Chapter Twelve: Landslide
Well, I’ve been afraid of changing
Cause I built my life around you
But time makes you bolder
Children get older
And I’m getting older too
~Fleetwood Mac
The first thing she did was burn the bed.
Logan winced as he watched her from the back porch of the mansion. He was not ashamed when he snatched Peter’s bird watching binoculars to watch his best friend in her silent fuming.
She hauled that huge king sized bed out of her bedroom, box spring and all. Logan watched curiously as she brought lightning down on it, bursting the feather-soft mattress into flame. Obviously, he was right.
‘Ro was still pissed off.
Disgusted with himself, Logan returned the binoculars to Colossus watching as his friend headed back into the house. A couple of days alone would be good for them, or so he kept telling himself. They had both been through a lot, evidenced by their little tumbles with a married couple. Leaning on the railing of the porch, he dropped his head forward and arched his back, stretching from head to toe.
Whatever was happening around here was driving him insane. Pain was so alive inside of him that it nearly drove him directly back to ‘Ro’s boathouse. He was starting to not give a damn that she smelled like sex and Scooter. The beast roaring inside him begged to be released, to claim what was rightfully his. The man in him knew better.
Shuddering as he replayed the previous night in his mind, he felt the need to bleach his skin and take off the first several layers with a Brillo pad. What the hell had he been thinking? What had she been thinking? He was content letting Ororo have the evening out with Scott while he watched another action flick and worked his way through a six-pack. It was nice to have some alone time once in a while, after all.
Then Jean had knocked on the damn door. Had he not scented the salt of her tears on the air, he would have ignored the imploring call of his name and insistent knocking. Why hadn’t he just continued to ignore her?
Jean had plopped down on ‘Ro’s sofa, making him more nervous than ever. ‘Ro could handle seeing the Professor on her sofa, maybe even Scooter before the fight. Betsy and Warren were always welcome. Jean? Not so much. He knew he was playing with fire, and while he felt next to nothing romantic or lustful for the beautiful red head, he still had a soft spot for her a mile wide.
She’d gone on and on about her marital problems, which only made him more glad that he’d not put up a fight when Ororo said she and Scott were going out. With the benefit of hindsight, he should have. It should have been ‘Ro snuggling with him on the sofa. Jean never would have appeared late at night in the boathouse if she believed Ororo to be there.
Wait a sec…
Jean had known Ororo was gone, though she claimed that Scott had gone AWOL on her. If ‘Ro took five minutes to let Logan know where she was going, it was a fair bet that One-Eye hadn’t slipped out the backdoor either. The porch railing groaned under the pressure from Logan’s hands.
He’d been played. Masterfully. Jean had wanted to get back at Ororo just as his best friend was looking to get in a dig. He was caught in a feminine war that he’d never signed up for. What the hell was between those two?
Deciding he would go to the source, Logan pushed away from the railing and slipped back into the house. Warren and Betsy were in the kitchen and called a greeting to him. He grunted in response, knowing they would catch the hint that he wasn’t in the mood for shooting the shit with them. They would never take it personally.
Logan stomped through the mansion, continually sniffing the air. The rational side of him, that for some reason always sounded like Ororo’s voice, reminded him that he was a grown man and sleeping with Jean had been his decision. Logan’s snarling reply was that she’d gone and got naked before he could stop her. Any man had limits to his control.
The scent of roses took him into the private teacher’s lounge, which was Jean’s space when she wanted to be alone. Logan broke the lock with his fist. Anger boiled in his veins. One thing he could never take was the very idea that someone was playing games with him. It was something Ororo rarely attempted. The last time she’d toyed with his affections, she’d had to spend the next several weeks tracking him down in northern Canada. That trip was the catalyst. When they’d become best friends. He wasn’t losing her to some female mind game played between two women.
“Logan!”
“Shut up.” Logan barked at the red head, slamming what was left of the door behind him.
“What are you doing in here?”
“I said shut up,” he roared in reply.
She looked as innocent and sweet as ever. Logan snorted to himself. Jean was anything but innocent. He’d known his fair share of manipulative people in his life and Jean could top them all. He told himself that looking at her was an immediate path to madness.
