Chapter Twenty-One: A Child’s Fate
I just need this to be alright
I can't feel this another night
I can't take this I come unglued
I might breakdown in front of you
Necessary to medicate
I'm not sleeping, can't stay awake
~Staind
Hazy fog filled her mind, even as her consciousness struggled to break free. There were lingering pains, an ache in her womb, between her legs. Like before, she was emptied and alone. But this time, in the place of numbing sorrow, there was rage.
She pulled at the restraints before she was coherent. Someone took her child. No one had any right to steal her newborn son. Ororo was aware that someone stood beside her bed, even as she awoke. Alarms were blaring, shouting voices carried down the hall. She couldn’t care less.
Even if the world was imploding around her, she knew only the desperate need to find her son.
Voices filled the previous silence. Concentrating on the noise, letting it draw her from the realm of awful dreams, she feigned sleep. Narcotics swam in her blood stream. Ororo focused her mutation, drawing on the volts of electricity her body continually produced. Sending a current inward, she burned off the drugs, the pain nothing against her wrath.
“He said to stay here.”
A male voice, deep and filled with authority.
“But we’re under attack.”
Logan. She hoped her captors could not see the slow, malicious smile that spread across her mouth. Her mate was here. Oh, there would be blood.
The female vocals, heightened by fear, continued, but Ororo paid them no mind. She knew what had to be done. If Logan and their family finally arrived, the confusion provided a perfect diversion. Ororo flexed her hands, pleased to find that her long restraints were still in place. Her feet were unbound.
They likely assumed she would be too weak to fight back. That was a fatal mistake.
Drawing on her years as a street urchin in Cairo, Ororo pried one eye open. A cursory glance with thief’s eyes told her what she needed to know. The man and woman were positioned at the door. Only one was armed. The tray of medical supplies stood at her right, filled with all manner of interesting weapons.
Shifting beneath the thin blanket covering her, Ororo let her fingers drift over the edge of the bed. The blankets, to her amusement, were pinned. Fingering a thick metallic clothespin, the former pickpocket easily removed it. She palmed the pin, another glance assuring her that the others were distracted by the sounds of battle.
Her thin arm slid the cuff of her restraint until she could feel the loosened lock. Arrogance was about to be their downfall. Someone merely locked the slack leather, so she was able to shift until the pin slid into the lock.
In seconds, Ororo had one hand free. She called on mutation, sitting up fully and slammed wind into the captors by the door. They slumped against the wall, the rifle falling to the tile with a tinny clunk.
Her vision swam, but Storm quickly picked the other lock. Free, wild with fury, Ororo jumped from the bed and stood on shaky legs. Ordering her body to comply when it wanted to falter, she padded across the room on bare feet. Her hospital gown whispered about her flesh, her body clenching as it attempted to recover from birth.
She was bleeding. Ororo didn’t bother to be grateful someone provided her with means to move without blood trailing down her legs. Rage colored her vision crimson as she approached her captors. The male attempted to stand. She grasped a scalpel from the medical tray and wielded it as a weapon.
But it was her fist that stopped the guard. She broke his nose with a palm, relishing the sound of bone snapping. He howled with the pain, but screamed when Ororo brought down lightning. It shattered the ceiling, jolting through the bastard’s body. He convulsed, vomited, and died while she looked on.
When the female whimpered, Ororo reigned in her mutation and whirled on her. The girl was trying to flee, her eyes filled with horror as she stared at the burned-black body on the previously pristine floor tile. Ororo prevented escape, stalking her prey. This was the one that took her child. She stole her infant son, taking him from the room while his mother cried out for him.
Grabbing the whelp by the front of her nurse’s uniform, Ororo hauled her to her feet. She swayed, cried, pled. Her sobbing apologies fell on deaf ears.
Ororo wrapped her arm around the girl’s neck, whirling her away until they embraced back to chest. Whispering in the girl’s ear, she placed the stolen scalpel to her throat, the tip digging into light flesh. The girl squeaked.
With a snarl worthy of her child’s father, the distraught mother squeezed her captive.
“Take me to my son.” Her voice was even, but dripped murder. “Now.”
“I-I-I can’t,” her prisoner stammered with another squeal. “They’re outside.”
A dark, hollow laugh escaped Ororo’s lips. “Liar. They went to fight off his father. Take me to him, or I will slit your throat.”
“Y-Y-You w-w-wouldn’t.”
Ororo’s only reply was to dig the razor sharp blade into her throbbing pulse-point.
