Wolf Pursuit
Chapter 1
by
Paxnirvana
Author's Note: This is a continuation of my "Wolf Among Birds" movieverse continuity. Read that if you like first or just dive in here. Rating for sex, adult situations, and a few bad words.
I gave Rogue a last name. Bad author, no biscuit. These guys just won't let me sleep! I have a full time JOB you know, and a life, or I did. . . Sorry, but it was getting so big I just had to break it apart.
Disclaimer: The X-Men belong to Marvel, the Movie to 20th Century Fox. I don't want any money for this story, just a little fun.
Life seemed very dull lately. Marie Emmaline LeClaire - or Rogue as she preferred to be called - sat dejectedly on her favorite bench. It was the one at the edge of the greenbelt behind the school, practically in the trees, and from there she could watch the younger kids play basketball. She was supposed to be studying.
One gloved hand played idly with the clumsy dog-tags hanging around her neck. She never took them off. She even slept in them. He'd left over five weeks ago and they had yet to hear from him. Everyone said he wasn't going to come back. The teachers - especially Dr. Grey - watched her with pity. They didn't expect him to ever return. If it wasn't for the strange echoing presence of him in her mind, she'd probably have given up on him by now, too. But she knew better.
After all, he'd promised.
Just before his departure, she'd started having nightmares. Horrible ones involving drowning and searing agony and helplessness. The Professor had made time for her after the third day when Ms. Munroe noticed her nodding off in history class - again.
The sessions with the Professor were strange. He was kind of eerie. For an old guy in a wheelchair, he sure had a commanding, forceful presence. Nobody fell asleep in his classes. And there were other things that bothered her about him too, memories of him as a young man, when he could walk, memories of the joy of finding another like him - a brother mutant, memories of long discussions about philosophy and the rights of individuals over the good of mankind, memories of creativity and discovery as both explored the limits of each other's powers. Those were the ones she didn't like to disturb. Magneto's memories had been almost immediately overlaid by Logan's again, and maybe it was the fact that she'd touched Logan twice that seemed to give them dominance in her thoughts, but Magneto's thoughts still frightened her. Logan was hard enough to understand. But, between the two of them, they'd finally managed to drown out David's memories. For that she was grateful. She'd been tired of looking at another woman and having David comment in her mind about the quality of her breasts. Boys were so shallow.
But men were worse. At least she'd stopped leering at Dr. Grey. She couldn't understand it. If Logan thought Mr. Summers was a geek - and she knew he did - then why was he so attracted to a woman who was even more of a geek than Mr. Summers? It was beyond her.
If it was her choice, she'd take Ms. Munroe. After all, she could fly.
Rogue still couldn't believe someone could actually do that. But she'd seen it herself - along with half the other kids at school. For some reason, Ms. Munroe and Logan had gotten into a big fight right before he left. She'd used her winds to blast him out of his room and dump him in the swimming pool. Then everyone had seen her go soaring gracefully down to the ground after him, her white hair floating about her, her eyes glowing white. She'd been amazing and beautiful and powerful - Rogue was still envious. For days afterward, Ms. Munroe's classes had been extremely well behaved.
Finally the dreams had stopped. The Professor had succeeded in teaching her to wall away the things she didn't want to see. David was quiet, even Magneto's forceful thoughts were less intrusive. She couldn't quite bear to close Logan off completely, but she'd finally had to. The nightmares came from him.
She fidgeted with the dog-tags, her thumb running across the raised back of the tags. Wolverine. Like some kind of animal. Or a code name. Even he didn't know exactly what it meant. So he'd gone to find out. She knew it was important to him, almost as important as she was, in a different kind of way. But she wished he'd come back, she thought, looking back down at the history text she was supposed to be studying. She wished he'd come back soon.
* * * * *
Dr. Jean Grey stood in the window, her arms folded across her chest, watching one girl sit in solitude while the other children played around her.
"She seems so alone," she said quietly. Behind her, the Professor glanced over his shoulder.
"She's young," he said with a gentle smile. "The teen years are difficult enough without the burden of a gift like hers. Give her time."
"But she just sits around, mooning over those dog-tags," Jean said, turning to face her mentor.
"Our sessions are going well," he said, closing the ledger before him and turning his chair to face her. "She's managed to learn to control the memories she absorbed enough to stop Logan's nightmares."
