Chapter 5: Making A Statement
Xavier Institute
Boathouse
"I don't like it, 'Ro."
"Logan, it's just a simple undercover job. I've done dozens already." Ororo said, flipping the page of the book she was reading at the kitchen bar, the early morning light making her hair gleam.
Logan came up behind the barstool, wrapping his thick arms around her robe clad middle, hugging her back against him, rubbing his whiskered chin into her hair. "See, you've done yer share. Give it to someone else."
Ororo leaned back, welcoming the warmth from his embrace, smiling at his 'no arguments' tone. He really was quite arrogant, she thought with a happy sigh. "Logan, we've been over this. I have a responsibility. I am your team leader, unless you've forgotten."
"We both know I don't take orders from anyone, 'Ro, so lets put that leader shit on a shelf, eh?"
Ororo swiveled in the seat, her blue eyes narrowing slightly. "Don't push it, Bub," she said with a poke in his bare chest. Goddess, he was unbearably sexy. He oozed it from every pore in his body. Sensual, untamed, animal magnetism.
Logan's eyes darkened, sensing the shift in her. He stepped forward so that they were scant inches apart, leaning forward so his breath mingled with hers, his lips brushing against hers as he spoke. "Push what?"
Ororo blinked slowly, inhaling the masculine scent that was his and his alone. "I forget…"
"Good." He claimed her mouth, his tongue slipping past her startled lips easily, dancing with hers in a slippery tango. He groaned as her hands busied themselves stroking his chest and shoulders. Her touch drove him mad, each and every time they were together. He knew he'd never get enough of her, never be sated. He craved her like nothing else, his body needing her more than it needed air. "Yer so beautiful, angel," he whispered into her mouth. "Ya make me crazy. Feel how much I want ya." He grasped her hand in his, sliding it down the front of his jeans where he was rock hard under the denim, straining for release. He rocked against her palm, making her gasp.
"I love you," she whispered into his hair as he licked her neck, sucking and nipping gently.
"Then don't go," he rasped.
"Logan, I have to."
He grumbled, teeth grazing her pulse. "Maybe I can persuade ya otherwise," he murmured.
Ororo bit her lip, a low moan escaping. "You can't just seduce me to get your way."
"Watch me."
Danger Room
"Heads up, Blue Boy!" Wolverine leapt with animal grace, his foot planting in the center of Hank's back, launching himself into the air, claws extended, slashing through six of the spinning orbs firing at them with lightening quickness.
"Your dexterousness never ceases to amaze me, Wolverine." Beast said, settling one large hand on the ground, rotating and kicking away several attacking droids.
"Same goes fer yer vocabulary," Wolverine said, cracking the skulls of two holograms together. "Ya ever try speakin' English?"
"A joke? From the Wolverine. Well, wonders never cease. It is astounding what the love of a exceptional woman can do to alleviate some of a man's ill-humors, no?" A furry fist decimated another robotic opponent. "Storm is, in fact, one in a million, Wolverine. You are a profoundly privileged man."
Wolverine grunted, spiraling in the air to avoid the spinning razors of a mechanical arm slicing at him. "Don't I know it."
From above in the watchtower turret Jean selected a new program, pushing the settings up a notch, making it a bit more challenging. "This room is designed for training for missions, and experimenting with our powers, as well as basic exercise. It is multifunctional and very effective," Jean explained to a wide eyed Jubilee. "Used properly it is a valuable tool in the training of the X-Men and the future X-Men."
"And if used improperly?" Jubilee asked, picturing the fun she could have in the room below. She'd been at the Institute for a few weeks now and had yet to see everything. The place was huge and full of all sorts of cool and nifty gadgets.
Jean turned on the automatic weapon turrets, bullets spraying the floor, causing the two men below to take evasive action. "It could kill you."
"Got a bug up yer ass today, Jeannie?" Wolverine called, slicing through the mounted guns along the walls.
"Hardly. Just showing Jubilee here what this room is capable of." Jean gave the younger girl a look. "The Danger Room is not for play…or parties."
Jubilee looked surprised.
"Telepath." Jean said with a smirk.
"Oh. So you can read minds?"
"Yep."
"Neat. What am I thinking right now?" Jubilee scrunched her face.
"Fork."
"Lucky Guess. How about now?"
Jean gripped the console, her face going completely white. "Oh, God."
Jubilee reached for her. "Oh, hey, sorry. I didn't mean to gross you out or nothing."
"N-no, it's not you." Jean pressed her fingertips to her head. "Scott…" The room blurred before her, spinning chaotically before going gray, then black as she passed out, her red hair spilling across her pale face.
Jubilee 'oomphed' as she caught Jean, preventing her head from cracking on the console. "Crappola." She lowered Jean onto the floor as best she could, mindful of her head. She grabbed the microphone she had seen Jean talking into, looking for a button or something to get Wolverine's attention. When she could find none she pounded her hands on the glass. "Hey! Hey!" she called. "Wolverine!"
Relax, child. I've alerted them.
Jubilee jerked at the echoing male voice in her mind. Cripes, you're in my head!
Yes. A rather colorful place to be.
Really?
