Alive, as it happened, turned out to be the operative word. Ororo gave a sad sigh, thinking of all the changes the X-Men had been forced to endure over the past months. Even before Wanda and the fiasco she caused, there had been the revelation that Charles had known the Danger Room had become sentient, aware of itself, and yet he had done nothing, had intentionally used the program regardless to it’s AI, and knowing that fact had changed the X-Men irrevocably. They were fractured. A shattered reflection of what they had once been.
Now, after M day, with Xavier gone, and the world as they once knew it changed in ways unimaginable, they all needed each other more than ever. Which was why she was in the danger room, swallowing her pride and self doubt, watching the strong feral across the room as he hung a large heavy bag from the ceiling. Fluorescent light gleamed over slick muscles that expanded and contracted with each move he made. He was as primal and masculine and beautiful as she remembered him to be.
Laying across her husband’s chest last night, with his heart thudding comfortingly beneath her ear, Ororo had felt a bone deep sadness. Seeing Logan at dinner and having him just walk away from her had hurt. She knew things could never be as they once were between them, but she wanted to try and repair their splintered friendship.
From across the room Logan’s gray eyes peered at her from behind the heavy bag, narrowing slightly.
Ororo gave him a cautious smile by way of greeting. Without so much as a return acknowledgement he set about his business once more, pulling a long chain over his shoulders and adjusting it so that the bag hung in the right spot. Given the room’s vastness, it had been decided that it would be a shame to let it go to waste, so it was given to Logan so that he could continue to use it for his combat classes-- minus the fancy gadgets. That suited Logan just fine. He liked things the old fashioned way. A little bare knuckle education never hurt anyone.
Taking a deep, steadying breath Ororo squared her shoulders, crossing the room in long, even strides, the heels of her shoes clacking against the linoleum. Once she stood beside the ladder, she cleared her throat.
After several moments it became obvious that he wasn’t going to acknowledge her. “Are you planning on ignoring me forever, Logan?”
He grunted, dropping from the step that he was perched on and began picking his scattered tools up off the floor.
Ororo frowned at the bent over Canadian. “Logan.”
He closed his tool box with a slap of his hand, ignoring her.
“Logan.”
He stood, lifting the box and his discarded tee, shouldering past her and marching towards the exit.
“Wolverine!” The lights flickered.
Logan stopped but didn’t turn.
Ororo felt her throat tighten, uncertainty creeping into her mind. This was Logan. The person that at one time had been closer to her than anyone she’d ever known, and now there was this immeasurable gulf separating them. A distance that she had no idea how to breech, but wanted to desperately. She stared at his back, wanting so very badly to reach for him.
“Don’t do that.” His voice was low and gruff, so low that she almost hadn’t heard him.
“Do what?” she asked softly, confused.
He inhaled a shuddering breath, closing his eyes, ignoring her question. “What is it ya want, Storm?” His voice was harsh, as though forced from constricted lungs.
He still hadn’t turned, but at least he was speaking to her. “I want my friend back.” She answered simply.
He grunted, a small growl of a sound that made her heart hitch with aching familiarity.
Taking any response from him as a sign of improvement Ororo continued. “It has been far too long, old friend. I have missed you terribly. Our friendship--”
“Stop.” Logan said flatly. “You don’t need me. You’ve got Panther. Yer married.”
Ororo nodded. “Yes, I am, and I do, but that does not mean I do not wish for things between us to be as they were…before.”
He tilted his head, giving her a view of his whiskered profile. “Before what? Your marriage? Or before we fucked?”
She flinched slightly but answered firmly. “Both.”
He snorted. “Ain’t gonna happen.”
Still staring at the broad expanse of his back Ororo fought the urge to jerk him around to face her. “Why not?”
“It just ain’t.”
She sighed heavily, clearly frustrated. “This I do not understand. I know you didn’t approve of T’Challa, but you did not want Jean to wed Scott either, yet you remained friends with her after they were married.”
“That was different.”
Old hurt caught her by surprise, its biting sting stealing her breath. “Of course,” she said with a trace of bitterness. “Everything is different for Jean. How could I have forgotten.”
“Hnh.” He adjusted his grip on the tool box handle, shifting from one foot to the other, an obvious indication that he’d rather be moving on.
She opened her mouth, intending to tell him that although she didn’t understand his refusal to speak with her that she would be his friend when he was ready, and instead she blurted, “You could swallow your pride for Jean, but not for me, right? I’m just not worth that much effort, is that it?”
