Chapter Four

Logan had no nightmares that night.

Ororo's curvy form nestled within the confines of his sturdy arms had warded the pesky things away all through the night, much to his relief.

Logan delved his nose into her thick – slightly tangled – mass of white hair, letting a pleased murmur rumble deep inside of his chest. That personal, natural fragrance of hers had virtually drugged and rendered him unconscious last night, pulling Logan into one of the deepest slumbers he could ever remember experiencing. He relished that.

And to think, he'd almost lost it.

Logan looked over at Ororo, and for a moment, stilled himself to concentrate on the softs sounds of her breathing while watching the steady rise and fall of her bosom. The soft snores emanating from her were the only sounds to be heard, outside of the incessant chirp, chirping of birds outside the bedroom windows. He watched her a few more moments still, then silently disengaged himself from her warm body. She stirred a little at the disturbance, muttering something vague under her breath. It was foreign, whatever it was. Swahili? Arabic maybe? Logan turned and quietly sat on the edge of the bed, doing his best not to disrupt her sleep again. He reached down and grabbed the shirt he'd so carelessly tossed on her floor last night when an unfamiliar scent invaded his nostrils.

Dark, hazel eyes tapered to slits. Logan brought the shirt to his nose out of curiosity and sniffed. The scent wasn't coming from the shirt, but it was definitely male – musky and sharp. Logan stood to his feet, shirt still in hand, and walked towards the center of the bedroom where the scent grew stronger.

*Sniff, Sniff*

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. All at once it seemed the scent seemed to hover in the air.

Somebody had been in the room and left.

Furthermore, Logan, with his unnaturally acute senses couldn't identify who it had been because the scent was wholly unfamiliar. That was when the realization hit him, and he scowled deeply.

The Cajun.

She began to stir again nearly an hour later, twisting this way and that before she opened her eyes and awoke fully. Ororo slowly sat up in the bed, frowning slightly when she realized she had slept in the same clothes she had worn yesterday. Ororo brought her hand out from under the covers and glanced down at her wristwatch. She was running late. She threw back her covers and stood, just then noticing Logan draped in the chair in the corner. He stared at her and she stared back, her expression slightly surprised.

"Mornin', darlin'," he grunted from the chair.

She inclined her head to him. "Good morning, Logan."

He smelled of cigar smoke, and the doors to her balcony were opened telling her that he'd obviously went outside for a smoke recently.

Ororo Munroe peeked at her watch once more before quickly springing into action. She started towards the bathroom and began shedding her clothes, the articles deeply creased and wrinkled from having slept in them last night. Before she could shut the door, Logan had followed in behind her.

He leaned against the post and watched the scene before him.

Damn she was beautiful.

His eyes dilated on their own accord as he stood appreciating her nude form. All radiant, deep brown skin canvasing along a tall, svelte body. Ororo Munroe was a stunning contradiction in many ways. Indeed, the woman was tall and lean, but instead of the normal gangly bodies that most overly tall people seemed to have, she was, for lack of a better term 'thick' – in all the right places. And curvy. Very, very curvy.

Like her ample chocolate breasts, incredibly full and round. The same words he would use to describe her derriere – ample, full, and round. Curving out beautifully from the somewhat pronounced slope of her back.

His lazy ogling heated the blood in veins and kick-started his arousal. Almost in a daze, Logan grabbed her by the waist and pulled her bare form against his fully clothed one.

Feeling the slightly rough fabric of his denim jeans and his hard muscles against her back, Ororo nearly gave in to the obvious invitation. Even going as far as to sigh pleasurably when his roughened hands slid along her thighs, and up her stomach. Not only would she be ridiculously late for class if they continued, but in her split second of deliberation, Ororo remembered the conversation the two of them had last night before they'd crawled into bed and thought better of it.

"Logan, we can't. I have a class to teach."

Logan grunted in irritation as she pulled away and opened the glass door.

"Plus, we agreed last night that if we were actually going to be together this time around that I'd have to take this slow; one step at a time."

She caught the man's disappointed expression just before she entered the shower and closed the door behind her.

