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While You Were Out
01. Empty
Author: OriginalCeenote
Summary: The School for Gifted Youngsters has seen a lot of
casualties in the wake of the Cure. One of their number is about to
return to the fold, only to find that everything’s changed. Movieverse,
after X3, AU, off-canon; there are some references to X2. Marvel owns
the characters, but they aren’t getting my money anymore.
Author's Note: I've been wanting to write a movie fic for some time, I
don't know why. Expect me to take liberties by occasionally inserting
relationship aspects and character history from the comics. Be warned.
Alkali Lake, mid-afternoon:
Tree shadows dappled the forest floor and scattered
across the dirt path; the solitary man shivered
slightly in spite of the hazy sunlight, huddling
further into his dark gray wool peacoat. He was a
complex man who enjoyed complex questions, and he
pondered a few as pine needles crunched under the
soles of his black combat boots. If a tree falls in
the forest and if no one’s around to hear it, does
it make a sound? His years in the United States Army
had found him occasionally digging latrines and
foxholes, burying fallen comrades and cutting down
trees, and the ground shook beneath him with a
satisfying crash that startled the birds from their
nests every time one of those majestic beauties was
brought down.
The assumption that could be made was that if birds
in the sky bore witness to the demise of the tree,
taking wing upon its deafening roar, then man could
assume that tree made a sound, whether he was there
to bear witness to it or not. He had bore witness to
the deaths of his comrades, and his God smote him
for his foolish pride in worldly things.
It was time to set things right.
Sometimes, the scars still chafed and itched with
phantom pains; he rubbed the grooves in his hands
distractedly as he made his way to the lake shore.
The lapping water beckoned him, triggering the
memories.
The sounds of his own hoarse screaming. Of crumbling
concrete and rock and rushing water. Like Jonah
hurled from the belly of the whale, he’d lived to
testify and bear witness again, stronger and more
willing than ever to take up the yoke of his Lord.
Ophelia. The red-haired mutant mind witch had
looked like Ophelia reveling in her madness, hair
streaming as she made her final journey down the
river, he mused, rebuked by her true love. He
scolded himself; she hadn’t been mad. Damned,
certainly, and the world was a better place with one
less mutant walking among the righteous. The vision
burned in his mind of her hair licking up around her
preternaturally beautiful face like a halo of fire,
golden flames shooting from her eyes plagued his
sleep. His breath caught in his throat, even as he
counted the gulps of air that he sucked into his
lungs, never knowing which would be his last as the
dam disintegrated and released the deluge upon him
as a final judgment.
Amid the flashes of memory and his life flashing
before his eyes, she turned to him and smiled. He
couldn’t have imagined it. With a minute gesture,
she waved him away and turned back to the task at
hand, staring down the crashing wall of water as
though she were blocking midday traffic.
He had struggled within the steel links, fighting
for some purchase, some flaw in the chain, a point
of weakness that would allow his escape. He found
none. The Wolverine’s cruel sneer was all the mercy
he received when he called out to him, offering him
the treasure of his past, of his memories before the
experiment.
He’d made him everything he was, given him
everything that he had, and the bastard thanked him
by turning his back. Leaving him to die. An
old Irving Berlin anthem drifted through his
thoughts, and he hummed the tune in a surprisingly
pleasant baritone. God bless America, he chuckled.
God bless his cause.
He removed his glasses and polished them on the
sleeve of his coat to clear them of the faint mist
that collected on the lenses. Ever since the complex
was buried under tons of rock, a light fog
perpetually draped the lake. The man who had sold
him the map to his hunting cabin had leaned in
close, muttering “Word around the campgrounds is
that the rocks around the Alkali actually float.”
He rang him up as he gathered up his steaming,
covered cup of coffee and a French cruller. His eyes
narrowed like a naughty schoolboy’s right before
firing a spitball at the backs of the hapless as he
added “Folks say it was muties that did it. They’re
ta blame fer all the crazy shit that goes on in
these hills.” He just smiled in a manner indicating
that he got the punchline and nodded his goodbye.
The lapping water was one of the only sounds that
greeted him as he approached the enormous basin. It
was as though everything living had abandoned it,
not daring to brave another disaster, natural or
man-made. He trekked along the shore, approaching a
small jetty of quartz-speckled rock. He ventured all
the way out to its tip, glad of the thick rubber
soles of his boots that gave him traction on the
slippery stones. His silvery gray eyes scanned the
water, looking for any sign…
What was that?
