Chapter Four: Embrace
Another Time, Another Place
His legs were swinging over the edge of the chair, a bar of nutrients in his hand. He munched absently, wondering when all the fuss was going to be over. Mother hadn’t sung him to sleep last night, which always made him a little antsy. With Father in the other room too, Lucas wanted to throw a fit that everyone was ignoring him.
What could be so important? Mother and Father always said they loved him more than anything in the world. They’d tried to leave the fighting so many times, as a family, just to keep him safe. But it never worked. Something or someone always called them back. Luke finally decided that he’d just learn to fight too. That way, they always stayed together.
Luke sighed, pulling the wrapper over his nutrient bar and stuffing it into his pocket. He missed real food sometimes. If he thought hard about it, he could remember the delicious meals Mother would make in the warm, sunny kitchen back at the mansion. They’d been happy there until the fighting started. Until the bad men had come to destroy their home.
He couldn’t remember what his room had looked like, what posters Father had put on the walls, but he recalled the feeling of safety, of home. Moving every few days, with the sounds of air raid sirens and explosions dwarfed the cherished memories. Luke thought, sometimes, that life was defined by waking up to those awful noises.
“Lucas?”
At Father’s call, Luke’s mood brightened immediately. He slid off of the chair and rushed to his father, hugging him tightly around the legs as only a seven year old could. Father smelled of cigars and sweat, his eyes rimmed with dark shadows from lack of sleep.
“Where’s Mother?” The boy asked cautiously, wondering if she had been injured in the battle.
“Inside,” Father said as he lifted the stocky boy into his arms. “Someone’s here to meet you.”
“Who?” Luke questioned as Father carried him into the room. “I didn’t see anyone come in.”
Father chuckled quietly. “She came another way, buddy.”
Luke’s eyes had to adjust to the dim light of the secluded room, but he soon spotted his mother lying on a small cot in the corner. She looked tired, a small secret smile covering her lips when she caught sight of him. One long hand beckoned them closer, her free arm shifting a tiny bundle in her arms.
“Come here, darling,” she whispered to Lucas. “Your sister has arrived.”
He suddenly understood as Father lowered him to the floor. Mother had been saying for a long time now that someone important was going to come. He’d watched her belly swell, felt the little person she swore was inside kick his hand as it lay upon the massive lump. Excitement filled his tender heart as he scrambled to Mother’s bedside, eager to meet this long-awaited arrival.
Mother shifted toward him, unwrapping the teeny bundle in her arms as Lucas peered closer. The little person looked squashed and mean, like an old man. Her dark skin was slightly pink and when her eyes opened, he immediately saw that they were rimmed with white. Like Mother’s.
“Her name is Elizabeth,” Mother whispered as the baby looked up at her big brother curiously.
“She’s tiny,” Lucas muttered, reaching in to take one miniature hand with his pinky. “And squishy.”
“You were pretty squishy, too,” Father chuckled again. “It’s a small place to squeeze out of.”
“You don’t have to tell me,” Mother quipped, grinning at Father.
Lucas didn’t understand what they meant, but he was too engrossed with the tiny person to really care. He leaned in, kissing her itty-bitty forehead. “Hi, Lizzie. Welcome to the world.”
~**~
“Bish!”
“Shar?”
“Oh, thank the Goddess above,” his sister’s voice crackled through the comm.. “What’s your location?”
“Five clicks due east of the river basin,” Bishop replied, tamping down his relief at hearing her voice. “Yours?”
“Three south of your current,” Shard reported professionally. “Storm’s unit is in position as well. Move on thunder, big brother.”
Bishop smirked, hiding the gesture from the men under his command. He noticed the clouds darkening overhead with something like pleasure. It was always nice to know that Mother was watching their backs.
“Copy that,” he barked to his sister. There was a heavy weighted pause on the comm. before he replied. “Don’t get dead.”
“Back at ya,” Shard said as the comm. clicked off.
With a glance at his men and several silent hand gestures, Bishop ordered his team to move on his mark. Several of them glanced at the sky, gulping at the sight of his mother’s tornado farm dancing just above the ground. It would do no damage yet, but the awesome power she wielded made some nervous.
