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“It wouldn’t have killed ya to meet ‘em at the airport, Katya.”

“Not like it’s killing anyone for me to stay here. Besides, I had some work to finish with Doug, we had to look up a few things on the library’s computer before they closed.”

“Sure. Library. Whatever floats your boat.” Inwardly, Illyana pondered the questionable need to use the library computers, when the school was equipped with much more current hardware.

“Whatever floats my boat? ‘Yana, why’re you giving me the third degree? I had work to do with Doug!”

“And you just had to do it tonight?”

“Yes. Yes, I did.” Illyana rolled her wide-set blue eyes in defeat and buried her nose in Kitty’s very dog-eared copy of Dragonsinger by Anne McCaffrey.

“More importantly…you just had to hang out with Doug tonight?”

“Okayyyy…let’s say we pretend for, oh, about thirty seconds that this is any of your business, Snowflake, but what does it matter that I was hanging out with Doug? He’s a buddy. Like you. I mopped the floor with him at Galaga last week, for cripe’s sake!”

“A buddy like me? Last time I checked, I wasn’t Ricky Schroeder’s smarter, hunkier twin. Doug’s not a buddy like me.”

“What...DOUG?” Kitty removed her small hoop earrings and tossed them onto her jewelry tray. “Are you kidding me?”

“No. You’re kidding you. You spend a lot of time with him. He’s cute. He’s nice. His eyes do that funny thing that they do when a guy likes you; they follow you in and out of a room.”

“Funny thing? Get outta here! His eyes don’t do a funny thing. I know a funny thing when I see one…”

“Y’know, Katya, back when I was a little kid ““

“All of a few months ago…” Kitty tsked, her voice muffled as she wriggled into her night shirt with a picture of Prince ironed onto the front of it.

“…don’t interrupt me. For some of us, the usual rules about time don’t apply. I practically aged in dog years.” Kitty emitted a snort as she gathered her unruly brown curls into a sloppy ponytail. “When I was little, and you used to tell me those fairy tales, I remember Piotr peeking around the corner every once in a while to see if you snuck him into the story as one of the characters again.”

“I didn’t do that! Are you gonna make your point?”

“Yes you did, and yes I am. Whenever Piotr would stop by and then leave, you used to watch him until he was out of sight. It was this funny little look, the way I used to like looking at the toys in the window of FAO Schwartz at Christmastime.”

“So???”

“So Doug’s looking like Christmas came early. It’s all over his face. He ‘likes you’ likes you.”

“Ohhh! ILLYANA! That’s…just…BULLSHIT!”

“S’true.”

“Nuh-UHH!” Kitty flipped over her shoulder.

“She turns tail and runs, as she turns as pink as my grandmother’s borscht!” Illyana chucked the book onto the floor and collapsed in giggles as Kitty back-flipped her the bird on her way to the bathroom.

Kitty let Illyana’s ramblings sink in as she squirted a generous blob of Colgate paste onto her blue Reach toothbrush.

“He so totally doesn’t like me like that,” she mumbled around a mouthful of foam.

“He does, too!” Kitty nearly choked as Illyana guffawed from the other side of the door. Kitty rinsed and spit, glaring at her own reflection as though it was Illyana staring back at her. She yanked open the door.

“Illyana…I love Peter. I’m over-the-moon, crazy-in-love with your brother.”

“Don’t I know it. Downright sickening, really. Just remember, you won’t keep him too easily if you play games with him. Keep “buddying around” with Doug Ramsey, and Piotr’ll start wondering if he’s just a buddy, too.” Illyana wasn’t laughing anymore.

“He’s not. He means a lot to me.” Kitty wasn’t, either.

“Katya?”

“Hmm?”

“I know it’s time for me to butt out…but it would have been nice if you went with him to the airport tonight.”

“I can see Logan in the morning. I’m just glad he came back,” Kitty mused. “He didn’t have to, either, all things considered.” She swung her legs up onto her bed and burrowed beneath the vellux blanket and chenille spread.

“Ororo brought him back,” Illyana pointed out.

“Wish she would have brought back the old Ororo, while she was at it.” Kitty tugged the covers up over her ears and flicked off her lamp. “G’night.” Illyana sighed heavily, wondering how and when she became the older, wiser of the two.


Outside, half an hour later:

“S’weird, bein’ back here again.” Logan reached into his shirt pocket for his cigars, and tugged his Zippo from his carry-on bag. He reached up and nudged his Stetson back from his forehead, staring at the expanse of manicured lawn through the garage doors. “Place hasn’t changed much.”

