The next two weeks brought mild weather (thanks in part to Sean Cassidy’s arrival to the Institute, relieving Ororo of her literature and history classes and quelling some the panic that usually brought cloudy skies) and an improvement in Scott’s mobility and spatial awareness. His first foray back into the students’ routine found him coming down to breakfast and practically knocked down in a flurry of hugs and questions. Engulfed in the snug knot of arms and smiles, Scott peeked over their heads to catch Hank and Ororo’s shared knowing look: Aren’t you glad you stayed? He still felt that empty pang whenever he went back to his and Jean’s suite at the end of the day and let his gaze roam over her belongings and the pictures; it was a work in progress. She still haunted his dreams: Beautiful, fierce, and crying out to him to save her. The first rays of sun across the horizon always reminded him of the halo of fire radiating out from her hair that afternoon at Alkali, and he felt that funny little ache inside.
He occupied himself at the school; teaching an ethics class that Ororo suggested and helping Hank make the needed upgrades to the campus security system and the Danger Room. Kitty found a willing fellow gearhead in Scott when she suggested he help her reinstall the GPS and communication software in the bikes and the Blackbird, and after hours, he found himself keeping more frequent company with Hank and Peter, playing the occasional game of billiards or chess and just enjoying “male bonding” that he often put aside while he was a “promised man.” He’d forgotten what good taste Hank had in alcohol, and they had a good laugh at how the brandy “helped his aim” as he re-learned how to line up his shots on the pool table without using his eye beams on the cue ball.
If he had to name the biggest fly in the ointment to his recovery, it was the headaches.
Just twinges, really. A little pain around the orbits of his eyes, like what you got from reading too-small print, that gradually shot to the back of his head and just sat there. His complaints to Hank elicited a raised eyebrow and being rolled into the cavernous scanner for an MRI and CT scan study.
“What’s the verdict, Doc?”
“You’re fit as a fiddle. I have one suggestion, though.”
“Lay it on me.”
“Start wearing your goggles again.”
“Come again?” Scott fixed him with a scowl as he sat up from the table.
“I’ve been going back over your file from when you first came to the school, Scott. The Professor made some eye-opening “ excuse the pun “ notations regarding your condition when you were released from the orphanage. Right before you left, you were taken to an ophthalmologist to study your vision and some headaches you were experiencing, correct?”
“Yeah. I kinda remember it. Vaguely, anyway.” He bowed his face a moment and pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling gustily through his nostrils. Hank saw the tightness around his mouth and tsked with concern. “What are you thinking, Hank?”
“Your eye doctor had marked your headaches up to vision changes, puberty, and all of the usual growing pains that an adolescent goes through, and he indicated that you were the first patient he’d ever encountered that he needed to prescribe the lenses for. He felt it was significant enough to indicate in your patient files that the headaches disappeared once you began using the lenses.”
“I hate them,” Scott grumbled. “There’s nothing else I can use in the meantime to help this?”
“It’s the most feasible solution I can come up with for now, Scott. There is so much we don’t know about your powers ““
“What’s there to know? I don’t have them anymore,” Scott snapped.
“You mean you haven’t accessed them since you returned,” Hank corrected him, leveling a sober gaze at his friend. “When you were younger, you had the headaches like this during a time when your powers were dormant, but slowly emerging. This isn’t something as mundane and uncomplicated as not wanting to admit you’re nearsighted for fear of wearing “geeky Coke bottle glasses,” Scott, it’s serious. Your powers may still exist. You may still be a mutant.”
“Or I might be normal for the first time in my life since the damned beams first tore everything apart, including my life. Hank…do you think I want to go back to that phase of my life? Being out of control? Wearing those damned glasses is like wearing a mask, Hank! It’s not just an ego thing. I’ve been called a Boy Scout all my life; d’ya think I care if anyone thinks I look geeky? The goggles…they hide the real me. No one can see my eyes behind them. You can tell a lot about a man by looking him in the eye, buddy. I’m tired of intimidating and freaking people out.” Scott’s shoulders were round and knotted with tension, and Hank literally sniffed out his sour mood.
“Sometimes it’s a necessary evil to take precautions like these, Scott. You know as well as I do how powerful you were. With one glance, you can punch a hole through a tank. This is a school. There are children running around these halls twenty-four seven. Every last one of them is a moving target if you don’t get over yourself and put the goggles back on.” Hank’s tone was sober and brooked no bullshit. “Children. Moving targets. This discussion is over.” Hank felt Scott’s stony glare on his back as he turned to tuck Scott’s file back into the cabinet. “Let me know if you need another pair of them commissioned any time soon.”
“I’ll manage,” Scott sighed, rubbing his nape and tugging futilely on the short, crisp waves of hair as if to scrub away the truth in Hank’s words. “I’m crippled again.”
“Only if you choose to see it that way. And the next time you try to tell me how hard it is to intimidate everyone all the time with the way you look…try being big, furry and blue, all right?” Hank shot him a sympathetic smile that Scott sheepishly returned. “C’mon, man, let’s go upstairs and eat. And clear your schedule for the next few hours.”
“Why?”
“We’re taking Peter’s suggestion to see the latest art exhibit at a museum that he recommended. A Buddhist traveling troupe is in town creating a gorgeous sand painting on the main floor. It’s only fair that one of the last things you see without the damned goggles is something beautiful and unique.”
“Maybe just a brief look. I kinda had something else in mind, preferably in high heels and a g-string,” he winked, chuckling at Hank’s dumbfounded expression. “Remember what I said about intimidating people, Hank? That includes ‘beautiful and unique’ visions spinning down poles at this bar that Logan once recommended. Might not have to tip so heavily if they quit mistaking me for some anonymous pervert in kooky glasses.” He wiggled his eyebrows wickedly for emphasis, making Hank realize that he would miss that gleam in Scott’s eye.
“I’ll just dust off my image inducer; the exhibit closes at eight!” Hank clapped Scott on the shoulder as they made their way into the elevator.
The kitchen was already noisy and heavily occupied as Kitty tiptoed through squirming students, lifting the plates up to her chest to avoid dropping them as she had near misses bumping into everyone. Peter resumed his customary perch by the stove, lading up chicken noodle soup and pulling loaves of fresh garlic bread from the oven. Scott took in the scuffle with a wistful look.
“I’m gonna miss this.”
“You won’t miss anything.”