The door to the watchtower slid open and Wolverine and Hank entered, both wearing worried frowns. "What happened, kiddo?" Wolverine asked, watching as Hank bent over Jean, checking her pulse.
Jubilee gave him a confused shrug, raising her hands. "Psychic girl was reading my mind, a colorful place to be, apparently, then she grabbed her head, said 'Scott', then lights out sista."
"She's coming to." Beast said, helping Jean sit up. She took several shaky breaths.
Professor…?
I sense the loss also, Jean.
Sensing she was communicating with Xavier, Wolverine waited a moment before demanding, "What's goin' on?"
Jean lifted tear filled green eyes to his hard gray ones. "I've lost my link with Cyclops."
Wolverine stiffened. Cyke and 'Ro were scouting a Colorado school where two students, suspected mutants, had gone missing. "What's that mean, exactly?" he was growling, unintentionally baring his fangs.
Jean slowly got to her feet with Hank's assistance, obviously upset. "It could mean a lot of things, but the abruptness of the disconnect…" Her lips trembled.
"Our friends could be in very real trouble." Beast interceded.
Wolverine swore. He'd had a bad feeling about this mission from the get go, had told her to skip it, but nooo. She'd had to go, said it was her responsibility. Son of a bitch!
Cascade Falls, Colorado
A few minutes ago
"Do you see them?"
"No." Ororo sighed, pulling her binoculars away from her eyes. She'd been staking out an old campsite for hours now, waiting for any sign of activity. Earlier four men had gone in to one of the smaller cabins, but had yet to come out again.
"I'll give you another five minutes, then I'm coming to get you," Cyclops said, his voice firm in her earpiece.
"Aye, Aye, Skipper." Storm muttered. There was something fishy about the men and the entire campsite setup, she could feel it, but Cyclops thought she was wasting their time here, wanting her to return to the school with him and question the students.
Five minutes later, on the dot, Ororo heard the whine of the small fighter jet she and Scott had arrived in closing in on her. She smiled. Punctual. The man was obsessive compulsive about everything. She rose from her crouch in the bushes, putting her canteen and binoculars in her backpack before slinging it over her shoulder. She stretched, the material of her uniform moving with her. Without warning the ground under her feet began to shake, rocks skittering around her boots, trees trembling. "What the-?"
"Sentinel!" Cyclops said over the link. "Right behind me!… I'm hit!"
"Cyclops!" Storm threw her pack to the ground, using a gale force wind to launch herself into the air, clearing the tree line and soaring high into the atmosphere, well past the point of normal human capabilities, the air in her lungs cold. Immediately she saw the X-jet spinning wildly in the sky, flames and smoke shooting from its wrecked body, a towering Sentinel in flight behind the plane, lashing out with a long whip slicing the side of the falling craft wide open.
Without hesitation she flew forward, her blue eyes swirling to angry white. She sent two bolts of lightening crashing into the Sentinel, knocking it back, sending it to the ground below. She moved so that she was directly in line with the jet as it plummeted from the sky, and she grit her teeth, summoning the winds to her, cocooning them around the plane, trying to stop the spin and slow the descent. She sent a mini gulf stream into the nose, hoping to at least slow it down enough to prevent a fatal crash-landing.
"Storm! What are you doing! Get out of the way or we'll both be killed!"
"Can you eject?" She asked, her body shaking with the strain of trying to stop the hurtling jet.
"Negative. The cockpits badly caved in. Storm!"
The sentinel was up again, surprising her. Those bolts should have wiped it out. She rolled in the air, narrowly avoiding a laser blast, the effort costing her precious concentration and she felt her winds die down the jet freefalling towards the ground. Storm reacted instinctively, conjuring up a tornado with enough wind velocity to hurl the towering Sentinel into the mountains just beyond them before folding her arms tight at her sides, bulleting after Cyclops. The ground was approaching rapidly, and she didn't think she could stop the plummeting plane, she only hoped she could slow it down enough so that Cyclops would survive.
"Hang on, Fearless," she said. "This is going to be a bit bumpy." She landed over the glass cockpit, riding the jet as it fell.
"Storm!" Cyclops pressed his hand to the glass, palm up, fingers splayed. "Save yourself!"
She looked at him through the cracked and smoky windshield, pressing her hand against his on the opposite side. "X-men stand together, Cyclops and X-men fall together. Now, hold on!"
THWOOOOM!
The impact was felt miles away, the sound unforgettable to many. Dirt and debris sprayed the sky, raining down in clumps, rocks tinkering off the smoldering wreckage. Cyclops's head hung forward, blood trickling down his face, his head lolling to the side as he struggled for consciousness. "Storm…" It was a battle he lost, his shoulders slumping, only held upright by the five point harness that was locked across his chest.
On the ground, several feet away, her location mapped by the deep groove her body plowed in the soil, Storm's arms shook as she tried to raise herself from her stomach.
"Well, well, well. What do we have here? Hello, again, bitch."
Storm turned her head, peering through the tangled and bloody mass of hair covering her face. "No," she croaked out, "you're dead…" Then nothing as the world faded and black emptiness filled her conscious mind.
Xavier Institute
"How long's this gonna take?" Wolverine growled, pacing back and forth, his claws SNIKT-ing in and out between his knuckles.
