Peril of Flight
Chapter 1
by
Paxnirvana
Author's Note: Rating for language, rape & violence, mild sex. Hey, it's the X-Men, right? Wolvie cusses, Sabretooth's mean to somebody in it, they dress in black leather and beat people up, and Logan/Ororo are hot for each other. What more do you want - milk and cookies? *Original Character warning.* Thought I'd forgotten her, eh?
The limitations on Storm's powers are Bryan Singer's fault not mine - it's Movieverse.
Disclaimer: They belong to Marvel and 20th Century Fox. Not me. I just love 'em. This is for entertainment purposes only. I make not one thin dime off this. Trust me.
Never should've taken a Mainland job, Nene thought with grim resignation as she huddled deeper into her poorly lined leather coat. She found herself longing for even the tourist-infested beach of Waikiki deep in the heart of her beloved Honolulu. One futile tug, then another before she gave up trying to get her sweater higher around her ears. It was freezing cold. Her long, multi-colored hair waved in the strong drafts coming through the slats of the rail car she had stowed away on. Would these cursed mountains never end? The train had been grinding slowly up a hideous grade for what seemed like hours. She hadn't eaten since she'd climbed aboard the day before. Only sucking on gritty ice had given her water.
Ever since leaving that strange school in New York, her life had been a nightmare of sleepless nights, hunger and fear. Someone was after her. If she'd had half a brain, she'd have stayed in Westchester. But no, she'd been certain her island-bred street skills - and her status as a small-time operator - would protect her.
Once her target - Logan, they'd called him - had taken off, she'd felt obliged to bail on the mansion as well. The kids were sweet, the teachers stiffs and the old guy with the mind whammy kind of interesting, but it hadn't been her scene. A school? A classy place with great food? A safe place to live and train with other mutants?
Not for Nene - the sacred goose. She was a loner. She was a free spirit.
She was an idiot.
But how could she have anticipated that her pleasant-voiced employer was actually a perfectionist wacko in disguise? She'd called in to report her failure - not that he hadn't been aware of it anyway - and the bastard had been so enraged he'd reneged on her advance. With interest. He'd cleaned out her meager bank account and reported her return plane ticket stolen. So she was stuck on the Mainland. And penniless.
Well. She'd never use that bank again.
It hadn't taken long to realize she was being followed. And less time than that to figure out she was being hunted. She'd fled the shelter in a panic, leaving behind her small pack of personal items - including her ID, when she spotted the sinister-looking people asking about her at the desk. One was a hulking man with a huge blonde mane of hair, the other a short guy with skin that looked as if it had been burned by chemicals or something. Both of them were creepy and frightening.
That had been three days ago. Since then, she hadn't slept more than an hour at a time.
Fear and hunger kept her awake. The boxcar had once carried pigs or some other kind of stinky living cargo. The lingering stench made her empty stomach roil, but it had been the only car left open. Probably so it would air out.
She was cold, she was hungry, and she hated the Mainland. All she wanted to do was return to her familiar tropical islands, and her boring world of tacky souvenirs and careless tourists. She huddled deeper into her thinly-lined leather coat and tried to sleep.
A loud thump on the top of the boxcar woke her from a numb stupor. She looked up at the roof in alarm. The door of the moving car slid abruptly open onto the night, but nothing could be seen outside. She backed further into the corner, dragging at her gloves anxiously. She was staring so hard at the mysteriously open door that she didn't see the shadow move along the slatted sides of the car toward her.
With a crash of splintering wood, a huge clawed arm reached inside the car, catching the back of her coat. She screamed, trying to pull away. Another hand reached inside the hole, tearing it larger. Then the big blonde man she'd seen before climbed inside. She screamed again. He snarled at her, showing hideously sharp teeth, like an animal.
"Shut up!" he yelled, giving her a hard shake by his grip on her coat. She squeaked in terror and fell silent, too worn and scared to even think of using her power. "Toad, get yer ass in here!"