“A few things have changed. Scott’s still in Anchorage. He seems to like it there.”

“Don’t think it’s cause o’ the charming little shops an’ local color.”

“Madelyne seemed very nice. Scott’s quite taken with her.” Kurt fumbled with the latch on the trunk of the well-maintained Bentley.

“Helluva surprise ta spring on us,” Logan grumbled.

“He didn’t ‘spring’ anything on us.” Kurt narrowed his yellow eyes at his closest friend. Logan cocked one bushy eyebrow. “So she has red hair. She was very pretty…”

“Can it, ‘Elf. Even Lilandra was spooked. Can’t say as I blame her. That was Jeannie’s exact double, or I’m whistlin’ Dixie.”

“That’s impossible, tovarisch.”

“Tell that t’my nose. Ain’t never met two frails that smelled the same. Not ‘similar.’ Identical, bub.” Logan sucked a fortifying breath of cigar smoke into his lungs, chasing away the smell of the stale airplane upholstery and bathroom air freshener that permeated his clothes. He crossed to the other side of the car and opened the door, bending down to murmur “Roro? We’re back, darlin’, time ta get settled in. We’re home.”

“Mmmmmm.” Ororo’s face was propped against her curled fist, the unfinished remains of her dinner wrapped neatly in the paper bag on her lap. Logan had practically inhaled a Big Mac, barely tasting it in his haste to get something in his stomach. Her eyes fluttered open, meeting his with sleepy languor. “Logan,” she smiled. He returned the look, letting it move all the way up into his dark eyes.

“Lemme help ya outta there, Boss.” He reached for her hand and kept his hand protectively over her head to help her avoid bumping it against the doorframe. Kurt was amused to see him acting so solicitous.

“Thank you. Goddess, I’ve got a crick in my neck!” Ororo was surprised when Logan linked his arm through hers and escorted her out of the garage. “Don’t trouble yourself, you’ve done enough.”

“I wanna make sure ya get settled.” His tone was gruff and brooked no argument.

“My feet aren’t broken…” her voice trailed off. She noticed Peter and Kurt looking at her with concern, and she hated seeing them so worried. “I’m fine, really!”

“Forgive us, fraulein. Peter and I would have given anything within our power to keep you from being wounded like that.”

“You’re not responsible for my safety,” she reminded them.

“I would die before seeing you harmed, Ororo. You’re as precious to me as my sister.” Peter gathered the luggage, shaking off her hand when she reached for her own bag.

“Fair enough, little brother. I’ll be more careful next time.”

“Damn skippy. Soon as yer up to it, we’re headin’ into the Danger Room to sharpen those hand-to-hand skills. I also wanna show you a few things with those shuriken and the bo staff.”

“I’ll book the suite for tomorrow afternoon.”

“Uh-uh. I said ‘when yer up to it.’ That don’t mean first thing tomorrow.” He cocked his brow with menace, and Ororo met that look with a haughty smile. Logan grunted. Least she’s in a better mood, that’s a good sign.

“Try and stop me.”

“Don’t tempt me. Besides, darlin’, ya still gotta get past Moira. Even if I don’t lock ya in yer loft for some much needed R&R ““

“Locks won’t keep me inside, my friend!”

“Whaddever. If ya still don’t have a clean bill o’ health, Moira’ll kick yer butt and fill yer ears with promises of worse ta come if ya don’t take care of yourself.” Logan didn’t put it past her, God bless her.

“We’ll take a rain check, then.” Logan felt as well as heard the hint of laughter in her voice, warming him. “I look forward to cleaning the floor with you.”

“Not even on yer best day, darlin’,” he boasted, letting them in through the front door.

Ororo stopped by the kitchen to discard the remainder of her dinner, not really in the mood for the shriveled, cold fries and other half of her Filet-o-Fish sandwich. Logan smiled as he remembered her starting on her small caramel sundae first. She grinned back at him, confirming his suspicions. “Yukio reminded me that life’s short. Eat dessert first!”

“Figures.”

Peter carried her bags upstairs to her loft, leaving them outside the door. “Let me know if you need me to bring up anything else, Ororo.”

“You’ve done enough. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Guten nacht, Ororo.” Kurt pecked her on the cheek and scurried along the wall toward the main floor.