Her long hair was free around her shoulders. That was his weakness; he loved long hair on women, something to bury hands in. His fingers clenched into tight fists, trying to not remember the previous night.
At least he’d retained enough of his dignity to not kiss her on the mouth. God, just the sight of her was turning his stomach. He really needed a shower.
“What the hell’s goin’ on, Jean?” he demanded, leaning on the table she sat at to pin her with his gaze.
Jean recoiled slightly, though her back stiffened. He could smell the vague hint of fear wafting through the fresh roses. There was a time when he thought her fear of him was because she felt something for him that wasn’t proper for an engaged “ and later married “ woman. Until recently, he never guessed that she was afraid he would snap or harm her in some way.
She didn’t know him at all.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she replied. Jean tossed her hair flippantly, which added fuel to his already flaming anger.
“Oh, I think ya do,” he growled lowly. “Ya don’t never come round the boathouse ‘less ya know ‘Ro ain’t there.”
“She went out last night, of course I knew that,” Jean said evenly.
“Uh-huh, an’ ya knew she was out with Scooter.” Logan leaned closer. “So, what was the game, eh? Thought ya’d get a decent fuck out of it jus’ ta get under ‘Ro’s skin?”
Her cheeks pinked slightly, giving her an air of innocence that was difficult to resist. Logan assumed she was still playing with him, a woman like that always knew how to make herself seem the innocent party. But the more Logan thought about it, the more he figured he and Cyclops were both on the wrong side of a war they would never understand.
“It wasn’t that,” she said, tears in her bright green eyes. “I thought you’d be pleased that I was choosing you.”
Logan blinked at her for a moment, then threw his head back and laughed. He slapped his hand on the table as his shoulders shook with uncommon mirth.
“If ya still think I’m competetin’ for ya, yer a worse telepath than Rogue.”
She startled as though he’d physically struck her. “Logan.”
“What?” Still laughing, he pushed away from the table to watch her carefully. “Jus’ cause I talk different don’t mean I’m slow, girl.”
Silence stretched between them as brown eyes locked onto clear green. A whirl of emotions she had not quite hidden flickered behind that emerald gaze. Logan could almost see her mind trying to work out a feasible excuse for her behavior. He knew exactly what she would come up with.
“You could have said no.”
He’d been exactly right, of course. Sometimes that woman was easier to read than a car part manual. “I haven’t wanted ya fer a long time, Jean. If ya’ve been scannin’ surface thoughts, ya know that. Best I can figure is ya knew Scott was gonna do ‘Ro, so you thought ya’d one up her.”
Jean dropped her gaze to the dinged and scuffed tabletop.
“I’m right, huh?”
“You could have resisted,” she defended lamely. “ To be honest, I thought you’d put up more of a fight.”
“Ouch,” he said sarcastically, putting a hand over his heart. “Come on. Ya stripped down an’ jumped me. Not many men can resist that an’ I’m more animal than most.”
The woman opposite him wove her arms over her chest, raising her gaze again to meet his. Logan detected faint hurt and bruised pride beneath all of her defensive posturing. He figured that Jean had always come first in the mansion. She was not used to being the one easily cast aside.
Though he hated to admit it to himself, ‘Ro had obviously gotten under the other mutant’s skin. Jean may have not wanted Logan, but she still wanted to be wanted by him. The feminine art of competition was something he knew he would never truly grasp. But Jean having both Scott and Logan’s affections had likely made her feel powerful.
In a short span of time, Ororo had completely undone years of her work. It pissed him off that ‘Ro would stoop to such a level. He had to remind himself of something he told his best friend all the time. She was a woman, pure and simple. Sometimes she needed to act the part.
Granted, this wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind.
He sighed this time, running a hand through the wolfish peaks of his hair. Jean’s bottom lip was trembling in that irritating way, so he ignored her as much as he could while lost in his thoughts.
“Jus’…” He sighed. “I don’t want ya, Jean. I got over it a long time ago.”
“No one wants me,” she said forlornly.