Logan remembered that exact conversation she spoke of and gritted his teeth. Flamin' hell. Inside, he knew he had no one to blame but himself (and perhaps Jean) for the weather goddess' wariness towards him. But damn it if it still bothered him – and his loins.

He watched her slightly blurry form through the steamed glass, smelling the scent of her bodywash and shampoo. That was when he remembered to ask.

"'Hey, 'Ro?"

"Yes?"

"The Cajun—er, Gambit . . ."

He noticed Ororo cease her movements momentarily as he took a seat on the closed toilet lid. He made sure to speak clearly over the sound of the running water. "How do ya know him?"

Ororo continued washing and answered him. "He—Remy—Gambit watched over me. He was—he was like my guardian, in a way."

She fought to keep the tremble from her voice.

Logan furrowed bushy brows. "What do ya mean yer 'guardian'?" he asked her. "How long have ya known him?"

"Awhile," she told him.

He waited for her to explain further.

"Do—Do you recall me telling you about The Nanny ordeal—? The de-aging?"

Logan grunted in the affirmative.

"Well, Remy is the one who found me and brought me back. Prior to that he took care of me. After I returned, I asked him if he wanted to stay—here, at the mansion. He did but . . . only for a couple of days afterward."

"Huh. So why'd he leave?"

Ororo said nothing for a while, only the shower water could be heard over the silence. "I do not know," she said finally. "That was nearly six years ago."

Wolverine hmphed thoughtfully.

"So . . . ya both were friends then?"

Her hesitation was brief. "Yes."

Logan silently pondered this knowledge in his mind, his thoughts traveling to her reaction that day outside of the War Room. "So he was the reason ya were upset then, that day."

"Seeing Gambit was jarring and . . . unexpected," she offered in her defense. "And I was already upset prior to seeing him which didn't help matters." She didn't bother mentioning that it was because she had had an argument of sorts with Jean.

Logan nodded shortly. "He calls ya Stormy?"

Ororo scoffed. "Sometimes."

"And ya don't like it?"

"Do you like it when Jubilee calls you 'Wolvie'?"

"Touché," he grinned slightly.

The shut shower shut off and Logan watched Ororo climb out, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around herself. Her hair dripped and hung down around her waist in thick, wet strands. Mentally, Logan screamed as he observed the woman. Rubbing some sort of moisturizer into her swarthy skin, pulling on a pair of white lace panties. The color against her dark skin tone nearly made his mouth water. He bit hard down on his lip with his sharp canines, using the pain there to distract him from the pain he felt elsewhere.

"Why do you ask?"

"Uh—Huh?" he grunted distractedly.

"I said, why do you ask about Remy?"

Logan shrugged. "Just curious, darlin'." He thought about the man possibly being the one that had been there in Storm's loft last night. "I don't think I like him much."

Ororo snorted and shook her head. "No surprise there," she said. And it really wasn't to her. Remy and Logan were similar in too many ways for them to ever really like each other. The two men were both dangerous, both blatantly masculine, and both too attractive for their own good, though Remy was the more aesthetically beautiful between the two. His sculpted facial features were just masculine enough to make him truly beautiful without looking effeminate. Wolverine, contrarily, was completely male. Strong rugged features, bulging muscles, even down to his gruff voice. He was pure alpha male.

Logan walked her to her classroom before heading off to meet up with Chuck. Leaving her alone to prepare for her class, but not before he had probed her mouth with a deep and thorough kiss, still wound up from watching her slink around her bedroom earlier in the buff.

He tossed a: "See ya later, darlin'," over his shoulder before stomping off to pick a bone with Chuck.

The morning seemed to pass by slower than usual much to Jean Grey's chagrin. He didn't show up, was all Jean could think about as she walked down the long empty halls. Logan wasn't anywhere to be found. Usually during her lunch, the Wolverine would come to find her or vice versa and the two would chat . . . which at times had led to less chatting on their part and more kissing and touching. But today she hadn't caught sight of him anywhere. It was jarring to consider that perhaps he had been serious when he had told her he was through yesterday afternoon.

She felt insulted, even though he was doing what it was she herself couldn't, which, obviously was the right thing to do – ending their dalliances. It still made her feel angry and slighted.

