Chapter Fourteen: Still
I've been hurt by my past
But I feel the future in my dreams
And at last I wake up I'm not sure
I wanted to find a light
Something just didn't feel right
Needed an answer to
End all my searchin'
~Nelly Furtado
A soft, quiet blanket had covered Washington in the night. Pristine and beautiful, snow wrapped the world in white, making even the dreary city seem filled with hope. There were limited cars on the streets, given the fact that it was Sunday. Christmas, however, was right around the corner, and with it came voracious shoppers.
The hour was still too early for children, but not the sun. It beamed brightly into the warm, spacious kitchen of a high-rise apartment. Inside the cheerful space was a man nearing middle years, whistling as he prepared breakfast with the droning of a morning news report wafting from the small television on the counter.
Eggs were cracked into a heated pan with precision many four-star chefs would kill for. Clawed fingers dropped bread into the toaster while the automated juicer twisted an orange for all it happened to be worth.
His movements, despite a hulking size that bordered on massive, were efficient and graceful. In the quiet of morning, Henry McCoy ensured his patient was left to rest while he prepared her meal. It wouldn’t do at all to have her wake just yet. She needed to relax, to heal.
He tried to not dwell on the incident that had her here with him so early on a beautiful, wintry Sunday, but more often than not, he was fighting a losing battle. Hank found himself awake in the middle of the night, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest. He had never left the hospital during her eight-day stay. He could not overcome the fear that she would drift away should he not be by her side to anchor her.
But she was here now, he mused. Less than ten feet away, lying on his bed. When the doctors released her into his care, Trish insisted on staying at his apartment. At least here, none of the reporters from her station could ambush her. She would be free to simply breathe without the added pressure. Henry had asked if she had expected him to complain.
Hank flipped the eggs quickly, turning to butter toast a moment later. Wiping his hands on his “I got smashed in Tijuana” apron “ a gift from Patricia several years ago “ he glanced at the news report while sipping his beloved Turkish coffee.
“And on Capitol Hill yesterday, the Registration Act regarding all mutants…was tossed out yet again. I guess the House of Representatives has other things on their minds. Jody?”
“Another one for our side.” He murmured into the quiet.
Turning away from thoughts of work and mutant rights, Hank finished his careful preparations.
Onto a lovely breakfast tray “ a gift from Ororo last year “ he set plates, glasses, and several morning papers. Eggs were easily placed on two plates, thick slabs of buttered toast on the other two. Orange slices were arranged atop the over-easy eggs, a peculiar quirk of Trish’s.
Once everything was arranged properly and the dishes piled into the sink for later, Hank tossed his apron aside, threw a pair of napkins over his forearm and lifted the tray.
He eased through his antique-filled apartment, his feet soundless on the thick carpeting. The bedroom door was open, an eastern-facing window allowing the bright sunrise to bathe the room in a divine glow.
In the doorway, Hank pulled up short. Breath hitched in his chest at the innocently seductive sight. Trish lay tangled in his sheets, her long hair spilling over the ivory pillowcases in dark waves. Her sleep-plumped lips parted as she breathed. One hand lay on her cotton covered belly, the other on the pillow beside her beautiful face. Light danced over her slumbering form, making pale, pale skin nearly glow. She, quite plainly, took Henry’s breath away.
She was everything to fight for, he thought with an ache in his heart. Why had it taken him so damned long to reach for her? Hank shrugged the thoughts aside, staring at the woman who had so easily captured his heart. Her noble brow furrowed slightly as sleep began to release its hold on her.
Nostrils twitched.
Hank shook his head with a silent chuckle. The woman could smell coffee five miles away in a blizzard. He tiptoed into the room, setting the tray on the nightstand before touching her rounded cheek lovingly.
Trish smiled dreamily, slate colored eyes creaking open sleepily. Hank allowed his hand to travel from her cheek to her hair, winding his fingers in the silken strands.
“Mmm,” she hummed happily. “It’s my Hank.”
He tried to keep his heart from skipping at the now-familiar endearment. It didn’t work.
“Good morning,” he whispered, leaning in to capture her lips quickly. “Are you hungry?”
One pale shoulder shrugged as she closed one eye to regard him, a silly look on her lovely face. “Only if there’s coffee.”
“Well, of course there is coffee, my love,” Hank teased. “But you must pay for it. Expenses, you understand.”