Logan visibly stiffened. “It ain’t like that.”
Her voice shook with barely contained anger and sadness. “Then explain it, Logan, because from where I’m standing that is exactly what it’s like.”
He shook his head. “Don’t matter. It won’t change nothin’.”
“Explain it!” she demanded, her eyes flashing. “Explain to me why you made the effort to remain friends with Jean but not with me! Tell me why every letter I wrote was returned unopened. Why every phone call I made was ignored!” She was being overly dramatic, she knew, but she was too hurt to care. She’d been nothing but a loyal and true friend to Logan for years, watching as he loved her best friend, grieving for each of his lost loves, and always, always being the shoulder he could lean on. And how did he treat her? Like a throwaway; she’d lost her usefulness and now she was expendable. Once again the lights overhead flickered in response to her emotional turmoil, the sound of filaments burning out hissed in the room. “Why?” Her voice cracked. “Just tell me why.”
The tool box crashed to the floor with a thunderous clatter, wrenches and drivers scattering. “You wanna know why!?” Before Ororo could blink Logan whirled on her, his teeth gleaming in the now shadowed room, his dark eyes glinting with animal ferocity as his fingers bit into her elbows. “Because I never loved Jean like I love you!”
Taken aback by the vehemence of his response, as well as the raw pain that she saw reflected in his eyes, Ororo could only stare at him mutely.
Her stillness broke a moment later and she reached for him. “Oh, Logan.” Her instinctive reaction was to hold him, to soothe him as she had so often done in the past, her heart aching for his hurting.
“Don’t.” He stepped away from her, his chest rising and falling heavily. He looked down at the floor, holding his hand up as though to ward her off. “Just don’t, Storm.”
Her hands dropped limply to her sides. The silence in the room was deafening.
Logan breathed a weighty huff, rubbing his temples. He could feel her sadness beating at him like a moth against a light.
Ororo tilted her head, regarding him. “So, you think you love me?”
“I know I do.” He lifted his steadfast gaze to hers. “More than life I love you, Ororo, and it‘s killing me.”
Oh, Goddess, Jean, was this what it was like for you? To see that look on his face? To love Scott so completely, yet want to soothe Logan’s hurt? Dear sister, how did you do it? “Log--”
“Ya don’t gotta say it, Storm. I can see it all over yer face. You love yer husband.” He sounded deflated.
“How come you never told me?” she whispered.
He gave her a long look, his expression grim and vulnerable all at once. “I went back for you.”
She nodded, her eyes swimming. “I know. T’Challa told me.”
That surprised Logan. “He did?”
“Yes.”
“Hnh. That’s just my luck, I guess. Always a day late and a dollar short,” he muttered running his hand through his wild hair.
Ororo clenched her hands together to keep from touching him. “Logan.”
His lips twisted. She looked so completely staggered by his admission that he almost wished he could take it back.
Seeing her, being with her again, however briefly, was pleasurable torture to his heart. When he had strode through the front doors of the Institute last night he had fully intended on stomping straight to his room and ignoring the dining room occupants, but halfway up the staircase he caught a whiff of sandalwood and rain.
He hadn’t been able to suppress the flare of hope that ignited. Had she left her husband? Come home to her family? But those flames were doused coldly and effectively the moment he had seen T’Challa’s hand on Ororo’s shoulder, and the protective way the other man stood behind her; guarding her.
Then she had spoken. Just his name on a whispered breath of air. So soft and full that he doubted anyone else had heard it, but he had, and he had nearly dropped to his knees right then and there.
“I sometimes think about that night on the phone.” he said almost absently. “Ya remember, when ya called me from Africa?”
“Of course.”
“I just gotta know, if I’d asked ya that night to come be with me in Japan, wouldya have?”
She answered without hesitation. “Yes. I would have.”
“Hnh.” He looked away, a slow tick in the base of his jaw telling her all she needed to know of his reaction to that statement.
“And what of you, Logan ? Had I asked you to come to me in Africa, would you have?”
He wanted to answer in the affirmative, but knew he‘d be lying. “No. I woulda told ya no.”
Ororo smiled sadly. “Always a wanderer.”
Logan understood in that moment what T’Challa gave to Ororo that he hadn’t been able to. The man made her his priority. She didn’t chase T’Challa, and he didn’t chase her. They were there for one another, constants for and with each other. He loathed the man a little more for that.
