Chapter Six: Renegades, Rebels, and Rogues
Renegades, Rebels and Rogues
Eyes of fire, hearts of gold
They ramble till they drop
Gamble till the money runs out
They'll take any wrong direction
’Cause it's in their blood to know
That all roads lead to another road
For Renegades, Rebels and Rogues
~Tracy Lawrence
Henry, Denali National Park
Once Ororo’s recent kill had been cleaned, she carefully instructed Logan on how to properly package and freeze the meat. After a ten-minute teasing chase through the house “ which neither of them seemed to find strange “ they’d settled in to take care of things.
Logan, of course, couldn’t resist making her squeal, so he’d taken a chunk of bloody meat directly off the moose corpse and munched on it while they worked. For a moment, he thought his playmate might be sick. Instead, she’d rolled those bright blue eyes and set back to work.
The dogs were given meaty bones to chew on after several packages of meat were laid neatly in the enormous deep freezer in the garage. They cleaned the table and tools quickly, putting everything back into its place. Night had fallen in what was usually midday by the time they finished, but they were both used to it by now.
When Storm excused herself to clean up after dinner, Logan briefly entertained the idea of jumping into the shower with her. Unsure where the jeans-tightening impulse had come from, he stepped out into the cold instead.
The dogs followed him, as usual, romping about in the freshly fallen snow. Logan, listening for sounds that Ororo was indeed in the other end of the house, pulled the cellular phone from his pocket. Speed dial 1 was the mansion, far away in New York. Someone answered on the second ring.
“Xavier’s Institute for Higher Learnin’, Marie speakin’, how can Ah help ya, sir or ma’am?”
“Damn, girl. That’s a mouthful,” Logan grinned into the phone. “When’d the name change?”
“LOGAN!”
Her squeal had definitely caused severe auditory damage. Even when he pulled the phone away from his now tender ear, he still heard ringing.
“About a week ago,” Marie was saying breathlessly. “We thought it might be good tah start new. How’re ya?”
“Sounds fine. I’m good, darlin’. How’s the family?” He asked, fishing into his pocket for a cigar.
“We’re all fine. Ah fainted when Ah saw the Professor,” she continued. “Its so good tah see him, though!”
“I heard about that,” he laughed. “I’m glad he’s back, too.”
“How’d Storm take it? Beast said yah found her! Ah’m so glad, Logan!”
Logan frowned. He didn’t like thinking about his careful deception. Ororo had no idea that Charles was alive. Every time she mentioned him, Logan stepped around the topic. Truthfully, he didn’t know what to say to her. He felt as though he were gaining a friend every moment he spent in her presence, he didn’t want to lose that.
Friends for the Wolverine weren’t easy to come by.
“She don’t know.” He told young Rogue gruffly.
“Oh, Logan,” her voice dropped to a sympathetic whisper. “Yah’ve gotta tell her.”
Inhaling deeply from the cigar he’d just lit, he concentrated on watching the dogs.
“I know, kid,” he told her around the cigar. “I can’t just yet. Somethin’…let’s just say it ain’t the time.”
There was silence on the other end of the phone. He knew his little mutant friend. She was processing all of this, the tone of his voice. She could tell, better than anyone, when he didn’t want to give up any more information.
“When are ya comin’ home?” She asked finally, sorrow in her tone.
“Soon, darlin’,” he answered as honestly as he could. “I want ya to tell Chuck and Hank that I’ve got an idea what’s goin’ on.”
“What? What’s happenin’?”
Logan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Kid, don’t make me…”
“Jus’ tell me, damn it!” She said heatedly. “Ah’m not a kid, anymore, Logan!”
He paused, not wanting to reveal his fears to someone so innocent. He knew her, though, as well as she knew him. She would toss one hell of a fit and likely appear in Alaska at exactly the wrong moment to interrogate him. It was easier to just tell her now.
“Listen, darlin’,” he said quietly, moving away from the house. “Someone took a lotta time hurtin’ Storm. They left her…ya know, barren.”
“WHAT?!” Her shriek almost made his ears bleed and he quieted her quickly.
