Chapter Two: Love Sucks
I'll be damned if I let you know
That I still find it hard to sleep at night
Outside I'm smiling
Inside I'm crying
I'll just keep denying
Til I get over you
~Brian McKnight
Because Charles left just that morning for a conference in Washington, along with Henry McCoy, Ororo found herself less-than-busy as the afternoon wound down into night. Bobby and Warren had kitchen duty, so it was with heavy hearts that they left Ororo to unpack alone. Alison, of course, wanted time alone with her lover, so Ororo wandered into her bedroom to think.
She pulled out a battered CD player, thumbing through the case of music quickly. Once she found a compilation of songs popular in India, she slipped the disc into the player and cranked the volume. This was not a blatant attempt to irritate anymore, but rather a safety measure. Betsy and Alison did, after all, share a bedroom wall with Storm.
Singing to the tantalizing Hindi lyrics, Ororo heaved her suitcases onto the bed and unzipped the travel bags. Her hips swayed to the throbbing Telugu beats, her throat throbbing with the urge to sing. Waiting for the vocals to start, Storm swung her hips in time, moving to the dresser. She dumped several pairs of panties into the top drawer, closing it with her hip.
Taking on the high-pitch of the female singer, Ororo sang with the music, her voice lost in the pulsing beat she thought might crack the window. Her arms arched above her head, fingers darting in and out of the various formations she watched with such awe during the shows India had to offer.
Her last bastion, Ororo thought with a smile. Her hair swayed against her back as it fell from the pins holding it together. Everyone assumed she’d cut off ten years of growth. Were they insane? She kept the long white locks sleek to fall down her back. It whipped her several times when she turned in dance. The masculine vocal counterpoint wailed of a woman too beautiful to be real, while Ororo and her female counterpart insisted that even heavenly beings thrived on love.
Her feet stopped at a critical point in the song. Ororo remembered Ahmad’s gentle voice instructing her on the dance steps. She rocked her shoulders with flare that modeled shoulders bared by her metallic-hued tube top. Hips swung once more, straining the tight material of her jeans.
By the Goddess, after days of travel, movement felt wonderful. India. The best for last, Ororo thought with a grin. She’d spent more than eleven months within those sacred borders. Before, she and Alison “ along with various friends “ explored the color of Spain and Europe, the deserts and jungles of Africa, majestic South America. But for some reason, she saved the long trip through India for last.
Ororo fell in love with the country, the people. Something about India called to her, even more than her mother’s ancestral lands. Storm swayed slowly, the head-to-toe motion designed to drive any male in the vicinity to lust. Ororo threw her head back, moving with that throb of a beat until she felt herself break free.
The clouds clashed in the heavens. It was not fear or anger or pain that moved the skies this night, but pure, primal pleasure. Ororo bent backward while still on her feet, far enough that her long hair grazed the floor.
When she snapped back up, the thunder rolled and crashed. Ororo threw her hands toward the windows, thrusting them open with a gust of wind. Element rushed into the room, intoxicating the weather goddess as she never thought possible. Winds lifted her, but still she danced upon them. Through them. With them.
She continued her dance, remembering the Indian storytellers and wondering what they would make of this. She imagined herself clad in a silken sari of deep blue or white, letting the material catch and dance on the winds as she moved. Ororo’s heart swelled with pride and joy, even as the elements cried for her to immerse in them.
With the song still echoing in her head, lyrics of undying love and unbearable desire, she took two running steps and launched herself into the storm of her creation. Still dancing, she rode it into the skies without looking back.
~**~
“Whoa.”
When she vanished into the sky, Logan took a moment to process what he’d just seen. The girl had no idea that his favorite smoking spot was out on the balcony opposite hers. A wide courtyard, separated their rooms balcony to balcony. Logan often took a cigar out of doors, where the air was still and fresh.
