Chapter Two: After a Fashion
Get away for a while
Here I am out on my own again
Won't blame it on myself
I'll blame it on the weatherman
~B’Witched
Ororo speaks:
I will never forget that phone call. It was roughly seven o’clock in the evening. I had Prita in her high chair; she was banging her spoon on the thick plastic tray, laughing all the while.
Dijai came into the room, his face ashen, lips quivering. He said, rather bluntly, that Charles was in the hospital. He’d suffered from a massive heart attack. My own heart tore when I heard those words. Prita began to cry. Perhaps she sensed my pain, even then.
I boarded the next airplane bound for New York, the frail ten-month-old girl in my arms. I thought on all that had happened in two years during the flight and never-ending layovers.
Though many years have passed since that horrific day, I remember every detail of it. From the rude airline attendant in Calcutta to hat Prita was wearing when we arrived at JKF airport.
I had tried to not think of Logan and the way we left things during the flight. Going home was never easy once you had successfully run away. In attempting to not think of him, he was all that occupied my thoughts.
I was prepared for the burly, brash bastard I had left behind. I was not ready to meet the man waiting for me when I stepped off the plane…
~**~
April 14th, 2006
New York was, to her welcoming surprise, exactly as she had left it. Two years abroad, in the colorful serenity of India had not diminished her fervent love for the city. The bustle of passengers leaving the plane to the loving arms of friends and family brought a small smile to her face.
It had been a long, tedious flight, filled with lip-chewing worry. Charles was the oldest friend she’d ever had, his kind, nurturing nature was sweet salvation. For Ororo, it was the only thing she counted on.
They’d spoken only days before his heart attack. Everything was fine then. They laughed and talked for two hours, as was their custom. She had hung up the receiver with a smile on her face.
Now, nothing was certain. Dijai, her friend and housemate in Calcutta, had limited information, but they both knew it was bad. She’d called the airline almost immediately and set about readying her little one for the long flight ahead of them.
Ororo had spared no thought as to how she would explain little Prita to her abandoned friends. She had no doubt they would understand enough to offer their aid…but if she decided to return to Calcutta, no one was likely to stop her.
Time changed people. Though it was supposed to heal all wounds as well, Ororo wanted to slap the person that first coined the phrase. The instant she spotted Logan leaning against a wall, waiting for her, she realized how very untrue that statement was.
Her breath caught in her throat. Bitter betrayal and hot anger spilled into her normally aloof stature. She remembered his breathy call of Jean’s name as she brought him to passion’s completion. How could she have been so stupid as to indulge in those feelings she had brushed aside? She knew better than to tangle with a man in love with a ghost.
And damn it all, he looked delicious. That wide brimmed hat pulled low over his eyes. Frayed jeans and worn leather jacket covered his muscular form, making unwanted heat pump into her system.
Reigning in her raging hormones, Ororo adjusted the slumbering baby on her hip, ensuring that her little raven head was resting comfortably on her shoulder. The little pink cap hid curls of deep black and dark cheeks that begged for sweet kisses.
Just as Ororo slung the strap of her bag over her shoulder, she felt Logan approach. Looking up into his sharp brown eyes, she found confusion and rage. Gasping in shock, she took an involuntary step back. What on earth was wrong with him? She had in no way expected a warm welcome, but this…
“Is that mine?”
Blinking in even more profound confusion at his growled words, Ororo frowned.
“Excuse me?”
Logan jabbed one long finger toward Prita, his face a mask of only barely restrained fury. Ororo fought with her memory of how his hands had played on her skin as the realization slipped into her tired mind.
He assumed Prita was his, theirs.
“Do not be stupid,” Ororo shot back at him with more venom than she’d intended. “If you had managed to impregnate me, I would not have kept it a secret for two years. Though I am thankful that your lack of faith in me is so consuming. It will prevent further mishaps on my part.”
A bit of shame fluttered in her belly the moment the words were out of her mouth. Logan, for a moment, looked hurt by her discourteous speech. What had she expected? His assessment was a logical conclusion. The last time they’d seen one another was just after a night of sweating and panting in one another’s arms.
“I’m glad she ain’t,” Logan snarled, obviously recovered from her barb. “Don’t need any more fuckin’ complications.”
“Watch your language,” Ororo hissed, stomping past him as Prita began to fuss on her shoulder.
She offered him no explanation to the child she carried. While it was petty and even a bit silly, the undeniably feminine part of her wanted Logan to wonder who she had laid with after him. Perhaps she even hoped for jealousy.
