PRELUDE:


-“The human body is one of the most complex things in the world.�



‘I remember Hank used to say something like that all the time. I can hear him now, babblin’ on about all the marvelous things It can do—most in less than the blink o’ an eye.

‘All the simultaneous actions & reactions taking place inside our bodies, working independently of—and sometimes in spite of—each other. The good Dr. McCoy could sit in his lab fer hours, just watching a body breath.’

‘I’ll remember that…in a few hours.’

‘Right now, “My body-complex� is having a hard time concentrating on anything—much less breathing. I’ll have to remember that.

‘You’ll have to ‘cuse my ramblin; after all my years of trainin’—in Japan, in Madripoor, w/ Dept. H or The X-Men—none of it’s keepin’ my mind sane enough to deal with the pain my body’s feelin’ right now…’


‘I remember my fingers were seared to the controls in the cockpit; whether by instinct or by the extreme heat in the small plane, I’d never know. I couldn’t feel ‘em anymore anyway.

‘All I can do at this point is squint through the broken glass of the ‘pit, cursing my fate as it quickly approaches, speeding toward me just as I was careening toward the blinding, brutal expanse of the shimmering desert below.

‘It was fitting, I suppose. I couldn’t have known it then, but that patch of dirt in the middle of an empty space of African desert could very likely have been the end of me…

…but it turned out to be just the beginning.’


---

Chapter 01, “I Dreamt of Rain…�


-Somewhere in the desert between Uganda & Kenya
1:27pm Local Time…

Scott Summers’ gloved hands gripped the controls of the Blackbird so hard the slight sound of leather stretching could barely be heard over the surrounding sounds of flight outside. It was a good thing it wasn’t obvious, because the last thing he would have wanted was for the rest of his teammates to think he was actually worried.

Behind and to the left of his shoulder, however, Jean Grey Summers couldn’t be fooled. She knew her husband well enough that their telepathic link wasn’t even needed to sense his distress. After all, she shared it as well as the rest of the small team in the plane deployed to the east African country.

As she kept her gaze alternating between the slowly, barely-blinking homing beacon on the panel before Cyclops and the approaching desert vista ahead, her brow furrowed every so often in renewed attempts to block the thoughts of the others from intruding on her already frazzled nerves. Her own over-active imagination was good enough, thank you.

“We’re approaching Kenyan airspace…� Henry McCoy announced beside Scott, automatically adjusting the co-pilot controls and double-checking their cloaking device; considering their mission, the last thing they’d need right then was to be spotted by government air officials.

“The beacon’s signal is weakening.� Scott’s tone was such it was obvious he didn’t want to point that out. After he said it, his head turned just briefly to his left, though his eyes never left the view before him.

“I can’t ‘sense’ him…� was all Jean replied quietly, hoping her words were heard only by their team leader.

No such luck.

Behind them, the three in the cockpit could hear safety belts clacking as they were unsecured—evidently in a hurry. It was only a few seconds before Bobby, Katheryn & Rogue were pressed against the ‘pit’s doorframe, their wide eyes expectant.

“What’ve you got, Sug?�

“Do you have a lock on his last position yet?� Bobby directed toward Hank.

“Jean..?�

The fiery red-head hated to turn her eyes, to see the deep worry lines aging Shadowcat’s youthful features.

“…is he..? Can you..?�

Before Jean would have to answer, the steady beacon began to go wild on the panel, louder than before and flashed with a much quicker rate on the map before them. It managed to get everyone’s attention, and as Scott yanked the controls in that direction (hard enough that he probably should’ve given a “hang on� warning), pushing the plane’s speed to the limits, Hank tried to stay in his seat and focus the beacon’s signal for an exact location.

“I’m triangulating the coordinates now. The Scouter’s distress signal and the last known point of contact are coming through now…�

With her fingers gripping her temples, Jean focuses on a mental image of her missing teammate; she can hear his gruff but boisterous laugh (heard so little, admittedly), see his piercing silver-grey eyes. It was always difficult for her as a telepath to ‘get a fix’ on someone like Logan, but she knew she had to try.

‘I should never have let him go.’

It slipped through her shields and her expression changed for just a second, as she forced her husband’s guilt and worry back out. She wanted to comfort Scott, to reach out and assuage his fears. Cyclops should know well of any of them, that One was never in the position to “let� Logan do anything; the man may be a teammate, but when it came to personal matters, The Wolverine didn’t ask permission of anyone. Not Scott, not Charles—no one.

It was no different in this situation. After the team’s battle in the forests of Alberta with a long-thought gone faction of Dept. H, Wolverine had been stripped of both his adamantium and his God-given healing factor. It was a double insult by the monsters that had made him what he was, and for months now Logan had been the most sullen and cantankerous as anyone had ever seen him since first joining the team.

Charles’ counseling sessions had not worked well in the beginning, and the mansion was a difficult place to be during Logan’s waking hours, but that had started to change in the last few weeks. That is, until Wolverine discovered one of the original scientists from the Weapon X program was going to be exiled to Madripoor by way of the east African nation of Kenya, his last known locale.

Jean hadn’t even known Logan was looking.

Evidently, no one else had either, as they awoke the next morning to the sound of the smaller Scouter plane (‘cousin’ to the Blackbird) powering up and exiting the grounds. Logan’s mind had been made up, but that didn’t mean Charles wasn’t expecting some sort of explanation. Which the Wolverine grudgingly gave, and promptly raised the plane’s psi-shields & departed.

If Scott had been conflicted about not going after the AWOL team member, surely Charles had had a rough time of allowing his troubled ‘student’ to seek his own answers & absolution. Of them all, Charles Xavier was probably the closest to knowing the pain and yes, disgrace that colored Logan’s palette every day he had to awaken to the realization that it hadn’t just been some twisted dream, and that yes, his indestructible skeleton was gone…along with his ability to heal.

It was that knowledge that kept Charles’ tongue from insisting Logan return, or from sending a group to bring him back, by force if necessary. That decision went against his gut, it went against his rationale, and Scott wasn’t that pleased with it either.

“There! Look, there it is!� Kitty leaned over Henry’s shoulder to point out the large window. The others squinted their eyes at the bright horizon, where it was nearly impossible to see the dark plume of smoke that trailed from the sky down to the Earth.

No one even questioned how she’d been able to pick that out, and Henry didn’t hesitate in capturing the image to magnify on his side of the viewer. Sure enough, there was the Scouter…or more precisely, what was left of it.

A collective gasp echoed through the cockpit as the team watched the aircraft burning in a ball of fire. The plane’s cockpit was still intact; the ejection module unused.

With a steep dip, Scott brought the Blackbird around, heading in that direction. “I’m taking us down, hang on!�

As the others struggled to stay on their feet, Jean clutched her stomach, and then shook her head. Again & again she reached out, but there was nothing there…



About 10 mins. ago, down below in the wreckage…
For all the advanced technology put into the Blackbird Scouter, its hot, black metal yielded to the force and power of flame. For about half of a mile behind the wreckage there was left a trail of still-burning debris and scorched Earth. Upon first glance, it would seem impossible for anything to have survived such a crash.

However…

A charred, bloody hand reaches out of the crumpled hull of the vessel, and it could only be sheer instinct that brought him to his feet long enough to tumble out of the plane and onto the comparably cooler desert sand.

�I dream of rain
I dream of gardens in the desert sand
I wake in pain
I dream of love as time runs through my hand


His mangled body hits the dry sand like a dead weight, smoke & sand rising from his position. Almost immediately Logan attempts to rise—struggling to place his hands beneath him and lift his battered body back up—but finds the action impossible.

His bleeding eyes search through the haze, his scalded scalp turning to his right to reveal what his other senses seemingly couldn’t recognize: his right sleeve fluttered in the wind, no arm sticking out of it to move. A low, guttural sound escaped his parched lips as the cauterized nerves all over his body vainly attempted to send pain signals to his brain. Unfortunately, some of them were successful.

Spastically, his left hand reached out before him, clutching the sand in a hopeless attempt and his head slowly rose, tears blasted against his cheeks in dry, crusty streaks as the desert wind suddenly picked up, sending sand into his aching eyes.


I dream of fire
Those dreams are tied to a horse that will never tire
And in the flames
Her shadows play in the shape of a man's desire


‘So…this…is where I’m going to die.’ Just as the thought found its way through his brain, he closed his eyes against the injustice of it all, focusing on the warmth tingling in his body, and the breeze of the winds, cooler in comparison to the blistered heat of the raging inferno in the Scouter.

The breeze stroked his face—almost the only part of his body he could still feel through the immense pain—and reminded him of Mariko…

…Startled, Logan’s eyes flew open with the stark realization that someone actually was touching his face.

And it wasn’t Mariko.

Moving away from him as he focused on her, the mysterious woman floated before Logan’s eyes like a specter, her gossamer gowns melting and flowing in the desert heat like a mirage.


This desert rose
Each of her veils, a secret promise
This desert flower
No sweet perfume ever tortured me more than this


The woman smiles at him, somewhat kindly, somewhat saddened, and her arms open, a beckoning call; immediately Logan feels his body move, though not of his will, and he rides a soft cushion of air upward toward her waiting, smiling visage.

He can only grunt in confusion & pain as a piercing light radiates from her body, blinding him. The hackles on the back of his neck tingle, but Wolverine is unable to resist her…or unwilling.


With his single hand, Logan attempts to shield his eyes, but as suddenly as the blinding light appeared, it subsided, and he looks up, captured by her startling clear blue eyes that seem to glow with an incandescence he’d never seen before.

So distracted by her eyes, Logan is initially unaware of the fact that his body has been lifted steadily toward hers until they are almost about to collide. Before he can protest, she lifts her head, closing her eyes with a smile, and reaches out to him.


Logan’s mind registers shock, puzzlement & alarm when their bodies don’t collide, but meld together instead; his pain subsides immediately, replaced with a warmth & calm he never remembered feeling before in all his troubled years.


And as she turns
This way she moves in the logic of all my dreams
This fire burns
I realize that nothing's as it seems


A slightly nauseating feeling overwhelms him and Logan closes his eyes again, reaching out in vain to steady himself though his body still floats far enough away he couldn’t possibly touch anything. For several seconds he remains thus, his chin lifted to the skies and body floating freely, caressed by a cooler, soothing wind that should not have existed in the hot desert of Africa.

Suddenly he feels a wetness on his face, and his eyes pop open to discover it is a light rain—as impossible as that may’ve seemed to him, it only got worse as he blinked several times to adjust his vision only to realize that he was no longer in the desert.

Tall, full tropical trees towered around and above him; the air was light and a cool breeze fluttered by; the environment was alive with forest wildlife as brightly-colored birds flew overhead; some yards away, a modest-sized waterfall bubbled down into a brook that disappeared downstream to a shadowed lagoon.

Stumbling, Logan realizes his feet have touched the ground, his body is bruised but healed—all of it, even his missing appendage has miraculously reappeared, fully functional (but sore).

Awestruck, he can only stare at the colorful array of life around him. It’s a short-lived distraction, however, as his healed senses recognize that he isn’t alone. Whirling around, his lip curled instinctively, he sees her, loose silver-white hair blowing around her bare shoulders and the sheer veil-like gown hugging her body before billowing out to swirl about her bare feet. Her head is cocked to one side as she evaluates him openly, as if waiting for his next move.

And he does, taking a step toward her, but pauses when she backs up. Raising his right hand, which is still stiff as if it hadn’t been used in years, Logan didn’t even have a chance to open his mouth, to calm her sudden antsy behavior, before she turned away, running into the depths of the forest. He hesitated only long enough to see her turn briefly, their eyes meeting; follow me ran through his mind in a deep, feminine whisper.


He could only obey.


I dream of rain
I dream of gardens in the desert sand
I wake in pain
I dream of love as time runs through my hand

I dream of rain
I lift my gaze to empty skies above
I close my eyes, this rare perfume
Is the sweet intoxication of her love…


No matter how quickly Logan thought he ran, cutting through the thick underbrush like a shark through water, he couldn’t seem to catch up with her as she turned back to him several times, coaxing him (or daring him?) to pursue.

Finally, the cloud-haired beauty turns into a dead end, backed by the bubbling waterfall in a shaded glen. When Logan turned, cornering her, she didn’t seem afraid of him, watching his movements with a sense of anticipation as she gulped for air, her chest rising deeply with every breath.

His blood pumped feverishly through his veins as he closed in on her slowly, his palms itching, fingers clenching reflexively. He wanted to know who she was, what had she done to him and where in God’s name were they? As he stopped only inches away from her, his lips parting to ask just that, he looked into her eyes but never got the chance.

A quick hand struck out, and was surprised to actually touch flesh; drawing her to him, Logan crushed the woman to his chest, their faces mere inches apart as they both breathed heavily, staring at each other. She smiled coyly at him, and it was all the invitation he needed before smothering her full, pouting lips, secretly surprised at how ‘real’ his mirage felt.

She pulled him down and they crashed against the soft plush bed of flowers and grass at the base of the waterfall as he continued his abuse of her mouth. Her nails clawed at the tattered remains of his clothes and before he even realized they’d been released, sharp bone claws threaded the gossamer material of her gown until she lay completely naked beneath his touch.

Overcome with a hunger he could never remember ever feeling, Logan quenched his thirst all over her supple, dark caramel body; every inch of her he touched only made him howl for more, and when she reached between them to caress the stiff hardness of his appetite, he buried his face in her neck to stop from crying out.


�I dream of rain
I dream of gardens in the desert sand
I wake in pain
I dream of love as time runs through my hand

Sweet desert rose
Each of her veils, a secret promise
This desert flower
No sweet perfume ever tortured me more than this

Sweet desert rose
This memory of Eden haunts us all
This desert flower, this rare perfume
Is the sweet intoxication of the fall




Time dissolved amid the blistering heat of their passion, and when they could take no more, the satiated lovers collapsed against the cool grass, exhausted, cradled in each other’s arms. After several moments, Logan heard a low, whispered humming; a song he didn’t recognize in a language he couldn’t understand. Despite himself—all the unanswered questions, the confusion, the joy that he felt—his eyes fluttered closed and he yawned, trying to muster the energy to ask her what the song was. As his muscles relaxed, he never got the chance.

For a little while she laid there in his loose embrace before turning to look at the man’s face. He was sleeping, completely worn out and she smiled, lightly brushing her fingertips over his slightly bruised lips, knowing hers were just as sensitive. With a sad smile, she carefully rolled away from him, coming to her knees to watch him sleep. Before she rose, she reached up to her ear, dislodging the rumpled petals from her hair…




Logan.

LOGAN.


“Logan!� His eyes snapped open and just as quickly squinted against the bright glare of the desert sun above him. Momentarily, a dark shadow passed over him, and once his eyes adjusted to the light, he confirmed his other senses’ immediate registry of Jean’s voice. Disoriented, Wolverine attempted to sit up, but felt the hands of his teammates attempt to restrain him. “Whoa, wait a minute, big guy.�

“Take it easy, Sug.�

“You know you scared the shit outta me??!� Kitty punched the sand, kneeling beside him; she would’ve hit him, but didn’t want to risk his health—or ire, for that matter.

