Like the Sea

by Alestar

"What thing shall I take to witness for thee? What shall I liken to thee? What shall I equal to thee, that I may comfort thee, O daughter of Zion? For thy breach is great like the sea; who can heal thee?" ~ Lamentations, 2:13

* * *

She loved this moment.

She could feel it, the wind rushing miles away, speeding towards her; and when it finally reached her it was swift and elemental and

//brutal//

//like another she knew//

The wind hit her full in the upturned face, and for a moment she couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't

//care//

Could only feel the physical shock, the momentary instinctual panic, drowning out all thoughts of responsibility, of regret, and memories

//of//

//her//

Ororo Munroe hovered over the campus grounds for a moment, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, and then sped swiftly toward the darkening horizon.

* * *

By the time the sun has set, I've drunk almost half my weight in hard whiskey. I pay my tab, almost 60 of the 200 dollars I stole from that couple on the corner of 5th and Hutch. I curse myself as I stumble over one of the stools on my way out, and hope that I've left myself enough presence of mind to find my way back to the tunnels.

The glare of light outside the bar catches me off guard and I stumble back. I'd forgotten how goddamn bright this city was, even at night. I preferred the dark and gloom of the bar where you could sit and drink in a corner for hours, and not be bothered or stared at. That was one of the reasons I'd first gone there, about 13 years ago. Well, I guess in this time stream it would've only been about . . . two . . or three . . . fuck it, I'm too drunk to think.

I glance up at the humming neon sign which reads, "Jacob's Well", and surprise myself by smiling. Well, I don't know who this Jacob guy is, but I like his bar, and I'm glad to know he's doing well.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a lingering glance from a passerby, and I remember where I am and who I am. I throw a wicked smile at my pedestrian before returning once again to the shadows.

I'm not sure when I decided not to return to the tunnels, but as I came to the juncture, I found myself turning onto Madison instead of Main, which is the street I usually take to the subway leading to the tunnels. I made sharp, sudden turns with a sure, purposeful stride, and I'm sure that I looked very much like I had a clear destination; and I think that maybe I did, for here I am now, looking up at a tall, darkened building. The sight of it makes something in my memory tingle, but I can't place it until the cloud cover passes, and the building is flooded with moonlight, and suddenly it all comes back to me.

This is the place. The first time.

With Ororo.

Goddamn it. Why did I come here? Tonight of all nights?

I shake my head in disgust and begin to walk away, but then I hear a faint rustling, a way of passing through air, that I recognize. I turn, slowly, and my gut contracts.

Sweet light. It's her.

She stands, poised, on the rooftop, looking out across the city. The wind, which has suddenly become fiercer, whips her long white hair around her violently; and the moonlight dances around her, shining off her flawless brown skin.

She looks like an angel.

She looks like a goddess.

She looks . . . sad.

Before I know what I'm doing, I'm climbing the fire escape, making no sound and cursing myself all the way. What the hell are you doing? What are you going to say? "Hey, Storm, I just *happened* to be hanging out at the very place that I first held you, on the anniversary of that night, and, no, I don't want to kiss you, and, yes, I wish you and Forge the best of luck!"

That thought gives me pause. Forge. Of course. She's probably just up there mooning over some lovers' quarrel, and I'll be goddamned if I'm gonna comfort her over *him*. I begin my descent off the ladder, when I hear a quiet sob from the roof.

Fuck pride; Ororo's crying.

I'm up the ladder and on the roof in three seconds flat, despite my diminished youth and my not-quite-faded inebriation, but Ororo's facing away from me, toward the city, and she doesn't see me. I watch her for a moment, waiting for her to notice my presence. I study the graceful figure, the toss of that mane, the swell of her hips, and I feel a familiar heat in the pit of my stomach.

Oh please, Cal. This is so fucking not the time for it.

I frown as she remains oblivious to me. It worries me that she's so easily sneaked up on. Thing like that is liable to get someone in our line of work killed. Her line of work, I correct myself. You're too old.

I begin to move forward, softly, but she remains heedless. Finally, with a silent sigh, I give up and clear my throat.

Ororo spins around, and I am immediately enveloped in an icy cocoon of air fifteen feet off the ground. I'm freezing fucking cold, but I smile. That'll teach me to doubt the wind-rider . . .

