Chapter 6, “Discovery”
“Come home with you??” her voice echoed him, drawing away immediately, though she didn’t step back.
Logan seemed to realize how that sounded and chuckled shortly before amending, “I meant, back with me to the X-Men. New York, specifically.”
She shook her head adamantly at that. “No offense, Logan, but are you insane?”
Despite her query, he couldn’t help a small smile; it was the first time since they’d met that she’d said his name. He liked the way it sounded from her. “I’m sorry, am I the only one here that’s been having outta body experiences? Yeah, I didn’t think so.”
Her lips pursed at his flip comeback, but only so as to avoid a wry smile. “Nevertheless, that’s not an option. Not only do I have responsibilities”and ties”back home, but I don’t need the X-Men to figure this one out. I know what’s going on; I just don’t like it.”
“Well, please enlighten the rest of us.” He settled back on his heels for this.
She sighed, guessing that was the least she could do for him, since this whole mess had dragged him in completely unawares. Perhaps there was a way he could help her after all…Looking around her briefly, she replied “Not here.”
---
The moment she stepped through the door to his suite, Ororo sensed that she’d made a grave mistake. Her intent had been to find a quiet, secluded spot to talk with Him, to try to make Logan understand all the reasons they couldn’t continue to “allow” the late night rendezvous or entertain thoughts of one another. She could tell just by the way he looked at her that she’d have her work cut out for her.
The X-Man was always no more than a step behind, close like a personal guardsman but protective like…well, like a husband. She guessed that he probably didn’t even know he was doing it, but that mattered little to Ororo, who was painfully aware of Logan at all times when they were in close proximity.
“Ehn…are you coming inside?” He asked, turning back to her when she’d paused in the doorway of his suite for several moments.
Ororo’s eyes went from him to the far wall of the living room & back to Logan. Her expression said it all.
He tried to pretend as though he didn’t have the slightest idea of her apprehension, turning back to head to the long couch. “It’s alright, you can come on in. I don’t bite…”
“Yes you d”“ Flew out of her lips before her brain could hope to reclaim the ill-spoken retort, and immediately Ororo felt her cheeks burn when he turned back to her sharply, one brow raised.
A few seconds of silence passed between them, as the memory of one of their more erotic encounters impregnated the room like the proverbial pink elephant. Willing his immediately aroused heart rate back to normal, Logan turned away from her, clearing his throat. He hid an uncontrollable smile behind his fist as he did so, settling back against the cushions of the long sofa in the living room.
Averting her eyes, Ororo quietly closed the door behind her, sighing deeply & resting her forehead against its coolness for a second or so. Composing herself, she shook off the intrusive thoughts, clearing the cobweb-like images from the corners of her mind. Turning to face him, she only admitted to herself that these thoughts seemed to be with her always, every waking”and sleeping”moment since they’d come face to face. It was as if their physical meeting had awakened something deep inside her, and Ororo was determined to put it back to sleep.
Logan watched her carefully, his eyes speaking to her in a language her heart knew only too well, but that her mind refused to translate. He could easily sense the trepidation she felt, and there was a part of him that understood it, but the side of him that had awakened on that day in the Kenyan desert refused to accept the rationale behind it. Logan may be behaving as a gentleman, but The Wolverine inside him roared in frustration, needing desperately to assert its ‘claim’…
The hackles on the back of her neck tingled, and it brought Ororo up short of taking the seat beside him. Instead, she stood behind the cushioned chair across from him, her delicate fingers stroking the leather of its back methodically.
His gaze shifted from her fingers to her face and back again, as Logan waited for her to say something. Anything to distract his thoughts from dwelling on the question of whether this physical Ororo could work the same magic with her fingers as his desert goddess had…
“I’m sorry Logan…I suppose I am unsure exactly where to start.” She glanced up at him quickly, appearing very much younger than her 27 years.
He gazed at her with some compassion, sensing she had something important but possibly troubling to disclose to him. Leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, Logan locked his fingers, replying “’S alright, darlin’. Take yer time. I guess you can start with what happened to me.”
She nodded, still not looking directly at him. “I’m not sure you’ll believe me.”
He smirked a little, raising one shoulder. “Considerin’ all I’ve been thru’, I think I got a little faith to take ya on.”
Nodding, Ororo accepted that for what it was, not going to ask him to elaborate. She remembered feeling the sadness, loneliness and anger from him back on That Day, but of course they’d been a little preoccupied to discuss it. “Well, then 1st I should tell you about my people The Solo, and their guardians the Ivory Priestesses…”
---
For over an hour and a half, Logan listened intently to the in-depth history lesson, as Ororo went thru’ the Solo tribe’s tumultuous history”including their near-worship of the first mutants born of that tribe; the women who would become the Ivory Priestesses.