"That's good at least," Jean said. "But when will she let go of him enough to move on?"
"I think our Rogue has a better understanding of Logan than even he does, " the Professor said with an enigmatic smile.
* * * * *
She knew everyone thought she was pining for Logan. And she was. Just not the way they thought. It was hard to keep up a crush on someone when their feelings for you were swirling around inside your own head. Yeah, he was protective of her and felt responsible for her. But it was like a big brother or even a dad. It kind of squashed flat any romantic feelings on her side.
But he did make her feel safe and protected - something she'd been missing for a long time. He'd risked his own life to save her, willing to transfer his power to her even when he'd thought she was already dead. He'd risked everything to help her. Because he'd promised.
And besides, a girl was entitled to her own personal knight in shining armor, wasn't she?
* * * * *
Logan was tired and lonely. Though he'd die before admitting the last.
He'd taken the Professor's information and trekked all the way back up to the deep Canadian Rockies. He'd combed the area for weeks now, living out of a tent, driving a snowmobile he'd bought after fencing Summers' bike. And he still hadn't found any flamin' installation, ruined or not. He was about ready to give up and go back. He found himself worrying - too often for his peace of mind - about how Rogue was getting along with the other kids, if she was happy, if she'd tried to run again. And what the rest of them were up to. The Professor. Jean. Even that geek Summers.
And Ororo.
He couldn't get her out of his mind. He still remembered the feel of her in his arms, her lips under his. Right before she blasted him with a lightning bolt. That had hurt. But damn, what a woman.
There was one more valley to search, over the next ridge. He'd check it out and if nothing turned up, then back he'd go.
Just to make sure Rogue was still there, of course.
* * * * *
The watcher duly noted the lone man on the snowmobile who entered the restricted valley. Noted how he seemed particularly interested in the crumbling foundations near the edge of the lake. How he lingered there, deep in wilderness, for nearly three days despite the hazards of grizzly bears, wolves and approaching winter, searching through the burned-out rubble. The watcher even managed to obtain one, blurry, badly framed photo.
The observations and the photo went into a report that eventually made its ponderous way back through the layers of bureaucracy to someone who realized the import of the sighting. Strategy was discussed. Decisions were made. Old contingency plans were dusted off and implemented.
Finally, a tracer long deactivated was activated again.
* * * * *
It was understood that when Rogue used the pool, no one else did. She swam with single-minded concentration every morning, for exercise, lap after lap. She'd always hated exercise before, but since the encounter with Magneto and the Brotherhood she had a new appreciation for keeping in shape. You never knew what life would throw at you, so it paid to be ready for anything.
Besides, being in shape made the boys drool. Especially Bobby.
She was nearly at the end of her set, working hard but proud that she didn't get so wimpy tired anymore. She made the last lap, then surfaced at the end of the pool, stripping the white-streaked hair back from her face. And immediately caught the scent of cigar smoke.
"Lookin' good, kid," she heard a gruff voice say.
"Logan!" she shrieked, slipping under the water in shock. Sputtering back to the surface she said stupidly, "You're back!"
"Seems that way," he said quietly, the faintest of smiles tugging at his mouth. She caught the edge of the pool and yanked herself out. He was dressed as usual, head to toe in denim and leather. So she felt safe running up to him and hugging him briefly. He stiffened in her hold.
"I'm so glad to see you," she said, sobering as she pulled back. It wasn't her power he was afraid of, she knew, it was just that he wasn't used to anyone hugging him. She hovered by him, staring at him anxiously.
"Look at that, now you went and got me wet," he said, brushing at the damp on his jacket. But he didn't seem really annoyed, more embarrassed. "Are ya staying?" she asked, unconsciously starting to shiver in the cool morning air. He gave a grunt and tossed one of the huge pool towels at her face. She caught it, wrapping it around her shoulders, grinning at him.
"Maybe," he growled, standing up and looking down at her with that infuriating half-smile on his face.
"Good! I've got a lot to tell you," she said, still smiling hugely as she settled the towel around her body. He frowned. "Wear those all the time do you?" he said, nodding at the dog-tags around her neck.
"Yeah," she admitted shyly. "Didn't want to lose them. Do ya want them back?"
