Chapter Seven: Come Closer
Can I ever know if you feel the same
Are you the sunshine that's begging me
To come in from the rain
Or have you come into my life
To turn around and take your love away
~Brian McKnight
His ears rang unpleasantly in the aftermath, drowning out the screaming of the injured, the sound of debris crashing into the once-pristine floor. He was sprawled among the filth and scattered lilies, hands aching and lungs protesting the sudden addition of smoke and dust. A tablecloth had caught on his arm, but he could not gather enough of his wits to free himself from it.
Tired eyes swept over the immediate area, noting the slender raven-haired form of Patricia lying several yards away. She was still as death, her pale face covered in angry red cuts. Warren could scarcely recall what happened, but attempted to crawl toward Beast’s beloved reporter.
An image of gold cloth and a winsome smile halted him. Recalling the warmth of Kitty’s hand on his, how her fingers were so suddenly wrenched from his, he shook his head to clear it. Snatches of disjointed sound began to penetrate the bothersome ringing, even as he searched the still bodies and choking stone-dust for her familiar form.
What had happened? Where was Kitty? Oh, God. Kitty!
“KITTY!”
He screamed, inhaled a mouthful of dust and gagged upon it. Paying no heed to the blood dripping from his arm and mixing with the dust on the floor, he scrambled to his feet. Wings helped stabilize his off-center equilibrium, keeping him on his unsteady feet while searching for his friend.
“Kitty! Kitty, answer me, damn it!”
Warren tried to gain his bearings, unsure where they had sat through the overturned tables and broken human bodies. Some cried out for help, a hysterical woman wailed in the distance, even as sirens heralded the coming of aid. People were rushing about, trying to flee to safety or locate the loved ones separated by the blast.
“Warren?”
Turning on the balls of his feet, Warren breathed a sigh of relief to find Beast limping toward him. Two sets of blue eyes met, held, reassuring one another that they were indeed all right. Remembering the fallen reporter, Warren turned, twitching a weak hand in the direction of her body.
“She’s over there. I think…”
His words were lost as Beast bolted over the fallen debris, calling for the woman he loved. Concern for the elder couple was outweighed by his need to locate Kitty. Where was his father? Mother? Jesus, what the hell happened here?
He caught sight of a gold shoe lying limply beneath an overturned table. Warren, for the first time in his young life, felt his heart stutter to a stop. He rushed the precious feet toward that telltale shoe, his still-weak hands gripping the edge of the table that pinned her. When the heavy oak furniture refused to move, panic kicked to life in his heart.
“Kitty? Can you hear me, honey?” He grunted, fingers slicked in blood as splinters bit into flesh. He tried, desperately, to move the heavy oak, succeeding in only shifting it an inch.
“Someone help!” Warren cried over the impossible din. He fought with the table, terrified when his cries did not even garner him a sarcastic comment from the woman beneath.
“Warren!” His father appeared, as though by magic. “Son, what…?”
Unable to articulate a response immediately, Warren released the table, roping his father into a fast, hard embrace. They clung for precious seconds, relieved and afraid. He did not know where his mother was, but at least his father was safe.
“Kitty,” he choked out when they parted. “Kitty.”
The elder Worthington seemed to understand in an instant, for he grasped the table’s opposite end and with Warren’s help, heaved mightily. They lifted the heavy oak, tossing it away the instant Kitty’s prone form was clear of it.
Though his father bore signs of injury and fear, Warren had eyes only for the golden princess lying in the dust. Her eyes were closed, face impassive as though in sleep. He knelt at her side, taking one bruised hand in his and squeezing lightly.
“Kitten?” He whispered, touching her face with one bloodied hand. “Kitty, honey, wake up.”
He could feel the heavy, knowing gaze of his father boring into his face, but paid it no mind. Whatever was going on in his father’s head would be dealt with another time. He only wished for Kitty to open her eyes, to tell him she was all right.
“Someone…”
He cried out when her lips parted, at the beatific sound of her weary voice. Wrapping her into his arms, Warren held on, fearful she might drift away if he released her.
“Someone…ruined…my…dress.”
Hysterical with relief, Warren laughed into her disheveled hair. He kissed her forehead, pulling back to meet those tired, but sparkling eyes. She fisted one hand in his suit jacket, clinging as he had his father. Refusing to release her, he checked Kitty over for injuries, fears allayed when her wounds appeared minor.
The roar of a jet brought the odd trio closer, even as Warren allowed a smile to grace his lips.
“It’s ok, Dad,” he said quietly, looking to the shattered windows. “The Calvary’s here.”
