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Logan stood watching the dance floor from the shadows, content for the moment to enjoy the spectacle Ororo was making of herself. Never in a million friggin’ years…

He was so distracted “ no, enthralled “ by the little show in front of him that he nearly didn’t hear the waitress approach him until she was practically on top of him, nudging his arm gently. He missed the look of admiration that she gave him, licking her lips at the firm, solid heat of his muscle. “Sir? Can I take your order?”

“Jack Daniels, neat.” Logan absently fished in his wallet for a crumpled bill. He silently gave thanks that she moved away so he could get back to his entertainment without interruption.

“Never woulda figured ya had it in ya, ‘Ro,” he murmured, then stopped himself.

Of course she had it in her. She was a young, healthy, red-blooded woman with all-too human needs. This was a long time in coming, and like everyone else, he’d just turned his head and assumed that their resident weather goddess and mother hen would stay buttoned up and hiding in the corner. He realized that was a foolish assumption now. He just never expected this.

That nagging little pain gnawed at his gut as Logan recalled Ororo striding into the foyer of Mariko’s apartments mere weeks ago, calm and serene in her long black cloak. The mellow glow of the track lighting and elegant lanterns shone down on her smooth, thick waves of lustrous white hair. She beamed at him pleasantly enough, blue eyes soft and thoughtful as she accepted the cup of green tea from his thick, callused hand. Something had been wrong then. Kurt, Kitty, Pete and Chuck were chatty as hell and weren’t shy about tearing through the tempting spread of food. Ororo, though…he couldn’t put his finger on it then, but now it was coming back to him. She spent most of that night just watching and listening in the corner, admiring the plants and occasionally inclining her head toward the conversations.

Why wouldn’t she relax amongst her family? Why was the regal, imperious Wind-Rider standing off to the side all by her lonesome, trying to blend into the wallpaper? She’d reminded him of a flower closing its petals at the sign of nightfall, trying to shield her glory and make herself take up as little space as possible. He’d tried to call her on it:

“You’ve changed, ‘Roro. You seem different.”
“So are you, my friend.”

He wouldn’t deny that. There was a hint of amusement playing at the corners of her mouth as she studied him, sending an uncharacteristic flush into his cheeks. M’iko had civilized him, at least on the surface. Logan imagined himself as Ororo must have seen him at that moment: Relaxed. Unwary, despite Rogue’s startling arrival in their midst. His well-worn, faded jeans and flannel shirts had been replaced by an impeccably pressed hopi coat and wool slacks, and he partook of the green tea instead of his customary beer, the tiny porcelain cup looking almost ridiculous in his enormous hand. Even his hair was neatly combed and laying mostly in place, aside from the natural “bulls’ horns” that no barber could tame.

Logan kicked himself now for never picking up their talk where they had left off. Instead of heading home to Westchester to lick his wounds, all he’d done was camp out on Mariko’s front door. Which should have been his front door, if only he hadn’t fucked up. And for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out how. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Logan remembered that someone famous and full of themselves once said “Love makes you blind.” He wished he could correct that fucker right now as he thanked the waitress for his drink and took a fortifying gulp. Love makes you hurt.

But yeah, he’d been blind, too. In the middle of letting his heart bleed into his eyes, making him see nothing but red hate and pain so bitter he could choke on it, he missed the fact that life had brought his best friend, a veritable goddess on earth, to her knees.

Now it was time to help her back up, and from the looks of things, Yukio was doing her level best to beat him to the punch…

Logan scanned the bar slowly, surveying the crowd and wondering why his hackles stood up. A random scent of musk and increased pheromones “ his feral intuition warned him of “rival males” among the pack thronged within the club “ brushed past him, bumping him in their haste. His whiskey splashed slightly over the edge of his glass. “Fuckers,” he growled under his breath.

He lost interest in his drink once he noticed them weaving through the dancers, making their way toward Ororo and Yukio. He slammed the glass down on the counter and abandoned his bar stool.

Yukio could handle herself with a little liquor under her belt. ‘Roro, on the other hand, didn’t drink more than a single goblet of wine in one sitting on the rare special occasion. That made her a mark. Yeah, that was it…

Ahhhh, who’re ya kiddin’, Patch?

Maybe if she wasn’t dancing like that…her hips. Damn, those hips! Quit gettin’ distracted!

Out on the floor, Ororo flung her head back and felt Yukio’s cheek brushing against hers, just for a fleeting moment. Naughty. This felt naughty. The alcohol fizzing in her stomach and swimming through her veins made everything amusing at first: The glances she had gotten while in line for the rest room. The fact that the rest room was their initial excuse for lying their way in through the front entry. The random inquiries of when her next album was coming out, whatever that meant. Yukio’s grin. Her own grin that felt as though it had been pasted to her lips for the past three hours. And the completely foreign feeling that she was in a club, far from home, dancing wantonly with a woman she hardly knew instead of handling her responsibilities as team leader while Scott was in Anchorage, and she didn’t give a damn. Not one.

Ooooh, here come those nice men that bought them the drinks. And they were smiling, too. That’s nice… Ororo smiled back, glad to be in on the joke. Behind her, Yukio’s eyes were sly and full of cunning as she tugged Ororo in front of her, hands wrapped almost, but not quite possessively around her tiny waist.

