Chapter Twenty: Aftershock
Not a moment too soon
Without a minute to spare
You touched my heart
When I didn't have a prayer
In my darkest hour
With my world filled with gloom
Your sweet love saved me
Not a moment too soon
~Tim MCGraw
Xavier’s Institute for Higher Learning
Her body ached all over. She wanted to cuddle up to Logan and sleep for several days, perhaps a week. At least until breathing stopped hurting. Ororo, having given the Professor as full an account as she could, entered their bedroom with a heavy heart. The military had moved on Henry’s order, cleaning up the mess left by the mutant vigilantes. Cover story was in place, suspects tossed into military prison.
Henry had remained behind specifically to ensure Sinister had not cheated death. It seemed as though Logan’s beheading of him was, in fact, fatal. She had carried little doubt. Her Wolverine rarely failed.
Hearing the water still going in the shower, Storm knew something was wrong. Without changing out of her uniform, though she did stop to unclip her cape, she knocked on the bathroom door.
“Logan?”
Nothing. Not even a snarl or a “In a sec, darlin’”. Now she was certain something was amiss. There was no steam coming from the bottom of the bathroom door. Logan’s showers were always scalding. He could steam mirrors three floors down.
Her hand reached for the knob, finding it locked. Now close to panic, Ororo banged on the door until her palm hurt.
“Logan!”
No answer.
Ororo turned onto her side and tried to shoulder the door open. When all she received for her trouble was a sore joint, she did the only thing she could think of.
“PETER!”
As though he had flown from his room down the hall, Colossus stepped through the still open door scarcely a heartbeat later. Kitty was hot on his heels, coming to an abrupt halt as Colossus covered himself in that signature metal. His head wound was bandaged, but he looked ready to beat on whatever caused her to scream his name.
“Open.” Ororo commanded brokenly.
Like the good, honest fellow he was, Peter gently shouldered her out of the way and with one hand, slammed the door from its hinge. Impulsively, Ororo reached up and kissed his cheek.
She could have sworn Kitty made a noise like an angry cat from somewhere near the hall.
Ororo noticed two things when the door was open. Logan’s uniform was in shreds on the bathroom floor and there were blood splatters on the mirror. Horror and realization hit her at once. Logan had borne none of the same symptoms as the other kidnapping victims, save the muscle relaxers.
According to Angel, however, there were several jars of seminal fluid in a refrigeration unit near where the winged mutant had found him. The sudden, terrible comprehension filled Ororo with dread and consuming sorrow.
“Go,” she pleaded with a now flesh-colored Peter and startled Kitty. “Leave him to me.”
She was not sure if either of her former students understood what was happening, but they left without a word, closing the door softly behind them. Ororo fought tears and a thunderstorm the likes of which Westchester had not seen since Jean’s death. It took her several moments to gain control of herself.
Not worried that Logan had tried to off himself, she took her time controlling her emotions. Losing her cool now would help no one. With a great deep breath, she steeled herself for the worst and eased into the bathroom.
The long, dark blue shower curtain was pulled back easily. Ororo’s heart splintered into pieces when she saw her beloved feral sitting on the shower floor. Ice-cold water was soaking him, making his hair fall over his face while he shivered under the spray.
Not wanting to startle him, she kneeled carefully, ensuring that a soft breeze brought him her scent.
“My love?”
Logan shuddered violently.
“It’s ‘Ro,” she offered, turning one hand to the water.
Drawing on feelings of lust and love, she gently heated the entire room with a miniscule warm front. He was in obvious shock, which because of its mental properties, his healing factor could not abate. His health was not in danger, per se, but his mind was.
“Do you know where you are?” Her question was soft, even as she noted the pink flesh all over his arms and thighs. He had been trying to scrub the feeling away, scratching at his flesh until he drew blood.
“Ain’t home,” Logan stammered, speaking at last. “Ain’t hell.”
“You’re in the mansion. Xavier’s,” she clarified. “Do you know who I am?”
He still did not look at her, his hands gripping the knees he pulled to his chest.
“M-Mine. ‘Ro.”