Of course, Logan was not going to be jealous over her. He had used her for pleasure while wishing she was someone else. And not just anyone else, a woman she had loved beyond reason and doubt.
He was following her, but said nothing else as they collected their bags. Prita awoke, her sleepy eyes half open as she sucked a tiny thumb into her mouth. Ororo whispered assurances in Punjabi as they walked, leaving Logan to carry her things.
To her surprise, he offered to install the car seat she’d checked onto the plane so she could soothe her tired baby. He did not look at them, nor say a word that was not a request for information. They both seemed hell bent on keeping the other at arm’s length.
After a few moments of watching him struggle with the car seat, Ororo sighed.
“I can do it, if you do not mind holding Prita,” she said in a cool tone.
“What the hell kinda name is “Prita”?” he asked, straightening from the backseat of Scott’s car.
Ororo adjusted her daughter, turning her so she could see who was about to hold her. The little one’s dark eyes scanned Logan slowly, as any child judging a potential loved one.
Obviously, Logan passed, for Prita held her little arms out to him with a small smile. Ororo handed her over, slightly surprised at how easily Logan fit her into his arms.
“Prita is an Indian name,” Ororo offered as she quickly ducked into the car and installed the safety seat.
“Indian? Dots or feathers?” he replied.
“East Indian. I’ve been in Calcutta,” she moved back to them, trying to not watch how Prita smiled and cooed at him, eliciting a grin from the rough man.
“Oh,” Logan offered the child back to her mother. “What’s it mean?”
“Dear one,” Ororo snapped Prita into the seat, handing her the tiny stuffed elephant Diraji had given her when they parted.
“Nice,” he grunted, moving around the car and opening the driver’s side door as she slid into the passenger’s seat. “I’m guessin’ you wanna go directly to the hospital.”
“Yes.”
“Fine.”
~**~
It was not an easy thing, sitting beside the man she’d run away from. Her body betrayed her more than once, wanting to brush against him just so…to inhale the thick scent of man he seemed drenched in.
The journey to the hospital was silent, broken only by the dull thud of techno music pumping out of the car stereo and Prita’s cooing in the backseat. Logan’s eyes did not move from the road ahead of them, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly.
Looking out of the window, watching the city she’d loved fly by, she wondered if he had things to say to her. The day of her abrupt departure, he had come to her room, attempting to make excuses for his appalling behavior the previous night. Had she given him the chance? No. The hurt had still been so new, too fresh to allow her heart to listen.
It was with great relief that they pulled into the parking garage at the Beth Israel Medical Center. Ororo’s heart immediately forgot all about Logan as she prepared herself for seeing Charles again.
Without a word for her chauffer, she plucked Prita from her safety seat, slung the diaper bag over her shoulder and followed Logan to the stairs. She was mildly surprised that he remembered her aversion to confined spaces.
Several flights of stairs later, the heavy metal door opened to the overwhelming scents of ammonia and illness. Chatter from doctors, nurses, and waiting family members combined into a steady hum that reminded her of bees in a hive.
Logan led her down several corridors without pause, as though he’d already come to know the hospital by heart. It was with great joy that she noted Scott lounging against a wall outside of what she assumed was the Professor’s room.
A bright smile crossed his handsome face, followed swiftly by a frown when he spotted the little one in her arms. Without thinking about it, she handed Prita to Logan a beat before Scott enveloped her in a warm, welcoming embrace.
“He’s been asking about you,” her friend whispered after giving her a noisy kiss on the cheek. “Man, I’ve missed you.”
“And I you, my dear friend,” she replied, gulping back the tears stinging at her eyes.
When they broke apart, Scott looked immediately to the tiny girl batting at the wolfish peaks of Logan’s hair. Ororo bit back a smile, watching the trio curiously. Logan handed the child to Scott without pause, leaving the other man to coo over her playfully.
“She’s gorgeous, Storm,” Scott said as he adjusted the little pink cap. “What’s her name?”
“Prita,” Ororo offered. “Prita Munroe.”
“Very nice,” the man grinned beneath his ruby-quartz glasses. “Yours?”
Knowing Logan was watching her carefully, Ororo nodded easily. “After a fashion, yes.”
“I’m going to assume you’ll explain that later,” one dark brow lifted on Scott’s face. “Go on in, the Professor’s waiting for you. I’ll look after the little princess here.”