Trish scowled playfully. “Oh? What kind of payment do you require?”
Hank scratched his chin with mock thoughtfulness. Raising a blue brow, he snapped his fingers with a silent “Ah-ha!”
“I require…” he leaned closer until he spoke against her lips. “A kiss.”
“Ah hell,” Trish waved him off, moving back quickly. “Don’t need the coffee that bad.”
“Minx!” Hank chuckled merrily, letting the sound reverberate through his otherwise silent apartment.
Trish crooked her finger at him, tugging on his collar to bring him close as soon as he moved. Hank grinned when she captured his lips hungrily, tugging him down until he nearly flattened her much-smaller body to the bed.
She smacked her lips when she finally released him. “Mmm. Better than coffee.”
Hank chuckled again, righting himself. He helped her sit up, cradling her injured body carefully as he settled her against the headboard. Trish winced, but gave no other indication as to pain or discomfort. Hank handed her two pills anyway.
She downed the medication without complaint, asking that he turn the television on as he settled the breakfast tray across her lap.
“Orangey-Eggs? My God, Hank, you’re a saint.”
He beamed at her praise, warmth flooding his chest. She settled herself calmly, her movements still slow, measured against the pain. Hank fetched her daily pain medications and fresh bandages.
Setting everything aside, he sat beside her, joining her for the lazy Sunday breakfast. Hank watched her carefully, trying to gauge her pain management as best he could without asking about it. Trish flipped through newspapers, long fingers smudging with ink as she daintily ate his carefully prepared meal.
The telephone’s shrill ring broke the easy silence. Hank grasped the receiver easily, cheerfully answering as he placed the receiver to his ear.
“Doctor McCoy.”
At the strange sound of a vocal distorter sent a chill down Henry’s spine. He sat up more fully, the sudden action alerting his companion that something was amiss.
“Yes?”
“Your enemies are set to move on Xavier’s heir,” the indistinct voice replied. “The trap has been set. Prepare yourself. Warn her.”
“Who is moving against her?” Hank demanded, fear creeping into the warmth in his chest. “Who are you?”
“You know one enemy, but not the other. He is familiar to the one they call Wolverine. Be cautious. The lives of anyone allied with the X-Men are at stake.”
Hank motioned to Trish for the pen and paper on her nightstand. She reached for them as quickly as her injured body allowed. He thanked her with a smile, jotting down quick notes in an untidy scrawl.
“Which enemy hides?” He asked softly.
“Tell the Wolverine his old foe isn’t as dead as he would like. Protect the Mother.”
The dial tone seemed impossibly loud as the hidden caller disconnected the call. Hank tossed his pad down, hanging up before quickly dialing for the Federal Bureau of Investigation’s tracing team.
“This is Ambassador Henry P. McCoy. I need an immediate trace on my home line.”
“Right away, sir,” a young female voice answered, obviously catching his worry and haste.
Trish put her hand on his arm, but Hank could not yet face her again. His mind was a whirl of unanswered questions and bone-chilling fear. Who was moving against them so swiftly and with such malice? What trap had been set for dear Ororo?
How could they counter it?
“Ambassador?” The F.B.I. agent called sharply.
“Yes, go ahead.” Hank replied, swallowing thickly.
“It was a payphone in New York City. I can’t give you much more than that. I’m sorry.”
“It’s quite all right,” Hank answered. He had not expected much more, but one could never be overcautious. “Thank you.”
Once he cradled the receiver, he noted that Trish had yanked the pad from the bedspread, her light eyes darting over the information scratched there. She was frowning, the line between her brows betraying worry as well as confusion.
“Dead enemy of Wolverine. Protect the Mother? Trap? Hank!” Trish looked up, her breathing accelerating. “What the hell?”
“I do not know,” Hank answered honestly, reaching for the telephone again. “But I must warn Ororo. I fear things have moved ahead more quickly than any of us anticipated.”
Without waiting for her reply, Hank dialed for the mansion.
~**~
Christmas shopping was in full swing at Westchester’s busy shopping center. As per yearly ritual, Ororo had insisted on taking the children shopping. Logan, one hand entwined with hers, watched as the pack of teenagers scattered the instant they entered the mall.
He shook his head as Kitty tugged Pete off into a shop, the young man looking over his shoulder at Logan for help. All Wolverine could do was shrug. Ororo was already leading him toward the baby shop.
