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Xavier Institute
Westchester, New York
Rec Room/ Early Evening

Several students glanced uneasily towards the pool table in the corner of the room, where Storm and Wolverine were engaged in a game of eight ball. In the two years the fierce warrior had been a member of the X-Men he had never ‘hung out’ in the rec room, hell, more often than not he wasn’t even on the mansions grounds, but here he was, drinking a beer watching his girl bend over the table to take her shot, an appreciative gleam in his hunter eyes.
He glanced up sensing stares and several eyes glanced guiltily away. He merely smirked. No feral growl, nor baring of teeth tonight. Marriage to ‘Ro was like a good cigar, relaxing and invigorating, keeping him content. He glanced at the ring on her finger and felt his chest tighten. He was still amazed she had said yes. He had expected her to say no, to balk about them only knowing each other for a short time, only really together for a week, or hell, to tell him to go twiddle on his thumb, but she hadn’t, instead she had laughed her beautiful, sultry laugh, asking, “Are you serious?” To which her had planted a thorough kiss on her delectable mouth and growled, “Very.”
“It’s your shot, hon.” She was leaning against the table, one arm extended holding her stick at an angle against the floor. She was clad in low rise faded blue jeans and a lace toped pink camisole, and a cowboy hat, which he found unbearably desirable. Her new thin gold bracelet glittered under the hanging lights as she took a sip of her water. He had bought it for her today, along with the dangly lightening bolt belly button ring he saw peeking from beneath her shirt. He’d had the bracelet inscribed: For my beautiful Windrider, my loving wife and my best friend.
Ororo had been elated, her smile brighter than the sun. She had laughed then, pulling out a box from their closet, handing it to him. Inside was a very expensive and well made cream colored cowboy hat with a strip of black leather around the middle. He had been touched. In all the time that he could remember no one had ever gotten him a gift before. He had put it on immediately.
Ororo had smiled broadly, remarking how sexy he looked in her smoky bedroom voice. The hat had come off, along with all of their clothes as he made love to her on the couch in their new living room. He had called it christening the furniture, which had made her laugh, both of them looking around the boathouse at all the chairs and counter space they had.
He moved to the opposite side of the table, pushing the brim of his hat up, sinking two solids in succession. He winked at her as he pocketed the third. She smiled trailing her fingers on the green felt. She tilted her head, and he was captivated by her blue gaze under the shadow of his old cowboy hat. Vixen. “Darlin’, ya keep givin’ me those looks and I may have ta make proper use of this pool table.”
No matter that he’d seen her naked countless times already and had kissed and licked every inch of her delectable body Ororo still flushed, a fact that Logan found endearing.
“Storm!” Kitty and Kurt entered the rec room.
“Hello, Kitten,” Ororo greeted. “Kurt. What are you two up to tonight?”
“Not much.” Kitty answered. “Thought about maybe a movie. Wanna join us?”
Ororo looked at Logan, who simply shrugged one shoulder, swigging off his beer, as if to say it was up to her. “What movie?”
“It’s a toss up. Kurt has never seen any ‘Star Wars’, but I have a hankering for a good scary flick, Something to make me jump.”
-SNIKT-
“Ah!”
Wolverine rolled his eyes. “That’s done.”
“Very funny, Wolverine.” Kitty griped. She swatted his arm. “But, yeah if you want to join us, we’ll be in the screening room.”
“Not tonight.“ Storm handed Kurt her stick. “Tell you what, Crawler, take my husband to the cleaners and then we’ll make a reign check to go watch a movie with you.”
