Chapter Eight

"How'd it go wit' de Redhead?"

"Jean."

"Oui, Jean."

Ororo grinned at the pleasantly clueless man across from her. She shook her head at him, and shrugged. "It basically went the same way it did with Logan. It's going to take time to rebuild back the trust we had before all this."

"Did she 'pologize t' ya?"

Ororo hummed around her mouthful of salad. "She did. Said she was sorry, regretted hurting me, Scott, the team."

"Do ya believe her?"

"I believe her."

"So, what—? Ya'll cried and got all emotional and made up?"

"Hardly," she responded, rolling her eyes.

It was Ororo's lunch hour and she was sharing it with Remy out on one of the mansion terraces, built just outside of the cafeteria. It was an early spring day, the sun shone overhead and a soft, mild breeze blew in intermittently, perfectly ideal for a lunch outside.

Remy had prodded her about the details of her and Jean's discussion days earlier and she'd obliged him with a concise account of it.

Not unlike she had with Logan, during the course of their mutual come-together, Ororo had expressed to Jean that time – and work – would be involved in repairing the friendship and trust that had suffered as a result of she and Logan's behavior. The original question of why Jean had participated in the hurtful scenario to begin with had made Ororo burn with the need to know, and that afternoon, sitting across from each other, the only ones in an empty classroom, Ororo had asked.

A look of shame swept over Jean's face at first. Her head dropped, her gaze lowered, and it for several seconds almost seemed she would not answer. After what felt like an eternity, her quiet voice began to rise above the tense silence.

Jean had been honestly attracted to Logan, this she'd reluctantly explained to Ororo. He was handsome and dangerous and edgy. He'd flirted with her and she'd liked the attention. The instant attraction between her and Logan had blinded her to anything outside of themselves, including friends and teammates. Thoughts of how she was hurting Scott, Ororo, or the team would cause a prick of guilt, but it never lingered long in the face of their day-to-day 'affair'.

But that faithful day when Logan had finally ended it, and ended it for good, everything had come rushing back into stark view. With suddenly clear eyes, no longer veiled by lust and her own self-interest, Jean Grey recognized the pitiful states of her two closest relationships – how deteriorated they had become in light of she and Logan's actions.

When Scott words had become snappish, his tone hard, and his demeanor resistant, her folly had been made all too clear. Compounded by the distance Ororo had instituted in their sister-like friendship, and the last couple of weeks for Jean Elaine Grey had seemed liked hell. All her mistakes were glaring cruelly back at her.

She never wanted to repeat something like it again.

"Did y' 'pologize t' her?" asked Remy, having heard the tale.

"For being stubborn," Ororo said. "And for not giving her the courtesy I gave Logan, at first."

"Den everyt'ings bien?"

Ororo sat back in the chair and sighed softly. "It is getting there." Allowing a quick, hopeful smile. "It will eventually."

"I'm proud o' you, chère," he grinned fondly. "Très bien, ma belle."

"I have you to thank. It was because of you. I'm not sure I would've forgiven her otherwise, at least not so soon."

"Remy kno' what it's like t' need fo'giveness, girl."

"We all do," Ororo said. "Thank you for showing me that."

"Yo' welcome, girl. Anyt'ing fo' my Stormy." She rolled her eyes again, this time at the man's incessant, nuisance of a nickname for her.

Ororo continued delving into her salad while Remy puffed on a cigarette, a sweating can of soda in front of him. "Ay, where's yo' Mountain Man?" he suddenly asked out of the blue, glancing around exaggeratedly with a shrug of his shoulders. "Didn' kno' he eva let y' outta his sight."

"Very funny."

Remy smirked.

"Logan is with Charles."

"Again?" Both of Remy's eyebrows rose.

"What do you mean again?"

"De same day y' an' Jean had yo' talk, me an' Rogue was headin' out and he mentioned he was on his way t' speak wit' de Prof den," he answered, slouching casually in his chair.

"Oh." Ororo paused, processing the new information. Logan hadn't said anything.

"Dis a normal t'ing?" Remy asked.

"Yes and no," Ororo replied. "We brought Wolverine here after another mutant had attacked him, up north near Alberta, Canada. Anna was with him at the time and was brought back as well. That is how they both came to be at the mansion."

"Ah-ha."

"Logan has an adamantium skeleton. The substance is a metal—it's indestructible and covers every inch of his bones."

"Ouch."

"We know a group of government scientists were responsible for it, but Logan, himself, doesn't remember his whole past, just bits and pieces of it. He only survived the procedure because of his regenerative abilities which are nothing short of vast and incredible. After his arrival the Professor agreed to help him as best he could to telepathically unearth his memories and in turn, find out more – about the surgery, his past, everything. But the attempts haven't been very fruitful."

"Hnh," Remy grunted thoughtfully. "Mon Dieu. Sounds crazy, chère."

