The sky was dark. Heavy clouds, burdened with rain, rotated over the upstate New York cemetery, their deluge withheld by a force of will. Logan’s eyes roamed the sky before they came to rest on the silent woman beside him. Dressed in a mourner’s black two piece suit Ororo stood stoically silent as the coffin containing her best friend was lowered into the ground and the minister’s “Ashes to ashes…” whispered over the small group of people graveside.
Alison’s former band mates were among those present as well as Scott, Lorna, Alex, Henry and a few other people that had known or known of the singer. Local reporters stood a few feet away, snapping photos of the casket, the minister, and of the sad faces surrounding them.
Vultures, Logan thought angrily. News of Alison’s death made headlines more as a result of her mutantcy than anything, and speculation ran heavy that the attack was hate related. Already politicians were using this “unfortunate incident” to fuel campaigns in both directions of the mutant right debates, the ‘hot button’ issue of the upcoming elections.
Ororo heard the minister, saw the other mourners, and sensed the cool dampness clinging in the air but all she felt was emptiness. Ali. She closed her eyes, the grief too intense, stealing her breath.
Three short years was all they had known one another but in that time they had forged a bond tighter than sisters and more spiritual than either was comfortable putting into words. The term “soul mates” came to mind, and a truer phrase was never coined.
Logan felt Ororo tremble beside him, but she made no sound. He hadn’t heard her speak more than a few words in the past two days. Her eyes, normally the color of a clear afternoon sky were continuously sapphire dark and red rimmed. Her lustrous hair and skin lost their familiar glow. She appeared drained, as if her very essence had been stripped from her body.
A subtle scent on the air wafted up to his nose causing him to glance down. Slowly, so not to startle, he reached for Ororo’s clenched fist. She barely seemed to register his touch, much less the large thorns gouging her palm. A drop of blood slid along her hand, falling from her fingertips to the petals.
His voice was a husky whisper against her temple, “’Roro, it’s time…”
Ororo blinked, realizing that several sets of eyes were resting on her, waiting. She swallowed hard, stepping forward to toss the white rose, now splotched with her blood atop the polished wood of Alison’s casket as it sank into the shadows of the ground. I love you, Alison. You made even the darkest times bearable with your beautiful light. You are my shining star, and I will love you forever.
She stepped back and Logan pulled her into the shelter of his arms. Her shoulders shook with silent sobs. It hurt so much. “I don’t want to let her go,” she whispered brokenly.
Logan, infinitely gentle, cradled her head against his shoulder. “I know.”
Ororo choked on a sob when the first shovel of dirt hit the wood. She clutched Logan’s arms, her legs threatening to give way. “I’ve got you,” he whispered.
Scott moved from his position beside Lorna and Hank so that he came along side of Ororo. He nodded to Logan before placing his arm around Ororo’s waist, lending her his strength. For the first time since they’d met, all differences between the two men were set aside and together they offered their friend comfort as best they could.
She felt wooden.
Empty.
Soulless.
Ororo sighed softly pulling her pillow onto her lap, her eyes distant as she gazed out of her bedroom window across the yard. Ali was dead and buried and she didn’t know how to deal with that. Didn’t want to deal with that. She wanted to curl up on her bed, close her eyes and go to sleep and when she awoke everything would have been a horrible nightmare and Ali would scold her for being a ridiculous flake and life would go on.
But she had been to sleep and awoken, and each and every day of the past twelve days was exactly the same. Painful emptiness that seemed unending and of which there was no reprieve. She knew without a doubt that the hole left in her heart by Alison’s departure would never be completely mended no matter how much time passed, or how many people assured her that eventually the pain would ebb.
Liars, the lot of them.
The sun was just beginning its creep over the horizon, it was early yet, but Ororo knew she would not be getting back to sleep. She crouched on the floor, searching under her bed for the lock box she had been issued after Ali’s funeral. It was the only thing Ali had specified in her short will. It still surprised Ororo that Ali had even had a will. She wasn’t exactly the plan for the future type of gal.
She tugged the silver box from its resting place. Inside lay a bunch of scribbled notes regarding Genosha, Arthur Centino, pictures and a few love songs. Nothing life altering it appeared, but the box and its contents were more precious to Ororo than the finest diamond ever could have been.
Although Alison’s murder had been labeled “case closed” by the local authorities and SHIELD Ororo felt that it was far from settled and had begun a bit of puzzle piecing. Who was Brody Anderson and why had he killed Alison? Had he worked alone? Why hadn’t Ali come to her for help?
Ororo removed a picture of her and Ali from the box. It had been taken at a karaoke bar after a rousing and a bit off key version of Earth Wind and Fire’s Shining Star. They were both three sheets to the wind and laughing hysterically at something nonsensical. They looked happy. They had been.