“To the cleaners?” Kurt asked, blue brow drawn, unfamiliar with the expression. “I’m sorry, sometimes my American is not so good.”
Ororo nodded with a wry grin. “Don’t worry, Kurt. American is a very difficult language occasionally mixed with English; it takes awhile.”
“Oh.”
“She wants us ta play,” Wolverine supplied.
Ten minutes later Wolverine was muttering about what a great shark the elf would be. Ororo laughed, taking his hand. “Let’s go for a walk,” she suggested.
“Sounds good, darlin’.”
The night air was humid and warm, an impending thunderstorm looming. Ororo inhaled deeply, savoring it. Logan leaned down, kissing her bare shoulder, interlacing their fingers. They walked in mutual silence towards the woods, both listening to the night sounds. They had only gone a few feet into the brush when Logan pulled her to a stop, moving to stand directly behind her, pointing to a rusty fox and her kits. Ororo smiled at him over her shoulder. They spent the next hour walking and listening, with Logan pointing out different animals in the night. Nocturnes like them.
When they reached a familiar clearing Logan sat onto the fallen log, pulling Ororo onto his lap, holding her against him. She went easily, laying her head on his chest, watching the stars twinkle above through the breaks in the clouds. She sighed heavily, feeling tired.
“Whatchya thinking, babe?”
“I’m not,” she yawned. “I’m just relaxing.”
Logan smiled into her hair, rubbing one hand up and down her back soothingly. She was soon sound asleep, her deep breathing stirring his protectiveness. He lifted her against his chest, carrying her through the woods, careful not to jar her, walking the two miles back to their boathouse with her cradled in his arms.
Once at their home he climbed the stairs to their bedroom and laid her on the bed, stripping her jeans from her body, pulling her camisole over her head. She barely stirred, lost in whatever dreams she was having. He tucked her in, kissing her lightly on the forehead.
Logan made his way back down stairs, removing his dark shirt, leaving his chest bare for the night air to caress as he stepped onto the porch, lighting a cigar. ‘Ro never complained, but he didn’t smoke in the house. He puffed into the stillness, his mind wandering over the past couple of days. Jean had thankfully gotten the hint and avoided him, and more importantly avoided ‘Ro. He had gone nearly feral when Storm had finally told him the things Jean had been putting in her mind. He had been enraged and he had hurt for his wife, knowing he wouldn’t have been able to picture her with someone else, much less live it and have it thrown in his face. Just the thought of anyone else touching ’Ro made his stomach turn. Fuckin’ Jean. Vindictive bitch. He ground his teeth, gnashing his cigar.
He stood outdoors for several minutes, enjoying the stillness of the night and the quiet of the boathouse. No pounding music from the dorm rooms, no pattering feet in the hallway. It was a nice feeling. The thunderstorm in the distance was fast approaching and Logan crushed his cigar under his boot, going back in through the screen door. He went around the house, making sure the windows were closed, securing the latches. Once that was done he tied up the trash, taking it outside to the small dumpster.
Two figures were approaching. “Evenin‘, homme.”
“Gambit. Alison.”
“Howdy, Wolverine.” Ali said. “Where’s Storm?”
Wolverine looked back at the upstairs bedroom window. “Sleeping.”
Gambit raised one eyebrow. “Already? Dat not like Stormy. Is she sick?”
Logan shook his head. “Not that I can tell. Just tired.”
“Oh. We were going to see if you two wanted to go out to Harry’s for a bit.” Ali said. “You wanna?”
“’Ow ’bout it, homme.”
Again Wolverine looked back at the window. He was nowhere near tired yet, and he knew ‘Ro wouldn’t mind. “Sure, Gumbo. Let me go leave a note fer Storm in case she wakes up.”
Gambit nodded. “Let ‘er know it’ll be a late night,” he suggested with his devil may care grin. “And put a shirt on.”

