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Ororo handled the controls of the Blackbird from her seat in the cockpit like they were an extension of her hand. Beside her, Hank eyed the coordinates in the navigation system and checked the Doppler radar’s display, making minute sounds in his throat. Logan was content to stay in the back of the jet, firmly buckled in as another wave of turbulence buffeted the hull. He enjoyed flying as much as a root canal; he could swear sometimes that Ororo pulled more stunts behind the wheel of the ‘Bird just for his benefit when he pissed her off. Ororo wisely kept any snide cracks to herself this time, sensing he wanted to be alone with his thoughts. Every now and again, he watched her, enjoying the low evening sunlight illuminating her delicate profile and setting her hair ablaze. A fella could still look…

And he liked what he saw, even if her expression was still pensive and moody from their impromptu meeting at the breakfast table two days ago. Her hair was slowly growing back from the drastic haircut that he’d grudgingly admitted suited the shape of her face, but it was satisfying to see the thick, silvery waves almost long enough to brush her shoulders now…

…and of course, she caught him lookin’.

“You all right back there, Wolverine?”

“Fine ‘n dandy, Boss,” he drawled, even though it was a lie. His knuckles itched with the urge to break something. Something big that could say “Ouch.” Another Sentinel robot? Nope. Juggernaut? Yep, little warmer. Sabertooth? Yeah, big enough, nasty enough, ugly enough, and he’d picked the wrong two women in his life to mess with. If that didn’t make him worthy of opening a fresh can of whoop ass, he didn’t know what did.

The same sickening twist in his gut from his previous flight to Alkali was back again, and it brought a throbbing in his temples along with it. A flutter dipped from his stomach all the way into his groin as Ororo began their descent. The turbines shrieked, cutting through the clouds as his view of the sky turned white, then the mottled blue of sunset the closer they came to the lake’s shores. Ororo set the ‘Bird down in the clearing that still held the impressions in the ground from their previous trip. The sight of the burn marks in the ground unsettled her.

“Feels like we’re stuck in a rut, can’t stay away from this damned place.”

“We may be able to wrap this up quickly, depending on what we find,” Hank cajoled, although his mind was already on its divergent path, contemplating the other kinds of samples they could study, where to set up his equipment on the lake’s perimeter, whether they could tunnel their way into the compound…

“We’ll do what we can with whatever we find, to the extent that we can on one trip for now, my friend,” Ororo declared, shuttering any ideas of an extensive stay before Hank could voice them. She wasn’t a psychic, but Logan was projecting anxiety that raised the hairs on her nape in silent alarm, and it wouldn’t do to add resentment toward Hank, or her, to what he was feeling now. He’d been through enough.

Hank followed with a metal carrying case of tools and scanners slung over his beefy shoulder, made more difficult to balance by the stiff leather of his uniform. He’d balked at Ororo’s suggestion that they commission him a new suit, arguing that he wasn’t on active duty often enough to warrant something that costly that wouldn’t get frequent use, particularly with his duties as instructor and as part of Homeland Security. The President had his phone number on speed dial, which didn’t leave much time for off-the-cuff missions at the drop of a hat. This, however, was personal. Scott Summers was his first, closest friend, and one of the first people to accept him after his mutation altered him so drastically.

Ororo and Logan followed the path they had taken before, and Logan’s stride slowed, buffering the sounds of his footfalls out of instinct. For reasons he couldn’t explain, Hank felt himself gathering a sense of wrongness about the surrounding woods.

“Place don’t smell right,” Logan snarled. Okay, that was bad, Hank decided.

“Elaborate, Wolverine.”

“Okay. It smells wrong. I can smell the lake. I can still smell the rubble,” he offered, “but where’s the wildlife? Squirrels, possum, birds, anything crawling on two feet or four, I can’t smell…” his voice trailed off. “Shit.”

“What?” Ororo eyed Logan carefully as she came to a halt. “What’s the matter, Wolverine?”

