This is the first ficlet in my collection of Xmen short stories. They are all unrelated, unless otherwise denoted, and are therefore individually rated. The status of the story will stay marked complete, because each ficlet is complete. I just add new installments as they occur. I change the summary of X-Chronicles to preview each newest short story, as well as the rating and genre.

Whew! Done with the complicated explanation. Made my eyes hurt a bit.

Disclaimer: X-men, excerpts from it, and/or the canon characters do not belong to me. Plots, OCs and the like hereafter, however, I do claim. Go ahead, sue me: you can have my paltry savings with my goodwill. They might cover an eighteenth of your lawyer fees. :D

One last thing- I'm relatively new to the fandom; this being my first thing posted. Please don't shoot me. Oh, and sorry about the insanely long A/N, if you bothered to read it! :D

Summary: Post X3. Rain has been pouring down constantly around the three silent gravestones. Grief can be pushed aside, but it cannot be dismissed: Ororo is going to crack sooner or later. And when someone tries to help, is she too proud to give him another chance?

Rating: T (A debatable PG)

Genre(s): Hurt/Drama

Length: Possible twoshot

Loosen up, Sparky

-

A storm was gathering around Xavier's School for the Gifted.

Dark, swirling clouds, stained amaranth by the setting sun, swelled ominously; and a low, angry roll of thunder made even the ground shudder and recoil. The branches of the many trees around the mansion were tossed violently in all directions, groaning and creaking in protest of nature's harsh treatment. The wind, moaning and shrieking, whistled through the leaves.

A crackly German voice, tinged with the metallic effects of the telephone, was loud in darkness of the office.

"I cannot, mein freund. I am very sorry. Zis is zhe worst time zat jou could have asked."

"Kurt, I don't think you understand how much we need-"

"I am sorry," he repeated forcefully, sounding harassed. "Abschied, liebling. I vill come vhen I can, ja? I promise it." The line went dead, and the dial tone's steady drone echoed in the room.

A huge gust of wind, tearing suddenly through the grounds, proved too much for a tall pine tree. With an earsplitting crack, it fell- taking the telephone lines with it. The tone cut off, and the sound of the storm was all that filled the office.

Ororo Munroe sat in the large chair behind the Professor's desk, her elbows resting on the hard surface, and her coffee colored hands steepled on either side of her bowed head.

She looked up then, staring forward with unseeing, fog-covered eyes.

-

The Professor chuckled. "Storm, I haven't thought of you as one of my students for a long time. In fact," he said, his tone becoming more serious as he stopped and turned his wheelchair to face her, "I was hoping that you would take my place when I'm gone."

-

Someone was shaking her. Someone strong, and apparently, insistent. "Storm!"

Her eyes focused, and the clouds faded from them. She shook her head slightly, in an effort to clear it. "Logan," she muttered. His eyes dark, and filled with some indefinable expression, he looked down at her. His hands were still on her arms.

Storm looked away, her face as imperturbable as ever. "What're y'doin' here, Logan?"

"Checkin' on you," he replied.

A faint sneer was on her face as she stiffly disengaged herself from his grip, one that was not missed by his sharp eyes before she turned away. She crossed her arms in front of her, looking out the window.

"Heck of a storm out there," he remarked idly, drawing out a cigar and a match to light it.

She opened the huge French doors leading out onto the balcony, and a ready gust of wind whooshed into the room right after he lit his match. The flame died.

"Seems so," she agreed.

Logan considered Storm's back, the sharp smell of smoke briefly filling his hyper-sensitive nose, and abandoned both the match and his cigar. He moved beside her, observing her with a sidelong glance. "If Circus boy skipped out, it's not the end of the world," he said quietly. "Me and the furball're enough for now, 'Ro."

"It's not that simple, Logan. Don't pretend to know."

"Then tell me."

She considered him briefly, a condescending smile on her mouth. It was amazing, reflected Logan, how she could be so warm at one time and then so harshly aloof and forbidding the next.

