The shower was welcome and helped ease her aching muscles. Ororo leaned against the ivory wall of her specially designed bathroom and let the water pour over her. She was tired, but satisfied. She and T’Challa had prevented a small village from being wiped out by a neighboring tribe and, although prepared to fight, the battle had been fiercer than expected, especially with a couple of mutants on the side of the opposition.
Unfortunately there had been a casualty in the fighting. A young mother who was brutally stabbed then beheaded as an example for the others. Ororo’s attention had immediately gone to the children and husband of the slain woman.
She never, ever wanted to witness another expression of anguish like she saw on the faces of that family. It was heart breaking and she had wanted to cry with them and rage for them. Deciding on the latter, she had created a small contained tornado, snatching up the perpetrators of the viscous assault and spinning them with such velocity that their brains had turned to mush within their skulls. It was an out of character act for her, but one that she was surprised to find that she felt no regret for.
Ororo closed her eyes, tilting her head back. Life in Africa was so different than the life she’d had at Xavier’s, and even the life she had in Wakanda. She’d believed herself strong, tough, prepared to deal with anything life threw at her, and, to an extent that, was true, but years of mansion life and advanced technology had dulled her perception of many of the real world troubles surrounding her.
Something T’Challa had tried to warn her about on their first night of patrol. She had brushed his concern off with a faint frown and a snappy retort. Two hours later having seen more than a dozen starving children and impoverished families Ororo had succumbed to her tears. She had cursed herself for not coming sooner, and cursed the X-Men for their blindness, and even T’Challa for his country’s policies of non interference. He had held her as she wept, kissing away her tears and trying to soothe her.
“Are you planning on living in there?” A loud thump at the door made her start. She swept back her hair, calling a halt to her self generated rain shower.
She caught a towel on her way to the door and wrapped it about her middle before opening the door. “Sorry.”
T’Challa’s eyes raked over her form, a concerned frown marring his handsome face. “I just wanted to make certain you were all right.”
Ororo nodded. “I am well.”
He caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger, lifting her gaze to his. “Do you hurt?”
She ducked her head. “Not physically, no.”
His eyes roamed her face, darkening with emotion. She stroked his smooth jaw. “I will be fine, my love.”
He caught her hand, pressing a lingering kiss on her palm. “I don’t know if my heart can take seeing you suffer so.”
No one had ever looked at her like he was now and Ororo wondered if her heart could take such intensity. Her chest ached for him. “I am a lot stronger than you give me credit for,” she said.
“You are amazing.” He drew her into his arms. “Come.”
He wrapped one arm casually about her toweled waist, leading her into their room. Candles and incense burned, casting soft shadows against the walls.
“You did all of this?” She asked him.
“For you,” he confirmed. He brought her to the bed. “Lie down.”
Ororo lay back against the pillows and T’Challa smiled. He sat at the foot of the bed, lifting one of her feet in his hands, working the tender soles with strong, agile fingers. “Mmmmm…” Ororo closed her eyes. “That feels lovely. You spoil me so,” she said, a touch of sadness in her voice.
“You deserve it,” he said working her tendons.
Ororo remained silent.
“No one can fix all of the world’s problems, Ororo. Not even a woman such as yourself.” T’Challa murmured watching her face.
She sighed. “So I have been told.” She recalled a time not all that long ago when Logan had told her the very same thing. Just that momentary thought of him made her heart clench with sadness and with practiced efficiency she pushed those thoughts of him out of her mind.
“It has been a long time since you’ve seen Wolverine,” T’Challa said idly.
Ororo gave a small smile. He knew her far too well, she mused. “It has,” she confirmed.
“It has been a long time since you have seen your friends at all.”
“We’ve been busy.” She reminded him.
T’Challa switched feet, rubbing her heel with his thumb. “One can never be too busy for those they love, Ororo.”
“Mmm.” She tilted her head, regarding his handsome profile. “And what mischief are you up to, beloved?”
He flashed her a white smile. “No mischief, as of yet,” he teased. “It is just that I have important meetings in Washington D.C. next week, and thought, perhaps you’d care to come with me. A stop in New York would be no trouble.”
Her smile was brilliant. “T’Challa! What a wonderful idea,” she pushed herself forward, hugging him.
T’Challa laughed easily, his arms circling her tightly. “Then it’s settled,” he stated.
“You really are the most wonderful husband,” Ororo said softly, leaning back to stare into his eyes.
