Chapter Nineteen: Old Foes
I don't think you trust
In my, self rightgeous suicide
I cry when angels deserve to die
-System of a Down
Ororo was humming as she bent at the waist to retrieve a pan of cookies from the hot oven. The kitchen was filled to brimming with delightful scents. Cinnamon, ginger, and the barely detectable flavor of nutmeg heralded the fast approaching holiday.
There was nothing quite like Christmas at Xavier's. Though the man himself was no longer present to celebrate with them, something like spirit raced through the once-mournful halls as of late. It seemed as if Charles, even from the grave, would have no frowns during his favorite time of year.
She missed him. Every day she felt that undeniable little death that came with the loss of someone so beloved. It was like a papercut that admanatly refused to heal. While she ached to have that sense of death removed from her heart, she felt this constant reminder was the least she could do. Her torch would burn brightly within her breast until the ending of time. Charles deserved nothing less.
While her fabulous sugar cookies cooled on a nearby rack, Ororo glanced around her neat cottage with something like pride reflecting on her face. Everything was in it's place, even Logan's motorcycle catalogs were now resting in their own homes. It had taken the combined forces of Logan and Ororo the better part of three days to straighten their mess.
Between familial issues, teaching and racing, there was little time to clean up after themselves. Ororo concluded with a soft, naughty smile no one was around to question, that numerous romps between the still budding couple probably were not helpful.
Ororo tried to change her thought pattern, but concluded it was already too late. Teasing, delectable images of Logan's taut, masculine body against hers on the kitchen counter made her heart trip in her chest. Suddenly overly warm and short of breath, Ororo braced her hands on the marble countertop.
Get a grip, Munroe! She chided herself silently.
Her reactions to Logan had not cooled in the wake of several weeks. She feared, in fact, that they only became more violent, more demanding. She often likened the reaction to a meth addict in dire need of another hit. Logan was quickly becoming a drug she never wanted to be free of.
As though he had heard her mentally chanting his name -- or perhaps he had scented a sudden arousal through the back door where he was hanging Christmas lights -- the familiar stomping of boots echoed behind the slammed back door. Ororo shivered, licking her lips. Last time he had smelled her from the back yard, he'd nearly broken her hips trying to bring them both completion.
Oh, it had been more than worth it, in her opinion.
Logan grinned when he spotted her calmly sliding little gingerbread men into a homemade tin for packaging. He slipped his hammer into the loop on his belt and shifted the tip of his black Stetson up so he could look at her properly.
"Hey, baby." His greeting was light, casual. It gave her a little feminine thrill every time. "Got the lights up an' I didn't even fall off the ladder."
"Good boy," Ororo winked. She selected a fresh chocolate chip cookie and tossed it at him. She beamed beautifully when he caught it with his mouth.
He returned the affectionate gesture with a smile as he chomped on the still-warm sweet. Ororo went back to scooping dough onto the pans, pretending to forget Logan was in the room. He usually hated it when she casually dismissed him, even before they had crossed that line between friends and more.
Ororo could feel the weight of his stare on her. As in times past, her intimate knowledge of the animalistic man gave her insights. She did not have to even see his face to know he was watching her in quiet contemplation. Not annoyance or playful anger, just a soft, speculative gaze.
For some reason, that made the belly flood with easy, familiar warmth. Through all that had happened, Logan was still her best friend. She still knew him better than anyone else. There was a kind of comfort in that thought. Though she did love the changes to their relationship, just knowing that their history was not easily cast aside in the wake of it was soothing.
"I love ya."
The metallic scoop, filled with thick cookie dough, halted over the pan at Logan's sudden words. He had said it before, numerous times, of course. He said it as a friend, as a lover. Tonight, however, there was a sweet honesty to the phrase -- as though no language could ever quite convey his feelings, so those three would have to do. His tone, gruff with the barest hint of emotion, was softer than she could ever remember it being.
She turned to him, then. Dark eyes met across the Christmas-scented kitchen. The world reflected in those ebony pools. Something like forever shone back at her with complete and undeniable truth.
"I love you, back."
Logan smiled broadly. "Yeah, I know."
Moment now broken, he turned away from her. Ororo knew it was time for playing in the garage with Scott, so she let him go with only a slight shake of her head. That man was something else.
Something else indeed.
***
There was no pattern.
No pattern. No course. No reason.
Nothing in the streams of data bouncing relentlessly in her mind could tell her what she needed to know. It was as if the Sentinels relied only on the whim of whatever madman created them to locate targets. The very thought of that being the case worried Ororo more than she wanted to let on.
"Coming up on target in forty seconds."
Cyclops' quick, firm command brought her sharply back to the present.