Thunder shook the heavens and Bishop’s team poured out of the trenches. They fell on the human attackers in droves, meeting up with the other two teams mid-field. Though technology had improved over the last several decades, swarms of mutants were still hard to fight back for normal humans.
What would kill one might aid another…how could you effectively counter that?
Bishop fired off several charges with his plasma gun, absorbing two or three with his mutated body. He raised a bare hand, rerouting the kinetic energy back at his foes. He spotted a slash of brilliant light across the battlefield and inhaled deeply.
There was Shard.
Thunder boomed and lightning crashed.
Mother.
Bishop felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up, the approach of something malevolent and evil making his stomach clench unpleasantly. Nimrod.
Before the dark man could turn to counter his would-be attacker, the feral, animalistic scream of someone else cut through the battle-heavy din.
Father.
He whipped around in time to see Wolverine attack the white and crimson robot. Nimrod had zeroed in on Bishop, even as Wolverine’s claws tore at the monstrosity’s computerized innards.
“Wrong kid, bub.”
Bishop light off three of his most powerful rounds before tapping his comm..
“Shard. Storm. Nimrod.”
The effect of his words was immediate. A stream of bright protons streaked by him a beat before powerful winds brought the hovering form of a weather goddess. While Wolverine darted in and out of Nimrod’s range, taking hunk of metal from the monster as he did, Bishop lit off with his weapon while Shard flooded the sensitive computer system with burning light.
Mother had to go and show off with her lightning.
Something inside the menace known as Nimrod exploded, sending the entire Munroe family flying. Bishop felt as though his body had been caught in one of Arclight’s shockwaves as he struggled to retain consciousness.
Rolling to push himself to standing, he caught sight of Nimrod’s mangled body. Father was thrown almost carelessly over a busted street lamp. Mother lay motionless on the pavement. Shard was only inches from her brother, a large gash on her cheek.
“Shar?”
He crawled to her, grunting through the pain. “Lizzie?” Emotion choked his throat as his fingers grazed her shoulder, trying to jostle her enough to wake her.
“Not dead,” the young woman groaned. Bishop thought the relief at hearing her voice would make him faint. “Kinda wish I was, though.”
He had to smile at that. Nothing ever stopped that woman’s insane sense of humor.
“STORM!”
Both children turned as fast as they could, watching as their father limped toward the fallen form of their mother. Without even speaking, they helped one another stand, stumbling toward their rapid-healing parent.
Wolverine had drawn Storm into his arms, touching her face and cradling her as though his heart were breaking. Shard and Bishop sank to bruised knees, reaching for their mother with trembling hands.
It was their worst fear, losing one of their number to battle. It was why their parents often sent them on duo missions far from the fighting, why Bishop was being trained for such an impossible assignment.
“Storm, don’t you leave me,” Wolverine growled, leaning down to nuzzle her nose.
“Mother?” Shard whimpered.
Bishop, on the other hand, had stood. He raised the weapon in his hands, taking several plasma charges from the surrounding battle. Rage colored his vision a bright crimson as Nimrod’s repaired body met him toe to toe.
“Lucas…”
He ignored his sister’s call, lighting off both weapon and mutation at the bastard machine so hell bent on destroying his family. An enraged scream left his throat as he pushed the creation of that dead bastard Trask back toward the main battle.
At seeing him, the mutants turned from their human enemies and fell on the robot. They could not kill it, but they would fight it.
Bishop turned back to his family, not surprised to see his mother’s eyes staring back at him. Father was still holding her as though he could anchor his beloved to the here and now by will alone. Shard was standing, limping toward her brother.
He came toward them, sinking back to his knees as they huddled together amid the victorious tide. Family. That was everything. He’d do anything for them.
Anything.
~**~
Now
“What do you mean ‘no’?”
“Do you have a problem understanding simple words? Do we not speak English in the future?”
Storm was staring down at her files, ignoring the angry glare currently making the hair on the back of her neck stand up. Bishop had come into her office shortly after noon, demanding to be allowed into Cerebro’s classified files.
Obviously her answer was not going to go over well.
“You’re being unreasonable.” Bishop grunted, crossing his arms over his chest.
“No, I’m being responsible,” Ororo countered without bothering to look up. For some reason her casual dismissal of his request bothered him. “The information in those files is sensitive and I can’t just hand that over to every Tom, Dick, and Marty McFly that comes along.”
