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A/N: Ahh, when the human heart gets ripped to shreds,

how does anyone deal with it—human, or mutant?

Ororo's trying to deal with her feelings,

but she may need Logan's help...

(Yes the title (mis)spelling is intentional...) 

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Tarnished Amour

She had said nothing about it.

Bishop half-slept on a gurney near the back of the Blackbird while Storm sat nearby, watching his troubled chest gently rise and fall. They had strapped him in tight, in case of quick turns or turbulence, but Storm had no doubts of his resilience. She felt somewhat responsible for their newest X-man, and her dark brow furrowed as he mumbled the name of his enemy from another time in his sleep. Bishop was healthy in mind, but perhaps not in spirit. They would take care of that back at the mansion, however. Everything would be as it was.

He refused to see her.

Storm swallowed the bile that threatened to coat her teeth and her tongue, but it felt as if she were swallowing sharp pebbles. A gentle hiss escaped her lips and two of her comrades, Jean and Wolverine, glanced behind their seats cautiously. She gave them both a hidden smile, pretending she was fine for their benefit, but the act was hollow at best. They both felt it; both knew the truth. Jean wrapped her fingers around one of her husband's hands and squeezed gently as he guided the plane, but she stared back at Storm, hinting with her gentle eyes that she would leave her husband's side if the other woman wanted her company. Storm barely shook her head. She was grateful for her friend's concern, but the thought of another happy, healthy couple living in wedded bliss both sickened and infuriated her.

Storm? The professor's thoughts drifted into her own. Do you wish to talk about Forge?

She swallowed the pebbles in her throat once more. She glanced at the man who was both her mentor and surrogate father. He looked tired and haggard as the weight of his concerns crumpled his frame. If he hadn't already lost the use of his legs, the agony of his troubles could have crushed them. He had a lot on his mind...but didn't they all?

I am fine, Charles. Thanks for asking.

His presence drifted from her mind, even though he was no more satisfied with her response than Jean. But he didn't pry, as his own thoughts lead him to ponder the horrors of human and mutantkind. For once neither he nor Jean pried, and she was grateful for it.

A slow, gentle plume of smoke arose from Wolverine's chair and Iceman made a gagging noise and a rude remark. Wolverine grunted, but didn't snuff the cigar, and it stayed lit since no one else mentioned it. Yes, it was her job to correct Wolverine, but she hadn't the heart for it today.

Storm's eyes accidentally connected with Logan's. She shrugged, unable to keep the lie plastered across her hardened face, and his grim features disappeared around the seat, into a new fog of sweet smoke.

*             *              *

"It's been a week, Jean. The team needs her right now, and she's holed up doing 'goddess' knows what in her attic, refusing to let anyone in."

"Scott—" Jean rubbed her temples and grit her teeth. They were in the boathouse, which seemed incredibly cramped for two arguing people. She sat leadenly on the tip of their bed. "You know she's still sorting this out, and she'll talk about it when the time comes. We're not fighting any major battles right now. Leave her alone. Don't press her. Don't...do this to her."

Scott pursed his lips and paced the room. "Jean, I don't want to 'do this' to her. But she's the Gold Team leader. She has to be ready for anything all the time. The Professor's busy with the whole Legacy thing, and she's in charge. It's her job not to let the little things get to her."

"You know as well as I how the 'little things' get to us.  All of us."

"Maybe. But that didn't stop me from doing my job."

Jean sensed an ugly thing from her husband at that moment, and it stunned her. "Dammit, Scott, if you want the leader mantle back so bad, just ask her. I can't believe you're still smarting from the time she took you down without her powers."

"Jean, you have no right—"

"I have every right! Especially when you're telegraphing so damn loud!"

Scott sighed and sat next to his wife on the bed. He didn't have to be a telepath to feel the rage coming off her, and he knew she was right. It didn't mean he liked admitting it, though.

"Sorry."

"You should be, Summers. Green looks good on Rogue, not you."

He ground his teeth. "Okay, I admit it. Yeah, I'm a little jealous. I liked being the only one in charge."

"Well, you're not anymore, so you're going to have to deal with it."

"Yeah? Well...Fine. You're right. Happy?" Scott let out a small growl and leaned on his elbows. "I've never really apologized to her since then. Maybe I should talk to her."

Jean unconsciously laid her head on his shoulder, despite her anger. "You'll have to do better than 'talk.' She's not in the mood. Not even close."

"I'll think of something."

Jean rubbed her finger across her husband's jaw. "I know you will. But the sooner you do it, the better. I can't get through to her, the Professor's busy—and you know how stubborn she is."

Scott's lip quirked a little. "She's on a par with Wolverine, there."

"He's supposed to be back from Japan tomorrow."

Scott tensed, and Jean felt it. He always tensed when she mentioned his name. He was better at hiding his thoughts mentally, though. The backlash used to be unbearable.

"Oh?"

"Bobby's going to pick him up at the airport tomorrow."

"Mm."

She kissed his cheek. "Scottie, how in the world are we going to get rid of that jealous streak of yours?"

A slow smile spread across her husband's face as he grabbed her close. "I can think of one way."

Jean smiled.

*     *     *

Logan grimaced when he saw who was waiting for him at the gate. After a long flight and an even more miserable trip, he wasn't in the mood for the boy's lip.

