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An hour later:

“So where exactly are they holding this thing?”

“My guess is probably that big room with the sign that says “Conference room reserved for Stark gathering?”

“Shut up, Hank.”

“You’re welcome, Bobby.”

“Who else is showing up at this thing?”

“Pretty much any Avenger ya know that ain’t wearin’ a skirt.”

“Yeah, that’s helpful, Logan. Tell me again why you showed up for this?”

“Fuck off, Summers.”

“I didn’t even say anything…”

“I meant Slim.”

“Right. Minding my business now.” Alex went to the open bar and ordered a bottled water.

“It just seems weird…all of us here, with Tony and Steven again.”

“So?”

“It gives me this uneasy feeling of déjà vu. Like we’re going to end up kidnapped to an uncharted planet that’s an amalgamation of different worlds to fight an unseen villain.”

“Peter…that’s just weird.”

“You had to be there, my friend.”

“Now we’re talking, who’s up for some sustenance?” Hank rubbed his pawlike hands together with relish as they filed into the spacious suite with vaulted ceilings, a theater-sized television with speakers, small stage, and a large banquet table.

“I came here for hot wings. They’d better have hot wings,” Alex grumbled.

“Hot wings, he says. We get invited to a bachelor party for a guy who’s king of his own flippin’ country, and you’re here for the hot wings.”

“It’s as good a reason as any ta me, Ice Cube, s’long as there’s beer ta wash ‘em down with.” Hank tsked.

“Allow me to repeat: Can’t take you guys anywhere.”

Ain’t like I’m here ta make a good impression, or anything. If I had ta tell anyone why I really dragged my sorry butt here, the simplest reason is this. I wanna see Panther in his element. Not as some big shot, bad-ass superhero or king, but as T’Challa, the man. The guy who broke Ororo’s heart, but whose shit supposedly don’t stink. I wanna know why he’s worth her giving him a second chance.

It ain’t like Panther an’ I are on the greatest of terms. It ain’t like he’s a pussy, mind ya. He can fight, I’ll give him that. He’s got enhanced senses. Whoopee. Compared ta mine or Creed’s, he might as well be tryin’ ta sniff a rose garden with a head cold. He’s paid his dues, same as any of us, doing his duty for his country.

Then again, sometimes the guy just gets in the damned way. ‘Ro, Alex, Lorna, Bobby and I fly all the way to Niganda and slog our way through more plug-ugly animal experiments than ya can shake a stick at, and where’s T’Challa? In the friggin’ control room, where ya’d think a college-educated guy that used ta be a teacher coulda figured out how ta turn ‘em off.

The crowning insult, though, that still keeps me up at night was seein’ the lucky bastard KISS THE GIRL. I get my ass handed ta me by mutated monkeys and spend days in the jungle bein’ eaten by mosquitoes the size of helicopters, and ‘Ro lays a big, fat wet one on HIM?

There ain’t no justice. Think I need another beer…

“Logan…dude, save us some beer.”

“Fuck off, Drake.”

Spending the past day in the Blackbird gives a guy the chance to think.

All these years, ‘Ro’s been pretty damned quiet about her love life. One of the best damn things about ‘Ro is that she ain’t a drama queen. No big blow-ups or scenes back when Forge took back his proposal; kid just hid out in the hangar and let it rain. For three friggin’ days straight. Could she have gone after him? Why the hell not. Cyke was here, we already had a leader ta take over while she took some R&R and worked things out. But she took one for the team, and took it on the chin, like a trooper, and just drowned herself in work. Instead of running off ta Dallas ta make her own little happy family, she stuck around here ta play mother hen.

