The forceful impact caused brilliant stars to dance behind her eyes, and her body to curl in on itself reflexively. Her startled, pained yell was muffled by the salty strangulation of the sea as water flooded her open throat causing her to splutter. She waved her arms blindly, finding no purchase on anything.
Bloody hell, Ororo thought irritably, coming out of her disoriented haze, of all the ridiculously random ways to die… She’d never made any real plans on how she wanted to die, but as of that minute she firmly decided that a watery grave was not going to be it.
Above the choppy sea that was sucking Ororo deeper into its depth, Jean Grey’s startled scream echoed across the tarmac of the Unforiven. Her cry was not for Ororo, however; but instead was emitted when she realized that Logan had no intention of stopping at the side rail of the ship, and was fully prepared to throw himself overboard after Ororo.
“Logan!” Jean reached out, catching him with a telekinetic, fiery claw mid-air as he leapt headfirst over the side.
“Goddammit!” Logan yelled, turning his head towards her. “Le’go!”
Jean shook her head adamantly. “You’re bones are layered with metal, Wolverine! You’ll sink like a stone.”
Despite the logic of her statement Logan struggled against her hold.
Cyclops came running up behind the arguing duo, asking the most relevant question of, “Any sign of her?”
Logan, still hovering within Jean’s grasp, turned his attention back towards the water. He searched the surface for a floating body, hoping against the odds that Storm hadn’t been killed by her fall. He hadn’t realized he was holding his breath until he spotted a spinning whirlpool forming not far from the ship.
“Something’s happening!” he called. “Jeannie, put me down, I ain’t jumpin’.”
Once firmly on his feet, Logan leaned over the rail, watching the roiling waters with calculating severity. If Ororo had survived her fall, which still seemed rather unlikely, it appeared that the ocean had plans of its own for the weather manipulator.
Ororo, deep beneath the surface, righted herself despite the excruciating ache of her bruised body, and her lungs aching from salt water and lack of oxygen. With more force of will than natural calm, she refused to panic. She took a precious moment to float back into the water, allowing her eyes to fade white as she watched the undercurrents around her. Their patterns were eerily similar to that of air currents. Stood to reason if she could control one…
Turning her hands palm side up and running on instinct Ororo smoothed the glowing currents beneath her finger, directing them to circle her, over and over, faster and faster, until she felt herself being lifted in the first ever underwater tornado.
Thirty long seconds later the faint flickering of sunlight glinting off the surface water came into view. Using a reserve of strength she wouldn’t have believed she possessed a day ago, Ororo motioned the water higher, calling it to her like she summoned the winds to hoist her in flight.
Thunder cracked across the sky, heralding her arrival moments before she erupted from the spinning surf in an impressive presentation of raw power, ocean and wind; towering over the ship’s deck in a display that Poseidon would have envied. Water droplets sprayed across the air, catching sunlight and glinting like diamonds.
“Ha ha! Beat this Namor!” Ororo triumphantly shouted to the winds.
The eyes of the SHIELD crew and the three other X-Men were riveted on her shimmering silhouette. A sea Goddess emerging is what many of those below would describe her as when they recounted the event to their friends and families. Logan himself was certain he had never seen anything quite so breathtaking as Ororo looked in that moment, but he kept that thought carefully guarded.
“Crap,” Storm muttered scant seconds after her grand entrance; the waters buoying her athletic frame in such splendor waned and she dropped rather unceremoniously to the deck with a wet flop and a grunt. She lay on her stomach, dazed and winded, coughing up what felt like ten gallons of ocean water.
“Storm!” Cyclops, who stood closest to where she landed, moved quickly. “Are you all right?” he asked, crouched beside her.
She waved an arm, spluttering. “Oh, yeah,” she hacked. “Just ducky.” She pressed her face against the tarmac, gasping air into her oxygen deprived lungs. “Just ducky.”
