Chapter Ten: What the hell?
This is my life
Its not what it was before
All these feelings I’ve shared
And these are my dreams
That I’d never lived before
Somebody shake me
Cause I must be sleeping
~Staind
“All right, shut up!”
Wolverine glared at the gaggle of hormonal migraines that made up his afternoon mathematics class. Teenage mutants clamped his or her mouth closed, focusing their attention on him. Though it was his first week back, Jean had obviously let the idiots run amuck. Normally, Logan didn’t mind running or even a little muck, but this was completely unacceptable.
“Now, turn yer damn heads up here an’ let me see how much ya forgot while I was out,” he practically snarled.
He moved from behind his teacher’s desk to the blackboard, sniffing the air lightly. The scent of rain wafted toward him from the French doors leading into the southern wing. Glancing to the side as he took up a long stick of chalk, he glowered at his best friend.
Ororo was standing just outside the door, giggling. He normally didn’t mind her giggling, except was at his expense. While many people would flee for their lives under his peripheral glare, she merely cocked an amused brow and continued to watch him carefully.
Not wanting his students to see her and therefore assume their teacher needed help, he wrote a complicated Calculus problem on the board. Most of the teens groaned, obviously realizing playtime was over. When he finished writing out the problem, he grabbed his book and perched on the edge of the desk.
“Open yer books and turn ta page 234,” Logan’s voice rang out in the suddenly silent room. “We’ll be workin’ on chapter five through six this week an’ ya know I don’t cut any slack.”
He glanced up, noting that Jubilation Lee “ not one of his highest scoring students “ had her dainty hand raised.
“What, Jubi?”
The Asian girl blushed prettily and Logan inwardly groaned. He knew ‘Ro had seen that, which meant he was in for another evening of “Jubi loves Wolvie” torture when class was out.
“I’m glad you’re back and all grouchy,” the girl said cheerfully. “We missed you, Wolverine.”
Touched, though he covered it with a scowl, he nodded to her. A moment later, most of the students nodded, many of them smiling.
“Thanks. It’s…good to be back,” he admitted grudgingly.
A sharp whistle from the southern doors drew his attention. He barely turned his head and reached up with one hand to catch the apple Ororo tossed at him. Silencing any oncoming giggles or snickers from his class with a single look, he glanced up to see ‘Ro was gone.
He turned the apple over in his hand, finding a Post-It note stuck on one side. In Ororo’s elegant script was a single sentence that made him smile briefly.
Welcome back, Mr. Wolverine.
Setting the apple down on the desk, he looked back to his class. Several of the students bore knowingly smug looks. Logan schooled his face back into the customary scowl and indicated to the board.
“If you can’t solve that problem by the end of class, you flunk,” he snapped. “Got it?”
Audible gulps sounded from around the room. It was common knowledge that electing for Wolverine’s advanced mathematics classes was akin to Chinese Water Torture, but at least his students retained their knowledge beyond the mid-term exam.
He lectured for roughly half of the class period, then wrote examples on the board. As a group, they solved each of the complicated problems. Logan let his mind wander when the class broke into their study groups for the last fifteen minutes, most of them fervently working to solve his original problem before the period ended.
Teaching was something that, surprisingly, came naturally to Wolverine. ‘Ro had suggested that his “pack” mentality had something to do with it. He blamed her Psych major on that particular lecture. She had theorized that an alpha male usually taught the young ones how to survive. Logan grudgingly admitted that she might have a point.
There was something satisfying about teaching. He would never admit it to anyone, aside from Ororo, but he loved to watch knowledge absorbed into the minds of the kids. He knew that he was helping them, showing them how to retain what was learned and put it to practical use. It wasn’t as though he felt they would use Calculus in their everyday adult lives. The point was that his classes were tough and he forced his students to be inventive, resourceful, and even creative.
For some reason, it soothed him. He knew that these kids would not always have the luxury of safety that Xavier’s provided for them. With that knowledge, he and the other teachers did their best to prepare the children for the harsh realities life would throw at them, while giving all of the kids a chance to be kids.
Logan had no illusions. Ororo was directly responsible for his teaching. After a year of wandering the mansion aimlessly while she was busy with Sociology and History classes, she’d gently steered him toward teaching his own classes. Mathematics came easily to him, and after only a few weeks of studying various courses with the Professor, he was deemed prepared.