Hearing the music brought his sharp eyes across that courtyard, where he’d never before seen a light shining. At first, he thought someone was sneaking around, until he realized that this must be the white-haired beauty’s bedroom.
Though he knew it was wrong, he leaned on the stone railing, watching her every move. She unpacked mid-dance, shocking him when her voice rose with the music. She sings, he thought, wondering why that pleased him. Storm’s voice was not unpleasant, rather the opposite. The clear, high sound was feminine and strong. He could not understand the words, but listened to the language of her body, the emotion in her tone. It had to be a song of lust and pain. Ha. The two could never be divided.
Her body mesmerized him, the sensual sway of it. A woman’s body, Logan thought, all curves and creamy skin. That caramel flesh shone in the light from her bedroom. He watched, fascinated, as the music worked her into a frenzy. He knew enough to realize she stirred the sudden storm he’d never smelled coming, that the music did this to her body and soul. Emotion swelled in his throat at the sight, the knowledge that something could move a person so deeply.
Tempest raged high above the ground, too far to cause any alarm or damage. Though this weather witch threw caution into the skies, she had enough control to hurt no one. How did she manage that? Logan stared into the clouds, sharp eyes spotting the white flash of her hair as she spun on the winds. How did anyone have that kind of control, even in the throes of absolute chaos?
Still leaning on the banister, Logan took the cigar from his mouth, exhaling a lungful of smoke into the twilight. Something about that woman could capture a man. Logan thought of the story Jean once read to him, of a bewitching goddess stranding some guy named Odysseus on her island for twenty years. At the time, listening to his girlfriend’s clear, girlish tone, Logan failed to grasp how any man could be so enslaved.
He understood now.
“Logan?”
Without turning, he sampled the air. “Out here, Jeannie.”
Her light feet made little noise on the carpeting, even when aided by her favorite high heels. He dropped his gaze to the manicured courtyard below. Whatever Jean wanted, Logan knew if she thought he was staring at another woman, he’d be in for a long night. So, he was the most dangerous man on the planet, that didn’t make him immune to screeching and tears.
Far below, he spotted Colossus and Shadowcat walking hand in hand through the courtyard. They had a favorite spot down there, an old wood bench beneath that sprawling willow. Often, the two might sit side by side, watching the weeping tree’s branches dance on the surface of the pond beneath it. Those two were sweet, Logan admitted only to himself. They never looked uncomfortable with one another, rather the opposite.
How did a person get that kind of peace?
She came up behind him, slipping slender arms about his waist and pressing her body into his back. A fleeting smile crossed his mouth before he could stop it. He leaned back to kiss her forehead, though traitorous senses noted the exact moment Storm returned to her bedroom across the courtyard.
Logan glanced toward her room, surprised to find her leaning on the railing of her balcony as he had done just moments before. Windswept hair and rumpled clothing did nothing to diminish her appearance. She tilted her head at him, studying him as an animal in the wild might consider a possible enemy or ally.
“Dinner’s ready,” Jean whispered, bringing him back to reality. He blinked. Storm vanished.
Forcing himself to concentrate on the girl he’d wanted since his arrival, Logan turned to her. Jean gifted him with a smile when he wrapped her in his arms, those sea green eyes lighting up with pleasure. He returned her smile with a rare grin, reaching up to touch one silken cheek. She was all right, he mused inwardly. Beautiful, intelligent, feminine. Something about Jean just touched him in a place he’d thought long dead.
“Hungry?” He asked, tugging her a little closer with the hand resting on her hip.
“A little,” she shrugged, leaning up to kiss him quickly.
Logan hummed a little with satisfaction. His red-haired woman tasted of cherries. “Me, too.”
A flush colored her cheeks when he rocked his hips into hers. “Logan. Everyone’s waiting.”
He walked her backward into the bedroom, tossing his cigar over the railing with an enticing grin upon his whiskered face.
“Everyone’ll wait.”
~**~
Home, sweet, home.
