Logan wandered his way back to the mansion shortly after eight in the evening, a little over a day after he had called Ororo to inform her that he was taking a ride. His trip had been short, and not altogether that beneficial. There was something setting him on edge, and he couldn’t quite shake it or place it. It’d come to him eventually, he’d surmised, but in the meantime he would be on alert.
He parked his custom bike in the underground garage that housed a multimillion dollar collection of fine automobiles and took the elevator up to the main floor. The hall was empty when he stepped through the doors, an unusual occurrence that set him slightly on edge. There was more often than not at least one person roaming the corridors at any given time and seeing them empty so early in the evening caused him a moments pause and a quick sniff.
He caught several scents, all familiar but one. He focused on that one. He shrugged out of his heavy leather jacket, laying it across a nearby table, instinctively seeking more maneuverability. He flexed his shoulders beneath his ribbed tank and cracked his knuckles as he walked the hallway towards the den, where the scent was the strongest. Although new security measures had been taken throughout the estate after William Stryker’s successful ambush against the X-Men and students, that evening and it’s repercussions still hung with Logan in the back of his mind.
That one event was forever imprinted in Logan’s mind as the catalyst that had dominoed things so out of control. Jean’s sacrifice and ultimate resurrection had all been results of that night. Perhaps something else would have triggered the dormant powers within Jean, and she would have manifested her Phoenix personality regardless, no one, least of all him, would ever really know; all Logan knew for sure was that he never wanted to be caught off guard like that again. The consequences were far too high.
The hushed murmur of voices tickled his ears as he approached the end of the hall, one of them Ororo’s. Her tone was calm, pleasant even, holding no tension, so whomever the newcomer was wasn’t causing any trouble, but even that didn’t settle Logan completely. He paused outside the closed antique doors. That too was odd; ‘Ro hardly ever closed the doors. She never talked about it, but he got the distinct impression that she disliked enclosed spaces tremendously. The only time she closed doors was when she wanted privacy, or to be left alone. Seeing as how she had someone in the room with her, it was safe to assume she was after privacy.
Inside the cozy den Ororo placed the schematics Forge had given her on top of the coffee table. The plans were carefully detailed and worded so that she could follow them in case the need ever arose. Despite not being engineering savvy, Ororo was indeed very good at figuring out how things worked. Hank had once told her that he believed it was an integral part of her mutation to be able to see and understand the flows and patterns of energy. She didn’t much care where the trait came from, it was just good to have.
“Thank you again for coming up on such short notice,” Ororo said to the handsome Cheyenne man seated across from her in one of the rooms large wingback chairs.
“Not a problem,” Forge replied with a smile. “It has been awhile since my last visit. I only wish that I had come before…” He let the rest of the sentence go unsaid.
Ororo’s gaze lifted towards the wall where a new portrait of Charles hung over the polished mantle, painted so lifelike that it made her heart ache. Peter had certainly captured the essence of the man lovingly referred to most often as Professor. Seated in his trademark wheelchair and facing a group of eager faced students, the painting reflected exactly how she remembered her mentor looking, and exactly how she was certain he had wanted to be remembered.
Ororo let out her breath in a slow exhale. Far too many great leaders were taken from the world too soon and long before their due time. Xavier was no exception, but in his students the dream lived on, and for that Ororo was certain that he was proud.
“Every time I come home lately there’s a new mutant sitting in this room.” Logan stood in the doorway, arms at his side in a deceptively casual stance. He was of course referring to Hank McCoy’s surprise visit not too many months ago, when the blue mutant had told Charles, Ororo and Logan of Worthington Labs “cure”. Logan’s and Hank’s introduction had been rocky, seeing as how Logan distrusted most people on sight and Henry worked for the U/S Government but he and the Furball had struck a cord in the heat of battle and both men harbored a mutual respect for the other.
Ororo and Forge turned towards the newest den member in unison. The fact that neither heard the heavy doors open was not surprising to Ororo, given the stealth that Logan was capable of. He was surprisingly graceful and stealthy without even trying, yet when he put his mind to it, he could be downright uncanny.
