Chapter Three: Memories
I told myself I won't miss you
But I remember what it feels like beside you
I really miss your hair in my face
And the way your innocence tastes
And I think you should know this
You deserve much better than me
~Hinder
By the time Piotr held the mansion’s front door open for her, Ororo thought she could sleep for a week and still be exhausted. Days of travel were beginning to hit her as they stepped into their home. She could hear the welcome, wonderful sounds of children bickering and laughing wafting through the halls.
Giving Piotr a smile, she managed to straighten her spine and talk herself into being strong. In the two months since she’d seen her ex-husband, she doubted anything had changed. He was likely still grouchy, still moody, and completely handsome. For the last twelve hours, she’d been trying to convince herself that she could get over him.
That evil voice in the back of her head said that she would never “get over” him. Ororo amended her inner thoughts to vow that, at least, she would learn to just live with losing him.
“Petey!”
Storm ducked out of the way, dropping her luggage so that she would avoid being plowed over by her dance partner’s long-time lover. She narrowly escaped, laughing quietly as the petite brunette launched herself from the staircase into her love’s arms.
Piotr caught her easily, as though she weighed no more than a pillow. There were loud, affectionate noises of kisses being rained over whatever bit of flesh either of them could reach. Ororo knew she wouldn’t be seeing her friend very much for the next week. Two months was a rather long time to go without your significant other, after all.
She scooped her things up and easily moved down the hall, leaving Piotr and Kitty to their heartfelt hellos. The couple was something out of a fairytale, a gallant knight and his beautiful princess. Ororo had a good feeling about the two of them.
As she headed up the stairs, she caught a hint of a familiar voice. It took everything in her body to not come to a screeching halt. She wanted, so badly, to simply bolt down the hall. He was speaking to someone, from his tone she thought it might be Scott. Logan was always just a touch more gentle with Cyclops than anyone else. Guilt could be a powerful motivator.
Keeping her bags in her hands, Ororo raised her chin almost defiantly. This was her home, her school. She would be damned if this man would run her off. She straightened her back and kept right on walking, praying to some unknown higher power to give her the strength she needed.
When he came around the corner, dressed in his signature flannel shirt and faded blue jeans, her heart stopped. Not long ago her return would have been greeted by a warm smile, an eager embrace.
Logan, however, simply nodded at her curtly. “Welcome home, Storm.”
“Wolverine.” She replied, trying to mask the hurt that flared in her chest.
“Briefing tomorrow at nine, for you and Colossus.” His voice was cold, detached and he refused to meet her eyes, instead concentrating on the papers in his hand.
“Make it ten,” she countered icily. “Have you seen Scott?”
“Yeah,” Logan’s tone was still flat, unemotional. “He just went into the upstairs den. Said something about a Lost in Space marathon.”
“Thank you,” Ororo moved away almost instantly, her heart aching within her breast.
“Hey, Storm?”
She halted, but did not turn, closing her eyes against the warring emotions. Oh, how she wanted to hate him. She had loved him, hopelessly, recklessly for six years and now he asked her to just walk away.
It was not fair.
“Yes?” Ororo was proud when her tone remained cool, composed.
“McCoy wants to see you, too. He’ll be here this weekend.”
Hank. Thank the Goddess above. “Thank you for the message. Have a good evening.”
With no more words, Ororo walked briskly down the hall until she reached the bedroom suite that had been hers before her marriage. She ducked inside, tears threatening to spill from her eyes and the skies.
Paying no mind to her unpacked suitcases and the time, she grabbed for her cellular phone and immediately dialed Hank in Washington.
~**~
She looks good, Logan said silently to Betsy as they pretended to be working on class scheduling that evening.
She’s miserable, Psylocke fired back, her violet eyes flashing. I don’t know how much longer I can do this, Wolverine.
As long as it takes. He snapped, glaring at her. We promised each other we’d handle this.
I don’t know if I can. Betsy sniffled, hiding the motion by ducking her face behind a book as Scooter walked by. She has to know something is wrong by now.
Just keep your shit together. He replied harshly. She don’t need this now.
Maybe not. Betsy’s mental voice was filled with sorrow. But I can’t carry her burden alone. My psychic walls aren’t that strong, Logan.
