Perfectly Normal

Perfectly Normal Chapter Fifty Six
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A/N Goddess Foxfeather, Queen of Mad Plotbunnies, BUSIEST WOMAN ALIVE
™, Prophetic Muse, Hamster Witch and Uberbeta… *GLOMP of SQUEEE *
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tonight. Morgan: Next up, your request fulfilled. ;)
Readers/Reviewers: Thank you SO much for reading and reviewing as you
can! The next fic will begin soon so it's reader opinion time: want
something "bad guy" centric or "team centric" in terms of POV?


"What?"
"I just think it's not a bad idea…" Storm shrugged eloquently, her
lips barely curving with the faintest of smiles. "It kept us on our
toes."
"It also exposed us to the Friends of Humanity," Logan pointed out
with a bare growl. "We have a fucking Shi'ar in the basement!"
"All by himself? Ambitious," Storm replied dryly as she twisted her
long, silvery hair into a loose knot at the base of her neck. At
Logan's snort, she added, "Things could easily… No, I won't say it."
"The refugees in the med lab have started talking, for the most
part," Logan said abruptly, an obvious change of topic to prevent an
argument. "They all seem to agree the fire was accidental. That
weird looking one doesn't say anything though." He frowned, leaning
against the doorframe of Storm's bedroom and rubbed a steady but tired
hand across his eyes. "Hank says she has some sort of…structural
issue."
Storm raised a brow and sat on the edge of her bed, toeing her
sandals from her feet, she reached for the bottle of lotion on her
nightstand, partially aware of Logan's shifting interest, the subtle
change in his mood that bespoke his always present desire for her.
Smoothing a dollop of the cool mixture on her heels, she sighed. "We
all have structural issues in some form or another, Logan. We're
mutants, as much as the word tastes of ashes in my mouth." She held
up her non-lotiony hand and continued, effectively heading off an
argument. "If you mean the girl who seems entirely red, she seems to
have selected to remain mute due to past trauma. Her skin and hair
are…well, they're sharp."
"Like a diamond," Logan agreed. "Least ways that's how Hank put it."
He cleared his throat gently and took a half step into the room, eyes
hooded in thought. "He thinks maybe they're Morlocks, escaped to the
surface and somehow ended up in the hospital."
"They're not Morlocks," she replied stiffly, her warming mood
suddenly become still as a hot summer day. She did not turn cool
towards him, merely became suspended in the moment. "Evan would not
let them suffer…" She trailed off and returned to applying lotion to
her feet.
Logan took another step towards her, then another, stopping only when
he reached the bed. He did not sit next to her, just gazed down at
her silently for such a long time that she thought maybe he had
forgotten how to speak for the moment. "Ororo…Ro…" he paused again,
this time letting himself settle next to her, his weight making the
mattress dip and creak. "Evan…"
"Brian and Jacob will be leaving at nine," she cut him off, snapping
the lid back onto the lotion bottle. "Right now, they're shooting some
pick ups around the exterior. I am going to go on a bit of a walk to
my greenhouse…" she smiled easily, the expression not reaching her
eyes. "Just to see what's about."
He nodded slowly, his answering smile equally false. "I'd planned on
a bit of a walk myself." They both fell silent for the space of a
second before letting out matching sighs. "Sean isn't going to Boston
after all. Emma called and told him to wait here." He shook his head
slightly, frowning even more deeply.
Storm straightened, sliding her feet into the thin slippers waiting
by the edge of the bed before standing to her full height. "That
doesn't seem right… why would she want him to wait here after having
such a fit about him coming there?"
Logan shrugged, rising to stand with her. "I didn't want to say it
but I can only guess it has to do with Theresa." He was sure to keep
his voice neutral, not wanting to let his true feelings on the matter
seep in. "Magneto and Mystique are hustling around, too. I heard 'em
moving in his study on my way here." He cocked a brow, amusement
coloring his features for just a split second. "Think she's working
her way to the top?"
"Logan," Storm murmured quellingly, "she wouldn't betray Mark like that."
"What?" He started as Storm passed him, a notion suddenly occurring
to him, truly full in it's glory, for the first time. "Wait, are you
saying she and Mark are…together-together? Like…together?"
"Ah, I think you've been spending too much time with teenaged girls.
Your diction is suffering."

Mystique stepped back into the shadows as Logan and Storm walked
past, murmuring amongst themselves, some semi-lover's quarrel in
half-words and sly smiles. "Bugger," she hissed as they rounded the
corner and left her alone. She had run into more obstacles between
the downstairs study and her temporary quarters than she had imagined
possible. Muir Island was not a terribly long trip but the weather
was unpredictable, never truly warm but often bitterly cold and almost
always stormy just off shore, making the coastline treacherous. Moira
MacTaggert had selected the location purposefully. No one reached
Muir Island unless they absolutely had to. And even then, Mystique
reflected, stepping out of the shadows, they may not make it unless
Moira wanted them to make it there. On silent feet, she hurried to
her room, her disguise shifting back to her true form. She was safe
in the hall, she knew. The last of the documentary crew wandered
about outside and she knew anyone remaining indoors knew her true
form, the blue and the shifting and the blaze of red… Almost
everyone, anyway. She slipped into her room and made sure the door
was locked behind her, but she had already been seen.