Chapter Five: Papercut
“Bring her in here. Don’t let go, Wolverine.”
He didn’t think that was physically possible. Thoughts of Rogue and power-tripping mutants had all but fled his brain completely. He half-carried Storm through the lower halls of Xavier’s School, one hand clasping his t-shirt over her bleeding throat. The gashes worsened during the short drive from the train station.
They barely made it out without capture. Thanks to Magneto, the police were on a mutant hunt, especially given a few eyewitnesses. One called down lightning; the other took the damn roof off. Granted, some did say that the white-haired woman tried to get them all to safety, but all the cops heard was “mutant” and “destruction”.
Cyclops stumbled along behind them, Chuck having gone to consult with that supercomputer while Jean patched up his team.
“All right, Cyclops?” Logan called over his shoulder.
“I’m fine. Shit!”
“Scott?” Jean whipped around.
“Stubbed my toe, just work on Storm.”
Logan dutifully carried the semi-conscious weather manipulator to the medical bed, fighting with his own demons. Fear licked at his heart, as though something bad would happen to anyone lying on such a malicious surface. He struggled for a moment, but the coppery scent of Storm’s blood overrode his inhibitions.
“Keep holding the compress,” Jean ordered sharply. She bustled through the room, gathering supplies. “You’re sure he missed the jugular?”
“She’d be dead already if he hadn’t,” Wolverine shot back. He scooped up Ororo’s legs, laid her carefully on the crisp white sheets.
When Jean came to the bedside, she wheeled an instrument cart with her. Logan blinked at the array of equipment, which seemed to mock him as light glinted off the sterile stainless steel. His hand shook slightly against Storm’s neck, stilled when her deep cocoa eyes opened.
“Still with us, ‘Roro?” Jean questioned soothingly. “Turn your head, sweetie. I know it hurts.”
Logan gently grasped that dark chin, exposing the torn flesh for Jean to inspect. The red-haired doctor slowly peeled Logan’s makeshift bandage away, revealing three long gashes that oozed bright crimson. Ororo winced with pain, but remained still.
“This is going to hurt.” Jean explained as she pulled a long cotton swab from her tray and peeled away the sterile packaging. “I’ve got to clean it out. God only knows where Sabertooth’s claws have been.”
At the first touch, Ororo jerked on the bed. Logan made a clicking noise to soothe her, clamping one hand on her chin, the other splaying across her chest to keep her immobile. Jean continued to work with the professionalism of a medical doctor, paying no heed to her friend’s whimpers of pain. Logan had to force himself not to look away, startled by how much this woman’s pain hurt his chest.
“Gotta stay still,” he told her in a low tone. “Jean can’t fix it if you’re floppin’ round like a fish outta water.”
To her credit, Ororo flashed a pained smile at his quip. She nodded once, reaching up to loosen his grip on her chin. Logan relinquished his hold, tilting his head when that caramel-colored hand twitched toward the back of the room.
She hissed with pain while Logan turned. Scott held on to the counter, completely motionless. It looked, Logan thought, as though he refused to move. His blindness made him hazardous in a room filled with breakable objects and harsh chemicals. When Logan looked back to Ororo, there was a plea in her eyes.
“Ok, I gotcha.” He nodded. “I’ll take care of Cyke, darlin’.”
She tossed him another small smile and squeezed his hand before he moved away. Sighing at the internal thought that pretty girls tended to short circuit his brain, Logan took two strides toward Cyclops. The younger man stiffened, as though sensing the personal space invasion.
As gently as he could, Logan took Cyclops’ arm. The man startled slightly, but turned his face toward Logan. Curiosity crossed the mutant’s features, as though he wondered why Wolverine bothered to be nice to him. Logan felt a slight twist of guilt. Scott resembled something of a wounded animal, handicapped by the so-called gift he never asked for. He wondered, for some reason, how long the young man was forced to keep his eyes closed tightly to the world before a reasonable antidote was found. Months? Years? Had the Professor found a way to help him? Was that why he stayed on?
Perhaps, in some way, that old man helped them each with extraordinary gifts, creating a tightly knit family no hardship could tear apart.
“Got some spare shades?” Logan grunted to Cyclops.
“Yeah.” He gestured toward a blank wall, obviously turned around. “They’re in a cleaning case on the counter.”