"What are you doing here?", she asks, and her voice matches the cold air around me.

That snaps me back to attention, and I scramble for a decent answer and an indifferent tone of voice.

"Figure I gotta keep an eye on you, Storm. Who knows whose heart you're likely to rip out next, huh?"

Ororo flinches visibly at that, and I regret it the moment it leaves my mouth.

I try to make amends by hurriedly adding, "Actually, I just saw you standing here, and thought you . . might know . . where to find . ." I grimace, but, dammit, I'm still drunk and I can't think of anybody else, "Colossus!"

Her eyes widen, and she almost looks hurt, but then she looks at me for a long moment in that way she has, and her gaze softens. She lowers me gently to the ground, and even tosses me a warm breeze to take away the former chill.

"You lie terribly, my friend."

I grin at her, and, to her credit, she valiantly attempts to return it, but the most she can produce is a wistful half-smile, almost closer to a grimace. It reminds me of the real reason I'm here. "What about you," I ask softly. "What are you doing here?"

She studies me for a moment, and then turns away, looking out over the city. The violent winds that had been present a moment ago when Ororo had thought herself alone had vanished, and now the air holds an eerie calm. "This place brings back memories, does it not?"

I step beside her and watch her profile, searching for any sign of what might be going on inside that beautiful head of hers. I reply slowly, cautiously, "It's been a long time, Storm. Almost fourteen ye-"

"Two, for me. It has been two years." She sits on the ledge of the building and swings her legs over, letting them dangle in a personal breeze. "But I have visited many times since then. Not often, you understand, but enough."

"Enough?"

"I come here sometimes," she continues, ignoring my question, "when I wish to isolate myself. No other place is like this one, you see. That is what this place is. Completely separate. It belongs only to me; and to-"

I hear what she's implying, what she's really meaning to say; but I'm angry, and I'm desperate to put some distance between us before this spreading warmth in my gut starts calling the shots. "Is that what I am, 'Roro? Your distraction? Some kinda petty rebellion? Whenever you're not in good with the X, you come here and feel naughty? Sorry, babe. I'm not interested in being anybody's token cookie jar."

Ororo's eyes widen. "No, Callisto, that is not what I meant. I-"

She reaches for me, and I duck out of her reach. Sweet Light, that's the last thing I need. I've got to get out of here. I've got to end this now.

"Yeah, I know what you meant. Well, you're gonna hafta find yourself another demon to tempt you, 'cause I'm leavin tomorrow, with or without Sarah." I turn on the last of this, and head back toward the fire escape.

She is silent until I reach the edge of the building and start to swing myself down, and then I hear from behind me a voice so soft that, if not for my enhanced senses, I wouldn't have heard at all.

"please, Callisto . . . do not leave me here . . ."

" . . alone . ."

I stop dead in my tracks, and turn to face her. The sight of her makes my heart seize in my chest. She remains sitting on the precipice of the building, but the arms that had reached out to me for comfort were now wrapped tightly around herself. Like that's the only person she's got left. She looks so small, so . . alone. Oh. No, Ororo, no.

I'm kneeling in front of her before my conscious mind has processed that I've moved at all. My face is mere inches from hers, and my hands are clutching her shoulders, gently shaking her. "Ororo, listen to me. You're not alone. You have the X-Men; you have Kitty, you have . . Forge."

Her eyes remain glazed, and I can see her slipping away, into that place where it's only her, and she'll let no one touch her. Where her problems are hers alone, and they pile on top of her, crushing her, just as that pile of debris has done since she was a little girl in Cairo.

I grab her chin and force her to look at me. "You have me, Windrider. I lied; I'm not going anywhere. I'm not leaving you." I stop, startled, as I realize that what I'm saying is true, not just the empty words of comfort I'd meant to give her. I also realize the dangerous ground I'm on; but her eyes have focused, just a little, and I have to keep going, so I take a deep breath and begin again.

"I'm not leaving you. I can't, not again. What I went through was hell, Ororo. *Fourteen years* without you. I can't do that again. I won't."

My heart is pounding and I need to stop before I say something neither of us will survive hearing but my hand on her chin has moved to her cheek and it's been so long and she's here now and I, I.