“He make ya happy?” Logan asked after a time.
“He does.” Ororo couldn’t help the warmth that seeped into her voice.
He swallowed. “You love him?”
“I do.” She nodded.
“And me?”
Ororo closed her eyes, trying to control the frantic tattoo of her heart. “I…did once. More than I can say.” She confessed. It was the first time she had ever really told him of her feelings.
Logan watched her face carefully, his own darkening. “I know this is the part where I’m supposed ta be the bigger man and say that I’m happy fer ya, and that I’m glad you found someone to love, but I can’t--I won’t lie to ya. I fuckin’ hate that yer married. I can’t stand knowing that ya loved me once and I was too stupid ta see it, and I really hate the way I ache,” he touched his chest, “So bad I wanna die from it. It’s all I can do ta be this close to ya, and not hold you. Touch you. Make you mine.” His husky timbre rumbled with a possessive lilt.
Ororo opened her eyes slowly, her breath catching at the feral glimmer in his eyes. Everything about him spoke of passion. The way his nostrils flared just so, like he was catching her scent. The way his upper lip curled slightly, revealing white canines. His demeanor screamed possession, domination, mate.
He leaned toward her…she moved away, a single tear slipping along her cheek.
Shaking himself Logan stepped back. “I should go.”
“Logan, wait.” Ororo tried to catch his hand.
He growled over his shoulder. “I can’t, ‘Roro. As much as it kills me not ta have you in my life, it hurts less than being this close to ya and not havin’ ya.”
It hurt to breathe. Of all the things that she had meant to say, and to hear, Logan confessing that he loved her had not even crossed her mind. “I don’t know what to say.”
“I already toldya, ya don’t need to say anything.”
Ororo’s gaze wavered, tears shimmering. “Why does this feel like goodbye?”
Logan turned his face away. “’Cuz it has to be.”
Outside the doors Logan leaned against the wall, his fist clenched over his head, his head resting against his forearm. Heartache was nothing new for him, and he knew he wouldn’t die from it, though he certainly felt like he would. He needed her like the air he breathed, but the real question was did he lover her enough to be willing to let her go so that she could have what she needed.
With monumental effort he straightened and walked the long corridor away from the Danger Room, away from the woman he loved, fighting the desire to run back to her every step of the way.
A few hours later
“Do you really have to leave so soon?” Kitty asked with a plea. She, along with Peter, Kurt, Cyclops and Emma were seeing Ororo and T’Challa off.
“I’m afraid so, Kitten.” Ororo hugged the petit brunette close. “We must get to Washington in time for tomorrows conferences.”
Cyclops stepped forward, shaking T’Challa’s hand. “Busy days ahead of you.”
T’Challa nodded. “Yes. The turmoil over mutant rights is growing exponentially by the day. I hope to quell some of the misinformation and help put a stop to the political madness that seems to be rampant over here.” He cast the sentinels a pointed look.
“Good luck with that,” Kitty said dryly.
“He doesn’t need luck, darling, he’s got his own little mutant trophy wife.” Emma’s cultured tones dripped acid sweet.
Ignoring the woman’s spiteful tongue T’Challa shook Peter’s hand. “Very nice to meet you. I hope to see you and Katherine in Wakanda soon.”
“Most definitely.” Peter nodded. “I’d love to paint some of the scenery you were telling me about. It sounds like a beautiful place.”
T’Challa smiled. “Wakanda is indeed magnificent, although I must admit that I am a bit biased.”
“Just a bit?” Ororo laughed up at him.
“A lot,” he amended, brushing her lips with a soft kiss. “Thank you for your hospitality.” He said to Cyclops.
“Anytime.” Scott hugged Ororo. “I mean that,” he told her.
“Thank you.” Ororo stepped back into T’Challa’s arms. “I guess that’s everyone.”
“Not quite everyone,” Logan’s gruff voice caught them all by surprise. He descended the front steps, his familiar cocky swagger and trademark cigar firmly in place, making Ororo‘s lips twitch.
“Hey, darlin’,” he said when he stood in front of her and T’Challa.
“Logan,” she said quietly.
“Panther.” Logan glared at the taller man.
“Wolverine.”
“Kitty. Peter.” Kitty mouthed, rolling her eyes in good humor.
Logan extended his hand.
T’Challa blinked, but then grasped it firmly.
“Ya hurt her and no one will find yer body.” Logan growled.