Ali jogged down the mansion’s main staircase, her bangle bracelets tinkling with the jostling movement. She pushed her long hair away from her eyes, bending at the first landing to finish tying her combat boot.
“How does she get dressed so fast?” Ali grumbled to herself. She grinned at the flash of memory. Betsy’s alabaster skin and come-hither eyes could haunt her if she got distracted.
Though she loved to travel, Alison felt the need to be home now. She’d been on the verge of leaving Stormy in India when her friend announced that she was homesick. Alison loved her friend, but months away from the woman she loved took their toll. No longer could the punky musician see being gone for so long. Ali simply wanted to be wherever Betsy was, no questions asked.
Ali stood again, straightening her tight t-shirt and smoothing her sex-rumpled hair. That girl had stamina, Ali decided. Nearly a year away built it up for them both, especially when those around you were getting laid. Dazzler glared as Jean strode by with her new man-toy, the roll in both sets of hips familiar as hell. No wonder Betsy jumped her! The sex almost oozed off of them.
Not that India was any better. Their first week in Goa, Storm hooked up with an Indian dancer named Ahmed. He traveled with them for some time, giving a guided tour on India’s wonders. That man could melt butter with his eyes and he definitely took Storm’s mind off of Cyclops, but Ali’s sexual frustration nearly drove her insane. It was particularly hard when the man ravished Storm in the back of a nightclub where Ali was playing. Lights gave the singer a full view.
Shaking her head, Ali thrust the thoughts from her mind. She was home now and tonight she could sleep in her own bed, with her woman wrapped in her arms. Could anything be better than that?
“Scottie-bear!”
When Scott came out of the elevator, Ali took a running leap. As expected, Scott turned his back, catching Alison’s smaller form in a bastardized version of a piggyback ride. Ali kissed her friend’s cheek noisily, letting him settle her on his back so he could walk them both into the dining area.
“How’s it going, gorgeous?” Scott asked, holding her thighs to prevent a fall.
“Betsy shagged me good and proper,” Ali announced proudly. “What’s up with you?”
Cyclops laughed and Ali rested her chin on his shoulder. “I’m ok, honey. Missed you guys.”
“Who doesn’t?’ Ali winked, kissed his cheek again. “You’d have loved India. ‘Ro fell off an elephant.”
Scott broke into hearty laughter, the sound reminding Alison of years gone by. Once, the fantastic four consisted of Ali, Betsy, ‘Ro, and Scott. The division between her best friends cut Alison to the quick. She never wanted to choose between them, but when Ororo decided she needed to get the hell out of Dodge, Ali crossed that invisible line in the proverbial sand to join her friend.
She never understood the reasons Scott cited for ending his relationship with Ororo. The ever-responsible leader of the X-Men needed someone as open and carefree as Storm. They balanced one another beautifully, up to the bitter end of their long love affair.
“Did you take pictures?”
“Well, duh. I’ll show you later.”
They entered the noisy dining area a beat later and Cyclops bent at the knees to let Alison down. Ali glanced about the room, inwardly sighing that all of her favorite people were home. Bobby and Warren commanded their helpers like generals, ordering which plates of food to be taken out and where they should be placed.
Betsy sat beside Ororo on one end of the table, the chair on her lover’s other side waiting for their blonde friend. The violet and snow-capped duo laughed together as though the world held no sadness. Through the mental link Psylocke kept open between herself and Dazzler, Ali understood that her beloved was filling Storm in on all they’d missed. Her thoughts, however, drifted continuously back to Alison and the conversation they finished only minutes ago.
Her heart aching with tenderness only Betsy brought out in her, Ali bounced over to the table. She dropped into the seat beside her girlfriend, squeezing her thigh gently. Betsy turned, her eyes lighting up and smile dazzling. Alison felt her knees weaken and thanked heaven she’d sat down.