“Can’t be.” His nostrils flared, and his pupils dilated in response to the scent. Denial rang like a bell through his head.

“Can’t be what?”

“Not what. Who.” Logan rubbed his face with his gloved palm to clear his vision before he stared at Ororo, almost frightening her. “I’m pickin’ up a live scent, recent, of someone who oughta be dead. Scent should be cold, even gone like he was never here. It’s been too damned long.”

“Scott?” He shook his head.

“Uh-uh. I wish. We never found any blood, any flesh or bone fragments when Jeannie…y’know.” He didn’t wanna go there. Ororo nodded for him to continue, but he saw the faint tightening of her lips, revealing her tension. “Those are tangible clues that I could pick out about One-Eye, if they were here.”

“What are your senses telling you now?”

“That we left unfinished business here at this goddamned compound when Jeannie tossed us out of the path of that dam. Back when I grabbed Artie and the kids and loaded ‘em into the jet, I heard Stryker calling out ta me. Desperate, mad as hell, and beggin’ me ta make a deal. Mags tied him to his own ‘copter with a length of steel chain an’ left him ta die.”

“What did he offer you?” Hank inquired, his voice thoughtful, lacking any judgment. He understood bargaining; he worked for the government.

“My past. My history. The Weapon X Project files explaining who I was before these,” he replied. SNIKT. He exposed his gleaming length of razor-sharp claws for emphasis. “I was born with the ability ta heal myself, that much makes me a mutant. These made me a weapon. Stryker’s the only sonofabitch alive who knows how it happened. Or so he says, but no one else has come out of the woodwork, claimin’ any different or offerin’ me any clues on a silver platter.”

“Stryker’s dead. There’s no way he could have survived.”

“That’s what we said about Jeannie.” SNAKT. “She fixed the Blackbird and protected herself in a bubble. She could hear our thoughts and shove us out of harm’s way. Who’s ta say she didn’t do the same with that bastard?”

“Oh, my stars and garters,” Hank murmured. “I…I hate to agree with his theory, Storm, but he has a point.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Blue.”

“Give me a moment, Wolverine,” Hank rumbled. “We didn’t have any physical sign of Scott except for his goggles when you brought them back, until we examined the fragments. By the same token…you never found Stryker’s body on your last journey here?”

“We weren’t looking for it, Henry.” Ororo’s tone was matter-of-fact, but Logan rankled with the realization that yes, he hadn’t been on top of his game that day not to have looked. Even if it was only to satisfy himself that the bastard was gone, that his taunting voice would quit invading his sleep.

“You didn’t catch his scent then, yet you can sense him now?” Hank was incredulous.

“You got a pretty good sense of smell, Blue?”

“It’s enhanced by my mutation, yes,” he allowed, drawing himself up.

“If ya had been here that day when we brought the kids home, and when we lost Jeannie, ya’d have a clue of the guy’s scent, and ya’d smell that funny little tang of sourness and metal. He wore it like a cologne.” He didn’t want to spout clichés, but the guy smelled like evil. “It’s all over this place. Even on this trail. Let’s go.”

“Excuse me?”

“Let’s head over to the lake. And if we have time, let’s hit the compound. Storm?”

“Yes, Wolverine?”

“Didja pack a drill?”

“There’s one on the jet, and a laser-guided excavating tool that Hank was tinkering with,” she replied, nodding proudly to Hank.

“Good. Before this trip is over, we’re gonna get our hands dirty. Call Petey, when ya get a chance, Storm. We may need him to watch the kids a little longer, and ya may wanna switch places with him once we need his muscle.”

They made their way to the lake shore, and notice that there were still pebbles and leaves drifting randomly above the water and sandy banks. Logan surveyed the outcroppings of rock and continued to follow his nose. Hank still couldn’t pick out the scent that Logan had described, but he had no point of reference. Logan’s unease was contagious. Hank fidgeted uncomfortably in his uniform jacket, but part of that was due to its crude fit, he supposed.