"As long as it takes." Jean said quietly. Though she appeared calm Wolverine could smell her fear and sadness. "It's a delicate procedure working with Cerebro, Wolverine."
"Hnh."
"That means he doesn't wanna talk anymore," Jubilee translated from her seat on the bench in the hall, watching Wolverine warily. "You're gonna wear a hole in the floor."
Wolverine gave her a sharp look.
"Shutting up now." Jubilee made a show of buttoning her lips. Once again silence, save for the hiss of metal claws, descended on the hall way. Jubilee studied the man who was fast becoming a father figure to her and sighed. He was very worried about Storm. She could tell by the furrows on his forehead, the steel glint in his eye, the way his mouth tilted down at the corner.
He was a unique individual, even among mutants, Jubilee mused. There was something just under the surface, something not quite human, almost…animal. Not that he wasn't attractive, in a rough around the edges, borderline psycho way, 'cause she was sure if she were like a decade older, he'd be hot to her, but his looks weren't what caught and held a person. It was the predatory way he looked at you, the way the hair on the back of your neck stood on end when he was in the room, the way he made you feel somehow like prey. It was a bit disconcerting at first, but now she was comforted by it, she had immediately seen past the bluster and snarls to the soft heart underneath. He had saved her and given her the first home she'd had in years, for that he had her unswerving loyalty.
The sound of hydraulics releasing and the sealed doors of Cerebro separating brought all three hall occupants up short.
"Professor?" Jean stepped towards her mentor as he wheeled forward, looking a bit haggard.
"They are alive." He gripped her hand in his, giving it a comforting pat.
"Where?" Wolverine snarled.
"They are currently moving. I am uncertain as to their location. I believe that they are in a vehicle giving the velocity at which they are traveling. Assemble the teams, meet me in the War Room."
Jean took the hand rests behind his chair, rolling him down the long, silver hallway, wondering why he hadn't mentally called the teams to them, but getting the answer as a wave of fatigue swept over her. Xavier was exhausted.
War Room
"Cyclops and Storm's last known location was a school outside of Cascade Falls, Colorado." A bright red dot blipped on the three dimensional map. "That is no longer the case." A green dot blipped to life, moving along the map. "This is the best fix I was able to get on them."
"So, where are they? When do we go find them?" Bobby sat forward.
Xavier turned off the map. "We don't. For now Cyclops and Storm are on their own."
"What?" Several of the team members sat straighter in their chairs, angry and worried scowls on their faces.
-SNIKT- "Come again?"
"Sheathe the claws, Wolverine." The Professor said quietly. "They are quite capable of taking care of themselves. They are two of the best among you, which is why you follow them into battle. I have the utmost confidence in their capabilities."
Jean was flabbergasted "But, Professor…"
"There is nothing more to discuss. The decision has been made." Xavier said. "I only asked you all here to set up hourly monitoring teams. Wolverine and Jean will take first watch, followed by Gambit and Hank, then Alison and Warren. We'll rotate more in if necessary."
"You can't expect us to just sit here while two of our guys are out there," Bobby complained. "I mean , that's a bit cold. No pun intended."
"I expect you to follow your orders."
"Yer outta yer gourd, Chuck if ya think I'm just gonna sit here and twiddle my thumbs while my wife's in danger somewhere." Wolverine slammed his fist into the table.
"Calm down, Wolverine." Xavier said. "I don't expect anyone to sit and twiddle their thumbs. When the opportunity arises we will of course go retrieve them…if it proves necessary."
Wolverine snarled. "It proves necessary!"
Charles didn't reply to the statement. "You have your orders."
Colorado
Ow. Everything hurt.
Ororo lifted her head slowly, waves of nausea washing over her. Her arms were numb and after a moment she knew why. She was hanging inches from the floor, dangling from a silver hook in the back of an old army truck, her wrists bound over her head with what appeared to be a metallic fishing twine that was cutting her to the bone.
"Scott…?" Her voice was hoarse.
"Nnngh."
"Scott."
"Nnng. Mmmph."
"Either you're gagged or they cut out your tongue."
"Mmm uggnn urrn?"
"Hold on." Storm kicked with her bound feet, pushing of against the side of the truck, trying to swing with enough momentum to free herself from the hook, but only succeeding in releasing fresh rivulets of blood from her bound hands. She bit her lower lip to keep from crying out. Damn.
Her body jerked as the truck came to an abrupt stop. After a moment voices could be heard and the back door was dropped down and two dark silhouettes stood in the opening. "Well, lookie who's awake." The taller and bulkier of the two moved forward, climbing the ramp, and moving to stand directly in front of Storm. He leaned forward, sniffing her. "Mm. Ya smell nice, frail."
Storm tilted her head, quizzically, then she smiled sweetly. "Come closer. Get a real good whiff," she said huskily, moving her legs teasingly, catching his eye. He gazed at her leather clad, partially exposed legs with avid interest, practically salivating. She snapped her feet out, kicking him hard in the face, grunting against the pain in her wrists, busting his nose, and cracking his teeth. He should have dropped to the floor, but instead he rolled his head back up with several loud cracks and pops, growling at her.
"You're gonna have to do better than that, bitch."
