All the News That's Fit to Print

Ororo crouched low in the imitation jungle, hoping no one noticed her Thor-like dip from the skies. She cursed herself silently for the careless entrance, but she had been too tired to do a thorough check—too tired, and too impatient. 

She weaved her way through the potted ferns and rooftop stovepipes on silent cat feet and watched the faces of the few restaurant patrons through hooded lids. No one spotted her—or if they did, they certainly hid it well. To make sure, she stood gracefully and strolled to the east garden wall, pretending to be a fellow diner enamored with the New York skyline.  Her cold aloofness shooed their lingering doubts—doubts that she could have arrived on the roof by means other than the stairs—while her posture took on the role of a spurned New York debutante pining for the man she left behind.

Her lip quirked. There was some truth in the lie. She missed New York, and Salem Center. With each mission she left a part of herself here, and never quite regained it. The emptiness had been growing for some time, and something had to be done about it. Ororo tucked a lock of recently shorn hair around her left ear. Her decision to stop by Washington before New York couldn’t have been worse. You asked for it, Windrider, she sighed silently. And you were rightfully humbled. In an instant the missing piece had become a chasm. She needed to come back to New York for at least one reason, but without it...Well.  She probably would have left for good.

Ororo glanced at her watch and unconsciously counted the seconds. She had been a thief in a former life, and knew that there was a time between times, where one could be seen and yet not observed—the time of thieves. She casually glanced past the tiki lamps and ugly masks, and her dark, serious face folded into a hinted smile at an onyx plaque:  Africa. She nearly clucked her tongue—the designs were false; a charlatan had charged this restaurateur a bundle for a false continent. The masks, the tribal garb, the two strong Ashanti spears crossed before a six-foot shield...all of it false, like an idea from a badly made Tarzan film. She would never have landed here, had she known, but the restaurant was the closest to her designation.

"Awful," she breathed. As awful and as false as the man who...No. She shuddered back the thought. It was wrong of her to return early, wrong of her to reopen old wounds, but the deed was done. Now she had other things to do.

Then the moment of thieves came, and she hid her disgust beneath a perfect mask of calm. No one in the restaurant noticed the lone tall figure stepping from the shadows and descending the staircase, and the only voice Ororo heard was the gentle clink of heavy silverware against off-white china.

*     *     *

The crowded summer sidewalk boasted the most eclectic shops in Westchester, but none of the Goth teens or college students were prepared to see a fuzzy blue child jump into the arms of a frosty-haired African woman.

"Aunt 'Ro! You made it!" Siku McCoy hugged her aunt fiercely, not caring who stared. After four whole weeks her aunt had finally come home. Siku sighed in her aunt’s arms, enjoying the light sandalwood scent, and suddenly did a double take. “Hey, you cut your hair again.”

"I told you I would return, Siku," she said softly, ignoring the second half of her niece’s statement. The summer sun radiated through her newly cropped platinum hair like an angel's halo. "Were there any doubts?"

Siku broke contact and searched the ground. "Dad...Dad didn't know. He said you might not this time."

Ororo smiled. No, she would come. She would always come. "Would I dare miss my monthly outing with my favorite fuzzy niece?"

The child rolled her eyes. "I'm your only fuzzy niece!"

"Which is precisely why you're my favorite," Ororo said, tipping the child’s chin. She ran her slim fingers through Siku’s silky blue fur and nodded to the ice cream shop across the street. "Are you hungry?"

"Starved."

"Good. Let's go inside."

Siku paused. “Aunt ‘Ro?”

“Yes child.”

“Are you all right? You seem…you seem sad today.”

Ororo wrapped her hands around the child and guided her into Barry’s Creamery. “I am only sad because I missed you so much,” she said. It was almost the truth.

“O-okay. If you say so, Aunt ‘Ro.” Siku’s lip curled into a pout, but she took her aunt’s hand and pulled her into their favorite booth. Something was wrong, but she wasn’t going to spoil her aunt’s homecoming. They were together, and that’s all that mattered.

*     *     *

It had been two years ago, and the very thought of it had sent Dr. Henry McCoy into a conniption fit. Ororo's lips had twisted wryly. He resembled a gaping goldfish, she thought. After a few moments of opening his mouth back and forth as if testing the strength of his jaw, McCoy finally exploded.

"You said what? How dare you promise such a thing!"

Ororo folded her arms. "I merely asked if Siku would enjoy it, Henry, and she agreed. We want to make Barry's Creamery a regular, monthly event. Why is this so difficult for you to understand?"

Hank shook his head and paced his lab with all the onerous grace of an overprotective parent. After Siku's dental appointment he allowed the outing to the 1950's-style malt shop because he felt guilty for not being with her. If he had not been the main speaker for the annual New York Mutational Research banquet, he would have been with his daughter at Dr. Schubert's.  But to make the ice cream shop a habit...His brow furrowed. He expected this sort of behavior from Remy, or Bobby, but Ororo? Impossible. The woman never interfered with his parenting skills.

