Chapter Three: Conflict
You do not know how much this hurts me
To say these things that I don't want to say
But have to say them anyway
I would do anything to end your suffering
But you would rather walk away
~Maroon 5
Storm was in her office when Logan managed to find her several hours later. He knocked once before opening the door, not caring whether or not the action would offend her. Soft music and the high-pitched voice of a woman drifted through the room. Female pipes vocalized with the music from a violin and harp.
Ok, he could admit that the music was soothing, if nothing else.
Shaking Chloe off proved more difficult than he imagined. Jesus, why did he always end up with the clingy ones? Absently wiping his palm “ where the twit scrawled her phone number in ink “ on his jeans, he ducked into Ororo’s office.
“I see you’ve decided to grace me with your presence.”
Acid. The word immediately popped into Logan’s mind upon facing the angry weather witch. She sat behind her desk, hands clasped together on the lesson planner left open. Her eyes, darkly drawing, were snapping with anger, with resentment.
A quick sniff told Logan she was practically ready to rage. Burning ozone snaked through the office as though tempting him, goading to send her into fury. Logan casually hooked his thumbs into the pockets of his jeans, smoke from the cigar in his mouth mingling with her angry scent.
Here there was no hint of the broken woman destroying her belongings. In fact, he mused, he could liken this stoic goddess to an ice sculpture. If he didn’t know better, he might have gone back to previous thinking. Before she faced him down in his bedroom, demanding that he admit he love Jean, Logan rarely thought of Storm and when he did, it was with an unconcerned shrug.
She was great with the kids, kept the school running, but his interests lie elsewhere. Sure, he knew she had something in the looks department. Obviously, Ororo was intelligent and loyal, and yet she drifted into the back of his mind until he needed her.
Though she could have told him to go fuck himself when he returned after confronting the Phoenix, she simply accepted her mission. Storm, then, showed her those true colors. She didn’t balk or squirm when they agreed Jean needed to be dealt with. Accepting it as fate, Ororo merely let it happen.
Even when he laid her friend at her feet, his hands drenched in blood, tears still coursing down whiskered cheeks, she accepted it. Grief stood in her eyes, just as it had during Xavier’s eulogy. Strength, however, allowed the new headmistress to solider on.
She cried, he told himself as he came fully into the room. While she might have seemed cold, he knew she cried. Logan couldn’t figure out why that didn’t make him feel any better.
“You wanted to talk?” He questioned, sinking into one of the comfortable chairs opposite her desk.
“Yes,” Ororo replied in that clipped tone. “Logan, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, this facility is not only a haven for mutants, but a school.”
Right about then, Wolverine realized he was about to be lectured. Amused, though he scowled, he was reminded of his second trip to the mansion, when Chuck threatened to have Jean braid his hair if he continued smoking in the room that housed Cerebro. Grief sliced at his gut, shoved forcefully away while Storm continued.
Her back seemed impossibly straight, eyes carefully guarded though swirling with anger; the skin of her hands drew taut over her knuckles. She looked, he thought quickly, like every inch the matronly schoolteacher.
“Because it is a school, we are responsible not only for the minds and mutations of the children in our care, but their morality as well.” She paused, those deep eyes boring into his without pause or restraint. “As such, I am afraid as this school’s headmistress, I cannot condone your cavorting with a female companion within the confines of the school.”
He blinked at her. “Cavorting? Cool word. What’s it mean?”
Pleased when her jaw clenched, he waited patiently. “Cavort means, to prance, frolic.”
Logan’s answer was a scowl. “I wasn’t cavorting, I was fucking. Huge difference.”
Her jaw was going to crack right down the middle if she didn’t relax, he thought with an inward smirk. Ororo did not flinch at his swearing, nor bother to reprimand him for it.
“All right, I’ll use small words,” she shot back. “I do not think it is seemly for a man to bring home a one-night-stand into a home filled with impressionable children. If you want to fuck some doe-eyed brunette, do it somewhere else.”
Surprised when she swore and the pure malice in her tone, Logan couldn’t help himself.
“You’re an idiot if you think all those kids stay in their own rooms every night.”
Oh, that did it. Storm stood slowly, her menacing stance amplified when she placed her palms on the lesson planner and leaned forward.