"It's difficult for him, but if anyone can help him it's Professor Xavier."

Remy wanted to offer plights of sympathy on the other man's behalf, but couldn't quite find it within himself to. The man had a sad story; Remy could sympathize, having a rather dark past himself. He knew about that all too well. But this was still the couillon who had weaseled his way into his Stormy's heart and taken up his role and responsibility of caring for her. That had been his vow, made those early days in New Orleans when she was still his and no one else's. Personally, he felt her 'man', had done a piss poor job, if he did say so himself—sniffing after Summers' girl and all, who also happened to be Ororo's friend. Just thinking about it began to piss Remy off.

"Where did you and Rogue go that night?"

"Hm?" Remy muttered, distracted by his own musings. "Sorry, say again, chère."

"I said: where did you and Rogue go that night?"

"Harry's," he told her.

"Did you have fun?"

"Oui. Anna's fun t' hang around. She's sassy, she's beautiful. What's not t' like, eh? Y' kno' Remy, chère."

"I do, too well. I'm—I'm glad you both had fun."

She offered him a tiny smile and picked through the rest of the half-finished salad with her fork and little interest.

Why did it take such effort to say that? Ororo wondered. Why wasn't she happier about the news? Gambit was adjusting well with the team, had made friends with the other guys on the team—Warren and Bobby. So he was spending time with Anna. He couldn't help the fact that he was gorgeous and charming and kryptonite to the ladies. Anna had taken notice just like any other woman, and obviously the southerner had a thing for him—not surprisingly.

Gambit had always enjoyed the company of beautiful women, and Rogue was beautiful so all in all, it seemed natural and inevitable that they would be attracted to each other. But Ororo would be lying if she said she was enthusiastic about it. Nothing against Rogue, but Remy was hers in a way that only she and Remy, as close friends, could ever understand. Selfish would be the last thing anyone who knew Ororo would call her, but a small part deep inside of her didn't want to share him.

What if it grew serious between Rogue and Remy? What if they began a real relationship?

The once previously gentle breeze whipped by sharply at its mistress' troubled thoughts. The unscrewed bottle of water she'd had on the table fell over with the strong gust, spilling some of the water onto the surface and running over. Gambit's brow rose curiously at her. She set the bottle back upright.

Ororo's reaction to her thoughts of Rogue and Gambit shamed her and her mood greatly soured because of it.

"I'm—I have to get ready to go back to class," she said quietly. Without waiting for a reply, Ororo rose from her seat with her salad carton and water. She walked inside and tossed the unfinished salad in the garbage before heading out the cafeteria. Normally, she hated wasting food, but at the moment she couldn't find it to care.

"Stormy! Chère!"

Gambit called after her, his expression confused, bewildered. When she didn't make a move to turn around, Remy hopped up from his seat and dashed after her. He caught her striding down the hall with quick, brisk steps. Remy ran up behind her and gently grabbed her by the arm.

"Chère, what's wrong, Stormy?"

"Do not call me, Stormy," she said, undernoted by exasperation and annoyance.

"Why y' jus' get up an' leave like dat?"

"I have to get back to class, I told you that."

"Yo' upset."

"Remy, if you're going to ask me what's wrong only for me to tell you and you assume I'm lying, why ask me in the first place?"

"'Cuz I kno' y', 'Roro. I kno' when somet'ings botherin' you."

"I'm fine, but I do, however, need to get to my class," she insisted.

Ororo met eyes his eyes unflinchingly. Remy knew better but nodded anyway. He threw his hands up in surrender. "Okay, wha'ever y' say, chère."

Satisfied, Ororo repeated, "I have to go."

"'Wait, 'Roro."

She spun back around and looked at him. He came towards her. "How 'bout—Let's go somewhere after yo' class is over."

"Where?" she frowned.

"I dunno." Remy shrugged a shoulder, smiling. "Anywhere y' wan' t'. We could go get somet'ing t' eat, have some fun, Remy'll even buy y' somet'ing nice, whatever y' wan', girl."

Ororo's face broke out into a small, reluctant little smile despite herself. "Really?"

"Oui," he laughed. "Y' wan' to?"

She opened her mouth to answer, but the words never came. Her mouth fell closed and the smile began to fade.

"Wha' is it?" Gambit frowned.

She shook her head. "I just realized I can't. Not this evening."

"What? Why?" he demanded.

"I forgot. I'll be out with Logan. We had plans." Remy rolled his eyes and turned from her with a harsh scoff.

"I'm sorry," she tried, coming up behind him. "How about tomorrow? We could go tomorrow if you like."

"Non, I don' like, chère," Remy spat, spinning back around and wearing a deep scowl. His eyes flashed angrily. "So tell me, chèrie, does Remy have t' make a 'pointment t' be able t' spend some time wit' ya now?"