“Language, Shadowcat.� Cyclops stood behind them all, his arms crossed as he grinned down at Wolverine.

“Sorry.� She ducked her head.

Logan looked at each of them, then down at himself; he couldn’t believe his eyes as he saw his arm, bruised but there, when he remembered it had been gone but a while ago. The blood on his torn clothes was dried, his wounds healing. Healing!

“Wha…What the hell’s goin’ on?� His throat was dry, the vocal cords constricted as if he’d been yelling for days.

Henry was at his other side, with a hand-held device ‘borrowed’ from the Shi’ar, taking his vitals. Without looking up he confirmed what Logan’s internal senses already knew. “You crash-landed just inside the Kenyan border. While the Blackbird Scouter will undoubtedly not be seeing better days, you on the other hand…seem to be healing quite nicely.�

Logan’s eyes shifted to Hank’s, wide and wild as if the Doctor had told a bad joke. But he knew it was true. He’d gotten his healing factor back. How, when, or why he knew not; ultimately it didn’t matter.

“How’d you find me?� he tried to get up again, but it was McCoy that kept him down this time. With a slight growl, Logan turned back to the good doc.

“Never mind that.� Scott interjected, tapping his wristband remote; behind them several yards the Blackbird’s loading dock descended, though the plane itself was still cloaked. “We’ve got to get in the air and out of Kenyan territory before we’re spotted. The wreckage is bound to attract some interest.�

While Bobby & Hank rolled Logan onto a stretcher, the others got ready to dispose of the incriminating evidence of the Scouter. Jean dragged her worried gaze away from Logan, concentrating on the rubble of the small plane. Her skills of telekinesis had improved much, as the air around the plane wavered with a pinkish glow before the physical matter dissolved; the pieces of metal moved so quickly, the action couldn’t be caught by the naked eye.

Grimacing and nodding in satisfaction, she moved to Scott’s side as Hank & Bobby lifted the stretcher with a barely patient Logan in tow. As they quickly headed toward the Blackbird, none of the X-Men argued with him as Logan put up a fuss at being hauled back on the stretcher; they were all just glad to be able to hear his voice at all.

As for the formerly stricken Wolverine, he grumbled to himself as his teammates haltingly carried his carcass up the ramp. He was sobered by the knowledge that if he’d still had his adamantium, it probably would’ve taken not only Hank & Bobby, but probably Jean’s power as well to safely lift him.

When the engines powered back up & the bird slowly lifted off, the others settled into their seats, strapping themselves in. Hank left Logan in the small triage room in the belly of the plane to ready his instruments for preliminary tests; he was just as shocked as the others at the sudden, unexplained reappearance of the Wolverine’s healing factor after almost a year-long hiatus.

Shaking his head, Logan reached out to grasp onto the side of the bolted-down bed as the plane lifted off, but then his sharp eyes caught the movement of something that fell from his grip…something he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding.

Leaning gingerly down over the side of the bed, through the guard rails to the floor, he searched w/ his hand, his face buried in the pillow. After a few unsuccessful moments he was rewarded when his fingers brushed against something soft & fragile as it nearly escaped his grasp to roll farther beneath the triage bed.

As Logan brought his hand into view, he couldn’t believe his eyes. Laying there plain as day—and as real as he was—were slightly crumpled, but nonetheless obvious, bright blue rose petals.




TBC…

Chapter 2, “Without a Shadow of Doubt�

1:49pm, Local Time in Kenya…
[Mistress!!]*

[Your Majesty, are you alright??]

[Khaji, keep everyone back, please.]

[Wait—I believe she may be coming around.]

[Hm…w-what happened..?] Her blurred blue gaze blinked up at the people surrounding her, confusion and just a hint of fear paling her usually perfect, sun-kissed mahogany skin.

As the hall filled with priests, politicians and personal attendants stopped cold in their tracks, the tall beauty sprawled on the marble floor lifted one shaky, recently-manicured hand to her own cheek, patting gently at the flushed flesh. The large room was still slightly spinning, so she closed her eyes with a flutter, taking several deep breaths.

[There, there…I’ve got you.] Came the deep, velvet-like voice from above her, and for a moment the woman laying there had no idea who it belonged to. It—and the man leaning over her—quickly washed away the fading memory of hungry lupine eyes & a gravelly voice whose whisper still sent chills up her spine…

With a faltering smile, she couldn’t quite meet the stare of the man cradling her head in his lap, but tried to assuage his concern. [Ahh…I-I’m fine…thank you, T’Challa.]

Before he could protest, she pulled herself up into a sitting position, and as she moved to stand was swarmed by her female attendants, who reached out supporting arms, physically holding her up despite the fact she was now on her feet.

Behind them, T’Challa was slow to rise, resting on his haunches and watching her quietly but masking his worry. His fiancée was a very ‘independent’ woman; despite their long-lived closeness, he knew she would never want to show even the slightest perceived weakness. It was true to her upbringing.

As she kindly but sternly brushed away the hands of attendants, he allowed a small grin; the Ivory Priestesses that raised her would be proud.

Quietly, T’Challa came up behind her, his hand light at the small of her back as he whispered, [I can handle things from here, if you’d rather take a little breather.]

For a brief moment her eyes belied her relief as she glanced up at him quickly before nodding, already gathering her silk gown’s train before her three personal attending maidens could swoop back in.

The formally-dressed group bowed respectfully to the Prince’s intended as she walked by them a little stiffly. Passing by the royal family’s doctor, she avoided the woman’s look of concern and surprise at seeing the young princess apparently none the worse for wear.

Before she could question, T’Challa met her gaze, a silent communication exchanged. As he rejoined the small delegation awaiting his next move, he deftly motioned to one of his Dora Milaje, who slipped out of the door after Ororo…

[I apologize, but unfortunately you will have to forgo the pleasure of Our Lady’s company. I hope spending the afternoon with me won’t be too much to bear.] T’Challa’s charm elicited a round of good-natured chuckles from his guests, who were immediately put at ease by his reassuring smile as well as apparent lack of concern over what had just transpired.

As he ushered the group through the hall toward the elaborately manicured gardens outside the palace, he cast one last look behind him; it was the only indication of his true feelings, but none of them noticed it.



In another part of the palace…
She couldn’t stop. She just couldn’t get her hands to stop shaking.

Perched on the stone bench outside her master bedroom, she had closed off the terrace to her normally welcomed but now meddlesome attendants, clearly hurting some feelings in her attempt to get them to leave her be for a few moments.

Now, as she leaned over, holding her head in her hands and focusing her breathing, the stoic beauty closed her bright eyes against the images flooding back to her mind’s eye. Her pulse nearly beat out of her chest as she pushed back at the feelings that came w/ those images.

His voice…as he whispered how much he wanted her.

His eyes…as he drank in the sight of her naked.

His touch…as calloused hands massaged her body into compliance of his will like no man could ever hope to.

“Stop.� Her harsh whisper cut through the air and she squeezed her eyes closed, clasping her hands before her lips. Amazed, she winced, wondering why her lips were so sensitive…

[Ororo?]

Her heart skipped a beat as she whirled around, having tho’t she was alone. ‘Being by yourself w/ these thoughts isn’t such a good idea, you know.’
Dismissing that, she nonetheless gave the woman behind her a little smile, despite the unannounced interruption. [Khaji. I see T’Challa could not leave well enough alone.]

The athletic young woman cocked her head, perched easily on the edge of the roof over the still-locked terrace doors. Her skin-tight, dark leather outfit from neck to toe looked thoroughly uncomfortable, but she moved with the grace of a feline as she slipped down off of the angled roof to stand behind Ororo. [Did you really expect him to?]

Ororo’s lip quirked at the tone in the other woman’s voice; a cross between amusement and a chiding. Without turning, she could already imagine the 19 yr old—well past her years in experience and intellect—evaluating her for any signs something was off. Khaji’s perceptiveness was usually reassuring…today it was just annoying.

[I suppose not. But you of all people know how I don’t like to be made a fuss over. It was a simple dizzy spell, for goddess sake.]

[Ororo…you were unconscious for over ten minutes.]

Khaji’s brow rose at Ororo’s sudden but barely noticeable pause; a stiffening of her back muscles and a jerk of her head that would’ve been missed if one wasn’t waiting for it. When the other woman didn’t respond to that, the Dora Milaje took a couple steps closer, her waist-length, side-locked ponytail of shiny jet-black hair swishing with her very feminine walk.

They remained silent for several tense seconds, as Khaji waited for Ororo to say something…anything. When it became apparent there was nothing to say, a delicate but deadly hand curved over Ororo’s right shoulder, squeezing. [Is everything alright?]

Staring out over the expansive personal tropical garden that she usually took so much pride in nurturing, Ororo’s eyes couldn’t meet her friend’s. She didn’t want Khaji to see the conflict in her eyes…or that was blossoming in her heart.

She wasn’t sure what had happened to her; there was no sense at all of the jumbled emotions and cloudy ‘dream/feelings’ that seemed more like a tasteless delusion. At that moment, Ororo wasn’t sure of much, let alone the answer to Khaji’s question. She simply couldn’t shake the feeling that something dreadful was headed her way.


---


Days Later; Westchester, NY…
The heavy dark wood door to the Professor’s downstairs study had been closed for almost 2 ½ hrs now, with barely a sound coming out past it. The closed ‘sessions’ were becoming a bit of a ritual, and others among the team couldn’t help but be curious at exactly what was being discussed within.

“How much longer do you think he’s going to do this?�

“Beats me, Sugah. ‘Till the Prof. or Hank can figure out what ‘appened, Ah guess.�

“And if they can’t?�

“That’s not something you need to worry about.� Came from behind them.

Kitty & Rogue weren’t so bothered by Jean’s intrusion as by the equally worried expression coloring her own face as she watched the closed door with them.

It hadn’t quite been a week yet since the small rescue party had retrieved Logan from the African desert, and things were by far not returning to normal. The X-Men’s lone-wolf member could no better articulate what he’d experienced than Charles could delve into his mind to extract it. The usually chaotic mind of one James Howlett had been exponentially fucked over, leaving him edgy, sullen and down-right moody half of the time, while any other given moment he appeared almost at peace.

It was that latter state that had everyone in the mansion looking over their shoulders.

“Jean, what happened to Logan out there?� Kitty asked, not for the first time.

Rogue & Dr. Grey looked over her head at each other briefly, and it took a couple seconds before Jean answered. “Kit, I’m afraid I don’t have the answer to that. Professor Xavier is working hard on it, don’t worry.�

Just then, the trio jumped in embarrassment as the door to the study was jerked open, swinging wildly back on its hinges before an audibly growling Wolverine stalked out, only glancing their way briefly before continuing by, toward the lower levels of the mansion.

Rogue covered Kitty’s teenaged ears with her ever-gloved palms in a vain attempt to shield her ‘impressionable’ mind against the string of swear words that echoed their way as he stomped down the hall. “The soonah, the bettah.�

Jean watched the tightness of Logan’s back muscles as he departed, worry etched over her face, before wasting no more time heading into the study. Rogue & Kitty were hot on her heels.

“Charles?�

The Professor looked up from behind his wide desk, still in the midst of finishing notes from his latest ‘session’ with Logan. He stopped typing on the laptop, closing it quietly and trying his best smile—which, of course fell drastically short. “Jean. Marie, Kitty. How can I--?�

“What’s wrong w/ Logan, Professor??� Kitty blurted, her young eyes fraught with a depth of worry Charles hadn’t seen from them since the young woman had first stepped to his school’s door.

He didn’t need telepathy to guess they’d been outside & had seen Logan’s departure. With a gentle smile, like a patient parent, he wheeled himself from behind the desk, choosing his deflective words carefully. “I understand your concern for Logan, Kathryn. Unfortunately, I’m unable to discuss our sessions without his consent.�

“Professor—“

He held up a hand, still wearing his “patient face�. “But…I can tell you that he’s going to need some time. The Wolverine that you found at that crash is not the same man that left here last week.�

“You’re talking about his healing factor returning?� Jean peered at Charles carefully, her expression thoughtful.

“That, and many other things. Whatever happened to him during that crash has had a profound effect on Logan; one I can’t explain and that even he cannot fully understand yet.�

“Is there anything we can do?� Jean laid a hand on Charles’ shoulder, sensing the man’s fatigue.

He squeezed her fingers, giving her a sort of tired smile before replying, “Well, I wouldn’t recommend pursuing the subject with him just yet. It’s taken me 3 days just to get him to talk about it, and still nothing he’s said has made much sense. I fear the progress we’d made these past months may be in jeopardy, unless Logan can begin to unlock the secrets his mind is withholding from him.�

Despite his intentions, Charles could see his words had only made Kitty feel worse for her mentor & friend. He patted the girl on the hand reassuringly, adding, “Just act exactly as you always have, Kitty. We’re all happy to have him back and alive, but the best thing for Logan right now is a sense of normalcy…�

Just then, Peter Rasputin and Bobby flew past the far corridor with some of the younger students in a wild—and completely unauthorized—game of indoor football. Someone yelled out, there was the unmistakable sound of some type of long-range mutant-power exploding in the air, and the resulting sound of something expensive breaking brought all of them up short, and Charles touched his forehead to his hand, rolling his eyes.

“…or, what passes for it around here.�


---


A couple hrs later, Downstairs in one of the Danger Rooms…
He had already run through the computer’s Senior-Level combat scenarios half a dozen times, but still he couldn’t seem to work the edge off of his bad mood. Sitting on the fallen body of one of the men he’d eviscerated, Logan looked around the holo suite’s manufactured replica of the underground bunker at Alkali Lake.

This particular program he’s designed himself, a few weeks after the team’s battle there, when everything had changed so drastically for him. It was the exact battle where he’d been captured and stripped of not only his adamantium skeleton but also his healing abilities, even down to the faces of the soldiers & scientist he had etched in his memory.

He ran through this program at least 10 times a week (more, if he were honest with himself), finding new ways to gut, dismember and otherwise maim the men that haunted his dreams and waking moments when he thought about what he’d lost.

Now that his healing had returned, there was a whole new sense of “fun� in it.

One of the bodies nearby struggled to move, moaning in a chillingly life-like way (just as he asked the computer’s A.I. to design them) as the man dragged himself up, one of his legs obviously broken and undoubtedly suffering from countless other internal injuries. Calmly, Logan stood, turning to the man, who looked up in alarm and immediately reached for his weapon, which of course was going to be no match, but the programmed ‘instinct’ of the A.I. never failed.

The sound of a glock discharging echoed in the room several times as the man emptied his clip into Logan, who barely paused each time the bullets embedded themselves in his flesh. The sound of bone scraping bone as six claws emerged was just as painful as its description. Logan remembered the first time after the adamantium was gone, when he’d forgotten & let them out, how much it hurt. The bony, irregular shapes had a difficult time sliding out of his skin; unlike the smooth metal of the shiny adamantium. This time was no different.

With a feral growl he pounced on the injured man, grabbing him by the neck with one hand while his other fist drove into the man’s diaphragm, puncturing organs. Without the clean slice of the metal, Logan knew he’d have to change the way he fought—the way he killed.