Before Ororo’s arrest, Jean’s break out recruitment effort and Ororo’s decision to fight the good fight for the betterment of humanity she and Ali had been inseparable companions. She had even asked Ali to join the X-Men with her, but Ali had declined. “Playing hero’s not really my thing,” she had said. “But you’ll make a great vigilante.”
She touched the photo gingerly, almost as if she were afraid it would shatter if she pressed too hard. “What were you hiding from me, Al?” she asked quietly.
Logan shifted on the bed, drawing her attention. His large, adamantium laced frame caused the springs to groan their displeasure. His eyes were closed but she knew he was awake. He always woke when she did. She placed her photographs and papers back in the box, and shoved them back under the bed. She took a moment to study Logan’s face in the early light. He was rugged, edged hard from years of a hard life. He had a strong chin, sinful lips, a constant whisker shadow, defined cheek bones and a pleasantly crooked nose.
His face held a wealth of character that an artist would give their right arm to capture. Hell he simply had more character than anyone she’d ever met, and more depth of soul than she had ever realized.
Their relationship, or whatever it was to be called, was changing once again. She wasn’t certain into what, but she could feel it. A rift was forming between them. In the wake of everything else she wasn’t sure she could handle any more changes, but she seemed helpless to stop it.
Logan had yet to leave her side since Alison’s death. His presence kept her from going crazy and had given her an anchor, though she had still not told tell him how much it meant to her that he was simply there. He gave up all of his free time for her, catering to her, bringing her food, making conversation, holding her. But her time of selfishness needed to pass.
She knew her impenetrable grief was taking its toll on him. His demeanor had undergone subtle changes that told her more than words ever could that he was as confused and lost as she was, unable to break through the shroud of misery she had cloaked herself in.
She could not bring Ali back to her but she could at least release Logan from the vortex of despair she seemed trapped in. She owed him that much for attempting to keep her safe from the suffocating darkness.
Logan could feel her eyes on him. The desolation he knew that he would see in their depths prevented him from opening his own eyes. He cursed himself for that cowardice. She needed him, and he was more than willing to be a shoulder for her to cry on, but he was unaccustomed to someone else’s pain becoming his pain. Pain was something he’d always had to deal with, lived with, it was easy to adapt to it…or so he thought. Her pain was a relentless tearing at his heart leaving him feeling more wounded and raw than he could ever remember feeling.
The implications of that were terrifying. It made him want to run.
“I know you’re awake.” Her voice was flat, without inflection.
He reluctantly opened his eyes. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. She saw it all in that unguarded moment.
He sat up slowly, smoothing his wrinkled tee shirt over his washboard stomach. He looked ready to speak, but she held up her hand, halting the words. “I think it would be best if you went back to sleeping in your room.”
He hated the flare of relief he felt. “You sure?”
She nodded, hoping he didn‘t catch the sheen in her eyes. “We could both use some space right now.”
He didn’t like the way that sounded. “’Ro--”
She attempted a smile for him. “It’s all right.”
Logan warred within himself.
Ororo stepped forward, touching his arm. “Go.”
“I’m right down the hall if you need me.” he said.
“I know.” She nodded. “Thank you.”
He stood, brushing his lips against her hair. She could almost feel the rift between them widening beneath her feet.
She fought the urge to call him back when he reached the door. She had to turn away, unable to watch him walk out.
He glanced at her over his shoulder but she had already turned her back to him. Dismissing him.
She heard the latch click and closed her eyes. She hadn’t believed anything else could hurt her, but she had been wrong.
“I want answers, Nick.” Logan paced his bedroom floor, his cell phone pressed to his ear. He toweled his wet hair, switching ears. “I don’t want to hear that. One of your men killed a mutant, General. How do you think the President will feel about that? That‘s what I figured you‘d say. I’ll be at your office in an hour, and I’ll want results.” He snapped his phone shut.
It was dangerous to push Nick around, the man only bent so far before he rammed something down your throat. But Logan had some leeway, given the “phantom” missions the good General had sent him on. With what he knew Logan could take Nick Fury’s career and flush it if he chose. It was his trump card. Not to say Fury didn’t have an extra Ace or two up his sleeve. He waved pieces of Logan’s past around like dog treats for tricks performed.
Logan paused beside his window to draw back the curtain. Bright sunlight made him flinch. A bit of overkill, eh, darlin’? He knew damn well she was overcompensating, pretending not to want to crawl under a rock and hide from the world, but despite that fact he couldn’t help but be relieved to see the sun once more.
