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Title: Forgotten Fates
Author: Aria Mirage
Rating: T (Probable mild 'M' in future chapters)
Summary: Both Storm and Wolverine reunite with aspects of their past—will it be for better or for worse? [Movie-verse/Comic-verse–AU].
Chapter One
Corner pocket.
The gruff Canadian grunted his approval at the accuracy of his shot, straightening up to take a covetous puff of the stogie between his fingers.
He sniffed, instantly detecting her scent in the air. His lips curled slowly. Just how long was she going to watch him? He didn't need his enhanced senses to know she was there, observing him from the doorway.
"Afternoon, Red."
He heard Jean's girlish chuckle drift from behind him. Logan turned to look at her over his shoulder, watching the telepath's slow approach with lazy hazel eyes. She came alongside him and waved away the cloud of smoke that hovered around their heads with a frown pasted on her lips.
"I thought the Professor forbid you from smoking in the mansion." She coughed to emphasis her point.
Defiantly, Logan exhaled another wispy puff of smoke, looking down at his hand to study the cigar in question, his voice gruff.
"Nope. Only not around the kids and Cerebro."
Jean hummed thoughtfully.
He knew what she was there for, how this little game of theirs went. So, same as always, he cut right to the chase.
"So," Logan paused to stare her in the eye. "Where's the Boy Scout?"
Logan moved around to the other side of the table, bending down to line up another shot.
*CRRRAAAKK !*
The multicolored balls scattered across the dark green felt.
Jean idly trailed behind, sidling up close until she was nearly right on top of him.
"He's in a meeting with the Professor."
Ah, so that was the reason why, Logan mused, Little Miss Red was feeling a bit amorous today. The scent of the floral perfume she wore mingled pleasantly in the air with her desire, tickling Logan's sensitive nose and causing him to stir slightly. Feigning obliviousness, Logan drew deeply on the cigar. He cleared his throat, releasing more of the musty smoke from his parted lips.
"Yeah?" he drawled casually.
"Mm-hm." Her voice took on a low hum. "They're discussing the possibility of partnering up certain classes with the school in Massachusetts in the near future."
"Hmph," Logan grunted in reply.
The Wolverine's grunts were legendary. He had a diversified multitude of them and they all meant different things. This one served to show his blissful indifference.
"Uh-huh. So knowing Scott and the Professor, it'll be awhile."
Pink lips grazed Logan's ear as she leaned in further, brushing up against him with her chest pressed against the firmness of his back.
". . . Good thing for us," she near whispered, breath ghosting against the shell of his ear.
Up so close, the floral perfume she wore was stifling, making his head swim and trifling with his concentration - and restraint. The scent of the fragrance and her desire so close to him sparked a low growl to emanate from his chest.
Instead of intimidating her, the sound of it made Jean grin with encouragement. Feeling bold, she easily hoisted herself atop the edge of the pool table and sat, continuing on, unaware of the Wolverine's unsettled mood.
"You know, this is right where it happened before," she reminded him softly, prodding him further. "Our kiss? Do you remember, Logan?
His jaw clenched.
"Jeannie," he muttered in a low warning.
"Logan," she mimicked in retort, her tone teasing, pleased she was able to get under his skin the way he got under hers.
"Stop it, Jeannie," he cautioned simply, holding up his hand in a peaceful gesture. "Just—Just don't, alright?"
The pretty redhead's smiled slipped a fraction, her tone coming out cooler this time around.
"And why not? We haven't done anything, Logan. Nothing serious. It's not like—"
"Yet."
"What?"
With darkening eyes, he glared at her pointedly, penetratingly. "Ya heard me. Just how long are we gonna do this, Red? Until there's no more 'yet' to worry about?"
Jean didn't bother to play coy this time. She knew exactly what he was alluding to. The dance they did around each other – the game they played. Heavy flirting. Heavy innuendos. Heavy petting even – just that once, still, but they tried not to talk about that, too ashamed.
When Jean did nothing but stare him in the face, Logan growled in frustration and tossed the pool stick down on the table with a loud clatter. Startled, the telepath just stared as Logan began pacing back and forth in front of her like a caged animal, roughly raking a hand through the wild, black tufts of hair. He stopped suddenly and let out a deep sigh of frustration, casting her one last glance before stomping out of the room in the direction of the winding staircase and muttering a low, "I need a beer," under his breath.