He took a deep drag on his cigar, looking at her face the while. "Nah, you take care of them for me." Her shivering grew more pronounced.
"Go change before you freeze," he ordered. She laughed and tugged the towel self-consciously tighter. "Okay! Stay here, huh?"
"Sure, kid," he said, lowering himself back down onto the lounger. She watched him carefully for a moment longer, as if to be certain he wasn't going to disappear on her again, then darted toward the changing rooms.
Logan sat on the fancy lawn chair, laughing quietly to himself over Rogue's exuberance. She was still here and looked fairly content. He hadn't missed the faint circles under her eyes and wondered what had put them there. Maybe the lingering effects of her near-brush with death at Magneto's hands. Maybe something else. He smoked his cigar in silence for a while.
"So, you came back after all." The voice was feminine and clear. His heart stuttered for an instant, then resumed its beat at a faster pace. Damn, what was he, a kid? He looked across the pool at the cool, remote features of Ororo Munroe. She was dressed in a long robe, just like the last time he'd spoken with her. Only this time with sandals on her feet. Obviously, she'd come down to swim too.
"Yeah, here I am again," he said quietly, fighting the urge to leap to his feet.
"She missed you a great deal," she said, walking slowly around the pool toward him. He looked down at the cigar all but forgotten in his hand, then back up at her face.
"Yeah, well I missed her too," he admitted.
"Really?" A raised eyebrow challenged his statement.
"Really," he growled back. "I'm not a total bastard, you know."
She raised both brows at that, turned and lowered a mesh bag she was carrying to a nearby lounger. Then she calmly untied her robe and draped it over the bag. He swallowed hard, trying not to gawk too obviously as her slender body was revealed clad only in a sleek blue racing suit. She lifted her hands and tied her hair back, slipping off her sandals as she did so. He almost swallowed his tongue at the way her breasts thrust out against the thin suit.
Then she walked to the edge of the pool and shot him a knowing look over her shoulder.
"Welcome back," she said before she dived elegantly into the water.
"Shit," he muttered, raising a shaking hand to suck hard on his cigar. "I'm in deep trouble."
* * * * *
Rogue dragged him around happily for the rest of the day, chattering about everything that had happened at the school since he'd left. He allowed her possessive hand on his arm with tolerant humor. And by the end of the day he was nearly a basket case. It wasn't really her fault.
Even the Canadian Rockies were starting to sound good again.
She was the only one who seemed truly glad to see him; Jean was wary and aloof, Summers was still pissed about his motorcycle, and the Professor was his usual remote self. All the other kids were flat afraid of him. But out of them all, Ororo's cool welcome stung the most.
He'd sat in on each of Rogue's classes, seated at the back of the room in a tipped-back chair, his boots propped up on another chair nearby. History had been the worst. Watching the woman move gracefully around the room in her long jacket and tight jeans had been difficult. And did she really have to wear those skimpy T-shirts? Didn't she know there were teenaged boys in her classes?
She'd ignored him after a first chilly inquiry about his presence when Rogue dragged him in.
The boots on the chair were purely a defensive trick, not insolence as she obviously assumed. He wasn't letting any of these kids get a look at his condition. He wanted her. It frustrated him. Before it had been Jean - but he'd forgotten all about her as soon as Ororo zapped him.
After supper, he'd finally managed to convince Rogue that he really wasn't going to disappear if she left him alone for five minutes and decided to sneak outside to have a cigar.
But he froze just outside the back door, cigar forgotten, staring at the lighted windows on the second story across the central courtyard. Windows that contained the silhouette of a woman.
* * * * *
Merciful Goddess, what was she going to do? He'd stared at her throughout the class as if he wanted to eat her. Men thought they were so smooth, so impenetrable and mysterious. She'd known exactly what was going through his mind. It was a wonder none of the children had noticed. Perhaps some of the older ones had, she thought with a heavy sigh. There had been plenty of surreptitious glances back at the silent man brooding in the rear of the classroom.
She leaned against her bedroom window, lost in thought, staring blankly into the darkness outside.
So, what did she want to do about him?
Her first impulse was to find him and explore the wicked potential in his eyes. Her second was more protective. It was too much of a risk. He was dangerous and unknown, primal and unrestrained. All the things she'd mentioned to him before. But he had come back. Because he missed a young girl and had made her a promise. There was kindness and caring underneath that gruff exterior. But, she didn't delude herself, there was still plenty of danger.