Boat House
Upstairs bedroom
Midnight

Ororo knew she was dreaming, knew she was asleep, but couldn’t wake up. She was deep in the woods, lost and alone, and surprisingly cold. Her teeth chattered, her hands were rubbing her arms frantically, trying to work some frictioned heat into her icy flesh. The snow whipped around her and she cried out in pain.
“It’s only a dream, Storm. Wake up.” She squeezed her eyes shut and when she opened them the world was gray, colorless and blurry.
Suddenly the colorless ground gave way beneath her and she was freefalling through empty space. She waved her arms wildly, trying to grab anything that may be hidden in the shadows. She landed with a hard jolt, dust and sand flying around her face. “What now,” she grumbled.
She looked up from the dirt, staring open mouthed at the market surrounding her. She was home, in Cairo. Carts an people milled around, children ran barefoot through the streets. A wild dog sniffed at her face and she shooed it away. Ororo rose to her feet, feeling the warm rays of the African sun on her face, smelling the slight sickly sweet smell of rotted fruit. It all felt very real.
From behind she heard warm tinkling laugher and she stopped breathing. Slowly as to not shatter the images around her, Ororo turned. Her mother stood a few feet away, speaking with a local merchant, haggling over some fruit.
“Mama?”
The figure of her mother looked over at her. “Ororo?”
“Mama.” Ororo reached out her hand.
Her mother recoiled. “Murderer! Murderer!” She was backing away from Ororo.
“Wait, Don’t go!” Storm stepped towards her retreating mother. “Please.”
“Evil child!” The smooth cocoa of her mother’s face turned ashen, a wound appearing over her right eye, then another along her supple cheek. The wounds she had received the day Ororo’s nightmare had tumbled their house around their heads.
“Mama, no. I didn’t mean to…” Ororo was trying to move, but the sand below her was sifting, dragging her down, sucking at her legs, pulling at her. “Mama, forgive me!” Ororo was frantic now, trying to reach her mother, who had dropped to the ground, her vivid blue eyes glazing in death. Ororo screamed, and the more she struggled the further down it pulled her. The last thing she heard before her head was fully engulfed in the small granules was her mother’s voice in her head, “Killer, murderer, destroyer. Accept your master, Ororo, only he can save you from yourself.”
Ororo was panicking, unable to scream anymore or she’d have her throat flooded with dry sand. Darkness was all around and soon low male laughter echoed around her, surrounding her. “There you are, my beautiful child. There you are at last.”
“Nooooo!”

