Chapter Seven: Unearthed
All the promises you made
To me you made in vain
I lost myself inside
Your tainted smile again
~Staind
Henry, Denali National Park
She screamed inside the hollow walls of her mind. Pleas for mercy, for salvation from the torment that proved too much were lost in her own brain. Fractured, broken to their will, she wept and wept inside until there was nothing left.
They had all seen the graves before. Little lumps in the snow-covered earth that betrayed what was buried beneath. She could not recall where or when she had seen them, but she had. They became her greatest fear.
Amid the pain, the feeling of ripe loss, she was afraid. For the first time, she feared death, the desolation that came with an ended life. Was this was her beloved Jean had felt, trapped within the persona that had controlled her body? Had her life ended, at Wolverine’s hands, with her screaming for mercy inside?
The snow hurt her feet. Winds that usually soothed her became the heralds of woe. If they put her in the ground, she would break completely. No tears stained her cheeks, the vacancy of her eyes would not allow it. They had robbed her of even the smallest showing of emotion.
She pondered on this as she stood, helpless against her fate. Did they use the drugs to protect the bodies they robbed or to save themselves from hearing their pleas? Two others would enter the ground with her, but none of them would rise again.
Only the Phoenix rose again. A mythical bird that represented her beloved friend could rise from the ashes, wreak devastation upon the land to mirror her broken mind. But she…she was merely part of the earth. Without her emotions, her power was gone, taken by those who had stolen everything else.
The men were digging. The men were speaking. The men had needles again. Pain. So much pain. Torment. Isolation. Fear. Logan. Darkness. Hopeless. Nothingness.
No one would find them, buried in the woods. She doubted anyone would think to look here for the missing mutant women. The world at large was ignorant of their plight, blind to what was being conducted in the backwoods of a tiny Alaskan village.
The men took her now, placed her in the cold, dark earth. She screamed again, the sound captured in her terrified mind. Her lips did not part, her eyes betraying none of what was happening in her heart.
Snow-littered earth was being tossed on her weakened body. She would have been freezing as the others were, but her mutation protected her. She would die from lack of oxygen, infinitely a more painful death than the others. Before she died, her mind would be ruined by the confinement. Her phobia would break her. She was lost.
How long she drifted between life and death could never be measured. The earth was heavy on her chest, on her legs, but if she could only move, there might be hope. Trucks went away, taking the sounds and feel of humanity away with them. She and the others were alone know, lying helpless in their snowy graves.
She was not ready. Death was not to come yet. She felt hot, sticky tears seep onto her face and the earth shifted. Feeling returned to her battered body. Clamping her mouth closed so that nothing would enter, she held her breath and pushed.
So weak. Her arms and legs and heart felt limp. Determination in the form of a red haired memory filtered into her mind and she pushed again. She could hear her darling sister calling for her, telling her that someone was close by. Someone had come for her, would help her, but she had to help herself first.
On a sob that mirrored her broken heart, she pushed again. And again. And again, until finally her hand reached free air. With a mighty heave, borne of strength she had thought lost, she pulled herself from the grave.
As she coughed the dirt from her mouth and nose, she lay panting on the frigid ground. Carefully, slowly, the woman known as Storm moved toward the trees. She crawled slowly, her heart telling her she was heading to safety, until she could stand on her own feet once more.
Memory and pain were shoved aside until she was numb. She stumbled in the snow. Something was barking. Something warm and furry was at her feet.
A woman screamed.
A man appeared.
Warm, strong arms encircled her, but relief was shattered when she thought they had found her again. She spoke, though the words were lost on in her delirium. The man holding her so tenderly kissed her hair, rocked her, covered her.
Oh, she thought wearily as the world plunged into darkness. The Wolverine has come to save me.
~**~
“Logan!”
His name left her lips on a half-scream. Logan rushed from the bathroom to her bed, finding Ororo trembling and weeping. Cursing his lack of vigilance, he sat on the edge to comfort the terrified woman.