“Logan?” He was just about to head back downstairs and leave her to her privacy, like a good little trooper, but he was surprised yet again that night at how relieved he felt to hear her voice, and that odd little catch in it when she spoke to him. He turned to face her, frustrated to see her looking dead on her feet. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Everything. Most of all, for coming back. I know there wasn’t really anything keeping you here…”

“That ain’t true.” Logan stubbed out his cigar against his palm, and Ororo winced at the sizzle of the spark extinguishing itself against his flesh. “Don’t ever believe that. I ain’t gonna bang my head up against the same wall, waitin’ fer Mariko t’take me back and be my wife. There’s a few things she has to attend to, and I ain’t gonna get in her way or give her reason t’regret that she ever loved me in the first place. Think I’ve done enough of that already for this lifetime, darlin’, dontcha agree?” Without realizing it, Logan had followed Ororo into her loft, grunting at the now sparely furnished, almost severe space, curious about the lack of thriving plants that usually tickled his senses. He didn’t want to overstay his welcome with Ororo so tired, but something in her eyes stopped him from taking his leave. “Roro…even if M’iko an’ I had gotten married, don’t think…don’t think that woulda been the last ya would’ve seen of me.”

“You can’t really have a life in two different continents.”

“Sez who? I can visit every now an’ again. Don’t know what you goody-goodies would do without me to show ya how it’s s’posed t’be done. You and One-Eye would probably be tiptoeing around the enemy, knocking on every door, making sissy aerial attacks, and letting everyone get off with a warning.”

“Bright Lady, listen to you. Such an ego. You’ve proven once again that you’re a true Renaissance Man, my friend.” Ororo removed the scarf from her hair and kneaded her nape, closing her eyes at the stiffness there. A large, firm hand clapped itself gently around her shoulder, nudging her into a nearby chair.

“Siddown. Yer too tight. Take a load off.” Wearily she obeyed, watching him with eyes full of questions. Logan chucked his cigar stub into her wicker wastebasket, to Ororo’s relief; she was thankful that it wouldn’t take long to fan the scent out of her loft with a quick breeze now. Logan knelt in front of her and reached for her foot, setting it on his lap as he tugged off her first leather boot, then her thin cotton sock. She wiggled her toes reflexively; it felt wonderful to get out of the stiff footwear. Logan lightly stroked the ball of her foot with his thumb, then pressed both thumbs into her sole, kneading the knotted muscles and pressure points. Ororo groaned low in her throat. Encouraged by her response, Logan blew lightly between her toes.

“Goddess,” she sighed. “You have amazing hands, Logan.”

“They’re good for more than killin’.”

“I know that.”

“Just remindin’ ya.”

“Duly noted. Mmmmmmm.” He skillfully kneaded her heel and narrow ankle, and Ororo’s shoulders drooped with the relaxing, irresistible sensations. Logan looked up at the expression of rapture on her face and felt a tingling warmth in his gut. Beneath the fading bruises on her face, her features were exquisitely sculpted and achingly beautiful. His hands stilled as he felt his Stetson being lightly lifted from his tousled hair. Ororo’s touch was light and hesitant at first as she stroked his unruly black waves. “It’s funny. You don’t really get ‘hat hair.’ It just springs back to the same shape, every time.” She caressed his hair more confidently now, and her gaze held him immobile, almost breathless as he became lost in her blue eyes, glowing like liquid diamonds. Her touch was sensual and knowing, and Logan realized, instinctive. She just had a way with touch. Logan mentally shook himself and reached for her other boot, but his hand was shaking at the effect she was having on him.

Her clothes still held that scent of “airplane” in their folds, but it didn’t smother or overwhelm that sweet little fragrance that was naturally hers, sandalwood and tea roses. Logan rolled her other sock down over her slender foot, letting his fingers linger on her flesh. He didn’t restrain the sound of pleasure that rose up in his throat at her caress as she let her fingers trace the contour of his cheekbone, his temple. He rose to his feet.

“I’m gonna knead some of that knot outta yer neck, darlin’, then I’m outta yer way, I promise.”

“You’re not in my way.”

“Not fer long. I’ll leave ya in peace.” He circled her and leaned against the back of her chair, and Ororo felt his heat nearly envelop her, even though only his hands grasped her trapezius, massaging the corded muscles, taking special care not to chafe against the bandages that wrapped the wound beneath her collarbone. Her head lolled forward as she allowed herself to relax and lean into his touch, rotating her neck a bit from side to side.

“You’re spoiling me,” she warned.