He was already kicking himself in the ass for leaving her alone in her room, but he had needed the break. It was like self evisceration being in that room and watching Ororo die from the inside and knowing that nothing he did made a damn bit of difference to her.
As if thinking about her materialized her Ororo stepped into the drive beneath his window. She had changed from her drab gray sweats into a pair of jeans and long sleeved jersey shirt. She was speaking to someone behind her, shaking her head. Scott appeared a moment later carrying a picnic basket and checkered blanket.
Logan frowned realizing that he and Ororo never got to indulge in their impromptu picnic. He pushed down the rising tide of jealousy he felt that Scooter was getting the picnic and Ororo out of her room. It didn’t matter who brought her around, so long as someone reached her.
She was teetering on an edge he was certain that even she was unaware of. He’d been on that edge and he knew from experience how hard the fall was. He wanted to protect her from that if he could, but to do that she’d have to let him in. Right now she was letting him around. There was a distinguishable difference between the two.
With a look of grim determination Logan dressed and headed for the garage. He had people to see.
“Here?” Scott asked from his shaded position beneath one of the grand oaks dotting the estate property.
“Anywhere’s fine.” Ororo said, shielding her eyes and looking around. “Where’s Jean?”
“She’s coming.” Scott shook the blanket into the air. “You know I’m really surprised you asked her to join us.”
“Why’s that?” Ororo asked, distracted.
He cocked his head. “Uh, no reason. None at all. I must have imagined the tension between you two.”
“Must have.” Jean said, appearing from the sky. She was getting really good at telekinetic flight. “Hey.” She smiled tentatively at Ororo.
“Hi.” Ororo’s gaze met hers, steady and speculative.
Jean’s rust colored brows lowered. “Oh.”
“Oh?” Scott asked, placing the basket on the blanket.
Jean turned away from Ororo’s gaze. “Nothing, honey. Is there anything I can help you with?”
“Nope. All set.” Scott replied, setting out condiments.
“Okay then. I think Storm and I will take a walk if you don’t mind.”
Scott paused in emptying the basket. The idea of Ororo and Jean alone made him a bit nervous he had to admit. “I’m almost done…”
“We won’t be long,” Ororo assured him.
Feeling like there was an exchange that he was missing Scott nodded. “First crack of thunder or freaky bird screech I’m coming after you two.”
“Agreed.” The two women said in unison.
Scott watched them walk towards the lake. “This can’t be good,” he muttered to the mustard.
At the lakeshore Jean spoke first. “You won’t like what you see, Ororo.”
Ororo bent and picked up a flat stone. “I need to know,” she countered, sending the stone spinning in skips across the still water.
Jean gnawed her lower lip. “I really shouldn’t…”
Ororo reached for her hand. “Jean. Please.” She beseeched the telepath. “Please.”
“Xavier will have my hide.” Jean said, but she was already caving.
“Naw, you’re his pet,” Ororo said. “Besides, I don’t think even the Professor can take on your teke.”
Jean’s mouth quirked. “I wouldn’t lay odds to that. The man is incredibly crafty.” She took a deep breath. “This might feel weird.” She placed her hands on either side of Ororo’s head at the temples. “I need you to not go defensive on me, okay? I don’t want to be jolted into a coma.”
“Alright.” Ororo said, also breathing deep.
Jean leaned closer, “Remember what I said. You won’t like it…”
“Who the fuck are you?” Alison stood in doorway of her apartment, backlit by the hall light, keys still in hand.
“Where’s Centino?” A voice asked.
“Oh hell no,” Ali said with a scowl, light beams shooting from her fingertips. “We left you on that goddamn island!”
Brody Anderson dodged the concentrated light beams and came up from his roll across the floor, his fist connecting solidly to Ali’s chin. She staggered back, knocking over her silver tray of black candles.
She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth. “That all you got?” WHAM! She was hit from behind. She fell to her knees where she received a bone breaking kick to the side. She rolled, trying to crawl away.
“Where is he?” Anderson grabbed a handful of her spikes, pulling her head back, his knee in her spine.
“Go to hell!” Ali shouted, light erupting from every pore of her body.
“Damn mutie!” The second attacker yowled as the vivid light display blinded him.
It wasn’t enough. Anderson had been prepared for her light show and was wearing protective eyewear. He punched her in the back of her head. He rolled her onto her back, straddling her. He locked one beefy hand around her throat, forcing her head still.
Ali defiantly met his eyes, blood staining her nose and lips.
Anderson lifted a knife from his booth sheathe. “Mojo wants his star back. I’ll only ask you one more time, bitch. Where is Centino?”
Knowing that it they would kill her regardless of what she told them Ali ground out, “Go fuck yourself.”