Storm nodded, panting a bit in response to the wires digging into her flesh. "All right." She lashed out again, but he grabbed her feet, pulling against the hook, causing her to bite her lip against the raw scream threatening to erupt from her as the skin around her wrists was peeled back, the wires hitting bone.
"Toughie, huh? I'm gonna like breaking ya. Shoulda done it in Vegas."
Storm's mind was a haze of pain, making speech an impossibility. The truck shifted as the other man stepped forward, his red beard a rusty color in the dim light. Storm recognized him. The cook from the base in Maine.
"Hello. My name is Mr. Smith, and I'm going to ask you a few questions. I hope to find you both very cooperative." A glint of metal caught her eye and Storm felt her breathing increase at the sight of the scalpel in his beefy hand. Goddess…
Xavier's War Room
"They've stopped moving." Warren said.
Ali uncrossed her ankles, removing her feet from the dark oak table top, leaning forward to get a better view of the map. "Where?"
Warren rotated the map. "Looks like somewhere between Colorado Springs and Pueblo."
"We should tell the others." Ali stood, straightening her red top. She caught Warren giving her a peculiar look. "What?"
"Uh- nothing."
"Don't 'uh-nothing' me, War. What?"
"Red's a good color on you. Uh, not that you don't look good in other colors, because, because y-you do, it's just--"
Alison raised an eyebrow. "War, are you trying to give me a compliment."
Warren blushed, looking away, mumbling under his breath. "I'll go get the teams."
"Sure."
Warren walked from the room, folding his wings together to move through the door, his face still flushed. Alison watched him go with a slight frown. She and Warren had flirted before, nothing serious, and he'd never really paid much attention to her, or any woman for that matter, but lately he'd been acting funny around her. Especially when she was with Gambit.
She didn't have time to speculate however, as Wolverine strode through the doors an instant after they closed behind Warren. "Where?" he demanded.
"Were you waiting in the hall?"
He grunted in the affirmative. "Where are they?"
Ali showed him on the map. "They're here."
"Get yer gear, kid. We're headin' out."
"The Professor…"
"Fuck 'im."
Ali grinned. "We gonna raise a little hell?"
Wolverine's lip curled. "And then some."
Colorado
"Aaaaauuugggh!"
"Stop! You're killing him!" Storm strained against the metal rack she was now strapped to, a rack similar to the one she recalled in the room they had trapped Wolverine in, tears flooding her eyes.
"All he has to do is tell us how the X-Men locate mutants." A slow, deliberate twist of the knife in Cyclops's thigh.
"Aaauugh!"
"Scott!" Storm screamed with him, his pain terrible to witness. He was beaten and bloody and had already received several broken bones, and unlike Wolverine, wouldn't heal by tomorrow. The urge to call bolts of fiery vengeance upon his tormentor was almost overwhelming, but the metal tables, close confines and the threat that if the breeze so much as switched directions he would slit Scott's throat prevented her from doing so.
Scott panted, head lolling forward, his chin resting in the dried stains of blood and vomit on his bare chest. They'd been at this for over an hour, but it felt like a decade to him, his entire body a writhing mass of pain.
"Again, Scott?" Mr. Smith asked pleasantly.
"S-sure. Why n-not?" Scott laughed humorlessly, followed by a terrible scream as Smith drove the knife into the spot where shoulder and chest met.
"You X-Men are stupid fucks, ain't ya?" The man referred to as Sabertooth in the Vegas MFC said, casually eating a hamburger as he watched Smith cut and maim Cyclops. He slowly put the practically raw burger down, cocking his shaggy blonde head to one side. "Mmm. Nothin' like the smell o' blood ta whet yer appetite."
"How do the X-Men locate mutants?" Smith asked again, sliding a flat razor down Scott's center, stopping just above his navel.
"We throw darts at a map. We get lucky." Cyclops said, blood flowing from his nose into his mouth, bubbling as he talked.
"Tsk. Tsk." Smith said. "You're not being very cooperative." He pulled a thin metal instrument from the table. It was long, about seven or eight inches, almost needlelike, but had a handle with a button at the end.
"Why dontchya just drug 'em up and get the answers," Sabertooth grunted, biting into his burger again.
Smith gave him an irritated look. "There is no art in that. What I do," he stroked the metal in his hands lovingly, "is art. Human beings scream symphonies for me, their bodies such a sweet instrument to play."
"Whatever, weirdo. Just hurry the fuck up."
"Patience, Creed." Smith turned back to Scott. "Since you are blindfolded I will tell you what I'm holding in my hand. It's a fifteenth century torture device, used to castrate men from opposing armies."
Cyclops stiffened, his breath hitching.
"What I'm going to do is insert this long thin piece of metal inside your penis, slowly into your urethra. Once inside I will press this little button here, injecting air into the tube and releasing several hooks into your tender flesh, then I will yank this instrument out of you."
"You sick son of a bitch!" Storm shouted, her voice like living thunder, shaking in her rage and fear. "You touch him again, and no God in the universe will protect you from me!"
Smith gave Creed a look. "She is disturbing me."
"D-don't hurt h-her," Scott said.
"Touching. Truly." Smith nodded to Creed. "Make her scream. I bet she sounds beautiful."
