Let It Rain

By Minarya

Rating: R (just to be on the safe side)

Disclaimer: Shocking, I know, but I don't own any of these characters. Marvel does, for better or for worse.

A/N: This was posted ages ago at the Storm/Wolverine group. Basically, there was a scene in my head I wanted to write, so I just created a little story around it. I then pretty much forgot about it, until a certain someone bullied me into dragging it back into the light of day! (kidding, kidding) So I touched it up a little bit, groaned at the fluffiness, and voila. The setting is general comicverse, but feel free to envision a taller Logan...




It always ended like this.

All the planning, all the plotting ... so careful, so controlled ... and at the end of the day, she was right back where she started.

The whole thing had been easy, really. Most were accustomed to her solitary tendencies, and didn't question if she fell out of sight from time to time. She was the goddess, after all, and deities were under no obligation to explain their actions. Ororo was amused at the thought of hurling down edicts upon the heads of her friends and teammates ... how much simpler things would be, if no one ever questioned her judgment?


Tables are turned now, aren't they?


Ororo whipped around, reflexively scanning the dark bedroom behind her for intruders. But all was in place ... leaves nodding in the slight breeze from her balcony, sky blue sheets pulled back carefully in invitation, moonlight casting misty gray shadows through the skylight ... of course. He wasn't here, even though she could hear his deep voice tumbling through her mind as if he were speaking in her ear. She could almost feel his breath ...


Warm. Pulsing. Growing frantic against her lips as she touched him, desperate ...


Closing her eyes, she tried to shut out the images that visited her time after time. As she slept, as she ate, as she trained ... goddess, as she trained ... when her pulse would race and sweat would soak through her clothes, making them cling to her. As he had.

Oh, stop it, Ororo! Stop it!

She moved purposefully away from her balcony doors, as if the action would push away all other thoughts from her mind. Going to sleep? Not an option. Her thoughts were already racing, and she was having a hard enough time maintaining her control over the elements without letting her subconscious take over. Take a walk? That would almost be worse. Too tempting to take off, follow her instincts. To him. And that would be disastrous for them both.

Hoping perhaps a little physical activity might help her release her energy,
she changed swiftly into her track pants, T-shirt and sneakers and headed down to the Danger Room. It was late. Not too late that someone wouldn't be up watching one of those celebrity talk shows, or scrounging through the kitchen for a late snack, but late enough that she should have the Danger Room to herself.

No one paid her any mind as she moved soundlessly through the oak-paneled hallways, faint sounds of muffled laughter and private conversations accompanying her. She reached the steel corridors of the lower levels, the noise from her sneakers the only sound of her passing.

But when she reached her destination she realized, not for the first time these past few months, that her judgment once again had been off. Ororo sighed at the red light that taunted her in the doorway, signaling the room was being used. A little too late, an opportunity lost.

Story of her life, these days.

But just in case the occupant turned out to be someone she could deal with, Ororo jogged up the steps to the observation room, punching in her access code carefully. Scott had long ago made sure only senior members of the team had access codes to observation so that no one could tinker with someone else's program. Or spy on them. Because the senior members could trust each other. They didn't keep secrets from each other.

If only he knew ...

The door hissed open quickly, admitting her into a room lit only by the dimmest of fluorescent lights, which cast an eerie glow across the control panels. The rainbow of tiny indicator lights blinked up at her as the sophisticated technology challenged, and threatened, and protected.

When she turned to look down into the Danger Room, she was surprised to find it completely dark, at least at first glance. Ororo blinked a few times, giving her eyes time to adjust to the blackness, and realized it wasn't so black after all. A cave ... no, a tunnel. Electric lights embedded into concrete, obscured by grime. Through the open mic she could hear the murky sounds of water dripping down slick sewer walls, amidst the wet sounds of quiet, controlled movement.

Ororo sucked in a breath as she suddenly realized she knew this place. She could almost feel the walls lording over her, the heavy air clogging her lungs. Part of her wanted to run away, but another part wanted to see what he was doing. For it was him, she knew it before she saw
the first flash of pink, heard the muffled explosion.