A long skinny thing came shooting inside the car, wrapping around a pipe inside. Then the short guy with bad skin came flying inside along the strange appendage. Only when he released it, and the thing shot back into his mouth did she realize it was his tongue. She moaned in panic.
"Watch out for 'er," the short one said, tilting his head oddly to the side as he spoke. "She kin 'port you 'way."
"Nah, she's too pissin' scared to try that," the big one rumbled, bending over her ominously. "Ain't cha, girlie?"
Nene nodded furiously, too frightened to speak. The big man smiled hideously again and raised a finger to trail it lightly down her cheek. It felt hard and sharp against her skin, as if he had really, really long fingernails. "Yer kinda cute, little girl," the big man rumbled, his gaze narrowing ominously. He took a deep, sniffing breath. "Soft an' sweet."
"None 'o that, Sabretooth," the small guy said with a leer. "Mystique said to bring 'er back in one piece."
The big guy lifted his head and snarled back at the smaller man, but temporarily stopped looking at her like he wanted to eat her. She was afraid it would be literally. The small guy rummaged around in a bag lashed on his shoulder, and tossed something to the big guy.
"Better use it just in case yer charm wears off," he said with a smirking grin. The big guy caught the thing automatically and glared at the other man. Then he cracked a small tube in his hand and shoved it up under her nose. A strange sickly-sweet smell came out of the tube. She took a startled breath and the world went black.
* * * * *
Professor Charles Xavier sat in meditation, elbows on the arm of his chair, fingertips touching before him. By the end of the day he often found it necessary to rebuild his shields against the tumult of the school. Undisciplined adolescent minds going about their normal existence could be quite wearing to someone of his sensitivity. But he craved the contact with them. They kept his hope alive. Without his students, he knew he'd have been sorely tempted to let Eric's pessimism rule his actions.
He'd do everything in his power to keep his students safe. But teaching them to take care of themselves and those around them was the best hope for the future.
There was one student - or potential student, more accurately - that he still felt a pang of anxious guilt over. The teleporter. Nene. After settling in with apparent good humor in the girl's dormitory, she'd simply up and vanished from the school one morning. No good-byes, just a polite note saying "thanks, but no thanks" left on her neatly made bed.
Since she made her choice to leave, he'd felt compelled to seek more information on her. Scott had uncovered her real name, Yuki Tamagawa, a petty criminal record, and the fact that, to his intense surprise, she was much older than she appeared. Nearly twenty-six years old. A combination of Asian heritage and youthful attire had served to decieve them all into thinking her just a teenager.
Perhaps that was why she'd been uncomfortable in the dorms. She was far older than the other girls and no doubt much more experienced at life. She'd deserved a room of her own like Logan and perhaps a place on staff, if she had special skills to share. He was surprised he'd let her flippant attitude mislead him so. He seldom made mistakes like that.
He'd even tried to find her again, through normal channels, but she'd skillfully disappeared. He left standing inquiries about her status with several trusted and key sources of information. Charles tried to console himself with the thought that she'd chosen her own way.
Not everyone considered his school a haven, after all. Just look at Logan.
* * * * *
He had a real name. A human name. Victor Creed. She just couldn't think of him by it. He was only Sabretooth; a savage thing that took intense satisfaction in tormenting and killing. Preferably with the terrible claws he could extend out of his fingers. Or his wicked fangs.
He also liked to tell her all about it.
Nene was pathetically thankful that he spent little time on the island. For whenever he was there, he followed her around with single-minded intensity. He seemed uncannily aware of the limits of her mutant power. It wasn't a split-second kind of thing, like Toad's tongue. Sabretooth somehow knew she had to concentrate to send a target, be prepared, hold her focus. Especially for ones as large as he was. So he kept her off balance, scared.
He would appear suddenly from around corners, stalking silently up behind her, following her about her duties from several paces away. Always just close enough that she knew his speed would cancel any preparation she might attempt. He was too fast and she was far too frightened.