He ran a hand through his thick, blue scalp. "It's an ice cream parlor, Ororo. The temptations...the sugar! Good Lord, woman, did Bobby's fiasco teach you nothing?"

Her eyes narrowed to slim slits. "Are you saying that I cannot be trusted with your child? That I would allow her to go into some sort of sugar coma?"

Hank rubbed his forehead fretfully and slumped on the tip of his desk. His eyes lingered over one of his experiments, watching the bubbles churn and pop, and he realized that he hadn't paid attention to it since speaking with Ororo. There's another wasted forty-five minutes, he thought grimly.

"No, of course not. You are responsible and able-bodied, and I respect your leadership skills."

"But."

"But," he sighed. "Siku is quite the resourceful child, and I doubt that even you could control her urges, once they get the better of her."

"I rarely get to see my niece as it is, Henry."  Ororo's voice sounded calm and controlled, but her timbre was far too low. She was furious.  "I lead the X-men strike teams now, since so many are busy with their own families. I am often away for weeks, sometimes months at a time. I would like a reason to return to Salem Center on a regular basis. I would like..." she sighed softly. "I need the opportunity to be involved in Siku's life, at least once a month."

"Whose fault is that?" Hank muttered.

Thunder split the silence. "No one's. But I had hoped for fairness."

Hank shook his head and snapped off the burner under his bubbling experiment. Ororo needed it, to be sure—he'd been pressuring her for years to balance her work and home life.  And Siku kept asking for Ororo when she left on missions. She missed her aunt so much. He frowned. Perhaps...maybe...

"All right, all right!" Frustrated, he slapped his hand on his desk. "Fine. We'll try this 'once a month' event on a trial basis. But," he held up a stern finger. "If I hear of one sugar rush, just one, no more Barry's. Is that clear?"

Ororo's lips softened into a discreet smile. "Thank you for trusting me."

"You're welcome," he grumbled, but he had his doubts that the arrangement would last longer than two months. He cringed, envisioning a six-year-old Siku bouncing off a three-day sugar high.

*     *     *

 Ororo Munroe's full lips curled delicately at the memory of confronting Hank. She sipped her tea cautiously and allowed her gaze to roam over her young niece. Siku seemed so big now. Time was going so fast.

Ororo chuckled to herself. The child was nearly nine, and so far, she had always been returned to her father "clean and sober." Personally she much didn't care for sweets and curbed Siku's sweet tooth as much as her father did. She made sure that they ate a full lunch first and then, if still hungry, they could share a half-scoop of ice cream. Most of the time Siku didn't even want ice cream. The child had too much fun summing up the month for her aunt.

"Do you remember the poem you created during our first outing?" Ororo asked.

"I made up that poem when I was a baby! It's almost as bad as saying someone worded me."

"But do you remember it?"

Siku made a face. "How could I forget? It's so dumb."  She took a bite out of her tuna fish sandwich and sipped her diet Coke, hoping her aunt would let it drop. But as her aunt's eyebrow rose the smallest centimeter, she knew she couldn't weasel out of it. She sighed. "Okay, okay... 'Once a month we shall dine/Come rain, or come shine. /By air or by car/We will travel near and far. /Together we shall meet/To share a tasty treat.' "

Ororo shrugged a little. "I like it."

"I'm glad you do. You're the only one I'll tell it to."

"Then I can appreciate it all the more, since I am its sole audience."

"Point to Aunt 'Ro," the child said, sitting back in the booth. She played with the pickle on her plate. "Everybody else would've laughed me out of the third grade."

Her aunt swirled the contents of her tea, hiding her smile. "So, tell me. What have I missed this month?"

"Ooh," Siku said excitedly. "I got an 'A' on my history project."

"The one on Egypt?"

Siku nodded. "Everyone liked the sugar cube pyramids. Thanks for helping me build it."

"You are quite welcome. You did the work, Siku—I simply showed you how to design it. I'm quite proud of you, and you deserved your 'A'."

"Thanks! What made it even better was the look on Bethanny's face when I turned it in."

"Sikudhani..." Ororo warned.

"I know, I know. I shouldn't gloat."

"Absolutely not."

"But it was still cool."

Ororo said nothing and tried to keep a stern look on her face, but her niece's extra victory pleased a small part of her. Perhaps, in time, Siku's examples of acceptance would show Bethanny just how "normal" mutant children were.

 "Sorry, Aunt 'Ro." Siku's brow furrowed as she remembered the month's highlights. "Oh! I almost forgot. I finally figured out what I want to do for a living!"

"Really?" Suppressing a chuckle, Ororo picked through the remainder of her salad. For the past four months, Siku had decided on fifteen different jobs. The child changed her mind about her career as often as her Aunt Jean shopped for new dresses. "An acrobat?"

"No way!" She made another face and grabbed her tuna fish sandwich. "I was five when I came up with that."

"A veterinarian, then."

Siku gagged on her tuna. "That was last year."

"A geologist?"

"Last month."

Ororo held up her hands in mock despair. "I have no idea. What did you decide?"

