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Movieverse
A/N: This is my third fic in the ‘I Shall Believe’ series and is set in between the previous two stories. I know I’ve got it a bit arse-over-tit, jumping back and forth in time; sorry about that, it’s just more ideas keep on coming to me! But this will probably be the last one. Thank-you for all the positive feed-back on the other stories, hope you enjoy this one just as much, M’ikosan7, xx
‘The Nature of the Beast’
Whenever I’m alone with you
You make me feel like I am home again
Whenever I’m alone with you
You make me feel like I am whole again
Whenever I’m alone with you
You make me feel like I am young again
Whenever I’m alone with you
You make me feel like I am fun again
However far away
I will always love you
However long I stay
I will always love you
Whatever words I say
I will always love you
I will always love you
Whenever I’m alone with you
You make me feel like I am free again
Whenever I’m alone with you
You make me feel like I am clean again
However far away
I will always love you
However long I stay
I will always love you
Whatever words I say
I will always love you
I will always love you
‘Love Song’. By The Cure.
British Colombia, the wilds of Canada...
Running, running, running, forever running....
His feet had become more or less blocks of ice, bare and unprotected in the biting frost of five inches of harsh winter snow. Stopping at the scant cover of a thorn bush, Logan crouched, leaning forwards on his calloused knuckles and watched with dangerously glinting eyes as the large alpha stag he’d been stalking, settled in a small clearing, padding slowly in the thick snow, rooting for food---for anything of vague nutritional value that might stave off the growing threat of starvation. He tried to minimize the sound of every burning, laboured breath he took in as he eyed his unwitting pray, his bare chest heaving up and down from the excursions of tracking fast moving targets. Keeping his gaze firmly fixed on the once proud-looking stag, Logan leant back on his haunches, idly wiping the dirt from his hands onto the thigh area of his badly ripped and worn jeans as he unconsciously ran his tongue over his bottom lip lightly, in anticipation of the imminent conclusion of his hours of hunting.
The stag’s head came up suddenly from the white ground, momentarily ceasing its never ending search for sustenance, its rounded black eyes looking out into the middle-distance as two clouded jets of cold, condensed air came from its nostrils in regular intervals. Logan felt his heart rate rising, the familiar rush of blood in his ears as his pure instincts took over thoroughly, they were always about him these days, like a constant heat in his mind, lose and free---but when true pray came into view that was when Logan was gone and all that was left behind was the furious, fractured Wolverine. The creature that lay within this man demanded blood and wouldn’t be satiated until its infinite appetite was satisfied---which clearly, was never.
Over the months that had marked his departure from Ororo’s bed---and her life, Logan had been more and more content to let the beast that dwelled within him do as it would---gave it free reign almost, not that he felt he could do much to stop it, even if he’d wanted to. The trill of the kill---that was all he lived for now, a high, a satisfaction that couldn’t be matched for its purity, nor its all-consuming ecstasy. He felt it now, building in him as he watched the stag, savouring every last sensation of it as he knew that when the Wolverine took him, his memory would blank into a fog, his mind would become less than human, only physical sensations would remain. Putting his knuckles back to the freezing cold ground, Logan raised himself slowly, like a sprinter readying for the starting pistol to sound its deafening approval of action. But his pray sensed the hostile presence then, staying still for a fraction of a second more, its black marble-esque eyes fixed on its surroundings, before doing a sharp about turn and bolting into the trees.
Logan growled with an unexplainable pleasure as the stag ran and his own pursuit began in earnest, running after the large mammal, his teeth bared, lips pulled back, eyes lit with the fiery passion of the chase. Deeper and deeper into the barren woods he ran, grabbing onto the black trunks of temporarily dead trees, as they whizzed past him, for leverage to push him through. The whole time he never took his concentrated gaze from the leaping and dodging stag, as it weaved with uncanny agility through the trees. But no matter how fast it ran, or how acrobatic the creature was in its navigation of the random objects in its path, it knew the hunter was on its tail and was gaining on it fast. This animal of the wilds knew, even as it ran for its life, that its time was up. Logan sensed this---this unspoken surrender---he smelt it, and it spurred him on faster, ever closer to his prize.