“I think there’s somethin’ bigger goin’ on, baby girl,” he said softly. “I’ve gotta find out what. Tell the big man that I’m on it. This isn’t just about ‘Ro anymore. It’s about mutants, period.”
“What are ya talkin’ bout?” Rogue demanded. He could envision her stomping her foot in annoyance.
“Someone’s takin’ mutant genes, kid, I think their tryin’ to breed some.” Logan laid it out for her.
“Aw hell,” she swore breathlessly. “That’s awful.”
“That ain’t nothin’, kid,” he shook his head. “’Ro’s tore up bout it, but she wants to find these bastards. I dunno what she thinks, we don’t talk bout it much.”
“I don’t blame her, that’s a girl type thing,” Rogue said sagely. “Do ya want me an’ Kitty out there with ya?”
“No,” Logan replied forcefully. “Stay in New York. ‘Ro an’ I can handle this.”
“Logan?” Rogue interrupted, confusion in her voice.
“Yeah?”
“Why are ya callin’ Storm “Ro”?”
He paused, glancing over his shoulder as the sound of running water ceased inside the house. Honestly, he had no idea why he was referring to the estranged X-Woman by her newly adopted nickname, but he couldn’t dwell on it now.
“I gotta go, Marie. Give Hank a slap for me, tell everyone else hi. I’ll be home soon.”
The phone was switched off and slipped back into his pocket before she could answer. He couldn’t risk Storm knowing whom he’d been talking to or what he’d said. After an evening pondering information while listening to Ororo toss and turn in the other room, he’d decided on a theory.
If someone was taking mutant women, stealing their eggs, something nasty was going down. The only thing he could think was that someone was attempting to create mutants from the stolen ova. There was really no other reason to strip a woman of her reproductive organs. He thought that the scarring was from the procedures used to extract the ovum. Disgusting thought, but it made sense to him.
Another piece of the puzzle clicked into place when he thought about it. On Ororo’s hospital bracelet, when he’d found her, she’d been typed as “Elite”. He assumed it meant what kind of mutant she was. Someone as powerful as Storm was definitely “elite”. Not many wielded the sort of power she did.
Jean would have been the same, he thought. All that power was locked into their genes. It was a natural leap to think that their power, or something similar, would translate to children. He didn’t know any mutant that powerful that had little ones, so he couldn’t be sure.
“Logan?”
Though he’d heard her coming closer, he startled a little at the call of his name. He turned from watching the dogs sniff the now-trampled snow. Storm stood on the porch of her house, hair still wet from her shower.
She’d pulled on a pair of fresh jeans, heeled boots, and a fitted blue sweater that made her eyes look even bigger. Logan was momentarily stunned by how pretty she could be with so little effort. She was just a simple woman here, leading a simple “ if lonely “ life. He, above all others, could respect that.
Once again, he was envious of her.
“Hey,” he held up his cigar. “Didn’t think ya’d want me smokin’ inside.”
Storm answered him with that simple smile. “Cigar smoke is not so bad.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, then,” he turned toward her fully, calling for the dogs over his shoulder. “Goin’ out?”
Her clothing seemed just a little too nice for an evening lounging in front of the fireplace and she nodded quickly.
“I thought we could use a little fun,” Storm was saying as he toweled the snow-wet dogs down.
As they entered the house, he frowned. “Storm, there’s nothin’ near here fer ten miles. What’d ya have in mind? Moose tippin’?”
She swatted him almost playfully on the shoulder. “Get cleaned up and I will show you. There may not be much to do around here, but I know a place.”
“Tea an’ sandwiches ain’t my style, darlin’,” he countered, snuffing his cigar out on the porch.
“Trust me.” Her grin was worth his weight in gold and spoke of hidden meaning, secretive darkness that lured him like a moth to a flame.
He returned her naughty smile with one that bordered on feral.
“Give me ten minutes.”
~**~
The music was loud, throbbing with the whine of a guitar. Rich male vocals soared over the crowd, even as Ororo parked her truck and unbuckled her seat belt. She waved to several patrons entering the bar as she flipped the visor down to check her makeup.
Logan was dressed to kill and she couldn’t resist glancing at him quickly. He’d showered and dressed in record time, accomplishing in ten minutes what took most men a lifetime. In faded blue jeans, cowboy boots, and an open flannel shirt showing off a white tank beneath it, he was the devil in a Stetson.