With a quick glance, Logan located the heavy glass case. He let go of Cyclops’ arm, telling him to hold on for a second. Wolverine jogged to the case, careful to avoid bumping into Jean as he skirted the medical bed. The case was locked, but the release button gave way with one quick push. Logan carefully took a glance at the spare visor and two sets of eyeglasses, somewhat startled when he realized the glass was not glass at all.
Upon closer inspection, he found the refraction of the lenses to be more like quartz. Startled that anyone could make such a compound so smooth and moldable, Logan picked up one set of spectacles by the edge of the earpiece. Careful to not smudge or break them, he carried the eyewear back to Cyclops.
The younger mutant took the glasses with a small, grateful smile. He did not open his eyes until the glass completely covered his eyes, giving the young man freedom to see without consequences. Scott nodded to Wolverine, stiffening his back once more. He hated to be weak, Logan assessed immediately. Hated it more so when he showed that weakness to an enemy or someone he scarcely knew.
“Thanks.”
“No problem.”
Thinking that Cyclops had seen his own weakness cooled some of the animosity from Wolverine’s side of things. Of course, he’d still have to retain the smartass title, but that was more for entertainment than anything.
“How is she?” Cyclops asked as he and Wolverine turned back to the medical bed.
“Fine,” Jean looked up as they approached. “It’ll be sore for a while, but it’s clean and mainly superficial.”
“Good.” Scott smiled to his future wife, then looked down to the girl lying on the bed. “Hey, kid. How’s it hanging?”
“Long and lean,” came the croaky response. “Was anyone else hurt?”
“Nope,” Logan chimed in. “Someone wanted to be the hero.”
Jean caught his gaze and grinned before placing the last strip of bio-tape over her friend’s bandages. She stroked a knuckle over Ororo’s cheek to gain her attention. The darker woman smiled slightly, experimentally turning her head as though gauging the pain.
“Better?” Jean questioned. “I gave you a local so you won’t be woozy.”
At this, Logan looked from one to the other. “She ain’t in fightin’ mode. That yellow-bellied asshole had her by the throat.”
“I’m fine,” Storm tried to interject. “We need to find Rogue.”
At the mention of his charge’s name, Logan pulled up short. In dealing with Storm’s injuries and Scott’s blindness, he’d refused to think of her. Rogue had cried on his shoulder, burdened by a “gift” that made her unable to openly display affection, to feel the comforting touch of someone’s hand on hers without barriers.
His heart twisted painfully at the memory of her tears, how she curled into his chest as though desperately seeking a kindred soul. She didn’t want to leave this haven, but felt forced to because of a stupid accident. He wanted to find her, to ensure she would be all right. Whatever Magneto’s plan was for that young girl, Wolverine refused to simply let him at it. Somehow, he was going to find that maniacal bastard. He would get her back.
I’ll take care of you.
Promise?
The pain in his heart hit somewhere near the soul, or at least where he assumed a soul should reside. He never felt as though one existed for him, but that damn kid brought it out. Made it hurt. He’d promised, damn it, and he wouldn’t break that promise to her, no matter the cost.
Because the pain was so new, so unexpected, Logan fought to turn it back into anger. The rage was better to deal with, familiar and consuming. He couldn’t fight to find the kid if he broke down like a teenager with a broken heart.
Without so much as a backward glance to the others, Logan turned on his heel. His hands were still sticky with Ororo’s dried blood, so he turned that acute pain into anger as well. It boiled and churned inside him, making his vision cloud with crimson. The beast within clawed at his consciousness, begging to be let loose.
As soon as Logan located Magneto, he fully intended on gutting that sick bastard.
~**~
She followed him immediately, silently summoning Charles. When she realized he meant to clean up, she ducked into her room as well. Blood and charred fabric smelled terrible, so Ororo stripped her clothing off and rinsed her arms and chest with a wet cloth. She yanked on a set of trousers and another white top, only because they were handy. Her boots, still in good shape, went back onto her feet and she was out of her bedroom in less than five minutes.
Logan’s door was open and Charles’ wheelchair visible just outside the mutant’s bathroom. Ororo entered quietly, standing opposite Charles as Logan washed his hands and face, dripping her blood into the porcelain basin.
“You said he wanted me.”
“His helmet is designed to withstand mental probing, I couldn’t see what he was after until it was too late.”
Logan grabbed a towel to wipe the water and diluted blood from his face. When he turned, he found her there, pausing to stare at her. She offered a small smile, somehow certain that above it all, he needed to ensure she was fine. His loyalty, even to those he scarcely knew, was overwhelming.