She scrawled her signature at the bottom of a purchase order and filed it away neatly. Bishop had still not left her office, so she straightened her spine, readying herself for the fight that was likely to ensue.
Though he had been at the mansion only two days, Ororo could see he was forming ties to the people housed within. Logan and Henry were the worst culprits, often found chatting amicably with their strange guest. That made her nervous. Bishop had the potential to make things messy. Ororo didn’t much care for messy at the moment.
Storm only wanted him gone. There was nothing she needed less at the moment than a self-proclaimed futuristic mutant determined to change the course of history in ways she could only imagine. What she did need was next month’s class schedule, a talk with her financial advisors and a week in Belize.
“I need that information,” Bishop was saying. “I have to…”
“Save the world, prevent war, yadda yadda yadda.” Storm flapped her hand impatiently at him.
“You go too far,” he snarled.
Storm stood, slamming her hands on her desk as the sting behind her eyes told her the tenuous hold on her devastating mutation was slipping.
“I haven’t gone far enough,” she shot back. “You can’t just burst in on our lives and expect to be handed everything you demand on a damned platter.”
Bishop’s ebony gaze met hers, hard and unrelenting. She had to hand it to him; the man was like a pit bull after a juicy bone. He didn’t let anyone or anything cow him. Ororo drew in her mutation, feeling it darken the skies.
“Do you think this is easy for me?” Bishop said in a deathly quiet tone. “You have no idea what I’ve done to get this far.”
Storm shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t care. I have other things that need my attention.”
His jaw came closed with an audible snap of his teeth. “The Storm I know would never be afraid of something she couldn’t explain. The woman I know has never been a coward a day in her life.”
Angry now, Ororo came around her desk in two strides, facing down the man she wanted to electrocute. His eyes met hers, unwilling to give even an inch. She gripped his shirt, bringing his towering frame down until they stood nose to nose.
“You don’t know me. You have no idea who I am,” she whispered scathingly.
Bishop’s eyes reflected acute and momentary pain, the look gone in an instant. Ororo flinched, something in that odd look lancing through her heart. She suddenly felt for this young man, wanting to reach out and comfort him.
What the hell was wrong with her?
He gently pried her hand from his shirt, shrugging her grip off as though she were nothing. Storm drew her emotions inside, buttoning them up as she stepped back slightly. He was getting to her; breaking down some invisible barrier she hadn’t even known was there.
“You know something, Storm?” Bishop said, regarding her impassively. “You’re right, I don’t know you. I don’t know anything about this cold, heartless bitch standing in front of me. I know the woman from my timeline and suddenly, I don’t want to fix a goddamn thing. I’d rather keep the Storm I know.”
Ororo felt as though she had slapped him, the honest truth in his eyes nothing compared to the pain she could see bubbling beneath the surface. She cast her gaze to the portrait over her desk, as though asking Charles what he would do in this situation.
In that one moment, with Bishop’s heated words echoing in her mind, she believed him. She could not explain how or why, but her heart placed her firmly on his side. Hating her treacherous heart, she let Bishop brush past her. The feel of Charles in her mind reminded her that he had always said to follow one’s heart.
Damn that man.
“Bishop.”
His heavy footsteps stopped at her office door at her gentle call of his name. Neither of them turned around, keeping their backs facing one another. Ororo closed her eyes, throwing a quick prayer up that someone “ anyone “ guide her through his unfamiliar territory.
“You tell me why you need Cerebro’s files,” she said quietly. “And I’ll give you access.”
A lengthy pause followed this, each conferring with their own demons.
“The Brotherhood has the cure,” came the soft rumble of his rich baritone. “They will turn it into a weapon of mass destruction against all mutants that don’t join them. One more piece of the puzzle.”
Ororo took that blow to the heart, but said nothing to betray that. “That’s why they wanted Jimmy?”
“To kill him,” Bishop agreed. “And to break you.”
Unable to turn around, though she desperately wanted to, Ororo swallowed thickly.
“What?”
“You’re the reason this side of the fence exists,” Bishop revealed with obvious emotion in his voice. “When you took up Xavier’s torch, you saved the dream. You’re their worst enemy and our biggest champion.”