He began to grunt and almost howl in short, furious blasts as he came close to his prey---one false move, one grievous error in judgement and it would be his. And that moment came---a fallen branch that was a little higher than the stag had anticipated, its innate natural sense of distance and height failing it at the most crucial of moments---and Logan was close enough---close enough to...
*SNIKT!!! SNIKT!!!*
The stag gave the most horrendous noise, the indescribable ‘scream’ echoed eerily through the forest and out into the dull grey of the sky, as razor sharp adamantium sliced through its vast hind quarters, sending an exploding jet of deep scarlet onto the pristinely white snow. The animal toppled into an ungraceful heap, sliding along until it came to a crashing halt against the thick stump of a long dead red-wood. Logan was upon it in mere seconds, or more over the Wolverine was, gnashing its sharp canines as it brought its lethal arsenal down upon its vanquished target. One last vicious slash, straight through the jugular and it was over, for the Wolverine was not a cruel animal, it took no delight, no pleasure in the suffering of its victim---it simply needed to fulfil its natural longing for the hunt, it needed to kill, to feel that it had accomplished what its constant burning desire requested. It needed to satisfy its hunger, that was all.
Ripping off a large chunk of fresh, red meat from the dead stag’s midriff, he brought it to his mouth but stopped just short of placing it inside. Holding it just before his dry and cracked lips, Logan began to come back to the fore as the Wolverine receded, and although the beast inside him was still there, he’d gained enough of his human sensibility to stop himself from crossing the border into the realms of the true feral. Dropping the chunk of fleshy, scarlet to the snow at his knees Logan tried to order his thoughts---his thoughts, which had suddenly and for no discernable reason turned to Westchester, to his love, to his Goddess---and that is why he had stopped, that is what had brought him back from the brink.
The feelings he got from giving over to the Wolverine were like no other in the world---except for one. Being with her, being with Ororo Munroe---Storm. So there was a reason in truth, a reason that she had come to his mind at this moment and that was that she was the only thing in the world that made him happy. Existing in his ‘natural state’ may have given him momentary euphoria---but Ororo? She...she gave him something more, a feeling that was more long term, more stable and he was finally realising that now, here, on his knees, in the snow surrounded by blood and death. He let his head fall back slowly as the snow laden sky began to unshed its load gently, the delicate and complex flakes drifting to earth, settling on Logan’s red-streaked skin, melting on contact with the heat and sweat. Its smell hit him then, not that he hadn’t been acutely aware of it before, but the distinct scent of the snow had been mixed with that of the frozen earth, the damp, decaying wood and foliage. No, it was only now that he caught Ororo’s scent from it, the scent that came from her when she used her powers and it sent a thrill down his spine and a sliver of bittersweet pain through his heart. Why had he let the only good thing in his life slip through his fingers? Surely, if anything made his humanity worth hanging onto, it was the thought of being with her. Was he really that weak that he couldn’t muster the guts to at least try for her, try to regain the man above the animal for the woman he loved so deeply that it hurt?
Slowly, Logan raised himself from the ground, looking down at the dead stag as it ‘returned’ his gaze with rapidly opaque eyes, the white glaze of death filming them over quickly in the cold. Taking his eyes away, in disgust almost, he observed the area around him again; even the stark contrast of the rich umber wood against bright white reminded him of her now so that he had to shut out the sight. But his other senses would give him no rest from the onslaught; the scent stirring memories, of touching her, tasting her, and oh, the sweetness of making love to her. All these things bombarded him at once like a mortar attack until he could take it no more.
“GRRRAAAAAGGGHHHH!!” He roared into the quiet of the forest; clutching at his hair, eyes still fast shut, claws expelling themselves involuntarily. A breeze seemed to come from nowhere, sweeping around the ground, heading in Logan’s direction until it came to his feet, wiping around him, snaking its way up his body and in its gentle flow, there seemed to be a whisper, a faint sound of a feminine voice; the voice of the Windrider. It echoed in his head from memory but somehow seemed to come to him from this oddity of a gust, calling to him;
(“However long this takes, however hard this gets, I’ll be here for you...”)
He opened his hazel eyes wide, the fire in them dying with the tide that began to swell there as his hands dropped from his hair to hang limp at his sides; claws creeping their way back into their stolen home with a lazy pace.