“I try.” He said with mock humility.
“Hm.” She inclined her head, amused.
“You are so beautiful with the candlelight on your face.” His murmur was huskier than a moment ago.
Ororo leaned further away from him, watching the hunger pool in his eyes. She loved when he looked at her as he was now, with love and desire. His features drawn tighter with stark need. “Thank you,” she said, striving for nonchalance. She stretched her arms over her head, the action thrusting her breasts against the towel. He groaned. She smiled. She did love to tease him.
“You are incredible.” He pressed her back, easing her onto their silk sheets. His body was hard, lean muscle and ebony steel, and she appreciated every inch of it. He slowly pushed his loose bottoms over his narrow hips so that his thick erection sprang free.
Ororo licked dry lips, her eyes glazing in familiar white heated passion. It was always this way between them. There was of course their raw lust for one another, but more than that, there was love. Real and deep and abiding. He mesmerized her. With his broad shoulders, smooth skin, beautiful male body, the flash of white teeth when he smiled his boyish smile, and of course, his eyes. The way he looked at her like she was the only woman ever created, and created just for him.
He drew her against him, feeling the softness of her skin. “I want to make you feel good,” he whispered. “To forget the pain you saw, to know only love, Ororo.” He slanted his mouth over hers, stealing her breath. His kisses were always erotic and playful, with a sinful edge that made her feverish with wanting.
“You amaze me so,” he whispered. “Tonight is all about you, my love.”
Ororo laughed huskily. “You never fail to deliver,” she reminded him.
“Ah, but tonight is different. Tonight is all about slow and easy.” His fingers massaged her thighs. “Close your eyes. Relax. Let me take care of you.”
Ororo did as she was told, her breath delayed every now and again as his hands lingered over certain spots. A long while later, as she arched beneath his demanding body, screaming his name to her Goddess, Ororo wondered if it was possible to love someone so much you could die from it.
New York
“Storm!” Logan bolted upright in bed, his hand reaching forward in a futile attempt to grasp the misty vestige of his dream.
A deep shudder ran through his body. “Fuck,” he growled, one hand ruffling his sweat dampened hair. Night after night he dreamt of her, each dream more vivid than the last, and each one darker than the one before.
Logan reached out blindly, snatching the half empty can of piss warm beer from his nightstand and downing it in one swift chug. With a belch he tossed the tin across his room where it clattered against the small pyramid of cans he’d built after the previous night’s nightmares.
His teeth worked against each other, grinding his frustration. It had been months since he’s even see her, why he was still dreaming of her was beyond him. Well, no, it wasn’t, but he didn’t really feel like reliving the horrible day that his realization that he loved her had hit him, only too late to do anything about it.
For possibly the hundredth time that week alone he wondered if Ororo was happy with her choice of husband. Do you ever want more? Her haunting words ate at him, every hour of every day. If only he’d said something to her that fateful night on the phone, perhaps their paths would not have diverged so drastically.
Perhaps instead of an old blanket and a worn magazine in his bed, a long limbed, sable Goddess would be reclined beside him. Her soft touch soothing his brow. Her honey and velvet voice in his ear, panting his name as he took her to places only he could.
“Fuck.” His claws extended. One night. One all too brief night was all they’d shared, but it was imprinted on his psyche in a way nothing in his life ever had been. He knew this to be true. With his memories fully restored, Logan could honestly and sincerely say, no one ever effected him like Ororo had.
She deserved to be happy, he told himself, and if the all-mighty king of Wakanda did that for her, then who was he to say shit about it. It wasn’t like she’d asked for his opinion. Hell, she hadn’t even told him she was getting married. He grimaced. Had he been at the mansion instead of traipsing about Africa he would have received the same phone call the others got, announcing the impending nuptials, but that was beside the point. What he would have done had he been at the Institute, if anything, was still a mystery, and rethinking of shit he couldn’t change was futile.
Ororo was married. That was fact; no amount of what ifs, should haves or wanted to’s was going to change that. He grumbled, swinging his bare legs over the edge of the bed. With a snarl and a vengeful kick at the scattered beer cans on the floor Logan made his way to his closet, pulling on a pair of worn jeans and black tee, he snagged his leather jacket and small ready packed duffle.