“Perhaps you should stick around a bit more. Visitors would be far less likely to catch you unawares.” Ororo said by way of greeting.
“Hnh.” Logan strode fully into the den. His eyes flicked Forge up and down appraisingly. The Indian was tall, probably as tall as Logan, slimmer, and definitely fit. The other man held himself with the confidence of a person comfortable in their own abilities. There was something peculiar about the way the man leaned in his seat, Logan noted, almost favoring one side.
The Cheyenne stood, confirming Logan‘s musing as he stepped forward with a slight but definite limp. “The name’s Forge.” He held out one gloved hand.
Logan nodded, but made no move to take the outstretched gesture.
Left with no alternative Forge dropped his hand. “Okay, then.”
Ororo gave Logan a reproachful look before turning a placating smile onto her guest. “My apologies, Forge. We’ve barely taught him to stay. We’re still working on sit and shake.”
Logan glowered at her, but couldn‘t fully suppress his own amusement at her remark. The woman was not nearly so boring and easily disregarded as he had once believed her to be. Seated comfortably on the wide beige and gold swirled loveseat, with her hair pushed away from her face by a black band and wearing one of her favorite scarlet shirts she looked damn good. But then again, the dressing really didn’t matter. Ororo was beautiful regardless of the trimmings. It surprised him still that she had managed to keep herself so unassuming for so long.
“Where is everyone?” Logan gestured over his shoulder towards the empty hall.
“Here and there. Robert took Marie to the movies. Kitty and Jubilee went shopping and should be home shortly. A few students are in their rooms. Most of the children are in the Danger Room.” Ororo supplied.
One brow shot up. Ororo had them running simulations unattended? Granted the room was designed with fail safes that prevented any type of substantial injury, but there were still risks involved and rules to be followed. Ororo always put the safety of the students above everything else, so it made no sense that she‘d wouldn't do so now.
Sensing the direction of his thoughts, as she had a knack to do, Ororo stated, “They are playing with a new virtual game. Forge designed it.” She gave her companion another approving smile, that for some reason grated on Logan’s nerves.
“Fully interactive, like the Danger Room, except in fantasy games and quests,” Forge added, pride in his voice. He returned Ororo’s smile. A subtle growl raised the hair on the other man‘s neck.
“Fascinating.” Logan’s voice was flat.
“It’s a nice distraction.” Ororo commented. And the kids need it, went unsaid. Everyone in that institute had been affected by the recent events regarding mutant rights and the Phoenix, as well as the loss of a favorite teacher and the Professor, not simply the X-Men or the adults, but everyone. It was a lot to take in for such young people. Sadly, a few students had even left the school, unable to stay, pulled out by concerned parents. Ororo couldn’t altogether blame those parents. The Xavier Institute had been, and would likely remain, a target for those that wanted to oppress or rid the world of mutants.
“Aside from being Captain Nintendo, what is it you do?” Logan questioned.
“I work out of Baltimore. I’m an inventor.” Forge’s response was deliberately vague.
“Uh-huh.” Logan sat on the arm of one of the wingbacks. “You smell like a G-man.”
Forge blinked in surprise. “I do occasionally work for Secretary McCoy among other divisions.”
“Right.” Logan shook his head. “Government tool.”
It was Forge‘s turn to get a bit defensive and posture. “You have a problem with me?”
“Damn right I do.” Logan’s jaw was set.
Ororo knew that look all too well. He was about to get extremely bullheaded. She stood facing Forge. “Will you please excuse us for a moment?” Without waiting for a reply she turned icy blue eyes on Logan.
Shit, he was gonna hear it now.
With more calm than he knew she was feeling, Ororo motioned for him to step into the hallway. She closed the door to the den before whirling on him. “You do not get to come and go as you please with no cares or responsibilities and expect to have any say whatsoever in the goings on of this school, much less insult the people that help keep it running,” she hissed, careful to keep her voice low.
“I’ve never seen that guy in all the time I’ve been here,” Logan snapped back. “He can’t be that damn important.”
“That’s your point? You’ve never seen him? You never met Hank until recently either,” she countered. “Believe it or not, Logan, this school functioned before we hauled your ass in from Canada and amazingly enough with a whole bunch of people you’ve never met.”