“Hey, ladies.”

“Hey, boys,” Yukio drawled, drawing out the game a little longer. Their eyes were drawn to Yukio’s lips, which were suggestively close to Ororo’s ear as she watched them from above her taller friend’s shoulder. Ororo repressed a tiny, curious shiver at the steam from Yukio’s lips against that ticklish spot, left so vulnerable by here bare little haircut. She watched the two men lightly elbow each other. Ororo giggled. Again. She still felt Yukio swaying behind her, and she swayed along.

“Saw you two dancing out here by yourselves.”

“We thought we were dancing with each other,” Yukio reminded him gently. “Kinda figured you saw us, too. Explains why you came out here.”

“Those drinks that you were sipping came from me and my friend here. Thought it might break the ice.” Yukio almost wanted to laugh as his friend drifted behind her, moving to the music and adapting to her rhythm. You think you’re slick…

“You thought so, huh?”

“Uh-huh.” His tone was confident. His cologne smelled expensive and overwhelmed Ororo’s senses. He flicked his eyes over Ororo, resting longer than they needed to on her smooth and creamy cleavage. “Thought it might give us the chance to get a little more friendly.”

“See, Yukio? They’re friendly,” Ororo reassured her, craning her head around to glance into her face. Her smile was bleary enough at first glance, but Yukio felt Ororo’s muscles tense with anticipation and something akin to caution.

“Real friendly.” Yukio almost laughed as she felt herself being pulled from Ororo from behind. Her would-be dance partner was insistent, all right, and slightly taller than her five feet, nine inches. Yukio let him think he had the upper hand for a moment, shooting Ororo an “aw shucks, he’s got me now!” look in her direction when Ororo turned to face her. The cool air hit her back and she felt bereft of Yukio’s sheltering presence there.

She was a few sheets less to the wind, after all…

“Looks like my friend’s keep your friend entertained for now. Care to dance, beautiful?”

“I’m a bit…tired.” It wasn’t a complete lie. Ororo’s feet ached from the cruel leather boots and the beating she’d given her feet on the hardwood floor. The vodka and tequila weren’t anesthetizing the discomfort by any stretch.

“You didn’t look tired a minute ago.” Ororo felt her wrist cuffed his firm grip as he pulled her closer to him, wanting a better look at those captivating eyes and saucy mouth. Her feet chose that time to betray her, losing all of their nimble coordination and gait as he hauled her close. Ororo felt the faint bulge of something firm pressed against her stomach and shuddered. Bright Lady, surely he doesn’t mean to…?

“You DARE?” Ororo savagely twisted her wrist lose, competently breaking his hold the way a certain cocky, compact Canadian friend of hers showed her to once. Yukio paused in telling her own dance partner that yes, she did think her girlfriend was getting lonely, even in the company of his idiot friend, when felt static surround her, making the hairs on her arm stand up and whistling over her nape.

“Shit,” she muttered. The music still blared, and it almost felt surreal to Yukio that no one else save her, Ororo’s prospective beau and his companion noticed that the weather witch’s eyes were glowing an eerie, bone-chilling white.

“Holy crap!!! You’re one of those ““ A large hand clapped over his shoulder and jerked him back, spinning him around to face the scariest pair of dark brown eyes he’d ever seen, hooded by scowling, thick brows. His breath lodged in his throat along with a huge lump of unadulterated fear as his collar was fisted in an unbreakable grip. Hard lips thinned into a snarl and pulled back from teeth that gleamed a startling white in the strobe lights, revealing the feral snags of his slightly elongated canine teeth.

“Think ya were just sayin’ she’s one of those women who’s way outta yer league, right, Twinkle-Toes?” Sweat broke out on his forehead as he watched Logan in disbelief, scarcely crediting his eyes with the sight of one long, gleaming metal claw breaking the surface of bronzed skin.

“P-please, I-I j-just bought her a d-drink, it was just…”

“And ya were just tellin’ her no hard feelins’ if she didn’t wanna dance anymore, am I right?” Casually Logan used his claw to pick a random speck of something from between his teeth and sucking them thoughtfully, never letting his eyes drop.

“Butt out, old man! Just mind your business!” Yukio’s suitor lost interest in her and released her, to her relief. She was getting bored with his tired lines and deluge of cologne.

“The lady is my business, dumb ass!”

“I can handle this, Logan.”

“I know ya can, sweetheart.” Ororo was given little opportunity to prove it as she felt herself shoved out of the way by Yukio’s companion. He reached for Logan, fists swinging. Ororo tripped over her high-heeled boots and was carried by the momentum. She fell face-down with an ungraceful splat on the floor. “WHOOOMPPH!”

“Oh, that tore it!” Yukio yanked him back by the scruff of the neck and jabbed her stiffened fingers into his sternum. She grinned with malice at his grunt of pain as Logan tipped back his Stetson and head-butted the grabby punk with little remorse, enjoying the faint crack of bone colliding with adamantium. The second man recovered and snarled at Yukio, practically spitting “BITCH!”