“Ya ever think every now and again ya deserve some special treatment? Yer the boss o’ the team, but that don’t mean ya gotta shoulder everything, and handle every little problem that everyone drops on yer doorstep. Not every minute of the day. Everyone needs a little down time. Sometimes we all forget that. That includes me.” Ororo’s eyes snapped open as she leaned back into his ribs, looking up at him in surprise. “Ya ain’t gotta coddle me, ‘Ro. I appreciate that ya came ta look out fer me and make sure I wasn’t gonna kill myself on a bender, or take anyone else with me. Don’t worry about me. Let me worry about you.”

“I…Logan…”

“Hush up. No arguments. Just say ‘I promise I’ll quit arguin’ an’ just listen to ya fer a change, since yer one of my oldest friends and you’ll kick my butt if I don’t do as you say this time and quit takin’ foolish risks since I don’t have a healing factor like yers.’”

“That wasn’t really what I was going to say.” Her hands covered his, stroking his knuckles with a soothing rhythm. His flannel shirt felt smooth and soft against her scalp as she leaned into him, and his abdomen was firm and solid underneath. She felt his rumbling chuckle.

“What were ya gonna say, Sunshine?”

“It…wasn’t that important.” Warm, strong fingers feathered against her jaw, tilting it up. Logan’s chiseled face loomed over hers, his black eyes searching hers for permission.

“Good. ‘Cause yer lips are gonna be busy for a moment.” Strong arms crossed themselves over her slender ribcage, still careful not to jostle her wounds, and Logan’s mouth captured hers for a probing kiss full of heat and yearning. Ororo’s hand found Logan’s face, cupping it as she surrendered to his lips, tasting him, allowing his tongue entry. It stroked hers, exploring it and taming it to his pace and needs, and Ororo’s strangled moan enflamed him. This time her fingers raked themselves through his hair, clutching it tightly as she held him close.

This was just more of the strange, charmed connection that had risen up between them over the past three days, Ororo reasoned, thrilling to his touch. His embrace was strong and sure and made Ororo feel safe. The kiss slowed, finally, but never lost its intensity, and Logan drew back, nibbling her lips so he could study her face. There was no accusatory glance or look of rebuke, only affection and respect that was more than he deserved. He trailed his lips along her face, raining kisses along her satiny flesh. Ororo shivered against him as he nipped the crown of her cheekbone, then nuzzled the sweet spot behind her ear.

“This is when I should be telling you to stop,” she hissed, “but Goddess help me, I don’t want to.” He sobered slightly, then dragged the tip of his tongue along the sensitive areas of her scalp exposed by the flamboyant Mohawk haircut.

“And you taste way too damned good to make it any easier.” His lips finally stopped at her forehead, kissing it almost “ but not quite “ chastely. “Damn it, ‘Ro.” He released her, straightening up, and Ororo hated the rush of cool air that hit her unprotected back. “M’sorry.” He retrieved his hat from the floor. “Get some rest, kiddo.” The door to her loft clicked shut after him.

“Infuriating, blasted man,” she whispered to herself once his footfalls had crept far enough down the steps.

Now she’d never sleep.


The next morning, in the kitchen:

Logan glared casually at the coffee maker, as if intimidating it would make the final stream of liquid drip through the filter. The rich scent of Folger’s filled the spacious kitchen, which was bright with mid-morning sunshine. Logan felt no regret at all sleeping in so late, but when he crept upstairs to Ororo’s loft to see if she had set aside an appointment with Moira for an exam, his teeth grit together to find Ororo’s bed already made, and her scent cold. It trailed off to nothing by her balcony, telling Logan that she went flying.

He stomped his way downstairs, growling at Kurt when he asked him “What’s got you walking heavy and looking like you want to kick something?”

“Yeah, Wolvie, what’s up? How was your trip?” Kitty looked up from the grapefruit half that she was spooning the last bits of brown-sugar crusted pulp from and gave him a bright smile.

“Eh. It was a trip. Airplane food, a little tiff with the locals, and I had ta kick Viper’s ass.” Logan’s tone was matter-of-fact. “Storm helped. Ya might wanna check on her a little later, Half-Pint. She’s gonna be recuperatin’ for a while, so ya’d do good ta help her with her errands and stuff around the house.” Kurt nearly admonished Logan for his language in front of Kitty, until he remembered that he hadn’t said anything foreign to her tender ears, after all.

