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While You Were Out
07. Busy Signals
Author: OriginalCeenote
Summary: Things begin to happen at Oyama Heavy Industries. Logan
makes an uneasy return home.
Author's Note: If you don't like the visual image in your head of anyone
losing their organs, skip this chapter. Just a heads-up.
They enjoyed playing with her.
Yuriko chanted the declaration in her head like a
mantra everyday when they changed the bags of
nutrient fluid that sustained her. The young interns
occasionally brought in laughably insignificant,
tasteless rations of solid food, as though they were
doing her a favor. Her organs – or what passed for
them – had long healed from the damage inflicted by
the adamantium clot lodged in her abdomen. Stryker
and his favorite pet, Doctor Cornelius, were taking
their sweet time reconfiguring her neural net and
recharging the nannites fortifying her circulatory
system and higher brain functions.
They’d forgotten about the woman inside the machine.
Machines couldn’t express rage. Machines had no
soul.
But they could be programmed to kill. That was all
Stryker wanted when he’d “drafted” the Wolverine
into the Program, a killing machine. Rather than
scrap the program that left a few dozen Program
operatives and technicians dead and Cornelius
grievously wounded, they decided to create a new
weapon using “recycled parts,” namely the unwanted
female heir to Lord Darkwind’s technological empire.
Girls were useless; her status as a mutant made her
undesirable, a liability to her family name and
dynasty. Stryker, the Oyama family’s trusted tutor
and colleague, was the natural choice named as
executor of the estates and Oyama Heavy Industries,
the leader in the cybernetic field.
She’d already known shame and was no stranger to
rejection. Thanks to her tutor’s persuasive methods,
she knew pain. The drugs had kept her docile
and malleable. The nannites bolstered her natural
healing factor, repairing near-fatal damage three
times faster than her own body would allow. From the
first moment that the cybernetics were grafted to
her body and the adamantium burned its way into her
veins, setting her nerve endings on fire, she knew
rage.
That rage had found a target in the retired Army
sergeant constantly spouting scriptures and dosing
her with the strength-enhancing, mind-altering
narcotics.
And here he comes…
“Good morning, Yuriko,” he called out cheerfully,
his heavy footsteps preceded by the squeal of the
steel hinges of her chamber door. The room was a
box, undecorated save for the tiny blue glass of
daisies that one of the female technicians
sympathetically believed would “brighten things up a
bit.” She vowed that her death would be quicker than
the rest, as a courtesy.
She remained silent; bitterly she remembered that
was how he preferred her during their tutoring
sessions. Be seen, not heard. But it was the nature
of the predator to never been seen, nor heard. The
thought of ripping his still-beating heart from his
chest and showing it to him brought the tiniest
quirk of a smile to her lips.
His back was turned as he took off his wool peacoat
and hung it on the hook. Briefly, she tested the
strength of the steel cuffs securing her to the bed.
She felt the faintest hint of give.
Stryker approached the bed, his glance appraising
and clinical. “Your color’s looking better today.”
He flipped up the hospital gown hem and studied the
long, slender scar that trailed from her rib cage
all the way to her navel. “Beautiful,” he mused.
“You’re a marvel of science, Yuriko. You get gutted,
pumped full of adamantium, and practically carve
yourself open like a Christmas turkey, and there’s
hardly a mark on you.” Amusement colored his tone,
but his smile was still measured and chilly. “Don’t
get too comfortable. This afternoon we’ll be making
a trip to the sub-basement to adjust your neural net
and connect you to the mainframe. Cornelius kindly
installed some new failsafes and combat protocols,
as well as a new GPS system, so you’ll never venture
off the grid, no matter where we assign you. Isn’t
that nice?” he drawled.
She’d show him nice. Sugar and spice, that’s what
little girls were made of.
As soon as he left, pleading other obligations
needing his attention, Jason touched her mind again,
as if to ask “Is he gone?” Yuriko smiled,
looking almost beautiful again.
Soon, she told him. Very soon.
Sub-basement level, Oyama Heavy Industries:
“I think our girl could use a change of scenery,”
Cornelius murmured. “She’s a little restless today.”
Within the confines of a glassed-in observation
suite, the red-haired occupant focused on something
small and insignificant in the corner of the room.
