Chapter Eight: Chaos Factor
You’re gonna get me into trouble
I knew it right off the bat
You’re gonna get me into trouble
If you keep lookin’ like that
~Mark Chesnutt
Fairbanks Memorial Hospital
The morgue is usually filled with foreboding. Even morticians and forensic pathologists can have moments when the scent of death overwhelms their rational minds. From the deepest reaches of human history, Man has feared Death. The unknown cessation of life is the stuff nightmares are drenched in.
To those whose lives are not spent investigating death, the morgue can echo the gates of hell itself. No matter how many people are inside, no voice rises above a soft whisper. Respect for the dead, for this unseen monster that rends soul from body, requires the utmost in deference.
Only a handful of times could the mutant known as Wolverine recall being inside such places. Though he feared little, it always sent a bone-chilling shudder down his spine. Ororo moved woodenly, letting him guide her through the wide, swinging doors. He rubbed the small of her back gently, wanting her to know he was with her every step of the way.
The pathologist’s soft greeting was ignored as Ororo made her way toward the heavy steel lockers were the seven bodies had been stored. Many of them had no identification, no missing persons’ report matched up. It was as though the abductors had intentionally taken women who lived their lives alone.
Logan stepped up beside Storm as she opened one of the lockers and pulled out the long, rolling tray. Sorrow filled her blue eyes as she lovingly touched the cold, blue face of a woman that had been buried near her.
One after the other, the former X-Woman opened locker after locker. Each face was touched reverently, as though Ororo was making a mental inventory. Logan watched her carefully, staying a little ways back to give her some privacy. She walked from corpse to corpse over and over. Saying hello, saying goodbye, saying “Someone will pay, I promise you” in her silent wake.
Their morning had been spent with the police. Storm went over her memory sequence four more times before Logan cut in and shoved the cops out of the house. She’d not broken down again, though he noticed her hands trembling and her smile was strained.
He’d walked with her to the excavated gravesite, long after the bodies had been moved. As she moved from tray to tray here, she had walked between the graves numerous times, stopping at her own. He had watched her with sadness in his heart as she stared down at her own grave, still marveling in the strength it took to survive.
“These two.”
Her voice interrupted his musings and he moved across the cold, sterile room to her side without thinking.
“They were buried at the same time I was,” she said quietly, looking up at him. “She was just a child, Logan.”
The words brought his gaze to the youthful, pale face on the slab Ororo stood beside. The girl could not have been over seventeen years old, a promising life suddenly extinguished without cause or reason. Logan’s active mind imagined Rogue on this table, bereft of her own future.
Rage colored his vision, bringing a coppery taste to the back of his throat and the beast inside him screaming for vengeance.
Storm’s humming hand wrapped around his, preventing his deadly claws from tearing through his skin. Understanding shone through the grief in her eyes and she squeezed the back of his hand lightly before pulling away.
The eight bodies were closed back into the chilled lockers, each latched quietly as the pathologist watched the exchange in silence. Logan kept himself close to ‘Ro, wondering what was happening in that brilliant mind of hers.
She read the autopsy reports in her same contemplative quiet, her brow stitching together as her eyes darted over the paperwork. Logan stuffed his hands into his pockets, wishing he had someone or something to destroy. Investigative work was her strength, beating the hell of things was his.
All she had to do was point one dainty finger and he’d tear off to eviscerate the evil that had done this. Logan was not a religious man, but he had stock in faith. Ororo’s miraculous survival had a purpose. This was her crusade, he was along for the ride.
When she finished her study of the doctor’s findings, she moved back toward Logan. Her rubber-soled boots squeaked on the clean tile, the rustle of her clothing giving off puffs of that fresh, drugging scent. He watched the gentle sway of her body, how every move she made was infused with otherworldly grace.
He was spending way too much time watching her.
“It confirms the memory,” she was saying. “All of the women were mutilated as I was.”
“Shit,” Logan said, shaking his head. “You ok?”
Though she crossed her arms and her chin wavered dangerously, she nodded. “We have to find who did this, Logan. It is the only way to avenge such evil.”
