AN: This is a little story that's been going through my head a while. Don't know where it's going, but we'll see at the end of the ride...the Ororo in this story is an amalgamation of three universes: Ultimate, movieverse, and comicverse. I had fun putting her makeup together, only because we *don't* see much of her personality in the movie. I figured, hey, this is as good a story as any to try the combo. We'll see if it worked, eh?
Fractured Prism
Secrets Foretold - Introduction
Ororo Munroe had a small confession: She hated history. She taught it, she made sure her students knew it, but when it came right down to it, she detested how the past reclaimed its own; how the past refused to stay buried, where no one could touch it. Her dark lips tightened. It twisted present circumstances until nothing survived--nothing but grief and ash. It was both liar and thief. No, that wasn't necessarily true. Her life was the lie, this history brought dark memories. This particular piece mocked her as bluntly as a shattered mirror. She tapped a slim postcard against the polished oak table, unaware how the staccato sound caused her teammates to turn.
"Storm...? Question?"
The war room lights had been dimmed for Scott's three dimensional miniature, and she was grateful how the shadows hid the frustration on her face. Her eyes flitted across the members of her team surrounding the huge oak table, weighing the concerned eyes turned to her. Even Logan, who had recently returned to their family with a new, feral hardness, wore his deepest scowl.
"I apologize, Cyclops." Focus, Ororo. She shook herself. Mock battle strategies. Pay attention. They are watching you, you must hold yourself together. She would have been in serious trouble had it been the real thing. Again, she praised the lights that hid the small, embarrassed flush in her dark cheeks. "No. I have no questions. Please continue."
Scott almost smiled. "I know these strategy sessions can be boring as hell, but it doesn't hurt to keep on our toes." He pressed a few buttons and the table surface changed. Tiny, sharp crystals splintered, fell, and emerged reborn into the shape of a small warehouse. "Let's change the scene a little. Let's say the assailant is unarmed, and..."
Ororo tuned out Scott's gentle drone and rolled the postcard in her slim fingers. For the eighth time in five minutes she studied the florid, masculine script on the other side of an innocuous Parisian street scene: Stuck in Tokyo. She knew exactly who it was from, and she didn't like it. She didn't like that he knew exactly where she was, and that his card put the entire school in jeopardy.
"Would you excuse me?" Ororo said suddenly, rising. Jean put a cautious hand on her arm. You okay? She mouthed.
Ororo smiled and nodded. She lied easily, since her mental defenses were strong, and Jean knew well enough not to pry. "Just a headache." She dismissed her friends with a nod. "Please accept my apologies, Scott, while I get some aspirin."
They trusted her. Why would they have any reason to doubt her? Without waiting for a response, she exited the room with a regal grace she did not feel and decided she had to leave her family, regardless of the unfinished school year. She wouldn't tell anyone—she feared it, in case they wanted to help. But it wasn't their problem, and she couldn't explain her secrets.
She hurried to her attic loft, heedless of the strange looks some of the students gave. "Where's the fire, Ms. Munroe?" Someone joked. John Allerdyce, she thought briefly, but she didn't turn to acknowledge him. Running in the halls? How very undignified. How very un-goddesslike. But this was the woman no one knew, and she intended to keep it that way.
"Shoes, pants, shirts..." Ororo rifled through her closet, nervously grabbing a handful of clothes and throwing them in a duffle bag, wondering if she shouldn't just bring her purse and buy a new wardrobe when she arrived. Dare she fly on her own power? She shook her head. She would only fly as far as the airport, to cover her tracks. But if anyone became suspicious, Professor Xavier might try Cerebro to locate her. It would be better if she did not use her power. It would be too easy to find her.
Does it satisfy you to be so deceitful? her mind raged. She slung the duffle bag over her shoulder, and added toiletries, her passport, and cash. She flung back the loft windows, feeling the wind tease her like a chanting schoolchild. After they've shown you nothing but love and honesty, after you have been loved in return, you dare betray your family?
"I must. I'm sorry, Professor," she whispered, and hot tears stung her eyes. She stiffened, preventing the moisture from tumbling down her cheeks, and let the harsh, north wind steal her from her home.