She recalled, no matter how woozy the head injured and rapid blood loss made her, how he’d held the cloth to her throat during the drive. With Scott incapacitated, he drove with one hand like a bat out of hell. He told her to hang on, swearing at Sabertooth, at Magneto, at the giant evil he could not name . Ororo watched the awesome sight of a man on a mission, filled with wrath. But he never let go of her throat, no matter how enraged. He ensured that her blood loss halted, so that Jean could patch her up.
It was faith, she thought now as their eyes met across his dimly-lit bedroom. He had faith in Jean, in everyone. The problem, she realized, was his faith in Charles “ what little their mentor gained “ now shattered at his feet. Yet another disappointment in what Wolverine could remember. How could anyone revitalize that trust?
When Logan yanked his shirt on, Ororo tilted her head curiously. She thought there was a slight tremble to Logan’s hands, a kind of conviction in his stance. What passed between Rogue and Wolverine on that train? Had they forged a new bond before Magneto appeared to take her away? Did the loyalty and faith Logan showed in spades grow between them?
“Where are you going?” Charles asked as Wolverine came toward the door.
“To find her,” he stated with the passion of a knight swearing fealty to a reigning monarch.
“How?” Ororo interrupted.
“The traditional way,” he shot back while yanking his battered coat on. “Look.”
Charles shook his head to Ororo when Logan stomped from the room. She stared at him in shock.
“We can’t just let him go.”
“We have no claim on him,” Charles explained. “The forty-eight hours are up.”
Still surprised, Ororo crossed her arms, hearing Logan’s heavy footfalls as he stomped down the stairs. She drew herself up, setting her jaw.
“So you abandon him?” Ororo glared at her mentor. “He trusted us, all of us, and now that trust is in tatters. Refusing to help him now will only reinforce the principle that everyone who ever reaches out to him will simply back down. How can you allow that?”
“We must concentrate on finding Rogue and stopping whatever plan Magneto has in motion. It is quite obvious that Logan is of no use.”
“How can you possibly say that?” Ororo replied loudly, ignoring the pain in her throat. “NO mutant is useless. He can help us.”
Charles gave her a sad smile. “He can, yes. But I very much doubt he will.”
At that, Ororo turned and rushed from the room. She ran down the stairs, calling Logan’s name so that it echoed in the empty halls. He paid her no mind, striding toward the front door just as she hit the last landing.
“Logan! You can’t do this alone.”
“Well, you’ve all done a bang up job so far.”
Undeterred, she took several steps until they were face to face. His amber eyes glittered with preternatural rage and a fierce devotion. Ororo felt her heart soften, but knew she had to face him down like wolves in the wild to bring him around.
“Then help us!” She demanded. “Fight with us.”
Logan smirked. “Fight with you? Join the team? Be an X-Man? Who the hell do you think you are?”
Ororo stood proudly, her hands balling into fists at her side. He stared her down as though establishing dominance. She refused to be cowed, meeting those over bright eyes with more courage than she’d needed when face-to-face with Sabertooth. Ororo had never let anyone down before and swallowing that proved difficult indeed. She needed to win back Logan’s trust, not only for the X-Men but because he needed one person to exceed his low expectations.
“I’m fighting for something,” she returned stubbornly.
“For what?” Logan reached out, shifting her hair so the bandages glared from her neck. “You think this is acceptable? You’re a mutant. The whole world hates and fears you, but you waste your time trying to protect them? You’re fighting your own kind. This shouldn’t be acceptable, to anyone.”
Ororo shook her head, slapping his hand from where he reached to touch the injured flesh.
“The Civil War pitted brother against brother.” She drew herself up further, letting conviction reflect in her every posture. “It was not pretty or truly acceptable, but it was necessary.”
Logan chuckled; a dark, sinister sound that sent shivers down Ororo’s spine. Never before had she confronted someone so dangerous, so lost in the evils of the world that it destroyed any hint of good. “Ya know, Magneto’s got somethin’ right. There is a war coming.”
He leaned closer, until she could feel the warmth of his breath on her face. “You so sure you’re on the right side?”
At once Ororo set her jaw, churning over his words. “At least I chose a side.” At his startled expression, she continued. “You’d rather hide in the mountains, ignoring the world completely. Do not lecture me on war and ‘our’ kind when you have decided to abandon your own people. At least I fight for something; at least I know where I stand. What do you fight for?”
Logan fell silent, staring at her in an odd mixture of shock and interest.