“Ok.” The girl shook with fear. Part of Storm reveled in that.
“Slowly.” She ordered as they moved to the door. “One squeak and I won’t use the blade. I’ll cook you from the inside out.”
Nurse nodded. They slipped out of the room, into a stark white hall. It was something from a nightmare. A long corridor that held dozens of doors…it looked plucked from a recent horror film. Ororo noted it was empty, save for two guards on either end. They, however, were deep in discussion with whoever spoke on the other end of heavy radios.
Unfortunately for her captive, they paid the duo no mind as Ororo was led to one of the blank doors. Her heart hammered in her chest, breathing short and ragged as her prisoner manipulated a keypad, swiped a card. The door hissed open. Ororo forced the nurse through it first, taking a quick look about.
“Help me!”
Ororo was not even aware of the blade moving. But there was blood on her hands when they went limp, when her would-be captor slid from her arms. Crimson splashed the white tile, but Ororo paid the dying woman no mind.
Doctors in white were standing around a small bed. Ororo’s heart stuttered when a dark, angry fist shot up over the edge, even as the doctors stepped back with fear naked in their eyes. By the Goddess.
She’d found him.
“You unimaginable bastards,” the words were growled, her voice nearly alien. “I’m going to enjoy this.”
She took a step toward them, gasping in rage when they slipped out of a door in the back of the room. The clang of locks echoed, but she ignored them. Her objective was the infant lying innocently in the center of the room.
Ororo rushed to his side, peering down into the medical crib. There, dark and perfect, was the son they’d taken. Astonished that something so beautiful existed so contently amid such fear and death, Ororo reached in to touch the tuft of raven hair on his head.
Her baby leaned toward her. Did he know her? His tiny hands fought the air, so Ororo dropped the scalpel. She reached for him, but recoiled from the blood on her hands.
“Don’t go anywhere.” She whispered to her child with a small smile.
Dashing to the sink beside his crib, Ororo scrubbed her hands free. Commotion sounded outside the door, but running footsteps passed with barely a pause. Obviously, they had more on their minds than a helpless newborn.
Shedding her ruined medical gown, Ororo searched the lockers along one wall until she found a duffel. The jeans she pulled out were too big, but they stayed up. An oversized t-shirt covered her chest and mother rushed back to son.
“Charlie.” His tiny head whipped around at the sound of her voice. Pleasure and love bloomed in her heart. He did know her. “Come on, my little darling.”
With gentle hands, she pulled the sticky tapes monitoring his condition from his dark skin. Ororo inspected him carefully, then, taking precious seconds to just look at him. Ten fingers, ten toes. One long nose, two obsidian eyes. He looked so much like his father Ororo leaned into the crib, kissing both velvety cheeks. She wrapped him expertly in a blanket, lifting him “ finally “ into her arms.
He smelled of life, that unnamable scent that betrayed his innocence. Ororo took another blanket and fashioned a sling. She pulled it over her shoulder so it lay across her chest, then snuggled her little Charlie into it. Her hands were free to deal with whatever came up and her baby cuddled as close as he could get without returning to the womb.
The door banged open.
Instinct to defend leapt to the surface and Ororo thrust her hands out. Wind laced with lightning erupted from the air around them, slamming the intruders back into the hall. With one hand on the baby’s cloth-covered body, the new mother bolted from the room.
Stepping over bodies, she tilted her head, locating the sound of battle from the right. Knowing wherever the fight was, she would find her mate, Ororo ran.
~**~
No mercy. No quarter.
Headed by ferocious Wolverine, the X-Men flooded the stark corridors of Stryker’s base like a force of nature. Their training, obviously, surpassed their opponents’ even without the aid of mutations.
Bullets were dodged almost effortlessly as the mutant fighters dispatched two dozen without breaking a sweat. Men and women in dreary uniforms slumped into walls, some whimpering with the pain of broken limbs or mortal cuts.
“Which way?” Iceman asked, his breathing short. Logan glanced at him, knowing from the ice covering his body that the kid was in full battle mode.
It took everything in him to keep the beast from overtaking the man. Logan wanted to drown in his primal side, to fly through these walls on instinct alone. But there were others to think of. Ororo would have his hide if he abandoned them and took on Stryker’s forces on his own.
Wolverine dropped to one knee, sniffing the ground and filtering out scents of blood, of X-Men. He caught a faint whiff of Ororo and his stomach clenched. It was fresh, he thought, concentrating on that scent. Frowning, he inhaled again. What was that?