Fresh takeout bags in hand, Jean twisted the handle on the door to Scott's empty classroom and found him chatting happily on the phone. He was laughing at something the other person was saying on the phone and stopped abruptly when he swirled around in his chair to see his fiancée standing there.

"Uh, h-hang on a minute, Em," he said into the receiver.

Scott pulled the phone away from his ear and covered it with his hand. He stared at Jean expectedly a long moment.

"What is it, Jean?"

"Oh, uh," she stammered. Jean lifted the bag in her hand for him to see. "I've got lunch. I thought we could eat lunch together."

Scott immediately shook his head. "Ah, no thanks. I'm kind of busy. Just save mine for later."

He began to turn back around when she said: "Are you sure? Scott, aren't you going to eat?"

"Jean, I'm working," he huffed, nodding at the phone in his hand.

"Who is it?" she asked, frowning.

"The headmistress of Massachusetts Academy."

"Emma Frost!"

He gave her a look as if to say: "Duh!" and again swirled back around, though not before telling her to close the door when she left the room. Jean glared at his back a couple of more moments before swallowing down the ill feeling rising in her throat and walked back out the classroom, closing the door on Scott's laughter just as tears started to burn her eyes.

The last student had only just shuffled out the door when Ororo slumped back in her chair with a noisy exhale. She rubbed at her pulsing temples, the pressure building behind her eyes signaling the beginning of a minor headache. Ororo pulled open her desk drawer and retrieved two Advil, swallowing the pills down with a swig from her water bottle. To relieve some of the pressure on her head, Ororo reached up and carefully began removing the small pins that kept her up-do in place. She felt the slightest shift in the air and instantly became alert. Her hands fell from her hair as she glanced up to find Gambit watching her, lazily perched on top of one of the many empty desks. He wore simple jeans and a T-shirt, his shining auburn hair hanging loose around his shoulders.

For a moment, all Ororo could do was look at him. Letting her eyes scan every last detail. It was as if he hadn't changed at all in six years. The man was still sleek, still handsome, and still gave off an air of dark sensuality. If anything, he was even more handsome. She promptly shut her mouth, realizing it had been open, and dropped her gaze down to her desk. She willed her throbbing pulse and racing heart to settle.

"What are you doing here?" Her voice, though small, came out steady.

"Ah, so she speaks." Gambit's eyes sparkled from across the room, a slow smile curving his lips. "I got de impression y' were gon' act as if I didn' exist de whole time."

"Well, I kind of got used to it after six years where you virtually didn't," she spat.

The small twinkle in his eyes vanished. Ororo's breathing quickened with her sudden burst of anger. She found herself panting slightly and her chest heaved faintly with the effort. She lowered her head, suddenly feeling vulnerable, exposed. The fact that the man had been in her presence for less than five minutes yet already had her roused and trembling with bitter resentment only made her angrier at him. She stood and jerked open her briefcase, she hastily shoved in her notes and agenda, fully preparing to get out of there as soon possible before her temper got the best of her.

"I need t' talk t' yo', chère."

"What about?" she snapped impatiently.

"You kno' what."

Ororo scoffed and shook her head vigorously. "No. No, I do not want to."

"So y' made time t' talk t' yo' friend de Wolverine yesterday, but no time fo' me, eh? Dat how it is now?"

Her head snapped up. "What?" she exclaimed. "What makes you say that?"

He ignored her question. "After all we been t'rough, girl? I'd say y' can at least give me a bit o' yo' time, chèrie."

That stopped her. Immediately, Ororo paused, her hands slowly releasing their tightened grip on the handle of her bag. She sighed heavily and stared up at the ceiling, her eyes drifting close, inside knowing he was right. Ororo took several deep breaths before reopening them again.

"Alright, Remy. You're right. I'm—I'm sorry."

He stared at her for a moment and nodded. "Bon." Glancing quickly at the opened door, an idea suddenly came to Remy. He smiled and jerked his head in the direction of the windows, where the late afternoon sun was just beginning to dim.

"Come, chère. Let's go fo' a walk."

"Have y' missed me, girl?" he asked as they walked towards the lake located near the back of the property. He looked to her for an answer.

"Why?" she shrugged. "What would it matter?"