Just thinking the word ‘baby’ made him look down at the now-visible swell of Ororo’s stomach. She was only seventeen weeks along, but her thin body was already showing signs of the life growing inside of her.
Safely in the second trimester now, she seemed to glow with an ancient serenity. Her morning sickness had abated “ thank God “ and energy levels were at an all time high. Logan found himself astonished by how much that woman could accomplish before succumbing to the baby’s demands for rest.
Ororo tugged on his hand as they entered the shop filled with baby things. For the first time since they’d met, he heard the woman he loved squeal like a teenager.
“Logan! Look!” She gushed over a tiny leather jacket. “Isn’t this adorable?”
He had to admit, the tiny jacket was cute, but before he could reply, Ororo had vanished down another clothing rack. Shaking his head with a fond smile, he followed her. Ororo was busy looking over every single article of baby clothing she laid eyes on, one hand dropping to her expanding waistline.
Tilting his head to study her, Logan let that warm, almost giddy feeling wash over him. He only allowed this when no one was looking, aware of the goofy, stupid grin that would curve his lips. It wasn’t right for the fearsome Wolverine to look so dim-witted. How could he control it, though?
That beautiful woman was walking around with his child inside of her. And she liked her condition. Logan still couldn’t wrap his brain around that one.
Though danger pressed in at them from multiple corners, he couldn’t get over this miracle he was witness to. Sure, people had babies every day. Stockbrokers and teachers; normal people had kids. Wolverine…well, it was somewhat shocking. He was going to be a father and every time someone called him “Dad” he turned to mush inside.
Not that anyone knew that.
Following his whirlwind lover through the isles as she piled her arms with all manner of baby things, Logan smiled again. She was damn cute when she got excited over something. Every time she felt the baby move, or touched her swelling abdomen, she grinned like a sixteen-year-old on her first date. He found himself in love with that look.
She was chattering at him incessantly, not that he knew what the hell she was saying. He was content with watching her, memorizing her movements. Though her shifted center of gravity made her a little ungainly, she managed to look graceful. Logan thought it was her gift, being this breathtaking goddess amid so many mortals.
Damn, he was turning into a sap.
“Logan?” Ororo asked as she rushed up to him. “We need baby furniture. Shall we look at some while we’re here?”
“Anythin’ you want, darlin’,” he answered, letting her grasp his hand.
“Do you think our room is big enough for the baby’s things?” She asked, dragging him toward the furniture show area.
He couldn’t get past the “our room” for a moment, so he was silent before responding.
“Yeah, should be. What do babies need?”
Storm rattled off a list as they approached a dark cherry crib complete with bumper pad and Noah’s Ark mobile.
“Crib, changing table, diaper bin, dresser…”
“Christ, I’m glad we make good money.”
She gave him a good-natured glare, tossing her collected baby things into a shopping bag she snatched from a nearby rack.
“I don’t like this one,” he deflected with a smirk. Turning around, he spotted another crib of light pine. Tugging on Ororo’s hand, he pulled her over, pointing to it.
“I like this one,” she murmured, looking at the matching dresser. “Ooh, it has a rocking chair as well.”
“Rockin’ chair?” Logan had the brief image of her sitting in that elegantly carved chair, holding their baby in her arms while singing a soft lullaby. His heart clenched so hard he almost grunted.
“Mmm, yes. Useful for nursing.”
“Nursing?”
“Breastfeeding.”
That was a mental image that threatened to kill him. Logan grabbed at her hand again, whipping her around and covering her mouth with his. She grinned against his lips, sighing softly as he cupped her cheeks.
“Get the damn rocking chair,” he whispered, nipping at her bottom lip.
“Sir, yes, sir,” she replied, nuzzling his nose with hers. She giggled a moment later, putting her hand on her belly. “I think baby agrees.”
“That’s it then,” Logan said softly, putting his hand above hers on the gentle swell of her tummy. “We get this one.”
They broke apart to further inspect their selection. Logan decided he could assemble everything. It wouldn’t be that hard. Hell, he’d repaired enough of the mansion to put something as simple as a baby’s bed together.
“Oh, we should look at bassinettes as well.”
“A basin-what?” Logan questioned, turning from his inspection of the soft yellow sheets on the crib.
