The man with the dark hair and the brooding eyes.
He was seated, not two feet from her bed, reading.
Her fingers twitched on the coverlet, and that small motion was enough to catch his undivided attention.
“Hey.” He stood, setting aside the motorcycle magazine he had been flipping through.
“Hello.” She coughed as she struggled to sit up.
Strong hands helped her right herself. “Easy, there.” They were warm. They made her feel safe. It was disconcerting as hell to not remember the man in front of her, yet feel so secure in his company.
She settled back against the pillows, regarding her conundrum through the veil of her lashes. He wasn’t exactly what a person would call handsome, she thought. His hair, dark as midnight, stuck out haphazardly around his head in tufts and along the strong line of his jaw. His mouth, with a full bottom lip that bordered on sensual, was saved from that soft description by being pressed into a hard line, slanted slightly, giving the impression that he found some acerbic humor in probably everything. Broad nose, prominent chin, heavy brows. All in all he was rather average. Until she looked into his eyes. His eyes pulled her in. The color of the sky just before rain, they reflected an ageless soul. By appearance she wouldn’t have put him over his early thirties, yet the glint of his eyes aged him far more than that.
She let her gaze travel down, across his thick neck, over his broad shoulders, pausing at the wide expanse of his chest. Was that the same shirt she had seen him in earlier? She turned her head, glancing about her unfamiliar surroundings. Light filtered through drawn drapes, small strips of sunlight that spread across the bedspread in odd geometric lines. The angle told her it was well past morning.
She returned her gaze to the man beside her bed…Logan was his name, she recalled and frowned pensively. “Have you been here all this time?”
Logan shrugged indifferently, but she sense he was ruffled”perhaps even embarrassed”byt the question. “More or less.” He motioned to a small bedside tray. “Jeannie brought ya some water and crackers.”
She stared at the plate, a pensive look on her face. The people here hadn’t killed her in her sleep, so chances were the food wasn’t tainted. Deciding she could risk it, she reached for a cracker. “Thank you,” she mumbled, nibbling on the wafer.
She studied the polished mahogany furnishings between bites. Opulent was the word that came to mind. “Are you rich?” she wondered aloud.
His voice was contemplative. “You really don’t remember, do ya?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Well, I for sure ain’t rich,” he smiled crookedly.
He had a nice smile.
She shook herself. “But you live here?”
“We all do. You did too…before.”
She must have, she thought. Why else would she have run all the way here? Why had this place called to her like a beacon?
She reached for the bottled water and winced. She was so sore. Her entire body felt like she had been plowed over by a semi. She remember running, and running until her lungs burned and she thought for sure her body would disintegrate, but somehow she had made it here”wherever here was.
Logan was beside her instantly, twisting the cap off of the bottle and handing it to her. He watched her drink, a slight frown on his face. His brow furrowed when he frowned, she noted, and it was a look she found unexpectedly charming. “Okay, darlin’?”
“Yes. Thank you.” She handed the bottle back to him. She noticed bruising along her forearms from where she had ripped the needles from her skin. She wondered if her legs had the same markings. The memory of waking up, cold and naked on a metal slab made her cringe. She forced herself to try and remember the place she awoke in, but all she could recall were the needles. The needles and pain. “Gah!” Unexpectedly agony lanced through her skull like a red-hot poker, making her eyes water.
“’Ro!” Logan reached for her.
Oh, that was right, she had a name now…
“I need to be sick,” she warned him weakly, only a second before she bent forward, vomiting onto the floor, splattering his boots along with the hardwood with a mixture water, crackers and left over green bile.
Not bothered by the stomach contents now decorating his Wolverine work boots, Logan gently lowered her back against the pillow. He brushed her hair away from her face, tucking some errant strands behind her ear. His touch was gentle.
She wiped the back of her hand across her swollen, cracked lips. “Sorry.”
He waved off her apology. “I’ll be right back.” In the bathroom he wet a washcloth with cold water, and grabbed another. He placed the dry cloth onto the floor, covering the mess there. “Here.” He sat on the edge of the mattress, wiping her brow.
She snatched the towel from his hand, embarrassed. “Thank you.”