"Matters a lot, chère. Fo' starters it'd mean y' still care 'bout dis Cajun."

"Remy—"

"I missed you, 'Roro. Mo' den I can say."

Ororo said nothing at his show of honesty, just continued staring ahead as she walked, deliberately avoiding the pointed stare he gave her, burning the side of her face as she and he strolled together.

"I kno' y' mad at me. Dat I hurt you, but . . . I'm sorry, ma chère. Remy neva wan' t' hurt you, ever. Not if he can help it."

Ororo stopped at the edge of the lake and met his gaze for the first time since they'd begun their stroll. "Then why did you?" She crossed her arms and stared at him. Gambit ignored the small flutter in his stomach as she gawked at him with those exotic cat-like eyes of hers.

"Didn' feel right here," he admitted finally. Remy dropped down near the lake's muddy bank, picking up a broken twig where he began to fiddle with it. "Dere was business left unfinished. Some personal t'ings. I had t' work dem out on my own."

Ororo joined him on the grass, curling her long legs under her. "Why did you come back?" she asked him.

He looked at her then, sincerity shining in his peculiar eyes. "'Cuz yo' need me. An' I need you."

Ororo's face warmed at his words.

"I just felt y' needed me. Dat somet'ing wasn' right wit' you."

From the look on her face, Remy could tell that particular intuition of his had been spot on, but he didn't say anything to her – not yet. "It's my job t' take care o' you, girl. Always has been."

Ororo turned away. "Maybe at one time," she muttered softly.

"Non, always. Y' a part o' me, an' I can't ignore dat." He hesitated for a second. "But wha' I realized while I was gone Stormy, is dat t' ignore you is t' ignore myself."

Storm couldn't help the look of shock she wore on her face. It'd been unexpected to hear him say something like that.

"I can take care of myself now, Remy. Not to mention other people have risen to take care of me in your absence."

"Like de Wolverine?" he couldn't help but sneer.

"You've only known each other a few days and you both already do not like each other."

"Not when he upsets my Stormy."

Ororo turned curious eyes on him. "What do you mean when he upsets me? You do not even know him."

"I ain't no fool, chère. I saw y' both in de hallway dat first day."

"Oh, that's right. The only one who can hurt me is you."

Ororo saw him wince at her clipped tone and she regretted it immediately. She told him as much. "I am sorry."

He grinned softly at her. "'S okay, chère. I deserved dat." He waved off her comment dismissively.

"Remy?"

He looked at her. "Oui?"

"You left me alone. Without a word, in the night – you just left me. No explanation. Do you know much that crushed me, Remy? To have you walk out on me that way? Especially since I—considering how much I care for you?"

He inhaled sharply. "Didn' kno' how strongly you'd feel 'bout it, ma chère. I didn' kno' it mattered so much."

"Of course," she said flatly. "You've always underestimated how much you mean to me."

His troubled gaze lifted to find her staring back at him with determined glacial orbs. "It's just like you said. If I'm a part of you, then you're a part of me."

Remy's heart thudded against his chest.

"Weren't we partners?—padnats?"

"'Course, ma belle," Remy said urgently. He reached over and took her hands. "We are, dat's neva changed. Haven't I told y' a thousand times dat y' my family, always?"

"Yes, Remy, you did! At the same time you were telling me that you'd never me leave me!" A tear slipped from her eye then, betraying her. She swiped at it viciously. Scowling and angry at herself for letting him see it.

Neither of them had anything to say to the other for a long while after that. What could he say to her accusation? He didn't want her crying; her tears weakened him. She wouldn't understand if he told her what was really on his heart and mind to say. So he tried something a little lighter.

"So, my Stormy datin', eh?"

Ororo grinned a bit at the change in tact and rolled her eyes at him, wiping at them one last time for good measure. She tried to hide her smile.

"Ah, don' be coy, chère. Remy kno' de mountain man is yo' boyfriend."

Her blue eyes stretched wide. "And how do you know that for certain?"

He shrugged. "Anna told me."

"Rogue?"

Ororo laughed and shook a finger at him. "Not even a week back at the mansion and you are already chasing down women."

"Jus' tryin' t' keep up wit' y', chère."