Thanking Cyclops with a quick smile, Ororo put her bag on the nearest plastic chair she could find as she turned toward the door Scott indicated. Three careful steps brought her to the entryway and she slid inside quietly.
Tears stung at her eyes when she caught sight of the bald man lying on the bed, an oxygen mask over his suddenly aging face. He had always seemed so strong, invincible even in the face of death. Now, his body looked so frail, much too small for the wide bed upon which he lay.
She crept closer, her heart aching in her chest. His face was more lined than she remembered, his eyes closed and the twitch of a pained grimace covered his lips. White hospital garb made his normally pale face even more so, giving the impression of a man on his deathbed.
As she approached, those clear blue eyes opened and a weak hand pulled the mask from his face.
“Oh, there you are.”
“Hello, my dear,” she forced herself to smile as she took the empty seat beside his bed, her hand immediately covering his. “Having a bad week, are we?”
Her mentor rewarded her cheek with a fond smile, which knocked five years from his weary face. His hands were nowhere near as strong as she remembered them, but he squeezed her fingers softly as though to reassure her.
“How bad is it, Charles?”
A soft, somnolent sigh left his lips. “I will require a bypass surgery, which they are preparing me for now. The damage was extensive.”
“By the Goddess,” she whispered. “Do they know what triggered this? How can we prevent it from happening again?”
“I am old, my dear,” he said solemnly. “I have been tired for a long time, which is a symptom of my current condition. Once the surgery is through, I will feel ten years younger, or so the doctors tell me.”
She squeezed his hand again, holding him as though she could anchor him to this world through sheer will.
“I am fortunate Logan happened to be in my office at the time of the attack,” he continued. “Had he tallied even a few moments, I may not have made it.”
Surprised by this new information, Ororo fought her raging emotions and covered her mentor’s face with the oxygen mask, letting him breathe deeply for a few moments before she removed it again.
“Then we all owe him a debt of gratitude,” she managed.
“Will you ever find it in yourself to forgive him, Ororo?”
His words did not surprise her. Of all the people she loved, only Charles was privy to the catalyst for her resignation from the X-Men. He had been so understanding of her reasons, so willing to part with her so that she might heal. It was through his many friends and various called in favors that her life in Calcutta was carved from heartache.
“I am unsure, Charles,” she admitted quietly. “But you must not think of such things.”
“You may as well tell a wolf to sprout feathers than ask me to not worry, my dear,” he countered her with a lift of his pale brow. “He has tortured himself these last years, more so than I expected.”
Slightly surprised and ashamed at how pleased she was with this knowledge, Ororo shook her head.
“I will think about it,” her free hand lifted to gently touch her friend’s brow. “First I must concentrate on you feeling better and keeping the school running.”
A sly, almost wicked smile replaced the weary twist to his lips. “Are you requesting reinstatement?”
Ororo rolled her eyes, a soft chuckle escaping her lips at his playful manner. “Yes, if you are willing to accept me.”
“You and that little Prita of yours are more than welcome to return to us,” he nodded. “I would ask to meet that beautiful child whose picture graces my bedroom wall at home, but I fear I must rest. I tire very easily these days.”
She nodded, standing from the chair to kiss his forehead quickly. “You will have plenty of time to meet her later. I will return after dinner to say goodnight.”
“I will look forward to it, if you will rescue me from Scott’s fussing.”
With a wink, she squeezed his hand and replaced the oxygen mask over his nose and mouth. “If you behave, I will come bearing the works of Lord Byron.”
Muffled through the mask, she heard a saucy “Minx” before she turned away from him and moved back to the hospital room door.
~**~
Ororo closed the door to her bedroom, holding the baby monitor tightly in one hand as she made her escape from the child slumbering on her bed. She had been sure to place several pillows around her, to prevent an accidental tumble onto the hardwood floor.
Marie and Jubliee, while thrilled to see Ororo again, had set upon the little girl almost immediately. They made quite a fuss over the child, going so far as to insist they babysit while Ororo returned to the hospital to spend time with her mentor.
Prita found the mansion an overwhelming playground, crawling about as though she could not discover all of its wonders quickly enough. She had given her enthusiastic playmates a run for their money. Ororo chuckled to herself as she passed the students’ sitting room, where two exhausted young women snored on the sofa together.
After clipping the small monitor on the wide elastic brim of her pajama bottoms, she paused to collect several of Prita’s toys and blankets, stacking them neatly in a nearby armchair before moving on.
Henry, Scott, Logan, and Peter had requested her presence for an impromptu staff meeting once the baby was settled in for the night. There was much for them to do, especially with the end of the school term looming before them.
