Chapter One: Mistakes
This time, this place
Misused, mistakes
Too long, too late
Who was I to make wait?
~ Nickelback
Logan speaks:
It’s strange, what your mind chooses to forget as the years go by. Things like phone numbers, the name of that woman in the red dress, the scent of Scott’s attempt at making shrimp stew. I do remember the day everything changed with perfect clarity. The sight of her lifeless body on the cold rocks on the shores of Alkali Lake. Her red hair was matted to that pale, pale face. Beautiful lips frozen in death.
I can recall the scream torn from Ororo’s throat, the howl of Scott’s pain. I remember the way every tear felt as it slid down my cheeks. All these years later, that one moment in time is forever with me. I don’t remember the day before or the day following, but I do know every second of that day.
What’s worse? Remembering what happened in the weeks following. My life had been altered forever and how did I deal with it? I screwed someone else up, too.
I’m getting ahead of myself here. Yeah, I need to back up a little. Funny how after all these decades, I still know exactly what she smelled like that night. Honey and earth and rain and all those things that I love.
It was just a couple of weeks after Jean died, when we were all still drifting. I drifted right into trouble…
~**~
May 19th, 2004
“Should we be doing this?”
Her words left passion bruised lips on a husky whisper, one that sent an undeniable shock of heat from his heart to his lions. He pressed her body intimately into the door of her bedroom. Hands groped for any sliver of exposed flesh they could reach.
“Not likely,” he whispered. “But I don’t give a flying fuck.”
Ororo groaned against his neck, her teeth sinking into his already sweat-slicked flesh. His hand found purchase on her bare hip, the feathery cotton of her nightgown pushed up to her hips. She undulated into him, crooning his name in a way that definitely shoved any moralistic voice in his head to the side and gagged it.
“I am not her,” Ororo gasped as he massaged the skin of her thigh.
“Only people in this room are you an’ me, darlin’.”
She seemed to accept this, her nails scraping down his bare arms. The scent of her arousal mingled with the desperate clouds of pheromones wafting to his nostrils from her chocolate flesh.
Logan gripped her hips in a possessive manner, yanking her flush against him. He felt those impossibly long legs wrap around his waist, giving him easy access to thrust his hips into hers, grinding his cock against her center.
His needy lover gave a sharp cry as he tossed her onto the bed behind them. Her gown was easily wrenched over her head as he unbuckled his belt. Once his jeans pooled at his feet while she slid the flimsy excuse for panties down her legs.
The world could go hang for a while. He needed this. The driven lust for physical contact, the healing touch of someone who only demanded what he could give was intoxicating. Scents of want and unbridled desire had captured his attention the moment he found her in the kitchen.
She wanted him and for now, that would do.
Ororo beckoned him back to her, so he crawled up her lithe, long body until their lips met and every inch of their bare skin was pressed together intimately.
Time seemed to stop for them, for this moment when pain was no longer an option. He could breathe here, in this place of complete safety. Neither knew what the morning would bring, but for some unknown reason, it didn’t matter.
He took her swiftly, entering her warm, receptive body with almost no resistance. She cried out when he filled her, arching her chest closer to him in offering. He captured one taut nipple in his mouth, tonguing it until she crooned his name.
Logan underestimated her, but he laughed when he found their postions suddenly reversed. Growling his approval, he watched her breasts swing enticingly as she braced her hands on his chest, lifting her body carefully. She slammed back down with aching speed, making the fire building in his belly scream for release.
In the dark, his mind betrayed him. Short white locks and piercing blue eyes were replaced by a mane of fire red and warm green orbs. For a moment, she was alive for him.
Confusion crossed his features, making him shake his head as though to clear it. Just as he reached his peak, Ororo following swiftly, the betrayal made itself known.
“God…Jean…”
Both writhing bodies froze. Logan watched, damning himself to hell and back, as those desire-filled blue eyes turned stone cold. He thought, for a moment, that she would electrocute him, as was her common empty threat.
Instead, the African beauty above him merely nodded. Too weak and horrified to try stopping her, he only watched as she swung her legs off of him. The tangled sheet was quickly gathered around that glorious body.
“Consider this a favor.”
Her words were as cold as the air crackling around them.
“’Ro…wait.”
She ignored him. Logan winced when the door slammed off of its hinges as she made her escape. He lay back down against the pillows that smelled of honey and rain.
Tomorrow, he would make things right. They could still be friends; nothing more needed to come out of this. Tomorrow, everything would be back to normal.
~**~
April 12th, 2006
“I’ll see your ten and raise you…five.”
“Call.”
“I’m out.”
“Call.”
“Read ‘em and weep, boys.”