Without warning, Storm climbed into Logan’s lap. The salty scent of her tears tore at his heart, and he allowed the invasion of personal space. Her chest shivered with uneven breaths as she laid her head on his shoulder, her legs circling his waist. He rubbed her back, letting her arms clutch his shoulders.
“It’s ok, darlin’,” he murmured to the still half-asleep woman. “I’m right here. I ain’t left ya.”
She didn’t reply, so he continued rubbing her back. With one hand, he collected the mass of sweat-soaked white hair and tucked it to one side. He soothed her as best he could while trying to not fall asleep to the hum of her skin.
It had been just hours since Ororo’s memory resurfaced. In that graveyard clearing, he had heard the entire account from a weeping voice. He’d held her then, promising that there would be vengeance in the name of these murdered women. It was something akin to a miracle that Ororo managed to survive, especially after she revealed her intense claustrophobia.
She kept saying something about “rising” and “Jean”, but he couldn’t make sense of it. Perhaps she’d had some sort of vision in her fever, though he would not put it past Jean or even One-Eye to help their friend survive.
When, at last, Ororo’s tears decreased and her breathing regulated, he stood with her in his arms. She was so light, so frail that it awakened his protective nature. Logan muttered assurances into her ear as he tucked her back into bed. In the morning, she would likely be embarrassed if he told her any of this, so he would keep it to himself. He didn’t mind caring for her. With that buzzing skin and soft scent, it was wonderful to have her so close.
Once he was sure she was back in a dreamless sleep, he pulled the blankets around her and tiptoed out of the room. He’d destroyed a few trees outside, needing to release the rage that her recovered memory brought to his heart. Someone had kidnapped her, taken her chances at children, and buried her alive. These people couldn’t be human. Nothing born could be that cruel, that heartless.
There was work to be done, now. Logan kept Ororo’s bedroom door open as he grabbed for the cordless phone. He punched in the number for the Sheriff and waited four rings for someone to pick up.
“Yes?” came Tasser’s sleep-heavy voice.
“Hey, sorry it’s so early,” Logan said with a glance at the dawn-stained sky. “We’ve got a problem.”
“Logan?” Tasser replied, sounding more awake. “What happened?”
“Ororo recovered some memory last night after we got done tearin’ Dottie’s up.” Logan heard the dogs whimper and opened the back door to let them out.
“Oh, God.” Tasser’s line clicked as though he were changing the phone’s position. “What is it?”
“She was buried alive.”
Silence.
“I know,” Logan went on. “I couldn’t believe it either. We got home an’ she went tearin’ inta the woods. I found her in a clearin’, cryin’ her eyes out. There are about half a dozen graves, bub.”
“Holy God,” Tasser breathed. “I’ll have a forensic team out there in an hour. Will poor ‘Roro be up for questioning?”
“I dunno, but I don’t want no one near her til she’s ready,” Logan said stubbornly. “She’s gotta lot ta handle right now.”
“You’ve got it, man,” the Sheriff said kindly. “I’ll see you soon, Logan.”
“Thanks.”
When he clicked the phone off, he cradled it easily. It was still early and his body craved sleep. A quick mental debate ended with him moving into the bedroom again. He didn’t want her to be alone, not with this memory.
She was wearing his shirt. After bringing her back to the house, she’d gone nearly catatonic on him. The only option was to get her out of the wet clothing before she got sick. He’d not peeked -- much -- while slipping a flannel shirt onto her shivering body. It had been the first thing he spotted in his dash to get her warm.
Clad in only his sweat pants, he climbed into bed beside her, staying on top of the thick duvet. Giving into temptation was always something that came easily to Logan, so he moved closer to her, enough to feel the warmth of her body.
He propped his elbow on the pillow, resting his head in his hand so he could look at her properly. Though an evening of boozing it up had ended with such tragedy, he still found every line of her face appealing. That long nose, the spray of dark lashes resting on her cheek, her slightly parted lips and the crop of long white hair was temptation personified.