“It was really neat being able to see everyone the way they look now, Hank. Eye colors, hair colors, skin tones, all the little gradients and hues that don’t mean much when everything is just different shades of red.” He spoke in a hushed murmur, as though everything were unfolding before him in slow motion, and Hank was a fellow spectator to what he was seeing. “It’s just…a luxury, seeing everything through new eyes. I hate to give it up.” Jimmy strolled by and smiled widely at him, his crystal blue eyes full of satisfaction when he noticed that his new favorite teacher came to join them for the afternoon meal. Scott briefly waved hello, noticing that the faint twinge of a headache that he felt coming on again vanished as quickly as it came as Jimmy nudged past him to get some juice. Hope briefly flared in his chest…only to be dashed just as quickly.
What was he going to do, walk around with Jimmy tied to him all day like they were in a three-legged race? He stifled a laugh as he pictured Marie taking the same tack, for similar reasons. Yup. The goggles, as Hank explained, were the only feasible solution to the problem.
New York City, Stryker Building, former headquarters of the Evangelical Stryker Crusade:
“Let’s go over this again. You’ve made excellent progress, my dear. I just want to make sure you’re ready.” Stryker sat back in his tilting swivel chair and stared across his desk at his brooding charge.
“My name is Jean. Jean Grey.”
“Doctor Jean Grey,” he corrected her. “What specialty?”
“Genetics and physiology.” He nodded briefly in accord.
“Where do you live?”
“Here,” she replied dispassionately.
“This is your temporary home; tell me where you really live, Doctor Grey.”
“At a school.” Her bottle green eyes burned with something akin to rebellion as she continued to parcel out fragments of the answers he demanded.
“A school for what?”
“Gifted youngsters. That’s what it’s called in the morning paper,” she clarified. Stryker’s nostrils flared in annoyance, and he saw the faint hint of a smile quirk in the corner of her mouth. The Delilah was toying with him. The smile never reached full fruition; her eyes shuttered, small furrows appearing between her brows as she lifted her hand to massage her temple in discomfort. She met his gaze again, shooting him a surprised look. “Jason went there,” she murmured, so low that he almost didn’t hear her.
The effect on him was like being slapped across the chops.
“Never, ever say that name to me, wicked woman! I won’t tolerate it, do you understand me?” His face was twisted and savage as he leapt up from his seat, nearly tipping it over as it was relieved of his weight, and Jean could see the whites of his eyes and a faint fleck of spittle spray from his lips with the sanction. BANG! “Do you hear me?!” Jean felt as well as heard the hollow-sounding echo of his fist banging against the old desk, hammering the point home.
“Yes,” she muttered. His breathing pattern momentarily settled itself, and he leaned forward on the heels of his hands, staring intently at her. There was caution scribbled over her features, but not fear. He really needed to remedy that, and quickly.
The old headquarters had seen better days. The building was previously a towering hive of activity, but the dissolution of his crusade, once more widely celebrated and followed than Billy Graham’s, had led to a large portion of the building’s top floors being sealed off or leased to other business tenants. His former chauffeur, a devout follower, eagerly provided him with security codes and a pass key into his old office and a means of coming in through the basement entrance. It wasn’t a multi-million dollar research and development complex with corporate funding, granted, but it would have to do. Stryker placed furtive, encrypted calls to Lord Darkwind’s legal contacts, and was appalled when his administrative assistant abruptly informed him that his previous attorney who drew up his will and executed it died a grisly death; his body was found disemboweled and hanging from the rafters of his cabin in the Rockies two days after Stryker and Jean made their escape from Oyama Heavy Industries via private jet. His gut twisted itself in knots when he terminated the call.
Yuriko was taking back her inheritance, with a vengeance.
Stryker turned his attention back to Jean, her face a study of confusion and resentment.
“Time for your next dose,” he pronounced with forced cheer, reaching into his blazer pocket for the tiny zippered case. He extracted the tincture and moved behind her, grasping her by the crown of her head and tipping it forward. She grunted with the slightly awkward position, with her chin pressed tightly against her chest as he moved her thick hair aside and dribbled the clear narcotic liquid into the porous flesh of her nape, applying it to the round scar to absorb into her vessels. She winced, both at the burning sensation and beneath the faint echo of his angry thoughts.
The most she could stand was to skim the surface, picking up occasional impressions and random feelings. If she delved any deeper, she was thrown into the melee and cacophony of too many voices, enveloping her…making her forget whose thoughts were hers…
It was absolutely maddening. If she gave an inch, they took miles and miles. So she shut the door. At least for the moment.
Stryker circled her chair, peering into her eyes, watching them adopt the slightly milky green hue that indicated the successful absorption of the drug.
“Let’s run through the basic things again, just as a precaution. Who gave you the ring?”
“Scott. A teacher.” She paused, licking her dry lips as she stared off vacantly, focusing on the grimy office window behind him. “An X-Man.”
“A mutant,” he added.
“Yes.” It hurt to think too hard; it was so much easier to agree. Her hand crept up to twist a lock of hair around and around her finger, just to have something to do.
“And therefore, a sinner. A sinner who must die.”
A heartbeat-long pause followed, before her ripe, tourmaline pink lips murmured “Yes” once more. Visions of a chiseled, saturnine face came to her, making her shiver. A sinner.
The quizzing continued for the next half-hour until Jean rattled off the answers he expected with remarkable precision. He dug in his blazer pocket for the tiny slimline phone and snapped it open, barking into it that they were ready now for the next phase. Jean’s face was faintly bewildered as two men clad in white labcoats smiled blandly and took her by the elbows, leading her out of Stryker’s dismal office suite. Stryker turned away to stare out at the cityscape, shivering for a moment within the warm space when he felt a faintest brush of her thoughts reaching out to his.
Why are you doing this to me?
He shook it off.
Westchester County, back at the School for Gifted Youngsters:
“That all ya got, Tin Man?” Logan drawled, assessing Peter’s neat bank shot that sent the red striped seven ball into the left side pocket. Peter smirked easily at him as he ground the tip of his pool cue into the blue block of chalk, pursing his lips to blow off the excess.
“Still my turn. Don’t write me off yet.” He lined up his next shot, mentally crossing his fingers, but his good gris-gris wore off, no matter how hard he wished on the shot. The green striped ball bounced off the corner bracket of the table. Logan grinned.
