Upon Ororo’s unexpected arrival and collapse into his arms, Logan had immediately rushed her down to the med lab. The sterile, gray downstairs rooms were equipped better than any hospital in the world, complete with a voice activated intercom system for hands free commands.
Laying Storm’s limp form onto the bed, Logan had ordered, “Call fucking Xavier!” to which the goddamn computer had replied, “That name is not listed in this directory. Please enter a valid identification.”
Technology was a bitch.
That wracked up two for the night, he thought, kneading the skin between his eyebrows with a knuckle. Karma and technology. Both bitches.
After another bout of curses, he had managed to get the Professor on the line. Three words were all he spoke, but they got an immediate response. “Storm is alive.”
The team arrived home within minutes.
The situation was critical, that was evident from the hurried way Charles and Jean had taken control, clearing the med-lab. Since Xavier and Jean were far more capable of taking care of Ororo than he was, Logan went willingly when they shooed him out of the lab. He had done the best he could at cleaning Storm up and getting her frighteningly thin form covered with a heated blanket, but basic medical training was the extent of his skills and it was obvious that Ororo needed more capable medical attention.
The bloody jacket she had been wearing when she had arrived lay in a heap on the table in front of him, its torn and spattered appearance a silent signifier of the suffering she’d endured. How much and by who was a mystery. But one he intended to find the answer to.
And whoever had hurt her would be answering to him. Of that he was absolutely certain. His hands contracted reflexively, claws aching to come out. It was sheer force of will that kept them locked away in their flesh cage.
The hushed whispers of his fellow teammates echoed around him, everyone asking the same questions that had been ramming through his skull since he’d first scooped a broken Ororo up into his arms.
Storm? Alive? How? Where had she been all this time? Who had so badly beaten her? Why hadn’t she come home sooner?
No one had the answers, least of all him.
So he sat, along with the rest of the confused X-Men, in the large, spacious, room delegated the “War Room” and waited for Xavier, hoping the Professor had the answers they sought.
“Did she say anything to you when you found her?”
Logan’s introspection was interrupted by Scott’s question. He lowered his hand from his face. “I didn’t find her. She found me.”
Scott was smart enough not to press the issue of who found who, instead he simply waited for a reply to his initial question. He regarded Logan behind ruby red lenses with the patience he was renowned for.
There was an edge to Logan‘s voice when he finally spoke. One that sent chills through the younger man’s body. “Help me. She said, help me.” Logan stood abruptly, that memory jarringly fresh, prompting an uncomfortable need for violence in him. “Where the hell are they?” he demanded.
As if provoked to hurry by Logan’s agitation, the hydraulic doors hissed apart and a weary Xavier, shadowed by a teary eyed Jean, entered the room. “X-Men.” Xavier’s one word greeting set the mood right away; it was his 'get your game faces on' greeting.
Professor X, as he was affectionately called by the students, settled himself at the head of the table, his normally cheery hazel eyes somber. His gaze, always direct and forthright, settled over each member of the team before coming to rest on Logan. Something flickered in those intelligent eyes, but Logan hadn’t a clue what the other man was thinking. Unlike the esteemed mentor, he wasn’t a telepath.
He was something altogether different.
“You are all understandably shaken up by the news of Storm’s return…” The Professor began, his voice very much like his eyes at the moment; intelligent and direct with a hint of grimness. “I am certain you all have many questions, and hopefully we’ll have some answers, but as of right now my primary concern lies with Storm. Since most of you were unable to bear witness to her condition I will simply state that although alive, she is badly injured.”
Seated beside Logan, Kitty Pryde gasped softly, her hand tightening around her boyfriend Peter Rasputin’s much larger one. “How badly?” Having one of your best friends returned to you only to learn they may be yanked from your life again was news no one wanted to hear, yet Katherine Pryde was a young woman that never hid from trouble or heartache, and asked the question directly. Logan admired that about her.
“The extent of her injuries are still not completely known. She has several lacerations, bruises, and other… injuries… that could be the result of many things. We don’t know how she arrived at her current condition, and we won’t know until she is able to provide us with that information. Anything else is speculation at best.” Xavier provided.
Logan didn‘t miss the hesitation from the other man, and it unnerved him to have Xavier be evasive about Storm‘s condition.
