Chapter Four: Mind Games
Well You know my friends they know your enemies
I’d pretend not to hear what they said to me
Cause I got off every time you got on to me
Was it wrong to go along with insanity?
I guess it wasn’t really right I guess it wasn’t meant to be
It didn’t matter what they said cause we were good in bed
I guess I stuck around so I could watch us fight for all the wrong reasons
~Nickelback
The Charger rolled up the long drive to Xavier’s School as dawn stained the horizon. Though the grounds were sleeping in the moments before daylight, the interior of the car was not silent.
Piled into the backseat were Drake, Worthington, and a very affectionate Betsy and Alison. The latter had not stopped groping one another since they left the nightclub, locked in an embrace that bordered on pornographic. Logan glanced at the duo in the rearview mirror before turning to the woman singing beside him.
Storm happened to be overly inebriated and after a near-fistfight handed over her beloved car’s keys to a very sober Wolverine. She only relinquished her keys after eliciting a sworn oath that Logan would not harm her precious vehicle. Once or twice during the forty-minute drive he’d toyed with the drunken goddess, pretending to lose control of her carefully restored car.
Logan thought if he’d attempted it again, Ororo might have shoved an actual lightning bolt up his ass. Needless to say, he’d refrained. The night had, after all, gone rather swimmingly. He didn’t really want to tempt fate.
It wasn’t often that Logan found himself genuinely having a great time. In fact, he could probably count on one hand the number of times nocturnal activities involving clothing actually brought him a measure of satisfaction. He didn’t really think a bunch of geeks could go out, consume copious amounts of alcohol and actually relax.
Storm and Dazzler did nothing halfway, it seemed. They group had effectively closed the club down. They’d stopped dancing around one in the morning, settling in a back booth with the liquor flowing to just talk. While Logan normally found that annoying and utterly boring, he discovered that the small group of mismatched mutants were bright, animated, and filled with humor. How did they manage to laugh so much? Didn’t their sides hurt?
As the Charger’s engine cut off, Logan stepped out of the car and pulled the front seat forward to allow Dazzler and Psylocke out. They tumbled against one another, pressed together intimately, giggling between wet kisses. Logan merely shook his head at them while Storm stumbled out of the car.
Drake and Worthington threw an arm over one another’s shoulders, tripping up the drive while singing some club hit usually preformed by a group of women. Storm had leaned against the car, giggling as she turned those devastating baby blues to the stars above.
Logan came around the still-warm hood, cocking his head to the side as he studied the intoxicated mutant. Her eyelids fluttered closed and had Logan been a second later she would have slipped right to the gravel beneath her feet. He scooped her up in his arms, glancing down at that beautiful face. She seemed to have finally succumbed to the booze, passing out right before his eyes.
Chuckling, Logan followed the others into the house, not surprised when Cyclops appeared from the Rec Room, one eyebrow arched over the edge of his ruby-lenses. He shooed the others off to bed, cracking a smile as Ali and Betsy stopped their fevered groping to kiss both of his cheeks. Logan thought there might have been a stain of blush on the young man’s face as he ushered them up the stairs behind the boys, whose singing had dropped to a loud whisper.
Shifting the slender beauty in his arms, Logan nodded a greeting. “Waiting up?”
“Hardly,” Scott replied with a slight smile. He leaned up to peer at Ororo as she snuggled into Wolverine’s arms.
“Just passed out,” Logan grunted.
“I know,” Scott shook his head, not losing the smile. Logan’s sharp eyes, however, caught the hint of regret. “She always ends up in this condition when she goes out with that group.”
“I’ll take her up,” Logan nodded. “No disasters while we were out?”
Scott looked up, meeting his eyes. There was warning there, nearly hidden by the glare of ruby red. “Depends on who you ask.”
The feral mutant did not miss the wealth of meaning in Scott’s words. Logan shifted Ororo again, holding her more comfortably in his arms. “Gotcha.”
Cyclops inclined his head once, in understanding and goodnight. Logan moved past him, listening as Ororo hummed sleepily in his arms. No matter how much he might want the dozing woman, with her seductive eyes and fragrant flesh, she would sleep alone tonight.