~**~
The scene before him was one of madness.
Stone and brick fell from gaping holes, littering the crimson carpet on which the rich and powerful walked only scant hours ago. Glass fell in musical tinkling all along the street, drifting from massive windows destroyed in a heartbeat. Scents of fear, of blood, of anger wafted on the cool summer breeze, making Logan shake his head as though to clear them.
They landed the Blackbird directly on the street, not caring who saw it. Their secret was revealed after Alcatraz and nothing could have stopped the X-Men from a frantic search for their missing members. Wolverine exited the jet first, nodding to the ambulances and police cruisers already wailing down the streets.
“Fan out,” Storm ordered in her most commanding tone. “Get survivors out.”
“Find Kitten and War,” Logan added, knowing how much leadership cost her in this moment. She wanted to rush in and find her chicks, as any of them wanted, but her responsibility to the greater good meant she could not voice this.
Logan thought he’d give her a break and do it anyway.
They entered the decimated building in a flood, helping the injured already fleeing the wreckage as much as they could. Stairs were taken two or three at a time, even as doubts and worries fought their way into Logan’s heart. He didn’t want to see any more death, especially for ones so young as Kitty and Warren.
How horrible was Fate to allow two young people only hours of carefree fun before tearing the world down around their ears? Logan snarled low in his throat, frightening a young woman bleeding from the scalp as she hurried past. It wasn’t right, not by a long shot. No one deserved this, much less two good kids just trying to make a difference.
Inside the ballroom, the damage seemed more extensive. Half the room was buried in rubble, thick pillars already weakened by the blast and the frantic exodus of victims teetered precariously. If they fell, it would only cause more damage as the blocks of marble crashed into the scene. Logan immediately crouched, checking the condition of the nearby pillars.
“Tin Man!”
“Da?”
“Get some stones, support those pillars or the roof’ll come down.”
To his credit, the young man merely nodded, trotting off to obey orders. Logan watched him for a moment, then melted into the fray. Iceman and Storm were busily checking the injured, but he knew better than to trust himself to that.
Sniffing quickly, he located the tender scent of innocence and followed it. Rushing through the debris, through the dust, he searched for the missing X-Men. Stepping over the fallen, Wolverine barely heard the cries of pain, of panic. He knew only the desperation that he not lose another of his team. It wasn’t an option. Not for two so young.
Then, as though by some preordained cue, the crowd parted and he saw them. Warren, dirty and angelic as ever, clutched a weak Kitten in his arms. They were both talking, but Warren bore obvious injury. An elder man crouched with them, from his scent Logan pegged him as the father. They crowded together, looking after one another amid the madness, the fear. They looked, Wolverine thought with a pang of jealousy, like a family.
So absorbed in his daydream was he, that Logan scarcely noticed a panicking middle-aged man crash into him. Because he was poised on the balls of his feet and unprepared, he was knocked backward by the slight crash. His heavy skeleton propelled the startled Wolverine into a nearby pillar. Even before he hit, a flash of premonition played against closed eyelids.
Before anyone could move, the pillar snapped under his weight. So precarious was the placement that almost instantly, the roof buckled. Without the support, chandeliers and sconces broke free from their holdings, only moments before the roof came down in earnest.
“WOLVERINE!”
“LOGAN!”
The screams echoed, even as a heavy stone slammed into his adamantium skull. His ears rang with Ororo’s terrified call, the clap of thunder that followed it. He wanted to reach for her, even as the rain of glass and brick forced him flat onto the dirty floor. Logan looked up, just a heartbeat before he was buried completely.
He would never forget the fear reflected in Storm’s eyes just as he sank into oblivion.
~**~
She felt the world stop, spin, and then restart again at twice the previous speed. Ororo was moving through the destruction before she could order her body to do so. Her long-fought fears screamed to the surface, even as Iceman and Colossus appeared at her side. He was trapped in the dark, alone and suffocating. How could anyone survive such a thing?
Memories drifted in and out of her mind, recalling those terrible hours when she was trapped beneath the rubble in Cairo, watching her mother and father die. Was Logan to face the same fate? She could scarcely breathe through the renewed assault of dust and smoke. Fire. Something was on fire. Why did the heavens boom so mightily? Did her fear for Logan reflect so perfectly?
“Colossus!” She called for her protégé, not realizing he had already outdistanced her. Her Russian student fell on the debris covering Logan, his preternatural strength hauling the stone and metal from the body concealed beneath.
“Storm?”
