Logan winced as a harsh alarm blared in his ear and the red lights of the simulator began to flash. “Flat Spin. Crash Imminent.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He flipped the disable switch and opened the hatch. His mind just wasn’t on running the Blackbird simulator program. Just as it hadn’t been on fixing the boys’ bathroom sink, or on tinkering with the cars. In fact, all his mind seemed capable of thinking about was the previous evening. Every other second it seemed he was sidetracked by a flash of skin in his mind’s eye or a soft moan remembered in his ear.
He recalled all too well the details of last night. His favorite remembered image, and the one that was distracting him now, was of Ororo astride him, her mouth parted and damp from his kisses, her fingernails biting into his chest as she made the most enticing sounds. Her eyes had remained open and locked on his as she came, shuddering and clenching him so tightly that he had followed a fraction of a second later, gripping her hips and bucking up into her warmth.
The smile she had bestowed upon him was full of feminine satisfaction but it was also gentle and tender. It was that smile that kept invading his thoughts, doing uncomfortable things to his pants as well as his gut.
“Shit,” Logan grumped as he hopped to the floor. Last night probably never should have happened. An involvement between him and ‘Ro would only complicate an already complicated relationship, but, he’d be damned if he could find an ounce of regret in himself that it had happened. He’d be an outright liar if he told himself he regretted taking Ororo to his bed, or that he hadn’t wanted to do it for some time. He couldn’t even convince himself that it would never happen again. He would be a liar and a fool to think he could resist their attraction anymore, especially knowing what he knew now. Together they were unbelievable in bed.
His stomach rumbled, pulling him-- thankfully--from his thoughts. He glanced at the overhead clock. Quarter past twelve. The lunch rush was probably in full swing. He opted for a quick shower and change, wanting to get upstairs before all the good grub was gone.
The kitchen was indeed a bustle of activity when he strode through the doors. A three ring circus with Ororo as the ringmaster. She stood in the center of the kitchen, her shoulder length hair pulled back in a tiny nub, at the island, making sandwiches, taking orders and dictating who got what. She chopped tomatoes and celery in a way that Wolfgang Puck would envy, her motions smooth and flawless. She wielded the knife in her hand as she did most everything else, as though it were an extension of her own body.
She flew the Blackbird in the same manner. If he wasn’t so stubborn he could have asked her for some lessons. But Logan hated to admit he needed help with anything.
“No, Kitty. Artie can’t have the tuna. He’s allergic.” Ororo snagged the plate from the younger girl’s hand as she passed, exchanging the tuna for a ham and cheese melt. “There.” As Kitty phased through the wall Ororo called out, “And no eating in the Rec room! It took me two days to get the pizza stains out of the sofa.”
“Excuse me, Ma‘am, would it be possible to get a PB&J with banana?”
Ororo glanced at Sam Guthrie, one of the new students, over her shoulder and nodded. He was a polite youth with blond wavy hair and the promise of extremely good looks. At seventeen years old he was already well into college level academia. Smart, polite and good looking. Sam was going to make the young girls at Xavier’s swoon. Just like another southern charmer with a penchant for peanut butter and bananas.
Ororo chuckled at her own thought. “Sure thing, Elvis. Want that fried?”
He grinned widely, pleased that she seemed willing to cater to his request. “Yes, Ma’am, if it ain’t too much trouble.”
“No, it isn‘t too much trouble.” She bent down, retrieving a small frying pan from the island cupboard. When she stood up she gasped, nearly dropping the pan. Logan was leaning on the opposite side of the island, his mouth slanted in a sardonic line. His hair was still damp from his shower and he smelled of soap.
“Chaos.” He gestured towards the umpteen bodies milling in and out of the kitchen.
Ororo nodded, her smile a tad strained. “A cook would be nice.” She glanced at the carrots still piled on the counter waiting to be sliced into sticks and the grilled cheese waiting to be cooked. “And a few more hands.”
Logan stepped around the counter, rolling up his sleeves. “What can I do?”
Ororo blinked. Logan offering to help? With the kids? She set he knife down and pinched her upper arm.
“Funny.” He immediately recognized her disbelief.
She laughed, a soft throaty sound that made Logan’s stomach tighten. “How are you at grilled cheese?”
“It’ll be edible.”
“Good enough.”