“Yes,” she answered with a smile. “Can you stand?”
He shook his head violently. “Not clean. Gotta get clean.”
Ororo, feeling her very soul cry out in acute pain, reached to touch his shoulder.
Logan flinched, drawing as far away from her as he could in the tiny shower stall. Trying to not feel hurt by his withdrawal, she nodded while drawing her hand back. He was still shaking, still trapped in whatever his mind was trying so desperately to forget.
“Logan? My love, look at me. I would never harm you.”
“’Ro came fer me.” He said, finally turning dark, tortured eyes to her. “My ‘Ro. My mate. Ain’t no one gettin’ through her. No, sir.”
Tears flowing freely down her cheeks undermined her smile. “That is very right.”
For another minute or so, she left Logan alone. Fetching him a towel, she held it open, offering him to soft warmth that his body must crave. He blinked rapidly, looking up at her as though seeing her for the first time.
“Darlin’?”
“Are you all right?” her question was still in that same soft, soothing tone.
“Nuh-uh,” he grunted honestly. “But I’m real fuckin’ cold.”
Giving a slight chuckle, she reached over to turn the water on. Careful to not touch him in any way, she handed him the towel. Logan looked at her curiously, but she merely turned her back so he could dry himself.
Aware that he could see her in the mirror’s reflection, she kept her face as impassive as she could. When Logan stepped out of the shower stall, she wrapped him in a blanket and beckoned him to follow her toward the bed.
He sat, still mildly skittish. She kept distance between their bodies, no matter how she wanted to hold him, to soothe his worries away. Patience borne of years working with children told her to sit on his desk and wait. Logan had a mind stronger than any she had ever known.
She trusted him to come back down to earth, back to her, all on his own.
“Hit me fast,” he said suddenly. “Hard. Couldn’t get my head right. Everythin’ was just…off.”
“Logan?”
“I’m here, more or less.” Wolverine offered her a small, but toothy smile. “Dunno what happened. Little confused.”
“Post-Traumatic Shock,” she said, clearing her throat to keep the tears out of her voice.
“From…them…” He struggled to speak. Ororo met his eyes, unflinching, to tell him she understood.
He exhaled slowly, drawing the blanket more closely around him. “Ya know, I’ve seen pornos with plots like that. Ain’t like it is in the movies.”
Ororo could not help but chuckle. “Thank you for sharing that tidbit.”
“Oh, ya can ask Sparkler all bout my porn collection,” he said more lightly, though he still shivered uncontrollably. “She’s got more theories than Popsicle’s got stories.”
They sat in silence for a long moment, their eyes locked together. She could see the emotion in his gaze, knowing how it must mirror what she felt when he pulled her into his arms that night in Alaska. She knew the helplessness, the mind-boggling fear, the violation.
“When ya started talkin’,” Logan sighed. “Did it help? Even a little?”
Ororo considered her answer for only a heartbeat. “When I talked to you, yes.”
She saw his Adam’s Apple bob as he swallowed hard. A moment later, he opened his blanket, a silent invitation for her to come closer. She did so, only after shrugging out of her uniform. Keeping the Lycra under-suit that protected her skin from the leather on, she cautiously slipped into his embrace.
Warm, strong arms encircled her, bringing the blanket with them. He scooted them both against the headboard, holding her so tightly she had to shift to breathe properly.
Logan surprised her by releasing the blanket. His hands wiggled under the top half of her under-suit, lying flat and innocent on her abdomen. Knowing his affection for her “buzz”, Ororo channeled a few more volts of electricity through her body.
His shivering began to slowly subside.
“It hurt.”
Ororo felt tears sting at her eyes.
“They kept…I couldn’t move. I was wide the fuck awake, but I couldn’t move. They’d put their hands on me, makin’ me hard even though I didn’t want ‘em to.”
She had to control the hitch to her breathing by sheer force of will.
“Over and over.” Her love sighed shakily. “Woulda been better if it’d been men. Knowin’ it was women made it worse fer some reason. Every coupla seconds, they were back fer more. Felt like an animal, a rat ta be tested on.”