More of Cornelius’ beloved classical music flooded
the room at low volume as she reeled mutely from the
last dosage of psychotropics. Her nape still stung
from the searing absorption of the fast-acting
narcotic. She swayed slightly, whether it was to the
music or caused by some vision in her mind, Stryker
couldn’t tell.
“When will she be ready?”
“That depends on our girl here. Here are the results
of the last few sessions with her memory recall,
psych interviews with the interns and techs, and
we’ve already started running tests. It’s been
promising so far.”
“Is she…still one of them?” Stryker asked, almost
dreading the answer. They were so close. Cornelius
sighed and scratched his scarred scalp.
“…yes. She is. We don’t know the extent of her
power, whether the telekinesis can still be
accessed, or if the genetic duplication of those
neural cells caused any damage. We need to be sure.
These things can’t be rushed.”
“I need her, Cornelius!”
“I know, Sergeant. But I need to run some more
tests.”
“What are you looking for?”
“The duplication process was a success. In all the
ways that matter, she’s Jean Grey. Her own momma
wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. But for
what you need her for, we need to dig a little
deeper. See if she has all of her memories.
Instincts. Loves. Relationships.” Stryker shot him a
look that told him he wasn’t buying it. “Every tool
has an ‘on’ switch, Sergeant. We need to make sure
hers still works. It’s a delicate process.” Stryker
strode back to the chest of drawers and dove back
into the one he wanted, withdrawing the slender
plastic sheath.
“All you need to do is turn it on, Doctor,” he
grumbled. Without further preamble, he overrode the
security protocol and unlocked the chamber door.
Cornelius hung back and waited, watching him with
trepidation.
“Jean?”
“Hmm?” She quirked a slender, arched eyebrow at him
and smiled beneficently, reminding Stryker of
Botticelli’s auburn-curled beauties that his wife
used to love so much whenever she dragged him to any
of the museums at Golden Gate Park for the
afternoon.
“I’ve got something for you, sweetheart. A present.”
“For me?” She looked at him quizzically.
“You’ll like this.” He reached into the plastic
sleeve and withdrew the engagement ring, still
slightly tarnished, then held it out to her. The dim
light of the chamber was still enough to heighten
the beauty of the stone, throwing tiny prisms across
his fingers as he brandished it in front of her.
“That’s mine,” she breathed. It wasn’t a question.
“Yes it is,” he agreed. “Take it. Try it on.” She
never hesitated, but her fingers trembled slightly
as she plucked it from his thickened fingers. She
peered at it from different angles, and her brow
furrowed slightly as she read the inscription,
mouthing the words silently before she slid it onto
her left ring finger.
“Scott,” she murmured. She looked at Stryker with a
million questions. “I know him. He’s…he’s important.
Special to me.” She gazed down at the ring again.
“He loves me,” she pronounced.
“Of course he does. Who wouldn’t?” His tone was
cajoling and light.
“He’s very special,” she repeated. Her green eyes
narrowed slightly as she continued to focus on the
ring.
Before his very eyes, the ring glowed and gleamed as
minute particles of tarnish and mildew began to
float off the ring; the metal was fortified and
polished, nearly good as new as she turned her hand
this way and that, nodding when she was satisfied.
“So are you, Miss Grey.”
Back at Westchester:
“How d’you sleep with those things, War?” Jubilee
asked her winged classmate around a mouthful of
pancake.
“Dunno. I just…sleep, I guess,” he admitted,
ruffling his feathers as he considered the question.
He watched Jubilee over the rim of his orange juice
glass. “Why do you ask?”
“Just curious, is all. They’re just so…big. And
wingy,” she hedged, beginning to feel like a royal
doofus for asking.
And beautiful, she silently admitted. Let’s not
forget that. Majestic, snowy white and
dream-inspiring, if you wanted to be totally honest,
which she didn’t. The Worthington kid was too darned
pretty for his own good, and for hers.
Especially since guys never liked her that way,
anyway. Kitty never seemed like the kinda girl guys
would go nuts for, in Jubi’s opinion, but she had
Bobby and Peter drooling over her when they thought
no one was looking. Sure, she was smart, cute,
funny, could dance…never mind. She WAS the kind of
girl guys went nuts for.