Pushing the man up against the nearby wall, knocking the wind out of him, Wolverine held him by the throat, his wide shoulders pinning the man in place, while he repeatedly retracted and extended his bone claws in and out of the man’s body, turning his insides to hamburger with the quick jabs.

The pain he felt each time they slid in and out melted into the sadistic pleasure he got out of killing the man, and Logan didn’t stop until the man’s eyes rolled into the back of his head, choking on his own blood and tissue before his body went limp, sliding down to the floor.

Wolverine watched quietly as the body spasmed several times before it stopped moving. He was covered in blood—most of it wasn’t his own—and his arms hurt like hell, but the satisfaction he was expecting to feel after a few rounds in his ‘favorite’ DR scenario never came.

Reaching down, he stole the soldier’s Bowie blade, backing up to the wall where he leaned against it, sliding down himself to sit beside the dead body. Holding his other hand out, he extended the bone claws slowly until they were fully visible, and with the blade began sharpening the claws & sanding down the irregular spots so they would be as smooth as the missing metal blades.

‘Ya know why this shit ain’t workin’ anymore, Bub.’ He chided himself, concentrating on making the bone as sharp & smooth as possible. Unbidden, a flash of silver-white and blue floated before his mind’s eye. It was fleeting, and he couldn’t see Her face, but he could hear her light, airy laughter reverberate in his ears as if she were there with him.

Truth be told, ever since he’d returned to New York, she had been. In the middle of the night, when he woke up in a cold sweat with a hard cock; during mission briefings in Chuck’s office when he found his mind wandering & he looked outside to the clear, beautiful sky that looked just like her eyes; when he’d try to escape her by taking his usually calming late afternoon ‘hunts’ in the woods on the School’s property, she was still there…

In the trees, in the water; hell the wind even started to carry her scent—that mixture of jasmine, rain & vanilla that he’d not soon forget.

That’s when Logan knew he was going crazy. Judging by the look Charles had given him when he’d finally opened up about it, there was no doubt.

‘Buddy-boy you are off yer rocker.’

“Feelin’ better, ami?�

Logan didn’t look up from his suddenly very important task, but his expression changed just a little to one of mild annoyance that was quickly building. “Whadaya want, Gumbo.�

Remy stayed exactly where he was in the doorway of the Danger Room, arms crossed and leaning against the wall. A half-lit cigarette dangled dangerously from his lip as he spoke, his crimson eyes surveying the room. “Wondered who was takin’ so long in da trainin’ room, is all. Good t’see ya got y’spirit back.�

The high-pitched clack-clack of the blade against his bone claws stopped.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?�

Gambit’s eyebrow went up a little at the menacing tone, and he wondered what nerve he’d unknowingly hit. “Just sayin’ is all. Since y’been back, de Wolverine done come out ‘little more.�

During his statement, Remy could hear Logan’s low growl rumbling up out of his chest, and was suddenly thinking twice of coming to see how his teammate was doing. It hadn’t been his idea anyway, but Rogue & Kitty had wrangled him into it with their blasted charms.

As Logan stopped his sharpening, flipping the blade end-over-end in one fluid motion to grasp blade down, plunging it into the body beside him before standing, Remy swallowed. ‘Ah, sometime Remy think he just need to say ‘No’.’

Still covered in some blood (his own now, as the Danger Room timed-out), Logan began walking with a purpose toward Remy. “End program.�

The room returned to normal, the bodies, blood & gore disappearing. Logan’s hands were bruised, but mostly healed, as he grimaced, the now dangerously sharp & smooth bone claws sliding back into his hands. A little blood dripped as they cut new paths back in, but he seemed oblivious to it as he kept his flint-colored eyes locked on his younger teammate.

As he approached, Gambit took a step back, but his face remained calm; he didn’t seriously believe Logan would hurt him, but he thought he’d be an idiot not to be prepared for anything.

Suddenly Wolverine’s gaze turned forward, and as he passed Gambit, he only muttered, “S’all yers.�

Remy let him get a good two steps farther before he said, “Logan?�

The other man stopped but didn’t turn.

“Is good t’have you back, mon ami.�

There was a pause, and then a very wolf-like snorting grunt before Logan continued out the doors and down the hall to the showers.




Once he was alone again, Wolverine sighed deeply, resting his forehead against the warm porcelain of the shower wall. The water was much too hot, but he was hoping it would either cleanse his senses or beat his body numb; whatever it took to get his mind off of Her.

He shook his head at himself. He didn’t even know who she was, or if, for that matter. Rationale told him that what he’d experienced out there in that desert couldn’t have happened. His body, his instincts & senses—which he’d trusted for his whole life—told him differently.

That's what was scaring him. If he was just suffering from some desert-induced hallucination, Logan may’ve been able to handle that. Hell, he couldn’t think of anything better to conjure up in one’s last living moments. But the fact that he kept thinking about Her, kept imagining seeing her, feeling her, tasting her…

Squeezing his eyes shut, he pushed those blood-boiling thoughts away. He couldn’t imagine why he suddenly felt like some under-sexed, over-imaginative teenaged boy on top of it all.

‘Yeah ya do…’ He chuckled sarcastically, as a flash of smooth brown skin was brought to mind.

It had seemed so real, though. Every beautiful, soft, curvaceous inch of her. And what she’d done with his healing factor…

“You gotta go get 'Some', or something.� He chided himself, shaking his head, standing directly beneath the hot water. He couldn’t be obsessing over a friggin’ hallucination. A mirage, of all things.

Toweling himself off afterwards, Logan made up his mind, determined to get the cloudy, elusive images and feelings of the woman out of his head. He should just be glad his healing factor was back, and leave the whys and hows to people like Charles and Hank.

Damn. Speaking of which…


---


About 30 mins. later, in the MedLab…
“I’m glad you decided to make the appointment.� Henry said dryly, his back to Logan as the door slid open.

“Yeah, yeah, McCoy. I’m late, I know. Let’s just get this over with.� He came over, hopping up on the nearest examination table.

Ignoring the attitude, Henry adjusted his specs, moving over to the panel of gorgeous Shi’ar technology. “Of course. Please remove your shirt and pants, and lay back as still as possible.�

Logan complied with no more complaint, stripping down to his boxer briefs and laying on the unnecessarily cold table. Above him, a machine whirred into life, a bright bluish light shining in his eyes before it started at the top of his head and scanned the length of his body. Logan was beyond uncomfortable, but bit it back; he knew it was his recent run-in with those Dept. H assholes that he kept being reminded of.

At the control station, Henry monitored the holographic results of the scan, his hand supporting his chin as his eyes darted back and forth between two monitors. He knew the instruments only needed one pass, but the results he was seeing made him recalibrate the scan and it went over Logan’s body two more times.

“Is something wrong?�

Hank didn’t immediately respond, but turned to the side, grasping a small paper readout of some calculations he could’ve done in his head, but wanted to make sure of before he said anything. “’Wrong’ would not be the term I would immediately contemplate using.�

“Spit it out, Doc.� Logan barely waited for the scanner to leave him alone before he sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the table to dangle, leaning toward Hank.

Shaking his head, Henry pointed to the slip of printout in his hands. “Due to the nature of your recent…accident, I thought a comparison study between your last physical and the results of the first molecular DNA scan I performed upon your return last week would yield a conclusive answer to the ambiguity surrounding the re-emergence of your healing factor.�

“Uh…huhn.� Logan’s eye brow went up, his hand motioning McCoy to continue in an impatient way.

“However, these samples I’ve just taken, are slightly different. I had to be sure.�

“Of what?�

“How shall I say this..? From what I have been able to conclude from the comparative studies, Logan…you’ve done a little more than simply regenerate.� Hank took his specs down for emphasis, piercing Wolverine with his gaze.

“Meanin’?�

“Well, take your arm, for instance.� Henry got up, coming over to hold Logan’s right elbow up slightly, evaluating the musculature there as if it was going to explain the secrets of life to him. “Do you remember telling me you thought you’d lost it during the crash?�

“I know I did. You and Chuck thought I was flippin’ crazy.� Logan watched his teammate over his bicep.

“Well, we found no evidence of dismemberment at the accident scene. In actuality, I was simply more inclined to believe your healing factor could have over compensated, regenerating at a much more accelerated rate. But now…� Hank turned back to the panel, where a holographic close-up of Logan’s arm was turning 360°. There was data running into infinity beside the image, none of which Logan could even begin to understand.

“Hank, are ya gonna ever spit it out, or what?� Logan’s ire was building, mainly because he didn’t like the way the doctor was hesitating getting to the point. A flustered Henry McCoy was never a good thing.

“Logan…if what I’m seeing is correct, the tissue scans of your right arm are different from those of the left.�

“Different how?�

“Younger.�

Wolverine’s head turned to the side in a motion very much like a canine. “Come again?�

Hank took his red-light pointer, flashing it at several spots on the image of the arm. “Let me explain. There are certain tell-tale signs, if you will, on regenerated cell structure. It is the way a pathologist, for example, can tell if scar tissue is present on a cadaver for preliminary identification in a post-mortem exam. Well, your scans, typically are slightly different, due to your healing factor. While outwardly it will appear as if this regeneration is brand new, unscarred tissue, deeper analysis would reveal that your healing factor usually only regenerates up to a certain age. For instance, say after a cut or gunshot wound, you will heal with tissue closest to the appearance of the surrounding, unharmed tissue. This is why, we believe, you’ve maintained a substantial hold onto your ‘youth’, despite what we’ve come to find out about your actual age. It’s quite a marvel of genetics, if I do say so.�

Logan ignored Hank’s admiration of his X-Factor, trying to sift through all the ‘Hank Speech’ to get to the heart of the matter. “Are you trying to tell me that if I never got hurt—stabbed, shot, blasted by the Phoenix Force, whatever—that I would be aging quicker?�

“That’s partially correct. In essence, every time your body is injured, your genetic pre-disposition to heal itself sort of kicks into overdrive. Getting shot at age 22 will heal certain cells to age 18, for instance. And so on. The exact back-dating is unknown, but if I had a little more time to study it—“

“Uh, that’s okay. Anyway…?�

“Ah, yes! The point I was coming to. While I can “age� the tissue on your left arm and other parts of your body back to the Alkali Lake physical…your right arm’s cell tissue is something of an anomaly. The tissue dated back farther than any scans I have since you’ve joined the X-Men.�

“Hold up a minute…� Wolverine kind of chuckled, his head swimming with all this information about his healing that he really didn’t need to know, he thought. “…are you tryin’ to say my right arm ain’t as ‘old’ as the rest of me?�

“Basically, the rest of your body is on a different healed age than that arm, yes. But that isn’t all.�

“Well, what else?�

“The ‘age’ of the right arm’s cells seems to be affecting the regeneration of the cells in the rest of your body. In essence, you are ‘de-aging’.�

“How the hell is that possible?�

“Logan, I have no idea.�


---

For the rest of the evening, Wolverine stayed in his bedroom, laid out on the bed, watching the shadows crawl across the ceiling. His exam with McCoy had his mind reeling. Henry had insisted on taking some biopsy samples to do further “comparative analysis� he’d said, and Logan had grudgingly allowed it.

Wolverine didn’t need modern—or alien—science to tell him what he was already beginning to realize: that desert encounter had done more to him than set his hormones back a few decades. He was beginning to understand why he felt so…different. His senses were much more acute. He hadn’t even realized that, despite his abilities, he was still aging, albeit so much slower than your average human or mutant. However, since returning from Kenya, he was left at the end of the day with all this pent up energy, his mind was seemingly so active at the oddest times of day, his already amazing reflexes seemed even more honed, if that were possible…and then there was his libido.

He’d known something was up when he caught himself admiring Rogue’s ass the day before while she was practicing yoga in the den. Marie was a beautiful woman, of course, but Logan could never remember looking at her the way he had that day. She wasn’t “Marie� or “Rogue� or “Belle� or his teammate. She was a piece of tight ass.

Sighing in resignation, he glanced at the clock beside his bed, noticing the time was getting later. Looking back at the ceiling, he thought of the true object of his attention. He couldn’t clearly see her face, but he felt like he knew her so well; like himself. It was impossible to explain to someone who hadn’t been there, but Logan could feel her with him at all times. It was like the sense he got when he entered a room and someone had just been there.

“Who the hell are you?� He sighed out loud, turning on his side to lean near the nightstand and open the top drawer. Carefully he reached inside, taking out a small cardboard box no larger than 4� around. Inside the box, resting on tissue paper, were the remnants of the blue flower he’d taken out of the desert. The petals were still amazingly bright and blue, despite the fact that they were almost a week old. It was the only thing he had to hold on to that convinced Logan he couldn’t have imagined the whole thing.

Could he?



TBC…
*[ ] (Translated from Swahili)

Chapter 3, “Recognition�

“Logan. I’m glad you came.� Charles Xavier looked up from his cluttered desk, moving papers and file folders in some semblance of order.

The other man looked around the room somewhat cautiously. He’d just been there in the Professor’s downstairs study the day before for his latest weekly ‘session’; with the way things had been going lately, he couldn’t see Chuck wanting to submit himself to the continued punishment of beating his shiny head against the Wall that was Wolverine’s mind.

“Yeah, actually, I was just gonna head out fer a few hours, get some air, so if ya could make this kinda quick…� Logan was pointing behind him already.

Charles only smiled pleasantly, gesturing a chair. Logan waved his decline, evidently preferring to stand. Unbothered, Xavier nodded, folding his hands atop the desk. “Well, I wanted to speak with you as soon as possible, to ask something of you.�

“Yeah..?� Now Logan could feel the hackles on his neck rise; there was something about the nice, intentionally smooth cadence to the man’s voice. He was setting Logan up for something, like bad news.

“Well, you’ve been back for a couple weeks now, and I understand you’re going to be anxious to get back to Active duty.�

That got Logan’s attention. He’d been a bored mess hanging around the mansion with nothing to occupy his time but defense class lesson plans, his sessions w/ Chuck and fighting thoughts of silky white hair and perky brown ni—

“Yeah, yeah I kinda am.�

Charles nodded, smiling brightly but with a wicked twinkle somewhere in his eyes. Calmly he continued, “That’s good. However, I’m not sure we’re ready to take that step yet. You’ve been through quite a bit in the last year, Logan.�

There it was.

“Hold on; what’re you trying to tell me here, Chuck? Yer not gonna take me off the sidelines?� Logan crossed his arms, immediately feeling his temper rising.

“Not immediately, no.� Xavier could tell he may be playing with fire, but part of his method of madness was to see exactly how Wolverine was going to react to this. He wheeled his chair from behind the desk, coming to within several feet of his ‘student’. “Hank has some reservations about how your recent accident may have affected your body, and I’m in no rush to put such a crucial member of the team back in action before we’re sure it won’t do more harm than good.�

Muther FUCKER. Logan’s eyes said everything Charles needed to hear as he tried his best not to feed right into the professor’s trap. He’d been in similar situations enough to realize this was a test.

‘Ah Hell with it.’