She turned to the side, having stepped forward to pull what she could from Logan’s body. Warren held a weakened Kitty in his arms, concern written all over his pale face. She took their appearance in at a glance, noting the blood soaking Warren’s sleeve and the deep purple swelling on Kitty’s forehead.
“Stay back,” she ordered quickly, knowing they wanted to leap in and help in any way they could. “You’re both injured.”
“Wolvie,” Kitty whimpered, her head injury making the words slur. “Where’d Wolvie go?”
“They’ll find him, Kitten,” Warren soothed, setting her back on the floor.
Storm watched them for only a moment, fear bubbling in her heart like a living thing. She didn’t notice the tears running down her face as she heaved heavy stone hiding Logan from her eyes. Forced to relive the worst moments in her life, Ororo fought back the urge to give in to the fear. It lingered on the edge of her awareness, threatening to consume.
Thinking of her parents drifted away, bringing the fresher pain of loss. Scott. Jean. Charles. Logan could not join them, even if she had to fight the Goddess herself. He had to stay with her. She couldn’t face it all again, the grief, the pain. Not again. She never heard the anguished cry that left her lips, startling the boys helping to free their teammate. They would never tell her how that single sob that escaped her throat terrified them beyond anything they ever faced.
When the long minutes passed and she caught sight of a familiar, if bloodied hand, Ororo fell to her knees and grasped the strong fingers.
“Logan?”
He twitched slightly. She took his hand with both of hers, bringing it to her chest. She wanted him to grasp something. The warmth of her fingers, the low beat of her heart, anything that might make him remain. Her fears collided inside her, peering into the dark hole where Logan was pinned. Nothing could stop the tears she still didn’t know coursed down her caramel cheeks.
Piotr and Bobby managed to free him several minutes later, aided by several of the victims from the ballroom. They seemed to understand that a savior fell while trying to help them. That kind of humanity, that basic goodness, was something Ororo wished more could see. None knew the man trapped beneath, and though they were injured and fearful, they still moved to help this unknown warrior.
When she could reach him, Ororo touched Logan’s face. Dark eyes fluttered open, revealing pain and relief. Ororo shushed the Wolverine when he attempted to speak. She merely nodded to Piotr, whom gently lifted their friend from the rubble. Ororo kept his hand as long as distance allowed. When they finally separated, she let her hand fall, reality coming back into sharp focus.
As Piotr “ flanked by battered Kitty and Warren “ headed back to the Blackbird, Ororo turned to Iceman. The young mutant smiled tightly, then turned to begin helping the civilians. Storm drew herself up, squared her burdened shoulders, and followed.
Logan would pull through. She had to believe that.
~**~
News crews pounced on the ballroom explosion minutes after the X-Men left the scene. With the destruction so pronounced, it shocked young Kitty Pryde that they waited so long to begin interviewing witnesses. Poised reporters were screeching about mutant rights and the Friends of Humanity before Warren and Kitty left the school’s med-lab. They carefully tuned it out, not wanting to relive everything so soon.
Most of the children occupying the school had slipped into the land of peaceful dreams long before and would not know anything was amiss until breakfast. Then, it would be the talk of the school. Kitty and Warren were sure to be the center of attention for days to come. She did not want to recount every detail of her evening, save the wonderfully carefree hours when she was just a girl in a pretty dress out with a handsome young man.
They moved carefully toward the upper levels, keeping quiet and close together. Kitty wondered if they were still shaken, wondering if they let one another out of their sight that they might drift away. She didn’t need a shrink to tell her that the long-dormant fears of abandonment itched to overtake her again. Kitty fought hard to keep her insecurities from showing. Her many defenses carefully constructed an outward appearance of one not concerned with image, but comfortable with who and what she was.
No one was allowed to glimpse at the underlying fears that she kept so completely wrapped up in tomboyish style and sharp wit.
But hearing that fear in Warren’s voice, recalling how swiftly they were parted amid the fear and rubble shook something inside of her. She could only remember screaming for him in the silence of her mind while the world shifted around her. She wanted his calming presence, to know that he had escaped the blast in one piece. Where did this uncommon fear come from? Why had she so clung to him upon waking?
What was this handsome angel doing to her insides and why couldn’t she stop it?
They reached her bedroom door in that same thoughtful silence. Warren smiled, reaching up to tuck a wayward lock of chestnut from her face until it lay quietly behind her ear. Kitty felt her stomach melt and clench, unsure where that sudden desire came from. Was he always so incredibly handsome? Did his eyes always reflect that warmth, that adoration?
Could this all be a reaction to such a terrifying experience?