“I am not an idiot. I know that many of the elder students are sexually active.” A pause. A deep inhalation. “However, if you ever bring a woman back to this mansion to have causal sex, I will not be responsible for my actions.”
“Wasn’t anythin’ casual about it, darlin’,” Logan said, expelling smoke from his lungs and smirking.
Storm pushed away from the desk, smoothing her skirt with her hands. He could detect a stronger presence of ozone on the air, sense the tension in her body. At least, he thought clinically, she wasn’t breaking things.
“We all have…needs, Logan.” She began in a slightly more rational tone. “And I understand that you are not one to deny your needs. But I will not be forced to make nice with some bimbo every time you want to get scratched.”
“Needs?” He stood just as slowly, just as threateningly. “You don’t know a fuckin’ thing bout my needs.”
“Biology being what it is,” Ororo continued with a wave of her hand. “I can certainly sympathize with an excess build up that requires release. I am merely asking that you do so elsewhere. Exposing the children “ especially Jimmy “ to strangers can be detrimental to his recovery.”
“Detrimental? Another cool word.” He paused, taking the cigar from his mouth. “Are you tellin’ me to go get a room next time?”
Deep chocolate eyes snapped with fire once more. “If you cannot keep your pants zipped, yes.”
Logan tucked his tongue into his cheek, amused by her righteous stance and cool words. She thought she had everything under control, he mused. Storm the unshakable, the leader…who was she kidding? If something so simple as him getting laid had her up in arms, she was more tense than he gave her credit for.
“What’s the matter, darlin’?” Logan grinned. “Jealous? Got some itchin’ you want scratched.”
“If I did, I it would be my choice.” Haughtily, she tossed her head, the snowy cap of her hair dancing with the motion.
“Aw, come on, Storm. No one blames you for not gettin’ a date. You’re always workin’. Maybe you should take a load off, get some tension relief of your own.”
Oh, now she was pissed. He watched, mildly fascinated, as the milky change that gave away slipping mutation betrayed her dark eyes. She clenched both hands into fists and squared her shoulders.
“Don’t bring your harem girls home, am I understood?”
“Sure.”
“Good, now get the hell out of my office.”
Somewhat surprised by her tone, Logan turned to do just that. While getting under her skin was wildly entertaining, something about her anger-shaken tone and imperious gaze was nerve wracking. Logan paused at the door when she called his name, looking over his shoulder in a way that reminded him of the night before.
“And if I want to get laid, Logan, I can and will do so.” Storm sat back behind her desk easily, dismissing him with every motion.
“Whatever you say, darlin’.”
He opened the door, stepped through it, and was satisfied with how it slammed behind him.
Logan stomped through the halls toward his bedroom, determined to stay the hell away from Storm as long as he could. If they kept butting heads, one of them was likely to kill the other.
~**~
When she was certain Logan was gone, Ororo slammed her lesson plan closed and snarled.
“Who the hell does he think he is?” She ranted to the empty room, hating to admit that he ruffled her proverbial feathers. “That ass. Complete, unredeemable, unmitigated ass.”
Inward rage became outward, reflecting in the sharp swirling of the clouds outside. Glimpsing it, Ororo shackled her emotions and locked them away. She would stew and swear privately, but her emotions were never completely unnoticed. Should someone glance out a window or door, they were displayed for all to see. That kind of exposure could be damaging, more so than the effort of locking it up inside.
“Thinks I can’t get a date? I can get a damn date.” Huffing, Ororo glanced at the clock, aware that she had several minutes before the rushing madness of dinner. “Just because I don’t bring someone home, flaunt myself in front of the children, doesn’t mean I can’t get a date.”
Rolling her shoulders to work out the tension building there, she pondered her options. One: ignore the Wolverine and his damnable insights. Two: kick him out of the mansion, which she desperately wanted to do.
Charles, however, wanted that blasted man within the safety of the school. Glancing at the portrait over her desk, she conceded the point. If she could refuse Charles nothing while he lived, what made her think she had any more strength with his passing?
The third option was wildly appealing. With a casual motion, she thumbed through her Rolodex in search of a familiar name. Finding the card, grasping it, Ororo could not help the slow, pleased smile that graced her previously irate features.