She knew only the orders of an absent boss kept him from mauling her - or worse. So she did nothing to provoke him until he left again.
The short guy, Toad, was no prize either. His personal habits were revolting and his sense of humor dangerous. In the two months she'd been stuck here, he'd set numerous odd little traps for her that only her teleporting power would help her escape. If she couldn't manage to get out on her own, she'd spend several uncomfortable hours until he finally set her free with contemptuous jeers and scornful laughs.
There was no one around to keep Toad under control, but except for the strange pranks, he left her mostly alone.
The first week she'd been kept in a small cell. Then one day the big guy had come and stared at her for a long while, his dark eyes alight with an odd yellow gleam. Then, just as silently, he'd left.
After that, Toad let her out. She became a personal servant to the ugly mutant. Doing the things even he didn't like to do: cooking, cleaning, menial chores. The only thing he and the big one didn't do was touch her, and strangely that alarmed her more.
On the day she'd been released from the cell, Sabretooth had taken sadistic pleasure in showing her the small limits of the island they lived on by chasing her all around it. She still broke out into a cold sweat to remember that day; heart-pounding fear, the sound of him growling and laughing behind her, always just out of sight. There was literally nowhere to run or hide. It was little more than a glorified rock way out in the Atlantic somewhere. Ocean as far as she could see around her, but not the warm, friendly blue ocean of her home. This was a chilly, steely-gray menace that would swallow her up without a qualm. The only way on or off was by helicopter.
From careful listening during Toad and Sabretooth's infrequent conversations she'd learned a little bit, but not exactly why they wanted her. There was another one, Mystique, whom she had yet to meet. She seemed to have some power over the two men. Apparently they had been hired by the perfectionist-wacko to retrieve her after the botched job, but Mystique had decided to keep her instead. They'd reported her dead, to Sabretooth's gleeful delight. She didn't like to think too closely about why.
After leaving the cell, she worked hard. The only times she was ever alone were to sleep and wash - and when Toad left the island to fetch Sabretooth or supplies back and forth from the Mainland. But during the short periods while Toad ran his errands, she'd managed to explore further. The island was riddled with odd rooms; strange places with metal furnishings, a gaping chasm, a huge metal office, and a complex series of laboratories.
At least the island was small enough that you could hear the chopper's return from any room.
The grand prize, by far, had been her discovery of the communications room. She learned more there than anywhere else. Satellite links brought in news from all over the world, and sophisticated translation programs turned everything into plain English. The search programs were calibrated to pick up, catalog and store anything that made the slightest reference to mutants, or mutant manifestations. Behind sealed glass walls a huge computer system digested it all, compiling data for some unknown purpose. Some of it was open to access. Toad was either careless or stupid about computer security. She spent most of the free time she managed in that room.
It was there that she learned, over the weeks, just who those stiff people at the school had been.
The X-Men.
They were disciples of a powerful mutant named Charles Xavier - ostensibly a retired professor of psychology. There were substantial files on the man detailing his incredible psychic powers. How he could read human minds across vast distances, and even control them if he desired. But that he seldom did. Apparently he had strong reservations about using his power recklessly or wantonly against other people; mutant or human. A man of rigid ethics.
She believed it. The Professor had been the one really tempting part of that place. A kindly and understanding man. And not once had he overtly displayed any psychic power, or tried to force her to stay.
The others she'd met at the school had stranger names attached to their files: Cyclops, Storm, Wolverine, Rogue. She marveled to read of the mutant powers they possessed. Kinetic eye-beams. Weather control. Metal claws and miraculous healing. Vampiric draining. And the red-haired lady she'd inadvertently 'ported out - Dr. Jean Grey - was telekinetic and mildly telepathic too, like the Professor.
She'd seen little of the other's abilities while she was there. Only the white-haired woman, Storm, had used her powers to toss the crabby, hairy guy, her erstwhile target, into the swimming pool. After blasting him with a lightning bolt (which he'd somehow survived). She remembered the Professor's mysterious smile at the time, calling it just an unorthodox lesson. As if people throwing lightning bolts around were an every-day occurrence for him.