Before Kitty could order herself to behave, she shifted her body closer to his. Skin rippled and stretched, as though reaching out for his touch. What would those beautiful hands feel like on heat-slicked flesh? Would he be as attentive, as loving when bare before her as he was everywhere else? Would his frantic heartbeat fall into rhythm with hers, his breath warm on her lips?
Startled and aroused by the sudden turn her inward dialogue took, Kitty felt her chest heave with sudden rapid breathing. Every inch of her flesh sang for attention, even the places covered by her dirty gold gown. The image of Warren reaching up and tugging her hair free to run his hands in it momentarily startled her.
Usually fantasies consisted of candlelight and Piotr’s dark eyes, but tonight fevered passion and orbs of warm blue dominated her thoughts. It could be the near death experience making her heart race, or was it the sudden revelation of want that appeared in Warren’s eyes? Did he want her? Why had he said nothing? Oh, God. What was happening here?
“Goodnight, Kitty.”
He whispered her name “ a plea, a prayer “ and kissed her cheek as a brother might. But a sibling’s affection could never have set her flesh on fire like this. One touch, one look, and Kitty felt her common sense losing an internal war with desire. Oh, how she wanted to give in, to know how it felt to be touched and adored as ruddy dawn stained the sky.
“Goodnight, Warren.”
The automatic reply brought a small smile to that angelic face. When he turned to walk away, Kitty forced herself to open the bedroom door, to slip inside the private sanctuary where only hours before she’d readied for her night out. Marie had obviously picked up the discarded clothing for her, leaving the room in its characteristic tidiness.
But the space, usually welcoming and soothing, seemed huge and empty without Warren’s presence. Kitty yearned to turn back to the open door, to call out his name. She left it open slightly without knowing why while taking the slender Jimmy Choos from her aching feet.
The bandage on her head was forgotten as body overrode mind. Not since a somewhat juvenile romp in her mid-teens had Kitty allowed a man into her bed. Insecurity and the unrequited ache for Piotr seemed to curb any nocturnal playtime, leaving her alone to thoughts and books. But tonight she didn’t want to be alone. If her eyes closed, she heard the screaming, felt the fear.
Warren could chase it away, if only for a little while.
As she turned back to the door, he stepped over the threshold. Neither spoke and Kitty remained rooted to the spot as he took two long strides to mesh bodies together. One masculine hand came up to cup her nape, knocking the already loose pins from her hair. Warren’s mouth was on hers a heartbeat later, his warm lips at once pliable and demanding.
Thought fled and Kitty’s arms wound desperately around his neck. Their bodies melded together, one cohesive whole were seconds before had been two independent pieces. Warren groaned, both hands thrust into her hair while he ravished her mouth as though starving. Kitty felt herself give, melt, and take fateful steps backward toward the bed.
When her knees struck the mattress, she tugged, pulled and fell back onto the soft cotton duvet with Warren sprawled atop her.
He pulled back, those familiar, burning blue eyes searching her face in wonderment. If she stopped to think, to breathe, she would bolt. For some reason, that thought terrified her, so she leaned back up, capturing his lips in a kiss that seared her to the soul.
Warren gathered her into his arms, one hand reaching for the zip of her dress. They fell on one another with the fervor of lovers, tearing at dust-covered clothing as though their lives depended on it. All thought and sound boiled down to lusty moans and gasps of sensual excitement. Her dress came away, falling to the floor in a flutter of gold cloth, joined seconds later by the deep blue of his jacket.
Long-fingered hands drifted over her exposed flesh as Warren’s palms traced a path from her throat, over the swells of her breasts and across the ripple of her ribcage until he stroked the silk of her belly. Unable to remain idle, Kitty slipped the buttons of his shirt from their holes, her fingers mapping every line of muscle in his chest.
Lips met, fused, and broke only to meet again as two aching bodies met in the quiet of early dawn. The rustle of clothing was soon replaced by the soft slap of flesh against flesh. Kitty never knew that she could burn in this way, that her body could be so drawn and taut that she feared she might snap in half. Wasn’t this the sort of thing only found in Nora Roberts’ novels? Oh, God, why did his hands know exactly which places to touch, to tease?
She whispered his name as he dipped his head, capturing one rosy peak with the warmth of his mouth. Undone by pleasure, Kitty arched her back, pleading for more until words were caught in her throat on a desperate sob.
They never heard the bedroom door closed, so lost in one another that the outside world simply faded away. When Warren took her, it was with infinite tenderness and a passion that left her gasping for breath.
Tomorrow, Kitty vowed rising again to take him deeper, tomorrow they would talk. Tonight she gave up to passion and hoped for the best.