It wasn’t like she was a total hag, or
anything. She’d been aces on her old gymnastics team
back at central Hollywood High…at least until her
power manifested, and a hail of fireworks took out
that whole bank of bleachers and set everyone
stampeding out of the gym. That sucked. Her parents
were mortified, but she couldn’t even get upset
with them for being upset with her for
long. The police met her at her house one afternoon
and had to cart her off, kicking and screaming at
the top of her lungs once they’d delivered the blow
that her parents had been killed.
Ororo talked her out of her life of casual crime
when she found her at the mall after hours, about to
break back inside to her hidey hole in the Macy’s
bedding section. It was the closest thing she had to
a roof over her head.
“You’re out past curfew, young lady.”
“I don’t have a curfew. I don’t answer to anybody.
What’s it to you, Miss Busy Body?”
“The police put out an alert that they think they’ve
found the individual responsible for multiple
break-ins and for the damage to their security
cameras. They mentioned that there was a short
caused by what looked like a self-contained
explosion that burned through and fried the panel.”
Her brown eyes were kind. “You’re too young for
jail, but they wouldn’t bat an eyelash before
throwing you into juvenile hall. I don’t think you
belong there.”
“Where do I belong then?”
“At a school where you can hone your gifts, and make
new friends who understand what it’s like to
occasionally be feared, and who were also
displaced.” She smiled, lighting up a face that was
already ridiculously beautiful. “Interested?”
It was kinda cool, Jubilee mused, having a teacher
who used to be a thief, and who was also an orphan.
Dani was a cool roomie, too, even if she did
occasionally pull nightmares out of her head in the
middle of the night after they’d all watched too
many horror movies; she’d already vowed never to
watch The Ring again after dark.
“Wingy?” Warren grinned.
“Well, for lack of a better word, dude. What was it
like?”
“What was what like?”
“When you…you know. Had ‘the Big Change.’ Did you
just wake up one day looking like the tails side of
a quarter?” She covered the awkwardness with
sarcasm, her usual safety net.
“Gee, thanks! And no. Maybe things would have been
different…maybe I would’ve had a life outside of the
house for a little while longer.”
“What happened?” She paused in drenching her
remaining pancakes with maple syrup, swiping her
fingertip across the spout and licking off the last
gooey drop thoughtfully. The gesture distracted him
for a moment; she had a really, really pretty little
mouth, he realized. She just…ran it so frequently.
Jubi was a total chatterbox, and he never had a clue
what she’d bust loose with next.
“I mutated early,” he explained, “and it wasn’t the
easiest thing to explain to a school nurse, why I
had to wear a big heavy jacket even in spring. She
homeschooled me. No more play dates, no more sports,
nada. Sucked,” he admitted.
“Yeah,” she agreed. “That would. I’m kinda hyper, I
need time out of the house. I get too restless when
I’m cooped up.”
“No, really?” He feigned surprise, and she thumbed
her nose at him from across the table. “You, HYPER?”
But he could relate to the “cooped up” part pretty
well.
“Whaddever. My mom used to say it was just a phase.”
She tucked back into her pancakes. “She was always
trying to limit my sugar. Don’t know why.” For a
petite girl, she had the appetite of a truck driver,
he marveled. He respected that. Her metabolism was
almost as fast as his, since she never gained an
ounce. Like Kitty, she was one of the only kids in
the school who could handle Kurt’s old jungle gym
obstacle course in the Danger Room, flying through
the various hoops and over the oddly angled bars,
light as a feather. She was fun to watch.
He’d found himself watching her more often, lately.
“See ya, Jubes.”
“Later, War,” she mumbled before taking a long swig
of her milk. She wiped the mustache off her lip and
waved to him, then craned her head to watch him
stride down the hall. Dang, he was easy on the eyes.
Downstairs in the Danger Room, Scott and Ororo ran
him through another series of exercises prescribed
by Scott’s physical therapist. She spotted him on
the lateral pull, standing behind him and resting
her hands on the bar as she encouraged him to try
one more.
“Nice work, Scott, that’s it, breathe through it…”
Out of long habit, she breathed out with him, even
though he was doing all the work. He grunted and
gave the bar one last clean jerk before she helped
him to release it slowly and evenly. She backed away
to let him stretch and get his bearings, tossing him
a small white towel.
