Voices, all raised in agitation, reached his ears and his steps quickened to a jog. Rounding the corner Logan caught the scent of rising tension and the distinct tang of fear.
Ororo‘s voice cut sharply, “--Not to mention clearly delusional, Mr. Johansson if you think for one minute that Jimmy is leaving this school!” The bringer of storms stood in the center of the foyer, the boy in question behind her back, one arm hugging him to her as she glowered at the men standing just inside the entryway. Her posture was straight, not giving one inch, almost hard, but Logan saw her fingers gently squeeze Jimmy’s arm, soothing him. She was flanked by Henry, Kitty, Bobby and Peter. Each and everyone of them stood much as they did that fateful night on Alcatraz. United. A swell of pride and love rose within Logan, something that at one time would have felt completely foreign and unwanted, but now towed with it the fierce desire to protect what was his.
“You have no choice,” one of the men said, snapping Logan’s attention back to the intruders. The man speaking, Mr. Johansson apparently, was dressed in a grey pinstriped yuppy suit, neatly pressed and tidy, complete with thick black framed glasses, but the build beneath the tailored fabric and the manner in which he held himself, screamed of a man far more comfortable with violence than one with currying messages. He was flanked by two other men, each in suits, each with the same stone-cold looks upon their faces. These were not people who were going to be moved by an emotional entreaty. As if to punctuate that thought, Johansson spoke again.
“McCoy, it would behoove you to explain to your friend here what will happen if we have to resort to forcibly removing the boy.”
Ororo’s eyes hardened, their warm molasses gone nearly black, as if she dared any of them to try it. Restating her position and annoyed at the callous way the man referred to her charge, Ororo snapped, “Jimmy stays here.”
Logan, for his part, was not liking one damn bit the open animosity he scented coming from the men. He stalked the remaining distance to the group, careful to remain a few feet from where Ororo stood with Jimmy, his eyes watching every twitch the men made. His hands balled into fists, knuckles already itching.
“We have provided all of the legal documentation to Mr. McCoy, Ms. Munroe. He can verify that we have every right to remove the child. Given this school’s reputation we have also been allowed the liberty to retrieve the child by any means deemed fit.” There was no mistaking the threat.
Jimmy shuffled closer to Ororo, a tremble running through his small frame. “Storm…”
Ororo took a moment to compose herself before she turned and sent him a gentle smile over her shoulder. “It’ll be okay,” she whispered. She lifted her eyes to Logan and in their dark depths he saw her doubt. Ororo was afraid, and that did not sit well with him--not one bit.
“On what grounds is he being removed?” she demanded, retuning her attention to the men at the door. “This is a safe haven for mutants, surely you cannot presume you offer a better facility.”
“Not at all. In fact, you answered your own question. This is a safe haven for mutants and that child poses a threat to those around him here.” He pointed an accusatory finger at Jimmy. “He is to be removed for the continued well being of your other students. Surely you can’t think to put one child above all others.” There was a smug arrogance in the man’s tone.
Ororo snorted disdainfully. “Jimmy is no threat to anyone.”
Mr. Johansson actually smiled. “Wolverine, why not come stand beside your Headmistress and her young companion.”
Ororo winced imperceptibly as she was neatly routed into a corner. It was a request they somehow knew couldn’t be complied with. She shook her head and held up a pausing hand when Logan, despite the danger to himself, stepped forward.
Mr. Johansson‘s smile widened to a grin. “I didn’t think so. Now release the boy.”
She looked at Henry helplessly, her mouth going dry.
“Step in anytime here, Furball, and toss some of that UN weight around.” Logan prompted, his anger rising.
Henry adjusted his spectacles between thumb and forefinger, giving Ororo an apologetic look. He spoke reluctantly, obviously not wanting to deliver the news he had to. “I’m afraid the documentation is very thorough…and very legal.”
“This is such bullshit!” Kitty exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. She huffed a deep breath, obviously fighting back tears of frustration. Peter lay a broad hand on her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.
Ororo was not about to give Jimmy up. She didn’t care if she was served a decree by God himself, Jimmy was not leaving…at least not alone. Without looking at Logan she stated, “I’m going with him.”
Logan’s head snapped around, his eyes narrowed on her averted face.
“I’m afraid that’s not possible.” Johansson rebuffed, completely unapologetic. “Given your extreme bias in this situation--”
“Extreme bias?” Ororo cut in, irked at the smooth smile the man bestowed upon her, as if it gave him great pleasure to thwart her.
