[Reviews - 3]
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Microsoft Word Chapter or Story |
Printer Chapter or Story |
ePub eBook Chapter or Story |

Has been viewed 1162 times

- Text Size +




Author's Chapter Notes:
This chapter is officially complete.
The not so distant future

War zone, pure and simple.

Officially it was night, but the darkness only served as a backdrop for a fireworks display of incredible lethality. The setting had once been a fair-sized town, decent central business district, buildings of some substance, two to five stories tall, built to last, of brick and stone. Spreading outwards in a grid pattern, residential streets, single-family homes, everything from Arts and Crafts bungalows to modern "McMansions." Couple of parks, one mostly green space, the other intended for kids and recreation-playgrounds, baseball diamonds, bikeways and running tracks. Schools, of course, and churches.

All gone.

The battle lines had surged back and forth over the town, in a manner more reminiscent of the Civil War than modern warfare, but played out with weapons that made the rifles and cannons of that bloody conflict look like toys. Not a building in the town had been left whole and hardly any of the ruins that remained were still standing. The trees had been reduced to shattered stubs, trunks and branches either blown to wicked-deadly splinters or scorched beyond recognition. The earth was so pockmarked with shell holes, the streets so chocked with debris, that vehicular transit was out of the question. Moving on foot was no fun either, since the piles of rubble afforded ideal hidey-holes for snipers and ambush parties, as well as for booby traps of every shape and description.

It was a rat's nest, a meat grinder that would chew up any force fool enough to take it on.

So of course, the X-Men had been tasked to do just that.

Laser fire was everywhere as Robert Louise "Bobby" Drake- Iceman- and Katherine Ann "Kitty" Pryde- Shadowcat- dashed for cover. Above all the chaos, a familiar figure who wore black leather, just like everyone else- minus the silver cape- swooped down. Using her ability to sense air displacement, Ororo Munroe- Storm- made a safe landing then dashed for cover.

In the distance, the sky lit up with a line of tracers, curving gracefully through the night as the gunner tracked an airborne target, and a few seconds later the sound of firing followed. Both sight and sound were then overwhelmed by an ugly fireball as the falling bombs hit their target.

Logan's eyes narrowed to slits as he watched from the minimal shelter afforded by the intersection of a house's two stone walls. His senses were more acute than any hunting predator's but in a scrap like this the advantage became a liability. He could see clearly in almost total darkness, yet a surprise burst of tracer rounds could strip him of that night vision in a flash. The healing factor that was his main mutant power would deal with the loss of a couple of heartbeats, but in a firefight those seconds usually made the difference between survival and disaster. Logan's sense of smell allowed him to follow trails that bloodhounds couldn't trace, but there were so many scents to choose from here that it took conscious effort to process them. Suddenly, he had to use conscious thought to direct processes that were normally backbrain second nature. Didn't matter that he still did it with a speed and accuracy that left everyone around him in the dust, whether mutant or sapien. It blunted his edge-and that was unacceptable.

He sniffed the air, to catalogue who-or what- was in his immediate vicinity, and smiled at one smell he recognized

Somebody had been kind enough to lose their cigar.

Cuban. Vintage. Hand-rolled. He caught just the smallest residual flavor of the woman who'd made it enough to recognize her if they met, smiled as he considered the possibilities.

He cupped his lighter to shield the flame from view, aware as he did that this habit from previous battlefields wouldn't help in the least against a heat-sensitive thermal imager; on the other hand, such a device would have nailed him right from the start. No response suggested no such device, which gave him leave to indulge, he didn't get the opportunity very often these days. Too many falmin' rules, too many flamin' busybodies hellbent on enforcing them, too much flamin' aggravation.

Harsh snaps through the air off to the right caught his attention and he sank a little deeper into the building's shadows, instinctively hiding the glowing end of the cigar with the hollow of his hand as multiple pulses of laser fire burned their way overhead, clipping a nearby building and creating a shower of heat-fused masonry. Like hail, only harder. Had it hit something more significant with a more powerful pop, he would have had a spray of shrapnel to contend with.

Logan didn't move; there was no point. Given the lay of the ground, the intensity of the strafing fire, they had nowhere else to go but right past him.