Behind her, her door opened with a quiet click.
"Has anyone ever mentioned to you that you lack manners?" she said sharply.
"Once or twice," he said as he closed the door quietly behind him. She heard him throw the lock.
"What are you doing here, Logan?" she asked, turning to face him. He'd shed his habitual jacket and outer shirt, and only a dark T-shirt covered his broad chest. Her breath caught. He was feral and beautiful, his gaze already hot.
"Oh, I think you know," he said, his eyes devouring her. Her flesh heated under that look; breasts swelling, nipples hardening. She crossed her arms over her chest defensively. She wasn't ready for this yet.
"First Jean, now me. Who's next?"
"Just you," he growled, pacing across the room toward her. She had time to avoid him, if she wished, but she stood there watching his advance, her pulse pounding in her throat. Her hands fell back to her sides and she tipped her head back. Big. He was so big and male. All dark hair and heated eyes, flowing muscle and dangerous intent.
"This isn't a good idea," she said, her voice reduced to little more than breath and desire. He nodded once, lifting a hand to brush gently at the side of her face. "I know," he muttered, bending down to cover her mouth. She parted her lips to meet his and she was lost. Her hands rose and clutched at his shoulders, his back, pressing him urgently against her.
His own hands closed around her, hard and strong, lifting her up into the air. The wall was cool against her back for an instant, then forgotten in the feel of his mouth on hers, his tongue surging deep inside. She moaned as he pressed himself against her, his arousal obvious. An answering ache began deep inside her.
He pulled back just enough to transfer his attention to her face, her neck, his whiskers rough against her smooth skin. She gasped for breath, sensation spiraling through her. Then she thrust her fingers into his hair, holding him in place as he tormented the tender skin beneath her ear.
"I've been hard since this morning, you witch," he growled. A thrill shot through her.
"You deserved it," she gasped back.
"Maybe," he conceded. "But I wanna make you burn now too."
"I am burning," she replied huskily. "Can't you feel me?" She pulsed her hips against his own, pressing her heat against him. He shuddered and dropped his forehead on her shoulder, his breath coming in great gasps. Then he raised his head again, and pinned her with his searing gaze.
"Tryin' to make me come right here, darlin'?" he snarled at her, his hands hard on her shoulders and her back, pressing her tightly to him. She felt him throb against her core and smiled wickedly. "You recover fast, don't you?"
"Witch," he muttered again, devouring her mouth, stopping her teasing voice. He reached down and slid one hand under her bottom, jerking her roughly up into the air, balancing her precariously on one arm and against the wall. Her legs went around his hips automatically, her hands grasping for purchase on his arms, his shirt, anything as her world reeled. She gasped as he pulled back, then lifted his free hand. Clenching his hand into a fist against his chest, he popped a single gleaming claw out between them. Her eyes widened in shock, her gaze darting up to his. Then she slowly lowered her lids over them, surrendering to his desire. Blood thundered in her ears, practically deafening her.
"I can't wait any more," he said. Hooking the tip in her shirt, he carefully slit the fabric from hem to collar, laying her bare except for her lacy bra. The claw slipped away again with it's distinctive sound, and his hand closed possessively over a breast. She cried out and he dropped his head down between her breasts, his lips searching, his breath hot.
"Logan," she begged.
He lowered her to the floor then, right there beside the window. His hands urgent on the buttons of her jeans, stripping them away, then, finally, merciful Goddess, on her skin. She sobbed desperately as he hooked a hand in the tiny strap of her underwear and tore it away, the harsh scrape on her skin just one more overwhelming sensation, one more spur to passion. Her own hands were busy, dragging away his shirt, streaking across his back. Her short nails dug in, drawing him close, her mouth racing across his neck, his shoulder, his chest.
He pushed the cup of her bra aside and his lips fastened on her nipple, drawing it into his mouth. She gave a stifled cry, falling back, her neck arching. He suckled her, his hand dropping to his own belt, his own jeans, tugging at them impatiently. Then she felt him, hard and hot against her, his jeans still rough between her thighs. He raised his head and kissed her again, his lips moist and firm and tasting of her own skin.