(“I’ll be here for you forever....”)
The wind was gone then, on its way to who knows where, to caress another lost soul, to deliver words of comfort to some other needy ear. As for Logan? He was on his way too, off through to the trees once more to reclaim what he had thought lost to him forever.
* * *
Lonely...
It was the type of loneliness that could consume one’s soul and almost no-one in the mansion had noticed. Good old Ororo, what a trooper Storm was, never complained, she just got on with things. She was the strength in the house now and always would be. The backbone of the team when Scott was falling apart, the words of wisdom when the Professor questioned the whole worth of his dream, the inspiration of confidence for the mutant who couldn’t bear to look at himself in the mirror. She gave and she gave and she gave...never once did she take. But what would she take if she could? There was nothing there to take, because the only thing she wanted had gone. Lost to her forever, her love, her heart had been taken, ripped from her in the most crude way, but almost no-one seemed to care. They didn’t care because it wasn’t, to their mind, as if the love between her and Logan had been like that between Scott and Jean. Oh no, Ororo and Logan had been nothing more than a product of circumstance as far as most people at the mansion were concerned. And so they mourned Jean, they comforted Scott but they never once paid Ororo’s loss any mind. And what made Ororo angry with herself most of all is that she let them. But it was not in her nature to complain, she had too much love, too much humility to let her heartbreak interfere with her care for the students and her fellow X-Men. When she had been worshipped as a goddess in Kenya, she had learnt the art of self-sacrifice, that is to say she had learnt how to way-lay her emotions, how to distance herself from the hurt, to almost be...ephemeral. But every night it was there, even though she could occasionally speak with the darling Kurt Wagner, who understood her so much, but it was never enough and so every night she would come out here...
*
Soaring aloft a fast air current, Ororo revelled in her element, gave reign to her instincts. The thick whip of a cold northern wind hit her from beneath, sending her upwards into the royal blue, star-beset sky like a lark, turning and twisting with the grace of a dolphin at play and the innocent joy of a child...nature’s child. Soft ripples of robust laughter were emitted into the night, coming close to the ground and then fading off into the distance, into the ether as she swooped and dived, flew and somersaulted; her creamy, silk robe falling open in her reverie to let the winds caress her flesh. It rushed through her veins like life’s blood itself; coursing like the most exquisite fire, the most violent river. The movements of a hundred hurricanes, a thousand storms, a million snowfalls, a billion rain showers; she felt them all and for the first time she revelled in it. It was no more a dull ache that would cease to go away, a pain that one couldn’t quite put a finger on; it was her very being and she would no longer pretend otherwise.
Thus, Storm; the Weather Witch, became what nature decreed she would be and felt more alive than ever she had. But, alas, as with all momentary highs, it was never enough...Ororo stopped, hovering just above the low layer of thin, streaming Payne’s grey clouds and wondered where he was for a countless time. She peered northwards, at the distant hills that appeared just a little darker shade of blue than the sky, enough to cast them in silhouette and she wondered what she wouldn’t give to see him again. To be near him, to feel him, to have his arms around her once more...but such thoughts were increasingly fanciful for he was gone, lost to her like so much else. Or was he...she’d often had mad urges on these nightly flights to head North and not stop until she’d found her lover and if he refused to come home she’d fantasised about throwing caution to the wind as it were, staying with him where ever he may be. But, then she’d thought about her responsibilities here and her conscience would never allow such a reckless act of selfishness. The weight of her life here came down on her and she bore it, she bore it with stoic nobility that was as innate in her as the wildness of nature’s call. It was the school that gave her a balance almost and no matter how much it hurt sometimes, Ororo was grateful for it and only wished that Logan would find such an anchor in his life one day. She thought ruefully, as she drifted back down to earth’s surface, about how she had hoped he could have found it here with her and the love they’d shared, but obviously, it had not been enough to reign the beast that raged within him. And so all she could do was hope...hope that he would find peace from his demons elsewhere, her love for him was great enough to wish that much for him as she retied her robe, heading back to the mansion and to those who depended on her and made her life worth something at least.