Around the table, Ali found more of her mismatched family. Kitty and Pete were engrossed in conversation, about what Dazzler couldn’t tell. But Kitten smiled brightly at her friend, waving slightly before diving back into whatever Pete was telling her.
Down the table, Warren and Bobby finished placing the food and urged everyone to dig in. They sat beside Storm, each vying for her attention as the decibel level of the room jumped sharply. Alison shook her head at them, reaching for the mashed potatoes. Betsy and Alison loaded their plates absently, each scooping food onto one another’s dishes out of habit. Storm grinned at the two of them, but remained silent.
When Dazzler took up her fork, her keen hearing noted a single flaw in the melodic voices. One spot of “dead air”. Looking up for the unusual occurrence “ which usually signaled an absence “ Ali found herself staring straight at the man Scott introduced as Wolverine.
“What’s up, Wolf-boy?” she whispered to herself.
Watching him unobserved for several seconds, Ali noted two things. Though Jean was sitting beside him, they spoke not one word to each other. The redhead kept herself locked in talking with Pete and Kitty, all but ignoring the man everyone said she was sleeping with.
The second observation made her frown. He ate in relative silence, but the drop of his shoulders and tilt to his head did not make him seem unapproachable. Alison rather thought he looked comfortable amid the chaos and something told her that while he feigned disinterest, he listened to every word spoken around their disordered dinner table.
Those ebony eyes, however, were locked onto something. Curious beyond comprehension, Alison followed his eye line.
Why is he staring at Storm? Alison directed the question to her lover.
Betsy blinked, looking up from her plate before responding. I hadn’t noticed. ‘Tis a bit odd, innit?
Ali shoved a forkful of green beans into her mouth. He’s bangin’ Jean, isn’t he?
Yes, though why, I have no bloody idea.
Be nice, Ali admonished, winking at her lover.
Will I get a spanking? Betsy replied, batting her eyelashes innocently.
“Bet your sexy ass,” Ali answered verbally.
Storm leaned over then, laughing at something Bobby was telling her. Ali and Betsy yanked innocence onto their facial features immediately, but by the slight narrowing of Storm’s eyes, Ali knew she’d get grilled soon enough.
Their friend’s bright blue eyes shone with happiness, even when Scott made his presence known by laughing at some joke Jean had just told. Ali watched, pain twisting her heart, as Ororo’s eyes reflected momentary pain. Betsy and Alison reached over to take her hand, which squeezed them both before slipping away.
“So,” Bobby cut in seconds later. “Daz, you told me you might have news at dinner.”
Thoughts of Cyclops and Storm flew from her head. Betsy’s smile softened as she turned to her, green eyes locked with violet. Love spoke from those lilac eyes, mingled with hope and forever. Ali wanted to swoon like some romantic heroine, but restrained herself. They’d talked about it before the sojourn to India and upon Alison’s return solidified the plans.
“Go on, luv,” Betsy urged. Her delicate hand grasped Ali’s beneath the table. “Now’s as good as ever.”
“Sure bout that, babe? Might be too much for our first night home,” Alison teased.
Storm peered at them curiously, as did many of the others. Only Wolverine seemed unimpressed, for he kept right on eating.
“Now’s good,” Betsy nodded. “Go on, then.”
Alison leaned forward to kiss her lover’s lips quickly, then stood. She tapped her fork on the plate, as her soda can wouldn’t have given the desired effect. Conversation stopped completely, many sets of interested eyes looking up to Ali. Though her heart beat even faster, Alison squeezed her beloved’s hand and cleared her throat.
“Well, guys, Betsy and I have an announcement,” she addressed the group. “We’ve decided to get married.”
Storm clapped heartily while Cyclops whistled his appreciation. The others fell in, even the stoic Wolverine giving the two a nod of approval. Ali kissed her lover again, taking her seat as conversation centered on the two women intent on merging their lives as completely as they could.
“I can’t believe this!” Storm stood to hug each of her friends properly. She kissed their cheeks, tears of happiness shining from those blue eyes. “How wonderful. I wish you many years of joy and countless blessings.”