Storm strained against the bonds holding her, practically sobbing as Smith cut away Cyclops's pants, exposing him. "Don't you dare, you fat bastard!" she shouted, her wrists bleeding again as she struggled. "I swear I will see you die a thousand times."
Sabertooth strolled over to where Storm lay helplessly strapped to the metal table and stood in front of her, licking his lips. "I'd be more concerned with yourself, frail, then with yer boyfriend."
She glowered at him, wishing she could see past him to Scott.
Sabertooth growled, leaning in on her, "Don't ignore me, bitch." His rank, meat smelling breath washed over her. He ran one hand up her torso, cupping one breast in his big palm. He grinned when she flinched. "Yer a hot little number, ain't ya."
"You get off groping tied up women, Creed? So, you can squeeze my tits, Goodie for you. You can do whatever you want, bastard, but it's only my body. You'll never touch the real me."
"Wanna bet?" he clawed at her. He stopped suddenly, head tilting. "Ya hear that?"
Smith paused in his movements "No. I don't hear anything."
Sabertooth growled. "I do. I hear a jet." He grabbed her face in one big hand, the claws digging into her skin, drawing blood. "Who's comin'?" he growled.
"Santa Clause?"
A not so gentle squeeze. "I could crush yer skull and have yer brains ooze like jelly, bitch. Who's comin'?"
"Piss off."
Sabertooth grinned toothily, his fangs gleaming yellow-white. "Such a feisty piece o' meat, aintchya." He leaned forward, licking her face. "Tasty too. I always did prefer dark meat."
"Get away from me, you sick--"
His hand clamped over her mouth. "You really need ta learn some manners, frail."
"Mmph ooo."
He chuckled, a low frightening sound that made her sick with fear, but she refused to show him any, refused to give him the satisfaction.
He leaned closer, then deliberately dropped to his knees, pressing his face in her crotch and inhaling deeply. "Mmm. Sweet." So involved with tormenting his helpless captive he forgot about the approaching jet until he heard gunfire from outside the small storage facility that was their make-shift torture chamber.
The roll up door exploded inward, smoking trails of light energy floating towards the ceiling.
"Hey, McGruff! Step the fuck off!" Ali was suddenly standing at the door, her aquamarine eyes that blazing with inner light. For a moment she looked so fierce that the occupants of the room believed the low , menacing growl accompanying her explosive entrance belonged to her. However, that growl was the only warning before a dark shape leapt into the room, silver eyes glittering and six blades of nine-inch, lethal adamantium flashing in the shadows.
Sabertooth stepped away from Storm, hunching his shoulders, saliva spraying as he growled at Wolverine. "Hiya, Runt."
"Hey! Didn't he kill you already?" Ali asked.
"He ain't man enough ta kill me." Sabertooth snarled. "I kill. Ain't that right, Runt? I kill all you hold dear. I take it and make it mine, then I kill it."
Wolverine growled. "Are ya crazy, fuck face? I barely know ya!"
Sabertooth laughed. "Right. I forget. They mind wiped the shit outta ya." Cruel laughter followed his taunts. He circled behind Storm, one clawed hand wrapping around her throat, cutting off all air. "Yer taste is improving, Wolverine. I like this one." He sniffed her hair, licking her ear.
"Fucker." Wolverine was borderline feral.
"Nobody move, or young Scott here will be the first casualty in this exchange."
For the first time Wolverine noticed Scott, bloody and wrecked on a table beside a man Wolverine instantly recognized, a man holding a razor to Scott's jugular. "Smith." he spat out.
"Nice to see you again, Wolverine," Smith said cordially.
Wolverine lowered is shoulders, his stance coiled and ready for action. His gaze flicked between Sabertooth and Smith. "Alison," he said quietly.
"I'm Henry the eighth I am, I am!" Ali raised her hand over her head as she belted out the tune, lights flashing and strobing, causing Sabertooth to flinch away from the brightness and distracting Smith.
Wolverine was in motion before Ali could make sense of the commotion. He leapt, using Storm, and the table she was strapped on, to ram Sabertooth into the wall. He sliced through the leather straps holding her down and pulled her free.
"Hey, angel," he said, kissing her quick and hard before shoving her behind him.
Instinctively Storm sent a blast of wind at Smith, tossing him away from Cyclops and across the room before she stumbled to her knees, her legs giving out from under her.
"Storm!" Ali was beside her in an instant.
"Scott," Storm said. "Get Scott!"
Ali nodded, racing to where Cyclops was propped, his body a bloody mess of wounds and cuts. "Oh, Cyclops…" Ali brushed his brown hair away from his blindfold with shaking fingers. Her face crumpled as rage and anguish swamped her. She went to work unbuckling the leather around his torso, tears blurring her vision, making the task inordinately difficult. "Hang on, Cyke. Okay? Please, hang on."
"Ali!" Storm called out a warning as Smith approached Alison from behind. Ali turned, grabbing one of the sharp instruments from the table, slicing at him.
Across the room Wolverine and Sabertooth rolled across the floor, savage snarls and growls coming from both men. Sabertooth landed on top, pummeling Wolverine in the face with furious speed. Blood sprayed the cement.
"That the best ya got?" Wolverine asked with a growl before three claws pierced Sabertooth's side and he flung the larger man off of him.