“I know, darlin’,” he replied quietly. Logan reached for her, rubbing one hand over her cotton-covered arm soothingly. “We will.”
“That man, that doctor,” she pressed, her voice thick with emotion. “Do you think he will call?”
“Yeah,” he nodded, completely certain. “These bastards ain’t done. Our little doctor friend is too piss-in-his-pants afraid to go against anyone. He’ll follow his orders, from this asshole and me.”
Her soft, borderline teary smile wrenched his heart. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“It’s no problem, girl. I mean that.”
~**~
Two days later
“Oh, my God. The man looks like he stepped out of a comic book!”
“Mary…”
“No, seriously. Look at his arms…his ass, I could bite it.” Mary made a growling sound, making Ororo roll her eyes.
In the days that had passed since her trip to the morgue, Ororo found herself somewhat calmer. A part of her shattered memory had returned and she was dealing with it. Those dead women would have their justice, even if she spent the rest of her life finding everyone responsible.
Her current plight, however, was getting her darling friend from the window. Mary had invited herself over for dinner, which was not unusual. Logan seemed to like the bubbly Inuit woman, so Ororo allowed her breezy invasion.
Mary squealed girlishly, creaking the thick blinds open a fraction more. Outside, the dull echo of Logan chopping firewood rang through the mountains, coupled with the Huskies playing close by. Ororo was at the other end of the window, watching as well, though she tried to hide it.
His thick, muscular arms were bared by the tank top he wore, even in the frigid temperature out of doors. It was dark, but the motion lights bathed him in a bright glow, giving both women an eyeful.
As he raised the axe again, Ororo’s stomach clenched. He really was insanely appealing.
“How do stand it?” Mary whispered breathily. “I’d have him buck naked on the kitchen floor inside of two minutes.”
“Mary! Hush, he will hear you!”
“Oh, I hope so. Come get me, big boy.” Mary growled, making a biting motion in Logan’s direction.
As though his sensitive hearing had caught her last words, Logan paused the axe, glancing back toward the house. Mary giggled hysterically, grabbed Ororo by the shirt, and yanked her down so he would not spot them.
“God, he’s sex walking,” Mary continued, peeking out of the window again when the chopping continued. “’Roro, if you don’t jump him, I will.”
“Logan is a friend, a former colleague,” Ororo defended. “He is not a piece of meat.”
“The hell he isn’t!” Mary countered, licking her lips. “He’s just begging to go all…what do you call it?”
“Feral?” Storm offered, muttering under her breath.
“Yep, that’s the word. I bet his dynamite in bed.”
“Mary, for the last time, be quiet or I will electrocute you.”
“You’re no fun.”
It took several more seconds, but Ororo managed to pry her sexually charged friend away from the window. They moved into the kitchen, opening beers as they prepared their evening meal. Logan’s steady chopping could still be heard outside, giving Ororo some reprieve from Mary’s insistence that she take Wolverine to bed.
While she peeled potatoes, Mary slid into a barstool on the living room side of the breakfast bar, nursing a beer as she watched Ororo cook. The girl reminded Storm of an odd, elder mixture of Kitty and Marie. She could be girlish and giggly, oversexed, and innocent at the same time. Ororo adored the girl.
“You can’t sit there and honestly say you haven’t thought about it,” her friend pressed.
Unable to lie, Ororo sighed. “Perhaps I have, but that is beyond the point.”
“No, it ain’t,” the girl grinned. “When’s the last time you got good and sexed? I mean the ‘Holy God, I won’t be able to walk until next week, are those my panties on the ceiling fan, I want more now’ kinda sexed?”
“Mary!” Ororo flushed, tossing a long potato peel at her friend. “Will you shut up?”
“Nope,” Mary giggled, fishing the peel from her shirt and tossing it back. “You’re alive, relatively young, beautiful, and all alone with that hot chunk of delicious male. What’s the problem?”
Storm did not answer immediately. She took the peeled potatoes and chopped them into even hunks with chef’s precision. Mary was watching her carefully, gauging her reaction, her resistance to answer.
Honestly, there was no problem. Ororo’s body steadily betrayed her, calling for Logan’s rough and needy touch. In the silence of the night, when his dreams tortured him, she often crept into the living room. Her “buzz”, as he called it, soothed away his fears and every night, her hands got bolder.
