Ororo glanced up from the snippets of paper scattered across the floor in front of her, reaching gratefully for the cup of coffee Scott held out to her. It was a little after 2 a.m. and she was still perusing the clippings and pictures from the lockbox with bleary eyes."Thanks."
Scott took a seat on the floor to her right, crossing his long legs. After a few minutes he asked, "Anything I can help with?"
She shook her head, sending loose tendrils of hair dancing across her bent shoulders. She sipped the hot coffee before responding. "Everything. Nothing. I don't know." She sighed with frustration and weariness.
Scott reached out with one hand to rub her shoulder, offering what little comfort he could. "Maybe there's nothing there to find," he hedged.
She lifted one of Alison's many pictures of Arthur. The attractive blond man was grinning at the camera, holding a large, obviously fake, fish up like a trophy. "No. There's something here. I just have to find it." She replied resolutely.
"Maybe you're too close to this, Storm." Scott's voice was gentle. "Jean told me about what you saw. Maybe you should take a step back�”"
Ororo turned frosty eyes on him. "I appreciate the concern and the coffee, Cyclops, but if you don't mind, I'd like to be alone."
Scott flinched at the harsh emphasis she put on his codename. He rose reluctantly to his feet. "You've lost a dear friend, and that sucks, believe me, I know. But if you keep acting like you are now, putting yourself in seclusion and locking the rest of us out, you'll lose even more."
She tensed subtly. "Is that some sort of threat?"
He looked hurt by that accusation. "No." He slowly made his way to her bedroom door. "Just remember that you're not alone, Ororo. We're all here for you. I'm here for you." But she was already ignoring him, her focus once more intent on piecing together the puzzle before her. With a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach Scott closed the door behind him.
Jean met him in the hallway, her green eyes full of concern. "How is she?"
He tossed the closed door a look over his shoulder. "She won't let me in."
Jean nodded knowingly. "It's not just you, hon. She won't let anyone in. She's still hurting. Give her time, she'll come around." Gently she touched his face with the tips of her fingers.
Scott wasn't so sure about Jean's assessment, but refrained from commenting. He had never seen anyone look so cold and distant as Ororo had looked only moments ago. It was like Ororo wasn’t even in there anymore; she was a shell, running on autopilot. With one last worried look at the closed door Scott walked with Jean down the hall.
Inside her room Ororo was paused over a worn photograph. She tilted it back and forth under her desk lap, appraisingly catching a glimmer of what looked like numbers and a few letters written in silver ink. She grabbed her steno pad and jotted the digits down. They made no sense off hand, but she was determined not to overlook anything.
She yawned, stretching her arms over her head. The coffee wasn't doing much good. She didn't imagine much of anything would do her any good at this point. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a full nights sleep., but it was the exhaustive feeling of emptiness that she couldn’t shake, no matter how hard she tried that wore her down.
A soft thud caught her attention. Familiar booted footfalls sounded in the hall, making her heart stutter. Ororo had not seen Logan since the previous morning when she told him to go back to his room. She missed him, but she didn't regret sending him away. He had enough demons in his own life, he didn't need to be battling hers as well. Without intentionally meaning to, she had somehow made her way to the door. She rested her head against the wood, her palm flat beside her cheek.
Her breath halted in her chest as the footsteps approached, wondering if she would. in truth. be able to turn him away if he knocked on her door. Somehow, despite her inner "right thing" pep talk, she doubted it. She knew if he pushed her she would cave. She couldn’t risk that happening. She needed to do this for Ali. Fight for Ali. Avenge Ali. Bringing some justice to her friend’s murder would not alleviate the guilt she felt at not being there for her, but it was a purpose at least.
Outside her door the heavy footfalls paused for a heartbeat, then were once more receding down the corridor, this time at an increased pace. Ororo closed her eyes and let her breath out, and with it a whisper of intense longing, "Logan."