Sabertooth landed on his knees, breathing labored, blood dripping between his fingers. "Don't matter. I'll heal. Faster than you, runt." he was on his feet a moment later, razor claws catching Wolverine across the face, scouring deep, momentarily blinding him.
He swung blindly, claws whistling through air.
"Pathetic. Yer the prize of Weapon X? Yer what their so hot fer? Fuckin' priceless. Ya know I almost killed ya in Vegas. Wanted ta. But orders are orders. But now, I ain't got no orders, 'cept ta bring ya in. Dead or Alive. I prefer dead."
"You talk to much!" Wolverine roared as he pounced, taking Sabertooth down, slicing mercilessly.
Sabertooth rolled away from him, flesh falling to the floor as he stood. "Don't matter," he slurred. "I'll heal…"
"Yeah? Heal from this!" With a speed that defied description Wolverine launched from his crouched position, spinning in the air, one lone claw slicing through tendon, tissue and vertebrae, separating Sabertooth's head from his shoulders. The blonde head bouncing twice before landing face up a few feet away from the still kneeling body. Wolverine kicked the headless torso over, making his way towards Smith and Ali.
Smith, sensing doom at his back turned quickly, dropping the scalpel he held. "I surrender," he said.
Wolverine just kept staking forward. He grabbed Smith by the front of his bloody apron. "My turn, Mr. Smith. I got some questions." He slammed the large man against the table Storm had been on.
"Wolverine?" Alison and Storm were helping Cyclops towards the door.
"Go, babe. Ya don't want ta see this," he said quietly.
Storm saw cold fire pooling in Wolverine's eyes and she nodded, turning away as the first claw extended, trying in vain to ignore the horrific screams echoing behind her as they made their way to the Blackbird.
Wolverine emerged several minutes later, the set of his jaw intimidating, His bloody claws retracting as he walked. The scarlet on his arms and uniform told the story of what happened in that room and Storm found herself, for the first time, frightened of the things her husband was capable of.
Inside the storage unit the decapitated body of Victor Creed laid motionless, and the disemboweled form of Joseph Smith twitched in its last moments of agonizing life. On the wall, scrawled in blood was a message for those that found them: I'm coming for you.
Xavier Institute
Boathouse
Thin ribbons of pink mixed in with the steaming water swirling down the drain as Wolverine scrubbed his chest roughly, washing away the stink of those he had killed. He hung his head forward, the hard spray sluicing through his thick ebony hair, plastering it to his scalp, his mind in turmoil with the things Smith had told him before he died. Logan gave a jerk and shake of his head, splashing water against tile and glass, barely repressing the growl of frustration he felt building in his gut. He twisted the handles of the shower, cutting off the spray and sliding the foggy glass partition open, reaching for his towel, knotting it around his waist with a quick jerk.
The house was dark, only the faint flickering of fire light dancing along the walls, making the deep wood glow with a golden hue, offered any light as he made his way down the hall. He smelled her instantly. Ororo.
'Ro's scent was different from anyone else he'd ever known. It was earth, and flowers, mixed with freshly fallen rain, tinted with a hint of vanilla and sandalwood. It was innocent and pure, compelling and distracting and it wasn't entirely human. Xavier had told him that Farouk believed Ororo to be a genuine Goddess incarnate. Knowing her like he did, Logan believed it entirely possible.
Ororo lay curled up on their couch in front of their small fireplace, her head pillowed on her hands, her breathing deep and even, letting him know she was asleep before he saw her. She shifted a bit, the silk of her short robe sliding open to reveal the gorgeous contours of one thigh. Logan smiled down at her. He liked the way she looked; so peaceful while she slept, her long black lashes dark crescents against her sable cheeks, her full lips parted as soft breath passed, the long silken strands of her damp snow white hair hanging over the arm of the couch, nearly touching the oriental carpet, curling slightly they dried.
He bent and scooped her up into his arms, cradling her to his chest as he strode up the stairs to their bedroom. Instinctively she snuggled closer her lips teasing his collar bone. He groaned softly at her touch, his blood thickening and pooling in his groin. He gently settled her on the center of their bed, her blue eyes blinking open. "Hey, darlin'." he said softly, stroking his thumb across her cheek.
"Hey," she whispered, her voice still rusty from screaming and sleep. She rubbed her knuckles down the side of his face, her smile tender. "Sorry I fell asleep on you."
"Don't be. Ya've had a helluva day."
Ororo was quiet for a moment, her light eyes darkening slightly. "It could have been worse."
Logan knew her thoughts were on Scott, who at last check in was in stable condition, but was still in surgery having several bones reset and internal bleeding stopped. He lifted her hands in his, his gaze on the white bandages wrapped around her wrists. He felt an angry tic begin in his jaw as he remembered seeing her bound to a metal slab, Sabertooth sniffing at her like a dog in heat. He turned her hand, kissing her knuckles, his tongue flicking out to lick at her. Ororo shuddered, his touch both sexy and intimately tender. "I'm sorry we didn't get there sooner, darlin'."
"Logan, it's not your duty to pull my butt out of the fire every time I get in trouble."