Ororo had led him gently by the hand, all the while letting him believe he’d come to the decision on his own. She’d begun by allowing him to help her keep track of her students’ grades, slowly walking him through the process of how they were calculated and collected. It appealed to his nature. Though he projected an aura of chaos, Logan was a meticulous person.
If ‘Ro so much as left a wet towel on the bathroom floor, he would grumble for hours. She teased him, constantly, about his case of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. He found it less than humorous.
A few students came up to his desk, quietly asking for help with a set of problems currently baffling them. He showed the duo how it was done, inwardly delighting when the little invisible light bulb went off above their heads when the answer dawned on them.
Ororo might have been responsible for his teaching position, but he reveled in it. Glancing to the apple she had thrown at him, he allowed a small smile. The twist of his lips turned into a frown a moment later.
Only yesterday Magneto had left them all. Ororo seemed content to work it out on her own, inside her head. Logan really did not want to spend any more time contemplating the whole Erik/Magneto issue. He still hurt a little deep inside, near his bones, when he was tired. His equilibrium wasn’t quite right yet. There was nothing to be done about it. Time would have to take its course.
He should have wanted to rip Magneto’s face off, and yet he couldn’t quite work himself into that kind of rage. Something terrifying had happened when he watched Ororo wail on the older man. Though he was injured, he wondered if it had been his place to exact revenge. Letting someone else take care of that problem had never really been in Wolverine’s nature, but this time it seemed oddly right. Magneto was dead to him. If he resurrected at some point with Erik regaining his memory, that would be different.
For now, he had a few other things to deal with.
The bell rang, jarring him from his thoughts. Chuck had soundproofed his room a little, so the shrill ringing would not hurt his sensitive ears. The students were alerted to the class letting out by a blinking red light above the clock. Logan could still hear the ring, so he glanced to his class.
“You’ve got the end of chapter problems to finish tonight, and turn in the problem on the board before you leave,” Logan ordered them as they prepared to leave. “Jubi, don’t ya even try to skip out without handin’ yer work in. I mean it.”
A grumbled, “ Aw, man” came from the direction of his student’s desk and he smirked. Caught again. Silly kid.
The kids filed up to his desk, dropping slips of paper into the awaiting tray while bidding him goodbye. They left in groups of two or three, chatting quietly as they filtered into the hall. Once the room was empty, Logan sat back in his chair to stare up at the ceiling.
He had a free hour before lunch and then two afternoon classes. ‘Ro was still in class, as she had a completely full docket every day. He didn’t know how she did it.
Thinking about her brought his eyes back to the apple resting so innocently on the corner of his desk. A shiver jolted up his spine without warning or welcome. If he thought about her hands on his back only two nights ago, he was likely to find himself stuck in the desk chair until evidence of that effect on him was gone.
Logan had no idea what in the name of hell his problem was. She’d massaged him a hundred times before. Never, not in all the years they had been friends, had it affected him quite like that. He’d never thought about the sensuality of that familiar, platonic touch.
He found himself putty in her hands, willing to give her almost anything. Desire flared up when he’d least expected it. For one moment when she’d flattened that succulent body against his back, he had been tempted to turn over and kiss her breathless. The very idea had thrilled and frightened him at the same time. ‘Ro was not the sort of woman he could have a quick tumble with and still like himself in the morning.
Why had whatever veil covering his eyes over the last few years been suddenly lifted? As they sat on the rooftop, talking and drinking quietly, it had not-so-slowly dawned on him that she was the perfect woman in many ways. That magical cross between Grace Kelly and that Tomb Raider chick. Feminine, sexy, strong, and soft. She had so many of the qualities he demanded in a woman that it momentarily stunned him.
With her hands on his skin, their bodies so close, he’d been reminded of every single moment like that one. Years of sleeping in the same bed, boxing matches on HBO, and drinking on rooftops suddenly seemed to hold a hidden meaning. His list could have read like a letter of recommendation for her. She met each of his criteria.
Flawed perfection. That’s what she was. Human and needy but otherworldly as the goddess she’d been in Africa. The depth of his own introspection humbled him.
Had he just missed something in all those years of friendship? What the hell was going on with him?
Sighing at the confusion clouding his mind, Logan scooped the papers from his tray and set to working on them. He’d think about this ‘Ro issue later.
Much later.
~**~
After their classes were let out for the day, Logan made his way through the mansion. He counted heads mentally, ensuring everyone was inside by curfew. Making sure everyone knew dinner would be in an hour in the main hall, he lit a cigar and settled in the mansion’s TV room. A few of the kids were watching an old rerun of the X-Files, which seemed slightly stupid to him.