He did not reply as he stared down at his paperwork. Somehow, he knew this would come back to bite him in the ass. He wished, for the millionth time, that he’d been strong enough to run, to keep running until he’d killed himself.
That won’t do any good.
I know. Trust me, I know.
~**~
Some years past…
“He’s a liability, Charles,” Ororo Munroe said as she set her teacup down. Concentrating on the delicate, intricate pattern painted onto the fine china gave her a moment to steady her hands while waiting for her mentor to speak.
In just a week since the disaster at Alkali Lake, Ororo had taken Scott’s place among the staff. She easily took on meetings and classes, knowing that there was no one else for the work to fall to now. With Jean gone, the entire world seemed slightly skewed.
Charles, for his part, took everything in stride. She knew he was dealing with the loss of Jean in his own way, but without his steadfast guidance, she shuddered to think where the X-Men would be today.
“Ororo, I know that you have lingering issues with Wolverine, but I cannot condone simply shoving him out of the door and changing the locks.”
Her dear mentor could be so unfailingly patient. Though she and Scott had voiced several concerns during the feral mutant’s first visit to the mansion and after his return, Charles was hell bent on converting Wolverine to their cause.
“He would do so to any of us.”
“Such a statement is unworthy of you, Ororo.”
Sighing, Ororo sipped from her tea again, turning her eyes to the window. Outside, dark clouds that had nothing to do with her mood rolled and clashed in the heavens. The siren call of a brewing storm sang in her veins, begging the weather manipulator to come out and play.
“He loves Jean, very deeply,” Charles said at length. “Why does that simple knowledge distress you so?”
Not bothering to be surprised that he’d read her during a long silence, Ororo shrugged one shoulder. “I am unsure. Something about that man bothers me.”
Charles raised an amused brow. “Bothers you? He is loyal and all alone in a world that hates and fears him. That, my dear, usually beckons to that maternal instinct you keep tucked away.”
“I do not know,” Ororo shifted in her seat uncomfortably. “He bothers me.”
When her friend sat back, clasping his hands in his lap, Ororo braced herself. That was the universal sign for “You are not leaving this room until you explain yourself”.
She took a moment to gather her thoughts, settling back in the comfortable chair and meeting Charles’ kind blue eyes. She could remember, so clearly, the day she met him in Cairo so many years ago. His wallet had found it’s way into her hands and, in return the wheelchair bound man offered her a home.
Not all of his X-Men agreed with Charles at all times. As with any family, they often fought and argued over the simplest things. Ororo thought, with some fondness, that she assumed all families did, whether bound by blood or not.
“When you first asked Scott and I to rescue Logan and Marie in Canada, I had no idea you wanted him to remain with us.” Her words were soft, her gaze holding his firmly. “After our first official meeting, I assumed he would vanish into the night, as others have before him.”
“What changed your opinion?”
“The way he looks at Jean.” Saying her name still broke Ororo’s heart, but she managed to swallow the tears forming in behind her eyes.
“I do not believe any of us anticipated his falling for our Jean,” Charles spoke the name softly, his own heartbreak in the single syllable.
“He won’t change, Charles,” Ororo continued. “He will never be one of us so long as he believes he is alone. We have surrounded him with support and comfort, only to have it rebuffed at every turn.”
“You once rebuffed this life, Ororo,” he pointed out gently. “It took you years to accept us.”
“Yes,” Storm agreed. “But I was tired of being alone. He is not.”
Her friend’s eyes grew distant for a moment before he spoke again. “I am afraid you have never been more wrong, Ororo. Logan is very much tired of being alone.”
Ororo’s gaze fell to the arm of her chair, where she absently picked at the upholstery. She could feel the heavy weight of Charles’ stare on her, but she steadfastly refused to meet his eyes.
“We can’t depend on him, Charles.”
“And you do not want anyone getting too close to you now.”
She let the pain come, remembering Jean’s final moments. Logan’s voice begging her to open the hatch, to let him go to her. Scott pleading, cries of the children….
She’s gone.
Don’t you say that! Don’t say it! NO! No.
She’s gone. She’s gone. She’s gone.
A warm, strong hand found hers and Ororo shook her head to fight the pain back.
“He bothers me. You cannot trust him, Charles.”
“But I do,” he said quietly. “And in time, so will you.”