Bingo

Two figures, male and female, in the black leather uniforms of the X-Men. The man was in the lead, big sucker, but moving with surprising grace despite his evident bulk, bare arms standing out from the rest of him in the glow of various explosions. The skin of those arms and of his head reflected the light in a way that told Logan he was metal-even his hair gleamed as though cast from chrome. This was one of the newbies, Piotr Nikolievitch Rasputin. Colossus.

Logan spared him only the merest glance; his focus was mainly on Rogue.

She used to flinch at loud noises; now she kept pace with her companion, bobbing and weaving with practiced grace, presenting a random and unpredictable target for the opposition-showing excellent instincts for dealing with any trouble that came her way.

"How long do we have?" the man called to her.

"Two minutes, tops," she replied, as she dove with him to cover.

Smart girl. The obvious place to hide was the shadowed corner where Logan himself stood, yet she realized that any infantryman worth the name would recognize that as well, and probably drop a brace of rounds on the location just to make sure. She'd chosen a nearby shell hole instead, part of a string of depressions that afforded a messy but relatively secure means of slipping across this open patch of ground.

The moment Rogue hit, she turned her back to the way they'd come, every one of her senses on high alert. Rasputin was a step behind, his attention still on whatever might be chasing them; he hadn't yet twigged to the possibility of a threat from anywhere else. His wasn't as artful a landing, either. Downside to all that bulk was, despite his relative ease of movement, Colossus still landed like a falling bank safe. Slid all the way to the bottom and made a deeper hole of his own.

Logan couldn't help a grin. The girl was pretty damn good. All it had taken was a whiff of his lit cigar.

Better yet, he realized she was looking right at him.

But that was when she made her mistake, standing straight up to greet him, all thoughts of the mission banished behind her smile of welcome and pure delight.

"Logan," Rogue cried.

"I'm away for a while; the whole world goes to hell." He should have known better. They had both breached battlefield discipline, had forgotten for a fateful split second what was happening all around them. And nearly paid dearly for the lapse.

He heard footsteps, the kling of a grenade pin flipping free, but never saw the bomb until it blew on the far side of Rogue. No time to pull her clear, no chance to cover her body with his own. She was too far out of reach.

But Colossus wasn't. His view wasn't masked by Rogue, as Logan's was – he saw the grenade- and in the instant it took to fall, the fraction of a heartbeat before it exploded, he grabbed Rogue's bare hand in one of his.

Back in the day, when Logan first knew her, the assimilation process was gradual. It took a definable length of time, enough for Rogue to have second thoughts, for the subject to pull away, as he felt his life literally pouring out of him. This was virtually instantaneous.

From the point of contact, Rogue's skin flashed chrome as armor rolled up her arm across her body – while Peter's reverted the other way, from organic steel back to normal flesh – so that when the spray of anti-personnel shrapnel reached her, it deflected off…

…to clip Logan instead.

It hurt like hell, both from slashing open a stretch of his side – which bled freely – and because the metal was red-hot, burning him as well. That's why he favored T-shirts and clothes older than most of the junior X-Men; the way he generally got himself torn up, they were the most easily replaceable. Made him smile inside and shake his head, to wonder at the replacement cost of the custom-constructed X-Men uniforms.

Logan pressed his hand against the wound, but no more blood was flowing; there'd been just enough for that first, glorious, indelible stain before the skin regrew. It was still tender, but in a matter of minutes there'd be only a scar, and by tomorrow nothing at all. No sign whatsoever that he'd been wounded.

If only he could dump the sense memories of those hurts as easily. One thing to be a man who's almost impossible to kill; totally another to remember pretty near every one of those quasi-death experiences.

He took another puff of his cigar. They'd been here long enough. "The whole world's going to hell, and you're just gonna sit there?"

"I didn't see you at briefing, bub," Rogue sassed him back, giving as good as she got, which cheered him. "D'you have the slightest idea where we're goin'?"

She had the knowledge from the briefing, but he had the experience. As a brace of searchlights speared down from some hovering platform to illuminate the scene for the enemy gunners, he gestured towards a squat and ugly structure some distance away, across what had been the town's central square.