“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me. So what, now you and Furball are deciding what’s best fer me??� Logan’s posture turned from being guardedly relaxed to obviously pissed in 0.2 seconds.

“This is quite standard procedure, Logan. Each team member goes through the same process after an Inactive Leave, you know that.� Charles was still speaking in that annoyingly calm tone, his hands loosely folded in his lap as he watched the other man’s every tick and grunt and sigh.

“Yeah yeah, I get that, but I ain’t everyone else. I’m telling ya, I’m fine.� So what if that was a little on the ‘optimistic’ side? He just couldn’t stay another month or week or even two days like this.

Charles wasn’t fooled for a second. “Now Logan, you and I both know that isn’t true. Or are you going to tell me you’re no longer having nightmares about crashing in the desert?�

He paused when the professor said that; he hadn’t mentioned his dreams to Charles in about 10 days. Was the telepath able to slip inside Logan’s head when he was asleep? It wasn’t just the crash he still dreamed about, either…

When Wolverine didn’t answer, Charles made his own assumptions about why that was. “Trust me, I don’t want to prolong your Inactive status any longer than you, but as I said, Henry has some reservations that I’d much rather allow him to research. Besides, I could use you elsewhere.�

Distracted, Logan met Charles’ gaze, curious.

“I’ve got a trip planned to Washington this weekend. One of several over the next few months. While the rest of the team will deal with the more ‘hands on’ aspects of missions, I’m determined to get the government to recognize mutants as a persecuted group and fund training that will help educate the general public about us. I’ve been invited to a special summit in D.C. where the U.S. and other nations will be discussing mutant-related issues specifically. They need to realize that it isn’t just a “mutant problem�, however; it’s a issue for all mankind.�

Logan grinned a little, watching Xavier get a little distracted and off topic himself; he knew Chuck wasn’t jerking his chain anymore; not when it came to mutant affairs. Even so… “What does this have to do with me?�

“I want you to accompany me.�

Logan’s expression echoed his immediate thought: “Why?�

With a chuckle, Charles explained, “Normally, Henry would be going, but as he’s pretty occupied and you’re otherwise available, I thought it would be a good thing for you. Don’t worry, Logan, I don’t expect you to sit through the speeches and cocktails and networking, but at least you’ll see that force isn’t the only way to get things done in the world.�

He was shaking his head at Charles, but knew already that he ultimately had no choice. What, stay there in the mansion while the rest of the team was off on some mission? Or take one of his sabbaticals back home to Canada, where he could reminisce about the day he’d lost his adamantium? No thanks.

Logan bit back a growl, clenching his teeth as he grated out, “Well, D.C. it is.�



Later That Night, around 2a.m. Local Time in Kenya…
The late night air was cool and quite comfortable for the time of year, but that was almost always due to the power of the Ivory Priestesses, who looked after the land and protected it, along with providing a very nice atmosphere.

Unfortunately, not everyone was able to enjoy it…


It was only about 30 minutes after she’d finally gotten to sleep before Ororo’s body was twisted and turned in her large king-sized bed. Her body was wrapped in the satin and silk sheets several different ways as her head thrashed from side to side, sweat soaking her pillows and body as if she was laying out in the sun of the Sahara.

Behind her lovely, thick-lashed lids, her eyes rolled in spasms as she entered REM sleep, but it wasn’t restful by any stretch of the imagination. She continued to struggle in her sleep for another hour before her body had gone deathly still, her hair loosened from the carefully braided knot her attendants had placed it in hours before.

A sudden chill ran down her spine, and Ororo awoke in surprise, feeling warmth behind her when she knew she’d gone to bed alone. She didn’t want to open her eyes, hoping that this time, for the first time, that if she didn’t look, it would mean none of it was happening.

A warm, slightly trembling hand brushed her arm, sliding up its length before moving to her small waist, fingers curving into the shape of her pelvic bone. Hot breath tickled her ear, and when she felt the throbbing erection against her backside, she knew for certain it was Him.

Despite herself, Ororo allowed his hand to caress her chin, his thumb lightly running over her bottom lip before he pressed against her jaw line, turning her face back toward him. Still half asleep but her heart pounding in her ears, she obeyed; her lips hadn’t fully come around to face him before he leaned in the rest of the way, covering them with his own in the same hungry passion that she’d come to expect from him each time he visited her.

She allowed their tongues to dance for several moments before pulling back, meeting his gaze with pleading questions in her eyes. Ororo’s voice couldn’t seem to find itself around him, unless it was with moans of pleasure and that fact seemed quite fine with him, as his fingers floated down from the pulse at her neck to the collarbone & shoulder, gently sweeping around the contour of her naked breast before his cool palm covered it completely.

Inhaling sharply, her eyes fluttered a little, anticipating his next moves, but he paused, still watching her with those haunted but hungry eyes. Thank You.

She followed his wandering gaze to his right arm, where the bare muscles were drawn tight as he used it to prop himself up at the elbow. She reached up to touch the arm, flashes of seeing his broken, battered body laying on the desert floor playing like a movie behind them. Her attention turned to watch the transparent display, remembering what happened next.


Don’t fight it.

Ororo sighed, the small sound echoing as the space around them waved like the heat on the desert, before the darkened bedroom melted away in favor of more familiar surroundings. He raised his chin, and then smiled knowingly when the sounds of their private, tropical paradise met his ears. The wide bed of silk sheets disappeared, replaced by infinitely soft bright green grass and leaves; the night wind faded into the sound of the waterfall bubbling a few yards away and as he turned to look back at her, felt like he was finally ‘home’.

The gaze she returned told him that the woman he’d met there had returned, replacing the unsure, reserved counterpart from the palace bedroom. It was the same each time they met; he had to ‘reintroduce’ them before she finally emerged from the cocoon that was her hard, elusive shell. Once she did, however, the difference was night and day.

A stiff, cool breeze erupted from nowhere, blowing her braided coil of hair up and loosening the tight hairdo until the long, thick locks of silver fell down over her shoulders and onto the jungle floor. Her expression told him it was a liberating relief and she laughed lightly before leaning into him, pressing her lips to his as thought it was the first time. They fell against the grass as he wrapped his arms about her waist, pulling her torso over his. Silver eyes met Blue momentarily and He never felt so alive as at that moment, wrapping a thick lock of her shimmering hair around his hand. She touched his cheek, her eyes no longer afraid but alive with the promise of things to come.


*Gasp!*

Ororo’s eyes snapped open, her head spinning for several seconds as she looked around frantically. The dark shadows of her palace room surrounded her, while the sky outside told her it was nearing dawn. She sat up in the large bed, drawing the cold, wet sweat-soaked sheet up to her chest. When she moved, she felt something scratch her, and looked down to see pieces of leaves and twigs mixed within the sheets.

Angrily, she brushed them to the floor, then got up from the bed, yanking the sheets off & whipping them out to rid them of the debris. When she did so, several dozen bright blue petals were cast up into the air, only to float down around her head, landing quietly at her feet.

Ororo’s eyes widened and she took a step back, her bare toes sliding against the smooth marble floor. Frantically she gathered them up, hurrying to the terrace doors where she flung them open and tossed the petals to the wind.

‘It can’t be.’ Ororo’s eyes darted about the room searching for any more evidence of the offending flower before snatching up her silk sheet, wrapping it around her body and fleeing the room.

Some minutes later, the door to the crown prince’s room opened without a noise, and delicate brown feet padded in, coming to stop beside the bed for a few seconds before she crawled up onto the firm mattress.

T’Challa had still been asleep, but now turned his head toward her as she curled up against him. He smiled, but when he reached over to touch her, his expression changed. [Ororo? You’re trembling; what’s happened?]

Her throat was raw, but she knew that the tightness wasn’t from the pent up emotions warring in her heart…

Shaking her head, she buried her face in T’Challa’s shoulder, the immense guilt, shame & conflict boiling over. For his part, the soon-to-be King of the Wakandan-Kenyan Alliance gathered his fiancée into his arms, simply holding her shaking body. He’d not seen Ororo this upset since they were children, and he admitted to himself that the image of her dismantled and vulnerable…thoroughly unnerved him.

Despite the fact he was unclear what had put her in such a state, T’Challa whispered sympathetically, [It’s alright; it was but a dream? Nightmare, perhaps.]

Ororo couldn’t respond, closing her eyes to everything in some vain attempt to forget tanned peach skin and the way he made her feel when he made love to her. A Nightmare?

‘If only it could be.’ She knew when she awoke amidst the petals of the Blue Desert Rose that it was anything but.

Looking up at him with glassy red-rimmed eyes, Ororo whispered finally, [I’m sorry, T’Challa…but I won’t be able to accompany you on your trip this week.]

He was beyond surprised, leaning away to stare at her with concern & disappointment. [But why? You’ve been looking forward to this as much as I.]

Her eyes left his as she responded, [I have to answer…another call.] Before he could question her, she elaborated briefly, [My mind & my will have both seemed to betray me of late. I need to take counsel with the Ivory Priestesses—it cannot delay.]

[Ororo…]

She laid her hand on his arm, fitting her head beneath his chin. [Please, T’Challa. I cannot say more. Trust me this once?]

How could he not? After growing up together, being groomed for matrimony all their lives; she was his best friend, confidant and political partner all in one. She was his strength and hope that there was a brighter future for their two people through their alliance; she was Ororo: she was Beauty.

Most importantly, She had his heart. [This once, always, it matters not. Anything to see the light return to your eyes.]

That decided, Ororo hugged him closer, taking a deep breath that was expelled a little shakily. She knew the Priestesses would have the answer she sought; she just hoped it was what she wanted to hear.


---


The Next Day, Ororo left the palace under secret; not even a member of the Dora Milaje was allowed to tail her, per T’Challa’s instructions. It unnerved Khaji, especially, who thought the whole idea of the future Queen of the Alliance going anywhere alone was foolish, at best.

The young princess donned simple khaki pants, a short-sleeved shirt and hiking boots, carrying a small pack on her back when she left the palace city. She took to the skies immediately, heading west toward Mt. Kilimanjaro and the secret sanctity of the Ivory Priestesses.

T’Challa watched as she left, his eyes squinted against the morning light until he couldn’t see her anymore. He couldn’t seem to shake a nagging feeling eating at his stomach, but he knew no matter what, he trusted Ororo and would be there when she returned.

[Are you sure this is such a good idea?]

He didn’t turn, continuing to search the sky despite the fact Ororo was long gone. [Khaji, I appreciate the concern, but I don’t have to remind you to whom it is you speak.]

The young woman pursed her lips, biting back another comment. She knew her position as Ororo’s friend and T’Challa’s 1st Dora Milaje lent her certain ‘allowances’, but she wasn’t speaking out of turn just to be contrary. Which she reminded him carefully. [Your majesty, my concern for Ororo is legitimate; violence against her kind has spread in recent months and even though the People associate her more with the Priestesses, I don’t want to see some ‘misguided’ soul take out his ignorance on our future Queen.]

T’Challa fidgeted a little, curtailing his immediate instinct to remind Khaji that he hadn’t forgotten how important Ororo was. He couldn’t simply dictate her life such as had been done generations before with the movements of the Wakandan king’s wife; she was different, and it was only partially to do with her role as an Ivory Priestess. Finally, he agreed, [Nor do I. But I think you underestimate your queen. Ororo can take care of herself. ]

Khaji crossed her arms tightly, watching T’Challa’s back; her expression was guarded, but inwardly she hoped he was right.


---


As the rest of the world went about its daily routine, a small space of it seemed rooted in time. The foothills of Mt. Kilimanjaro appeared no different than that of any other mountain set. To outsiders, that’s as far as they would get anyway.

For one such as Ororo, who knew better, it was like coming home.

She had been traveling for hours, taking her time to calm her nerves and enjoy the desert colors of her native land. It was a method she hoped would get her ready to face her mother’s ancestors; a head-strong lot that cared deeply for family, but at the same time had no time for idle visits. As a matter of fact, it had been more than 15 years since she’d last seen the inside of the Ivory citadel, when her initial training by the Priestesses had concluded and she was ‘adopted’ by T’Challa’s family to live with them until the two would wed on her 27th birthday. By tradition, she and her future husband lived & worked together as business partners and friends up until their nuptials. Of course, Ororo and T’Challa had become fast friends immediately, and even though she knew he was equally enamored w/ her romantically, Ororo had always held her feelings more closely to the vest. She respected him of course and loved him as both brother & friend…but even though he was probably the best looking specimen of Man she’d laid eyes on, romantic feelings toward him was something she’d always found elusive.

Unbidden, her thoughts fixed on another, who she seemingly had no problems with in that department. ‘Stop that, now. This is nonsense; you don’t even know what these “dreams� mean…’

She had taken to calling the late night encounters ‘dreams’, mainly in a vain hope that that was all they were. Deep down she knew that wasn’t so, but it didn’t keep Ororo from wishing.

Stepping among the large rocks and boulders at the base of the mountain, she reached into her shirt and pulled out a necklace of linked gold, at the end of which were 3 jewels: one of red, white and blue. Behind an unassuming boulder, the shadows were long and she rested there momentarily, taking a deep breath before she wiped away several layers of desert sand from the face of rock behind it to reveal a small space with three holes in a triangular design.

Each jewel fit perfectly in the holes, and she bowed her head, saying a quiet prayer. Immediately, the side of the mountain rumbled, rocks falling from above, but she didn’t move, knowing none would strike her. After several moments, a semi-truck-sized opening was revealed, cool air blasting out at her.

Ororo shielded her face for just a second or so before taking her gemstones back and heading into the pitch-black entrance before the face of the mountain closed again.


Several hours later, Ororo felt she was no closer to figuring out what was happening to her than before she’d arrived. No amount of training and studying of ancient scrolls had prepared her for the chaos warring within her mind and heart.

Sitting cross-legged in the wide central chamber of the citadel, she was surrounded by five matronly females, each of varying apparent ages. They all had bright, white hair that fell in cascading waves down their shoulders and bright blue eyes that fixed her with acute gazes. The cool (to the point of aloof) expressions were just barely beginning to piss her off a little, but she did her best not to show it.

[Is that all you can tell me, Madorae?]

The oldest of the women cocked her jeweled head to one side, watching Ororo like a parent would a child that had asked too many questions on the origins of life. [What we have told you is enough, young one. By your own admission you have accepted the Choice of the Blue Desert Rose. We do not understand your query.]

[�Accepted�--?? Wait, I have not accepted anything. You taught me that the legend of the Flower was to unite and protect our people, ensuring the survival of the Solo and the Priestess legacy--]

[What we told you], one of the matrons interrupted, [is that following your coming of age, you may be given the option of embracing the Legacy of your ancestors; that of the Madora and the Ivory Priestesses. The Blue Rose is part of that destiny. Once accepted, it cannot be refused. The Rose’s purpose is to ensure the survival of our way of life and the Ivory legacy. We cannot tell you more until you have fulfilled your part in the cycle.]

[And how do I do that?]

[You must accompany your betrothed on his mission of peace.] The eldest Madora stated matter-of-factly.

[The answers we believe you’re seeking are tied to T’Challa’s journey West. Follow him and you shall find what you are looking for.]Another piped in, nodding without doubt.