Ororo released a small chuckle. Closing her eyes and leaning back against a tree. A companionable silence settled between them. Something like the old times, when it was just he and she.

"Is it serious 'tween y' two?"

Ororo opened an eye and looked at him.

"Do y' love him?" Remy glared at her. His expression and tone was so tense, so serious, it made her heart stutter.

Ororo sat up slowly. After a moment her head quirked thoughtfully to the side and she expelled a deep sigh.

"Logan and I are complicated, but . . . yes, I do believe I am falling in love with him."

Remy pulled a crumpled pack of Marlboros out of one his back pockets. Slightly shaking hands coming up to light the end of the cancer stick between his lips.

"Dat's good. I mean dat's—good fo' y' Stormy." Remy blew out a thick plume of smoke and cleared his throat roughly.

Ororo stared off ahead at the eerily still lake. It was past dusk now, and the last surviving rays of the sun glistened down on the stagnant waters.

"I am not quite sure he feels the same though," she murmured softly. Remy listened in carefully.

"Whatchu mean, chère?"

"I just . . . believe his feelings are . . . divided."

Remy plucked the cigarette from his mouth. "Well, chere, if dat's de truth, den de man's a fool. I don' understand how any homme could have y' fo' his own an' not love y' completely. Yo' a goddess."

Ororo smiled at him, the gesture bright in the encroaching darkness. Remy winked at her.

She opened her mouth to speak but then seemed to hesitate. Gambit looked over at her and frowned. "Wha' is it, chère?"

Ororo swallowed hard, her emotions forming into a tight ball that seemed to lodge itself in her throat. She felt water begin to form in her eyes and before she could think to restrain herself, Ororo had closed the distance and flung herself over on Gambit, embracing him fiercely.

"Mon Dieu! C-Chèrie?"

"Remy. Oh, Remy LeBeau, how I've missed you! I have, I've missed you so much."

Slow tears began to leak out of the corners out her eyes and she squeezed them shut futilely in an attempt to keep them in. But they fell against her will, rapidly dampening his T-shirt as they dropped. Ororo burrowed her face into his neck, inhaling him, breathing him in, for the first time in six years.

He held on just as tight. The action seemed to open up the floodgates within her and she sobbed openly.

"When you left, it-it wounded me. It felt as if something vital had been cut off from me. I thought maybe you had left because I had angered you or—that perhaps you'd developed seconds thoughts. That you had doubts about staying here with the team. After I'd discovered you'd left, Xavier had asked me if I wanted him to find you and I told him no. It killed me, but I told him no, because whatever reason you had for leaving I wanted to respect that – I wanted to respect you. Because I care for you, Remy LeBeau. I always have, and I always will."

Gambit's heart broke as he sat listening to his padnat's heartfelt confession. His own eyes began to water and burn and before he could stop them, slow, rare tears began to course down his cheeks. He sniffed and stroked her silky white hair, her back, with soothing delicate strokes – just like he'd used to.

"I'm so sorry, 'Roro." He pulled back and lifted her face from his neck, wiping at her tear-stained cheeks with the sensitive pads of his thumbs. Ororo's eyes drifted close and she exhaled shakily.

"I'm sorry. I jus' couldn'—I—oh, ma chère, Remy's sorry."

He buried his face into her chest this time, and Ororo held him just as he'd did her. Running slender fingers through his long hair.

"It's alright, Remy, it's alright," she comforted him. "I am not angry with you, it was just—I missed you so much."

She turned and kissed the side of his face, her lips grazing his ear, and she felt him shudder within her arms. "Thank the Bright Lady, you've come back to me." She pinched his side and he cried out, laughing slightly.

"Chère!"

"Don't do it again, Remy LeBeau. Promise me."

The Cajun's usual deep drawl suddenly became serious and he lifted his hands to her face, leaning in to brush his lips ever-so-slightly against her own. The feel was so soft, so moist it nearly broke his heart all over again.

"Remy promise, chère. " He grinned cheekily then, and winked at her. "Next time I jus' take y' wit' me."

Ororo laughed in that deep, throaty voice of hers, and pulled him back into another tender hug.

Her Cajun was back. A part of her was back.

Author's Note: Thanks for reading & reviewing :D More on the way.