Storm had never, truly understood what Jean’s attraction to this brash, crude, and completely ill mannered mutant was. She had often teased the woman that she loved dearly that Logan was opposite of everything alluring in the world. She had been spoiled at the time, wrapped in the cocoon of an ordered society, a structured world.
Jean had always dwelled on the edge. She liked to lose control. Logan was a catalyst for something like that. Now, with Storm out in the wilds, she knew immediately what the attraction was.
He was something out of a novel. Sex oozed off of him, the promise of pleasure, of danger, of something that thumbed it’s nose at order. He was the chaos factor. Ororo closed her eyes briefly, inhaling the scent of his cologne. He even smelled dangerous.
“Where are we?” Logan asked as she flipped the visor back up.
“Dottie’s,” she replied as she opened the truck door. “No tea or sandwiches to be found. Only beer, whiskey, women, music, and smoke.”
Logan put both hands over his heart and “fell” out of the truck. He caught himself with those thick legs, sending her that devilish grin.
“Yer a woman after my own heart, ‘Ro.”
Feeling impish herself, she pressed two fingers to her lips and blew him a saucy kiss. For a moment, as he came around the truck, she wanted to swoon. Several breathy sighs around her said that the other women in the immediate area were right with her. He looked good enough to eat. Even that damned walk was a dare to come closer.
He surprised her by coming to her side as they reached the door. One of those massive hands fitted to her back, leading her gentlemanly through the doors. She was actually going to swoon if he kept that up.
As they passed a waitress, Ororo glanced over in time to see Logan expertly tip the brim of his hat to the buxom woman.
“Ma’am.” He said in his deepest rumble.
The girl nearly walked into the wall, her face flushing instantly. Wolverine out on the prowl was going to be a handful.
Ororo rolled her eyes, though part of her was pleased that Logan remained at her side. She spotted Mary, Kenny, and the sheriff’s brother, Riley, at their table in the back. As if knowing she would come, they had left two chairs open.
Mary was quite obviously well on her way to being drunk. She swayed in her chair, bobbing her head to the music as she knocked back another shot. Ororo chuckled, sneaking up behind her friend as Logan threw himself into the nearest chair.
When her friends spotted her, they all leapt from their chairs. Ororo was hugged and fussed over, making her smile widen. At least someone had missed her during her abduction. She took the chair across from Logan, nodding when Riley offered to get them all another round.
“You’ve got catching up to do, ‘Roro,” he grinned, kissing her cheek before disappearing into the crowd.
Mary linked her hand with Ororo’s, pushing Riley’s drink toward her. Without pause, Ororo lifted the foul smelling liquor to her lips and downed the shot. Tequila. Things were looking up.
Logan raised an amused brow in her direction, then returned to his study of the bar. Ororo loved Dottie’s. It was like something out of a country music video. The wide dance floor was filled with couples, the stage hosting a rather good local band pounding out radio favorites. Several battered and worn tables dotted the outline of the dance floor, many with too many or too few chairs. Smoke drifted and floated above the room, mingling with the scents of alcohol and sweat.
It was clean, at least. Dottie, the owner and operator for ten years, would not allow her place to become overly disgusting. She cooked up huge baskets of Buffalo wings and cheese fries behind the bar, catering to whatever hunger one might have.
She also completely ignored the state law requiring no smoking in bars. It was Alaska, no one really cared.
“God, it’s good to have you back,” Kenny, her red haired former employer, was saying when her attention came back to the matter at hand. “I was worried.”
“You were one of the only ones,” Logan chimed in gruffly.
“Well, we’re all that matters,” Mary said, with a slight slur to her speech. “And she’s already out and about. That’s somethin’.”
“RILEY!” Storm cried above the music and chatter. “Hurry up!”
“I’m comin’!” he replied just as loudly.
“Idiot,” Mary muttered, leaning into Ororo to kiss her cheek. “He’s all thumbs when you’re around.”
“Someone’s got a crush,” Kenny sang, earning him a swat from Ororo.