Ororo’s expression was confused as she looked at each woman in turn before coming to her knees and bowing low in respect. She felt even more uncertain, but knew that was all she was to get out of them for the moment. [May the Goddess be praised; thank you for agreeing to see me.]

The Priestesses watched her as she retreated back the way she’d come. When she had disappeared into the blackness outside of the citadel, one of the matrons turned to her sisters in concern. [The child seems not to understand her role in The Cycle. Perhaps the Rose--]

[The Rose…], The eldest Madora corrected, [knows her heart far better than the Child knows it herself. There is a balance to be struck in all things; Ororo must realize this. She is part of this balance, and cannot deny her true self…no matter how inconvenient it may be for her.]

[She will follow T’Challa West, then?] another asked.

[Yes. Once two halves find themselves whole, the Cycle will complete itself, and our Legacy will live on. It has been so and will continue to be so.]

The group nods in compliance, their faces once again neutral. Each woman with her striking blue eyes and bright white hair, tall and regal and beautiful beyond compare. They knew the trials ahead of their young sister, for each of them had been through it in her time…

..None relished Ororo the long road ahead of her.



TBC…

Chapter 4, “Disarm�

Friday morning the sun rose with little fanfare, and as Logan turned over in the unfamiliar bed, he blinked several times to wake himself, inhaling deeply to familiarize himself with why he wasn’t in his own bed.

The hotel suite near the capital was Five-Star, of course, but to him it was pomp & circumstance and completely unneeded…well, except maybe for the open bar.

Dragging his feet to the shower, he took his time getting ready. It was going to be the first full day of political schmoozing, as Kitty had called it. He and Charles had gotten in around 8:30pm Thursday evening, and had only enough time to check themselves in before a late dinner & bedtime.

Logan had found sleep an elusive stranger during the night, tossing and turning repeatedly. He couldn’t figure out why his body was so tightly wound up, his mind racing. He felt like he did right before a mission, only the excitement that usually came with those aforementioned feelings was missing.

Hot water ran down his body as he stood in the wide shower, his hands braced against the door and the opposite wall as he hung his head beneath the beating stream. Logan found himself deep in thought, as he realized he hadn’t had any ‘dreams’ (here he scoffed in amusement) in the past two days.

His subconscious had been eerily quiet and he was surprised to admit to himself that without his mysterious, beautiful companion, he was even crankier than ever. His mind vaguely recalled their last meeting; there seemed to be something bothering her, very much unlike the woman remembered in the desert. It had taken some cajoling on his part before her wilder, more carefree and natural side emerged. He wondered what a shrink would think about that; that apparently Logan had to coax his dream girl into submission.

Shaking his head at himself, he came out of the bathroom a little more awake, but still slightly groggy. His stomach was threatening to eat itself, so he quickly dressed and went next door to Charles’ room, knocking on the door out of respect, though he suspected the powerful telepath could sense someone coming well before he got there.

*Come in, Logan.*

“Chuck, ‘mornin. Did I sleep past the wake up call?� he joked, eyeing the wide spread of breakfast items in the dining area of the professor’s suite.

Xavier smiled, moving to the office in the large multi-roomed suite, his voice carrying. “Actually, I thought it best not to wake you. I had room service bring breakfast here, so as not to disturb you. By the look on your face last night, I could guess you needed a good night’s rest.�

Logan was already making himself at home at the table, elbow deep in the fried eggs, ham, cheese and croissants, completely ignoring anything with fruit. As Charles said that though, he slowed his movements, looking up. He could sense Charles was on his way to prying.

He was right.

“Have you not been sleeping well lately again?�

“What makes ya say that?� Was his response around a mouthful of bacon and eggs.

Xavier gave him a look that said what kind of silly question is that? But he didn’t say so. He took it as Logan’s way of ‘politely’ saying he didn’t want to discuss it. Sighing a little, Charles let it go for the moment, coming back to the table where he’d set his own place to take a sip of coffee. Changing the subject, he paused before saying, “Well, I don’t want to rush you, but we should get started soon; the conference starts at 10, but I’d like to speak privately with certain members of the delegation before hand.�

“Yer not gonna use yer powers o’ persuasion, are ya?� Logan’s eyes twinkled as he heavily buttered a croissant.

Charles shook his head at the tasteless joke, but replied, “Of course not. Besides, I thought you’d like to see some of the sites of the capital.�

Logan was already shaking his head. “Nah, been there, done that. D.C. isn’t my type o’ city. Too many stuff shirts, too much traffic…and the bars suck.�

The professor wasn’t sure how to respond to that, but he came back with, “Well, you could always join me later. There’s a dinner engagement tonight at 6:30 p.m. in the Grand Ballroom at the Capitol. I’ll leave your pass at the front gates.�

“Yer givin’ me the choice? Huh!� Logan chortled as if Charles should’ve known better.

“Of course, Logan. The choice has always been yours, but I’ll understand if you’d prefer to stay holed up in the suite with the cable T.V. as dinner company.� Xavier smirked, wheeling himself toward the bedroom to change.

He left the other man grumbling over his plate of food, thinking about the barely-worn tux hanging back in his room. He hadn’t even seen material outside of flannel & denim since Scott & Jean got married over 3 yrs ago. He wasn’t relishing jumping back into a ‘monkey suit’ anytime soon.

Still…

Something nagged at him like an important chore he’d forgotten to do, and Logan actually wondered if it wasn’t Charles ‘pressing’ him to get out more. Feeling much like an old hermit, he growled under his breath at the thought of spending an evening surrounded by stuffed shirts and political correctness. Just how had he let Xavier rope him into this again??


---


Later That Night, the black-tie affair was in full swing as important dignitaries from across the globe met at the U.S. Capitol to converse and raise money for the fledgling Mutant Education Fund, which was foremost geared toward the enlightenment of Homo Sapiens to their X Factored siblings, and secondly set up to provide assistance for young mutants who’d been abandoned by family & friends. It was the brainchild of Charles Xavier and had become the pet project of several Senate committee members sympathetic to the Mutant Cause.

The turnout was quite impressive, as representatives from more than 100 different nations expressed concern for their growing mutant populations and the problems arising from it. Of course security was tighter than shopping the day after Thanksgiving, with magnetic wands waved everywhere, and a semi-discreet guest list that clearly identified human from mutant.

Charles had expressed severe concern over that, but had been unable to convince the organizers otherwise without some push from mind control, which he was thoroughly against. Logan had grumbled about it as well, but didn’t cause too much of a stir in respect for Charles. He gave a passing thought to what could’ve happened if he’d still had his adamantium and one of the metal-detecting wands had been passed over him…

“Charles! Oh, it’s so good to see you!� Valerie Cooper leaned down in her black mini-dress carefully to hug him. At her side, her husband of 10yrs Daniel Forge waited his turn before extending a hand in greeting.

“Dr. Cooper, Forge, I wasn’t expecting you to make it.� Charles couldn’t contain his surprise. “Allow me to introduce my associate, Logan; he’s been with the team for several years, joining shortly after your departure, Daniel.�

The two men shook hands in that unfamiliar, ‘manly’ sort of way that simultaneously said I have nothing against you…yet and keep your distance at once. Logan nodded with a small grunt, having recalled stories of Forge’s abilities from the likes of Hank & Jean, who assured him the man was the single best engineer and one of the brightest minds on the planet.

“Forge, Ma’am—er, Doctor.�

Val smiled at him, discreetly giving the muscular man a once-over. His slightly wild black hair contrasted with the sharp, tailor-made tux with a mandarin collar and his shiny black shoes. He was thoroughly uncomfortable in the suit, but played it off well, keeping his hands deep in his pockets in a semi-relaxed stance beside Charles.

Forge’s stiff smile stayed on Logan, having heard quite a bit about him as well. As Val and Charles briefly caught up, he was shameless in watching Logan as the other man’s eyes darted back and forth in the crowds of people, almost as if he were expecting to see someone or was he just really uneasy?

“I understand several new nations have either adopted the MEF charter or are looking into funding similar programs,� Val gushed to Charles, “You must be very proud. I think it’s wonderful.�

The professor nodded, about to respond when Logan suddenly got a little antsy beside him. “Excuse me. Chuck if ya need me, I’m at the bar.�

They waited until he’d left, Forge’s distrusting gaze and Val’s appreciative one following his movements. Xavier gave them apologetic looks but otherwise made no excuses.

“Friendly, isn’t he?� Forge commented dryly, shifting his weight from his natural leg to the artificial one, unseen beneath this pants leg. His shiny metal fist gripped the state of the art walking cane he’d designed himself.

“Well Hon, we can’t all be the life of the party like you.� Val teased.

“Logan is a little different from the usual personalities recruited for the team in the past, I will grant you that.� Charles admitted, continuing, “But since he’s been with us, we’ve been doing some marvelous things in The Cause. His expertise in self-defense and combat techniques have given my X-Men invaluable protection skills. We haven’t lost a single team member in the five years since he’s started teaching the courses as a required portion of the curriculum.�

The two turned to watch Logan again, as he sauntered over to the long counter of the bar, leaning against it. Val’s eyebrow went up slightly in curiosity. “You know Charles, when Scott and Jean spoke of him to me, I thought he’d be an older man. Logan barely looks like he’s hit 35.�

“That’s nice of you to notice, dear.� Daniel said, more than a little tongue-in-cheek. He received a sharp elbow for it, too.

Charles was quiet for a moment, as he realized it wasn’t just his imagination, then. Evidently, Henry had been right. In a couple short weeks, Logan had gone from appearing in his early 40’s to barely scratching mid-30’s. It was unnerving, to say the least; along with his physical transformation Charles had also noticed certain psychological and emotional changes as well. It was partly why he’d wanted to keep the Wolverine closer to him for a few weeks, until Henry could figure out what had happened to him…and more, how it was going to affect him in the long run.

Over at the bar, Logan waited patiently for the bartender, whom was one of a dozen or so catering to the well-dressed guests. Most of the people up at the bar were oblivious to the hard work of the ‘tenders, rubbing elbows and trading votes, Logan guessed.

Finally, a young man about 23 or so slid over to him, wiping his hands and giving Logan a tired smile. “What can get you, sir?�

“Got any Molson?�

“Pardon?�

“Beer.Ya got any beer?�

“I’m sorry sir, we—“

“Scotch on the rocks then. And hey—more Scotch than rocks, ‘kay?�

The young man nodded, chuckling and turning to make the drink. Logan sighed behind him, resting against the expensive glass and wood bar top. He shook his head, wondering what type of affair this was that didn’t serve beer?

“Here you are, sir. One heavy Scotch & light Rocks.�

“Thanks, Kid.� Logan slid a C-Note across the counter, the international sign of keep ‘em coming. The bartender beamed, snatching up the tip and nodding vigorously, tipping an invisible hat off to Logan.

As the lone X-Man stood there, languidly downing the burning liquid, his eyes caught sight of Charles some yards away, conversing with a tall, dark-skinned man dressed impeccably in a tailored tux accented with a silk sash across his chest of royal blue, white and gold. Behind and to the man’s right stood a young woman.

Logan’s eyes narrowed as he looked at her; she seemed vaguely familiar for some reason, but he couldn’t see all of her face, as she was turned more toward Charles. Her all-black pants suit fit to a T, and he was surprised to see boots peeking out from beneath them. A long ponytail of ebony shimmered at her back and on the cleanly-shaved portion of her head were some tribal symbols he didn’t recognize.

It was something about the way she stood, though…her straight shoulders and the almost regal way she lifted her chin as she looked at the man beside her, rapt in attention. The duo stood fairly close, but not as close as a couple would have. Logan had no idea why he noticed this.

After several seconds, Charles looked up and met his gaze, then smiled, gesturing Logan closer. Taking his 3rd shot glass of Scotch, Logan turned to the bartender, telling the young man to keep his spot warm for him, and leaned away from the counter, lazily making his way through the crowd to them. Once he’d come to Xavier’s side, he met the man’s gaze, nodding low enough it could’ve been taken as a bow.

“Prince T’Challa, may I introduce my associate Logan; Logan, the Prince of Wakanda is also seeking to incorporate the MEF into his public education platform. I was just explaining to him Moira’s research on the increased rate of mutant births on his continent.�

The taller man turned hazel-brown eyes to Logan, nodding politely before replying, “Yes, and I was just thanking Ambassador Xavier for his work in Africa for mutants. Our future Queen especially has taken up the mantle of liaison between mutants and non-mutants.�

“Your majesty.� Logan was slightly embarrassed at having ignored the woman beside the Prince, believing she was a member of his private detail.

His action elicited a chuckle from T’Challa, which raised Logan’s eyebrow as he brought his head back up. Motioning to the woman, he corrected, “I’m sorry, I did not mean to imply...Allow me to introduce the head of my security detail: Khaji?�

She looked at Logan first, and Logan only, her stormy, dark grey eyes piercing him. He didn’t think mistaking her for royalty would get him daggers like she was throwing, and he blinked a couple times in question before she turned to Charles, her expression changing and she bowed deeply.

The prince looked from Logan to Charles as he elaborated, “Unfortunately, our Queen was unable to make the trip, but I’m sure—“

“Still making apologies for me, T’Challa?�

As the prince looked past Logan, smiling brightly, Khaji knelt to one knee, muttering something in a foreign language before getting back to her feet. Charles turned in his chair at the smooth, slightly accented voice, bowing his head in respect.

Logan couldn’t move.

The Wakandan prince moved past them, laughing as he took the woman’s hands, kissing them briefly. [I thought you couldn’t make it. How did you get here?]

She smiled up at him, [On the jet stream, if you must know. Just don’t tell anyone I had to create my own.]

T’Challa chuckled, squeezing her hands. [You’re absolutely beautiful tonight.]

She smiled her thanks as he turned to address Charles. “Forgive my manners, Ambassador. Allow me to introduce…�

As T’Challa’s shoulder moved from blocking her view, Ororo’s face faltered immediately, catching sight of the man standing a few feet behind her fiancée as he finally turned slowly toward her.

“…my fiancée and future Queen of the Wakanda-Kenya Alliance: Ororo.�

She didn’t even hear Xavier say anything, as her eyes met and locked with Logan’s. There was a rumble of thunder overhead and the lights flickered just a little before the atmosphere suddenly cleared itself as if nothing had happened.

The drink in Logan’s hands nearly fell from his fingers before he put a chokehold on it, almost breaking the glass. A few drops of Scotch spilled, unnoticed, as he kept his eyes on her, wide with disbelief.

For her part, Ororo had already slipped with the thunder display, but no one appeared to have noticed it too much, as the level of conversation maintained its volume. She felt T’Challa’s hand at her back, pressing her toward the man in the wheel chair, but her feet stayed rooted in place on the polished floor. She could feel her control slipping, her heart rate elevated, as his eyes burned holes through to her very soul. She felt as naked and vulnerable as the first time they’d taken each other in the desert.

The raw, unbridled emotions that had passed between them then were just as real & potent now, as they stood face to face for the ‘First’ time. Unbidden, the exact same thought passed through both their minds simultaneously:


Holy Fuck.