He squinted and removed his glasses for a moment, as
though he didn’t trust them to assure him of what he
was seeing.
There was a hole in the water. No, he
corrected himself, a crater. It was glowing
beneath the water, almost an eerie gold radiance
winking up at him. He rubbed his eyes impatiently
and went to replace his spectacles –
“Ow! Shit!” Something struck him right between the
eyes before he could protect himself.
“What in God’s name…” The floating gray pebble
drifted away after bouncing off his forehead,
carried away on the air currents that felt almost
heavy as they enveloped and stroked him. He felt a
chill rush through him that had nothing to do with
the damp fog. His eyes darted about, looking for
something, anything solid, anything grounded.
Something tangible. He spied a loose crag of gray
stone jutting up from the jetty, and he frantically
pried it loose, letting the unseen presence
strengthen him, guiding his hand as he hefted it and
flung it into the watery orb of light. The splash
was hollow and deep, and he waited for something –
anything – to happen.
He didn’t have to wait long.
It was like watching Moses part the Red Sea…
The water rushed and flowed in a tinkling patter,
gradually increasing to a deafening roar as it
funneled and swirled away from the nexus. The wind
picked up, whistling in his ears and nipping at his
flesh, leaving his nose red-tipped as the spray of
the water dampened his cheeks. The water sluiced and
ebbed away from the hollow in a narrow funnel,
nearly solid as the glow brightened further,
beckoning to him. The water divided itself as neatly
as sand plowed by a child’s shovel.
William stepped off the jetty, unable to heed any
call but that which moved his feet toward the nexus.
The corridor of water rippled and pulsed on either
side of him, threatening to engulf him, and his
heart slammed in his chest with the insanity of it
all, but he never broke his stride. He reached the
swirling orb of golden light and reached into it…
Energy flowed through him, burning him, shocking
every cell in is body as he spasmed with a mixture
of pain and fear. His thoughts fell apart as the
memories flowed unchecked, overwhelming him with
their intensity. “AAAAAAGGGGGGHHHH!” He had been
wrong about the lack of life in the surrounding
woods, he mused, one of his last coherent thoughts
before he passed out, the calls of birds in flight
shrieking overhead.
The sun had shifted in the sky, and he never found
out how long he lay there. When he woke up, the
radiance had dissipated, and he clutched at the
still hollow crater’s rim; his fingers scrabbled
against something that made a metallic clinking
sound against the bare lake bottom. His blurred
vision gradually cleared.
He came fully awake with a start, still surrounded
by the walls of solid water. Algae and tiny
minnow-like fish darted and floated through the
mass, mocking him from their liquid cage, triggering
an unnerving memory of when he and his wife took
Jason through the Shark Tunnel at Marine World when
he was five. He hoisted himself up onto his elbows,
no mean feat since he was pinning himself to the
ground in his long, stiff coat, and he peered down
at the shining gold object, stroking it with his
fingertip.
It was a one-carat engagement ring. Tarnished,
obviously, from its immersion for who knew how many
months…yet he knew. He’d been counting the days
since he was washed ashore, nearly dead from
hypothermia and exhaustion. He plucked the treasure
from its resting place and examined it, turning it
this way and that. The diamond still shone, throwing
prisms of color across his weather-beaten flesh. Out
of habit, he turned the ring at an angle to better
read the inscription.
To the love of my life, forever. Scott.
William grunted under his breath as he shakily rose
to his feet, tucking the tidbit into his pocket. He
almost paused to go, until something else caught his
eye. He bent down, squinting through his glasses,
and once again denied what his eyes were seeing.
Fiery strands of hair, red as new copper.
“Do not ignore the clamor of your adversaries, the
uproar of your enemies, which rises continually,” he
murmured, pinching up the fragile filaments and
admiring how they, too, refracted the light. He told
himself that wasn’t a frisson of heat and energy
darting up through his fingertips, making him
tingle.
He folded the hairs within a crumpled Kleenex and
tucked them into his breast pocket, next to his
blackened heart.
William Stryker had a new mission.
He clambered back up onto the jetty. As though
sensing his departure, the corridor of water
collapsed in crashing waves. He never looked back.
Westchester County, Graymalkin Lane, later that
same afternoon:
“We were here first!” Kitty’s hazel brown eyes
blazed with indignant wrath at the culprits as she
stared down at them from their stolen perch on the
couch. Marie and Jubilee stood in almost identical
poses behind her, feet spread and planted, arms
crossed under their breasts, completely implacable.