“Recuperating?” The sour look that had momentarily crossed Kitty’s face when Logan mentioned Ororo disappeared, replaced with concern and worry. Logan grunted, satisfied that his previous suspicions were confirmed: Kitty still loved Ororo very much, indeed, and wasn’t as willing to cast their friendship aside just because she went a little crazy with her look. “What happened?”

“Don’t get yer knickers in a twist. Storm an’ I got caught in an ambush, and there wasn’t enough room for her to get airborne. Still, she did the best she could, under the circumstances, and ya know Storm’s best isn’t shabby by any means. She got hit by a couple of shuriken, and I had ta get her to M’iko’s for some medical attention.”

“Ohmigod.” Kitty’s face drained itself of all color and her eyes glimmered for a moment until she composed herself. “Where is she now?”

“I got back from an early Danger Room workout this morning on my rings; I went out to collect the morning paper, and I saw Ororo launching herself off the balcony. She was flying low,” Kurt offered, as if that was supposed to make things less worrisome. Logan and Kitty’s stony expressions let him know that he hadn’t succeeded.

“I’m gonna go speak ta Moira in a minute.” Logan was already reaching for his Zippo with his free hand as he took his cup of coffee with him out onto the back patio. Better to get the good doctor and her acid tongue on his side while the opportunity presented itself.


Elsewhere:

Ororo slowly made her way into the alcove of the subway tunnels, trying to ignore the dizzy way the corridor seemed to narrow, tilt and sway. “Stop being so bloody childish, Wind-Rider; if you’re too afraid to visit their domain, how can you call yourself fit to lead?” Ororo hugged her long black leather trenchcoat around her narrow frame; the nylon lining felt cool against her bandaged wounds. After a relatively short time spent tossing and turning, Ororo slipped into a fitful sleep and awoke shortly after dawn, eyes and limbs still leaden. Her mind was too alert to loll about in the covers, so she got up, determined to attend to a few tasks that were long overdue.

First stop, the Morlock tunnels. The Alley seemed to mock her as her boots splashed in the muck once she crossed the threshold between where the subways became the sewers. Ororo’s ears picked up the sounds of vermin skittering into their hidey-holes and she thought longingly of the bath that she’d enjoyed earlier, making judicious use of a chamomile and lavender sachet and the steaming hot water. The fragrance lingering on her skin and in her hair was drowned out by the stench of the tunnels, and Ororo steeled herself against the urge to flee. As usual, it was too dark down here, the spaces too close. A claustrophobic’s nightmare, she mused, no doubt kept as unsavory as possible to discourage her from making her rounds. The closer she came to the apex of the Morlock’s dwellings, the more signs of life she encountered: discarded food containers, stray bits of lost laundry, the occasional child’s toy, and old newspapers, whether used for entertainment or insulation, Ororo couldn’t tell.

For the briefest moment, Ororo was taken back to Cairo and the crowded, bustling marketplace, so rife with the odors of refuse practically boiling in the midday heat. Sweating foreigners with bulging pockets, fruit overripening in the humid booths, and the stinking back alleys that the locals used as a makeshift toilet; all of it came back to her in an unwelcome rush amidst the tunnels. She mentally shook herself; Callisto thought she lived a “charmed life” on the surface tucked away in the mansion, but she knew nothing of Ororo the Thief, orphaned, abused, and nearly exploited before she thrust herself into the desert wilderness in search of her mother’s homeland.

Callisto didn’t know who she was dealing with.

Ororo drew closer to the central hub of the catacombs, noting the same chains hanging from the walls where Angel had been cruelly shackled as a spectacle to the onlooking crowd. She felt that same revulsion now that she had then, chafing at the thought of him being pinned to the dank walls, unable to spread his wings. Those who never flew, could never know…

Feet splashed in the rancid water, echoing off the tunnel walls. Ororo heard new whispers emanating from the various nooks and corners:

“The Bright One has returned!”

“Wind-Rider!”

“That uppity upworlder’s come back t’grace us with her presence!”

“Ooooh, pretty!”

“Think she’s brought us any candy?”

“Cal’s not gonna like this!”

“Bet she wouldn’t be so pretty if Masque got his hands on her…” Ororo’s eyes narrowed at the mention of the flesh-shaper, remembering the indignity of him “playing with her” when she was bound to the post. Her skin still crawled with the memory of his touch and guttural voice, mocking her.