The stillness of the dark was broken by the loud purr of a well tuned motorcycle engine and the squealing of rubber on asphalt. As the night wind howled in his ears and the trees whizzed by in a blur of hunter greens and shadows Logan could almost feel slender arms curled around his middle and hear a sultry laugh coupled with “Faster!” in his mind. Ororo had been one of few people he’d taken out on his bike, and the only one not deathly afraid of it and him when the ride was over. She was as much an adrenaline junkie as he was, and it was a past time they’d often shared. Back when she was an X-Man. Back when she was yours, his inner voice taunted.
Teeth bared he gunned the engine, trying to drown out memories best left forgotten. The irony of him of all people wishing to forget was not lost on him, he just didn't care, just didn’t want to feel the painful knot in his chest anymore.
It had been more than a year since he’d seen her, talked to her, touched her, yet she was in his mind, ever present, every hour of every day. He hated her for that. He really did.
Four days later
“You all right?”
Ororo glanced up distractedly. “Hmm?”
T’Challa leaned forward, taking her hand in his. “I asked if you were all right?”
“Oh. Yes.”
“Not nervous?”
She cast him a sidelong glance. “Why on earth would I be nervous?”
“Ororo. You’re about to see your family for the first time since we’ve been married. And there’s always the chance you’ll see Wol--”
“He won’t be there.” She interrupted.
T’Challa raised his brows. “Really?”
Ororo cleared her throat. “Well, in all likely hood, he won‘t. Logan rarely stays anywhere for an extended period of time. Chances are he’s off on some self assigned mission.”
T‘Challa studied her face carefully. “Are you hoping he’s not there?”
She shrugged. “What would it matter one way or the other?”
“If you’d rather not see him--”
Ororo sighed. “No, it’s not that.” She twisted her wedding band around her finger. “It’s just, that , well, you’re right. I’m nervous. Logan was one of my dearest friends, and I don’t know where we stand with one another anymore. It is a situation that troubles me.”
Her husband nodded, his warm eyes sympathetic and hard at once. “If the man has any sense he will value the friendship you have and be satisfied with that.”
Ororo’s mouth tilted. “You have no reason to be jealous, my love. It is you I chose, and it is you I would choose for all eternity. I love you.”
He gave her his most devilish smile. “Perhaps I could get that in writing?”
With an playful smile of her own Ororo pressed the small button beside her window, raising the divider between their driver and the two of them. “Who needs writing when I’ve pledged myself to you, body and soul.” She scooted from her seat, kneeling at his feet, working the fastening of his trousers.
“Ororo,” T’Challa groaned.
“Hush, my love.” She smiled up into his eyes. “This is all about you.”
“Do you see her?” Kitty asked, stepping onto the porch beside Peter.
“Not yet.” He took the glass of lemonade she extended towards him. “You are certain she is coming today?”
Kitty nodded, her brown hair glinting with amber highlights in the sun. “That’s what she said.” Of all the X-Men Kitty was the one Ororo made an extended effort to keep in touch with.
Peter glanced down at his watch. “What time did she say she was arriving?”
“Afterno--oooh my.” Kitty exclaimed, watching as the iron gates of the Institute parted allowing a small motorcade up the winding drive. Two black motorbikes flanked a long white limo, the Wakandia crest and flag marking the side. Behind the car tow more armed motorcycles followed.
As the limo halted Kitty descended the front steps hesitantly.
The driver of the limo rounded the car, opening the doors and assisting Ororo and bowing to T’Challa.
Kitty’s steps faltered further, taking in the sight of the woman who stood before her. For some reason, a foolish one now that she reflected upon it, Kitty had assumed Ororo would be in uniform. Instead, a form fitting gown of ivory and gold hugged Ororo’s lithe frame, her long hair braided atop her head, adorned with gold jewels and a subtly crafted headdress. She looked stunning and unapproachable; she looked like a Queen. Kitty felt a small stirring of uncertainty.
She needn‘t have worried. “Kitten!” Ororo spread her arms wide, a smile lighting her face as she strode forward, ignoring the fact that the train of her dress fell along the ground.
T’Challa shook his head, waving away the driver that had bent to lift the expensive fabric from the pavement. He smiled at Ororo’s back. His wife was many things, but materialistic was not one of them.
“Ororo!” Kitty felt all of her hesitation and doubt melt away in Ororo’s warm embrace.
Ororo stepped back, holding Kitty’s arms. “You look lovely, Kitten.” She turned her head. “Hello, little brother.”
Peter grinned, swinging Ororo up into his arms, holding her high as he had often done when they had first joined the X-Men together. “It is good to see you.” He set her back onto her feet.
