Downtown, at a familiar nightclub:
Logan swirled the remainder of his whisky in the thick, shallow cocktail glass and hummed along with the low strains of an old Johnny Cash classic. It was happy hour, and still early enough for the ID checker and bouncer not to be on duty yet, or for them to recognize him as one of the brawlers from the night before. Had the circumstances been any different, Logan would have savored the memory of a good bar fight over beer nuts and a football game in a smoky interior like this one. The taste of the whiskey palled at the recent memory of Ororo’s uneasy breathing as she was shifted and made more comfortable in the master suite. The physician left, leaving behind his attendant staff and the stern injunction that his services rendered that day were never, ever to be disclosed to anyone, particularly if the Yakuza were involved. It was bad enough endangering his medical career treating a fugitive, American mutant. Lady Mariko graciously escorted him out to his car just as the nighttime sky began to clear; the stars began to blink out from the receding clouds, assuring him that a large donation to the hospital’s foundation would be forthcoming, made in her father’s name. Mariko made a mental note to have Keiko send him a fruit basket later in the week.
Ororo’s words still echoed in his ears:
“Logan? Where are you going? We have to find Yukio…” Ororo’s voice cracked as she suffered another spate of coughing from trying to sit up too fast.
“Easy, darlin’, quit doin’ that, ya ain’t goin’ anywhere right now. And what’s this ‘we’ stuff?” Logan’s hand was gentle but insistent, grasping her shoulder and pressing her back into the thick pillows. Earlier, Ororo had been carefully rolled to the side to allow Keiko to remove the blood-spattered tarp and make up the bed with fresh sheets; the bedding had been stored with a sachet of dried rose petals and jasmine, and the light scent enveloped Ororo, soothing her as she studied her friend. Some of that desperate look had finally left his eyes, and he looked less haggard after his bath and meal, but Ororo noted the tightness and tension around the corners of his chiseled mouth.
“You can’t just leave without telling me what you plan to do, Wolverine.” Her voice was weak but held a hint of stubbornness.
“You plan on flying in ta kick Viper’s ass still hooked up to yer IV pole, darlin’?”
“Don’t patronize me, little man. You’re still an X-Man, correct?”
“Last I looked, that was the case; what’s yer point?” Logan straightened up to his full height, bristling and slightly indignant. She always knew how to get his goat.
“That makes me the boss. I lead the X-Men, and I can’t allow you to go off half-cocked, without hide nor hair of when you will come back, and without help.”
“I’ve been goin’ it alone since before ya were just a twinkle in yer daddy’s eye, Boss.” He cocked his thick brow as he emphasized the last word. “When we’re under Charley’s roof or out in the field on a mission, then fine, run my ranch from sunrise ta sun-up, babe, have at it. But this ain’t one o’ Charley’s missions. It was mine from the jump.”
“That was before Yukio was taken from us. That changed everything.”
“I know yer worried about her, ‘Roro…”
“I’m petrified for her, Logan. Worried doesn’t begin to describe it.”
“Look, I know ya’ve been gettin’ ta know Yukio a little better, Boss, and ya think she’s a friend, but she an’ I go way back. I know her old haunts and a bunch of her old connections around this city. I have ways of gettin’ folks ta talk.” SSSSNIKT. Logan slowly extended his claws, watching the overhead light gleaming against the cool metal blades. Ororo released a ragged sigh.
“More blood.” Her voice sounded almost resigned. Logan retracted his claws and rubbed the sore spots over his knuckles out of habit as he stared at her. Her intelligent, liquid eyes probed his, mutely pleading with him.
“Can’t be helped. Folks like Viper deal in bloodshed.” Logan reached for her hand that was lying in her lap and tucked it tenderly into his. He sat in the chair by the bedside and let his gaze roam over her, assessing her injuries. Ororo’s ribs were thickly bandaged, and he noticed that she arched her back slightly in discomfort, unable to settle herself without the stabbing pain stealing her breath. Blood no longer seeped through the deeper and heavier wound below her collarbone, but her flesh was still bruised, and her eyelids were decorated with broken capillaries from her self-induced attack of lightning bolts. Tiny scratches marred her smooth forearms from when the shards of glass hit her. Logan stroked the back of her hand with his thumb; her skin was cool and satiny to the touch. He caressed the scratches along her arm with his fingertip, soothing her while reassuring himself that she was still there, all in one piece, albeit the worse for wear. Ororo made a small sound of contentment, letting some of the tension in her shoulders ease away at his touch. She still wasn’t happy at the prospect of letting him hare off, but she realized that this argument could be the last discussion that they had together if anything truly went wrong.