She wished every day that she'd never left.
* * * * *
Charles Xavier was surprised by how deeply the news disturbed him. Scott had left him alone with the report reluctantly, aware of his concern for the missing teleporter. He sat in his office, near the windows, as the last rays of evening faded from the sky. He hadn't bothered to turn on the lights.
The open file on his lap, obscured now by darkness, said that she was dead. Her body had been found nearly a month and a half ago in a back alley. A casualty discovered by chance and absently noted by jaded law enforcement officials. Just another mutant runaway beaten to death. Case closed.
Eric was wrong, the war was already here. It was just a silent war. It had been a long time since he'd cried, Charles reflected with some surprise as he stared down at the spreading spot on the file in his lap. He'd almost forgotten how.
* * * * *
It was an unusually warm and sunny day for early winter, and Toad had left hours before with the helicopter. She was sitting outside by the odd pool of water with the bridge half way across it when she heard the chopper return. Unwilling to be found loafing, she dashed back inside the complex, heading for the kitchen. It was nearly time to start dinner anyway. She reached it before anyone else, frantically pretending to be already busy.
Toad bounded in first, his powerful thighs bunched beneath him. He could walk upright and look normal at it, but he seemed to prefer to crouch like his namesake. He sprang up on the table and perched there, smiling his ugly smile at her. It scared her. He was paying her more attention than he usually did.
"Goose is tasty," he said, eyeing her mockingly. "Like a good goose, I do." She turned away warily and started taking pans out of the cupboard. But suddenly Sabretooth was there, his big hands gripping her shoulders. She dropped a pot with a clang, making a hideous noise on the metal floor and he snarled savagely at her.
"Enough, Creed," came a strange male voice. Sabretooth bent down and growled menacingly in her ear before spinning her around to face the newcomer. It was a tall, older blond man. He wore a dark suit and carried a briefcase. He set the briefcase down on the table, beside the smirking Toad, and removed his glasses. Then he looked her over, scanning her thoroughly from head to toe, before sighing deeply.
"This won't do at all. She looks just like what she is: a scruffy mutant thief."
The man turned to Toad and glared. "Get some clothes for her - conservative stuff," he ordered shortly. "Suits and starched white shirts. Cut the hair short - get rid of all the colors. Dye it if you have to. She's got to look like a respectable staffer." Sabretooth sniffed at her hair while the man was preoccupied. Nene trembled with terror.
Toad shrugged, rolling his eyes at the man. "Whatever you say, Senator," he leered.
"And quit bothering her, Creed," the man said, turning and walking up to them. He stood toe to toe with the hulking brute, staring him down fearlessly. "If she's scared brainless, this just won't work. And I'd like to see you explain that to him."
The newcomer looked down at Nene then and raised a hand to her chin, looking her over critically.
"Do you know who I am, girl?" the man demanded suddenly. Nene could only give a small shake of her head. Sabretooth's claws dug painfully into her shoulders.
Rather than get angry the man just gave a strange little smile that terrified her even more.
"I am Senator Robert Kelly, formerly head of the Coalition for Humanity's Rights."
Nene gasped and would have shrank back, but Sabretooth was behind her.
"Ah, you at least know my name then."
"Y-you hate mutants," Nene said, darting a frightened look around the room, as if expecting an armed squad of anti-mutant activists to burst in and start shooting. The man threw back his head and laughed. Then he began to dissolve. In a wave of blurring red and blue, the tall blond Senator disappeared and in his place stood a strange blue-skinned woman with blazing yellow eyes.
"Hardly, girl," the woman said. "Since I am one. The good Senator is quite dead, yet still very useful to us. At least for a little while longer."
"'Ay, why show 'er?" Toad asked.
"She has pitiful control," the woman said sharply. "I don't want her too panicked to do the job."
"Job?" Nene asked despite herself.
The woman smiled coldly at her. "The one for which we need your mutant power, of course."
