Own nothing. If I owned Ororo Munroe, I would have her train me so I could become her.
DISCLAIMER: Here's the deal. I'm not really one who cares for her being married off or dating etc, but I feel that if her character as a whole is undermined (as it was and has been for a while now since the horrid movie) then it's a slap in the face to fans. Anywho, I've been keeping up with the events of the X-Men, sort of, and due mainly to my lack of knowledge I'm just giving a very loosely based story on the facts I know and what I've seen. That said, you "true fans" etc be ready to read something that may not be completely accurate. I've been a STORM fan since I was in elementary, but X-Men as a whole has just recently interested me. So….without further ado, have fun Be sure to review. Tell me how you feel. I learn through praise and critique.
The lighting was dim. The entire room, spacious and spotlessly clean, was blanketed in a deep, burgundy; candle lit lamps were at each corner, blazing and flickering softly, with red wax pooling around the middle. The table was heavily embellished with an array of fruits, vegetables, and meats. It's long, slender design was covered completely with fresh food, and in its center were two tall red waxed candles, flickering romantically in the air. The double doors opened, and the king walked in proudly. The servants had done a marvelous job. His dark skin glowed red slightly against the light as he slowly strolled to survey the table closer. Yes, everything was perfect.
His tall, strong frame-perfectly toned and muscular, fit for the elite warrior-was covered in a tailored black suit. All black. Down to the undershirt he wore under the perfectly pressed button down. His rough hands grazed over his clean cut, chiseled jaw as he finished the inspection of the table, and with a satisfied gleam in his eye, despite stern features, he headed to his end and sat comfortably. He glanced at the door, and then his watch. "Patience T'Challa," he murmured to himself, "Allow her time." Though he wouldn't admit it, he missed her. More so than he thought he would. The great division between heroes, Avengers vs X-Men, had taken its toll and placed an iron bar steadily in between their marriage until finally, he annulled it. In any instance, T'Challa still didn't believe it was a mistake, but that did nothing to abate the obvious. He loved her. Wanted her. Missed her greatly. After the annulment she left him and was obviously hurt, but with a duty that hell, she knew. Her loyalty was to the dream. Not necessarily the Avengers, Wakanda, or even the X-Men. Her loyalty was to her precious father figure's hopes and the preservation of the goodness of her family. T'Challa sipped his wine, ahh family.
He wanted a family with her. To have a son, sturdy and strong willed and intelligent like his father, and a daughter, beautiful and compassionate and graceful like her mother. His son would be stealthy, stubborn, and his daughter would strong and sure. They would be a family of regal dignity. A beautiful, honorable family. He sipped his drink again as that dream slowly dissipated from his minds view.
The silence of the room was beginning to bother him, and he glanced at his watch again. Ororo was rarely late, but he knew that if she hadn't wanted to come, she would've rejected his offer to dine with him. He had to alert his officials that she rejected the private craft and was flying in herself. She wasn't staying. When she arrived, the weather didn't change, she didn't call, she simply checked into the embassy and stayed hidden, and his officials alerted him of her arrival. That was this morning, and 12 hours later T'Challa's stomach was still in little knots. They hadn't talked since that brusque, all too formal call. It sounded more like a meeting between two politicians, two businessmen, than two lovers. T'Challa clenched his fist around the glass. They weren't lovers anymore.
When he'd called, she'd answered after a slew of rings. Her sultry voice was cold, unfeeling and uncaring, and he could imagine her sitting, legs crossed, with a cup of tea in hand, or even leaning on the rails of a balcony. "Ororo," he had said curtly, getting egged on by his mother whom was only yards away, "I would like to extend a private invitation," he continued glancing at his mother who scowled at his tone and motioned for him to soften a bit.
He turned away from her quickly. "I would like to extend a private invitation for you to dine with me in Wakanda...If need be I will send you a private aircraft, and I prefer it be as soon as possible."
It seemed like centuries passed before she answered him. He sat, listening to her breathe and a slight but of air hit the phone. She'd floated into the air, possibly for privacy. His mother watched on anxiously, and T'Challa took another deep breath as his eyes glazed over his kingdom. The damage was still in his mind, but rapid progress had been made since the great battle, and most remnants of any terror were gone. The sun blazed orange as it set, and T'Challa watched it patiently as she deliberated.
"I will come in under my own power," she finally said, "Any room in the Embassy will do fine." The statement hit him like a sack of rocks. He hadn't thought of living arrangements, but his bed missed her and her fresh, soothing scent greatly. He cleared his throat.
