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The three X-Men infiltrated the unnamed military holding silently, moving as a stealth unit, blending with the shadows cast by the setting sun. Cyclops motioned for Wolverine to move forward, and he did, moving cautiously and covertly through the front area. Two guards passed alarmingly close to Wolverine who was hidden in the shadows. Within a fraction of a second her had both men on the ground unconscious, lifting two fingers and signaling Cyclops and Beast around.
A small checkpoint sat midway between the entrance and the containment cells, the checkpoint occupied by one guard, who was currently more engaged in looking at a pair of double D’s in a smut mag than managing his post. “Evn’in, Bub.”
The man swung around, brown eyes wide. Wolverine’s fist planted in the guard’s face and he felt something break in the vicinity of the guys nose and the guard crumpled.
“Is that really necessary?” Cyclops asked.
“What would you have him do, oh fearless leader? Ask the man if he would like some girl scout cookies?” Beast replied in Wolverine’s stead.
Wolverine chuckled. Hank was chock full of surprises.
Cyclops didn’t reply, just held up his wrist, checking their coordinates. “Let’s roll.” He started towards the center of the building, where he would ‘make’ a door.
A young soldier stepped out of what could possibly have been barracks, flicking a lighter, head bent, trying to light his cigarette. He glanced up catching sight of a blue size 42 furry foot, before he was sent into the stone wall with a dull thud. Beast grabbed the soldier’s legs and drug him behind a set of bushes.
Wolverine gave him a curt nod, before following Cyclops in a low crouch. Beast was to stand lookout well he and Cyclops went into the containment building.
“You ready?” Wolverine asked in a low growl stepping beside Cyclops.
“Don’t worry about me. You just worry about yourself.”
There was a low hum preceding the powerful optic blast that erupted from the visor on Scott’s face, punching a truck sized hole in the side of the building. Immediately alarms began blaring, lights flashing.
“Go! Go! Go!” Soldiers were filing out of the barracks, fifteen of them at most, even less than Wolverine had expected. Wolverine glanced over his shoulder, checking on Beast, who was more than holding his own, bouncing off soldier’s heads and flinging them through the air.
Cyclops‘s startled voice caught his attention. “Holy shit.”
Wolverine stepped through the still smoldering, gaping hole to see what had caught Cyclops’s attention. In several containment cells the occupant had been chained to the wall and shot in the head. Executed.
Cyclops‘s tone was harsh. “I thought you said this was a training facility.”
“It is. These are the ones that didn’t cut it.”
“Sick.”
Wolverine grunted. His knuckles itched and he tried to push back the memories threatening to surface. Blood and screams. Blood and screams. The pain. The pleasure. He felt himself shaking, the rage escalating.
“Where are the others?” Cyclops asked interrupting the resurgence, looking around at the empty holding cells.
“Moved.” Wolverine sniffed the air. “Not long ago. Maybe an hour, two tops.”
Cyclops moved along the rows, still looking. “Where to?”
Wolverine sniffed some more, catching faint traces of blood and urine and death. They were familiar scents. “No live scents ta follow,” he said flatly.
“Let’s check the other building.” Cyclops moved back through the hole he had created, kicking the rubble in frustration as he went. He was discouraged and was feeling helpless. It was not a feeling he enjoyed.
Both men traveled silently across the gravel, entering the second containment facility exactly how they entered the first. Wolverine smelled death long before they were inside, however what lay within sent chills through both seasoned X-Men.
Laying motionless on long, narrow, sterile steel tables were several obviously tortured mutants. Some of their eyes remained open in terror, though glazed in death, it was apparent the last moments of their lives were filled with excruciating panic and pain. On a larger metal table in the center of the room a young man lay, arms outstretched, needles and tubes inserted in all directions, his chest cavity wide open, flies swarming the wound.
Cyclops turned his head away, covering his nose to block the stench. “Jesus.”
Wolverine walked along the rows, counting the bodies. Twelve. He grit his teeth against the anger surging through him. Twelve kids, some barely in their teens, used and abused by Weapon X. The lone youth in the center of the room had shaggy brown hair and jagged fangs. Wolverine stepped beside him and reached down with his leather covered hand, closing the boy’s eyes.
“What in hell were they doing in here?” Cyclops was completely taken aback by the atrocities surrounding him.
“Experiments.” He was once one of the tortured, the used, the abused. He struggled to repress the emotions the room was conjuring up in him. Anger. Pain. Fear. Pain. Hate. Pleasure. Rage. Pain. Needles. Pain. Needles. Pleasure. Blood. Pain. Snap out of it! “Ain’t no survivors here, Cyke.”