Logan continued to kick himself as he thought back to their last trip. Once Storm called out to him from where she was crouched over Jean’s limp body, that had been the end of the search, for Scott, or for any other signs of foul play. His sight, his smell, every one of his senses was locked on her, filled with her presence as he reeled from the miracle of finding her all in one piece. He’d been too thunderstruck to notice the look of apprehension and fear mingled with Ororo’s relief, furrowing those snowy brows. She was tense and silent the entire way home once they strapped Jean in and radioed the Professor of their return, and it had been an uneventful flight. No aerial dances or tricks, just a neat liftoff and the shortest, smoothest route home; her eyes glowed cerulean blue as she guided the controls, and Logan figured out that she was cleaving through the winds and updrafts that would have created any turbulence. He also knew she was doing it for Jean’s benefit, telegraphing how much she still cared about her best friend.

Her best friend. Damn, that had to have killed her, to lose someone as close to her as a sister. Now she was headmistress, with no Charles to lead the way, Scott to share the burden, or Jeannie to provide a shoulder to cry on or ear to bitch to. Poor baby.

The eerie lack of sound at the lake was broken by the clicking and snapping sounds of Hank unfastening his case and assembling his equipment. He worked quickly, without asking for assistance, and Logan guessed it was beyond the realm of his comprehension, anyway. Ororo’s eyes were glued to the water itself.

“The fog isn’t as thick as it was that day,” she observed to no one in particular. “It still doesn’t feel natural. More…charged. Something not of this earth, mingling with it.” She nodded to Logan. “It feels wrong.”

“Toldja.”

“Indeed, you did. Score one for Logan.” He suppressed a smirk; he was starting to like her, in spite of himself.

“I’m setting up the infrared scanner now, and I’m going to need some help positioning these around the lake,” Hank announced, beckoning for Ororo to come over. “If you can, my dear, could you fly this scanner over to that side of the shore?”

“I aim to please.” She took the scanner and the tripod stand and summoned a wind, lifting herself easily. She hovered several meters above the water, and Logan was taken by how graceful and effortless she made it look. She touched down on the opposite shore and set up the tripod, snapping the scanner into its slot and fastening the latches.

“Go ahead and turn it on, Storm!” Hank roared, giving her the thumbs-up signal to proceed. She waved back and hit the switch. The reddish beam of light reminded Logan of an ambulance flare as it arced back and forth in broad sweeps. The beams bounced harmlessly off of him and Hank as the next two scanners were rigged and activated in similar fashion. Ororo was already hovering back to retrieve the next one as Hank finished adjusting the settings.

“This is where it gets interesting,” he assured them. He held out a small control that looked a little like a Geiger counter and turned it on. Sure enough, it emitted a series of clicking noises as it measured the radiation and particles that Hank keyed it to detect.

“I’m picking up Scott’s power signature headed in this direction,” he muttered, beginning to walk in that direction, “right by that jetty.”

“Hnh. That’s where I found Scooter’s goggles,” Logan mused. Ororo, on the other hand, was too busy watching the scanners do their work, as the rays stirred the air currents, interrupting their normal energy patterns.

“It’s changing,” she whispered.

“What’s that, darlin’?”

“You can’t see it?”

“What’m I s’posed ta be seein’?”

“There’s a…static. Interference, if you want to call it that. That same odd energy that I’ve been feeling, it’s like a building storm, but I can’t sense thunder in the distance, or even the bite of lightning, ozone, any of what touches me when the sky opens up. Yes,” she decided, “it’s static.” She pointed to the rays. “Watch the beams as they cut in this direction, when the last of the sunlight intersects with the ray. You can see it. Particles of energy.” Logan knew that he’d think anyone else that told him that was nuts, so he concentrated on where she was pointing and took a good, hard look.

Tiny particles were dancing in the light, glowing the same incandescent red as Scott’s visor when he fired his blasts. Whoa.