A familiar, delicate odor mingled with Storm’s. He knew that scent. What was it? Where had he caught it before? As the X-Men flanked him, shifting into positions to defend as he discerned the location of his lover and child, Logan fought to home in on the aroma.
“Oh, God. No.”
Realization made him pause, swear, then want to rage. Only Hank’s whispered question stopped him from beheading every motherfucker lying limp in the hall.
“The baby.” Logan caught the pain in his voice and did nothing to cover it. “Fuck me, she’s already given birth.”
“What?!” Jubilee shrieked, her hands pulsing with light. Angel and Iceman came closer, looking at Wolverine with horror in their eyes.
“No,” Warren shook his head. “They couldn’t have.”
“We have to find her,” Colossus said with unnatural heat. “But first…”
His metal-covered body intercepted a new wave of uniformed soldiers. For a moment, the others could only watch in something like awe as their usually tranquil friend went completely insane on their enemies.
Logan understood, even as he threw himself into the fray. They were fathers. Paternal instinct and fear demanded immediate action. Ororo, in one way or another, was forced to evict her son. Had Stryker operated, killing the mother once the child was born? Or was she still here, fighting her own battle?
Trusting her to stay alive, Wolverine sank six claws through a bulletproof vest. The rage was terrible, bringing the taste of copper to the back of his throat while the beast within howled in fury. He couldn’t control it any longer, mind blanking out as the weight of his discovery fell on his shoulders.
His son had been born. Somewhere in this cold, disgusting prison, a new life came into the world. It wasn’t right. There should have been love and laughter to greet his newborn child. He was supposed to be there, to hold the baby out to the woman he loved. They should have held him together, smiling with pride at the tiny person they brought into the world.
Stolen. Stryker robbed the budding family of this moment, of the simple tradition rooted in loving family. Wolverine roared, meeting every new enemy with that all-consuming rage. Nothing in the world would soothe him, not until he found his mate, his pack. Ororo and their little Charles belonged to him.
Dimly aware that the others moved with him, following his well-tuned nose, Logan waded through blood. It slicked the floors beneath his feet, dripped from hands that ended life again and again. They were nameless, faceless, but in each Wolverine saw the same malevolent doctors that stole his life once before.
He mangled another, decapitated one before moving to sink bloodied adamantium into a chest. Not caring where he hit or what vital organs were the first to go, Wolverine marched through the hall like Black Death. Face grim, eyes wild with preternatural rage, he rounded a corner, prepared for battle.
Snikt!
Claws sheathed before he had the chance to process what he was seeing. There, at the other end of yet another pristine hallway, was a white-haired goddess defending herself. Logan caught the flash of metal and realized she wielded a set of enormous knives. His heart stuttered to a stop, the rage draining from his mind, as he understood that she was alive.
Alive.
“RO!”
She turned, her blade still lodged in the belly of a man twice her size. Her dark face was pale, eyes haunted, but one hand gripped something strapped to her chest. Recognition moved over her features at the sight of him leading the X-Men.
“LOGAN!”
Her opponents were down when she rushed toward him. Logan, too, was running without telling his legs to move. They met in the center, both collapsing from the relief. His arms were around her immediately, their knees bumping together as they embraced.
Inhaling the scent of her, he met that fierce, glowing gaze and cupped both cheeks. Tears coursed unchecked down her face, her entire body shaking. But she was there, alive and fighting as though not even the prospect of death could slow her down.
“You’re here.” She was whispering, chanting as though confused. “I knew you’d come. I knew it. I told Charlie you were coming.”
“I’ll always come, darlin’,” he answered her, kissing her lips quickly. “Fuck. You’re ok. Are you ok? What…”
Something wiggled in the scant space between them. Logan looked down, then back up into Ororo’s eyes as the X-Men surrounded them.
“We’re squashing the baby,” Ororo giggled. That one, beloved sound soothed his fears. They were all right. His family lived.
“Baby?” He peeked into the odd sling she wore across her chest, pulling back the blanket until he could see the tiny, squirming human snuggled inside. “Shit. Oh, shit. Oh, God. Is he ok?”
“He’s fine. Early, but fine.” Ororo hugged him again, then turned to the others. “Hi.”
“Hi?” Iceman questioned, looking at his teacher as though she’d lost her mind. “HI?”
Ororo laughed again, struggling to stand. Logan put his hand on her elbow to steady her, trying to regain the wits she’d chased away with her sudden appearance. Each of them looked ready to hold her, but running footsteps stopped all reunion.