“Oh, that’s nice.” She backhanded him to prove her point, then tangled her fingers in his overgelled hair and drove his face into her raised kneecap. Unfortunately, that got the bouncer’s attention. He looked large, unhappy, and wore an expression that shouted “I knew you two crazy hussies were trouble.” Logan quietly retracted his claw and shoved the punk aside like a boy throwing down a truck he didn’t want to play with anymore. Yukio hunkered down next to Ororo and whispered “You okay?”

“I’m okay,” she slurred. “Oh, look, ‘Kio, now th-there’s two of you again, so I can dance with you, an’ you can dance with Logan, and no worries…” Ororo reached up and patted Yukio’s cheek warmly. “Hullo, Logan.”

Logan’s expression was thunderous.

“Yukio?” Yukio winced at Ororo’s breath as she pulled her close to whisper, not realizing she sounded loud enough to be heard above the music.

“Yeah, Storm?”

“Are we in trouble?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Oh. Okay.” With that, Ororo’s eyes rolled back in her head and she gratefully passed out. Logan eyed them both, particularly the faint hint of a smile curling Ororo’s slack lips, then shook his head.

*****
Something beneath Ororo’s cheek felt firm and solid, and smelled like Tide. She was moving slowly, her body being shifted and buoyed along with the rolling, jaunty gait of whoever was carrying her. The winds rose, feathering her hair and making her scalp tingle.

“Don’t think we’ll be welcome in there anymore, somehow.”

“Ya think?” The growling, raspy bass held the faint burr of a Canadian accent that Ororo enjoyed so much whenever they talked.

“Mmmmmnnnhhh…”

“Roro?” Ororo thought she heard Logan murmuring to her. No. Of course not. She sighed and buried her face in the clean-smelling, soft chambray cotton against her cheek.

“Shoulda warned me she couldn’t hold her liquor.”

“Would ya have listened ta me?”

“Nope.” A pause. “She sure as hell had a good time, though. Never knew she had it in her,” Yukio admitted.

“Hnnnh.” Logan gently shifted Ororo in his arms. For such a tall woman, she weighed surprisingly little, but for the moment she was still a dead weight. “Yeah. Neither did I.”

“How’d a guy like you fall in with these uptight mooks, anyway?”

“Chuck asked me ta join, an’ made me a better offer than what I was doin’ at the time.” Logan eyed her carefully. “Maybe even better’n what yer doin,’ sweet cheeks.”

“What I do doesn’t concern you anymore, does it? You made your choice. Concern yourself with your uptight friends and play house with your little doll.”

SNIKT…

“Go ahead and push me. Just a little further. Ya always brag about how ya don’t fear death. I can put Ororo here down nice and easy, and ya can put yer money where yer smart mouth is, missy.”

“And here I thought you didn’t believe in foreplay. Liar,” she hissed. Ororo thought she heard a faint jingling sound beneath the faint buzzing in her head as Yukio fumbled in her jacket pocket for her house keys.
*****


Back at the night club:

“Pan left. Now zoom in. Closer. Get a better detail on those two. They came in after happy hour.” The technician obeyed the terse command and adjusted the video camera playback feed, leaning in toward the monitor. He cleared his throat against the stench of the unfiltered cigarette throwing random curls of smoke into the tight interior of the security booth upstairs.

“Would you mind smoking that else-“

“Yes. I would.” Her tone brooked no argument. The technician sighed and continued to review the footage.

“That’s it. Sharpen that a little.” Her green eyes narrowed shrewdly as the two women came into focus. The corner of her mouth quirked up faintly at the image of the taller of the two, dark-skinned and skimpily attired. The hair was…flamboyant, to say the least, but Viper would recognize Storm anywhere. Her face was emblazoned in her memory from the day that she knocked her senseless with one gust of wind and then proceeded to electrocute her paramour half to death with her damned lightening.

Viper relished the prospect of making her pay. Pity that she had shaved off all of that hair. It deprived her of ripping it out by the roots one excruciating inch at a time when she inevitably hunted her down.

She picked up the slim black cordless phone and dialed in the number. Kenuichio’s voice rumbled at the other end of the line, and she smiled.

“We found them.”


Inside Yukio’s apartment:

“Least ya owe me is a beer.”

“Why? No asked you to interfere.”

“Ya got us kicked out before I could finish my whiskey. Ya don’t come between a man an’ his whiskey.” Logan yanked open her refrigerator and wrinkled his nose. “Fuckin’ pansy-assed light beer!” he sneered, but popped one can loose from the six-pack anyway.

“Why’re you still here?”

“I’m stickin’ around ta take care of ‘Roro. In case ya hadn’t noticed, she ain’t in the best of shape. How much did ya let her drink, anyway?”

“The day anyone ‘lets’ that woman do anything is the day I settle down and become a nun. I just paid for every other shot. Storm drank ‘em by herself. Pretty damn thirsty, too.” Yukio flopped onto her couch and tugged off her high-heeled boots. “Don’t you guys ever take her anywhere?”