Logan was watching them all quietly, as those sizing them up. Friendships, she knew, were still somewhat alien to the long time loner. One reason she wanted to bring her sentinel out on the town was to expose him to people. He could lose himself on solitude as easily as she could.
The other reason, that she did not want to share with anyone, was that her heart and body still hurt. She wanted to feel normal. Getting completely hammered at Dottie’s was usually a weekly ordeal. It was soothing, slipping back into her routine.
“I didn’t know ‘Ro knew how ta drink,” Logan was saying to Mary, whom gave him her complete attention.
“We had the stick up her ass removed right after she got here,” was the giggled reply.
“Mare!” Ororo said reproachfully.
“She gets a new one now and then,” her friend went on. “Gotta get it out again.”
“Shame,” Logan said, obviously amused. “Damn shame.”
“Mmm,” Mary hummed, then jumped out of her chair as though something had bit her. “You dance, Wolverine?”
Logan tipped his Stetson back, sizing the girl up quickly. “Anythin’ fer a pretty lady.”
Mary giggled helplessly, letting the man drag her onto the dance floor. Several women in the area gave her dark haired friend looks that could kill. Logan roped Ororo’s friend into his arms, effortlessly steering them into the moving throng. She tilted her head, watching them as they “two-stepped” to the music. It was something Ororo could never quite get the hang of.
Riley reappeared a moment later, bringing several shots of liquor and beer chasers. Ororo immediately set three of the shots in front of her, giving her “boys” a greedy look.
“One…” Riley counted as he plopped into his seat.
“Two…” Kenny chimed in.
“Three!”
At Ororo’s count, they each tipped back a shot. Then another. And the third in quick secession. She coughed, smacking the table with her hand as the liquor burned it’s way down her throat, into her stomach.
“That’s our girl!” Kenny said proudly.
“By the Bright Lady,” Ororo chuckled. She took a quick draw of her ice-cold beer, shaking her head as though to clear it. “Whiskey?”
“Uh-huh,” Riley said slyly. “Thought it was tequila, didn’t ya?”
“Oh, be quiet,” she teased, sticking her tongue out at him.
Riley ordered another round from a passing waitress and the three of them launched into silly stories and sexually charged anecdotes. Ororo was laughing into tipsy hysterics by the time Logan and Mary appeared at the table.
Mary sat beside Kenny this time, letting Logan take the seat beside Ororo. She watched him go through the waiting shots, shaking her head. He had taken nine, catching up to her in seconds.
“Healing factor?” she questioned accusingly.
“Only works to a point, ya know,” he waggled his eyebrows, saluting her with his beer.
“Ok!” Riley cut in, swaying dangerously. “Next round. Wolverine, make a toast.”
The assembled partiers took a shot glass from the waitress, whom had eyes only for Logan, and held each up. Logan looked at them all “ ignoring said waitress until she moved away “ obviously contemplating his “toast”.
After several seconds of only music and indistinct chatter, he spoke loudly enough for only those near him to hear.
“To those we have lost, those we have loved, and those we have yet to meet. To friends, family, and freedom.”
Oddly touched by his sentimentality, Ororo cut in before anyone could drink.
“To the renegades, rebels, and rogues who make life interesting.”
“Hear, hear,” came the chorus from the others at the table.
Logan and Ororo saluted one another with their glasses, then tipped the shots back without so much as a wince.
~**~
“So which one are ya?”
Logan’s slurred question came well after midnight. Kenny was up on the stage, belting out one of Ororo’s favorite country tunes. She’d been singing along, watching Mary and Riley tear up the dance floor when Logan leaned a little too close.
She turned her head to him, surprised to find him so close. Shot glasses had all been lined up into something resembling a tower on the table. Over the last several hours, the group had racked up one hell of a bar tab. Logan’s reply to the waitress’ upraised brow was handing her an Xavier’s School credit card.
Ororo wanted to see the look on Hank’s face when he got the bill.
Logan, for his part, had spent the last few minutes assembling a toothpick rifle in front of him. Ororo reached over to strengthen a side of it.
“What?” Her words were breathy, stained with the consumption of alcohol.
“Ya a renegade, rebel or rogue?” he pressed, scooting his chair closer.
