Driven Mad (Book 1 in the MAD Series)(An Avengers Fan Fiction)

Ororo Munroe

Ororo crawled into bed, burying herself beneath the covers. She was too shaken for sleep but too tired to stay awake. T'Challa crawled into the bed beside her, turning onto his side to see her. She stared back at him, still somewhat shaken. Every time she closed her eyes she could see Harley lying dead on the floor. T'Challa and Ororo had been moved into another room, the two too afraid to stay in that room. It was too dangerous. And Ororo knew that she'd never be able to forget waking up to find Harley on the floor. She knew from the note that the girl had been working with the enemy, but nobody ever deserved to die that way. It was so heartless...

Ororo buried her face into her husband's bare chest, horrified. T'Challa ran his fingers through her long white hair, trying to sooth her. He whispered soothing words to her, protecting her. She trembled in his arms, longing for his protection. The enemy was there in the Helicarrier, and nobody knew who he was. What did mean that she was almost as beautiful as her "friend?" Who did he have under his spell? She couldn't help but think about it. She couldn't stop thinking about it. She needed to know and she needed to put an end to all this madness.

The madness was taking a toll on Ororo. She couldn't handle it so well. Adding to the stress, she had vomited earlier that day and she'd felt nauseous on and off all day. She'd been exhausted all day too. She couldn't help but feel weird. She determined that it was all the madness and all the stress. She was dead tired, but she wasn't about to go to sleep. With a deranged, psychopathic murderer aboard the Helicarrier, there was very little chance that anyone was getting any more sleep until he was put away.

Ororo knew that the man terrorizing the Helicarrier didn't look like a monster, but that was the only way she could possibly picture this man. She expected devil horns and a pointy tail and blood-red skin. She once knew a man like that. He was evil too. He was apart of the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants, one of Magneto's original team. His name had been Azazel, and who knew where he was then. Magneto had joined the X-Men, but Azazel had not. She couldn't help but see Azazel when she tried to imagine the monster that was terrorizing the Avengers.

Ororo tried to piece this man together from what they already knew. He was able to assemble armies from other worlds and, as she'd found out earlier, he was capable of accessing Clint and Natasha's thoughts and induce hallucinations into their minds from miles away. That meant he had some dealings with magic. He must've been handsome if he could get his hands on one of the Avengers. He'd have to be charming. He was certainly a genius if he could do something so huge.

But who was it?

Ororo tried to think of something else. She looked up to T'Challa. He was staring down at her with sympathetic eyes. He had dark skin and the most perfect violet eyes. His dark hair was short and curly. He was tall and muscular and absolutely perfect. She'd written the word MINE on his chest over his heart a few nights earlier. It still remained printed in big letters above his heart. She'd found the same word written over her own heart, written in the same marker. T'Challa must have written it without her knowing.

T'Challa had found his sister aboard the Helicarrier. Ava Ayala, the White Tiger, was the long-lost princess of Wakanda. Ororo had known that she'd existed, but she didn't know the girl very well. Ororo hadn't seen her in so long that she would've never known that White Tiger was the sister of the Black Panther. He'd had to postpone his dinner with her because of Harley's death. Ororo had needed him to stay. Ororo couldn't be alone in a time like that. She couldn't help but feel just a bit guilty for pulling him away from his long-lost sister who he'd never even met. But after seeing Harley on the floor, murdered above and beyond need, Ororo knew that T'Challa needed her as much as she needed him.

Ororo pulled herself up to her husband's lips and pressed her lips into his. He immediately kissed her back, pulling her closer to him. She pulled away after a few moments, too tired to keep kissing him. She was exhausted. She leaned on his chest, closing her drooping eyelids. He wrapped his arm around her, pressing his lips against her forehead. She looked up at him with pleading eyes.