"I'm thinkin' that bunker."

The look she gave him told Logan he'd scored, and also that if she had just absorbed Cyclops's optic blasts instead of Colossus's steel, the frustration in her eyes might have propelled him all the way over there in a single shot!

He felt a tremor through the ground, saw ripples in a pool of water pulse inward to the center.

Another pulse, establishing a steady cadence whose spacing suggested the march of something massive.

"Time to go, children, "he told the others, noting that both were reverting to their original states; Rogue human, Colossus in armor. She'd way improved since he saw her last.

"We get to that door," Rogue announced, stress making her Mississippi accent a bit more pronounced, breathless from the double-sided transformation, "we're clear."

The two younger X-Men began moving from cover to cover, just as they'd been trained.

Logan started walking, right out in the open, as though he were out for an evening stroll- making himself a stalking horse for anyone dumb enough to take a shot. Watching him, Rogue didn't know whether to admire his courage or shake him silly for being such a damn fool! Logan, she hissed to herself, don't you realize, dummy, that the price of havin' friends, people who truly care 'bout you, is that when you're hurt, we feel it, too!

XXX
Rogue wasn't the only one thinking along those lines. On the far side of a nearby hill, Storm also watched him take his walk and confined her spoken comments to a single word: "Logan!"

Thinking to herself, she used terms that would have given even him pause and made any telepath with access to those thoughts sever the connection instantly. He wasn't supposed to be here, and while his presence was always welcome in a firefight, she really didn't like surprises when lives were on the line.
This was when Storm's apprentice, Hawk- Ashley- came in. Hawk winced and put up her blocks as Storm's thoughts came unwittingly came to her. This was not groing to end well. "What's wrong?"

This was one of those times when she hated the fact that Hawk had empathy. Always getting into other's business when it wasn't her own. Storm looked again through her binoculars, this time checking the integral display. Logan was fifty meters ahead, the bunker some two hundred plus beyond. Then she handed the binoculars to her and pointed straight ahead. Hawk looked up to see why Storm went all dark. When she found her answer, she was shocked. "What's he doin' here?" she demanded. "He's not supposed to be in here, is he?"

"No," Storm replied looking at their time. "And right now we don't have time." Twisting around, she used hand signals to alert the rest of her team, under cover of their own a few dozen meters back and to the side. Kitty Pryde was already on the move, body low to the ground as she sprinted in a zigzag towards Bobby Drake. The maneuvering wasn't really necessary; of all the team, she was the closest to Wolverine in her practical
invulnerability to harm. Not so much like Colossus, whose organic steel armor could actually be breached with the right weapons, but because neither bullets nor energy beams can have much effect on a girl who was
essentially a ghost.

Storm could feel the tremors in the earth as well, could sense the displacement in the air that told her something massive was moving through the night, closing on them with every giant step. Hawk gasped as she turned around. Her perceptions weren't quite as sharp as Storm's, but she knew when danger was near, and danger was certainly nearby. Time had just joined the opposition.

XXX

"You okay?" Kitty called to Bobby as she slid down to join him, misjudging her angle just enough that she arrived half sink into the ground. He didn't say anything, but his look was eloquent: she new the casual way she walked through walls really creeped him out.

"Yeah," he replied. "You?"

"A little dusty."

He reached out and brushed her shoulder clean. She'd invited the contact, and he'd responded, both operating on instinct. That was as far as either was prepared to take things. Now.

Still, he couldn't help giving her a smile. It was clear he liked her. Problem was, while Kitty was a free spirit, Bobby already had a girl – Rogue.

"Storm's signaling; she wants us to catch up. Your lead?"

She grinned and took off, and Bobby had to scramble to keep up. She was as dangerously arrogant as Wolverine when it came to getting hurt. She didn't believe it was possible. Kitty didn't even have to worry much about being taken by surprise, because for the most part her power was always "on." Her natural state, according to Professor Xavier, was to be phased; she stayed coherent by an act of will.

Laser pulses sought them out, and Bobby blocked them with a wall of ice that was porous enough to allow them through but filled with enough impurities – namely dirt – to diffuse the beam to the point of harmlessness.