The two of them moved around one another, preparing and serving. Conversation was minimal, but the atmosphere was surprisingly comfortable. Soon all the mouths but their own had been fed. Ororo leaned back against the island, sighing. She wiped her hands on a hand towel, tossing it onto the counter. “Finally.”
She made her way to the refrigerator where she had stored herself a salad the night before. She stood searching, one hand on the door. If one of those kids ate her salad…Oooh, they were in for it.
She nearly jumped out of her skin when Logan leaned over her arm, reaching for the beer he had in the rear. The warmth of his chest against her back was appealing. She barely resisted the urge to lean into him. She tilted to the side, allowing him unfettered access to his Molson.
At one time alcohol was strictly prohibited, but as the months passed Logan had begun leaving a beer or two in the fridge until it became a regular six-pack. The students, despite Ororo’s and Charles’ initial concern never tried to ’raid’ the alcohol in the fridge or in the basement. As soon as people were told whose beer it was no one tried to take it. No one dared.
“Thanks, darlin’.” Logan straightened, beer in hand. His mouth brushed her cheek in an impromptu kiss that surprised both of them.
He turned quickly, popping the cap from his brew. Shit. He took a long draw, swallowing the amber liquid repeatedly, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
Ororo found herself hiding her smile behind the door. When she was relatively certain she was composed she straightened, salad in hand. She turned, a bit put off by finding herself under the scrutiny of Bobby, Peter, Marie and Doug, all of whom were still seated at the round table by the window.
Logan glanced in their direction as well, one eyebrow quirked as if daring them to comment. They immediately returned to their conversation and food.
“Thanks for the help.” With a stride that was slightly hurried, Ororo left the kitchen.
Logan grinned, enjoying her fluster. “Anytime, darlin’. Anytime.”
Marie sent him a look that spoke volumes. She wasn’t happy. He was surprised to find that he didn’t really care. Sure, he loved Marie, loved her like she was his very own family, but her approval or disproval of his women was not something he sought.
He paused on that thought. Was Ororo his woman? Did he want to go there? Did she? She had seemed at ease with him in the kitchen. There was no lingering awkwardness from the night before. Subtle tension, sure, but not discomfort. He shrugged internally. It was what it was. Whatever it was. He wasn’t one to reflect too hard on things best left alone. Instinct was his guide and he’d rely on that where Storm was concerned.
Hank studied the papers contained within the file that Alicia had handed him with dawning horror. “You’re certain?” he asked her, his normally booming voice whisper soft.
She nodded, her face grim. “The original Kelly files went missing shortly after Trask resigned. I happened to have copies.”
Hank didn’t ask her how she got the copies. Alicia was known for getting her hands on information in a number of ways, many of them illegal and most unpleasant. He admired her ability to do her job so well, and respected her enough not to delve into areas she would rather he didn‘t.
With a calculating eye, Henry scanned several of the ideas Senator Kelly had outlined in his files. Many of them were downright terrifying, but none more so than the mutant internment camps and capture protocols written in the Project Wideawake files. Henry flipped the page, his brows furrowed. “It skips.”
Alicia nodded. “There are six pages that we never acquired. I believe that Senator Kelly and his associate Peter Gyrich had another secure location for their files. I’m sorry, Henry.”
He shook his head, dismissing her apology. “No need to be, my love. You’ve done more than enough. You‘ve given me an idea as to what we‘re up against.”
Alicia shuddered, moving towards Henry, allowing him to see her vulnerability, taking comfort in his strong arms as he set the folders down and gathered her close. “God only knows what Kelly had in those missing files. What he left behind is bad enough. I can’t imagine what he was hiding,” Alicia whispered. After a long pause she asked the question she truly feared the answer to, “Do you think Trask has them?”
Henry kissed the crown of her head. “Yes.”
Alicia closed her eyes. Normally the coolest head in a situation, her fear angered her, yet she was helpless to stop it. Bolivar Trask had trained her. She knew how determined and hard he could be. And how ruthless. If he believed Henry was an obstacle he would do everything in his power to remove him. “I love you,” she whispered.
Henry, surprised by her admission repeated it back. “And I you, Alicia.”
She stepped back. “Which makes what I’m about to say so hard.”
He tensed. “What is it.”
Alicia swallowed the lump forming in her throat and took a breath. “I can’t come to New York with you. Not yet.”
“Alicia--”
“No, Hank.” She shook her head adamantly. “If there is something going down I need to be on top of it, so I can keep you on top of it.”
“It’s just as dangerous for you as it is for me.” He countered.
