The room designated as the “command center” for this particular mission was a beehive of activity when Ororo strode through the thick steel door. People of varying importance were bustling between monitors and computer screens, writing notes and scribbling on a clear partition that appeared to map the ship‘s coordinates. Blinking lights of all colors flashed and blipped on screens, their meaning completely irrelevant to her.
Donned in jumpsuits and headsets several people sat around a glowing holographic earth completely with spiraling weather patterns animated over the surface. They punched numbers into oversized calculators, their fingers working frantically over keyboards as they ran scenario after scenario trying to plot the course of the hurricane. She shook her head. A more futile task than that, she couldn’t think of.
Ororo shouldered her way inside and began making her way towards Nick Fury, who stood on the opposite side of the room staring out the double panned, insulated windows with expensive looking binoculars.
“Let’s hope you’re everything that Xavier claims you are.” He didn’t bother to turn or lower the binoculars, but addressed her before she had completely reached him.
“And if I’m not?” Ororo asked, watching the waves crest and fall against the ship, the white spray coming over the sides and washing over the deck in a frothy display of raw power.
“Then mother nature claims a few thousand more victims.” He lowered the binoculars, turning his solitary eye on her. “Mutant and human alike.”
Ororo didn’t so much as blink. “We’re all human.” She turned her attention back towards the growing waves.
“Hey there.” Jean appeared alongside of them, carrying a silver and black thermos. “Here.”
“What’s this?” Ororo twisted the cap, inhaling a familiar and welcome aroma.
“Chamomile tea.” Jean replied with a gentle smile.
Ororo nodded her thanks. It was just small gesture of comfort but she was suddenly very grateful for Jean’s presence on the ship. She took a slow sip. “It’s good,” she commented. She twisted the cap back on quickly.
Abruptly the ship pitched and rolled beneath their feet, knocking several veteran sailors about the room and some onto the ground. Ororo reached out, anchoring Jean. Her ability to manipulate the weather stemmed directly from the fact that she saw all the patterns of nature and energy around her. She had long ago learned to read them so quickly and efficiently that they were second nature.
“Fifty foot swells and growing!” A voice called out over the room from one of the monitoring stations. Another wave slammed the carrier as if to punctuate that statement.
“You all right?” Ororo asked the startled red head.
“Yeah, fine.” Jean said. A quick psi-scan confirmed that everyone else was fine as well. A bit shaken by the slap of the waves, but otherwise okay. She crooked her head back, a faint smile curving her lips as she caught sight of Logan righting himself in the doorway, looking rather green.
“And I thought Scooter’s flyin’ was bad,” he muttered. He retracted his claws, which had been embedded in the metal doorframe.
Several of the SHIELD sailors gaped in a mixture of annoyance and fear.
“Someone’s gonna need to fix that,” Logan stated with a jerk of his thumb. He strolled, his cocky swagger as arrogant as ever despite the rolling ship, to where Ororo and Jean stood by the windows.
“Wolverine.” Fury gave his usual one word greeting.
“Nicky.” Logan returned in his gruff grunt-like way.
“I expected you up here sooner.” Nick commented dryly.
Logan shrugged. He glanced at Ororo who flushed faintly. Nearly undetectable, but he saw it and it made him want to smile. “Had other matters ta deal with.”
“Sir,” A thin, balding man approached Fury, interrupting. “Sir, it is my recommendation that we do not take the ship any further into this storm.” He held up a small handheld device. “The readings are off the chart.”
Fury cocked a brow. “You think I can read that gibberish?”
The man sighed. “I’m telling you we should not go any further in.”
The General looked at Ororo. “Well?”
“Well what?”
“Are we close enough for you to do your thing?”
She closed her eyes, inhaling a slow, deep breath and focusing, allowing herself to feel everything around her. Her hair crackled, and she felt the zing of the elements travel her body. Calling to her. “Yes,” she answered breathlessly after a moment.