But those beams weren't the only threat. A brace of
rockets shot in from another direction. Bobby was only aware of them after Kitty suddenly grabbed him, crushing her body against his in a hard embrace that allowed her
to phase them both so the missiles passed through them as if they were air. His insides tingled as they did, reminding him of a joy buzzer-pen his brother had once blown his allowance for on Halloween.



Across the field, Rogue had also seen the approaching missiles – they'd passed her on the way – and in the moment before impact, when she saw Bobby so vulnerable and unaware, her heart stopped and leapt up to her throat. He was happy to see him survive unscathed, but a lot less so when she noted that it took way too many extra moments for him and kitty to break apart.

"Keep movin' kid," Logan told her. He'd seen what she'd seen, damn him; he didn't miss anything. "And keep you eyes dead ahead."

Storm missed it all. She was focused on their objective, and the handheld display which presented her with a map of the battlefield, complete with the disposition of her team and a counter that was just passing ninety seconds.

"Time, people," she told Kitty and Bobby as they arrived, using the comset clipped to her ear to alert the others. "No more margin for error. Iceman, Shadowcat – get in position." This was to Bobby and Kitty directly, using their code names. "On my mark."

The moved forward at a jog trot, quick but careful, in a V-formation led by Storm, with her younger teammates trailing by a couple of steps, covering her flanks while she concentrated on the way ahead. Hawk was just behind them, taking flank with her white wolf, Isis; black horse, Midnight Storm; and her hawk, Sky.

The last bit of cover was a pile of junked cars; beyond was nothing but open ground, an ideal killing field. Somebody with a mortar got their range and began bracketing them with rounds as they approached the checkpoint, inching closer with every shot, the last forcing them to pitch forward in an undignified scramble that brought them with a crash down beside the other assault team, who'd gotten there first.

Logan was leaning against one of the cars, apparently without a care in the world.

"What are you doing here?" Storm flared at him, letting a bit more of her feelings show than she'd actually intended. High above, a complement to those emotions, came a blinding flash, gone almost before it had time to register, accompanied by a basso drum roll that was instantly recognized. A bolt of lightning, a trill of thunder; the elements were echoing Storm's emotions

That wasn't good. The fact that she had to take a moment to master herself didn't help her mood. Chances wee, when this op was over, someone, somewhere might have to deal with some very nasty weather.

"Enjoying the scenery," he suggested, choosing the completely wrong moment for levity and then making it significantly worse by using a piece of flaming debris to relight his cigar.

For a moment, Storm seriously considered going "Zeus" on his insubordinate ass and using her next bolt of lightning to knock him flat. Perhaps a very near miss would knock some sense into his thick Canadian skull. Or at least inspire a modicum of respect.

She dismissed the inspiration even before it was fully formed, because she knew it would do no good. "We're gettin' killed out here!"

XXX

Hawk dove for cover with Rogue and Colossus- who were already there. There was a trill of thunder and lightning. Hawk automatically dove into Storm's mind. "Oh!"

"What's she thinkin'?" Rogue asked.

"Storm's thinkin'- No, no." Hawk cut herself off, then growled. "She was thinkin' about goin' 'Zeus' on Logan, but changed her mind last second".

XXX

He looked down at her with his ever-present quirked brow and replied in an Omni-potent manner, "Yeah, I know! They're not ready storm". He looked back up as the earth started to quake, the sound of gargantuan footsteps could be heard coming up from behind them.

Storm looked in the direction of the sound and saw two round eyes far above where they were hiding, "Logan?"

He rolled his eyes, "Don't get your panties in a bun-"

And suddenly, there was no time for conscious thought at all as she sensed movement in the air – that same massive shape she'd noticed before, only much, much closer. How had it crept up on them so quickly? Realization and action came as one as she grabbed for her friend and teammate and yanked him bodily clear of the car, just as a massive armored foot the size of a semi-trailer squashed it flat.

Logan looked over to the now thoroughly destroyed car that had been their hideout, back at Storm and finally, looking half-heartedly at his hand, he sighed and said,

"That was my last cigar!"