His free hand could not resist. Light, feathery touches moved over the swell of her bottom lip to the line of her jaw. He touched her brow, smooth with the peace of deep sleep. Her ear was traced softly as well, until he threaded his fingers in the silken locks of her hair.
Really, Ororo was beautiful. How could anyone hurt something so beautiful? So innocent?
He was still touching her when he finally drifted into sleep.
~**~
You killed me.
Logan awoke. Or did he? Glancing around, he found himself not in the peaceful solace of Ororo’s bedroom, but in a limitless black void.
He squinted against a sharp beam of light, raising his hands to protect his eyes. There, before him and wreathed with that fiery light, was Jean. Not the Phoenix, the woman that carried his heart to her grave.
You murdered me.
Her beautiful lips parted, but the voice was something alien. It rasped with the speech of the dead. Her emerald green eyes held accusation and betrayal. His heart was rent from his chest after just one of those blameful eyes.
Murderer.
“No!” He called toward the light. “I had to!”
Liar.
“No…”
Betrayer.
“No, Jean, don’t.” His words were caught in his throat, half-sobbing over the lump forming there. “Jean, I loved you.”
Liar. Murderer. Betrayer.
“Jean, please.”
Blood. Blood on your hands.
He looked down, finding his hands covered with the sticky, crimson lifeblood he had taken from his beloved Jean. Horror welling into self-hatred in his chest, he shook his head. It was useless to deny her words. He knew, most of all, what he had done.
“Storm?” Logan called into the blackness. “STORM!”
Stay away from her!
“STORM! Wake me up!”
A chilling laugh echoed around him.
Afraid of your dreams? Of the truth, Wolverine?
“N-No…I had to. I had to stop you. Jean….”
Murderer. Your unclean hands bring nothing but pain.
“S-Storm?” His voice broke.
The light shifted, drawing his attention from the wraith before him. He saw Ororo, sleeping peacefully beside him. With his bloodstained hands, he reached for her.
“Ororo?”
The cackling, eerie laughter surrounded him again and the image of his sleeping companion was moved out of his reach. He made a desperate grab for her, only to find the blackness holding him back.
“Bring her back!”
Why? So you can kill her, too?
“She’s not insane,” he said bitterly, staring at the slumbering form too far for him to reach. “Phoenix was fuckin’ crazy. I had to stop her.”
You killed me. The woman you loved. What’s to stop you from killing her, too?
“I won’t…’Ro? Wake me up.”
She can’t hear you, Murderer.
“’Ro? Please.” Logan looked back to the specter haunting him, tears flowing freely from his tired eyes. “Jean, I’m sorry.”
She laughed again, throwing her head back to shake with morbid mirth. He could see her more clearly now. Rotting flesh had replaced her smooth skin, the decay of death covered what had been his most cherished memory.
Jean pointed at Ororo, then to Logan, still shaking with her laughter.
Unworthy.
“Of what?” He demanded. “Of you? God, don’t I know it. But I tried to save you, Jean.”
Murderer. Liar. Betrayer.Animal.
Logan brought his blood soaked hands to his face and screamed.
~**~
Ororo was jolted from sleep by a masculine scream. On a gasp, she popped up, quickly divesting herself of the blankets that were suddenly too heavy. In her confusion, she noted that Logan was beside her, screaming in his sleep.
She had never heard any sound like it before. Pain and sorrow that could not be matched echoed from Wolverine’s throat. It stopped her heart, made her grieve for him. She leapt into action a moment later, scrambling over the covers to kneel beside him on her bed.
“Logan? Logan, wake up.”
It took only the sound of her voice to jar him awake. His dark eyes snapped open, his chest heaving with labored breathing. One of those massive hands reached blindly, capturing hers and threading their fingers together.
“Shh,” she soothed, wiping at his sweaty brow. “It’s all right, it was only a dream.”
“Storm?” His voice was broken, as though he were holding back tears.