“Thanks. Whoo! It’s not supposed to be this hard,”
he groused. “It’s like I haven’t worked out in
months!”
“You haven’t. Not this you, anyway,” she pointed
out.
“I’m not any different,” he muttered. “Same old me,
Ororo.”
“I’m a bad judge of that, I guess. I’ve never seen
your eyes up until now, you realize that, don’t
you?” She tugged the towel from his hands and rubbed
his sweaty hair dry.
“Ouch! Smarts! Gimme that!” He stole the towel back
and gave her a playful shove. “It’s still weird,” he
murmured. “Seeing things this way. Everything looks
too close. Hank told me it’s just my spatial
awareness coming back into whack, or something along
that line. His explanation was much more cerebral
than that, but it’s different seeing everything
without a constant red haze, and less magnified than
I remember. And things don’t pulse anymore.”
“They don’t…pulse?”
“Yeah. It was this little flicker that I used to see
around anything that used or threw off energy. Like
Cerebro,” he tossed out. “Or the Blackbird, lasers,
blasters, you name it. I don’t know if that was tied
into my power itself, or it was the goggles.”
“Got me,” she shrugged. “Scott, do you miss what you
could do?”
“I feel like I should,” he admitted, “but no. Not
one damn bit. It’s just…nice. I can look at myself
in the mirror and see the real me when I wake up in
the morning. I’m actually in control. No kooky red
glasses that make people sidestep me in the subway.”
“That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. People on
subways make me uncomfortable,” she tsked.
“The whole experience of riding one in the first
place creeps you out, ‘Ro, don’t blame it on the
people.” He recanted a moment later. “I take that
back. This is New York. Wanna borrow my goggles?”
“Next time I go into town,” she jibed. “How are you
feeling today, Scott?”
“Stiff. Tired. Can’t sleep lately.”
“Let me suit up; I’ll meet you in the steam room.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
An hour later, Ororo was standing over Scott,
leaning over his prone form and massaging the knots
out of his lower back with her knuckles, evoking
groans that she claimed “sound like a bull moose
during mating season.”
“That’s it. I’m done, stick a fork in me. That felt
sooooooooo goooooooood,” he mumbled. His muscles
were limp putty in her hands as she kneaded out the
last of the tension in his neck.
“My pleasure. You know I’m only gonna work you that
much harder tomorrow.”
“Slave driver,” he pouted.
“It’s a dirty job,” she quipped.
“You’re enjoying it too much.”
“I am, actually. I’m just getting you back for
riding my butt back when I first came to the school.
You’re such a Boy Scout!”
“Am not,” he griped.
“Are too.”
“Not.”
“Too. And you’ll give me the last word, or I quit
rubbing and leave you a quivering heap.”
“You’re mean.”
“It’s a dirty job,” she repeated.
That’s how Logan found them as he made his way out
of the locker room to steal a much needed steam bath
that his muscles were screaming for after his long
ride. Ororo was wearing a tiny black bikini that he
was certain was illegal in at least twelve states
and had a tiny gym towel slung around her hips. Her
caramel skin was flushed with color from the steam
room and was glowing with good health, adding to her
earthy, sexy appeal. His gut did a funny little
twist when he saw – and heard – Scott moaning and
groaning beneath her touch, sounding like a guy
who’d just busted a nut. His eyes were closed, but
his face was relaxed and smeared with bliss.
That was his bliss, damn it. He fought the
urge to run over and knock Scooter off the massage
table and claim it was an accident. Oops, my elbow
slipped, my bad, see? Didn’t even leave a mark…
Her smile was peaceful and full of satisfaction as
she effleuraged his deltoids and shoulder blades in
long sweeping strokes. Her slender hands were
skilled and handled him knowingly, like she had done
this before. That sent all the wrong images into his
head and made him want to tear someone’s head off.
Scott picked that moment to open one sleepy eye and
wave limply to him. “Hey, Logan.”
“Scooter. Storm.” He rubbed the back of his neck,
ruffling the back of his already tousled hair. Ororo
looked up at him like nothing untoward was going on,
looking nothing like a little girl who’d been caught
with her hand in the cookie jar. She just smiled at
him more broadly, as though it was an everyday
occurrence for her to oil Summers down and massage
him into an unintelligible, groaning puddle.
“When did you get back?”
