The conference room was unusually quiet when Logan strode through the hydraulic doors, a cup of strong black coffee in hand. Assuming it was the result of Sean’s recent funeral he didn’t pay particular attention to the somber mood of the room’s fellow occupants, instead opting to take his seat at the far end of the table, propping his feet up and lowering his cowboy hat. It was too damn early for this shit, as far as he was concerned.
Scott was taking his head leader role far too seriously. Comings and goings were monitored continuously, by the sentinels and by Scott and Emma. It was damn intrusive. These morning briefings weren’t helping to raise spirits any either. Chores, duties, dos and don’ts all laid out each and every morning in meticulous and droning detail. Waste of fuckin’ time, if you asked Logan.
Feeling daggers being cast in his general direction Logan inclined his head, peering through semi open shadowed eyes towards the ash blonde woman at the head of the table, her blue tinted lips in a thin line. Feeling an unexpected wave of guilt wash over him, Logan scowled.
The guilt he felt had nothing to do with the former Hellfire member, and everything to do with Storm. She was his best friend and he had kissed one of her most loathed rivals. Well done, moron.
He glanced around the room, noting that the white haired beauty had not yet joined the rest of her team. Bishop and Kurt were sitting silent while Rachel and Betty were speaking telepathically, he could tell from the animated gestures Rachel was making with her hands.
Logan gave Kitty a look. She shrugged, reading his expression. She didn’t know where Storm was either.
“All right everyone, I think we can start.” Scott stood directly behind Emma’s chair, his hands on her bare shoulders, apparently the events of the previous evening not causing a rift between the two. Logan briefly wondered if Kitty may be onto something with her constant mumblings about Scott being mind-manipulated by Emma.
“With everything that is transpiring within these walls and on the outside, I thought it imperative to bring the teams and team leaders together so that we’re all on the same page. As Alex seems to have decided chasing space things wit Lorna more pressing than his duties as leader, Emma will be taking responsibility for his team until further notice. So, as I was saying-”
“Wait a sec. Where’s ‘Ro?” Logan demanded, realizing that Scott was going to continue the meeting even though she was absent.
“Gone.” Bishop answered.
“Say what?” “Come again?” Kitty and Logan spoke in unison.
Cyclops fielded. “She has left the X-Men. Storm is gone.”
“What do ya mean she’s gone?” Logan demanded.
“I mean just that, Logan. Storm has left.”
“Wait. Wait. Where’d she go?” His scowl was deepening by the second.
Cyclops sighed. “I don’t know. I didn’t talk to her.”
“Well someone must have a clue.” Kitty leaned forward, glaring at Emma. “Give her a little mental nudge, Emma? Not liking having a leader you couldn‘t seduce in the mansion?”
“My hands are clean,” Emma smiled icily. “Apparently Storm just wanted to scamper off and do her own thing. No worries, darling, she can fend for herself.”
“Yeah, I just bet your hands are clean.” Kitty muttered under her breath.
“That’s enough, Shadowcat. Storm, for reasons of her own, has decided it best to take an extended leave of absence from the team. Bishop and Kurt will be sharing her duties as leaders of her team.” Neither man looked thrilled with the promotion.
“You didn’t ask her what she was thinking?” Kitty asked incredulously.
“Like I said, “ Scott repeated. “I didn’t talk to her.”
“Well, who did?”
“No one.”
Kitty raised both eyebrows. “No way would Storm just up and leave without telling anyone.”
“Well, she did. Looks like she isn’t so wonderfully perfect after all,” Emma sneered.
“No one asked you…”
Logan was no longer listening to the bickering in the room, his thoughts turned inward. In his mind’s eye he saw Storm the way she had looked last night, so full of sorrow, her blue eyes deep pools of inner turmoil. What was she hiding from him? He felt a tick start in the base of his jaw. He rose to his feet, ignoring Emma’s reproachful look and the angry set of Scott’s chin. Without a word he turned and marched from the room.
With long, purposeful strides Wolverine made his way through the school’s long corridors, through the main lobby, down the stone steps and across the courtyard. With each step he took towards Storm’s boathouse he became angrier and angrier.
With a quick slip of one claw between the door jam and the knob the boathouse door swung open easily. Stepping inside, Logan sniffed the air, his teeth on edge as he surveilled the interior.
He took the stairs to the second floor, shouldering his way through Ororo’s locked bedroom door. The balcony doors were firmly closed, but the skylight, however, was fully open. Logan moved until he stood directly beneath it. He stared straight up into the bright blue sky, the color so much like her eyes and swore soundly. “What the fuck are ya runnin’ from, ‘Roro?”
Paris, France
Two weeks later
Her feelings.
Ororo sipped her mocha latte slowly, careful not to burn her lips, contemplating what it was she was most afraid of. She was actually afraid of her feelings, she mused. It was a new and uncomfortable experience for her. She had always managed to keep them under tight rein. When the slightest shift in mood could cause lightening strikes and savage storms, one learned quickly to keep themselves in control.
She leaned back in her white lattice worked chair, watching the pedestrians stroll by the outdoor café, thinking back, trying to pinpoint the exact moment her feelings for Logan had become more than even she could handle.