Downstairs

Wolverine was just sliding the key in the front door when he felt the wind shift, the temperature dropping and the splattering rain turning into hail.
Above him he heard a soft thump and he froze. “’Ro?”
No response. Then the awful, familiar smell of blood.
“Fuck.” He shoved open the door and took the stairs two at a time. He plowed open the bedroom door and his heart stopped. Ororo was on the floor, her back pressed to the mattress, a bloody blade in her hand, crimson coating her fingers, repeating the same thing over and over, “Dontlethinindontlethimindontlethimin.”
“’Ro!”
She snapped her head up. “Logan?” She blinked a few times.
He knelt in front of her, taking her dagger from her fingers. “What happened?” she asked him.
“I was gonna ask ya the same thing.” He turned her hands over, wincing at the sight of a deep gash on her right palm. “C’mon, darlin’, we gotta clean that.” He scooped her into his arms.
“I can walk,” she protested. Logan made no response, making his way to the stairs.
“Logan, I can walk,” she repeated.
“I don’t care.” He carried her into their small bathroom, flicking on the overhead lights, setting her on the edge of the tub. He opened the medicine cabinet, rummaging through gauze and alcohol.
Ororo heaved a disgruntled sigh. “I had a bad dream. It happens.”
“Yeah and ya reached fer that goddamn dagger and nearly cut yer hand off. That’s it, that thing comes out from under the pillows.” He was firm. He took her hand, gently holding it over the tub as he poured warm water over it. Ororo hissed a bit but made no other complaint. Logan turned her hand, examining the wound. “It’s deep,” he said with a rumble. “Probably need stitches.”
Storm shook her head. “It’s fine. Just slap a band aid on it and call it good.”
Logan gave her a frustrated glance. “We’re at least wrapping the damn thing.” He carefully applied a thin cotton pad to the center of her hand, wrapping gauze around her palm and thumb. When he was done he asked, “Do ya need anything fer pain?”
“No.” Ororo stood. “I could use a glass of water though.”
Logan grunted. “I’ll be right back. Yer gorgeous ass had better be in bed when I come up.”
“Yes, sir,” Ororo muttered with a brief smile. He swatted her rear as she walked past him.
In the kitchen Logan ran the water until it was ice cold. He was taking deep, measured breaths, trying unsuccessfully to calm down. Seeing ‘Ro covered in blood, knife in her hand had jarred him, shaken him to his very core. He knew he loved her, but that moment of frozen panic, something he had never felt before, made him realize how very much he loved her.
Storm was seated in bed, propped against the pillows when he returned. She smiled at him when he placed the water in her left hand. “Thanks, sweetie.” She took a long drink, setting the glass on the nightstand.
He couldn’t help but smile in return. He loved when she used endearments with him. He undressed and slid into the bed beside her, not missing the slight darkening of her eyes as she watched him. He reached around her shoulders pulling her close, into their familiar seating of her against his chest and his chin on her head. “Wanna talk about it?”
A deep shuddering sigh. “No.” She turned in his arms, her lips grazing his whiskered chin, his collar bone. “I want to forget it, Logan. Help me forget…” Her tongue flicked against him, teasing one flat nipple.
He inhaled sharply, his body immediately responding to her, rock hard in an instant. He tangled his hands in her hair, trying to maintain focus. “’Ro, we can’t just ignore yer dreams. They’re happening- ugh- far too- oh God, baby- frequently.”
Ororo murmured something incoherent against his chest, her mouth still playing with his nipples as her deft fingers locked around his turgid erection, stroking him. Ororo swung one leg over his muscular thighs, straddling him. Logan reached up, cradling her elegant jaw, pulling her mouth to his. She was in his arms, where she belonged but he wanted her to talk to him, to open up. To trust.
He had spent a majority of the night speaking with Gambit, learning as much about Ororo’s past as he could. What he had learned made him value her faith in him all the more. Taken in by the LaBeau’s at eight she was already an accomplished pickpocket, Gambit had told him. She was then taught the thieves trade, and had learned quick, breaking and entering, mastering carjacking. Gambit told him she had been withdrawn for a long time upon arriving to them, but soon she and he had developed a bond. Gambit referred to her as a little girl with an ancient soul, and Wolverine could see that was still true today. He had asked the Cajun more questions but Gambit had shaken his head, saying some things were up to Stormy to tell and others he didn’t even know fully. “She ran away when she was sixteen, homme. Gone for six years, and I don’ know nothin’ ‘bout dat time. Sometimes I t’ink she jus’ wanna forget it all, mon frere. Maybe we should let ‘er.”
Now holding her to him, with her asking for his help in alleviating her nightmare, Logan allowed his lashes to drift down, his lips moving against hers in slow seduction. She wanted to forget and he wanted to remember, what a pair they made, he thought with bitter humor. He wanted to ease whatever tormented her, but he could not- would not- make her tell him. If and when she did open up for him he wanted it to be because it was her decision, not one forced upon her.
An evil monster had taken her childhood, forcing her to witness acts of degradation and humiliation, forever scarring Ororo’s perception on the world. Alone for years, trapped in a world he knew nothing about, a slave without freedom and unspeakable horror for one as free as she was.
Ororo moved restlessly in Logan’s arms. “’Ro.” there was an ache in his voice and her heart fragmented.
“Logan.” She responded, shifting her body, raising herself so that she could position herself over him, sliding down his long, thick length in one slow glide.
His hips raised off the mattress, meeting her halfway. This was a new experience for them, Ororo on top, in control. Logan growled low and deep as she began to move, slowly at first, but soon finding her rhythm. Her excited little gasps were wreaking havoc on him, making it nearly impossible not to garb her hips and flip her, but he enjoyed the sight of her on him too much. Her head was thrown back, long neck exposed, breasts moving as she rode him. She opened her piercing blues and he was lost, thrusting up against her, holding her hips and forcing her against him, grinding them together.
“Come fer me.” he commanded on a groan.
“Yes..ohhhh, yessss!” She arched her back, long nails scoring the crisp mat of hair on his chest. She flung herself forward, her head on his shoulder as tremors wracked her slender frame.
He rolled her then, moving in long, slow strokes, drawing out her pleasure. He kissed her fevered skin, moving over her neck, along her jaw, claiming her mouth. He had never been much for kissing, in the past he rarely did it, found it a waste of time and energy, but with his beautiful wife it was as intimate an act as sex itself. He teased the inner recess of her mouth with his tongue, rumbling as her tongue stroked against his. He suckled her lower lip, teased her upper one, no corner left unattended. His body rocked with hers in easy rhythm, cherishing her. He made slow, sweet, unhurried love to his wife, his mouth never leaving hers until hours later when his climax came and he roared with familiar blinding ecstasy, wiping out everything but the feel of her tight velvet wrapped around him and the swelling love he held for her in his heart.