Long fingers brushed her wet, tangled mop of silver hair from her cheek. “You did good,” Scott said with appreciative warmth.
She opened one red-rimmed blue eye. “Do I get a cookie?”
He chuckled. “No. How about a bed and some dry clothes?” He reached down, assisting her to her wobbly feet.
Clutching his arm, feeling like her legs were limp noodles, Ororo said drolly, “I think I’d prefer a cookie.”
Cyclops smiled. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Ororo nodded, resting her weary head against his shoulder. “That bed sounds nice too.”
“On our way.”
Logan watched Cyclops help Ororo through the observation room doors with dark eyes. An unfamiliar, and unwelcome feeling stirred in his gut. He wanted to shove Cyclops aside and be the one to care for ‘Ro. He growled unconsciously under his breath. Fuck that. Nurture was not his nature. Let Scooter play nurse. He turned away, his ire pricked and found himself facing Jean, who was watching him with a slight frown on her pretty face.
“What the hell was that?” He demanded immediately.
Jean tilted her chin, but her green eyes didn‘t meet his. Not that they ever really had, he reviewed mentally. Jean was strong, and self assured with people and in situations that she could control, and given her talents and looks, was almost everyone and everything; except him. He was one person that she was hesitant and unsure around. It was one of her most attractive qualities. The submission was a turn on. Or at least it had been until a pair of glacier blue eyes had stared into his without reservation or fear, and in truth had held more than an inkling of challenge. Now that was a turn on.
“What was what?” Jean asked, breaking his train of thought.
“You know damn well what.” He motioned pointedly towards the rail. “Storm was down there.”
“Yeah, and?”
“She could have drowned.”
“And you diving over the side like a madcap Greg Louganis would have prevented that how?” Jean countered. “As it turns out, she didn’t need your help.” She regarded him with a shrewd eye. “Maybe that‘s what bugs you about her.”
“What the hell are you babbling about?”
“She doesn’t need your help, Wolverine. She never will. Storm isn’t some flaky waitress looking for a good time or some weak kneed superhero playmate that needs you to rescue her.”
Hearing the tinge in Jean’s voice Logan cocked a brow. “That only be you then, eh, Red?”
“Fuck you,” she snapped.
“Yes, you do.” He nodded, unperturbed. “And like it.”
“Shut up.” It wasn’t the most classy of comebacks, but it was the only retort she had to his blunt truth. She hated the fact that no matter how much she loved Scott there was this itch she had that only Logan seemed to scratch for her. Even more, she hated that he damn well knew it. Jean turned haughtily about on her heel and marched away from him, her back stiff with tension.
Logan shook his head, a scowl darkening his already carved features. “Flamin’ chicks.”
Downstairs, deep in the belly of the ship, Cyclops led Storm through a narrow corridor, giving her hand a gentle squeeze, knowing her immense discomfort in tight spaces.
She tilted her head to the side, regarding him through the thick veil of her lashes.
“What?” he asked after a moment.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” she wanted to know.
He shrugged. “You did an amazingly brave thing.”
“Ah, so, because I defied all the laws of nature to prevent a hurricane from reaching land, now you like me,” she smiled, shaking her head slowly. “Well, if that’s all it takes to get your respect, then why didn’t you say so before?”
It was his turn to shake his head. “Don’t get me wrong, what you just did was pretty damn impressive, but I was talking about walking out on the Professor. That took guts, Ororo. Serious guts.” They had reached her designated room. Scott released her arm and swiped the card General Fury had supplied him with. “I don’t know that I could have done that. I‘d like to think I have that type of integrity, but the truth is, even knowing what I know now, I don‘t know if I could have left,” he added.
Stepping into the room Ororo waved her right hand limply, her body already succumbing to exhaustion. “Flattery will get you everywhere,” she said around a yawn. “But as much as I adore the layers of praise, Cykey, I really would rather just sleep.”
