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Brothers and Sisters(1/1) Logan, Ororo [PG] X1

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  • pphillips914
    Title: Brothers and Sisters Author: Pat Phillips Summary: Voluntarily, and of his own free will, a misguided young man makes the decision to give up a life of
    Message 1 of 1 , Sep 24, 2003
      Title: Brothers and Sisters

      Author: Pat Phillips

      Summary: Voluntarily, and of his own free
      will, a misguided young man makes the decision
      to give up a life of crime and attend Professor
      Xavier's school. Also a pair of sisters (but
      not to each other) deal with their exasperating

      Rating|warning & pairing|characters:
      Rated PG.
      Ororo and Logan.


      I do not own the characters in this story.
      Instead, they are the property of Marvel Comics.

      As a firm believer in property rights, it's
      only reasonable that I specify that my use of
      these characters should in no way be interpreted
      as a threat to Marvel's ownership of them.

      All of my fan fiction, including this story,
      is a not-for-profit venture. After all, when
      you get down to it, who would pay for this stuff?

      Note that this story assumes that there was
      a significant period of time between the defeat of
      Magneto and the Brotherhood at the Statue of Liberty
      and Logan's leaving to investigate the Alkali Lake
      facility. During that time Jean, Scott, Ororo, and
      Logan conducted missions for the Professor. That
      may not be exactly canon, but it allows for some
      interesting stories.



      Logan and I were sitting in a nondescript rental car parked in one
      of the poorer parts of city. He was sipping from a Styrofoam cup of
      coffee and reading the local newspaper. Glancing towards him, I
      could see a headline that read: "MUTANT CRIMEWAVE ROCKS CITY".

      Logan was making me drive. Allow me to confess that I may be called
      a goddess by some, but I am not a very good driver. I came to the
      skill much later in life than the typical American or Canadian. I
      asked that Logan do the driving when we left for Boston. His
      response was utterly typical of the man.

      "Nope," he said, and then he got into the passenger seat.

      Yes, I had to learn. Yes, I keep putting it off. Yes, everyone
      else lets me get away with that. Yes, someone had to put their foot
      down and make me do it. And, yes, Logan was supplying the
      necessary foot. But there are still times when I want to land a
      tornado on that man's head.

      I drove.

      We spent most of the morning tracking down leads developed
      telepathically by Professor Xavier. Jean was still recovering from
      injuries received on a previous mission and wasn't available for
      telepathic backup.

      Logan suddenly set down his coffee and folded his paper. The car
      window on his side was open. Closing his eyes, he took a long,
      deep, sniff. Then he gave me that hunter's smile that meant success.

      "He's here, Ororo."

      We got out of the car. Logan led the way as we approached a nearby
      building. He pushed open the door and we entered a dark hallway.
      Somewhere ahead of us, music steadily pulsed. We paid a rather
      large cover charge for access and walked through a gated door. The
      business was an establishment commonly called a "gentleman's club".

      Inside, Logan examined his surroundings with some interest. The
      only obviously remarkable feature of the club was that it was filled
      with scantily clad, partially clad, and just plain unclad women.

      "The mission," I reminded Logan pointedly.

      "Oh. Yeah."

      Logan moved deeper into the building. I sat at the bar, keeping an
      eye on the front door. Almost immediately, a stunning young woman
      introduced herself to me as Bambi. I found the name a bit amusing --
      I knew the young lady under a more traditional name. She welcomed
      me to the club and bought me a drink.

      A few minutes passed in pleasant conversation. Bambi was an
      energetic, enthusiastic, and very pretty girl of about twenty. She
      had curly brown hair, startlingly blue eyes, and a very athletic
      body barely covered by an extremely brief bikini. Our conversation
      drifted to the usual topics. We talked a bit about her job -- which
      was a very peculiar way to make a living, we both agreed. She was
      going to enroll in school next semester, hoping to get a business
      degree. We had several students back at Westchester with similar
      interests. I told Bambi what I knew about the various such programs.