Like a dumb ass, I never let her know how glad I was that she stuck around. More fool me. I shoulda followed her example, and spoke up when the best thing that ever happened ta me was waitin’ for me ta sit up and take notice. Shoulda grabbed the brass ring. Way ta drop the ball, Patch. Not that Forge was “the best thing” that coulda happened ta her, in hindsight…Raven’s too high-maintenance. A man’s gotta know which one of his woman’s personalities he’s waking up ta in the morning, fer cryin’ out loud. How he could up and leave ‘Ro for that basket case is a mystery ta me. Only way I could bring myself ta play with Raven between the sheets was to follow along with her little act and pretend she was someone else…

As soon as ‘Ro announced pretty as you please that she was stayin’ behind in Kenya, my hackles went up, and they ain’t laid back down since. ‘Ro ain’t never just up and left the team unless life dropped something on her doorstep ta bring her ta her knees. Last thing that brought her out ta her homeland was losin’ her powers. Also Forge’s fault. Seems like a friggin’ pattern…

Those weeks after she was grounded still stick in my craw. That fightin’ spirit was still there, and that attitude that rubbed off on her from hanging out with Yukio, thank God. Never woulda thought I’d be grateful ta Yukio bein’ a bad influence on her, but I think that’s one of the only things that saved her back then, after bein’ torn outta the sky. She couldn’t fly anymore, but she wasn’t afraid ta fall.

She’d never been afraid of me, either. That’s why this feels so damned weird. Why couldn’t she have spoke up? “Logan, I’m staying in Africa to rekindle an old flame; no hard feelings, okay?” Something. Anything. But no, like a chump, I just stood there and said “I understand.” Biggest lie I ever told, and I’ve lived long enough ta tell some whoppers. Should’ve know this was gonna happen. That kiss she laid on Panther was bad enough; but I could smell it. Her excitement. Her pulse jumped and I could hear her heartbeat thunderin’ in my ears. Her whole body chemistry changed. Almost feel that flush coming over her cheeks, like she’d been away for years and just come home. It was like somebody kicked me in the gut, since it wasn’t that long ago that I felt those same signals from her when I kissed her myself. Like, a few weeks ago.

And that was that. Just when I was gettin’ comfortable with the easy little thing we had…bye-bye, Birdie. She flew the coop.

“LUKE!”

“Somebody’s got that sappy fatherly glow,” Bobby piped up.

“Go ahead, give me a hard time about it, I dare you.” Luke’s grip on Bobby’s hand was strong enough to make him wince.

“Where’re Reed and Johnny?”

“Reed’s fiddling with the jet; Johnny’s making excuses to his girlfriend of the week.”

“Figures.”

“Sour grapes, Bobby?” Alex drawled. “Sounds like someone doesn’t have anyone to make any excuses to.”

“Yeah, Chuckles. That’s why you’re here with a bunch of guys instead of out with Lorna right now, huh?”

“Pot calling the kettle…” Scott stared deeply into his martini glass, the clear liquid reflected in his ruby quartz visor.

“At least Emma let you off your leash for the night, ‘bro.”

“Just ‘cause my powers can’t HURT you doesn’t mean they can’t TOUCH you.” Scott downed his drink in one gulp, causing Logan to raise his brow at his uncharacteristic thirst. “…and maybe I like being on my leash,” he muttered. “Fucker…”

“Where’s T’Challa?”

“Everett called up a little while ago. He’s on his way. He also said it’s gonna get pretty crowded in a little bit.”

Hnh. Can’t say I’ve ever been anywhere on this continent when I wasn’t hackin’ my way through snipers and wading through a hail of bullets. That little favor I did for Lover Boy a few weeks ago wasn’t exactly a walk in the park.

“Logan…thank you. Only a man of your experience could pull it off.” Yeah. Sure. My guess, bub, is yer bettin’ my healing factor against yer fancy vibranium suit, yer little excuse about it bein’ “every Wakandan chief’s solemn vow” not ta interfere with yer neighbors be damned. “Sovereign neighbors,” my ass. Didn’t stop ya from sniffin’ around Niganda and gettin’ in our way while we were tangling with mutant crocs. I’m still chafed from pullin’ God knows how many arrows outta my ass.

Ahh, quit bein’ so bitter old man. Time for another Molson…

“Thirsty, Logan?”

“Fuck off, Hank.”