She watched Remy as he moved in eerie silence down the tunnel, his quick, fluid movements highlighted by the occasional flash of his explosions. He was plowing through a steady stream of Marauders with an intensity she had rarely witnessed from him. No witty remarks or wry smiles. All business. She also noted she could neither see nor hear any Morlocks in his simulation. No witnesses, no heroics.

Ororo stared in amazement as she watched her best friend. How many times he had come down here to purge his soul of these demons? Everyone thought him so devoid of remorse after the Trial, after Antarctica ... Ororo frowned at the thought of how heavily his part in the massacre must weigh on his heart. At the thought that she hadn't seen it, so wrapped up in her own troubles.

After an endless while, Remy abruptly stopped. His T-shirt had been ripped to shreds, by claws or knives, she couldn't be sure. Ororo could make out blood through some of the holes, but he was otherwise remarkably unscathed. He rested his hands on his knees as he barked out the command to end the program, giving him a chance to catch his breath. The simulation disappeared with a low whirring, and the fluorescent lights came back up.

Ororo took a step back from the glass, embarrassed. She hadn't meant to spy on him. Would he be angry, or hurt? Would he -

You goin' stand there all night, chere, or you gonna come down here?

Ororo jumped. The smooth, silky voice was unmistakable, but he hadn't glanced up in her direction. She wondered yet again at the extent of his empathic skills.

She opened her mouth to respond, then stopped. She refused to speak to her dearest friend from some metal turret high above.

He had brought her down to earth. Grounded her. And she found she rather liked it here.


Down here, I can reach you ...


Again, the memory of his voice tickled across her skin, giving her a chill. Ororo shook it off as she reached the Danger Room door, again punching her code into the panel to part the doors with a whisper.

He was waiting for her, leaning just inside the doorway, arms crossed across a sweatshirt that had already replaced the ragged T-shirt. She stood before him in supplication, long white hair hiding her expression and hands clasped in front of her like the child she once was to him, and waited. His lips quirked up and he gave a quick snort of amusement.

You enjoy spyin' on me, chere?

I was not spying.

No? I t'ink I'll remember that next time you decide to go au naturelle in the rain, yes? His voice was teasing, but she realized that was, essentially, what she had done to him. He didn't care much about showing off his body, as she didn't, but his soul? His demons? That was another matter entirely.

And that was what she had walked in on.

I am sorry, Remy. I just came up to see who was using the room.

Remy waved her off, sweat-slicked auburn hair falling into his eyes.

Never pologize to me, padnat. I knew you were there. If it were something I didn't wan' you to see, I'd'a stopped. He reached forward then, tipping her face up with one finger and then tweaking her nose briefly. Besides. Now you know my secret, I get to learn yours.

She sniffed. I do not have any secrets.

Wrong answer. Try again.

Okay. Fine. You want to know my secret? I ate the last of the Cherry Garcia ice cream that Jean was looking for last night. She leaned toward him conspiratorially. And straight out of the carton, no less.

Oh, mon Dieu! Say this isn't true! Remy laughed and she smiled. Oh, how she'd missed this between them. Somewhere between friends and siblings, soulmates of a sort, but this life had nearly torn them apart. His laughter was a sweet gift.

Ahhh, Stormy, alas, this is not the secret that has been plaguing your soul these days, is it? Remy moved forward smoothly, hooking an arm around her shoulders and steering her back down the corridor. Whatever injuries he had sustained in the simulation must not be bothering him, she mused, as he pulled her tightly to his side. No, somethin' else be putting that far-off look in your blue eyes, that extra skip in your step. And sometimes that frown on your beautiful lips. He leaned down as they walked to give her a peck on those lips.

She stifled the giggle that threatened to erupt, all irritation at the nickname gone. Where are you taking us, Remy?



I do not wish to go outside.

Since when?

I am not dressed for it.

Chere, if it not too cold for this Southern boy, it not too cold for someone who walks barefoot in blizzards.

I have done no such -

Ahhh, look, here we are. The great outdoors.