“Scooter does,” Logan interjected pointedly. “Yer the one that started the mind games, you an’ ‘Ro.”
“So why aren’t you yelling at her?”
“Oh, I will.” He flashed her a feral grin. “Trust me on that.”
~**~
Logan’s first morning back in the mansion brought Westchester’s first snowfall of the season. Awaking to the bright sunlight reflected off of the thick blanket covering the grounds, Wolverine moved to the window to look out at it.
He always slept with the window open now. Years of falling asleep in Ororo’s boathouse had conditioned certain sleeping patterns. The window was always open, allowing whatever nature had decided was set for the day inside. ‘Ro would always smile in the cold, as though she thrived on it. Should there be wind and rain, her mood was slightly melancholy.
Though it was still early, most of the school’s children were outside in the weekend chill, rolling around in the snow like dogs. He smiled when Rogue and Iceman promptly started a snowball fight, succeeding in pelting one another in the face. They all looked so damned innocent playing in the morning air.
Yawning, Logan scratched at his elbow and moved into the bathroom he shared with Peter. The young man was likely in the training room already. Logan wondered if the kid even knew how to have fun. He always seemed so damn serious.
After brushing his teeth and taking a quick shower, Logan headed downstairs to see what he could find for breakfast. A sudden yearning for Ororo’s banana pancakes nearly sent him to the boathouse, but he was determined to give her another day or so. Much to his surprise, Betsy was already in a cooking frenzy when he reached the kitchen.
Blinking in surprise at plates of fat sausages, fried potatoes, eggs of every variety and thick slabs of buttered toast, he touched her on the arm.
“What’s goin’ on here, Bets?”
The Asian woman smiled warmly, her clipped British accent still seeming a little strange from such exotic features. “Breakfast. Get yourself a plate before the kids come in and eat it all.”
Logan gratefully loaded his plate with as much food as he dared, the slid into the stool at the breakfast bar to watch Betsy in action.
“Where’s Angelcake?” he asked around a mouthful of sausage.
“Outside,” she replied sweetly. “Making snow angels.”
Logan snorted at that mental image.
“I know, silly innit?” She laughed that soft, sweet laughter he knew well. “He’s having a good time, though, that’s what counts.”
He accepted the glass of orange juice she handed to him, washing down a hefty swallow of eggs and toast. “I guess.”
“You ok, love?” she questioned, taking several more sausages from a sizzling skillet.
Meeting her soft blue eyes over the feast spread out on the bar, Logan shrugged one shoulder.
“ Ponderin’ the mystery that is woman.”
“Ah.” Betsy turned off the rest of the stove burners, coming to sit across from him. “What have they got you turned round bout now?”
He contemplated not saying anything for a minute, but he knew Betsy. Four years ago, ‘Ro and Logan had accompanied Psylocke and Angel on a mission in Australia. The foursome had run into several problems, winding up out of contact with the X-Men and holed up in a mutant prison. Since then, he had always felt close to the other two X-Men, feeling their separation acutely when the couple returned to Britain.
“Tell me somethin’, Bets.” Logan watched as she loaded a plate for herself. “Why is it women have to play games with each other? Mixin’ up everyone else?”
Her blue eyes shifted from soft to sharp in an instant. She was looking at him with that same penetrating gaze that reminded him of ‘Ro. Betsy seemed to contemplate her answer, chewing daintily on a bite of her sausage.
“The need to compete is ingrained in us from birth, Wolverine,” she said at last. “We are constantly competing for men, for jobs, beauty. Even “ perhaps especially “ among close friends and siblings, that horrible need to be the best, brightest, most wanted, and lovely eclipses everything else.”
“Why?”
She shrugged one delicate shoulder. “I cannot say, really. If you find yourself between two strong willed women, things can easily spiral out of control. The important thing, mate, is to be sure you don’t get caught up in it.”
“I don’t know what the hell’s goin’ on, Bets,” Logan ran a hand over his hairy chin. “Ya talked ta ‘Ro yet?”
“Oh yes,” Betsy sighed. “I got the entire torrid story. She did not think you would mind.”
“Naw,” he agreed. “I don’t wanna relive it.”