“Fuck myself? That’s the best you got?” He smacked her. “You’re kinda cute. I’d fuck ya of you weren’t a dirty mutie.”
“God bless defective DNA,” she grated, struggling beneath the heavy man straddling her.
“Hey!” the second man called out, apparently having gone back to rifling through her apartment. “Look at this.” He handed Anderson a framed picture.
“Well, well. Who’s this?” He turned the picture. “She a mutie too? White hair says she is.”
“Bad dye job,” Ali grunted, trying not to panic.
Anderson chuckled, a low sadistic sound. He smashed the glass and ripped the picture out. He flipped it over. “Me and Ororo, shit-faced and loving life,” he read aloud. “Awww,” he mocked. “Cute. Bet Mojo would love her on the show. Won’t be too hard to track her down looking like she does.”
“No!” Ali’s struggles increased, her ribs killing her, literally as Anderson squeezed his thighs. Ali felt something puncture, blood filling her mouth. “Shit,” she gasped.
“Damn.” Anderson frowned. “Keep looking,” he told his companion. He pulled a small camcorder from his belt pack. He flipped the screen and the small light caused Ali to flinch. “One down,” Brody Anderson said once the red light was lit. “I have hunted and taken the kill on Alison Blaire, Longshot’s beloved Dazzler.”
Ali’s eyes began to glow. “I ain’t dead yet, fuckwad!” She focused all her energy on his chest, beams shooting from her eyes and smashing him against the wall. She struggled to her feet, staggering against her couch. Window, she needed to get to the window. Fire Escape. Get to Storm. Warn her. Tell her everything. Mojo. The Game. Everything.
She punched the glass, climbing through the broken pane, uncaring that she tore her hands and pants.
From inside the apartment Anderson groaned. “Get her!”
Ali was nearly free and clear of the window when she felt searing pain between her shoulder blades. The blade made a sickening thunk as it hit, sending her careening over the ledge and onto the grill of the fire escape. She tried to reach the blade, couldn’t, decided to move instead. Forgoing the steps she leapt over the rail, falling nearly three stories to the pavement.
“Uuuhhhnnn, fuck.” She rose shakily. “Storm…help me…”
Ororo landed on her backside, her hands waving frantically in front of her blind eyes. “Ali!” Ali, Oh God, Ali…
“Breathe, Ororo, breathe.” Jean was slowly coming into focus. The blurry redhead was crouched in front of her, her hands steadying Ororo’s shoulders. “Breathe.”
Ororo gasped and wheezed, her mind still trapped between the here and now and Ali’s last memories. “Can’t…can’t…” She gagged.
“I tried to tell you.” Jean’s voice was sympathetic. “Don’t try to talk, just focus on breathing.
“She needed me.” Ororo clutched her chest. “She needed me.”
“Storm, you can’t beat yourself up over what you can’t change.”
“He wasn’t alone.” Ororo closed her eyes, collecting herself. “He wasn’t alone.”
“I know.” Jean nodded.
Ororo stood, taking the hand Jean offered. “I shouldn’t have shown you--”
“Thank you.” Ororo interjected. She meant it. “Tell Scott something came up.”
“Wait, where are you--?” She was already gone. “Damn it,” Jean swore. She had a feeling she had just unwittingly set a timer on a bomb.
Ororo soared across the sky back towards the mansion, her eyes glowing glacial white. She had a name. She had a target. Mojo.
“Kitty!” She hollered striding through the halls.
“Yello?” Kitty popped her head through the girls’ bathroom door.
“I need your help.” Storm…help me… She flinched imperceptibly.
Kitty stepped fully into the hall. “Name it.” She said enthusiastically.
Ororo motioned for her to follow. “Do you still have access to the FBI and SHIELD databases?”
“What?” Kitty blinked owlishly. “Ororo, I am shocked you would think-”
“Do you?” Ororo cut it sharply.
“Yes.”
“I need you to find me as much information as you can about a person called Mojo.”
“Like Austin Power’s Mojo?
Ororo paused. “I really have no idea.”
“Ooookay. Mojo. Anything else?”
“Yes. Arthur Centino.”
“Will do.” Kitty saluted her like she was a Captain. “Uh, ‘Ro?”
“Hm?”
“You wanna make your eyes stop doing that creepy glowy thing?”
Ororo inclined her head. “Not really.”
“Oh. Well okay then. I‘ll get back to you if I come up with anything.” Kitty backed away and through the wall.
In her room Ororo pulled out Ali’s silver box once more. She would review every scrap of paper in there with a fine tooth comb. If there was something hidden within the box’s contents she’d find it.
She hadn’t been there to save her friend, but she’d damn sure avenge her.