Forge. Her on again-off again relationship with the dashing inventor was something to grab hold of. They dated for weeks or even months at a time, content with no pressuring promises and hot, uninhibited sex.
Yes, Ororo loved Scott with everything in her body, but there were limits to any woman’s patience. She knew all the time she harbored her unrequited feelings that they would never come to fruition. Scott remained unreachable even when he lived.
To protect herself “ and find solace somewhere “ Ororo accepted Forge’s debonair flirtation. They had fun together, she thought while tracing his name with a thumb. Forge danced, laughed, enjoyed good food and stimulating conversation. He could kiss with the tenderness of an angel and make love with the flair of a scoundrel. He was, Ororo often thought, a good match.
Swayed by impulse, Ororo took up her sleek office phone and punched in the private number to Forge’s New York office. Unpainted fingernails drummed idly on the polished surface of her desk as she waited for him to pick up or be answered by his service.
Heart beating somewhat faster, Logan’s baiting echoing in her ears, it was a delight when Forge answered on the third ring.
“Lydia, I swear to God, I’m asking for five damn minutes.”
On a silent chuckle, Ororo settled into her high-backed chair and grinned, letting the expression flow into her tone.
“Is this a bad time?”
A startled pause preceded a warmer greeting. “Ororo? Oh, thank God. Save me.”
She chuckled, tapping fingertips on the leather arm of her chair. “From Lydia?”
“Among others,” he replied easily. “I have been buried to the eyeballs in work for the last month. You?”
His voice always carried a hint of laughter and passion. Smooth, urbane, but barely concealing that hint of the wild. Ororo felt the delicious kick of desire in her system, suppressing the urge to sigh with it. Forge always had that effect on her. When she needed a reprieve from Scott, she could easily fall back on her friend.
Oh, he knew Ororo did not love him and confessed the same. They enjoyed one another, immensely, though neither felt the need to complicate a simple arrangement with unwanted feelings. She could have dinner with Forge, let him charm her into his bed, and lock any hurt away for a little while.
Forge, Ororo knew, used her for the same. She adored the man for his straightforward, uncomplicated enjoyment. More people could benefit from such a relationship.
“I am desperate for an escape,” Ororo replied silkily. “Paperwork, training, hormonal teenagers.”
“Sounds like heaven,” he quipped, making her laugh. “Where do I sign up?”
“Politics getting to you, Maker?”
“They always do.” She heard the rustle of paper and a click on the line, as though he were moving the receiver.
And checking his schedule.
“Be a love and tell me you’re free Friday night?” He dropped his voice to a sensual purr. “I ask with my heart in the general vicinity of my throat.”
Flushing with pleasure, with anticipation, Ororo leaned forward to check her own schedule. Friday’s were normally busy, but she seemed to free up around seven. Relaying this to her friend, he paused to ponder.
“A late dinner?” Forge hummed as though contemplating. “Pierre’s?”
Ororo instantly scowled. “You stick me in that stuffy restaurant and so help me, I will drop-kick you.”
“Ah, a woman after my heart,” he chuckled. The sound was smoky and dark, making a tingle work it’s way down her spine. It had definitely been too long. “Something new and exciting, then? Tango?”
Thrilled to the bones, Ororo pulled the phone from her ear to squeal soundlessly. If anyone had seen that, her reputation would be in tatters. But she was alone, so she could damn well be girlish and silly if she wanted to.
“You, my dear Forge, are brilliant.” She sighed happily, grinning when he laughed at her uncommonly open pleasure. “Shall I wear something sassy and black?”
“Oh, no,” he said with a tsk in his voice. “Something sinful and red.”
Arching her brow, though he could not see her face, she hummed low in her throat. “Oh?”
“You ought to stand out, Ororo,” he practically purred. Ororo closed her eyes. “I want something decidedly wicked to gawk at during dinner.”
“And fantasize about?”
“A given.”
“Hrmm,” she hummed again, licked her lips. “Pick me up at eight?”
“Not a moment later.” He paused, then chuckled once more. “I am so damned glad you called today, Ororo. I was losing my faith in the human race.”