Storm inhaled and exhaled slowly, closing her eyes so that she could regulate her breathing. She could almost hear the floodgates open as Logan continued to speak. Perhaps he was comfortable because of her skin, or because he loved her, but not looking directly at her was helping as well.
A man never wants to admit to being debased any more than a woman.
“I wouldn’t let ‘em see me break, but, ‘Ro, I was dyin’ inside. I kept thinkin’ how I was gonna kill ‘em, how you were comin’ ta get me. But it wasn’t enough. I wanted them ta stop, wanted to plead.”
He paused. His hands flexed against her belly. His voice dropped to a predatory growl.
“An’ then Sinister showed up.”
“Oh, God.” Storm’s voice was a whimper and to her great surprise, he soothed her fear with a gentle kiss to her temple.
“You ok?”
“Yes,” she nodded against his shoulder. “Go on.”
“He starts tellin’ me how I’m gonna be a father ta his little mutant army. How he was gonna use my DNA to make all these babies. I wanted to toss up my toenails, baby. He showed me…” Logan swallowed audibly.
“Tell me.” Her request was low, tinged with tears.
”He showed me what our kid’s DNA would look like. It shoulda been beautiful, ‘Ro. An’ it was, but hearin’ him talk bout it. Bout how our kids would be so powerful, so beautiful down ta their atoms made me sick. He was gonna use us, use me ta fight a war I already chose the other side on.”
“Trying to breed evil from your blood.” She whispered the words remembering their talk under the willow.
“Mixed in with the hurt, the humiliation, one thing didn’t change.”
She waited, feeling him shift until he laid his chin on her shoulder. His words were spoken in her ear, like a lover’s caress.
“I never thought, not fer a second, that ya weren’t comin’ fer me. It’s the only thing that kept me sane, kept me from givin’ in to the feral just so I wouldn’t feel what they were doin’ anymore.”
Ororo turned, then, just enough to see his eyes.
“Ya saved me, darlin’. I might be fucked up bout what happened fer a while, I’m not stupid enough ta think I’m just gonna get over it after some good sex an’ a good night’s sleep. But I want ya to remember: I had faith in ya, more faith than I’ve ever had in anyone.”
She reached up, touching his cheek so she could see more of his face when he turned. He leaned into her touch, a soft, somewhat content smile spreading over those beautiful lips.
“I will always come for you, Logan. And your faith humbles me.”
He kissed her then, as innocently and sweetly as he had the night he left Alaska. This time, however, it was filled with promise and no hint of goodbye.
“I won’t be able ta…” he cleared his throat and she thought she saw him color, just a little.
“I do not hold it against you,” Ororo assured him. “Do not think I believe you are anything less than the man I love, even for a moment. If you do, so help me, I will shove another lightning bolt up your ass so fast…”
She had to stop her threat halfway through the building tirade because Logan was laughing himself to tears.
~**~
One week later
It was, to any who might have seen it, the picture of serenity. Children in various stages of adolescence were playing in bright, warm sunlight. Their laughter and playful jibes accompanied the sound of two dogs barking happily over the football the children were trying to use. When the dogs disrupted the game to try and make off with the poor pigskin, there was good-natured groaning before the game started again.
The mansion’s grounds had recovered from the freak tornado, leaving everything as pristine and beautiful as always. Walking along the lakeshore were a stoic Russian and bubbly American, both leaning closer as though they wanted to hold hands, only to part again before actually accomplishing such a feat. One could almost see them blushing as the first flush of love began to wash over them.
Inside the shimmering lake was another couple, this one further along in the openly affectionate romance department. A former-mutant once condemned to a life without human contact squealed as her boyfriend lifted and tossed her into the water. Their laughter mingled with the cool breeze.
On the porch were four elder mutants, each keeping a careful eye on the football game or romantic antics while lost in their own endeavors.
One was a wheelchair bound man, thought dead for a year. He, above all others, delighted in the sounds of childlike laughter, of the freedom and contentment it represented.