With a quick nod Cyclops agreed. They moved outside once again, making their way up towards Beast and the ‘Bird, keeping their eyes and ears open for any sign of life. No survivors. Not one.
Cyclops raised his comm. “Cyclops to Xavier. Intel proved accurate. Military facility for containment. No survivors.”
“I see.”
“Orders?”
“Obliterate the base.”
“Affirmative.” Cyclops reached into the pack he was carrying at his waist, pulling out several small black discs. He handed several to Wolverine. Without a word exchanged both men began placing the mines along the base of the buildings.
Beast greeted them as they approached, a small pile of unconscious soldiers behind him. “Where do we put these gentlemen.”
“I say we leave ‘em. Let their last memories be the smell of their own burning‘ flesh.” Wolverine growled, walking past without a backward glance.
“The X-Men don’t willingly kill, Wolverine,” Cyclops called after him to which Wolverine shrugged pulling a cigar from his front pocket.
“Maybe ya outta rethink that policy.” He was on board the Blackbird a moment later. Once Cyclops and Beast secured the soldiers in one of the smaller buildings, clear of the blast zone they were in the air, heading home and all Wolverine could think was how much he could use a beer. A beer and ‘Ro. She was the only thing that could soothe the monster within him that this place had stirred to life.


Xavier Institute
War Room

Ororo leaned forward resting her chin on the knuckles of her fist. The monitors had been shut off awhile ago, the others leaving at her request. She sat alone in the room, expanding shadows enveloping her as the sun finally rested behind the horizon. She heaved a heavy sigh, thinking of the look on Wolverine’s face as he had entered the Blackbird. Whatever they had seen at the base hadn’t been pretty and it had bothered him. To anyone else Wolverine would have seemed unfazed, completely removed from emotion, but not to her. She knew him too well, knew his soul and he was being eaten alive from the inside.
She wanted to help him, help to ease his suffering, but more and more lately he was pushing her away, closing himself off to her and that was killing her. She was at a loss, not knowing what to do or to say to help him. There was so much about his past that remained clouded in false memories or hidden by no memories at all.
She rose, agitated. His shutting her out was infuriating her as much as it was frustrating her. They were married. Husband and wife. A team. He’d better come to accept the fact that they were in everything together now. Everything. And that meant he wasn’t going to be able to keep her at arms length and allow her in when it suited him. The sooner he got that through his thick, adamantium skull, the better.
Ororo looked up at the clock and grimaced. It would be hours before she would see him again, between the time it would take them to get back, and the debriefing it would be late. She shoved the high backed chair against the table, deciding that she’d rather wait for him at home, where she and he were free of the restraints imposed as X-Men and allowed to just be Logan and Ororo.

Later

Logan made his way over the sloping hill that led to his and Ororo’s home, his pace quickening as he approached. He could see the faint glow of the bedside lamp in the upstairs window and knew Ororo was waiting up for him. That thought warmed him. She was so good to him, so loving, so generous. He would never be worthy of her, his hands too stained with countless sins, not deserving to touch such innocence. Even knowing this he would never let her go, and he would kill anyone that tried to take her away from him now that she was his.
“’Ro?” He opened the door. No answer. “Babe?” He stood silent for a moment, listening. He could hear her moving around upstairs and smiled. He hung his coat and unstrapped his uniform boots, leaving them on the mat beside the door, padding up the stairs quietly.
Ororo was in the center of their room, her eyes closed, arms over her head, dancing and jumping to the blaring music coming from the headphones on her ears. Logan leaned against the door jamb watching her, a half smile on his face. The mere sight of her dispersed the darkness he had been wallowing in since the mission. She was damn adorable bouncing around in an oversized tee shirt and bunny slippers (a gift from Ali), her wild hair swinging around as she spun, shaking her ass. She was on her way back up from a sexy little shimmy when she opened her eyes and noticed him in the door way.
“Logan!” Ororo jumped, her hand flying to her chest. She pulled the headphones off, stopping the cd. “Goddess, you startled me!”
He chuckled. “Don’t let me stop ya, darlin’. I was enjoyin’ the show.”
Ororo tossed the walkman onto the nightstand. She gave him a searching look and though he was smiling, his eyes still held a haunted look that was becoming all too familiar. “Come here.” She opened her arms.
Logan uncrossed his ankles, moving towards her with purpose. She welcomed him home with open arms every time they were apart and he secretly feared the day when she would not. He enveloped her ardently, burying his face in her snowy, silken strands, breathing in her unique scent, nuzzling the spot just below her ear that sent little shivers along her spine.
