dear friend a slice of cake while Mary poured the liquor.
“Almost didn’t let the kids out of the house this morning.” Mary lifted her glass and downed it before pouring another.
Ororo followed suit, letting the thick burn of good whiskey warm her suddenly chilled insides. Sometimes, all she needed in the world was a bottle of whiskey and the friend she never expected in the Alaskan wild.
“I followed them to school,” Ororo admitted. “When Ken dropped them off, I nearly shackled them all to the house. But I couldn’t, not without explaining why.”
“Tim knows something’s up,” Mary continued. “He kept asking me ‘Mom, what’s wrong? Did something happen?’ What can I tell him?”
Understanding her friend’s pain as only another mother could, Ororo reached across the bar to grasp her hand. They sat together in sympathetic silence for several minutes. Tigger and Eeyore barked outside, the cheerful sound of puppy-play drifted through the screen door. Ororo glanced at the clock again, wondering how time seemed to have stopped.
She wanted, needed to see her children. They might flourish on the very cusp of adulthood, but in her heart they were the tiny, helpless little beings she brought home from Fairbanks hospital.
“I thought this was behind us,” Mary whispered suddenly, drawing Ororo’s attention back to the present. “When you and Logan came back from New York, once that asshole Sinister was dead…I thought it was over.”
“I did, too,” Ororo admitted. “Once the years began to roll by, I thought we’d escaped the pain. Every time the children laughed and it bounced off the mountains, it drove the fear a little further away.”
Mary finished her second glass in one hearty swallow. “I never thought I’d have friends like you and Logan. I never thought I’d get to watch someone’s kids grow up, much less right next to mine. It’s been like a fairytale for twenty years. How dare someone fuck up our happy ending!”
Ororo turned on the barstool and enveloped Mary in her arms. She heard the fear and tears in Mary’s voice and it brought the sting of her own behind her eyes, Ororo fought to keep her control over the elements. The sky darkened with a preternatural storm as the two friends embraced. They rocked together on their stools, trying to find some measure of comfort in their suddenly ripped apart lives.
Rain pelted the windows, thunder crashed through the heavens in timeless dance with shocks of white-hot lightning.
“Whoa, ‘Ro,” Mary chuckled against her shoulder. “You’re really worried.”
Startled, Ororo released her friend, tilting her head toward the ceiling. Fear gripped her heart anew, creeping through her entire body like an icy fist.
“That is not me,” Ororo whispered, checking her internal mutation. “Goddess, that’s not me.”
Mary was off her barstool and out the door almost before Ororo could move. Her friend was screeching for Jean and the twins, her voice drowned out by the twisting skies above. The mutant once hailed as a goddess bolted for the front door, tapping into her fear to call on her devastating gift.
She thought she heard Logan scream, but her focus remained solely on her children. Thunder crashed again, and this time she heard an ethereal woman’s voice shouting from the very skies.
“MOTHER!”
“Jean.” Ororo whispered her daughter’s name as Mary roared her truck to life.
“FLY!” Mary screamed. “GO, STORM! FLY!”
Without thinking, Storm called on the elements and thrust herself into the sky. If she followed the currents of air to the eye of this raging tempest, she could locate her daughter and sons. Jean was adept at controlling her mutation and the message sent to her terrified mother had to be deliberate.
A chant of “Mother” seemed caught on the wind, the disembodied voice calling to her and tugging at already aching heartstrings. The scent of burning gasoline reached her nostrils as she flew over the highway leading to the high school. Ororo’s sharp eyes caught movement on the ground below.
She blinked rain from her eyes, her heart stopping cold in her chest when she recognized her children’s beloved car overturned on the embankment. Without thinking, without breathing, Storm thrust her arms before her body and dove.