Another happened to be enormous and covered in thick blue fur. This man, fondly called Furball by another, was lounging on a lawn chair, sipping at a glass of iced tea while his brilliant mind dwelled on new projects he could work on when his students returned.
As for the other occupants of the wide, shaded porch, they took up the expanse of a rocker, gliding effortlessly in a preternatural breeze. The man, with his permanent scowl and rather abrupt attitude, tolerated the long, slender form of a woman atop him. She was stretched out, lying completely on top of him with her head on his chest and her feet dangling with his over the armrest of the glider.
Both of these mutants held sketchpads and drawing pencils. The male wore a battered black Stetson. Neither of them were wearing shoes.
Charles Xavier made a good show of not watching them, when in fact his eyes were drawn to the cuddling pair often. He smiled softly, enjoying the easy comfort of two lovers wrapped in a world that consisted of no others.
Had he known, that fateful day three years ago, that they would match one another like sides of the same coin, he might have played things out differently. Even with his impressive powers of the mind, he had not foreseen what a sight they would make together. A love that would destroy an evil too horrible for this world.
“Yer starin’.”
Not surprised to be caught at his leisurely perusal of the couple gliding back and forth, Charles shrugged one shoulder.
“I am happy for the two of you.”
“As am I,” came a slightly slurred voice from a stretched out lawn chair. “Happy as can be.”
It was then Charles wondered if, perhaps, their beloved Furball had spiked his own tea.
“Just don’t stare at my girl too long,” the feral mutant known as Wolverine said, raising his eyes carefully. Charles could see the mirth reflected there, overcoming the pain he had endured slowly but surely.
Nothing could break this man, this feral mutant that had lived through so much. The woman now sharing his life seemed to add more to that solid bedrock. A lifeline through the worst fate could throw at him.
“He does get rather jealous,” said the woman lying so carelessly on his chest.
With her dark skin and white hair, she made a beautiful picture in her flowing skirt and thin-strapped tank top. Really, Charles mused, it was no wonder that she had been worshipped on the plains of Africa.
And when placed beside the man she loved with all her heart, he could understand the connection there. Natural, uninhibited, wild. They understood the world in a way he felt no others could.
“I’ve seen her get jealous, too,” Logan continued with his usual half-serious humor. “So I wouldn’t stare too long at me.”
“A truly difficult order,” said the tipsy Beast from his chair.
“No more tea for him.” The woman named Ororo flashed her friends a brilliant smile.
Even Charles felt his knees go weak. Or he would have, had he any feeling in them.
“Are you two anticipating the return to Alaska?” the elder questioned, still amused by his own inward joke.
“I am ready to go home,” admitted Storm. “I do love it here, but…”
“Alaska’s home.” Wolverine finished, not looking up from his drawing.
Charles watched as the once lost man turned his sketchpad around to show the woman now in possession of his heart what he had done. She smiled, leaning up for a kiss. It was so tender, that for a moment, Charles longed for what they shared.
“May I?” the telepath asked, curiosity getting the better of him.
Logan wordlessly handed over the sketchpad, mindful to not drop his beautiful mate from her precarious perch.
Charles took the book, laying it in his lap so he could look at it properly. The top page was a sketch of the home he knew his former pupil had bought in the wilds she loved. A simple, solitary cottage on the banks of a river.
When he turned the page, however, he was momentarily stunned. While Logan’s artistic talent was, indeed, wonderful in the first true-to-life drawing, his rendering of what was being fondly termed “Ro and Lo’s Place” took his breath away.
Improvements to the home, which already looked plucked from a postcard, would be remodeled into heaven on earth. Charles noted that his soon-to-be-former X-Man intended to add to the house itself. The porch would be wider, more rooms built in.
Details like new shutters, support beams that resembled a Victorian design he could not name at the moment, seemed too perfect for words.
“Here.”
Without looking up, Charles took another page from Ororo. He noted it was a clear sheet, one to fit over the drawing he already held. Logan’s work was on the home itself, but Ororo had apparently decided to landscape the entire thing.
Huge trees would adorn the cobblestone walk Logan wanted. Flowerbeds and shrubs would provide vivid imagery that matched the wilds surrounding it.