TBC…

Chapter 5, “The Painful Mirage�

In a way, the moment was frozen like a Polaroid as they stood there in complete dumb-founded surprise at the sight of one another, those standing with and around them immovable as they remained outside of time.

However, in her mind all Ororo could see was images of Him—and herself—as their bodies merged together on the Desert, healing his pain; the first time they kissed; the beauty of the skies overhead as she watched the clouds, savoring the waves of arousal at each of his deep, powerful thrusts over, and over and over—

The numerous encounters melted together in her mind, causing her brain to hurt, as fast as her heart palpitated and her breathing became shallow. She shook her head in denial, but couldn’t tear her gaze from his, losing herself in the liquid depths of mercury. What Ororo saw in them frightened her to the core, not so much from their intensity…but rather because she saw in them her reflection:

Fiery.

Untamed.

Intense…

Dangerous.


Everything she had spent her entire life denying about herself.

As the spell was broken, the voices around them slowly caught up in time, and movement resumed normally. T’Challa and Charles both turned to her expectantly, and in the uncomfortable silence, Ororo was finally able to rend her gaze away from the beautiful creature before her, ignoring the ache in her chest as she did so.

Charles couldn’t help but feel the strong emotions and conflicting thoughts rolling off the woman, even though they were distorted heavily by electro-magnetic energy. His expression was schooled into neutrality, but much like Khaji’s his mind also was at work.

The Dora Milaje stood with a perfect view of the action, her expression mirroring Charles’ coolness, but her body language told a whole other story. Immediately she wondered what kind of man would dare to look at her Lord’s ‘wife’ in a such a way as the Westerner gazed at Ororo now, and more importantly: when would her Lady give the word to take his head off for it.

From his prospective, however, Logan wasn’t the least bit concerned with that. He was much too busy fighting the urge to swoop in and take the tall African beauty in his arms and show her how much he’d missed her.

As she struggled to regain her composure, turning to Charles to finally acknowledge him, Logan couldn’t take his eyes from her, feeling a pull like none he’d ever experienced. The Wolverine’s instincts threatened to take over, but Logan’s will power and rationale barely held It in check as his wolfish eyes took in the sight of her finally, really, physically before him.

The silken white locks that he could still remember pressing against his face were restricted from the wild flowing existence he was accustomed to, swept back from her angelic face neatly, gathered at the middle of her back with a gold and lapis hair clip. There were about five to seven thinly-braided coils that started from her temples and went the length of her hair. The low-placed tail of hair was delicately wound, indicating that it actually stopped far lower than her behind if turned loose.

A swan’s neck was captured by a modest dark bead necklace; her smooth brown body was swathed in the folds of a silk Sari that couldn’t hide the impressive curvature of her toned body. A bodice of the same color accentuated her bright eyes and countered the striking onyx tiara pressing her hair back.

Speechless, Logan immediately understood there was no need to adorn her with expensive jewelry or flashy clothes; ‘It’s hard to add on to perfection’.

As T’Challa & Charles delved deeper into their initial conversation, Ororo took the opportunity to escape, whispering to her fiancée quickly before fleeing. Khaji kept her eyes on Logan, who of course moved to follow the departing princess and when he did she bowed quickly to T’Challa, requesting to take her leave in lieu of following Ororo.

Of course the prince agreed, believing himself relatively ‘safe’ in the presence of the American Xavier & his “guard�. That left Logan having to baby-sit the dignitaries, and so frustrated he wanted to yell. Making a mental note, his eyes narrowed as he had to watch Ororo disappear into the crowd of people.


---


Her sandaled feet couldn’t carry her quickly enough in the opposite direction, and more than once Ororo mistakenly bumped into another guest, murmuring her apologies without even looking up. It wasn’t until her burning skin touched the cooler night air outside on one of many downstairs terraces that she would begin to feel a little more like the weight was being lifted from her chest.

Rushing to the alabaster guardrail, her slender fingers wound around it tightly as if to squeeze the very life from the inanimate object. Her body nearly doubled over as she caught her breath, close to hyperventilating. ‘I can’t believe this..! It—It’s impossible!!’

Despite her inward denials Ororo’s heart knew there was only truth in the strange man’s eyes and the reality of it all was going to drive her insane. Turning her face up to the night sky she exhaled sharply, whispering harshly, {By the Bright Lady…it cannot be him!}

{My Mistress?}

Still physically jarred, Ororo turned quickly in alarm, but only to see Khaji standing in the wide archway. With the concerned look the young woman was giving her, Ororo wasn’t sure if she should’ve been relieved or not.

{Khaji..! I-I’m sorry, but I need a moment alone, please.} She tried her best not to let her voice crack.

Stubborn as always, the Dora Milaje responded {Ororo, what is it? Tell me--}

“I said Leave Me!!� She hissed, the dark skies flickering only a split second before thunder rolled across the atmosphere. Her eyes narrowed in anguish as she turned to glare at Khaji over her shoulder.

The young woman paused in her tracks, able to feel the static electricity in the air around them. Hurt barely shown thru’ her expression but for an instant before she remembered her place and stood stiffly before bowing her head curtly. {As you wish…}

When she saw Khaji retreat without further protest, Ororo turned away, hanging her head; she hated to get cross with her but the girl sometimes needed to be reminded of her place. Their friendship and Khaji’s job sometimes maintained a strenuous relationship. Normally Ororo welcomed her companionship, but right then the last thing she needed was to have to explain what had just happened inside.

The soothing darkness of the crescent moon night took a little while to calm Ororo’s frayed nerves; she stood against the railing, still gripping it painfully, her fingers going numb and her hair partially obscuring view of her tortured face. She took several tense minutes to talk herself into going back inside.

‘And what will you tell T’Challa? He may not have sensed anything amiss—or perhaps he did??—either way, his obliviousness certainly won’t last long.’ She shook her head as the then-cryptic and now ironic advice of the Ivory Priestesses came back to haunt her. With a sour expression and a bitter taste in her mouth Ororo had to admit to herself that she’d been played.

Honestly, she could’ve gone the rest of her days believing that the strange encounters had been nothing more than the overactive imagination of a bride with cold feet (even if she knew deep down nothing could be farther from reality). Now, with the revelation that those said ‘encounters’ held more truth than fiction, what was she to make of it all now?

Her family’s agreement to The Alliance with T’Challa’s regime paled in comparison to her duty to the Ivory Priestesses. It was hard enough for Ororo to accept, let alone expect those outside of the Solo to grasp her dilemma. There was “duty�, and then there was destiny.


And of course, which would come now to call..?

Her voice caught in her throat and her eyes slid to the side but she seemingly refused to turn around; her back straightened considerably though; His sign that she’d sensed his presence.

Behind her, just inside the threshold, Logan stood watching her, his eyes glowing slightly with the play of moonlight off his silver irises. The Wolverine in him couldn’t begin to understand her conflicting actions and didn’t try; instead he’d rather rely on the instincts that he knew brought them together in the first place.

It seemed the power of his presence kept her rooted in place, her body stiff like a frightened animal. He cocked his head to the side as he crept up to her; it wasn’t the response he’d hoped for and his expression would’ve told her so, had she dared to look at him.

Ororo had her eyes closed, breathing shallowly as she mouthed a short prayer. She’d never had to work so hard at keeping her composure before; the growing over-cast night sky was evidence of that, as the bright moon was swallowed whole by thick clouds.

Logan stopped just behind her, so close he could easily feel her body heat, hear her shallow breaths and take delight in the familiar scent that was Her. He leaned into her back, not sure at all of what the hell he was doing, and very lightly touched her arms at the elbows as his lips brushed the soft curve of her ring-less ear.

“…Ororo?�

She nearly collapsed against him simply at the sound of her name on his lips. The Kenyan royal could not for the life of her understand her body’s reaction to this man—who, by all accounts she did not know, but who was no stranger to her soul. His touch came up her forearms a little, and he cradled her gently as if she were about to break.

As she finally turned her head to him, moving to hug herself as if cold, Logan wouldn’t allow her to sense his own anxiety, his mind reeling. He knew deep—deep, deep down—that what he was doing right then could conceivably cause an international incident. Did he really care?

Fuck no.

He reached up in front of her, their bodies brushing against one another just by mere chance and eliciting a visible current of electricity down the length of his arm as Logan turned her lips toward him more. As her head curved back, frightened but needy bright blue eyes were cast down, watching his mouth before looking up expectantly to his eyes.

Logan’s lids were low, his jaw set in a hard line as he seemed to be waiting for something. From her? From himself?

It was several seconds before he would make up his mind, inhaling quickly right before he’d reach in and capture her mouth—but Logan never got the chance.

A single, silent tear escaped her, melting down her soft cheek before dissipating into her skin. He watched it with a level of surprise, for she didn’t make a sound. When he didn’t go further, she finally looked back up at him, and it was then Logan realized what was wrong.

She wasn’t the same woman from the desert.


*Logan?* Charles’ voice echoed in his mind, jarring him so much Logan immediately stepped away from her, their contact broken.

‘Yeah?’ He looked at her back again, her body in the same position as he’d left it, but her face turned to an extreme angle back toward him though she restricted eye contact again, as if ashamed.

*Where are you? The dedication ceremony is going to commence in about 10 mins. if you’d like to join me.* The broadcast ended then, silence following.

Against his better judgment, Logan felt he could do nothing else but leave; his senses were warning him about her now for some reason he couldn’t explain, and he thought it best to heed them. He’d never had such a great sense of incompletion before, but as he met her eyes once more before turning away, knew that there was going to be another time to get his answers; he’d make sure of it…

Despite the tight pain in her chest at his departure, Ororo finally breathed a sigh of relief when she was alone again, her fist clenched against her face as she struggled to regain control. She couldn’t have realized how close she’d come to letting go.



Watching Ororo’s shaky disposition from a tall window on one of the floors above, Khaji kept a cool façade but her dark grey eyes crackled with anger. When she saw Ororo finally wipe at her face quickly before disappearing out of sight (presumably back inside), she turned from the window, heading to the nearest staircase and back toward the main ballroom.


---


“Ah! There you are.� Charles motioned to Logan as the other man approached. “If we hurry we can still take our seats.�

Logan was already shaking his head, however, his eyes bouncing all over the room before coming to rest at Charles again. “Ya know Chuck, I think I’m gonna head back to the hotel.�

The professor seemed a little disappointed, but nodded with a small smile. “Hm. Had all you can take, eh?�

‘Ya have no idea.’ “Yeah, something like that. I’ll see you later then. You’ll be fine?�

Xavier nodded, waving the other man off as Forge & Val walked up. “Don’t wait up.�

Logan scoffed a short laugh, nodding to the couple before quickly disappearing amidst the sea of guests. Charles kept his eye on him until he couldn’t make him out anymore. Val noticed the worried expression on his face.

“Is he alright, Charles?�

The telepath stroked his chin in thought, one brow higher than the other as he contemplated that question himself.



Halfway across the room, near the large doors to the amphitheater, T’Challa searched his small party worriedly for his fiancée, who he’d noticed had turned up missing for several minutes now.

{I’m sorry I’m late.} Came from behind him, and he turned to see her, smiling immediately.

Kissing her cheek, he gave Ororo a warm look, but it quickly turned to concern. {Are you not well?} then in a quieter tone, {Is it the crowds?}

She smiled softly at his concern although it made her guilt only that much harder to live with. {Perhaps. But I shall be fine. Let’s go, before they start without one of their keynote speakers.}

He chuckled at that, holding her by the waist lightly as they were shown through the hall. He caught sight of Khaji coming up behind them, and paused, giving her a questioning gaze that seemed to admonish her for leaving Ororo’s side.

The young Milaje’s eyes cut from her future king to his intended, then back to T’Challa with as much expression as a dead mackerel. Without a word she took her position behind and to the right of his shoulder and as the group progressed, dug daggers in Ororo’s back.

Oblivious to Khaji’s ire, Ororo took a deep breath, then turned to smile up at T’Challa, excepting his offered hand and squeezing it reassuringly. She was determined to put all offending thoughts of the stranger Logan out of her mind…well, at least until the ‘morrow. With the disastrous way things were shaping up, she thought The Bright Lady owed her that, at least.


---


After another fitfully sleepless night, Logan took extra long to roll his muscled carcass out of bed Saturday morning, going through his usual A.M. routine before joining Charles for breakfast. They couldn’t spend the leisurely morning they had the day before, as Charles was expected back at the Capitol building early that morning to meet with several Congressmen.

Logan slowly ate, not very hungry, as Xavier rushed around in his chair, preparing to go downstairs and meet the limo they’d sent for him. As the silence between them lengthened, Charles stopped in the archway to the dining room, fixing his tie and evaluating Logan quietly sitting at the table. He’d wanted to speak with the X-Man when he got back late the night before, but mistakenly thought Logan was asleep when he came to his private room.

There was something more obviously bothering Wolverine since their jaunt out yesterday, and he was curious to discover exactly what had happened when he’d disappeared for those crucial 15mins. “Logan?�

The man looked up as though startled, which puzzled Charles. “Pardon? Ya say somethin’ Chuck?�

Coming to rest at the other side of the table, Charles met Logan’s gaze, showing his concern. “I don’t want to press, Logan, but it’s obvious something is bothering you. I thought perhaps—“

“I’d wanna talk ‘bout it?� he finished for him, smiling a little tightly as he looked into his plate of sausage and eggs.

“It may help.�

Shaking his head a little hopelessly, Logan raised his gaze back to Charles with a sort of lopsided grin. The tired sadness behind his eyes was haunting, and almost made the professor reach to the phone to cancel his engagements for the day. Laying down his fork, Logan finally said, “…’preciate the offer, professor, but I wouldn’t even know where to start.�

Sympathetically, Xavier replied, “Well, that’s better than ‘no’. When you are ready, you know I am here. If you would rather, I can post-pone…�

“No, don’t go doin’ that.� Logan waved his hand negatively, standing then and tossing the napkin that’d lain in his lap on the table. He was done feeling sorry for himself for one day. “I’ll be fine. I think I just need some air.�

Charles didn’t try to stop him, as Logan headed to the door. Suddenly the phone rang and Xavier wheeled over to the living room to answer it. It must’ve been the front desk alerting him to the limo waiting. “Thank you, I’ll be right down. Goodb—eh? One moment—Logan?!�

The door had almost closed before Charles could call out to him, but Wolverine heard him, poking his head back inside to give Xavier a questioning look.

The older man came to the doorway, watching Logan carefully. “It seems someone was looking for you. The front desk tried to call your room but of course you’ve been here, so they called me, since my name’s on the bill, I would guess.�

Logan’s expression matched Charles’ curious one. “They say who it was?�

“No, she didn’t leave a name. However, she did leave you a message at the front desk.�


---


Logan could barely wait until Charles had left, seeing the man down the elevator & to the limo waiting outside before turning quickly on his heels back into the lobby of the Four Seasons. He didn’t bother waiting in line, side-stepping the waiting guests to the corner of the wide desk. “ ‘Cuse me, I got a message waitin’ fer me; name’s Logan.�

The young woman closest to him was facing the back wall, on the telephone, and held up a hand to him as she finished her conversation. Logan was visually antsy, but she didn’t seem bothered, probably an expert at dealing with rude people. One of the other guests, who’d been waiting nearby, looked up, pissed.