“Rebel,” she replied without thinking.
“How’s that?”
She shrugged. “I go through several years thinking everything is ordered, perfect, and then I get a bug up my ass and take off to rebel against my own personality. Rebel. Storm. Rebel.”
“Yer weird,” he teased, reaching up to push an errant lock of her hair behind her ear. “But sounds right.”
“So which are you?” She questioned, taking a stray glass and adding it to the tower.
“Dunno,” he said thoughtfully. “What’d ya think?”
Ororo leaned back in her chair, tilting her head and making a great show of contemplating her answer. Truthfully, she was letting her eyes feast on his bare arms, the tuft of hair peeking out from beneath his tank top. He’d discarded the flannel shirt a while ago, revealing his tanned flesh for the women to drool over.
By the goddess herself, this man was sex on two legs.
“Renegade,” she answered a moment later.
“Why’dya say that?”
“You reject everything,” Ororo said with a small smile. “You don’t like attachments.”
“Huh,” he shrugged. “Yer right.”
“Makes you dangerous,” she continued without thinking. “One has to remember to not get too close. Feeling for you, it would likely end in pain. Jean could, she was the daring one. Not me. Nuh-uh. I will play it safe, thank you.”
She was looking back at the table, so she did not catch the odd look in Logan’s eyes immediately. He scooted closer still, close enough that she could feel the energy of his body, the heat she imagined between them.
She was imagining too much right now. Uninhibited thanks to the alcohol, her tongue was loose and her imagination in overdrive. She imagined that he looked at her hungrily, that he saw her as a woman, not a mutant that needed protection. She fantasized that when he slept tonight, and she crept into the living room to soothe him that he would know it was she.
Imagination was a dangerous thing.
“What’dya mean by that,” his voice was close to her ear, a tantalizing whisper. “Darlin’?”
Something in the way he inflected that last word made her shiver in a delightful way. It was slightly sobering.
“Nothing,” she replied, suddenly more aware of what she was saying.
They lapsed into silence, though Logan did nothing to put more space between them. Instead, he reached for her hand. She turned to face him as he spread her fingers with his own, matching their hands up.
His dark eyes closed, the slightly drunken sway to his body more pronounced now. A slow, soft smile curved his beautiful mouth.
“Ya buzz.”
“I know.” Ororo watched as he shuddered a little. Or was it a shiver? Or was her mind playing tricks on her?
“Feels good,” he continued, pressing her hand between both of his.
“Many do not like it.”
“Many are fuckin’ retards.”
She chuckled at that. He surprised her again by suddenly dropping her hands. Logan blinked several times, then shook his head.
“Am I drunk?”
Ororo let out a healthy belly laugh at this, nodding her head drunkenly so that her hair flopped back into her eyes.
“Yes, I believe you are.”
“Well, so are you.”
“Yes, quite.”
“Lets have some more.” He leveled her with one of those heart-skipping lopsided grins and she motioned for the waitress.
~**~
Ororo was completely trashed. Logan glanced up at the sky, seeing the swirling lights drowned out by cloud cover. It wasn’t anything to be worried about yet, as she was dancing in her chair with Mary, singing far too loudly.
He chanced to smile, since she couldn’t see him. She really was cute when she laughed. Her face took on a childlike expression, the sound of her merriment reminding him of a warm summer breeze. Her dark cheeks were flushed, hair in disarray, but she was having a damn good time.
Though this wasn’t exactly the type of place he would peg as her stomping grounds, she looked at home here. Several people had come up during the last six hours or so to welcome her home, each forgoing sympathy for genuine relief.
If he wanted to be honest, he was pretty tipsy himself. Every time he felt his healing factor kick in, he’d down six more shots to stop it. It felt good to let go. Ororo seemed more human than he had ever seen her, so much that his eyes couldn’t seem to move from her.
They traced the smooth, chocolate column of her throat, her high cheekbones and luscious lips. Her body was still too-thin, but those hips made his hands itch. He wondered, rather drunkenly, if they would fit in the palm of his hands. She’d probably smack him if he tried.