Johansson continued as though she had not spoken. “It was deemed in the boys best interest to appoint a Guardian ad Litem that held no such bias, therefore; Bolivar Trask will be the child’s caretaker and make the decisions that best reflect the interests of the child.”
Visibly furious, Ororo opened her mouth, then closed it again, completely at a loss for the words to vent her frustration. She shook her head, anger welling up inside with such force she was thankful that Jimmy was buffering her powers, lest the mansion be torn up from the ground by an F5 tornado. Like that asshole Bolivar Trask had no bias when it came to Jimmy, or mutants in general, she thought viciously.
Flatly, her voice far more calm than she felt, Ororo said, “Lies.”
Johansson met her eyes and in them saw her resolve. This was a woman that would face the worst they could throw at her and keep coming. Inside he felt an excited tingle of anticipation; knowing the worst was yet to come, and he was suddenly eager for it.
Logan scented the shift in the man and his hackles rose further still. He growled, low in his throat, a sub-vocal warning, drawing several wary eyes his way. He smiled, but there was no humor in the sardonic twist of his lips; it was the taunting smile of a predator. They were eager for a conflict and he’d be only too happy to oblige.
That chilling grin should have made everyone’s blood run cold, and for the most part it did, but Ororo suddenly wished she were in Logan’s arms. His dangerous nature, though unpredictable, didn’t frighten her. It never really had. He was impulsive and volatile at times, but so too was the weather, and that’s where the mystery and beauty lay. She felt the familiar stirrings in her heart when she looked at him. He was her partner.
Sensing her as acutely as any telepath he sent her a small nod of reassurance. Whatever call she made, he’d back up one hundred percent.
“Again, I must caution you against the use of violence, as we will retaliate full measure.”
The man directly to Johansson’s right mouthed an order into his shoulder, presumably where a radio lay. Immediately Logan and Hank heard the faint thum-thump of helicopter rotor blades. Reinforcements were inbound.
Hank gripped Ororo’s shoulder, his eyes solemn and saddened by the knowledge that there was nothing they could do at the moment, short of full out combat, to prevent the men from taking Jimmy from the school. “Ororo…”
She shook her head. She would refuse, she would fight, she would not give him up--
“It’s ok, Storm,” Jimmy’s quiet voice drew her attention. He moved away from his protector. “I don’t want any more fighting.” His wide, innocent eyes shone with certainty and misery. “No more people can die because of me, ok?”
“Jimmy--”
“It’s ok,” he restated, stepping towards the men in the doorway. “I’ll be ok.” His voice shook.
Ororo’s hand closed in on itself, tears shimmering in her eyes. She took a steadying breath, knelt and pulled Jimmy back into her arms. “I’ll be coming for you,” she whispered for only him to hear. “Count on that.” She felt his small nod of acquiesce. Rising she held Jimmy’s hand. “I’ll walk him out.”
Kitty made a small choked sound in her throat, turning her head into Peter’s broad shoulder.
“I’ll start making phone calls,” Henry stated. “This isn’t over, I am certain there are several Supreme Court Justices that would be interested to hear about this blatant disregard to civil rights and liberties.”
Johansson’s smirk never faltered. “By all means, Mr. McCoy, rattle your saber and pound your drums. In the meantime, we’ll be taking the boy.” He reached for Jimmy only to have Ororo step in front of him.
“I said I would walk him out.” Her tone was ice.
Johansson made a sweeping gesture with his arm. “After you.”
Outside, on the stone steps of the Institute, Ororo had the near overwhelming desire to bolt with Jimmy in tow, but knew the results of that hasty action would be disastrous. Instead she slowly walked the distance to the parking lot and helped Jimmy into one of two Jeeps idling there. Once he was secured and buckled she gave him a long look, her eyes boring into his. “You’ll be back home before you know it.” He tried for a smile and looked away. Heartbroken, she closed the door.
“You’re cooperation is appreciated.”
Her teeth ground together at that smug, arrogant voice. She whipped her head around, stalking towards Trask’s agent. “Know this, Mr. Johansson,” she practically growled. “If that little boy comes into any harm, in any way, I will come after you, and I will retaliate full measure,” she spat his own words back at him. She jutted her index finger in his direction, her eyes swirling white and a snippet of lightning dancing across her knuckles. “There won’t be a hole deep enough for you to hide in.”
“Is that a threat upon my person, Ms. Munroe?”