“Watch yer mouth.” Logan sank into the recliner and flipped the lever, elevating his feet. He clicked on the modest color TV with the remote and surfed for a decent late-night movie. The news caught his eye instead:

“…local police still have no clues as to the whereabouts of the arsonist that set fire to the fireworks factory warehouse two weeks ago, resulting in several thousand dollars of damage to the surrounding neighborhood…”

“Great,” Logan muttered. He suddenly felt grateful that Ororo was snoozing peacefully back in Yukio’s bedroom. Logan had shucked off her boots and vest, then covered her with the light comforter, pulling it up to her chin. He turned out the overhead light and studied her in the now moonlit room, still incredulous at what he’d seen before. Ororo, dancing and so carefree, not to mention overtly, startlingly sensual that he couldn’t take his eyes off of her. It didn’t make sense.

It was Ororo, for God’s sake.

Still…the moon picked out glints of silver in her plume of silky white hair and heightened the crowns of her cheekbones, making her skin look smooth as water. Ridiculously long eyelashes kissed her cheeks, and Ororo moaned softly, with that same silly hint of a smile on her lips as she slept. Logan smothered an exasperated sigh, then smiled in spite of himself.

She was cute when she slept. Even if she was drunk as a skunk.

Logan knelt by the bed, knowing he should go ahead and let her rest, but something in him wanted to stay and make sure she was safe. He leaned over and lightly stroked a limp lock of hair from her forehead with his fingertips. Ororo moaned again, her voice deep and drowsy. “Nnnnngggh. Sleepy.” She leaned into his touch, then unconsciously reached for him, gripping his forearm to hold him immobile. The pulse in his wrist leapt at her gentle touch, and her thumb stroked his warm skin, light as a butterfly wing.

Heat shot into his stomach, and all of his nerve endings woke up. Her touch was gentle. That was Ororo all over; she was always that gentle. When she tended her plants, dressed a wound, or braided Kitty’s hair, those hands of hers were always graceful and painstakingly tender. Something in him was relieved that her drastic change in appearance these last few days hadn’t changed that, because he’d sure as hell been worried.

Now he was more worried about the effect she was having on him that was certainly more subtle than the one she had when she and Yukio were playing their little game earlier. Once one of his senses was stimulated, all of them went on full alert. Logan’s nostrils twitched as he inhaled the scent of her skin, sleep-warmed and smelling of sandalwood, and that sweet little tea rose smell that was so her. He listened to her slumberous breathing, then strained to hear the smooth, even cadence of her pulse. Her heartbeat. Her face was relaxed and free of the tension and sadness that haunted her eyes during the engagement party. And her lips were ripe and plump, and to his delight, pillowy soft as he stroked the bottom one with his fingertip.

Something irresistible and undeniable drew him down to her, and Logan gave in to it, lightly brushing his mouth over hers.

One little goodnight kiss, then he was off.

That had been the plan. The best laid plans have a way of going awry, as is often the case when the kissee tastes like sunshine and honey and lemon drop martinis and has velvety soft lips.

“Mmmmmmmm. Mm-hmmm.’ Ororo nodded in her sleep, almost coaxing him to return when he parted from her, and Logan dipped his head to take another taste. It was even better than the first as he nibbled and sipped up her flavors, slowly deepening the kiss as the beast inside him roared in triumph; Ororo’s fingers had released his arm and crept up to curl themselves in his thick waves of hair. His tongue probed her mouth, stroking hers with velvety heat.

That’s when the realization hit him: He was taking advantage of his best friend. While she was passed out drunk. Reluctantly, yet urgently, Logan broke the kiss and pried her hand from his face, gently laying it down over the covers. Ororo’s eyes fluttered open, glancing at him quizzically.

“Logan?” There was nothing accusing in her tone. Just curiosity, and more concern than he deserved. Guilt washed over him in bitter, stagnant waves.

“Go back t’bed, darlin’,” he husked, rising unsteadily to his feet. “G’night.” He almost didn’t hear her low reply.

“G’night, Logan.” The door clicked shut behind him.

And that was how he ended up out here, playing twenty questions with his ex. The worst part of it was, he felt like a bonafide sonofabitch for kissing Ororo when she was helpless like that, but he’d ignored the even bigger sin that he’d committed, namely kissing any woman who wasn’t Mariko. His love. His soul.

Logan sighed as he took another sip of the wussy light beer. “Ya don’t have anything else?”

“Hey, you didn’t ask.”

“Nice. Very nice. Holdin’ out on the guy that escorted you two crazy broads home.”

“Eh.” Yukio rummaged in the cabinets for two shot glasses and curled the bottle of Jack Daniels up in her arm, hugging it to her chest as she sat by the coffee table on the floor. She poured two shots and handed Logan one, saluting him “To old friends and lost loves.” Logan winced, scowling at her before he raised his glass back and downed it in one gulp. The whiskey burned his eyes before the mellow glow spread across his chest. Yeeeaahh, that was it. Just what the doctor ordered.

“M’iko ain’t lost ta me yet.”

“You’re lying if you believe that. She was lost the moment you killed her father.”

“God knows what would’ve happened if I hadn’t killed that miserable sonofabitch. I was protectin’ her. I still am.”

“Hard to do that when you’re huddled up here, Patch.”