It's too hard. It's too hard.

I wrench myself away from her, and I feel the absence of her skin beneath my hand as a physical pain. I move to stand beside her, filling her former stance, looking out over the city. Trying to slow my heartbeat.

I hear Ororo rise, and stand next to me. Please don't push this, Windrider. I don't have anything left to fight with. "Y-you are not going away?", I hear softly.

Shit. When will you learn to keep your mouth shut, Morlock?

I'm careful to keep my eye glued to the horizon as I say, "Not right away. Sarah's still not comfortable aboveground. I'll wait until she gets settled. Then I'll leave."

There is stillness for a moment, as she watches me, for something I don't know what; and then I feel the heat of her as she leans in to whisper into my ear.

"You lie terribly, my friend."

I turn to look at her, and she is dangerously close. Her nearness fills me with the smell of sandalwood. "Ororo, please. Don't do this to me."

But her only answer is a hand on my cheek, and her thumb glides gently over my lips, stroking softly, once, and I am lost.

I make only a small sound, half growl and half sigh, before bringing her mouth to mine in a crushing kiss. I wrap my arms around her and pull her to me hard. I realize I am over-ready for this, and I think about pulling back, going gentle, but I'm already too far gone. And besides, there will be time for gentle later.

This thought manages to break through the haze of lust. You realize that's not true, Cal. Do this if you have to, and, sweet light, you do; but understand that this is it. You can't stay. You can't have her.

I stop what I'm doing and pull back, slightly, enough to see into Ororo's face, and I see her eyes clouded with the same unreasoning passion and slipping thread of control that mine must reflect. Her hair is wild and the wind has picked up, and I hear a crack of thunder in the distance. My lips pull back in a snarl as I feel a surge of something ancient and primal course through me.

Mine.

I bring her back to me with a wrenching tug, and my mouth moves swiftly from her swollen mouth to her throat. She gasps, and I hear more thunder, as I work there, leaving a trail of bite marks. I give myself no time to ponder what primitive urge it is that inspires the need to leave my mark on her, to mark my territory, as her hands begin to stray from their posts on the nape of my neck and the small of my back.

I feel her shift in my embrace, bringing her arms inside the circle of my arms, to light on my stomach. She moves one hand down, wrapping around my hip, and draws us together. She works a leg in-between mine and grinds there. I make a sound that might have been a chuckle if it weren't so completely a groan of pleasure.

Somewhere in my mind it registers that this is too fast, too much, too soon; but now there is lightening all around us, and, from the sounds that Ororo's making, she might get violent if I suggested we slow down. Not that that would be unwelcome.

Taking hold of Ororo's shoulders, I lower her to the ground, cushioning her head with my hand. I hesitate a moment to look, to take her in, the burning eyes, the hair, the parted lips. She regards me as well. What she sees there I don't know, but her hands rise slowly. I think she means to draw me to her, so I lean in, but her hands stop me.

I realize what she means to do when her fingers slide underneath the thin thread that holds my eyepatch in place. I feel the surge of a familiar panic, and I might've drawn back violently, shaken her off, if not for the gentle gaze that holds me in place better than could've any chains or shackles.

My breath comes in short spurts, and my hands are clenched in self-control on either side of Ororo's head. She senses my panic and she reaches out her other hand in a comforting caress on my cheek. She hesitates in her movement, offering me an opportunity to protest. I watch her eyes, filled with concern. Filled with love.

I take a deep breath, will my hands to unclench, and nod.

With her hand, she pulls the patch away, slowly, and draws it up and over my head until it falls, orphaned, onto the hard ground. Only when I feel the absence of her hands on my face do I open my eyes.

Both of them.

For the first time since I was fourteen.

For a moment, long-dormant muscles scream in protest, and then the light pours in in what seems like intolerably bright torrents. It throws me off, so much so that, for that moment, I cannot see out of my other eye, my good eye. Then, my eye settles into a comfortable place, and I am reminded of the time, those first few years, when I lived with this eye, as a whole and yet completely divided person.

I sit up and look around in wonder, remembering the incredible colors that swirl around one-half of my vision. I remember how in love with this I was. I remember . . where it got me.