Bobby met her look with a stare that dripped
innocence, as though butter wouldn’t melt in his
mouth. It didn’t hurt that butter wouldn’t
melt in his mouth, anyway, due to his mutation. His
light blue eyes twinkled at her, Kitty decided. That
was definitely a twinkle.
He was soooooooo dead.
“What? YOU were here FIRST?” He swiveled around and
looked behind him at the sofa’s upholstery and ran
his hands over the plush cushions. “Hm. Ya know, I
don’t see your names written on here anywhere.” He
wiggled his backside experimentally, his eyebrows
dropping lower on his forehead, trying out a look of
consternation that Kitty didn’t buy for a second.
“Nope. The cushions feel pretty cold, Kitty Cat, and
I don’t feel your butt prints on ‘em, either. I
could be wrong. ‘Course, the only way I could tell
is to get a closer look at the butt in question that
occupied this couch last, and see if the indentation
matches –“
“Don’t even go there, sugah,” Marie huffed, her
walnut brown eyes narrowed into slits as she flicked
her hair over her shoulder. “Ya might end up with a
closer look at mah foot before I kick yer hiney
outta here! We’ve had this DVD from Blockbuster for
four days already, today’s the fifth day, and we
ain’t seen it yet, with y’all hoggin’ the set ta
watch yer usual man drivel like Ultimate Fightin’
an’ Overhaulin’. Ah need mah George Clooney fix. Ya
won’t stand between three women and their Clooney
DVD if ya wanna stay healthy, shoog,” she purred,
favoring him with a reptilian smile that managed to
send a chill up his spine…again, no mean feat,
considering…
“Yeah,” Jubilee snarled, blowing a large pink bubble
with her gum before crackling it between her teeth,
“what she said.”
“Oooh, we’re soooooo scared,” Peter drawled, winking
saucily at Kitty. She was almost as young as his kid
sister Illyana, but she was mature beyond her years.
And she was so cute when she was mad. Despite his
taunt, Peter knew she’d find a way to get back at
them during their next Danger Room session, like
phasing him through a tank and leaving him there.
But the danger was half the fun. He liked her too
much.
“Sure, keep smiling, Shiny Pants,” Jubilee snapped.
“It’s our turn for the den and the TV.”
The Julio Cesar Chavez match created background
noise for was quickly becoming a heated scrap in the
den. Jimmy was the only one less interested the
jibes Bobby exchanged with the girls as his eyes
stayed glued to the wide plasma screen, making the
boxers look larger than life.
“You got up, we came in here and the den was empty,”
Bobby shot back, holding out his hands helplessly,
indicating the seats that he, Peter, Warren, Sam and
Jimmy were occupying, lounging with outstretched
legs and propped up feet like they hadn’t a care in
the world. “Finders keepers. We left you the bean
bag. Or feel free to take up that little space on
the floor, it can’t be too uncomfortable.” He
waggled his brows at Marie, “You could sit on my lap
if you felt like it, Beautiful!”
“Fat chance!” Not that the idea of sitting on
Bobby’s lap was so bad, but not in front of his
goofball friends.
“Then I guess we’ll just have to take all this tasty
junk food upstairs and hog it all to ourselves,” a
smooth, slightly accented voice purred from the
doorway. The luscious smell of buttered popcorn
drifted across the den, making everyone’s mouth
water as Sage cocked a brow at the drama unfolding
before her. “Kitty, don’t you have that DVD on your
PC in your room?” Dani Moonstar hovered behind her,
the plastic wrapper of the packet of Twizzlers
crackling in her hand as she juggled that and a bag
of Lays KC Masterpiece BBQ chips, a six-pack of Mug
Root Beer and a box of Little Debbie vanilla crème
cakes with the little chocolate zebra stripes that
Bobby suddenly craved as soon as he spied it. Peter
could have sworn he heard Warren’s stomach growling
from the other end of the couch, and he looked him
in the eye, communicating with him “telepathically.”
It’s just a chick flick; they’ve got the goodies,
and we’ve got Tivo. Our bases are covered, man.
Warren grinned and nodded before he got up from the
loveseat, giving his wings a brief flutter as he
beckoned to the now-vacant spot.
“Ladies…” He gave Jubilee a dramatic bow as she made
her way to the love seat, rolling her eyes at the
silly gesture. His wings, broad shouldered build and
wavy blond hair did give him a certain gallant look,
she decided, but she’d never admit it out loud.