Instead of being offended T’Challa gave Logan a long studious look then smiled slightly. “I’d expect no less.”
Logan looked at Ororo again, forcibly silencing the howling voice in his mind at the idea of letting her go. “Couldn’t leave it like it was. If ya ever need me, ‘Roro, I’ll be there. Take care of yerself, Windrider.”
“Always. Same goes for you too, Mountain Man.” She stepped forward, wrapping her arms around him.
Logan closed his eyes, burying his face in her cloud of hair, hugging her tight. Don’t let go…don’t let go… “G’bye.” He let go.
“Bye.” She held on a moment longer, then she too let go.
“Ready?” T’Challa asked gently, seeing her chin quiver as Logan strode away from them.
Ororo placed her hand in his, meshing their fingers together. Though her heart ached for a love that could have been, it sang with the love that was. “Yes.”
Washington D.C.
T’Challa lay propped on his elbow as he watched Ororo sleep, his knuckles running absently along the silky skin of her arm. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to loving her, or having her love him. It resonated in his blood, alive and pulsating, so intense at times it blinded him. She was a miracle, and the idea of her in any danger made him insane with fear. It was that fear that kept him awake this night.
Ororo stirred, lifting sleep heavy eyelids. “Mmmm. Hello, my love.”
“Hello, beautiful.” T’Challa said softly, caressing her cheek.
Catching the strained note in her husband’s voice Ororo sat up, unmindful of her nakedness. “What troubles you, T’Challa?”
He inclined his head, combing her slightly curling hair off of her shoulders, the tips of his fingers brushing the curve of her collar bone. “Always so observant,” he murmured.
“You are a part of me. When you are troubled, I am troubled.” She lifted his hands and kissed his fingertips. “What keeps you from sleeping beside your loving wife?” she tried to add a note of humor to her concern.
“Don’t come with me tomorrow,” he said gravely.
“Excuse me?”
“To the UN meetings. I would prefer you not to attend.”
“What? Why?” Ororo asked, her brows furrowing.
T’Challa sighed. He had known she wouldn’t like taking a proverbial backseat. “The anti-mutant protests are getting more and more violent in an already unstable atmosphere, Ororo. I do not want you to put yourself in any unnecessary danger.”
She smiled at him reassuringly. “I am fully capable of handling myself,” she reminded him. “I am your wife, Queen of Wakanda, and my place is beside you.”
“Ororo--”
“Hush, love. You will not win this argument and you well know it.”
“Hm.” He lifted his hands, cradling her face. “Perhaps then I should put my mouth to better use.”
Ororo smiled lovingly, twining her arms around his neck. “What a marvelous idea, King. You are such a wise, wise ruler.”
“Troublesome woman,” T’Challa chided playfully, taking her fully in his arms. He knew he would never talk her out of partaking in the meetings. It went against her very nature to sit idle.
“Irksome man.” She countered.
He laughed, a low deep chuckle that sent waves of warmth through her. “Then we are quite the pair,” he said.
“We are,” she agreed.
“You are the greatest gift ever bestowed upon my life, Ororo. I love you now, and I will love you forever.”
“And I you.” Ororo pulled him to her, kissing away the lines around his mouth, easing the worry from his brow with her loving.
Hours later, sedate and lethargic from their lovemaking Ororo placed her hand over her abdomen. She’d tell him later…
UN Summit
“The gross negligence the world has displayed in response to the suffering of an entire race of people is appalling.” T’Challa’s voice resonated with clear conviction and disapproval over the crowd. He stood center stage of the packed auditorium, his broad shoulders cloaked in his Royal robes, pacing the floor, speaking with authority and purpose. “Mutantcy is not a criminal offense and yet several countries are policing mutants as if it were.”
“Perhaps it should be,” The representative from Japan countered.
“And perhaps being black should be, or Asian or blond. I have an idea, let’s monitor every left handed person in the world.” T’Challa suggested with clear exasperation. The debates had been going on for two days and still no progress in the stalemate regarding the rights of mutants. In the wake of M Day many countries had reverted back to the old philosophy of mutants being a danger to society.
“Now you are just being ridiculous, T’Challa.” The representative of France chided. “If not for the acts of mutants that dreadful M day would never have occurred.”
“And if not for those very same people, our world would never have been restored. You can not punish a whole for the acts of a few.”
“Mutants are dangerous.”
“No more so than anyone else,” T’Challa argued.