When Ororo came to a pause in her story, he stood, stretching and casually asking if she’d like a glass of water. He was rewarded with a pleasant smile and a “yes”, and Logan disappeared into the kitchenette.
While there, he took a moment as he filled the glass with mineral water & ice, to reflect on her words. If he was to believe her, their meeting on That Day was interpreted by her people as part of some prophecy; of which he couldn’t hope to fully understand, since much of Ororo’s terminology went straight over his head despite her willingness to explain in detail. Wolverine didn’t doubt that their encounter was no accident, but he wasn’t sure if a legend was going to be his answer either. Her explanation was too far-fetched, not to mention cerebral, when he was perfectly content to rely on what his instincts were telling him:
They were Good together.
Simply put, no explanation needed. All the mysticism aside, Logan knew he wasn’t at a point in his life where he seriously considered settling down”let alone becoming some ‘kept man’ to a foreign country’s idea of a Goddess. The mere thought of it brought a comical quirk to his lips as he headed back to the living room.
“Thank you. So?” She prompted, taking the glass, but careful not to actually come in physical contact with him. If he noticed (which he did), Logan didn’t comment, sitting sort of uncomfortably now on the edge of the sofa.
Finally he turned his eyes up to her with a look mixed between uncertainty and yearning. “Darlin’ I don’t know what you want me to say.”
She looked down into the glass, her manicured fingers tracing the outer rim carefully as he spoke softly. For some reason she couldn’t bring her eyes to meet his. “Please don’t call me that.”
“Why.”
“You know very well why…” she placed the barely touched glass of water down on the nearest table, busying herself with carefully wiping her hands of the condensation so as to avoid looking at him still.
Logan’s gaze pierced her steely resolve, however. He paused for several seconds before saying anything, finally leaning over, his elbows on his knees and hands clasped before him. In a quiet cadence that barely reached her he replied, “I see. ‘Cause it reminds ya, don’t it?”
“It’s improper”“
“Reminds ya of what we share. All those nights together, just you an’ me layin’ out under the stars”“
“Logan, please”“
“”you didn’t do much talkin’ really, but ya always listened good. I really liked that most…well, second.”
Ororo closed her eyes as memories flooded back once more; intrusive images of the two of them splayed amongst cool green grass completely naked except the cover of being wrapped in each other’s arms. “Why are you doing this?”
Sighing deeply, Logan raised his dulled grey eyes to her, and she almost gasped at the sadness no longer hidden behind a front of bravado. “Do you remember what I told ya earlier? About the desert? I can’t get it outta my head, laying there waiting to die. ‘Reminded me of being a kid again; I was always a sick youngin’. It’s practically the only part o’ my past I can still hang on to, that might actually be mine, ya know? It ain’t foggy like the implants; clear as a bell I can remember what it’s like to lay there in bed 16hrs a day, sometimes more, hurtin’ from head t’toe fer no reason. None of the doctors could figure it. My moma just looked at me like I was already dead and my Pops…he would just stand there at the door, waiting, with this weird look in his eyes”waitin’ fer what, beats me. It’s the last time in my life I can remember bein’ scared of anything”of dying”until that day in desert…”
Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears at his painful re-memory and Ororo’s hand gripped the soft fabric of her expensive blouse tightly right over her heart. He wasn’t looking at her any longer, the pain of his words casting haunted shadows beneath his eyes.
“…the day you came t’me.”
His shoulders shuddered briefly and Logan let his head drop in sudden embarrassment at her startled silence. For several moments he kept his eyes closed, struggling to compose himself. He didn’t know how else to explain to this woman what their encounter had meant to him, what she was beginning to mean to him. He wasn’t even sure he’d made any sense at all to her; she didn’t seem to remember much from their talks at night”none of the secret things he’d never imagined telling anyone but that had managed to slip out whenever he was with Her. Just like now.
Logan looked up in surprise when he felt soft, delicate hands lift his face by the chin. Her fingers cradled his jaw carefully, her fear in touching him still evident in the slight trembling of her hands. As their eyes met, two tears quickly ran down his face but her thumb wiped them into oblivion as if they’d never dropped.
Logan’s hands came up to wrap around hers, stroking her wrists as he tried to free his face, ashamed of his show of emotion. It was Ororo however, that would not let go, maintaining eye contact as she stood close before him, her eyes kinder than he’d ever seen since they’d met in this often colder, tangible world.