Reaching the top of the stairs, Logan quickly made his way down the hall towards his room, and flung open the door, stalking to his closet in search of his signature leather jacket hanging on a hook on the inside of the door. Immediately, he threw it on and left the room. He pulled the door, hearing it slam shut behind him. He made his way back down stairs swiftly and saw Jean standing at the bottom landing, waiting for him. She glanced up at him, but he passed her without a word, stepping around her and heading out back. Undeterred, Jean strode behind him, calling out to him.
"Logan. Hey! Logan, wait."
When he continued to ignore her she called his name with more insistence, catching up and laying a hand on his shoulder.
Logan whirled around so quickly that it startled her momentarily, she gasped in surprise, bumping right smack into his rock hard chest. She bounded back and Logan caught her by the arms before she could stumble completely.
Her eyes found his face, only to see him frowning down on her with clear irritation. "Whaddaya want from me, Jeannie, huh?" he ground out angrily, clutching her around the arms. The evident look of fear distorting her porcelain features caused Logan to look her up and down in assessment, before releasing his near painful hold on her bare arms. Slight, red, finger marks showed up on the pale skin. An unbidden comparison unexpectedly crossed his mind just then, making him smirk ironically at the thought.
Ro's eyes never held any fear when she looked at him.
Logan balled his fists, jaws clenching tight with restrained tension. He didn't want this. He didn't need this. He didn't need additional reasons to fight with Scooter and endure the acrimonious glares the Boy Scout sent his way because he despised the Wolverine messing around with his girl. He didn't need the reproving looks of disgust he constantly received from the rest of the team and the Professor because they, too, found it distasteful and divisive. Lastly, he really didn't need to see the hurt on Ororo's face whenever she caught him heavily flirting with her best friend—a woman who was supposed to be more like a sister.
Or was rather.
Strained was the relationship between the redheaded telepath and the white-haired weather mistress the last several weeks and there was no question as to why. Be it Logan's not-so-subtle flirting with Jean and Jean's complete openness to receiving it, or—when Scott or Ororo were not around—Jean's candid reciprocation of it.
Her voice quivered a bit when she spoke to him, still slightly unnerved by his simmering anger.
"There is . . . something between us, Logan, and it's not our fault . . . this . . . attraction."
Her emerald eyes held Logan's until he looked away resignedly, swearing under his breath.
Red was right.
He was attracted to her.
Obviously, she was beautiful, but there was something else, too. Something nostalgic about her that he couldn't exactly put his finger on. The reason why seemed to be shrouded in mystery, by a smoky veil concealing it from the light, but whenever he saw her, blurred memories tickled his mind, stirring up some long-held emotion buried deep in his heart. Whatever it was though, was beginning to wreak havoc. On him, the team, and Scott and Ororo especially. He despised the look of veiled disappointment on Ororo's face whenever she caught him and Jean in one of their moments.
Ro.
Just considering what they were doing to her further frustrated him. So, he snapped.
"What about, 'Ro, huh, Red?" He spun around to glare at her, eyes full of accusation. "Ain't she supposed to be like a sister to ya?"
Jean's face fell at the mention of Ororo, and she frowned at him. Swallowing hard past the lump of guilt in her throat, she said in retort, "She is. Ororo is like a sister to me."
Logan scoffed derisively. "Ya sure have a funny way of showing it," he sneered.
Jean's green eyes darkened with anger and her tone hardened when she spoke.
"I haven't exactly been alone in this, you know. Wasn't it you who initiated flirting with me? Pursuing me? Even though you knew that Scott and I are engaged? How many times have you flirted with me around Scott, deliberately making him angry? And what about you and Ororo?" she pressed. "You flirt with me, you touch me, you've kissed me, when you're supposed to be with Ororo! Tell me how you are any better than I am?"
"Never said I was dammit!" Logan yelled, now completely angry. For God's sake, he didn't need reminding. The guilt made him uncomfortable as it is, and she knew it. That's why she'd brought it up. He was sure of it.