“Hello there, dearie!” Ororo’s eyes darted to the opening of the tunnel, recognizing the gap-toothed harridan garbed in a filthy wool cap, baggy sweater, tattered scarf, and skirt that dragged through the grime of the catacombs as Plague. “S’been an age since we seen ya last!” She cackled with ill humor.

“I’ve come with supplies.”

“Hope ya brought enough fer everybody, dearie,” she hissed, “when ya come down here, actin’ all hoity-toity like ya own the whole bleedin’ place…”

“I earned the right to enter this place by combat,” Ororo reminded her softly, regarding her coolly. Plague looked like she swallowed a frog and dug her fists into her hips with attitude to spare.

“Ohhh, look who’s full of piss and vinegar!”

“Care to challenge me again?” Ororo’s eyes flashed white. Thunder rumbled overhead, and the onlookers gathering within their midst felt an ominous chill. “The last time you infected me with your toxins, my aim was …sloppy.”

“Eh. Don’t trouble yersel’, Yer Highness. Wouldn’t wanna soil yer hands!” She walked away muttering to herself, “Come down here, all full of piss n’ vinegar, tellin’ us Morlocks what t’do…” Ororo almost laughed at the string of profanities escaping like ill-timed flatulence through the old crone’s lips. She leapt up onto the dais, struggling to appear nimble and not give away her weakness resulting from the past few days’ efforts. She unzipped the large duffle after lowering it from her shoulder, and began extracting blankets, saucepans, bottles of aspirin and other practical staples. A tiny red-haired girl with splotchy skin and odd-looking protrusions marring the piquant beauty of her face crept closer, pawing through the items with barely disguised delight.

“Yew vewy pwetty,” she pronounced.

“Thank you, child.” Ororo offered her a hesitant smile.

“Cal don’t wike yew.” She didn’t sound as though she regretted that fact.

“I know.” Ororo handed her a packet of cookies, and the child snatched it from her, scurrying off with the treat.

“Is this how ya plan on leadin’ us? By bringing us crumbs from yer fancy school’s table?” Ororo stood to her full height, dusting off the front of her jacket from kneeling on the dais, and turned to face the source of that hated voice. Callisto’s thick Brooklyn accent rang out strong and clear. She leaned against Ape for support, looking no less haggard than she had the last time Ororo came to make a status check on the denizens of the tunnels.

“We offered you the chance to stay with us above ground, to let us help you.”

“And we told ya ta shove it up yer prissy ass.”

“Then you’ll have to settle for crumbs.” Ororo’s voice was hard.

“Don’t think we’re just gonna settle fer long, bitch,” she hissed. “We Morlocks take from the same people on the surface that took from us. It’s a bloody shame if anyone gets in our way of getting what we need, or us takin’ what we want. We’re a big clan down here, Wind-Witch. Awful lot of us to keep track of.”

“I played by your rules once, Callisto.” THOOOOMMMMM…thunder rolled overhead again, this time also echoing within the tunnels. A sharp, cold breeze swept through the catacombs, making Callisto’s spiky black hair ruffle and whip against her forehead. “You owe it to me to play by mine, now.” Ororo stalked closer to Callisto, sizing her up. The woman was only an inch or two shorter than Ororo and possessed the rangy, lean build of someone who was accustomed to never eating her fill. Ororo’s eyes bore into Callisto’s remaining one, noting the drawn, puckered tissue of her scar. The clear blue eye gleamed with a keen intelligence and a great deal of bitterness. Callisto’s face was a melody of sharp angles. Her cheekbones were high but slightly sunken. Her nose was narrow but had the irregular profile of having been broken once, maybe even twice. Her lips were slightly full and wide, but had forgotten how to smile with anything other than contempt.

“You think just cuz yer pretty enough t’be accepted up there that yer good enough fer us, and that we hafta listen to ya, eh, princess? Ya don’t have scars like the rest of us; no one’s marked you with their hate!” Callisto tapped her black leather patch. “You don’t know a damned thing about suffering.” For a moment, Ororo almost pitied her.

“And you talk too much about things you can’t even fathom.” Ororo watched her coldly, almost enjoying the look of surprise that Callisto gave her rebuke.

“What’s been keeping you away so long? Are the worthless humans more important than bringing us a few tidbits?”

“I had to help an old friend in need.”

“A friend in need,” Callisto sneered. “Like there isn’t anyone in need down here! Look around ya!” She threw her arms wide in an encompassing gesture. “All hail the prissy Wind-Witch who stepped down from her throne long enough to bring us some crumbs! This is SSOOOOOO much better than just taking what we need from the surface!” A few of the other Morlocks tittered nervously until Ororo favored them with a hard look, forcing them to look up as she levitated on a self-generated breeze.