“Yes,” Ororo replied softly. “It was a dream.”
Something that could have been a whimper left his throat and a moment later Ororo was tugged down. She let him mold her to his chest, let him encircle her with his muscular arms. He was shaking so she hooked one of her legs over his, cuddling into his side instinctively.
“I killed her,” he whispered so softly she might have imagined it.
“Logan…” Tears stung the back of her eyes anew at the memory of that terrible moment when he had laid her friend’s body at her feet.
He was still shaking. Ororo frowned, looking up at his face. His flesh was beaded with sweat, his eyes closed tight as though he were trying to block something from his sight. Concerned, Ororo shifted closer to him.
She lifted a hand to his face, letting her humming skin rest against his cheek. He leaned into the touch, some of his violent trembling easing. Exhaling sharply, she wiggled until both of her hands were free.
One rested over his heart, the other on his face. Ororo had never met a single person that reveled in the unusual buzz her skin contained, until Logan. She was happy, though, to help him when something had frightened him so.
As an afterthought, she flattened the top of her foot to the bottom of his, ensuring he had contact at three points. She remained silent, waiting for his shivering to stop. What woke him in such a state? Lingering memories of Alcatraz? The death of Jean? She felt for him, for his loss.
“You did what you had to do, Logan,” she whispered without thinking. “No matter what your mind tells you, it was the right thing to do.”
His only response was pulling her more tightly against his chest. She fitted her body completely against his, not caring if it was unseemly. He needed something tangible tonight and so did she. Dreams were their enemies; the only way to fight them was to find comfort in something real. As she rested her cheek against his shoulder, she slowed her breathing the way Charles had taught her.
Logan’s flesh dried, no longer sweating and the shivering ceased altogether. Ororo was content to listen as his heart shifted from a thundering beat to a sedate thud. She allowed her wound-up body to relax, looking up to see he had fallen asleep again.
With the luxury of his unconscious state, Ororo toyed with the thick mat of hair on his chest, her hand tracing the subtle he had not shaved yet. In his sleep, he looked vulnerable, innocent. She thought, perhaps, that this is the side of him he kept locked away. Even from Jean.
And yet, he trusted her enough to lie beside her, somehow knowing no harm would befall him. Something that could have been pride prickled in her chest at the thought. Her thumb dipped into the soft cleft of his chin. She had no idea where this insane urge to touch him was coming from, but her hands itched with it. Ororo shifted until she could almost sit up, her leg further entwining with his to steady the precarious position.
“You are a dangerous man, Wolverine,” she murmured in the otherwise silent dark.
Her head tilted to the side as she watched him, wondering at the small, secret smile now curving those pouting lips.
“Very dangerous, for many reasons.”
Ororo had to force herself to ease out of the bed. The flutter in her heart was definitely not a good sign.
~**~
By the time Logan woke, the police had arrived. Ororo, wrapped in a thick blanket, watched them enter the woods from the safety of her front porch. Her coffee sat on the small wood table beside her, unconsumed and cold.
Her protector had obviously alerted them about the gravesite. She shuddered, remembering with such clarity now what should have been her final moments. The burial, the entrapment of her own mind haunted her.
Though she wanted, desperately, to rush out into the woods, to see the faces of the women unearthed, she stayed behind. Logan would have her hide if she left without him again. It didn’t bother the weather mistress that he wanted to keep her safe.
What did bother her was that she enjoyed it.
Ororo was not the type to play damsel in distress. If she needed help, for any reason, she would ask. Though wildly independent, she was not stupid. Not asking for aid nearly always ended badly. But with Logan…she got this deep, feminine thrill when he leapt into action on her behalf.
Just yesterday, when he came harrowing out of the house after discovering she’d seemingly vanished, was something that made her smile involuntarily. She had called for him, the terrible night of her abduction. He came for her, was waiting when she came out of the woods.