“Go.” Logan ordered her. “Go with Jubes and Bobby. Back to the jet.”
“No.” Ororo shook her head, reaching for the knives she’d discarded. “I have an appointment with Stryker.”
“Ro.”
“Don’t argue with me, damn it.”
“Could we, perhaps, finish this later?” Beast said as he sprang forward into the coming mob.
Ororo and Logan were battle ready, side by side. Infused with strength, Wolverine dashed forward, adamantium flashing. Ororo stuck the knives into her waistband, raising her hands and bringing forth the ferocity of the elements.
Lightning flashed from her hands, avoiding the battling X-Men as she fried uniformed guards. Only six this time, he thought as a bolt singed his ear. He broke a neck with his bare hands as bodies dropped to the floor.
“Where’s Stryker?”
Turning to Colossus, Logan flinched. The enraged young man held the only breathing enemy to the wall, his massive hands around a skinny neck. He fought and squirmed, but that only made Pete squeeze. The soldier yelped breathlessly.
“Where is he?”
The soldier pointed, twitching his hand toward the door just beyond. Without consulting the others, Logan turned toward it. Fists baring unbreakable metal, Wolverine stalked toward it. Stryker’s acrid scent wafted through the metallic door, even as Ororo and the others filed after him.
Colossus was there, then. He gripped his hands together as he had outside and with one deft movement and the resonating clang of metal on metal, thrust the door off it’s hinges.
As a unit, the X-Men stepped inside.
“Wolverine.”
Behind a wide desk in what looked to be an office, with a blank expression on his face, was their enemy. Snarling, Logan stopped in the center of the room. Mahogany bookshelves lined walls, the lush carpet and mocha-colored walls a stark contrast to the bare white outside. There were chairs on the opposite side of the desk and Stryker lounged almost carelessly with his hands on the polished wood.
“Stryker.”
The growl was an unmistakable threat.
But Stryker looked to the woman holding a child beside him.
“Storm. Should you be up, my dear? Your labor was vigorous.”
“I feel wonderful,” she replied flatly. Logan noticed her hands smoothing over the cloth-covered bump on her chest, as though protectively covering their child.
“I’m astonished,” Stryker said as his eyes flitted over the assembled mutants. “That Xavier’s children would so willingly kill so many. Was that what he taught you?”
“He taught us to protect,” Colossus responded with heat. “I have no doubt that if he were alive today, he would applaud what restraint we exercised.”
“Restraint?” Stryker asked, obviously amused. “You’ve murdered scores of my soldiers.”
“Murder?” It was Bobby speaking now. “You kidnapped a pregnant woman, killed your partner in crime, and were intending to steal a baby and murder his mother. You’re not even human, dude.”
Stryker shrugged one shoulder. “Science demands sacrifice. Doesn’t it, Wolverine?”
But Jubilee needed to have her say. “Science? You don’t get it. We’re a family. Didn’t you have a son? Wouldn’t you do all this and worse if it meant saving him?”
“No,” Ororo interjected. “He used his son to further his schemes. He dissected him, turned a bright, if troubled, young man into nothing more than a chemistry set.”
“How delightful,” Stryker laughed. “You know as much about me as I do you. Charming.”
“Stryker,” Beast spoke up, coming to stand beside Logan. “This madness must end. You lost your son, your wife, everything because of it.”
“I lost more than that,” the man said softly. “My greatest work, my finest accomplishment.”
Wolverine took another step, his hands clenching. “You don’t know a goddamn thing about me.”
“I know who you were,” countered Stryker. “I have the answers you need.”
Logan’s voice dropped to a growl. “I do, too. She’s standin’ right behind me.”
Stryker’s eyes, Logan noticed now that he was closer, were resolved. He knew he was a dead man, but was determined to get his licks in. The gun, which none had noticed beneath his hand, raised.
Instinctively, Logan took a step back and to the right, trying to cover Ororo and their son. He needn’t have bothered, for three others were already surrounding her. Logan watched as Stryker toyed with the small, nickel-plated pistol.
“I should have killed her when I had the chance.” His voice was flat, devoid of emotion. “See you both in Hell.”
“No!”
But he was too late. Logan leapt toward Stryker as the pistol came up to his temple. As if in slow motion, he felt the X-Men surge behind him, saw the chair fall as he rushed to stop Stryker. No. Not this way. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t justice.
BANG!