“Little while ago. Am I interruptin’ anything?” He
cocked his brow. She met it with a delicate quirk of
her own.
“Not at all. I’m just rubbing out a few kinks. Scott
here worked hard, and deserved a little reward.”
“If I’m really good I get a belly rub and a dog
biscuit after this,” Scott drawled. “Mmmmmm.” He
telegraphed how good Ororo’s hands felt as she ran
her fingertips over the tendons behind his ears and
exerted gentle pressure.
“Ain’t this cozy,” he growled. “Steam room. I’m
headed into the steam room. Already told Pete and
Blue that I’m back.” He turned his back on the pair
and stomped into the wet sauna, plotting Scott’s
death and how to make it look like an acc…oh, fuck
it all. He was a trained assassin. Wasn’t like
they’d suspect anyone else, and he had plenty of
motive.
The hissing from multiple jets echoed off the fogged
privacy glass walls as Logan slipped off his tank
top and chucked it onto the tile floor. The steam
filled his lungs, helping him couch up acres of dust
and Lord knew what else that he’d inhaled on his
trip home. His thighs screamed in protest when he
parked the bike in the garage and climbed the stairs
to his room to check his messages. His knuckles
still itched from the beating he’d given them
slicing his way in, and then out of the dingy, moldy
complex. The souped up motor on Scott’s custom bike
– scratch that, HIS bike til Scooter reclaimed it –
vibrated and thrummed through his muscles, leaving
his hands pulsing all the way up to his elbows.
A sense of possessiveness washed over him, duking it
out with the raw envy when he saw Scott with Ororo,
writhing beneath her touch. She radiated contentment
and exuded a sensual awareness of his flesh, of what
would feel good.
The tell-tale musk of Scott’s arousal hit him like a
bucket of icy water. He was glad he high-tailed it
out of the locker room before Scott stood up from
that table, or he would have seen too much – WAY
more than he needed to.
Back in the massage suite, Ororo gave Scott’s
shoulder one final pat. “Off you go,” she announced.
“This is cool. I never thought it could feel like
this.”
“I’ve given you back rubs before,” she argued,
wiping the residue of oil from her hands on a nearby
towel. Her tone held a hint of indignance at the
implication that she hadn’t relieved his basic aches
and pains on various occasions after missions or
workouts.
“No, not that. I mean how it feels to make the
Wolverine jealous enough to take my head off. Man,
what a rush!” Ororo stared at him as though he’d
just farted in church. “Excuse me?” Those cobalt
blue eyes twinkled with unsuppressed wickedness.
“C’mon, don’t act like you didn’t notice. The scowl,
the flared nostrils, the menacing growl…it was
friggin’ classic. The man was pissed off! He’s
finally getting a taste of his own medicine, and I
got to hold the spoon! I get a back rub from a
pretty lady and a chance at revenge, all in one
day.”
“That’s ridiculous.” She adjusted the towel around
her hips, tightening it before she helped Scott up
from the table. “It’s not like that, Summers. He
doesn’t feel that way about me.” She skipped telling
him that he only felt that way about one woman who
would remain nameless.
“Please! He caught another guy getting cozy with his
woman, it was written all over him.”
“Except that I’m not his woman. He wasn’t jealous,”
she declared. “Now drop it.”
“Someone’s mighty defensive.” He waggled his
eyebrows at her meaningfully. “Next time, we could
let him catch you rubbing my front…?” he suggested.
“Awful. You’re incorrigible. I’m giving you another
set of reps on every machine tomorrow; keep pushing
me if you want two.” He sighed gustily and shook his
head as he reached for his crutches.
“Sure. Logan gets you riled up, and you take it out
on me. How’s that fair?”
“No less fair than you badgering me about him.
There’s nothing between us.” As an afterthought, she
nagged him, “And don’t bait him like that.”
“Sorry, Ororo, but it’s too damned fun.” He ambled
off with strong, even thrusts of the crutches toward
his locker. “Gonna hit the shower. See you at
dinner, Munroe.”
“Later, Summers.” The squeak of the latex cushion
pads on his crutches faded off into the background
as she retrieved her bottle of massage oil and put
it back in the large cabinet. She eyed a stack of
snowy white shower towels and thoughtfully left one
outside the men’s shower suite on the bench after
she heard the spray hitting the tile, telling her
Scott was already out of sight. Then she headed back
to the steam room with two thick, neatly folded
towels for Logan.