Headmaster’s Office
Morning

“Is he here?” Ororo asked, opening the heavy door.
Xavier nodded. “Forge arrived an hour ago. He’s in the chamber now.”
Ororo nodded. “Has he met Peter?”
Xavier shook his head. “Why do you ask?”
A small smile played with Ororo’s mouth. “I think they’d hit it off.”
The Professor gave her a humored look. “Playing match maker again, Storm?”
Ororo shrugged. She paced the room, touching the newly added plants with care. “I want to thank you for all you’ve done,” she said after a minute. “I may not trust you, Charles, but that doesn’t mean I don’t like you. You have a good thing here. Possibly an unreachable ideal, but a dream worth fighting for, and I thank you for sharing it with me.”
Charles cleared his throat. “Ororo--” It was the first time he’d used her given name since her arrival at the Institute and for some reason it made her want to cry.
“Okay then. Well, I have a combat session with Wolverine now, so I’ll be off. See you later.” She was gone in a flash, leaving Xavier staring at the closed door. Slowly he opened his locked drawer, pulling out a picture he had stored there. It was one of him during an excursion to Egypt that he and Eric had taken. He was standing at a vendor’s stand, smiling at the camera, dressed in khaki shorts and top, archeological hat on his head, but it wasn’t him that he was looking at. Behind him in the picture, standing out amongst the throng of people, a little girl with snow white hair and haunted eyes was reaching into some unsuspecting tourists pocket. He’d felt her that day, like a brush of butterfly wings against his mind and gone again, much like just now. He placed the picture on his desk, where he cold see it as he worked.