“We can’t have that,” she returned playfully. “Friday. Eight o’clock. Sinful. Don’t be late, handsome.”
“Not a chance, gorgeous.”
She cradled the receiver, grinning from ear to ear. Maybe a date with Forge was just what the doctor ordered.
Mood much improved, Ororo went back to her lesson plan.
~**~
“The object of today’s exercise is to test your battle tactics,” Storm’s voice rang through the bare Danger Room, filled with authority. “You must rescue a mutant under siege while detaining, without killing, the captors.”
Angel squared his shoulders, preparing for his first combat-experience in the marvelously advanced training room. Though he was present for several combat lessons, only today was he deemed ready to actually dash into the fray.
Beside him, Shadowcat, Colossus, Iceman, and Psylocke were waiting for their orders as well. The telepath, while a teacher and well-trained warrior, was a new addition to the X-Men, much like Warren. They were around the same level when it came to group training, to the teamwork that the X-Men demanded from its members.
Storm stood before the group, dressed for her part as the “hostage”. She would hide in one of the buildings the Danger Room would provide. Their main objective, of course, was to locate the “hostage” and get her to safety. Everything else, as Betsy would say, was “shite and sniggers”.
“Wolverine will control the Danger Room,” their leader continued amid several groans of dismay. “And the captors. I don’t think I have to tell you to be on your toes.”
Kitty shifted beside him, making Warren uncomfortably aware of her proximity. Though he counted her as his first true friend, many things about the bubbly brunette left him rather ill at ease. It wouldn’t do to go into battle with thoughts of warm brown eyes and a sassily swinging ponytail.
He tried to tell himself that Colossus held their resident Kitten’s attention. Pity it never worked exactly as he wanted it to. Ugly jealousy could rear its head, making Warren even more uncomfortable if he dwelled on it. He liked Kitty, borderline adored her, with a single-minded intensity that frequently terrified him.
Locked in his gilded cage by a well meaning, if misguided father, Warren had little experience with people. Upon joining the X-Men and beginning his second year of college, Warren was thrust into the middle of a ragtag group that could only be labeled a family. Adjustment tended to be difficult at times, usually soothed by the perky girl who held most of his attention.
It came as a shock to the winged angel that he enjoyed people. A wonderfully messy mix of emotions and colors, human beings held a fascination that Warren couldn’t really shake. He loved to watch relationships develop, the interaction between friends, lovers, and even enemies. Something about the life teeming around him just wiggled under his skin in a captivating way.
Kitty, as his sometimes-kooky tour guide on this amazing ride, quickly became his favorite to watch. She bounced, laughed, teased, and doled out wisdom as though it were second nature.
The fact that he found her absolutely beautiful was one of those little things that made his palms sweaty.
Unexpectedly, Angel’s gaze swept over the group of young warriors and caught the dark, brooding stare of Colossus. They normally got on very well, though Pete was hardly what one might term “chatty”. He tended toward silence, observing the world rather than being part of it. Occasionally, though, his wickedly intelligent sense of humor would pop up in an unforgettable one-liner that sent everyone in the vicinity into hysterics.
Hell, Warren liked the man, but damn a small, irritating part of him hated the tall Russian’s guts.
“Good luck.”
At Storm’s goodbye, Angel snapped his attention back to the team. The Danger Room activated, throwing up broken windows, decimated buildings, and a trashed roadway to block her from view. Angel couldn’t even see which direction she took off in. Damn.
“OK,” Iceman said with a tone of command. “Lets come up with a plan.”
Psylocke tossed her violet-gaze to Warren, her eyes holding the joke he knew she wanted to share. Warren grinned back at her, his wings inching up as he tensed. The leather of his uniform was specially designed to be almost air-light, to compliment his bone-structure. Thankfully, Storm asked their tailor to slice holes in the uniform, allowing room for his wings to gather close or spread without hindrance.
For a young man who cut his own wings off at twelve, then bound them with thick straps until twenty, the freedom to simply showcase his angelic mutation was an undiluted joy. He recalled the tears standing in his eyes as Storm and Kitty explained the uses of his suit. Remembering both women smiling with understanding made him straighten further.
Storm gambled on him; he wouldn’t let her down.