      There was a screamed curse and a loud crash from the back of the
      building. Everyone, including the dancers on stage, froze and
      turned their heads to look.

      I patted Bambi's hand, "Stay calm. Nothing is wrong."

      She glanced at me with worried eyes. Everyone else was still
      craning their necks to see what was happening.

      Logan came walking by. He reminded me of a street-mime. His entire
      body language suggested that he had someone by the hair or some
      other body part and was dragging them along with him. However,
      where the other person should have been, there was nothing to be
      seen. On the other hand, the empty air next to Logan was emitting a
      loud stream of curses and threats.

      "Got 'em," Logan said calmly.

      I slid off the barstool. Logan exited the club, still appearing to
      be dragging someone with him. A bouncer approached, obviously not
      sure what to do, but feeling that his job required him to do

      I removed a hundred dollar bill from my pocket and handed it to the
      man. He took it, obviously still confused.

      "Please accept our apologies. That's for any damages," I said.

      He glanced at the bill. Then he looked at me and shrugged.

      "Goodbye, Bambi," I said. Frankly, I was regretting having to end
      our little talk. She was an excellent conversationalist.

      Bambi gave me a hug. That was a bit startling. Or maybe it wasn't.

      By the time I caught up to Logan, he was slamming shut the trunk of
      the car. From inside, someone was pounding and screaming.

      "What now?" he asked me.

      "Someplace quiet. We need to have it out with our 'Mutant
      Crimewave' here."

      As we got into the car -- Logan pointedly getting into the passenger
      seat -- he said, "So did you have an interesting talk?"

      "Yes. Bambi is a remarkable young lady."

      "Bambi? Well, whatever she wants to call herself. You know, she's
      quite a looker."

      "Yes, she is, isn't she? Very intelligent, too."

      He nodded, "Yeah, I've noticed over the years that the best
      strippers are usually really bright gals."

      We drove some distance out of town. After, parking the vehicle
      behind an abandoned gas station, Logan opened the trunk.
      Immediately, something smashed between Logan and I, trying to claw
      past us. Our prisoner was still invisible. He was lunging out of
      the trunk and trying to worm his way between Logan and I so he could
      break away.

      There was a dull thud that made me wince. Suddenly, a very young
      man -- actually, a boy -- was lying on the cracked concrete. He was
      curled around his stomach and trying not to retch.

      "Don't do that again," rumbled Logan as he rubbed his knuckles. He
      was putting on what Jubilation likes to call his, "full-frontal, one
      hundred percent, pedal-to-the-metal, total badass act". Actually, I
      agreed with that decision. Intimidating the boy into cooperation
      would be much better than beating him into submission.

      The boy nodded weakly and waved a hand in surrender. I crouched and
      helped him to sit up, leaning him back against the car. He was
      small for his age -- which I knew to be fifteen. An intelligent,
      stubborn face was topped by unkept brown hair. Blue eyes that were
      the most striking feature of his face smoldered in anger. His
      clothes had the kind of shabbiness that suggested poverty, not

      I noted to myself that he could apparently turn his clothes
      invisible as well as his actual body. That suggested the ability to
      project invisibility -- which in turn indicated that he had the
      potential to be a very strong mutant.

      "Kid, you aren't old enough to be hanging around strip-joints,"
      Logan growled. Catching the subtle tone in his words, I glanced at
      Logan with a slight smile. The Wolverine. The most dangerous hand-
      to-hand fighter on the planet. A man torn apart and put together
      again by people who treated other human beings like lab specimens.
      And now he was trying to hide that fact that he felt bad about
      striking a boy.

      You don't fool me, Logan.

      Logan ignored my knowing smile. He's good at that.

      "Your name is Jim Flanagan," I said softly to the boy.

      After a brief hesitation, he nodded.

      "Your mother and sister are very worried about you," I continued.

      He looked away.