“Oh,” Ororo spat angrily. “I forgot. You take beatings for money, using your mutation as a means for easy cash. I’m sorry I bothered you. Go. Go back to that life. We will find Rogue. You need not be burdened by our pithy cause any longer.”
The anger came back into his eyes, his stance, with the fury of a tidal wave. He turned sharply, swinging the front door open. Ororo moved to stop him, but took a swift step back when the open door revealed someone standing in the foyer.
“I’m looking for Doctor Jean Grey.”
Ororo peered over Logan’s shoulder. A tall man of middle years stood inches from Logan, leaning heavily on the doorframe. His clothing was matted and dirty, but she immediately recognized the anguished face staring at Wolverine from beneath gray-blonde hair.
“Senator?”
Logan glanced at her over his shoulder, just in time for Senator Kelly to collapse. Wolverine caught the man, bracing his legs and grunting under the sudden weight.
“Get Jean,” Logan demanded. “Somethin’ ain’t right.”
~**~
After they deposited Senator Kelly with the Professor and Jean, Ororo made herself scarce. She fumed and raged as much as she could without detriment to the weather. When she got this way, she tended to stray into the atrium, where her indoor plants gave comfort and solace.
How dare he speak to her that way? What right did that “lone wolf” have to lecture her on sides and “your own” people? She made this decision years ago, knowing the costs. There were innocent lives “ both human and mutant “ hanging in precarious balance. Who but mutants could fight this fight?
Being angry at Wolverine made it easier. She knew there was attraction there and now Scott’s not-so-cryptic warning made a lot more sense. Who was she kidding? They could never tame the Wolverine. He would ever rush off into the wild, to be alone where people dared not tread. He was likely to fade into the shadows; abandon any hope of becoming a part of something. Did he not understand how wonderful it could be? The X-Men and Charles Xavier gave Ororo a home when she believed there could be none.
They brought her from adolescent worship to a thriving and educated adult. Logan had no idea what that meant to someone. If he gave them a chance, without that rock hard cynicism, there might be a place for him here. This could be his home.
Why did she want that for him? It was painfully obvious that he did not want or need this kind of home. She believed in people, in their innate goodness. Humans were no different from mutants, aside from a slight variance in DNA. Each had the capacity for great good and great evil. All that stood between them was fear and misinformation. Ororo firmly believed that one day there would be peace with humans and mutants.
Wolverine had no idea how people could behave. He knew only what fifteen short years of isolation and fear did to someone.
“Storm?”
At hearing his unwelcome voice, Ororo simply kept hovering. She was a few feet off the ground, watering ferns that she cut herself in the greenhouse. They thrived here in the atrium, which constantly filled with sun. The mini-rain cloud in her palm saturated the soil of the pots, bringing home the scent of wet earth and growth.
Scott called her gardening a cheap, convenient therapist.
“Storm.”
“What?”
Her irritated response made him smile and her rain cloud clapped with miniature thunder.
“That’s a cute trick,” Logan said conversationally. “Thought you only worked outdoors.”
In response, Ororo turned, showing off her little storm. The warm updraft she kept below made her bob and dip in the air without disturbing the rest of the house.
“I can bring the elements anywhere I am,” she replied coolly. “It merely takes concentration and will.”
“Huh,” he grunted, leaning on the doorjamb with his thumbs hooked in denim belt loops. “Can I ask you somethin’?”
Ororo turned back to her plants, continuing to water them methodically. “You just did.”
“Smart ass,” he grumbled. She smiled, hiding it with her turned back.
“I think you should answer a question of mine,” she replied. Storm turned the updraft off, landing gracefully on her feet. The tiny rain cloud was dispersed with a negligent flicker of her hand, a stylistic move that Jean absolutely loved.
Her redheaded friend swore it would terrify mere mortals for it was such a show of control. Ororo studied Logan’s reaction, not startled to find his eyes widen in appreciation. Marking that as a score in her favor, she walked toward him slowly.
“What do you remember?” She questioned softly. “What is so terrible that everyone you meet is an immediate enemy?”
For a moment, she thought he might not answer. In fact, she distinctly caught the expression of a man set to rage and run. It cut close to the bone, she thought with a pang of sympathy. Someone destroyed him, then simply forgot he existed. How could anyone dispose of a life without caution or regret?
“I don’t remember much,” he answered as though the very words caused acute pain. “I remember waking up. It was cold.”
She stepped closer, no matter how he stiffened as though to warn her away. Ororo did not fear him, so she took another step and then another, even as his pain-filled voice drifted into the quiet room.