“Looks like yer buyin’ the beer tonight at Harry’s, bub,” he chuckled, sinking his next three shots. He was just lining up the eight ball when two new scents in the doorway of the study tickled his nose. His hackles went up when he recognized one of them as Scott’s. He didn’t look up from his shot even when he heard his and Hank’s respective footsteps approach. Peter shot them an engaging smile.
“Here comes the cavalry,” Peter joked. “You two just saved me from losing my shirt in another pool game. Logan’s on fire tonight.”
Logan cocked an eyebrow at his opponent, who was already making good his escape, reaching for the brown leather bomber jacket he’d laid over the arm of the poker chair in the game room earlier. “Wuss,” he muttered under his breath.
“Don’t be a party pooper, Wolverine,” Hank suggested, running a clawed hand over his hair, smoothing the unruly indigo waves. “Join us. We’re planning to paint the town red.” Behind him, Scott ruffled and bristled uncomfortably, his lips tightening around the corners on the heels of Hank’s invitation. Scott and Logan had given each other a wide berth, and Bobby had joked that it wasn’t him making the air colder when those two occupied the same space.
“What’s goin’ on?” Logan inquired politely, chafing Hank slightly as he re-racked the balls and shuffled them along the surface of the slick green felt before neatly lifting off the triangle. He laid it on the rim of the table and lined up the cue ball, looking for all the world like a man who didn’t plan on budging from his perch for the rest of the night. Peter shrugged more deeply into his bomber jacket, clearly tense.
“Art exhibit. Sand paintings. A little highbrow entertainment,” Hank announced silkily.
“Eh.”
“Might partake of a little liquid refreshment.”
“Got a case of Molson in the fridge. Think I’m good.” He wasn’t in the mood to act flattered that “the cool kids” invited him to their kegger while their parents were out of town, thank you very much. His friendships with the veteran members of Charley’s fledgling class were still tentative and a work in progress at best. He didn’t give his trust easily or quickly.
The only one of ‘em who’d given him reason to open up at him at all was still pissed off and sulking outside, planting the last of her fall bulbs and plotting his death. He stifled a sigh, wishing she’d stuck around the steam room long enough to see if her tiny bikini looked equally sexy lying in a heap on the floor.
“Want us to bring back any souvenirs? We were headed to that trendy little bar in the city opening up down the block from Harry’s,” Peter grinned.
“What, that little yuppie juice bar and champagne lounge?” Just thought of it made his sac shrivel between his legs.
“Nope. Down on the other block. Skintights,” Hank chirped, his expression cajoling Logan that yes, he did too know the place, so quit shamming. A light went on in Logan’s hazel eyes for a moment, before he recovered himself. His glance skittered over Scott for a millisecond. Scott was studiously ignoring him, but he could tell by the set of his shoulders and the way he hovered on the periphery of the room that he was interested in his answer.
“That’s a tittie bar,” he muttered, meeting Hank’s amused gaze.
“Fancy that. It is,” he replied innocently. “I prefer the term ‘gentlemen’s establishment,’ but sure, let’s go with that.” Hank reached into his pocket and rummaged until his hand emerged, brandishing a tiny, gleaming device with a flashing red light. He depressed the button, filling the gaming room with a low thrum.
“What the flamin’ hell “ HANK?!?!” Logan backed away from the pool table, throwing his hand over his eyes to protect them from the stark blast of white light that bathed Henry, picking out his fur in a blinding blue glow that gradually shimmered and shifted. The light swelled, then dimmed, changing to a rosy gold before it finally receded…
…revealing a, olive-skinned, saturnine-looking man with intelligent dark blue eyes and short black hair, adjusting his spectacles and smoothing his lapel before he placed the device back into his pocket. Scott and Peter stood gaping at the stranger in their midst, stunned to hear him chuckling with Henry’s voice.
“What do you think? Be honest,” Hank urged. “Too tall? Too chunky? Should I be going a little more ‘boy band singer’ or ‘Wall Street stock trader?’ Does this say ‘dashing’ or ‘desperate?’”
“What did you do to yourself?” Scott drew closer, circling him and staring at the change, taking in the mute details. Just to satisfy his curiosity, he reached out and stroked Henry’s cheek.
“Still furry,” Scott remarked, snatching his hand away.
“Of course. Still the same old lovable genetic physicist underneath these fancy trappings. This is a solid light inducer. That young Sage is as much as a prodigy with electronics and software as our Shadowcat; isn’t she something? She worked with me on the most recent upgrades to the Danger Room, and derived this from the same technology.”
“’Kay. So ya look like any other Tom, Dick or Scooter,” Logan reasoned out loud, feeling the diluted scowl that Scott shot him boring into his back, “but what happens when someone cozies up to ya and gets all touchy-feely?” Logan’s nose confirmed for him that Hank’s transformation was indeed only cosmetic; he could smell the distinctive, musky tang of his fur that was his “signature scent.”
“I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it,” he huffed, straightening his shirt cuff. “We still can’t persuade you to join us?”
“Naw. Go ahead. Yer already all gussied up an’ ready t’go. I ain’t in a social mood. Feel like punishing a few more pool balls before I turn in.” Hank and Peter waved their goodbyes to Logan’s back. Logan counted their retreating footsteps and realized that there were only two sets.
“What’re ya waitin’ for, Summers?” Logan lined up his next shot, studiously ignoring Scott as he leaned his backside against the billiard table’s bumper. “Party train’s pulling outta the station without ya.”
“I’ll catch the next one.” He leveled a searching look at his one-time teammate, crossing his arms across his chest in a protective gesture before he could stop himself. “Hank told me what you did at Alcatraz.” Logan’s hands paused a moment before he drew back his cue, treating Scott once again to his patented quirked brow. “I know how Jean died.”
Logan straightened up and stepped back from the table, drilling the cue’s handle into the marble floor as he leaned on it like a walking staff. He briefly weighed the possible ways of dealing with this new revelation, after he’d been avoiding it the past few weeks:
A) He could play dumb. Distract him with some beer. Nope. Coward’s way out.
B) He could nudge him out the door to follow Hank and Peter.
C) He could just take it on the chin. Least he could do…wasn’t it?
D) He could get good and defensive and make an ass out of himself.
“Whaddya want me ta say, Scooter?” His hackles were up and twitching as Scott’s tension leeched off of him and doused Logan full-strength; they stared each other down like two alpha males competing for dominance of the pack. “I’m sorry. I know it ain’t enough, bub. That don’t even begin ta make it right…it ain’t like I can make it up to ya.”