Siku wiped her fingers on her napkin and reached into her back pocket.  She yanked out a small notepad and golf pencil and flipped through the pages excitedly. "I want to be a reporter!"

Ororo blinked. "A...reporter?"

"Yeah, like Mr. Parker! Or even better, a celebrity reporter. They have the best jobs. They dig up all sorts of information and tell weird stories."

"Hmm," Ororo said, less than pleased. "Some do that. However, I find that the more reputable the paper, the more truthful the news."

"Come on, Aunt 'Ro, when was the last time we read something good about mutants?"

"Point taken," Ororo muttered. She was surprised that at such a young age, Siku already knew about the subtle prejudices in the newspapers. "Still, if you choose to become a fair journalist, you should report the news truthfully."

"But I want people to read what I wrote. The regular news is so boring."

"Is it?" Ororo pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I think if you write stories your readers care about, they will never find your news boring."

"Oh, really?" Siku sat back in her booth and crossed her arms.  Her eyebrow rose in a perfect imitation of her father's. Or her Aunt Ororo's, Ororo thought grimly. "Then how come I think regular news is too boring?"

"Probably because the reporters and newscasters write their stories for adults, not little girls." Ororo's eyes twinkled as she tapped her niece's fuzzy nose.

"Well...okay." Siku rubbed her nose. "But I still want to write fun stories, and celebrities are fun."

Ororo nodded sagely.  She had her doubts about Siku's new career choice, but she supported Siku's dreams.  Siku deserved to test every dream in her heart, even if one or two seemed a bit...unsavory.

"Do you have ideas for 'fun' stories?"

Siku shook her head. "Not any good ones. I could write about my teachers or about that kid in my class who won the state spelling bee, but I don't really want to. I'm at school every day."

"Well," Ororo said, folding her hands, "We can come up with a few ideas together. Who will read your paper?"

"Probably Dad, you guys—maybe Cierra, if she wants to help me write it. Maybe the kids at school, if it's any good."

"Why not write about yourself?"

"Nah." Siku wrinkled her nose. "Everyone knows about me already. What's there to tell?"

"I could tell you about the child who shared your name."

Siku shrugged. It was an idea, but apparently not one she wanted. Her face suddenly lit up. "I know! I could interview everyone at the mansion and put it in the paper."

"Yes, you could," Ororo said, nodding her approval. She delicately cupped her fingers around her mug and raised it to her lips. "That sounds like an excellent idea."

Siku tasted the tip of her pencil, like she'd seen in the movies.  "Okay. Start talking."

Ororo nearly choked on her tea. "Excuse me?"

"You're my first interview."

Ororo's blank look was akin to shock. "Me? Why not your father, or your Uncle Remy, or—"

Siku waved her hand, stilling the protests. "No. I don't get to spend much time with you, so I want to know everything about you. You're perfect!"

"I see," Ororo said. It was her turn to sit back in the chair with her arms folded. "What would you like to know?"

"Um..."

Siku's face fell a little. There was so much stuff to ask, but she couldn't think of one really special thing. Did she want to ask about her aunt's weather powers? How it felt to lead the X-men? About Japan or Africa? Or, or...oh. Siku played with a sugar packet and carefully avoided her aunt's eyes. There was one thing she was dying to know. The one question all her aunts and uncles avoided.  But would her aunt tell her about it?

"Have you come up with something, Siku?"

"Sort of."

"You can ask anything you wish. I will be completely honest with you."

That was all the confirmation she needed. Taking a deep breath, Siku asked the question on her tongue.  "Would you...could you tell me what happened between you and Mr. Forge?"

The twinkle in Storm's eye vanished.  The expression on her face barely changed, but the quick shift from kindly aunt to cold professional shocked Siku. She recognized that look, and it scared her. It reminded her of an unfeeling robot.

"I—I'm sorry, Aunt 'Ro. I shouldn't have asked. But no one says anything about it, and I was curious, and—"

"No, Siku...No. It is not your fault." It took some effort, but some of the warmth and color returned to Ororo’s face. She paused and gently placed one of her hands over Siku's writing pad. "I told you to ask me anything, and you have, so you deserve an answer. I do have one small request, however. Are you familiar with the term, 'off the record'?"

"Yes," Siku sighed. She put down her pencil. "It means that you don't want me putting it down on paper or showing it to anybody."

"That's right." Ororo tightened the muscles her mouth to still her trembling lips.  "Siku, I am still dealing with some of the issues, and they are...difficult for me to talk about. Forge and I...Well. We hurt one another quite badly."

“You asked me to come to Washington, Forge, and I am here. Now you say it was all a mistake? That I should stop following my heart?”

The Amerindian man’s lips hardened. “The invitation was over two months ago, Ororo. I assumed you weren’t coming. It’s over.”

“Over when you say. How convenient.” She crossed her arms and the echo of thunder bounced inside the metal lab.

“So now you’re going to throw a temper tantrum.” He walked away from her and returned to his experiment. “Nicely done.”

Her lip quivered as she tried to regain control. He would not best her. This man would not twist her heart again. “No. I will not waste my temper on you. I refuse to waste my time with liars.”