“We’ll need a bird’s eye view of the layout,” Iceman said, grinning to Angel.
Pleased to have a reason “ any reason “ to fly, Angel immediately thrust his wings out and grinned. Kitty winked impishly as he threw himself into the makeshift sky. The world seemed to stretch before him, though he knew the room itself had limits. Hovering with several unconscious flaps of his generous wingspan, Angel’s sharp eyes darted over the war torn scene they would be required to navigate.
“Two streets,” he reported into the comm. link that connected him to the others. “A dozen buildings, most of them with severe damage. I can see a few rioters to the west, innocents trying to flee south and no sign of wherever Storm is being held.”
“Ok,” Iceman’s voice crackled through the comm.. “Come on down.”
“Angel!”
Trusting that tone in Kitty’s terrified voice, he dropped his body forward into a dive that would have been impossible for a normal human or mutant. A bullet whizzed past his head, where only a moment before his heart was hovering. Adrenaline pumping, Angel sighed as he landed behind the group and crouched with them.
“Apparently, Wolverine thinks I hovered too long.”
“Are you ok?” Kitty asked, turning to him and inspecting his suit as though to find damage. He took her hand, smiling slightly.
“He missed. Thanks.”
Her face flushed slightly, but Angel’s attention was drawn away.
“Lets try the southern side,” Iceman said with a barely-detectable shake to his voice. “Psylocke, can you read anything in here?”
“Not a bloody thing,” the violet-haired telepath huffed. “I hate machines and I can’t get a read on Storm, she must have powered up.”
Bobby chuckled softly. “Fine, lets just move forward, carefully. Colossus, take point, Angel and Psylocke between, Shadowcat and I will take the rear.”
Taking their orders, the group fell into formation, moving cautiously down the battered street. Colossus, imposing and nearly indestructible in his metallic form, strode with purpose while guarding the other, less defended team members.
After passing the first building, the assembled mutants were seized by terrified civilians.
“Please,” one woman pled. Her face was dirty and smeared with blood, eyes betraying mind-numbing fear. Angel’s heart clenched. “Help us.”
“Storm didn’t say anything about survivors.” Bobby whispered loudly enough for everyone with an earpiece to hear.
“Wolverine’s running the program, things aren’t cut and dry,” Shadowcat offered. “He likes his curveballs.”
“Don’t worry, ma’am,” Angel told the woman, taking her gently by the arm. “We’ll get you someplace safe.”
“Lets split up,” Psylocke suggested. “Angel and Kitty can handle moving these survivors. Petey, Bob and I can try locating Storm.”
Angel glanced to Kitty, whom was helping an older man to walk. “You think that’s a good idea?”
“We’re timed,” Colossus reminded them. “We either show compassion or not, but we only have two hours.”
“Ok,” Bobby nodded. “Lets split up then. Angel, Shadowcat, rendezvous with us in thirty at the western stop light.”
The two mutants agreed, helping the half-dozen refugees out of the demolished building. He watched, out of the corner of his eye, as the others jogged down the street. Shadowcat offered a small smile to her partner, leading the small group of beaten survivors toward the Danger Room exit.
Wolverine, manipulating the controls, created a “safe house” of sorts, in which to deposit them. Sighing with relief when the last stepped over the faux threshold and vanished, Angel rolled his shoulders. His wings shifted and fluttered, which made Kitty grin at him.
“That’s so cute,” she said as they turned to meet the others. “Like watching a bird preen itself.”
Angel narrowed his eyes, though a smile tugged at his lips. “Is that a compliment?”
“Duh.” She winked at him again, leading him down a winding alley.
“You’re a goof.” He returned her wink, his gaze darting about for signs of danger. Kitty was directly beside him as the alley opened on her side.
Luckily, she was able to reach for him before the bomb went off.
“DIE, MUTIES!”
Disoriented as Shadowcat tugged Angel into the ground, he caught only a glimpse of color “ the shifting of molecules “ before they were back into the fray. The explosion left the ground trembling, even as Kitty set them beside the enormous crater it left behind.
“Ouch,” Warren commented glibly. “You’ve got good reflexes.”
“I try.” She was breathless, but looked as though she was having the time of her life. “You ok?”