Logan needed time to understand things and to deal with Jean.
~**~
In the early morning light, a set of vivid violet eyes glanced over the two-dozen magazines spread over the breakfast table. A soft smile, unusual on the normally placid face gave away her sudden and complete contentment. Betsy never realized how one moment in time, one whispered question and a breathy answer could change the course of a person’s life.
Perhaps it was the warrior in her. At her core, Psylocke tended to be a morbidly poetic woman. She found beauty in battle, as though two foes wove around one another, trading blows in some ancient and primal dance. She had no fear of death before her life changed and had charged willingly into battle with the knowledge that dying was but part of Fate’s grand design.
But somewhere between meeting Dazzler and falling in love with the punky rocker, all that she once considered beautiful became dull. Betsy found beauty in music, in a heated glance across a crowded room, in the touch of one who loved without any agenda. In short, the warrior in Betsy suddenly became a fully rounded person, with every fear and triumph that came along with it.
At first, it had frightened the telepathic mutant. So fierce were her feelings for the blonde Alison that she shied away from further entanglement. That, of course, proved fruitless. In every way, Alison was her match. They completed one another as though God created them from a two-sided mold. Love frightened her no longer. Betsy learned over the years to channel that blossoming feeling inside into greater power, fiercer battle.
Now that Betsy had something “ someone “ to live for, every moment became precious.
And, at last, they would announce to the world that they were a unit. Betsy wanted to shout it to the heavens, no matter how she internalized most of her feelings. Everyone they cared about would see that they loved one another completely, that they were going to mesh their lives into one. How could anyone tarnish such a thing?
Jean’s objections were worthless. Betsy cared very little for the red-haired woman, having caught enough of her surface thoughts to consider her a spoiled, selfish little bigot that had no bearing on her life. Oh, Jean bothered the hell out of Alison, but Betsy could scarcely drum up enough emotion for the mutant to even notice her objections.
Of course, if there was one thing Jean hated most in the world, it was to be completely ignored.
Betsy flipped the pages of her magazine, eyes darting over a classic and simple design for a wedding gown. Alison had already stipulated that she wanted to wear a feminine pantsuit, but that Betsy should find the gown of her dreams. In keeping with her future wife’s wishes, Psylocke was on a mission to locate the perfect dress, something that would make Ali’s eyes go wide and perhaps even collect a few rare tears.
“Good morning, Storm.”
Without looking up, Betsy greeted her friend as she entered the kitchen. A psi-link kept her in constant contact with those she kept close to her heart. At any given time, she knew exactly where her friends were and if they were in danger or not.
“Morning, gorgeous. Ali still sleeping it off?” Storm moved to the coffee pot, where her mug already waited. Betsy and Storm were early risers and typically had several moments alone in the kitchen before the others set upon them.
“I managed to get some aspirin and water into her before she passed out.” Betsy smiled, looking up from a photograph of simple, sweet bridesmaid gowns. “Wolverine tuck you in all right, luv?”
Storm chuckled as she poured fresh coffee, glancing over her shoulder with a sassy waggle of snowy brows. “He even took my shoes off. Wasn’t that nice of him?”
Betsy looked back at her magazine, biting her lip in a futile attempt to hide a smirk. Thought she might have seemed completely distracted by her fiancée during the previous evening, Betsy caught all manner of wayward thoughts sent out by Ororo and Logan during their dance and heated debates over Molson versus Corona.
Though she was not one to interfere in one’s personal lives, Betsy knew what a match Logan and Ororo would make. They were such similar creatures. Wild, brave, free unlike any others. In her heart, Betsy knew something would brew between them; a flame neither had the strength to snuff out, no matter how they tried. Psylocke could read people, even without the aid of her mental abilities.
Wolverine and Storm would be interesting to watch.
“He does things like that,” Betsy offered carefully.
“Like what?” Storm asked, coming around the granite-topped island to sit across from her. “What are you doing?”
Betsy handed over the magazine, pointing to a soft, satin dress of pale yellow. “How’s this for a bridesmaid gown?”