Ororo clung to him, her fingers curling into the black latex and spandex fabric of his uniform top. She pressed her lips to his neck, kissing softly, nibbling teasingly.
Logan groaned, walking her backward towards the bed. She laughed softly as he tossed her down, literally leaping at her, growling playfully. This was her Logan, the one that smiled, the one that laughed and teased and played. She squirmed away from him in mock distress. “Oh, heavens no, don’t ravish me. Please, please, don’t have your wicked way with me.” She laughed throatily as he lifted her shirt, pressing his lips to her belly and blowing against her, making loud raspberry sounds. She squealed, trying to twist away from him, laughing until she hiccupped.
“Oh (hic) now look what (hic) you’ve done (hic).”
Logan chuckled, unapologetic. He returned his mouth to her flat stomach, but instead of blowing he licked her, trailing hot kisses to her navel, where his tongue dipped, teasing her belly button ring. Ororo gasped, her fingers twitching in their new blue comforter and Logan grinned. She was so responsive, always eagerly accepting him and he loved her for it. He moved lower, grabbing the lace edge of her panties between his teeth, grinning wickedly as he dragged them off of her.
For a minute he just stared at her, enthralled by her. There she was, laying on their bed, tee shirt shoved just below her breasts, bare from the waist down, until her feet, still clad in fuzzy bunnies. She should have looked ridiculous, but she didn’t. She looked young and desirable and he ached for her. “’Ro,” he groaned. He grabbed the bottom of his shirt, cross armed, yanking it over his head. She sat up on the bed, doing the same to her shirt, kicking of her slippers.
Once she was wonderfully naked she reached for him, grabbing the buckle of his pants and yanking him towards her. She made quick work of his belt, flinging it across the room, uncaring where it landed. She was working the button when they heard a knock on the door.
“Ignore it,” he growled, tilting her face to his, kissing her deeply.
Ororo sighed, wrapping her arms around his neck, pressing her bare skin to his, making his growl deepen.
Knock. Knock. “Storm? Are you awake?”
Jean. What the hell?
Ororo reluctantly pulled away from him. “I’d better go see what she wants.”
“Whatever it is it can wait,” he grumbled, licking her ear.
Shivering with desire Ororo had a hard time placing her hand on his chest, pushing slightly. “Logan. She sounds upset.”
He released her with a dissatisfied huff. “Yer too damn good.” he muttered. He ran one hand through his hair, giving a nasal sigh. “Go talk to Jean. I’ll be taking a cold shower.”
Ororo grinned at his back as he marched down the stairs. She pulled on her long baby blue fuzzy robe (a gift from Gambit, matching the slippers) and followed him downstairs. Logan was already in the kitchen, grabbing a beer, heading towards the bathroom when she opened the door for a miserable looking Jean Grey. “Hello, Jean. What can I do for you?”
“Hi. I’m really sorry to come over so late, but I…Well, I needed someone to talk to.” Jean looked positively mortified by the admission.
Ororo took a step back, opening the door wider. “Come in.”
Jean looked a bit startled, as if she had expected Ororo to slam the door in her face. In the months that had passed since Storm’s arrival to the X-Men she and Jean had shared a strained relationship, and although they were now civil with one another, they weren’t considered friends by any standard.
“Um, thanks.” Jean stepped through the door. “You have a lovely home,” she said softly, honestly. It was the first time she had ever been inside.
The boathouse had signs of both Logan and Ororo’s touch. The colors were earthy and natural, dark browns, some rustic reds and beige to accent. The kitchen was small, but quaint, with a hanging fruit basket over the red and green marble topped bar Logan had installed last summer. Plants and several exotic flowers lined the large windows. The soft overhead light illuminated the newly stripped and polished hardwood floors, giving the interior a warm feeling. The living room area housed a long couch and two recliners, set in a semi circle, atop a large oriental rug, very Loganesque. A dark coffee table sat between the furniture, a small Bonsai tree in the center and two tall freestanding lamps were beside either dark recliner. The furniture was all facing the small, gate guarded fireplace on the brick wall. Above the mantel sat an ornately decorated Japanese blade, curved with a black handle and a scarlet tassel.
Logan had worked hard all summer, making things just so for Ororo, even though she had told him she would be content in a cardboard box so long as she was with him. He had even installed a large skylight in the middle of winter as a Christmas present for her. It had been the most touching thing anyone had ever done for her and she had made certain he knew how much it meant to her.