The steam jets had already turned themselves off
with a loud thunk, and the interior of the sauna was
fogged with a gray haze that she almost couldn’t see
her hand through. She called out to him briefly,
trying to let her eyes adjust. “Logan?” She heard
the sound of someone moving on the tiled platform.
“I brought you some towels,” she offered. “I’ll just
set them –“ She yelped out loud in surprise when he
loomed up at her from the fog and heat, manacling
her wrist in a stubborn grip, and she dropped the
towels, raising her hand to her chest.
“Don’t do that again,” she gasped. Her heart slammed
in response to his touch.
“Sorry. Thanks.” His eyes burned into her as he got
a good look at the shock flooding her face.
“I was just dropping these off.”
“Don’t run off just yet.” His eyes raked their way
down her body, taking in her rosy skin, every inch
of it revealed to perfection by the daring little
suit. The front of the bikini was knotted shut,
tempting his fingers to unwrap her goodies for
closer inspection. Her abdomen was taut and firm,
and her tiny waist led down to a curvy pair of hips
that he’d previously only had the chance to admire
in that snug leather costume, or those faded jeans
that fit her like a second skin. When she wasn’t
looking, he enjoyed watching her hip pockets walking
away.
“I need to get back upstairs.”
“I just got here. Wouldn’t mind some company,” he
rumbled, giving her wrist a little tug to make her
stumble closer. Her eyes sparked with irritation.
“Thanks, but I’ve already had enough steam.”
“Bull. Those look like goosebumps, darlin’, ya look
like ya could use a little more warmin’ up t’me.”
Callused fingers crept up her arm, stroking the
tender flesh idly, getting to know the satiny
texture of her skin, which indeed was flush
with a hint of gooseflesh. Her stomach quivered at
the caress, and she felt her nipples stiffening
traitorously into taut little buds beneath her top.
“I’m fine, Logan. Trust me.”
“I do. And ya are. Damned fine, darlin’.” He lazily
skimmed his fingers over her collarbones, tracing
and exploring it to memorize every slope and hollow.
Her mouth went dry as she continued to stare at him.
The steam slicked his flesh and left his dark hair
curling in unruly waves around his temples. The fine
mat of hair on his chest and forearms glistened and
emphasized his bulging pectorals and washboard
stomach. His entire body was a melody of rippling,
springy muscle, and Ororo fought not to let her eyes
linger too long. She mentally kicked herself when he
caught the hunger in her gaze.
“I can’t stay. I’ve got…chores. I need to handle
some paperwork.”
“Gotta hurry off, huh?” He tugged on a lock of her
hair, twirling it around his finger, and he released
her wrist only to snake his arm around her waist
instead.
“Oh!” she gasped when he yanked her against him. His
skin was hot and slippery as their bellies touched,
and she felt something firm insistently nudging
against the apex of her thighs. “I-I should go,” she
stammered. His eyes grew hooded and flicked over her
mouth.
“Ya probably should,” he agreed, “but I’m tryin’ not
ta take offense at not gettin’ a proper welcome
home.” Reflexively her palms found his chest, and
she nearly moaned at how good he felt.
“It’s good to have you back.” What stunned her was
the admission that it really was.
“Thanks. Nice ta be back. But talk’s cheap, ‘Roro.”
He was almost playful as he rubbed the tip of her
nose with his, just a fleeting touch, and just close
enough to tickle her lips with his breath. “Show
me,” he demanded. He clutched more of her hair,
raking his fingers through the silky mass and
skimming the backs of his fingers down her jaw.
“Show you what?” she whispered, locked in his gaze.
“That yer happy ta see me,” he confirmed. “Don’t
leave a man guessing,” he growled, crushing her
mouth with hers, stealing the taste that he craved.
Her strangled moan against his lips enflamed him,
and he slanted his mouth over hers again and again,
feeling triumphant when her arms wrapped around his
neck. She couldn’t get enough of the feel of him;
desire raced through her veins as his fingers
stroked their way down her back before cupping the
rounded globes of her bottom. Another growl against
her lips told her that he liked what he found. He
dragged the towel from her hips and let it drop
silently to the floor, giving his hands better
access to roam her body’s treasures and delights.