      "I know you've got a voice, kid. I heard it back in the club when
      you were cussin' me out," said Logan.

      "I'm not going home," he said defiantly.

      "You're right. You're not," I said as I stood up, helping Jim to
      his feet.

      "I'm not?" he said in surprise.

      "You got two choices, kid," said Logan, "Jail or school."

      The boy's face hardened and he spat out a curse. Logan sighed and
      took a half step forward. The blood drained from the boy's face and
      he flinched backwards.

      "What kind of school?" he asked quickly.

      Logan shrugged, "It's a private school, a fancy sort of place, in
      New York State. There's a bunch of boys and girls of all ages --
      some older than you, some younger. They make you study your tail
      off. But everyone there is a mutant like you. So they'll help you
      learn about your powers. Oh -- and you'll have to work part-time to
      pay back all of the people that you've ripped off."

      "Screw that," snarled Jim. "I work for myself. And I know all
      about my powers. And that school sounds like it's filled with a
      bunch of geeks!"

      Logan hid his smile rather well, I thought.

      "They have nicer shower facilities at the school than in your
      typical state pen," continued Logan. "And you don't have to share
      them with five or ten older guys who are six inches taller and a
      hundred pounds bigger than you."

      Jim wasn't a very large boy, even for his age. He gulped visibly.

      "Time to make your choice," I said.

      "Look, you don't understand," Jim said with more than a little
      desperation in his voice, "I've got to stay here. I've got to take
      care of Mom and Jenny."

      "Your mother and sister always return the stolen money that you give
      them," I said.

      "What?! Dammit! Jenny was supposed to go to college with that
      money!" Jim shouted, throwing his hands up in disgust.

      "Language, kid," said Logan mildly.

      Logan ignored my stare. He's good at that.

      "And Jenny was the one who told us where we could find you," I
      continued. She also provided the t-shirt that had Jim's scent on
      it. Logan needed that to find and capture our one-boy 'Mutant

      "She didn't!"

      "She did," I said. "Your mother and sister are both utterly
      terrified that you'll eventually make a mistake and get shot by a
      police officer."

      His shoulders slumped. "She gave me up. I can't believe my own
      sister gave me up."

      "She saved your skinny butt, kid," said Logan irritably. "And she
      was crying when she begged us to find you. Your mom, too. That's a
      great job of taking care of them that you're doing."

      That hit our young man rather hard, I thought. Logan is really
      excellent when it comes to dealing with this sort of youngster.

      "I just wanted to get Jenny out..." he began, than he stopped,
      refusing to finish the sentence.

      "Not this way, kid. Your mom and sister don't want you helping them
      this way," said Logan as softly as he could manage.

      "Mom can't afford some fancy school for me," said Jim
      angrily. "Hell, we can't afford community college for Jenny!
      Please let me stay. I'll stop stealing. I'll get a job. I

      "Your fee is taken care of," I replied.

      "And you've stirred up too much of a hornet's nest here in Boston to
      stay," said Logan.

      "And Jenny will start going to college here in Boston next month.
      That fee's been taken care of, too," I continued.

      "Of course, if you don't come with us, then our deal with her is
      off," finished Logan wickedly, sliding in the knife with relish.

      That last part wasn't true, of course. But then again, it wasn't a
      lie. We didn't have a deal involving Jim's sister. Jenny was going
      to school no matter what. She achieved good grades back in high
      school and the Professor knew everything there was to know about the
      scholarship system. But Jenny was very worried about her younger
      brother and had provided us with some really excellent insights in
      how to manipulate him.

      Jim glared at us, not saying anything.

      "If you come with us, kid, your family gets to be proud of you
      instead of ashamed. They stop flinching every time the phone rings -
      - wondering if it's the cops calling to tell them that you're in
      jail or dead. And you get to help your sister. So tell me, what
      does prison get you?"

      Yes. Logan is very, very good with the oh-so-tough youngsters.