“Yer such a tool,” she tsked, cracking her gum. Sage
and Dani swept in and deposited the snacks on the
coffee table before Jimmy offered to go get more
soda and an extra chair from the dining room. Dani
lay on her stomach on the floor as Bobby had
suggested earlier, since she wasn’t all that picky.
She was surprised when Sam joined her a moment
later, nudging her elbow with a cold can of root
beer. She slid her popcorn bowl closer to him,
mutely thanking him with a quirk of her lips.
Marie and Bobby eventually did end up economizing
space on the couch to make room for Peter and Kitty,
and Marie burrowed further into Bobby’s casual
embrace from her perch on his lap as they split a
Twizzler. The students settled in to watch Out of
Sight with no further skirmish.
Upstairs:
Dust motes floated in the fading sunlight streaming
in through Ororo’s skylight as she ran her rag
across the dresser, giving it a fresh coat of
lemon-scented Pledge. She blamed her busy schedule
and frequent training sessions for the way she’d let
her loft go these past few weeks. She hardly had any
time to just come up and contemplate her day from
her balcony or listen to her favorite songs on her
iPod anymore. Things were just too hectic.
And those were just the most superficial reasons why
she missed Scott and Charles.
Things were finally beginning to shape up, she
mused, taking in her efforts and deciding that it
was good enough. All of her pictures, side tables,
stereo cabinets and bookshelves were free of the
thick coat of dust that had settled there, and her
hardwood floor shone with the brisk “Swiffering”
she’d given it earlier. Her throw rugs smelled fresh
after she finished beating them over the edge of the
balcony, and the faint scents of Clorox and Lysol
wafted out from her suite’s bathroom, now spotless
from a hearty scrubbing. At least now it was fit for
man or beast.
…it just didn’t feel like home again yet. It was
strange and disconcerting, not having Jean’s
presence in her thoughts. While Jean made it a
practice of respecting Ororo’s need for privacy, the
longtime friends maintained an empathic link,
courtesy of Jean’s telepathy, that allowed each of
them to be a barometer of the other’s mood. Ororo
needed only feel that odd sense of unease tingling
up and down her arms, making the sky overhead darken
ominously to know that Jean was projecting through
her. Her response inevitably involved grabbing her
favorite leather jacket and car keys and kidnapping
Jean from her suite to head to the ice cream parlor
in downtown Salem for some mocha almond fudge
therapy. Jean had shared a similar link with Scott,
but it ran deeper, almost devastating in its
intensity. While Jean and Ororo merely linked
feeling and impressions, exchanging the occasional
secret like sisters, Jean and Scott shared one
soul. Between the mischievous telepath and
brooding force-beam wielding loner, nothing
was secret. Jean didn’t just occupy Scott’s
thoughts, she resided in his mind,
twenty-four-seven.
Ororo shuddered, attempting to put the lid on her
imagination before it took her somewhere she had no
desire to be. She didn’t want to contemplate how
empty Scott must have felt for those last few months
after they’d lost Jean at Alkali. His sorrow…his
rage rolled off of him in waves whenever they were
in the same room together, and the only name Ororo
could give to how it felt to face him everyday was
ashamed.
She should have done more, tried harder to fight
against Jean’s hold of the Blackbird’s bay doors…or
used her winds to hold back the tides once the dam
broke…or summoned a cyclone to pull them out of
there, pulling Jean along with them. Anything.
Anything, damn it!
Ororo sucked in air through her nostrils as a clammy
sweat broke out across her flesh. The cleaning rag
dropped from her nerveless fingers and she felt what
she’d described to Hank as a “crunching” feeling in
her temples before her vision was fogged by a field
of static. The room spun as she stumbled back over
to her bed, collapsing against it like someone had
cut her strings. She bowed her face into her palms
and cupped them, panting out longer, deeper breaths
to fight the growing panic, but her fingertips still
felt cold.
“Bright Lady…hate this. I hate this,” she hissed.
Pull yourself together, Wind-Rider.
The stairs leading up to her attic creaked with
familiar footfalls. Even though Peter was the
biggest man in the house, Logan walked the heaviest
thanks to “the remarkable metal that ran through his
entire body.” She’d know his footsteps anywhere.