She made her point, he had to grudgingly acknowledge. Not out loud of course. He tried a different tactic, less hostile. “Look, I just don’t think we need to have too many government agents with access to the mansion.”
“Then don’t think,” she snapped, irritation still showing. “You have no idea what it takes to keep this place operational. I‘ve known Forge longer than I‘ve known you and his background is far less suspect than your own. We have relied on him and his inventions for as long as I‘ve been here. How do you think we got the Blackbird? The Danger Room? Hm? Magical wishes?”
He spread his arms. “How the hell should I know--”
“You wouldn’t know, would you? That would require being aware of things outside of yourself.” Thunder rumbled overhead, heralding a warning to all that heard it that nature’s mistress was reaching the end of her rope.
Logan sighed, working the back of his neck with his hand. “I’m not questioning your ability to run the school, ‘Ro,” he said, guessing with dead-on accuracy the real source of her anger.
“Aren’t you?” she cut in, her eyes narrowed.
The door to the den opened before he could respond, giving him a momentary reprieve. Forge stepped into the hall, unintentionally placing himself between the two verbal combatants. He gave Ororo an apologetic look. “I hate to interrupt, but I really need to be getting back.”
“Of course.” Ororo’s eyes swirled, losing their icy glow and deepening to their warm brown once more. “Thank you again, for everything.”
“Anytime, Windrider.” He kissed her cheek, earning a dark look at the back of his head from the grumpy Canadian behind him. “If you have any questions about the programming I am certain that Doug or young Katherine could help you out. She had quite the knack for running the simulation.”
Ororo‘s smile was full of pride. “Yes, Kitty has many gifts. I‘ll see you out.”
“It’s no trouble,” Forge replied, casting an uneasy glance towards Logan. “I know my way around.”
She began walking. “I know, but I could use the air.”
Logan watched Ororo walk the corridor, speaking in low tones to the Cheyenne, but he caught a few words. “Is he always like that?”
“Mostly,” came Ororo’s response.
“He’s the one called Wolverine, right?”
“Yes.”
“Rumor has it that he’s the most dangerous man on the planet. Are you certain he’s safe to be around? Can he be trusted?”
Logan snarled, but his ears perked, awaiting Ororo’s response.
“I trust Logan. Completely.” Her voice held more than a grain of truth and a surprising amount of warmth. Whatever tension and odds were between them, she must have felt as he did, that given all they’d shared, the trust that had formed between them was genuine. Her next words gave him pause however. “Whether or not he’s safe, is a matter of perspective. There are a select few that never need to fear him. And then there is everybody else.”
The words faded to an undistinguishable muffle as the large front doors of the Mansion closed behind the two, leaving Logan alone in the hall.
Outside in the drive Ororo lifted her hand in farewell, watching the taillights of Forge’s Jeep Liberty until they faded from view. She still wasn’t ready to go back inside, but she knew she had to. There was a mountain of paperwork still left to do and she had to make a grocery list for tomorrow, and the semester classes still hadn’t been completely pounded out. Not to mention she had staff interviews to conduct. She wished Moira MacTaggart would call her back and let her know if Sean Cassidy, Theresa’s father, would be taking the position as math teacher.
Dividing up Scott’s classes wasn’t all that difficult, but finding the staff to do it was another story. Not that she didn’t have applicants, because she did, but without the benefit of an adept telepath it was all the more difficult to weed out those with ulterior motives. Sean was a safe bet. His daughter, affectionately dubbed Siryn due to her sonic scream, had been a student for over three years and he had been a friend to both Charles and Moira.
It was odd that Moira hadn‘t called her back yet. Ororo shrugged to herself. She imagined that Moira was probably increasingly busy with mutants being in the news so much lately. Her research center off the coast of Scotland on a private island, Muir Island to be specific, was secluded, but not private; therefore Moira and her staff attended to a variety of patients mutant and ‘flatscan’ humans alike.
