Logan sat up in bed and swung his legs over the side, yawning and scratching absently at his chest. He'd left the blinds open again, and the bright April sunshine was pouring in the window, making a Saturday morning sleep-in impossible. Not that he would anyway...it seemed like all he had done since returning a week ago was sit around, doing nothing. The school was damned boring, at least to him, when there wasn't some threat outside. He had no desire to teach, although Xavier had tried to talk him into teaching some self-defense classes. The thought of being trapped in a room with a handful of idiot teenagers, mutant or no, made his knuckles itch.
There were his conversations with Rogue, but she had become fully immersed in her new friends...as she should be, he thought with a grin...and was usually in the company of the two walking giggleboxes, Kitty and Jubilee. The constant tittering grated on his ears, and so he had spent most of the week avoiding everybody, sulking in his room or in the Danger Room, pounding out his frustrations on imaginary enemies.
He stood up and stretched, relishing the sound of his spine cracking. He could go for some coffee...with maybe a shot of whiskey. He had slept in his black sweatpants, but his chest was bare, and he didn't want to risk running into the girls without a shirt on as he was on the way to the kitchen. The few times Rogue's friends had caught him bare chested they had stared with saucer eyes, then burst into fits of nervous giggling that had set his teeth on edge. Logan didn't care for a repeat performance.
Quickly pulling a black sweatshirt over his head (one of the many given to him with the school's logo on the left breast), he opened his door and loped down the hall. The smell of fresh coffee hit him squarely, and he cracked a feral grin as he headed for the slice of light pouring through the kitchen door at the end of the corridor. It was way too early on a Saturday morning for the kids to be up yet, and that meant he could enjoy his coffee and Mr. Jack Daniel's in peace.
Striding through the door, he was surprised to see Ororo already up and seated at the table. She was in her bathrobe, a lovely soft blue silk that was tied tightly around her narrow waist, and her long white hair was gently disheveled, framing her face. The tabletop directly in front of her was covered in books, stacked haphazardly around her, and there were a few lying open that she was staring at with her brow furrowed. A steaming mug of coffee was beside her as well.
"Morning, Storm," he said.
She gave a tiny shriek and jumped, one delicate hand flying to her chest. "Oh, Logan!" she gasped when she saw it was him. "You frightened me! I didn't hear you come in!"
He grunted and crossed to the counter, where the coffeemaker was perking gently. "What are you doing up so early?" he asked, opening a cupboard and taking out a mug.
Ororo groaned and ran her fingers through her hair. "I'm studying."
Logan poured some coffee into his cup, then opened the cupboard under the sink. He rooted around behind the cleaning supplies and dustrags, his fingers finally closing around his hidden whiskey stash. "For your classes?" he asked.
"For my new class," she replied, sighing and turning a page. "Xavier has asked me to take over one of his classes, and I really don't think I'm going to be able to do it."
"Why can't he do it?"
She shook her head. "Apparently, there is something new stirring in the mutant community outside, and he feels he needs to spend more time with Cerebro."
Logan grunted in reply and seated himself opposite Ororo, his mug in one hand and the bottle of whiskey in the other. He unscrewed the cap with a deft movement and poured a generous amount into the cup. Ororo noted this and lifted her eyebrows delicately.
"Do you really think that is wise at this hour of the morning?" she asked.
He scowled at her from under his brows. "What's it to you?"
She blinked, then sighed and returned her attention to the open page before her. Logan poured another dollop of whiskey in, just to emphasize his point, then screwed the cap back on and enjoyed his coffee. The kitchen was silent for several minutes, except for the soft sound of Ororo turning pages. At first, Logan leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling, relishing the burn of the hot coffee and whiskey going down his throat, but his acute senses soon returned his attention to Ororo.
Man, she was upset. He could smell it on her, a tangy mixture of nervousness laced with confusion. He sat up and looked at her closely, suddenly realizing that her dark eyes were beginning to fill with tears.
Damn. "Look, Ororo," he began, his voice gruff but not unkind. "I didn't mean to snap at you...its just..."
She looked up, a single tear spilling over and down her cheek, which she wiped away hastily with a small smile. "Oh, Logan, its not you." She managed a tiny laugh. "I know you're not your best in the morning."
He snorted. That had to be the understatement of the year. "What is it then?"
"Its this!" she cried, suddenly smacking the open book before her angrily. "The professor knows I know absolutely nothing about this subject, yet I'm supposed to learn about it in one weekend, to teach a class!"
For the first time, Logan peered at the book curiously. "What subject is it?"
"English Literature!" she sputtered. "I've never studied this, ever!"
"Didn't you learn it when you were a student here?"
"No, I was exempt because I was learning English as a second language." Ororo shoved the books away from her. "Yet now the professor wants me to teach it! How am I supposed to remember all this? Listen to these questions for the first test..." She pulled a sheaf of papers out from under one of the stacks and began to rifle through them, reading questions at random. "'Who is the author of the short story, "The A&P?"' Or, 'Analyze in detail the Shelley poem "Ozymandias."' Oh, and here's a good one...'Who wrote "The Haunted Palace" and in what short story did it first appear?'" Ororo wrinkled her nose and slapped the papers to the table. "Does anyone actually know this...this...rubbish?"
"Edgar Allan Poe."
Ororo looked up with a start at Logan, who grinned a little and took another gulp of coffee. "What did you say?" she asked.
"Edgar Allan Poe. He's the guy that wrote 'The Haunted Palace.'" Logan took another swallow and set the mug down on the table. "And the story it first appeared in was 'The Fall of the House of Usher.'"
She stared at him suspiciously, then picked up one of the papers that held the answer key. Her mouth dropped open when she read the answer. "That...that was correct, Logan. How did you...?"
"And John Updike wrote 'The A&P'...at least I think so." Logan narrowed his eyes a little. How did he know these things, and where had these memories come from?
"Correct again, Logan," she said, shaking her head in amazement. "These are the questions for the advanced class, too. I didn't know you had studied English Literature."
"Neither did I," he replied. "Apparently I got some kind of schooling...I just don't know where or when." He finished the rest of his coffee and stood up, going to the sink and setting the empty mug beside it. "Well, I'm off to grab a shower. Good luck."
He started for the door, but Ororo stood up quickly and caught his arm. "Wait, Logan, please...I could use your help."
He stared at her like she had grown another head and snorted laughter. "You're kidding, right? Sorry, but I've got better things to do." He tried to pull away, but she clung tighter and her eyes became pleading.
"Please, Logan. I need your help. I can't do this on my own, and you could really help me teach this class."
He pulled his arm free. "Hell, no! Are you nuts?"
"I wouldn't make you actually teach, Logan, but you could help me prepare. I could use your help with research, too." She clasped her slender hands together, silently searching his hard face for some vestige of sympathy.
Logan scowled and began to turn again, but something wouldn't allow him to leave. Maybe it was because he had never seen Ororo like this. Proud, regal Storm, begging the Wolverine for help. Whatever it was, when he saw her dark eyes beginning to tear up again his resolve broke and he growled in resignation.
"Fine. I'll help you."
"Oh, thank you!" she cried, quite unexpectedly flinging her arms about his neck and embracing him. The male in him relished for a moment the feel of her lithe body pressed against his, but then she released him and she was just Storm again.
He crossed his arms over his chest and grunted. "Your welcome...just research, though...and preparation and shit like that. No teaching."
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