Disclaimer: I do not own any of the X-Men, David or N’Dere Monroe. Rafe Wallace, his family, and the Bennett family belong to me.
WHERE THE HEART IS
"This is ridiculous! We are just going to be having dinner."
"And if I am not mistaken, and I am not, this will be your first time going out since acquiring your injuries."
"I have been out."
"Walking the grounds does not count. Now, you will be using that cane. I have already left instructions with Rafe to make certain that you do so."
"Henry, I no longer need it!"
Cecilia interjected.
"You may feel better Ororo, but we are your doctors and we say you’re using it. The extent of your injur— Sam?"
"Yes’m?"
"What are you doing?"
"Tryin’ ta cut these here waffles." Cannonball had stuck a fork into the end of his cast and was trying to use it to steady the waffles as he cut with his left hand. His arm should have all ready been healed but an unexpected slip on the polished hardwood stairs had set him back. He was then forced to listen to Hank’s lecture about the dangers of running in socks, as his arm was being re-set.
"Gimmie thaaaaat!" Rogue snatched the knife and fork from Sam and cut for him.
It had been five months since the incident with Sabretooth, six months since the night Storm and Rafe had met. He was planning to take her out to dinner to celebrate the latter. It was morning and Rafe had just called to confirm, and the two doctors had sprung into action.
"And if I refuse?" Storm asked, getting back to the previous conversation.
"Then Rafe has agreed to carry you over his shoulder in a most unflattering manor for the duration of the evening."
"He would not dare."
Hank raised an eyebrow.
Ororo huffed annoyingly then spun on her heal and left the kitchen.
"Hank?" Bobby asked stealing a piece of bacon from Sam. "How long do ya think Storm’s gonna put up with these rules?"
An extremely loud bolt of thunder outside prevented Hank from answering.
"I suggest you start wearin’ rubber pants buddy."
* * * * *
"All right, Rafe. Out with it."
"Out with what?" He took a sip of his wine.
"With whatever it is you are trying to hide from me. I know your face too well."
He smiled. "That you do, love. That you do." He dabbed his mouth with the napkin, then pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket.
He paused, holding the paper in both hands, looking at it.
"I wasn’t hiding this. I was just trying to decide when—how to show it to you. At first I thought this would be a good thing, but now, I’m afraid you might get mad at me."
"Why? What is that?"
"I—um. . . And this is where your possible anger would come in. I hope you don’t mind. . . but, I went and did some background checking on you."
"What!?! Rafe why would you do that? I have told you everything about myse--"
"Wait, wait, wait! That came out wrong. It was your parents I did the research on—and before you say anything else, please, hear me out first!"
Storm closed her mouth, halting her comments, sat back and agreed to listen.
"These last six months have been the happiest in my life. Even when you were injured, just being around you gave me such a sense of joy and peace. I wanted to give you something to show you how much I care. I wanted to do something. The only thing I could think of that you didn’t have was answers. You loved your parents, but I get the feeling, you really didn’t know them. I mean, you were only with them for six years, and how many of those could you remember?"
Ororo let her eyes drift into space. He was right, she knew very little about David and N’Dere Monroe.
"Your dad was a big time photographer in high demand. He had to have had some contacts, someone who knew him who was still around."
Rafe handed the piece of paper to her.
"My research led me to him: Priece Bennett." Storm opened the piece of paper to the face and profile of an older man with graying hair.
"Priece was your father’s roommate in college, and according to my sources, he and your father were best friends right up until the three of you left for Cairo."
Storm looked deeply into Rafe’s eyes; her hands were beginning to shake slightly. She was beginning to understand.
"Arashi, he still lives in New York!"
* * * * *
"Goddess, what am I doing?" Storm muttered under her breath. It was three days after, Rafe had given her the gift, a Saturday. The couple was standing on the sidewalk in front of a large Brownstone.
"You don’t have to do this now, you know. Maybe it’s too soon?"
"No. No, I need to do this now, or I shall loose my nerve."
He escorted her up the front steps and she rang the bell. As they waited, she closed her eyes and gave a silent prayer.
The gentleman in the photograph opened the door and smiled kindly.
"Hello, may I help you?"
"Hello. Mr. Bennett?" Ororo asked cautiously.
"Yes."
"I understand, that you were a close friend of a man by the name of David Monroe."
Mr. Bennett looked at her strangely. "David and his family were killed many years ago. What’s this all about?"
Storm sighed. Rafe took her hand. "Sir, my name is Ororo. Ororo Monroe. David Monroe was my father."
The look of confusion quickly turned to anger. "I don’t know what kind of sick joke this is, or what kind of scam you people are up to but--"
"Priece? Who is it?" A woman joined Mr. Bennett at the door. "My god. . ."
"Ma’am?"
"I’m sorry for staring young lady, but you look exactly like--"
"Marlene, go back inside. These people were just leaving." He went to close the door. Storm stuck her cane in the way and cast a quick glance at Rafe, which said ‘Not one word to Hank’.
"Wait, please! Mrs. Bennett? Whom do I remind you of?"
Mrs. Bennett stepped in front of her husband and re-opened the door. "Your face, you look exactly like an old friend of ours. She died many years ago."
"She looks nothing like her."
"Oh, Priece, take these glasses off your head and put them on your face. She’s the mirror image of--"
"N’Dare?"