She had mapped the contours of his chest, the lines of his face and the bugling muscles of his arms. These images were locked away in the unbroken parts of her mind for long showers that brought her a roaring climax with fantasies of her new roommate.
Once or twice, she had caught Logan staring at her when he thought she was asleep or distracted. Ororo was not an idiot, she could see desire in his eyes. He mentally undressed her on more than one occasion, giving her that prickling of feminine pride when he looked away quickly.
Oh yes, she wanted Wolverine. But taking him to bed might prove dangerous. If she got him vulnerable, opened him up as so many men did after climax, she might get more than she bargained for. As she told him in the bar just a few days past, he was dangerous.
“You think too much.”
“Mary, shush.”
“Well, you do!” Her dark haired friend frowned, shaking her head. “You’ve been through hell, what’s so bad about seducing Mr. Dark, Handsome, and Growly?”
Ororo shushed her as the front door swung open. Logan entered the house, flanked by the dogs with an armful of chopped firewood.
“I refilled the bin outside,” he was saying as he shook the snow from his hair. “It’s snowin’.”
“Thank you,” Ororo said with more false cheer than she’d intended. “If you want to wash up, dinner should be ready in about half an hour.”
Logan bent at the waist, placing a few pieces of the freshly cut wood into the dwindling fire. He put the rest in the small bin beside the fireplace and called the dogs. Mary and Ororo watched him move in complete silence as he fed the panting pups. Both women tilted their heads every time his bent over without thinking about it.
“Yeah, sounds good.” Logan replied gruffly before sniffing the air. “Whatcha makin’?”
Ororo swallowed hard, suddenly aware of the excess saliva in her mouth.
“Moose steaks in rosemary and orange sauce, potatoes sautéed in wild onions and butter, cabbage rolls with her special wine glaze.” Mary offered quickly.
“Damn, sounds good.” Logan grinned at both women. Ororo could have sworn she heard Mary whimper.
“Logan?” Storm cut in, pointing to his boots.
“Yeah?”
“You’re dripping.”
“Oh, hell. Sorry.” He shrugged, turning toward the bedroom. “I’ll be out in a sec.”
Mary and Ororo leaned over the bar to watch him walk down the hall until the bedroom door closed. Her friend grabbed at her hand when the shower turned on.
“Ok, seriously,” Mary whispered feverishly. “If you don’t take him, I will.”
Ororo shook her head, turning back to the stove and trying to not think about Logan in the shower.
~**~
“Fuckin’ Christ,” Logan growled, low in his throat. His free hand gripped the grout between the tiles of the shower stall as he came down from the self-induced high.
He’d smelled it on them both the instant he’d come back into the house. Ororo and Mary were both aroused, saturating the entire house with the scent. It was Ororo, however, that captured his full attention. Her ripe, intoxicating scent played havoc on his mind and body.
It reduced him to touching himself in the shower, imagining it was Storm’s body against his, her voice crying out his name. He had the fantasy over and over until he thought he would burst from the pressure. Every time he turned around lately, his mind was trapped in erotic images of having her naked, willing, and writhing under him.
The water washed away the fluid he’d splashed onto the tile while his over-alert body tried to regulate again. While he washed up, he kept seeing her in his mind’s eye.
Though recent events were hard to take, for both of them, he’d begun to trust Storm. She was honest, caring, and took absolutely no shit from him. She made him laugh, especially late at night when they sat in front of the fire swapping X-Men stories.
He knew she came to him when his nightmares took him. Horrifying visions of Jean’s accusing eyes were often stopped short by the hum of Ororo’s skin against his. He would drift into better dreams, half-memory half-fantasy of Storm in various scenarios. She thought he didn’t know and because he wanted her to keep coming, he let her believe that.
When he finished showering, Logan turned the water off. His sensitive hearing caught Mary’s giggling from the kitchen and Ororo’s rebuttals were followed up by the sizzle of her cooking. Logan was not an idiot, so he knew that Mary was hot for him.
She was sweet and very pretty, but her blue-black hair and almond shaped eyes just didn’t light his fire.