“I see plenty of need, Callisto, I’m not blind. But I see no one who would call themselves a friend. If you would have me help you, don’t make it so hard.” Ororo deftly untied the belt of her coat and pulled aside her leather vest “ formerly Callisto’s vest “ and peeled back the bandage, exposing the still-angry red wound. “I would die to protect those close to me,” she intoned, repeating the words she had spoken under Mariko’s roof, all the while feeling a strange sense of irony.

Ororo’s normally elegant, soft voice boomed with uncharacteristic menace. “Anyone who harms humans or other mutants dwelling above ground will answer to me!” She hovered higher, eyes flashing with currents of electricity and causing the air around her to crackle. “But if you need anything that it’s within my power to give, you know where to find me.”

She made her exit, choosing to float above the fetid water. Her collarbone was still stinging, and she wanted nothing more than to go home and wash.

On her way back through the outer subway tunnel, the faint spark of a match being lit caught her attention, preceding a deep, raspy voice. “Seems ta me like yer overdue for that trip t’see Moira, ‘Ro.”

“LOGAN!”

“Who was the battle-axe with the bad Joan Jett haircut an’ the eye patch?”

“Someone who isn’t very nice.”

“Yeah, I gathered that.”

“She used to lead the Morlocks. Her name is Callisto.”

“That frail ya had ta take down?” Logan took a generous puff of his cigar, and Ororo found that she almost welcomed it over the stench of the rest of the tunnel. “Why are ya down in this dump in yer condition?”

“It’s been too long since I brought them any necessities.”

“Ya shoulda had Petey or ‘Elf do it. Ya ain’t in any shape for it.”

“It’s not their responsibility. Or yours,” she reminded him simply.

“Eh. Didn’t have anything better t’do.” Logan inwardly catalogued what he had seen of the tunnels and of the woman who’s life Ororo had nearly taken to save Kitty and Warren. Callisto smelled like a predator, and had that gleam in her eye that a wolf has when it’s sizing up its next meal. Beneath the obvious tang of challenge that he smelled on her, Logan also found an underlying note of fear and respect. Nevertheless, he’d be watching her and her so-called Morlocks more closely if Ororo was gonna be making more frequent trips into the tunnels. “Roro?”

“Yes, Logan?”

“We’ve got a little tagalong,” he muttered, grasping her arm and turning to peer into the dark corner of the tunnel. Green eyes peered out from the shadows, and Ororo saw the familiar, white bones protruding from the forehead of the young girl who’d taken the sweets so eagerly a few minutes ago.

“Bright One?” Her voice was tremulous and unsure as she eyed Logan, reminding her of the Boogey Man that Analee’s kids had tried to scare her with stories of. His tufts of black hair stuck out like the shaggy whiskers of a wolf, but she felt less frightened when he smiled, in spite of the fanged canines his smile revealed.

“Take it easy, darlin’, I don’t bite.” Logan reached into the pocket of his denim jacket and pulled out a packet of Wrigley’s gum left over from their flight. He held it out to her, and she stumbled forward and snatched it up with a grin.

“What do we say when someone gives us something?”

“No one’s nevew given me anything be-foew,” she admitted.

“Then just tell him thank you, sweetie,” Ororo suggested. She decided the child would be given other opportunities to do so in the future, on future trips.

“Thank you, mistew.”

“What’s your name, child?”

“Sawa,” she mumbled around a mouthful of gum.

“Sara is a very pretty name. Sara, I’m wondering if you could help me with something.”

The child shrugged, content with her treat. “Like what?”

“Could you start checking this end of the tunnel every week? Bring Erg or Ape with you to bring back the things that I will drop off for your family.” Ororo’s eyes were warm, and Logan felt a tug in his gut for what he knew Ororo was trying to do. He noticed the catch in her voice when she said “your family.” They were the only family the poor little punkin’ had, he realized. “I will try to come the same day, around the same time that I did today, all right?”

“Kay,” she mumbled again, then flounced off. Ororo sighed.

“I hate this,” she admitted raggedly.

“I know, darlin’. C’mon, ya’ve gotta checkup with a very ticked off doctor ta keep.”