* * * * *
Recent events had exhausted him, emotionally and psychically. Logan had returned. Then surprised everyone by staking a personal claim on Ororo, and not Jean. It was a claim Ororo had done nothing to dispute. Charles Xavier had mixed opinions on that surprisingly intimate development. He was relieved that one tension had been avoided - the threat of further division between Scott and Logan over Jean. Ororo Munroe had been one of his first students, but was still in large part an enigma. She'd come into her powers without the need for his help, self-contained and accomplished despite her tragic childhood. Her presence at the school was due to her acceptance of his dream for peace between human and mutant, not because she'd needed his help. He'd come to respect her greatly. None of that prevented him from worrying about her future happiness.
For he'd glimpsed the maelstrom of chaos that was Logan's inner mind. He knew just how close to the edge the man walked.
Indeed, trouble had followed Logan back from Canada. But it was Ororo who had been taken, imprisoned. They'd had to mount a hasty search-and-rescue operation that had resulted in a normal human's death. A death that had yet to manifest repercussions, which was in itself worrying.
* * * * *
The plan, when she thought of it later huddled sleeplessly on her bed, was terrifyingly simple.
The bogus Senator Kelly had already arranged to visit the notorious mutant terrorist Magneto in prison. It was an act of contrition, of guilt, for promoting policies that had forced the formerly peaceful man to strike out in fear, as the Senator's new staff had started spinning it. The Senator would bring along a new 'aide' - Nene.
They would arrange to interview the prisoner face-to-face. Then, when they got close enough, the phony Senator would have a breakdown of some kind, drawing the attention of the guards, the press and everyone watching. That would be Nene's cue to teleport Magneto out to a van hidden beyond the prison walls - well within her range - a van Toad would be waiting to drive away. Sabretooth would also be in the van, just in case of trouble.
In the turmoil afterwards, the Senator would recover and with his aide would leave the prison and rejoin their companions. No one would suspect the Senator. Simple, elegant and foolproof. With Nene's cooperation.
And, as Mystique had said - a growling Sabretooth at her side - she'd cooperate or die.
* * * * *
The day had been long, filled with the mundane crisis of the school. It was a challenge and a struggle and a joy to teach, but Ororo sometimes longed for the wide open plains of the Serengeti. Particularly when St. John and Bobby were acting up in class. She allowed a small smile to cross her lips as she sat at the desk in her room reviewing the next day's lesson plan. She was nearly finished with her duties, then she would be able to take time for herself.
The smile grew wider as she thought of the man waiting impatiently behind her. But the smile disappeared as the sudden distinctive snick of metal drew her attention. She turned slowly to face the room. Logan sat on the floor at the foot of her bed, a fist held up before him, staring at the three glittering blades protruding from between his knuckles.
"What the hell am I doin' here?" he growled, his expression dark.
"Waiting for me," she replied quietly, knowing with a sinking sensation in her chest that it wasn't his real question.
"Nah, here at this school. I don't fit."
"You fit if you want to fit, Logan."
"Can't teach anythin'." The blades disappeared. Wounds healed. He glared at her from under lowered brows. "Can't fix anythin'. I just bring trouble."
"Trouble finds us anyway. It's why we are here." She took a deep, steadying breath. "And you can teach us how to fight."
"Only know how to fight dirty."
"We need to know how to do that as well."
He gave a snort of dark laughter, his hands now hanging beyond his knees. "Somehow I jus' can't picture Jeannie kickin' some tough guy in the balls."
"If it was necessary, I'm certain she would," Ororo said with quiet assurance. She rose to her feet then, walking slowly to his side, fighting to keep the turmoil inside from showing on her face. He looked up at her, his expression aloof and wary.
"I won't ask you to stay again," she said, her face calm, while inside her heart pounded with fear. It was too soon, even though she'd expected this to come eventually. "If you feel you must leave, you are free to do so. But we would miss you, Marie and I. And no matter how far you went or how long you were gone, that wouldn't change." Then she turned and left her own room, leaving a thoughtful Wolverine staring after her.