He nodded in understanding. “Sure, there are fresh clothes in the--” His next words refused to form in his suddenly too dry mouth.
Ororo, seemingly oblivious to him and anything he was saying, peeled her soaked shirt over her head, her bare back flexing with the motion. She tossed the offending garment aside with a soggy slap, immediately moving onto her torn sweatpants.
Cyclops quickly cleared his throat, turning his red flushed face away as she slipped the waistband past her hips in a smooth shimmy. He heard rather than saw her flounce onto the bed.
“Uhm, so…” he took a deep breath. Awkwardly he maneuvered his way beside the bed, doing his level best not to peek as he draped a sheet over Ororo. “Get some rest.”
Ororo was already asleep.
Making his way back, Cyclops came across Wolverine in the corridor.
“How is she?” Logan asked without preamble. He had told himself he wasn’t going to check on her, but he had found himself asking Fury where Ororo would be resting, much to the General’s wry amusement.
Scott cast a glance back down the hall as though expecting to see someone in the empty corridor. “Storm’s resting.”
“How much damage?”
“What?”
Logan scowled. “Damage. How bad were her injuries?” At Scott’s blank look Wolverine cursed. “Christ, you don’t fall twenty stories and not have injuries. You did check her out, right?”
Oddly, Scott flushed, rubbing his hand along the short hairs at the back of his neck. “No, but I’ll get Jean to take a look at her.”
With another set of muttered curses Logan shouldered past Scott, moving towards Ororo’s room.
“She’d probably be more comfortable with Jean.” Cyclops insisted.
“Then go get Jean,” Logan snarled. He tried the long metal handle of Ororo’s door. It clicked, but didn’t open.
Cyclops held up a card key.
Logan held up a claw.
“Cute.” Scott stated with a twist of his lips.
“Ain’t I?” With a quick slice, Logan removed the card reader from the wall, leaving it’s wire innards to dangle uselessly.
“Wolverine-!”
“Shove it, One-Eye.” Logan stepped through the door. “Go fetch, Jeannie.” He heard Scott’s muted reply and threat of an optic blast upside his head if he disturbed Storm, but he paid him no mind. His gaze and attention were immediately drawn to the woman sprawled across the narrow bed.
Naked as the day she was born, Ororo lay curled on her side with a thin white sheet draped carelessly across her hip, covering her generously rounded backside. Well, most of it, Logan noticed, seeing the bottom curve of one cheek as she fidgeted in her sleep.
Slowly, so not to wake her, he crouched beside her, scanning her lithe form for any signs that would indicate broken bones or bruising from internal bleeding. From top to toe he let his eyes peruse her, telling himself it was only to ensure that she was unhurt. But the none too subtle throb in his groin called him out as the liar he was.
Wolverine let his eyes leisurely traverse the smooth contours of Ororo’s impossibly long legs, over the sloping curve of her hip and the gentle swell of her womb, across the dip of her flat abdomen, pausing as he scanned over her coffee tipped breasts before moving along to the swanlike bend of her neck, across the stubbornly determined line of her jaw, lingering over her obscenely full lips, up past her gently flared nostrils, to her wide open cerulean eyes.
She said nothing, but one trim brow was arched high in question.
His mouth curved. “Just checking on ya,” he told her.
A bit higher her brow lifted, silently proclaiming her disbelief at his altruistic motives for being in her room.
“You took quite the fall.”
“Yeah,” she whispered, her throat sore from the salt water. “I know. I was there.”
His reached out automatically, his knuckles grazing her cheek. “You hurt anywhere?”
Unconsciously she leaned into his touch. “A better question would be where don’t I hurt,” she replied.
There was something all too endearing about the rasp of her voice. He continued to stroke her cheek. “Cyclops went to get Jean. Maybe she’ll bring you something to help the pain.”
Ororo nodded, her eyes drifting shut. “Mmmm,” she mumbled.
Logan felt an unfamiliar ache in his chest. He swiftly rose to his feet.