“Come with me,” Ororo said after taking the purchase slip for the baby’s furniture set.
She led him to another area of the show room, peeking at several white cradles. Logan didn’t see why the baby needed two beds, but when he voiced this Ororo glared at him. Ok, so the baby needed two beds. He wasn’t arguing with a hormonal woman that could literally shove a lightning bolt up his ass.
By the time the couple made it to the check out counter, they had slips for the furniture set, a baby swing, a bassinette, a stroller, and two shopping bags filled with stuff Logan couldn’t even name.
He refused to even look at the price, handing the clerk his credit card with his eyes closed. Ororo laughed, swatting him fondly on the shoulder. Logan didn’t mind spending money on their baby, but damn, he loved to make her laugh.
Leaving the shop several hundred dollars poorer, the couple did a quick headcount of their charges before heading to the maternity shop. Logan did not bother to complain as Ororo ran up another astronomical bill for what he called “bump-covers”. He even got another carefree laugh for his odd terminology.
Arms laden with shopping bags, Logan and Ororo headed to the food court, which is where the entire motley crew was to meet. He spied Piotr and Kitty coming to stop for lunch, the young man so packed with shopping bags and boxes, he could barely see over them. Ororo covered her mouth to laugh.
“That poor boy.” She shook her head affectionately. “She saves up all year for this.”
“Yeah,” Logan grunted. “Does she have to wait until three days before Christmas to do her shopping?”
“It is the same song every year,” Ororo replied, sitting back in her chair to scratch at her stomach.
Logan watched her, letting his gaze soften as he reached over to splay his hand over the distended flesh. His lover quieted, smiling at him in that soft, maternal way she had somehow learned in the last several weeks.
“You worry?” He asked with sudden vulnerability. “If we’ll be good parents?”
“No,” she shook her head. “So long as we are together, I have very little to worry about.”
He frowned, rubbing his thumb over her belly.
“You will be a great father, Logan,” Ororo said quietly. “You are protective, loving, and paternal by nature. Stop worrying.”
Unable to tamp down the pride from her words, he winked up at her. She could set him at ease so damned easily. What was it about this woman that turned him inside out?
“You’ll be a great mom,” he offered. “You’ve done raised half that school.”
She grinned. “Ah, yes. What was it Charles used to call me? Ah. The Eternal Mother.”
“You mothered that poor guy, didn’t ya?” Logan teased.
Ororo laughed, the sound reminding him of a warm summer breeze. “Oh, he would get so angry! I would nag at that man about vitamins until I thought his eyes would cross.”
They shared a quiet moment to remember their departed friend before Marie bounced up with Warren hot on her heels. He, too, was packed down with shopping bags of every shape and size. Logan started to feel badly for his young companions.
“Oh! Did you buy baby things?!” Marie squealed, diving for the shopping bags without invitation.
“Bought the store out,” Logan replied as he helped unload Marie’s packhorse.
“So did we,” Warren quipped, the sway of his coat telling Logan he was adjusting his covered wings.
“Shut up,” both women said in eerie unison as Ororo’s shopping bags were displayed eagerly.
Logan and Warren immediately stopped talking.
~**~
They had gathered up their charges as dinnertime approached, leading them all into the school’s vans waiting in the parking lot. Logan feared they would never get everything home, seeing as every female on the trip had apparently tried to complete on credit card bills.
Just as they finished loading the vans, children strapped in, Logan opened Ororo’s door to help her inside, not wanting her to trip. Pete piloted the other vehicle, already warming the engine as the elder couple was getting settled.
Logan scented someone coming and turned in time to spot a small group of people moving toward them. His eyes narrowed when he smelled gunpowder and anger.
This wouldn’t end well.
“We don’t want your kind here!” The ringleader said loudly.
Logan didn’t have to look to know that every mutant had just tensed, watching the display carefully. Ororo halted, her hand on the car door as she whirled to face the crowd.
They couldn’t risk a fight. Not with so many of the younger students nearby. Logan didn’t even want to contemplate what could happen to their unborn child. The consequences were too heartbreaking to entertain.
“We don’t want trouble,” Ororo said evenly. How she kept her voice calm and cool while facing some bastard in a ‘No more mutants’ tee, Logan would never know. He shifted his body so that he was nearly covering her, claws itching to be unleashed from clenched fists.