“I’ve been watchdoggin’ her doorstep from the moment that she left the altar.” Logan held out his glass for another drink; Yukio’s was bleary and sleepy as she poured, spilling a few droplets over the rim. She laughed at that and the random clutter of her living room. Discarded shoes and jackets littered the loveseat and floor. Nothing like cleaning up after an impromptu sleepover.

“I won’t tell you how I feel about that.”

“Good.”

“You aren’t the teensiest bit curious?”

“Not when I need a place ta crash tonight.” And a place to keep an eye on Ororo through the night.

“Logan?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s Ororo’s story, anyway? Why’s she got such a thing about not wanting to kill? You’d think in your line of work she’d have no problem with it.” Yukio stared into her glass and considered refilling it, then thought better of it.

“Our line of work ain’t killin,’ darlin’, it’s savin’ people. Fighting the bad guys. Protecting mutant rights, truth, justice, the American way, apple pie and all that crap. Killin’ ain’t supposed ta be in the job description.”

“She threw a hissy fit over frying that Silver jackass.”

“That ain’t her way.” Logan contemplated this and frowned. The evening news became less interesting, and he turned the volume down. “We were gone for a while. When we got back, things were harder for her. Ya know how her powers work, right?”

“Yeah. She mentioned a few things when she came to stay with me. Said something about her moods affecting the weather.”

“Yep.” Logan sipped his drink. “And the weather affects her. When something ain’t right with the world, it hits her hard. Something happened when we were gone, and it ain’t fixed itself since. Ororo’s lost touch.”

“When you were gone? Where? And lost touch with what?”

“The earth. We were gone, and when we got back, her whole connection to the planet shut down, even went haywire.”

“Waitaminnit…back it up, Patch. You were gone from the earth? As in space? Doing what?”

“Destroying giant, parasitic killer insects that wanted to take over the universe.” He looked long and searchingly into her face. She made a noise of disgust and flipped him the bird. “S’true.”

“Fine, don’t tell me, then. So, she loses her connection to the earth, then what?”

“She can still use her power, but it’s not the same. No more fine control. A woman who can make a hurricane with a wave of her hand needs that fine control and can’t afford ta crack up.”

“So living a repressed, miserable little life of a mouse is supposed to fix the problem? She gets to hide her light under a bushel?”

“Ya shouldn’t be pushing her so much, little ronin.” Logan set his glass on the tiny chrome-legged side table. “Ya think yer just havin’ fun with her, but she ain’t a plaything.”

“What’s the matter, Logan?” Yukio’s smile wasn’t so bleary now. Her eyes glittered at him. “Jealous?”

“Yer outta yer-“

“Deny it.” Yukio put the bottle of whiskey back in the cupboard. Logan watched her lithe retreating back, impressed with how well she’d maintained herself over the years. Her leather pants and corset fit her like a glove and flowed lovingly over her curves. Logan sighed and picked at a loose thread in the upholstery of the recliner, trying to ignore the tightness in his crotch. “I think you’re afraid, Patch. You’re afraid I’ll convince her to ditch your sorry little school and finally live life without so many stupid rules or being afraid of it.” Her expression was still casual, even mocking. Logan still heard the edge in her voice and smelled the building wave of resentment in her pheromones.

“I’m jealous,” he deadpanned.

“Yup.”

“Of you.”

“Nope. Of what I have to offer to Ororo.”

“What exactly do ya think ya hafta offer her, besides gettin’ kicked outta nightclubs, a life of crime, and a doozy of a hangover?”

“Someone sounds defensive.”

“Someone just asked ya a pretty valid question. Whaddya want with Ororo?”

“Maybe more than I ever wanted from you.” Logan’s eyes widened.

“What?”

“The X-Men’s name isn’t written on her, and neither is yours. I want her to be my partner.”

“In crime? Burglaries? As an assassin?”

“Among other things. If she’ll have me.” Yukio counted few enough people in her life as friends. Even having the lively, clever weather witch in that capacity would be enough. But Logan had taken the bait.

“Why ‘Roro?”

“Why not?” Logan struggled to come up with an answer. A really good one. He found none, but plundered on anyway.

“Because she’s too good for that kind of life.” And she’s never indicated that women were her thing, even cute and crazy ones like you.

“You mean too good for me.” Now her smile was gone.

“That, too.”

“Screw you.”

“We’ve already been down that road, darlin’.” He was standing now in his bare feet, boots leaning against the frame of the front door as though waiting for him to step into them and go. His throat suddenly felt tight, and guilt started to creep up the back of his neck for the second time that night. “Shit…Yukio, don’t…I didn’t…”

“Yeah, you did. It always comes down to this, Logan-sama. I can’t compare to your precious little M’iko.” Her eyes shone with something like regret before she looked away. Firm, callused fingers captured her jaw and forced her to look at him.

“Maybe I never wanted ta compare ya.”

“Could’ve fooled me. And maybe I don’t want to settle for being second best.” She was still beautiful, her features and slender body looking deceptively delicate but hiding a crafty mind and heart of a thief.

