Author's Note: A million apologies for the terribly long wait. A bit of a transitional chapter. Thank you tremendously for the reviews, PMs, alerts, and favorites.

Chapter Sixteen

Tired. She was so emotionally tired. Loneliness, sadness, jealously, and guilt swirled around sickeningly inside like a dark pall making Ororo feel drained and out-of-sorts.

That one statement Gambit had said replayed in her mind over and over in a maddening, endless loop that refused to give her rest. If de Wolverine was here, right now, would y' still be here wit' me, 'Roro?

Nearly two weeks later, Ororo knew now that the answer probably was no. She wouldn't have been found in that position with Gambit had Logan still been at the mansion. To Gambit, such a reply meant that her feelings and actions towards him weren't true, but that conclusion was false entirely. Ororo had loved Remy before she had Logan, and if things had gone her way years ago, she'd have been with Remy. But then he had left and she'd found Logan.

Now, Logan was gone, and it seemed she was finding her love for Remy all over again. Perhaps so easily simply because it had never really died to begin with.

So no, Ororo could admit that she wouldn't have found herself kissing and groping Gambit down in the changing room, but that didn't mean her feelings for him were any less. But it was apparent to her now, after several days without speaking, that Gambit could not see that, especially judging by his angry reaction in the changing room.

Now this. For the third time this week, from the window of her classroom, Ororo watched Anna and Remy go off together. Lately, he was always with her and try as Ororo might to pretend it didn't bother her it did. Ororo couldn't recall a time since she and Remy had known each other when the two of them had had a disagreement like this one. Even after those years Remy had left and came back, seeking her forgiveness. The only reason Ororo felt angry, hurt and abandoned at that time was because unconsciously, and unwisely, she had fallen in love with Remy when should've have.

From her classroom, Ororo watched him and Rogue strolling the grounds near the rear of the mansion and looked on as the two of them stopped at one of the verandas. She observed Remy as he hopped on the edge of the stone railing and rooted around in the pocket of his tight jeans for a pack of cigarettes. Rogue hopped up and took the place next to him, and Ororo's eyes narrowed dangerously at the other woman. Remy then bumped the pretty southerner playfully with his shoulder. Rogue giggled loudly and Ororo glared.

"Er, uh, Miss Munroe?"

And glared.

"Hey, Miss Munroe?"

And glared.

"Miss Munroe!"

Ororo tore her eyes from the duo outside with some difficulty and came face to face with the confused faces of her students. One minuted she'd been lecturing, the next she'd stopped entirely.

"Oh." Ororo shook her head slightly, as if to clear it. "Oh, I'm sorry. W-What was it we were discussing?"

Jubilee looked warily at the older woman. "Um, you were telling us about the Roman Empire, how they were persecuting the Christians until Emperor Constantine, like, put a stop to it," replied the Asian girl. She blew a large pink bubble and promptly cracked it. Loudly.

"Oh, of course." Ororo opened her mouth to speak but she caught sight of Remy and Rogue again from the corner of her eye, and the words died on her lips.

"Yooo, Miss Munroooe," drawled Jubilee. She waved her hand around wildly to get her teacher's attention.

Ororo's head whipped back towards them. "Yes, um, right."

A few of the students exchanged amused glances amongst each other, and some of them snickered outright. Finding the normally attentive, professorial, no-nonsense instructor obviously more than a little flustered and distracted seemed to please them.

Ororo felt a sudden weariness enter into her bones. She let out a long, slow sigh and rubbed at her temples and felt them throbbing slightly under her fingertips. Her mind raced and her thoughts were scattered to the proverbial winds. She doubted her ability to properly gather her thoughts enough to teach this class today, and it was useless for her to continue to try.

Admitting defeat, Ororo apologized to her class and dismissed them all with the sole instruction to finish reading the chapter they had been began dissecting today, and for them to be prepared to finish the discussion in class tomorrow.

There was a collective murmur of gratitude and approval at their good fortunes. The sound of chairs scraping floors and the rustle of books and papers being gathered filled the room, as one by one the children happily shuffled from the classroom.

Ororo turned towards the window one last time and peered out of it in hopes of finding Rogue and Remy, but both X-Men were nowhere to be found. Ororo moaned in frustration and flopped ungracefully down into the chair behind her desk.