Even when he managed to sneak up on her, she always
sensed the change in the room or wherever she was,
like a sixth sense, when he was near. She made him
smirk with snide laughter once when he’d failed to
startle her one day after remarking to him “You’re
slipping, old man. You’d be better off trying to
pull the whiskers off a sleeping cat.”
Logan had been minding his own business, just
tossing down the small black comb that he’d flicked
haphazardly through his hair after his shower before
he headed upstairs to tell Ororo that he was going
out. Hank was puttering around in his lab in the
basement, Peter was lollygagging in the den,
watching the fight, and Ororo mumbled something
about doing a little spring cleaning, so that left
enough adults on duty to tend the flock and keep the
rugrats in check.
His senses gave him pause as he neared Ororo’s door.
He smelled panic, heard her struggling gasps and
heart slamming in her chest and didn’t bother to
knock.
“Storm?”
Whoa. Not good. He rushed over to the edge of her
bed and dropped to his knees, reaching out gently to
clasp her wrist in his beefy hand.
“Storm,” he inquired, louder and with more
determination this time, “talk t’me. Whatsamatter?”
He tugged gently on her wrist to cajole her into
looking at him. Mutely she shook her head, still
shielding her face from his gaze, her thick white
hair swishing with the motion. His fingers itched to
touch it, and he indulged himself for a brief
moment, tenderly stroking aside a lock that had
fallen over her hands.
Miserable, bloodshot brown eyes glimmered up at him
as she slid her hands low enough to meet his. Her
breathing was sharper still as she fought to
regulate it, and her shoulders were heaving with the
effort.
“Shit,” he huffed, frowning as he recognized the
emotions he found there. He knew a full-fledged
panic attack when he came across one. He released
her reluctantly and rushed into her bathroom,
looking for a cup or anything else that he could use
for water. He settled on one of Ororo’s slate blue
washcloths lying neatly folded on the counter, and
he dashed it under the cold faucet, yanking the
spigot shut with a jerky twist. He wrung it out and
hurried back and laid the rag against her nape,
nearly jumping as she jerked back from his touch.
Her eyes were glazed but frightened as she regarded
him.
“D-don’t,” she pleaded. “Don’t ha-have to be h-here,
Logan…m’fine, j-just go, please,” she insisted. She
propped herself up, leaning her elbows against her
knees and she fanned cool air onto her cheeks. Her
skin gleamed in the fading light, and florid color
rose up in angry spots on her cheekbones.
“Bullshit. Ya call this fine? Ya sure ain’t,” he
growled, stroking her arm with far less menace,
trying to quiet the shivers running through her. She
shut her eyes to ward off the persistent dizziness
and let her face fall forward, nearly tucking her
chin into her chest as Logan moved up, kneading the
knotted muscles in her shoulders. With more care and
gentleness than she thought him capable of, he
reached for the rag and gripped her chin, raising
her face up for his inspection. She felt him drag it
in smooth swipes across her cheeks and forehead,
swabbing her neck and wiping her hair off her face.
She was equally surprised when he blew a cool breath
of air against her skin, and she let her eyes
flutter shut reflexively at the caress. Bit by bit,
she began to relax, and the tension thrumming
through her torso eased. Logan was finally satisfied
when her breathing began to settle back into its
customary rhythm.
“Shit, Storm,” he grumbled, uncurling her fingers
and tucking the damp rag into it before he rose,
shaking his head at her with resignation, “ya’ve
gotta calm the fuck down.” His hackles rose as he
heard the winds whipping up outside, making the
latch on Ororo’s skylight clatter.
“I’ll take that under advisement,” she gritted out,
shooting him a glare that reminded him of a kitten
being dried off after a flea dip. He reached out for
her again as she stood, but backed off when she
waved away his assistance. Ororo stalked back to the
bathroom and chucked the washcloth into the sink
before she came out. She rummaged through her desk
drawer and found the pack of Trident spearmint gum
she was searching for. She unwrapped a piece and
popped it into her mouth, chewing it furiously. The
sharp mint stung her palate and felt cool in her
cheeks.
“Gum?” he questioned.
“Helps,” she shot back.
“Hm. ‘Kay.” Logan rubbed his palms against his faded
Levi’s as he studied her. Yup, the old prickly Ice
Britches was back and in fine form. “Have it yer
way, Boss. I’m goin’ out. Don’t wait up.”