“Logan!” Whose voice was that, sounding so breathy,
ragged and desperate? her mind demanded.
“Missed you,” he grated out, nipping her sensitive
earlobe between his teeth. She ground her body
wantonly against his hardness in agreement and
nodded, leaning her head back to better allow him to
devour her neck. A groan escaped him as her own
hands kneaded the tension out of his shoulders,
easing the discomforts of his trip home.
“Then stop going away,” she suggested. “I was right
here. You knew where to find me.” She pulled back,
cupping his jaw between her palms. “All you left me
was a note.”
“Thought it’d help,” he confessed weakly.
“It didn’t. I went a little crazy when Hank said
that the bike was gone. You worried the crap out of
me. Don’t do that again.” He ducked his chin to
nibble her palm and taste her pulse.
“Can’t promise anything, darlin’,” he admitted.
“Try.” She did her best imitation of his growl; he
was impressed.
“Ya knew I’d come back.” His eyes were dark and rich
with promises of sin and a reminder of the kiss
they’d shared in the infirmary. He kissed her again,
tugging on her lip and sucking it greedily.
“So that meant it was okay to leave?” His cocky tone
chafed her; that was the only thing stopping her
from ripping his boxers off of him and taking him on
the tile.
“Had to.” This time he averted his eyes, and Ororo
calmly removed herself from his grip.
“Because of what happened with Scott?”
“That was only part of it. There were a few things I
never got around to back at Alkali before we got
Scooter back.” And he wouldn’t have done things over
for a second; bringing them back to the mansion and
making sure Ororo was safe and sound took precedence
over everything else.
“You can’t keep haring off,” she sighed. “We need
you. But if we have to learn how to get along
without you whenever you get itchy feet, Logan, then
we’ll just have to muddle through.”
“Ya know it wasn’t like that,” he grumbled,
scowling. Her eyes flashed at him briefly, and he
could smell the shift in her body chemistry and
posture. Those slender arms crossed themselves under
her chest. Yup, she was ticked again. “I had ta get
back inside the compound. Too much of my past is
locked up in that place, Ororo. And I know Stryker
was there.”
“It’s impossible. There was no way he could have
gotten loose.”
“That’s what he was happy enough ta let us believe.
He came after me, and brought this mess ta our front
door, Ororo, and tried ta hurt the kids. He’s out
there, he ain’t finished with us, and I don’t want
that bastard hittin’ us where we live again. Never
again.” His tone hardened with his last words. He
bent down and handed her back her discarded towel.
Their fingers brushed as she took it, and she felt
the same tingle run up her arm, but forced her
feelings back down and clamped the lid tight.
“Logan?”
“Yeah?”
“I told you back at the lake that I felt Jean inside
me.” She wrapped the towel around her torso this
time, covering herself to shield her bounty as she
dropped the sixty-four dollar question. “Did you go
back there to find signs of Stryker, or to bring her
back?”
“I don’t hafta answer that.” He straightened up,
stiff as a poker before he grabbed one of the towels
she brought inside and wrapped it around his neck.
The last of their tentative connection dissolved.
“I think you just did.” She spun on her heel and
strode out of the sauna, letting the door swish shut
behind her.
“Aw, hell,” he grumbled.
Thankfully, Scooter had already headed upstairs by
the time he dragged himself into the shower stall,
dashing himself with the cold spray to rid himself
of the lingering effects of Ororo’s sweet body
pressed against his.
Oyama Heavy Industries:
The klaxons rang out, filling the steel corridors of
the sub-basement with their droning clamor as Yuriko
strode confidently through the unit, her arm
occasionally flying out, gouging through flesh and
bone as the technicians made their futile attempts
to stop her. The first one to die had been the most
satisfying, his look of shock almost hilarious when
he realized that her wrist was no longer securely
bound by the manacles in the wall. She dangled the
cuff from her clawed fingertips before slashing him
through the jugular. Blood and gore sprayed from the
wound, and she stepped over his twitching, gurgling
bulk as she casually kicked the door off its hinges.
It felt so good to break something. And it was time
to stretch her legs. She paused by the still-warm
corpse of the kindly intern who made a gift of the
limp daisies in her cubicle and quickly stripped her
of her standard issue khaki uniform, callously
leaving her face down as she continued toward the
special room with palm identification security
locks.