He stood up suddenly and walked over to her, and came too close. He touched the side of her slim cheek tenderly, causing her lips to soften. He bent down and his heady scent intoxicated her, making her feel warm…loved. He kissed her deep and she responded. Then she saw the coldness in his eyes.

“That kiss,” he said softly, “was the only lie.”

Her jaw hardened and she spun from his laboratory without saying another word.

*     *     *

Siku scooted up to the edge of her seat and squeezed her aunt's hand. "Don't worry, Aunt 'Ro. I won't let anybody hurt you."

Ororo cocked her head impishly, but her face was cold. "Did you know we were to be married?"

"No! Honestly?"

"Yes."

With her neutral face lying about how she truly felt, Ororo told her niece the story. She didn't mention that the X-men knew very little about the truth. They didn't know how much it still hurt—especially now, since everyone either had new families, or lovers. Sometimes she felt alone. Sometimes the aloneness caused her to visit Washington to win people back.

Ororo steadied her voice. "Your uncles and aunts wanted to help me, but the situation was such that I needed to walk it for myself." 

Siku was amazed at how calm her aunt's voice sounded, as if reading a passage from a dictionary. "Wow. A—and you were crying? On the floor?"

Ororo nodded sharply and gazed at the soda fountain, masking her expression. Her voice became very quiet. "After that...well. I suppose you could say that my job became more important."

"Like you married your job instead of him?"

"You could say that."

"He acted like a jerk. He shouldn't have done that."

Ororo turned back to the table, her face unreadable. "No, child, no. Don't ever think that. He did what he felt was right at the time, and I responded with how I felt. We both reacted inappropriately. And we…we became tentative friends, for a time."

"Do...do you ever talk to him? I mean, about what happened?"

A small flash of bitterness crossed her heart but she didn't allow it to show on her face. "I have seen him a few times.” She sipped her tea. "Our last meeting was rather awkward."

"What happened?"

Ororo put down her tea and carefully folded her hands, struggling to keep her voice clear. "We exchanged awful words—cruel things. In the end it felt...uncomfortable. I felt naked before him, and ashamed of the person I am. In my opinion, the sacred trust we once shared was violated, and...I found it difficult to forgive him."

"Oh." Siku watched her aunt pick through her salad. This was the closest she'd ever seen Aunt 'Ro cry, and she didn't know what to say. She wasn't supposed to be so...vulnerable. "Well," Siku said, changing the subject, "I could always write about why you yelled at Uncle Remy that one morning, when you found him asleep in your rose garden."

Ororo laughed. Siku enjoyed the alto sound, and hoped it meant her aunt was feeling better. "Siku, considering your uncle's condition at the time of that incident, I think it would embarrass him to find such information in your article. You should file his story under 'off the record,' too." She paused, and some of the twinkle returned to her blue eyes. "I have wonderful stories to share about my childhood in Africa. Would you like to hear them?"

"On the record?" Ororo gently stroked her cheek, and Siku ignored the watery brightness in her aunt's eyes.

"Most definitely," Ororo said.

*     *     *

"We-ell...I guess it's okay."

Cierra handed the paper back to Siku and flopped backwards on the poster bed. She chewed her bubblegum and blew fiercely, and the bubble grew as big as her head. She pointed at it excitedly. "Hey! Check it out!"

Siku shrugged on the floor, refusing to look at her best friend. "I guess it's okay," she retorted.

"Aw, c'mon, Siku! You know what I mean." The bubble popped, and Cierra wiped the mess from her face. She still had a little bit of gum clinging to the sides of her red hair, but she didn't seem to care. "I'm just sayin' that your story’s not that interesting, that's all."

Siku sighed. She had hoped that she'd get a better opinion from her friend, since Uncle Remy was gone for the day and wouldn't be a distraction for her. Cierra flopped on her stomach and Siku shrugged slightly.

"You really think my newspaper's that boring?"

"A little," Cierra said. She flopped over again and pulled her gum from her mouth, like taffy.

"Cierra, cut it out! You'll mess up my bed!"

"I'll be careful." She made a face, took the gum from her mouth, and tossed it in the trash. "Yuck, it's lost its flavor anyway. Besides, you're just mad because I told I didn't like how you wrote it."

"Am not," Siku said sharply. Cierra was right, but she wasn't going to let her see how she felt.

"Liar." Cierra took the article from her and read through the story again. "Well...it just sounds like an old book report, Siku. Don't you have any weird or disgusting stories you can put in it?"

Siku made a face. "What, like exploding zombie heads, or something? Puh-lease."

"Well, they are the X-men," Cierra mumbled. "I mean, they fight aliens and stuff. Why not zombies."

Siku grabbed the paper from her. "They don't fight zombies! But..." she trailed off, biting her lip. "Well, I—I can't write that. Aunt 'Ro said not to."

"Can't write what?" Cierra lay on her forearms and stared down at her best friend. Siku looked up, frowning.

"She told me some private stuff. I can't say."