Ororo set her coffee cup down, careful to not damage any of the other thick bridal magazines. Her bright eyes lit up when she realized what she was looking at and the rare, soft look crept over her lovely face.
“Simple,” Ororo approved. “Tasteful and it won’t take attention from the brides.”
Excited, Betsy took the magazine back and gently pulled the page out. She set it aside with a fond look, thinking she had just found the dress for Ororo and Kitty pending Alison’s approval.
“What did you mean about Wolverine?” Ororo continued, sipping at her coffee.
Betsy looked up, spying Ororo flipping idly through a magazine. She didn’t want to say anything overt, that might peg her as encouragement for her friend to break up Wolverine’s tempestuous relationship with Jean. No matter how ill suited the couple was, Betsy would not be party to intentional interference.
“Don’t tell him I said anything, but he’s a rather nice bloke.” Betsy replied, spying a white gown that caught her fancy. “He’d kill me for saying it, but beneath the growls and temper, the man has a good heart.”
“Mmm,” Ororo hummed noncommittally. “And yet he takes Jean into his bed. I wonder why that is.”
Shrugging one shoulder, Betsy sighed. “I warned him about her, he seemed unconcerned.”
“Unconcerned?” Ororo questioned, her eyes meeting Betsy’s as both women looked up from their respective photo spreads.
Choosing her words carefully, Betsy spoke in a soft tone. “Jean had her hooks in him the second he walked through the door. It seemed harmless at first, but she has become very possessive. Logan dislikes such treatment and yet…”
“He has not walked away.” Ororo offered.
Betsy felt her psyche tingle and knew Alison was waking up. “I just think it’s been a long time since anyone touched him without causing pain. Logan is a tough man, but at his core he just wants to be loved. I think she may be using that against him.”
For several moments, Ororo regarded her friend silently, those sapphire eyes veiled from emotion. Betsy knew better than to reach out with her mind. Ororo would only rebuff the intrusion in this moment. Something was happening inside that Storm did not want to be common knowledge. Betsy respected that.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Honestly, luv, I don’t know. Something just tells me you need to know.”
Before the conversation could continue, a warm, familiar voice whispered kindly through both minds.
X-Men, you are needed in the War Room.
~**~
Cyclops zipped up his uniform and tugged at the collar. He wasn’t sure why he was so nervous about the mission. It was not one he was uncomfortable with. A young mutant seemed in need of guidance and the Professor wanted to reach him before Magneto’s Brotherhood could do so. Really, the X-Men had done this sort of thing several times over the last years.
But for the first time in a year, Storm would be riding co-pilot on this mission. Cyclops usually had Betsy in that seat since Storm and Dazzler dashed off into the world. Storm, however, had insisted on suiting up, saying it was too long since she’d pulled on her X-Men leathers.
Because the mission did not seem overly dangerous, it would only be Cyclops and Storm. The others were on standby, of course, ready to assist them if need be. Scott did not think it would be necessary. After all, he and Storm were veteran X-Men. They had been in several tough situations that seemed doomed, only to come out alive. He could do this.
The Professor gave them the coordinates for the Blackbird, blessing them with his quiet, mental voice as Scott and Ororo powered up the super-advanced jet that would take them to Boston. He settled beside her in the pilot’s seat, glancing at the woman beside him.
Storm had pulled her long, white hair into a loose ponytail, keeping it out of her face while she “worked”. Deep circles under her eyes were likely from the late night of drinking and dancing, but Scott chose to not mention these things.
“We should hit Boston in just a little while,” Ororo said as she monitored their flight from her seat. “It’s a shame you couldn’t come out with us last night.”
Not surprised by the sudden change of topic, Scott gave his former love a small, sheepish smile. He did not want to tell her that he’d declined because Emma wanted to talk to him. Scott swore that woman could sniff out anything, even if he had not done anything wrong. Still, she’d sent him a mental slap for even entertaining the idea of heading out with his former girlfriend. A wave of guilt had come over him, sending Scott into his room early to phone his current significant other.