She ain’t ‘Ro.
Logan paused, shaking his head. Thoughts like that were only trouble.
He took the towel from the rack and dried his body before concentrating on his unruly hair. Without thinking to check, he opened the bathroom door and stepped into the bedroom to dress.
A heartbeat later, he heard Ororo’s voice.
“In the bedroom closet on the right.”
A split second after, he noted that Mary was standing in the bedroom doorway. Her mouth was open and her eyes traveled the length of his body, stopping at his now flaccid cock. Unable to resist, Logan let a slow, seductive smile cross his lips.
“Need somethin’?”
Mary’s only reply was a high pitched squeak. She remained rooted to the floor, staring at his naked form with something akin to desire and shock in her eyes. Logan, unashamed of his nude body, kept right on drying his hair.
If he knew Storm, she’d be along any second to rescue her friend. That was something he wanted to see.
As if on cue, Ororo appeared behind Mary. His eyes were suddenly for her and her alone as she sized up the situation quickly.
“Mary? What on…”
She stopped in her tracks, noticing that Logan was naked, in her bedroom, and taunting her friend. Those flashing blue eyes widened, but he caught her giving his entire body a long look. It might have been a trick of the light, but he thought he saw ‘Ro lick her lips before she leapt into action.
“All right, Mary, we are all adults here,” she said in her bossiest tone. Ororo grabbed Mary by the arm, pulling her away.
The contact seemed to break whatever stupor Mary was in and she cracked a wide grin in Logan’s direction.
“Nice piece,” she taunted as Ororo dragged her from the room.
“Logan, would you bring out the white platter from the closet shelf? My blue one is too small.” She spoke over her shoulder, not looking back at him.
“Sure,” he replied, deliberately inflecting a low growl to his voice. “Need anythin’ else?”
Both women paused and he heard Mary giggle softly. He thought he caught her say something akin to “Yep, she sure does, Sexy” under her breath.
“Put some clothes on,” Ororo snapped, slamming the door behind her.
Logan chuckled to himself when he heard them move back into the kitchen. “All ya gotta do is ask, ‘Ro.”
He exhaled sharply, controlling his arousal by force as he moved to dress quickly.
~**~
Ororo kicked off the heavy blankets, sweating in her silent bedroom. It was late and the wine she’d had at dinner wasn’t helping. Instead of being sleepy and languid, her entire system was on high alert.
Logan’s teasing of Mary had created a ball of lust in her stomach that would not be ignored. He’d spent the remainder of the evening playing with her. Mary’s eyes seemed to be permanently the size of dinner plates by the time she had headed home.
Goddess above, he had kept touching her. From the way he reached across her body to grab a beer or that single, teasing caress on her backside as they set the table, he’d been in rare form. Every touch only brought the fire in her to new heights. Not even a full belly and nearly a bottle of wine could cool her heated flesh.
Pushing both hands into her hair, Ororo resisted the urge to yank it all out in frustration. Mary was speaking truth when she hinted that it had been too long since Ororo was touched. A deep longing for that sort of contact was easily shoved aside during her months in Henry. She’d wanted to be alone, but now that was the last thing on her mind.
Mental images of shoving Logan onto her bed, the sofa, the floor kept her from sleep. She rubbed her thighs together, hoping to ease the ache steadily forming between her legs. The knowing smile Wolverine gave her as she shut the door hours before told her everything she needed to know.
He knew she wanted him.
The memory of his naked, glistening body was just as bad. In the instant she noticed he was nude, taken that long mental picture of him, she wanted to shove Mary out the door and jump on Logan. He would be good, she had to agree with Mary. He couldn’t not be with eyes like the devil and a body to match.
She toyed with the idea of bringing herself another empty, unsatisfying orgasm, but squashed it quickly. It wasn’t worth it. Nothing she could do herself would sate the lust brimming through her needy body.
Rationally, she knew it was insane. But she was an adult, as she told Mary earlier. Logan was as well and she had the distinct impression that he was waiting for her in the living room. Would he simply give her what she wanted, without pressure or rejection?
“Damn it.” She muttered into her pillow as her nipples tightened against the cotton of her nightshirt.