“Why should I be surprised? Of course, shoo! Chop,
chop! Hop onto Scott’s bike and make yourself
scarce, it’s what your good at,” she carped,
whirling to face him. The haunted look was gone,
only to be replaced by disgusted impatience. She
raked her eyes over him savagely, taking in his
perfectly broken in jeans that hugged him in all of
the right places, the equally worn black leather
boots, and the royal blue flannel shirt, unbuttoned
enough to reveal his white wife beater and the
tempting sprinkle of curling dark hair peeking over
the neckline. Logan watched her throat work as she
swallowed, and he hoped she didn’t choke on her gum
next; he’d hate to have her cuss him out after
giving her the Heimlich, especially after she’d just
read him the riot act about how she was “fine.” She
mentally kicked herself for staring too long,
enjoying his roughnecked, rugged good looks and
piercing stare.
He chafed slightly as the words “Scott’s bike”
escaped her lips, and she realized her faux pas at
roughly the same time, if the way she plowed her
fingers through her rumpled waves of hair was any
indication, right before she stared down at her bare
feet.
“Awright. I’m outta here, since I ain’t needed.” He
turned away and had his hand on the knob before she
steeled herself, wondering where her manners had
gone, and called out to him.
“Wolverine,” he heard her cry, her voice plaintive;
perhaps even apologetic.
“Yeah?”
“I…I’m sorry. You came up here to let me know you
were on your way out. I appreciate it.” She dragged
her hand from her hair to the nape of her neck,
kneading it thoughtfully. “You’ve been working hard.
Having you here to take over my classes until we get
another instructor has been a real blessing, and
I’ve been too buried in paperwork and picking up
where Charles left off to say thank you.”
Self-consciously she tucked a lock of hair behind
her ear beneath his stare. The memory of his fingers
stroking her skin and tipping her face to meet his
still lingered; she couldn’t shake the feel of his
touch, even though she wanted to.
“What, no speech?” he shrugged, letting her off the
hook more easily than she deserved. “No telling me
‘if yer with us, then be with us?’ Ya scare me when
ya just go all quiet on me, ‘Roro, ya really do. I’m
even up here in yer little sanctorium,” he chuckled,
spreading his arms at her freshly cleaned loft,
“without ya jumpin’ down my throat or chewin’ my ass
about how y’aren’t ta be disturbed, since yer on
call every other moment of the day. When ya don’t
lecture me or cuss me out, I know something’s
wrong.”
“The Wolverine shows concern for his fellow
teammate!” she gasped, aghast. “It’s the seventh
sign of the apocalypse! Say your prayers, one and
all!” She shoved her narrow feet into her baby blue
velour house slippers and shimmied into a pair of
flannel pyjama bottoms for decency’s sake as she
preceded him out of her loft, bouncing down the
steps. Logan was slightly put out that she covered
up his view of her lithe legs revealed by the
form-fitting white cotton camisole and tiny little
cotton pyjama shorts, but he still had a good view
of the curve of her derriere and tiny waist. Sure,
she was team leader, headmistress of a school for
young mutant geeks and she looked at him like he was
something she wiped off the sole of her boots, but
she sure was easy on the eyes.
It didn’t help matters when he was trying to be
annoyed with her, or vice versa, that she smelled so
goddamned good. It wasn’t an overly girly scent, or
the overpowering stink of perfume, he decided; it
was the natural pheromones of her flesh, mingled
with hint of sandalwood and lavender. Even when
they’d first met, and they each stood locked in the
other’s gaze, without any trace of the hard-won
trust that characterized their friendship now, he
couldn’t help but enjoy her scent. Jean’s striking
beauty filled his vision, but he found himself
craving more of that caramel-skinned woman’s
delicate fragrance who’d taken her leave as soon as
Charles ordered him into his study.
“So yer fine now?”
“Yes. Fit as a fiddle. Go. Enjoy yourself, my
friend.” They’d reached the main floor, and Ororo
was already halfway to the refrigerator, rummaging
through the upper shelf for her Arizona Green Tea
with Honey. She grabbed it and purloined a plate and
a few Golden Oreos from the cupboard as an impromptu
dinner.
“Great example ta set for the kids,” he grumbled.
“They can do bad all by themselves; I saw Sage and
Dani coming back in from their trip to the 7-11.
They’ve bought enough junk food to feed a third
world country,” she grinned.
“Ya don’t hafta encourage it.”
“I’m not taking nutritional advice from a man who
lives on a steady diet of sugar cereal, bacon, beer
and cigars,” she flounced, taking a pull from her
bottle of tea. “And I’m just not that hungry,” she
added as an afterthought.