Remy flung open the grand front doors of the mansion with a flourish, bowing and sweeping a hand out to let her pass ahead of him. He guided her across the meticulously manicured lawn to the sanctuary of the woods, up a gently sloping hill to a solitary gazebo. One of her favorite places. From the sanctuary of the porch swing inside one could see most of the grounds.

Remy stretched out against the wood and tossed her a half-grin of invitation before she settled between his legs, curled up against his chest, and sighed deeply. They hadn't been like this in so long, yet it was so natural. With one booted foot on the floor of the gazebo, Remy rocked them slightly. She felt his hand smooth away some of her wild hair from his face, and smiled. It was probably tickling his nose.

They sat like that for a long moment, in silence, reveling in the simple proximity. How wrong everyone was ... the notion that he was some sort of sexual deviant, that she was an ice princess, when all either of them really wanted was a gentle touch.


His face twisted, eyes closed, as she touched him. Softly at first, exploring, then more forcefully as the need grew. She loved that reaction, loved that she made him moan, and beg. As she had done for him. The power under her fingers thrilled her. The heartbeat under her palm steadied her. The softness under her lips melted her ...


All right, petite, time's up. Remy's voice was almost a murmur, as if not wanting to break the stillness of the night. Truth time.

I do not think I am ready for the truth. Ororo's face was buried against his sweatshirt, but she knew he could hear her just fine. Things have been ... strange lately.

Since de mission.

Ororo jumped a little. She wasn't expecting him to be aware of so much.

Yes, since the mission. I was having a difficult time when we returned.

You were injured, chere. Remy's arm tightened a little around her.

Well, yes, but not badly. Certainly nothing I had not dealt with before. But I did not like the way things played out. Not sure of some of my decisions. And being in the medlab was making me insane.

Remy laughed, low and deep. Oui, I suppose havin' Hank hovering 24 hours a day could drive someone a little batty.

Oh, no, Hank was just concerned. Such a kind man. Ororo laced her long fingers with Remy's, drawing strength from his grip. She had missed this connection. It was just the small room. Underground. And I needed some space, to think.

When he finally released me, I could not sit still. I was restless. I was having a hard time sleeping, or eating. Focusing on anything. I ... thought about leaving for a while.

I had no idea ...

Nor should you have, Remy. No one did. Not even Jean. I am nothing if not a master of my emotions, Ororo said dryly. Or, I was.

A long silence then, followed by a heavy sigh, laced with frustration, from
Remy. He knew, didn't he?

Yes, he knew. Somehow. He always knows ... And he confronted me about it.

If he made you feel badly, chere ...

What is it between you two, anyway, Remy? You are more alike than either of you care to admit. He just grunted at that. But to answer, no, he did not make me feel badly.

So what did he do?

Ororo wasn't sure how to answer this, to him or to herself. What exactly had happened between them? He had followed her, sat with her in a clearing in the woods behind the mansion. They talked lightly of the team, the past, their lives, the future ... then they moved, as if in a dream ...


You were made to be here, Ro. Under the night sky, wind in your hair. With me ...


Ororo shivered slightly at the memory of how completely she had been taken by him, and later, how completely she had taken him. Lost and shaken, she had rationalized the first time as an affirmation of their friendship, their mutual losses. But night after night they had met out there, under the stars, and she could no longer call it merely lust. Each time made her feel more alive than the last. His words and his touch made her feel more a woman than she ever had before.

Then one night, languishing as the heat of their bodies sheltered them from the cool air, he had told her he loved her. A murmur, against her hair, as they lay on the ground in much the same way she and Remy lay now. Ororo wasn't even sure he had been fully awake, but his words shattered the spell they had woven there in the woods. They sent her plummeting to the earth, left her breathless. Speechless.

And the next day, he had left.

He helped me find myself. Ororo hadn't realized she had spoken until Remy shifted a little, moving her so her head rested on his shoulder, and he could look into her eyes. She expected revulsion, perhaps, or anger? But all she saw was worry.

