Ororo woke slowly, feeling langerously peaceful and gently joyus.
She was still cradled against Logan, who was stretched out next to her, arm comfortably nestled against her belly, legs entwined with her's.
And she had never felt so loved - or so much love.
It had been a word, romantic, perhaps, but just a word. An idea at best. A nebulous, ill-defined hope to be pursued, without a clear vision of what it truly was.
She knew, now.
It was warmth, connection, burning fire and whirling wind, primal earth and soothing water.
Joy.
Hope.
Fufillment.
It was - everything.
She had never imagined there could be so much enjoyment gleaned from just watching another person sleep. But she did, watching Logan's chest rise and fall in steady rythem, the slow ripple of muscle against flesh.
The rain trickled gently down the leaves, tapping lightly against their skin.
But she was still warm.
Inside and out.
Finally, so very warm.
If there was one skill Remy LeBeau had mastered early, it was finding information - and people.
He now searched carefully for any clue to the whereabouts of their missing companions, feet rebelliously perched on the edge of the desk as he tapped keys lightly with his sensitive fingers.
Kurt was seated next to him, tail slowly twitching from side to side as he too searched through the records of the X-Men, trying to find a place that Ororo would have taken a wild, possibly dangerous, Logan.
Rogue occasionally tapped her fingers impatiantly against the keyboard she had claimed, frustrated with the slowness of their pace. "How ya'll doin'?" she asked, voice showing her frustration.
"Found one t'ing, chere." said Remy, staring steadily at the screen for a moment, memorizing the information, then turning back to his friends. "Xavier found 'Ro in dis area." His fingertip tapped the map he'd called up, indicating the area marked "unmapped" by the computer. "Maybe she go home."
Rogue looked a bit puzzled. Even now, the idea of Logan so distanced from the group was almost frightening to the young woman.
"Perhaps, mein fruends, she thought to take him as far from civilization as possible, away from us, the mansion." said Kurt, voice soft with sadness. "A place he could heal."
The three mutants stared at one another, then, almost in unision, headed for the door.
When Logan woke, Ororo felt the gentle caress of his fingertips along her stomach. Was aware of the flutter of response there.
Gently capturing that powerful hand, she brought it up to her lips, gently running her lips across the knuckles. Feeling the strength there.
But more, feeling the warm glow of connection, of love, that pulsed from his palm.
Feeling his breath soft on her neck, stirring her hair, she whispered, "Logan..."
He purred her name - 'Ro - wrapping his other arm around her, and nuzzled up against her neck.
"I love you." whispered Ororo, voice soft but full of emotion.
Sense of connection.
Warm.
Soft.
Strong.
Scent-image of her in safe-warm-hold-arms.
Mate.
Love flowed through the sensation, a dancing ember that soared into fire and light.
Mate.
Ororo wept, against that warm palm, and was only dimly aware she was crying for joy.
Despite the fire she'd managed to get going, the first hyena advanced into the dim light about midnight, it's eyes glowing as it cackled harshly, head down beneath it's shoulders as the spotted, mildew-brown creature glared balefully at her.
Swinging the staff as she balanced precariously on her good foot, she connected sqarely with the lupinoid's nose, eliciting an outraged yelp.
"Cela vous enseignera, laid!" she snarled, spinning the staff easily over in her palm, tip coming to rest in a ready-guard.
The rest of the pack were moving around, trying to flank her.
Her response was to back up against the rock, gritting her teeth.
Rustle of distant, incomprehensible sound.
Swirl of soft, almost-unheard music.
"What de...?" she shook her head hard, focusing on the circling pack.
She had no time to consider the strangeness, nor the direction it came from.
Two hyenas rushed her, a third leaping at her throat.
Spinning frantically, cursing the injured foot, she slammed the staff into one's chest, throwing it forward to connect into the onrushing jaws of the other.
The third crashed into her hard, bowling her off her feet and snapping at her throat.
In order to grab the advancing muzzle, she had no choice but to relinquish the staff.
Holding on to either side of the massive jaws, she struggled to keep the snapping teeth away from her vunerable throat. O' all de stupid, useless power I get - damnez-le!, if only had strength like Mama...owtch! With a snarl, she felt a blast of agony in her ankle and she was almost shocked when the beast flew back hard, yelping as it slammed into the ground.
She was gasping as she scrambled out of the way, dimly aware of the thought - adreniline! - and watched the pack back up, clearly deciding to wait until she was unable to fight back.
Damn them.
A surge of anger, but she was unable to rise again, as pain shot up her leg.
Flecks of shadow danced on the edges of her vision as she slumped, last concious thought of her beloved father, her mother-to-be, sensei, and friends that she had so miserably failed to live up to. Her final thought was: Veuillez me pardonner... pour vous échouer.
Logan slowly sat up, then gently reached over and drew Ororo against him, inhaling her scent with the slow facination of a conosuir.