She’d been upset, her pretty little pout nearly audible as they chatted. Scott hated making her pout, he always felt so strange. Really, if Emma had not come onto the scene when she did, he might have gone searching for Ororo, begged her to take him back.
Scott couldn’t have that now, could he? Wasn’t that woman bad for his leadership role amongst the X-Men?
He shook his head to clear it. Those odd thoughts had been gone for some time, but they seemed to be reemerging as of late.
“She didn’t like it, I take it?”
Guilt came back, this time of a different sort. Scott glanced at his co-pilot, aware that she was not looking at him as a blush stained his cheeks. He wasn’t ashamed, exactly, of his relationship, but he didn’t want to rub Ororo’s nose in it. In fact, Scott wanted to hide it as long as possible, if only to keep her from being hurt.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?” Ororo leaned over the control panel, frowning at a sensor reading. “You’re allowed to date, Cyclops.”
“I just don’t want you to think…what I mean is, I don’t…hell.” Scott stammered, turning his eyes to the windshield and wanting to blast it into a million shards.
He’d known having Storm back would be difficult, painful, especially after the late night admissions only days before. This, however, seemed cruel and unusual. He had loved Ororo once and would carry a tiny torch for her until his dying day. At times, all the reasons for ending their long affair seemed so petty and silly…but right now they were real and true.
No matter how he felt, he could not simply dismiss Emma from his thoughts and heart. It wasn’t fair to her. Ororo was, in fact, the past; Emma the future.
“I know what you’re saying,” Ororo interrupted. She did not turn to him, but continued monitoring things that did not really need to be monitored at the moment. “Does she make you happy?”
Ashamed and relieved that Storm was not bursting into tears or clouding up the weather, Cyclops nodded. For some reason, the gesture felt forced, as did the words to follow.
“Yeah. She does.”
“Then I wish you both happiness.” Storm replied, finally turning to look at him. Scott did not meet her eyes, but stared resolutely out of the windshield.
They said nothing more all the way to Boston.
~**~
Afternoon found Logan outside the boathouse, looking over the lumber he’d procured just that morning. Betsy had a simple request for him. She asked that he build the arbor under which Alison and herself would have their wedding ceremony. Logan immediately agreed, wanting to give Betsy a sort of wedding gift that would mean something. He intended to create a small bit of beauty for the pair, something they could one day take with them when they made a home together.
Having selected fine cherry for the piece, Logan inspected the wood carefully for flaws. He enjoyed projects that required only his hands and a smattering of tools to complete. When it came to electronics, he tended to get confused and frustrated. But wood sculpting, building, it all seemed as natural as breath.
Logan had not seen Jean since the previous day, which should have worried him. Instead, he let himself be relieved that he would not have to put up with her childish tantrums at the moment. Last night left him itchy and unsure “ a confrontation was the last thing he needed right now. If he could just get his hands working, let his mind slip into that near-meditation state he always got when creating something, his feral side might be contented for now.
No sleep found him, even as he’d lay in his bed with dawn creeping over the mansion grounds. Once he’d laid Ororo in her bed, removed her shoes and covered the woman in her downy coverlet, she consumed Logan’s thoughts. He could hear the silvery laughter; smell her scent clinging to his clothing.
Attraction and lust were easy for Logan to deal with. This time, however, something bothered him. Ororo had the ability to wiggle completely under his skin. He knew that. Could he stop it? Logan feared there might be no escape from her charms. Uncomfortable with such loss of control, Wolverine thought distance to be the key, at least for now. There seemed too much in his mind to make sense of anything.
Jean stood by him as his girl, but Ororo threatened to shake that tentative reality. Jean’s childish innocence, which Logan once found endearing, paled in comparison to the womanly wiles of Storm.
Contrary to popular belief, Logan was not a man to “play”. In keeping with his animalistic nature, Wolverine tended to be a one-woman man. He preferred the easy comfort of having the same woman in his bed, of knowing her body intimately and sharing his with that person. In truth, Jean was the only woman to get that far. She made Logan enjoy the continuity in monogamy.