Sensing her discomfiture Logan rose and put some space between them, busying himself by cleaning up the vomit off the floor. He wadded up the washcloth and tossed it into the trash.
Ororo, with the cold cloth pressed to her eyes, asked, “Are you always this nice?”
Logan, who was busy washing his hands, poked his head out from the bathroom. “What?”
She lowered the cloth, studying him. “I asked if you were always this nice.”
He shook his head, a smirk pulling at his lips. If any of the others heard her ask that question he was certain there would be an overflow in the med lab from all the laugh busted ribs. He leaned one shoulder against the door frame, drying his hands. “To tell the truth, darlin’, I’m a bit of an asshole.”
One eyebrow arched quizzically. “Really?” Assholes didn’t have his gentle touch or soothing voice. “I find that hard to believe.” Asshole, no. Arrogant…definitely. She studied his stance carefully. He held himself proudly. No slouched shoulders, no furtive, shifty eyes. He met your gaze directly and head on. He was leaning, rather nonchalantly, yet she got the distinct impression of a coiled animal ready to strike. That thought didn’t frighten her as it probably, logically, should have. Instead, she found herself relaxing in his presence. Comforted by his quiet confidence.
“I wish I could remember you,” she whispered sincerely.
Their eyes met and held. A current of…something…flowed between.
Logan thought back to the last time they spoke, just before the mission she die--disappeared--on. The hurt. The anger. The betrayal. He shifted, uncomfortable beneath her drowsy gaze. He cleared his throat and straightened away from the door frame. “Yeah, well, y’know what they say, be careful what you wish for.”
She wasn’t so doped that she missed the shift in him. What she said had troubled him, and she found herself wondering why. “Were we friends?” she asked, setting the washcloth aside.
Logan turned away from her, closing his eyes. He took a shallow breath. “We were.” His tone held a hint of melancholy.
This made her even more curious. “Just friends?”
The pause was longer this time. “Yes.”
She seemed to be making him uncomfortable. “Am I asking too many questions?”
Logan shook his head, finally returning her gaze. “No.” He, above anyone, knew how important answers were. He just wasn’t sure exactly what he was willing to reveal. Or what she was willing to accept.
It was tricky being on this side of the equation, he thought, suddenly feeling very empathetic towards Xavier. Thinking of the school’s founder prompted him into action. Chuck was definitely better at this sort of shit than he was.
“You just rest, darlin’. I’m going to let the Professor know you’re awake.”
“Professor?” She stiffened, and icy ball of dread rolling in her stomach. “What kind of place is this?”
Logan opened her door. “This is a school.”
“Oh.” Well, that explained the Professor thing. She took an uneven breath. “Okay.”
Sensing her apprehension, he walked back to the bed and crouched beside it. He stroked her cheek, mentally murdering whoever left the bruises there. “Get some more sleep. I’ll be back soon.”
She nodded, but when the door closed behind him, she felt bereft. Lost. Alone.
A moment later she tossed the covers back and rose. Still unsteady on her feet, but more solid than she'd been the night before, she shrugged into the gray robe at the foot of the bed and tied the belt in a loose knot.
Outside the door, she found the hallway was empty, save for the shadow at the far end. She followed it.
“She’s awake.”
Charles Xavier, seated in his wheelchair behind his desk, nodded without looking up from the papers in his hand “Yes. I know.”
Of course he did.
Logan took the seat directly in front of Xavier, propping his boots against the edge of the desk, forcing the other man to give him his attention.
Charles steepled his fingers, giving Logan a reproachful look, which was, as he expected, completely ignored. Come on in, sit on down. Logan rarely needed an invitation. The man did as he chose, when he chose, and to hell with anyone that disapproved.
“Something on your mind, Logan?”
“Ya mean aside from the obvious?”
Charles folded his hands, waiting.
“She doesn’t have a clue who we are.” Logan stated, lowering his feet and leaning forward. “Who she is. You’ve gotta help her. Can’t you just…give her the memories? Shit, you’ve known her almost her whole life. You must have memories you could share with her.”
“There is a good chance that her memory will return on its own. In time.”
“In time.” Logan snorted. “We both know how wonderfully that works out.”