"I told you we could go somewhere tomorrow; it's just one day."

"Yeah, o' y' puttin' me off, chère. Yo' never woulda done dat t' me before."

"What like before you left me?"

"I t'ought we'd been t'rough dis already. Stop bringin' up ol' shit t' use against me, 'Roro. Y' can't bring up t'ings y' said y' fo'gave me for den bring dem back up whenever yo' mad at me."

"Then don't bring up what I supposedly would've done 'before', Remy, because a lot has changed since that time. It's not like you even need me anymore. I'm sure you could find Rogue and just take her wherever instead!"

"What does Rogue have t' do wit' anyt'ing, chère?" he argued.

"Why don't you just take her instead of me? You and she are obviously very good friends now."

"Sorry. I don' replace friends as easily as y' do, chère."

Ororo stared at him, surprised and left dumbfounded by the accusation. Is that what he thought?

Ororo's anger began to dissipate and she stared at him with concern and truthfully, a bit of hurt. She could never replace him. She wouldn't want to. Ever.

"Remy—"

"Non, don' worry 'bout it 'Ro. Y' shoulda been in yo' class a while ago. Have fun on yo' date," he waved dismissively. The Cajun shook his head at her, his voice and expression echoing disappointment and something like rejection before walking off in the opposite direction.

When Ororo got to her classroom, the students had already returned from lunch, and Jubilee and a student by the name of St. John Allerdyce were throwing paper planes at each other, while other th students laughed on. Ororo commanded their attention by loudly clearing her throat. The commotion stopped immediately. She directed them to their history textbooks and began the lesson, her mind as far removed from it as most of the children pretending to listen.

Remy. Why did he always underestimate how much he was worth to her? He'd never been able to see how much affection she held for him, and it appeared he still didn't. It was imperative to make him see. But how much of her feelings could she reveal without exposing her past secret completely?

— o —

"Remember when I told you that day in Cerebro about the mind needing to discover things out for itself?" the Professor said.

"Yeah. What of it?"

"I do believe that's what it's doing, Logan. What you've been experiencing are fragments of memory coming to the forefront, perhaps by a trigger of some kind."

"Like what?"

"I am not certain; it could be a number of things," answered Charles.

Logan pushed out of his chair and paced the floor in Charles' office. "That doesn't help none, Chuck."

"Just keep letting it unravel, Logan. We'll go from there. If you see anything useful, I'll scan your mind for myself and dig up anything we can that would lead to more information for you. We've been through this."

"Dammit! I know that, but it's makin' me flamin' anxious. The memories of the doctors, the claws, the needles . . . that's the shit I'm used ta, but the one with the girl 'n the dress . . . it actually means maybe I had somethin' good, yer know? Not just the pain 'n chaos." The Canadian fell silent with introspection.

"Logan, I understand where you're coming from, truly, I do. However, you also need to focus your mind on the present. You have wonderful experiences now—ones that aren't shrouded and hidden from you. They are out in the open for you to enjoy and appreciate here and now. The respect of your teammates, the students, the love of a magnificent woman . . . I urge you, do not fail to appreciate these things while you search in your quest for answers."

Wise old man. Logan stopped pacing and grudgingly nodded his head, eyes closed, jaw clenching. The Professor was right.

"Good," Charles smiled kindly. "Come to me if it happens again."

The first round of Psychics students were waiting behind the door when Logan opened it. The kids filed in and afterwards, Logan took his leave.

The mansion was quiet later that evening.

The students were in bed by curfew. Warren, Bobby, and Remy were down in the lower levels, sparring in the Danger Room, and Wolverine and Storm had left together over an hour ago.

When Jean entered her and Scott's room this time, Scott didn't get up and leave. Instead, he looked up from the schematic blueprints he was studying in his hand and grinned softly.

He was dressed in his pajamas.

He was going to share a room with her tonight.

The thought made Jean smile warmly back.

"Hi, Scott."

"Evening, Jean."

The two stared at each other for a long moment in silence. Jean nervously shifted on her feet, her gaze touching everything in the room, besides Scott. She was scared to look into his face and see the anger she'd become familiar with – and rightfully deserved if she were honest.

"Jean—"

Afraid he'd changed his mind – that she would hear something she didn't want to – Jean spilled in a rush, "Scott, I'm sorry."

He started a little. "What?" His brow knotted.

"I'm sorry," she said, her eyes imploring him to see her sincerity. "I know that's so less than you deserve after what I've done, but I mean it. I promise I do."

The usually stern man sat on the edge of their bed, leaning on his knees, staring down at his hands, looking uncharacteristically vulnerable. "I'm sorry too," he said, "for my attitude the last few days. Ororo was right," he glanced up and down at her, "you don't look so good."

"Ororo?"

"Yeah, she came to me. I think she was worried."

"She came to me too."