That thought brings me back, and I look down at Ororo. Her head is cocked, and she is watching me, undoubtedly confused. She says nothing, though, and it occurs to me what else she might be looking at. I turn my head quickly, hiding my mutilated eye in shame.

I can't see her, but I hear her rise. I wait for her to come to me, tell me it's okay, it doesn't matter. Of course that's what she'll say; I mean, if looks were that important to her, she wouldn't be with my anyway, right? So she'll say that, and it'll be true. But there'll always be that look of pity. And it'll kill me.

After a moment, I realize that she's just standing there. I wait, but my curiosity overcomes my embarrassment, and I turn to see Ororo slowly disrobing.

She looks at me with a knowing smile, no trace of pity or anything related to it in her eyes, as she languidly undoes the series of small rope knots holding her garment together. Her hands make sweeping, graceful motions, accentuating the incredible curves of her body. And, by the humored gleam in her eyes, she knows it.

By the time she steps out of the dress pooled at her feet, all thoughts of the eye, or anything else not pertaining to the goddess in front of me, are gone. At the sound of her bracelets falling noisily to the ground, I break into action.

I sweep forward, wrapping my hands tightly around her narrow, naked waist, bringing her tight against me. She finds my mouth quickly and attacks it with all the fervor of her namesake.

Our former tempest of lust reclaims us, and soon Ororo is tearing at my clothes, and I am no impediment. I want to be against her, pressing hot skin against hot sandalwood skin; and when we touch, it is no less than those dreams that kept me for all these fourteen years.

I lay her against the ground, breaking as little of our fevered contact as possible, including that of our mouths.

Only when her hands begin to migrate, toward the junction of my legs, do I sense her impatience. I move my mouth down to her neck, my tongue passing over the grooves left by over-eager teeth a few moments ago, and down further across the incredible cinnamon brown expanse, to a dark nipple. Ororo cries out, her back bowing. Her legs move, wrap around me, and I am hit with an electric shock of lust.

"Sweet light, Ororo . . "

I look into her eyes, and I see the same need that I feel hammering away at my gut. This can't wait.

I move myself, bringing one leg overtop of Ororo's, making use of my X-Man's incredible flexibility, and position myself. Then, slowly, I bring my heat against Ororo's incredible ever-burning flame. With a choked moan, my eyes screw shut; and I hold myself absolutely still, savoring.

Ah.

Light.

Then I begin to move, slowly at first, to the precious gleam of friction, and my lover's short, panty breaths. My mouth lowers once again to reclaim her breast, and another almost-pained sound vibrates beneath my lips.

My body begins to move quicker, almost of its own volition; though it is greatly encouraged by the firm, erratic hands that cling to its hips, demanding, setting a rhythm. I bite my lip till I feel the rush of iron to keep from increasing it, pounding her into the concrete of the roof beneath us, scraping her raw. I avoid the thought that she would most likely appreciate that, because that would undoubtedly send me over the edge.

A fate which seems to have found me anyway. My lover is clinging to my arms, which are rigid, propping my up above her, as she rises up to meet me. I close my eyes.

// She loved this moment. //

I throw my head back as I growl hoarsely.

// She could feel it, the wind rushing miles away, speeding towards her //

And my eyes open for one final moment to meet the beautiful wild blue of Ororo's before my world explodes into light; and the keening cry of my beautiful bucking goddess is a song in my ear for all eternity.

When I come back to myself, the colors swirl together and then meld themselves into recognizable objects, at least in one-half of my vision, and I find myself draped heavily against the softly breathing warmth of my lover. She is stroking my hair. I wait for a moment for solidity to come back to my limbs, then I prop myself up, and gaze down into the sated, half-lidded eyes.

"Not bad, considering I'm fourteen years rusty, huh?"

Ororo laughs huskily as she shakes her head.

"Can you not once endure a romantic moment?"

"'Fraid not, Windrider. I have a reputation t'think of, you know."

A long-suffering sigh.

"To hell with your reputation, Callisto. Shut up, and come here."

Laughter rings through the empty night air, and I lower myself back down to her, burrowing into her neck, and loosing myself in the smell of cinnamon, sandalwood, and a lifetime of dreams.

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