“No shit. Taking a life isn’t just something you ‘make up for,’ Wolverine.”
“I know that. And I can’t take it back.” Heaven only knew, he’d taken a few. He was slightly surprised when he felt a small tug on the back of his pool cue, stilling it as he levered it back for his next shot. Scott retrieved another stick from the rack hanging against the wall and chalked it carefully.
“I want stripes.”
“Suit yerself.” Logan grunted under his breath; Scott hadn’t phrased it as a request. That was new. Scott sized up the possibilities before making a sweet little trick shot, sinking the nine and thirteen balls neatly and with little effort. “Not bad.”
“Easier when I used a low-powered blast to line up the cue ball. Doesn’t mean I forgot my basic geometry. Not like we live in a school, or anything,” he reminded him, twisting Magneto’s taunt to his own purposes.
“Eh.” Logan watched Scott make his next shot, then scratch by nicking Logan’s four ball, nudging it into the right side pocket.
“They can’t all be winners,” he mused.
“Where’s the fun in that?” Logan took another pull from his beer, savoring the cool bite of hops. Four bottles through the case found him enjoying this one as much as the first.
“What did she say, Logan?” He’d been about to take another sip of Molson when Scott’s low voice, tinged with a hint of bitterness, made the bottle hang halfway to his mouth. “When she…what did she say to you?” He winced at Scott’s inability to say the words. When she died. When you killed her.
“Scooter…” Despite the drinks he’d already finished, his mouth went dry. He tried to school his expression but failed miserably.
“Quit calling me Scooter, damn it!” BANG! The bridge bruised the lip of the table bumpers as Scott slammed it down. “A little fucking respect. From day one, you blew in here, snarling at everyone, treating me like some amateur, like I was your chump? Huh?” He jerked the butt of the cue up into the air, lining up a shot where logan scratched and froze. CLAACCK! The clatter of enamel surfaces smacking together underscored his words. “You figured that a guy like me who follows the rules instead of playing the bad ass won’t take exception to you chasing my fiancée? Was it fun?” He white-knuckled his grip on the cue, and Logan couldn’t turn away from his eyes, which were dilated and rife with pain. “What did she say?” he repeated.
“She asked me if I’d die for them. She wasn’t the same Jeannie, bub. Ya don’t know the half of it. She was gonna take out Alcatraz just as an opener. The whole world was next. Ya weren’t there, Summers,” he reminded him, swallowing around a lump.
“Guess I was indisposed,” Scott snapped.
“Then I guess I gotta make ya understand, then. I was there, and what I saw “ shit, what I did “ is gonna haunt my sleep for the rest of my life, and it ain’t like I slept all that soundly ta begin with. Ya don’t wanna get inside my head. But during those last moments, Jeannie sure as hell did, and I hate what she had ta see. Ya wanna know what she said? She begged me ta save her. Not just at Alcatraz. When we brought her back here.” He nodded to the beer. “Ya might wanna sit down and have one of those,” he suggested, “cuz ya’ll need it.” Scott reached for one of the proffered beers and slapped the cap off of it using the table rim. He didn’t sit down, instead taking a gulp, keeping his eyes on Logan’s the whole time.
“Go on,” he demanded quietly.
“We brought her back here. Blue mighta already filled ya in. We found her the worse for wear at Alkali, unconscious and looking like death warmed over. Summers, all we found were yer friggin’ goggles. Do ya know what went through our heads? We came out there ta find ya, Summers. I won’t lie; when I think of Alkali, I’ll always remember that moment right before she threw us clear of the dam. I’ll always hear her voice in my head, tellin’ us all goodbye. But when we found her, and when I found nothing but yer glasses on the shore, I knew something wasn’t kosher, and ‘Ro knew it, too. She zipped her lip the whole ride home. The Professor couldn’t find yer thoughts; in light of the fact that there was no other physical sign of what happened to ya, what else could we do? And Summers, I’m gonna fess up. Jeannie and I talked, when she woke up in the infirmary. The Professor warned me about her. He’d already dug around in her head and found that other personality…”
“The Phoenix,” Scott muttered. Logan’s brows knitted themselves together in surprise.
“Hank?”
“No. I just know. The Phoenix was the last thing I saw before I…you know.” He waved his hand in a futile gesture, unable to explain it, and unwilling to try. “I felt her in my head. That’s what she called herself, in my thoughts.”
“I talked to her. The Professor warned me ta keep my distance and just to let him work on restoring mental blocks.” He couldn’t keep the anger out of his voice, and his body was rigid with the effort to stay calm. “I was pissed about that. I know a little something about mental blocks, and they ain’t pretty. It ain’t fun having someone tryin’ ta control yer mind, Summers.”
“I know,” he admitted. “Stryker, remember?”
“Yeah. I guess ya do, then. Summers, when I asked Jeannie about ya, and I tried ta get her ta tell me what she did to ya, she freaked. Petey fixed the big dent in the wall downstairs, so ya didn’t get ta see how big it was after she threw me into it. Red was pretty strong.”
“What did she say in the end? What were her last words?” He blew off Logan’s attempt at lightening the moment.
“She just looked me in the eye and smiled. She said ‘That’s better.’ She died right there in my lap, with this smile that I can’t get outta my head. It hurts, Summers. Back when ya left, ya didn’t want me ta tell ya that I knew how ya felt, losin’ Jeannie.” Scott stared into his beer bottle a moment before closing his eyes against the truth in his statement. He did remember his parting shot the day he sped off on the bike. “But I did know how it felt back then, and I know it now. An’ I ain’t healed from it. Don’t know if I ever will. Ya think I liked watchin’ her die again, knowin’ it was the only way ta stop her from killin’ us all, and knowin’ I had ta kill her, when I loved her?”
“You didn’t love her like I did, don’t even try to give me that bullshit!” Scott hissed.
“Think whatever helps ya ta sleep at night, Summers. I loved her. I ain’t gonna lie. But yeah, she loved you. She told me she loved ya back when we headed to Alkali, and she couldn’t face the fact that she’d killed ya when I called her on it. She didn’t just want me ta save her. She wanted ta join ya.”