*
Ororo flew in through the sky light in the roof of her attic room. She slipped off her robe as she landed soundlessly, trotting over to her bed. Pulling on her peach chemise that was laid out carefully over the lilac bed spread, she put her robe back over the top and decided to go down to the lounge. At times, this room just held too many...ghosts.
*
“Hey Scott, Kurt.” Ororo greeted her team mates cordially enough, although she was hoping the lounge would be empty by now. She liked to sit here sometimes, mostly in the quiet and the comforting dark. Being in her attic room at night reminded her of him and only served to compound her loneliness. But she found it hard to be around the others sometimes too. The constant act was just so draining.
Scott looked up at her like he’d been distracted from deep thought. “Hmm? Oh---how you doin’ ‘Ro?” The dejection was still evident in his voice, no matter what he was saying. Scott’s loss seemed to seep into everything.
“Ororo.” Kurt replied in kind, giving a small courteous nod of his head to her as his yellow eyes tracked her progress across the room. They were still on her as she took up the chair that sat next to the television that was currently switched off.
“So, what were you talking about?” She felt she should at least make an effort to involve herself in the conversation.
“Nothing much Fraulein, just today’s danger room session with some of the older students.”
Ororo didn’t reply she simply nodded, for her eyes had fallen upon Scott, who appeared to have gone off into his own world again. Suddenly he stood from his chair, and started for the door.
“Scott?”
Just at the doorway, Scott stopped, hesitating for a moment before he turned around to face a concerned Ororo. “It’s...it’s O.K Storm. I just...I’m goin’ to bed.”
“Scott, wait---.” It was too late, he’d left the room and his heavy footsteps pounded up the central staircase. His grief seemed never ending, but it was getting to the point where it was almost impossible to communicate with him.
“Don’t worry Ororo,” Kurt tried to comfort, “he’ll be alright---eventually.”
“I suppose.” Ororo replied, unconvinced. She was still looking at the wide open door way that Scott had just scurried through, the brighter light of the hallway flooding into the softer glow of the peach lamps of the Rec room. It was only then that she noticed that Kurt was looking a little...piqued also. “What’s wrong Kurt?” He diverted his eyes; a sure sign that something was bothering him. “Kurt?”
“It’s---,” he began hesitantly, and then suddenly blurted out in a worried tone, “I do not want to see you hurt again Fraulein.”
This rather abrupt and unexpected proclamation from Nightcrawler threw Ororo into a momentary confusion. “What are you talking about Kurt?”
He had to tell her, he just had to, no matter what his own personal misgivings were. Kurt had grown extremely protective of Ororo Munroe since he’d joined the X-Men and he felt he’d do anything to save her from harm, from getting hurt. So when he’d happened to be the one walking past the phone earlier that evening and had been charged with the task of delivering a message, he was put in two minds over whether Ororo should be privy to the information or not. But then he recalled all the times she’d talked late on into the night about how lonely she was and how difficult it had been for her since Logan had left. On those oh-so-rare occasions that she let her guard down. He had come to learn that those times were few and far between. But when she did, the pain that shimmered beneath the surface was astounding. She had to be told.
“There was a phone call for you...a couple of hours ago...”
* * *
Ororo pulled the Mazda up into a small parking space by the waterfront. It was a rather desolate place; one of the areas that hadn’t been developed or invested in yet. In the distance, just down river, the Brooklyn Bridge could be seen against the slim geometrical blocks of the Manhattan skyline. It was fairly blustery when Ororo got out of the car, slamming the door shut as her hair wiped about her, forcing her to control it with her hands. She didn’t like to interfere with weather patterns if she did not have to. This was an occasion where she felt it unnecessary. Looking from left to right, she couldn’t see anyone in the immediate vicinity but she was sure she’d got the right place. She’d followed the directions Kurt had relayed to her to the T.
Kurt. She smiled a little when she thought of him, he was so sweet. His initial reluctance to tell her that Logan had contacted the Institute was understandable. Their relationship had developed into one of brother and sister, as close as blood. She understood that he didn’t want to see her hurt and she respected him for that. When she really thought about it, the amiable German had been there for her like no-one else this past year or so. Whilst pondering all this, Ororo spotted a figure in the distance, leaning on the rusted safety rail that ran along the edge of the river barriers. He was partially turned from her, so she couldn’t see his face. The figure was wearing a black, leather jacket and fitted jeans; standard Logan fair. But the thing that threw her was the pale Stetson hat the man was wearing. Logan never wore hats.