"Wha—How did you know? Priece, what is going on?"
"This woman claims that she’s Ororo."
"That can’t be. The entire family was killed when--"
"Two military planes collided over Cairo. One landed in the desert, the other in the city. It crashed into the apartment where we were staying and collapsed the entire building onto itself."
The Bennetts stared in stunned silence.
"You could have read that in any newspaper."
"But honey, her hair, and her eyes. . ."
"Could be faked or just a coincidence."
"Priece. . ."
"Priece." Ororo repeated quietly to herself. "Swissy."
"What?" Mr. Bennett’s head whipped around eyes wide. "What did you say?"
"Swissy. My father use to call you Swissy."
"Ro?" Rafe asked.
"I remember you. I could not pronounce your name, being so young. Instead of calling you Uncle Priece, I called you Uncle Peace. My father started calling you Swissy after that, for Switzerland."
". . ."
"Priece. . ." Marlene whispered.
"But. . . it can’t be. How?"
"Well, let’s not leave them to stand out on the stoop all day. Come in, both of you! We can sort this out inside."
* * * * *
". . . and I somehow managed to find my way out of the rubble."
The four people were seated comfortably in the Bennetts living room.
"Oh, you poor dear. What did you do after that?"
"I was chased away by emergency crews. I believe they thought I was simply a street child, who was curious about incident. As I could neither speak nor understand their language at the time, I could not explain to them that I was one of the victims. Some time later, I found myself sitting on the side road, begging for money or food. Some street urchins found me and brought me to their mentor. He taught me how to. . . survive on the streets."
"I can’t even imagine. . . But, how did you get back to the states?"
"When I was around eleven, I left Cairo. I went south to the slopes of Kilimanjaro. I lived quite happily there for many years. Then, a man, an American, by the name of Charles Xavier, found me. He. . . saw a potential in me and offered me a place in his school as a student. I accepted and have been there ever since."
"Charles Xavier. That name sounds familiar."
"He often gives lectures around town on genetics. Sometimes at the university."
"You’ve lived much for someone so young. May I ask why the cane?"
"Oh, this. . ." Storm looked at her support. "I recently had an unfortunate run-in with a wild animal. However, I have nearly recovered. This cane is at my doctor’s instance, not mine."
Marlene was staring at Ororo. "I just can’t get over it. You are the spitting image of your mother. When you were younger, you looked more like your father."
"Did I?"
"Why yes! Here. . ." She stood up and walked to a bookshelf filled with photo albums. On her toes, she pulled down an older looking one from the top. "Yes, this is it." She opened the book and flipped through a few of the paged. "Ah!" Finding what she was looking for, she handed the album to Ororo.
Storm couldn’t breathe. There in front of her was not only her former face, she had not seen for years, but on either side were two faces that for the longest time, had only existed in her memories. Her parents.
She flipped the page. Another family photograph, and on the opposite page a picture of the young Ororo and her mother, seated under a tree. ‘This is Central Park.’ She thought.
The others in the room watched quietly as Ororo, slowly flipped though her past. When she was finished, Ororo looked up and tried to blink away the tears that were forming in her eyes.
"Thank you for showing me this."
"You know, there should be more pictures in the storage locker, shouldn’t there, Priece?"
"David was a photographer."
"Storage locker?"
"Yes. I—we, were the benefactors of your fathers estate, uh, in the event there was no living heir. All of your families belongings are safely locked away."
"You kept them all of this time?"
"Ororo, your father was my best friend—more so. He was like a brother to me. I couldn’t bring myself to sell off his—your things, not so soon after loosing you. Over the years I’ve kept saying, next week, next month, next year. . . But these things were all we had left of David and N’Dere. . . and you. I couldn’t part with them."
"It must have cost you a great deal, to hold these things all these years."
"Nope, we own the facility. It’s a good side business."
Ororo put her face in her hands and lightly massaged her eyes. Rafe placed a hand on her shoulder.
"Are you all right?"
She nodded and dropped her hands. "This is all happening. . . just a little fast."
"I know," Marlene said standing up. "You two will stay for dinner. We can slow things down a bit instead of throwing everything at you at once."
"Oh, we wouldn’t want to impose." Rafe started.
"I insist, there will be nothing more said about it." She left the room.
"She’s setting bear traps by the doors. Once Marlene invites someone to dinner, they stay or die trying to leave."
Ororo smiled. "In that case, we accept."
* * * * *
After a long evening, Storm and Rafe decided it was time to leave, although neither really wanted to. Ororo was enjoying herself for obvious reasons and Rafe enjoyed nothing more than seeing Storm happy. The Bennetts were just as sorry to see them go. For them, it was as if they had their friends, their family back. They had commented that Rafe was quite similar in personality to David, which surprised no one really. There was of course that old saying that women fall in love with men who are like their fathers. Numbers were exchanged and promises made to visit again.
Final good-byes were being said at the door when Priece made an offhand comment.
"Looks like we’ll have to get your name sandblasted of that headstone." He said with a slight chuckle.
"Headstone?"
"My god, Priece, she doesn’t know!"
"That’s right… she wouldn’t!"
"Know what?"
"Ororo dear, you parents. . . after Priece flew to Cairo to identify them—"
"I brought them back with me. They’re buried here."
"What!?!"
"They’re only a couple of miles away."