Scott’s beer bottle hit the hardwood floor with a hollow thunk, falling from nerveless fingers. “Shit!” Logan cursed, frantically looking for something to mop up the foaming spill. He jerked his flannel over his head without unbuttoning it, leaving himself in a white wifebeater as he rounded the table and began to sop up the liquid. He didn’t want to be on the other end of a blistering from Hank or Pete if they saw the ruined floor, on top of all the other repairs they’d finished on the complex after Stryker tore his way in. Scott scrubbed his face with his palms. “Summers?” Logan looked up from his task. “She wanted to be with you. Even at the end, she was smiling, because was going to be with you. I might have kept her from doin’ something that she couldn’t live with, but she was so damned glad that she was gonna see ya again. Wherever ya were.”
“God,” he breathed, raking his fingers through his hair until it was as unruly as Logan’s.
“Ya ain’t got the monopoly of lovin’ Jeannie, Summers. You were just the one she loved best.” Logan chucked the empty bottle into the trash can next to the foosball table and retrieved another full one for Scott. “Here,” he offered gruffly. “I know all ya wanted were last words, Summers, but in the moment, she didn’t hold anything back. Thoughts, feelings, words…it was all about you.”
“I should have been there. When she died.” He took a comforting pull from his Molson. “But I’m glad she wasn’t alone.” He nodded to Logan, his anger replaced by a bleakness that didn’t feel any better to witness, but they could work on that. “And I’m damned glad she didn’t take all of you with her.”
“Me, too. Go ahead an’ hang that up,” Logan barked, motioning to Scott’s cue. “Let me grab my coat.”
“You said you weren’t in a social mood.”
“Didn’t stop ya from interruptin’ my game. But if ya wanna argue with me, then fine; don’t expect me ta chip in fer a lap dance. And as uptight as ya are, Summers, ya damned well need one.”
“Prick,” Scott huffed, but his mouth twisted into something resembling a smile. Logan held out his hands in a gesture of concession. Logan snagged his weather beaten leather jacket and met Scott downstairs just in time for him to finish off his beer.
“Sticks an’ stones, bub.”
The sky had just darkened to a deep sapphire when they left the house; the sun was just coming up, chasing away the last of the stars when they got back. Logan parked the Jeep and locked up the garage as Hank, Scott and Peter waved their bleary “good mornings” and staggered into the mansion. Logan took the long way around, lingering outside long enough to enjoy a smoke. There almost wasn’t any point to going back to bed; he’d only have to get up again in three hours, anyway. There was nothing worse than that first hefty slug of sleep when your body hit the sheets, only to have to jerk yourself awake again before you had a good taste.
The morning was chilly; his breath billowed out from his lips in frigid little white puffs as he stomped back inside. On his way back, he took a quick peek at Ororo’s flower beds. The last of the season’s red begonias were still vibrant and bold, much like their mistress, and they caught his attention while he was looking at the freshly turned earth where Ororo had planted her new bulbs. He didn’t know where she found time to do it all. A funny little voice in his head muttered So why not ask her what ya could do ta make it a little easier fer a change? He mentally shuffled his schedule and realized that he could relieve her of another self-defense training class to cut her a little slack. He’d heartily approved when she hired on that new Cassidy guy, and he seemed decent, even though he’d just about blown his eardrums when he demonstrated his power in the Danger Room on his first day. With his enhanced hearing, that shit didn’t tickle. But then Ororo went and gave him a piddly two classes to teach, still leaving herself overburdened. He intended to speak with her about that.
He found the opportunity earlier than he expected.
The scent of freshly brewed coffee greeted him as soon as he entered the kitchen through the back door. He turned to reach for the pot on the counter, but stopped when he saw Ororo silhouetted in the window over the sink, her hair and body outlined in the rosy glow of the sunrise.
Damn. She was one helluva beautiful woman. Her hair was still loose and slightly tousled, with random curls and waves falling every which way. She’d just finished selecting a coffee mug from the dishrack when she turned to face him, pausing in her actions as though she felt herself being watched. Those velvety brown eyes measured him carefully, crinkling at the corners when she smiled.
“Long night?”
“Mornin’,” he grumbled, still not ready for coherent speech yet. She was clad in black satin pajama bottoms that were slightly loose, but still draped her curves lovingly, leaving pleasant things to his imagination. Her top, on the other hand, did no such thing; the snug ribbed cotton sheathed her torso, leaving no inch of her gorgeous figure a secret.
“Yes. It is,” she confirmed slyly. “Coffee?”
“Yeah. Sure.” He resisted the temptation to tell her not to budge from the glow of that sunny window so she wouldn’t wreck that perfect moment. Her creamy caramel skin and snowy white hair were meant to be bathed in the sunlight like that. Then he reminded himself that she was up ridiculously early, and she probably needed a cuppa joe. She poured for them both, serving his in a Chicago Cubs mug that Kitty brought home from her last trip home to Deerfield when she visited her mother.
“Hank, Scott and Peter were a sorry sight when they dragged in here a little while ago,” she remarked. “They all looked guilty.”
“Ya don’t wanna know,” Logan admitted, shooting her a little knowing look that made her grin back.
“Probably not. You didn’t get arrested?”
“Nope,” he grinned back. “Not this time.”
“Okay. Then we’re good.” They sat across from each other at the butcher block table, companionably sipping their coffee. A growing aroma of toasting bread crept into his nostrils as it filled the kitchen, and the familiar pop of the extra-wide, four-slice toaster woke up his stomach. Ororo laughed at him with little pity when she heard it growl.
“That’s pitiful. You gripe at my not taking care of myself, then drink your dinner and come traipsing in at dawn. Shame on you,” she chastised. She retrieved the cream cheese from the fridge, setting it in front of him while she set the still-hot bagel on a small plate, playing “hot potato” with it as she bounced it between her hands to keep from burning them.
“Scooter drank more than me,” he whined.
“Liar.” She spread the bagel thickly with cream cheese and slid it in front of him, stopping his offer to make his own with “Sit. Take that one. You shouldn’t even be conscious right now.”
“Thanks, darlin’,” he murmured. He took a hearty bite of crunchy bagel and chewed it thoughtfully as she began pulling together a more substantial breakfast. “So what’s yer deal? Why’re ya up so early?”
“Couldn’t sleep,” she shrugged. “Nothing new.” She tried to keep her tone light. He heard the underlying tightness, anyway.
“Penny for ‘em.”
“They aren’t worth that much,” she scoffed.