Ororo reached her hand behind her, knowing T’Challa would be there. “You both know my husband.”
Kitty nodded, smiling. Peter stepped forward, holding out his hand. “Welcome.”
“Thanks.” T’Challa shook his hand. “Ororo speaks very highly and fondly of you both.”
“Lies,” Kitty laughed. “All lies.” She linked her arm through Ororo’s. “Please tell me you’re staying for awhile.”
Ororo nodded. “For a bit, yes.”
“Then you have got to see what Peter has done with your garden,” Kitty said.
The quartet began walking towards the back of the Institute, trailed by two armed sentries. Kitty glanced back over her shoulder furtively.
“They are a bit unnerving,” Ororo commented. “But one gets used to them.”
“How did you get armed guards past the Sentinels?” Peter asked.
“Diplomatic Immunity,” T’Challa said. He lifted his gaze directly towards one of the towering manned robots. “They can’t touch me. Or any of you so long as Ororo is here.”
Kitty’s eyebrows perked. “Really?”
He nodded. “Really.”
Ororo inclined her head. “They watch constantly?”
Peter spoke, his voice thick with repressed anger. “Constantly.”
Ororo turned to T’Challa. “And they can not touch the X-Men, or retaliate for any actions you or I take?”
T’Challa’s eyes narrowed, speculating what his lovely wife was up to. “That is correct.”
“Well then.” Ororo smiled, her eyes glowing white. “I’d like a little privacy for my visit.” Thunder rumbled, lightning searing the sky.
“They’re manned now,” Kitty said as warning.
“Oh, I know.” Ororo said. “I have no intention of striking them down.” Her white eyes flickered. “There.”
Kitty watched as the sentinels glowing red eyes dimmed to black, a loud whirring sound filling the air as a half a dozen large robots powered down. “What did you do?”
“A small electromagnetic pulse through the neural nets of each monstrosity.” She shrugged. “Harmless to the men inside.”
“Brilliant.” Kitty grinned.
“Storm!” Valerie Cooper was stomping towards them, soldiers trailing her, all scowling.
The Wakandian sentry guards stepped forward, ready to defend. With a word T’Challa had them stand down, placing his arm around Ororo’s waist, facing the approaching government agents stoically.
“What is the meaning of this?” Val demanded.
Ororo glared right back. “I could ask you the very same question, Val.” She waved one hand towards the motionless machines. “Sentinels at the X-Men’s front door? Have you forgotten what those things represent for us?”
Val placed her hands on her hips, her glasses reflecting a glint of sunlight. “They are a necessary precaution given the circumstances.”
“What circumstances? M day? The X-men saved this world--again, and this is how you repay them?”
“The world is in chaos right now, Storm. We all must make sacrifices in order to see that it is put to rights once more.”
“Put right?” Thunder rumbled. “Forced containment of mutants. Freedoms revoked. Constant surveillance. None of that is right!” Ororo disputed. “Not everyone is making sacrifices, Val. Mutants, and mutants only are being made to suffer the indignities of mistrust and pointed fingers.”
“It was a mutant that caused this!” Val shouted.
“And what of World War I? World war II? Vietnam? Internment camps? Auschwitz? The everyday atrocities that run rampant in this world? Mutants are not the cause of all of it. It’s selective blame, and hypocritical.” Ororo stepped forward, her eyes glowing white fire. “Your kind disgust me.”
The soldiers behind Val lifted their weapons.
“You will stand down, and stand down now!” T’Challa stepped in front of Ororo, his face a mask of fury. “Remove yourselves from this property immediately.”
“You are not in Wakanda now,” Valerie pointed out.
“No.” He agreed. “I am not. In Wakanda my people are significantly smarter than the idiocy displayed here today. I am however a UN diplomat and unless you’d like to be sweeping floors in the Pentagon basement, Miss Cooper, I suggest you take leave of my line of sight. Immediately. You’ve insulted my wife. It is a slight I will not let pass.”
“She damaged United States government property.” Val argued, weaker this time, knowing that if push came to shove T’Challa could run rough shot through her in political circles.
T’Challa’s teeth flashed in a dangerous smile. “Bill me.”
Valerie glowered, but turned and walked away taking the soldiers with her.
“Oh my God.” Kitty breathed. “They’re really going to walk away.”
“If they know what’s good for them,” T’Challa said softly, his hard gaze watching the retreating figures.