He'd gone off somewhere with Rogue again and Ororo did her best to pretend that it didn't upset her, but it did. More so than she ever thought it would. Especially after what happened between her and Gambit weeks earlier. For some reason this disagreement seemed even worse than all their previous ones, including all the years Gambit had been gone. They'd hardly spoken since.

The weather witch suddenly had the urge to cry. That itself was disconcerting because Ororo Munroe rarely cried. But the tell-tale burning behind her eyes signaled the onset of tears. Ororo found it difficult to swallow past the familiar lump in her throat. She placed her head on the cool desk and closed her eyes.

Logan. Remy. Remy. Logan. It was her nightmare all over again. What was she going to do?

"Hm. Strange weather. It was lovely earlier, now suddenly it looks like rain," came Charles Xavier's cultured tone.

"Professor."

Ororo looked up to find Charles wheeling inside the room wearing an amused expression. She glanced outside her windows and saw dark clouds stretching across the sky, threatening rain. Blue eyes went white and less than a second later the sky was once more bright and clear.

"Ah, now that's more like it," he grinned.

Ororo came around her desk to greet him.

"Evening, Ororo."

"Evening, Professor."

"How are you?"

"Wonderful," Ororo answered too quickly. Charles just looked at her and Ororo wiped her eyes self-consciously. Charles nodded and rolled over to the window. Ororo joined him and both of them stared silently out the window and down across the lawn.

"How's Laura? Is she adjusting well?

"Very well. She's already made a friend in Artie Maddicks."

"'Very well'?" Even after everything that happened at the F.o.H. base? Amazing."

"She's resilient. Strong. Like someone else I know."

Ororo mustered a small smile, but inside she grimaced. She was beginning to doubt her so-called strength and resilience. "You know," Ororo said, interrupting the silence, "I'm not really wonderful, Professor."

"I know, child."

Ororo sighed and let her head drop. Silence descended once more.

"He contacted me several days ago."

Ororo's ears perked. She didn't have to ask who he was referring to.

"He did?"

"Yes." Ororo's heart raced.

"What—how is he?"

"He's . . . fine. Unharmed as you might expect."

"And his progress?"

It was Charles' turn to sigh. "He's made some."

"Some? After so long?"

"It seems so."

Ororo frowned and stared blankly out the window. She sighed. "He won't be back any time soon will he, Professor?"

"No, I don't think so, Ororo," he replied softly.

"He's running. He's afraid."

Charles turned and smiled softly at her. "You know him well."

"I thought I did. Now I'm not so sure. I never thought he'd let fear keep him from his family." Or from me.

"You miss him."

Ororo thought about her current situation with Gambit and once more felt a disheartening wave of guilt. "Not as much as I should," she responded cryptically.

"Gambit?"

At that Ororo's head snapped towards Charles and her mouth dropped open. "W-What?"

The Professor chuckled at Ororo's expression. "It isn't hard to miss, Ororo. Especially when you're a telepath," he added. "Then after the nightmare you had that night . . ."

"What do you mean?"

"I knew when Gambit came back to the X-Men that his presence here would cause a bit of a . . . stir, and it appears that I was right. It has."

"I would never let personal issues affect the team."

"Of course not, Ororo. I don't meant that in the least."

"Professor—"

"He's never committed himself to any one place or any one person. Except you."

"Perhaps he shouldn't have," Ororo lamented. "Lately, I've begun to question my sense of loyalty, and I'm not sure I deserve anyone's commitment."

"That isn't true, Ororo. But you must first be loyal to yourself before you can be loyal to anyone else."

A tear rolled down Ororo's face. She sniffed and wiped at it quickly, a tiny smile curving her lips.

"Come, child."

The Professor tugged at her hand and Ororo kneeled down in front of his chair to embrace the fatherly, elder man warmly.

"Thank you, Professor," Ororo mumbled into his chest.

Charles Xavier looked down on the woman who was very much like a daughter to him and smiled. "You're welcome, Ororo."

Ororo stood to her feet and wiped her face.

"Now, I've got to go find, Jean. It'll be alright."

"Yes, Professor."

"Remember what I said."

"I will; I promise."

"Good."

When Ororo was alone again, she ran her hands through her hair and took a deep cleansing breath. You must first be loyal to yourself before you can be loyal to anyone else. Ororo mulled over those words.

Resilient, strong, loyal. Resilient, strong, loyal. Resilient, strong, loyal. She had to be.

Ororo looked back at her desk. There were papers to grade, a lesson plan to review, and more importantly someone she desperately needed to talk to but first . . .