“Try me.” He took a sip of coffee, savoring the bite of Peet’s Viennese Blend as she pulled out a small loaf of honey ham and the carton of eggs. She sighed, letting the sound speak volumes. He sensed the change in her mood, from casual and drowsy to pensive and melancholy all at once, and he fought the urge not to pull her onto his lap to kiss it and make it better. Never in a million years, bub. She’d never go for it. He could already feel her freezing back up, resuming her throne as Her Highness, Queen Icy Britches.
“I’m just glad Scott’s back,” she replied. Now it was Logan’s turn to set down the bagel half that he’d just lifted to his mouth.
“That all yer glad for?” Her back was still turned as she cut slices of the rich ham and laid them into the hot skillet. The faint sizzle made his mouth water, but he ignored it. The unwanted vision of Ororo looking good enough to eat in her bikini, practically draped over One-Eye…Summers on the massage table entered his mind again and made him want to drag what else she was “glad for” out of her very, very slowly, with exquisite torture. Hell, he’d show her something to be glad for.
“I still miss them,” she explained, cracking three eggs into a bowl, then glancing back to him before she cracked two more. His gut clenched. “Sometimes I don’t know if I can do all this by myself. Teach, fight, run the school…and I don’t have Jean to lean on anymore. It’s not the same without them here. Scott being back has helped.”
“Yeah. Bet it has.” He went back to his bagel, but with only half an appetite. “He ain’t the only one ya can lean on, though, Ororo.”
“I’m not going to dump my troubles on your doorstep, Logan. That’s not your style, to be my sounding board and listen to me bitch and moan.” The vulgarities sounded foreign coming out of her mouth.
“Excuse me fer givin’ a damn. And thanks fer the vote of confidence,” he complained. She turned away from the skillet mid-scramble, the egg-smeared wooden spatula going still in her hand. Her face was serious as she stared at him.
“What?”
“Ya heard me just fine. I’m not Jeannie…an’ I ain’t Scooter, but I can’t handle a little bitchin’ and moanin’ when ya need a little help? Have a little faith in me, Ororo. D’ya think I don’t care?”
“I…I don’t know what to think.”
“I’ll tell ya what ta think, then. I do care.” A lot. “Yer still pushin’ yerself too hard. Even if ya don’t feel like talkin’ and keep blowin’ me off when I ask ya what’s wrong, I can still help with yer workload. What’s the deal with only givin’ Irish two classes?” She frowned slightly at his derogative nickname for Sean Cassidy before rolling her eyes and planting her hand on her hip.
“I only needed him to take those two. I’m not handing over all of them; there’s only so much you can delegate when you’re expected to run a school, Logan. Not that I expect you to know what that’s like. You come and go as you please.”
“I’ve been doin’ more stayin’ than goin’ lately, though, if ya haven’t noticed yet. Goes back to that snappy little lecture of yours, which ya seem to love givin’ me, yet ya hate it when I dish it out. Ya have a self-defense class ya don’t need on yer plate. I’m takin’ it from ya.”
“There’s no need,” she argued, but inwardly she breathed a much needed sigh of relief. Her load felt lighter for a change, even as she stuck to her guns.
“I ain’t gonna wait til there’s more of a need, when Hank’s confinin’ ya to yer bed again, this time for runnin’ yerself into the ground, darlin’. Just nod your head and say ‘Thank you, Logan.’ Go on, nod already!” She met this announcement with a cocked eyebrow.
“Fine,” she sighed with all of the put-upon exhaustion of someone who knows that she will be overruled anyway. “You may take my class.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Get a plate. I’m feeding you now.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He retrieved the orange juice from the refrigerator too, as well as the sugar-free jam and the bagel bag.
“How was he last night?” she inquired as they tucked into their breakfast. She studied Logan quietly and enjoyed what she saw. His eyes weren’t even red-rimmed or bagged from the night’s exploits. He’s shucked his jacket and slung it over the back of his chair, revealing his bare arms and smoothly muscled physique emphasized to perfection by the white ribbed tank. The morning sun shifted, picking out auburn highlights in his thick, dark hair and revealing tiny golden flecks in his hazel eyes. His skin was always close to the same burnished tone, just more darkly tanned in the summer. Dark hair peeked out over the neckline of his shirt and covered his forearms in a fine layer.
Once again, she kicked herself for staring too long. Their eyes met across the table, and every muscle that she hadn’t been previously aware of below her waist instantly woke up. She cleared her throat needlessly and sipped her juice.
“Fine, I guess. Havin’ a decent time. Semi-chatty. Not as bored at the museum as I was, at least.”
“Museum?” Her voice was incredulous.
“Yup. Hank’s idea. And no, I wouldn’t have if there wasn’t gonna be booze afterward.”
“Poor baby,” she mocked, not the least bit sympathetic.
“It was a funky sand art exhibit that Peter raved about. Scott seemed impressed with it, mumbling something about the colors bein’ almost worth the trip.”
“I’m not surprised. Henry told me that Scott’s going to go back to wearing his goggles.” She toyed with the remnant of her scrambled eggs, tweaking a bit of ham and popping it into her mouth.
“No kidding? Shit.” Logan picked his bagel apart, shredding crumbs from it idly as he listened. “What gives?” He found himself pitying Scott, even though he’d never admit it out loud, and Scott wouldn’t want him to.
“Scott came back to us, seemingly without his powers. Hank suspects that they may only be dormant. We have no way of telling if he can still fire his optic blasts, or if they could fire involuntarily. With Jean and the Professor gone, we have no means of using Cerebro to scan for Scott’s psionic signature to see if it registers as mutant or baseline.” Ororo and Hank had discussed the options and come up empty. They needed another psi, or they needed to adapt the console to read something else besides psionic energy and brain wave patterns. The Stepford triplets who had arrived at the school the previous fall were not ready; Jean had been a more powerful and skilled telepath, and using Cerebro had nearly overwhelmed her. Ororo wasn’t going to risk the well-being of novice students. She’d been just as upset on Scott’s behalf, knowing what a normal life meant to him after so many years of having to be so cautious and controlled. She knew something about control.
“So it’s back to square one,” he mused.
“If you like. There’s always a chance that Scott came back to us without the original defect in his powers that interfered with restraining them himself, but until we know more about his headaches, it’s best if he uses them again. Scott will be teaching full-time again for a while, until he decides what else he wants to do.”