"Good," he stated, and she hung up. He followed quickly, and ignored his mothers badgering for details. That day he'd ignored the fact that she hadn't given him a date. In all honesty, he was just happy she'd accepted. In fact, when he was alerted of her arrival to the embassy he was surprised, and began, at that moment, making preparations. In fact-
The door gently opened. T'Challa looked up and stood quickly, smoothing over his suit and gazing steadily at the door. His mother poke her head in, and he groaned, pinching between his eyebrows and trying not to show her the abrupt scowl surfacing his handsome features. "Son," she stated softly, "Ororo checked out of the Embassy an hour ago."
T'Challa clenched his jaw, and scoffed, "And what about this?" he spoke strained, suppressing something, flinging his muscular arm toward the table. He clenched his jaw again, pacing lightly as his mother looked on sorrowfully. "Some things are hard to accept, T'Challa. Ororo is a free-spirited woman yet still chained to certain beliefs...who knows what such a complex woman is thinking..." she placed a loving hand on her son's strong shoulder, "I don't mind eating with you." The taller, stronger royal sighed and shook his head, before gently taking his mother's hand from his shoulder and kissing it.
"I respectfully decline, mother," his deep voice responded as he resumed his light pacing. His mother nodded, and silently backed out of the room to allow him to himself. It hurt to see her son like this, so anxious and upset, and it pained her to see him heartbroken. As she closed the door, she sighed, and enclosed him in the deep burgundy of the room. He ran his hand over his hair, walking about the room, circling it, eying the table like prey. "That woman...," he mumbled to himself slipping off his jacket and placing it on the back of the seat he had been in and unbuttoned the first few buttons of his shirt. A heavy pain surfaced on his heart, a deep disappointment that gashed into his core, but on the outside he was his usual self, stern, contemplating.
He busted onto his balcony and leaned on the rails, looking into the sky and praying to the panther god. "Hullo," she said softly, well after he'd finished praying and begun gazing lazily at the sky, "T'Challa." He whipped around, and there she was, standing, with her forearm lazily lying along the rail.
Her white mane was tied in a neat, mid-height ponytail allowing the blueness of the night to glow against her beautiful dark brown skin and bring more sparkle to her sapphire colored eyes. She wasn't dressed for a formal dinner. Her long sleeved, envelope necked top and dark jeans were more casual than the casual he knew her stylish ways permitted. She was barefoot, and though standing ramrod straight she still exuded the grace that only she could.
T'Challa stared at her, took in her beautiful face, her high cheek bones, her casually calm cat-eyes, her full lips, her long, curvaceous body. More than anything, he'd missed her calm he came to realize. Her soothing, reassuring, calm. "Good evening, Ororo," he responded, his brusque tone revealing softness. She sighed but refused to lean into the rail. She wasn't to get too comfortable, this wasn't her home.
After the call with T'Challa she sat and listened. Listened to the birds, the wind, the leaves, the sun's rays, the grass, the clouds, the sky, and finally her heart. She was now leader of the X-Men, Scott resigned and Emma was gone, probably with him. Logan left too, and for a bit she mused over her friend. Their last drink, a beer, had been a while ago. She meant what she had told him though. That was their last drink together. Ororo reached for the tea, but stopped just as her fingertips brushed the handle. It wouldn't help her with her calm, and as frustration began brewing in her core she placed her hand comfortably on her thigh.
"Know'm not allowed here," a gruff voice from behind her stated.
The all to familiar voice added to her terrible mood. "Then leave," she stated, "Or I will force you."
"Ro-"
"Logan, our past relationship is what is prompting this second warning. I will take proper Trespassing Enemy Protocol in 1 minute starting now."
"Stormy...Remy invited da hairy monster cuz he know Stormy love'em. Almost az much as Stormy do' Remy."
The charming, now pleading voice made her eyes return to their brilliant blue. She remained seated, and the two men made their way in front if her. Remy crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the wall, and Logan did the same. He glazed his hazel eyes over her, her rigid form despite her serene face, and shook his head. The Ice Queen was back, and colder than ever. When she looked at him, he saw a glimmer of hope before it vanished.
"10 minutes," she said finally to the muscular man, who nodded curtly.