“Fine. Drop anchor!” Fury commanded. “Ready?” He turned to Ororo once again, his face for the first time showing a hint of compassion.
She nodded, her gaze somber. “I have to be.”
Fury lifted his hand and immediately several men came forward wheeling different monitors and carrying equipment. He gave Logan a curt nod before heading out of the room.
The technicians moved with practiced, methodical movements, unrolling wires, unwrapping equipment, snapping things into place. People, who she presumed to be doctors of some kind, began taking her pulse and blood pressure, temperature and oxygen levels. Ororo flinched when she felt the unexpected coolness of a sticky sensor placed on her arm at the wrist.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Logan cut in angrily. “What the hell is all of this?”
Jean frowned at him. “It’s so they can monitor her.” She moved behind Storm, pulling her friend’s long white hair back and securing it in a neat ponytail. A braid, as Storm had informed her, could get whipped around by the hurricane winds with enough force to do physical damage. “No way are we just tossing Storm out into a hurricane with no way to keep an eye on her.”
“Jean?” Scott leaned in from the doorway.
“Over here.“ Jean gently squeezed Ororo’s shoulder, leaving her side to go confer with Cyclops. *I’m nearby if you need me*
Logan watched with narrowed eyes as varying people moved around Ororo. Each move made was followed by predator eyes. Calculating and dangerous. It was a subconscious reaction, one he himself was completely unaware of, yet somehow it felt right. He felt protective.
Ororo tilted her head, allowing another small white patch to be attached directly behind her ear. She obligingly opened her mouth for yet another temperature reading, silently enjoying the technicians confusion over her 112 degree body temperature.
Logan frowned, wondering about Ororo’s easy acquiesce. It wasn’t like her to readily allow pokes and probes, yet she seemed very nonchalant about the entire ordeal.
It wasn’t until a portly man approached carrying a syringe filled with a faintly glowing liquid that Ororo outright refused. She shook her head decisively. “You are not injecting me with anything.”
“It’s just so we can monitor your blood flow.” The man explained. “It’s harmless.”
“I’ll pass,” Ororo’s voice held all the warmth of a glacier. Her gaze flicked over his name badge. “Gary.”
He seemed at a loss. He glanced up, trying to find someone to give him confirmation one way or another. “It won’t hurt you,” the man called Gary tried again.
“The lady said no.” Logan snarled, stepping forward. “You don’t hear so good, bub?”
Gary stepped back, self preservation warning bells dinging in his head. He set the syringe on the tray table beside her seat. “I’ll go, see if, uhm, what the General says.”
The few remaining technicians and officers moved away from Logan as well, all suddenly remembering something else they had to be doing.
Ororo tilted her head back, her blue eyes luminous against the gloom caused by the hurricane. “I think you frightened everyone away.”
Logan smirked. “Yer still here.”
She rose to her feet in one smooth motion, her balance not thrown at all by the swells rocking the Unforgiven. “That’s because you don’t scare me,” she stated matter-of-factly.
He gave a small huff of amused disbelief. “Oh, really?”
“Yeah, really.” She met his gaze dead on.
Logan liked her ability to meet his eyes. She never ducked her head or cowed in intimidation. It was an admirable quality. He stepped closer, so that they were nearly touching. Bending his head he asked, “If I don’t scare ya, what do I do to ya?”
Make it hard to breathe, was the first thought that went through Ororo’s whirring mind. She felt her pulse quicken and her palms became slightly damp. How was it that a man that infuriated her beyond logical reason had such a profound effect on her? Her fingers twitched as she resisted the urge to touch his mutton chops.
Never in her life had anyone effected her like Wolverine had. Since the very first day she had laid eyes on him that cold and snowy night in the middle of nowhere, a part of her had become unlocked and let free from it’s cage. It was that part of her that allowed her to steal a million dollars from Xavier, and that part of her that enjoyed the thrum of the music and the sensuality of dancing around a pole. It was that same part of her the responded to the exhilaration of a hurricane. It was primal, raw, fierce and so very natural.