Ororo sat on the cool stone steps, resting her chin thoughtfully in her palm. She supposed she could take the advanced math class on herself, she was definitely qualified for it. However, the mechanics class was way out of her league. She sighed. There was no getting around it. Loathe as she was to do it, she would have to ask Logan to take the class. He was the only one at the Mansion qualified to fill in.
She drummed her fingers against her cheek. Logan was more than intelligent enough to take on the academic portion of the mechanics class, he was one of the smartest men she knew, and he was as definitely skilled beyond compare in the construction portion, but to give him the class meant relying on him to be, well, reliable. It was a word she didn’t associate with the feral who was prone to disappearing for months on end.
She glanced at her watch: twenty to nine. Ororo rose, dusting the back of her black pants with her hands. Nothing was getting done with her sitting on the front porch. Resolutely she marched back into the Mansion and headed towards Charles‘--her--office. She glanced about as she strode the halls, wondering where Logan had wandered off to. As she passed one of the east windows she noticed the flame atop Xavier’s memorial flicker. Knowing that there was no breeze outside Ororo paused, her eyes, keen in even the deepest dark, picked out a solitary shadow in the garden.
She should have known. After nearly two days away of course he’d have to go and see her. The old adage about a moth and a flame popped into her head, and Ororo felt a genuine pang of sympathy for the man that would forever love that unattainable and elusive beauty. With a heavier heart than before she continued down the hall. Not since the afternoon she had offered a shoulder to Kitty had Ororo stood in front of Jean’s grave. She laid flowers atop Charles’ and Scott’s regularly, but for some reason, undefined even to herself, Ororo had not spared Jean’s tombstone even a cursory glance during her visits.
Not wanting to think of the redhead that she had loved more than a sister Ororo locked herself in her office, immediately burying herself in her work, hoping to submerge any thoughts not directly related to budget and academia beneath the stacks before her.
The garden smelled of exotic flowers.
Logan placed his previously removed cigar back in his shirt pocket, unlit. He didn’t want to disturb the earthy, somehow satisfying bouquet. As much as he enjoyed the aroma and taste of a fine hand rolled Cuban, this was not the place for it.
He gave Xavier’s monument a slight smile. He remembered well the threats Xavier dolled out to him whenever Logan attempted to light a cigar within the Mansion walls. The only place he got away with it was the Danger Room, and even then it was iffy depending on the scenario they were running.
He stepped past the larger memorial and stood facing one of two smaller ones. Side by side Jean lay with the man who had been her love in life, and the one she took with her in death.
Logan couldn’t remember ever truly theologizing anything, but he to his metal laced bones, felt that Jean had somehow known how it would all turn out and had ensured that Scott would forever be with her. He couldn’t explain it, but that day in the infirmary when he had been so close to having her, right there on the examination bed, he had looked into her eyes and seen forever. The beginning, the end, and all the in-between. Conscious of it or not, Jean must have known the same.
The Professor had explained that the Phoenix personality as the part of Jean that hungered for and fed on the most primal emotions. Fear, anger, lust and rage. All the things that made up Logan, he had to ruefully admit. Jean hadn’t wanted him, the Phoenix had. Jean had wanted Scott, always had. She cared for him, he knew, without a doubt she cared for him and had perhaps loved him in her own way, but not with the all consuming fire that she had loved Scott. For a long time Logan had tried to convince himself that she could love him like that, that he could make her love him like she loved Scott, but in the end she had seen the very depths of his love for her and even as “I love you” passed his lips to her ears she had not returned the sentiment. She had smiled adoringly up at him as she had let go of life, but in her infinite gaze all Logan had seen was a longing for the man already on the other side, waiting for her.
He was surprised to find that the normally painful ache that clutched his chest during thoughts like those was curiously absent. His gaze flicked up and back towards the Mansion and the balcony that Ororo frequented. Thinking of her brought forth an unfamiliar zing of awareness. He shook his head, best get thoughts like those right outta your head, Bub.
Magneto? No. Mystique? Nope. Callisto? Haha, no chance. Paperwork. Paperwork was her worst enemy, Ororo decided leaning back in her chair and rubbing the spot between her eyebrows with her index finger.