* * * * *
He'd smelled the fear on her, sensed the brittle tension. What was it about staying in one place that made him into a jackass? And she was as quietly proud as he was vocal. Cursing himself, he tracked her by scent, startling some of the kids still up watching TV in the rec room with his swift passage. In the first days back at the mansion he'd spent time learning the layout of the mansion, exploring the limits of the Professor's estate, investigating all the outbuildings. There wasn't a corner of it he didn't know.
But he didn't really need to follow her scent. He knew she'd gone to her greenhouse. She always went there when she was upset.
He pushed open the door to the humid building, pausing a moment to let his senses adjust to the overwhelming scents contained within. She hadn't turned on the main lights, leaving only the faint safety lights on under the doors. It was dark and warm and secluded, and he knew she was somewhere inside.
Closing the door softly behind him, he prowled through the thick growth, careful not to damage trailing leaves or vines with his passage. No pots for Ororo, the greenhouse was divided by raised terraces filled with rich soil or sand or marshy water depending on the type of plant she wanted to grow. It was a permanent kind of place - cliched but true - it meant roots. And that was why he'd spent as little time as possible in there even though he knew it hurt her feelings.
He heard her before he saw her. She was chanting quietly to herself, something melodic and foreign. He'd half expected to find her crying, but wasn't too surprised that she wasn't. She was a lot tougher than she looked. He found her kneeling in the bare dirt of a new terrace, limned by moonlight, her hands braced on her thighs, her head bent and her eyes closed. Pale hair fell about her in a cascade of white.
He deliberately scuffed his boot, so that he wouldn't startle her, but she didn't look around. The soft chanting continued without a hitch.
"I'm sorry," he said gruffly. Her back straightened, and her head lifted. Silence fell.
"And those magic words take the pain away?" she asked finally, staring at the half-moon outside the steamy windows. She was silhouetted against those windows by the weak moonlight, a dark shape crowned in white.
"Hell. No," he said, fighting to keep from touching her. Touch would only distract them both.
"If you want to leave, Logan, go," she said. "But spare me your excuses. I lived before you and I will live after you."
"Yeah, but you won't be happy."
"Don't flatter yourself," she said, her tone acid.
"Christ, 'Ro," he growled, frustrated. "Sounds like you want me to leave."
"No," she whispered. "I do not care for games, Logan."
"It's no fuckin' game, 'Ro," he snarled, jumping up on the terrace to grab her arm and yank her to her feet, glaring down at her. "There's shit in my head I don't understand and some bastards took most of my life away. I have goddamned knives in my arms, 'Ro. They're part of me."
"You're afraid," she said softly, staring at his harsh face thrown into blurred shadow by the filtered moonlight.
"You're damn right I am!" he yelled. "If Marie hadn't been who she is she'd be dead now, 'Ro! Dead. You can't do that."
She reached up, her hands cupping his clenched jaw. He couldn't see her expression but her touch soothed him. She wasn't pulling away, she wasn't yelling back, she just held him for a moment before leaning forward and pressing her lips to his. Apology, compassion, trust, he sensed them all in her kiss. Something inside him began to stir. His arms closed tightly around her, pressing her close. She breathed his own name back into his mouth, her hands slipping back to circle his neck.
After an endless while, he pulled back enough to rest his forehead against hers, breathing heavily. "'Ro, I don't want you hurt," he said. "Or Marie again. Not by me."
"I understand now," she said softly, her eyes damp with unshed tears in the darkness. And she would not let them fall simply because of an epiphany. Knowing him left no reasons for tears.
"Do you?" he said harshly. "Explain it to me sometime, 'cause I sure as hell don't."
Rather than answer him, she kissed him again, offering comfort. He accepted it because somewhere deep inside he needed it, and knew that she did understand. Both their emotions were still high; the kiss swiftly changed from simple comfort to fiery passion. One of his hands slid up her back to tangle in her hair, pressing her closer to him. The other slid down to her waist. She leaned into him feeling his heat, his urgent need.
