stormfreak_beginning4

Disclaimer: I was born in 1982, so the X-Men couldn�t be mine, now could they? Oh, yeah, and I�m a black female, so obviously, I am of no relation to Stan Lee. And if the X-Men were mine, there sure as hell would be more than one black character.

Je vous aime donc beaucoup d'il m'effraie = I love you so much it scares me

PG-13 for a sensual moment or two

The End is the Beginning, by stormfreak

Part Four: Outbreak

Salem Center, New York

When Jean had closed the door to the cell, Rogue had been quite grateful for the isolation. It gave her the opportunity to scream, cry and grieve in private, away from the X-Men. Since returning to the common population, her fellow mutants, especially the women, had been giving her those "we�re-so-sorry" looks. If it was one thing Rogue hated, it was sympathy.

Storm had won, plain and simple. Whether the rest of the X-Women had felt that she was right or wrong, Storm had won. With no scheming, no plotting, and no master plan, Ororo Munroe has become Mrs. Rembrandt LeBeau, and with little effort at that. And despite Rogue�s anger, jealousy, and sorrow, she had to tip her hat to the silver-haired weather goddess. Storm had what Rogue wanted, and there was no denying that.

The game, however, was far from over. No victory is permanent. What goes up always and invariably comes down. Rogue was going to get her man back, no questions asked. Something as tiny and a legal and binding marriage meant nothing to Rogue. A small hump to get over; a simple formality, but that was all.

But time was not on her side. Five months had passed, and there was no word, not even a letter or a postcard. Rogue knew Jean knew where Gambit and Storm were, but she knew Jean wouldn�t reveal their whereabouts, not even to her husband. In order to save their love � hell, in order to have a chance - Rogue needed to pinpoint Remy LeBeau�s whereabouts, and fast.

*

Harare, Zimbabwe

If Remy LeBeau was the subject of two females� thoughts every hour on the hour, though, his mind was only one woman. And she did not reside in New York.

Remy lay in bed on a Sunday morning, his mind deep in thought. On another day, in another time, Remy�s mind would�ve never been able to focus on one thought and hold it. But now, as the sun streamed through his open window, he allowed his mind to wander, recollecting the events of the past half-year.

It had turned out that the rumor of Adam Hartley being the richest man in Harare, Zimbabwe was a bit of a myth. He was, in fact, the richest man in all of Zimbabwe. Aside of being the owner of the most prestigious photography school in all of Africa, he was a retired doctor and the owner of a string of successful businesses, including an ice cream factory. He had been the first to offer Remy a job in his ice factory, doing, of all things, breaking and packing ice.

"It is good to see that those hours taking the GED test have finally come to good use," his wife had teased.

Remy had rolled his red on black eyes. "I swear, a woman gets double doctorates an� she t�ink she so smart�"

The job offered fantastic pay for short hours. Had Gambit spoken to his wife about the properties of ice, he would�ve learned that 1) it�s a lot colder than it feels, 2) it can be quite sharp, and 3) it is very heavy. There were methods and directions for the chopping of ice, but a cocky Remy felt that there was no substitute for successful ice-chopping than brute force. Standing in the freezers surrounded by blocks of ice, Remy had smashed through solid blocks with all his strength. As a result, Remy had spent the first three weeks of his marriage sleeping lightly, his back and arms in a state of constant pain and numbness. Ororo had massaged his back and shoulders with warm oil to take the pain away, and Remy was eventually forced to adhere to the rules regulations of handling ice in order to save his back and skin.

They had consummated their marriage, although with the lack of romance and passion written in novels and fan fiction stories. It actually wasn�t planned � like with most first sexual encounters, Ororo simply had allowed him to continue until their kissing and fondling had resulted in the inevitable. The whole time, she fixed her water-filled eyes on the ceiling, biting her lower lip. It was a far cry from the screams and moans he had fantasized about, but at least she hadn�t cried.