He's been gone for weeks, chere, he whispered. I don' think anyone's spoken with him.

I know.

What made him leave?

I did. I think. I am not sure. I do not like being not sure.

Remy nodded, running his fingers idly through her loose strands. Do you wan' him to come back?

I think I do, Remy. Goddess help me ... Her chest tightened a little with the admission. She had not yet come to that conclusion on her own.

Remy had long since stopped rocking. His strong jaw was set, his fine lips pressed together, and one muscle twitched along his cheekbone. The dark intensity of his eyes seemed to swallow the darkness surrounding them as he regarded her.

You may not realize, Roro, but I watch you very carefully. I know you think - everyone thinks - I'm all wrapped up in Rogue, but your happiness means de world to me. An' I watch.

What you decide, I will support. Go to him, wit' my blessing. Want me to hunt him down, mebbe beat on him a little, I await your word. I don' know what you should do, but here's what I do know. Just before he left, you smile enough to light de sky. Now, to watch you mopin' hurts my heart.

Ororo sat up a little, staring at him in amazement. Remy was not one for speeches, but his words reminded her he had the soul of a poet. Her emotional touchstone. He knew more about her from stolen glances than she had learned through years of introspection. He was more brother and friend and protector than she had any right to expect.

What did I do to deserve you, Remy? she whispered, raising a hand to caress the side of his face. He closed his eyes briefly at the touch, smiling softly.

You must'a been a very good girl, chere. But de feelin' is mutual, I assure you.

Well, I do thank you, my friend.

Don' know if I was any help.

More than you know. She leaned up to kiss him once on the cheek before levering herself off of him and the swing. I think I may try giving sleep another attempt now.

Before she could step away, Remy's hand shot out and grasped hers, tugging on her until she faced him fully. Be careful, 'Roro. Don' want t'see you hurt.

Ororo's heart swelled at his words, and she squeezed his hand in reassurance. How often had she felt completely alone, when he was right here? Sometimes she was such the fool ...

"I will, Remy," she promised. Leaning in closer, her hand still in his, she whispered, "You be careful, as well. You have been hurt enough."

She felt his intense gaze following her as she returned to the house, leaving him alone in the deepening night.

* * * * *

The open duffel bag sat on her bed, half full. Mocking her. Still time to change her mind ... still time to pull the few items back out, pretend they had never been there in the first place.

Ororo gripped her hairbrush tightly, hand hovering above the bag in indecision. She sighed, and tossed it onto her bedspread. Last night, after talking to Remy, everything had seemed so clear. She had actually drifted off to sleep afterward, and her dreams had been calm. But back in the harsh light of day, the doubts came creeping back. How could she just up and leave? She had duties. Responsibilities. She had to set an example for the team. She didn't have the luxury of taking off for personal reasons ...


You deserve this, His dark eyes bore into hers as she straddled him, her hands wound in his hair and their bodies pressed together, panting breaths mingling. He had read the guilt in her eyes for sneaking off, again, in the middle of the night. We deserve this.

All I think about, all day, is being with you, she whispered just before he tilted her face down to taste her again. She gasped into his mouth as he pushed up into her. So slowly, so deeply ... she felt like she was melting. This cannot ... oh, goddess ... I am supposed to be a leader!

He paused then, cupping her face so she couldn't turn away. When do you get to be you?


The memory left her breathless. He was right. She knew he was right. But her sense of duty, of control, had guided her throughout her life. A handful of blissful nights under the stars with the man she ... well, the man she loved, she could admit it ... was one thing. But opening her heart to him? Risking the loss, the pain, the rejection? Not to mention how it might affect the team?

He had called her brave ... they all did ... but the truth was she was a coward.


Love ya, Ro ...


Ororo traced a finger idly down a windowpane, watching as Scott and Jean strolled across the grounds below her. She could tell by their body language that they were discussing business, but she felt a small pang as Jean, struck with an idea, grabbed Scott's hand suddenly.

Why couldn't that be her? Why couldn't that be them? He had taken the risk, even if he hadn't intended to. He had opened the door for her, and she still stood there, on the outside looking in.