“I know…I know…” was all she whispered, smoothing his wild hair out of his eyes, her fingers brushing his lip, curving around the hard line of his jaw, those prominent cheekbones…
Ororo felt something she hadn’t imagined possible, watching this man look up at her with a longing that she knew too well matched that of her own heart: empathy.
‘How long can you go on denying what you and He know to be in your soul, Wind Rider?’ A voice that couldn’t have been her own echoed in her mind. Ororo’s gaze floated away from his momentarily as she pondered that; rational thinking being washed away like a receding tide, to be replaced with a fire that both enlivened and frightened her. It was a fire she’d spent her entire life vainly trying to put out only to see rekindled by this strange Westerner that had managed not only to capture her curiosity but oddly enough her heart.
Carefully, Ororo knelt before him between his legs so they were closer to eye level and before she could analyze every sane reason she shouldn’t, pressed her lips against Logan’s tentatively. Initially it was an awkward kiss, as she was holding her breath without realizing it, until he moved his mouth against hers, grasping the back of her head. The passion of his response forced the breath out of her and Ororo opened her eyes frantically, as if suddenly realizing what it was she’d just done.
She leaned away from him, her expression telling Logan she was immediately regretting her impulsive action as she shook her head in denial. Her moist, soft lips moved barely but no sound emerged. Surprisingly compassionate to her inner conflict, Logan tilted his head very wolf-like, in an air of understanding as his calloused hand stroked her hair at the nape of her neck, his fingers digging deep into the braid.
Bbbzzzzzz…
Before either of them could break the silence, the vibration of Ororo’s cell phone did the job for them. Looking down at her hip where the device barely poked out of her pocket, the two stared at it for a few seconds as if they hadn’t the foggiest clue what it was. Coming to her senses, Ororo lifted the device from her side to see the name on the CID. Moving away from Logan quickly, she stood and turned away, walking a few feet in the opposite direction as she flipped the phone open.
{Khaji, what is it?}
There was a pause on the other end at the cool (almost annoyed) tone her Mistress had answered the phone with. It was the Milaje’s only sign that she didn’t appreciate it. {…My apologies, m’Lady. I thought you would like to know His Highness will be returning soon from his morning appointments. I believe the two of you had plans for lunch…}
‘Shit.’ {Yes, that’s right.} She said evenly, daring to turn around and glance at Logan, who of course was looking at her closely.
Khaji’s tone changed ever so slightly, and though Ororo knew this, couldn’t exactly tell what this particular tone was to mean. {Would her Highness need the car sent out? If you provide your location--}
{That won’t be necessary, Khaji. I won’t be late; please tell T’Challa to order for me. That’ll be all.} With that, she snapped the phone shut, squeezing it tightly in her hand before taking a deep breath and turning to look at Logan again. The feeling welling inside right then didn’t make her feel worthy of either her fiancé’s devotion or Logan’s determined pursuit.
“Ororo?” He stayed on the edge of the sofa, looking at her; his expression clearly asked her not to leave, but they both knew that’s exactly what she was going to do.
Despite her conflict and guilt, Ororo came back to him almost against her will (certainly despite better judgment), laying one hand against his cheek. He turned his face into her palm, kissing her skin there and sending an oddly familiar tenseness spiking through her body. Shaking her head, Ororo smiled bitterly. “I’m so sorry about this. All of this. My intentions were only to clear things up between the two of us. I think now I’ve only made them more confusing.”
“What’s to be confused about? Far as I can tell we’re on the same page, Darlin’.”
The look she gave him clearly indicated her point had been made. “I have to leave.”
“I know.”
For several seconds however, she didn’t move, continuing to stroke his stubbled jaw as Logan held on to her hand, looking up at her with that gaze that gave her chills and warmed her blood. “I…I don’t know what to do; we cannot see each other again. I won’t dishonor my…T’Challa.”
Logan’s eyes flashed, though he didn’t move at all. The mere mention of his ‘competition’ seemed to do something to him, but he did his best not to show it. “Gonna be kinda hard to keep that promise at night.”
Her cheeks warmed at his low tone & suggestive words, but Ororo was determined to keep her resolve. “What would you have me do? Be the dignitary’s wife by day and your play-thing by night?”
He dropped her hand then at the stinging accusation. “…Do what ya want, yer Highness; it ain’t my neck on the line, after all, is it?”