"Look, Jeannie. I'm wrong, yer wrong, we're both wrong. Can't ya see that's why I'm tryna stop this? 'Cause if we keep this up, you know, and I know, both of us will do something we'll regret later. Pissin' off One-Eye has kinda lost its appeal, and I—" He pursued his lips tightly, lifting his hand to rub tiredly at his eyes. "—I don't wanna hurt Ro. She—Ro is—"
He growled in frustration, passing thickly calloused hands over his face, rough and coarse with thick, dark stubble.
When she realized he didn't intend to finish the thought, Jean sighed, wearily.
"Look." Another sigh. "I—I get what you're saying, Logan. Scott, he—Scott is—," her voice softened then tapered off. "He means so much to me, too."
Brief silence fell.
Her fiery red hair began to blow gently in the breeze – so pretty that even though knew he shouldn't – Logan just had to lean in a bit, carefully tucking it behind her ear. That red hair. Something about it tugged at his heartstrings, vibrantly red like a rose. Her head lulled back at his touch, gazing up into his face to smile tenderly at him. He really was handsome, in a rough, grizzled sort of way. All male—untamed, wild. She was susceptible to it as much as any other woman, in spite of Scott being the man she loved.
Things had begun to deteriorate with him slowly but surely, same as it had with Ororo. She was losing them, the most important people in her life. Why? Selfishness? Illicit lust?
Letting her thoughts travel, Jean recalled the way Charles had looked at her recently, having seen her and Logan canoodling after a mission, the plain disappointment that had shown on his wizened face. She'd distanced herself from Logan immediately when she'd saw it, allowing a small apologetic smile curve her lips before she'd scampered off like a chastened coward, down the hall and into the changing rooms. That look . . . from a man that was practically like her father. It made a sickening feeling settle in the pit of her stomach.
Scott, Ororo, and the Professor. Father-figure. Fiancé. Sister.
And she was hurting them all.
She didn't know what to do about it. Or rather, she did know. The only thing left to discover was if she had the strength of character to stop and do the right thing—by everyone.
A dark cloud obscured the late afternoon sun above them, further greying the already overcast sky. Still clutching one another, both Jean and Logan glanced up to gawk at the sun slowly being smothered by dark storm clouds. Logan sniffed, his lungs filling with the scent of rain, flowers, and moist earth. His body tensed immediately as he whipped his head around to see Storm staring at them from the bottom of the stairs that led up to the terrace where he and Jean stood together.
He could almost hear his heart break when he caught the crushed look on her face, all too familiar lately. Jean saw her as well, and he heard her gasp with surprise. Quietly, Logan swore at his luck. He was in for it now, and he was pretty damn sure much explaining would have to be done.
"Flamin' hell," he grit out.
Ororo stared at them through the first slow fat drops of rain that fell, not flinching at all against the cold drops pelting her steadily. She remained still as a statue, never blinking once while she gazed continuously at the pair. She was dressed down in mottled gardening clothes, the plain t-shirt and jeans soiled with dirt and unidentified plant stains. In her hands she held a basket with a pair of gloves, pruning shears, and various other gardening tools. Looking and smelling as if she'd just come in from the greenhouse. It was there she stayed all the time now, even more so than usual. Every last one of the X-Men knew the affection Ororo held for the greenhouse, what it did for her spirits while she worked among the plants and moist earth, being as one with nature as she was. It was a colorful, thriving haven for Ororo, and even more so in her times of personal duress.
But she was hardly outside of those glass walls anymore. And he was the one, lately, causing her duress.
It made him feel like crap, like a brute.
Even so, Logan's gaze warmed as he watched the rain soaking through her clothes, wet and sticking along her curvy body. She was damn beautiful, Ororo. Frighteningly so. The woman didn't look like she belonged down here, with the mere mortals, but rather up in some mysterious, otherworldly abode tucked far away in the heavens. Even looking the way she did now, sad and soaked, he couldn't help but be stunned by her beauty.
Those cat-like eyes of hers – so wide, so bright – appeared to narrow and harden at the same time as she stared between him and Jean. She shook her head dejectedly, her gaze sinking down to the wet grass under her feet.
Logan dropped his hands from Jean and began to walk down the steps towards Ororo, intent to make his case. Her head snapped up so fast, her azure eyes so cold, that when he saw them, he immediately stopped in his tracks; the frozen stare made him shiver unconsciously. Crystal blue melted into glowing white, full of indignation. She held up her hand, halting him, and intoned coolly.