“Now we have the piece de resistance,” Hank jibed, wanting to lighten the mood. “The samples were helpful enough to gather some empirical data. This, on the other hand, will help us gather what we can’t truly put our hands on.” He set out a broad, round disc of metal and pushed a button. The center of it swiveled open, revealing an array of flashing lights and indicators that took Logan to an unpleasant place.

“Shit. Looks like something outta Star Trek,” he grumbled. Fancy technical gadgets just triggered memories of that cold metal compound, the glassed-in observation cube, the tank…no. Hell, no. “What’s that thing for?”

“You know how those Swiffer commercials advertise that it’s a dust magnet? Think of this as the grand daddy of all Swiffer pads, set to attract concussive energy signatures, if you will.” Hank smiled at his own joke. Logan just grunted in his throat; Hank could have sworn he muttered something under his breath that sounded like “damned science geeks.” He was willing to let it go, for now…

“What’re we gonna do, vacuum him up and dig him out of the collection bag?”

“Of course not, Logan. Henry?” Ororo crossed her arms over her ribs and turned to Henry for a more accurate explanation.

“No. He’s right. We’re going to vacuum Scott up and dig him out of the collection bag. More or less. Except it’s a magnetic field,” he qualified, “not a bag.”

“How long do ya figure that’ll take?”

“I couldn’t begin to guess,” Hank admitted. “I’d planned on being here for at least a day or two for a proper observation and trial.”

“So do we just sit here and friggin’ twiddle our thumbs?”

“No,” Ororo said briskly, “we do more recon for that scent of Stryker that you found. Then, we pick up supplies.” Her tone was almost playful as she took to the air, shouting back “I’m in the mood to toast marshmallows.” This time Hank allowed himself to laugh out loud.

Two hours later, the sun had set, and Ororo and Logan returned to the Blackbird with the promised supplies. Hank had thoughtfully turned on the Blackbird’s flood lights to better illuminate the campsite, and to provide a better source of light that the red scanner beams, for the sake of their collective eyesight. Once again, Hank marveled that Scott could stand to see everything through a constant field of scarlet, every moment of every day, without going mad.

Logan indulged in some minor carnage, taking down three slender birch trees with his claws and chopping them into surprisingly neat logs and kindling for a campfire. Ororo watched him as he worked. Logan had shucked his leather uniform jacket, impervious to the autumn chill as he went to work, slashing his claws through the timber in smooth motions, reveling in the scrape of metal against wood. He ignored the bits of bark and chips that flew up into his face, nicking him and showering him with “sawdust.” Tiny cuts and scratches healed almost instantly, and splinters worked their way out before Ororo could offer her services with a needle and antiseptic from the medi-kit. “Got it covered, darlin’, so no thanks,” he bragged, smearing his forehead with dirt as he wiped away the sweat. Ororo got an eyeful of his broad chest, sweat slicked and covered in a fine mat of dark hair. Cords of wiry muscle rippled and contracted with his efforts, and Ororo summoned a light breeze to cool him. He felt the air currents sweeping over his tingling flesh and caught the flash of blue from her eyes as he sat against the remainder of the trunk. “This your doin’?”

“Mmm-hmm.” She gave him a little curtsy.

“Much obliged.”

“I can’t sit idly and let you do everything,” she demurred. This time her eyes flickered to the glowing white that indicated her powers were fully active, and Logan smelled the sizzle of electricity in the air before the lightning hit the small, neat pile of kindling and timber that Logan had already arranged. Logan nearly fell backwards over the stump with surprise, making Ororo giggle at the look on his face.

“Shit,” he muttered. He recovered himself and accused her “Ya did that on purpose.”

“Did not.”

“That’s all right. I’ll get my own back, just you wait, Sunshine.”

“Sunshine??”

“Hey, if the shoe fits…”

“It doesn’t. That makes me sound like some flower child dancing barefoot in the fields at Woodstock.”

“Thanks fer conjuring that mental image,” he grinned slyly.