“You shouldn’t do this alone.”
“Can’t afford ta stick around, ‘Roro.” Logan didn’t mention Mariko’s injunction that they not overstay their welcome and remove themselves from her estate as soon as they could.
“You don’t understand what it means to me to help you, Logan. We lost one of the students while you were gone to her madness.” Ororo stiffened at the memory. “Viper and the Silver Samurai blew up her stronghold in Big Sur, and Charles’ current class of students was caught in the blast. X’ian didn’t make it back to shore. Viper nearly killed Danielle, and Rahne was grievously injured by the Samurai. We were at an extreme disadvantage, both in being taken by surprise and letting her take one of our own hostage, and in not having your tracking skills to find her sooner. Before she could come here.” Her fingers tightened around his, drinking in his strength. “This isn’t just about saving Yukio. I want to protect the children, and I don’t want to fail them again. Just like I…” and she clamped her mouth shut.
“Ya didn’t fail anyone. Not the new kids at the school, and not Kitty, even if she’s a little upset with ya right now. Things’ll smooth over with time. ‘Roro, Kitty loves ya so much. When we get back, all ya have ta do is take her aside and talk to her.” Ororo’s lip quivered, but she didn’t break down. She gave him a shaky smile as she realized that he’d said “when we get back.” Logan felt a small pang that his absence had cost his team, and the students Ororo wanted to protect, so dearly.
“Wolverine…this isn’t finished. I came to bring you back. I know now that you have some unfinished business here with the woman you love.” Logan grunted, but held onto her hand. “I don’t want to leave you behind, even though it looks like I have no choice.”
“Nope. Ya don’t. And I don’t want ya stickin’ around waitin’ on me ta change my mind. It’s too dangerous. Even if Yukio makes it sound like sunshine and lollipops, livin’ on the edge like she does.”
“I lived on the edge much like that myself, once. Perhaps not leaping off of buildings, but I’ve picked my share of pockets and locks, and sometimes I didn’t know where my next meal would come from. Hardly sunshine and lollipops, but I envy her the freedom to live the life she chooses. She’s a special woman, Logan. I’ve grown very, very fond of her.” Her smile was weak but genuine, and Logan caught the hint of mischief in her eyes. Logan fought the urge to ask her just how fond.
“I can see that. ‘Ro…are ya plannin’ on growin’ yer hair back?”
“I like it!”
“It’s just…so drastic. When ya make a change, ya don’t do things halfway, do ya?”
“Our favorite little ronin convinced me that there was no point in changing my life and allowing myself to feel, and to live without such constant, strangling control just on the inside. The outside needed a little change, as well.”
“Why fix something if it ain’t broken?”
“That’s the point. I was broken, Logan.”
“Coulda fooled me.”
“You’ve been away a long time, my friend.”
“I liked ya just fine the way ya were, kiddo.” He smiled gruffly, softening the criticism as he lifted her hand to his lips. His lips drifted over her knuckles, steaming and nibbling them. Beneath her haze of burning aches and exhaustion, Ororo’s pulse quickened, and Logan felt it. An odd but irresistible warmth pooled in her stomach.
“Goddess,” she murmured, overcome. Her gaze locked with his. “I…I like you just the way you are, too.” She broke away, dropping her eyes to her lap. “And I want some means of knowing where you will be.”
Logan growled under his breath, “It ain’t like yer gonna follow me.”
“You’ll be busy tracking down my friend. I don’t see how you plan to keep me here.”