“Eh. Sure.” That worried him, too. Lately mealtimes
found Ororo playing mother hen, ladling food onto
the children’s plates and then making herself
scarce. A half-slice of toast, the occasional apple,
or a cup of coffee regular were all he ever saw her
grab before she escaped to Charley’s old office to
go over paperwork and student files. Those pretty
fawn brown eyes of hers had dark smudges under them
that only added to his worry. “Storm?”
“Yes, Wolverine?” His use of her codename was to get
her attention, she knew, and she baited him with his
own, almost as though she were spoiling for an
argument. The prospect of going a few rounds with
him warmed her; it would keep him in the kitchen a
little longer.
“Quit lettin’ yerself get so wound up. Don’t keep
all this shit to yerself. If ya wanna talk, then
talk.” He absently patted his pockets for his keys,
heard their telltale jingle, then met her eyes
again. “One-Eye wasn’t the only pair of ears in this
joint. I know ya were close, and ya miss him, an’
all, but…”
“I miss all of them,” she corrected him, her voice
back on edge. “You haven’t been here that long,
Wolverine, so I don’t expect you to know what I had
in Jean, Charles and Scott.” Ororo emphasized the
last two names so her intent would be clear. He’d
made it obvious where his loyalties lay that fateful
night that they’d boarded the Blackbird and set
their destination for Alcatraz Island. She unscrewed
the top from her Oreo and licked the beige wafer
thoughtfully. Logan’s gut tightened as he watched
her little pink tongue dart out and lave the cookie,
lapping up the white cream like the proverbial cat.
He was roused from the sight by her dismissal by her
next words. “Goodnight, Wolverine.”
“Yeah,” he huffed, stomping out the kitchen door,”
goodnight.”
Stubborn, uppity frail. Fine, then. His favorite
barstool at Harry’s and a bottle of Jack Daniels
were calling his name. See if he cared.
Then he kicked himself. Of course he friggin’ cared.
Like it or lump it, she’d gotten under his skin
again. He rode to Harry’s, trying to find
comfortable purchase around an erection that he
could hang his hat on, shifting himself on the
supple leather bike seat to no avail. Damn it.
Downstairs, sub-basement level, Dr. McCoy’s lab:
Hank studied the rock samples that Ororo had brought
back from Alkali Lake the same day that she and
Logan retrieved Jean from the shore. For the past
few weeks, between teaching literature classes at
the Institute and holding meetings with the
Secretary of Defense, Hank had been tinkering with
the samples, scraping off specimens and studying
them more closely under the microscopes and various
examination arrays, trying to make sense of the
energy readings they still emitted, even with Jean
deceased. He placed the rock sample in the Petri
dish, then placed the wafer-thin plastic lid over it
to keep the rock from bobbing out. Hank keyed in a
few commands and adjusted the magnification, then
switched to different modes of scan.
He turned away after several minutes, rubbing his
eyes in exhaustion. Blast. Nothing. He kept coming
up empty. He sighed, then turned away from the
monitor to peer at the old pair of ruby quartz
goggles that Scott used to use during Danger Room
sessions and everyday use, when his visor was too
bulky. Hank hung them like a talisman from the hook
on the wall, and as a makeshift memorial to his
oldest friend. The fluorescent lamps shone on the
lenses, making their crimson surfaces wink at him.
Out of recent habit, Hank rose and stretched,
letting his joints pop into more reasonable
positions before he lumbered over to the hook. He
plucked them off the wall and stroked the stems of
the spectacles, making a rumbling sound in his
throat.
“Hm.” A thought occurred to him – he was a genius,
so this happened pretty often – that he hadn’t
considered ruby quartz as a new element to his
study, to examine the effects. He peered into the
goggles, squinting his catlike yellow eyes, then
slowly put them on.
“My stars and garters,” he exclaimed under his
breath. “So this is what it was like, living in your
world, my friend.” Everything glowed a brilliant
red; in variegated depths of shade, granted, but red
nonetheless. He returned to his specimen and bent
down to look at it again through the lens.
Oh, my. This changes everything.
The pebble was webbed with a tiny, glowing network
of crimson filaments, wavering and interconnecting
like a hive of ants. The rock itself wasn’t what was
remarkable, so much as the force that animated it.
As much as he hated to drop one more quandary onto
Ororo’s overloaded plate, his feet padded upstairs
to show her his findings.
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