Blood splattered the bookshelf and floor as Stryker’s body fell limp in the high-backed chair. Logan pulled up short, staring at the body in defeat. Coward. He’d taken the coward’s way out and robbed Logan of killing him personally.
That, of course, was the point.
He turned back to Ororo, shaking his head slowly. She met his eyes with determination, though her chin quivered with emotion. Her knees buckled, hands gripping their baby as Colossus smoothly caught her.
Logan took two strides, lifting Ororo into his arms. They couldn’t change things now. Their gazes met as he held her close.
“Fuck it. Let’s go home.”
~**~
There was something moving beside her.
Ororo woke with a start, glancing around the room she had not seen in months. The grunting beside her mingled with little jerks of movement. She turned sharply, trying to decipher what the hell was going on.
Home. She was home.
Charlie was lying on his back, looking up at her with those big, dark eyes as his arms and legs kicked. Someone had dressed him in the jumper Logan purchased so long ago, the logo proudly declaring that his name was Trouble.
Soothed, Ororo lay back against the pillows, smiling at the tiny person. She touched one teeny fist, pleased when little fingers grasped hers tightly. Nuzzling her baby’s cheek, making him open his mouth and work his gums on her nose, Ororo chuckled.
“Hey.”
She looked up, not surprised to see Logan standing by the bed. He was clean, dressed in the daily uniform of jeans white at the stress points and a t-shirt. He held a baby bottle, a burp cloth draped over his shoulder.
He might have worn a sign that screamed “DAD”.
“Hi,” she leaned up for a kiss. “How long was I asleep?”
“Bout eighteen hours.” He looked to the baby, sniffing experimentally. “Hank says you’re both the picture of health, but you’re undernourished and exhausted.”
And sore, she thought with a wince as her womb contracted, and one day postpartum. Logan clucked his tongue at the baby, getting his attention while he gathered the newborn into his arms. Ororo pouted, turning it into a smile when Daddy settled beside her on the bed.
Amused as hell, she watched while he expertly juggled the baby and bottle, succeeding in getting the plastic nipple into Charlie’s eager mouth. For several seconds there were only sounds of lusty swallows while the new addition devoured his meal. Ororo kissed his head, running fingers over the soft hair.
“Feel ok?” Logan asked, watching her cautiously.
“Just making sure I’m not dreaming.” She responded, meeting his dark gaze. “Am I really home?”
“Yep,” he answered with a slight smile. “Hank basically told the government you were bein’ treated at a private medical facility.”
She frowned. “Have they dropped the charges?”
“Still debatin’.” He shifted so the baby rested more comfortably in the crook of his arm. “Trish’s out there whippin’ the public up. Man, she’s mean when you piss her off.”
Ororo all-out grinned. “That’s our girl.”
They lapsed back into silence, both parents looking down at the feeding infant. His eyes were heavy lidded, as though the warm meal were lulling him into a coma. Fists clenched at his chest, Charlie regarded both parents seriously.
“You did good,” Logan said quietly.
“The baby or escaping?” She teased, winking at him.
“Well, baby’s perfect, but we knew that.” He chuckled. “I meant gettin’ away.”
Trying to avoid memories of that place, of the fear, the unknown, she shrugged one shoulder. Settling against the headboard beside her mate, Ororo kept her eyes on Charlie. She’d never tire of looking at him. Her little boy, the son they both fought so hard for, was finally here.
“I was terrified.” She spoke in a pained whisper. “I could barely think. Half the time, I was running on rage and instinct.”
“Me, too.” He told her, leaning to kiss Charlie’s head. “But it’s done, now, ‘Ro. Trask and Stryker are gone. You’re safe.”
Smiling, Ororo turned to kiss his cheek, then Charlie’s. “We all are. No matter what the government says or does, we’ll get through it.”
Logan exhaled slowly, meeting her eyes. There was hope there, Ororo thought. Hope and love and something that reminded her of contentment. With just the three of them, in the bedroom they would share, was right in some way. Light poured through the windows, mingling with the hint of spring on the breeze.
Come what may, she intended to enjoy this morning.
“Oh, hey,” Logan spoke suddenly, laughter in his eyes. “You didn’t hear about Kitten, did ya?”
Confused, Ororo shook her head. “I’ve been in prison.”
“Convict,” he teased. “Well, funny thing about Kitten…she’s gonna make Pete a daddy.”
Her mouth dropped open. Logan laughed. Charlie decided he’d had enough and spit up all over his father’s shirt.
It was good to be home.