Within the weeks that passed, Gambit had learned that he had married a prankster, one who especially liked to tamper with him while he was sleeping. One morning, she had slowly poured a pitcher of water on his face, and Remy bolted awake believing that he was drowning. Another day, he had waken with two huge blocks of ice close to his face, dreaming that he was stuck in the factory. There was the time he had been jolted awake because his wife was bouncing wildly on the bed screaming "Earthquake!" And who could forget when Ororo had crept to his ear and hummed the Jeopardy theme? Remy had a nightmare that he could not remember the Greek origin of the chemical krypton.

Their marriage was far from perfect; however, Ororo LeBeau was Remy�s soul mate. She listened to him when he talked. She comforted him when he was down. She encouraged him when he suddenly announced he was going to quit smoking, certainly a departure from the disbelieving laughter he had received in the X-Mansion. And finally, after about four weeks of marriage, he had held her in his arms as she moaned and gasped uncontrollably, shaking with the tremors from her first orgasm.

Remy concluded that he hadn�t married a sex goddess. Ororo LeBeau wasn�t going to do housework in an edible thong, or go out to dinner with him and make love in a bathroom stall. Cosmopolitan magazine would be the last place his wife would be seeking advice concerning his marriage. It simply wasn�t in her nature. What he had gotten was a caring, loving and beautiful wife with just as much intelligence and survival skills as he possessed. Ororo was his equal, in every sense of the word; a woman who accepted no excuses, not even when it came to herself. Remy had secretly admired her never-say-die attitude, even when it came to something as hard to face as her own sexuality.

Their life together was uneventful, and compared to their lives as X-Men, downright boring. But here, Remy had something the X-Mansion could never give him. He had peace, a true inner peace that men had written about for centuries and people spent their whole lives trying to find. He had respect, as opposed to the pre-judging and the narrow-minded opinions in the X-House. At the factory, Remy had gained a genuine respect from his fellow workers, who all joined together to help him build his house in less than three months. He was the youngest man there, but he could already chop and pack nearly as many pounds as the veteran workers. Remy spent his breaks thawing in the warm Harare sun, laughing and talking with the older men. Most of them had been married for years, and were rooting for the young American and his beautiful wife. Between being an ice worker, and eating Ororo�s cooked food, Remy had lost that skinny-man-in-the-bar look. He had gone from a lean 175 pounds to a muscular, well-cut 225. His face was fuller; his mind clearer, and Remy LeBeau couldn�t have been happier �or more far away from Xavier�s mansion. His mind, his soul, and his love all resided in Harare.

*

"Angelique, five plus four."

"Nine."

"Ramsey, three plus five."

"Eight."

"Christian, two plus four."

"Six."

"Jaffe, six plus three."

Silence.

"Jaffe!" Ororo had snapped.

"Uhh�nine?"

"Correct, but not fast enough." Ororo pushed the hair off her face and sighed. "Jaffe, a million kindergartners all throughout the world know the addition table. What will separate you from the rest will be speed. Without speed, you are simply another average student. And believe me, for the money your parents pay for you to attend Harare Academy, you cannot be an average student." She stood up and walked to the center of the classroom. "We will do this again, together. One plus one."

"Two!" the class responded thunderously.

"One plus two."

"Three!"

If Ororo LeBeau loved her job as a kindergarten teacher, it wasn�t observable. On the outside, she appeared to be a teacher who had been teaching one year too many. Her compassion seemed limited; her patience short, and her goal, slightly short-sighted. But she was effective. And that very admission, made by her fellow faculty members, was a hard won battle of respect.

Five months earlier, Ororo was hired by Harare Academy for the following school year as a teacher�s aide. She was too young, concluded the headmaster, to be an effective teacher, and too beautiful to be anything but a distraction. Later, the headmaster would admit that he had only hired her as an aide because "she had a nice rack." Ororo had become the kindergarten teacher by default; the teacher had announced her surprise retirement, and no one else wanted the job. She had arrived at Harare to notable criticism. What could a twenty-five year old woman possibly do with a rowdy group of five and six year olds? In the teacher�s lounge, huddled together in clumps, the small group of faculty gleefully predicted her demise. This was a woman used to teaching teenagers. Kindergartners would overrun her.