He chuckled. "Yeah, 'Ro, it is." He rubbed her bottom lip with his thumb. "Yer my wife."
She closed her eyes. "Mmm. I do like the sound of that." When she reopened her eyes she found his gaze suddenly hot, dark and intense. Ororo ran one hand through her semi-dry hair, the action lifting her breasts against her light pink satin and silk robe.
"Do ya now?" Logan rumbled, his fingers moving along her thighs, massaging tense muscles.
"Yes," Ororo breathed, her entire body tingling at his touch.
"Yer the only thing that matters ta me, 'Ro. It's my job ta protect and cherish ya, ta keep ya safe and happy." His dark eyes burned into her blue ones.
"Oh, Logan…" She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder, circling his neck with her arms. "The things that you had to do because of me…I'm so sorry."
He was a bit taken aback by her soft words and he tensed. "Don't blame yerself fer the deaths of the fuckers that kidnapped you and Cyke, darlin'. Death was no less than what they deserved." He tilted her chin up. "It bothered ya, what I did ta them," he said gravely.
Ororo nodded. "Yes."
Logan felt his gut clench. "I tried ta tell ya, 'Ro, I'm a killer, it's what I'm good at. It's the only thing that I'm good for."
He tried to pull away from her, but she restrained him gently. "No, it's not." She touched his face with one hand, lightly dancing her fingertips along his jaw, and over his mouth. He reacted unconsciously, nipping her fingers, pulling her index finger between his teeth, brushing it with his tongue, making her gasp with surprised pleasure. His now black eyes smoldered at her, a blatantly sexual look. "Killin' and fuckin', then," he corrected.
Ororo tilted her head to the side, a small smile playing with her lips. "Is that what we do?" She moved to her knees, sitting in front of him. "We…fuck?" She let the word fall between them on a husky whisper.
He remembered how hurt he'd been the night she had tried to turn the beautiful act of them joining together into that vulgar term. "No." he growled.
"No," she agreed. "We are two halves of one soul, Logan. The things you are capable of, are indeed frightening." His gaze flicked away and she caught his jaw in her hand, turning him back to her. "But I am not frightened of you." She explained. "It only frightens me because I know it eats at you. You pretend not to care, not to feel, but I know that each death weighs on you."
Logan sighed. She really was so innocent. No, the deaths didn't weigh on him. He'd spill their blood and gut them again, a hundred times if necessary, without a second thought. They didn't matter to him. Their lives were worthless to him. He was a cold and ruthless killer, but his beautiful wife refused to see that about him, and a part of him prayed, to whatever deity still listened to the prayers of soulless killers, that she never would.
Deciding he no longer wished to speak of death and killing, he bent his head, nibbling on her neck.
She loved him like this, the way he looked at her like she was the only woman that existed on the planet, the way his breathing hitched in his chest as she disrobed, the way his eyes got impossibly dark.
"I wish I was the man ya think I am."
Ororo shook her head, her eyes passionate. "You are." She blinked again, her eyelids heavy with exhaustion.
He found her mouth again tenderly. "Let's get some sleep," he murmured. He didn't bother with the blankets, since she never got cold and he rarely did. He lay beside her, pulling her with him so that she was sprawled across his chest. She cuddled as close as she could, a smile on her face as she drifted to sleep once again.
"You'll always be safe," he vowed quietly. He would make certain of it. She was a strong fighter, a solid leader and a mutant with powers beyond anything he'd ever seen before, yet he couldn't shake the need to protect her. It wasn't a want, or a male macho thing. It was a physical need, to know she was safe, to hold her, to love her. It was like nothing he'd ever felt before, he was sure of that. He cherished her. He bent his head, brushing soft kisses along her brow, stroking his hand along the smooth curve of her spine. He ached for her. Even after just having her, his body even now feeling the aftershocks of a release that was mind-blowing, he still ached for her. She was too good for the likes of him. She put the needs of others above her own needs, she sought only to defend and protect. She was compassion and he was a predator, a hunter, a killer.
She nuzzled him in her sleep and his entire body went taut, his arms circling her fiercely. She was so beautiful, so perfect. He would never get used to the fact that she chose him, that she loved him. He closed his eyes, inhaling her unique scent, thinking how she saw only the good in him, hadn't condemned him even though he knew she had been afraid of what she had witnessed today, and more afraid of what she hadn't. After what he had done to her, she more than anyone had reason to fear him, but she didn't. She gave herself to him, loved him, and tried to protect him. He was humbled by that.
He curled against her protectively, falling to sleep with the love of his life in his arms.
The soothing scent incense reached his nostrils. He slowly opened his eyes. He was seated on the floor, legs crossed, wearing a black kimono. The room he was in was small and bare. Only his ornately decorated, curved blade lay before him on the floor.
"Logan-san?"
He turned towards the voice. Soft and sweet, gentle and demure. In the open doorway she stood, black hair piled neatly on her head, large comb holding it in place, the beads making small noises as she moved. She glided towards him slowly, her eyes downcast, her hands clasped in front of her. He rose as she approached.
Frail. Enchanting. Refined.
"Mariko." She takes the breath right out of his lungs. She lifts dark eyes to his, a slight smile on her lovely face. Gentle, demure, porcelain. She was so fragile, so delicate, broken so easily. He cupped her face gently in his palm. "I've missed ya," he whispered.