So lost in each other were they that he almost didn't hear the opening of the far door, the quiet footsteps. He moved quickly away, leaving Ororo gasping, putting her at arm's length just as a hesitant voice broke the silence.
"Logan?" Rogue called.
He stared down at Ororo, his expression savage, but his voice amazingly calm. "Yeah, kid?"
"Where are ya?" They heard stumbling footsteps, a muffled thud.
"Stay put. Leave the lights off," he growled. "I'll find you."
"Okay," Rogue said. Logan leaned toward Ororo, brushing his lips quickly across her forehead in silent apology. Then he turned and made his way back through the dense foliage, leaving her standing alone in the dim moonlight. She wrapped her arms around herself with a shudder and sank slowly down onto the wide wooden edge of the terrace, trying to still her thundering pulse.
Rogue stood near the doorway, her eyes searching the dimness around her. The lights beside the door were too soft to penetrate far into the thick plants. She jumped when a big shape emerged silently from the leaves near her. Logan.
"What's up, kid?" he asked softly, his brows lowered. He was annoyed, she could tell, and trying to hide it from her. She shifted uncertainly, feeling foolish now.
"I saw you go out and, well, I just haven't seen you much lately . . ." she trailed off uncertainly, her voice faint. His lips quirked in an odd smile but it swiftly faded.
"Been busy," he said gruffly. She raised her gloved hands and fiddled with the end of the scarf around her neck, self-conscious. The white streak in her hair fairly glowed in the faint light.
"I know," she said. "Ms. Munroe's okay, isn't she? We were really worried at the museum."
"She's fine," he said with a grunt. "What's up, kid?"
His terse comments unsettled her and she shifted on her feet, her hands tugging at her scarf anxiously now. "I just wondered if you were gonna stay, seein' as Ms. Munroe's back now and all."
"Hell," he said shortly, taking a step toward her. His face was closed and a little angry now. "How much of me's runnin' 'round in your head, kid?" She knew him, knew that he was more worried about the burden to her than that she was privy to his secrets, such that they were. Carrying around three men in her mind was difficult enough without having to live with one of them. Especially when she cared so much for him.
"The Professor's helped a lot, but it's still there. I just kinda knew you'd be thinkin' about goin' again." She looked at him from under her loose hair, her dark eyes watching him. He felt the tearing of guilt and regret inside him. He'd been avoiding her. "I've gotta go for a while," he said somberly. "Find out what those bastards want with me. I don't want them nosin' 'round here."
"But the Professor and the X-Men can help you. . ." she said urgently. He made a sharp movement but stopped himself from turning away. After a pause, he took a step toward her instead and put his hands on her shoulders. She smiled weakly up at him.
"Yeah, they could, but this is my shit. I gotta deal with it my own way."
"You promised me you'd come back," she said, her dark eyes suspiciously damp. "I'm not lettin' you forget."
"I keep my promises," he said gruffly, his gaze nearly kind in the poor lighting. "Now get on back to the house."
She turned, then paused and looked over her shoulder at him. "You won't try to leave without sayin' goodbye?" He cursed under his breath, then walked her firmly to the door.
"Get, kid," he said, closing the glass door behind her with a scowl. He watched her turn toward the mansion, her hands nervously twisting the fingers of her gloves before she set slowly off up the path. The white streak in her hair flashed as she glanced back at the greenhouse several times.
"You haven't spent any time with her." Ororo's soft voice came from behind him.
"I'm not her father." He pivoted and glared at the woman standing nearby among the leaves. Desire flared again, hot and heady. He could smell it on her as well.
"No, you're just the man who risked his life to save hers," she said gently.
"Damn, this place is makin' me soft," he growled, then reached out and pulled her to him. He dropped a swift, hard kiss on her lips, then spun and yanked the door open. With a last glare over his shoulder, he turned and loped off after Marie.
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