"Then yeah, you shouldn't use it." Cierra traced the patterns in Siku's comforter. "Hey, could you change her name? That way, they'd never guess who you were talking about."

"I—I dunno, Ci," Siku said slowly. "That sounds awfully close to lying."

"No, really, I've seen reporters do it." Cierra jumped to the floor. "And I bet if you make the name all crazy, no one'd ever figure it out."

"Really?"

"Sure! Mom says the gossip columns do it all the time. She says when they do that, they can't get sued for li—li..."

"Libel?"

Cierra grinned. "That's it! See, you're smart enough to know that word, so you're smart enough to come up with a really good name."

"We-e-ell..." A warning sounded in the back of Siku's mind, but she ignored it. It didn't seem totally right, but if she could make up names, then maybe she could put in the interesting stuff, too. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, if they were the only ones who knew the truth.

"Okay. I'll do it."

"Cool! Let me help."

"Great!" Siku grabbed a piece of white paper from her desk and handed Cierra a pencil. "Hey, as long as we're changing the names around, we could add the story Aunt 'Ro told me about Uncle Remy."

"Oooh," Cierra said. A star struck grin slowly spread across her face. She giggled. "Let me write that part, pretty please? I love that idea."

*     *     *

On Saturday, Siku was almost ready to present the final copy. She smiled at what she wrote, but she wanted to make sure it was absolutely perfect when her aunt came back tomorrow. To make sure, she wanted her Uncle Remy and Uncle Logan to read it first. She told them the person in the article was a secret member of the mansion, someone they didn't know about. They chuckled after she told them that, but she wasn't sure why.

"Okay, I'm ready," she declared, coming into the game room. Both of her uncles were glued to the basketball game on TV, but they both promised to help her. She was going to hold them to their promise, even if they did miss part of the silly Knicks/Bulls finals.

Unfortunately, her uncles didn't move. She cleared her throat. "I'm ready to show you guys what I wrote."

"In yer face!" Logan crowed. He stood up from the couch and drank his beer. "That's twenty more you owe me, Cajun. You shoulda bet on the Knicks."

"Yeah, yeah," Remy muttered.  He shifted uneasily on the couch. "De Bulls'll come back. You watch."

"Uh, huh. Isn't that what you said an hour ago?"

"Yeah, but—"

"Guys!" Siku interrupted loudly. "I thought you said you'd proofread this for me!"

The men looked surprised, as if seeing her in the room for the first time.

"Oh, sorry, li'l darlin'. Game was on." Logan started grinning. "Your uncle here thought he'd make a bundle off me. He was wrong."

"Game ain't over yet, homme."

"Wanna bet?"

"Ain't dat what we been doin'?"

"Never mind," Siku sighed. She started walking from the room with her head bowed. She might as well go proofread it herself. Neither one of them were paying any attention to what she was saying.

"Wait, Siku. Hold up." Remy vaulted over the couch and stopped her from rounding the corner. "I'm sorry, petite. We been pretty rude, henh?"

"A little."

Her uncle smiled sadly and she couldn't help but smile back. She could never stay mad at him for long. She gave him her paper, and he took it carefully from her fingers.

"I just wanted to show you my article. Remember, it's about a totally unknown person living in the mansion."

"Gotcha." Remy started to smirk as he got through the first paragraph. He didn't want to laugh and hurt Siku's feelings, but it was damned hard not to, considering the fictional name she came up with. "Aunt...Oleo, eh?" He glanced at Logan, who took a quick swig of beer to halt the laugh that threatened to fill the room. 

" 'Oleo' granted you an interview, huh?" Logan sipped his drink. "That is news."

Remy nodded as his voice dropped a few octaves. "Dat woman's lip be tighter than a girdle in a beauty pageant."

Siku made a face. "What?"

"Ne'er mind, petite," Remy said. He sat on an arm of the couch, and Logan read over his elbow. Suddenly a strangled noise escaped from Logan's throat and beer sprayed the television.  He pressed his lips together and got up from the couch while Remy and Siku just stared at him with frowns on their faces.

"Is it that bad?" Siku asked plaintively.

Logan cleared his throat, but he sounded like he was struggling to talk. His voice came out in a choked hiss and tears began forming in his eyes.

"Not at all, darlin'," he said slowly. He quickly escaped from the room. "Just...just have ta get another beer. Be right back. Tell...tell yer uncle to read the last two paragraphs."

Siku turned to Remy. "He doesn't like it!"

"Naw, I t'ink he just really enjoyed what y'wrote, Siku," Remy muttered. She must've written something pretty damn funny for Logan to jet out like—

He saw what got Logan rolling on the floor.

"LePeu? Petite, you t'ink dat little of your ol' uncle to compare'm to a cartoon skunk?"

"Aww, man!" Siku stamped her foot angrily. "Cierra said you wouldn't be able to tell if we changed the names around!"

"But...Rambo LePeu? Ain't dat skunk's name 'Pepe?' "

She looked crestfallen. "We couldn't use Pepe—that would've been copyright infringement!"