So it was with great displeasure that Storm upset that balance. But how could he be angry with her? She’d done nothing, really, to start his sudden obsession. Sure, she taunted and teased but as he’d witnessed the night before that was simply in her nature. Vivacious and open, Ororo’s easy flirtations were merely an extension of affection. Logan did not believe she was trying to inflame him.
Well…maybe a little.
A scent on the breeze caught Logan’s attention and made his back stiffen in preparation for battle. He looked up as her footfalls fell closer, spying the lean silhouette against the afternoon sunlight. A banner of fire red caught on the wind, making the beautiful creature seem too bright, too lovely for the eyes of a mere mortal.
Am I losin’ my damn mind?
“Logan.” Jean said quietly as she approached. “Hi.”
He grunted, nodded a greeting.
“What are you working on?” Her question was careful, interested. Logan caught her scent again and his knees went weak.
Turnin’ into a sap, bub.
“An arbor.” Logan replied gruffly. “For Bets and Daz’s wedding.”
He caught the flash of irritation in her eyes before Jean managed to pull a somewhat sincere smile to her succulent mouth. “That’s sweet of you.”
Part of him knew he was being placated, but Logan yearned to have Jean back in his arms. She was, after all, the most important thing in his life. He needed her. How could pure lust for a seductress stand up to that? Storm wasn’t even all that pretty. She’d lost Scooter, hadn’t she? What kind of woman screwed that up?
Logan wasn’t even sure he liked her.
It was then that he realized something wasn’t right. Logan stood up, grasping his forehead with one hand as he tried to break eye contact with Jean. Her emerald gaze sparkled, making it impossible to look…
“Stop it.” Logan commanded. “Jean. Stop.”
“I can’t.” She whispered. Her voice was in his head, in his heart. “I won’t.”
“Jean,” Logan tried once more as darkness took him. “Stop. Please.”
“No.”
~**~
When Alison made her way out to the boathouse after dinner, she thought something seemed…off. Wolverine had been rather excited, according to Betsy, about working on the arbor for their wedding. In fact, most of the mansion was in a tizzy about the upcoming nuptials.
They’d never had a wedding on the grounds, after all. The Professor immediately agreed to perform the ceremony almost before Alison finished asking the question. Ororo, of course, would be matron of honor and Betsy insisted that Warren and Bobby stand as groomsmen. Really, Alison thought it would be a lovely little ceremony.
Legality could kiss her ass.
Still, she intended to whisk her bride up to Toronto on their honeymoon and get a legal ceremony preformed there. Even if the US didn’t recognize the union, at least they would know it was real.
Alison came closer to the boathouse, sticking her hands into the pockets of her faded jeans. She loved Betsy so much it almost hurt. She’d never believed in soul mates or true love or even romantic love at all until Betsy Braddock stole her heart away. Alison couldn’t even fathom being without that woman. Now they’d tell everyone in the world that they were partners, come hell or high water.
Spying the stacks of wood and abandoned tools, Alison glanced around the immediate area. The fact that everything was laid out and Wolverine was nowhere to be found seemed…weird. He didn’t seem like the type to just leave his own things out on the lawn where any idiot “ namely Iceman “ could get hold of them.
A glance told Ali that the boathouse door was open. Maybe he’d just gone in to get a drink from the ever-stocked icebox inside. She’d pop in and thank him for helping out with the wedding. Since last night, when she saw that Logan and Betsy seemed to have a close friendship, Ali wanted to get to know him better. It was, after all, part of being married.
But when Alison poked her head into the open door, she saw something quite strange indeed. Wolverine and Jean, whom everyone said were on the outs, lay in a tangled mass of limbs and rumpled clothing. Logan had a look upon his face that had Alison immediately summoning her lover via their mental link.
Babe?
Alison? What’s wrong?
Something isn’t right. Wolverine’s with Jean.
Arguing?
Screwing. Alison pulled her head back out of the boathouse and quickly began trekking back toward the mansion. And he’s looking at her like she hung the stars and moon all for him.
Betsy’s reaction was typical of the methodical woman. She was silent for several moments, though Alison could detect the hints of concern and anger through their link.
We need to see Charles. Now.