"I got this," said Storm, as the foot moved on. Through the smoke and the shadows, the literal fog of battle, none of them was in a position to see what it was attached to. The younger X-men weren't sure they wanted to. Except for, maybe Hawk.

"Watch my back, okay?" she told him.

"Not a problem," he replied.

XXX

It was a spectacular back, Logan thought. Even masked as it was by the cloak of her uniform. To call Ororo Munroe was beautiful was merely to state the obvious. There was no one- among the X-men in the world - who even came close. Except, the thought came to him, a memory of a wound still fresh enough to hurt: Jean Grey.

"Hey bub," Rogue chided gently, "eyes front right?"

He slid her a look her way, which made her grin and Hawk giggle. Logan subvocalized a growl that set hackles rising on the backs of their necks of both the boys and Kitty, but seemed to make Rogue grin wider, and Hawk giggle harder.

XXX

"Logan!" Storm said after she landed, as he walked through the open air. A bus exploded right beside him as he walked tot he kids.

So obvious a target couldn't be ignored. Their adversaries opened up with everything they had. So foolhardy a friend couldn't be abandoned. Bobby and Peter exchanged quick glances. Then Peter rose to follow.

"Peter!" Storm snapped, genuinely furious now. "Get back here!"

The raw edge of command in her voice actually got through to him, and to Bobby as well, who'd been caught halfway to his feet. Peter stopped, torn between wanting to follow the Wolverine and his responsibility to Storm as mission commander.

"It's getting closer," Rogue said.

Storm, all business, instructed, "Stay in formation. Wait to make your move."

They knew whatever cues she was talking about, but Storm knew Logan didn't. "Hey, Tinman," he called to Colossus. "C'mere." Colossus did. "How's your throwing arm?" He asked, unsheathing a single hand of razor sharp, adamantium claws.

"Logan," she snapped, "we work as a team!"

He smiled tolerantly and she thought more seriously this time about that lightning bolt. "You let me know how that works out for you, darlin'," he replied, and resumed his evening stroll.

As Logan knew, as the others were about to learn, in battle a single moment can swing the balance. Thus far, they'd operated mainly in shadow and anonymity. Their foes had occasional glimpses of them, and a general sense of where they were, but no clearly defined fixed on their position.

Right then, right there, that changed.

Bobby was the first to see the light, attracted by the commotion. He screamed a warning.

"Peter!"

Too late. Even as Colossus turned, the searchlight found him, and that contact brought all its fellows to bear. Just like that, the team's position was illuminated in a flood of light that defined the scene as bright as the day. A moment later, the bad guys opened fire. With everything they had.

"Move out," Storm yelled. "Stay together!"

Instead, they scattered.

"Does no one understand what stay together means?" Hawk asked to no one in particular.

Momentarily forgotten amidst the suddenly target-rich environment, Logan kept walking, the personification of calm amidst growing chaos.

With a multitude of small, fast-moving targets to choose from, however, the gunners found themselves facing a completely different challenge than when the teams had been clustered together. The X-Men couldn't share their abilities to cover one another, but at the same time, they were individually facing a smaller array of weapons. They all began making quick progress towards their final objective.

In the lead, Storm's glance kept flicking between the battlefield and the countdown clock strapped to her wrist. Time was the inflexible adversary here, not the guys with the guns. The X-Men had a deadline, and they couldn't be late.

"Storm," called Bobby, indicating the bunker, like the kid with the winning touchdown in hand, a step from the goal line, "we're almost there!"

It blew up in his face. Hawk, who was behind Storm, screamed, reflexively holding her hands in front of her face.

Storm wasn't sure whether it was a shell from outside or some hidden sapper charge; what mattered was the spectacular explosion that would have knocked her off her feet had she not used her won innate control of the winds to shunt the pressure wave around her. Bobby wasn't so fortunate. He not only went flying, he got clipped by debris for his trouble. Bad landing as well, that left him in a twisted, crumpled, unmoving heap.

Something passed over Colossus, moving on the bunker and Bobby. He wrenched the door off a ruined car and hurled it like a discus at the oncoming figure.

Metal clanged on metal…

…and the door, suitably crushed, thudded back to the Earth at his feet.

Logan, still playing the role of nonchalant observer, was impressed.