Logan came back into the room carrying a new beer, but his eyes were bloodshot. He pursed his lips and wiped the moisture out of them. "She gotcha there, Gumbo."

Remy glared at Logan, who flopped back on the couch and stared at the TV.

"Least you weren't compared to a skunk, mon ami," he muttered, scanning the rest of the story. "It woulda been funny if you been in dis. Petite coulda called you de Badger, or de Carnivore, or even de Puppy for dat m—" He was about to hand Siku her paper back with a stern lecture about putting her uncle's hangover stories in print, when the middle paragraph caught his attention. His smile quickly faded.

Siku's eyes widened as her uncle's fists glowed slightly. For a moment she thought the newspaper was going to explode.  Fortunately the glow slowly disappeared back into his fingers as he regained his composure, but his sly, jovial face had become one of cold fury. He read through the same paragraph three more times before marching over to the television and angrily switching it off.

"Hey, what the hell—"

"We got stuff t'do."

Remy stabbed the paper, and Logan read past his finger. The shorter man snarled like a wolf. 

"This true, kid?"

Siku didn't want to say anything. She'd never seen either of her uncles this mad before, and she was afraid to look at them. "I—I guess," she said, voice trembling. "It's as much as I could remember. A—am I in trouble?"

Gambit placed a gentle hand on her shoulder but he was staring at Wolverine. "No, petite. We not mad at'cha. We mad at somebody else. Somebody who shoulda known better."

Wolverine flexed his fists. "Someone who's about to get his ass kicked in a major way."

Her uncles left the room without saying another word. Siku had no idea where they were going, and she didn't want to know.  Now she wished she'd done what her aunt asked. If they figured out Remy's name, then they probably figured out her aunt's, too. Worse, she couldn't take it back. It was too late. 

*     *     *

"Child?"

"Huh?"

Siku looked up suddenly. Her Aunt had read the next question in the trivia game, but she hadn't heard it. "Sorry. Could you read it again?"

Ororo put down the card. Ever since she arrived from Japan last evening, Siku had been far from her eager, joyful self. Everyone in the mansion started feeling her forehead for fever, until she got mad at them and ran to her room. Not even Henry could elicit a smile from his "Sunshine." It grieved them all, but the child was stubborn. At least as stubborn as her aunt. Ororo's mouth dipped. The reason had to be connected with the strange disappearance of her uncles. Ororo was sure of it.

"Siku? Would you like to tell me something?"

She shrugged and played with a colorful plastic game piece. "No."

"I missed your hugs this morning. You usually hug me when I return home."

"I know," she sighed. "Guess I'm not feeling too well."

"Are you ill?"

"No! And I wish everyone would stop asking me that!" She threw the piece across the floor, and ran for her room. Ororo was about to chastise her when several loud bangs across the front door interrupted their conversation. Siku froze in her tracks, wide-eyed.

"Get below," Storm commanded. "Now." Siku raced for the basement steps, but only until she was out of her aunt's sight. She trembled and peeked around the corner, determined to see who the visitor was. Secretly, she hoped it was one of her uncles who forgot his key. But the noise was too powerful, too insistent. Like they were mad, and it was all her fault. She bit her lip.

Storm was prepared to call some of the other X-men from their evening Danger Room training session, but first she wanted to know a little more about their visitor.  They should have been alerted by the alarm system, had the intruder been an enemy. Apparently, the security system recognized the interloper as a "friendly" visitor, but Storm knew of no friends who would dare knock on the Professor's door in such a harsh way.  She clicked on a small button, and the video camera whirred to life. Ororo's neutral face became a bitter, sarcastic smirk when she opened the door and crossed her arms.

"Hello, Maker. May we help you with something?"

"Don't hand me that shit, Ororo."

At the bad word, Siku gasped and turned around the corner. A tall claret-skinned man with a black ponytail and mustache angrily pushed past her aunt. His right arm was in a heavy cast, and the left side of his face was an angry mottling of purple and black.

"Goddess, Forge," Ororo whispered. Her look of anger became one of concern. She went to touch his face but he flinched from her fingertips, as if lightning would shoot from her hands. "What happened?"

His teeth clamped shut. "Your goddamn boyfriends, that's what happened. Those idiots trashed my lab last night, destroyed government property and made obscene accusations about our past history. As you can see," he said, jabbing his plastered arm, "they got ugly about it. In future, I suggest you restrain your boytoys before I start suing them."

Ororo gaped at him as he headed back out the door. "What--? Forge, explain...Forge!"

He kept walking. "The next time you decide to spout off," he spat over his shoulder, "keep me out of it."

"Forge, come back. We should discuss this...We can—"

Still walking, Forge tossed up the middle digit on his left hand.

"Dammit."

A twisted look of anger jumped across Ororo's face as she leapt into the air and landed inches from Forge's nose. She began shouting in his face.