“Wipe it from your head this instant,” she ordered.

“Nope. Now I’m imagining ya in a peasant skirt, daisy chains and rings on yer toes. Might even add a pair of those kooky John Lennon sunglasses fer good measure.”

“Stop! STOP! Henry, tell him to stop!” Ororo had her hands on her hips now, stalking over to her old friend as he continued to make adjustments to the readings.

“You can fight your own battles, young lady.” Hank raised one furry brow, and what passed for a smile with his leonine mouth made her want to tackle him. “I’m neutral, he has claws, and you could have worse nicknames than Sunshine. Like Beast,” he offered.

“I’m disappointed in you, Henry. After years of loyal, undying friendship, and you can’t defend my good name from slander and corruption!”

“Sunshine is a good name,” Logan argued, leering at her. “Now that I think of it, didn’t some of those folks at Woodstock dance nekkid in the fields every now and again?”

“Ooooooohhhh…to quote Jubilee, don’t make me go buckwild on your butt!”

“Gotta catch me first, Sunshine!” His hazel eyes mocked her, glinting with mischief as he took off into the silent woods, destroying the serenity as his boots crunched layers of dry leaves. He stifled his laughter unsuccessfully as Ororo gave chase. His night vision was one of his gifts, so she’d never catch him…

…unless she flew after him. Shit!

“You are SO dead,” she intoned from about ten feet above him, and he felt her winds at his back as he stomped through the thicket. She flew faster and closer, but he ducked and dodged with lightning quick reflexes, evading capture as he sucked the night air into his lungs. Now he was having fun!

“Children,” Beast grumbled in mock resignation as he took the readings from the scanner. His stomach rumbled, and he paused for a moment to peruse the bags of supplies that Logan and Ororo had picked up, delighted to find that Ororo remembered his Twinkies. Bless her little heart.

“Missed me, missed me, now ya gotta kiss me!” Logan chanted, forgetting when he’d last heard that rhyme, but it fit the moment.

“Sez who?” Ororo buffeted him with a wall of wind coming from every direction, disorienting him and impairing his hearing enough to throw his equilibrium.

“What the flamin’…AAACCCK!” He tumbled forward as Ororo’s arms pinioned him around the waist in an iron grip while she flung her entire weight “ accelerated by her winds “ at him. He took the brunt of the fall, to her glee, and they skidded at least five feet through the brush, leaving Logan with a bruised ego and a severe case of rug burn. “OOOF!

“Sunshine, huh? John Lennon glasses?” He was still on his stomach trying to push himself up, but he continued to lose his balance as she relied on the oldest dirtiest trick in the book and tickled him mercilessly.

“Ya…heeheehee, QUIT IT! Ya forgot…I’m warnin’ ya, darlin’…SHIT! Ya forgot NEKKID!” Sputtering cackles erupted from his lips as he gradually flipped himself over, rolling her onto her back with the momentum.

“No I didn’t forget,” she purred, and they continued to roll and struggle until she managed to work herself on top of him again, this time pinning his arms to his sides with her knees. Logan didn’t like the Cheshire cat grin on her face one bit…well, it was actually damned sexy, the way she made it. Then, to his horror, she yanked her glove off her hand, pulling it off with her teeth. Again, sexy but scary. The two of them were panting to regain their breath, and Logan’s pulse was hammering in his neck.

“What’re ya up to, Sunshine?”

“What else?” She sucked her index finger into her mouth and released it with an audible pop, again triggering the impression of her as “sexy, but scary,” not to mention WICKED, when she crowed “Wet WILLIE!” He thrashed his head back and forth to avoid her finger as it darted after his ear…and found the ever-sensitive canal.

“GAAAAH!”

“C’mon, who’s your Sunshine, now!” She gave her finger another lick and zapped him again, laughing in completely unladylike manner at his grimace of disgust.

“Shitshitshit…don’t DO that!”

“Are you kidding? I’m having a ball!” And she was. Logan was a kick in the pants.