She felt a single, hot tears lip down her cheeks. It was too good to be true. Knowing that she had done something good when she kept the school open paled in comparison to what this young warrior was saying now. Could she be that woman? Leading her children into battle for the sake of an ideal?
Was she that hero at heart? Or was it all an act?
“Why are you telling me this?” She demanded of the young man behind her, turning to stare at the broad expanse of his back.
“I shouldn’t,” he said, not turning to her. “But you have to know. You can’t give up, you can’t let them break you.”
His words were almost desperate and Ororo felt their meaning to the bottom of her soul. In that place she kept locked away since the death of her family, she felt life again. This young man knew that side of her, the part of her she kept locked away while she dealt with the school, the children. Was she that person in his world? Was she free?
“Storm Delta Zulu Foxtrot.”
She would never be able to explain why she said that or how she knew it was the right thing to do. Storm handed over the mansion’s secrets to this dark stranger and felt good about that. It should have terrified her, but something like relief flooded her tense shoulders instead.
“Thank you.”
And with that, he left her alone in the office.
~**~
Lying awake well past midnight, Logan stared up at the dark ceiling of his bedroom. He fought dreams of half-remembered faces, the men that had tortured him, cruelly stolen his memory. Grappling with those old demons was nothing compared to the burning recollections of Liberty Island, Alkali Lake, Alcatraz.
Kill me. Kill me before I kill someone else.
Shaking his aching head, Logan closed his eyes. He faced the open window, only prying his eyelids apart when a warm breeze reached him. Emerald green eyes seemed to stare back at him, though he knew it to be impossible.
Save me.
I love you.
His hands clenched and released against his pillow as he fought to regain control. If the memories took him, he would feel the warm weight of her against his claws as she died, hear the scream Storm tried to hold back. The sight of her beautiful face frozen in death. Storm’s tears. The sorrow.
“Damn it.”
On the growled curse, Logan pushed himself to sitting, swinging his legs over the side of his bed. He didn’t want to dwell here anymore, lost in dreams he wanted nothing more than to hide from. Nothing was all right in the quiet hours of the night, when memory overtook him more swiftly than a lover’s ignited passion.
Rarely did love enter his thoughts of Jean anymore. He was wracked with the guilt of taking her life, but the love he had claimed in those last seconds had faded. His love for her had been fast and fiery, not made to last. He felt like a traitor just thinking that, but the truth would not leave him alone.
He pulled on a sweatshirt and padded out of his bedroom, lost in those self-destructive thoughts. Maybe some time working out in the Danger Room would exhaust him into dreamless sleep. If that didn’t work, he’d just stay awake. Sleep was for the weak anyway, right?
As he hit the main floor, before he turned toward the elevator, Logan heard the muffled sound of a piano. He felt his brow go up, his nostrils twitching as they inhaled the sweet scents of night. The only fresh scent was that of the school’s headmistress and it happened to be coming from the same place as the music.
Deciding to forgo his work out in favor of curiosity, Logan tiptoed toward the soundproofed Rec Room. He slid the door open gently, peering inside to find Storm seated at the enormous black piano, a half-gone bottle of vodka resting beside a full glass.
“Oh, Georgia. Georgia. No peace I find. Just an old, sweet song keeps Georgia on my mind.
Surprised to hear the soft, throaty vocals coming from Storm’s full lips, Logan opened the door a little further. Her playing continued as though she had not seen him, her throat vibrating with the low hum as she moved to the end of her slow, maudlin song.
He wasn’t quite sure what to make of this rather entertaining and disconcerting situation. It wasn’t like Storm to stay up past midnight. It wasn’t like her to drink. And who knew she played the piano?
Was it Mystique or something?
Logan sampled the air again, confirming even to his suspicious mind that the woman inside was actually Storm. He stepped fully into the room, part of him wanting to continue watching her unnoticed, but knowing she would outright murder him if he didn’t announce himself soon.
Storm closed the piano up, taking her glass as she stood. Logan knew instantly from the slight sway that she had obviously had more than just a glass. From her state of undress, she’d come down after preparing for bed. Did nightmares plague her nights? Insomnia?
“You can come in,” she said, startling him. “I don’t bite.”
“You sure?” Logan asked playfully.
“Mmm,” she hummed.