Ororo stood there, immediately sorry at her words. She knew none of this was Logan’s fault; he was just as much a victim of Fate’s circumstance as she or T’Challa. If she could truly believe that the Desert Rose’s Prophecy had chosen for her this brash, wild foreigner, then she also had to believe that he could help his feelings for her no more than she could her conflicting ones for him.
Finally, she sighed heavily and knelt once more before him, searching his eyes carefully as she took her time contemplating a course of action. “Logan…despite what I’ve told you today, I can’t simply just abandon my duty, or T’Challa. I need you to understand that.”
He seemed to soften a little at the look in her eyes, but Logan still grumbled low in his throat, frowning. “I ain’t gonna ask ya to do that. I don’t know the first thing about yer duties, Darlin. All I know is how ya make me feel when we’re together. And, what happened out there in the desert wasn’t an accident.”
She looked down at her hands as if caught up in the memory of their initial encounter again, recalling the feeling of their bodies merged together; experiencing his pain & grief, hearing his inner-most thoughts as her own. It was a total body healing experience only known to the Ivory Priestesses. It had been so powerful in the astral plane that it had rendered Ororo unconscious in the corporeal reality.
Glancing up at him, she reached out and touched his face again, her eyes fluttering closed for several moments, brow furrowed in concentration. Logan didn’t move but closed his eyes as well, not even questioning her curious behavior. After a few seconds he felt a tingling warmth in his head, concentrated in his right cheek where her hand rested. Logan opened his eyes and looked down at her hand, pulling away slightly to see her fingers glowing a dull blue-white color. As soon as she opened her eyes, the aura disappeared as if it’d never been there.
They looked at each other then, and Ororo knew there was more to the connection between them than she’d wanted to admit. Never before in her young life had the power to heal been a part of her mutant ability. She knew enough about him however, to realize it had been part of Logan’s…
“Ya still think you don’t need to see the X-Men?”
She rubbed her fingers together, watching as the tips throbbed a little, turning blue before fading back to the light brown color of the inside of her palms. “This has nothing to do with being a mutant, Logan. I can assure you.”
“No offense, ‘Ro…but I ain’t never been one t’believe in religion much…”
She stood, sighing but accepting his explanation for what it was. She knew she wasn’t going to ‘convert’ him with a short history lesson on The Solo. After the hard realities Logan had undoubtedly seen in his years with the mutant vigilante team, she guessed religion was probably a luxury someone like him couldn’t afford.
“True as that may be,” she straightened her back, stepping away from him, indicating she was serious about leaving this time, “it doesn’t change the facts.”
He let her get as far as the door before reaching around to place his warm hand over hers as she turned the knob. Momentarily dazed by being near her, Logan leaned in closer to whisper, “So this is it? Yer just gonna leave, & t’Hell with ‘prophecy’ and ‘fate’? Ain’t that playin’ with fire, Darlin’?”
More than you know. “Logan…I…I have to think. Just give me time to think. This isn’t going to be easy for anyone, but I cannot rush into some decision no matter what the beliefs of my people may be…”
She turned the doorknob, and he stepped back, letting her go through. Before she closed the door, he heard her add in a whisper, “…or what lies between Us.”
---
Less than an hour later, Ororo returned to the newly-renovated, Wakandan-Kenyan Embassy in the heart of Washington’s political district. Automatically her steps carried her to the top floor where the dignitary suites were located. The entire West Wing was reserved for the royal family, and after the two Dora Milaje stationed outside bowed respectively, she entered the front foyer, leaning against the door when they closed it behind her.
Resting her head against the wood, Ororo closed her eyes, shaking her head at herself. Her heart was still pounding in her ears and her skin tingled from where Logan’s hands had touched her. ‘What have you gotten yourself into??’
Before she could answer herself,
{His Highness hasn’t arrived yet; there’s a little traffic coming from the delegation.} Standing in the doorway leading to the solarium and a wide terrace beyond, Khaji’s eyes bored holes into Ororo with a sort of disdain that could legally get her killed in Kenya.
Eyes snapping open at the intrusion, Ororo lifted her head, looking over at her long-time friend-turned-guardian. She didn’t mistake the look she was receiving, and immediately her back straightened, a cold layer of ice turning her eyes a lighter shade of blue. {Thank you, Khaji. That will be all. I wish to be alone.}
Ignoring Ororo’s ‘request’, the younger woman began walking toward her, her dark uniform catching some light from the drawn up curtains as she advanced farther into the room. {I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Mistress.}
{Excuse me??} Ororo’s eyes flashed with anger now as she met the youth’s equally hard gaze.