“Nah. Ya shouldn’t. Still doesn’t mean I’ll let ya try ta finesse Ororo away from her life, though. Not without a fight.” Logan felt the same little twisting feeling stirring in his gut that he always had when they crossed paths. He feathered the sensitive corner of her mouth with his thumb. “Ya’ve got yer moments. Never woulda worked between us, ronin.”

“Duh.” She clutched his wrist and let her other hand drift over his smooth muscles, palming his heartbeat. “She’s not spoken for, Logan-sama.” Logan resolved to feel no guilt for this particular kiss as his lips met hers, and she made a small, hungry sound in her throat. It was intimate, familiar, and noncommittal. It ended too soon.

WHAP! Yukio’s hand stung from the brisk slap. Logan raised his fingers numbly to his reddened cheek and his mouth twisted as he stared her down.

“I don’t recall you drinking any tequila, or a lemon drop martini when we met up earlier, Patch,” Yukio hissed, wiping the back of her hand over her mouth. “It’s one thing to come to me and say another woman’s name, Logan.” She reached for the remote and turned off the TV, chucking it onto the recliner. “It’s another one entirely to come to me tasting like her.”

“Now who’s jealous?”

“FUCK YOU.” Logan heard the room to the guest bedroom slam shut behind her and stood there alone in the dark. He fumbled with the pocket of his discarded corduroy jacket and found his cigar and Zippo. “Ororo can make up her own mind. And I won’t be your consolation prize.”

No, darlin’. Ya wanna be the competition. Even though Logan wasn’t playing the game.

He thought he’d stopped playing games when Mariko said yes. Plain and simple. Boy meets girl, boy loves girl, boy marries girl and lives happily ever after. In that scenario, girl didn’t kick boy’s testicles into his chest cavity in front of the only friends and family that he ever had…

Logan quietly slid open the patio door and let himself outside, drinking in the cool night air. He rolled up the sleeves of his chambray shirt and unbuttoned it to expose more of his skin to the breeze. Logan stripped the label from the cigar and trimmed it, letting it flutter away. He’d been feeling that way, too. Like something someone used up and cast away.

Logan flicked on his Zippo and lit his smoke, sucking it into his chest as he mulled what went wrong. The night had started well enough. The ashes began to drop onto the pristine concrete of Yukio’s well-swept stoop, soiling it. Logan ground them beneath his toe, spreading them in dark smears. He contemplated the whiskey bottle tucked safely in Yukio’s cupboard. She was pissed at him, sure; he still doubted she was drinking anything else for the night, high tolerance or not. Logan brought out the bottle and ignored the glass, drinking long draughts that even his healing factor began to have a hard time keeping up with. The buzz was always too short-lived.

Minutes stretched into hours as the stars twinkled at him. Logan had ignored the rolling clouds for a while until he smelled the scent of ozone, heavy and surprisingly sharp. He looked up to see that the stars had grown considerably dimmer, obscured by the clouds, even blocking out most of the moon. The first drop hit Logan on the bridge of his nose, making him blink.

The thunder rumbled beneath his feet, shocking him in light of how high above the ground Yukio’s apartment was. They were only a couple of floors below the penthouse, but he still felt the barely restrained fury of Mother Nature stretching her wings. Storms didn’t usually whip up this fast, unless…

“Ororo…” Logan tossed aside his cigar stub and stumbled back in through the patio doors, bolting down the hall to Yukio’s room. His moment of gratitude that Yukio wasn’t occupying the same space, or the same bed, strangely comforted him; there weren’t two heads taking up space on the pillows.

But when he flicked on the lamp, Ororo wasn’t there, either.

Logan’s stomach clenched as wretched-sounding, rasping gurgle cut across his thoughts and shattered the silence in the tiny apartment.

Sounded like someone was worshipping the porcelain gods…Logan heaved a gusty sigh.

“Yukio?” He cringed as Ororo heaved again. Logan cursed his enhanced hearing first, followed shortly by his sense of smell. The fumes reached him, even through the closed door. Then again, in his lifetime, he’d smelled worse. At times, hell, even he smelled worse. Logan hovered by Yukio’s spare room door and nudged it open a crack.

ZZZZZZzzzzzzzz…

Friggin’ perfect…

Logan sighed again and gently swung the creaky bathroom door open. The unbridled aroma assailed his nostrils, but the worst thing that hit him was the look in Ororo’s eyes as she peered up at him from where her forehead was resting on the toilet seat. Her skirt was rucked up, barely uncovering the edge of her panties and exposing the garter clips of her fishnets.

“Whoa…” Logan reined in any lengthy commentary he could have made, deciding to save the lecture “ and he was planning on giving her one “ for when she was cleaned up and less fragrant. Her blue eyes were red-rimmed and watery as she pleaded with him.

“Logan? Can…can you make…the room stop…spinning?”

“My pleasure, darlin’, I’ll do my best.” Logan reached for the neatly folded washcloth hanging from the towel rack and ran it under the faucet, letting the water stay cold. Ororo shut her eyes on a pained grimace, and Logan fought against the feelings of sympathy. What the hell, a little lecturing now wouldn’t hurt. He wrung out the cloth and folded it, laying it over Ororo’s nape. She jerked at the press of cool moisture on her neck, then relaxed her shoulder muscles in relief. It didn’t last.