Key in hand, outside his own bedroom door, Logan paused. He listened to the stillness for a moment, and then shook his head, deriding himself for his wishful thinking. He tossed his jacket on top of his bureau before pulling his t-shirt over his head. It, along with his pants, landed in a jumbled heap in the corner of his room, beside his dresser.
He stretched his arms over his head, and then shook them out. With one last listen for a voice he almost desperately wanted to hear, Logan flopped back onto his bed, his hands behind his head, contemplating everything that he had learned from Nick Fury to keep his mind off of the woman down the hall.
Alison Blaire's death was, in fact, the direct result of her association with a mutant terrorist named Arthur Centino; a man whose hatred of humans rivaled, if not surpassed Magneto's. How involved Alison had been with Centino's activities remained unclear, but it was a sure bet that Centino had been keeping tabs on her. Responsibility for Brody Anderson's `accidental' death was most assuredly his, and Logan couldn't say that he blamed the guy. He knew, without the pretense of doubt, that if anyone ever hurt Ororo that they would suffer by his hands, and suffer at length.
As for Centino's hatred of humans, Logan didn't condone it, but he also didn't have the right to condemn the guy for it either. For a man that had spent the majority of his remembered past as a hired assassin, killing indiscriminately, for money, and for Magneto, he was hardly the person to point fingers.
The fact that he was striving to atone for his sins did not negate their existence in the first place. A hard truth to live with, but one he accepted a long time ago.
Fury had also told Logan of many attacks on Genoshan government officials that were credited to Centino, and the sheer odds the man faced on several occasions were staggering, yet he had always gotten away. He was obviously not a foe to be taken lightly.
When asked why Centino hated humans so much Fury had clammed up, stating that, "The direct reason behind Centino's vendetta is unknown." A line of bullshit if Logan had ever been fed one, but he hadn't pressed. He would when and if he had to, but right now he was
simply surveying the situation to get a feel for how deep Alison had been involved and if seeking retribution on her behalf was called for.
He knew Ororo wanted revenge, hell, you could taste it in the air just being around her, but he also knew from experience how hollow it was. If he could he would see that she never had to taste that bitter emptiness.
He closed his eyes, rolling to his side and staring at his wall. He only hoped she'd let him help her when the time came. He wasn’t sure she would. She was so much like him sometimes it was uncanny, and he knew for a fact that he would loathe for anyone to see him hurting like Ororo was hurting. She was withering on the inside, and he, along with everyone else, was helpless to stop it.
Kitty Pryde stood hesitantly outside of Ororo's bedroom door, shifting her weight from side to side, her hand poised to knock. She had waited until the hall was clear before venturing forward with disc in hand. What she was about to share with her friend she knew would upset her. Hell it made Kitty furious, so she could only imagine how Ororo would take it. Deciding to bite the bullet and face Storm rather than drop the disk and run, Kitty rapped against the frame. "Storm, it's me. Kitty."
The door opened almost immediately almost as though Ororo had been standing just inside it. "What'd you find?"
"Well, hello to you too." Kitty griped reflexively.
Ororo cocked her head, and repeated the question.
Resigned to the fact that Ororo was anything other than friendly at the moment, Kitty held up the small silver disc she was carrying. "You're gonna want to be sitting down," she cautioned.
Ororo snagged the disc from Kitty's fingers. She marched across her room towards her rarely used PC; Kitty followed, closing the door behind her.
"What exactly am I watching?" Ororo asked after a moment, confused by the commercial for Trident gum.
"Wait for it," was all Kitty replied with.
Ororo didn't have to wait long; a moment later a large, rather disgustingly obese man came onscreen. He wore a tailored blue suit and red tie. His pale, pale face and hair were practically glowing. "Today we have a real treat for you folks at home. On today's show, we'll introduce our newest contestant. A teenage runaway mutant that thinks she's too cool for school."
Ororo glanced at Kitty, who had her nose scrunched at the `too cool' comment. "What the heck is this?"
"A reality show." Kitty stated, her eyes still on the monitor. "Kinda like Survivor, only worse."
"Who's the bad Jabba impersonator?" Ororo asked pointing.