"And I you," she replied. "Will you be staying?" Her voice is tentative, as if uncertain she wishes to hear the response.
Warmth. Longing. Affection.
He pulls her close, wrapping his arms around her, his heart beat echoing in his mind. "Yes, M'iko. I'll stay with you. Always."
"I am glad, my husband."
Logan stirred. As dreams went he'd had far more nightmarish, but few that left him with the terrifyingly unsettled feeling this one left him with.
Logan stretched, his fingers absently finding the silken strands of Ororo's hair. She smiled softly at his touch, even deep asleep responding to him. Gently he extracted himself from the bed, standing quietly beside her for a moment. For the first time in his life he was indecisive. He wanted to wake her and talk to her about his dream, tell him about Wraith's claim he had a wife somewhere, but then again he didn't. He padded across the floor, opening the window, lifting his head to inhale the night air. The wind carried a multitude of scents on it. Rabbit, deer, fox and human.
He glanced over his shoulder at his sleeping wife. God, he loved her. He couldn't lose her. Needing some space he leapt from the second story window, landing noiselessly on the balls of his feet. He moved easily, unhurried, a creature of the night, his muscles rippling with power and strength. He could hear the sounds of the night, the insects flitting in the air, the water of the lake lapping the pebbled shore, the snap of twigs as forest creatures skittered as he approached. Wolverine scented the wind, following his instincts, running naked through the forest behind the estate, leaping over branches, kicking himself off tree trunks, becoming one with the night.
But no matter how hard, or how fast he ran, he couldn't escape the hazy remnants of his dream. He had been in Japan, of that he was certain. The woman in the dream had referred to him as her husband. She had been so elegantly refined, quiet, shy even. Beautiful, too. He crouched beside a tree, breathing heavy, sweat glistening in the moonlight over his broad shoulders. He grimaced. The woman in the dream most certainly didn't seem the type to appreciate this feral side of him. Who was she? Was she really a long forgotten wife? Was she still waiting for him? Was she even alive?
"Logan?"
He turned, looking up. Ororo hovered behind him, buoyed by her winds, her pale hair dancing around her bare shoulders. She was just as naked as he was and his white teeth gleamed a predator's smile "Run with me?" he growled.
Immediately Ororo dropped to the ground, her eyes dancing into his. She was thrilled by this. Whatever was bothering him wasn't making him turn away from her, or push her away. Instead he beckoned her into his world, a realm of night and shadows, of predator and prey. As soon as her feet touched soft brown earth she ran, racing through the dense vegetation, Wolverine ran beside her, close and protective. Ororo had never felt such excitement, the wind sang through the trees, the night itself calling her, stirring her blood. She felt wild, no longer human. Absolutely free. She ran fast, swerving in and out of the trees, leaping over brush. Wolverine kept pace alongside her, occasionally reaching out and touching her as if he needed the contact, or tot turn her in a direction he wanted to go.
After awhile he began to nudge her back the way they came, back towards their home. Ororo laughed happily, earning a flash of white from him. "Race you," she challenged, breaking into a sprint. He overtook her easily, catching her about the waist and swinging her around. She laughed helplessly as she tumbled to the ground, sheltered by his strong arms. She was pressed against his chest, leaning over him with his arms locked around her waist when they stopped rolling in the damp grass. She shivered as he pulled her down for his ravenous kiss. Wolverine brought forth something untamed and wild within her, a wild nature that rivaled his own. In all of her twenty-three years nothing had ever made her feel the way she felt when she was with him.
She leaned back from him, and felt a rush of liquid heat flow through her at the sight of him. Goddess, he was a wild thing, uninhibited and so completely sensuous. So male. So very carnal. Ororo felt herself go weak with need. She belonged with him. "I love you," she whispered.
He gathered her in his arms.
"You don't have to carry me," she protested as he walked towards the house.
"Hush." he said with a rumble. He carried her back upstairs to their bed, this time settling her under the covers, slipping in beside her. She was asleep almost instantly and he smiled into her hair.
Logan lay awake for a long time, watching through the bedroom window as the dawn crept forward. He pulled Ororo closer. Morning. How he hated morning. When he became Wolverine and she became Storm and the weight of the world settled upon them once again.
His wife slid one hand along his chest, curling her fingers into the crisp hairs covering him. She mumbled something, incoherent, but he caught the words love and Logan and he felt his heart kick. He looked around their room, at the pictures on the wall, the painting of Ororo that Peter had done for her birthday, a beautiful piece of work, Logan admired. In the portrait 'Ro was soaring in the clouds, a long diaphanous gown molded to her legs, her hair fanned out behind her. It captured the free spirit that was Ororo. Along that same wall were several pictures of him and her together, and a few of the team together. On the nightstand sat a couple of books, one open, facedown. The sounds of the boathouse settling creaked through the dim early morning and Logan smiled. Domesticated. He had thought that marriage would make him domesticated, tame him a bit. He bunched his fingers in Ororo's hair. If anything, he'd become more feral, more animal. She brought out something dark and dangerous in him, his animal instinct to mate and protect. She was his life. Nothing else mattered but her. Nothing.