“Wanna bet?” Logan leaned down and closed in on her, breathing in her scent, close enough to watch her pupils dilate. The mattress sagged beneath her as he rested his hands on either side of her, boxing her in. Ororo’s pulse skipped again, but she didn’t back down. She met his look squarely, defiantly, jutting her chin like an unrepentant child. “I’m an old dog, ‘Roro. I’ve learned a few tricks.” Before she could speak, Logan swooped down and captured her lips in his. There were moments in life that just begged for one startling, vital kiss that set your senses on fire and made your blood run fast and hot.
This moment had “kiss” written all over it. Logan took his sweet time taking “one for the road.”
“Uuummmm…Lo…gan?” Logan tasted her, running his tongue over the seam of her lips, urging her to open for him. His tongue caressed hers with slow languor, and the taste became a feast of hunger and need. Logan felt himself go up in flames at the feel of her fingers curling into his hair, holding him close as she sighed into his mouth. No lemon martinis or sleepy murmurs this time, only Ororo, her soft lips and the twist in his gut as he remembered whose roof was giving them shelter. With a start, Logan broke away, collecting her hand from his nape very, very reluctantly. He laid her hand back in her lap.
“I…I’m sorry. I shouldna done that.” His fists clenched themselves as he licked the last taste of her from his lips.
“Logan, please don’t…don’t apologize.” Ororo picked at the bedspread’s hem. She looked back at him. “You were just saying goodbye. I understand.”
“Uh-uh.” He skimmed the backs of his knuckles along her temple, down the contour of her cheek. She leaned into his caress and closed her eyes against revealing too much of what she was feeling. “I was just sealing a promise. I’m comin’ back for ya, ‘Roro. That’s what friends do.”
“That’s what friends do,” she repeated. “Stay quick, my friend.”
And that left him here, chasing empty leads in a bar with crummy lighting and a glass of watered down whiskey in his hand. He relished the solitude, loner that he was. Pacing the floors for the past several hours, arguing with M’iko and feeling the eyes of her housekeeper and personal handlers boring into him made him want to climb the walls. It chafed him, and it drove home the irrefutable truth.
Mariko’s house, and her life, no longer felt like home.
Logan wondered how much of that gut feeling was due to Ororo’s taste, or that tiny little sound of yearning she made as his lips closed in on hers. He shook his head, berating himself. Not just a kiss. It was everything she brought into it. Loyalty, devotion, friendship…even partnership. She busted his chops at every turn and nagged him like a school marm, but how many times had he spent on the other end of one of her tongue-lashings, also within arms’ reach? That firm yet beseeching look was seldom delivered without a hand laid gently on his chest or shoulder, or without her hand clasping his in some way, even if it was just to stall his claws within their sheath. The so-called “untouchable” goddess was hands-on, something he’d grown used to and thankful for.
In her own way, Ororo made Charley’s “school” feel like “home.” Maybe even like a family.
“Nosey, bossy frail,” he muttered to himself.
A moment later, Logan felt the hairs on his arm rise and ripple the air beside him grew inexplicably chilled, like an ill wind. He breathed in the familiar and unwelcome tang of a visitor he knew all too well.
“I ain’t got business with ya today, Ogun.”
“You’re in my homeland, now, Logan-san. We play by my rules, and that makes it my business.” Ogun snaked over a barstool and barely leaned his hip against it, beckoning to the bartender to fix him his usual. His attire was similar to Logan’s but more elegant, his shirt cut in the same style but tailored from black raw silk. Black leather shoes with a high gloss shod his feet. His dark mustache was neatly trimmed and his nails were impeccably manicured. His dark eyes held a mixture of humor and malice. “I hear you’ve been making a nuisance of yourself at the Yashida estate.”
“All depends on who’s been doin’ the talkin’, bub.”
“”I have ears everywhere.” He prodded an ice cube in his martini with the toothpick skewering his green olive. “And other ways of knowing when something’s afoot.” Logan grunted. He’d known the spry old samurai for a long time, including his penchant for dark magic. Logan didn’t trust magic. “I felt a disturbance in the earth’s balance earlier tonight that interrupted my meditation, almost as though the sky were being split in two.”
“Rainier summer than we’re use to this time o’year,” Logan grumbled. “Ya got anything useful ta say? I ain’t got time fer idle chat, old man.”