"I should've rented a car," he growled.

"Sorry, pal," Bobby chirped. He grabbed Wolverine's bags and walked towards the exit. "You've got the Iceman t'keep you company. Love it or lump it."

Logan lit a cigar and followed, but he wasn't too keen on the turn of events. He would've found his own way back; he didn't need any punk-ass Pollyanna picking him up. But when he called the mansion to check on a few things and Jeannie answered the phone, she didn't sound all that great.

"What's the deal, Red? You sound tired. Somebody die, or somethin'?"

"No," she said. She sighed. "It—it's complicated. We're all under a little stress, what with the Legacy virus, and Magneto's little clones, and all. Anyway. You know all that. When are you coming back?"

"I'll be there the day after tomorrow."

"I thought you said you'd be gone for two wee—"

"Day after tomorrow, Jeannie," he said, and hung up the phone before she could convince him to stay. He didn't have much going on, so it wouldn't hurt to cut the trip short. He was more worried at the strain in her voice. Later, she left a message at his hotel, saying someone would pick him up at the airport. He'd been hoping on the entire plane trip back that she'd do the honors herself.

"Geez, man, what'cha got in this bag, rocks?" Bobby dumped Logan's bags in the trunk of his car and slammed it shut.

"None'a your business," Logan said, ducking into the passenger's side. "And be careful with my shit! It ain't like yer laundry."

"Saw-ree," Bobby muttered. "Didn't know I was hauling the Crown Jewels. Now, if we were talkin' family jewels—"

"Just drive the damn car, Drake."

"Yeah, yeah. 'Me, Tarzan. You, Cheetah. Drive car.' Gotcha."

Wolverine narrowed his eyes but didn't say anything. He tipped his cowboy cap over his eyes and attempted to get comfortable for the forty-minute drive back to Salem Center. Maybe he could get in a few minutes of shut-eye, if the kid didn't run his mouth. It didn't help matters when the boy tapped on the steering wheel and whistled to some loud tune on the radio.

"Say, did Jean tell you?"

"Tell me what?" Logan growled. He was really close to popping him with his claws.

" 'Bout our fearless leader. Took one too many trips through a thunderhead, if you ask me." He made a whistling noise and used his forefinger to circle his temple. " 'Roaches check in, but they don't check out,' you know what I mean?"

Annoyed, Wolverine slammed his hat back. "What the hell're you talkin' about? Speak right, boy, before I gut ya."

Bobby shrugged. "She's been acting loopy all week, ever since we got back from The Acolyteyville Horror. Nobody sees her during the day, but I saw her on the roof in the middle of the night, staring at the moon. I swear, it looked like she was about to howl at it."

"Huh. Doesn't sound like 'Ro."

"Pfft. Ya think? Jean's tried talking to her, but she keeps sayin' she's fine."

"Maybe she is," Logan said, tipping his hat back over his eyes. "Maybe everyone's makin' a big deal outta nothin'."

"Maybe," Bobby said quietly. He chewed his lip. "But the face I saw at three in the morning had tear stains on it."

*     *     *

Ororo had not expected the wave of discontent and anger to hit her as hard as it did. Although she was familiar with its coldness she did not like feeling depressed, and she fought with herself to climb out of its dark grasp. But the darkness also felt warm and inviting within the coldness, and she justified the feeling by saying she would only stay there a little while, until she felt better.  But now it had taken root.

She didn't dare speak to Jean about it. After all, she was part of the problem, wasn't she? Jean had someone—two someones, actually, counting Logan. If Scott couldn't care for her, Logan surely would. How fortunate for her. She had two men, while the goddess had none.

Ororo frowned, and stilled her hand over a dying fern in her attic. A gentle rain came from her fingers, caressing the plant with an evening drink. She glanced around her room, wondering what else she had neglected, but not caring about it much.

"If only my heart were like this plant," she whispered. "Without worry, without need. Without care. Without death."

The mansion had begun whispering about her. But she couldn't face them until this...problem resolved itself. She had picked up the phone to call him--several times, in fact. But she would gently replace the receiver each time. She had no words, and couldn't think of a good enough excuse. Was she angry? She didn't know. She missed him more than ever. She felt hollow inside. She was furious, and yet...Did she still love him? The question begged an answer and his departure only added new questions. Dammit, she needed to see him, to hear him. To finally end this, once and for all.

A small lightning storm ruptured over her helpless fern, tearing the poor thing to shreds. She gasped and willed the rains to stop, but the damage was done.

"One more life out of balance," she muttered. She touched the leaves gently. "I am sorry, little one. Perhaps you'll yet survive, if your roots are still strong."

The question rang in Ororo as well. Were her roots strong enough to withstand a life of solitude? Could she survive without love? No, she couldn't. And she could not bear that.

The icy warmth gripped her and she couldn't help feeling sick about Scott and Jean's happiness.

A quick rap on her door startled her, and she scowled darkly. "I am indisposed."

"No, yer just stubborn. Get yer ass out here."

"Go away, Wolverine."

"Nope."

Her eyes narrowed and unconsciously became pure white slits. "Do not test me, Logan. I am far from being in a 'good' mood."

"So I hear. I ain't no mornin' person either. So either you get yer goddess butt outta there, or we're gonna have an impromptu Danger Room sesh. Ladies' Choice."