"Mojo." Kitty said quietly.
The air crackled as Ororo swiveled her head towards the screen once more. "That's Mojo?" she hissed, her eyes stark white.
"Yes." Kitty had to consciously tell herself not to phase, the look on Ororo's face scaring her so much that she very nearly, instinctively did.
"Ok, Kitty. Fill me in." Ororo watched as the screen swirled and images of men, in full commando gear flashed before her eyes. The names beneath the "soldiers" read like bad action hero games; names like: `Mad Dog Murray" and `Butcher Malloy' spun past.
Kitty, expecting to have to regale all that she had learned, began, "This game show, as sick as that sounds, is all about hunting mutants. For sport."
Ororo grit her teeth and took a calming breath, reigning in the lightning snapping at her fingertips. "I'm listening."
"The fat Jabba-Mojo-guy seems to run the program. His name is everywhere in the credits. Anyway, it's all about survival. They take mutant `criminals' and place them on this island where they are hunted like…like…"
"Animals," Ororo finished for her.
Kitty nodded, her throat tightening with anger. "Yeah. Anyway, the odds are stacked against the mutants; they have no weapons, other than their powers, no food, no shelter and no warning. The hunters go in shifts, so they are playing constantly 24 hours."
Ororo was about to comment, but someone onscreen caught her full attention. She sat forward, her breath catching as a glimmer of golden hair and alabaster skin darted across the monitor. "Ali," she whispered, her mouth parted on a gasp.
Kitty felt the prick of tears in her eyes when Ororo‘s hand reached out to touch the screen. "This show is a few years old," Kitty informed Ororo. "Six years old to be specific."
Ororo didn’t look away from her monitor. "She would have only been seventeen. She never told me."
"I didn't figure she would." Kitty swallowed hard.
"Why wouldn't she?" Ororo didn't understand. She and Ali shared everything together. Alison was the only person to know that Ororo had witnessed her parents' deaths and Ororo was one of the few that knew Alison had a terrible fear of the dark.
Silently, Kitty leaned forward and key-stroked a few times. "I think I may know why," she said on a whisper.
Ororo fought back a scream of pure rage at the images playing out before her. Ali, her precious Ali, was pinned to the ground and one of the miserable sons of bitches hunting her was rutting between her legs while the other two laughed and video taped. Dead. They were all dead. Ororo forced herself to watch, to memorize the faces. She'd find them,
if it was the last thing she did, she'd find them.
As if sensing her thoughts, Kitty said, "You won't have to."
Out of the shadows onscreen a yellow flash erupted and a man, face partially revealed by his glowing eye dropped from the trees. It was over in less than a moment. The three men lay broken, and dead on the ground, their own weapons misfiring and killing them.
Gently the mystery man, although Ororo had seen enough pictures to know who he was, lifted a still struggling Alison from the ground, into his arms. He covered her with one of the hunter's wool blankets, rubbing her arms, asking her over and over if she was all right. When it became clear that she wasn't going to freak out on him the angry man picked up one of the camera's. "I'm coming for you, you fat bastard! You hear me? I'm coming after you!"
Ororo liked this guy already.
His status was cemented in her mind the next instant when he smashed the camera. The overhead studio cameras caught everything anyway and Ororo was moved beyond measure at how gentle and caring Centino was to Alison. He helped her dress, held her hand and let her cry and rage against him.
"There are more?" Ororo asked, deadly quiet, when the episode ended.
Kitty nodded.
"Bring them to me."
***
Several hours later as the sun touched the horizon Ororo finished the last of the episodes involving Alison and Arthur. Over the span of several seasons Ororo, along with whoever had caught the monstrosity of a show on its original airing, had been witness to a love that
defied description and endurance that boggled the mind. Arthur had helped Ali and she him. They had pushed and pulled one another, argued and loved despite the odds and much to the sick delight of the twisted TV show host.
Alison and Arthur's intimate moments together were broadcast as a Two Hour MojoVision Specials. The tragic miscarriage of their child was also broadcast as a special presentation. Each joyful grin and sick delight the fat bastard took in Alison and Arthur’s struggles made Ororo’s hatred of him grow.