“Cool. Whatever floats his boat.”
“Logan?”
“Yeah, darlin’?”
“Will you stay with us?”
“I told ya I would be there if ya needed me, and I meant it.” His eyes narrowed, burning into her and making her stomach do a funny little leap.
“Only if that’s what you really want.” She got up to clear their plates. “I know that with Jean gone, you might not have as much reason to stay.” She hated the way it sounded as soon as it came out of her mouth. Cheap shot, Ororo. Rub it in, why don’t you.
“Bullshit.” She felt him approach and shivered when strong, warm fingers clamped around her upper arms, pulling her away from the edge of the sink. She was hauled against his chest, and his heat seeped into her back. His breath stirred her hair as he growled in her ear. “Quit assumin’ I don’t have a reason. The biggest reason on that list just made me breakfast without naggin’ me ta death about where I was all night long.” He freed one arm long enough to reach up and sweep her hair off the side of her neck, breathing in the sweet scent of her skin, still tinged with sleep. “And she feels just right too, darlin’, when she lets me get this close.” Her knees nearly buckled at the nibbling of his lips along her throat; she arched back into his embrace even as she gripped the counter. Dampness pooled in her center, and she restrained a moan. “She doesn’t do that often, though. She’s a stubborn broad that way.”
“Scoundrel,” he accused. She fought against the desire building within her and was ready to wave the white flag when he caught her lobe gently between his teeth.
“I have plenty of reason ta stay. The school and the kids are growin’ on me. I cared about Jeannie, but she made it plain that she loved Summers. Kinda makes a guy rethink what’s important. I miss her. She was an amazing woman,” he admitted before sucking the silky flesh of her neck into his mouth and swirling his tongue over it. The heady rush of her scent came to him more strongly this time, infused with arousal and need. Coupled with her taste and the tiny ragged sounds escaping her when he wrapped his arms around her waist, splaying his palm over her flat belly, Ororo had a bigger hold on him than he could even explain. He could think of better things to do with his mouth than try to explain anything right now, though. She just tasted too damned good.
“The best. She was the best friend a girl could have.”
“Uh-uh. You were. You knew she couldn’t handle all that power going in. You reminded me of what I had to do, even when I didn’t wanna see reason. Ya saved all of our hides, even when ya knew we had ta let her go. That makes you pretty amazing yerself.” He clamped the thin strap of her top between his teeth and yanked it down the slope of her shoulder for better access, making her squirm as his tongue laved it in greedy circles. “So are ya part of Scooter’s harem?”
“Excuse me?” She craned her neck to better face his hooded gaze. His lips feathered her cheekbone and temple.
“You’ve been asking me an awful lot about Scooter. Spending a lot of time with the guy. That my cue ta back off?”
“Back off from what? This is…unexpected.”
“No it ain’t,” he insisted. “Ya know I want ya. Real bad.” He punctuated the statement with another leisurely nibble. “And I know ya want me.”
“I’m not involved with Scott. He’s my friend. An old friend. Nothing more.” He was pleased when she didn’t dispute his claim.
“Didn’t look that way the other day.” It sure didn’t.”
“You can’t trust everything you see,” she hissed, writhing under his touch as his fingers skimmed the underside of her plump breast. “We don’t feel that way about each other. We’re too much alike.” He paused in nipping a sultry trail down her jaw to consider what she said.
“Don’t see how.”
“Trust me. We are. And kissing Scott is like kissing my brother.”
“Too much information, darlin’,” he grumbled.
“Sorry,” she chuckled, before he turned her in his arms and kissed her smile, feeling her lips soften against his, matching his hunger. She twined her arms around his neck, indulging in the sensual feel of his luxuriantly wild hair as she combed her fingers through it. “Mmmmm…” He kissed her breathless, and she toppled back against the edge of the counter, nearly taking him with her.
“And no more damned back rubs!” he snarled. Not for Scooter, anyway, he amended to himself. She didn’t protest one way or the other. Her hands roamed his muscles and stroked him with intimate knowledge and promise, and her vantage point changed as he grasped her waist and hoisted her up onto the counter.
“Logan!” she gasped. His look was so full of heat and yearning, and she nearly melted in a puddle when she realized that it was for her. All for her. He stepped between her thighs, wanting to get closer, and Ororo framed his face with her palms and drank from his mouth. Her tongue stroked his with wild abandon, and she felt the sunbeams brightening and warming her back. Her internal voice of reason prodded her that they could get caught by Henry, or Peter, or any early-rising students. She silenced it when Logan’s fingers crept under the hem of her tank and caressed her. His touch was ticklish and light at first, before he flattened his palm and skimmed it along her ribcage, acquainting himself with her contours and the charming little dip of her navel. She nearly came out of her skin when he found her breast. He cupped it reverently, exploring its silky weight before letting his thumb graze her nipple. It puckered at his touch, thrilling him
“Someone could come down here any moment,” she whimpered around his lips.
“Well, damn it, I’d better move things along,” he countered. His voice was ragged with the effort to stay in control. She just had that effect on him, and that was dangerous. He was addicted to “dangerous.” Lord help him. The kitchen was warm from their cooking, but the air still felt cool when it bathed her bared breast, right before Logan worshipped it, lapping it in a decadent spiral until he reached its taut peak. He groaned into her flesh.
“Goddess!”
“Don’t know who yer prayin’ to, darlin’ but say one fer me while you’re at it.” She felt the pulling and tugging of his mouth all the way into her womb, and her legs betrayed her, wrapping themselves wantonly around his waist. He pressed himself into her, and the tell-tale bulge in his jeans grew and hardened, craving a nest in her softness.
Footsteps.
“ACK!”
“SHIT!” Ororo winced as he pulled his mouth off her nipple “ she imagined she almost heard it “ in their mad rush to separate, and he backed away, letting her scramble down from the counter. Thankfully she wasn’t wearing shoes, so he was hurting more from interrupted passion than real pain when she landed on his foot on the way down. “Ooooh! Watch out…” He did a mincing foot shake before he helped her to straighten herself out. She looked at him with wide eyes, guilt written all over her features, but he couldn’t help but feel a little pleased at her swollen lips as she tried to smooth her hair. She managed to yank it up into an halfhearted ponytail with one of those elastic scrunchie things women were always wearing around their wrists like a bracelet, binding it up in an attempt at neatness. Logan pouted; he loved looking at her when she was a mess. She straightened her strap and resumed her earlier place by the coffee pot as she heard Sam and Bobby’s voices coming down the hall.