She lengthened her claws into pincer-like skewers
and plunged them into the panel, shorting it out.
The shower of sparks it emitted was almost pretty,
she grinned to herself.
Ahhh, Doctor Cornelius…
He had the nerve to look shocked. “Yuriko…you
shouldn’t be down here…”
“My family name’s on the sign outside, your salary
is paid from my late father’s coffers,” she offered
coolly, “and it’s Lady Yuriko, Doctor. You forget
yourself.” Futilely he darted and ducked, throwing
rolling chairs in her path as he stumbled into the
observation cubicle, cursing Stryker as he fled.
He left him there, a sitting duck once the alert had
been sent out from the top floor that she’d broken
loose. There was only static when he attempted to
use the intercom and radio the sentries. His pulse
was uneven, throbbing in his neck, and a cold sweat
broke out over his scarred flesh.
“Don’t,” he warned, brandishing a gun. She just
smiled.
“Don’t what?” she purred cheerfully. Her eyes were
obsidian chips, no longer the eerie, glowing blue
indicating that her nannites and neural net were in
sync with the mainframe at the complex, set to
Stryker’s usual command protocols.
“We made you. We gave you a life.” Well, now he
was just talking himself into a corner. “Your
father said you wouldn’t suit his purposes! Look at
what you’ve become! Think of what you could yet be!”
“Machines don’t have life,” she corrected him,
tutting slightly.
“No. You’re unique. Precision technology. State of
the art nannites. Self-repairing. The ultimate
weapon.” He recited almost word for word his own
notes from her original file when they’d begun the
project, following on the heels of the Wolverine’s
“hasty departure” from Alkali. “Beautiful,” he
breathed. If he could just keep her listening…
She flicked her claws casually, letting the light
glint off the liquid metal. “I’m not human anymore.
Not really. That didn’t matter to you when my father
revealed my mutation. I became a commodity. A donor
for your little experiments,” she shrugged. “What do
you think of your little lab rat now?”
“Lady Yuriko,” he whimpered, then he broke away a
millisecond before she could lung for him, shoving
himself backward into the tiny, nearly airless
bunker. He kicked it shut and engaged the locks,
diving for the drawer where he kept his stun blaster
and a supply of sedative darts for instances such as
these. He expected the door to implode any moment,
or at the very least to hear her banging away at it.
It was reinforced steel, nearly a foot thick, built
like a vault.
He was awed when he heard his favorite Rachmaninoff
symphony being piped into the observation suite.
More sweat broke out on his forehead, dripping into
his eyes as he loaded the blaster with a cartridge
and prepared the sedative darts. He leaned his back
against the door, pressing his entire weight against
it for good measure. He knew it was a lost cause,
but even if he could buy himself some time…destroy
the files…clean the database to leave a cold trail…
He waited. Listened for her foot steps. The music
tortured him for a few minutes, taking him back to
simpler times, when he was a fledgling researcher
with a passion for genetic codes and manipulation of
the amazing new alloy patented by Darkwind’s
colleagues. Landing the job had been a feather in
his cap –
A shiver ran down his spine, making his heart slam
in his chest as he heard her lilting hum. She was
truly a diplomat’s daughter; she picked up the
melody and maintained perfect pitch. She reached the
crescendo, and he heard the sickening, twisting
crunch of metal impaling flesh. She wiggled her
claws, twisting them in his chest cavity.
He grunted in shock as she extracted his heart and
yanked it out of his back. His eyes rolled up as if
looking toward heaven, then saw nothing. He slumped
to the floor, bathing it in a rapidly spreading pool
of gore.
He never heard the fading symphony, or her bemused
observation made from the other side of the
punctured door.
“It’s bigger than I thought.” The useless organ hit
the floor with a splat.
She continued to hum the symphony on her way out of
the suite, shucking the offending hospital gown
after she used it to wipe the blood from her hands.
She retrieved the uniform and hopped into it, then
began her search for Jason’s suite. To her delight,
he reached out to her, sending her a visual guide to
his location and confirming that yes, his father had
fled the complex with his pretty new charge. His
next question twisted her lips into a smile. Do
you want me to play with them?
Yes.
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