“You, of all people, should know how fragile her condition is right now. Forcing her to remember anything could be potentially devastating.”
“Take it from someone who knows, Chuck. Not knowing is far more devastating on a person.”
“Perhaps. But you must also keep in mind that the cause of Ororo’s condition is still a mystery.” Charles slid the papers across his desk toward Logan. “Although I believe, and Henry and Forge concur, that her memory loss could be directly related to the device embedded in the base of her skull.”
Logan picked up the X-Ray images, his jaw tightening. “What the hell is that thing?”
“We still aren’t completely certain, and we won’t be…until we remove the device.”
“Remove it?” Logan’s hands tightened. “How dangerous will that be to her?”
“Significantly.” Charles paused, his eyes flickering between the door and Logan.
Logan swiveled his head, inhaling. “You should be sleeping,” he called out.
Ororo pushed open the office door, her bare feet silent on the hardwood. She moved as gracefully as she always had, but in her movements, Logan noted, there was a hunter’s gait that hadn’t been there before. She didn’t walk--she stalked.
It was disconcerting.
“I think I have a right to hear this,” she said, pulling him from his thoughts.
She had a point, too, he acknowledged.
“You do.” Charles agreed. The man bestowed upon her a gentle smile, and Logan could see genuine affection reflected on his face. “How are you feeling this afternoon, Ororo?”
She still wasn’t used to the name. “I’d feel better if I could remember any of you.”
“Yes, I imagine you would,” Xavier agreed, and not without genuine sympathy.
Her azure eyes caught the X-Ray’s in Logan’s hands. “May I?”
Logan glanced at Charles, who nodded.
Ororo’s hands shook slightly as she took the image away from Logan. Studying the obscene device, she reflexively reached for the back of her head. “How soon?”
“Pardon me?”
She lifted her head, eyes resolute. “How soon can you get this..this thing out of me.”
Charles wheeled back, rounded the desk. “Before we discuss that, I feel I must impress upon you the very dangerous nature of this operation. The intricate design of the mechanism poses--”
“I don’t care. I want it out.”
Logan rose to face her. “’Ro, maybe ya oughta listen to Chuck.”
“Thank you, for your concern,” she interrupted, already shaking her head. She placed the X-Rays back onto the desk. “As soon as possible. Please.”
“Ororo…the odds of surviving an operation of this magnitude when a person is in the best of health is slim. In your current condition--”
“As soon as possible.” she repeated with a stubborn tilt of her jaw.
Charles nodded. The set of her shoulders said she was determined, and the calm resolution in her demeanor spoke volumes. If he didn’t operate, he had the distinct feeling she may well lob the thing out on her own--or at the very least attempt it. “Very well. Within the next few days, if that is what you truly wish.”
“Yes.”
“I will call Henry and Forge right now.”
She shifted, her eyes scanning his office. “Should I leave?”
“No, my dear. Make yourself at home.” He picked up the phone.
Logan watched Ororo stroll the large office. She chewed her bottom lip broodingly as she fingered nick-knacks and the like. She stopped beside the fireplace, lifting a framed picture from the mantle. Logan knew without seeing which picture it was.
Ororo, in uniform, standing proudly beside Xavier, her smile of achievement nearly blinding-- even in two dimensions. It was the day she had earned the right to be called an X-man. She looked so ridiculously pleased with herself that anyone looking upon that photograph couldn’t help but grin back at her in return.
Except Ororo wasn’t smiling. He could see her brow furrow. Her head tipped forward, her eyes closed, and then a single tear flowed down her cheek. His heart kicked in his chest. “Aw, hell,” he said gruffly, striding toward her.
She took a shaky breath. She didn’t look at him, but simply whispered, “I look happy. I want to remember being happy. I am so tired of the pain.”
“Come here.” He placed his hand on her shoulder, turning her into his chest.
Ororo choked. She pressed her face into the cotton of his shirt and fought the urge to scream. Her fingers curled in the material along his back and he felt her shoulders shudder, but she didn’t cry.
“It’ll come,” Logan whispered into her hair.
She doubted it, but didn’t voice that skepticism.
From his desk, Charles Xavier watched the exchange with interest. He hung up the phone. “They will be here the day after tomorrow.”