“Old man,” he huffed, sipping his martini. “Look’s who’s talking, old friend. A little respect for your samurai master.”
“Ain’t my master any more, last I looked.” Despite his rebuke, Logan ordered their next round of drinks. Ogun’s black eyes measured him over the rim of his glass.
“Why are you looking for the Silver Samurai?”
“Got a score ta settle with him and the bitch he’s been slinking around with. Viper an’ I, we go way back. It wasn’t pretty. Tonight it just got uglier.” Logan took a drink of whiskey, even though he didn’t really want it anymore. It burned him more than the first; evidently the bartender realized his money was good after all. “They came after someone I care about, and they hurt my friend. I aim ta pay ‘em back. An’ I ain’t got time ta lose, sinkin’ a few with an old buddy, catch my meanin’?”
“Loud and clear. There have been murmurings of a foreigner running trade from the docks, not far from that old fireworks warehouse that went up in flames just weeks ago. Rumor has it she has green hair, can you imagine anything more ostentatious? Hardly the way to remain inconspicuous,” he pointed out.
“Yeah. She’s all about class.” Logan mentally catalogued the docks surrounding that old warehouse. Yukio mentioned something to him over breakfast “ while Ororo was sulking in the shower “ about a huge firebird looming over the factory following a shower of random lightning bolts and an explosion big enough to be felt across ten neighborhoods. One in particular stood out in his mind.
“Are you sure it’s wise to just walk in through the front door, old friend?”
“I’m a good houseguest. I don’t plan on overstayin’ my welcome.”
“It wouldn’t be wise to leave a calling card.” Ogun munched the olive thoughtfully. “Or witnesses, if you can avoid it. Clean deaths, Logan-san. With honor.”
As if there was such a thing…Logan nodded. He headed to the rest room without offering any goodbyes.
Once inside, Logan unzipped himself and made use of the surprisingly clean urinal and smiled at the lack of graffiti on the walls. More male voices drifted down the hall to him, pricking up his ears.
“Harada’s been sloppy lately; that gym job was a mess. Normally he’s quiet, and he runs with an efficient crew.”
“They were up against that hairy little gaijin, he goes by the name of ‘Patch,’ or something.”
“Does he wear a patch?”
“Dunno. Heard he’s short, and mean as hell. Has claws in his hands.”
“Claws, as in fingernails?”
“Nope. As in blades. Great big metal blades. Rumor has it, they’ll cut through anything. Gave Harada and his boss lady a run for their money. That gym paid their protection money already, so the Tin Man’s gotta lot to answer for. The whole weight suite was destroyed. Hole blown right through the wall. And get this: The whole room was covered in what looked like hailstones.”
“Are you shitting me?”
“Go there, see for yourself. I’ve gotta head up to the security booth to check that feed again, and the spy eyes we have at the little ronin bitch’s apartment. She’s the only thing tougher than the roaches in that dump.”
“She’s not so tough now. Get any footage of the tall one in the shower?”
“You know it!”
The tall one. Little ronin bitch’s apartment. Hailstones. Logan sorted through the faint odors in the rest room that even the air freshener cones behind each commode couldn’t quite mask, picking out the two human scents headed down the corridor. He washed his hands with the watery excuse for soap from the nearly empty pump and dried them on his slacks when he found the spool in the paper towel holder empty. Suited him fine.
He’d have to wash his hands again in a minute. Right now the Beast was scratching at the door, and Logan knew he’d have to let him out.
One as an example; one for information…
The taller and broader of the two never saw Logan coming as he lurched forward on a gurgle of outraged surprise, staring stupidly at the claws skewering him from back to front, gleaming up at him and streaked with his own blood.
“Need ta learn ta mind yer own business and keep yer eyes in yer head, bub. Some folks don’t take kindly ta invasions of their privacy!” SNAKT! Blood bubbled over his lips as Logan retracted his claws, letting him fall to the concrete with a sick thud.
“You’re that gaijin -!”