Logan leaned over and flushed the toilet, and the faint backsplash of droplets, coupled with the sudden, raucous whooshing noise, startled her and made her jerk backwards, plowing directly into Logan’s kneecaps.

“OOOWWWWWHH…”

“Gads…yer gonna make me carry ya again, aren’tcha?” Ororo peered up at him through her splayed fingers.

“…could you?” His smirk was almost devilish as he gently hoisted her up beneath her armpits to stand against him. She groaned again, exhaling fumes more noxious than a tiny holding cell he remembered being interred at in Madripoor once, this time at nose level, but Logan steeled himself and lifted her into his arms.

“Upsa-daisy, Boss.”

“Mmph. Used to…be…goddess. Did I tell you that, W-Wolverine?”

“Yep.” Logan headed to Yukio’s master bedroom and decided against turning on the light, since he didn’t really need it anyway. He was surprised to hear a steady drum of rain, coming down with so much force the sound reverberated through the windows. “That yer doing, kid?”

“Unngh.”

“Can I take that as a yes?”

“Had a dream…”

“Bad one?” Logan avoided taking liberties as best as he could and unhooked the clasp of her skirt, unzipping it and surveying it for stains. No spatters. Good. He liked that skirt and was glad nothing happened to it. The skirt’s owner was a different story…

“Th’ worst.” Ororo’s eyes were closed as Logan tried to shuck her clothes from her without jarring her, but her brows drew together in distress.

“Sorry ta hear ‘bout that. Explains that storm ya whipped up, though. Logan tugged at her garter belt, lifting the hook to better inspect it, then carefully unlatched it, letting it spring open. Ororo’s belly was flat, toned and brown, with faint impressions from the lace-covered elastic marring its smoothness, but otherwise, it was perfect. He tried to convince himself he didn’t give a damn, she was his friend. His team leader. A bossy, nosey frail. Sure don’t sound too convincing, bub. He peeled away the stockings and rolled them into a tidy ball, laying them atop her skirt. Logan considered her top for a moment, then drew his hands away from her. Strapless. Snug. That meant nothing underneath, which meant that he could consider his job done.

Ororo’s stomach had other ideas.

“HUUUUGGGGHRRRKLLL!” Ororo bolted upright, hands clapped over her mouth as she practically steamrolled Logan in her haste to return to the bathroom.

“GAAAH!” Missed him by that much, holy crap…but there was that stench again, just when the air had begun to clear. He needn’t have worried about Ororo’s bustier.

When he followed her back to the bathroom, he discovered that it was thoroughly ruined. “Dang, darlin’.” This time she shivered against the cool floor tiles, spent.

“Logan…if you’ve ever liked me at all, even a little…take me outside. I need…I need air.”

“Still rainin’ out there, unless ya wanna…”

“No.” Her voice was stiff but determined. “Take me. Now.” She gulped down a sob, and Logan bent to swab her face again with the cloth. He picked her up again in one easy swoop, clicking off the light switch with his elbow and heading back to the patio.

“Wanna robe?”

“Nnh-nh.” She shook her head. “Won’t need it. Gonna…take a shower.” Her meaning suddenly occurred to him, and Logan eyed the thunderclouds and pounding rain ominously as he opened the slider.

“But the bathroom…”

“My way.” She wriggled in his strong grip until he loosened her legs; she stepped gingerly onto the paved flagstones and stood on her own, unsteadily at first, but she fought his hands, stubborn as ever as she crossed to the rail. She leaned against it and let the rain give her a thorough soaking, gasping in the cool night air in hungry breaths. Logan watched her in awe. She was just elemental like this. Natural. Fierce. It might have been the whiskey that had a hold of his common sense, but Logan didn’t question the wisdom of letting a drunken weather goddess lean half-dressed over a metal railing during a thunderstorm, ten stories up. He just watched her and waited for the right moment to speak. She beat him to it.

“You had me worried this week, Logan.” He almost couldn’t believe his ears. “Very, very worried. You just left. No note, no calls. If my hair weren’t already white, then it would’ve turned gray.”

“Sorry about that, Boss.” Why was he apologizing? Who was supposed to be lecturing who?

“Logan…what happened at your wedding…”

“I know,” he grated out.

“It…hurt.”

“Yeah.” He turned away from her and leaned his palms against the patio door, closing his eyes.

“It hurt, to watch you. Hurting.” She turned to face him, her plume of hair no longer bobbing, instead slicked down against her scalp, but taking nothing from her appeal. “Your eyes, Logan…I couldn’t look into your eyes. So much pain there.” Her leather bodice was beyond salvaging now as the rain studded it hopelessly, but washed away the worst of Ororo’s indulgences. Logan heard her sniffle, and felt the winds pick up.

“Hey, ‘Ro…you okay?” His voice was shaky as he stood away from the slider and faced her.

“What happened hurt you. On the happiest day of your life. It was taken from you.” Against his better judgment, Logan edged himself closer, looking into her eyes, which glowed with intensity as lightning crackled overhead, illuminating the patio. The flashing light threw Ororo’s curves and shining skin into stark relief. “You loved her. She loved you.”