Turning around, she scooped the hairbrush off the bed and tossed it into her duffel.

* * * * *

It was evening, by the time she left. She had told only Jean she was leaving for a brief time, because she knew her friend wouldn't ask her to explain herself as Scott would. She felt Remy's presence on the stairs as she left through the front door, but he didn't say anything, didn't stop her.

She had wanted to take the convertible, as she hated being cooped up in cars, but it had started to rain. If she were superstitious, perhaps she would think it an omen, but she did not believe in such things. And she could stop it, of course, but her mind was otherwise occupied. The rain was oddly fitting.

In the end she still opted for the Mustang convertible. She had a hunch where he might be, but she could be wrong. If she had to drive tomorrow to continue looking - or to come back here - she could take the top down then.

The highway passed by her in a blur as she sped south, the gentle swishing of the windshield wipers luring her almost into a trance. Thank the goddess there weren't many cars on the road after rush hour, and certainly not many going into the city.

As the distance grew shorter, Ororo's panic increased. What was she doing? Maybe he left because he hadn't meant what he said, not because she hadn't said it back. Maybe he really didn't want to be found. Maybe she was mistaking lust and friendship for what she thought she was feeling. Maybe she was going to make a fool of herself, and she'd lose him completely. Maybe he wouldn't come back to the team. Maybe she'd be more alone than when this whole thing started ...

She had only been here once, but she could recall how to get here as clearly as if she were here all the time. As she eased into a parking space across the street and peered up at the building through the now torrential downpour, she suddenly felt, on top of everything else, like she was betraying a confidence. He had not brought anyone else from the team here, as far as she knew, and certainly didn't expect any of them to drop by unannounced.

She stepped out into the rain, leaving her duffel bag in the car, and pushed her wet hair out of her face to peer up at the window. His window. No lights on, but that didn't mean anything.

Ororo gripped the top of the car and lowered her head onto her hands. What was she thinking? The fear and indecision and bone-shuddering emotion of the past few weeks threatened to overwhelm her. There was still time to turn back, go back to the way things were ... Rare tears collected at the corner of her eyes, and she wasn't sure if the storm was entirely natural or not.

And at the moment, she didn't care.

* * * * *

Logan sat, as he had for ... how long now? ... in the worn leather chair, in the darkness. His fingers curled around the bottle of whiskey, which was now near empty.

Fuck.

There was no sound, save the soft whir of the refrigerator and the pounding of the rain on his window. He tilted his head back, sinking into the cushion, and watched the furious rain coat the glass in front of him in thick sheets. Damn chair was so old he could feel the springs digging into his lower back and legs. He didn't mind the discomfort. Nothing less than he deserved.

Time was coming to make a choice. He had fucked things up royally back at the mansion, and didn't know if he could go back. Running was not his style, but his choices weren't looking good. Hiding out in this tiny apartment was wearing thin.

Why had he touched her in the first damn place? He should have kept himself in check, as he had for years, for just this reason. With her, he knew one touch and he would be lost. Making love to her once would not ease the longing. Would not satisfy the urge.

She had responded so eagerly ... he licked his lips, remembering how she tasted that first time ... salt from her dried tears, orange from her salad dressing from dinner, cinnamon from, well, her. With each time they met, he had hoped the lust would fade. That at some point they would look at each other, and realize how funny this whole thing was. They would laugh, and kiss one last time, and she would reassure him he was her friend still, and everything would go back to normal.

But he knew he wouldn't. Knew he was only telling himself that was what he wanted. Knew after that first time he would never stop needing her. Knew he couldn't let her go.

Knew, though, that he had to let her go. She loved the X-Men, first and foremost. He had watched it tear her and Forge apart. Watched it tear her apart.

Fuck.

Her love for the team is what drove her to him in the first place. Tore his heart out, listening to her question her leadership skills, wondering if she deserved her role on the team. She never did realize how much everyone loved and respected her.

Him, most of all.

Fuck.

Logan rubbed a hand roughly down his face, as if trying to wipe away the memories of her.