Over the past three weeks, Logan had been watching her. Since Alcatraz, nearly six months ago now, she had been strained. It was there, just below the calm smooth tones of her voice when she reassured worried parents; and it was there, just barely palpable, in the click of her heels as she strode down the halls of the mansion. He grinned faintly in amusement. The woman walked like the devil himself was out, personally, to get her, and she was going to beat his head into the ground.

Logan had seen Ororo in a corridor a few weeks ago, leaning slightly against the wall and holding her head. Her right hand, down by her side, was trembling so faintly that only Logan would have been able to tell from looking. He knew the signs well- she was going to buckle under the pressure, and soon. He'd thought, then, that it would be within the next few days. But he'd been wrong- Ororo was made of sterner stuff.

He'd seen her, not even an hour after that, embracing Marie in a hug. They'd talked about the Cure for two hours, touchy feely feminine stuff that he hadn't listened to much. But it'd helped Marie; and he looked at Storm with new eyes after it. Logan had been sure that she would have condemned Marie after the girl took the Cure- he remembered Storm's reaction to Marie that day, so long ago, when the Cure had just been announced. In fact, he was certain that she disagreed with Marie.

It was remarkable. He smelled her pent up grief, could almost see the waves of tension radiating off of her, and yet she did not wallow in her misery or lash out at any convenient scapegoats. He was coming to the rapid conclusion that Storm had always been the strongest member of the team. Cyke had fallen apart after Jean died (the first time), and Logan hadn't been much better. And then yet again, right after Alcatraz, he hadn't been able to take it. He'd taken off back to Alkali.

Logan had stayed there for months, fighting mindlessly in the cages to pay for his motel bill. He didn't need to fight as much as he did, as the motel he stayed at was little better than a junkyard, but the fighting was healing: it was mindless. He'd needed mindless.

For free time, he'd slept, ate, and got as drunk as his healing factor would allow. And then finally, he went back to the spot where he and Storm had found Jean. That smell had been all over the place… that dark, heady smell that had been right underneath the thin porcelain layer of Jean's skin, intriguing him from the beginning. It was in such stark contrast to her luminous eyes and her ready smile, and the femininity that wafted off of her… Her beauty would have caught his attention. He knew that. But he would have grown bored just her beauty before long.

That smell, though… the whiff of danger and tempestuous passion that he scented lurking just below her alluring breakability, kept him coming back. He wanted to know what it tasted like.

And, the fact that she was Scott's would add an extra sweetness.

But at Alkali, he realized why Jean'd had such power over him. Because of that scent- because of the Phoenix. Because he'd known, dimly, that they were the same. Jean was afraid of the killer in her that was growing stronger every day; and Logan was afraid of what he could do with his claws and his temper- and what he might have done in the past.

After Alkali, Logan returned to the mansion. He'd known that Storm would need his help, and he'd been gone long enough already. He owed the Professor that much; and to tell the truth, the thought of Storm left with only the furball to help her with all the extensive aspects of the school had been nagging at him.

It'd been nagging him with good reason. As he'd predicted, Ororo was pushing herself to the limit with silent determination, and not allowing herself an inch of latitude. A wave of irritation and impatience came over him. If she would just let go sometimes, instead of keeping an iron hard grip on her emotions all the time, she would be better off. A few storms now and then wouldn't kill the students. But, if she came to the breaking point, the resulting hurricane might.

A slight, dour smile accompanied that sentiment. "You should loosen up, sparky," he said aloud.

There was a tense pause. Ororo's entire posture had stilled, and she was stiff with anger. Perhaps at the nickname? he reflected. "I don't know what you're talking about, Logan, but you should stop," she said brusquely, eyes fixed on the skies.

The acerbic note in her voice gave him pause. It'd been raining for the past two days, and he'd been keeping an eye on her for exactly what was now happening; but not once in all the hard weeks had he heard such hostility from her. He could not dismiss it as a reaction from her grief, or as a result from the strain on her; he knew her too well for that. There was only one explanation left. "What'd I do to you, darlin'?" he asked.

Lightning flashed across the sky. Ororo's eyes were fogged over, her lip curling; and a crack of thunder directly overhead made the Mansion shudder beneath their feet.

-

"Where're you going?" she asked, her hands on her hips, and her face carefully calm as she watched him quickly stuffing clothes into his bag.