Ororo nodded, stepping away from Logan. “Thank you.”
Xavier‘s voice was full of tender concern. “No need to thank me, Ororo.” He rolled forward, reaching to take one of her hands. “You're family.”
Swallowing the lump in her throat Ororo simply nodded.
“I can’t believe she’s back,” Scott stated as he piled salami onto his sandwich. He and Jean were standing side by side at the kitchen counter, companionably making lunch.
“I know,” Jean agreed, with a nod. “It seems so surreal.” She shook her head dazedly. “It’s such a miracle.”
“It isher, right?”
Jean tossed him a look. “Of course it is, Scott.”
He held up a hand, placating. “Just asking. Unlike you, babe, I can’t go poking around in other people’s heads to make sure they’re on the up and up.”
Jean sighed, adding a pickle to her plate. “To tell the truth, I didn’t bother with a probe.”
“Oh?”
“No.”
Scott reached for the knife. “Mind if I ask why not?”
She shrugged. “Aside from the Professor not questioning it, neither did Logan.”
Scott paused mid-bite. “And?”
“He would know, Scott.” Jean glanced toward the ceiling and the second floor dorms. “He hasn’t left her side.”
Chewing thoughtfully, Scott asked, “What was the deal with those two anyway?”
Jean lowered herself into a chair, sliding her plate in front of her. Her fire-red hair shimmered in the sunlight, giving her an ethereal beauty. “I honestly don’t know.” She picked up a chip, studying it intently. “But there was…something.”
“Something before or after you and him?” Scott asked, but there was no anger in his tone. He had accepted long ago Logan and Jean’s brief fling. Because that was all it had been. Jean, feeling rebellious and defiant had taken a spin with the resident bad ass. But that affair had been blessedly brief.
Neither Jean nor Logan had developed any real attachment to the other. Jean had suspected, but never confronted, Logan of having feelings for Ororo. Feelings that prevented him from genuinely opening up to anyone.
“Both,” she answered truthfully.
“Hm.” Scott continued to chew. “And now she’s back.”
“Yes.”
“Someone really did a number on her.”
Jean placed her uneaten chip back onto the plate. “Yeah.” Her heart ached for her friend. “I can’t even imagine what she’s been through. The brief glimpse of fear I picked up off her last night is still giving me chills.”
“Hopefully the Professor can help her. If anyone can, it’s him.”
Jean glanced up once more. “I think there is someone else that can help her…”
“There are clothes in the bureau.” Logan pointed to the large dresser across the room. “Towels in the bathroom.”
Ororo smiled slightly as she opened the dresser drawer. “I appreciate the concern, but I think I can remember how to bathe and dress myself.”
Logan ruffled the hair on the back of his head. “Yeah, well. Ya never know.” He shrugged with a sardonic smile.
“True,” she attempted a smile in return. “I suppose I should be thankful I can remember at least that much.”
Logan felt a now familiar kick in his chest at her smile. He had missed her smile. He had missed her laugh. Hell, he had simply missed her.
“What?” she asked, squirming beneath his heavy stare.
“Nothing.” He didn’t look away.
“You’re staring.”
“Probably.”
She didn’t know what to make of the man.
Logan saved her from trying to figure him out by subtly shaking himself. “I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.”
“Okay.” She nodded once.
He strode to the door. He turned. Walked back.
She tilted her head, regarding him with a curious gleam in her too-blue eyes. He certainly was a curious creature this man.
“I missed you,” he told her.
She blinked, uncertain what to say.
“I just wanted you to know.” He turned back to the door.
“Logan.” She reached for him, grasping his arm.
He looked down at her, waiting.
She gave into the spontaneous urge and hugged him. “Thank you.”
Logan engulfed her against his chest. They stood that way for several minutes before the sound of a throat being cleared broke them apart.
“Sorry.” Jean looked apologetic. “I just wanted to check on Ororo.”
“No problem, Red.” Logan gave Ororo a quick squeeze, then sauntered out into the hall.
Ororo watched him go, then said to the beautiful redhead. “He’s really very sweet.”
Jean laughed, shaking her head. “If you say so.”