He shrugged, meeting her eyes. “Why wouldn’t I be? You kept my feathers in tact.”
She mimicked him, looking around curiously. “Bobby hates when I phase him like that.”
Knowing how much it could hurt, even without you realizing it, when someone you cared for inched away from your mutation, Warren grasped her shoulder. Her warm, friendly gaze met his again and his stomach swooped as though he’d gone into a swift dive.
“I like it,” he explained softly. “Its colorful.”
His friend brightened immediately. “Yeah. It’s neat.”
“Come on,” he nudged her familiarly. “Lets catch up.”
They continued picking their way down the streets, dodging several of Wolverine’s cleverly concealed traps. Another bomb went off to Angel’s right, but not before he scooped Kitty into his arms and took immediate flight.
“My hero,” she sighed in a silly manner before kissing his cheek.
Angel flushed, depositing her on a nearby rooftop. “Can you see the others?”
When Kitty failed to reply, Angel glanced at the girl sharing the half-caved in rooftop. She was completely still, her dark eyes huge and round with surprise. Warren whipped his body around, following her eye line and locating what looked to be several thugs carrying blunt weapons.
“Oh.” He said quietly, closing in beside Kitty. “I’ll take the two on the right.”
His companion swallowed hard. “Ok. Lets go.”
The thugs ran at the duo, both of whom were already in stances to brace for the assault. Kitty phased through the first, using a signature move to grasp his back and toss him on the charred rooftop.
Angel ducked a mean left hook, thrusting his wings out viciously. The rough bone ridge of the top shoved on attacker off the roof, the two-story fall wouldn’t kill him. As the second came at him with a baseball bat, Angel took a hit to the midsection, air rushing from his lungs.
He kicked out, doubling over and falling to regain balance. He was up in a flash, a glance telling him that Kitty’s skill in martial arts was serving her well. Hopping up, he met the man toe to toe, shoving a fist into his scowling face. The bone in his nose broke, blinding him and allowing Warren to shift his wings. Shuffling the blinded assailant with his impressive wingspan, the mutant shifted and turned until the attacker was dizy. Then, seizing his chance, another well-placed punch had him on his back.
“War?” Kitty asked as she breathlessly bounced to him. “You ok?”
“Fine,” he replied cheerfully. Both of Kitty’s opponents were on the ground. Crying. He grinned at her.
“What happened to him?” She asked, indicating to his own foe.
“Came down with a serious case of unconsciousness.” As Kitty laughed, Warren touched his earpiece to contact Bobby. “Iceman?”
“Angel? You guys ok?” Iceman’s voice crackled over the comm..
“We’re fine, where are you?”
“Hang on, Psylocke’s homing in on you.” He paused. “Drop down, looks like we’re right under you guys.”
Kitty, having heard this on her comm., held her hands out, taking Warren’s without pause. Touched, as no one trusted him so much as Kitty, he grasped her hands tightly and stepped backward off the ledge, pulling her with him.
His companion squealed with delight as he thrust out white feathers, making them land softly behind Colossus. The other three mutants were smiling slightly, though from the state of hair and clothing, they’d been delayed as well.
“Bombs, bad guys, what’s next?” Betsy grumbled. “Wolverine’s making this…wait!”
They turned to the telepath, watching as her blue-violet eyes glazed over with the trademark look of a powerful mind reaching for something they could not understand.
“Its Storm. I got her when she tried to check in with Wolverine.” The woman smiled wolfishly. “She didn’t think I’d scan continuously. I’ll be tired, but damn that was worth it.”
Following their mind leech faithfully, the group found their way into a nondescript house laying in waste down a small side street. Colossus took point once more, shouldering his way through the door without missing a step. Psylocke followed, her mind reaching out.
Iceman was behind them, just before Kitty and Angel. They slipped quietly into the house, using stealth techniques taught by Wolverine.
“Oh. Shit.”
Bobby came to a halt when the group noted that there were two occupants in the room. One, bound, gagged, and dirty, was the object of their search. The second, to their horror, was one snarling Wolverine.
Snikt!
“Ok, kids, lets see you handle a real enemy.”
Without pause, without waiting for the group to devise a plan or even react, the most dangerous man on the planet leapt at them.