"Preparing landing gear," Storm chimed in, checking her equipment quickly.
"Could use some cover," Cyclops continued, raising a brow in her direction. "If you're with us now, that is."
Somewhat embarrassed to be caught lost in her own thoughts while supposedly on duty, Ororo cleared her throat and walked through the landing sequence without comment. She heard Jean whisper something to Hank behind the pilot's seat. Storm chose to ignore it.
Though the rifts between Xavier's X-Men were far from healed, they had decided a quick trip to Washington was now in order. Henry had more than a few friends on various boards and committees, someone might know something about their robotic friends. Chances were slim, though Ororo agreed with Wolverine and Cyclops' assessment that sitting around waiting for another attack was just stupid.
THe Blackbird landed on the wet pavement with a gentle shudder. Storm unfastened her harness and turned to look at her teammates. "Everyone all right?"
"Fine." Jean gave her a small, tenative smile. Ororo returned it almost instinctively.
"Perfect as well." Henry gave her a knowing look and encouraging smile.
"Storm, perform the post-flight checks and get us refueled. If things head south, I want to know I've got an escape plan in my back pocket."
Scott's order was not unusal or even unexpected. Ororo nodded, waving goodbye to her friends as they filed out of the jet. Once the hatch was sealed tightly behind the telepath, furball, and one-eyed wonder, she flipped the jet's intercom on and let loose with Nelly Furtado.
Singing along with the music, which Henry would call an affront to ears everywhere, she took her clipboard to begin the meticulous survey of the jet. Any little problem could spell disaster, so she took her time with the checks, knowing Scott and the others were likely to be gone for some time.
Post-flight check done, Ororo turned her music down to order a fueling van onto the government runway they had used for landing. Satisfied that her duties were all under control, Ororo ducked into the small cargo compartment to grab her bag.
Though the uniform all X-Men wore was designed to keep them safe, Storm hated the damn thing. It was a little too small and itched everywhere. She pulled the accursed material off, yanking on a pair of soft sweatpants and matching sweatshirt.
As she adjusted the hood and zipped the front closed, she was suddenly aware of something or someone watching her. Keeping her movements calm, taking several deep breaths, Ororo contemplated her options.
Mutation and training aside, nearly every person on the military base happened to be human. If she injured someone, even in self-defense, it would be very bad for the X-Men.
"I hope I'm intruding."
Exhaling sharply, Ororo turned.
"Can I help you with something, Mystique? Or did you want to go directly to the fighting?"
Her eyes cold, Storm watched the woman step into the jet from the now-open hatch. Long, blue limbs moved with a kind of ethereal grace. Had the woman not dripped with malice and hatred, Storm might have found her inhumanly beautiful.
Those eyes, however, quickly killed any sort of budding sentiment.
"Where is Eric?"
Unsurprised by the woman's question, Ororo shrugged one shoulder with false calm. She knew, better than any other, that both women were poised for immediate and deadly action. Ororo wondered if Mystique was intelligent enough to realise who had the upper hand.
Though the confined quarters of the Blackbird were not ideal, Storm knew every inch of the plane, every nut and bolt. She could use that knowledge to her advantage.
"You know where he is," the blue-colored woman went on. Storm noted that her voice had gone up several notches.
She was angry.
"Perhaps," Ororo replied tauntingly. "Did you honestly think I would tell you?"
Mystique's yellow eyes narrowed. "What did you do to him?"
Unable to help herself, Storm raised one hand. With her palm facing inward, she wiggled her fingers gracefully. The long, red scars from her "fight" with Magneto glinted in the dimly lit cabin.
"We had...words."
Her tone was absolutely malicious. Ororo caught the hint of fear and sorrow in her foe's eyes before the shape-shifter could cover it. Storm felt that twinge of shame with only a passing acknowledgement. The longer Mystique and Eric were apart, the less likely the blue mutant had of awakening what now sleep peacefully in Magneto's injured brain.
"You fools."
Somewhat taken aback by her enemy's words, Storm slowly dropped her hand. "Excuse me?"
"You attacked him!" The other woman was nearly screaming. "He came with words of warning, of peace and you've done something to him!"
Alarmed, Ororo held both hands up to silence Mystique. When the simple gesture failed to halt the now building diatribe, Ororo slammed the Blackbird with a massive clap of thunder.
"Quiet," she ordered the other woman nastily. "What was Eric going to warn us about?"
Mystique only smirked knowingly.
Storm let her eyes change to white immediately, relishing how the skies darkened at her unspoken call.
"Tell me what you did to him and I'll give you the information he demanded you have."
Storm contemplated for only a moment. "We had an altercation, Eric and I. He is being treated for head injuries at Muir Island."