A bunch of mutants watching a show about unexplained aliens. For some reason, it struck him as hilarious.
Shoving Rogue aside, he plopped into the seat beside her, watching the show with disinterest. That Scully chick was good-looking, something redeemable about the ridiculous show, anyway. The red hair was a bit of a turn off for him, though.
As if on cue, Logan’s ears twitched when Jean’s elevated voice drifted into the room. Turning his head slightly, he heard her stomp one foot in what seemed to be the foyer. Raising a brow, he glanced around the room. As Jean’s voice drew closer, several of the students inclined their heads to the sound.
Storm appeared in the hall. Logan could see her through the open door. He leaned over the back of the couch, Rogue and Iceman moving with him in unison. Something was about to go down if Jean was yelling at Storm.
“Don’t walk away from me, Munroe!”
Logan felt his eyebrows shoot up.
“I have nothing to say to you, Grey,” came the cool response.
Rogue, Iceman, and Wolverine all leaned a little further, watching as Jean appeared behind Ororo. To Logan’s shock, the small, red haired woman grabbed ‘Ro by the arm, turning her by force.
The woman’s face was red with anger, her free hand clenched into a fist. If she didn’t relax in about thirty seconds, she’d make herself bleed. Logan noticed Cyclops loitering in the corner, behind both women, confusion marking his face beneath the ruby-quartz of his glasses.
“What do you mean you have nothing to say to me?” Jean demanded, stomping her foot again.
“I mean that if you do not release my arm, I will remove it by force.”
Logan watched with pride when Jean recoiled slightly. ‘Ro could sound downright demonic when she put her back into it. Something had happened in the recent past that set her off. If Jeannie didn’t back off soon, Logan was relatively sure violence would ensue.
“You answer me,” Jean threatened somewhat ineffectually. “What did you mean?”
“I meant nothing, Jean,” Ororo said in a bored tone. “Run and play, girl, before you manage to upset me.”
That ain’t nothin’, Logan thought, wondering what had been said.
“I will not!” The other woman screeched. “Explain yourself!”
For a moment, Logan wondered if he should call 911 and alert them that a mutant had been killed before grabbing ‘Ro and making a run for Canada. No extradition for capital murder was a good thing if Storm really lost her temper.
“Kids,” Logan grunted instead. “Outside. Now.”
Without even a mutter at his sharp tone, all of the students cleared out of the sitting room. Most even vacated the recreation room just as quickly. Only the adult X-Men remained, giving both women a little more freedom.
Logan stood up from the sofa, tasting burning ozone on the air. Ororo’s mutation was slipping. Jean was seriously pushing her luck. There was no way the telekinetic woman would stand a chance if Ororo really let loose. Not even levitating weaponry across the room would save her when ‘Ro brought in an F-4 tornado.
“Did you sleep with Scott?”
Oh, shit.
“Yes.” Ororo nodded. “Are you satisfied?”
“Jesus, Storm!” Cyclops put both hands into his hair, turning away from them.
“Are you shitting me?” Jean hissed, looking between them. “When? WHY?”
“Several years ago, before you two fell in love,” Storm returned coolly. “If you would stop scanning surface thoughts of those around you without permission, you might find yourself in less of these situations.”
“Don’t you dare turn this around on me!” Jean retorted hotly, her grip on Storm’s arm tightening visibly.
Storm had obviously had enough. She reached up with her free hand and gripped Jean’s fingers. The red haired mutant cried out in pain when ‘Ro pried her fingers away. Though he could tell she wanted to let temper take her further, Logan breathed a sigh of relief when Ororo released her upset friend seconds later.
“Jean,” she said more patiently. “It was a wayward thought about something that happened when we were teenagers. How can you possibly be upset about it? Scott loves you, perhaps you should remember that.”
Logan winced, knowing his angered friend likely wanted to reveal something he would rather be kept between them. She glanced at him, her eyes swirling with white and blue.
Would they ever get a break from this mental and emotional turmoil? It was starting to wear on his already frayed nerves.
“Ororo,” Cyclops began as he came up to collect his fiancée. “I should have told her before.”
Ororo held her hand up, sighing. “Leave it alone, Scott.”
Logan came up to her, giving her a small half-smile. She really didn’t need this right now, neither of them did. He felt lucky as hell that his little affair with Jean had gone un-confessed. That was just a little too much right now.