There was no specific moment, she realized. If she was going to be completely honest with herself, then she’d have to acknowledge that her love for Logan ran far deeper than she had been willing to admit, and for far longer.
She shifted slightly, brushing her soft white hair from her shoulder, leaning forward, cupping her mug between her hands, blowing gently over the rim, cooling the still steaming drink. She missed him already. His devilishly wicked smile, his dark brooding eyes, the way his cheek dimpled when he smiled just so…Ororo closed her eyes behind dark sunglasses, wishing the feelings would just stop, but at the same time afraid to lose them now that she recognized them for what they really were.
It didn’t matter. He didn’t feel the same. As much as she wished otherwise, Logan was clearly not the one for her. His heart, his very soul it seemed, belonged to the memory of a flaming redhead. Ororo couldn’t resent him that. She herself loved Jean more than breath, and would gladly give herself in order to have her beloved sister returned to them.
That didn’t make his preference any easier to bear. Nor did it dim her desire for a family and home of her own. She was growing weary of living and fighting for someone else’s dream…what was so wrong with having one of her own? Did it make her less of a person to want more for herself? She grimaced. Did it? Was it selfish to wish for more than cold bed sheets to keep her company at night? To want someone to tell her she was valued for more than her ability to drop a house from the sky?
“Fine mess you’ve made of things, Windrider?” she said aloud, frustrated.
“Talking to yourself, Ororo?”
“T’Challa.” Ororo opened her eyes and smiled at the man taking the seat across from her. T’Challa, the legendary Black Panther. King of Wakanda and ladies man extraordinaire. Handsome, athletic, blessed in ways that other men would give their right leg for, and smarter than ninety-seven percent of the world’s population. Everything a woman could want…
“I was uncertain to whether or not you got my message,” she said, ignoring the small quiver of longing in her gut.
“I did. It was delivered by one of the UN consulates this morning. You look breathtaking as ever.” He took in her red silk top and black pants.
“Thank you.”
“So, have you decided to accept?””
Ororo‘s lips twitched in a reluctant smile. The man was tenacious. “Of course you‘d go right to that wouldn‘t you?”
T’Challa chuckled. “Why beat around the bush?”
Ororo raised one eyebrow. “I do suppose small talk would be of little consequence to a King of your stature.”
T’Challa tensed, his mouth thinning. “I do not consider anything you say to be of little consequence.”
Ororo gave a small sigh. “I did not mean to sound snide. I apologize.”
“No need.” T’Challa lifted one hand and immediately the waiter approached. Once his drink was ordered he turned back to Ororo. “So, how is the Troll these days?”
Ororo almost choked on her coffee. “Excuse me?”
“Wolverine. That is why you returned to Westchester, isn‘t it?”
“I went back because a dear, dear friend gave his life for our cause.”
“Did he, Ororo?”
Her mouth parted and an angry retort sprung to her tongue, but T’Challa was still speaking.
“Was it your cause he died for? Or the perfect ideals of a man far less perfect than you all want to believe?”
“Charles may not be perfect, but that doesn’t make the dream any less worth fighting for,” she defended.
“It is a worthy goal,” T’Challa conceded. “But I’m no fool, Ororo. There was another reason for your return to the X-Men.”
Instead of answering she busied herself by taking another sip from her mug.
“Ororo.”
“Hm?”
T’Challa reached across the table, tucking a fallen strand of hair behind her ear, his knuckles grazing her cheek. “That man is a fool.”
Swallowing, Ororo looked away. “Wolverine is many things, but fool is not one of them. But I did not ask to meet with you to discuss Logan, or any of the X-Men.”
T’Challa said nothing, staring at the woman he desired more than all others with speculative eyes. “We could do that ‘small talk‘, if you wish,” he said with a disarming smile.
Ororo looked at him, pushing her sunglasses up into her hair, giving him a genuine smile in return. “That would be nice. How are you feeling?”
“Better for being with you.”
“Still smooth, I see. I‘d wager you could give Gambit a run for his money in charm.”
Dark eyebrows lifted in amusement. “I would not presume to be that smooth, but such lofty praise is not unappreciated. Why I can feel my head inflating as we speak.”
Ororo rolled her eyes. “Heavens forbid. There is barely enough room for your ego in Paris as it is.”
He laughed. “Yes, it does crowd a bit. Humility was never my strong suit. Comes from being friends with a Goddess.”
Ororo’s eyes dimmed a bit. “Just a woman, King.”
T’Challa reached for her hand, holding it in his. “Just a man, Ororo. A man whose ardent desire is to make you his Queen.”
“Yes, I remember exactly what it is you desire me for. ‘To breed the future of Wakanda.’ I believe was the phrase.”
“That was my mother speaking, Ororo. This is me. I want you, because I love you. No other reason.”
A pang of wistful longing reverberated through her heart. “You speak of love so freely.”
“Why not? Is it not something we should share? I am not offering you just my kingdom, Ororo. I am offering you my heart.”