Her hands, though, held most of his attention. Long, feminine fingers with clipped nails and bumpy veins. The kind a man likes on his skin. When she touched him, he could feel that strange humming just beneath the skin. He remembered it from the night before, or so he thought. Had she come into the living room? Put those fantastic hands on him? If he hadn’t dreamt it, why did she do it?
These thoughts stayed with him, even as he tucked Mary, Riley, and Ken into a cab. Once they were on their way, he collected Ororo.
“Don’t wanna go,” she whimpered as he tried to help her walk.
“Sorry, darlin’,” he chuckled, bending to scoop her into his arms when she stumbled. “Its late an’ yer drunk.”
“I’m only as think as you drunk I am.” She hissed, though her hands encircled his neck for balance.
“Or somethin’ like that, right?” Logan shook his head, his healing factor making him slightly more clear headed.
It took a bit of balance, but he soon had Ororo belted into the passenger side of her truck. He waved goodnight to a few others leaving and hopped into the driver’s seat. He gave himself a minute to two of deep concentration, telling his mutation what he needed. Just a little more clarity for the short trip home and he’d be fine.
Ororo leaned forward as he pulled out of the parking lot. She squealed when a familiar song came on the radio and grinned at him.
“Its our song, Logan!”
He snorted with laughter, turning onto the main highway while she sang broken lyrics to “Bubba Shot the Jukebox”. He’d gone and created a monster. He chuckled at her, watching out of the corner of his eye as she danced in her seat, white hair flying about her face.
The drive was uneventful, but he was glad to stop the truck in her driveway. He wasn’t entirely sober, driving made easier when there were no other cars on the street. She’d probably yell at him in the morning for driving when he wasn’t stone-cold, but she’d probably get over it in time.
He helped his inebriated friend out of the truck, propping her up and cupping her chin to look at her. Those bright eyes reflected the swirl of color above, but something in them made him cast his gaze upward. It was not her eyes that flashed sorrow and warning, but the Lights.
By the time he looked back down, Ororo had rounded the truck.
“Ororo?”
He gave chase, following as she ran on unsteady legs toward the nearby tree line. His heart clenched when he smelled the salt of tears on the air, the heavens cracking open a moment later. Rain soaked the earth immediately and he called for her again.
She was heading directly to the place he had found her.
“Storm! Don’t!”
Her sobs became audible a moment later and her coat was easily shrugged off. It lay abandoned on the wet snow as he passed, trying to catch up to the suddenly destroyed mutant. Her lovely form halted in the exact position he had first held her weakened body. He didn’t want to be here, though every second brought him sobriety with impossible swiftness.
Ororo dashed into the tree line just before he reached her. The heel of her boots crunched snow and underbrush as she ran. He lost sight of her in the darkness, making him stop in his tracks. A quick sniff sent him in the direction she had fled, wondering what was going through her tortured mind.
He located her a few minutes later, stopped in the dense wood. Ororo was on her knees, her arms wrapped around her seemingly frail body as she wept helplessly. Logan crept up behind her, unsure what to do or say.
“They’re here,” she cried when he came closer. “They brought them here to be buried. Buried alive.”
“What?”
Logan came around to face her, dropping to his knees in the frigid rain. He caught her face in the palms of his hands, forcing her to look at him. She was broken, the rain and tears not enough to convey her sorrow, her fear. One glance into those swirling white eyes told him more than any change in the weather patterns.
“They buried me here,” she wept. “Once they had what they wanted, they drugged me. Brought me here to be buried alive. To die alone in the cold dark.”
“No,” he shook his head. “Can’t be.”
“It’s true!” Ororo’s hands covered his. “I got away. I don’t know how or why, but I got away. They were here, Logan. But they’re gone now. Moved on.”
The pain in her words, the truth behind them tore at his heart. Without really meaning to, he gathered her up into his arms again. Shushing her, he glanced about the immediate area, rocking the trembling woman in his embrace.
From the center of the clearing, he spotted several mounds of earth, eroding thanks to the rain of Ororo’s tears. There were bodies here. At least seven that he could see. He looked to his left, spotting a single, unearthed grave.
“Oh, my God,” he whispered into Ororo’s hair. “Yer right.”
In the silence of the wood, the rain coming down around him, he held Ororo in his arms and let her cry.