“It’s a God-damn guarantee,” Logan snarled, stalking up behind the agent.
“Until we meet again,” Johansson tipped his head in mock civility before climbing into the Jeep.
Ororo stood, ramrod straight and vigilant, watching until the vehicles had disappeared beyond the gates. Only when the last taillight had vanished did she allow herself to slump, taking refuge in Logan’s warm embrace.
Wrapping his thick arms around her, Logan held her close against his chest. “Easy, darlin’.”
“They took him.” Her voice broke. “I promised him I would always keep him safe and they took him.”
“We’ll get him back.” Logan buried his face into the snowy crown of her hair, his gut tight, knowing she was hurting and there was nothing he could do to ease her. Helplessness never set well with him. He pressed his lips to her ear, whispering promises to retrieve Jimmy.
A short throat clearing broke them apart. “I know this isn’t the best time t’ be remindin’ ye, but I think I found some more tracks around the school.” Sean ruffled his red hair with one hand, looking both conciliatory and worried.
Ororo lifted her head, once more all business. Her knack for quick composure never failed to impress and annoy Logan. “Did any of the men smell--”
“No,” Logan cut in, shaking his head. “It wasn’t anyone here just now. Don’t mean they ain’t a part of it, but none of them was the squatter.”
“How many people are out t’ get at this school?” Sean asked, more to himself than anyone, yet Logan answered in the most eloquent way possible.
“Too fuckin’ many.”
Bolivar Trask sat in his factory’s modified “Situation Room”, waiting for the phone call confirming the extraction of young Jimmy from the Xavier Institute. He had to admit a certain level of anxiety and anticipation regarding that call. The moment he received that confirmation he would set phase two of his plan into motion while the X-Men were still reeling.
To bide his time meanwhile he observed the wall monitors that lined his office, each screen portraying various floors of his factory and the workers in it. Dark eyes skimmed the screens and stopped on the deck 5 monitor. Bill Thompson was once more taking a cigarette break, three others on the same team of men were playing cards on the cement floor and yet another was chatting on his cell phone.
Trask’s brow furrowed in displeasure. He was a man of meticulous planning and high expectations, he could ill afford a few lackeys to interfere with his progress. With an angry jerk he yanked the intercom phone from the wall, barking, “Thompson! My office, now!”
Below the burly worker jumped, swore and snuffed his cigarette with his boot. A minute later he arrived in Trask’s office with a hesitant knock and wary look. “You wanted to see me?”
Trask didn‘t bother to turn around. “You’re fired.”
“Excuse me?” Thompson blinked several times. “Fired?”
Trask barely spared him a glance over his shoulder. “Yes, fired. I cannot abide a lack in leadership or a lazy crew, and you have both.”
Thompson spluttered. “What the hell? Just because I took a smoke break?”
“Seven.”
“What?”
“You’ve taken seven smoke breaks in the span of three hours,” responded Trask, turning to fully face his employee.
Thompson shook his head. “Bullshit.”
“You’re questioning the validity of my statement?”
“Damn right.” Thompson answered, seemingly ignorant to the flickering screens around him.
Trask tisked and gestured towards his many monitors. “Technology gives me the advantage of multiple perspectives and round the clock observation. I was merely going to fire you and see to it you were escorted from the property, however, your obvious ignorance leads me to believe you may not be able to keep your mouth shut about the goings on within this building.”
Sensing an upper hand Thompson puffed his chest. “Damn straight. You fire me and I’ll go straight to the papers and the tv people, telling‘ them about yer giant robots.”
“How unfortunate.” Trask’s mellow comment belied the violence of his next action. With a fluidity that defied his stature Trask moved across the room, gripped Thompson on either side of his head and gave a vicious twist, snapping the hefty man’s neck with a sharp crack. He grabbed several Kleenex from the box on his desk, wiping the other man’s sweat from his palms. Satisfied, he once more picked up the intercom phone. What was the name of Thompson’s second in command? Ah, yes, Jameson. “Jameson, my office.”
Fifteen minutes later the newly prompted Jameson was en route to a narrow, twisting road where Thompson would have a very unfortunate car accident breaking the poor man’s neck.
Back in the Situation Room the phone rang.
Ororo’s eyes glowed, casting eerie shadows across her face in the dimly lit bedroom. Her hair stirred, ruffled by a breeze only she felt. She had long since passed the point of pissed and was now stewing in a realm of furious that Logan recognized only too well. It was a place that he had never been comfortable with in himself and it was damn sure disconcerting watching Ororo battle it within herself.