“And you’re the guy who’s gonna tell me what I wanna know. How long have ya been tailin’ me an’ my girls, slick?” Logan’s breath was hot and stunk of gin; the man was hoisted by his shirt collar and stared up the “muzzle” of the wolf whose territory he’d crossed and made the mistake of staring him in the eye. Logan’s nostrils flared and quivered with each breath as he pressed him for answers. “Take me ta wherever ya hold yer friggin’ peep shows if ya wanna leave here with yer spleen.”
He sang like a chickadee. A tap of his adamantium knuckles applied to his glass jaw rendered him silent after he escorted Logan upstairs to the security room to view the feeds. Logan watched the screens for five minutes, rewinding and zooming in when appropriate, and felt almost dizzy as he caught Yukio and Ororo in various locations. The front door. The rest rooms, thankfully not in the stalls, but damned close. The coat check room. The bar. On the sticky dance floor, strutting their stuff. Logan had no time to appreciate the sinuous flow of their bodies onscreen or to wonder just how many drinks they’d each sunk that night.
He had a date at the docks.
Elsewhere:
It was almost clichéd. The silver bastard had flicked on an overhead light that was just a bare bulb hanging down from the ceiling, and it glared down into her eyes that were already rendered oversensitive from the venom. All the better to see you with, my dear…
“Comfortable?”
Yukio heard a faint dripping from the docks outside, broken the by the occasional scurry of something that sounded suspiciously like a health and building code violation in the darkest corners of the grimy room. The cold steel of the manacles bit into her, chilling her flesh. Her fingers were already blue with poor circulation from having her arms suspended for so long.
“Nnnnnngggh.”
“Speak up, darling, I couldn’t quite make that out.”
“Guuhh.”
“Venom seems to be wearing off a bit. Should we give her another dose?”
“Not yet. I like watching her squirm. Look into her eyes, sweetling, she’s dying to wrap her hands around your throat. Or mine. You can tell a lot by looking into a woman’s eyes.”
“I’ll take your word for it, Viper,” he grunted dismissively. “Hers are bloodshot. She can barely keep them open.” Yukio’s face held the vacant laxness of someone holding onto consciousness by a mere thread since nightfall, but now she fought to school her brows into a frown, nearly succeeding as her chin bobbled up repeatedly from her chest. Mentally she tested the shackles.
Simple enough design. She wondered where the trigger was to the latch.
“Her fingers are blue.”
“Not for long.” ZZZZZIIIIIPPP! Yukio’s eyes watered involuntarily at the sharp, stinging burn of the razor-thin slash left across her swollen index fingertip. “Now they’re red.” Yukio’s vocal cords wavered from prolonged disuse. She gargled a low scream of defiance. Viper smiled and struck again with the tip of her short switchblade. Crimson droplets drizzled their way to the concrete, and Viper backed away to survey her handiwork.
“I believe we have some guests for dinner and a show.” Tiny black eyes glowed almost yellow from the floor as the vermin scrabbled into the fuzzy pool of light. Nostrils twitched at the metallic, enticing scent of blood. Kenuichio grimaced; like many great beasts, he detested tiny, wriggling creatures, particularly the disease-carrying variety such as these. He leaned against the nearby table and extracted a soft lawn cloth from his belt pack. He wiped it along his sword blade, cleaning it lovingly as Viper held up her end of the discussion.
“You realize you’re just bait, don’t you, thief?” Viper purred. “Logan will come after you, no doubt with the Wind-Witch in tow.”
“I took care of her,” the Samurai growled.
“She’s an X-Man; give the harlot some credit.”
“Remember who I am.” His eyes were steely upon her, his lips tightly pursed. Viper reached for Yukio’s hand, grasping it in a savage pinch, squeezing until liquid rubies welled up from her gashed fingertips and flowed with greater frequency. Yukio winced at the further abuse.
The rats stood on their hindlegs to better catch the treat, snuffling and squeaking their greed and enthusiasm.
Outside the bar:
Logan climbed into the back of the cab, drinking in the scent of cigarette stubs in the driver’s overflowing ashtray up front and itching to use his claws again. They were as thirsty as he was a little while ago.