Ororo had openly wept as Ali had tried to remain calm in the face of being hunted, Arthur's worry for her safety, and the wrenching loss she must have felt losing her baby. Ali, with her long blond hair, wide aqua eyes and fragile frame had been anything but; showing courage, determination and resilience even as it became apparent that Arthur was becoming more and more aggressive with the hunters. His kills were less about defense and more about anger and hate with each passing attempt on their lives.
Ororo couldn’t blame him. She wanted to kill already and she hadn’t lived through it. Each minute that passed Ororo became more and more resolute in her decision to find Mojo Adams and make him suffer--significantly. She knew Xavier would not approve of her motives, or her methods. It went against everything his precious X-Men stood for. It went against everything she had once stood for. She was going to hunt and kill Mojo Adams like the fat pig he was, and too hell with the consequences. Last time she checked, she wasn't an X-Man again anyway.
With fierce determination she turned off her computer and reached for the lock box.
"'Roro?" Logan knocked on the door. "You awake?" It was a little after eight in the morning and it wasn't like Ororo not be out of bed. He had planned on giving her a few more days of space, but found that he couldn't. He had spent a majority of the previous evening thinking about her and fighting with himself over his feelings towards her. It was lust--it was more…it was lust--it was sex--it was…beautiful. With her.
After hours of internal dialogue, in the end one steadfast fact had remained. He loved her. He didn’t know how, or why, nor did he care where those intense feelings came from, but he knew they weren’t the shallow trappings of lust he often confused with love. His emotions went far deeper than that.
He wanted to see her, needed to know that she was all right, and he needed for her to know that he was in it with her for the long haul, even if that meant wearing a few scorch marks for pissing her off and not giving her space or time."'Ro, open up." He pressed his head to the door, listening. Soft music was playing, and the window was open, he could hear birds outside and scent the fresh air. A cold feeling of dread pooled and balled in his gut. "I'm comin' in," was the only warning he gave before he shouldered through the door, splintering the frame.
The room was empty. No sign of Ororo. No sign of a struggle. No sign of anything out of the ordinary, really. Her closet was full, and her bed was made. Maybe she was out for a flight, or a jog. He could very well be overreacting. He cringed, thinking about how he was going to explain her busted door.
Foot steps, rushed and loud came pounding down the hall. As Peter ran past the open door Logan called after him. "What's going on?"
The large Russian paused, popping his head back around the corner. "The X-Wing just crashed."
"What?" Logan followed hot on Pete’s heels, down the stairs. Maybe Ororo had already heard the news and was downstairs with the others.
Xavier and Scott were speaking in the foyer, and if Scott's expression was an indicator, the conversation wasn't a good one.
"�”We need to be certain," Scott was near shouting. It was the first time Logan had ever seen the boy scout get all up in Xavier’s business.
Xavier, quite calmly, stated, "I am certain."
Logan approached, his face dark. Deciding that Scott probably had a good reason for being upset Logan started with him. "Scooter?"
Scott, shoulders tense, turned. "It's not good, Wolverine."
"What's not good?"
“Ororo took the X-Wing�”" Scott began.
"The one that just crashed?" It was Logan's turn to nearly shout.
"Yes." That was Xavier. In light of this new information, Xavier’s calm demeanor immediately pissed Logan off as well.
"Where is she?" he snarled.
"We don't know." Scott said through grit teeth. His ruby lenses glinted in the early morning light filtering through the lobby windows. "Last known location was somewhere over the Atlantic. Near Africa."
"What? Why the hell would she steal the X-Wing to go to Africa?" Logan demanded, his fists clenched. His knuckles itched.
"Homesick?" Bobby offered from his seat by the windows.
Logan turned on him.
The younger mutant held up his hands. "Just a theory."
"Do we have radio confirmation? Locator? Anything that can tell us where she is?" Logan demanded of Xavier. He recalled Scott working on the planes not long ago. The communication devices weren’t linking up properly or some shit. That made Logan all the more anxious.