He stepped fully into the room, closing the door behind him. “Here. Drink this.”
Ororo gave the mug in his hand a fleeting look before resuming her pacing.
He placed the untouched steaming cup of tea on the bedside table before taking a seat on the edge of the bed, eyes solemn, following her movements. He watched her run her hands through her already disheveled hair, watched the tense way she walked, her normal grace gone in her agitation, and watched as her chin buckled every so often when the hurt became a little too much.
He wanted to kiss her, to hold her, to make her ache go away. It was almost comical, he was sure Scott would have found the whole thing amusing. Logan turned all Boy Scout. How cute.
“He’s just a boy,” she ranted. “A boy who has already seen too much violence and death in his life and been caged and hunted far too long. Did you hear the way they talked about him? As if he was an object, not a person.”
Logan braced himself on the mattress, his hands on either side of his body, her words hitting a little too close to personal. Ororo’s eyes went white again and he jerked a bit as her temper flared and small sparks of lightning flitted over her hair. Within the confines of her room there was a distinct rumble of thunder bringing him back from the loneliness her words conjured up.
He stood, placing his hands on her shoulders, forcing her to halt. He touched her cheek gently, lifting her face. “’Ro.”
She shook her head, too close to cracking. “No, I need to stay angry. I can‘t believe I just stood there.”
“There was nothing’ ya could’ve done, darlin’. You know as well as I do those fuckwads wouldn’t have held back because of the kids. “
She closed her eyes and sighed. “He trusted me to take care of him.”
“Stop doin’ this to yourself. You did everything you could have done.”
She took a step away from him. “Did I?”
“Yes.”
She knew he was right, but that didn’t prevent her insides from tightening with guilt and regret. “Where the hell is Henry?” she demanded. “He should have heard something by now.”
“I have.”
Henry stood in the doorway, his expression grim.
“Well?”
“Out with it.” Logan and Ororo spoke in unison.
“It would appear that Bolivar Trask has managed to pocket several judges, one in particular a rather high ranking official.”
“What does that mean for us?” Ororo wanted to know.
“It means that Trask has his bases covered.” Henry sighed, rubbing his nose. “And it will take me some time to cut through all of the red tape the man has thrown up in our way.”
Logan snarled. “And while you’re snipping through bureaucratic bullshit, what about Jimmy?”
“I’m afraid Trask will retain custody.”
Ororo shook her head. “No, there has to be something we can do.”
“Unfortunately our hands are tied.”
“No,” Logan corrected. “Your hands are tied. Mine, conveniently enough, are free.”
Henry gave him a rueful smile. “Even if we were so inclined to let you loose on Trask, we have no idea where he has taken our young friend.”
Faced with that undisputable fact, Logan let out a growl. “Well, fuck.”
“Well, fuck, indeed,” Henry echoed.
“I don’t understand. What does Trask want with Jimmy? Without Worthington labs and their technology, it’s not like they can harvest the cure any longer.” Ororo demanded. “So what? What’s the purpose of taking him?”
“I do not have that answer, my dear, but I can assure you that Bolivar Trask is not a man who makes rash actions. He has a purpose for Jimmy, of that I am certain. Only time will tell us what it is.”
Ororo sank onto the bed, her hands closed in helpless fists. “In the meantime, Jimmy is somewhere out there all alone.”
All three fell silent, each knowing there was nothing more to say. The stark, hard truth of the matter was, for the first time in as long as they could recall, they had lost a battle.
“I’m not giving up,” Ororo whispered with the iron will power she was known for.
Logan sat beside her, wrapping an arm across her shoulder. “None of us are, ‘Ro. Ain’t that right, McCoy?”
“You may rely on it,” Hank confirmed.
She couldn’t sleep.
Ororo sat up in her bed, sighing into the darkness. She flicked the covers back.
“’Ro…?”
“I’m just getting a glass of water. Go back to sleep.”
Logan snorted. Like he was sleeping any more than she was. He yawned, stretching his arms over his head. He froze mid stretch. “’Ro.”
She wrapped her small robe around herself. “Hm?”
He eased himself fully into a seated position. “We’ve got company.”
Eyebrows met hairline. “What?”
“Outside. I smell six.”
Ororo trusted his instincts unquestioningly, but had to ask, “They wouldn’t be foolish enough to attack us again--”
The sound of an explosion cut off the remainder of her sentence.