“Not really.” She reached out, touching his face, stroking the thick fur of his sideburns. “Only a select few know I’m a mutant, Henry. You, on the other hand, stand out like a big, blue sore thumb.”
She had a point. But he wasn’t ready to relent just yet. “Did Bolivar know?”
“Honestly…” she paused, not wanting to worry him. He probably did. The man seemed to know everything, but she wasn‘t sure. “I don’t know.”
“I don’t like this.” Henry stated flatly.
“I know.”
They were both quiet. Alicia spoke first, changing the subject. “Have you told Storm about your soon to be houseguest?”
Hank shook his head. “Not yet. I am not entirely certain as to how to broach the topic.”
“You’ll figure it out.”
“Your faith is comforting. I don‘t suppose you would care to be the one to break the news.”
She laughed. “And risk a lightning bolt to the head. No thanks.”
“I hate to drop too much on her at once. Ororo’s plate is rather full.”
“Are you going to tell her about Trask and the files?”
“In good conscience I cannot keep that information from her.” He sighed, feeling infinitely weary. From the day he had left Xavier’s all those years ago, Henry had been fighting on the political front for mutant rights; facing more than his fair share of hatred and bigotry, but never in his career had he felt as trapped by his station as he did now.
Bolivar, intentionally or not, had backed Henry into a tight little corner. The X-Men, for all intents and purposes, were UN police agents, not the freelance activists they had once been. This limited the scope of what could be allowed by them, at least for the time being. The thought of murder or any other criminal charges brought against the X-Men made Hank justifiably cautious. He needed more concrete knowledge about what Bolivar was up to.
“I am going to ask Trask to meet with me.” Henry said.
“Are you sure that’s wise?” Alicia asked. “You may lose any leverage you have if he knows you are looking into him. Besides, he may not agree to meet with you if he is up to something.”
“I don’t believe that will be the case. Bolivar is a very confident man, bordering on arrogance. He will meet with me if for no other reason than to let me know he does not fear me.”
“I don’t like it.” Alicia moved away from Henry, locking the door. She turned back to him, unbuttoning her blazer.
Henry swallowed as she pulled the pins from her hair, shaking out the dark brown bun coiled at her nape. “What are you doing?” he asked.
She smiled at him. She had a beautiful smile. “You’re an astute man.” She began working on her button up shirt. “Surely you can tell when you are being seduced.”
“Alicia.”
“Hush.” She shrugged, her shirt dropping to the floor. She reached for his hands.
Henry chuckled ruefully. “You are just trying to keep me from debating you.”
She blinked innocently. “Is it working?”
“Hell yes.” Henry crushed her to him.
They made love as if they were on the deck of the Titanic. Frantic, hurried, passionate, and above all with a sense of impending doom.
Dusk found Ororo watching Logan from the control room turret as he ran himself through yet another Danger Room session. He was, as usual, not in uniform, instead running through the virtual woods in a torn tank and dirt stained jeans. His arms glistened with a sheen of perspiration as he paused, scenting the air, tracking.
He was more at home in the Danger Room’s hostile environment than he seemed to be in the mansion at the best of times. Ororo couldn’t help but question the kind of life he must have had to make violence his comfort.
She wondered if he had ever really known gentleness, tenderness…love.
Absently her hand reached up, her fingertips touching the spot in which he had kissed her in the kitchen. She felt an alarming flutter in her stomach. That small peck did more to her heart than their entire night of passionate sex.
Sex could be dismissed as craving, as lust, as momentary insanity. Affection, on the other hand, especially when given in the broad light of day was not so easily set aside. She cared for Logan a great deal, always had, and made no secret of that. Logan knew she would be there for him whenever he needed her. She was his friend, as he was hers.
That friendship had been cemented after Alcatraz. They had learned to rely on one another. Count on each other. And be vulnerable for one another. She had watched him mourn for Jean and he had forced her to face her anger. She knew that no matter what the future held, as uncertain as it was for all of them, that she and Logan had a bond that was forged through fire, stronger than tempered steel.
She was also certain that their bond would be tested, by events and by each other. She just wasn’t sure what that meant for them in the long run. Teammates, certainly. Friends, assuredly. More…? She didn’t know. And not knowing was the worst part.
“Storm?” Kitty’s voice carried over the intercom.
“Yes, Kitty?”
“You, uh…may want to go see who’s sitting in your office.”