Logan grinned around the cigar pinched between his teeth as his friends threw down their cards in disgust. His full house had certainly cleaned everyone out. The smoky room was filled with angry muttering and good-natured threats.
The Friday Poker Game was steadily becoming tradition at Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters. In the last two years, when the female adult quotient had become none, the boys had quickly returned to being…boys.
There was beer in the refrigerator again and cigars and poker on Friday evenings, once the children were safely tucked into their rooms. Occasionally they even managed to get the Professor himself to kick back at the round table.
Kitty Pryde, a newly inducted X-Woman, teased them almost constantly about the historical significance of their “round” table. Tonight, Bobby Drake, Logan, Scott Summers, and Dr Henry McCoy were well into a case of Scotch and a box of cigars.
Two years had passed since the two X-Women left the men behind to continue the dream. Jean Grey, beloved by many, gave her life for her family at Alkali Lake, her body found weeks later.
And Logan had driven Ororo away.
He frowned around his cigar, changing it at the last moment to a more expected scowl. He’d never been given the chance to make things right between himself and the weather-controlling mutant. The day following his slip up in her bed, she had resigned from the X-Men and vanished.
Tracking her had proved impossible. The woman knew how to cover her tracks. She had purchase eight airplane tickets and because of federal law, no one could tell him which she boarded. Charles Xavier had been more than a little unhelpful.
It was widely accepted that he was still in contact with their missing friend, but he would not so much as confirm that she was alive and well. Logan suspected that the CIA and MI6 would have serious issues trying to pry information from the telepath.
What Logan did know was Ororo Munroe’s abrupt departure was entirely his fault. Even though she cited her grief over the death of her dear friend, he knew that she had truly fled from him.
Collecting the cards Scott dealt him, he scowled further. Another shit hand. He was beginning to suspect that his friend was trying to cheat him. When he raised a brow to the dealer, the answering smirk was confirmation enough.
Logan took it in stride. After all, it was all in good fun. The tenuous friendship the two had forged was made stronger if only because they had been left alone by the women they tended to use as glue.
Of all the people in the mansion, Scott had taken Ororo’s departure the hardest. Logan had suspected their relationship was close, but One-Eye was broken by the second abandonment.
For some time, they had all wondered if he would never recover. Logan reached for him, helping him through the grief. It was a selfish move. The mansion could be more than a little lonely if one was left to his own devices.
When the music blaring from the room’s speaker system changed from throbbing guitar solos to the irritating chorus of whatever new boy band was popular, the table of men groaned in unison.
Bobby, or Iceman as he preferred, leapt to his feet, changing the station to a mixed compact disc Jubilation Lee was fond of making. Sounds of appropriately male appreciation echoed when Aerosmith blasted out of the speakers.
“Good choice,” Henry muttered, fretting over the cards in his hand.
The big, fur-covered mutant was a new addition to the X-Men. There was a history with Beast and the X-Men, though Cyclops had always been reluctant to talk about it. Shortly after Ororo left, he’d shown up again, likely at the Professor’s insistence.
Logan liked him well enough. The man was incredibly intelligent and unfailingly polite. There was something soothing about the unflappable mutant. Though his appearance bordered on terrifying, his geniality spoke volumes of the man beneath the fur.
“Two.”
Bobby’s request for cards brought Logan back to the present. It was dangerous to dwell on his thoughts. Once or twice he’d drifted into thinking about Ororo and her leaving. It had proved dangerous on many levels.
He had the memory of her etched into his memory. It reminded him of a sort of brand, something he could not ignore or escape. Their quick romp in her bedroom left an impression on him. Just the faint idea of her sent his memory into overload. The scent of her skin, how her body moved against his…it was a recipe for disaster.
Self-hatred often followed such trips down memory lane. He’d used her to get himself off and enjoyed it. Then he’d gone and called her Jean. She was right in leaving him, in giving him the cold shoulder and absolute silence while she prepared to leave her life behind.
One thing he could not escape was that betrayal and the simple fact that Ororo had surpassed any of his fantasies about Jean. Her passion was surprising, consuming. A baser instinct in him called to that. Wanting to drown in her again and again, that was the price for his betrayal.
The game wrapped up a few moments later, though Logan would never be able to remember who had won or why the night ended so quickly. It took him a moment to shake off worried Cyclops, but soon he found himself wandering the mansion alone.
Silent halls were filled with aching shadows. He wanted to hide in them, especially on nights like this one. She’d been gone so long…
For a moment, he pondered on which woman he referred to. Was it Jean and her unexpected death? Ororo and her cold departure?
As these thoughts had many other times over the last years, he found himself in the corridor that led to her bedroom. Scott stubbornly refused to take her things out and recycle the bedroom for another teacher or student. Logan figured that the other mutant still expected her to come home.