They had never been more wrong. From day one, Ororo had been the head of her classroom. She taught with a passion, with such clarity that it left little room for lack of learning. It was nearly impossible not to catch onto what Ororo was teaching. The small group of students learned their alphabet, as well as the addition and subtraction table with surprising swiftness. She wasn�t the type of teacher who would sit a child in her lap, but she would explain a concept over and over again until it was learned. Her compliments were scarce, but well-deserved when given. Ororo gave her students what few kindergarten teachers gave their children: dignity. Common respect for their intelligence not yet tapped. Other teachers were forced to admit that, despite their personal feelings for her, she was an excellent teacher.

The job had its light moments. Ororo had spent nearly a week trying to explain to Jaffe why he couldn�t marry Gustav, a tiny blond-headed little boy from the Netherlands. Another day, she had stopped Kirsten a little too late during her Show-and-Tell song, the result of only half-listening to her song about a boy with a "foot-long pecker." Ororo spent half of her time with her face buried in her hands, trying to stop hysterical laughter at a child�s wild explanation of the miracle of birth, or the purpose of marriage, or something to that extent. The majority of the time, however, was spent teaching the small students enough to allow them to pass the end-of-the-year exam to allow them into the first grade.

Remy thought she was taking the job too seriously, and after watching her teach for less than ten minutes, wasted no time in telling her so.

"I remember kindergarten," he surmised one day. He was visiting Ororo on her lunch break, and had promptly been deemed "Mr. Ororo" by her kindergarten class. "Scissors, glue-eating, glitter, kisses under t�monkey bars, dat type a�thing. Stormy, you got dese kids learning more dan dey need t�know. Dere too young."

"Remy," Storm had replied wearily, "These are children of parents who pay the school nearly seven thousand dollars to send their children to the academy. If they would like for their children to cut and color, they can send them to the local public school up the street."

"When do dey have fun an� play? Is fun forbidden at Harare Academy, or only in yo� classroom?"

Ororo set her fork down, and stared directly into the red pupils of her husband. "Are you trying to tell me how to teach?"

"No, but �"

"They have an allotted recess; it is not as if I make them skip it, which I have the option of doing. But these children are not going to have a weak foundation. They are going to be bright, successful students, if I have to ram success down their throats."

Remy laughed out loud. "I sure am glad I�m yo� husband, Stormy. I wouldn� be able t�stand you as my teacher."

"I am a good teacher, Remy LeBeau. And do NOT call me that ridiculous name!"

*

"Ororo, are you okay?" Bibiana Nywkau, the elderly seventh grade history teacher, inquired.

Ororo placed her hand to her forehead. "Is it warm in here, Bibi?"

"No, darling, it is only you." Bibi shut her lesson planner and placed her gnarled hands on Ororo�s. "When is your physical?"

"Today, at 2:00." A cholera breakout had occurred in the city of Harare. The summer vacation was forced to start early, and today was the last day of the summer semester. The city, as well as the school, was in a panic. The outbreak was spreading so rapidly that every teacher at Harare Academy was ordered to receive a physical.

Ororo buried her face in her hands � for once, not in laughter, but to try to keep from crying. The epidemic had caused seventeen students to be pulled out of Harare Academy, and three of them had been in her class. And then, just when Ororo didn�t think the epidemic could get any worse, sweet, handsome Jaffe, with his increasing math skills and missing-tooth smile, had died. Remy had spent that particular night rubbing the small of her back while she sobbed unconsolably. She had spent a lot of time on Jaffe�s case, and would do anything to bring him back to tell him how much she had loved him, how much his presence had brightened her entire classroom. Instead, his tiny body was in a box on its way to Johnanesburg, South Africa to be buried.

Now she sat with a sore throat and a dizzy mind. Her stomach churned and her skin was dry. "Bibi, can you please fetch me some water?" she begged. "I do not have the strength to stand."

"Certainly, child." Bibi rose and walked to the cooler.

Without warning, Ororo managed to hurl her body to the side of the table before retching violently. Her body was clutched in pain, and tears formed in her eyes. She heard her name being screamed by various voices, but she was uncounsious before her head hit the floor.

*

"Quarantine!?"

"Mr. LeBeau, please calm down." Bibi stood before the large, disbelieving husband of her friend.