“T’Challa…”
He placed her fingertips to his lips. “I will make you no promises save one, Ororo. I will love you. You and no other. I do not expect the same pledge from you this day, only the chance to earn it from you. I have wealth beyond measure, a kingdom and powers far beyond normal men, and yet I am not whole. I wake in the night with your name on my lips, and visions of you in the rain clouding my head. So I ask you now, Ororo, will you honor me and accept my heart? Will you be my Queen?”
She hesitated, conflicting emotions swirling.
“Ororo? Will you?”
She swallowed the lump in her throat. “…Yes.”
Westchester, New York
Logan pressed the nine digit number that was Storm’s cell phone number.
~I am not available to take your call, please leave a message.~
Logan growled in frustration, this would be the third message he’d left in the past hour. “It’s me again, ‘Roro. Where the hell are you? Call me…Please.”
“Any luck?” Kitty asked entering the rec room, her pony tail swinging behind her head.
“No.” He swore in frustration. “Damn it.”
She shrugged, trying to sound more optimistic than she felt. “So, she’s taking some personal time. Everyone needs a break once in awhile. Even Storm. We‘ve all left the team before. You and I have done it more than once. She‘ll be back.”
Logan tossed his phone onto the green felt covered pool table with a flick of his wrist, his agitation clearly showing. “Storm’s been actin’ funny for awhile now, Sprite. Ya know that to be true.”
“I’m not saying she hasn’t been a little distant lately. I just don’t think you should read too much into it.” Kitty placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You need to relax.”
“I appreciate the pep talk, darlin’, but if you don’t mind, I’d rather be alone.”
“No problem. I’m around if you need me.”
Once Kitty left the room, Logan floomped himself onto the brown leather couch in front of the big screen television that sat in the center of the room. He closed his eyes, picturing Storm. She was just so damn beautiful. He had always admired her smooth skin, her endless legs and full breasts. Over the years he had found himself frequently admiring the well rounded curve of her backside, the way clothes hung on and hugged her slender, athletic frame. Then there was her face, that gorgeous exotic face of hers, with wide, plump lips, straight narrow, nose, wide vivid cerulean eyes, framed by ridiculously long black lashes, and topped with frost colored winged brows.
There had been nights that he had studied her while she slept, his hands itching to be buried in the silken mass of her hair, watching the even rise and fall of her chest as she lay on the other side of the glass separating them.
Nothing had come of his moments of admiration, mainly due to his feelings for a certain redhead, but he had felt stirrings for Ororo since her first day on the team. They were polar opposites at first glance, but beneath the surface they were kindred souls.
Wanderers, is what she called them that night on the phone. Searching. For what? He wondered. What are you looking for Ororo…?
Logan sat up, running one hand through his dark hair. He glanced over at the open window. The sun had set. Fuck. He must have dozed off. He slowly rose to his feet, stretching his arms over his head. Mid-stretch he heard the sporadic beeping of his phone, indicating he had a message. “Son of a-” He snatched the cell from the top of the pool table, immediately checking his voicemail.
He expelled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding in a rush when he heard the familiar sexy velvet of Ororo‘s voice. “Logan, sorry I missed you. I apologize if I worried you by my sudden departure, but something has… come up.”
“The car is here, Miss Munroe.” A muffled, deep voice said in the background.
“Thank you.“ she replied to whoever was talking to her, then she was back to him, “Anyway, I wanted you to know that I am well, but I may be unreachable for a time, so don‘t worry. I‘m fine.” A long pause, where he could hear her gentle breathing, then, “Good bye, Logan.”
He leaned heavily against the pool table, feeling for some reason like he’d been kicked in the gut. Something was up with ’Ro. Maybe he was reading too much into it, he thought. “Goodbye, Logan.” echoed in his mind. And maybe he’d track her ass down and make her talk to him.
With a string of colorful curses Wolverine left the rec room, deciding he desperately needed a drink.
France
“All set?”
Ororo glanced up from her clenched hands to the man opening the limo door for her. “Huh?”
“I asked if you were all set, Ma’am.”
“Oh.” Ororo slid herself along the light leather. She tried to contain her wince as she felt painful twinges along her spine.
“Ororo?” T’Challa was beside her in an instant, concern on his handsome face. “Are you all right?”
“Fine. I must have become cramped in the limo. You know I prefer the open air.”
He smiled. “I know, but I’d hate for you to have to fly all the way to Wakanda when the jet is readily available.”
Ororo’s gaze traveled the run way to the large jumbo jet rolling towards them, it’s design smooth and sleek, a cozier, upgraded version of the Blackbird. “You boys and your toys,” she murmured teasingly.
T’Challa took her hand, lacing their fingers together as the plane approached. He felt the subtle tensing of her muscles. She was probably unaware that she was even doing it. He lifted her hand, placing a lingering kiss on her open palm. “Are you ready to go home?”
Home. That word brought forth images of the Sahara, pyramids, temples, open plains and warm gray eyes. Ororo shook the last image from her mind, turning towards T’Challa’s, uncertain as to what she was really getting herself into.
He hugged her. Strong, warm arms wrapped around her, supporting her.
Ororo felt her throat tighten. He said not one word, simply held her until the tension left her body and she stepped back. “I’m ready.”