The Professor continued, “Having said that, seeing what we’ve just seen, it is a safe assumption that wherever Storm was, she was not there by her own volition.”
Jean took that moment to step forward and hold up a picture. It appeared to be the back of Ororo’s head. Logan and the others collectively leaned forward to study the image. Embedded in the base of her skull was a black ball-looking device. Logan recognized it from earlier. It unsettled him then, and it unsettled him now.
The next picture was an X-Ray of the same area, and to his horror, and that of the others, the image showed three long spiked clamps that went through Ororo’s skull where the ball rested and appeared to spider web out from there in a series of thin wires and smaller clamps. From the base of her skull the device spread out over the expanse of her skull.
“Jesus.” Scott whispered, his lips compressing into his patented look of disapproval. Anger radiated from the normally stoic leader. “What is that thing?”
“This device,” Charles gestured to the photograph, “is completely unknown to me. I’ve contacted both Henry and Forge to ascertain just exactly what this is, and how we go about removing it.”
Kitty grimaced. “Who would do this to her?”
“Our best, most solid lead is that.” The Professor pointed to the black jacket that lay just in front of Logan.
Logan reached out and fingered the worn material, manipulating the torn, bloodied fabric with his thumb. “The insignia on the arm reads FoH; whatever the fuck that means,” he rumbled.
Charles’ hazel eyes sparked with reproach at the language, but he refrained from directly commenting on Logan’s choice of words. “FoH is an acronym for the ‘Friends of Humanity‘.”
“Who are they?” Peter asked.
“The KKK for mutants,” Jean stated, bitterness lacing her normally sweet tone.
“The FoH are a well funded militant group. Their resources are nearly untraceable, and their methods deplorable,” Charles elaborated.
“If you know so much about ‘em, why the hell is this the first time we’re hearin’ about ‘em?” Logan wanted to know.
It was a valid question, and one Xavier addressed. “Because, up until recently, their attacks have all been political in nature. It was the FoH that initially funded the Mutant Registration Act, as well as developing the bill for a mutant police network. They have their hands in a variety of political cookie jars so to speak.”
“Yet for years they’ve managed to stay off of our scope.” Jean supplied.
“Well, it looks like the sons of bitches just stepped into our cross-hairs,” Logan all but growled.
Charles raised one hand. “Before we jump to any conclusions, or go off half cocked--” a pointed look at Logan. “We need to first take care of Storm.”
Kitty glanced up at Jean. “When can we see her?”
“Not for awhile yet. She’s sedated and resting...” Seeing Kitty’s crushed expression Jean glanced at her mentor and a brief telepathic exchange ensued. A quick nod and Jean rescinded her previous statement. “I need to go check on her anyway. Why don’t you come with me.”
Kitty nodded once, swallowing. It would be the first time she had seen her former roommate in nearly two years. “Thank you.”
Jean laid the pictures on the table and motioned for Kitty to follow her.
Logan watched the two women leave the room, an uneasy feeling forming in his gut.
Blip…Blip…Blip….Blip..Blip..BlipBlipBlip…
Vivid blue eyes snapped open.
Needles in her arms.
Wires. Monitors. Isolation.
Pain. God above, the pain was horrible.
They had her again!
She rolled, dropping to the floor, ripping her IV line straight out of it’s bag, setting off a series of beeping warnings. With angry, hurried motions she tore the oxygen tubing from her nostrils, flinging it across the slate gray room.
Wait,...gray?
She shot furtive looks around the room, taking in the expensive equipment, sterile environment. Nothing like they’d held her in before, but that didn’t matter. A cage was a cage. She looked around frantically for a weapon.
Her legs seemed made of rubber and she nearly stumbled to the ground. She braced herself on her bandaged arm, regaining her balance. Get it together!
A medical tray nearby provided a scalpel, scissors and gauze. She picked up the scalpel and scissors, but left the gauze. She didn’t imagine thin cotton swabs made practical defense weapons.
To her left a set of doors hissed open and a pair of emerald green eyes widened in surprise. “Storm! You're awake!”
“She is?” A petite brunette poked her head through the redhead‘s chest.
What?! She recoiled. Reacting on instinct, she flung the scalpel from her hand directly at her new enemies.
Kitty squeaked, grabbing Jean’s arms and phasing the two of them so that the metal projectile slipped harmlessly through them and embedded itself in the wall behind them.