Ororo swung the windows open and felt the cool breeze wash over her face. She closed her eyes and relished the feel of it blowing through her hair. She called on her connection to it and let it lift her up so she hovered just above the floor. Ororo smiled into the warm sunshine that streamed through the opened windows. She felt better already.

Not a second later, the Wind Rider was sailing through the window, surfing the winds up towards a brilliant blue sky.

x x x

Remy answered all of Rogue's questions without giving too much of himself away. Rogue was a fellow teammate, and like the others, Remy considered her a friend of sorts, but he didn't like talking about himself.

He liked Rogue. She was southern bred, like him. Bold, sassy, and quite beautiful. But Remy LeBeau simply didn't expose himself like that. He preferred the shadows. Remy LeBeau's circle was always intentionally kept small. That was his unspoken rule. The Cajun trusted one person and one person only, and she wasn't just a person – she was a goddess.

Rogue and Remy sat outside on one of the verandas while she continued to chat away. If she noticed that the conversations between them were usually only surface deep than she never mentioned it.

The topic had swung back around towards talk about their respective homes down South, and for the tenth time Remy found himself answering questions about his beloved New Orleans. They were discussing Mardi Gras when Remy interjected, "One day, if y' want, I take ya, chère."

"Oh, Ah, want to."

Remy nodded and stared back up at the sky. His body was there with Rogue on the veranda, but his mind was with Ororo, filled with everything that was going on between them. Part of him felt like an idiot for turning her away that day when all he wanted was take her right there in the changing rooms.

Remy LeBeau never turned down a beautiful woman, and his reputation in that regard preceded him. When he'd had Ororo in his arms that day, her soft body pressed into his, and his arousal nestled against her, he'd had every intention of stripping her down, burying himself inside her, and making her his.

It was then the thought occurred to him that no matter how many times he took her physically, until she made a decision, she wasn't truly his. Not like he wanted. She belonged to another man, fucking Wolverine.

For the first time in his life, that wasn't enough for Remy LeBeau.

He was angry.

Angry at Ororo for being with someone else when she knew she belonged to him. Angry at the Wolverine for being one big fucking obstacle and pain in the ass, angry at himself for leaving, allowing Wolverine the opportunity to wedge his way into Ororo's heart, and lastly, Remy LeBeau was angry for falling in love with his padnat, his Stormy.

Mentally, Remy scoffed. It wasn't like he'd had a choice in the matter. Ororo was understanding, wise, intelligent, compassionate, nurturing, selfless, caring, powerful, and out of this world gorgeous. What hope did a thief have against falling in love with a goddess?

It was all so depressing. Outwardly, he remained Remy LeBeau. Daring, charming, sleek, handsome. He practiced in the Danger Room, he did his part during missions, he obeyed her commands when given, but inside he felt torn, exposed, and vulnerable. Even so, he still wanted her more than ever.

"Hey, Remy, were ya listen'?" Remy turned to seeing Rogue frowning at him.

"Oui."

Rogue didn't buy it. His mind was somewhere else. She got that impression every time she spoke to him. It was aggravating. She liked him for obvious reasons. The man was dark, sexy, flirty. She had to admit she liked that. They were spending more and more time together, and Rogue was optimistic. The only thing that put a damper on the situation was when he spaced out.

Rogue wasn't a fool. He and Ororo weren't talking and it didn't take a rocket scientist to put two and two together. Ororo had been sullen and Remy had been more aloof than usual. Even Bobby after a Danger Room session three days ago had asked out loud, "Yo what's up wit' Storm and Gambit?"

Kathryn had shushed him, and Scott had told him to mind his business, but that didn't stop everyone from being curious.

"Can Ah ask ya somethin', Remy?"

Remy fished out another cigarette and brought it to his lips. "'S on y' mind, chère?"

Rogue stared down at her gloved hands, wringing them a bit. "What's ya relationship with, Storm?"

"Quoi?"

"Ah know ya'll are friends and that ya took care of her and all but . . . Ah don't know. Ya'll are real close. Like really close, and Storm, she's supposed to be with Logan." Her last words came out a bit harsh.

"How can she be wit' de homme if he ain't here?"

"You know what Ah mean."

"What's yo' relationship wit' de Wolverine?"

"What? Logan and I are friends."

"Dat's what me and Stormy are – friends. Best friends."

"Do ya love—?"

"Wanna go for a drink, chère?"