“C-Charles is calling for me,” Jean stammered, pushing away from Scott.
No one bothered to follow or call after her as she escaped down the corridor. Logan rolled his eyes. She could be so damned dramatic. Storm moved a little closer to him as they both watched Scott run a hand through his hair.
“I’m sorry, Storm,” Cyclops apologized. “I don’t know what’s wrong with her.”
“She is jealous,” ‘Ro winked at Scott, some of their playfulness having returned over the last few days. “For once.”
Cyclops shook his head, though he chuckled. “Why don’t you guys head on home? I’ll take care of things here.”
“Yeah,” Logan grunted. “I owe ‘Ro a neck rub anyway. Danger Room tomorrow morning?”
“Yeah,” Scott nodded. “I think I’ll need it.”
~**~
Logan got Ororo back to the boathouse without incident. They cooked in relative silence, letting the CD player run on shuffle. Ororo’s specialty happened to be jambalaya, which was on the menu for the night. Logan tossed lettuce and raw vegetables for a side salad, keeping a close eye on his friend.
She had changed from her teaching clothes into a pair of those tiny women’s boxers and a way too tight tank top. He tilted his head, reading the writing on her bottom.
Bad Girl. God, I didn’t need that image.
By the time dinner was ready, he couldn’t keep his eyes off of her. The long, teeny braids of her hair fell over one shoulder, her lovely face devoid of makeup. Those endless legs were bare, giving his eyes something to feast on. Without even thinking about it, he licked his lips.
This was getting out of hand. ‘Ro was his best friend, loyal companion. There was no reason to be staring at her like a piece of meat. But by God, she was the sexiest thing on two legs. He’d known it, one some level, since they met. How had he gone so long without it affecting him?
Dinner was eaten in that same calm, comfortable silence. They cleaned up together, only speaking to have one move over so dishes could be put away. Once everything was cleaned to Logan’s specifications, they trooped into the sitting room.
Logan moved to the DVD holder, reading down the long list of titles she owned until he came to one he knew she would be unable to resist. She rewarded him with a grin when he flashed the box for Tombstone at her enticingly.
He put the movie on, coming to sit on the sofa with her. She indicated to the place behind her and though he knew it was not a wise choice in his current state, he climbed around her. ‘Ro settled into the space between this legs, resting her hands on his knees.
Unbidden, his hands moved to her neck. Finding her wound as tightly as he had thought, Logan wrapped his fingers around her throat, rubbing his thumbs down the bumpy column of her spine. Storm groaned appreciatively, dropping her head forward to give him better access.
Logan found himself unable to pay the movie even passing attention. He concentrated on her smooth cocoa skin, on working out the kinks and knots hidden beneath it. She wiggled against him and he had to force his mind to stop thinking about how good she felt against him.
Scooter in a Speedo. Scooter in a Speedo.
She smelled so damn good. His nose inhaled that scent eagerly, locking it away. Her neck was vulnerable to him, a classic sign of submission and trust. Thought they had sat in this position a hundred times, he had the overwhelming urge to bury his face in that sensitive flesh where her throat met her shoulder. He wanted to lick that smooth flesh, to feel her undulate against him again.
This was definitely something new. He was completely unsure of how he should be taking this. His body’s answer was to simply keep working on her tense back and so he listened to that urge. Dropping his hands to her waist, he ran eager fingers under her shirt. To his delight, she had not donned a bra when changing her clothes. Unfortunately, her top had one built in.
It kept him honest…or something.
He worked up from the base of her spine, making her lean forward further. He heard the change in her breathing, expecting it to slowly even out. To his shock, it quickened along with her heart. Thought he knew he shouldn’t, that it would only lead somewhere he was unprepared for, he inhaled quickly.
Catching the scent of arousal mixed in with her usual fragrance nearly snapped any responsible resolve he had. That same urge to turn her around and fuse his mouth to hers crashed over him. This wasn’t right.
It was too much.
That knowledge did not stop his hands. He worked her shirt up until it bared any flesh not covered by that little bra thing. Exploring fingers drifted lightly over the wealth of flesh exposed to his view. She shifted. Muscles flexed and released, fascinating him with how they moved under that dark skin.
How many times had he seen her naked while changing out of their uniforms? How often had they shared a bathroom? Why all this change?