“Take me to this warehouse,” he growled, indicating the address scribbled on a scrap of napkin purloined from the bar. The cabby eyed him from the rearview mirror with the indolent expectation of someone who only takes orders to make a living, and then only when he was in the mood. Logan reached into his pocket for the crumpled but thick wad of money. “Step on it, bub, I ain’t got time fer this shit.”
The driver remembered how important it was to provide sparkling customer service and crammed his foot against the gas pedal. The cab wove expertly through the post-rush hour traffic, barely nipping the stoplights a beat before they flashed.
Logan’s claws itched again, but this time it could have been his random vision that he had of burying them in Kenuichio’s eye sockets when the time came, or just the feeling that the crusted upholstery was crawling on him.
Back at the Yashida estate, in the kitchen:
“Miss Munroe should be ready for her tray right about now, Masao. Ask if she has already had her dressings checked and see if we can make her more comfortable.” Masao nodded solemnly, silently wondering how comfortable they could make someone who barely survived an impromptu surgery and a resuscitation that no one would ever believe if he told them. Keiko had just finished sweeping away the glass and discarding the expensive “ and now shredded “ tasseled rug that had born the brunt of the shattered window. He placed the cover over the tray and strode carefully up the stairs, taking care not to spill the tea.
At least she didn’t look so desperate now. Her color was slowly returning to its normal mocha splendor, even though she had slept fitfully since Lady Mariko’s betrothed had departed. Masao breathed a sigh of relief when he made his brusque farewell and let himself out, grumbling the whole way. He wasn’t even halfway up the walk before he lit up one of his smelly cigars that reminded Masao of the rich, heavy stench of burning livestock after his uncle’s barn had caught fire when he was a child. He also didn’t like the unsettled quality of the house that seemed to linger whenever Logan made his appearance and consequent escapes.
Masao set down the tray on the side table and fluffed Ororo’s pillow, straightening the hem of the comforter. Ororo smiled weakly at him with cracked lips; Masao poured some ice water from the nearby pitcher into a small drinking glass that already had a straw leaning against its lip. He tipped his head toward Ororo, beckoning for her permission, and she nodded, closing her lips around the straw for much needed moisture. Masao wondered how Logan had come to acquire such colorful, bizarre friends, including this tall, exotic woman with such startling hair and eyes who seemed so reserved on the night of the engagement party. Keiko assisted her, sponging her clean and helping her into a change of fresh clothes. Ororo was clad in a lightweight linen tunic that closed in the front with silk loop frog clasps, almost a mate to Logan’s shirt with its low mandarin collar, but hers had wide, vented sleeves and an ornate willow tree embroidered on the back in beige thread. She wore dark lounging pants with a drawstring waist. Even her flamboyant plume of hair stood proud and aloft once more, much to the amusement of the household staff. Yet no one denied that she cut a striking figure.
Masao lifted the cover from the plate and lifted the chopsticks as if to feed Ororo. Her hand stilled his.
“Thank you; I can do it myself, if you’ve work to do.”
“It is my duty to serve.”
“You’ve done enough, and you have my thanks.” Ororo surveyed the savory smelling rice, spicy vegetables, and grilled fish with satisfaction. “This is perfect. I will let you know if I need anything.” He backed away, nodding as he departed. Minutes later, Ororo looked up from her meal, now half-finished, when she heard a light rap on the door.
“Come in,” she invited, her voice still raspy. She laid down the enamel chopsticks as Mariko entered, closing the door behind her.
“Please, continue your meal. May I join you?”
“Of course!” Mariko served herself tea from the pot that came up on Ororo’s dinner tray, noting that her guest hadn’t touched it yet. “I’m in your debt for all that you’ve done for me today, Mariko. It’s…challenging at times, finding anyone willing to help us under such unseemly circumstances.”
“Any friend of Logan’s is a friend of mine.” Mariko sipped her tea. “You two seem so close.”
“When he’s not snarling at me to get off his back, we get along fine.” The two women exchanged a smile. “He has many sterling qualities.” These of course included a knack for starting “ and ending bar brawls, cigar-chewing, and swearing like a longshoreman. “We’ve been lucky to have him as long as we have.” Ororo left the opportunity for Mariko to clarify whether they wouldn’t have him any longer if she chose to restore their engagement to its previous harmony. She didn’t want to say goodbye to her friend.