"Dey can� put a man�s wife into quarantine without tellin� �im! What is dis place!?"

"Mr LeBeau!" Bibi places her hands upon her hips. "Your wife has been highly exposed to the cholera virus. The school has to take precautions. She was very sick today; she�s vomiting, she�s running a fever, and her throat is sore - all signs of the cholera virus. To want her with you and not to be checked out is very selfish on your behalf. This isn�t the flu, sir; this is a deadly virus, and Ororo�s life is in danger."

Remy knew the older, wiser woman was right. He took Bibi�s hands into his and squeezed. "I-I�m sorry fo� yellin�," he murmured. "Dis be a shock t�me. She hasn�t been feelin� well for a time�I shoulda known � shoulda tol� her t�see a doctor sooner�"

"Don�t blame yourself, Remy," Bibi squeezed his hands back.

"When will she get out?"

"We don�t know, Mr. LeBeau. We shall see."

"I�I fell so powerless. What can I do?"

Bibi looked into Remy�s eyes. "Pray, Mr. LeBeau. Pray hard."

*

"Adam?" Ororo�s eyes fixed around the first familiar face she had seen in three days. In quarantine, away from her husband and her students, she had never felt lonelier. Painfully, she flitted in and out of sleep, and she had herds of doctors poking and prodding her. Ororo had given constant blood samples, saliva samples, and had been poked in nearly every crevice of her body. And still, no word of whether or not she had the dreaded disease.

"Hello, Ororo." Adam Hartley�s kindly face smiled. "I hope you do not mind me examining you. The government of Harare has requested that every doctor in Harare, practicing, retired, or otherwise, to help in examining virtually everyone in the city. I have examined every man in my ice cream factory, including your husband."

Goddess, Remy! Storm hadn�t seen or spoken to her husband since she day she passed out. "Remy�how is he? Does he know where I am?"

"He�s fine, Ororo. He knows you�re here, and he misses you terribly. As I speak, he is probably in a drunken stupor. He�s worried out of his mind."

Tears formed in Storm�s eyes. "We�we have not spent a night apart since coming here."

"I see." Adam pulled out a thick file with her name on the top. "Well, after extensive study of your blood work and�uh�other things�we have come to the conclusion that you do not have cholera. You are overworked, and highly dehydrated, but otherwise, you are fine." He pulled a pad out of his pocket and began to write. "I am giving you a couple of medications I would like for you to take, and between this and drinking plenty of water, you should be just fine within a week. The prolonged summer vacation will do wonders for you. I know you wanted to teach summer classes at the university, but I strongly suggest you pass for this summer."

Relief flooded through every pore of Ororo�s body. Thank you, Bright Lady, she thought. Once again, you have spared me.

"Now, Ororo, you blood work is still not standard, and forgive me, but I have to ask you a couple of rather serious questions."

Goddess, no! Storm panicked. My DNA and my blood work must reveal that I am a mutant. Remy and I will lose everything � our jobs, the land � Adam will never understand, no one will �

"Mrs. LeBeau, can you remember when was your last menstrual cycle?"

*

"Ororo!" The second the door opened, Remy was up in a flash. The past three days had been terrible without the woman he loved. "I missed you," Remy murmured into his wife�s hair the second she walked through the door.

"So I have heard," Ororo laughed. "Word in the village has it that have become quite the town souse."

"Oh, a man gets drunk one night an� suddenly he an alcoholic," he replied, but his eyes were shining. "Remy won�t lie, chere � I missed you like crazy. Couldn� eat or sleep."

"I missed you too, Remy," Ororo replied, and met her lips to kiss for the first time in three long days.

"So what did the doc tell you?" Remy questioned as he walked his wife to the waterfall that overlooked their newly built house. "You can�t have cholera; you wouldn� be here if you did."

"No, I do not have cholera. I am overworked, dehydrated, and from Adam�s calculations, five weeks pregnant."

"Well, dat�s good. I guess I�ll have ta buy you lots of water so �" Remy stopped in his tracks. "Five weeks pregnant!?"

"Yes."

"How t�hell did dis happen?"

"How does it happen, Remy, all over the world?" Ororo looked into his eyes, wide open and slightly glazed over. "You are not happy, I see."