"Swamp rat tells me yer been a bit too regal as o' late, Ro...look...yer a big girl an' all but ya gotta-"
"The audacity of you to offer me advice, Logan especially about the way I conduct myself. "
"Oh I forgot, yer the all fuckin mighty goddess, right?" Logan responded gruffly, with a scoff.
"Hey!" Remy rose off of the wall, "Don' talk to Stormy like dat...We're here to help, non? Mountain man can't curse out da leader o' da X-Men an' certainly not Remy's Stormy."
Ororo remained silent, trying to still the winds that began as soon as Logan raised his voice. The rough man ran his fingers through his hair, mumbling curses under his breath.
"Remy," she turned to her friend wearily, "Take him...and do not bring another...fence straddler back to the mansion, or I will be forced to classify you as an ally to them." She stood and cuffed her handsome friend's cheek lovingly in her hand and kissed it. Remy sighed and nodded, and walked inside, expecting Logan to follow him. The wild man stood, as if contemplating over her. "If you ever come back...I would hope it would be to truly return," Ororo said, and he opened his arms slowly to her, testing to see if their bond was still as strong as it once was. She slid her eyes over his arms, and his strong body pressing against his black shirt, and then up at his strong, handsome, and assertive face. "Goodbye, Logan," she said calmly. Her eyes glistened, but her face was still. Her decision was made. Logan nodded, and pulled out a cigar and lit it, looking at her one last time before hopping over the balcony. His was too. As soon as he'd gone, she took off full speed towards Wakanda.
"Things look wonderful now," she said as T'Challa pondered over closing the distance between them, "A strong land can never stay down for long. Nor can its leader."
"How have you been?"T'Challa asked abruptly, easing toward her. Her scent finally filled his nostrils and refreshing nostalgia washed over him.
She breathed in the fresh night air and relished the purely natural feel of Africa."I could be better," she responded, her eyes locked on his. When he was only a foot away, T'Challa stopped. How could he tell her he loved her, desired her, missed her, wanted her by his side when he awakened in the morning and slumbered at night. He couldn't. Her love, and complete loyalty, was to Charles Xavier's dream. And most of all...to herself. The entire conflict between his team and hers made his focus shift from his wife and duties as a husband, and to his team duties as Black Panther and Avenger. He hadn't treated her with the regard she deserved, and still he regretted little. The world was at stake, as was his marriage. She tried to save both...but he chose the greater of the two in his opinion.
Majestically, Ororo walked to him and kissed him passionately. Her arms circled around his neck, caressing it gently with her fingers as she did when they were married. He wrapped his arms tightly around her waist and held her as if she planned to fly away. The kiss was as sweet, as gentle, as passion filled as he remembered and she had missed the feel of him against her, holding her. When she pulled away, tears were brimming her eyes, and she backed slowly from him.
"When you walked out here," she said finally, "Did you not sense me? My presence, my scent...?"
T'Challa sighed. "Beloved," he stated, "I always feel you...I long for you." He took a step and she took one backwards.
"We aren't us anymore, T'Challa," she responded softly, calmly, though a tear rolled slowly down her cheek. He wanted to comfort her, wrap her in his arms and tell her how much he loved her, how he woke up disappointed that her scent was fading, or had long faded, from their bed. How he looked at the empty vanity and imagined her sitting in her silk robe, combing her beautiful white hair and humming serenely. How he missed her laugh, her husky, sultry voice, her silky ebony skin, her calming nature, her wisdom, her conversation, her brewing tea, her making their bed, her tending to the garden. He sat silently, and she pleaded with him through eyes that weren't so serene anymore. Clouds rolled in.
"I have never hesitated to express my love for you..you pig headed man," she stated without any venom. Despite her elegant posture and calm features she looked broken. "And this is no different. Yet you still refuse. Why did you invite me here?"
T'Challa stood rigidly. "Why did you accept?"
"Don't T'Challa!" she nearly hissed, a crackle of thunder being heard in the distance, "Answer me." Her demand was soft, stern, needing.
"You know more than anything how I love you Ororo. You know more than anything! What would you like me to say? I don't know what to say!"
"I cannot tell you how to feel, what to say, how to conduct yourself," Ororo responded. The storm brewing released its ferocity, but it began to drizzle. She was defeated."You are a man of solid mind," she said, "and if you are unsure of what to say to me, especially now, then I suppose I am here for nothing."
Before he could say anything else, she took off into the air. T'Challa leaned onto the wall, watching her until she was completely out of sight. The drizzle became hard rain as he slowly slid to the ground.
R&R. God Bless.