He surged inside her and she cried out into his mouth, his own groan merging with hers.
It was all heat and fire then, motion and searing pleasure. She was unraveling, falling, but his arms were hard about her, holding her, keeping her safe. She screamed and she dimly heard thunder crashing along with his hoarse yell.
* * * * *
He held himself over her, arms shaking, but knowing that if he lay on her, he'd crush her. God, what a woman! She was limp beneath him, her breath coming in great gasps, her eyes closed. Sweat gleamed on her face, between her breasts. One out-flung hand lay over her head. Nothing half-way about her, he thought with a satisfied smirk. She gave as good as she got. He'd felt the sting of her nails on his back, and had savored it, despite the fact the tiny wounds had already healed.
And cool, my ass, he thought. She'd never fool him again. With a sigh, he slid an arm under her, then rolled over, carrying her with him. She groaned as he settled her beside him, tucking her head into his shoulder, keeping an arm tight around her. She relaxed against him with a contented sigh, her arm draped over his chest. Her ruined shirt was bunched up under his arm, and her lace bra was still only half-covering her, but she looked as contented as a cat in cream.
"You okay?" he asked, his voice still husky. He'd swear she purred as she lifted her head to blink at him. Her eyes were dark, the lids heavy with passion.
"No, I think we definitely need to try that again," she whispered, a smile tugging at her swollen lips. Thunder crashed outside then, shaking the windows violently. Her eyes widened with alarm. She struggled to sit up, looking toward the window just as lightning flashed. Rain was pounding against the casement, the night dark once more. Thunder rumbled again.
"Lose control, huh?" he said, smug. She shot him an exasperated look, then lifted her hands, heedless of her disheveled state. Her eyes whited over and he could tell she was concentrating, because her face smoothed out and became serene, like a painting of a Madonna he'd seen once. His breath caught in his throat. She was incredible.
The thunder calmed, the lighting faded and the rain slowed. The night became quiet again. She lowered her arms and looked back down at him. He'd folded his arms behind his head to better watch her, his eyes gleaming with admiration.
"We might as well have put up a sign," she said with a rueful sigh.
"Oh, like your screamin' wasn't enough?" he asked with false innocence. She narrowed her eyes at him and glared. "You are no gentleman," she said tartly.
"Never said I was, darlin'," he laughed, catching her in his arms and drawing her back down to kiss her passionately once again.
* * * * *
There was much discussion among the student body the next morning about just what the strange thunderstorm last night had meant. Was it prelude to another attack by evil mutants? Or had Ms. Munroe and Logan gotten into another fight. Some even thought it just a freaky natural occurrence. Those were the younger kids.
The older kids, most of whom had witnessed Logan's presence in History class the previous day, exchanged significant looks and smirks, nudging each other with knowing elbows.
But nobody was willing to discuss it with Rogue.
She sat in the far corner of the dining hall, in her usual place, trying to concentrate on her bowl of corn flakes. But they were rapidly getting soggy. Kitty and Jubilee sat nearby, heads close together as they discussed something that involved much giggling and whispering. She felt so much older than them, suddenly. Hadn't she almost died? Didn't she have the thoughts of two other people (she didn't count David) running around in her head? There were so many things they just didn't understand.
She pushed the half-eaten bowl of cereal away and looked out the windows with a deep sigh, resting her chin on her hand. It was a beautiful morning. The brief rain in the night had scrubbed the air leaving it clear and bright. She didn't notice the sudden silence that fell around her.
A chair scraped back and boots thumped on the floor. And there was Logan watching her with a speculative eye. "Food's that bad, huh?" he said, glancing at her nearly full tray.
"Nah, I'm just not hungry this mornin'," she said with a small smile. "And here I thought you were always hungry," he shot back. Then he snagged a piece of toast off her tray and crunched into it with a shrug.
"They feed us regular around here you know," she said ironically, abruptly reminded of the day she'd run into him. She'd been so very hungry and lost. Then there he'd been. A mutant just like her. Her hand crept up to the dog-tags at her neck.
Catching the motion, he paused. "You okay, kid?" he asked, brow furrowed.
"Yeah," she smiled gently. Then she looked down at her hands encased in gloves. "Is she nice to you?"