"Don't. You. Dare."
A roll of thunder rumbled overhead, punctuating her warning.
The milky white glare passed from him to over his shoulder, where it settled on Jean. A sad, resigned smirk touched Ororo's lips. She let her hand fall, solemnly shaking her head.
Jean gulped with unease, her eyes pleading with Ororo – who not noticing – continued staring blankly at the ground.
"I am a fool," Ororo muttered, more to herself than them.
"Listen, Ro—" Logan tried.
"But no longer," her voice rose in pitch, firmly interrupting him. "I've cut my losses; I sympathize only for Scott."
"Ro—" Jean pled.
As if they'd summoned him by name, Scott Summers walked out onto the terrace. His brow crinkled as he took turns leveling all three of them with a glare from behind his ruby-red visor. He silently observed all three of his teammates: Logan, torn, and glaring at Ororo like he was practically willing her to look at him, desperate for an opening inside her seemingly cold exterior. Ororo, reluctantly shifting her gaze between Jean and Logan, her face seemingly blank and expressionless. And lastly, he let his eyes roam over his fiancée, whose emerald eyes were curiously downcast. She seemed to shiver slightly, looking very much cold and damp.
What had he walked in on? The tension between the three parties was palpable, and awkward. Scott sensed it. His eyes targeted Logan, glowering at him. If something was wrong then it meant Logan was at fault.
It was always Logan's fault.
"Everything alright? Jean? Ororo? "
The redhead answered much too quickly. "Oh, everything's fine, babe." Her smile was tight and looked uncomfortable. She shot Ororo and Logan a sideways glance, silently urging them to affirm her words. Logan, however, ignored Scott – as always – and his question. Cyke didn't concern him, particularly at the moment. Nevertheless, Ororo did turn to Scott. Mustering a polite grin, she acknowledged her fellow co-leaders presence with a brief nod of the head.
"You needn't worry, Scott. Everything's fine. Like she said." She didn't dare glance in Jean and Logan's direction. "Did you need something, Scott?"
"Yeah, uh, Professor Xavier and I wanted you to join in a discussion we're having. He wants to speak with the both of us. I came to let you know. "
"Of course."
One last glance at Jean and Logan was all she spared, before climbing the steps, steering a wide path around both of them on her way inside. "I'll be down as soon as I change out of these wet clothes, Scott."
"Sure thing."
All three of them watched her disappear inside the mansion – one curious, one dismayed, and one frustrated and annoyed beyond belief. Figuring a couple beers might help with that, Logan left the remaining two behind on his way to the garage. Harry's was calling him hard tonight.
Scott watched him take brisk strides in the direction of the mansions garage. The animal was probably getting ready to ride off into the night on his stolen bike. Scott frowned at his back. He caught Jean out of the corner of his eye, trying to creep past him.
"So what was it?"
Jean froze and slowly turned to look at her fiancé. "What was what?"
"What was it that upset, Ororo?" He turned to face her, face and posture rigid, hands braced behind his back.
"Oh, uh, I—I guess she had a little spat with Logan."
Scott stared at her and she shrugged nervously under the ruby gaze.
"I'm not really sure. I mean . . . I don't know," she finished.
Jean flashed him an uneasy smile before continuing in her steps.
"You see, I think you do know, Jean. And you want to know what else I think? I think the reason Ororo was upset is because she most likely caught you with Logan – again."
He glared at her.
Jean swallowed hard. "What are you saying, Scott?"
He took a step towards her. "That's a good question. What am I saying, Jean?"
"Well, it sounds like you're accusing me."
"Accusing you?" Scott scoffed bitterly. "No, Jean. This isn't an accusation. This is me telling you that I'm sick of it. I'm sick of you flaunting whatever it is you have with Wolverine in front of my face with no regards to me or Ororo. And judging by the weather earlier, I'd say Ororo is sick of it, too."
The telepath's mouth fell open. She snorted and shook her head at him. "I can't believe you just said that to me."
"Believe it. Don't play the victim, Jean. You're selfish. A selfish, spoiled, little girl, Jean."
Scott turned on his heel and stomped off, leaving Jean to stare forlornly after him. A sob burst from her throat. Trembling under the overwhelming sense of guilt.
TO BE CONTINUED