For the first time in their long history, Storm saw something human pass over Mystique's features. Something like relief and love reflected in those yellow eyes. In that moment, Ororo saw her old foe as a woman. Mystique covered her emotions quickly, but she seemed to know that Storm had seen too much.
"The Sentinels." The woman straightened her long body. "They're being tested."
Confused now, Storm crossed her arms over her breasts and waited for the woman to go on.
"The technology that operates their basic functions was developed here in Washington. For the last several years, various committees have been working at getting the funding to complete the project."
"To what end?" Ororo's question was quiet, though it seemed to reverberate off of the walls.
"Don't be stupid," Mystique rolled her yellow eyes. "What other possible reason is there to build gigantic robots intent on capturing mutants?"
Though the very thought was all most too much to bear, Ororo swallowed over the sudden lump in her throat. Had she not just realized how unpredictable the attacks could be? Since Charles' death, there had been several dozen throughout the world. Many of them had absolutely no provocation.
"They're going to collect us all, one by one."
"Good girl," Mystique nodded. "About three hundred thousand prisons have been built in the last two years. Many of them are on otherwise uninhabited islands, like Genosha."
"Round us up, toss us away."
"Out of sight, out of mind," the other woman agreed. "Eric feared another Holocaust."
"And it's staring us in the face."
Mind racing, Ororo forgot all about her defensive posture and reached for the communicator pinned to her discarded uniform. She called for Cyclops to come back to her, swearing when only static answered. Without another thought, she changed tactics and signaled the mansion.
"By the way," Mystique said as she turned to leave the jet. "I was sorry to hear about Charles. He was better than all of us."
Heedless to Logan's shout of her name in response to her emergency call, Storm met Raven Darkholme's eyes. The honesty and loss shining out of those yellow depths surprised Ororo. It reminded her that Charles touched people in so many ways. Even this mutant, filled with hatred, grieved his loss. No other could claim such a feat.
"He was."
As if she had done what she set out to, Raven turned to exit the jet. Ororo, her attention now on Logan, did not see the sunny sky suddenly blackened by shadow.
"Darlin'?" Logan's voice was tight with emotion.
"I'm here. I'm sorry. I was finishing up with a contact."
"What contact? What in the name of hell's goin' on?"
Smiling at his use of language, Storm shook her head. "A good deal, actually. As soon as I get Scott on the communicator, I will be bringing them home. I think I have found the answer to our Sentinels questions."
"Yeah? How?"
"HALT, MUTANT!"
The world seemed to spin around her. Storm turned her head in time to see the massive leg of a Sentinel stomp past her. Logan was shouting into the communicator that she needed to take cover, but all she could think of was the slender mutant outside of the jet.
"Raven."
With no thought to her saftey or to Logan's panicked cries, Storm dove from the jet and into the skies.
***
"Raven?"
She winced, blinding pain mixing with the discomfort of the unknown. If she opened her eyes, what would she see? Where was she? Who held her captive?
"Raven? It's all right to wake up." That voice. Oh, it was so kind. So entreating.
"It's ok, Raven. Just open your eyes. Nothing here will hurt you."
Grey.
Even as she thought the word, her eyes opened. Whatever the problems may be between the Brotherhood and Xavier's X-Men, Mystique knew it was against their nature to harm a fellow mutant. It went against their grain to even stand by when one needed help.
The light stung tired eyes, but the beautiful red haired pupil of Xavier was smiling kindly.
"There you are," she sighed, obviously relieved.
"How's she doing?"
Summers.
Unable to even think about moving without pain, Raven watched as the ruby-lensed Cyclops moved to her bedside. He and his wife talked quietly for a few moments, leaving the injured mutant to glance around the room with something akin to boredom.
Her eyes, however, seemed drawn to a large window on one side of her "room". Through the glass, she could see another room. Heart stuttering in her chest, Mystique realized almost instantly that someone was lying on that bed. A white-haired someone.
"S-Storm..."
Jean and Scott shared a look over the now-struggling mutant's body.
Beside the bed was a man, Mystique now noticed. His gruff exteroir seemed marred by the ravages of grief showing on his handsome face. Unchecked tears splashed down his cheeks and not even his advanced healing could take away the redness around his eyes.
"She'll pull through," Jean was whispering to Raven. "Just banged up. She'll be on her feet by Christmas."
Calming, thanks to something Scott injected into her IV, Raven lay back against the bedsheets. She gripped Jean's hand, struggling to speak.
"She came out to help me..." Raven choked. "Why?"
Cyclops swallowed hard, his eyes drawn to the window. "She's an X-Man. That's what we do."
