I attempted Rogue/Jean ( "Of Cakes and Longing" ) and now I try Storm/Rogue. Femslash. This is Storm's thoughts on Rogue not loving her but rather loving Jean instead. Rogue is of consensual age in this fic. Jean is back, Rogue wants Jean.

Turbulent

There are few things constant in this world. One is love, for you will always fall inevitably for someone, and the other is weather, change as it will, it always occurs.

And storms? I'm familiar with storms. By the Goddess, I am familiar with storms.

I can't capture her heart. I can't bring Rogue, the poor abandoned one to me. It's a curiousity I can't understand, because I'm schooled in a variety of sciences and arts, but can't master love. And isn't that the greatest science of all?

Rogue is peculiar. Not in her talents or story, though. She came to us much as the others have. She ran away from a society that shunned her. Although the others around me, Jean and Logan, have suffered at the hands of foolish humans, I've never felt a connection.

But there is a girl who walks in amongst the shadows that keeps me riveted to her. She is a waif child, yet a woman, and I'm beguiled. After learning of her power I found myself watching her closer. I've noticed there is a silence to Rogue at most times, but she looks to me with a sort of question in her eyes. I don't know the answer. I wish I did.

The first time Rogue and I really communicated she was drawn up alone in the commons room and I heard the notes of a song emitting from her sweatshirt. I asked her what the song was and she replied, "I'm Only Happy When it Rains". Happy to oblige, I created a gentle rainful inside. We were the only two there and I didn't see any harm - we don't keep anything particular valuable in there. Rogue giggled.

I was a bit astonished, for Rogue never really showed much emotion - positive emotion, that is. Oysters are fragile creatures of the sea, for when they ingest sand, sometimes it hardens and forms something precious. Rogue has been roughened by the hands of those that can not comprehend us. She is an oyster that bears a pearl.

She stopped laughing when she saw my reaction. "I didn't mean it literally, Ororo," she breathed. Rogue had never previously used my name before and I stopped the rain abruptly.

"You called me Ororo," I replied. She nodded, tucking the long sleeves of her clothing close to her chest.

"That is your name, right? I've heard the Professor call you by it," Rogue asked. "But that was a really pretty rain," she added. "Your talents are amazing."

A thought came to me, a gift I could give this fragile creature that we've seen mature amongst strife. I took off her glove, and laid her hand softly to my cheek for a fraction of a minute. She pulled it away quickly, astonished at my brevity. I stroked her hair in response. "Because I am so strong, because I am so seasoned with this power, giving it to you won't hurt me at all," I told her, dropping the lone glove in her lap.

"And now you hold it for awhile," I whispered, leaving to retire to my room for the evening. She watched me go and as I left, Jean walked in. I turned and gazed back at Rogue, as tiny drops of rain begin to fall, causing a light mist on her cheeks. Her eyes shone as the rain continued and Jean sat beside Rogue, pulling a novel from the nearby bookcase.

However touching our encounter was, and however entranced Rogue was with my gift, she still beholds Jean as if she was a jewel. I see her eyes follow Jean's path every place we go, even as Bobby tugs at Rogue's shirt. Jean doesn't notice it, and idly tangles with Scott, lost in the myriad that is this mutant life we lead.

"This woman child who walks in shadow has no love for a goddess," I mutter as she runs to join Jean on yet another outing. Jean regards Rogue as if she were still a child, and not the wisened girl she has become. She obliges Rogue's whims, lets her fly the jet, teaches her the harnassing of her powers. To Rogue, Jean is love, Jean is the epitome of a goddess. But I am regarded as a teacher, one who taught her lessons. Oh Goddess, there are so many lessons she has yet to learn.

I tell myself this every day Rogue ignores my advances, my offerings of love to her. She has never called me Ororo again, but to hear her speak my name is truly enough. Rogue like the tide will wane if I am patient, but until then the weather fluctuates with my emotions and as each day goes by, a storm brews over the horizon.