“Ya owe me,” he growled.

“I owe you what? Another wet willie? Perhaps a purple nerple? Titty twister?”

“Yer merciless. And one sick puppy,” he accused. “Don’tcha dare.”

“How do you intend to stop me, Wolverine?”

That was her first mistake. His hazel eyes crinkled at the corners and flashed the silent message: Revenge!

His hips bucked upward, and his legs clamped around her arms, flipping her backward long enough for him to scramble for purchase on top of her this time. She lay on her back, struggling to get back the wind that he knocked out of her lungs.

“Animal,” she huffed. “That didn’t tickle.”

“Nope.” She wriggled beneath him, testing his grip for vulnerable spots. "Ya still owe me.”

“I owe you? Pffft. I owe you nothing,” she exclaimed.

“Wrong. I toldja earlier, ‘Missed me, missed me.’ Ya gotta pay up.”

“What…? Whoa. Oh, no. You wouldn’t dare…”

“Daring is what I’m best at, Sunshine. Unless ya’d prefer that purple nerple ya were threatenin’ me with…I can give as good as I get,” he purred. Her eyes were sparking their warning shade of blue. “Nope, no more dirty tricks!”

“Don’t make me, then.”

“That ain’t what I wanna make ya do.” He reached down to free some strands of hair that were tangled in her lashes from her impromptu tumble. “Matter of fact, I don’t wanna make ya do anything.” His touch was feather-light as he continued to “groom” her, picking a leaf from her silky hair. He licked the edge of his thumb “ Ororo cringed momentarily “ and wiped off a smudge of dirt on her cheek. “Yer a mess,” he remarked, his voice low and thoughtful.

“It’s all your fault. You don’t want to make me do anything; so what…” She tried to bring him back to his original topic, but he was distracting her. His solid, warm weight had a way of doing that.

“I want ya ta want this as much as I do.” He leaned forward, planting his palms on the ground on either side of her head, then slid his body down the length of hers until he was comfortably settled against her, molded to her soft curves.

“Wait…”

“Can’t,” he rasped, dipping his mouth to capture hers. His lips caressed hers and sampled her flavors. She gasped into his mouth for a brief second, her palms pushing against his chest in surprise at first, then relaxing to clutch at him, roaming his bare flesh and ropes of muscle. His lips stroked hers in a caress that made her ache, made her want, and she opened them for him to let him inside. Their tongues entwined and communed in a secret language that begged fluency by frequent practice. Ororo moaned, fanning the desire building in Logan’s gut at her touch, the wondrous feel of her squirming beneath him. Their legs were in a mad tangle, and Logan was momentarily grateful that the resilient leather wouldn’t show grass stains in the morning…

He came up for air just long enough to stare into her eyes and mutter “Payback.”

“Excuse me?”

“Got my payback. Missed me, missed me…now ya gotta kiss me.”

“I didn’t miss, I nailed you. And I nailed you good.” She was indignant in the face of such insolence…and his nipples were right there, easily within reach.

TWEAK!

“GAAAAH!”

“DO I HAVE TO SEPARATE YOU TWO??” Hank bellowed. They were out of his sight, but Logan’s shout told him that they were fine. And in need of a stint of detention once they got back, if he could even impose one on a fellow teacher and the headmistress himself. He heard a few more minutes of scuffling and an argument straight off the grade school playground before the two of them staggered back, both of their cheeks looking vaguely flushed.

“Am I the only adult here?” Hank inquired.

“Sure. Go back to yer Twinkies,” Logan griped, reaching into the bags for his beer. Ororo made her way onto the Blackbird to patch into the mansion’s communication system, radioing Peter to let him know their status. He grinned back at her from her monitor on the control panel when she admitted “we haven’t killed each other yet.” Not in any fashion that she could make look like an accident, at any rate. She shut off the connection after bidding Peter goodnight and then, shamefully, licked the taste of Logan from her lips.





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