"Is who nice to me?" he asked, surprised, hand frozen in the act of reaching for another piece of toast.
"Ms. Munroe. Is she nice to you?" To her endless amusement, he looked so uncomfortable that she'd almost swear he was blushing. Logan blushing?
"Uh, yeah, I guess you could say so," he said uneasily. He watched her warily, as if afraid she might explode or something.
"A'hm glad," she said, a silly tightness in her throat emphasizing her accent. And she was working so hard to get rid of it too.
"Marie. . ." he began. But she shook her head, tears starting in her eyes. She choked them back, furrowing her brows anxiously. If he tried to be nice she'd end up bawling all over the place.
"No, it's okay, I understand," she said with a wan smile. "Really, I do. I do have you in my head still you know. It's just that I, well, I didn't wanna have to share you yet."
He looked at her for a long minute, speechless, then he got up and came around to the chair beside her. Then there, in the middle of the dining hall - in front of everyone - he put his arm around her and hugged her tightly to his side. It felt wonderful.
"You're okay, kid," he said, smiling his half-smile down at her.
And suddenly the day looked much, much better.
* * * * *
He caught her that morning after class, in the hallway on the way to the dining hall. With smooth precision he whisked her, protesting all the way, into the library and proceeded to kiss her senseless. When he pulled away, he looked down into her bemused brown eyes and grinned evilly, "More later, darlin'."
Then he walked out of the library, brow raised nonchalantly, surprising a knot of students traveling down the hall. A few brave souls lingered, watching the library door, hoping to have their suspicions confirmed.
Sure enough, a minute later, Ms. Munroe came out of the library looking uncharacteristically dazed. Her expression sharpened quickly enough when she caught sight of the loiterers and with a stern look she sent them scrambling into the dining hall. Once they were gone, she sighed, raising a hand to touch her lips in wonder.
* * * * *
Logan paced behind the couch in Professor Xavier's office, his expression dark, his movements savage. "There wasn't anything left, I tell you," he snapped. "It'd been burned to the ground. I didn't find a damned thing."
Scott Summers sat on the couch, leaning forward on his knees, his hands clasped between them. His red lenses glinted in the sunlight as he turned to keep the pacing Logan in view. Professor Charles Xavier sat behind his desk, his attention also focused on the pacing man.
"I believe you, Logan, however I must admit I am confused," the Professor said mildly. "Satellite data clearly showed a small installation there no less than five years ago."
"Well, there ain't nothin' there now 'cept broken concrete and bear shit."
"How interesting," the Professor said, looking into the distance, his expression thoughtful.
"Are you sure you had the right place?" Scott asked, his tone cool and scornful.
"You go find it, One-eye," Logan snarled. "I'd like to see you try and survive up there for a week, much less five."
"That will be quite enough, both of you," the Professor said reprovingly, his attention draw back by the bickering. Scott leaned back, a faintly guilty expression on his face. "I don't have an explanation for you, Logan. I can only offer my own services." Logan froze and stared at the Professor. His fists clenched at his side and he looked as feral and dangerous as he had the first day in the mansion all those weeks ago.
"You mean let you walk around in my brain, right?"
"It would be painless, and I would only look for relevant information, but essentially yes," the Professor said, unfazed by the possible threat Logan posed. Logan shuddered and looked away. It wasn't that he didn't respect the Professor, but something in him went nearly wild at the thought of anyone messing around in his head again. He was screwed up enough already - look what had happened to Rogue when he let Jean do a casual scan of him. What bloodbath would be unleashed if the Professor started tinkering around in there?
"Not yet. I'm not ready for that yet. There's got to be another way."
"Very well." The Professor fixed him with a look that clearly said he understood Logan's fears - and respected them. "Inquiries can be started. Discreet ones. Scott can assist you with that from the systems in the basement."
Logan turned a mocking expression on Scott. "Looks like it's you and me, sweetheart."
"Wonderful," Scott said, rising to his feet. "Better come with me then."
* * * * *
The equipment gleamed behind metallic covers, everything smooth and sanitary looking, concealing secrets and knowledge and power. Now that Logan knew of the old connection between Magneto and Charles Xavier he better understood the hidden portion of the mansion's design. The force of Magneto's personality was stamped everywhere. The lower rooms always raised his hackles.