Siku gulped and crept behind the open front door. She watched the heated exchange between her aunt and her ex-boyfriend, grateful that she couldn't hear what they were saying. Her Aunt 'Ro never displayed that much emotion, ever.  A thundercloud, painting the sky with turbulent, red-grey streaks, screamed from the east and rested over her aunt and Mr. Forge. A brusque wind picked up and the sky changed instantly from reddish grey to black. Small marble-sized hail poured from the atmosphere, as if someone tipped over a giant vat of mothballs. Thick streaks of lightning cracked one end of the sky to the other. By the look on her aunt's face, Siku figured they were discussing the "cruel words" she mentioned at Barry's. 

Ororo's face twisted into a sneer and the sky echoed her mood. She raised her finger. She was about to say something new, but apparently what Forge said next stopped her cold. She must have asked him to repeat it, because he started poking her chest and talking with even more anger. A strange calm overtook her. Her lips formed the words, "I was wrong" and  "I apologize." She took a few steps back on the lawn and Forge stormed angrily passed her. She didn't look at him. Instead she breathed deep, opened her arms to the sky, and forced the clouds to part. The sky became light blue again, as if nothing was wrong, but Siku thought it took a lot longer for her aunt to change the sky than it normally did.

As Ororo strode back to the mansion, Siku whipped her head back around the door. She wanted to run upstairs and hide, or go into the woods, but her legs wouldn't move. It felt as if her Uncle Bobby had frozen her legs to the floor.

Her aunt saw her hiding behind the door.  "I think we need to talk, yes?"

Siku gulped as her aunt offered her hand.  She should be in trouble, and her aunt was being nice. She expected a lightning bolt to electrocute her.

"Aunt 'Ro, I—"

"Shh," Ororo said, putting a finger to her lips. She guided Siku to a couch in the living room, and sat with one leg tucked beneath her. When she patted the cushion beside her, Siku reluctantly sat down. "First, I must apologize."

"What?" Siku squeaked. "You don't need to apologize!"

"Yes, I do. In fact, I should make two apologies."

"No, Aunt 'Ro, you shouldn't apologize! I'm the one who..."

Siku trailed off, and her Aunt Ororo cocked her head. Her piercing blue eyes seemed to stare straight into Siku's heart.  "We'll come to that in a minute," she said softly. "Meanwhile, let me finish what I need to say."

"Okay," Siku whispered. She didn't dare look up.

Ororo leaned back into the couch and took a deep breath while slowly counting to five. The incident with Forge cleansed her somewhat, but the price had been a lack of control—both in the weather, and her soul. Her emotional state now was tenuous, at best. From deep within, she drew upon her reserves of calm and peace.  "First, I apologize for the display you just saw. It was undignified, and uncalled for. And a child had no business seeing it. I am so very sorry, Siku."

"Um, that's okay," she stammered. Ororo took her hand.

"Second, I apologize for telling you what I told you at Barry's."

Heartbroken, Siku's eyes shot up. "But I asked you to tell me! It's my fault for asking!"

"No, it most certainly is not." Ororo stroked the child’s cheek. "You are a nine-year-old child and I rained adult secrets upon you. You are too young for such things, Siku, which is why I do not--and cannot--blame you for revealing our conversation to your uncles."

Siku looked down at her hands. "So...Mr. Forge knew about the article I showed them?"

"No, he did not. But the only way Logan or Remy would have become that upset with him in such a short period of time would have been because of something in our discussion." She paused and gently tapped her bottom lip. "May I see your newspaper?"

Nodding, Siku silently went up to her room. After her uncles got so mad she vowed never to write another word again, and threw her newspaper in her room's trashcan. But she hadn't taken the trash downstairs—probably because she felt guilty and wanted to keep looking at it to blame herself. She scraped gum off the ends and made the long, painful trek back to where her aunt patiently sat on the couch, waiting for her return. Maybe the one good thing was that her Dad wasn't down there with her. Her hands trembled as she handed the paper to her aunt.

Ororo read the paper silently, ignoring the spelling and grammar mistakes. If Siku had been perfectly honest with her, she might have laughed at the hidden spelling of her name and of Remy's, but Siku had ignored her warning. Her brow furrowed when she spotted the problem.

"Siku," she said, softly tapping the story, "could you please read from here—to here—out loud?"

Siku took it from her carefully. " 'My aunt told me something Mister...Forrest...did to her a long time ago. She said he violated her and she felt ashamed because she was naked. She said she couldn't forgive him or trust him again.' "

"Thank you."

Small tears began falling from Siku's eyes and Ororo hadn't the heart to see her niece in such distress. She gathered the little girl into her arms, and Siku buried her head into her shirt. "Siku, you misinterpreted what I told you, and I fear your uncles have as well. Did I not say that our conversation was 'off the record'?"

Siku's voice came in ragged gasps. "Y-yes, but I thought if I changed the names it wouldn't hurt, but everybody recognized their n-names!" She started bawling. "I n-never meant to hurt you, Aunt Ororo! I d-didn't m-mean for everyone to get m-mad at me. E-especially you!"