“Hey buddy, the lines are over here.�

Logan’s feral gaze met the man, the side of his top lip curled as he leaned on his other leg, about to open his mouth and set the man straight.

“Sir, please, it’s alright. This station is for message reception and courtesy calls only.� The woman hung up the phone, unfazed as she addressed the other guests before stepping up to the counter where Logan was standing.

Nodding at her remark as if it settled things, Logan dismissed the man, turning back to the young woman. “Yeah, thanks.�

“No problem, sir. Now, is “Logan� the first or last name?�

“Neither. Just ‘Logan’.�

“…Alright. Which room and floor?�

“Presidential Suite B – West Wing, 4th floor.�

She paused, going through the list on the LCD screen before her, scrolling down the dozens of names. “Ah, that’s right, I remember this one, from earlier this morning. Please initial the pad there before you; the person who left the message requested we notify her when you picked it up.�

Scrawling a jagged “L� on the signature pad beside him, Logan reached out then and took the pearl-colored envelope embossed with the Seasons’ stamp. Nodding quickly he thanked the desk clerk, heading back upstairs via the elevator.

By sheer luck he had a lift all to himself, and so extended one sharp bone claw, tearing the sealed envelope open. The Hotel stationary slid out easily, and he raised it to his face, deciphering the carefully penned but short message:

“Please meet me in the Northeast corner of the garden courtyard @ 10a.m.�


There wasn’t even a signature, but something told him she knew he wouldn’t need one. Lifting the stationary to his nose, Logan took one good whiff, and it was all he needed to confirm the message’s scribe. His heart beat just a little faster for a moment, and as he stepped out of the lift onto the 4th floor, he shoved the paper back into the envelope. The last thing he’d expected was for her to actually contact him. He’d geared himself up for a tough time of trying to track her down & get past her guards, but it was a task he would have been resigned to since their uncomfortable meeting the night before.

Now that all seemed unnecessary, as she had somehow tracked him down. Closing the door to his suite behind him, Logan glanced at the clock on the wall: 9:36 A.M.

Nodding to himself, the X-Man found just enough to do to waste another 10 minutes or so—mostly just pacing the floor of his large bedroom, thinking about what he was going to say to her. He had so many questions; not the least of which was who was the woman from his dreams, from the desert, and what had this Ororo done with her?



9:58 A.M…
Downstairs in the courtyard, she had been pacing for the past several minutes, fidgeting like a patient about to get the worst news possible from her doctor. Dressed ‘down’ in dark slacks and a long-sleeved white shirt with her hair braided in one long thick cord down her back, Ororo fought the urge to just leave more than once.

She had no idea what she was doing or why she was doing it. A pull to her soul was the only way she could explain it, but that sort of explanation wouldn’t have done for T’Challa. ‘Yes Dear, I’m going to meet my True soul mate. Have a good day!’

With a scoff of laughter to herself, she shook her head, thinking—not for the first time—that she’d gone completely crazy. But deep down she knew that she’d have to figure out who this man Logan was. Her restless, nearly sleepless night the night before assured her that if she didn’t things could be rough from here on out. Well, more so than they were already.

‘You just need to speak to him, just to make sure. The Priestesses can’t mean this man…they simply can’t.’ She shook her head in agreement, as if merely thinking Logan out of her life would seal the deal. ‘It should have been T’Challa…A respectable man, a good man…’

‘A “safe� man?’ Another part of her mind questioned bitterly. Someone exactly like her, to keep her more…uncontrollable side in check?

Ororo grew uncomfortable again, thinking about the part of herself that liked it when she & Logan had been together the night before. She had been a moth to his flame, and each heart-pounding moment she felt him near was a moment of ultimate guilt. She had been promised to T’Challa, for the sake of her people—she had long since accepted that—and in her heart she wanted to disappoint him no more than she wanted to except the inevitable that the Desert Rose had chosen for her.

“I got yer message.�

She jumped a little, so deep in thought she hadn’t realized he was standing behind her. Looking at her small wristwatch Ororo saw that it was actually several minutes after 10; she wondered if Logan had been late, or if he’d been standing there watching her the whole time?

Flustered just a bit, she needlessly smoothed her hands down her pants, standing just a little straighter as she steeled herself against his unknowing (and unintentional) psychological assault. With an annoyance that she shouldn’t have felt, she replied, “Yes, well I should not have had to leave one, if you had been in your room when I came earlier.�

Logan was brought up short by her curt answer and stopped his forward progression up to her. “I was having breakfast.�

She bristled even further at his tight comeback, folding her arms snugly and narrowing her eyes. She found it much easier to simply dislike the Westerner than try to figure out her unnatural attraction to him. “No matter. That is not my concern.�

Chuckling with absolutely no humor in his voice, Logan raised a hand to stop her. “Is this why you contacted me?�

She bit her lip, eyeing him with distrust. Yes, it was definitely easier just to hate him. “No…I would appreciate it if you would keep your distance, though,� she stopped him from taking a step closer, “now, as well as in the future.�

He brought his brow up farther than it had ever traveled, he assumed, watching this cold-as-ice witch. Mimicking her posture in crossing his arms, he spat back, “Why? Better dreams than yer reality, darlin?�

Her face flushed at his comment, and before she realized she was moving Ororo had crossed the distance between them, her palm exposed. He didn’t even bother to move until he could feel the air shift toward his face with the intended slap, then snatched her wrist, holding it firmly but not enough to hurt her.

Ororo immediately yanked hard to reclaim her appendage, her hand now balled into a fist, but it was no use as Logan kept a good grip on her. Their eyes met, fire meeting fire, but for a slightly different reason than usual.

He seemed calm on the outside as he stared her down. “Look, I didn’t come down here to get on yer bad side. I just wanna know what the hell you did to me.�

“ ‘What I—‘?? Please release me, I have no idea what you mean.� She punctuated that comment with another futile yank.

Logan wasn’t about to let her off the hook so easily, and instead of complying with her request, took a dangerous step closer. “I think ya do. Everytime you look at me, it reminds you, too.�

Her other hand came up, but of course he was expecting it at some point, and easily deflected the blow, capturing that wrist as well, holding her hands to his chest and drawing her as close as her body would come without fully touching his.

“Let. Me. Go.� She hissed, oddly enough drawing strength to dislike him from the fire his closeness erupted in her veins.

Logan wasn’t fooled for an instant, and his eyes told her so even though he loosened his hold on her enough that she could successfully pull her arms away. Ororo turned from him, seething, wondering how anyone could put up with such a man. “Understand…I came here only to tell you that whatever happened…before…It won’t again. I swear it.�

“You haven’t even told me what “It� is, lady. All I know is what happened was real, you felt it and so did I. Can’t fer the life of me understand why ya denying what we both know.� He watched her stubbornly.

She sneered. “And what is that?�

“There’s a connection between us, Ororo. I can’t explain it, I didn’t ask for it, and that’s why I came here today. Fer answers…�

She rolled her eyes, her back still to him, unable to get over just how unfair she thought this whole sordid thing was. He wasn’t finished, though:

“…and, t’say thank you.�

She was brought up short by that, confused at his quick reversal cloaked in a softer tone and a sincere look. Turning half way to look back at him she couldn’t help but ask, “Why?�

Logan cautiously took two steps as he said, “You saved my life. Trust me, darlin’ I can’t say that to too many folks, either. If it hadn’t been for you, I would’ve died out there alone in that desert.�

Ororo’s heart softened—just a bit—at the almost tender way he expressed himself, watching her carefully as if he hadn’t wanted to admit it to her. The mention of their first encounter brought back the haunting memories for her as well; she could remember the feeling of sadness, loneliness and yes even fear that came from him when she joined them, healing his broken body and breathing new life into his soul.

With a tortured look she shook her head, suddenly tired, and asked “Why you?�

He could tell she may not have been speaking to him so much as at him, but it was better than her attitude a few moments before. Logan crept up to her, turning her body to face him. She avoided his eyes with a defeated look on her face. Lifting her chin, he replied, “Come home with me and we might just find out.�




TBC…

Chapter 6, “Discovery�


“Come home with you??� her voice echoed him, drawing away immediately, though she didn’t step back.

Logan seemed to realize how that sounded and chuckled shortly before amending, “I meant, back with me to the X-Men. New York, specifically.�

She shook her head adamantly at that. “No offense, Logan, but are you insane?�

Despite her query, he couldn’t help a small smile; it was the first time since they’d met that she’d said his name. He liked the way it sounded from her. “I’m sorry, am I the only one here that’s been having outta body experiences? Yeah, I didn’t think so.�

Her lips pursed at his flip comeback, but only so as to avoid a wry smile. “Nevertheless, that’s not an option. Not only do I have responsibilities—and ties—back home, but I don’t need the X-Men to figure this one out. I know what’s going on; I just don’t like it.�

“Well, please enlighten the rest of us.� He settled back on his heels for this.

She sighed, guessing that was the least she could do for him, since this whole mess had dragged him in completely unawares. Perhaps there was a way he could help her after all…Looking around her briefly, she replied “Not here.�


---


The moment she stepped through the door to his suite, Ororo sensed that she’d made a grave mistake. Her intent had been to find a quiet, secluded spot to talk with Him, to try to make Logan understand all the reasons they couldn’t continue to “allow� the late night rendezvous or entertain thoughts of one another. She could tell just by the way he looked at her that she’d have her work cut out for her.

The X-Man was always no more than a step behind, close like a personal guardsman but protective like…well, like a husband. She guessed that he probably didn’t even know he was doing it, but that mattered little to Ororo, who was painfully aware of Logan at all times when they were in close proximity.

“Ehn…are you coming inside?� He asked, turning back to her when she’d paused in the doorway of his suite for several moments.

Ororo’s eyes went from him to the far wall of the living room & back to Logan. Her expression said it all.

He tried to pretend as though he didn’t have the slightest idea of her apprehension, turning back to head to the long couch. “It’s alright, you can come on in. I don’t bite…�

“Yes you d—“ Flew out of her lips before her brain could hope to reclaim the ill-spoken retort, and immediately Ororo felt her cheeks burn when he turned back to her sharply, one brow raised.

A few seconds of silence passed between them, as the memory of one of their more erotic encounters impregnated the room like the proverbial pink elephant. Willing his immediately aroused heart rate back to normal, Logan turned away from her, clearing his throat. He hid an uncontrollable smile behind his fist as he did so, settling back against the cushions of the long sofa in the living room.

Averting her eyes, Ororo quietly closed the door behind her, sighing deeply & resting her forehead against its coolness for a second or so. Composing herself, she shook off the intrusive thoughts, clearing the cobweb-like images from the corners of her mind. Turning to face him, she only admitted to herself that these thoughts seemed to be with her always, every waking—and sleeping—moment since they’d come face to face. It was as if their physical meeting had awakened something deep inside her, and Ororo was determined to put it back to sleep.

Logan watched her carefully, his eyes speaking to her in a language her heart knew only too well, but that her mind refused to translate. He could easily sense the trepidation she felt, and there was a part of him that understood it, but the side of him that had awakened on that day in the Kenyan desert refused to accept the rationale behind it. Logan may be behaving as a gentleman, but The Wolverine inside him roared in frustration, needing desperately to assert its ‘claim’…

The hackles on the back of her neck tingled, and it brought Ororo up short of taking the seat beside him. Instead, she stood behind the cushioned chair across from him, her delicate fingers stroking the leather of its back methodically.

His gaze shifted from her fingers to her face and back again, as Logan waited for her to say something. Anything to distract his thoughts from dwelling on the question of whether this physical Ororo could work the same magic with her fingers as his desert goddess had…

“I’m sorry Logan…I suppose I am unsure exactly where to start.� She glanced up at him quickly, appearing very much younger than her 27 years.

He gazed at her with some compassion, sensing she had something important but possibly troubling to disclose to him. Leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, Logan locked his fingers, replying “’S alright, darlin’. Take yer time. I guess you can start with what happened to me.�

She nodded, still not looking directly at him. “I’m not sure you’ll believe me.�
He smirked a little, raising one shoulder. “Considerin’ all I’ve been thru’, I think I got a little faith to take ya on.�

Nodding, Ororo accepted that for what it was, not going to ask him to elaborate. She remembered feeling the sadness, loneliness and anger from him back on That Day, but of course they’d been a little preoccupied to discuss it. “Well, then 1st I should tell you about my people The Solo, and their guardians the Ivory Priestesses…�


---


For over an hour and a half, Logan listened intently to the in-depth history lesson, as Ororo went thru’ the Solo tribe’s tumultuous history—including their near-worship of the first mutants born of that tribe; the women who would become the Ivory Priestesses.

When Ororo came to a pause in her story, he stood, stretching and casually asking if she’d like a glass of water. He was rewarded with a pleasant smile and a “yes�, and Logan disappeared into the kitchenette.

While there, he took a moment as he filled the glass with mineral water & ice, to reflect on her words. If he was to believe her, their meeting on That Day was interpreted by her people as part of some prophecy; of which he couldn’t hope to fully understand, since much of Ororo’s terminology went straight over his head despite her willingness to explain in detail. Wolverine didn’t doubt that their encounter was no accident, but he wasn’t sure if a legend was going to be his answer either. Her explanation was too far-fetched, not to mention cerebral, when he was perfectly content to rely on what his instincts were telling him:

They were Good together.

Simply put, no explanation needed. All the mysticism aside, Logan knew he wasn’t at a point in his life where he seriously considered settling down—let alone becoming some ‘kept man’ to a foreign country’s idea of a Goddess. The mere thought of it brought a comical quirk to his lips as he headed back to the living room.

“Thank you. So?� She prompted, taking the glass, but careful not to actually come in physical contact with him. If he noticed (which he did), Logan didn’t comment, sitting sort of uncomfortably now on the edge of the sofa.

Finally he turned his eyes up to her with a look mixed between uncertainty and yearning. “Darlin’ I don’t know what you want me to say.�

She looked down into the glass, her manicured fingers tracing the outer rim carefully as he spoke softly. For some reason she couldn’t bring her eyes to meet his. “Please don’t call me that.�

“Why.�

“You know very well why…� she placed the barely touched glass of water down on the nearest table, busying herself with carefully wiping her hands of the condensation so as to avoid looking at him still.