As if reading her thoughts Logan’s lips curved into an arrogant grin. “Make ya speechless do I?” He turned his head so that his breath tickled her ear. “That’s ok. The things I wanna do to ya don’t require much talkin’.”
She stumbled back, for the first time caught completely off balance as another massive wave crashed into the ship, her mind on other things.
“Gotchya.” Logan caught her before she fell backwards over her abandoned chair. He tugged her upright, his hands lingering.
“Nice save.”
Both of them turned to see Cyclops and General Fury close by.
“These waves are getting too big for even this ship to handle,” Fury stated. “You good to go?”
Ororo reluctantly, far more reluctantly than she cared to admit, moved out of Logan’s grasp. “Yeah. Let’s do this.”
Observation Deck
Jean gave the rising sea swells sloshing over the front of the carrier a nervous look, her front teeth worrying her bottom lip. “This is insane,” she whispered.
Cyclops reached out, lacing his fingers through hers and gently squeezing. “If anyone can wrestle a hurricane and win, it’s Storm,” he told her.
Jean exhaled a tremulous breath. “I know.” Please. She winced as fat, heavy rain drops struck the windows with enough force to make loud slapping sounds. The water, at one time a deep royal blue, now appeared black and angry as it rose and fell, at times so high Jean though for certain they would be flipped over.
She turned her back against the view and instead focused on Storm, who was speaking to General Fury. Jean couldn’t quite suppress a small flash of jealousy when she noticed that Wolverine still quietly flanked her friend.
“They’ll be monitoring you from the command center below deck and relaying information up to us here.” Fury explained. “We’ll be on top of any complications.”
Ororo smirked. “Well, that’s comforting. Tell me, General, what will you do if a complication arises? Send someone outside to fetch me?”
Logan stiffened, for the first time fully appreciating the situation for what it was. A life threatening disaster. And with that one statement Ororo laid it out exactly how it was. Once she was outside, she was on her own. No one to help her. And no one to save her should she need it.
Acknowledging the futility of his own statement Fury nodded a bit ruefully. “Your rain slicker,” he offered Ororo.
She lifted a brow and directed his gaze towards the whipping rain and roaring waves. “I don’t think that will make a difference.”
“Protocol,” Fury said. “It’ll offer some protection to the sensors.”
“Ah, yes, of course. The sensors.” Ororo shook her head, feeling an unexpected twinge of sadness. Even more unexpected was the warm strength of Logan’s hand on her back. He said nothing, offered no words, but the slow clockwise circles he stroked eased her tension and offered her more comfort than he could know.
Once donned in the black and yellow slicker, Ororo gave herself a mental shake and headed for the door.
The four members of the observation cabin all moved towards the windows, watching silently as Ororo made her way along the landing strip below. She walked sure footed towards the raging storm, moving slowly towards the front of the massive ship, using her powers to keep from being wind and rain lashed.
Waves on both sides of the ship crested and crashed, sending plumes of white froth into the air. The ocean water churned madly, as if sensing Ororo’s approach. The air growled with endless thunder and the winds howled in rage. A wave, the largest of the set, rose up in front of the Unforgiven, towering the ship like a monster.
“Oh my God,” Jean gasped.
“Jesus,” Scott agreed.
Logan grit his teeth. Ororo, a woman whose presence was undeniably forceful and powerful suddenly seemed so very small, and fragile. He pressed his palm to the reinforced glass as the wave began its decent, heading straight for the front of the ship and Ororo. “’Ro!”
Water sloshed the deck, and the landing strip before it slammed into the observation windows with enough force to send the four onlookers staggering back. They rushed forward, peering frantically through the water still streaming from the window, looking for any sign of their former team mate.
“Do you see her?” Scott asked his ruby gaze scanning the side rails for a grappling form.
“No.” Fury clicked his comm. “Sensor readings on Munroe?”
There was a static response and then a clearly confused reply of, “We haven’t had any readings. The subject is engaged?”