Shortly:

“Ye’ve gone completely daft, lass! Och, not a lick of common sense from anyone livin’ underneath this bleedin’ roof! First there’s Charles, tryin’ ta undo his good work with his recovery by pushin’ himself too blasted hard, and then there's yuirself, Ororo, stompin’ around in those disgusting tunnels, exposing yuir wounds t’that nasty filth!” Moira grumbled as she rewrapped the wounds that she’d grudgingly assessed as “healing quite nicely, all things considered”. Ororo sighed as she allowed Moira to abuse her ears with more of her tirade, knowing that she meant well.

“Yuir worryin’ me, lassie. First this insane new haircut “ and whatever possessed ye? Yuir hair was glorious, child! “ and this new strange attitude of yours, ye always used tae be so careful! Yuir the one that I never had tae worry aboot, and now yuir even more reckless than this cocky dog here!” She stabbed a finger at Logan as he came around the hall with a beer, just as he popped the tab. “Honestly, Ororo!”

“I wasn’t trying to be reckless, per se,” Ororo hedged.

“Well, ye’ve succeeded in it,” Moira huffed. “And you, Mister Department H, Weapon X, My Poop Don’t Stink, why in the bluidy hell did ye let this lass run after ye t’Tokyo and get herself into this condition?”

“There wasn’t any stoppin’ her once her mind was made up t’follow me,” he retorted blandly. “You know that, good an’ well, Doc.”

“Harumph.” Moira practically throttled Ororo with the tongue depressor as she looked into her throat. Logan suppressed a grin as he took another sip of his brew.

“Told ya. Warned ya,” he chuckled, enjoying Ororo’s consternation as she suffered through the rest of the exam.

“So says the man with the healing factor who throws himself headlong into people’s fists and bullets, just because he can,” Ororo sang under her breath. Logan cocked his eyebrow.

“Well, you do,” she accused. He winked saucily at her. Moira let out a long-suffering sigh.

“Well, ye’ll live. And through no doin’ of yuir own. Light duty only, light workouts as long as ye don’t do anything t’reopen yuir wounds, lass, and fer cryin’ out loud, get some rest! And stay out of those bleedin’ filthy tunnels!” Moira finished scribbling on her clipboard and tucked her pen behind her ear. “Now I’m off t’go kick Charley’s bum; it’s time for his therapy session.”

“Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Logan drawled as Moira swished out of the exam suite.

“That was actually the easiest part of my day,” Ororo admitted. “I’m off to give Kitten a ride to her dance class.”

“Talk to her, ‘Roro. Don’t let her keep throwing up that wall.”

“It’s hard when it’s so high. Even though I can fly.”


A few minutes later, in the Bentley:

“Did you have to wear that?”

“What’s wrong with it? Lots of people wear black leather.”

“Lots of people aren’t you.” Kitty relied on an old standby lecture that was a favorite of her mother’s.

“I’m comfortable in it.” It fell on deaf ears. Much like it had when Kitty’s mother gave her that speech. So much for being reasonable…

“Maybe I’m not comfortable with you in it.” A heavy silence hung between them after this admission. Ororo cracked first.

“I’m sorry to hear that. I used to think that you liked me for other things than my personal appearance, Kitten.”

“Don’t call me that.” Her words stabbed like knives.

“All right. I won’t.” A half a beat later, “I’m sorry.” Even though she didn’t really know what she was apologizing for.

“You scared the crap out of me, you know.”

“Language, Kitty.” Ororo glanced at Kitty in the rearview mirror, noting that Kitty was doing her best to keep her brown eyes focused at the “interesting scenery” out of the passenger window.

“You just left us at the hospital in Tokyo, without leaving us any word of where you were. And then…then you took off after Logan without saying when you were going to be back! And you were hanging out with that weird little thief friend of his!”

“She’s not a weird little thief,” Ororo clarified. “She’s just a thief. She’s actually very, very nice.” Ororo turned her attention back to her driving as they neared the neighborhood of Stevie’s dance school. “And I guess I’m at a loss as to why I have to explain myself to you, Kitty. The last time I checked, I was the adult, not you.”

“It’d be nice if you’d act like it,” Kitty grated through her teeth, her expression sullen. Ororo bit back a sharp reply as they pulled into the parking space in front of the school. Kitty grabbed her duffle bag and shoved the door shut with a slam.

“I’m heading home with Doug; don’t worry about picking me up,” she threw over her shoulder.

“That’s fine,” she called back. Then she muttered to herself, “Just don’t ask me not to worry.”





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