From their first meeting, Wolverine had soothed and frightened her. She found comfort in his ferocity at the same time that it terrified her. She saw him as man and beast, a beautiful blending of both, irrevocably injured by things he could not remember. Ororo grieved for him, but she did not pity the feral mutant.
He was loyal, which always struck a chord with Storm. His loyalty had come to fruition during Stryker’s attack on the mansion two years prior. It was for that reason, she thought, that her panicked cry had been for him alone. During the invasion of her home, she cried out for someone she knew would help her if he could. They were not the best of friends, but she was part of a life he had embraced.
She was worthy of protection.
In much of her life, Ororo had played in the background. The other X-Men were more provocative while she preferred to do things quietly. Jean and Scott were Charles’ prized pupils, though he loved them all dearly. She had ever felt just a little out of place.
Until Alaska.
“Hey.”
Startled, Ororo whipped around to find Logan standing sleepily in the doorway. He had his hands gripping the very top of the frame as he stretched thick, ropey muscles scarcely hidden by his tank top.
Storm had to close her mouth by force.
“Good morning,” she replied when her wits returned. “Are you feeling better?”
“Could ask ya the same,” he said seriously before yawning. “Sleep ok?”
Embarrassed at a half-faded memory of him tucking her back into bed following a nightmare, she nodded. “Thanks, in no small part, to you.”
He gave her a lazy smile and a self-deprecating shrug. “S’why I’m here, darlin’.”
“Thank you, all the same, “ she replied, returning the smile. “Did you…”
She halted her question, looking away to frown. How did she know if he remembered having that nightmare? If it bothered him, she did not want to start the day off on the wrong foot. He was far too pleasant in a good mood. He made her laugh, even when she felt like dying.
“Ya can ask, darlin’,” he answered her unasked question. “I remember.”
“Are you all right?” Ororo inquired softly.
“Well, wakin’ up ta a very warm, hummin’ body luring me back ta sleep ain’t bad,” he flirted with a wink.
Ororo willed her cheeks to not flush. By the coy glint in his dark eyes, she knew she only partially succeeded.
“You find it comforting,” she replied with as much dignity as she could gather. “You comforted me, I returned the favor.”
“I wasn’t complainin’,” Logan returned slyly. “I like yer body.”
Ororo’s mouth fell open in surprise as he turned back into the house. Before she could react, he tossed her a grin over his shoulder.
“Ya look good in my shirt.”
With that, he reentered the house, leaving Ororo confused and flustered. She had, of course, noticed the garment when she woke, but was loath to remove it. The soft flannel smelled of his cigars and kept paranoia at bay. The very idea that he had undressed her was sobering.
Had he peeked?
Narrowing her eyes, she conceded that Logan was a man and likely had. She hoped that his honor and loyalty had kicked in before he got out of hand. However, if her current train of thought “ not to mention raging hormones “ kept up, he’d likely have her disrobed soon enough.
Ashamed that mental images of Logan tearing her clothing off with his teeth made desire flood her system, she turned her eyes back to the small figures moving along the tree line. She shouldn’t be thinking about Wolverine and nakedness at a time like this. Once the bodies were exhumed, she would be questioned again.
No other memories had surfaced, and part of her was grateful for that. With a sigh, she stood and moved into the house after Wolverine. The memory had come so swiftly, so forcefully that it physically hurt her.
What had triggered it? In her drunken state, with Logan so very close, she had desperately wanted to close those precious inches between them. To feel his lips on hers, his hard, heavy body pinning her to the truck. Instead, that terrible memory of being buried alive ripped through her.
Inside, Logan was in the kitchen, bent at the waist while he searched for something in a cupboard. Ororo’s head tilted. She licked her lips. He had, quite possibly, the most delicious backside she had ever seen.
I killed her.
A bucket of cold water would have been less effective than the sudden reminder of Logan’s whispered words only hours ago. She looked away immediately, turning to scratch her beloved dogs heartily. What was she thinking? Logan. Jean. That was the scene. It had been from the first day in Charles’ office.