“I do not blame you,” her voice held the hint of repressed laughter. “Ororo is perhaps one of the most restrained women I have ever known. After you were injured, at the hands of a man she once called father…”
“Ya think this is just a reaction?” Logan questioned incredulously.
“Yes,” Betsy stated immediately. “She is confused and has lashed out in every other way. Someone has to show her that she is worthy of love, and of life.”
More confused than ever, Logan leaned his elbows on the tiled bar to peer more closely at his friend. Betsy continued eating for a moment, as she normally did. His young friend seemed to adore pausing to ensure her words were penetrating whomever she was talking to.
“Ya think it’s a cry for attention?”
“No,” she replied sagely. “I believe your best mate is trying to find a balance. Neither of you have faced the fact that your nearly immortal arse was almost toast. Neither of you have dealt with the ramifications of Magneto’s attack outside of X-Men applications. She is lashing out externally. You are bottling everything up and truly believing that you have faced it all.”
Logan blinked at her owlishly. This was a little more in-depth than he had expected over breakfast. He suddenly felt as though he were talking to Hank instead of sweet Betsy. Shaking his head to clear it, Logan spread his hands.
“Huh?”
Betsy rolled her blue eyes, flicking a lock of that shiny black hair over her shoulder.
“You are both confused and acting out because you don’t have the bollocks to just admit that you aren’t immortal and she isn’t infallible.”
“What about Jean?” Logan questioned quietly.
“Not even I know what in hell that woman’s thinking on a good day. And Scott? He had a seven-year itch that Ororo scratched.”
Blood boiling at the crude comment, Logan shot the Asian woman a reproachful look. She shrugged one shoulder, clearly unperturbed by it.
“Well, o wise one, what do I do?”
“Go to the boathouse and shag Ororo senseless?” She smiled sweetly, making Logan smile even against his will.
“Think that’ll help the whole confusion thing, eh?”
“No, not really.” Betsy reached across the table to squeeze his hand. “Look, it’s not rocket science. She blames herself, Logan. Somewhere under all that ice cold exterior, she is looking for punishment and lashing out to make someone fill that need.”
Logan frowned thoughtfully. “The runnin’ off, screwin’ Scott…things that would make me mad at her. She wants me pissed off.”
“But perhaps she doesn’t know she is doing it intentionally. She is confused.” Betsy patted his hand. “The other two idiots just took advantage of the situation.”
He slid from the stool to kiss Betsy’s cheek, thanking her in a quiet tone. Knowing she wouldn’t think less of him, Logan headed toward the back door.
~**~
He snuck out to the boathouse late that same evening, still unsure of what he was going to do about all of this. Even armed with the information overload Psylocke had gifted him with, he wasn’t quite sure how to handle her.
But he couldn’t stay away. Logan perched in the thick oak tree that almost reached the wide windows of her loft. Ororo was cleaning, something she usually did to take her mind off something that was bothering her. She had one of her “New Age” discs in the stereo. Throbbing African drums and chanting were not something he considered music, but he knew it soothed her.
She was so damn beautiful. Watching her had been one of his favorite sports for some years now. He could see the soft sway to her body as she smoothed a mop over the hard wood of her floors. She had stolen more of his clothing, which made his smile widen.
In the last two hours, his best friend had folded laundry, cleaned the oven, and dusted the light sconces. So much attention to detail was usually reserved for spring, when she aired her home out after the long winter.
Tugging his coat more closely around him, Logan brushed a few snowflakes from his face, enjoying the cold even as it bit at his exposed flesh. He straddled the thick branch without problem, knowing that even if she caught him, he wouldn’t be in any trouble. Ororo was far more likely to join him than scream.
She made her way through the bedroom, easily cleaning the floors. Once she was finished, a warm breeze swept through the room, evidenced by the stirring of her clothing and braided hair. His friend put all of her things away, then climbed into the new bed she had picked up with Peter the previous afternoon.
Sharp eyes watched as she doused every light except the one on her nightstand. A book found it’s way into her long-fingered hands. She was rereading an old favorite, a fantasy novel he knew was from her favorite author: Terry Brooks. The binding of the hardcover novel was worn from numerous readings.