Danger Room

WHACK!
Storm hit the ground hard. Wolverine reached down, helping her to her feet.
“Ya all right, darlin’?”
“Yes.” She flexed her back. “Again?”
Wolverine chuckled. “If ya insist.” He took his stance opposite of her.
“So, what am I doing wrong?” she asked.
Wolverine studied her stance. “Yer projecting yer attack. I can read yer stance, I know which way yer coming.” He moved behind her. “Here.” He nudged her knee with his, bending it slightly. “Good. Now, ya feel the difference?”
Ororo shifted her weight back and forth. “Yeah, I feel looser.”
“Gives ya a chance ta shift momentum, change attack if needed.” He resumed his fighting stance. “Ok, come get me,” he challenged.
Ororo moved swiftly, balanced on the balls of her feet. She maneuvered right, but changed direction at the last possible second, punching Wolverine straight in the throat, knocking the wind from him.
He took a step back. “Better,” he wheezed.
Ororo smiled.
They continued for another hour, with her getting better each time, Wolverine noted with pride. She was adept at hand to hand already, but with his training she could probably give him a run for his money. They were sweating and panting when the buzzer sounded, notifying them that the Danger Room was needed by another group.
“Ya did good, babe.”
Ororo panted. “Thanks. I still think you should teach a class on this. It would be invaluable for the other’s to learn to fight.”
“Hmph.”
Ororo didn’t push. She reached for his hand and he wrapped hers in his strong grip. “I’m famished,” she said.
“Whattya in the mood fer?”
“Mmmm, grilled steak and potatoes and corn on the cob and maybe a fruit salad.”
Wolverine chuckled. His wife could eat. “Sounds good.”
“We should invite Ali and Gambit down for a barbeque.”
He nodded. “If ya want. I’ll run up to the kitchen and grab some stuff, then find the lovebirds and see if they wanna come by.”
“Okay. Grab Kitty and Kurt if you see them too.”
Wolverine grunted. “Yer pushin’ it, darlin’. There‘s only so much cute and cuddly this ol‘ canknuckle head can take.”
“They’re fun, and besides they’re family. I’ll meet you at home.” She leaned into him, kissing him sweetly knowing she would get her way.
“Vixen,” he murmured, deepening the kiss. She pushed his shoulder laughing. “Go.” she laughed.
She was making their way down the fluorescent lit hallway when she caught sight of Jean and Scott arguing outside the elevator. For a moment Ororo felt a pang of sympathy for the other woman, recognizing the look of love in the tearful green gaze of the spiteful redhead.
“I am not taking that animal’s sloppy seconds!” Ororo heard Scott ground out.
Jean reached for him but he caught her hand and squeezed hard. “Scott, you’re hurting me,” Jean whispered.
He gave her a nasty smile. “After fucking that animal I’d think you’d be used to it by now.”
Ororo’s teeth clenched. A sharp blast of arctic air slammed Scott away from Jean and into the steel wall. She moved forward, eyes flashing. “One more derogatory remark about my husband, pretty boy, and I’ll make you eat your visor.”
Jean rushed forward. “Scott!”
Ororo caught the redhead around the neck with one hand, forcing her back against the wall. “No.” She gave her an icy stare. “Let’s get one thing settled here and now. I don’t like you, Jean, but only because you make it damn near impossible to. I don’t want to be your enemy any more than I want to be your friend. So let’s agree that recent events are best left forgotten and move on.”
Jean was silent. Ororo gave her throat a squeeze. Jean nodded.
“Good.” Ororo let her go. She gave Scott a cold glance. “If you want to blame anyone for Jean yanking your chain so long, Cyclops, look in the mirror. You let her do it for so long it became habit. You love her, I can see it, so stop being a jackass and act like it.” She moved past them.
“Storm.” Jean called.
Storm paused but didn’t turn.
“You’re a better person than I am. I was wrong about you, and I’m sorry.”
Storm cocked her head turning. “Apology accepted. However, Jean, you weren’t wrong about me. I will kill anyone who attempt to screw with my husband.” Thunder rumbled. “Have a nice day.”


Boat house

“Gambit like da new digs, chere.”
“Thanks, Remy.” Ororo gave him a loving smile.
“You look happy.” he commented.
Ororo’s gaze wandered to the water’s edge where Wolverine was preparing to toss Kitty from the dock into the lake. “I am.”
Ali made sloppy kissy noises and Ororo threatened to fly her to the center of the lake and drop her. Ali laughed it off, turning on the cd player she had hooked up outside. Gwen Stefani’s voice filled the air and Ali began dancing and singing with the music, stomping her feet and shaking her ass.
“C’mon, girl, don’t leave me hanging!” Ali pulled Ororo off the lawn chair, and Ororo moved with her.
“Hey! You guys having a party?” Bobby Drake called. He and Warren as well as Peter and a new recruit named Betsy were making their way down the hill separating Wolverine and Storm’s home from the Institute.
“We weren’t.” Wolverine growled, coming up behind Storm and hugging her back against him. It was still an unusual thing for the others to get used to. An affectionate Wolverine.
“Oh, ok man.” Bobby backed up.
Ororo laughed. “Come on down,” she called. “We have plenty of food.”
As Peter lumbered towards them Wolverine whispered in her ear, “Ya sure about that, darlin’?”
She laughed, leaning into him. This was the life she’d always wanted. A home with friends and filled with love and laughter. She closed her eyes, tilting her head against Logan’s shoulder, basking in the warm rays of the sun. No matter what her future held she would never forget this moment with the warm sky and the laughter of her family in her ears and the arms of her soul mate around her middle. Home.





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