"Good arm."

He looked the other way, saw Bobby fallen, Storm unable to reach him, the remaining two girls isolated and under considerable and growing fire. Things were out of hand.

Kitty summed it up, from her perspective: "We're screwed."

Logan had other ideas.

"Throw me," he told Colossus.

"Shto?" replied the young Russian. He didn't get it.

"Logan," Storm called, racing to join them. "Wait-"

"Y'understand baseball?" Logan demanded, popping his claws, darting quick, repeated glances over his shoulder at the source of the mighty footsteps, which could now be heard as well as felt. Colossus nodded. "Y'know, like a fastball?" Again, he nodded. "Then follow where I point and throw me! Now!"

The armored Russian scooped him up, cocked his arm and let fly.

"Darn it, Logan, don't do this!"

"Logan!" Hawk cried.

Logan disappeared into the low cloud of smoke that provided a quasi-roof over the town roughly a hundred feet overhead.

The firing slackened, enough for the X-Men to hear the sound of rending metal, followed by an almost unendurably high-pitched squeee! It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what that meant – the Wolverine had used his claws, pure adamantium, unimaginably and perpetually sharp, wholly unbreakable, on something that didn't much like it.

Confirmation landed before them with a thud that shook the ground, momentum rolling it over two complete revolutions before it came to rest in front of the kids. It was a big, giant head, belonging to some kind of equally impressive robot.

They then heard an explosion of such force that the airborne shock wave struck them like a lesser punch, staggering them on their feet. Some seconds later, whatever the head had been attached to crashed and blew itself to bits.

That was when Logan made his entrance, before any of them had a chance to worry about his fate. He looked a bit the worse for wear but, even as he approached, his injuries were healing with every step. He appeared far more concerned about his leather Jacket, which was both torn and scorched.

"Class Dismissed".

He popped a single claw, forefinger for once, instead of the middle claw he generally tended to favor, and made ready to carve his initials into the crown of the robot's head…

…when a klaxon sounded…

…and the head dissolved before his eyes.

Same applied to the scenery. Night vanished, replaced by the institutional illumination of a vast and sprawling concourse the size of a commercial jumbo jetliner hanger. The lay of the land was "real," as the floors realigned themselves to provide for a flat and featureless surface, but the town itself was not. On every side surrounding the X-Men, huge panels of photon imagers – capable of generating constructs that were not only three-dimensional but significantly tangible as well – withdrew into their housings.

Storm looked at him, then continued on out.

Logan shook his head. Not a lot got his full attention but the Danger room snagged it every time.

"If you find a way to market this to Hollywood and the theme Parks, 'Ro," he said, speaking mainly to himself though he used Ororo's name, "your collective fortune is made!"

He twisted his back, shoulders, finally his neck, gradually working out the kinks, as he did after every scrap, then looked expectantly at the others.

"I'm starved," he announced. "Who's up for pizza?"

Bobby pushed himself up, Kitty hanging back as Rogue slipped an arm through his, visibly and intentionally reminding all of their relationship. He wasn't hurt. The Room's core programming wouldn't allow it. Death held no sway here, and the worst the room would do to anyone was stun them and then use its projectors to paint the most horrendous wounds imaginable on the body.

As they all started for the exit, Logan threw an arm companionably across Peter's shoulder.

"Hey, Tinman," he said, making Peter roll his eyes. The Russian didn't much care for the nickname and pretty much knew what was coming after. "gotta tell ya – you throw like a girl."

Storm stopped Logan dead in his tracks, her eyes flashing a dangerous cerulean blue – a precursor to them going white and her turning loose the extreme weather.

"I am a girl," she said simply, throwing down the gauntlet as hard as she knew how before turning on her heel and beating them through the doorway, as a metallic voice filtered throughout the intercom system, echoing,

"Simulation complete."

She was waiting in the hallway beyond, with such electricity in the air surrounding her that her team- including Hawk, who, for once decided it was not a good time to hang around- beat a hasty retreat into the locker room, figuring to take their time changing in the hopes that the "storm" will pass quickly.

Logan took a moment to look fondly at the stub that remained of his cigar, then tossed it into the disposal.