“I thought so. I believed it, for a while.” But the stabbing ache in his chest lingered, like sour milk. Ororo stepped away from the railing and slowly walked to him, hand outstretched. He didn’t turn her away when she grasped his hand and pulled him to her, wrapping him in an embrace that could only be called bittersweet. Logan almost never cried. So Ororo opened up the skies and let them, and herself, cry for him as she held him.

“You’re worthy. You’re worthy, Logan. Always. Worthy.” She whispered it like a litany into his dampening hair. It tore at him, both his need to believe her and to quit blaming himself, coupled with the fierce longing for her closeness. Her openness. Her goodness.

“Tell me about that dream, ‘Ro.”

Logan felt her body jerk for a moment, then almost smiled when he heard her self-deprecating chuckle. “It’s the least I owe you.” Ororo tugged Logan back to the railing, and they looked out at the city scape together, holding hands as they’d done so many times before. Harnessing her concentration, Ororo began to slowly tame the storm, slowing the winds until they no longer howled. Logan was soaked to the skin, but he was still numb from the last of his buzz.

“In my dream, all I could see was her eyes. I saw her pupils dilate, and saw myself in them as she saw me. Savage. Willing to kill.”

“Whose eyes, ‘Roro?”

“Cal’s. Callisto. She lives underground.” Ororo heaved a gusty sigh and tightened her grip on his hand. “She kidnapped Warren in the middle of the night. She’d maimed him. She cut off his feathers to keep him from flying away.” Her voice turned bitter. “I couldn’t bear it, Logan. She tried to cripple that bright, beautiful creature so she could selfishly keep him for herself. Don’t you see? If I…if I couldn’t ride the winds, Logan, I couldn’t live. And she tried to take that away from him. It made me want to go bloody.”

“I bet.”

“Then Kitty…got sick, an-and sh-she would have died. She would have let innocent, sweet child perish out of pride. For control. It was all about control.” Her voice hardened. “I don’t kill for control, Logan. But she forced my hand. I was goddess of my own people, Logan. I swore not to hate. I swore not to kill. And she took that away from me. And all I can see in my mind’s eye, and when I sleep at night are her horrid, hateful, hollow eyes. Right after I stabbed her in her cruel, black heart.”

“Is that what this is all about? This new look, this new hardness, ‘Ro?”

“That’s only a small part of it. Out in space, Logan…I died. I allowed myself to perish, and I took the life inside of my body with me. I nearly killed the Samurai. I didn’t mean it. My lightning just flew out from my hand, and it felt so good to release it! To let it all go, even though I could hear him screaming, Logan! I hear his screams, and see her eyes, and I hate… myself…” Her voice had reached a hysterical fever pitch but broke off as she collapsed against him, covering her face with her fists. “I can’t live with killing. I can’t bear the day, if it comes…that I can’t stop. That I won’t want to.”

“Ororo, listen ta me. Killing’s not you. That’s never been you. They call you Wind-Rider, and a goddess fer a pretty good damned reason. You bring life. You nurture it. You ease the land. You comfort the people and every creature that walks this friggin’ earth. That’s a big job fer one woman. That’s the way ya were made from the very beginning. Killing’s not in yer blood. It doesn’t whisper in yer ear. It doesn’t drive ya to the edge every waking moment and turn ya into an animal.” He emphasized the last word harshly, leaving Ororo no doubt who he was talking about. “Any time ya’ve ever raised yer hand in violence, cutie pie, it’s been ta save someone’s skin. That’s a testament ta how much ya sacrifice of yerself with every breath.” She moaned in protest, shaking her head against his shoulder. “You do, ‘Ro,” he argued.

“Ororo…I know Yukio talks a big game. Makes losing a little control sound pretty tempting. Maybe she even makes it sound fun. What ya need ta take away from this is that even you can’t keep everything bottled up. Ya need ta feel. And ya need ta quit actin’ like it’s wrong ta feel what’s in yer heart, even when it ain’t something ya wanna accept.”

“Ohhhh.” She sniffled loudly and drew back from him. “This has really got to stop. You’ve done nothing but pick me up off the ground since you laid eyes on me tonight.” Her cool mask was back place, and Logan smoothed a lock of hair that had plastered itself over her eye.

“That service don’t come without a price, darlin’. We’ve really gotta talk about this new drinking habit of yers. You’ve barely gotten yer lips wet with the occasional sip of wine since I’ve known ya, so it’s no wonder Yukio drank ya under the table.”

“I suppose you’re about to offer me your sage advice.”

“Yep. Ya had this comin’ once I scraped ya off the floor and carried ya home.” Logan tugged her over to the dripping chaise lounge and sat down, leaning back and tugging her onto his lap. She laid back against his chest, snuggling up as she reduced the rain to the merest mist and warmed the air.

“Rule number one: No mixing. That’s just askin’ fer trouble. Rule number two: Never forget Rule Number One. Rule Number Three…”

The sunrise found them two hours later in a peaceful, dreamless sleep. Yukio’s bellow woke them after she staggered into the bathroom and was greeted by the stench. Logan smiled.





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