From her seat behind T’Challa Ororo watched him, feeling her ire rise with each passing comment that T’Challa had to defend himself against. He stood tall and firm, his broad shoulders squared beneath his dark robe, his chin held high, refusing to be cowed by the overwhelming opposition he faced. Fierce pride swept through her as she watched him.
“Tell me, T’Challa, would you be so staunchly opposed to these regulations if your wife wasn’t a filthy mutant?” A new voice called out from the back of the assembly.
T’Challa’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing on the figure in the rear of the auditorium. “It would be ill advised to continue speaking of my wife in that tone.”
“That isn’t an answer, oh mighty T‘Challa.”
Ororo twisted in her seat, straining to see who was speaking. From the look on her husband’s face he recognized the speaker.
“It is not an answer you seek, but a conflict. I will not give you the satisfaction.”
The man laughed. “You are mistaken. I seek no conflict, King. I seek a resolution.”
T’Challa turned away from the podium microphone, whispering to the slight man standing beside him. The man nodded, making his way to the upper decks of the assembly room. Probably to call an adjournment, Ororo speculated.
“Your queen is an abomination to the royal line of Wakanda. A once great lineage forever tainted by the likes of this infidel.” The mysterious figure pointed an accusatory finger towards Ororo as he walked down the center aisle towards the podium.
A rustle of anticipation swept over the attendance, an uneasy wave making several people rise to their feet.
“What is the meaning of this?” One of the delegates demanded, mopping his bald head with a kerchief.
“The meaning? Why it is no more than setting wrong things right.” As he came under the lights Ororo blinked, recognizing the markings on the man’s clothing. He was Wakandian.
“T’Shan,” T’Challa greeted coldly.
“Your Highness.” The man answered with mocking civility. “How does that old saying go? As you can see the rumors of my death were greatly exaggerated.”
T’Challa ignored that comment. “You have no place here, T’Shan.”
“No, you took that place from me,” the other man said bitterly. “Took away the one dream I’d ever had.”
T’Challa narrowed his eyes. “The throne was never yours. You were never worthy. Now leave. This is not the place for your petty rivalry.”
T’Shan laughed. “Petty rivalry? So arrogant, King.”
Something about the other man made Ororo’s blood run cold.
“Always so unbelievably arrogant,” T’Shan continued scathingly. “So completely sure you can handle anything.”
T’Challa lifted an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest and tapping his fingers against his bicep. There was a subtle shift of weight that Ororo noted. Her husband was readying to defend himself. “I can handle you,” T’Challa said. “I have before.”
T’Shan scowled, his hand rising automatically to the scar marring his otherwise handsome face. The mark of a traitor.
“I see you remember,” T’Challa said smoothly, giving the impression of being completely unflappable. “I remind you again, T’Shan, you are not welcome here.”
“Afraid my words will sway those you hope to influence?”
“You are no threat to me,” T’Challa stated impassively. “But your presence in these proceedings is unwelcome.”
“How so? Am I not the voice of the people? The common man?”The other man glowered. “And as the voice of your people, I feel it my duty to express deep concern about the sad state of political affairs when a prominent ruler such as yourself thinks with his groin as opposed to with his head. Is rutting with your mutant worth your kingdom, T’Challa?”
“Enough!” T’Challa moved forward, but Ororo’s hand on his shoulder and her whispered voice stopped him.
“It is what he wishes, love. To incite you to violence, to show you as irrational. Do not feed into his propaganda.”
T’Challa’s stance relaxed, but his eyes snapped fire at the man in the aisle. “You have overstepped yourself, T’Shan, and insulted the Queen of Wakanda. It is not a slight I will forget.” The Dora stepped forward, flanked by her counterpart, seemingly appearing from nowhere.
T’Shan smiled sadistically. “I imagine you won’t, as I am certain you will remember this day for the rest of your life.” With that he gave a mock bow, treading back up the aisle, away from the podium.
One of the regulatory Ambassadors stood, sounding his gavel. “It would appear as though nothing more productive will be happening today, so I suggest we recess.”
Several mutters and wary looks were cast at the stage where Ororo and T’Challa stood.
They remained on the platform until they were alone, save for the two female sentry guards behind them.
“One step forward,” Ororo muttered with a heavy sigh. It never seemed to end, the hatred of mutants. Growing exponentially by the day.
T’Challa turned towards her, opening his arms and enfolding her. “I am sorry you had to be subjugated to such idiocy.”