“Yes, the goddamn subject is engaged,” Fury snapped. “Where are my readings?”
“Sorry, sir, we’re working on it.”
“Jeannie?” Logan’s fist clenched.
She shook her head, her eyes closed in concentration. “Nothing.” She paused, then, “Wait…OW!” Jean pressed the palm of her hand to her forehead, grimacing in pain. “She’s up there.” She pointed out the window towards the writhing mass of clouds overhead.
Logan leaned forward, his nose pressed to the cool pane. “I don’t see her.”
“Trust me.” Jean rubbed the bridge of her nose. Damn, Ororo packed a wallop. Jean knew the psychic backlash was unintentional, but it still hurt like a son of a bitch.
Leaning further in and turning his head Logan searched the black clouds for any sign of Ororo. He knew she was capable of short bursts of flight, and floating. He had seen her in the Danger Room and practicing on the back lawn of the institute enough times to know that she could sustain herself with wind currents. Not having the inclination nor desire to learn more, he knew nothing of a duration or limit she had to that skill. All he knew was it was a relatively new feat for Ororo. He wondered how long she could keep it up in the middle of a full scale hurricane.
High above the Unforgiven Ororo was wondering very much the same thing. The winds around her sounded like a freight train, screaming and roaring. It took a lot of her concentration to maintain the micro burst around her body that held her steady against the barrage of wind and rain assaulting her.
It was terrifying. It was thrilling.
“Okay, keep it together, Munroe.” She chided herself. She concentrated on piecing together the patterns of the storm so that she could counter them, and effectively tear the hurricane apart and send it on its merry way. Not quite as simple as it sounded. For every pattern she disrupted in one area, she affected the weather patterns in other areas. Many times this was localized and blessedly involved limited to little consequence, but this time was different. This time she was manipulating a category 5 hurricane and the domino effect of such an action had global implications and potential repercussions that were mind boggling.
She settled back into the cradle of wind surrounding her body, lifting her arms and smoothing the air, stroking the vivid energies she saw. The hurricane winds howled in retaliation. Ororo grit her teeth. Her muscles corded and strained. She had not been joking when she had compared what she was attempting to do with stopping an avalanche with bare hands.
“Urrrgh!” She forced another pattern into place, panting with exertion. Lightning snapped and sizzled alongside of her for a moment breaking her concentration and costing her. The winds buoying her ebbed and for a moment she was cast about by the swirling hurricane, her head snapping back like a rag doll. “Damn it!” Small pieces of hail gouged her cheek.
She felt cast adrift, lost in the blackness surrounding her. Rain and sleet soaked her as she was tossed carelessly about by the wind. She fought against it, but couldn’t help thinking of just how easy it would be to just let go and let the storm rage. To follow the currents away from the ship, and the X-Men. To escape.
To let thousands suffer because of her selfishness.
Ororo swore again more explicative than before, and she began spinning herself in a countermotion to the winds. She steadied herself, her anger mounting. Her fists clenched and her eyes snapped white fire. “Enough!”
Blinding white light filled the observation room as lightning torched the sky, snapping in repetitive series. Thunder sounded so loud that it hurt the ears of even the men and women below deck.
Outside the window the clouds rolled, shifting, thinning until peeks of baby blue sky became more and more dominant. Sunlight glinted off the water droplets, reflecting small rainbows across the instrument panel.
Logan stood transfixed, his eyes glued to the slender, solitary figure floating against the backdrop of departing clouds and blue, blue sky. Her black and yellow slicker was shredded, billowing behind her like a cape and her long white tresses whipped around her head like a banner of victory. With her arms spread wide and eyes glowing white she reminded him of the pagan goddesses of old. A figure worthy of worship and adoration. He shook his head, berating himself for such foolish sentiment.
He glanced back out the window and was prompted into action when abruptly Ororo’s arms went limp at her sides and instead of a slow graceful decent she began to tumble fro the sky. “Jeannie!” He bellowed, shoving past Fury and out the door with Jean hot on his heels.
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