He remained where he stood, watching as she stumbled with some dignity toward the large stereo. Storm fiddled with the controls for several minutes, giving Logan an ample view of her back end as she bent at the waist. Her soft cotton sleep pants looked at least one size too big, worn with time and love. Her tank fitted against unrestrained breasts; that snowy hair loose at her shoulders.
Appealing and innocent, that was the only way he could describe it. When the music changed to a throbbing dance beat, Storm’s hips swayed enticingly to the bass. Her arms went over her head “ glass and all “ as she danced. There was a slightly bemused smile on her beautiful face, one that spoke volumes of the alcohol consumption. No wonder it was so nice out, their weather mistress was completely hammered and enjoying every moment of it.
“Want a drink?” She offered dazedly.
Logan grunted, moving into the room and swiping the bottle from the piano. He glanced at the label, noting that she had somehow gotten into Piotr’s stash. Hank’s amusing tales of Storm as a thief sprang to mind, making him smile.
As he took a heavy pull from the bottle, Storm rolled her hips, turning to face him.
“It’s good.” He offered as she took a dainty sip from her glass.
“Mmm.” She hummed again.
If she didn’t stop, he’d end up seduced before either of them knew what was happening. Raging hormones were set to light like flame to kindling at the easy, uninhibited movement of her body. She looked ready to be tossed against that wall and taken. Hard. The evil, naughty voice in the back of his mind told him he could take her, show her what it was like to feel something on a completely primal level.
Stopping the destructive train of thought before it got him into trouble, Logan took another long draw from the bottle, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
Storm danced her way toward him, fire and alcohol swimming in her dark eyes. Logan nearly gulped. She reached for him, taking his hand to draw him closer. Little red flags went up in his mind, making him quickly put the liquor aside. The last thing either of them needed was for things to get complicated between them. A drunken romp was certainly asking for complications.
“You should go to bed,” he tried to convince her. “It’s late.”
“Lonely,” she muttered, throwing back the rest of the contents of her glass. “Too lonely.”
“Storm,” Logan tried again as she pulled him closer still. “You should go to bed.”
She shook her head, that glorious hair whipping about her face. “Stay with me.”
He stopped, releasing her hands. Storm halted as well, staring up at him in confusion and guarded hurt. Logan shook his head at her slowly, reaching for her glass and prying it from limp fingers.
“Come on, I’ll take you to your room.”
Her face crumbled slightly. He could feel the change in the air outside, the sudden chill that slipped through the room like the tears he knew she wouldn’t shed. Logan took her hand, unable to resist the impulse to kiss her palm, as though apologizing for something he didn’t understand.
Silently, he pulled her from the Rec Room, leading her up the stairs. She followed like a lost duckling, clinging to any form of reality she could find. He didn’t know what had sparked her sudden drinking binge, but the need to keep her tethered to this world was too strong to be denied.
When they reached her door, Storm pressed her body close to his, tilting her head up as though in offering. Logan grunted inwardly with restraint, making the man inside of him war with the beast that resided in his soul. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t take advantage of a drunken woman so obviously hurting. Her confusion would clear in the light of day and their relationship would shatter, no matter how antagonistic it happened to be at the moment.
Logan brought his hand up, cupping her chin and running his thumb over her plump, seductive bottom lip. “This ain’t what you need tonight, Storm.”
At his whisper, he caught the flash of hurt in her eyes.
“It’s ok,” he continued. “I’ll stay with you.”
She seemed to accept this, her dark eyes meeting his unrepentantly. They stared at one another for what seemed to be an eternity, neither finding the words and their eyes too guarded to reveal anything but subtle curiosity.
Finally, Storm opened her bedroom door, stumbling slightly in her inebriated state. Logan caught her waist with his hands, following her inside and shutting the door quietly behind him. Without so much as an embarrassed pause, Storm led him to her bed, drawing back the covers and inviting him to lie down with a look.
He slipped into her bed, enjoying the softness of her blue sheets and the scent of nature all around him. She climbed in after him, lying on her side so that she faced him. Their eyes met again, that guarded stare from outside of her door returning.
Without a word, Ororo reached for his hand. She entwined their fingers, laying their joined hands on the pillow between their faces. Logan would never be able to explain why he allowed this intimate touch or what he was thinking as he lay beside her.
In the still of the night, they watched one another silently, hands clinging together like frightened children.