Ororo sighed, content in his embrace. “It is unfortunately nothing new. I have heard the same tired tirade for most of my life.”
He tilted her face up. “How I wish I had been there for you.”
She laughed slightly. “And what would you have done? Trounced everyone that said a bad thing to me?”
“Yes.” He answered vehemently.
She studied the set of his jaw and the determined gleam in his eyes. “You would have, wouldn’t you?” she asked, a bit awestruck at that.
“Of course.” He said it so simply, as though it was the most natural thing in the world.
Ororo lifted her lips, pressing hers against his gently. “T’Challa…”
“Mmmm?” His mouth moved languidly over hers.
“There’s..” she sighed, tasting him. “Something I want…”
“Me too,” he said huskily, nipping her lower lip.
Ororo laughed breathlessly. “Not that.”
“No?” T’Challa murmured, tugging her towards the stage stairs, grinning mischievously.
“Well, not right now,” she amended.
“Perhaps I can sway your position on that matter, you Highness,” he teased against her ear, making her shiver.
“You can be…very persuasive.” She smiled. “But I want to bring you some joy on this troubled day.”
“You are my joy,” T’Challa said, burying his fingers in her hair, kissing her slowly.
Ororo closed her eyes, basking in his love, feeling a familiar shimmer of awareness go through her.
T’Challa broke away unhurriedly, lingering over her pouty bottom lip. “I love you.”
Ororo reached up and caressed his smooth cheek. “And I you.”
“That alone will see us through the long days ahead,” he promised.
“Yes.” She agreed. Everything was more bearable with T’Challa sharing the weight with her, and the same held true for him she knew.
“You did not have to take up the mantle for mutants, T’Challa.” She spoke softly. “It only adds to your burden as King and is above your scope of duties”
He pressed his cheek against the crown of her head. “Being King is my duty. Being your husband is my privilege. It would be remiss of me to let you face this battle alone.”
“You are such a good King, a great man, a loving husband, and soon…devoted father.” Ororo said nonchalantly.
T’Challa’s mouth fell agape. “Ororo?”
She smiled. “Yes.”
T’Challa laughed boisterously, swinging Ororo up into his arms.
Ororo threw her head back, her throaty laugh filled with love and happiness. “We are finally going to give your mother those grandchildren she’s been nagging about.”
T’Challa grinned. “She’ll be thrilled. Almost as much as I--” the rest of that sentence remained unfinished as the walls of the building shook, a thunderous roar deafening the two of them. “Ororo!”
Ororo tried to turn her head but suddenly the ground was rushing up at her, dust and chunks of wall falling about her head. Blessed Goddess, the building was collapsing!! Every nightmare she’d suffered her entire life rose to the surface.
“Bomb!” T’Challa pulled her against his chest, burying her face in his neck, covering her with his broad frame.
Another rumble went through the building, screams coming from all around as the walls tumbled down…
Blackness. Followed by running water? Something was trickling…
“Hold on…” Ororo heard T’Challa’s voice in her ear, his solid weight shielding her. “I’m here.”
There was something wrong with his voice. Ororo tilted her face towards his. He was crying she realized. “…T’Challa…” She reached up to wipe his tears, surprised to see her fingers stained crimson.
She tried to move but couldn’t. T’Challa’s body was still covering hers. She struggled to move her legs, nearly crying out when she couldn’t.
“Easy, my love” T’Challa said, his calm voice soothing her. His trembling hand stroked her matted hair.
It was then that Ororo heard the sirens, and heard muffled voices that seemed miles away. They were buried under a ton of rubble.
Okay, breathe. Just breathe. She began to hyperventilate.
“I’ll never forget the first time I laid eyes on you.” T’Challa murmured, continuing to stroke her hair and face. “You were the most exquisite creature I had ever seen.” He smiled, a tear dripping from his chin to her lips. “A vision in the desert. So perfect I thought I’d dreamed you into being.”
Ororo hiccupped, tasting blood. She watched his eyes, focusing on the soothing timbre of his voice. He was lulling her into calm, helping her through her fear.
T’Challa’s stoic face cracked, a grimace of sorrow robbing him of his handsomeness. “I never loved anyone as much as I love you. I knew that moment that I saw you that you were my destiny.”
Ororo gave a broken sob and a choked smile. “Always…the suave…playboy.”