~**~
Some time later
She sat in the bitter cold on the wrought iron memorial bench under an overcast sky, watching the snow fall quietly around her. Her eyes had not left the chiseled stone in some time. He had come to take the seat beside her hours ago, never speaking, never acknowledging her at all.
He’d taken her hand at some point, their flesh almost freezing together in the chill of dead winter. It was the first time that she could ever remember someone doing something as simple as holding her hand. Even Piotr refrained unless they were locked together in dance.
Logan did things like that. A constant surprise, she could never anticipate what he would do next. Even when she had been so sure he would abandon her and the school after the Professor’s death, he shocked her by remaining at her side.
Though she was grateful for his help, for the support he gave by just staying at the mansion, she worried every morning if this would be the day he would leave her alone. Even with Scott slowly recovering from the Phoenix’s brutal attack, Ororo could feel horribly alone.
But times like this, when Logan offered his silent, unshakable support, kept her going when everything wanted to come screeching to a halt.
Ororo glanced down at their joined hands, wondering if he realized how well they fit together. When she looked up to his face, she was surprised to find his gaze glued to the Professor’s headstone instead of Jean’s.
As though he sensed her sudden shift in attention, his cold hand squeezed hers gently.
“You ok?” His gruff voice broke the long quiet, startling her a little.
“I do not know,” she admitted, finding it odd that he could always force the truth from her.
His thumb swept over her knuckles with that same silent comfort, urging her to delve more deeply, to spill her secrets so he could keep them for her.
“I miss him,” she said simply. “I miss her. I miss who I was when they were with me.”
“You’re still you,” Logan countered. “Teacher, mutant, X-Man…erm…woman.”
Ororo offered him a small smile. “That is not what I mean.”
“Then, what is it, Storm? You haven’t sat out here since we buried Jean.”
Deciding to nip that directly in the bud while they were being honest, Ororo changed the subject flawlessly. “I have a name.”
“Huh?” His dark eyes met hers finally, filled with confusion.
“My name,” she went on. “Storm is my codename and I do not mind it at all. But I have never, in the years we have known one another, heard you say my first name.”
A soft, teasing smile crossed his lips. “Maybe I don’t like your name.”
Mildly irked and not surprised that he had irritated her, Ororo moved to take her hand from his. “Well, then, by all means, you can take your opinion and sh…”
“Aww, come on, Storm,” he chuckled, gripping her hand more tightly to prevent escape. “I don’t mean it.”
She decided to let him have his teasing moment, letting her hand relax in his grasp again.
“My name is Ororo. Try using it every now and again.”
“I do use it,” he admitted so softly she thought she had missed it.
“I beg your pardon?” Ororo turned to him again, one white brow arched.
Logan immediately retreated inward. It was her turn to grip his hand tightly, not willing to let him run away from her in this moment. They were too open, to bare to let this simply slip by them. Something deep inside of her told Ororo that she had been waiting for this moment.
“I do use your name,” Logan repeated. “I use it all the time.”
Confused now, Ororo took her free hand from her pocket to grasp Logan’s whiskered chin. She gently turned his face so that he would look at her. The depth of emotion she found so raw and naked in Wolverine’s eyes momentarily stunned her.
“When?” She demanded softly. “When do you use my name?”
He tried, one last time, to tuck tail and run. She could see it coming over him and without even knowing how she came by the knowledge, Ororo halted it. Her hand spread over his cheek, forcing him to stay with her. When he leaned, ever so slightly, into the touch, her heart skipped within her breast.
“Every day,” Logan said plainly, as though he were tired of running. “In my head whenever you pass by, when you walk up, when you’re in the other room. I don’t ever say it, cause I’m afraid you might see through me.”
“See what?” Ororo replied, shifting just a little closer to him. “What will I see, Logan?”
Fear and something like hope shone through Logan’s dark eyes. Ororo did not know what was happening here, but a flicker of life inside of her said to trust it. Charles had warned her that she would trust Logan one day and here it stared her in the face.
He leaned closer to her, tugging on their joined hands so that she inched nearer, until they were touching. His eyes moved all over her face, resting finally on her lips before meeting her gaze once more.
“Ororo…”
She did see it. She saw right through him at his husky whisper of her given name. Passion and desire warring inside of him with tenderness and trust. Ororo’s breath caught in her throat at the sight of Wolverine so bare before her. Her heart reached out for his without her knowledge, something inside of her wanting to drown in him.