"Logan," Charles began carefully. "The plane went down over the ocean…”
“Shot down.” Scott interjected.
“What!?” This time Logan did shout.
Xavier sent Scott a disapproving look. “It would appear so.”
Logan growled. "You or Jeannie, get on Cerebro and find her."
"I've tried." Xavier replied.
"Try harder." �“SNIKT-
"Threatening me will not help the situation." Charles said, but he looked a bit ruffled. "I will continue to scan for thought patterns, but even under the best circumstances Ororo is difficult to locate and track due to her mutation."
"So, she could be all right?" Jean asked, hope in her voice.
Xavier sighed, his tension showing. "It is unlikely."
"But possible," Scott interjected. "Ororo is a highly adept pilot and can fly on her own. If she ejected before the explosion�”"
Logan wasn't sure how much more he could take in.
"The plane has radar. Ororo would have known she was about to be hit. She could have made it out." Jean insisted, her eyes wide.
"When did this happen?" Logan growled. He forced the immediate, unwelcome gruesome images of Ororo broken and bloody from his mind. There was no time for that kind of thinking.
Jean answered. "Ten minutes ago."
"Then why in the fuck are we still standing here?”
"My thoughts exactly." Scott added, moving around Xavier. He tossed a look over his shoulder. "Suit up, Wolverine. We leave now."
"Cyclops!" Xavier turned in his chair. "You don't even know where to look."
Kitty rushed down the stairs. "I do," she panted holding up a disc.
All eyes turned towards her. She flushed but held their gazes.
"Explain it in the air," Scott ordered with a sharp bark. "Move people!"
Everyone jumped.
As the team raced down the corridor towards the elevator Xavier couldn't prevent his proud smile. Scott was a commendable leader, and though he rarely showed his stubborn side, and as unwelcome as it sometimes was, he was proving to be more than capable of taken matters into his own hands than even Xavier had hoped.
Approximately 4 degrees S and 55 degrees E Ororo clung to what remained of the X-Wing fuselage. She could feel the strength in her arms waning, but determinedly flexed her fingers, tightening her hold. Those assholes had shot her down. She still couldn’t quite believe that. They hadn’ even given a warning, just blammo! and down she went.
She closed her eyes against a spray of salt water. "This sucks," she said to no one, although in her mind she was speaking with a spikey haired punk rocker. Another wave slapped her face, making her splutter.
She coughed, her head falling back to glance at the sky. She could still see the smoke trail from her jet's freefall. She glanced down at her side where a three inch wide steel rod was protruding, the flowing blood sure to attract some rather nasty predators. "Perfect," she muttered.
A dull rumble of sound drew her attention. A small speedboat came into view, its dark shape moving closer. Ororo tensed as it slowed. She was in no mood to deal with scavengers or mutant haters, and from everything that she had learned via the game show, and her own welcome, it seemed Genosha was full of both.
She kicked her feet a bit in order to maneuver herself from view until she could determine whether the boater was friend or foe. Her boots connected with a large, swimming body�”most likely a shark-- and she hastily scrambled in the other direction. Risking foe, she sent out a cry for help.
The boat driver cut the engine as he approached, gliding closer. "Where are you?" A scratchy voice called.
"Over here." Ororo lifted her right arm, wincing at the sting in her side. Her eyes scanned the water for Jaws. She silently commanded the boater to hurry.
The boat moved closer and a hooded figure bent over the side. Ororo looked up. A glowing right eye winked down at her. "Lucky for you I was out in the water."
Ororo took his outstretched hand. "Yes," she grunted as he hauled her onboard. "Lucky me." She collapsed against the wall, her eyes watching his every move.
The tall, attractive man crouched in front of her. "Usually I'm the lucky one."
Ororo inclined her head. "Well, this very well could be your lucky day…Arthur."
He didn't seem the least bit surprised by her arrival or her knowledge of who he was. With a chilling smile he said, "Call me Longshot."