      Jim sighed and made the only decision he could, "OK. School."

      "That's the smart decision. But if you get stupid and try running
      on us, then I'll find you and make you hurt." Logan is a firm
      believer in the carrot and the stick.

      "I get the message. When do we go?


      "Why the rush?"

      "Kid, does the phrase 'on the run' mean anything to you?"

      He nodded, "Can I see Mom and Jenny before I go?"

      "Sure. In fact, that was part of the deal they made with us."

      The drive back into town (with me driving -- again) was quiet. It
      was late by the time we got to the Flanagan home. But Mrs. Flanagan
      and Jenny were waiting for us.

      Mrs. Flanagan was a once-beautiful woman to whom time had not been
      kind. She seemed torn for a long moment between slapping her only
      son senseless and hugging him. She finally settled her dilemma by
      taking him in her arms.

      Jenny waited her turn. Frankly, I thought she was more likely to
      choose the "slap him silly" option.

      "When we talked this morning, I never imagined you as a 'Bambi'," I
      said to Jenny with a smile.

      Jenny winced, "It's not smart use your own name when you dance. And
      I've always loved the movie."

      Jim had been sneaking into the club where Jenny was working. He
      would hide money in a gym bag that Jenny-Bambi carried back and
      forth from work. Fortunately for us, Jim was very predictable -- he
      dropped off a plastic bag full of cash every Thursday afternoon.
      Jenny thought the timing probably had something to do with this
      other girl who danced in the club every week at that time.

      "Do you know why Jim was doing this?" I asked her.

      She shook her head in disgusted affection, "That's my little
      brother. He's always looking out for me -- even when I don't need
      it. Actually, I'm telling the boss that this is my last week. My
      tuition is finally covered by those scholarships and we're finally
      ahead on the house payments. Besides, I've got to be hitting the
      library and brushing up. It's been a couple of years since high
      school. So it's time to hang up my G-string and eight-inch pumps."

      Then she glanced at Logan, who was on the phone reporting back to
      the Professor, and said thoughtfully, "Of course, I could unhang
      them for the right man..."

      I changed the subject.

      When her chance came, Jenny did slap Jim -- after he had made the
      mistake of saying something nasty to her about turning him in. Then
      while Jim was standing there rubbing the side of his face and
      mumbling curses, she hugged him very hard. His attempt to look
      offended by the whole thing was rather unconvincing.

      Packing was quick. Jim didn't really have much to take with him. I
      made a mental list of the things we would need to get him at school.

      Jenny helped carry the bags to the car. She said goodbye her fuming
      brother, while their mother watched -- an interesting study in mixed
      emotions -- from the porch.

      "It's been a pleasure," I told her.

      "I'll see you again. We'll visit Jim soon."

      "Don't bother, you traitor!" yelled Jim from inside the car.

      "If you shut up, you get to ride in a seat. If you keep being a
      jerk, there's always the trunk," suggested Logan ominously.

      Jim shut up and sulked. He was the very picture of youth
      discovering that life is unfair.

      Logan nodded at Jenny politely. But that wasn't quite enough for
      her and she snagged his jacket. Pulling him close, she landed a
      long kiss on a surprised, but not uncooperative, Logan. His arms
      curled around her. There was a whispered exchange of words that I
      made no attempt to eavesdrop upon.

      Jenny hugged me just before she headed back to the house. "Brothers
      can be such idiots," she said.

      I looked at Logan. "Yes," I said. "Fortunately they have us
      around to take care of them."

      Logan gave us both an expressive snort.

      We headed for highway. Guess who was driving?

      "Stay away from my sister," growled Jim to Logan.

      "Tell you what, get straight A's in your classes, and I'll consider
      your request," Logan replied.

      Long silence.

      "How about B's and better?"

      "Jenny told me that she does a fantastic lap-dance."

      "OK! OK! Straight A's!"

      Logan ignored my laughter. He's good at that.
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