“Ororo?” She shot him a look that practically screamed ‘I’m trying to be nonchalant, here!’ and raised her brows.
“What?” she hissed.
“Barn door’s open,” he muttered. Her bewildered look almost made him bust a gut, until she looked down and saw her bare breast, nipple still erect, hanging up the hem of her shirt and leaving her with a distinct draft. Her hands flew up to right herself, but not before Logan’s hands abruptly spun her around so she faced the counter, and he shielded her so that they were back to back as he called out “Popsicle. Flyboy. Up early, arentcha?”
Ororo yanked her top back into place, probably pulling the hem more firmly than she needed to. Her cheeks were on fire. Her nipples were still standing up at attention. And she was soooooooooooo not wanting to turn around and face anyone in this condition.
“Wanted ta nab some time ta shoot some hoops in the gym before anyone else grabbed it,” Sam drawled. “Aw, howdy, Miz Munroe, Ah didn’t see ya standin’ there, so quiet an’ all.” Logan moved aside as he felt Ororo gently nudge him and wave a friendly greeting over his shoulder.
“Have some juice. And bagels. We’ve got bagels.” She cleared her throat, still trying to figure out how best to ease back upstairs. Logan took the decision out of her hands.
“I’m gonna head downstairs to the Danger Room,” Logan grumbled, raising his mask gruffness to full mast for the boys’ benefit. “Hey, Ororo, if yer on yer on yer way upstairs, why don’tcha take this up with ya?” He chucked his jacket at her once he stepped away long enough to retrieve it. She caught it deftly, along with the glance he shot her, full of mischief. He’d noticed it, too, blast him! She was of a mind to take him to task for his macho little show, but she played along. For now. She hugged his folded leather jacket against her chest, abrading her aroused flesh even more, and she inhaled the scent of him that rose up from it. At least now she had a “shield” of sorts. More or less.
“My pleasure,” she told him breezily. “I’ll see you two in class.”
“Bye, ma’am.” Sam poured himself some juice and took a long swig, then wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “Sure was in a hurry.” Bobby had noticed that her cheeks were red as a raspberry, but hey, if Sam was oblivious, far be it from him to set him straight. The fleeting thought of “Logan and ORORO?” crossed his mind before he happily shook it off.
An hour and a half later, the upper level of dorm rooms were buzzing with activity, and Ororo stopped by to remind Jubilee that not everyone shared her taste in music, and could she please turn the stereo down a notch. She made her way downstairs, attired comfortably in black slacks and a lightweight white silk sweater. Logan and Peter were already on their way downstairs to get ready for the self-defense glass, leaving Scott in the foyer, preparing to head out to the hangar to work on the Blackbird’s GPS tracking system again. Hank was esconced in the wing-backed chair in the front study, reading the finance pages and occasionally humming with approval over the stocks.
A hesitant knock sounded at the front door. Ororo almost didn’t hear it. Must be a stranger, she considered. They weren’t expecting any guests.
“I’ll get it,” Hank exclaimed. “It’s early for guests,” he mused, echoing Ororo’s thoughts. He disengaged the locking system and never looked at the security camera’s monitor above the doorframe, so he received a rude shock when he swung open the reinforced plank.
“Oh, my stars and garters!” He hadn’t raised his voice, but Ororo caught the emotion and disbelief as she approached him.
“Henry, who’s…here? Oh. Oh, my Goddess!” Ororo’s hand flew up to cover her mouth, and she clutched Hank’s shoulder for balance. The floor felt like it was spinning beneath her.
“Well, don’t you two just stand there and let out all the heat, let whoever it is in,” Scott jibed as he rounded the corner to tug Ororo aside for a look at their visitor. Hank spun around, meeting his gaze numbly, mouth agape.
“Good Lord, Scott!” Hank, for once, was at a loss for words. Scott’s eyes told him nothing. His smile was crooked but good-natured, until Hank moved away to stand beside Ororo, revealing the woman standing out on the front veranda.
Jean Grey stood outside, clutching her hands and trying not to show how terrified she was to be greeted at the door by a six-foot tall lion of a man covered in blue fur. The morning light set her hair on fire. “H-hello,” she stammered. Her eyes flitted to the handsome brunet man with the odd-looking red-lensed spectacles. Various strong emotions played across his face, and it unnerved her momentarily that she couldn’t see his eyes.
She knew they must be beautiful.
“Jean?” he choked out at last, urging himself forward with leaden feet. He was afraid this was a dream. If I reach out and touch her, I’ll wake up. She’ll go away again. His soul roared in protest at the prospect of losing her again.
“I know you. I know you,” she insisted. She peered down at her hands, and Scott caught the gleam of gold winking up from her left ring finger. She eyed it nervously, twisting it before she peered up at him. “I know you,” she repeated. “I…I think I love you.” She was alarmed but not afraid when he nodded, his face crumpling and twisting into a mask of anguish. She hated to see him in pain. His shoulders jerked involuntarily as he sniffed back a cry.
“Jean?” he pleaded with her. “You’re here?”
“Yes,” she breathed.
“Oh, God! JEAN!” Scott’s strength left him, and he simply fell to his knees after staggering that last step that separated them. His arms snared her, wrapping around her waist and clinging fiercely to her. Her body absorbed the pain and wracking sobs that tore loose from his lips. Fat tears rolled freely down her cheeks, and she met Ororo and Hank’s shell-shocked stares with a nod.
“I’m here,” she assured them. “I’m back.”
That was the scene that greeted Logan when he came back upstairs to ask Ororo about the new Danger Room routine that Hank said was ready for the senior class to use. His heart nearly stopped as he sidestepped Hank, peering at Ororo for an explanation before he stepped out onto the veranda. Scott’s whole body shook as he poured out waves of soul-deep relief that his reason for living walked back into his life, wrapped in his arms that craved her presence and warmth.
“Jeannie,” Logan rasped.
“I’m back, she repeated, smiling weakly at him through her tears before murmuring soothing sounds into Scott’s hair.
[Reviews - 111]
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Chapter or Story |
Chapter or Story |
Chapter or Story |
Has been viewed 2654 times
- Text Size +
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Chapter or Story | Chapter or Story | Chapter or Story | - Text Size +
You must login () to review.