Summers settled in at the main information console, his fingers flying with skill and precision over the keys. He was obviously in his element here. However, the stuff could have been the latest experimental designs or last year's trash and Logan wouldn't have known the difference. Hand him a weapon, however, and he knew he could strip and reassemble it in record time.
"You know what, slick," Logan said, eyeing the glittering screens and scrolling data. "I haven't got the faintest flamin' idea what any of this shit is." Summers didn't even turn when he spoke, so focused was he on his task. But Logan thought that for the barest of instants a smug smile had tugged at the corner of Summers' mouth.
"Don't you? Well sit down, shut up and watch the master work then."
* * * * *
Her afternoon History class had just dispersed and Ororo was standing at the front of the room, surprised to find a silly smile creeping across her face. It wouldn't be much longer now, she thought, before he came strolling in looking for her, that wicked gleam in his eye. Her knees trembled for a moment and her eyes closed as she let herself get lost in memories of the night before.
"Ms. Monroe?" The hesitant voice had her turning and taking a deep breath in surprise. She'd thought all the current students had left. And they had. Rogue had apparently returned on some errand.
"Yes, Marie?" she said, forcing a calmer expression onto her face. The girl seemed uneasy, her gloved hands fidgeting with something. She looked up, a wavering smile on her face. "I just wanted to say that I'm glad for you," she said shyly. Ororo's brow furrowed briefly, then she remembered, in a sick rush, that Marie was particularly fond of Logan. How could she have forgotten that? she thought with shock. Proof positive that the man had distracted her totally.
"And why is that, Marie?" she asked cautiously. Marie gave a firmer smile, her eyes sparkling with secret knowledge. "I'm glad about you and Logan. I was pulling for you all along."
"Excuse me?" Ororo managed, shocked down to her toes.
"I just didn't understand what he saw in Dr. Grey," the girl continued, rolling her eyes in exasperation. "But anyway, I'm glad you two are together now. And I. . . I wanted you to have these." She extended her gloved hand and Ororo saw Logan's dog-tags cupped in her palm. Her treasured keepsake. Ororo smiled mistily and took a step toward the girl. "Oh, honey, do you really want to do this?"
"Logan and I, well, we talked this morning," Marie said with a shrug, trying to look cool and grown-up and only succeeding in looking like a wan little girl instead. "This way I figure he'll have two reasons to keep coming back here."
Wanting only to take the girl into her arms and give her a big hug, Ororo reached out and took the battered tags instead, cupping them carefully in her hands. "Thank you, Marie."
* * * * *
After nearly an entire afternoon spent exclusively in Summers' company, Logan was ready to kill someone. Instead he went looking for Ororo.
He found her in the main lounge, laughing at something one of the kids had said to her. He stopped in the doorway and simply drank in the sight of her, storing her image up against an uncertain future. Summers' words still rang painfully in his head. He was surprised he'd let the bastard live.
"While I'm glad you've come to your senses and decided to leave Jean alone," he'd said about halfway through the afternoon and deep into a restricted database trying to discover any mention of a base at Alkalai Lake. "I'm concerned about your . . .relationship with Ororo."
"What's it to you?" Logan had growled, fascinated despite himself by the process of searching for information. It was like hunting or tracking, but with data.
"Ororo is my friend, I'd hate to see her hurt when you leave again."
He shook his head angrily and took a step into the room. Some of the boys nearby edged away from him warily, eyes wide. A group of girls looked at him and lowered their heads, giggling together. He ignored them. But slowly silence stretched across the room, rippling out from his presence. When it reached her, she lifted her head, like a deer scenting danger, and looked straight into his eyes. He saw her lips part on a silent gasp, then she said something polite to the person next to her and walked toward him, her gaze never leaving his.
He could barely restrain himself as she approached, but he let her walk all the way to him. It was a way to mark her as willingly his own, that so public journey. And she knew it. Her eyes shown with feminine mysteries and promise. She stopped in front of him, half a step away. Now oblivious to the watchers, he hooked his arm around her, and pulled her tightly against him. She raised her hands to his face, looking deeply into his eyes, and her brows drew together at the wildness and pain she saw there.
"Ah, come with me," she whispered soothingly. He growled in response, lifted her into his arms and carried her out of the room. Dead silence reigned for a long instant. Eyes blinked in shock, then romantic sighs could be heard from various points around the room. Conversation started again in a rush.