The home would be exactly as intended: where Ororo and Logan would start and live their life together, reflections of what was in their hearts. Forever.
“This…” Charles said, looking to his friends in complete awe. “I have scarcely the words. I have rarely seen something so beautiful.”
Both had the maturity to give him thankful smiles without blushing profusely over the praise.
“Ooh,” the drunkard of a scientist said as he peeked over Charles’ shoulder. “Can I come live with you?”
“Hell, no!” Logan swatted at his friend, smiling broadly. “You can visit though.”
“Only if he stays out of the vodka,” Ororo muttered lowly, earning her a pinch on the side from her beloved.
Charles handed the sketchpad back. “If you two ever need anything, you know where we are.”
“Aw, Jesus, ‘Ro,” Wolverine said dropping his head forward in dismay. “He’s talkin’ like he’s never gonna see us again. Again.”
“Charles,” the more serious mutant said sternly. “We will be back for Christmas or risk death at the hands of Psylocke.”
“Seen her in action, don’t look like fun.” Wolverine chimed in for no reason at all.
“If I had that piece of heaven, I would find myself too lost in it to care about the outside world.”
He could see that they were startled by his admission, so he softened it with a rare, loving smile. Thinking on all he had lost, including his surrogate children, to this battle, it warmed his heart to see two of his pupils bowing out of the fight. They would have many years together, without the threat of death every single day.
Charles believed in his dream, but he had wishes and hopes for each of his children. Logan and Ororo were the first to pass the torch onto the younger X-Men, the first “ he hoped “ of many.
“We will be there, as well,” Ororo said quietly. “If you need our help, never feel guilty for calling on us.”
“Unless it’s like twice in a week, cause that’s just rude.”
The woman on his lap, swatted him on the head firmly. This, for some reason, made the drunken Beast roar with laughter until he landed in an undignified heap on the deck floor.
Charles, feeling impish for perhaps the third time in his life, sighed deeply.
“You are leaving me alone with him?” He jabbed a thumb in the direction of the giggling Furball.
This caused the assembled mutants to laugh as carefree and openly as the children currently trouncing one another in a football game.
Almost as one, the mutants not far-gone in an afternoon drink, turned to the children. Charles noted that a handholding newlywed couple was making their way over, the husband with wings gleaming in the sunlight.
“You’ll have the Worthingtons,” Logan supplied. “Sic Bets on Hank there an’ he’ll know no peace.”
“And I have very high hopes for the young ones,” Storm chimed in. “Dazzler, Colossus, Iceman, Shadowcat, and even darling Artie will carry the X-Men name proudly.”
“Of that, I have no doubt,” Charles said with emotion thick in his voice. “They have had the best educators, mentors, and friends any person “ mutant or not “ could hope for.”
With that, Logan shifted his lover up and stood abruptly. “I’m outta here before people start cryin’.”
Ororo was laughing heartily when he grabbed a football from the ball bin beside the rocker. “Yo! Halo, boy! Go long!”
At once, the angelic mutant extended his wings and took to the air. Wolverine leapt from the porch, tossing his Stetson back toward his girl. She caught it effortlessly, placing it on her head as Logan shouted “Not that long, ya idiot!” to Angel.
Psylocke arrived scant seconds later, taking up the seat Logan vacated. Ororo, seemingly not caring who acted as her pillow, rested her head in her friend’s lap. The violet-eyed mutant ran her hands idly through long, white locks.
“Why’d the wild man take off?”
“Charles is being emotional over our move.” Ororo supplied before Charles could stop her.
“Ah,” the telepath named Betsy grinned at him. “You’ve still got me and Warren. We hate moving too much to resign just yet.”
This, of course, made the furry man still lying on the floor laugh all over again.
Charles sighed, his own laughter bubbling to the surface. He had done well with these mutants, this strange band of people drawn together by events that were out of their control. They were loyal, loving, positive people with fighter’s spirits.
Yes, thought Charles with a look around his home, his family, again. The X-Men have not gone. We have hundreds of miles to go yet.