Others raised their cans or glasses with a round of “Hear, hear”. But Alison noticed Betsy glance at Jean, the joy on her face evaporating to anger.
“What was that, Jean?”
Conversation halted immediately at the absolute rage in Psylocke’s accented voice. Concerned, Alison shifted in her chair to face the redheaded telepath. Storm stood behind them like a sentinel, one hand on each of her friend’s shoulders.
“It’s not legal,” Jean said slowly, as though explaining something to a child. “You can’t get married.”
“Why not?” Storm demanded. “Legality means nothing if two people love one another.”
“I’m just saying,” Jean responded flippantly. “It’s a fake ceremony, it won’t mean anything.”
Ali tried to stand, but Storm shoved her back into the chair. Sound muted as Dazzler began to yank in the waves of it in the room, preparing to knock that little bitch back with a blast of pure light.
“Watch yourself, Jean,” Ororo interrupted.
But the mutant woman continued as though no one had heard her. “I mean, if we’re all set for fake ceremonies, why not have someone declare you Pope? Or president? Or Empress of the World?”
“Jean.” This from Wolverine. “Shut up.”
“You’re defending them!” Jean jumped to her feet so quickly her chair overturned. “Its ridiculous. Two women getting married? What’s the point? You can’t have kids or anything.”
“Jean Grey.” Storm interceded with thunder crashing behind her. “Perhaps if you had ever been in love, you might understand. Elizabeth and Alison love one another and to celebrate that, they want to have a simple ceremony. They will vow to care for one another through thick and thin, a commemoration of finding the person that completes you. How dare you tarnish that?”
Jean snorted, crossing her arms over her breasts. “Its disgusting. And who are you to lecture me? You loved Scott, but he couldn’t stand to be around you. Everyone knows its true. How could anyone love someone like you?”
“Ok, that’s it.” Ali snarled.
The blond singer shoved Storm’s hand off and vaulted over the table. She leapt for Jean, held back by Betsy and Scott. Storm, however, rounded the table easily with murder in her eyes. Wolverine got slowly to his feet, blocking the path between irate weather witch and now-terrified telepath.
“Move.” Storm demanded as Ali fought her captors.
“Can’t.” Wolverine said simply. “Let it go.”
“Move or so help me, I will move you.” Thunder banged the mansion so hard the very foundations shook.
“Cool off,” Wolverine insisted in that same quiet tone. “Jean, go upstairs.”
“But…”
“I said NOW!”
At Wolverine’s feral shout, Ali stopped fighting and Jean bolted from the room. Kitty excused herself to follow, with Colossus on her heels. Bobby and Warren came up beside Storm, soothing her with gentle hands on her shoulders. Storm noticed none of this, but glared directly at Wolverine.
“Keep that bigoted little bitch away from me,” Storm whispered hotly. “And while you’re at it, you keep your distance as well.”
Wolverine said nothing.
“I’m cool,” Ali told Scott and Betsy. Their grips relaxed, but Betsy’s fingers entwined with hers. Scott rubbed her back soothingly.
Storm and Wolverine continued to stare at one another wordlessly, though the room charged with electrical current. Ali felt her hair stand up on end and wished for the ability to move closer to her friend. Jean’s insulting remarks to Ali and Betsy were almost expected after all this time, but hitting Ororo below the belt with Scott seemed cruel even for her.
Finally, Storm stepped away from Wolverine. She skirted the table and slammed into the hall, her raging tempest following.
“Stormy?”
“Stay here, I’m going out.”
~**~
Near two in the morning found Scott sitting on the front porch. The others were long asleep, the house quiet around him. He kept red-tinged eyes on the drive, waiting for the telltale sight of Ororo’s beloved Charger.