“Ororo.” He repeated, reaching up to cup her chin with his massive hand.
“Logan.” She had not intended for his name to come from her lips in that desperate whisper.
He released her hand and face, his arms coming around her, lifting her until her much small body was piled in his lap. His lips sought hers, brushing against her mouth like the wings of a butterfly.
Before he could delve into her and let her do the same to him, he paused. Their eyes met for what felt like an eternity.
“’Ro.”
Nothing more lay between them. All thoughts of Jean, of Charles, were shoved aside as the flush of something new washed over them. Oh, she might live to regret this, but for now she would lay claim on her Wolverine.
His mouth took hers possessively, leaving no doubt that she was about to be dominated in ways she’d never dreamed of. Ororo’s world tilted until all she knew was this embrace, this moment in time where there was no pain. Only hope, promise, and all those things they had both been denied.
Ororo thought, perhaps, as Logan claimed her heart that Charles had obviously known more than he let on. She would have to thank him someday.
~**~
Here and Now
Logan watched through the doorway as Ororo and Pete melded their bodies together as one cohesive whole. They looked made for each other as they whipped into a sensual tango. Ororo molded into Pete’s chest, seeming to become part of him rather than a separate entity.
Peter’s hands flattened against Ororo’s smooth back, supporting her as they moved into a whip-like turn. It never ceased to amaze Logan that a man with so much strength could touch so delicate a woman without harming her. She’d told Wolverine years ago that it was how she taught Pete to control his strength.
Dance had brought the two friends together and likely saved lives as Pete learned to control his devastating mutation.
“Damn it!”
Hearing Ororo curse, Logan took a step to the left, fading into the shadows of the doorway. He watched as Pete sighed, rubbing the back of his neck while Ororo switched the music on the player.
“That footwork is going to kill me, do you realize that?”
Peter reached over and lightly swatted Ororo on the bottom. “And you will take me with you.”
The easy familiarity between the two mutants might have looked like sexual intimacy to an outside observer. But Logan knew them both, knew how they moved and melted together. They could each get away with so much if only because they had been together so long. No one, not even Scooter, could claim to know someone as well as Pete and ‘Ro knew one another.
He watched as his former wife lifted her hands into dead air, building a frame to dance on her own. Peter stepped back, watching her feet studiously. Ororo took two swift steps forward, flicked her ankle quickly and attempted the three-step turn once more. She stumbled again, dropping her arms and looking to her partner helplessly.
Logan loved to watch her dance. At times, he was reminded of naughty private dances she would reward him with when he’d been good, but mainly he simply enjoyed it. Her lithe body moved with innate grace, her long, sculpted limbs wrapping around her partner as though she were an extension of him.
I don’t deserve her.
He wanted to look away, aware that he was steadily becoming a voyeur, but he found it almost impossible. He missed his wife. Though he knew, on some level, that what he had done was wrong, that he really had become the heartless bastard everyone always told her he was, he could not escape that simple admission.
As she moved into Peter’s arms again, Logan forced himself to look away. He pushed away from the door, moving down the hall with a trademark scowl on his face.
Thinking about that day in the snow, when he’d finally given in to the feelings building inside him for months, brought a fresh wave of pain. He still didn’t know what possessed him to follow her outside, to hold her hand. When she’d called him on the name thing, he knew he was lost.
For months he’d been avoiding it, telling himself it was just the loss of Jean messing with his head. But every day something about Ororo drew him closer. He avoided using her real name, wanting to impose some distance between them without her knowing about it.
That first time, when her beautiful name crossed his lips, it said everything he couldn’t put into words. She had responded with equal passion, eagerly allowing him to ravage her as soon as they managed to get back into the mansion. They’d made love for hours, giving in to every lustful and sultry thought he’d ever entertained.
It had always been too easy. She allayed all of his fears, never allowing him to cage the beast inside of himself.
That, of course, had almost gotten her killed.
Logan ducked into his office, a smaller room down the hall from Ororo’s, and fought the self-hatred bubbling to the surface. Snatches of memory overcame him until bile swelled in his throat. He bolted for his private bathroom, slamming the door behind him as the guilt spilled from his stomach.
Living with his sins got a little harder every day, but he had done the right thing. Ororo was better off without him.
She had to be.