Ororo did another visual check, just to make sure that there was nobody else about. When she was certain, her eyes became white marbles as she manipulated the already opulent wind currents to lift her over to where the lone figure was waiting.
* * *
Logan gazed down into the dirty choppy water of the vast river; its waves slapping up against their man-made containment like the oceans lapping waves. The wind was being obstructive, blowing up river, making the scent harder to catch. But as soon as she’d got out of the car, her fragrance had been caught up on the bluster, like stray strands of straw taken by a gale, the soft tones of her had hit him randomly and indiscriminately. And once they had, his heart had leapt. He could feel it pounding right now, drumming in his chest and pounding in his sensitive ears. His hand clutched absently at the hard stems of the roses he clasped nervously. When he heard her foot steps coming closer (for she had landed, a hundred yards or so from where he stood and walked the rest of the way), he finally summoned the guts to turn around and face her. Part relived that she’d given him the time of day at all, part dreading what her response to seeing him again might be. After the way he’d walked out on her, he wouldn’t blame her if she simply slapped him and left. He’d had time to come to terms with the fact that what he’d done was low, but he’d had his reasons. So now he hoped, that with time, Ororo would come to understand them. At least he was preparing to give her the chance this time round. But that was if she still wanted him. That was a pretty big if...
“How’ve ya been darlin’?” It wasn’t exactly original, but it was all he could think of to say. Being overwhelmed by someone you love after a long absence can do that to a person.
Ororo stopped a few yards from him, her eyes dropping from him, (looking rather odd in that hat), to the bunch of long stemmed roses he was carrying. White roses. She smiled despite herself.
Somewhat relived that she didn’t appear to bare any resentment or animosity towards him, it made all of this that much easier. But then again, what else did he expect from his ever understanding Goddess? “You’re amazing, you know that?” He shook his head in quiet awe.
“What do you mean?”
“Anyone else---wouldn’t have given me the time of day after the way I left---yet here you are.” He so urgently wanted to touch her, to kiss her but thought that may be a step too bold. Shifting his weight from one foot to the other as his grip around the un-thorned stems tightened, he was suddenly reminded that he had them. “Oh here,” he mumbled, offering them out to her, “these are fer you.”
Ororo took them, a smile that threatened to spill over into a laugh on her lips as she looked down into the flowers she’d just been handed. “I figured as much.” She buried her nose in them, the fresh scent of snow on their pale leaves and their subtle colour was same shade as her locks.
A moment of silence passed between them, not awkward, more...contemplative.
It was Logan who broke it. “All I wanna know is---can you forgive me?”
Ororo remained silent at first, touching carefully the delicate leaves of the roses. Then looking up at him, she replied, “I will not deny that it was hard Logan,” her hand that held the flowers let them swing down to rest at her side so as not to be a blockage as she stepped closer to him, “but you know...you’ve always known that I love you.”
“I love you too ‘Ro, god...” He shook his head almost woefully. “I never meant ta hurt you, but---“
“I know why you left Logan, and...I’ve come to understand.” Ororo brought her free hand up, cupping it around his cheek and jaw, relishing the roughness of the stubble under her soft palm. “but I am still here for you, no matter what.”
“I thought---.”
“You thought I wouldn’t want you? or still love you?...You couldn’t have been further from the truth.”
Logan put his own hand over hers, the softness of her skin glorious to the touch. “But you’ve gotta---I still can’t trust myself, you’ve gotta realise this.”
“I know---but at least you’re here...back where you belong.” At that Logan actually smiled, no matter how pained it was. Taking a grip of Ororo’s hand, he took it from his face, holding it firmly and lovingly as the both turned and headed back to her car.
Yes, Logan may have been continuing with the struggle to reign in his inner demons, but at least he was here. He was here to rejoin the people he cared for---his family. And they would help him through anything, no matter what...especially Ororo.
The love of a good woman could do wonders for a man.
~The End~
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