She gave a sigh that showed clearly her exasperation. She was so fed up with forms she could scream. She’d been working on the same repetitive documents for hours and although she had made serious headway she had also earned a serious headache. How on earth had Charles managed all of this and still remained sane? She wondered. Of course, he’d had Jean, Scott and herself to help organize everything and handle most of the scheduling and curriculum. Now it was just her, doing what normally took at least four to accomplish.
It still irked her that she would have to ask Logan for assistance. He had never shown any signs of interest in the educational aspect of Xavier’s, aside from the occasional Danger Room session, and more often than not Ororo believed he had stayed on more out of longing for Jean than for any type of obligation that he may have had to the Institute.
She had fully expected him to pack up and hightail it out of there after Alcatraz, and to be completely honest, she would not have blamed him or thought less of him for it. She herself had found it near unbearable to be in the Mansion after Charles’ death. But the school was his greatest achievement and the students the bearer of his dream and Ororo would be damned before she walked away from it or them.
Resigning herself to another bout with scheduling conflicts she opted to go get a drink of water, some Excedrin and to go check on the students.
Logan found himself glancing at his bedside clock for what felt like the tenth time in as many minutes. It was nearly one in the morning and he hadn’t heard Ororo head for the balcony yet. It unnerved him a bit how much he’d come to rely on her consistency, it had been part of the reason he had returned from his breather so soon, but he didn’t care to dwell on that. He cocked his head to the side, listening to the sounds of the mansion.
Jubilee had fallen asleep with her headphones still playing some God awful pop music, he could hear. Kitty was sleeping soundly, as were Peter and Marie. Bobby was still online, though he shouldn’t be looking at the sites he was looking at; even with the sound turned low it was distinctive, Logan thought with a wry twist of his lips. He’d let it slide. After all, all anyone had to do was lift his mattress and they’d be witness to some classic Playboy and a few less classy mags.
He sat forward on his bed, his elbows on his knees, his attention being drawn by a husky whisper of sound. Faint. Several walls away. He closed his eyes and concentrated, filtering out any unnecessary sound, focusing entirely on the faint murmuring, a murmuring that turned out to be soft humming.
A lullaby. Ororo was humming a lullaby. He turned his face, tilting his ear toward the sound. She was in Jimmy’s room, he realized. The boy must have had another nightmare. He hadn’t made a sound, Logan knew, because he hadn’t heard him, but Ororo had a way of knowing whenever Jimmy needed her.
Logan was all too familiar with the pains of night terrors, and for just a second he allowed himself a twinge of envy towards the child who had Ororo’s strong arms and soft voice to soothe away the fear and hurt of those invasive dreams.
After a few more minutes, and a whispered goodnight he heard the latch of Jimmy’s door click closed. Ororo’s footfalls were light as she padded down the hallway, obviously barefoot. Logan’s interest perked when she stopped just outside of his door. He could hear her breathing and smell her scent, reminiscent of the garden. His own breathing seemed to pause as he waited, uncertain as to what he was waiting for exactly. A moment later she continued walking and he let out a puff of breath that he hadn‘t realized he was holding.
Not two seconds later he heard her mutter something under her breath and head back his way. He watched with mild amusement the play of shadow beneath the crack of his door, wondering what her next move was going to be.
“Logan,” she whispered. “Are you awake?” She sounded like half of her hoped he was sound asleep.
Curious now, Logan made his way to the door. He opened it fully, his brow lifted in polite inquiry.
Momentarily caught off guard by the magnificence of his bare chest, Ororo blinked twice before she said, “Oh. Hello.”
This caused an amused smirk to grace sculpted lips.
Ororo didn’t understand her consternation, after all she had seen him shirtless dozens of times. Perhaps it was the fact that it was well into the forbidden hours of the night, when the good were resting and the wicked were cavorting that made her thoughts stray in such a manner, but regardless of the reason she put a quash to that line of thinking immediately.
When she still hadn’t given reason for her presence outside his room, Logan couldn’t help himself, the urge to instigate Ororo seemed somehow ingrained in his nature. “Got an itch you need scratched?” he drawled, his smile slow and infinitely seductive.