“Married, reformed playboy,” he corrected. He lowered his head so that their foreheads rested against one another.
“How…uhhhh… long have we been in here?” Ororo asked trying to focus, finding it increasingly difficult to do so. The lure of blissful oblivion was a strong one, but not nearly as compelling as her husband’s deep molasses eyes.
“A few hours.” T’Challa answered.
Ororo tried to digest that, but instead felt her panic rising again. “I can’t feel my legs,” she told him. Another thought stole her breath completely, fresh tears cascading along soot covered cheeks. “The baby! T’Challa, our baby!”
“Shh, love.” He kissed her gently, sweetly. “All that matter is you now. Stay with me, my heart. I need you. I need you to survive, Ororo.”
“I’m sorry…” Ororo whispered, the feeling was now leaving her hands.
T’Challa cradled her head. “Hold on, Ororo. Ororo! Damn it, wife, look at me! Ororo!”
Light.
Was she dead?
“We found two more!” A deep voice bellowed.
Ororo winced, barely conscious. The feeling T’Challa’s weight lifting from her body drew her back temporarily from the black. She squeezed his hand as he rose.
“…Love..” The dark was calling again.
Hold on…
Why was she under water?
Ororo flailed, her eyes snapping open but seeing nothing.
“Easy, darlin’!”
Panic was making her delusional, she rationalized. How else would she explain why she heard Logan under water with her? She needed to get to the surface. T’Challa was waiting for her. She lashed out against the icy current holding her down.
“Hank, Goddamnit get in here!”
A small prick in her arm and then the seas were calming.
Ororo turned her head, a large blue blur taking up her vision. Her breath echoed shallowly in her ears.
T’Challa!
Ororo’s throat protested her weak attempt to speak.
“Relax.”
She turned her head, flinching at the blinding pain shooting through her temples. “Logan?”
A blurred Wolverine crouched beside her. “Hey, darlin’.” He said quietly.
Ororo’s brows furrowed. What was Logan doing in Wakanda? She opened her mouth to ask him that very question when she felt the tubes in her arms. She gave her bandaged hands and arms a furtive glance. She then looked around the room she was in. The Med Lab at Xavier’s.
“Why am I here?” Her voice was raw, hoarse and unused.
Logan ran a hand over his face before lifting one of her limp hands from the bed. “There was a bombing, ‘Roro. At the Embassy.” He cradled her hand against his whiskered chin, yet she couldn’t feel it. “You were brought here for treatment.”
Fractured images entered Ororo’s mind, making her head ache terribly. She barely remembered what had happened, but she remembered being afraid and T’Challa soothing her, talking her through it.
Sudden fear clawed at her insides. “Where is T’Challa?”
Logan swallowed. “Rest now, ‘Ro.”
Fear was quickly escalating. “Where is T’Challa?” Oh, Goddess how bad was he hurt?
“’Ro…”
“Where is my husband, Logan? Where is he?!” She struggled to sit up. “I have to see him. He needs me. If he’s hurt, he needs me!”
Logan grasped her shoulders gently. “Shh, easy, darlin’. Please, yer gonna hurt yourself.”
“I’m going to hurt something if you don’t tell me where he is!” Why couldn’t she move her legs? “Logan, I can take it. How bad is he hurt?” She pleaded. “Please…I need to be with him.” She gazed into his eyes. Steel gray was molten silver with turmoil. Time stuttered to a halt, the room narrowing to only those eyes that said so much. “No,” Ororo shook her head, a scream building in her chest. “No. No. No. Logan, NO!”
“’Ro, I’m so sorry--”
“No!!” She tried to yank her hand away but was too weak to move it. “No! Not T’Challa! He was right there! I saw him!” Tears ran reckless and free, her throat constricting to the point of pain. She closed her eyes. This was a dream. She was dreaming. It was a horrible nightmare and any minute she would wake up and see T’Challa’s laughing face above hers. “Please…” she begged. “Please let me wake up.”
Logan felt his own throat tighten, a ball forming as he watched Ororo struggle with what he was telling her.
Ororo opened her eyes, their pooled depths meeting silver and not molasses. The truth made evident by the tears in Logan‘s eyes. Ororo‘s teeth began to chatter. “Logan…please…please kill me.”
In that moment Logan would have sold his soul to the devil to bring T’Challa back to her. “’Ro…I’m so sorry.”
Ororo’s scream echoed throughout the small room, only slightly louder than the shattering of her heart.