"I knew she would." Scott smiled a bit, "That's Ororo for you."

"True." Jean laughed softly. He joined in the soft laughter, and it surprised her. It gave her courage.

"I'm . . . I'm glad she did though. I've missed you, Scott; I've missed the both of you."

Scott sobered and nodded. "You know, Ororo said something to me the other day when we talked that intrigued me. She said she didn't believe you ever really loved Logan – not like you do me . . ." Scott paused, glanced up at her. "Is she right, Jean? Or is she mistaken?"

"No," she said firmly, immediately rushing to Scott's side. "No, she's not mistaken. I love you, Scott. I swear," she said. Jean grabbed his hand and cradled it in her lap.

"Then what was it with Logan?"

"It was an attraction, that's all. Just a strong attraction. I don't love him, I never did. I love you. I was attracted to him and acted foolishly. I—I didn't think; I wasn't thinking. I hurt you and Ororo and I'm sorry. Logan doesn't even love me, he loves Ororo. And I love you. Don't leave me for Emma," she rambled.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa—Jean," Scott held up a hand, "I'm not leaving you for Emma."

Jean's eyes began to get misty. Her chest heaved in relief. "Oh, God, Scott I was so afraid."

"That I was going to leave you for Emma?"

"Yes."

"And that scared you?"

"More than anything."

The confession surprised him, made him feel a hint of manly pride. Scott fought not to smile. Truth was he'd considered it. Emma was a blonde bombshell and had made her interest in him all too clear. But it'd no serve no purpose in telling Jean that.

"So, can we start over? Scott, can we please start over?" She didn't care if she was pleading – begging.

Scott exhaled and nodded slowly, his lips forming another soft grin. He reassuringly squeezed his fiancee's hand, still wrapped up in his. "Yeah. We can start over."

"I love you, Scott."

"I love you too, Jean."

x x x

"It ain't that I didn't want ta tell ya, 'Ro. I just didn't want ta worry ya." Logan turned towards her, tapping the ashes from his stogie unto the ground.

His bike was parked several yards away while they sat under a bench canopied by the leaves and branches of a large tree.

"What are you seeing when you have these flashbacks?"

"Eh, same ol' stuff. The newest one seems ta be from childhood," he said vaguely. "Just . . . bothers me."

Ororo stared out at the pond thoughtfully. Her troubles with Gambit earlier put on hold in the face of Logan's dilemma.

"What are you going to do, Logan?"

He sighed. "Nothin' I can do, 'Ro. Gotta wait – like I have been. At least that what Charles says. I dunno." He shook his head, exhaling the smoke. Ororo reached out and brushed her fingers through the wild, dark mass of hair.

"You shouldn't let these things trouble you, love," Ororo whispered. He grabbed her hand and held it. "Don't worry about me, darlin'."

He snuffed the stub of cigar under his foot. He wrapped his arms around Ororo and pulled her unto his lap, his lips quickly finding hers.

"I mean it," she intoned against his mouth. "I love you. People respect you . . . even though they fear you too," she grinned wryly. Logan grunted.

"I hope that means something to you."

"It does, darlin'. More 'n anything." Logan stared at her, his hands previously on her back, roaming under her shirt. Ororo sighed at the touch.

"Good."

His hands passed over and gripped a breast, now becoming increasingly sensitive. "So good," she murmured. Hearing her longing tone, Logan scooped her up and carried her over to the grass, carefully laying her down. He peeled off his leather jacket, tossing it. Urgently helping her out of her own top, privacy afforded by the secluded spot they were nestled in, shielded with the help of the trees and the lateness of the hour.

When he was with her, like this, the dreams, memories, whatever they were, didn't seem to matter. He forgot completely. "Love ya, 'Ro." She ran her hands down his bare back, the rippling mass of muscle.

He groaned deep in his throat at the first stroke.

The night around them filled with the sounds of their coupling.

x x x

Remy stayed up until he heard the sound of the Wolverine's motorcycle returning.

He watched from his perch on the roof top, cigarette between his fingers. Eyeing bitterly, Logan run his hands through Ororo's – oddly mussed – white hair, his hands cupping her head and bringing her in for a kiss that made Gambit want to vomit. Ororo whispered something to Logan, and the man chuckled gruffly.

Gambit ground his teeth. His eyes burning just like the cigarette in the dark.

Logan left her to put the bike in the garage and came back, throwing an arm around her and walking inside. Before they entered, his sharp eyes shot up towards the roof, meeting Gambit's in the dark. The Canadian smirked knowingly before him and Ororo disappeared from view.

Gambit choked back the bile that rose in his throat, tried to ignore the dull pain in chest.

She didn't even know he'd sat up waiting for her. His Stormy.

Author's Note: My appreciation to those who've read/reviewed/alerted this story. Please excuse any errors. TBC.