"I � I, no, Stormy, it�s not dat, I �" Remy shook his head slowly. "We � oh, hell, Stormy, I can� be anyone�s daddy, I-I won� make a good father�"

"You will make a great father!" Ororo threw her arms around her husband. "Remy, you will be the best father. I am not worried about it, why are you?"

"Ro, I never had a father figure. I don� know a t�ing about bring a father to anyone. I�I want t�be a good father, not like mine."

"Do you believe parenthood comes with a manual?" Ororo laughed. "I lost both of my parents at a young age, but I am confident that I will make a decent mother, and I have faith that you will be an outstanding father."

"What will I teach our child, Ro? How to be a model t�ief? How to rob houses without getting� caught?"

"Well," Ororo giggled, "at least she will have a skill, Remy. I will teach her to pick pockets, and we both have skills in martial arts and small weaponry. Should you and I ever die, she will certainly have survival skills."

"DON� SAY DAT!" Remy whirled around, his eyes flashing red as rubies. "How could you joke like dat? I could never live without you, haven� lived without you fo� nearly a decade, so don� t�ink you gonna jus� up an� die on me an� leave me alone!"

"Remy!" Ororo was startled by such an outburst. " I have no intention of dying anytime soon, or leaving you for that matter." Storm pulled her husband to her chest and gazed into his panicking eyes. "Remy, I cannot promise the future, and I could die any day. That is life. But I will never, ever leave you, not without a very legitimate reason."

"Won� be no reason," the Cajun replied stubbornly, and kissed his wife�s brow.

"Remy," Ororo whispered, "You will teach our child the most important aspects of life; the things you are best at. Compassion for others. The importance of hard work. The value of a dollar. Do you realize that because of you, our child will not be lazy, or intolerant of others? He will look at his father and see an example of a good person, and he will follow suit."

Tears formed in Remy�s eyes, and he took a deep breath before continuing. "I am happy, Ro," he declared as he let his tears fall. " I�m happy wit� you, dis place, my marriage, our house, �everyt�ing. I am blessed."

Ororo kissed the tears off her husband�s face. He pulled her closer to him, tasting her sweet lips now that the fear of cholera was gone. Happy, loved, full of relief, lust, romance�he pulled the straps of Ororo�s shoulders, allowing her sundress to fall around her waist. Looking into her eyes, he slowly unhooked her bra and knelt to his her stomach, the dwelling place of his future son or daughter. Pulling the dress to the ground, he expected to see a light green thong to match her dress � Storm had a habit of dressing in the same color from the skin out.

But�noting but skin.

For a minute, he brushed his lips across her navel, over and over again. Wordlessly he allowed his tongue to trace the path from her navel to between her thighs, his tongue roaming freely until he heard Ororo moan softly and join him on the ground. She reached out and took his face in her hands, tracing the contours of his face over and over. "I hope our child takes your nose and lips, " she murmured.

"I hope she takes yo� eyes."

"I want her to have your smile."

"She should have yo� skin color."

Remy encircled his wife�s waist and lay on the ground, causing Ororo to sit on his stomach cross-legged. She tilted her head downward, causing her shimmering white hair to fall around Remy�s face. She sat, coffee-colored and bare-breasted in Remy�s view. I married a goddess, Remy thought while staring at the breathtaking view. What did I ever do to deserve to marry a living, breathing goddess and have her bear my children? he wondered as his hands traveled over her breasts and stomach.

"Remy?" A voice cut into his thoughts.

"Yes, chere?"

"Thank you," his wife whispered.

"For what?" Remy was bewildered.

"For loving me," Storm replied softly. "For giving me another reason to live, other than being an X-Man. For giving me hope. For giving me your child to bear. Thank you�for just being you, and no one else."

"I love you, God, mon amie, je vous aime donc beaucoup d'il m'effraie."

She leaned her body forward and kissed Remy on the lips, then whispered in his ear, "Do not be afraid of my love, ever." A gleam sparked in her sky-blue eyes as she questioned, "Should we return to the house?"

"Why move?" Remy smiled back. " We can do t�is right here."

TBC