Jean’s words still echoed in his ears. He wanted to yell at her himself, but when he’d gone to her bedroom, he heard Wolverine shouting through the door. Jean screeched back and he thought he heard a smack. Though Cyclops did not quite get along with Logan, he knew the man would never hit a woman in anger.
Seconds later, he heard a distinct growl. “Don’t you ever hit me again, little girl. I mean it.”
Cyclops retreated at that point. He talked briefly with his current girlfriend, then took up this silent vigil. How could Jean have said such a thing? God, he’d loved Ororo with his whole heart. He still woke up in the middle of the night reaching for her, wanting the comfort he’d once found in her arms. She’d always soothed him, stirred him, made him more of a man than he ever thought possible.
One stupid mistake broke that forever. He’d never find another woman that completed him as Storm had.
He flipped open the small velvet box in his hand, staring down at the simple, round sapphire on a platinum band he’d purchased more than a year ago. Storm’s speech about love and commitment sent him to his bedroom, where he’d hidden this ring at the end of their relationship. Did she ever find out? He wondered as the glint of the engagement band winked from the velvet. Did Ororo know how close he’d been to making her his wife?
The box snapped closed and he covered it with a fist. His hand came up to his mouth, eyes closing as a million memories of that beautiful goddess flipped through his mind. A tear slid from behind his visor, the pain of making such an enormous mistake coming back a hundredfold.
Her car eased into the drive seconds later, but Scott did not look up. Only after she parked and cut the engine did he bother to raise his head. She stared at him from behind the windshield, her face unguarded for precious seconds. The pain he found there mirrored his own, but he knew she would never let him back in again. He burned that bridge too long ago to remember how it could be repaired.
When she stepped out of the car, he stood. Ororo came closer, leaving a few meters of space between them, as though using it for a shield. The light summer breeze picked at her long snowy locks, bringing him the scent of her perfume. Her cocoa-colored hands wiggled into her pockets, those enormous blue eyes rising to meet the ruby-red of his visor.
“Why?”
One question she’d never asked. Cyclops felt his heart constrict.
“I wasn’t sure you loved me back.”
She looked away, her lids covering the tears in those beautiful eyes. Scott moved as though to touch her, but held himself back.
“That was your mistake,” Ororo said quietly before looking up once more.
“Why did you leave?”
“Because I had to.”
They lapsed back into silence, pain stretching between them. Once, he felt she was under his skin, closer than another human being could possibly get. Now, it was akin to shouting over a canyon, with no way to the other side.
“I’m sorry, Ororo.”
She smiled tightly, reaching across the scant place between them. When her hand found his, pried his fingers open, he was powerless to stop it. She took the box in her palm, flipped it open with her free hand. Ororo said nothing when she took the sapphire and platinum from its resting place.
“Ororo and Scott forever.” Her voice wavered as she read the inscription. “Well, not quite.”
His ex-girlfriend put the ring back into the box and closed it. She handed it back to him silently, those eyes piercing his behind the visor. Scott’s heart ached when Ororo tossed that glorious head of snowy hair, pulling her armor back up.
“I am over you, Scott. It took me a year, but I did it.”
He forced himself to smile. “I know. I just want you to be happy.”
Storm’s smile was sad, understanding. “And I you.”
The tall mutant moved past him and Scott turned to watch her go, much as he had on a similar night one year ago. He glanced at the ring box in his hand, then back up at her retreating back. He had to know one, final thing.
“What would you have said?”
She halted, his soft question drifting away on the summer wind. Scott held his breath, terrified of the answer his heart simply had to have.
“I would have said yes,” Ororo whispered without turning. “A thousand times, yes.”
With that, the girl who once captured his heart vanished into the house. Scott sat back on the porch and stared into the night. A moment later, the tears came freely and he set them loose. He’d never cried for her before, holding it back with stubborn pride. But tonight, knowing what he had given up, Scott simply let it come.
Neither Storm nor Cyclops saw the shadowy figure watching them from the rooftop, a cloud of cigar smoke swirling in the wind.