“Storm! It’s us!” Kitty hollered as her friend darted past, running through their phased forms into the opposite med-lab room.
Jean mentally sent out a call for reinforcements.~She’s awake!~
In the hall, Ororo stumbled. The hallway was lit by a row of bright florescent lights, the harsh brightness momentarily blinding her. She jerked against the glare, covering her eyes with her hand.
“Please, you’re safe. We don’t want to hurt you.” The two ghost girls were right behind her.
One of them touched her arm.
Her reaction was instantaneous and instinctual. She grabbed the slender wrist, wrenching sideways, pulling the other girl around, then yanking so that they stumbled. Her fist connected solidly, and in a matter of seconds she put the redhead onto the ground.
Jean hit the floor hard, her senses reeling. Damn, where the hell had Ororo learned to hit like that?
“Please, Storm, it’s us!” The redhead’s partner came to her aid.
Not wanting to take any chances, she kicked out with enough force to break bone, but only connected with the wall as the girl went ghost again.
Pain jarred through her body with all the subtlety of a freight train. She fell back against the wall, feeling sick.
Ahead of her an elevator door opened and three men emerged. She couldn‘t make out features, her eyes still not acclimated to the harsh light, but one of them was the size of a mobile home. She looked back and forth between the ghost girls and the three approaching figures, helplessness making her feel angry and desperate.
A second elevator opened to her right and a young boy, probably only sixteen at most, gaped at her in shock. He was holding his right hand in his left, a wad on paper towels staunching an apparent cut.
“I just need a band aid,” he told her.
She yanked him from the elevator, tossing him into the corridor. She pressed the buttons rapidly.
“Wait!” Ghost-girl’s hand shot through the elevator, but was gone again a moment later.
“Damn.” Kitty dropped to the ground. “I couldn’t hold on.”
“Jean, are you hurt?” Scott knelt beside his girlfriend.
“Only my pride.” Jean rubbed her jaw, allowing him to help her stand. “She’s terrified, Scott. I can’t even describe the fear I sense in her.”
The walls were closing in on her.
She held herself upright by sheer force of will, her breathing ragged with an unexpected fear. Okay, if the borderline insane panic was any indication, then she didn’t like enclosed spaces. This was definitely going on her :'Good things to know about yourself' list.
The doors slid open.
Finally!
She practically leaped from the shaft.
~Ororo, please stop. We mean you no harm.~
She winced, gripping her head. Someone was talking inside her mind! Ghost girls and voices in her head… maybe she had finally slipped right on over the edge of paranoia and straight into crazy town.
She heard a small ding, and knew the other elevator was on it’s way up.
~You need medical attention.~
The voice in her head was insistent. She could feel what could only be described as a mental nudge for her to stop. She spun in a circle, feeling disoriented and weak. She had no idea where she was. She had no idea why she was in this place. All she knew was that she was afraid and that soon she would be captive again if she didn’t so something, and fast.
She scrambled back into the elevator, her eyes burning, her back pressed into the corner. Tears slid along her cheeks. She panted, waiting. Like a cornered animal. No. She wasn’t cornered. She had a way out.
“Not again…” she whispered, her voice cracking. She wouldn’t get captured again. She pressed the sharp edge of her confiscated scissors against her neck. “Not…again…”
Across the hallway the other set of doors opened.
“No!” Jean’s scream was loud in the close confines.
Blade pierced skin, but suddenly the scissors were viciously knocked away. “Don’t!”
The doors dinged shut, leaving her trapped with one of her captors.
Strong hands grappled with her arms, holding her as she struggled to grab the scissors again. The grip was implacable.
She opened her mouth, a keening sound of rage and anguish breaking free.
The sound broke Logan‘s heart. “Storm, look at me.”
She clawed at him, her short nails raking gouges in his face. “Never…again…”
He flinched but didn‘t release her. “Look at me.” His voice dropped an octave, gruff with emotion. “Please, ‘Ro. Just look at me.”
Cerulean eyes blinked open.
She knew this man.
Dark hair. Dark eyes. Rough features. Tender heart.
She stilled.
“No one here will hurt you,” he promised.
She studied him for another moment. His eyes told her he wasn’t lying. Fear ebbed under his brooding gaze. She slumped forward, her head resting on his shoulder.