{There’s something we need to discuss.}
Ororo sighed audibly, turning to toss her card-key and small purse on the nearby coffee table before turning back to address her personal guardian. {It will have to wait; I’m not really in the mood--}
{It can’t wait.} Khaji interrupted with a tight expression, startling Ororo with her rudeness. She knew just what sort of hot water she was jumping in, but in Khaji’s eyes it was a risk worth taking. {I will speak with you now.}
A single frosty eyebrow came up high over a chilled gaze. Standing to her full height, the Queen-in-waiting tilted her head toward her subordinate, regarding the younger woman with a glare that could easily melt even the strongest resolves. {Take care, girl, and remember to whom you speak.}
The quiet but menacing tone gave Khaji pause, but her young impetuousness would not be stopped at this point; she had been raised Dora Milaje, and as such 1st in her life came her King. She had known T’Challa basically all her young life and anyone who knew him very well realized her devotion to him. It was a love & respect that knew no bounds…even when it came to offending his fiancé and one of the most feared women on the continent.
{I know who I am talking to. You are my Queen, my Mistress, Honored by The Priestesses, soon-to-be my Lord’s wife”and it is for those very reasons I cannot understand why you’re putting it all in jeopardy for some meaningless tryst--!}
Wwwhhoooosh
*Craackk!!*
Khaji’s body slid down painfully from the glass of the terrace doors several feet behind her, landing hard on her ass. Glass could be heard tink-tinking in the silence that followed. It was only then that thunder rumbled from outside the suite, shaking more loose shards and the sturdier walls.
Standing over her, Ororo glared down at her subordinate, eyes glowing an eerie bluish-white and her lip fairly curling in anger. The force of the wind burst had successfully knocked the Milaje off of her feet, and she was slow to rise, more than gingerly rubbing the back of her head as she sat at Ororo’s feet.
Shocked at her own reaction as much as by Khaji’s accusation, Ororo squeezed her fingers tight to relieve the sensation of satisfaction she’d immediately felt at sending Khaji sailing across the room, turning away as the young woman got to her feet. The weather continued to turn foul outside, unnoticed by either of them as Ororo’s low tone crept up the younger woman’s spine with a menacing connotation.
{Khaji…we have been close for most of our lives; you are the only one other than T’Challa I could safely call ‘friend’; I care for you as a sister, and I know you are loyal to your Master like no other Milaje…but if you ever speak to me like that again, I won’t even leave your ashes behind to spread against the four winds. Are we clear?}
Still angry herself, Khaji seemed to know better than to test that threat right then, and simply got to her feet, bowing half-way but stiffly, retreating toward her quarters. A quickly-raised hand by Ororo halted her, however.
“Before you go, clean up that mess.”
Leaving the youth to her chore, Ororo disappeared into her own room, the door slamming behind her by the change in air pressure as she passed. Her entire body shook, and after she closed the adjoining door to T’Challa’s room also, came back to sit on the edge of her bed, willing her emotions back in check.
‘Calm yourself, Ororo…NOW.’ She breathed steadily, exhaling audibly as she looked up to the ceiling. Her temper had been so short, she’d lashed out at Khaji before she even realized she had done it. This sort of behavior was just what she had been afraid of…
{Ororo?! My gods, are you alright??} Several minutes later, T’Challa came rushing in her room unannounced, completely ignorant of decorum in his worry over her. {I saw the terrace doors, and Khaji’s been injured!}
{It was nothing.} She said, too calmly as he knelt before her, concern etched all over his face as he reached for her hands immediately.
{What? ‘Nothing’?? Ororo I don’t understand; what’s going on? Were you two attacked?} T’Challa’s eyes briefly gave her a once-over as he couldn’t seem to wait for her response to that query.
She squeezed his hands tightly in hers, matching his gaze steadily to get his attention focused squarely on her. Ororo’s heart broke at the genuine love and care she saw there, but it did little to change what she knew must be done. {There was no attack. The door will be repaired soon…However, my friend, I must speak with you.}
He paused at her slightly formal tone; the Wakandan Prince couldn’t remember the last time”if ever”that she’d referred to him as “friend”. Sensing her unease, he gave her a reassuring smile and came up to sit beside her on the edge of the bed. Holding her fingers tightly he looked deeply into her blue eyes, the depths of his feelings for her striking Ororo with guilt.
{Ororo…you know you can tell me anything.}
Taking an audible, deep breath, she prayed to the Ivory Priestesses that he was right.
TBC…
Desert Rose by Echo
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