But she hated to see him in pain.
Mariko’s eyes didn’t reflect the smile on her lips. “He’s also very stubborn. I love that about him, too. He would call me stubborn if he were here to defend himself.” Ororo raked her chopsticks through the remainder of her rice. “And he would be right.”
“He loves you. More than words could ever express, he loves you, Mariko. Why won’t you accept him as your husband?”
“There are matters within my clan that I must attend to myself. Logan means well…and he means the world to me, Ororo, don’t think for a moment that he doesn’t…but he would try to rescue me from problems of my own making. I entered into an alliance with the Yakuza and I alone must deal with them and rescue the honor of my family.”
“Logan hasn’t been taking things well. You love him, so you know that he doesn’t open up easily even to those of us who are close to him, who care about him.” Ororo reached for her water, surprised when Mariko handed it to her mid-grasp. “Logan’s been floundering for his sense of self-worth ever since you left him in the temple. You love him, but only someone he loves as much as he does you could hurt him so deeply. I’ve only seen Logan care so deeply for one other woman during our friendship who affected him so much, and she died before our eyes by her own hand. You don’t know what losing you is doing to him.”
“He hasn’t lost me. But I cannot marry him.”
“Not being able to share his life with you is roughly the same as losing you, Mariko. Forgive me if I’m reading things incorrectly.” Ororo’s expression was soft but full of questions.
“I have my responsibilities. And Logan, in his way, has his. He has grown to love this country and our customs, but a part of him will always be the wild mountain man who cannot stay in one place long enough to put down roots. He has become so loyal to your school and your esteemed professor, and so fond of them, even if he won’t admit it out loud. His loyalty is also to you.” Ororo nearly choked on her water.
“Excuse me?” she gasped, coughing and setting the glass down on the side table.
“You always seem so comfortable around Logan when you occupy the same space, and he is more relaxed around you than anyone else that I’ve met from your school,” she pointed out, then chuckled, “perhaps with the exception of Kurt.”
“Beer’s usually involved,” Ororo reminded her. “They share a passion for it.”
“His whole face, and his stance changes when he speaks to you, you know.” Mariko steered the conversation back onto its original path, much to Ororo’s dismay. She felt an uneasy tingle run up her neck at the underlying meaning of her words.
“What are you trying to say, Lady Mariko?” Ororo’s smile finally drooped and flattened.
“I’m not trying to say anything.” She sipped her tea, swirling the black residue of leaves in the bottom of the fine porcelain. “I am saying very plainly that this so-called inability of his to open up to you and your friends at the school doesn’t seem to be in evidence when the two of you are together.”
“Do you consider growling at me and telling me to mind my own business ‘opening up?’” Ororo was incredulous. “I hope you haven’t read anything inappropriate in my day-to-day communications or dealings with Logan.”
“I don’t; not necessarily.” Mariko set down her teacup and crossed her foot over her knee in a surprisingly casual gesture. She eyed Ororo squarely. “It wouldn’t be in appropriate for him to move on, in light of the circumstances, especially if the two of you have feelings for each other?”
“He’s like a brother to me! Perhaps even a great-uncle, in light of the age difference!” The corner of Mariko’s mouth quirked.
“So why are you blushing so deeply? I have rubies in my jewelry box that are less pink than you right now, Ororo.” Ororo opened her mouth, searching for a retort…
…and found none. She closed her mouth and stared at her hands, her cheeks still radiating incriminating heat and color.
“He…doesn’t feel that way about me. Trust me. I wouldn’t lie to you about something like that.”
“I believe you, Ororo-chan.” Mariko stood and made her way to the intercom in the room, calling for Keiko to take Ororo’s tray. Perhaps you two haven’t realized it for yourselves. Mariko silently dug her fingernails into her palm.
“And Mariko?”
“Yes, Ororo?”
“Logan is my friend, and so are you. I would protect those close to him with my life.” The depth of her convictions flashed in her sapphire blue eyes.
Those convictions were about to be tested…
SSSSKKRRAASSSSHHHHHHH!!!!
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