“We don’t want you muties coming around here,” the pencil-necked bastard replied.
“No harm has come to the stores, perhaps my wallet, but that isn’t anyone else’s concern,” Ororo shot off quickly.
‘Quiet,” Logan hissed to her before addressing the assembled anti-mutant rabble. “Look, we’re on our way out. Nothin’ needs to happen here.”
He left his meaning hanging on open air. Ororo grasped his arm, as though trying to calm him, but he could feel the slight tremor in her touch. The scent of her fear sent the raging beast inside of him screaming to the surface. He would protect his family at all costs.
“We know who you are,” one man said from the back of the group. “Those bastards from Alcatraz.”
Logan felt a snarl lodge itself in his throat.
Before anyone could move, a gunshot rang through the air. Logan immediately covered Ororo’s body with his, screaming for Colossus to get the van out of the parking lot. The tires squealed as the young X-Men rushed to obey the shouted command, filling the air with the bitter stench of burnt rubber.
The children trapped inside the other van hit the deck, even as Logan surmised that the gunshot had been aimed at the air.
He shoved his body away from Ororo, tasting ozone on the air as she called on her mutation. Wolverine faced their enemies, the sharp swipe of metal on metal ringing through the air as he called on his own “gifts”.
Several of their attackers gasped, stepping back in shock. Though whether it was due to Logan’s lethal blades or the goddess that took to the air behind him, he would never know.
Ororo soared above the parking lot, cloaking the van in thick, heavy fog while she dropped the already frigid temperatures to below freezing.
“We have no wish to harm you!” She shouted above the winds she controlled. “But I will protect my own!”
Wolverine punctuated her words with a not-so-subtle growl, stepping closer. Storm stopped his movements when the gun-toting psycho raised his gun again. Several sizzling lightning bolts peppered the ground between Logan and their enemies, making both jump back to avoid being burned.
She continued her lightning dance as Logan retracted, jumping into the van. His lover landed gracefully in the dense fog, hopping into the passenger seat beside him. Logan popped the van into gear, squealing the tires as Pete had in a desperate attempt to get away without killing anyone.
Once they hit the freeway, Storm turned to check on the children, ensuring no one had been injured in the clash. Logan’s hands gripped the wheel with white knuckles. The bastards had guns. They could have injured or killed one of the kids, not to mention Ororo.
As though she sensed his distress, the snow-capped mutant touched his arm. He glanced at her, noting the shaky smile and barely disguised fear in her eyes. She’d been afraid, but like him, her protective nature often overruled fear.
Neither of them stopped trembling until the gates of Xavier’s School closed behind them.
~**~
Artie bounded up as the much less cheerful group piled out of the van. Ororo was taking several deep breaths and her death grip on her belly made Logan wonder about the baby having brain damage.
“You got a message from Doctor McCoy,” the amphibian-tongued boy said breathlessly. “Everyone ok?”
“Yes, we’re fine, dear,” Ororo answered, taking the slip of paper from him.
Logan helped Warren with Marie’s things as Artie rushed to locate Bobby. Piotr came in from the house, his face clouded with anger. One thing that kid couldn’t handle was someone attacking mutants for no damn reason. Logan gave him a nod, thrusting several of Ororo’s shopping bags at him while mouthing “Danger Room”.
Piotr nodded. They could both use some beating the hell out of each other after that.
“Logan.”
The soft call of his name made him poke his head around the side of the van.
“What’s up?”
“It’s Hank.”
“Somethin’ happen to Trish?” He questioned, crossing to her quickly.
“No,” Ororo swallowed audibly. “But he told Artie that it was urgent we return the call. Something about our enemies moving on us.”
Dread, cold and consuming, crept into Logan’s heart. If Hank was worried, something was seriously up. He slung his arm over Ororo’s shoulders, his hand flattening over the back of her head to pull her to him. She willingly slipped into his embrace, her head against his shoulder.
“It’ll be ok,” he whispered. “Don’t worry.”
“I’m scared,” she said in that small voice, reminding him of the phone call from the hospital when Patricia was injured.
“Shh,” he shushed her. “I won’t let anything happen to my family, baby. I’m here.”
They held each other, even as dusk washed over the grounds. Something told him he might not be able to keep that promise, no matter how hard he tried. The very thought chilled Logan to the bone.