Teenaged dreams had been given plenty of fuel for that night.
* * * * *
He carried her to his own room this time. She leaned over and opened the door, and he kicked it impatiently shut behind them. Carrying her to the bed, he laid her gently down upon it, following her down. She framed his face with her hands, pulling him down to her, branding him with her kiss.
When they came up for air, he shifted down, laying himself beside her so he wouldn't crush her, his face rubbing against one breast. His breath was hot across the skin exposed by the low, scooped neck of her shirt. She closed her eyes in anticipation.
"What's this?" His gruff voice startled her eyes open again. He lifted his head, one hand cupping the dangling tags that had hung concealed between her breasts.
"Marie gave them to me this afternoon," she said softly. He looked up at her, confused for an instant, then a half-smile touched his lips.
"She's a hell of a kid," he said, a hint of pride on his face.
"I also got the distinct impression she was giving me you," she continued, one brow raised challengingly. He let the tags fall back down between her breasts, the cooled metal making her shiver on contact. Then he reared up over her, bracing himself above her on his elbows.
"Enough talkin'," he growled. Aware that he was dodging things he wasn't ready to face - might never be ready to face - she smiled up at him. Her hands slipped around his back, under his shirt, fingers clenching on his skin as she drew him toward her.
"Yes, enough talk," she murmured, lifting herself against him. He took her mouth with his then, lips hard and seeking. She eagerly opened her mouth under the onslaught, allowing him inside.
* * * * *
The field trip to a local museum had been eagerly anticipated by the students all week. Ororo and Jean tolerated their youthful antics with patient understanding. The kids didn't get off the school grounds much, due to the hazards of concealment for some of them. But the Professor had deemed it safe enough for now. Senator Kelly's anti-mutant movement had lost a great deal of momentum with 'his' recent reversal.
Ororo stood at the back of the group, her arms crossed, listening with no small amusement as some of the boys discussed the relative merits - artistic of course - of a rather exotic marble bust of a naked woman. The museum was crowded that day. She felt someone jostle her shoulder and turned with half her attention toward the encounter. A tall man wearing dark sunglasses stood beside her, a strange anticipatory look on his face. Irritated, she started to back away, but bumped into another man who had come up close on her other side. Old instincts screamed at her. It was one of the oldest ruses around and she'd fallen for it. There was the sharp prick of a needle in her arm. Her eyes widened and she felt herself slipping into darkness.
"They didn't say it'd be so pretty," the sunglass-wearing man said as he reached for her. She knew no more.
* * * * *
Jean Grey looked around, confused. Where had Ororo gone? One minute she'd been standing at the back of their little group watching some of the more troublesome boys, and then she was gone. It wasn't like her to leave without saying something first. Jean sent one of the girls into the bathroom looking for her, just in case. Then, desperate, she questioned the security guards.
Finally, one of them mentioned he'd seen a woman with white hair being helped out of the museum earlier by two men. He'd almost offered to help, since it looked as if she'd fainted or something, but they'd left too quickly. He'd assumed they were taking her to a doctor.
Grim and frightened, Jean rounded up the kids. They drew together, concerned when she told them Ms. Munroe was missing. They hurried out to the van, eager to return to the school for help.
* * * * *
She woke, sick and disoriented, to jolting darkness. Her arms were twisted behind her back, crossed at the wrists in heavy metal cuffs. Her legs were also bound. There was the smell of gasoline fumes and dust. It took her only an instant longer to realize just how small the space was.
Very small.
And very dark.
She whimpered, squeezing her eyes closed as the old fear surged over her. Too small. It was too small - it hurt so much - and she'd never get out. Never. They hurt, the small places. Away from the sky. Never to see the sky again. It was too small in here to hold the darkness even, much less her. The darkness would surely shatter around her, breaking her, crushing her.
Her breath sobbed in, harsh and jagged, filled with the crushed darkness. Not even any room left for air, the dark and the small had taken it all. She took quick, shallow breaths, trying to sneak air from the darkness, from the crushing small.
There was none left for her, she couldn't breathe. She was going to die, crushed inside here, and never see the sky again.
Momma? Poppa?
But only in her mind did she scream.
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