“Can I get you a drink?” Ororo asked closing the door.
“That would be nice.”
“Have a seat.” She indicated that Jean should sit in the living room before going to the kitchen and putting the kettle on the stove, removing two mugs for some chamomile tea.
Jean slowly sat in on of the two recliners, her eyes traveling the walls, where several pictures hung. There was one of Kitty under an oak tree, half phazed through it, smiling and waving. Another of Alison and Gambit, they were facing each other, one of his gloved hands cradling Alison’s face, with the sun setting behind them. It was really a lovely picture, Jean mused. There was also a picture of a man and a woman holding a tiny baby, and the woman’s beauty told who she was instantly.
“My mother,” Ororo said, coming around the couch with two steaming mugs. “And my father.” She handed Jean a cup before seating on the edge of the couch, diagonal from Jean. “The day I was born.”
“They look happy,” Jean murmured.
“They were.” Ororo smiled faintly. “But I don’t think you’re here to talk about my parents.” It was still a touchy place for Ororo, especially where Jean was concerned.
Jean shook her head. “No. I came because of Scott.”
“What’s pretty boy done?” Ororo sipped her tea.
“Nothing.” Jean’s lower lip trembled. “I just picked up the most disturbing thoughts from him, Storm. He‘s thinking horrible nasty thoughts, full of anger and pain. I‘ve never sensed things like that from him before. It was, is…frightening.”
Ororo nodded. “Although Wolverine hasn’t said anything, I think today’s mission was an exceptionally difficult one. I get the feeling Cyclops is the type of guy to take failure, or even perceived failure, very personal.”
She shook her head sadly. “He is, but Scott has never shut me out before.” Jean gave Ororo an imploring look. “It was so intense. How do you deal with that?”
For a moment Ororo was silent. She took a long drink of her tea before answering. “You just have to be there. You have to understand that sometimes a person just needs a little space, and sometimes they need a lot of space.” She glanced over her shoulder towards the hall. “You just have to remind yourself that its not you that he’s angry at.”
Jean sighed. “So what do you think I should do?”
“Take him some tea.”
“Huh?”
“Take him some tea, or make him so cocoa or give him a six pack. Leave a note, let him know you’ll be there when he’s ready. Don’t let the anger scare you away, because it shouldn’t. Everyone gets angry, everybody gets tired, and like it or not, everyone lashes out, especially against those we love the most. My advice, Jean, is if you love him, really love him, then just be there when he needs you to help him find his way. I don’t know you or Cyclops well enough to tell you how you should handle your relationship, nor should I have to. However, if I were you, I would hold fast to the feelings you share and see him through whatever it is he’s going through now.”
Jean smiled slightly. “He’s a very lucky man.”
“Scott?”
“No. Wolverine.” Jean stood. “Thank you, Storm. I know I’ve done some terrible things to you in the past, and I am truly sorry for all the pain I caused you.”
Ororo shrugged. “It’s done. We’ll be fine just so long as you don’t go all bunny-boiler on me.”
Jean raised one arched brow. “Bunny-boiler?”
“Forget it.” Ororo walked Jean to the door.
“Thanks for talking to me.”
“No problem. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
Ororo watched until Jean was over the hill before turning out the front light. When she turned Logan was directly behind her, his gaze intense. “Log--” She was pulled tight against his wet chest, his mouth silencing hers in a forceful kiss, his tongue demanding entry. Ororo made a small sound that only seemed to inflame Logan further and pressed her against the door, wrenching her robe open, cupping her breasts in his palms, stroking the tips with his calloused thumbs.
Logan growled into her mouth, his body a raging inferno of passion. He had heard every word she said to Jean and he knew she was speaking from the heart, from her experiences with him. She cried out softly as he nudged her legs apart, lifting her and impaling her on his erection in one forceful motion. He rocked against her, holding her against the door, sliding in and out in frantic rhythm.
“Logan, mmmm.” She lifted her legs, holding him about the waist, clutching his shoulders.
“I love ya, ‘Ro.” He said softly, tenderly, even as his body dominated hers.
Ororo smiled at him so sweetly he froze. Staring into the deep swirling depths of her eyes he saw how much she loved him and he was arrested.
“Logan?”
“Ya can’t know what it does ta me ta see ya look at me like that,” he rasped.
Ororo gave him a confused look. “Like what?”
“Like I’m the only thing that matters,” he said gruffly.
She moved on him slowly. “You are, Logan. The only thing that matters to me. Now and forever, love.”
He buried his face in her neck, moaning her name.





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