Ororo was smiling at the book and Logan recalled several occasions when she would read to him in the soft light, his head resting on her tummy. He missed that with an ache in his chest that eclipsed everything else. He yearned to be in that room with her, to feel that body against him.
Contact.
That’s what she had always given him. Someone to fight with, talk to, touch when the world seemed hell bent on swirling the drain. Ororo often referred to him as her port in a storm, but he conceded that it was probably the other way around. She was an anchor.
And he was watching her slip away from him. Every day, something between them died a little. He wanted her in so many ways it was insane. In the years before now, he never thought of this wonderful person as a potential mate. Now, that was all he could see.
Steadfast friendship and violent passion…such things were not supposed to exist in a world so jaded by mistrust and greed. But it was looking him in the face right now. He could live in this little house with this amazing person and never be left wanting.
“To hell with this.”
Logan grunted to himself, the stood on the branch on which he perched. The wide windows were open, as they were always. He hopped from the branch onto the thick ledge outside the window. The window opened outward, leaving him enough room to slide inside.
She did not even look surprised. Logan shrugged out of his coat, kicked off his boots and made his way toward the bed. The sheets were the color of dark chocolate, different than the light blue she normally selected. He decided it fit her, this rich, romantic hue.
Ororo smiled when he shimmed out of his pants, leaving him in only the t-shirt he’d donned that morning and a pair of loose boxers. He slipped under the feather-soft covers and shifted until he could lay his head on her belly.
One of those wonderful hands immediately began to stroke through the thick masses of his hair, and he wrapped his arms around her. She smelled of rain and the fresh scent of snow. Not even the harsh cleansers she’d been using could mask it. Sometime in the last few minutes, she had turned the stereo off, likely with the remote she carried around the house.
Without a word between them, ‘Ro began to read from her book, picking up without missing a beat. Logan let her soothing voice wash over him, the words from her favorite author barely penetrating the laze in which he lay with her. Nothing in the world could beat this moment.
The beast inside him slumbered, though it rumbled lowly that he had to claim her, that she was meant to be his. Logan knew they both had issues to deal with, but if there was one thing he was good at, it was putting things off. It could wait. He wanted one moment of peace with this woman.
His best friend. Companion. Love.
Above all things, Ororo had always been unfailingly loyal to him. She had faith in him, even at his darkest hour. That was something no other could ever give. He did not know what he’d done to deserve such a treasure, but he was not going to look that gift horse in the mouth.
Lulled by her voice, Logan drifted into sleep.
~**~
He woke with a start. The room was dark and for a moment, he didn’t know what had woken him. Shaking his head, Logan felt for the warm body that was supposed to be beside his.
Had it been a dream? He remembered coming to watch ‘Ro for a while, to see how she was doing. Was he outside?
No. The sheets were warm beside him and smelled of his best friend. So where was she?
Logan shot out of bed, fumbling for the light switch on the lamp beside him. It was rare that she so much as breathed wrong in her sleep without him knowing about it. On the few nights that his nightmares consumed him, she was always beside him when he woke. There were times “ so few he barely counted them “ that he slept so deeply, so peacefully that nothing could rouse him.
“’Ro?” He called into the darkness. “Darlin’?”
“Here.”
Her soft call came from the other end of the room, one shrouded with the thick shadows of late night. Fearing she was sick or hurt in some way, Logan scrambled across the room to her.
Ororo’s face was wet with tears and the cordless phone handset was clutched in white-knuckled hands. Logan cupped that beautiful face with his palms, his sharp eyes able to detect the quivering frown on those lush lips. Tears ran unchecked down her face.
“Baby? What is it?”
She tried to speak twice, succeeding in only whimpering. Logan shushed her, drawing her completely into his arms. He rocked her gently, rubbing her back and ignoring the fact that the phone was digging into his rib cage. Had Magneto regained his memory and escaped? Had something happened to one of the X-Men?
“Logan,” she whispered brokenly.
He pulled back to meet her eyes again. “What is it, baby?”
“I…” She swallowed hard. “It’s Charles.”