"Where do you think?" he replied, half ignoring her.

At that, the anger sprang up as quickly as it always did with Logan. A hint of it was audible in her voice, at least to him. "She's gone, Logan," said Storm sharply. "She's not comin' back."

"You don't know that," he retorted.

It was getting worse. The fury was welling up in her throat, and with it, something far more important to conceal from his discerning ears. "She killed the Professor," Storm said bluntly.

She'd crossed a line, and it forced Logan to stop and look at her. "It wasn't Jean," he said, surprisingly calmly. He was trying to convince himself as well as her- the tiny waver in his voice proof of his hope, not his conviction. "The Jean I know is still in there."

Ororo blocked his path with her body, moving with him as he tried to go around her. "Why can't you face the truth, huh?" she asked as evenly as she could. If he chose Jean now, she would never be able to forgive him for it. She'd already lost Scott, and the Professor; and to Storm, Jean was already gone. If Logan left, she would be alone. Hoping for some sort of reaction, she pressed further, "Why can't you just let her go?"

He reacted. He seized her roughly by the shoulders, lifting her up easily and shoving her against the door. Her heart hammered in her ribs, but Storm's eyes met Logan's desperate black ones squarely, fearlessly. "Because!" he said furiously. The anguish in his voice ripped at her heart. "Because…"

"Because y'love her," she finished. Had she been Mystique, her eyes would have flickered acid green.

Breathing heavily, he let her go and turned away.

Ororo knew the battle and the war were both lost. It didn't matter anymore, she knew, but she pressed on anyways. "She's made her choice," she said. "Now its time we make ours. So if you're with us, then be with us."

Then she turned on her heel, and left.

-

To Storm, he had made his choice that day- and underscored it when he left yet again after Alcatraz.

Logan's nostrils flared, smelling the air. Storm's hair was lifting with all the electricity in the air, and there was too much lightning, too close.

"Storm..."

No response.

"Storm."

Still she ignored him, the rainstorm spiking. A lightning bolt struck the earth a scant meter from the mansion, far too close to them for comfort. Logan grabbed her. Her eyes were pure white, and there was a small smile on her mouth. Another bolt struck, and a flowerpot behind him exploded. Fear gripped his heart- not for himself, but for her. Being hit would hurt like heck, no doubt, but he would shrug it off. But if her aim was off... she was not so indestructible. "Storm!" He shook her once again, harshly gripping her shoulders.

Her eyes cleared and focused, and she realized what she'd been about to do. "Oh my God," she said, mortified. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-" She broke off, confused. Because on some level, she had meant to. Her lips compressed tightly, she inhaled, and shrugged it off. "I've just had too much going on right now. I'm not thinkin' straight."

"Stress," he drawled, derisive. "That what ye told the Professor last time you tried to kill someone?"

"Lay off, Logan," she snapped, pushing away. "It's not like you would've died." She sounded sorry about that particular fact. He caught her by the arm. "'Ro," he said quietly, his gaze intense.

A sob rose in her chest at the uncharacteristic softness in his tone. Tears welled up behind her eyes, and defiantly she ripped out of his grasp, heading as calmly as she could for the door. "Just leave me alone, Logan!"

Logan watched her leave, his gaze falling to her hips. He finally was able to light his cigar, and drew in a piqued lungful.

She nearly fried him, and she was the one who was mad.

Women.

Mentally, he consigned all females to the devil- in far less polite terms.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Logan was lying, awake, on his bed. He knew better than to go to sleep. The tempest outside had lessened a little after Storm left the office, and she limited it to low rolls of thunder and heavy rain.

But once she was asleep, he knew things would get dirty.

Logan kept a hooded eye on his window, idly smoking his cigar. Looking critically outside, he figured she'd just dropped off. There was a dark line of clouds advancing, fast, on the Mansion.

She could zot him if she had to, but the woman was going to talk to him.

Both Logan and Storm are hard characters for me to capture, and especially Logan seemed OOC. Ick- sorry.

Well, I hope I didn't butcher it. Please review and tell me- flames welcome also- and if you all liked it I will continue.