“I was somewhere in the cold, lyin’ naked in the snow.” Logan paused, tilting his head as though trying to piece together a memory from puzzle blocks. “I had blood on my hands. I was hurtin’, a pain so deep, I didn’t think I could live through it.”
Storm reached for him, her heart aching. His hand drifted up from the belt loop, taking hers the instant the distance between closed. She took a few final steps, standing so close she could smell the sweat and soap on his skin, hear the frantic beat of his heart. His hand trembled slightly, everything pointing to signs of a panic attack.
Ororo knew those symptoms well.
“My head was spinning.” Wolverine went on in that curiously quiet tone. “I kept screamin’. Didn’t know why. Still don’t, for that matter. Wasn’t nothin’ anywhere near me. Just trees and mountains and snow.”
“Logan…”
“All I had was a pair of dog tags round my neck.” He touched his throat, as though looking for them. “Lost ‘em when you and One-Eye yanked me outta Canada.”
“You remember nothing?” She searched his face, squeezing his hand.
“I found some clothes, started wanderin’ an’ a coupla days later, I remembered a name.”
Ororo smiled. “Logan.”
Wolverine nodded. “Didn’t know what I was, but I knew it wasn’t natural. Kept tryin’ to break the claws, nothin’ worked. Didn’t know what it was called til Jeannie told me.”
Sympathy filled her heart and Ororo fought the urge to gather him in her arms. “No one tried to help you?”
He gave her a slightly patronizing smile. “Darlin’, I’ve been shot just for survivin’ fist fights. Been stabbed for less. Every time someone said they could help me put together my past, they let me down. Everyone wants somethin’ from everybody else.”
“Oh?” She arched a white brow. “What do I want from you?”
Logan seemed to mull over this for a moment, his eyes locked onto hers. There was still pain in those amber eyes, but mingled now with that same attraction and heat that she recalled from their first meeting. It quickened her heart, shorted her breath, made her skin tingle in places she wasn’t sure it could.
“You want me to be a man I can’t be.”
Unable to believe those words left his mouth, Ororo stared. “I want you to be the man you are. But to do that, you have to trust someone.”
“I trust you.”
Startled by the truth she felt in that statement, she could barely breathe. “Logan…”
He gently reached up, his hand lost in the curling white of her hair. He took her by the nape, careful to not disturb the injuries of Sabertooth’s attack. Before Ororo could protest, Logan took her mouth with his, lifting her onto the balls of her feet for better access. Heat spread through Ororo’s veins like a wild fire, exploding here and there until the beautiful burn robbed her of breath.
Logan pulled her chest flush with his before he dropped her hand to catch her under the arms. He lifted and turned until her back hit the doorframe. Ororo brought her legs up so they coiled about his waist, her arms mimicking the pose around his neck. Logan groaned into her mouth, parting her lips with an insistent tongue. She gave into the urging, opening her mouth to allow him unfettered access.
Tongues and teeth clashed in a desperate attempt to get closer. When breath demanded they break apart, she distantly heard Logan’s voice.
“I don’t get it,” he nearly swore. “What is it about you? I can’t stop.”
“Me either,” she panted before feathering his cheeks in innocent kisses. “I can’t understand this.”
“Huh,” he grunted, shifting her against the wall. “Maybe it ain’t for understandin’.”
Ororo chuckled, the sound caught on Logan’s lips when he captured her mouth once more. She smiled into his kiss, rewarded to find him doing the same. She threaded her hands into his hair, letting Logan’ mouth and body continue to fan those fires he kept breaking out all over. Ororo wanted to be dominated and possessed in a way she never felt before. Though frightened by the intensity of emotions, she found herself unable to shy away from them.
“Well,” came an unfamiliar voice from somewhere in the room. “If you two are finished, you might want to come downstairs.”
Ororo and Logan did not break apart immediately. In fact, it was several seconds before either of them even attempted to halt their fervent kiss. When, at last, they tore their mouths apart, Ororo glanced over to find Scott standing in the hall.
“Is something wrong?”
Scott nodded sharply. Ororo did not have to be a telepath to spot the anger on his face. The set to his jaw and tic in his cheek spoke volumes. She refused to apologetically smile or in any way pretend to be embarrassed. She just had the best kiss of her adult life and was not prepared to even feign shame.
“Kelly’s dying.”
Logan dropped Ororo unceremoniously and had she cared at that moment, she might have been irritated. Instead, she silently rushed from the room, leaving Scott and Logan to trail along behind her.