Logan closed his eyes, swallowing the fearful lump that had formed in his throat the second he saw her press the scissors to her jugular.
A shudder passed through the slender woman in his arms and she hiccuped. He stroked her back soothingly. “Shhh…easy, darlin’.”
“Please…” she whispered, knees buckling. “I am so lost…”
Logan closed his eyes, pressing his lips to her hair and lowering them to the floor slowly. “No, darlin’. You’ve just been found.”
She let herself go completely limp against the strong arms supporting her. “Don’t let them take me again…”
“No one will take you. Those people can’t hurt you now, ‘Ro.”
She lifted her head. “'Ro?”
Logan blinked down at her. An icy sensation crawled it‘s way along his spine like a spider over skin. “You…don’t know your name?”
“Do you?”
“Know your name?”
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
She waited.
“You’re Ororo Munroe.”
She digested that. “…That’s… quite a name. And you are?”
“Logan.”
She tried ineffectually to sit up on her own. “Logan what?”
He gave her a rueful half-smile, adjusting her against his chest. “Just Logan.”
She was immediately defensive by his reluctance to share. He could smell it on her. Distrust seeping in. He quelled it the best he could. “I don’t know my full name,” he told her.
She wasn’t quite convinced.
And he wasn’t given the chance to elaborate as the elevator doors opened once more.
“Oh, thank God,” Jean said, seeing Ororo still alive in Logan’s arms.
“I don’t think God has a lot to do with me,” Ororo whispered before closing her eyes.
Emerald eyes met steel. Logan held out the scissors he had taken off of her. “Here.”
Jean took them. “Can she walk?”
“Yes.” Ororo answered weakly, but Logan shook his head.
“I’ll carry her.” He was unwilling to relinquish his hold.
If Jean was surprised by his over protectiveness she didn’t show it. “The Professor would like her put in a dorm room.” She glanced at Ororo. “He thinks it will be less traumatic for her to be in a less…uh,sterileenvironment.”
Logan nodded. “Lead the way.”
As they made their way down the hall Ororo nestled tight into Logan’s chest. “I think I may be crazy,” she told him.
He gave her a quick look. “Oh?”
“I thought I saw a ghost. I heard voices in my head.” She tilted her head back, studying the stubble on the curve of his chin. “Thought I could make it rain once too. Crazy thoughts.”
Logan exchanged a glance with Jean.
She shook her head in the negative. Too much new information may overload their distressed friend. Better let Xavier handle this one.
“Yeah. Crazy.” Logan shifted Ororo so that her breath fanned his neck as he walked.
She yawned, the sedative still running in her already weakened system, making her feel like lead, but she struggled to remain awake despite that.
Logan knew her silent fear. He had the same one. Of waking alone, surrounded by people that hurt you, that took joy in your pain. “I won’t leave you,” he swore.
His gruff voice washed over her and despite her initial fear of this unknown place, Ororo closed her eyes and slept.
“This is her room,” Jean informed him a few doors down the hall. They entered, and Logan lay his bundle onto the counterpane. “She probably won‘t wake up again for awhile.” Jean whispered.
Logan pulled a chair beside the bed, eyes only for Ororo. “I said I wouldn’t leave her.”
Jean watched Logan for a moment. She was temporarily stunned by how much his expression revealed about the state of his emotions. The fact that he was that unguarded left told Jean far more than words ever could. Logan wasn’t one for unguarded moments. He kept his walls pretty high and several feet thick, and suddenly Jean understood why. The man’s heart was positively bleeding for the woman on the bed.
Sensing her eyes still on him, Logan looked up. “Yeah?”
“Uh, nothing.” She strode towards the door. “Logan…?”
“Huhn?”
She felt it only fair to warn him. “She may not be ready to remember everything….”
He said nothing.
“Just…be patient.”
Still nothing.
“Okay then.” She left them.
Logan turned back towards Ororo. “Still here, darlin’.” And there he would remain.
“Sir, her position is locked.”
“Where is she?”
“Westchester. At the--”
“Xavier Institute.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do we initiate extraction protocols?”
“No.”
“Sir?”
“Leave her where she is.”
“Sir, if you don’t mind me asking, for what purpose?”
“To carry out her mission, of course.”
“And that is?”
“To kill Charles Xavier.”