Ororo’s eyes fluttered open again, and for the briefest moment were completely unguarded, leaving Wolverine wondering about the tenderness he saw there. Before he could delve too deeply into thought Jean knocked on the door.
She barely acknowledged Logan when she opened the door, moving straight to the opposite side of Ororo’s temporary bed. “Hey,” the redhead said with a gentle smile.
Ororo gave a small nod by way of greeting. Her eyes felt cloudy and heavy. She struggled to maintain focus. “Tired,” she said quietly.
“I imagine you are,” Jean responded with a small chuckle. “The amount of energy you spent out there, I’d say you could probably sleep for a week.” She lifted Ororo’s limp arm, taking her pulse. “Pulse is good,” she said, patting Ororo on the hand.
Giving Logan a meaningful look, but speaking to Ororo, Jean said, “I need to do a quick examination, okay, sweetie?”
Ororo grumbled a half hearted response that was mostly lost in her pillow.
“Just to make sure you’re not broken beyond repair,” Jean soothed. She turned once more to Logan, who hadn’t budged. “I’m sure Scott could use a hand getting the Blackbird up and running.”
“We’re taking off?”
“As soon as I give Storm the all clear, yes.” Once more she made it a pointed comment.
Without another word Logan left the room.
A few minutes later, in the process of rotating her right arm Storm said, “I see you two are still going at it.”
Jean was intent in her probing of Ororo’s ribs. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Ororo inhaled a sharp breath. “Ow.”
“Where? Here?” Jean’s fingertips were lighter, touching the spot that had made Storm jump a bit.
“Yeah.”
“Looks like you may have fractured a rib.”
“Splendid.”
“Hm.” Jean followed the line of Ororo’s rib to her back, but no other spot made her wince. She leaned back on the bed, her green eyes wary. “What did you mean by that?”
Storm sighed, rolling her eyes. “Oh, come on, Jean. I’m not an idiot. You’re still banging Wolverine.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Logan and I ended months ago.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Stop it.”
Storm shrugged. “Hey, it’s none of my business if you want to screw up a good thing with Scott.”
Jean rose to her feet, her motions jerky. “You’re right, it’s really none of your business.”
Ororo also felt her ire rise. “Fine. You can go.” Her tone was blatantly dismissive.
Jean sighed, running her hands through her hair. “Look, I don’t want to fight over Logan--”
“We are arguing about Logan, Jean. I assure you, I have no desire to fight over him.” Ororo pulled herself upright, walking to the small built in dresser where she assumed dry clothes waited. Upon opening the top drawer she was proven correct
It was Jean who looked disbelieving now. “Oh, and I suppose you have no interest in Wolverine?”
Ororo pulled a white SHIELD tee over her head following it up with another pair of sweatpants. “No. I don’t.” Easy enough words to say, but even to her own ears they sounded hollow.
“I’ll let you know when I believe that,” Jean scoffed.
Ororo tensed. She turned slowly towards her friend. “All right, Jean, let’s hypothetically say you’re right, and I have a thing for Wolverine. So what? I’m not the one involved with someone else. I’m single, and unattached. If I want to fuck his brains out, that’s completely within my rights as a single woman. You, on the other hand are not only screwing Wolverine, but as you do it, you’re screwing over Scott.”
The two women stared at one another for a heartbeat. Jean was the first to break eye contact. “I’m going to go let General Fury know that you’re clear to go.”
Once the door closed behind Jean, Ororo sank back onto the bed, kicking herself for opening that particular can of worms. Then, recalling Scott’s gentle touch and concern for her well being, she kicked herself again for knowingly watching him get unwittingly walked on by Jean and Logan. Never had she and Scott been close friends, but maybe it was time that changed. She suddenly felt that maybe he needed someone in his corner.
With a small smile of satisfaction Ororo decided then and there that perhaps Logan and Jean deserved a bit of their own medicine.