Something in the girl’s tone made Ororo alert. “Who is it?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
Ororo sighed. She had no interviews scheduled today so whoever it was, was an uninvited guest. “On my way.”
Kitty was right. She wouldn’t have believed her.
Ororo stared at the woman standing idly in her office as though she owned the place with a mixture of curiosity and anger. Raven Darkholme, better known to the X-Men as Mystique, stood in front of the bookcase, one red tipped finger tracing the well worn spine of Moby Dick--one of Charles’ favorites. Her short black skirt and lengthy heels accentuated her sculpted legs. She was certainly attractive, as she had been even with her blue skin and blood red hair. It was impossible not to notice Raven, and the woman knew it.
The new arrival turned, sensing she was no longer alone and sent Ororo a chill smile.
“What are you doing here?” Ororo demanded, her hackles up.
Raven’s smile widened, her ruby red lips parting to reveal perfect white teeth. Her eyes, once a golden glow, now a pale blue, sparkled with dark mirth. “I was invited.”
Ororo couldn‘t believe she had heard her right. “Oh, hell no.”
Raven inclined her head, still amused. “You don’t believe me?”
“Get out.”
“So inhospitable. I thought Xavier’s policy was that all mutants were welcome here.”
Ororo stood, holding the door open impatiently, allowing ice to coat her tone, throwing down the words most likely to hurt. “You are no longer a mutant. And even if you were, you would not be welcome here.”
“Ororo?” A familiar baritone called out. Henry strode through the doorway, his gaze on Raven. If he was surprised he didn’t show it. His lack of surprise was verified a moment later. “Mystique. You’re early.”
Ororo tilted her head, her eyes glowing white, a precursor to some rather nasty repercussions if someone didn’t start explaining. “What the hell is going on here, Hank?”
“I had hoped to have a chance to explain the situation to you before Mystique’s arrival,” he began. “She was not supposed to arrive here until the end of the week.”
“Explain what?” Ororo demanded. Thunder rumbled.
“I’m a protected citizen.” Raven’s smile was acid sweet. “It’s your job to keep me safe.”
Ororo’s teeth ground together. “What is she talking about?”
Henry sighed, realizing he wasn’t going to have an opportunity to get Ororo gradually adjusted to the idea. “As a key witness in the federal case against Magneto, Mystique has been granted immunity from prosecution, and also given ‘round-the -clock protection as directed by the UN office of Mutant Affairs.”
Ororo looked ready to punch him in the face. “What?”
“She approached us,” Henry began, regretting that he had not approached Ororo with the news of Mystique’s arrival sooner.
“I don’t care.” Ororo cut in. “She is not staying here.”
He looked sincerely apologetic. “I’m sorry, Ororo, but she must. Her testimony will be too valuable.”
“I don’t believe this.” Thunder cracked, shaking the windows. Ororo took a calming breath. She knew her friend well enough to know that he hadn‘t intentionally deceived her, and that if Mystique was indeed staying at the Mansion, then Henry had his reasons. She didn’t like it, but she would accept the situation--for now.
“You do what you have to do, Hank.” She gave Raven a pointed look. “Just know that I will protect my students from anyone I perceive as a threat to them. By any means necessary.”
Hank nodded once. “Understood.”
Ororo strode forward, facing Raven. “You so much as blink in a manner I don’t like, and I will make you sorry.”
“Touchy little thing, aren’t you?” Raven asked, unconcerned. It was her very nature to push people and she was certainly going to enjoy antagonizing the weather witch. She brushed past Storm and out the door, intentionally buffing shoulders. Her voice carried to them from the hall. “So which room is mine? I do hope it’s somewhere near Wolverine’s…”
Ororo gave Hank an exasperated look. “She’ll be lucky if I don’t clobber her by this evening.”
Hank chuckled. “Your restraint is admirable.”
Ororo crossed her arms over her chest. “We’ll see.”
“Thank you.” He touched her shoulder. “I know what a predicament I am placing you in-”
“Forget it,” she waved her hand. “I trust your judgment, Hank. I don’t trust her.”
“Truth be told, neither do I, however, I do not believe she is still in contact with Magneto.”
Ororo didn’t appear appeased by that. “Mystique has always been dangerous in her own right. What‘s the old adage about leopards and spots...”
“Yes, but the good news is that this leopard can no longer change her spots.”
Ororo sent Hank a look. “That’s what I am afraid of.”