"What the heck was that?" Storm demanded.

"Danger Room session."

XXX

Hawk and Kitty listened to the conversation being exchanged. Kitty blanched, and Hawk's eyes widened in shock at Logan's responses. "Does that Caknucklehead want to get turned into a crispy critter?" they asked the others.

XXX

Surprisingly, Storm kept a leash on her emotions. "You know what I mean."

"Oh, lighten up Storm-"

"Look you can't just change the rules whenever you feel like it. I'm trying to teach them something."

"Well I taught'em something."

"It was a defensive exercise."

"Yeah, best defense is a good offense. Or is it the other way 'round."

Storm stopped and spun on her heel to face him. "This isn't a game, Logan."

"Well, you sure fooled me." Awkward pause. "Hey, I'm just a sub. You got a problem, talk to Scott."

XXX

Scott Summers- Cyclops- was locked in his room. Alone. Cold. But the cold wasn't physical. It was spiritual. In the core of his being. The grief over his beloved Jean Grey was overwhleming him.

Suddenly, he heard her. Heard her scream his name. Scott!

Then, he was staring at a body. A woman. Clothes and features obscured, wreathed in a crown of dark red, the fiery auburn of leaves turning in fall.

Quick as it came, the image vanished. Scott soon realized that he didn't quite feel so hollow anymore. Things had changed. The best part of his soul had come back to him.

He quickly packed a bag. This wasn't a moment for rationality or explanation; but for action. Make a move, worry about the consequences later.

The only things he knew for certain were that this had to be done, and that this was right.

And with that thought, he was gone.

XXX

Hawk waited outside the locker room for Logan. Judging from the emotions she picked up from her, Storm was ticked . Usually, she would try to talk to Storm; but, when things were that bad, she knew that needed her time- and space- alone.

When Logan stepped out of the locker area, she fired. "Dude, you've got to work on your lady skills."

Logan stopped dead and looked at her. "What?"

"If you want to win a woman's heart, that's certainly no way to do it."

Logan continued to give her the quizzical look. "I have no idea what you're talkin' about."

Hawk rolled her eyes. "I'm talking about Storm. Don't think I didn't pick up your thoughts when she asked you to watch her back. They were a little... interesting ."

Logan scowled at her. That was the one thing she got in trouble for the most- which was surprisingly more often than eavesdropping- was using her telepathy when she wasn't supposed to. It suddenly made him wonder-

"Don't worry, I backed out as soon as Jean was mentioned."

That's a relief, he thought.

"But, seriously, you need to work on it. I wouldn't be surprised if I confused New York for Florida once I get back up there."

"Why don't you just talk to her? It's not like I'm the one who caused this."

"Usually I would , but I know when it's not a good time and to just give her her space. And technically you are. Kitty and I heard the entire conversation."

"Hey!"

"What?" Hawk called over her shoulder. "It's not like he's going to tell Storm." She looked back at him. "And if he does- which I'll know - I'll tell Storm about his thoughts, and then we'll see who's in more trouble."

Logan had heard rumors about Hawk being a blackmailer, but didn't think they were true until now. "You wouldn't..." he said as menacingly as he could.

"I would."

"She really would, Logan," Kitty said coming out of the locker are. " Trust me when I say that."

"And I'll tell the entire school too. Man, you gotta love telepathy at times like this."

Logan certainly didn't.

"See ya around, Kitty," Hawk said.

"Bye, Hawk."

Hawk turned back to Logan. "Usually I charge to keep things quiet, but you also have something against me; so that spoils it."

"Storm upstairs?" he asked.

"Yeah, we all took our own sweet time changing. She got in and got out."

"That bad?"

"Dude, I've known Storm since I was eight, and if there's one thing everyone around here knows, it's that Storm hates surprise appearances in the Danger Room. We all know that Scott was supposed to come, and we knew that it was unlikely that he'd show. If you had been on time for the debriefing, she probably wouldn't be in this mood. Or not in the mood where I couldn't talk to her."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Well, the least you could've done was apologize. At least then there probably wouldn't've been a heated discussion between you two." She sighed. "I'll be upstairs reading for the next hour if you need me."





You must login () to review.