Logan entered silently; peering down the dark hallway to ensure no one was watching him. It would be grounds for murder if anyone knew he often returned to the scene of his crime.
Everything was covered in a layer of thick dust. Her wardrobe was still slightly ajar, as it had been the day he’d attempted to talk her out of resigning. She’d slammed it, he recalled, so hard it banged back off the hinges.
Touching her pillow, which once smelled of honey and rain, he mentally berated himself for being such an emotional bastard. Why should he care if she left? He wasn’t bound to her, there was no love between them, barely friendship.
Was it because he had hurt her? Even if the night had been for nothing more than physical pleasure, saying another woman’s name was just bad form.
He sat heavily on the bed, not bothering to test the air for hints of her scent. Any trace of that intoxicating smell was long gone. Dropping his head slightly forward, he rested his elbows on his knees and sat, as always, in the darkness.
If she ever came home, he would make things right. He had to.
~**~
“Mornin’,” Logan greeted the Professor the next morning.
Had his mutation abandoned him, the older man might have noticed the sleepless wear reflected on his face. Luckily, there was no sign of yet another night spent sitting in Ororo’s room, as though waiting for her to breeze back through the door.
“Good morning, Logan,” Charles replied with a fond smile. “Ah, thank you.”
He accepted the steaming cup of coffee from his X-Man, indicating that he should take a seat. Logan made himself comfortable, sipping at the scalding coffee and begging his mind to stay on task.
Though it was more common than he wanted to admit to stay in Ororo’s shrine-kept room all night, it was rare that he let her memory overtake him completely, as he had last evening. The guilt and unacceptable longing would be with him for days if he let it.
“You will be accompanying the graduating children to the week-end trip at NYU tomorrow, yes?” Charles asked after taking a long draw from his drink.
Logan nodded easily. “Yeah. Becky Tate seems most likely to attend, but a few others want to go, too.”
“Good, good,” the elder man agreed. “It will be nice to have a few of our university students close by.”
“Yeah,” Logan smirked. “Got a bit of the empty nest syndrome early this year?”
The bald mutant smiled in response, inclining his head. “Perhaps. It seems we will lose many to live on the outside this year.”
“Seems like. They’re a good bunch. I’ll feel safer with them out there.”
“As will I. You have done well in preparing them.”
Logan’s eyebrow arched as he processed the compliment. “I teach history. I don’t know how much that helps.”
“It does. A study of the past can influence decisions in the present,” Charles said in that sagely tone that made Logan want to snort derisively. “How are the seniors doing with their projects?”
Scratching his chin, Logan had to bite back a smile. “We’ll have a working Civil War era canon next week.”
“Oh, dear.”
“Your idea to use Civil War Weaponry as the topic,” Logan held his hand up in self-defense. “I wanted to go with Storm’s preferred topic.”
“Yes, the Gettysburg Address is admirable, but I fear a few of the students were beginning to recycle the graduated students projects.”
“Hey, that’s just using all available resources.”
Both men were content to let the jibe go at that. Through his long months here at the mansion, teaching and waging war, Logan had begun to respect the man even more. Slowly, he was beginning to take on Charles’ dream as his own.
“How was the game last night? Scott seems unusually chipper for a Saturday. Did you leave him enough to take Renee out this weekend?”
Chuckling, Logan shrugged. “He had a good streak last night.”
Pausing, he debated on whether or not he should pump his older friend for information on Scott’s new “girl”. The woman, Renee Irving, was a tall, leggy blonde with an MBA. Logan had met her only once, which was enough to find her excruciatingly boring.
“They are doing well, though I am not sure she is a good match for our Cyclops.”
No longer surprised at the man’s seeming omnipotence, Logan shrugged. “He doesn’t have to marry her. Hell, I’m just glad he’s gettin’ laid.”
“Logan,” his friend chided while biting back a smile.
Sharp eyes caught the telepath’s slight frown, which lasted only a moment before it was wiped away. Logan tested the air with his nose, finding a subtle trace of something alien coming from the Professor.
While he debated asking about it, he noticed a soft grunt and the way Charles rubbed at his left shoulder absently.
“Well, I do have some phone calls to make,” there was strain in the man’s voice, barely audible. “Would you mind sending Scott in?”
Logan nodded, making a note to alert Cyclops when he saw him. Something was wrong with their benefactor. Worry prickled at his senses. Just as Logan turned to leave the room, he heard another grunt, followed by a resounding thud.
He turned, almost as in slow motion. Charles slumped over in his chair, one hand to his heart and a grimace of unbearable pain written on his face. Logan dropped his coffee, rushing across the room. He screamed when he gathered his lifeless friend in his arms, papers fluttering on the air around them.
“HELP! SOMEONE HELP ME!”