Still, he was so appealing, so alluring that he made it hard to concentrate. Last night, as they drank and laughed, she saw him as more than just Wolverine, Logan the X-Man. He was human, real to her for perhaps the first time.
“Hungry?” Logan questioned her, making her look up at him across the open living room space.
Yes. “No, thank you. I already ate.”
“Ya sure?” He flipped a package of bacon in the air enticingly. “Bacon an’ biscuits with honey?”
I’d rather have honey-covered Wolverine. “I am fine, really.”
She excused herself to shower before her wayward thoughts got any further out of hand. What in the name of the Bright Lady was wrong with her?
Once under the warm spray of water, Ororo flattened her back against the stall. The cool tile did little to soothe her pounding blood. Though she knew she shouldn’t, her neglected system begged for some sort of release.
With only a twinge of shame, she propped one leg on the edge of the stall, careful to keep the sheer curtain in place. Her hand came up to tease at one breast, pinching the already taut nipple between two fingers.
She bit her lip to hold back a whimper as her mind flooded with conjured images of Logan’s hands on her skin. Rough, dominating, growling Wolverine played havoc on her sexual drive. Ororo found herself panting with want inside of ten seconds.
Her free hand traveled the length of her belly, her mind refusing to remind her of the lifelessness there. She parted her thighs further, dipping her fingers into the white patch of hair at the apex. Manipulating her body eagerly, she swept quick fingertips over her swollen clit before plunging inside of herself.
Logan was in her thoughts, rutting ruthlessly between her thighs. He bruised and bit, making her cry out with pleasure. Ororo had the secret, dangerous desire to be dominated and Wolverine would easily fit the bill. She could imagine being shoved into the mattress with every thrust of his hips, hear the deep timbre of his voice growling her name.
In seconds, Ororo tumbled over the edge, orgasm whipping through her body like lightning. His name left her lips, unbidden, echoing off of the tile of her bathroom.
Gasping for breath, she flattened herself to the back of the stall again, trying to regain some semblance of control. She had just had an orgasm while fantasizing about Logan. She was very, very glad he was well out of earshot.
After several minutes, she regained enough motor control to finish washing up. The last thing she needed was Logan knowing exactly what she’d been doing during her shower.
~**~
Outside of Ororo’s bathroom, Logan stood in complete and utter shock. The plate in his hands had cracked with the force of his grip, but he couldn’t care less about that at the moment.
He’d finished his meal and made Ororo a plate, despite her protestations. She needed to eat, judging by her too-thin form. He had planned on just leaving it on the bed, hoping she’d get the hint while he ate in the kitchen.
It was the sound of her panting that brought his attention to the bathroom. Just last night, he had squashed the urge to hop in with her, hadn’t he? Concerned that she might be having another memory relapse, he’d raised one hand to knock when the scent hit him.
He had never smelled Ororo’s arousal, but he knew women well enough to catch it. Under the lavender of her soap, he caught just a whiff of that intoxicating scent. His hearing had sharpened immediately. Flesh meeting flesh, soft groans…it wasn’t hard to figure out what she was doing in there.
Of course, Logan knew that masturbation was a normal, even healthy adult activity. Hell, he did it often enough. Satisfied that Ororo was not in danger, he had intended to go about his business, though the sound and scent of her shot desire through him faster than an electric shock.
It wasn’t until he heard his name, voiced on an orgasmic groan that he’d snapped the plate. She was thinking about him while she brought herself pleasure. For a moment, he’d nearly said to hell with morals and accosted her right then and there.
But he backed off, killed the impulse. Whatever was going through her mind, he was likely just fantasy fodder. Closest thing she had to a decent mental image. Yeah, that was it. He continued to tell himself that, even as he stood rooted to the floor.
The scent of her shampoo was coupled with a soft hum of what sounded like her new favorite song. She was done playing for now. Logan took the broken plate back into the kitchen, trashing it food and all.
Glaring down at the erection tenting his sweats, he shook his head. Ororo Munroe was going to be trouble.