Emotional strain often leads the mind and easily swayed heart into unknown and often forbidden territory. Storm’s voice drifted into his mind from a conversation years ago. Often someone will develop urges and feelings they do not understand or even like while the mind attempts to cope with stress. They usually fade, with time and understanding. However, they do not always. At times, these feelings will linger, open new doors otherwise ignored. Some things were never meant to stay the same.
His hands slid forward from her back, touching the impossibly soft skin of her sides and belly. ‘Ro purred under his touch.
She make that noise fer Andy? Cyke?
The random thought brought the beast slumbering peacefully in his chest to wakefulness. It growled unhappily, making Logan’s hands clench slightly on Ororo’s flesh. It had never bothered him that Storm had her sex with whoever she wanted. She was a grown woman with needs. Long as she got her itch scratched, what business was it of his?
The very thought of someone making her purr that way made him honest to God jealous. Appalled by the thought, he tried to shake it off. His betraying mind continued, however.
Did she get jealous when he spent the night with a woman? Did she sometimes want more between them?
He finally managed to control his hands and bring them from the warmth of her flesh. No more could be puzzled out tonight. His brain already hurt. Dropping a soft kiss onto the nape of Ororo’s neck, he pulled her shirt down. Wrapping her into his arms, he pulled her back against his chest.
She snuggled in as she always did. Gradually her breathing evened out, her heart ceasing to pound so recklessly against her breast. She draped her arms over his, locking their legs together so they touched at every inch.
So comfortable. Love and lust couldn’t be this comfortable. Maybe it was just emotional strain.
Yeah. That was it. It’d fade in time and everything would go back to being normal. Peaceful.
~**~
Nightmares pulled him from sleep late that same evening. No moonlight penetrated the dense clouds outside, so ‘Ro had slept with the lamp resting atop the beside table on. He often teased her about being afraid of the dark, though he knew her claustrophobia was to blame.
He was sweating. Panting. Crying out a name in the dark. Ororo’s scent surrounded him and he reached for her blindly. Her pliable form slipped easily into his embrace, whispered words of comfort drawing him from the pain of his nighttime terror.
“’Ro,” he whispered in the dim light. “Don’t go.”
“Logan,” she replied softly. “I am right here.”
Shaking his head, trembling from head to toe in fear of something he could not remember, he sat against the wooden headboard. Careful not to hurt her, Logan drew Ororo into his lap. She wrapped her lithe form around him, dropping her head onto his shoulder.
They swayed together, as a mother rocks a frightened child. Her gentle hand smoothed over sweat-slicked hair, trying to bring him from the horror of his inner demons. She settled in his lap, ensuring that her scent and touch were unavoidable. In their years together, she had learned how best to diffuse his nightmares.
“Can’t leave me,” he begged, without knowing why. “Ya can’t go.”
“I am not going anywhere,” she replied carefully.
“Don’t go,” he continued, not listening to her. “Don’t cha dare leave me alone in the dark.”
“Logan,” Ororo’s voice suddenly held fear. “I am not leaving you.”
“Don’t want ya ta leave,” Logan almost whimpered. “Please, stay here. With me. With me.”
“You are frightening me,” his companion sniffled. “I have not left your side in years, why would I do so now?”
“Don’t know,” he went on. “Just…afraid you’ll leave. Scares me. Don’t go.”
“Shh,” she soothed, shifting so her entire chest molded against his. “I will never leave you, tiba.”
“Sing me the song,” Logan pled, gripping her as tightly as he dared.
The world still spun around him. He had no memory of what he had dreamed. Only stark fear that Ororo was going to abandon him. Not once in their years as friends had that thought even…
It had. Just recently he had wondered if she would choose Magneto over him. Fear ripped into his heart again. He would never make her choose…would he? Even as Ororo began to sing a soft lullaby he loved in her native tongue, he wondered. Would she, if faced with such an impossible choice, decide he was expendable?
Feeling traitorous at the mere thought, he rested his cheek on her shoulder, letting her presence and voice soothe his fears. She felt so perfect in his arms, as though someone had him in mind when she was created.
Warring sides flew into battle inside of him, but he squashed the urge. Now was not the time. Fear that she would leave him and desire that threatened to spill over were calmed by that steadfast friendship they had forged over the long years.
For now, he would fall into that security net. He listened as she sang to him of savannahs and sunlight, beating back the darkness like a force of nature. Logan drifted back into sleep with Ororo still wrapped around him.
His last thought was that he wanted to fall asleep that way forever.