Ororo let Siku cry it out, but said nothing. She kept stroking the child's hair, in gentle, soothing strokes. Siku was really afraid now, afraid that her aunt had stopped speaking to her. Her sobs started to choke back in her throat. "Oh, aunty, p-please tell me you forgive me. I'm s-s-sorry..."

"Siku, I've already forgiven you," Ororo said. Her voice was soothing and tender, but with a hint of iron. She wasn't quite the robot anymore, but she didn't sound completely like herself, either. "I told you I do not blame you for what you did, and I am partly to blame for all of this because I should have kept my secrets to myself. But what you have done does not change the consequences of your actions. A man was unjustly hurt, due to the...unfortunate overreactions of two of my dearest friends. I asked you not to write that story, or the one about your Uncle Remy. You betrayed my trust."

Siku clawed at her aunt's skirt, her tears soaking the silk material. Would her aunt ever forgive her? Would she ever talk to her normally again? Her ribs ached from crying so hard.

"By the same token," Ororo continued, "your uncles were also in the wrong. They should have restrained themselves until they had spoken to me about the incident. I shall...chat with them later."

Siku gulped back a lungful of tears. Her voice came out in sharp hiccups. "A-are they in trouble?"

"Yes, they are," Storm said softly. "More than you, in fact, since they should have known better. Come. Sit up, Siku. Do you understand now why I asked you not to write those things?"

Siku felt dizzy from all the crying, but she did as her aunt commanded. It was the least she could do, after all the trouble she caused. "Y-Yes," she sniffled, "and I never want to be a reporter again. It's too hard and too many people get hurt."

Ororo chuckled, and the sound soothed some of Siku's pain. She guided the girl's chin until they were looking into one another's eyes. "You should become a reporter, if that is your heart's desire. But I think you have learned a valuable lesson, about distorting the facts and disobedience. Some reporters never learn that lesson."

"Y-yes, I suppose," Siku sighed. She wiped her face with the back of her hand. "Are you gonna tell my Dad?"

"I don't think I need to. The choice is yours."

"I'd rather not tell him."

Ororo nodded. "Very well. I think you feel bad enough as it is. Why don't you clean your face, and then come and join me for a walk? I would still like to spend some time with you, before I need to leave again."

"Okay...s-so you don't hate me?"

"Oh, Siku," Ororo said, smiling. "I never hated you. I never will."

Siku was about to express her relief, when a loud slam startled them both. Someone had entered through the side door, as if wanting to conceal his arrival. Ororo had a feeling she knew who it was. They were, actually. Her expression hardened.

Siku heard the sound of Remy and Logan's voices closing in, and saw her aunt's face take on that "Leader" look everybody feared.

"Uh, oh," Siku mumbled.

"Siku," Ororo said evenly. "I will be busy for a few hours. I think you should find something else to do before dinner."

"Can I st—"

"No. Go upstairs. The grown-ups need to talk."

"They're in big trouble, aren't they?" The glare from her aunt told her all she needed to know. "Okay, I'm going...But thanks, Aunt 'Ro, for not hating me." She gave her aunt a quick peck on the cheek before scuttling up the stairs. But after a pause, she crept back down and hid behind a banister. As much as she didn't want to get into any more trouble, she wanted to find out just how mad her aunt was. She wondered if she'd go on a rampage, like she did with Mr. Forge.

Both men entered the living room chuckling, but they reared up short when they saw the quiet anger in their leader's eyes. Her arms were crossed and thunder shook the windows. "Gentlemen, The Maker paid us a little visit today. I heard what you did, and I am furious."

Wolverine went protectively to Storm's side. In an uncharacteristic act of gentleness, he put his hand on her shoulder. His voice was so low, Siku had to strain to hear him. "What that asshole did was inexcusable. He deserved the poundin'. If I had my way—"

"He deserved nothing," Ororo snapped. Her blue eyes became cold, hard, cat-like slits. "I put the blame on both your heads. Our niece's article embellished the facts, and what she said was taken out of context, but the two of you decided to play 'hero.' "

Wolverine's eyes narrowed while Gambit nervously rubbed the back of his neck and turned from Storm.

"Storm, we t'ought—"

"It doesn't matter what you thought. Neither of you bothered to check with me, and you had no right to act on my behalf." Ororo's strong voice was measured, deliberate, and deadly. "The X-men are above petty revenge. I thought you knew this."

Thunder shook the foundation and lightning flashed across the windowpanes. Ororo glanced to her left, and saw Siku hiding between the banisters. Her gaze softened.  "Perhaps you should do your homework, little one."

Her uncles glanced at Siku, and she swallowed. "It's Satur—" she began, but off her aunt's glare, she figured it was probably a really good idea to do something. She traveled the rest of the way up the stairs, but not before she heard their final words.

"Wolverine. Gambit. We will continue this discussion in the War Room."

" 'Discussion'? We toast, homme."

"No shit. It ain't like the lightnin' and thunder gave it away, huh?"

"Gentlemen."

"Comin' Stormy."

"Gambit, if you want to live—"

"I know, I know, don't call y'Stormy. Figured I was dead, anyways. Can't blame a guy for tryin'..."

--FIN--