This wasn't a conversation he wanted to indulge. This was something that solely concerned he and Ororo, and if he was going to talk to anyone, it would be her. Remy threw the cigarette down and snuffed it out under his boot. He'd get reprimanded by Xavier for it later, but right now he didn't much care.

Remy LeBeau just wanted a drink.

CANADA . . . . . .

Logan awoke in the wee morning hours to the sound of himself screaming. Startled awake by the noise, the feral man bolted upright in his bed and shifted his gaze all around the room, his unnaturally sharp eyes piercing through the pitch blackness. The sheets that were on his bed were quite damp, no doubt from the rivers of sweat that pored off of him, and the material was ripped and in near tatters. When the hell had he done that?

Panting hard and heavy, Logan looked down to find both sets of his shiny adamantium claws drawn and embedded deeply into the mattress on either side. He pushed them back in with a distinctive snikt and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

None of this was new for him. Logan couldn't count the number of beds he'd left holes in, or the amount of sheets he'd torn up since the beginning of this adventure if he tried. Nightmares and visions of fragmented memories replayed horrific images of glaring, harsh lights, frighteningly long needles, and bubbling tanks while he lay sleeping. So vivid were the dreams at times, Logan would wake up screaming, like he had tonight, feeling phantom pains all over his body where the needles in his dream had drilled into his body.

It was torment.

The closer he seemed to get to Alkali Lake the more frightening his nights became, and there was no Ororo in his bed to keep them at bay. The mysterious redhead that formerly haunted Logan's mind whenever he'd been forced into a memory was replaced by unidentified scientists laughing as they toasted champagne glasses full of bubbly in celebration. But in celebration of what, exactly? Logan had wondered more than once. He had an inkling, but didn't want to dwell on it. He'd discover the grisly details soon enough, he figured. Hesitance and procrastination were the only reasons he didn't know now.

Funnily, Logan couldn't wait to leave the mansion to find and connect all the missing links all those weeks ago, but once he'd gotten on the road he'd been afraid. Hard to admit and—he would never say it out loud—but it was true. If he had done what he needed to do right when he had left, Logan reckoned he could have been back at the mansion and back to Ororo in two weeks—three tops. But he hadn't and now it had been over three months.

The time he hadn't spent sniffing out information, he had spent dicking around, afraid to confront his past. He'd been so anxious, so determined to recover all the missing pieces and, like Humpty Dumpty, to put them back together again. But once the wheels started turning and the ball began rolling, Logan found himself uncertain.

What would he discover? How awful was it? How much would it fuck everything up? Logan spent half of his time doing what he'd set out to do and the other half riding, fighting, smoking, drinking, and roaming. Like the Logan he'd been before Cyclops and Storm had rescued him that fateful day. Before the X-Men.

Logan dug around in his worn duffel in search of his cigars. He lit one, puffing a few times, and took a deep, satisfying drag. After a few moments of quiet puffing, Logan slowly reached over to the small nightstand by the bed and picked up the wallet-sized picture of Ororo that he'd kept with him since the day he'd left. Smoked streamed from this mouth as he sat glaring at the striking beauty in the photo and felt an ache in his chest. Logan carefully traced over its surface with one thick finger. The longer he drew this out, the long he'd be apart from Ororo—time for him to haul ass and get this business done. Finished. Over with.

He missed the feel of Ororo's softly, womanly body curved up against his hard, muscular one. Logan missed hearing her deep, smoky voice whispering in his ear at night with that subtle African accent. Every time he'd indulge and think back on their nights together while picturing her stunning face, he found himself having to fight ardently against a straining bulge in his pants.

He missed the real thing.

He wanted the real thing.

Logan gritted his teeth, and a second later, he was suddenly on his feet. Resolved and deciding against waiting 'til morning, Logan got up and began getting dressed. He quickly found his jeans and slid them up over his hips, then slipped on his shirt and leather jacket. He carelessly shoved his belongings back into his bag, but decided last minute to pocket the photo of Ororo instead. For some reason he just wanted it close.

The grizzled Canadian figured he'd need her strength in some way, shape, or form for what was ahead of him, and this was as close as he was going to get.

His bike started up with a low purr. With a quick rev of the powerful engine the Wolverine was off into the early morning. Light was just starting to break the darkness on the horizon, and as he blazed along the highways in a blur, Logan hoped inwardly that it would pierce the darkness of his mind as well.

TO BE CONTINUED