“There’s medication you can take for that, you know.”

“Yeah. Heh, heh, henh.” SNIKT. Logan casually flipped him off with his claw.

Reed and Johnny edged through the door, scanning the room for familiar faces. “Reed…is that Logan???”

“Put yer eyes back in yer head, Hot Pants.”

“Easy for you to say. You carved your way through the Baxter Building and practically filleted me and Ben, ya psycho!”

“Yeah, well…sorry. I wasn’t myself.”

“Ya wanna elaborate on who else was in that adamantium-plated skull?”

“Johnny, ya don’t wanna know.” Sometimes, Logan still heard the Hand whispering in his head. Just a whisper, but it was there.

“I wouldn’t push him if I were you, tovarisch.” Peter eyed the still-small pile of empty beer bottles thoughtfully. “If you value your vital organs…

“And your pretty face,” Kurt chimed in.

“…you’d do well to let him quench his thirst in peace. Just a suggestion.” Peter helped himself to a chicken wing, tucking it on the absurdly small appetizer plate with surprising grace for someone so large.

The noise level in the conference chamber swelled and rose as the DJ began his first set. Blends of soul, hip-hop and African-style house music set the mood and eased the motley assembly of guests into conversations that otherwise would have felt awkward.

“So Hank…we saw the news about that ‘Hope cure.’ Is it what they say it is?”

“That’s still up to debate, Tony. Not to mention further study.” Hank’s yellow eyes studied him wearily over the rim of his glass of scotch and soda.

“Haven’t heard so much fuss in the press about anything that had to do with mutants since the Legacy Virus.”

“The difference, Herr Stark, was that the Legacy Virus actually needed curing.” Kurt’s tail flicked back and forth like a pensive cat’s.

“Some would say the same thing about mutancy,” Johnny pointed out.

“Some could stick that up their flamin’ ass. And nice talk fer a guy whose nephew can take his dream self out fer a midnight stroll.”

“What do you X-Men plan to do about it?”

“What we’ve always done about it. It ain’t just about ‘us X-Men,’ Luke. Remember that. Have this talk with me again when yer kid hits puberty.”

The DJ stopped the music briefly and spoke into the microphone. “Here tonight is the official man of the hour, His Royal Highness, King T’Challa! Make him feel welcome, folks!” Unlike Ororo’s highly anticipated bridal shower, T’Challa’s bachelor party featured no press or photographers; paparazzi had been banned from the private function for the sake of allowing the full range of festivities expected on the king’s last night as a single man. Peter’s mouth gaped open for a moment as two Dora Milajae strolled into the suite, resplendent and matching in red leather cropped halter tops and low-slung skirts, slit up the sides nearly to the hip for ease of movement. Their steps were nearly silent in their sturdy thong sandals laced all the way up the calf.

“Alex?”

“Yeah?”

“Are those the…?”

“Nope. Bodyguards. Ororo filled me in back in Niganda.” Johnny and Bobby merely stood by and drooled.

“Sooooo…is she okay with this? With them?” Kurt’s expression was laden with doubt, and a faint tinge of envy.

“It’s all right, my friend. Ororo and I had a little chat about the duties and responsibilities of the Dora Milajae,” a rich baritone chuckled over Kurt’s shoulder. “I reassured her that their title of ‘Wives in Waiting’ is entirely misleading."

“Right,” Logan grunted. “And?” He waited for the other shoe to drop.

“…after which she reassured me that I could count on a lightning bolt aimed up my royal backside if they overstepped their duties.” Logan repressed a snarl. SNIKT. Snakt. He unsheathed and retracted his claws as casually as any other man cracking his knuckles.

“She’ll make an excellent queen,” Hank rumbled with satisfaction.

“The best,” T’Challa agreed as one of his personal assistants brought him a gin and tonic with lime.

An excellent queen, he says. ‘Ro used ta be a goddess, bub; this is a step down, when ya think about it. Yer country needs its queen, but the world needs its Wind-Rider, and one o’these days, she’ll answer that call again.





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