The pillow still held traces of Logan’s scent. It proved to be the straw that broke the camel’s back. Stealing herself for embarrassment or rejection, Ororo jumped out of bed and moved toward the bedroom door with a determined stride.
~**~
One hour prior
She was smiling into the phone, listening to her beloved fiancée on the other line as he told her about the wonders of the X-Men. It was raining, so she remained by the window, watching it cover the beautiful moors surrounding the manor.
Though it had only been a few months, she already missed the less dreary mansion that housed Xavier’s School. The open grounds and cherished quiet were filled with the laughter of children. Her relief at Storm’s recovery was strong, and she wanted to return in hopes that her friend would come back to the school.
Her movements were that of a woman brought up in culture and privilege. Even the rough silk slacks and matching top were badges of her family’s stature. She unpinned her long dark hair, shaking it as she adjusted the phone against her ear.
“I can’t wait until you get back,” Warren was saying excitedly. “You’ll go crazy over the Professor.”
“Everyone else does,” she countered. “Has Wolverine returned?”
“Not yet,” her love replied quickly. “He’s out doing what he does best, I guess.”
“Ripping the bad guys into shreds?” She laughed with Warren, delighting in the sound of his deep voice.
“Of course, he’s the best,” Angel’s tone was light until he spoke again. “Rogue was saying something about these guys kidnapping powerful mutant women. Just promise me you’re being careful.”
“I’m fine, love,” Betsy said soothingly. “The manor is well protected and my brother is in the other room.”
“OK, ok, I’ll try to not worry so much.” He paused. “When are you coming back, again?”
Betsy giggled. The only person on the face of the planet that could make her giggle like a schoolgirl was the winged man on the other end of the line. She could hear the soft rustle of his angelic wings and her heart ached for him.
“Next week,” she said quietly. “I miss you.”
“Miss you, too, gorgeous.”
Betsy frowned, staring out of the window as the previously humming electrified fence stuttered. Placing her hand on the glass, she leaned forward, peering curiously into the darkness.
“Bets? What’s up?”
“Mmm,” she shrugged. “The fence just powered down. It’s nothing Michael cannot repair.”
“You sure?” Warren’s voice was on the verge of panic. “Bets, go to your brother. Take the phone.”
“Warren…”
“I’m serious, babe.” He pressed. “I’ve got a bad feeling.”
“All right, if it will make you feel better.”
Trusting his instincts as well as her own, Betsy turned toward the library door. Brian wouldn’t mind the intrusion, especially once she voiced Warren’s concerns. Hair on the back of her neck stood at attention, giving her the feeling of being watched.
With her hand on the library doorknob, she quickly psi-scanned the room. Finding no other presence in the immediate area, she twisted the knob. It was locked.
The sound of many muffled footsteps reached her from the hallway.
“Damn it,” she cursed into the phone. “Warren?”
“Bets? Is someone there? RUN!”
She dropped the phone, twisting the doorknob frantically. When it refused to budge, she bolted across the wide study to the opposite door. It was locked from the outside as well. The same was found at the other two exits, making fear well inside Psylocke’s chest.
Annoyed that she was afraid, she backed toward the windows, where the rain pattered against the glass. A low, almost-electric hum surrounded her as the purple of her psi-blades erupted from her hands.
Psylocke stood proudly, hearing the malevolent beings jiggle the doorknob that led into the massive hall. She crouched low in a battle ready position Wolverine had taught her. Warren was screaming for her from the forgotten cordless phone.
In an instant, the door flew open and the room flooded with men in dark camouflage.
“WARREN!” She screamed. “Men, a dozen. Automatic weaponry!”
She dodged and parried as they flew at her. Combat training kicked into high gear and she bought herself time by fighting as a master. She flipped, dove, and slid to avoid being hit while she described the scene to Warren.
“Uniforms, gas masks, precision fighting, military trained. BRIAN!”
Her cry went unanswered. She feared for her brother, even as a dark figure raised a small tranquilizing gun. The sting hit her in the neck and though she tried to remain upright, the world was soon thrust into blackness.
The last thing she heard was Warren promising to send help.