She located the group of mutant teachers outside on the deck that led to the mansion’s swimming pool. They spoke in quiet tones as they surrounded the weathered picnic table, bottles of cold beer in their hands.
It was without much preamble that she took an empty seat between Peter and Henry, easily sliding into the conversation. Logan met her eyes briefly across the table, lifting the bottle to his lips as though contemplating her. She broke contact to speak to Peter, congratulating him when he revealed his plans to ask Kitty for her hand in marriage.
“All right, lets get started here,” Scott said in his most commanding voice.
“We have two sets of classes that need a teacher,” Logan chimed in, much to Ororo’s surprise.
Though Charles had said, quite often, that their resident feral wolverine made quite a wonderful teacher, she had yet to see it with her own eyes.
“Well, with Storm back,” Scott tossed her a quick, heartfelt smile. “I think she can cover those.”
“I will do whatever I can,” she nodded her agreement. “Advanced Literature and Physics, correct?”
“That’d be it,” Scott nodded sharply. “Logan’s got his exams lined up for next week, but we’re thinking of pushing them back to the week after, given that they’re all so high strung from the Professor’s heart attack.”
“I think that may be wise,” Henry piped up from beside Ororo. “The Professor should be out of surgery and well on his way to a full recovery by then.”
Ororo patted his shoulder lightly, leaning to kiss his cheek. It was so rare that anything dampened his spirits that he was a lovely comfort in times of crisis.
“All right,” Scott thought for a moment. “We’ll delay everything a week, let the parents know and such. This way everyone will be able to concentrate on their exams.”
“Have any of the children been to see Charles?” Ororo asked, frowning a bit.
“Not yet,” Logan answered her coolly. “Thought we’d wait until he looks a sight better. They’ve had conference calls though.”
“That was probably wise,” Ororo replied, looking directly at him. “Out of curiosity, what topic are the seniors using for their projects?”
Logan gave her a wicked, wolfish smirk. “Civil War Weaponry. They seem to enjoy it.”
“I am sure they are, it is an interesting topic,” she said with a flippant toss of her head.
Scott cleared his throat politely. “We’ll make the schedule change announcement at breakfast in the morning. I say we give the kids another couple of days off, maybe have some outdoor activities to keep their minds off of the Professor’s condition.”
“That is a splendid idea!” Henry said, nearly bouncing in his seat. “Perhaps a bout of friendly competition will be just the ticket.”
“Why, Scott, you are a positive wellspring of good ideas tonight,” Ororo said sweetly.
She ducked when he tossed his bottle cap at her. “Why don’t you work with Logan and Hank to get everything set up.”
Ororo returned his smirk with a scowl worthy of Wolverine himself.
“What about the kid?”
Every head at the table pivoted to stare at Wolverine in shock. He shrugged before taking another long drawn from his drink.
“Someone’s got to watch that rugrat while Storm’s teachin’ and all.”
Ororo tried to not think of him as a man, even as she watched his Adam’s Apple bob while he drank from his bottle. He did have a point, though she was loathe to admit it, the bastard.
“I could hire a day time nanny,” she offered quickly.
“Jubi an’ Marie’d never forgive you,” he countered.
“Perhaps I will ask them to take turns,” Ororo replied coldly.
“You do that.”
She was dimly aware that the others were watching them as though observing an interesting tennis match. Her eyes held Logan’s across the table, meeting his cold challenge with chilled indifference.
Though her heart did that mysterious double beat and her stomach swooped with the early brimming of impossible desire, she let her wounded heart speak through her eyes.
He broke contact the same instant she did.
“Well,” Scott cleared his throat. “I think that about covers it for tonight. Henry and I are heading to the hospital in the morning to finish the paperwork before Charles’ surgery tomorrow afternoon.”
“Good,” Logan stood from the table abruptly.
Ororo’s eyes did not leave the monitor in her hands, even when she noted he headed into the woods and not to the house behind them. When his footsteps had faded completely from their earshot, the others made ready to move back into the house.
At last, only Ororo remained. She peered around her, checking to ensure she was alone. Carefully, she placed the monitor on the table, then climbed on her bare feet until she stood on the tabletop.
With a deliberate sting behind her eyes, she let the pain and worry in her heart reflect in the skies. Slowly, she raised her hands, palms facing the turbulent clouds above. An impossibly loud crack of thunder preceded the shock of white-hot light that jetted from the skies.
She had finally come home.