Ororo’s fingers squeezed his. “Thank you, my love,” she said quietly.
He glanced at her, his features immediately softening. “Now, how about this garden you were speaking of, Katherine?” he asked.
“Oh, it’s this way. And call me Kitty.” She grinned at him, approval radiating from her. She leaned into Ororo, whispering, “You did good.”
“The best.” Ororo whispered back.
T’Challa smiled having heard every word.
Later that Evening
Dining Hall
The general rustle and mumble of multiple conversations filled the air, each a bit more excited than usual, knowing that for one night at least the Sentinels weren’t listening. To ensure that, Ororo kept an electromagnetic shield around the perimeter of the Institute. It was a tiring exercise, but one well worth the relief she felt in the students and in her former fellow X-Men.
After a walk about the garden and a tour of the newly renovated wings of the mansion Ororo had spent time with several of the younger students.
The day passed quickly with Kitty and Peter who took turns in relaying stories to T’Challa of some fonder memories, and funny anecdotes. Twice he had pulled her in his arms, kissing her and staring at her in awe as a result.
She cast him an affectionate look down the table, where he was at present listening to Bishop and Nightcrawler. Sensing her eyes on him he lifted his head, returning the warm smile.
Seeing it, Ororo was reminded of another whose smile was known to melt hearts. “Where is Gambit?” Ororo looked around the room, a frown on her face. “I’d very much like to see him.” She glanced at Rogue, who in turn gazed at her plate.
“What?” Ororo asked. “Where is he?”
“Wherever Apocalypse is, I’d imagine.” Emma strode into the dining room, her cloak flapping about her bare thighs.
“What?” Ororo blinked, her mouth parted in surprise. “Rogue?”
The brunette beauty lifted watery eyes. “It’s true.”
“No.” Ororo breathed. “Gambit would never--”
“Always so quick to defend the murderous Cajun, aren’t you?” Emma pointed out.
“When?” Ororo demanded.
“About six months ago.” Cyclops answered cautiously.
Ororo shook her head. “Why wasn’t I told?”
Emma smiled, lifting her glass of wine. “It was X-Men business.” The jab was purposeful and effective, reminding Ororo that despite all she gave to the team, she was no longer an X-man. An outsider now.
T’Challa made his way to her, resting his warm hand on her shoulder comfortingly, sensing her inner distress where she remained outwardly passive. His strength was reassuring, immediately lifting some of the weight settling on her heart.
“You know, I don’t believe I’ve yet to congratulate you on your nuptials, Storm. You two make a striking couple,” Emma stated, her mouth curved mockingly. “To think, I thought your tastes ran more…undomesticated than that, but apparently I was mistaken. How fortunate for you that you managed to nail yourself a genuine king.” The intonation that Ororo was somehow unworthy was missed by no one.
T’Challa’s deep easy voice filled the uncomfortable silence following Emma’s statement. “Your congratulations are thoughtful indeed, Miss Frost, it is Miss correct? However, it is I who am fortunate enough to be married to such a woman. The title is unimportant, for Ororo is far more than a queen, she is a goddess amongst women and as far removed from domesticated, as a pseudo-mock queen of an elitist little club is to a genuine Queen.”
Kitty grinned.
Emma spluttered, her blue eyes narrowing. “Why you arrogant--”
“Hush now, Emma.” Ororo’s eyes glowed in the dimly lit dining room. “You’ve said all I’m willing to hear this evening.”
Beast’s warm rumbling laugh broke the tension. “Ah, Ororo, it is good to see palace life has not made you soft.”
T’Challa joined in the lighthearted attempt Beast was making. “Try as I might she refuses to be spoiled.”
“Yeah, she’s like that.”
All eyes turned to the doorway, a dark shadow stepping forward, eyes glinting like burnished silver.
“Logan.“ Ororo breathed. She met his heavy gaze, memories of the last time they were together filling the space between them.
“You’re just in time for dinner, Wolverine.” Peter called.
“Yeah,” Kitty added with a chuckle. “We’re apparently having humble pie.”
Emma shot her a haughty glare.
“Not hungry.” With that he turned away from the door and disappeared back into the shadows, never once looking anywhere but at Ororo.
“Well, now that everything has calmed down, maybe we can eat,” Cyclops said, taking his seat.
Emma lifted her glass to her lips. “Au contraire, my love. I think things just got a lot more interesting.”