Ororo lifted one brow, her mouth firming. “I came to talk.”
Logan shrugged easily. “Call it what you want. No one I know wants to talk at one in the morning.”
Something in his tone gave him away and Ororo knew that he was purposefully goading her. Perhaps it was because he did it so frequently but whatever the reason she picked up on the baited words and she decided that she could easily play damsel to his wolf. Masking her inner mischievous thoughts she dropped her gaze demurely and whispered, “So, how about it, big boy. You want to scratch my itch,” she drew the words out in a hushed hiss.
Logan shifted in the doorway, his blood suddenly heavy. She turned her face up at him, her mouth forming a pretty pout and he knew that she had caught on to his instigator tactic. She batted her ridiculously long lashes rapidly, feigning doe eyes. “You are the one with the claws,” she reminded him saucily running the very tip of her index finger in a slow swirl through his mat of chest hair.
The little tease.
Logan’s fingers shackled her wrist. Enormously strong yet infinitely gentle. His mouth curved wickedly at her startled expression. Clearly she had no idea who she was playing with. You didn’t poke fun at the Wolverine and not get a response of equal measure.
Ororo realized her folly a moment too late. Darkening eyes slid over her tank top and boy short combo, and despite the cotton barrier Ororo felt completely exposed. She cursed the blush flooding her cheeks. She knew when she was beaten in the game and decided it was time to retreat back to the safe bank of the hallway, but before she could vocalize her withdrawal Logan growled sub-vocally, tugging her forward.
“C’mere, Princess.” His lips touched hers. Cool, firm and velvet soft.
It started as a tease, a call to her mischievous bluff, but the moment his lips touched hers fire raced through Logan’s veins and his heart thundered in his ears. He pressed more fully, needing to somehow assuage the terrible hunger that was sweeping over him, a hunger that was a mix of sexual need and possessive lust. He inhaled her scent, took it deep inside and savored it. He felt her stiffen, try to back away, but when he slanted his mouth she moaned.
Ororo sighed softly, giving herself up to the hot, hungry persistence of Logan’s mouth. His teeth tugged at her lower lip, persistent little nibbles that were at once enticing and endearing. His hands moved to her hips where they flexed in the soft cotton. They tightened, drawing her past the threshold, their heat persuasive.
Down the hall a doorknob turned and the effect was the equivalent to a bucket of ice water being tossed over the lip locked twosome. Ororo drew back hastily, her eyes wide and luminous on her face. She spoke before he could, trying to brush off the moment with a forced smile and a less than convincing laugh, “Well, what do you know, itch scratched.” She was proud that her voice was relatively calm and casual.
Bobby stepped out of his room, drawing their attention, rubbing his eyes in a sleepy stupor. He barely seemed conscious as he headed for the stairs, mumbling something about “thirsty”.
Ororo took the diversion Bobby provided as an opportunity to mutter a quick, “Goodnight,” and made a hasty retreat.
Logan said nothing, watching her flee down the corridor. Slowly he closed his bedroom door, stepping over scattered beer cans. He wiped his fingers along the sides of his mouth, a thoughtful look on his inordinately handsome face.
The kiss had been better than any of his imagined fantasies involving Storm. He was a man, so of course he fantasized, he’d be hard pressed not to with a body like hers tucked in black leather on a regular basis. But never in all of his secret dreams did he picture himself lip sucking Ororo Munroe in the hallway after midnight like some furtive teenager on Mommy and Daddy’s porch.
He settled against his headboard, a genuine smile tugging his lips for the first time in months.
Ororo was all the way back up the stairs to her room before she realized she had never even gotten around to mentioning the Mechanics class. She touched her lips with her fingertips; she swore she felt ‘supercharged’. She shook her head. Get a grip, she chided. It was only a kiss. Only a playful interlude between teammates, nothing more than that. She pressed her hands to her face, her burning cheeks contradicting the lie.
She felt a giddy warmth seep into her body, thinking of only moments ago and the way Logan’s mouth had so skillfully taken over hers. It was better than she had imagined it would be, she admitted to herself, settling under the covers in her bed. Much, much better…