Ororo found that simple action both erotic and, curiously enough, deeply flattering.
His eyes met hers, as strong and warm as twin suns, warming her soul.
The rain gently whispered down over them, soothing and cool as it caressed their skins.
Logan ran his fingertips - long, curiously elegant, obviously powerful - down Ororo's cheek with such tenderness that tears came to her eyes.
She pressed her lips gently against his forefinger, rested her cheek against his palm.
Swirl of scent/sense/image.
Hunt.
Feed.
Provide.
He uttered a soft sound, more a croon than a rumble, and Ororo knew that she would never - lack - again.
There was no more heady feeling, than knowing she was not only loved, but safe.
"I understand." she whispered, caressing the sharpness of his cheekbone, feeling the curious softness of his sideburns as she run her fingertips through the dark hair. "I'll be here, Logan."
Hunt. Feed. Bring. promised the pulse of image/scent/thought.
He cradled her a moment against his strong frame, then faded into the shadows.
Mate. Den. Bring.
Loping along the edge of the den-territory, Logan trailed the scent of fur-low-prey, trailed by the female lioness.
Her scent was concerned as she stared at the huge horns of the wildebeasts lumbering with ponderous determination across the dusty savannah.
Prey? the posture-scent-movement asked, uncertainly.
Rising slightly to catch the wind-scent, Logan sniffed the air and caught the aroma of something - odd. Carrion-hunters and - strange.
He growled, turning to the prey-animal.
Rock-metal-strong taste.
Scent of sharp skin-touch-water and hurt.
Logan turned back, then stared at the meekly hunkered female.
Hunt here. He turned her head to see the delicately poised oryx drinking at the watering hole. Hunt.
The female's posture was obediant but her ears showed puzzlement as the claw-hand-two-leg moved off, trailing the scent of the injured.
To the lioness, the injured did not survive. The pride moved on so that it might survive. Her hunting companion's behavior was incomprehensible, but she turned her gaze on the small deer-like animal that had not yet gained her scent.
The hyena uttered another cackle, summoning the pack for another rush.
It knew the prey was down, weakened. It could not use it's stick to cause more painful blows, and the pack would soon feast on the small interloper.
A flash of movement, a slash of claws.
Light flashed on claws as the female leader was rolled to the side, fangs narrowly missing her throat as Logan snarled his dominance.
Mine! he warned, circling the pack. The territory was not their's. It was his!
The downed figure remained in shadow, breathing low and laboured.
Bearing his fangs, Logan advanced on the snarling, cackling pack, eyes catching color-light-danger from the reflected light of the sky-burn-orb.
The lead female showed all her fangs in a response, threat-challange, and Logan leapt.
Rolling the creature over in the dirt, he slammed the long head back against the dirt, aware of the yip-growl-rumbles of the rest of the pack, their uncertainty, their close observance.
Again, he slammed the female hyena's head against the ground, again she tried to catch his fingers.
He snarled, fangs glinting, eyes ablaze.
Finally, his fingers found the life-pulse and the female yelped, then whined submissively, averting her eyes, aware that she was beaten.
Logan growled, then let her up, and the two sized one another up.
The female huffed, and her pack started off the opposite direction as Logan sniffed the still figure, aware of the too-coldness of the skin, the incoherant murmers.
Gently but firmly, he shook the small female's shoulder.
A low sound, mumble, then silence.
Logan considered.
Pack-thought said to leave the ones too weak to survive.
It was hurt.
For a moment, he swayed from side to side, torn between two different calls.
Then he bent and swung the injured one over his shoulder, beginning a swift lope across the plain.
"It's started again." Hank's voice was thin with exaustion.
"But Logan's immmunity..." began Jean, expression one of horror as the small group crowded around the microscope.
"It gave us precious time, my friends." the blue-furred mutant said softly, running a hand over his head tiredly. "But it didn't cure it. The k-o virus is a learning virus - and learn it has." He sounded so very weary. "The Centers for Disease Control have managed to contain it thus far, but at the moment, we belive that the death toll is currently totalling in the tens of thousands - and rising daily."
There was stunned, disbeliving silence.
"How..." whispered Scott.
"The virus is spreading now by airborne as well as physical contact. There is no true method to contain it completely." Hank rubbed his face wearily. "Our time has just run out."
"Are you sure this is the right place?" asked Rogue, peering over the side of the speeding Jeep.
"Trust me, chere." replied the lanky Cajun. "De driver take us right t' de village t'mmorrow mornin'. We find dem."
Kurt, wrapped in a trenchcoat and hat, effectively hidden from view, murmered a short, hopeful prayer for not only their missing friends, but them all.
TRANSLATIONS FROM THE CAJUN (FRENCH)
"Cela vous enseignera, laid!" - "That'll teach you, ugly!"
Veuillez me pardonner... pour vous échouer. - Please forgive me for failing you.