Summary: Oneshot. StormBeast set after The Last Stand. Mostly fluff.
Disclaimer: Sadly, the characters aren't mine. They belong to Marvel.
A/N: Tiny spoiler. You have been warned. This is the first story I've put online, so feedback would be good (constructive criticism please), but if you're not an R&Rer just R&E (enjoy!) Oh, and anyone recognize the "argument" Storm overhears?
--X
Storm paused in the hallway and tilted her head to the side. A soft flicker of light touched the crack of the door, bringing with it the sound of two voice arguing. Against her better judgment, she stepped close to the door to listen.
"...a genuine growing concern among most Americans. I think mutant registration -"
"But why stop there? Maybe it would be easier to round up mutants by the truckload. Or maybe you'd..."
Storm pulled away from the door to an "Ahem" right behind her. She turned slowly, blushing, to see Logan with an eyebrow arched at her. "Spying on the Senator, 'Ro?" he asked, clearly amused.
"Of course not," Ororo snapped, more angry at herself for getting caught than at Logan. She quickly changed her tone. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to -"
"I know, don't worry about it."
She sighed and ran a hand through her short white hair. "You know I appreciate you sticking around through all this, don't you?" The wandering Wolverine had put down tentative roots at the institute after Professor Xavier, Scott, and Jean died. Now he was a professor of art and self defense on top of taking over most of Scott's classes. "I couldn't have kept this place open without you."
"Or him, right?" Logan nodded toward the door.
Storm sighed again. She'd been sighing a lot since she took over Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. Between the mind numbing grief at the loss of so many friends, the crushing weight of her new responsibilities as headmistress, and just the day-to-day problems of being a mutant, it was a miracle she didn't sigh much more often.
"Might wanna get out of here unless you want him to catch you," Logan said, already halfway down the hall. Storm shot a concerned glance back at the door and fled the hallway. She had just rounded the corner when Hank McCoy exited his room, smoothing his suit and looking as dignified as any fuzzy blue mutant ever could.
"Good afternoon Dr. McCoy," his students chorused when he walked into his political science class later that day.
"Anyone missing today?" he asked, cheerfully surveying his class for absentees. "Where's Marie?"
"She's sick," Bobby said. "I'll get her her assignments."
The furry man nodded. "Tell her I said to rest up. And if it gets worse, she should visit Professor Worthington in the infirmary."
"I know. It's just a cold," Bobby said.
"Ok, then who can tell me where we left off?"
Kitty raised her hand. "You were telling us about Churchill's foreign policy...Hi Storm."
Dr. McCoy turned around and, sure enough, Ororo Munroe stood in his doorway. "Sorry to interrupt Hank, but could I have a minute?"
He looked from her to his students and back to her. "Of course. Class, please read chapter five. Piotr's in charge." With that, Hank followed Ororo to her office and took a seat across from her desk.
Storm, unable to sit, stood behind her chair with her hands resting lightly on its back. "Hank," she began.
"Am I being fired?" he asked, a grin in his eyes.
"No, of course not. Even if you weren't an indispensable teacher and amazing friend I don't have the resources to replace you. No, I just wanted to talk to you...about your mutation."
The man now known affectionately as Beast settled more comfortably into his chair, sensing that they would be there for a while.
"I know it can't be easy for you to be..."
"Blue and fuzzy," he supplied good-heartedly.
Storm gave him a soft smile and a nod. "I want you to know that I'm here if you ever want to talk about it."
"Ok..." he said slowly, not quite sure why she was singling him out like this.
"Hank," she sighed. Her grip on the back of the chair tightened slightly. "I know you miss looking like you did," she whispered almost inaudibly.
Still, Hank heard her and joked, "When did you become a telepath?" Seeing that he couldn't knock her out of her solemnity he said more seriously, "Is it that obvious?"
"No, you hide it very well," Storm assured him. "I just...heard you listening to the tape this morning." Outside, it started to drizzle.
"Oh." It was impossible to tell what he meant by that and Storm wished, not for the first time, that she had the Professor's ability to read minds. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Hank spoke again. "Ororo, I think you got the wrong idea this morning."
"You weren't watching that old debate to see yourself how you were?"
"Well...Yes, I was...But..." It was funny to see this distinguished diplomat, who gave public speeches all the time, flustered and unsure of what to say next. He must have decided it would be easier to think on his feet, because he stood up and paced around the room. "Not for the reasons you think."
Ororo's eyes followed him with interest as he padded from corner to corner. "No?" she asked, clearly not believing him.
"I wasn't watching it because I miss how I used to look." At least not this time, he thought. "I was watching...I thought..." He took a deep breath and started over. "I was watching it because I wondered if other people might wish I was still normal."
"You are normal," Storm stressed.
Hank decided not to argue the point with her. "You know what I mean Ororo."
She ran her fingers through her hair. Outside, a fog rolled in. "Hank, whoever would wish something like that doesn't deserve your concern."
"You don't think I looked better before?" He'd stopped pacing and was looking at her intently from across the room.
Storm remembered seeing him on tv before his mutation fully manifested, his black hair loosely brushed, glasses sliding down his nose as he argued for mutant rights. The only thing blue about him back then had been his piercing eyes. She looked across the desk at him now. "No," she said honestly. He still spoke the same and carried himself as he always had, albeit with a little more acrobatic skill. "You're the same old Hank McCoy to me, blue fur or no."
He crossed the room to be beside her with superhuman speed. A peel of lightning cracked the sky in half. "You don't think I'm...animalistic?"
Ororo laughed now. "This coming from the most civilized man I know. Hank McCoy, if you don't mind your appearance, then what's this all about?"
He hemmed and hawed for a few minutes, trying to avoid it, but Storm was persistent and he eventually caved. "Ororo Munroe, would you consider having dinner with the Beast tomorrow night?"
Three more short strikes of lightning skewered the sky, coinciding with Storm's shocked rapid blinks. "On a date?"
"Yes," Hank clarified, "on a date." He waited nervously for her answer while the sun started to peek through the clouds and dissipate the fog. The blue sky was growing to reclaim its cheerful place over the school. "Ororo?" he asked uncertainly.
She smiled at him. "Yes, Hank, I would love to have dinner with you."
Hank grinned uncontrollably and back flipped onto the desk with a shout of joy. Storm laughed and said jokingly, "Oh, I see what you meant about the animalistic side." He grinned sheepishly and stepped off the desk, mumbling an apology. Storm rolled her eyes, a playful smile on her face, and said coyly, "I'm sure we can put that side to good use."