I need you, Logan, she murmured as she sat in his arms. He leaned against a tree at the edge of their clearing as they gazed out at nothing, talking as they did every night now. He had moved one hand up to caress her neck, leaning his head down to bury his face into her snowy hair. She covered his other hand around her waist with one of her own, brushing her fingers over his knuckles. She stroked his thigh with her other hand, slowly, as she leaned into his caress. I want you.

He slid his hand up from her waist, her hand still grasping his, to graze her breast lightly. She arched into his touch instantly, moaning and tilting her head back so she could capture his mouth with her own ...


God, she was beautiful. Everything about her. All the times she had pulled him back from the edge of madness. All the times when she had listened patiently to his rantings about Jean, or Scott. The way she was a mother to Kitty, to Jubes ... a sister to Remy ... a friend, in the truest sense, to them all.

When he closed his eyes he could see her as she was in battle, hovering over them in the sky, the lightning surrounding her, coursing through her, her eyes white with fire and her impossibly long hair whipping in the wind.

She never gave up. Not when that damn Forge stole her powers. Not when she watched friends die and her faith was tested. Not when it would be so easy to wallow in self-defeat. This had been one of the few times he could remember her doubting herself. And instead of being the true friend she needed, he had taken advantage of her. Done what he had always dreamed of doing. And didn't stop.

He had told her he loved her. Then he had run away.

Just as Forge had. Just like a coward.

Fuck.

The rain seemed to intensify, and Logan knew it was a bone-chilling cold. Had to be, in December, in New York. The radiator kept him warm enough, but he relished the thick chill in the air. It was familiar, somehow.

Reaching into the breast pocket of his flannel shirt, he pulled out a cigar. He rolled his head to the side to look for the matches, which were somewhere near his whiskey, when he heard it. How the fuck had someone gotten close enough to knock on the door without him knowing it?

It was faint, tentative, but he unsheathed his claws anyway. No one knew where he was, and almost no one knew this place even existed. Edging toward the door, he inhaled deeply, but all he could smell was her, and he knew that was all in his mind.

Frustrated, Logan yanked the door open, careful to keep his claws out of sight in case it was just an inquisitive neighbor.

He felt the breath rush out of his lungs.

There she stood, dripping wet. Silvery hair clung to her face, rainwater dripping off to form puddles at her feet. Her arms were wrapped around herself as if she were cold, which he knew couldn't be right. Her oversized blue sweater and jeans, both soaked, now hugged her body like a second skin.

They stood in silence. Logan blinked a few times ... how could she be here?

Slowly her eyes lifted from the floor to meet his, and he felt a strange lump in his throat. Despite the rain, he could see tear tracks on her cheeks. Through the hair hanging in her face he could see the fear and pride warring in her bright blue eyes.

Neither one spoke. He couldn't find any words.

Then he was moving toward her, just a step. She stood stock-still, as if afraid of what he might do.

But he did the only thing he could think of to do. He opened his arms to her, dimly surprised to find his hands shaking slightly. This decision was hers.

Ororo hesitated as he stood there, arms wide. She had had no idea what to expect when he opened the door to find her imposing herself on him, but this ... his eyes were clear, his jaw set. He knew why she was here, dripping wet, in his hallway. And he was telling her it was okay.

All of her speeches, all of her emotions, came out in one choked sob. No more time for talk.

Ororo threw herself at Logan, wrapping her arms around him and burying her face into his neck. She breathed deeply, the whiskey mixing with the unmistakable musk of him.

The man she loved.

The man who loved her back.

She felt his arms clutch her tightly to him for a long moment. He was murmuring something into her hair, but she couldn't understand it. She felt his fists kneading the cotton of her sweater, pulling her even tighter against him.

Somehow, he maneuvered them back into his apartment, which she realized only when she heard the door close behind them.

Pulling back from him slightly, she ran her fingers over his face. Committing every feature, every curve to memory. Logan closed his eyes briefly, then brought one hand up to stroke her cheek.

And Ororo smiled.

She was home.

END