Logan’s gaze pierced her steely resolve, however. He paused for several seconds before saying anything, finally leaning over, his elbows on his knees and hands clasped before him. In a quiet cadence that barely reached her he replied, “I see. ‘Cause it reminds ya, don’t it?�

“It’s improper—“

“Reminds ya of what we share. All those nights together, just you an’ me layin’ out under the stars—“

“Logan, please—“

“—you didn’t do much talkin’ really, but ya always listened good. I really liked that most…well, second.�

Ororo closed her eyes as memories flooded back once more; intrusive images of the two of them splayed amongst cool green grass completely naked except the cover of being wrapped in each other’s arms. “Why are you doing this?�

Sighing deeply, Logan raised his dulled grey eyes to her, and she almost gasped at the sadness no longer hidden behind a front of bravado. “Do you remember what I told ya earlier? About the desert? I can’t get it outta my head, laying there waiting to die. ‘Reminded me of being a kid again; I was always a sick youngin’. It’s practically the only part o’ my past I can still hang on to, that might actually be mine, ya know? It ain’t foggy like the implants; clear as a bell I can remember what it’s like to lay there in bed 16hrs a day, sometimes more, hurtin’ from head t’toe fer no reason. None of the doctors could figure it. My moma just looked at me like I was already dead and my Pops…he would just stand there at the door, waiting, with this weird look in his eyes—waitin’ fer what, beats me. It’s the last time in my life I can remember bein’ scared of anything—of dying—until that day in desert…�

Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears at his painful re-memory and Ororo’s hand gripped the soft fabric of her expensive blouse tightly right over her heart. He wasn’t looking at her any longer, the pain of his words casting haunted shadows beneath his eyes.

“…the day you came t’me.�

His shoulders shuddered briefly and Logan let his head drop in sudden embarrassment at her startled silence. For several moments he kept his eyes closed, struggling to compose himself. He didn’t know how else to explain to this woman what their encounter had meant to him, what she was beginning to mean to him. He wasn’t even sure he’d made any sense at all to her; she didn’t seem to remember much from their talks at night—none of the secret things he’d never imagined telling anyone but that had managed to slip out whenever he was with Her. Just like now.

Logan looked up in surprise when he felt soft, delicate hands lift his face by the chin. Her fingers cradled his jaw carefully, her fear in touching him still evident in the slight trembling of her hands. As their eyes met, two tears quickly ran down his face but her thumb wiped them into oblivion as if they’d never dropped.

Logan’s hands came up to wrap around hers, stroking her wrists as he tried to free his face, ashamed of his show of emotion. It was Ororo however, that would not let go, maintaining eye contact as she stood close before him, her eyes kinder than he’d ever seen since they’d met in this often colder, tangible world.

“I know…I know…� was all she whispered, smoothing his wild hair out of his eyes, her fingers brushing his lip, curving around the hard line of his jaw, those prominent cheekbones…

Ororo felt something she hadn’t imagined possible, watching this man look up at her with a longing that she knew too well matched that of her own heart: empathy.

‘How long can you go on denying what you and He know to be in your soul, Wind Rider?’ A voice that couldn’t have been her own echoed in her mind. Ororo’s gaze floated away from his momentarily as she pondered that; rational thinking being washed away like a receding tide, to be replaced with a fire that both enlivened and frightened her. It was a fire she’d spent her entire life vainly trying to put out only to see rekindled by this strange Westerner that had managed not only to capture her curiosity but oddly enough her heart.

Carefully, Ororo knelt before him between his legs so they were closer to eye level and before she could analyze every sane reason she shouldn’t, pressed her lips against Logan’s tentatively. Initially it was an awkward kiss, as she was holding her breath without realizing it, until he moved his mouth against hers, grasping the back of her head. The passion of his response forced the breath out of her and Ororo opened her eyes frantically, as if suddenly realizing what it was she’d just done.

She leaned away from him, her expression telling Logan she was immediately regretting her impulsive action as she shook her head in denial. Her moist, soft lips moved barely but no sound emerged. Surprisingly compassionate to her inner conflict, Logan tilted his head very wolf-like, in an air of understanding as his calloused hand stroked her hair at the nape of her neck, his fingers digging deep into the braid.

Bbbzzzzzz…

Before either of them could break the silence, the vibration of Ororo’s cell phone did the job for them. Looking down at her hip where the device barely poked out of her pocket, the two stared at it for a few seconds as if they hadn’t the foggiest clue what it was. Coming to her senses, Ororo lifted the device from her side to see the name on the CID. Moving away from Logan quickly, she stood and turned away, walking a few feet in the opposite direction as she flipped the phone open.

{Khaji, what is it?}

There was a pause on the other end at the cool (almost annoyed) tone her Mistress had answered the phone with. It was the Milaje’s only sign that she didn’t appreciate it. {…My apologies, m’Lady. I thought you would like to know His Highness will be returning soon from his morning appointments. I believe the two of you had plans for lunch…}

‘Shit.’ {Yes, that’s right.} She said evenly, daring to turn around and glance at Logan, who of course was looking at her closely.

Khaji’s tone changed ever so slightly, and though Ororo knew this, couldn’t exactly tell what this particular tone was to mean. {Would her Highness need the car sent out? If you provide your location--}

{That won’t be necessary, Khaji. I won’t be late; please tell T’Challa to order for me. That’ll be all.} With that, she snapped the phone shut, squeezing it tightly in her hand before taking a deep breath and turning to look at Logan again. The feeling welling inside right then didn’t make her feel worthy of either her fiancé’s devotion or Logan’s determined pursuit.

“Ororo?� He stayed on the edge of the sofa, looking at her; his expression clearly asked her not to leave, but they both knew that’s exactly what she was going to do.

Despite her conflict and guilt, Ororo came back to him almost against her will (certainly despite better judgment), laying one hand against his cheek. He turned his face into her palm, kissing her skin there and sending an oddly familiar tenseness spiking through her body. Shaking her head, Ororo smiled bitterly. “I’m so sorry about this. All of this. My intentions were only to clear things up between the two of us. I think now I’ve only made them more confusing.�

“What’s to be confused about? Far as I can tell we’re on the same page, Darlin’.�

The look she gave him clearly indicated her point had been made. “I have to leave.�

“I know.�

For several seconds however, she didn’t move, continuing to stroke his stubbled jaw as Logan held on to her hand, looking up at her with that gaze that gave her chills and warmed her blood. “I…I don’t know what to do; we cannot see each other again. I won’t dishonor my…T’Challa.�

Logan’s eyes flashed, though he didn’t move at all. The mere mention of his ‘competition’ seemed to do something to him, but he did his best not to show it. “Gonna be kinda hard to keep that promise at night.�

Her cheeks warmed at his low tone & suggestive words, but Ororo was determined to keep her resolve. “What would you have me do? Be the dignitary’s wife by day and your play-thing by night?�

He dropped her hand then at the stinging accusation. “…Do what ya want, yer Highness; it ain’t my neck on the line, after all, is it?�

Ororo stood there, immediately sorry at her words. She knew none of this was Logan’s fault; he was just as much a victim of Fate’s circumstance as she or T’Challa. If she could truly believe that the Desert Rose’s Prophecy had chosen for her this brash, wild foreigner, then she also had to believe that he could help his feelings for her no more than she could her conflicting ones for him.

Finally, she sighed heavily and knelt once more before him, searching his eyes carefully as she took her time contemplating a course of action. “Logan…despite what I’ve told you today, I can’t simply just abandon my duty, or T’Challa. I need you to understand that.�

He seemed to soften a little at the look in her eyes, but Logan still grumbled low in his throat, frowning. “I ain’t gonna ask ya to do that. I don’t know the first thing about yer duties, Darlin. All I know is how ya make me feel when we’re together. And, what happened out there in the desert wasn’t an accident.�

She looked down at her hands as if caught up in the memory of their initial encounter again, recalling the feeling of their bodies merged together; experiencing his pain & grief, hearing his inner-most thoughts as her own. It was a total body healing experience only known to the Ivory Priestesses. It had been so powerful in the astral plane that it had rendered Ororo unconscious in the corporeal reality.

Glancing up at him, she reached out and touched his face again, her eyes fluttering closed for several moments, brow furrowed in concentration. Logan didn’t move but closed his eyes as well, not even questioning her curious behavior. After a few seconds he felt a tingling warmth in his head, concentrated in his right cheek where her hand rested. Logan opened his eyes and looked down at her hand, pulling away slightly to see her fingers glowing a dull blue-white color. As soon as she opened her eyes, the aura disappeared as if it’d never been there.

They looked at each other then, and Ororo knew there was more to the connection between them than she’d wanted to admit. Never before in her young life had the power to heal been a part of her mutant ability. She knew enough about him however, to realize it had been part of Logan’s…

“Ya still think you don’t need to see the X-Men?�

She rubbed her fingers together, watching as the tips throbbed a little, turning blue before fading back to the light brown color of the inside of her palms. “This has nothing to do with being a mutant, Logan. I can assure you.�

“No offense, ‘Ro…but I ain’t never been one t’believe in religion much…�

She stood, sighing but accepting his explanation for what it was. She knew she wasn’t going to ‘convert’ him with a short history lesson on The Solo. After the hard realities Logan had undoubtedly seen in his years with the mutant vigilante team, she guessed religion was probably a luxury someone like him couldn’t afford.

“True as that may be,� she straightened her back, stepping away from him, indicating she was serious about leaving this time, “it doesn’t change the facts.�

He let her get as far as the door before reaching around to place his warm hand over hers as she turned the knob. Momentarily dazed by being near her, Logan leaned in closer to whisper, “So this is it? Yer just gonna leave, & t’Hell with ‘prophecy’ and ‘fate’? Ain’t that playin’ with fire, Darlin’?�

More than you know. “Logan…I…I have to think. Just give me time to think. This isn’t going to be easy for anyone, but I cannot rush into some decision no matter what the beliefs of my people may be…�

She turned the doorknob, and he stepped back, letting her go through. Before she closed the door, he heard her add in a whisper, “…or what lies between Us.�


---


Less than an hour later, Ororo returned to the newly-renovated, Wakandan-Kenyan Embassy in the heart of Washington’s political district. Automatically her steps carried her to the top floor where the dignitary suites were located. The entire West Wing was reserved for the royal family, and after the two Dora Milaje stationed outside bowed respectively, she entered the front foyer, leaning against the door when they closed it behind her.

Resting her head against the wood, Ororo closed her eyes, shaking her head at herself. Her heart was still pounding in her ears and her skin tingled from where Logan’s hands had touched her. ‘What have you gotten yourself into??’

Before she could answer herself,

{His Highness hasn’t arrived yet; there’s a little traffic coming from the delegation.} Standing in the doorway leading to the solarium and a wide terrace beyond, Khaji’s eyes bored holes into Ororo with a sort of disdain that could legally get her killed in Kenya.

Eyes snapping open at the intrusion, Ororo lifted her head, looking over at her long-time friend-turned-guardian. She didn’t mistake the look she was receiving, and immediately her back straightened, a cold layer of ice turning her eyes a lighter shade of blue. {Thank you, Khaji. That will be all. I wish to be alone.}

Ignoring Ororo’s ‘request’, the younger woman began walking toward her, her dark uniform catching some light from the drawn up curtains as she advanced farther into the room. {I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Mistress.}

{Excuse me??} Ororo’s eyes flashed with anger now as she met the youth’s equally hard gaze.

{There’s something we need to discuss.}

Ororo sighed audibly, turning to toss her card-key and small purse on the nearby coffee table before turning back to address her personal guardian. {It will have to wait; I’m not really in the mood--}

{It can’t wait.} Khaji interrupted with a tight expression, startling Ororo with her rudeness. She knew just what sort of hot water she was jumping in, but in Khaji’s eyes it was a risk worth taking. {I will speak with you now.}

A single frosty eyebrow came up high over a chilled gaze. Standing to her full height, the Queen-in-waiting tilted her head toward her subordinate, regarding the younger woman with a glare that could easily melt even the strongest resolves. {Take care, girl, and remember to whom you speak.}

The quiet but menacing tone gave Khaji pause, but her young impetuousness would not be stopped at this point; she had been raised Dora Milaje, and as such 1st in her life came her King. She had known T’Challa basically all her young life and anyone who knew him very well realized her devotion to him. It was a love & respect that knew no bounds…even when it came to offending his fiancé and one of the most feared women on the continent.

{I know who I am talking to. You are my Queen, my Mistress, Honored by The Priestesses, soon-to-be my Lord’s wife—and it is for those very reasons I cannot understand why you’re putting it all in jeopardy for some meaningless tryst--!}

Wwwhhoooosh

*Craackk!!*

Khaji’s body slid down painfully from the glass of the terrace doors several feet behind her, landing hard on her ass. Glass could be heard tink-tinking in the silence that followed. It was only then that thunder rumbled from outside the suite, shaking more loose shards and the sturdier walls.

Standing over her, Ororo glared down at her subordinate, eyes glowing an eerie bluish-white and her lip fairly curling in anger. The force of the wind burst had successfully knocked the Milaje off of her feet, and she was slow to rise, more than gingerly rubbing the back of her head as she sat at Ororo’s feet.

Shocked at her own reaction as much as by Khaji’s accusation, Ororo squeezed her fingers tight to relieve the sensation of satisfaction she’d immediately felt at sending Khaji sailing across the room, turning away as the young woman got to her feet. The weather continued to turn foul outside, unnoticed by either of them as Ororo’s low tone crept up the younger woman’s spine with a menacing connotation.

{Khaji…we have been close for most of our lives; you are the only one other than T’Challa I could safely call ‘friend’; I care for you as a sister, and I know you are loyal to your Master like no other Milaje…but if you ever speak to me like that again, I won’t even leave your ashes behind to spread against the four winds. Are we clear?}

Still angry herself, Khaji seemed to know better than to test that threat right then, and simply got to her feet, bowing half-way but stiffly, retreating toward her quarters. A quickly-raised hand by Ororo halted her, however.

“Before you go, clean up that mess.�


Leaving the youth to her chore, Ororo disappeared into her own room, the door slamming behind her by the change in air pressure as she passed. Her entire body shook, and after she closed the adjoining door to T’Challa’s room also, came back to sit on the edge of her bed, willing her emotions back in check.

‘Calm yourself, Ororo…NOW.’ She breathed steadily, exhaling audibly as she looked up to the ceiling. Her temper had been so short, she’d lashed out at Khaji before she even realized she had done it. This sort of behavior was just what she had been afraid of…


{Ororo?! My gods, are you alright??} Several minutes later, T’Challa came rushing in her room unannounced, completely ignorant of decorum in his worry over her. {I saw the terrace doors, and Khaji’s been injured!}

{It was nothing.} She said, too calmly as he knelt before her, concern etched all over his face as he reached for her hands immediately.

{What? ‘Nothing’?? Ororo I don’t understand; what’s going on? Were you two attacked?} T’Challa’s eyes briefly gave her a once-over as he couldn’t seem to wait for her response to that query.

She squeezed his hands tightly in hers, matching his gaze steadily to get his attention focused squarely on her. Ororo’s heart broke at the genuine love and care she saw there, but it did little to change what she knew must be done. {There was no attack. The door will be repaired soon…However, my friend, I must speak with you.}

He paused at her slightly formal tone; the Wakandan Prince couldn’t remember the last time—if ever—that she’d referred to him as “friend�. Sensing her unease, he gave her a reassuring smile and came up to sit beside her on the edge of the bed. Holding her fingers tightly he looked deeply into her blue eyes, the depths of his feelings for her striking Ororo with guilt.

{Ororo…you know you can tell me anything.}

Taking an audible, deep breath, she prayed to the Ivory Priestesses that he was right.




TBC…